Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation (30 page)

Detective Benjamin Storm’s chair canted
forward with a slow rumble, sliding smoothly along with the groan
of the springs beneath until all motion finally halted. The
inevitable stop was announced with a dull thunk, followed
immediately by the proverbial pregnant pause. He shot me a quick
glance then leveled his gaze on McLaughlin.

“Dammit, don’t make me wait till tomorrow ta’
open the present, Chuck,” he said. “Tell me ya’ got this asshole in
lockup.”

“Actually,” she said, “I was kinda hoping for
a stocking stuffer from you.”

“Shit,” Ben muttered. “You got anything at
all?”

“Well, we’ve been lucky and gotten to some of
these right away. Seems he doesn’t bother with condoms, and he’s a
secretor, so we’ve got a blood type and the whole DNA pedigree. But
I don’t have a warm body to hang the dog tags on because he’s not
in the database.”

“That’s more’n we’ve got. You chasin’ any
good leads?”

“Haven’t got much. He’s apparently got a kink
about necks though.”

“How’s that?”

“Shithead sucks hickeys on these women
the size of Rhode Island. Guys down in Sex Crimes are calling
him
Count
Suckula.
”

“Fuckin’ lovely.”

“Yeah, tell that to the victims.”

“You got anything else? Any of ‘em able to
give ya’ a description?”

“Nope,” she sat back and shook her head,
shifting in the uncomfortable seat. “Not really. Like I said,
Roofies. Outta the eight, five of them went to the hospital within
the first forty-eight hours, and they all tested positive. We’re
guessing it would be the same on the other three, but they didn’t
come forward right away. Lab says they can probably pick up trace
amounts in hair if we have to go that route.

“All of ‘em pretty much remember getting
zapped. Apparently he’s got this stun gun jacked up pretty good,
and it’s kinda hard to forget getting hit with one of those anyway.
But as far as anything after that, they’re pretty sketchy until
they wake up.”

“How’s he grab ‘em? B and E?”

“Only on one.” She shook her head. “So far
he’s taken three of them from parking lots at shopping malls, two
when they were leaving their places of employment, one that was
jogging, and another who was leaving a doctor’s appointment. Now
here’s the spooky part. He’s keeping them for a while.”

“Whaddaya mean keepin’ ‘em?”

“I mean all of them are pretty much missing
anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours out of their
lives.”

“So he’s gotta be takin’ ‘em somewhere,” Ben
mused.

“That’s how we’re looking at it.”

“Is there any connection there?” Ben pressed.
“Where are they wakin’ up? Is he dumpin’ ‘em in the same general
area?”

“Check this out,” she said. “The asshole is
taking these women home.”

“Ya’ mean like their home, home?”

“Yeah, as in takes them back to their
respective domiciles and leaves ‘em. Locks the door and everything.
Even leaves their keys in the mailbox.”

“No way.”

“Yeah way. It’s like he doesn’t want ‘em to
get hurt or anything.”

“Except by him.”

“Well, yes and no. I’m not trying to
diminish the crime here by any means, but we’re not talking a
typical rape scenario. There’s no real physical abuse to speak of,
other than the stun gun and the hickeys. Other than that, it just
appears to be sex. Statistically, as the assault goes,
very
non-violent. I’ve seen worse
date rapes. We’re guessing that’s why he uses the Roofies on
them.”

“Bizzarro,” Ben replied.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Charlee
acknowledged with a knowing tilt of her head.

“Any patterns we can do somethin’ with?”

“We’ve run it all. Common acquaintances,
ex-husbands and boyfriends, the whole nine yards. What we’ve got is
that they’re all blonde, around five-four, five-five, good looking.
Ages range from twenty-two to forty-one.”

“Just City, or County too?”

“That’s another squirrelly thing.” She
frowned. “Not only is he pulling from City and County, but one
victim is in Saint Charles, another is across the Mississippi in
Godfrey. If that’s not bad enough for ya’, I just got a call from
the sheriff’s department out in Jefferson County. They’re faxing us
a report, but from what was said when we talked, it looks like they
might be hosting victim nine as we speak.”

“The motherfucker’s all over the map.”

“Yeah, and these are just the ones we know
about,” she said. “You know as well as I do the stats on unreported
rapes. Especially where Rohypnol is in the picture.”

“Yeah,” Ben nodded and frowned. “So Paige
Lawson might’ve been an attempted rape gone bad instead of a
robbery-assault.”

“From what I heard it sounds like she fits
the profile,” Charlee agreed. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.
I just got the facts on Lawson an hour or so ago.”

“Yeah. Not surprised. You’ve had a lot on
your plate.”

I was listening intently to the entire
exchange, keeping my mouth shut, and taking in the information. The
jumble of puzzle pieces I’d been laboring over earlier was suddenly
starting to make sense; for the first time in a very long while I
had a feeling that a significant number of them actually belonged
to the same picture.

“It might be a good idea for us ta’ compare
notes,” Ben told her.

“Yeah, although I’m thinking I’ll be helping
you more than you’ll be helping me.”

“Yeah, maybe so, but ya’ owe me one.”

“How do you figure?”

“I lost twenty bucks on ya’ when you showed
up here in a skirt.”

“You were in on that bet? Serves you right,”
she laughed. “Oh yeah, before I forget, there were actually a
couple of other things all the victims mentioned, although I don’t
think it will help your cause any since it didn’t go very far.”

“What’s that?”

“Several of ‘em mentioned having quite a bit
of makeup smeared on their faces. Kinda like it had been wiped off,
but not very well. And they all remembered bright, flashing lights—
I mean like blindingly bright.”

There’s a funny thing about approaching
storms and squall lines. Sometimes you can look out across the
vast, empty plain of life and see them coming countless miles
before they ever reach you. Then there are other times when there
is so much clutter in the way that they are already battering you
with gale forces while you are still trying to figure out if the
sun just went behind a cloud or if you should seek immediate
shelter.

This particular tempest was on top of me
before I even had a chance to look up.

The calm was definitely over.

Dead I am! Dead I am!

D-E-A-D! Dead I am!

The painfully familiar chant echoed in the
back of my skull as a repressed memory from the night at the morgue
revealed itself in halting disharmony. A ghastly feeling of
disorientation began spreading outward from my brain in a frantic
race to meet the abject panic that was vomiting upward from the pit
of my stomach. They arrived simultaneously in the middle of my
chest and proceeded to join forces in an attempt to bring my heart
to a complete stop.

I heard myself gasp loudly as I sucked in a
breath. Then with no precursor, the memory became an explosion of
light that burst directly in front of me. The sight stealing flash
was accompanied by a muted pop and then followed by an electronic
whine. Everything before me was immediately washed out, leaving me
temporarily blinded. As the flare faded, after-images blurrily
joined with a grey-toned reality that began repainting itself, only
to be bleached out once again by a second bright strobe.

I started and out of reflex raised my hand as
I blinked and turned my head away from the source of the
overbearing luminance. It didn’t help. A third and fourth flash
followed quickly on the heels of the first two, and it was still as
if I was staring directly into them, wide-eyed and oblivious.

“Hey, Row,” Ben’s concerned voice met my
ears. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Debbie Schaeffer,” I muttered, or at least
that is what my brain told my vocal cords to do. What came out was
an unintelligible burst of syllables as I tried to force the words
past a catch in my throat.

With the anticipated fifth flash not yet
forthcoming, I slowly lowered my hand and directed my squinting
gaze toward my friend.

“What was that?” he questioned again.

“Debbie Schaeffer,” I offered again, this
time my voice winning out.

I could still see brightly colored spots
dancing against a backdrop of rapidly fading after-images, and it
was making me a bit queasy. I blinked hard, trying to will them
away. Fortunately, the blur was lessening at a quick pace, and this
page of reality was starting to come back into focus.

“What about her?”

“That’s the connection between her and Paige
Lawson,” I explained, suddenly as sure of myself as I’d been in
months. “This rapist.”

“How do you figure?”

“The lights.”

“This one of those
Twilight Zone
things or are ya’ just guessin’,
Row?” He was interested but not yet convinced.

“At the morgue the other night,” I continued.
“When I made the connection with Debbie Schaeffer I kept seeing
flashing lights.”

“You didn’t mention anything about flashin’
lights then.”

“I didn’t remember them until now.”

“Row…”

“I’m not just plucking this out of the air,
Ben,” I snapped. “You know as well as I do how this works
sometimes. Besides, if I’m channeling the memories of someone who
was drugged with Rohypnol, then maybe I’m experiencing the effects
of the drug as well.”

“Okay, okay,” he held up a hand to stave me
off. “Calm down. I wasn’t tryin’ ta’ say you were makin’ it up. I
just wanna be sure we’re not chasin’ down a blind alley.”

“Sorry,” I apologized.

“S’alright,” he said. “Now, do ya’ remember
anything else besides the flashin’ lights?”

“Yes,” I nodded vigorously, “a popping noise
and a high-pitched whine.”

“Popping and whining?” Charlee speculated
aloud. “Wonder what that could be?”

“I know exactly what it is,” I answered as I
realized I’d heard the sound many times before. Living with a
professional photographer, it was hard to avoid. “It’s a photo
strobe. He’s taking pictures of them.”

“There’s a thought.” She nodded as
understanding overtook her. “It would certainly explain the bright
lights, and it’s not unheard of for a rapist to take an item from
the victim. A keepsake that gives him a way to relive the act. That
could also explain why he keeps them for a while.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “And the smeared makeup
too. He may be dressing them up in some way to tie in with his
personal fantasy.”

“Well,” she volunteered, “I suppose pictures
would be as good as anything else, but I don’t think they’re doing
it for him anymore. The frequency of the attacks has been
increasing.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Ben was shaking his head.
“Back the truck up for a minute you two. I gotta minor problem with
this theory.”

“What’s that?” Charlee asked.

“Debbie Schaeffer,” he stated. “I’m willin’
ta’ accept Paige Lawson bein’ an intended rape victim. If we apply
a little creativity to the coroner’s report, then we can assume
that what we have is this asshole jammin’ ‘er with the stun gun.
Zap!” He acted out the motion of pulling the trigger. “Then she
falls and cracks ‘er head on the corner of the table. Sicko sees
the blood, freaks and runs. That works. I’ve got enough on the
physical side ta’ back it up, so in my mind, it’ll fit.

“Now, Debbie Schaeffer, that’s a different
story. We’ve got no physical evidence, and the way you’ve played
this guy up, he apparently doesn’t want these women harmed.
Schaeffer was murdered and dumped in the woods.”

“Are you certain she was murdered?” I
asked.

He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Well just what the hell would
you
call it?”

“Maybe her death was an accident too,” I
offered.

“Yeah, okay, so what if it was?” he offered.
“Even if ‘er death wasn’t deliberate—which I’m not convinced it
wasn’t by the way—it’s still murder if it occurred durin’ the
commission of a felony. So yes, before ya’ say it, that makes
Lawson’s death murder as well. But what sets the two apart is the
fact that Schaeffer’s body was dumped in the woods. That indicates
ta’ me that whoever did it was tryin’ ta’ cover it up. That’s the
part that doesn’t seem ta’ fit with this guy’s established pattern
of dropping the victims off at home. So I’m not sayin’ Schaeffer
ain’t connected. I just don’t wanna jump ta’ conclusions.”

“Absolutely,” Detective McLaughlin
interjected. “But for sake of argument, what if that pattern hadn’t
been established yet? What if it is a part of the recent
escalation?”

Ben gave her a thoughtful glance then nodded.
“Okay…Okay, that’s possible. It might fit. Keep talkin’. What’s the
date on the first case you’ve associated with this guy?”

“November. The day after Thanksgiving as a
matter of fact,” she said.

“Nothin’ earlier?”

“Not that’s been reported to us.”

“Well, Schaeffer went missin’ late October,”
he mused aloud. “So your theory could fit.”

“That puts a month between her disappearance
and the first reported rape,” I voiced my observation as I set my
mind to the task of filling the blanks—and there were plenty of
them, even taking into consideration my latest secular
epiphany.

“Okay,” Ben nodded. “That fills in that hole,
but it still doesn’t give us anything concrete. Not to mention we
still don’t have a suspect either.”