She was in the shower.
Perfect.
Without hesitation, he drove the metal butt end of the knife into the small glass pane in the lower left corner of the back door. He was rewarded with shattering shards of glass. Flipping the knife around, he used the blade to clear out the four-by-four-inch mini-pane of any remaining glass. Then he reached through and fumbled for the lock inside.
First the knob.
He found the small button in the center of the doorknob. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he twisted it until it stopped.
Then the deadbolt.
The larger locking mechanism was easier to find and to flip to the opposite side. A solid click sent a thrill of success through him.
He opened the door and stepped through.
Inside, the heavy sound of falling water from the bathroom filled the quiet of the house. He forced himself to creep cautiously toward the sound. His eyes flitted around his surroundings as he moved.
He wondered if she brought her gun home.
If so, where did she keep it?
A quick look told him the kitchen counter was clear.
Probably the bedroom, then.
He knew he should go there first and collect it, but he was drawn to siren’s song of the falling water in the bathroom. It sounded so…vulnerable. He imagined her naked body under the shower head, water cascading down upon her. Rivulets of white, foamy soap sliding down her breasts, across her stomach. He could almost see the dark patch between her legs standing out against the lather soap and her pink skin.
I’m going to tear you to shreds, bitch.
I’m going to lay the whammo on you like you’ve never known. And then -
The water came to a sudden stop. The sound of a shower curtain being drawn aside was muffled by the door between them.
A moment of panic struck him, but he pushed it down. Quickly, he adapted his plans. It would have to be an ambush when she stepped out of the bathroom, then.
He moved silently to the side of the bathroom door.
He gripped his knife and waited.
1022 hours
Tower pulled up next to Gio’s car. The two officers looked over at him. Gio’s pleasant features were expectant. Ridgeway’s were sullen.
“Where are we going?” Gio asked.
Tower recited Jeffrey Goodkind’s address. “It’s about ten blocks away,” he added. “Just up the hill.”
“What’s there?” Gio asked.
Tower smiled. “It might be the Rainy Day Rapist.”
He enjoyed the surprise that registered on the faces of both officers, followed by anticipation.
“If,” Tower said, “you’re interested.”
“Hell, yeah,” Gio said.
Ridgeway gave Tower a resolute nod.
“All right, then,” Tower said. “Let’s go.”
1023 hours
Katie scrubbed her hair with a towel, drying off. The weariness from the long night had seeped into her bones. Her muscles felt heavy and weak. The warm breakfast and now the hot shower had only made her exhaustion complete. Thoughts of flopping her head onto the pillow in her own bed and slipping into a deep sleep filled her mind.
It felt good to be home again. To dry off with her own towel. To see her own robe hanging from the back of her own bathroom door. She imagined that she’d sleep better tonight than she had for weeks.
Katie wrapped the towel up on her head. She reached for a second blue fluffy towel, drying off her body with long strokes. Slight stubble on her legs reminded her that she hadn’t shaved them while showering.
Oh well. It’s not like I’m going on a date.
Finished, she re-hung the towel on the rack. Then she put on her battered terry cloth robe and opened the door.
1024 hours
When the door opened, a rush of smells blasted outward, riding on the steam. Soap. Linen.
Her.
He trembled.
His fist tightened around the handle of his knife.
* * *
As soon as she stepped through the door, she felt an eerie malevolence in the room that made her skin prickle. Before she could calculate a response or process the sensation, a figure appeared in front of her. A bare hand shot toward her throat.
Instinctively, Katie knocked the grasping claw aside in a sweeping block with her left forearm. The collision of her fleshy muscle and his bony hand reverberated through her arm and up to her shoulder.
“Bitch!” he snarled.
Katie’s eyes were drawn to his face. An enraged variation on the police sketch glared back at her.
A moment later, another attack flashed out at her. She brought her opposite forearm across to block this second attack. Something bit painfully into her arm.
He pulled his hand back. “You like that, bitch?”
Katie gaped down at her right arm. The white terrycloth sleeve was stained bright red.
The knife came slashing back at her in something akin to a sword stroke. She held up her hands defensively. The cool blade sliced through the flesh of several fingers, leaving an icy trail behind.
Katie let out a cry. A moment later, warmth flooded through her fingers. Pain throbbed in her hand with each heartbeat.
He drew back the knife to slash again, but paused a moment. He shifted the handle in his hand until the blade was pointed downward so that he could stab instead of slash. Katie stared at the silver blade tinged with her own blood. Fear raced through her body.
“I’m going to lay the whammo on you,” he whispered hoarsely, his tone almost reverent.
Katie met his gaze. A sheen of lust and anger coated his eyes, radiating outward. She read her own death in the black pinpricks of his pupils.
He stabbed downward with the knife.
Katie brought her foot up sharply, driving it into his groin with every ounce of strength she could muster. Her instep landed with a solid thunk. The force of the blow rang up her leg as far as her hip.
As soon as the kick landed, his downward stab faltered and fell to his side. A low groan escaped his lips. He reached for his groin and sank to his knees.
Katie sidestepped the kneeling assailant and sprinted for her bedroom. At her bedside table, she grasped the portable telephone. The receiver slipped out of her bloody hand, falling to the floor. She knelt and picked it up. With trembling, blood-soaked fingers, she punched in the numbers 9–1 — 1.
Her heart racing, she pressed the receiver to her ear.
One ring. Then two.
She watched the bedroom door, her entire body trembling with adrenaline.
Three rings.
“Nine one one, state your emergency.”
He burst into the room with a roar. His face was contorted in rage.
“YOU BITCH!”
He held the knife out in front of his body in his right hand.
“I need police here now!” Katie screamed into the telephone.
“What is the problem?” the calm voice on the other end of the line asked.
He lunged forward, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set.
Katie tossed the telephone aside. She dove onto her bed, tucking and rolling across the mattress. As she left the far side of the bed, she fell to the floor on her knees. Scrambling to her feet, she raced toward her dresser. Her service pistol rested there.
His eyes followed her motion towards the gun, and he moved to cut her off.
* * *
The 9-1-1 transfer popped up on Janice Koslowski’s screen. As always, the urgency of the call was indicated by the red font and the blinking letters. With a few quick keystrokes, she opened the call. Calmly, she read the text.
Female voice states she “needs police here now.” Male voice in background calling her “a bitch.” Phone dropped. Open line, sounds of struggle.
Janice looked at the address. It was immediately familiar, but it took her a moment to remember why she knew it. Then she gasped. Without pause, she depressed her microphone lever and spoke.