Stuart Woods - Hothouse Orchid

Holly had just finished lunch when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Lauren Cade.”

“Hi, Lauren. What’s up?”

“We’ve got another victim, a real estate agent named Adele Mason, last night, Jungle Trail.”

“Oh, shit. Well, I’ve been expecting another one.”

“So have I.”

“Was there anything at the scene that would tell us something different about the perp?”

“Not really. She was apparently dragged into the woods and raped there; the ME found sand on her body. Then she was posed, naked, behind the wheel of her car. One thing was different: her right front tire was flat. We think, maybe, a spike strip was used.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Holly said.

“Why not?”

“You’re saying he would lay a spike strip on Jungle Trail in advance of the crime? How would he know a woman alone would hit it?”

“Well…”

“I think it’s more likely that he got lucky on the flat tire.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I think you ought to close Jungle Trail to car traffic until this guy is apprehended. This is the second attack, if you include me.”

“We’ve already done that. We thought we might have gotten lucky when we found a man’s name in Mason’s diary, a Jack Smithson. We talked to him, but he says that he arrived in Vero on Wednesday afternoon, and she met him at the airport and showed him a house, which he promptly rented. All that was in her diary.”

“Doesn’t sound right; all the other victims have apparently been strangers to our perp.”

“That’s what we figured. Smithson was cooperative, gave us a DNA swab.”

“There was no semen from the other victims, though.”

“Right.”

“What time did the attack occur?”

“Some time after midnight.”

“Tell Jimmy Weathers he ought to have Orchid patrols stop any male who is driving what looks like an unmarked patrol car driving after dark.”

“That could be a lot of cars.”

“Well, at least take the tag numbers and run them.”

“I’m sure they could do that.”

“One thing you don’t want to do, Lauren.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t drive around alone at night looking for this guy; you might find him under unfavorable circumstances.”

“You have a point.”

“If you want to be a decoy, make sure you have plenty of backup.”

“All right. I just thought I’d let you know about the new attack.”

“I appreciate that, Lauren. If I have any ideas, I’ll call you. Bye-bye.” She hung up, and the phone rang again almost immediately.

“Hello?”

“It’s Josh.”

“Hi, there.”

“Dinner tonight?”

“We seem to be making a habit of that.”

“I’ll take you to the Yellow Dog Café, up near Melbourne.”

“I like that place.”

“Seven o’clock?”

“You’re on.”

Josh was on time, and they got into his car for the thirty-minute drive.

“I think I know where your rapist/murderer got the injection gun,” he said.

“Where?”

“At our hospital. There was a routine inventory of medical equipment this afternoon, and an injection gun was missing.”

“Wouldn’t someone have noticed that before?”

“No. It’s not the sort of equipment that’s used every day; it’s pretty much limited to flu-shot clinics and school vaccinations, that sort of thing. You wouldn’t pull it out and load it for a single injection.”

“That’s interesting information. I’ll pass it on. There was another murder last night, on the Jungle Trail.”

“Jesus, where is this going to end?”

“Either they’ll catch him, or he’ll stop.”

“Stop? Why would he do that?”

“It happens with serial criminals. Sometimes they get arrested and convicted on other charges. Years can go by. Sometimes they get nervous about getting caught and just back off for a while. Sometimes they hit a new locale, and hope new killings won’t get paired up with old ones. There are more uncaught serial killers in this country than you’d imagine. Sometimes they move to another state, in midcareer; sometimes they go on for years, like Ted Bundy.”

“That’s a depressing thought.”

“Yes, it is. Cops get depressed a lot.”

“Do the police have any advantages against this guy?”

“Sure. There are more cops than murderers; they have good forensic tools. What usually happens is that the killer finally makes a mistake, and the cops pounce.”

“Would a reward help?”

“Probably not in this case. Nobody who knows this guy knows he’s doing this. He works alone; he’s probably unmarried and living alone or with his elderly parents, usually a mother. He probably doesn’t have a regular girlfriend, so he’s not getting sex in a normal way. And he’s smart and careful. He’s been using condoms, so there’s no sperm sample for DNA testing.”

“I wish there were something I could do to help,” Josh said.

“You’ve already helped by telling me about the missing vaccination gun. You might keep an eye out for a man who comes in with scratches on his face or arms. Sooner or later, some woman will fight back.”

“He seems to render them unconscious almost immediately,” Josh pointed out.

“Yes, but he’s got to make a mistake sometime; every criminal does.”

“Is somebody checking up on police officers?”

“Yes, the local detective in charge of the case has already canvassed his department and all the neighboring departments, and he’s come up dry.”

“Do you have a gun?” Josh asked.

“I’m carrying one right now,” Holly replied.

“Dare I ask where?”

“Ankle holster.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Excuse me a second.” Holly called Lauren Cade and told her about the missing injection gun.

“That’s very interesting,” Lauren said.

“And it expands your field of possible suspects,” Holly said. “It could be an orderly or a male nurse.” She glanced at Josh. “Or even a doctor.”

“Gee, thanks,” Josh said.

Teddy Fay awoke, still worried about how the two police officers had approached his house without his knowledge. He couldn’t have that. He checked the Internet, then drove to a nearby electronics shop where he bought a driveway alert and half a dozen motion detectors, all operated by lithium batteries. Back at home, he installed the driveway alert just inside the entrance to the Walds’ drive, then he planted the motion detectors around the guesthouse. Inside, he plugged in the control unit, ran a test and got a confirmation on all the sensors. The next time somebody turned into the driveway or approached the house on foot, he’d know about it.

He opened the safe and took out the briefcase that held the Czech sniper’s rifle that he had stolen from the Agency before he retired. He assembled it and screwed on the silencer, then he opened a box of paper cups and took a stack of them out onto the beach. He looked up and down the strand for foot traffic and found no one near, so he pressed the cups upside down into the wet sand at the edge of the water, checked again for foot traffic, then walked back to the house.

He opened the kitchen window and the screen, then stood, cradling the rifle, and took careful aim at the first cup on the left. The bullet kicked up sand two inches to the right of the cup, so he made a minute adjustment to the telescopic sight and fired again. Bingo. In rapid succession he fired at the other cups and hit each one. He had not lost his touch.

He disassembled the rifle, cleaned it and returned it to its case, then he inspected his other weapons and relocked everything in the safe. He felt better now.