Sandman (12 page)

His hands were good, too good. Desire crept up on her unexpectedly. Soon she realized her foot was resting on his erection. Meagan eased her foot back and slipped on her shoe while pretending not to have noticed his state of arousal.

Meagan leaned close to Drew to be heard over the band and spoke into his ear, “I’m sorry, it’s late, and we have work tomorrow.”

He nodded. “I understand, just let me pay the bill, and we’ll be on our way.” His breath on her ear sent a shiver down her spine. Drew left the table and disappeared through the crowd.

Once in the limousine, Lilah sat on the seat behind the driver, laid her head back and closed her eyes. Drew and Meagan took the seat opposite.

Drew turned to Meagan. “We have a meeting with some record execs in Los Angeles on Friday, so I’ll be heading your way Thursday. Do you think we could get together?”

“Sure. Why don’t you come by my house, and I’ll whip up something for dinner?”

“Sounds great. I don’t have any idea about a time yet, but I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” Meagan searched her purse for one of her cards, then scribbled her address and cell number on the back and handed it to him.

Lilah’s eyes opened and she focused her attention on Drew. “Does this mean you’re getting a recording contract?”

“That’s what the meeting is all about. We won’t get our hopes up until we’ve heard the terms. We had a meeting last year with another label, but we couldn’t reach an agreement. The fine print had us practically paying them for the privilege of doing business with them. They also wanted us to sign over the rights to our songs.”

“Jeez, did you have a lawyer?” Meagan asked.

“Yeah, Steve, the drummer, his brother’s a lawyer. He read it over for us.”

“Wow, lucky for you. I bet there are a lot of new bands out there who sign on the dotted line without consulting a lawyer first,” Meagan stated.

“Yeah, I know. It could have been disastrous.”

They pulled up next to Meagan’s car, the only one left in the parking lot. Drew got out, took the keys from Meagan and opened Lilah’s door first, then walked around to Meagan’s side.

Without hesitation, he took her in his arms and kissed her. The kiss, tentative at first, soon grew deep with passion. When he released her, they were both out of breath. He stared down at her with a seductive look. “I can hardly wait for Thursday.”

Meagan’s brain was rattled, but she finally found her voice. “Thanks for a wonderful night.”

Drew smiled. “Thank you.” He opened her car door.

Meagan glanced in the rearview mirror as she drove away. He was still standing where she’d left him, his hand raised in a wave.

Lilah hit her on the shoulder. “Phew, that was some kiss.” She chuckled.

Meagan couldn’t wipe the smile from her face if she tried, and truth be told, she didn’t want to.

TWENTY

Thomas’ cell phone rang. He raised his head and found himself at the dining room table surrounded by files and crime scene photos. He must have dozed off. He glanced at the clock. Six in the morning. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Thomas here.”

“Hey, baby brother, did I wake you?” Wyatt’s voice echoed through his ear.

“Hey. Thanks for getting back to me.” Thomas scooted his chair back and walked into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker. He rested his back against the counter while he waited impatiently for that first cup. Within seconds, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room.

“Yeah, I’m sorry it took so long. I’m consulting on a case for one of the alphabets, you know?”

“Yeah, DEA, ATF, FBI, CIA, DOD. You mean one of those?”

“Exactly.”

Wyatt Thomas was J.J.’s oldest brother, a forensic psychiatrist who lived in Maryland. He was quite renowned and often called upon for his expertise from some of the best minds in his field. Of course he never talked about it. Nor did he toot his own horn.

J.J. had learned of his reputation through their other brother, Cody, who worked for the FBI’s Violent Crimes Unit. He’d told J.J. that even the SAC—Special Agent in Charge—of the Behavioral Science Unit called their brother for his opinion. That’s saying a lot since the BSU were the experts who profiled killers for a living.

“No problem, I’m just glad you found time for me at all. Did you have a chance to look over the file?” J.J. heard paper shuffling.

“Yes, I’ve got it in front of me now. And I hate to say it, but this is more Cody’s area of expertise than yours. Maybe you should call the FBI in on this one.”

“Gee, thanks, bro. Nice to see you have so much confidence in me.” J.J. poured a cup of coffee and took a big gulp. It would take more than a few cups to get his brain working at even half-capacity today. He was starting at a disadvantage; he’d only had a couple of hours of sleep. Then something occurred to him. He glanced at the table piled high with files and paperwork. An empty water bottle stood on the side.

Dinner wasn’t the only thing he’d skipped last night. It was the first time since he could remember that he hadn’t woken up with a hangover. He’d come home last night, dropped everything on the table, and worked through till sometime early this morning. He hadn’t thought of Victoria once all night. The epiphany was startling.

“Hey, don’t take it like that. I know you’re a good detective, but this isn’t some domestic dispute you have on your hands here. You’ve got a serial killer in your neck of the woods. Even Cody doesn’t close every case he works, and he
is
an expert. I’m just saying that being good sometimes means knowing when to ask for help when you’re out of your depth.”

“I
am
asking for help. I called you, didn’t I?”J.J. put his cup down and rubbed his neck.
This is going to be a hell of a long day.

“Yeah, I’ll give you that.” Wyatt chuckled.

“Thanks.” J.J. didn’t see the humor. “Did you call just to bust my balls, or do you have something for me?”

“No, that’s just a bonus.” Wyatt chuckled. “Okay, just a second.” Paper shuffling. “I didn’t have time to write up a complete profile, but I’ll give you what I’ve got.”

“I’ll take anything at this point.” J.J. topped off his cup and took it to the table. He searched under the paperwork until he found a pen, then grabbed the clipboard he’d been using to make notes. “Okay, shoot.”

“You’re looking for a white male, approximately twenty-five to thirty-five years of age. If he has a job, he works alone, driving a semi, a taxi, a tow truck, working for the county, any kind of job where he doesn’t have a boss hanging over his head. Often these types of offenders have a hard time keeping employment because they can’t handle authoritative figures telling them what to do. Hot temper, anger management issues.

“He has an extensive collection of pornography, and I’m not talking about the soft core stuff you had under your mattress when you were a kid.”

“You mean the magazines I pilfered from you?” He smiled.

“The very ones.” Wyatt laughed. “You always were a sneaky little bastard.”

“Ha-ha. So, what are we talking about here, S&M?”

“Sadomasochism is the least of it, bondage too. Those are tame for a guy like this. We’re talking golden showers, defecating, on up to snuff films.”

“So a real sick fuck.”

“And that’s the clinical term.”

J.J. laughed. “Okay, got it.”

“More often than not, he lives with a woman who has a domineering personality.”

“So, who do you think
she
is, the surrogate he’s killing?” J.J. asked.

“She could be his first victim. More probable though, she would be a symbol for his mother, an aunt, a grandmother, whoever raised him. An authoritative figure from his past that let him down. He needs to punish her, degrade and dehumanize her.

“There is a definite pattern here. He’s getting back at the same woman over and over again. Whoever she is, she doesn’t die for him. He’s trying to make
sure
she’s dead, but whatever he does she still haunts him. This anger or fear that’s building in him could be why he violates her more and more with each new victim, or it’s simply because it’s getting harder and harder for him to get off. That’s why he’s taken to cutting the last two victims.

“This kind of rage takes years to simmer,” Wyatt continued. “Many times victims of child abuse bury their memories until one day they resurface. It could be little by little, or all at once like a tidal wave. It could be a similar traumatic experience that triggers these memories, like a woman they love leaving them, or often something as simple as a song on the radio.

“If you’ll notice, he sewed the eyes shut just prior to killing her. He wanted her to witness the rape and sodomy, wanted her to know who was punishing her. Sodomy has been used over the centuries as a way for one to conquer one’s enemies. A degradation that proves who is in control.

“And then, almost as if he were ashamed, he sews the victim’s eyes shut so she can’t witness the final act. He removes her breasts to eliminate her femininity. Maybe he thinks by doing this, it makes her less attractive to him. As if this were one of the many ways she had of controlling him.”

“And the lips?” Thomas asked.

“That symbolizes shutting her up. Either he doesn’t want to hear what she has to say, or he’s afraid she will tell on him.”

“Could it be just to keep her quiet, so she can’t scream?” J.J. asked.

“It could be as simple as that, but I doubt it. This guy is a walking textbook, he seems to have deep-seated issues. For instance, take a look at the oldest case you gave me, the one underneath the Bay Bridge?”

“Cynthia Gross?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I would say this was probably his first kill. Look at the way he situated the body. Her eyes are closed, her hands are resting peacefully on her chest, as if she were asleep. He probably knew her, cared about her. He wanted to make sure she was resting comfortably. Also, he didn’t bury her, he wanted her found right away.” Wyatt stopped speaking and took a sip of something. Probably coffee, J.J. guessed.

“So, you do think she is a victim of the same guy?”

“What are the odds, same blood type and a non-secretor? We’re talking ten to one. I’d say he hadn’t found his niche yet, so to speak. Serial killers usually start with someone they know, even if by accident. So, if I were you, I’d go back to Cynthia Gross. Get to know her inside and out. I’d bet anything he’s connected to her in some way.

“He had feelings for this girl. And she possibly had feelings for him, or at least she did in his mind. Maybe he finally gets the nerve to tell her he loves her and she spurns him. Or, maybe they actually
did
start to have sexual intercourse and she changed her mind.

“Whatever the case, you can see that the rage inside him was so great that he couldn’t control himself. This murder is personal. Look at the victims head in the photo, the first or second blow would have knocked her out, maybe even killed her, but he continued to bash her head into a bloody pulp.”

“So you
do
think these four victims were killed by the same person?” Thomas asked, seeking some sort of commitment.

“Yes,” Wyatt answered without hesitation.

J.J. scratched his whiskered chin. “Okay, so I’m looking for a white male, twenty-five to thirty-five, who’s a pervert with mommy issues. That narrows it down
a lot
.”

“Maybe you should call Cody, I can only tell you what the guys thinking, he might be able to give you more.”

“So you said.”

“Your answers are with the first victim.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

“Hey, smartass, you asked. Look, I’ve got a conference call in ten minutes, I’ve got to go.”

“I really do appreciate you taking the time, bro.”

“I know, good luck. And call if you need anything else.”

“Will do.”

TWENTY-ONE

He was sitting up in bed, next to his mother, while she read
Goodnight Moon
. He loved the pictures. They were alone in the house. Everything was good. He wished it was always like this. He loved his mother. Someday when he was bigger he would take her away from here.

The bedroom door burst open and slammed against the wall. They jumped.

“What the hell are you doing, reading him some goddamn sissy book? Jesus, you’re turning him into a fuckin’ faggot with all this coddling!”

His father grabbed the book and ripped out the pages.

He cried as he watched his favorite book destroyed.

“What the hell are you crying about, you little brat? See, it’s all your fault. He’s a whiny, sniveling sissy boy.”

His father grabbed his mother by the hair and yanked her off the bed. She yelled, grabbed at her hair. The high shrill of her screams filled the room as he dragged her toward the open door.

He jumped off the bed and rushed to his father. “Stop it! Stop it!” He hit the bigger man with both fists as hard as he could.

His father dropped his mother, and grabbed both the boys’ hands in one of his. His mother crawled to the far corner of the room and clutched her knees tight against her body.

His father glared down at him and laughed. A wicked menacing sound. “You think you can take me on, kid? Is that what you think?”

“Leave him alone!” his mother’s voice rang through the room.

His father’s big hand swatted him like a fly. The blow struck him on the side of his head and sent him sailing across the room. He landed in a heap against the wall.

His mother screamed, then lunged and covered him with her body.

The man stood in the doorway, swaying back and forth. He scrunched his eyes up a of couple times, as if trying to focus.

“To hell with the both of you.” He waved his hand in dismissal.

Turning around, he lost his balance and grabbed onto the wall in time to stop himself from falling. ”I need a drink,” he muttered, then stumbled down the hall.