Matters of Seduction Page 5

  “I’m aware of that, sir.”

  “Are you? I wonder,” he murmured, his gaze cool and assessing. “It’s not a job you leave behind when you go home at night. In fact, you don’t ever leave it behind. You become the job, and the job becomes who you are. It’s the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning and the last thing on your mind before you fall asleep at night. And then you dream about it.” He got up and walked over to the window, glancing out briefly before turning back to face her.

  “You have to crawl inside some very dark minds, and when you come out, you’ll never be the same again. And it’ll eat at you. You’ll become obsessed with every case that comes across your desk, especially the ones you can’t solve, and there’ll be a lot of those.”

  Pru wasn’t certain if he expected a response or not, so she remained silent.

  “This job changes you, and it changes how you react to the people closest to you. They won’t understand that, and they’ll resent you for it.”

  For one split second, as his gaze held hers, Pru saw what he meant. She saw what a toll the job had taken on him. The darkness in his eyes—in his soul—was like a glimpse into her future.

  She suppressed a shudder, but she didn’t turn away.

  “I’ll be honest with you. Your application is the strongest I’ve seen in a long time,” he said.

  A thrill raced up Pru’s back. “Thank you.”

  “However, the fact that you’re a woman troubles me. Not because I don’t think you’re up to the job. I have every confidence that you are. But the victims you see…most of them will be women. And that could make it more difficult for you.”

  “I can handle it, sir.”

  “That’s what we all think.” He walked back over to his desk and sat down. “All right,” he said with a strange little sigh. “I’m going to give you your shot, Agent.”

  Pru couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, sir.”

  His answering smile seemed more like a grimace. “Wait ten years and see if you still want to thank me.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of folders. “Go over these case files tonight and be prepared to give me your assessment in the morning. We’ll discuss it on our way to Huntsville.”

  Pru reached for the files. “Huntsville, sir?”

  “I’ve arranged for us to interview an inmate, a convicted killer named John Allen Stiles. Ever heard of him?”

  “He was dubbed the Casanova killer, in part because of certain items found at the crime scenes.” Pru paused, frowning. “What’s his connection to this case?”

  “Read the files,” Cahill said grimly. “And then you tell me.”

  Twilight fell softly over the University of Houston campus as Jessie Cahill hurried down the library steps. Panic skittered along her backbone. She never, ever went out alone after dark, but somehow she’d lost track of the time and that just wasn’t like her.

  She hesitated at the bottom of the steps, wondering if she should call Sarah. In the month and a half since school started, she and her roommate had become very good friends. Sarah would come to meet her if Jessie asked her to. She was that kind of person, but it wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of her good nature. She had exams to worry about, too, and anyway, it was Jessie’s own fault. She could have studied in the room rather than trudging to the library, but she found it hard to concentrate with all the noise in the hallways.

  So, no, she wouldn’t call Sarah because she didn’t want to start using her friend as a crutch. She had to learn to stand on her own two feet. Besides, the campus was perfectly safe. She had nothing to worry about.

  Still, as she adjusted her backpack to accommodate the weight of her books and her laptop, she had to resist the temptation to glance over her shoulder. But there was no one behind her. She was fine.

  Except…she wasn’t. Not really.

  Maybe it was because she was on her own for the first time, but lately Jessie had been experiencing some of the old paranoia. And the night terrors had come back, too. She’d awakened screaming a few nights ago, terrified that when she opened her eyes, she’d see that evil, leering grin….

  But instead, it had been her roommate leaning over her, gently shaking her awake. Sarah hadn’t tried to get her to talk about the nightmare; instead, she’d turned on the television, made microwave popcorn and kept Jessie company until she’d finally stopped trembling. That was one of the reasons Jessie didn’t complain when Sarah played music till all hours. She was the best friend Jessie ever had.

  But Sarah wasn’t there now to keep her company, and try as she might, Jessie couldn’t shake the notion that someone was behind her. Following her. That he had somehow gotten out of prison and come for her.

  That wasn’t possible. Her dad would have told her.

  She was fine. She wasn’t being followed.

  She was fine.

  Resisting the growing temptation to glance over her shoulder, Jessie cut across the campus toward her dorm. Even though it wasn’t dark yet, the streets were almost deserted. U of H was a big commuter school, but the few people she met on the walkway nodded and smiled in such a friendly manner that Jessie began to feel better. Stronger. She was almost home. Only two more blocks….

  As she rounded a corner, the hair at the back of her neck prickled. The sensation of being followed became so strong she couldn’t ignore it. He was back there somewhere. She could feel him watching her.

  Jessie tried to fight off the panic, but it gripped her so firmly she could hardly breathe. Her footsteps slowed as she turned to glance behind her.

  She saw him at once.

  He stood beneath a tree, one shoulder leaning against the trunk while he tucked his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans. He wore a baseball cap pulled low over his face so that Jessie couldn’t see his features. He didn’t wave, didn’t nod. He just stood there.

  Who was he?

  It couldn’t be him. It wasn’t possible. He was in prison. He wouldn’t get out for a very long time. Her dad had promised.

  So who was he? And why was he following her?

  Her heart pounding, Jessie whirled and ran smack into another student on the walkway. Muttering an apology, she kept her head bowed and hurried away.

  All the way back to the dorm, she only looked back once, but she didn’t see anyone behind her. Somehow that frightened her even more.

  Running up the dorm steps, she burst through the front door, ignoring the curious stares from the kids watching TV in the lounge. She rode the elevator to the third floor, then trotted down the hallway to her room. Letting herself in, she shrugged out of her backpack and placed it on a nearby chair.

  Sarah had left a note on her bed. She’d gone out with friends. If Jessie wanted to join them, she could call Sarah on her cell phone.

  For a moment, Jessie considered doing just that. Maybe what she needed was to be around people. Listen to some music and have a good time. Act her age, for a change.

  But who was she kidding? She wouldn’t go out again tonight. Not by herself.

  The room felt stuffy and she went over to open the window. Her heart skipped a beat when she glimpsed someone in the shadows below.

  So what? she tried to tell herself. Whoever was down there was just someone who lived in the dorm. And maybe the guy under the tree had been waiting for someone. He was probably a student just like she was, and he hadn’t been following her at all. She’d overreacted and now she’d left herself open to a panic attack.

  Shoving the window down and locking it, she went over and sat down on the edge of her bed, trying to control her racing heart. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her chest tightened, as if a giant fist had closed around it.

  She needed to call someone. She couldn’t get through this by herself.

  She wanted her mother so badly at that moment it was almost a physical pain, but she didn’t want to call home. What if her mother’s new boyfriend answered? Jessie wouldn’t know what to say.

  He seemed like
a nice guy and all, but Jessie didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to like him. She knew her attitude was immature, but she couldn’t help it. Accepting that man into her life would be like betraying her dad.

  Daddy, she cried inwardly. If she called, he would come immediately. No questions asked. And Jessie didn’t have to worry about someone she didn’t like answering his phone. He was all alone.

  But she wasn’t sure she could handle seeing her dad tonight. Not because she didn’t love him. She did. But she might not be strong enough to deal with the guilt that still haunted his eyes.

  So she’d have to somehow get through this by herself. If she could just wait it out, Sarah would be back in a little while.

  Lying down on the bed, Jessie hugged a pillow tightly to her chest as she squeezed her eyes closed.

  She didn’t want to think about that night, but she couldn’t help it. It was always there. No matter how much time passed, she knew she would always see his face in every crowd, in every dream. Sometimes, like now, she could almost feel his knife pressed against her throat, his whispered warning that if she screamed, she would die.

  He’d come in through her open window, and her mother, asleep in a room down the hall, hadn’t heard a sound. Not until it was over.

  But Jessie didn’t blame her.

  She and her mom had gone up to the lake house for the weekend, and her dad had promised to meet them after work. As usual, though, he’d been held up. If he’d been there, he could have saved her. He would have given his own life to protect her. Jessie knew that. She had no doubt about that.

  But he hadn’t been there, and Jessie didn’t blame him, either, for what happened. She didn’t have to. He blamed himself. She could see it in his eyes. And her mother blamed him, too, for not being there when he said he would be. For always putting work ahead of his family.

  They’d divorced because of that night, because of Jessie. Sometimes the crushing weight of her own guilt was like a huge boulder pressing down on her chest.

  Her cell phone rang, and she planned to ignore it. Then, thinking it might be Sarah, she reached for it with one hand while she wiped away her tears with the other.

  “Sarah?” she said weakly.

  A male voice laughed. “Do I sound like Sarah?”

  Jessie trembled as she clutched the phone to her ear. “No, I…was expecting to hear from my roommate, that’s all.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “No…” Jessie moistened her dry lips. Was she ready for this? She didn’t know. She probably wasn’t, but he was the first guy who’d caught her attention in a long, long time. The first one who didn’t frighten her, didn’t make her shudder in revulsion and dread when he looked at her.

  “You sound a little strange,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  Jessie hesitated. “I don’t know. I think I need to get out of this room.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” He lowered his voice, deepening the tremor in her stomach. “So why don’t we meet?”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Where?”

  “Same place as before. And Jessie?” he murmured. “Don’t keep me waiting, okay?”

  Chapter Four

  “What are the four major classifications of serial killers?”

  The question startled Pru, coming as it did so abruptly after twenty minutes of near silence. Cahill had barely spoken a word to her since they’d left the office, and Pru had found his taciturn demeanor a bit disconcerting at first. Then she’d decided that he was simply focused on maneuvering through the heavy road-construction traffic on I-45 and she shouldn’t let his detachment get to her.

  Once they passed the Spring exit, however, the freeway opened up, and he seemed to visibly relax.

  “Well?”

  “Is this a test?” she asked uneasily.

  “I’m just making small talk.”

  Pru wasn’t fooled. “Small talk is when you ask me what I did last night or what my favorite color is. I don’t think you’re making small talk.”

  He shrugged. “All right, then, call it a test. In any case, I’m still waiting for your answer.”

  Pru didn’t hesitate. “The visionary-motive type killer is considered criminally insane…psychotic. They can be schizophrenic, mildly retarded and usually have low IQs. These are the guys who hear voices in their head telling them to kill. And they’re the ones that if you meet them on the street, you immediately want to cross to the other side.

  “The missionary-motive type killer wants to rid the world of whatever he perceives to be wrong or evil. The Green River Killer, for example, targeted prostitutes. He’s distinct from the other types in that his need to kill is terminable. Once he fulfills his ‘calling,’ he can stop.

  “The thrill killer murders for pleasure. It’s a game for him. Unlike the visionary, he isn’t mentally delusional. He doesn’t have an unexplainable urge to take lives. He kills because he enjoys it. And because he thinks he can outsmart the cops.

  “The last type is the lust-motivated killer. He kills because it turns him on sexually. Restraints, ritualism, fantasies and hatred of women are common in this type of killing. He derives erotic pleasure from torture, and the greater his victim’s pain, the more aroused he becomes.”

  Rather than comment on what she’d said, Cahill asked another question. “Were you able to look over the files I gave you yesterday?”

  “Yes, of course.” Pru had been up past two studying those files. No way would she have faced Cahill this morning without being fully prepared. She wasn’t about to blow the opportunity of a lifetime.

  “Let’s hear your thoughts, then.”

  “I made some notes…” Pru’s briefcase rested on the floor at her feet. She bent to dig out her notebook, but Cahill stopped her.

  “You don’t need notes,” he said curtly. “Just give me your overall impression.”

  His tone made Pru even more nervous, but she responded again without hesitation. “All right. I’ll start with the similarities in all three cases. The victims— Ellie Markham, Tina Kerr and Clare McDonald—were young, blond, attractive and they lived in the same area of town, within miles of each other. Plus, they were all professionals. Ellie was a music producer for a local record company, Tina worked as a sales rep for a computer company and Clare was a lawyer. Since the police haven’t been able to find a direct connection, either professionally or personally, we can probably rule out criminal enterprise, emotional, selfish or cause-specific intent.”

  He nodded. “What else?”

  “The victims were murdered in their homes so that makes them low-risk targets. However, the Montrose area ups the ante somewhat, especially for sex-related crimes. If they were heavily into the underground club scene, then that could play a factor as well.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Okay, escalation. You have several months between the murders of Ellie Markham and Tina Kerr, but only a few weeks between Tina and Clare. The accelerated time frame could be an indication that the killer is losing control, but the meticulous condition of the crime scenes would seem to suggest otherwise. I’m inclined to think that it took him a while to get over the first kill. Once he got used to the idea, it became much easier for him.”

  “In which case, HPD can expect more bodies,” Cahill said.

  “Unless they can find him quickly,” Pru agreed.

  “Which classification would you put this guy into?”

  Pru frowned. The question was tricky. “I’d rule out visionary because the organized nature of the crime scene indicates someone with an average to above-average IQ. I don’t see these kills being missionary motivated, either, unless the police can come up with a common link among the victims, a nightclub they all three frequented, for example. A place the killer might deem as sinful.”

  “What about the third classification? A thrill killer?”

  Pru shook her head. “I don’t think so. Again, the crime scene is too organized and strangulation is a little too tame
for these guys. They tend to like a lot of gore. So, by process of elimination, I’m left with the fourth classification, although I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable with it, either. But the posing of the bodies—his signature—and the way he personalizes his victims are common traits among sexual killers.”

  Cahill shot her a glance. “What about the fact that none of the victims was sexually assaulted? Wouldn’t that rule out a sexual killer?”

  He was still testing her, but Pru didn’t mind. “Not necessarily. This type of murderer has a sexual motive for killing, but it may or may not involve the act of sex. The killer will often take something from the victim, an object or even a body part, to help him later reenact the crime in order to achieve sexual gratification.”

  “Okay,” Cahill said slowly. “So your conclusion is that we’re dealing with an organized sexual predator.”

  “The signs are everywhere,” Pru said. “This guy is all about planning. Everything he does is meticulous and well-thought-out. He leaves nothing to chance so he brings everything with him, including his own rape kit. And he doesn’t leave anything behind…not the restraints, not the murder weapon and very little trace evidence. The pristine condition of the crime scene is part of an organized killer’s personality. It’s second nature to him.” She paused, frowning. “There is a sticking point, though. An organized killer will usually dispose of the body in an effort to evade or delay discovery. Since that didn’t happen here, it could mean we’re dealing with a mixed personality or it could simply mean that transporting the body was too risky.”

  Cahill scowled at the road. “Or maybe he wants the bodies discovered.”

  “Yes, that’s possible, too.”

  “Describe this guy for me, Agent.”

  “Well, from experience, we know that ninety percent of serial killers are male, and for sexual killers it’s even higher. And their victims are almost always of the same race. So we can assume he’s a white male, somewhere in his early twenties to early thirties. Like I said, he has an average to above-average IQ and is probably employed in a skilled profession. He’s not a loner. He’s socially and sexually competent, and will likely be living with a wife or girlfriend. He may use alcohol during the commission of the crime, and his kills are usually precipitated by some kind of stress. He’s mobile. Although the fact that he’s preying on women in the same neighborhood is an anomaly that frankly mystifies me. An organized predator will hunt for victims away from his hometown and his victims are almost always strangers. But this guy seems to be a stable killer. He may even live or work in the Montrose area.”