“Read the last two sentences. That’s usually where they put the next-of-kin information.”
Sean glanced at the bottom and read, “Christina is survived by her partner of twelve years, Nikki Broman. Donations in lieu of flowers should be sent to the National Breast Cancer Society.”
Sean frowned. “He’s angry with women because his mother was a lesbian?”
“No, not exactly. I think he’s angry with women because his mother was successful without a man in her life. Moreover, since her son wasn’t acknowledged in the obit, he was essentially disowned. What about Paul Miller’s obituary? What did he do?”
Sean brought up the father’s obit and skimmed it. “Retired electrician.”
“How old was he when he died?”
“Forty-nine.”
“A little young to retire.”
“He was living in a crappy neighborhood in Baltimore. Survived by a son, Peter Miller of Baltimore—” Sean looked up. “I don’t have any property owned by him in Baltimore. Just the house in Wilmington.”
“If he was living in a crappy neighborhood, maybe they didn’t own.”
“A rental.”
“Did the father ever own a house?”
Sean checked. “Yes, but lost it … six months after Christina left.”
“She was supporting him.” Hans looked up at the ceiling. “She supported him, she left, he moved to a cheap rental in a bad area. Why didn’t she take her son with her?”
“He was fourteen. Maybe she thought he would be better off with his father?” Sean suggested.
“Or she was scared. Fourteen—puberty. I wonder if he was exhibiting early signs of a serial killer.”
Sean jumped. “What? Where did that come from? He’s a rapist—a manipulator. Where does ‘he’s a serial killer’ come from?”
“The dead pet he left for the girl who didn’t obey. You don’t wake up one morning and decide to kill someone’s dog. He had to have done it before. Killing animals is one of the triad of serial killer traits. Can you run arson fires in Baltimore during the time Miller was aged ten to eighteen? And map it?”
“No, but Jayne can.” Sean sent her an email, hoping she was at the computer even though it was 4:30 a.m. in California.
Sean asked, “What does this mean for Lucy? If she doesn’t fit the profile for his rape victims, does that mean he’s going to kill her?”
“Yes,” Hans said.
Sean paled. “You don’t know—”
“But not tonight. And not tomorrow. He wants to teach her something. I—” He stopped himself.
“Tell me!” Sean said. “I need to know.”
“I need to call Noah.”
Lucy didn’t know how long she tried to get the woman to talk. When she’d about given up, the young woman spoke, her voice a raspy whisper.
“My name is Carolyn.”
Lucy sighed in relief. Finally. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”
She didn’t say anything for a long minute, then whispered, “He’ll hurt me.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Shh!”
Lucy whispered, “Days? Weeks?”
“I think six days. Maybe seven. He killed a woman in the barn. Shot her in the back of the head.”
Carolyn’s voice cracked and she huddled in her corner.
“I’m next.”
Lucy almost didn’t hear her. “What?”
“Shh. He told me when he brings another female home, I’ve failed him. He will kill me tonight.”
“Did he rape you?”
She shook her head. “He hasn’t touched me at all.”
“Who is he? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. I was walking to my car after work and felt sick. I was sitting in the driver’s seat, closed my eyes—and woke up here.”
“Where are we?”
Carolyn shrugged. “I live in Greensboro.”
“I’m from Georgetown. Listen. We’re going to get out of here. You were in the barn? What else is around here?”
“Nothing. No other houses. I couldn’t even see the road.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“No shoes.” She gestured to their feet. “There’s snow.”
“I’d rather die out there than live in here,” Lucy said. She stared at her handcuff. Getting out wasn’t going to be easy.
* * *
I hate that female.
She is defiant. Others had been defiant on occasion, but there is something in this one that grates on me.
I walk through the snow to the barn. The cold clears my head. Memories of punishment relax me.
I want to break her. I do not know if it’s possible. The way she looked at me … something in her eyes. She is not like the others.
I knew all along that she was different. For years I had picked very specific women. Of the twelve, ten were broken before they died. Two died during training.
I suspect this new one will not get to training. I do not like her.
My father may have been right. Some women should never have been born.
My father tried to act like a man, but he wasn’t. He let his wife get a job, and where did that get him? She left. She left because she didn’t need him.
I remember that morning. She woke me from sleep and told me to pack. That we were leaving Dad. I asked why. She said he’d hit her and she was afraid of him. I told her she deserved it. She thought she was better than Dad and that’s why he hit her. She cried and told me I was not her son.
I wish I were not. She was an aberration. She used to be happy cooking dinner, cleaning the house, walking me to school. Then she got a job. And made friends that didn’t include me and Dad. She left us in her heart before she left us in life.
Good riddance. I’m glad she died. The cancer ate her heart, ate her soul, took her body and made it hurt.
I went to the funeral and told her bitch that I was glad she was dead. The woman screamed at me and tried to have me arrested. I walked out.
My father was weak. Drinking. A foolish man’s elixir. Had he been a real man, he would have kept his job and provided for his family. Mom would never have worked; she would never have left me.
FORTY-ONE
“Twenty-six unsolved residential arson fires in Baltimore during those years,” Sean told Hans. “Two fatalities.”
“How many were within five miles of the first Wilmington house or his second house after his mother left?”
Sean typed rapidly. “One five miles from his mother’s house; fourteen within five miles of his father’s rental.”
“I’m surprised the investigators didn’t nail him. They look at teen boys in the area when there are clusters like this.”
Sean was growing increasingly frustrated. His head ached and he itched to get in his car and look for Lucy—even though he knew it was futile. He had always been a slave to computer science; anything could be found using the Internet. And normally, he was patient with research. But today? After Lucy had been missing for fourteen hours? He felt helpless and hopelessly lost. He wanted Lucy back safe, and he didn’t see them getting any closer to finding her.
Dillon came downstairs. He walked to the coffeepot and poured a cup. “You should have woke me,” he told Sean, then asked, “Any news?”
“No. I want to find out more about his ex-wife, but can’t find her anywhere,” Hans said.
“If she came to realize that she’d married a psycho,” Sean said, “she probably changed her name and moved far away.”