Carolyn McSparren - Bachelor Cop

“Checked her out, and went for her anyway?” Randy asked.

“He seems to return to the ones that reported the rape to the police. No way to know for sure, since it’s impossible to prove a negative, but I’ve checked for any other killings in the last five years that fit the profile.”

“And?”

“Nothing. As far as we can tell, he started three years ago and comes back sooner or later to kill the ones that talked, but not necessarily in order. As if they’ve broken faith with him.”

“Does Str—Dr. Norcross know?” Randy asked.

O’Hara nodded. “They all know. Dr. Norcross and I talk every couple of weeks. She asked to be kept in the loop, and I’m glad to oblige. She’s careful. Doesn’t take unnecessary risks.”

Randy would have to protect her without getting caught at it. “Could be he only moved to the area a few years ago. Maybe he has a record somewhere else. Part of the problem with Ted Bundy was that the different locales didn’t piece all his crimes together. His crimes started in California and ended in Florida, with other states in between.”

The detective nodded again. “Like our guy, Bundy also attacked women who looked alike, so we searched for matches on the FBI database. Nothing stood out.”

“Are you protecting the others who talked?” Randy could only protect Streak, and she would probably freak out if she caught him following her.

“We don’t have the manpower, but we’ve alerted them to be extra careful, and we’re checking on them when we can.”

After the next class Randy would not only walk Streak to her car, he’d follow her until she was safely locked in her house.

“When do you alert the media that we have a murdering rapist?”

O’Hara sighed and shook his head. “Not until we have forensic evidence to connect them. The brass says anecdotal evidence and my personal gut feeling are not enough. They say he takes too much time between assaults. They say he’s probably left the area. They say they don’t want to start a panic. Every tall, dark, powerful woman in the Tri-State area would demand bodyguards.”

“They are wrong.”

“Tell me about it,” O’Hara said. “I know that, you know that, but what can we do? I can’t leak it. I value my pension. So should you.”

“Any woman who went public could be painting a target on her back.” Even Streak wouldn’t be that crazy. Not with two dependent children. “He can’t be driving around this area until he spots a likely prospect.”

“Could be. Planning appears to be part of the thrill for this guy. Appears to get off on stalking and fantasizing. Afterward, he goes back to his boring little life, sometimes for months, sometimes for years.”

“You send in for a profile from the FBI?”

O’Hara snorted. “Ever fill out one of those questionnaires? Hell, if we knew that much about the guy, we’d already have him in custody.”

“So you didn’t do it.”

“Sure we did. We got the usual report.” O’Hara’s voice turned singsong. “Twenty-five to forty. Possibly shorter than the women, although not necessarily. Works some kind of Joe job. May or may not be married and seem perfectly normal on the surface. Probably watches cop shows on TV and reads a lot of books about serial killers. He doesn’t fantasize that he’s actually on a date with these women. He knows they’d never give him a glance in real life, and it burns him up. He wants to punish them. He may interact with them in some way….”

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