Authors: Alexa Grace
"I read the autopsies of the prostitutes who were murdered. Each of them was abducted on a weekend and murdered when school was not in session. Both Abby Reece and Destiny Cooke were abducted on a Friday night," Carly answered. "Robynn, you look like you have a question."
"I do. I remember that most serial killers have a victim preference. For example, Ted Bundy preferred women with long, dark hair. Do you think our killers have a preference?"
"Yes. Though it rarely happens with serial killers, once our predators stopped killing in Indianapolis, they changed their victim selection process. No longer hunting women who work in high-risk occupations such as prostitution, they are now targeting beautiful and accomplished local women. Instead of luring the women into their vehicle with money, they are forcibly abducting their victims. They are no longer dumping their victims in rural areas; they are posing them in public places, where they will be discovered quickly."
"How do you think they are controlling their victims?" asked Wayne.
"Our killers are using Rohypnol, the date rape drug, to control their victims. The drug was found in the blood of several of the prostitutes during autopsy. In addition, Dr. Pittman found the presence of this drug in the bodies of Abby Reece and Destiny Cooke. If we could find out where someone in this area might get that drug, it might be the help we need to find our killers."
Chapter Eleven
"Good evening. My name is Carly Stone and I am a former federal agent. You may be wondering what I am doing at your second Self-Defense Class for Women here at the Morel Community Center."
Carly smiled at Kaitlyn, who had joined the group, wearing her dark wig disguise, then continued. "Your self-defense leader, Frankie Douglas-Hansen, recently gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Frankie and baby are fine. Lane and daughter, Ashley, couldn't be happier." Carly paused again as Kaitlyn cheered. Soon the rest of the class joined her. Clearly, Frankie was popular with these women, which made Carly smile. Frankie had become one of her best friends, and she couldn't think of a better role model for the class. "I'll be teaching Frankie's class for a few weeks so she can rest and spend time with her little one."
"For tonight's class, I'll be giving you some ways to defend yourself from an attack."
A bulky woman in the last row raised her hand. "I have a question. When are we going to discuss hand-to-hand combat? You know, kicking the attacker's ass." Most of the women in the class giggled, and turned around to look at her.
Biting her lip so the chuckle that was bubbling inside her wouldn't erupt, Carly answered her question seriously. "We will go into physical self-defense in class four. But keep in mind, using hand-to-hand combat is not your only line of defense. There are many other ways to keep yourself safe from attackers."
Carly paused for a moment to wait for the giggling to quiet down, then continued, "It may shock you to learn that according to statistics, every two minutes a woman in America is raped, and one out of four will be the victim of a violent crime. Some of you may think that's something that only happens to other people. And that's just the attitude predators want you to have. The more informed and prepared you are, the better the chance you'll be able to avoid an attack or defend yourself, if one should happen. That is what this class is all about."
"Each of you has a handout in front of you. Open it up and go to the back page. I've included six pages of blank paper for you to take notes. I encourage you to do that. This may be the most important class you ever take. The information you learn here will enable you to protect yourself. Taking notes will help you remember what you learn."
A woman sitting next to Kaitlyn raised her hand. Carly recognized her as a waitress from Mollie's café. "I've heard that jerks who attack women look for certain things before they make their move. Is that true?"
"Yes." Carly said nodded her head. "Just like predators in the wild, human predators have a mental process for choosing their victims. One of the things they favor is women wearing a ponytail or braid because it can be easily grabbed. Clothing on women that predators prefer are short skirts, which can be easy for them to remove or push up, or anything with straps, like a camisole, that can be cut."
Carly turned to write on the whiteboard behind her with a black marker. She wrote "Don't look like a victim." Facing the class again, she was pleased to see most of the women taking notes.
"When you are out in public, don't look like a victim. Try to stay in areas with more people, and walk with a purpose, with confidence. Predators go after the weak, so make sure your facial expression says, 'Don't mess with me.'"
On the whiteboard, Carly wrote "Always be aware of your surroundings."
"That means don't allow technology to distract you. One thing I hate to see is a woman jogging, listening to her iPod, seemingly lost in the music. Please don't do this. Pay attention at all times to what is going on around you. Don't talk on your cell or listen to your iPod when you're alone in a public place. Do a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree assessment. Know who is in your immediate vicinity at all times."
The waitress raised her hand to ask another question. "I usually get off work late at night. Would you please talk a bit about car safety?"
"Absolutely," Carly said. "Predators target places where you park your car, during the daytime as well as at night. One thing you should do to proactively protect yourself is to have your keys in your hand." She picked up her own keys. "I like to thread each key between my fingers like this, so my keys become a weapon if needed. Take out your keys and try this."
Carly watched as each woman pulled out her keys and placed a key between each finger like she had. No wonder Frankie liked teaching this class. The women were so eager to learn that it was motivating. The thought that she was giving them ideas and techniques to keep them safe made her feel wonderful.
"Don't unlock your car until you are close to it. If you unlock your car doors from across the parking lot, you risk an attacker hopping inside without you noticing. If you see a van is parked on the driver's side of your car, get in on the passenger side. Once you're inside your car, start driving. Many women have been attacked by sitting in their car too long and giving a predator a chance to make his move."
"I don't understand how sitting in your car can do that," said a woman in the back row.
"Let me tell you a story about a friend of mine who had a stressful job and two small children that she took to a daycare before work. Arriving every morning at her office building, she'd pull into the parking garage, park, and roll down her window for some fresh air. She'd read her paper for an hour prior to her work shift as she sipped the latte she'd purchased from a Starbucks drive-thru on her route to work. It became her pre-work ritual.
"One morning as she read her paper, she noticed a car pull into a space down the row from her. She didn't think anything of it, because there were many businesses located in the building, with people working different shifts. Without warning, a man appeared at the driver's side of her car. Before she could react and roll up her window, he had her in a choke hold. He strangled her until she was unconscious. By the time, she regained consciousness, she was lying on the back seat of her attacker's car. Luckily for her, the attacker could not get his car started. When he got out and pulled open the hood to check the engine, she climbed into the front seat and locked all the doors. Then she blared the car horn and wouldn't stop even as he cried and begged her to open the door. Soon another car appeared, and her attacker ran from the scene. We were able to arrest him later at his apartment just a couple of miles from the building."
"Does she still do her pre-work ritual?"
"No way," Carly responded. "She still arrives an hour early, but now does her newspaper reading at her desk in her office."
Glancing at the clock, Carly said, "Thank you so much for participating in tonight's class. Next week we will discuss how to identify dangerous and controlling behavior from a predator. See you then."
As the women left the classroom, Kaitlyn stayed behind and helped Carly gather unused handouts.
"Kaitlyn, do you need a ride home? I'm parked in back," said Carly, as she pushed chairs under tables.
"Not tonight. Gabe is waiting for me in the front of the building." She gave Carly a warm hug and left.
Carly didn't realize how dark the parking area would be at night until she exited through the back rear door. The community center was in desperate need of security lights, and surveillance cameras wouldn't hurt. Scanning the lot, she noted a couple of empty vehicles and hurried to her SUV.
With keys in hand, she'd almost made it to her car when she twisted her ankle in a pot hole, dropped her keys, and tumbled to the ground. Something hard bashed against her head, sending a lightning flash of pain against her eyes.
Grasping her gym bag, she leapt to her feet and swung it to hit her attacker. He deflected the blow and punched her as hard as he could with his fist. Agonizing pain ripped through her face and she was sure her nose and possibly her cheekbone were broken. Blood flooded from her nose. A stun gun appeared out of nowhere, jabbing her on the neck, giving her a brutal jolt. Her entire body started jerking with agony as spasms racked her muscles. Her legs crumpled from under her, and her vision pixeled into a million black squares as she struggled to stay conscious.
Her attacker lifted her easily and dropped her into the trunk of a car. Getting a glimpse of his profile, she strained to focus on his face. Although he wore a fake beard and a ball cap, the face of her attacker was one she'd never forget. Jim Ryder! Carly gasped as sheer black fright swept through her as he slammed the trunk closed and left her in darkness.
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"Jesus, Devan. How long have we been waiting? Are you sure Carly Stone is teaching the self-defense class you saw in the paper?" Evan asked, impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He unzipped the coveralls that Devan had ordered online with their names embroidered on them.
"Yes, I'm sure." Devan's face reddened and a vein near his eye throbbed noticeably as a hint of his volatile temper made itself known. "I called the community center and asked. Besides, genius, that's her car parked up by the door."
"It's nine o'clock. Shouldn't the class have ended by now?" Evan watched a late-model Toyota pull into the lot and park next to Carly Stone's car. "Fucking great. Just what we need — a witness. Maybe we should abort."
"God, Evan, quit your whining. If the car is still there when she comes out, we'll follow Stone until we can grab her. You know the drill."
Four women emerged from the community center, piled into a Honda Pilot, and then drove out of the parking lot, disappearing once they turned onto the street in front of the building.
Soon a woman in sweats with long, dark hair walked out of the building.
"That's her!" Devan squealed excitedly. "That's Carly Stone!"
A bearded man wearing a ball cap slipped out of the Toyota and ran toward Carly Stone.
"Who in the hell is that?" asked Evan.
"I don't know, but I've seen the guy before. I swear."
"Oh my God," Evan said. "Did you see that? Did you see how hard he hit her? Man, he had to have broken bones with that punch."
"Oh, shit. He's got a stun gun. She's toast."
They watched as the man picked up Carly, throwing her over his shoulder, and carrying her body fireman style to his Toyota.
"He's putting Carly Stone in his trunk. What the hell?" gasped Evan. "Who is that guy? What do we do?"
Devan studied the man in the ball cap as he picked up Carly Stone's gym bag and threw it into the back seat of his car. "You're not going to believe this, but that's Jim Ryder."
"That's such bullshit, Devan. Why would a man who is being hunted by every law enforcement agency known to man risk his safety to drive into Morel? Everyone in this county knows what Ryder looks like, as does the rest of the nation's television news viewers."
He shot a heated glare at his brother, his hand clenched into a fist. "The beard is fake and he's trying to cover his face with the ball cap. I'm telling you, that's Jim Ryder."
"He's backing up the Toyota. What do we do?"
"Follow him, Evan. Carly Stone is
our
target. He's past news. This is our Game, and we make the rules. Jim Ryder has no place in the Game. Who in the hell does he think he is messing with our next target? Start the van and get behind him. Let's see where he's headed."