Kay Hooper - Sense Of Evil

“But a reporter? For a story?” Hollis said. “That’s sick. Would Emily have gone for something like that?”

“To step out of Jamie’s shadow? I’m thinking yes.”

“That might explain this,” Mallory said, “but what about the other victims? Could a reporter have lured them out of their cars and into the woods?”

Hollis said, “You know, maybe we’re making a giant assumption that he does it the same way every time. He could be gearing his approach to each woman individually. Isabel, you and Bishop both believe he has to get to know his victims. Maybe this is why. To find the right bait for each catch.”

Isabel looked at her for a moment, then said, “If you ever feel useless in an investigation, remember this moment. Damn. Why didn’t I see that?”

Hollis was pleased, but nevertheless said, “You’ve had a lot on your plate.”

“Still.” Isabel took a step toward the body, then stopped and turned back. The other two women also turned to watch as Rafe approached them from the highway. He looked grim, and on a face as rugged as his, grim was an expression to make even the bravest soul take a step back.

Isabel met him halfway.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I got held up at the station.”

“What else has happened?” she demanded, reaching out without thinking to touch his hand.

His fingers immediately twined with hers. “The accident that pulled the patrol away from the Brower house,” he said. “There were two fatalities.”

“I’d heard that much.” She waited, knowing there was more.

“Hank McBrayer was one of them,” Rafe said flatly. “He was driving too fast, drunk, and apparently crossed over the center line. Hit the oncoming car head-on. The other victim was a sixty-five-year-old grandmother.”

“Jesus,” Isabel said. “Poor Ginny. This is going to eat her alive.”

“I know. I’ve got the department counselor with her and her mother now.” He glanced past her at the taped-off crime-scene area.

“He was incredibly vicious this time,” Isabel warned. “He cut her throat, probably first, and with enough force to nearly sever her head. And then he started to enjoy himself.”

Without releasing her hand, Rafe continued toward the crime scene. “Has the doc offered his preliminary report yet?”

“No, but I think he’s about to.”

They ducked under the tape that Mallory and Hollis automatically held up for them.

“If nobody minds,” Hollis said, “I think I’ll stand right here. I’ve seen all I want to.”

Nobody objected, and as they walked toward the body, Isabel murmured, “Hollis is dealing with her own guilt. She saw Jamie again, last night in the conference room, obviously desperately trying to say something.”

“And Hollis couldn’t hear her.”

“No. At the end, Jamie was so frustrated she apparently focused enough energy to scare the hell out of Hollis by scattering half the paperwork on the table across the room.”

Rafe looked at her, frowning. “I seem to remember you telling me something like that would be unusual.”

“Oh, yeah. Jamie was a very strong lady. And she was trying very, very hard to communicate. She must have known her sister would be the next victim. Which is another indication to me that Emily knew something dangerous to the killer.”

“You don’t believe she was killed just because she fit the victim profile?”

“No. She was too young, I think. Not successful enough for his tastes. I also think she would have died no matter what color her hair was. Emily snooped in her sister’s life, and it got her killed.”

“And we still have a reporter missing.”

“Who may also have found out something dangerous to the killer,” Isabel said.

They stopped several feet from where Dr. James was still examining the body, and Rafe muttered an oath as he saw her up close for the first time.

Isabel didn’t respond to that. Neither did Mallory. There wasn’t much they could say.

Emily Brower lay sprawled out almost exactly as her sister had lain and almost exactly three weeks afterward. The slash across her throat was so deep the white vertebra of her neck was visible, and the gaping wound had literally drenched her in blood. Her once-pale T-shirt was soaked with it, and her blond hair lay in a pool of congealing blood and dirt.

“You were right about the escalation,” Rafe said, his deep voice raspier than normal. “That son of a bitch. Sick, evil, twisted animal…”

The killer hadn’t just murdered Emily, hadn’t just repeatedly stabbed her breasts and genitals as he had the previous three victims. It looked as if he had stabbed her once in each breast-but had twisted and turned the knife as though trying to bore holes through her body.

And rather than stabbing her genitals through her clothing, he had pulled her jeans and panties down around her ankles, pulled her knees up and pushed them apart, and used the knife to rape her.

“If it helps,” Isabel said, holding her voice steady, “she never felt that. Never knew about it.”

“For her sake I’m glad,” Rafe said. “But it doesn’t help.”

Dr. James straightened and came to join them, his face very, very tired. “Anything you need me to tell you that you can’t see for yourself?” he asked wearily.

“Time of death?” Rafe asked.

“Midnight, give or take a few minutes. She died almost instantly with both the jugular and the windpipe slashed. Blood gushed like a fountain, the last few beats of her heart pumping it out as she fell. He didn’t touch her face, but he used something heavy to crush her skull in two places once she was on the ground.”

“Why?” Mallory wondered, baffled. “She was already dead, and he had to know it.”

“Rage,” Isabel and Rafe said in almost the same breath.

She added, “He had to make certain she couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see his sexual failure.”

“He knew before he tried that he’d fail,” Rafe said.

Isabel nodded. “He knew. Maybe he’s always known.”

The doctor looked at them rather curiously but continued with his report in a monotone. “She fell backward, and he didn’t move her much. Spread her arms out to the sides, judging by the abrasions I found on the backs of her arms. Fanned her hair out and then pressed it into the pool of blood around her head. God knows why. I don’t.”

“What else?” Rafe asked.

“What you see. Did his best to gouge out her breasts, then brutalized her with the knife. It was a big knife, and it did a lot of damage. If I had to guess, I’d say he drove it between her legs at least a dozen times.”

“Excuse me,” Mallory said in a very polite tone. She walked to the edge of the clearing, lifted the crime-scene tape and ducked underneath it, and took several steps beyond, then bent over and vomited.

“I plan to get drunk,” Dr. James announced.

“I wish I could,” Rafe said.

The doctor sighed. “I’ll write up the preliminary report when I get back to the office, Rafe. You’ll have the rest when I get her on the table. It’s going to be a long day.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Doc.”

When the doctor walked away, Rafe said to Isabel, “I’m not getting anything but rage here, and just the vaguest sense of that, not even enough to be sure it isn’t my imagination-or the training telling me to draw logical conclusions from what I’m seeing here. I don’t know how to reach for anything more. You have to do it.”

“I can’t. I’m not getting anything either. Silence. Like you, I know he was furious from what I’m looking at, not from anything I hear or feel.”

“We need more, Isabel.”

“I know that.”

“We have to stop him here and now. Before he goes after anybody else. Before he comes after you.”