Splintered (17 page)

“So he hasn’t contacted any other investigators?” Noah prodded.

“Not that we are aware of,” Hutch responded around a bite of his burger.

“Why you? Numerous deaths, even more investigators, why did he pick you?”

Hutch cocked his head, his lip curling into a slight grin. “I have my theories, but I’d love to hear your professional opinion.”

Hutch had been trying to put Noah at ease since Byte had left, and it was working. One slight smile and Noah could think of nothing else but how fucking hot Special Agent Hutchinson was. It took him a moment to rearrange his thoughts and get his mind back to the case, his research, and his studies.

“Well, normally, taunting the police would mean one of two things. The killer probably has some massive grudge against a police force. He wants to make the police look inadequate since they are arriving after the bodies are being discovered. The second thing is, like the Weepy Voice Killer or the Lipstick Killer, these communiques are often a cry from the individual, taunting as they may be, so they can get caught.” He grabbed another fry and pointed it at Hutch before swiping it through the ketchup. “But with you it’s for a different reason. He finds you worthy, or at the very least, your title is worthy. While he doesn’t plan to nor does he think he will ever be caught, he still wants recognition of his crimes. He’s thanking you for showing up.”

“Impressive,” Hutch said, looking truly dazzled by Noah’s explanation. “You’ve studied Thomas Guillen.”

Noah puffed up a bit, his gut fluttering pleasantly at the thought of impressing someone as brilliant as Hutch. “I’ve quoted him a lot in my research. I study a lot of the greats in the field, including you,” Noah added shyly.

Hutch’s smile broadened, and didn’t that just increase the crazy flopping sensation in Noah’s gut and cause a warmth to surge through him. He looked away and pushed the food around on his plate.

“Thank you,” Hutch responded. “I appreciate the compliment.”

“Oh, it’s not just a compliment,” Noah answered honestly as he looked up from beneath his lashes, cheeks heating. “It’s the truth. I’ve read everything you’ve ever written, attended numerous seminars you’ve given. As I’ve mentioned, your work on autoasphyxiation and the sexual deviant was beyond brilliant. And don’t even get me started on your profiling journals. You have a true talent for describing a suspect. I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t predict what color underwear he wore.”

Hutch shifted in his seat. He looked uncomfortable with the praise, as evidenced by the pink tint to his cheeks. Noah found it adorable that this big, powerful man, with brains to boot, would get embarrassed by a well-deserved compliment.

“Have you come to any conclusions about the reason for his need to thank me?” Hutch asked in an obvious attempt to shift the focus off him.

“I think he feels he’s found a worthy opponent. For someone as inner-directed as CS is—”

“CS?” Hutch interrupted.

“Chicago Slasher,” Noah clarified. The puzzled look on Hutch’s face had Noah adding, “It’s not his official nickname. Not as flashy as, say, the Night Stalker or the Son of Sam, but seeing as he hasn’t gotten any attention in the media yet, it’s what I’ve dubbed him.”

“Insane is what I’d label him,” Hutch muttered.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Noah said as he rolled his eyes. “You may wish he was, as he’d be a hell of a lot easier to catch. CS is highly intelligent. I’d even go as far as to classify him as a genius.”

Hutch crumpled up his food wrappers and took them to the trash and his dirty plate to the sink. He then turned and leaned back against the sink, hands resting on the edge of the counter.

He met Noah’s gaze, holding it, with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yeah, I guess I do wish he was,” he finally admitted. “This guy is scary as hell, but far from nuts, at least in the clinical sense of the word, and I think you’re right. This guy is a lot smarter than me.”

Todd Hutchinson was Noah’s hero, someone he’d looked up to for quite some time, the epitome of everything Noah hoped to achieve, but doubted he ever would. To see this larger-than-life man showing a weak moment, a human moment, did nothing to take away from the worship/envy Noah had for him. In fact, his idolization grew.

“I think….” Noah shook his head. “No, I know you are smarter, and you will get this bastard,” he said with complete conviction.

“Maybe, eventually,” Hutch responded, shrugging one shoulder, looking anything but convinced. “But how many more men have to die between now and then?”

What could he say? Hutch was right, more than likely there would be more murders unless CS made a stupid mistake or the cops got lucky. And that might not be for a very, very long time if luck was on the side of CS. Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer, committed his first confirmed crime in July of 1982, but he wasn’t caught until November 2001, nineteen years and forty-eight confirmed victims later. The thought that CS could rack up such a staggering number of victims was sobering.

Noah pushed the rest of his food away, no longer hungry. He rested his elbow on the table and leaned his chin in his hand. “What’s the plan, then? You obviously can’t babysit me until he’s caught.”

“Sure I can.”

“The hell you can.” Noah sniffed. “You’ve got work to do. I’m counting on you to nab this guy so I can interview him for my thesis. I’ll be fine. Besides, I have work to do on the presentation I have to give tomorrow.”

Hutch’s brow furrowed, and he stared at Noah unblinkingly for a moment before his eyes went wide. “What’s your presentation on?” Hutch asked excitedly.

“Umm…. Psychopaths and how they view the world,” Noah responded.

“Perfect, c’mon.”

Noah stared in confusion at the back of Hutch’s head as he walked away.

“Well?” he urged when he was standing next to Noah’s computer.

“What the hell are we doing?” Noah asked as he joined Hutch.

Hutch shoved Noah down into his chair and then leaned a hip against Noah’s desk. “We’re going to tweak your report,” Hutch announced with a sly smile.

N
OAH
STOOD
at the podium looking out over those who had come to hear his presentation. The crowd was larger than it had been the last time. He recognized a few of those in attendance, though he didn’t know them personally, but the majority were complete strangers. It was likely he’d passed them a hundred times or they had sat out in the audience for all of his presentations, but he wouldn’t know them. He rarely paid attention to those around him. His focus was usually on reports, data, death. Today, however, he wished he would have been more astute, paid better attention, then perhaps he could have spotted anyone who seemed out of place or didn’t belong. Yet would it have done any good? Whoever was torturing and mutilating the small, effeminate men of Chicago wouldn’t stand out; he’d blend in. It was how he’d been able to avoid detection all these years. Whether it was futile or not, Noah found himself looking at each face, trying to memorize each one, wishing he could see the people who sat at the back of the lecture hall better.

Dr. Fritzwald—glasses perched on his nose, hands clasped—stood before the class, the noise instantly ceasing. He then nodded toward Noah and took his seat once again. Noah shifted his papers nervously, took a deep breath, and began. Hopefully, if he were watching, what Noah was about to say would piss him off, and yet at the same time, Noah dreaded that it would. He wiped a shaking hand over his brow and cleared his throat.

“What would you do if you didn’t experience guilt or remorse no matter what you did? Would it alter the way you behaved if you had no concern for the well-being of others? Of course it would, as you no longer are burdened with such pesky problems such as shame, compassion, or love. You would also cease to be human, however, at least by civilized terms. You’d be nothing more than a selfish, lazy, harmful, immoral blight on society.

“And what of responsibility? You’d have none. It would be a foreign concept to you. It’s not your fault, it’s theirs. They don’t understand what it’s like to be you, constantly surrounded by inferior beings. You are forced to exist in a world full of sheep, following the masses without question. Oh, but you are not one of them, you are no sheep, not you. You stand high above them and have nothing but contempt for the gullible fools. But they mustn’t know, not yet. So you conceal the fact that your psychological makeup is far more advanced. At least that is what you tell yourself. But we know, those who you look down on, we see you, we know what you are. A life-sucking parasite.

“Without a conscience, without compassion for others, without feelings, you are not human, but a lowly animal. You may look the part, may even fool society for a while, but you can’t keep your façade intact forever. Eventually the cold-bloodedness that runs like ice water through your veins will begin to weaken the mask of normalcy as the ice creaks and shifts, cracks. Your convenient invisibility will be exposed to the world.

“There are choices everyone must make, even those without conscience. You can choose to be good, build goals, and follow dreams or take the path of evilness that leads straight to hell. Some people—whether they have a conscience or not—are brilliant and talented, yet you are dull-witted, violent, and you are not in control, your bloodlust is.

“You’ve made your choice. You can do anything at all.” Noah scanned the room, trying his best to make eye contact with as many people as he could, and then added, “That is until you are forcibly stopped and you will”—he slammed his hand down on the podium—“be stopped. Your disease eradicated.”

Breathing hard, Noah tucked his papers into his folder and, with a curt nod to a stunned-looking Dr. Fritzwald, walked out to a round of applause. Noah knew they would be disappointed that he wasn’t sticking around for questions, but as nervous as he was, he doubted he’d be able to answer them intelligently anyway. Besides, he was curious if Granite, who had blended in easily with the other students, had caught a glimpse of anyone being… well,
not
normal. Noah glanced one last time over his shoulder to where Granite stood among a group of guys, then hurried out of the hall.

He did his best to look casual as he made his way across campus, but the urge to keep looking over his shoulder was too strong. He gave in to it a couple times and then immediately chastised himself. With the way his heart was hammering in his chest and his skin was prickling, he was amazed he could put one foot in front of the other without falling on his ass, but he managed. Only when he reached his apartment, slammed the door behind him, and leaned against it did he sigh in relief.

“How’d it go?” Hutch asked as he looked up from the computer at Noah’s desk.

“I made it through the lecture without puking, so I call that a success.” Noah smirked weakly and then pushed off the door. He headed to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, downing it in one large gulp. The nerves had caused his mouth to go dry. He refilled the glass and then took it to the kitchen table and slumped into the chair.

“See anyone who looked out of place or suspicious?” Hutch asked as he joined Noah, taking the chair opposite him.

“Everyone.” Noah blew out another heavy breath. “I like stalking killers, trying to get in their heads, but I’m not so sure I like the idea of one possibly following me.”

Hutch hadn’t been too keen on being left behind, but knowing the killer was watching them, Granite felt it best if Hutch and Noah weren’t seen together. Hutch couldn’t argue with the facts when Granite pointed out they didn’t want it to seem obvious they were hunting him, and Hutch hanging with Noah in the classroom would have been a dead giveaway. It was more than likely that the killer probably knew who Granite was as well, but with a baseball cap covering his black hair and a college jock jacket and “normal” jeans, he could easily be mistaken for any other college student.

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Hutch said sincerely as he met Noah’s gaze.

Noah could see the conviction in Hutch’s dark blue eyes and knew he’d do his damnedest to keep that promise, but Noah was still a little nervous about the whole thing. Being on this side of the hunt really freaked him out, and he didn’t like what was happening or the memories it was stirring up. Still, he’d follow it through to the end, do whatever the agents asked of him, in order to stop this sick fuck from killing any more men.

“So what now?” he asked as he sipped on his water.

“We wait.”

Chapter 17

R
ED
AND
blue lights flashing, gas pedal pushed to the floor, Hutch flew down the rural road toward the killer’s lair. A survivor? Someone actually escaped? It didn’t make any sense. He’d been chasing this bastard for weeks. Eighteen crime scenes, eighteen bodies, and not a single shred of evidence. No hair fibers, prints, witnesses, nothing that would lead the authorities to the murderer, and now a live victim? It was too sloppy, and the doubt was already churning around in Hutch’s gut.

Granite flipped his phone shut and slammed it against the seat. “The sheriff informed me of a witness account. Said they’d seen the young man running down the country road, completely naked, with a metal collar padlocked to his neck and dragging a length of chain behind him. The fucker swerved to avoid hitting him and took off,” Granite said angrily. “Their excuse was they thought it was some kind of ploy to get them to pull over so the guy could rob them.”