Until Dark (6 page)

Kendra lined up the photos of the three victims side by side on the table in front of them.

“But why these women?” Adam frowned. “So often, you see serial killers targeting prostitutes. But these women are about as far from being hookers as you can get. Devoted mothers. Single women, all of whom worked, contributed to their communities, were totally involved in their kids’ activities. The ultimate soccer moms. None of them women whose lives should have ended this way.”

“No one’s should.” Kendra stared at the photos. “Do you think their physical appearance was a factor in their being chosen as victims?”

“You mean because they are all tall, slender, and blond?” Adam nodded. “Hard to believe that could be a coincidence, isn’t it?”

He slid the photos into a small stack, like a deck of playing cards.

“Miranda Cahill is joining the investigation,” he told Kendra. “She should be here by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

“Is she the profiler—excuse me, the criminal investigative analyst—you spoke of earlier?”

“No. That’s Anne Marie McCall. Miranda’s joining the investigation to help with the interviewing process; specifically, to interview the families. One thing we’re looking to determine is whether these women knew each other or were connected in some way. I’ll be interested in seeing what she comes up with.”

“So will I.” Kendra leaned back against the sofa, her eyes half-closed with fatigue. “She’ll want to take the sketch. Maybe someone will recognize him.”

“I’m one step ahead of you,” Adam said as he returned the photographs to their respective folders. “I also want to speak with the state police about replacing that first sketch that was circulated with the one you did this evening.”

When she did not respond, he turned back to her, and found her head resting against the back of the sofa. Her eyes were closed and her breathing rhythmic, her face soft with sleep.

“Kendra?” he asked softly.

Her eyes flickered slightly beneath the lids but did not open.

Adam went into the bedroom and returned with a blanket he’d taken from the bed and one of the pillows. He spread the blanket over her carefully and tucked the pillow under her head, then turned off the light. He put the safety chain on the door, and went back into the other room to go to sleep.

Kendra awoke in the night, mildly disoriented and more than a bit chagrined to find that she’d fallen asleep in Adam’s room rather than her own.

“Oh, hell,” she muttered as she struggled to free herself from the blanket that she’d wrapped partially around her midsection as she slept.

Stumbling to the small desk that sat along the far wall, she peered at the phone for the read-out of the time. Three forty-seven
A.M.
She wondered how long she’d been asleep.

Berating herself for dozing off in the middle of a conversation, Kendra folded the blanket neatly and left it on the sofa. In the dark, she paused, debating whether or not to turn on the light so that she could gather her notes and whatever else she had left on the coffee table. From the next room, Adam’s breathing was rhythmic, steady. Turning on the light could awaken him, something she wanted to avoid at all costs. It was bad enough she’d fallen asleep when she did. Advertising that she was sneaking back to her own room in the wee hours would only embarrass her more. She stood next to the sofa and allowed her toes to search for her shoes. Finding them, she slipped them on, then quietly walked to the door, unlatched it, and stepped out into the hush of the hallway.

It was hard to believe that people were sleeping behind the doors that lined the hall, the floor was so quiet. She found her room, six doors down from Adam’s, and as carefully as she could, slid the card in the lock to open the door. Closing it behind her, she set the safety lock and turned on the light switch. The light in the bathroom to her left came on, giving her enough visibility to find her way to her bed. Stripping off her clothes and searching through her suitcase for a nightshirt, she reached for the phone to call the desk clerk to request an early wake-up call. Knowing that Adam would want to get an early start, and still feeling sheepish about falling asleep in his room, she reached for the phone on the table next to her bed.

It was then that she noticed the message light was blinking.

Adam was the only person who knew she was here. Had he called her room after she’d fallen asleep to leave some smart-mouthed message for her to find when she returned? She wouldn’t put it past him.

She lifted the receiver and pushed the button to retrieve the message.

“Hi,” a male voice greeted her cheerfully.

Definitely not Adam.

“Heard you were in town and, well, I just couldn’t resist giving you a ring. It’s sure been a long time, hasn’t it? Sorry we won’t be able to get together just yet—you know, places to go, people to see. But you can expect to hear from me again. I will be in touch. You can bet your life on it.”

Kendra frowned and hung up the phone. Obviously the call had been intended for someone else and had been mistakenly directed to her room. She called the desk and requested a six-fifteen wake-up call, ordered coffee to be delivered at six-thirty, then, remembering the message, said, “Oh, by the way. There was a message on my phone that should have gone to another room.”

“Which other room?” the desk clerk asked.

“I don’t know which other room. A man left a message that was clearly intended for someone else. I have no idea who he was or whose room he thought he had reached, but the message wasn’t for me.”

“Hold on, please.”

Kendra yawned, sorry she’d even brought it up. She rested the phone between her cheek and her shoulder while she turned down the bed, then sat at the edge of the mattress, wanting nothing more than to fall straight back onto the pillow and return to sleep.

“Ms. Smith, there’s no record of an incoming call being placed to your room.”

“How is that possible? I just listened to the message. . . .”

“The call must have been made from inside the hotel.”

“Oh.” Kendra’s tired brain pondered momentarily, then gave up. “Well, in that case, I suppose the two parties could have already met up. Thanks.”

Kendra turned off all but the small light in the bathroom, then dropped into bed, grateful to stretch out her legs. The call forgotten, she was sound asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Chapter
Five

“How many do we have?” Kendra looked across the conference table in the State Police Barracks at Lieutenant Al Barker, who’d been instrumental in providing copies of the most up-to-the-minute details of the investigation into the death of Karen Meyer. “How many witnesses actually saw the suspect?”

“Well, there were seven people who stepped forward, but only two actually gave what appears to be a credible account.” Barker leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Caucasian male, approximately six feet tall, early to mid-twenties. Dark hair, dark glasses, dark clothing, dark van. Nothing that we didn’t already have from the priors.”

“I’ll need to speak with them individually,” a frustrated Kendra told him, wondering what had happened to Adam’s directive that no one speak with the witnesses. Lieutenant Barker apparently thought it applied to everyone except him.

“We’re having a list typed up for you and will bring in whomever you need.” Barker paused, then added, “We’d like to run that sketch of yours in tomorrow morning’s paper.”

“If it holds up against the witnesses, it’s yours.”

Adam entered the room accompanied by a tall, leggy woman with ice blue eyes and dark hair neatly pulled back from her face and clipped at the nape of her neck.

“You must be Miranda Cahill.” Kendra smiled.

“Since we’ve never met, I’m going out on a limb here and guess that you know my sister.” The woman extended her hand to Kendra.

“I know that you and Portia are identical twins, so it sounds silly to even comment on how alike you are, but it is amazing. Even your voices are similar. The two of you must have had some good times when you were younger.”

“Actually, we’re mirror-image twins. And yes, we did have some fun with it. Still do, actually.” Miranda grinned. “Just because we’re mature, responsible individuals entrusted by our government to carry guns doesn’t mean we’re above sometimes impersonating each other when circumstances dictate.”

“Well, as one who fell victim to the infamous ‘Cahill switch,’ I suggest we change the subject.” Adam pulled out a chair for Miranda, then one for himself.

“Oh, forgot about that one.” Miranda turned to Lieutenant Barker and explained, “Portia, Adam, and I were at the Academy together.”

Lieutenant Barker nodded slowly, contemplating the havoc two beautiful, identical women could create if they set their minds to it.

“Miranda’s part of the posse, sent to help us out,” Adam explained. “She’ll be visiting with the families of the victims over the next few days to see if there are any common threads.”

“Kendra.” Miranda turned to her. “I’ve seen your sketch. I’d like to take it with me.”

Kendra hesitated. “I’m not certain it’s complete.”

Adam frowned. “What do you think you’re missing? All of the descriptions we’ve gotten so far have been the same. Dark shock of hair falling over the forehead. Face partially covered by dark glasses. Height, build, age, all the same . . .”

“I guess I was hoping to lock into a few distinguishing facial features.” Kendra tapped her pencil on the table.

“You can’t draw what no one has seen.”

“Well, I keep hoping to find someone who has seen him up close and personal.”

“Three did,” Lieutenant Barker reminded her. “Part of what we’re trying to do here is to prevent him from getting that close to anyone else again.”

“All right. But could you not release it publicly until we’ve spoken with the witnesses here? Someone might give us something that can help me refine the sketch.”

“I’ll check back with you at the end of the day,” Miranda agreed.

Kendra handed over her sketch. “Can you have some copies made?”

“I’ll be right back with them.” Barker took the drawing that Kendra had completed the day before and left the room.

“I take it there’re still no leads?” Miranda asked after the trooper had left the room.

“Nada.” Adam shook his head. “But he’s sure left his DNA everywhere.”

“Now why would he do that?” Miranda pondered. “Why would he be so careless about leaving DNA when he’s gone to so much trouble to set up his kills so carefully? From what you’ve told me, Adam, he’s invested a good deal of his time just studying his victims. So why leave behind something that could potentially lead right to his door?”

“Maybe he’s confident enough to believe we’ll never catch him. If we can’t catch him, we can’t positively match him to the DNA that’s been recovered.”

“How often does that happen? That a killer like this is never caught?” Kendra looked up at Adam over the notes she’d taken the day before.

“You would not want to know the answer to that question.” Adam looked grim.

“Another thing,” Miranda noted, “he’s going to have to dump that van soon and look for something else, if he hasn’t already done so.”

“The state police are, as we speak, responding to a report of an abandoned van about seven miles from here.” Adam passed on the information he’d been given.

“Then we can probably expect to hear about another stolen vehicle real soon.”

“True enough. He’ll need transportation. Unless, of course, he has something hidden away somewhere.” Adam considered the possibilities.

“Do you think he’s from this area?” Kendra asked.

“He’d almost have to be. If he’s not, he’s studied it pretty damned thoroughly,” Miranda offered. “You know, killers all have a comfort zone. It’s pretty clear he’s in his here. He’ll stay as long as it’s comfortable for him.”

“Well, since we haven’t even come close to him, I doubt he’s left the area,” Adam noted. “I’d expect him to stick around and watch, see how we’re doing in terms of the investigation.”

“And keep an eye on his next victim,” Kendra said softly.

“Chances are he’s already doing that. We just don’t know where he’ll strike this time.” Adam swiveled slightly in his chair. “I think the sooner we get the word out on this guy, the better off everyone will be. Kendra, if your sketch can give one woman a heads up . . .”

“Just give me till this afternoon. Just let me speak with the witnesses who claim to have seen him around the park in Walnut Crossing. If there’s nothing new, we’ll hand over the sketch for the six o’clock news.”

“Fair enough. But I still want Miranda to take this one with her. I think we can trust the sketch to resemble our man closely enough that it might spark some recollection in someone who’s seen him. Maybe one of the victim’s kids or neighbors might recall having seen him hanging around.”

“Since all three of the victims have been single mothers with kids on sports teams, I’ve asked the locals to give me a list of all those teams, complete with players’ and coaches’ names and phone numbers, so we can start interviewing them.” Adam looked directly at Miranda. “You’re going to be a busy girl.”

“I’ll have help from the locals, plus we have three more agents on board now,” she told him.

“And as you identify others who have seen the UNSUB,” Adam told her, referring to the as-yet-unknown subject, “we’ll bring them in to talk with Kendra. Show her sketch and see if they can add anything. Getting his face out there is one of the best ways I can think of to throw him off schedule.”

“Assuming I can come up with an accurate sketch,” Kendra agreed. “I almost hate to give Miranda the one I did this afternoon. Maybe it could be more accurate . . .”

“If you need to refine your drawing later, that would be fine. But I think Miranda needs something to work with, and so far, your sketch is all we have. And who knows? Maybe she’ll come back to us later today with some good news.”

Unfortunately, Miranda’s news hadn’t been all that good. Other than the previously reported sightings at soccer and baseball games, no family member of any victim had noticed a stranger, or strange events, within weeks or days of the abductions. Even the agents who canvassed the ball fields and tracked down teammates of the murder victims’ children had little to add. The ball fields and bleachers were always filled with men the age of the suspect. Many of them were around six feet tall with dark hair and wore baseball caps and dark glasses while watching their kids’ games on a sunny day. So far they had nothing that distinguished this tall, dark-haired man from any other.

But while most of the witnesses who met with Adam and Kendra had nothing new to add, at the end of the day one resident of Walnut Crossing had proved to be the witness they’d all prayed for.

An amateur boxer in his youth, Joe Tursky took pride in the fact that he worked out on a daily basis. Early in the morning, on Founder’s Day, Joe had parked his station wagon at the edge of the woods while he and his German shepherd jogged the path that traced along the entire circumference of the park.

“What time had you arrived, do you recall?” Adam had asked.

“It was right around eight in the morning. Before the festivities started. I run that park every day with my dog, usually in the afternoon, but with a dog that big, you know, people get nervous, so on days when I know there’s something going on, I try to get out early.”

“When you arrived at eight, were there other cars in the parking lot?” Adam continued his questioning.

“Only up in the area toward the square, you know, people setting up for the concerts and that sort of thing, but no one down around the ball fields or the park areas.” The middle-aged Tursky shook his head. “Not when I arrived.”

“So take us through what happened, what you saw.” Adam rolled his chair back from the table to directly face the witness.

“Well, Casper and me—that’s my dog, we call him Casper, like the ghost, because he’s a white shepherd—anyway, we did our run along the path and stopped halfway at the spring. There’s a creek there with a natural spring, water’s pure as you can find anywhere. People come with plastic bottles and fill ’em up to take home. Anyway, I stopped there for a drink, and to let Casper drink, too. It was already getting warm. Then, all of a sudden, Casper goes on the alert, you know what I mean?” Joe Tursky turned to face Kendra. “He just went still as a stone, like he was watching something down the path. And then before I knew it, he just took off. Like a shot.”

“He wasn’t on a lead?” asked Kendra.

“He had been—you just can’t let a dog like that run free—but I’d dropped the lead while we were drinking. So I took off after him, calling him, but he’s a lot faster than I am, you know what I mean? You try to keep in shape, but . . .” He shrugged.

“But you caught up with him . . .” Adam gestured for Tursky to continue.

“Yeah, a minute or two later. He was barking his head off. Had some guy backed up against a tree and Casper was barking like nobody’s business.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I apologized all over the place—the guy was obviously scared shitless. I grabbed Casper’s leash and the guy just took off. White as a sheet, he was, and shaking like a leaf.”

“Can you describe him?” Kendra opened the file in front of her so that she, but not Joe Tursky, could see the sketch that lay within.

“Six feet or a little better. Dark hair, curly in the front. Wearing dark jeans, dark shirt, like a polo shirt.” Tursky paused to recall.

“Had you seen him before?” Adam exchanged a glance with Kendra. So far it sounded like their man.

“Not before, but I saw him again on the way out of the park. I had Casper on a short lead coming up that last ridge, where all the paths converge, that’s where I saw him. I don’t know who was more surprised, him or me. He jumped near out of his skin when he saw Casper.”

“Mr. Tursky, does this look anything like the man you saw in the park?” Kendra slid a copy of her drawing across the table.

Pulling a worn brown eyeglass case out of the inner pocket of the light jacket that lay across the arm of the chair, Tursky put them on and studied the sketch.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Tursky nodded.

“Please. It’s very important that you look at the sketch very carefully.” Kendra tapped the image. “What can you add to it? Where does it seem not quite right?”

Tursky held the drawing up in front of him and stared at it for a long moment.

“The lips are a little too thin, maybe. I think his bottom lip was fuller. And of course, he wasn’t wearing these glasses, so his eyes . . .”

“You saw his eyes?” Kendra’s head snapped up.

“Well, yeah,” Joe Tursky shrugged, “he was lookin’ right at me.”

“What color, did you notice?” Kendra forced back the rash of questions she was dying to ask, knowing that bombarding the witness with too much all at once could cause him, in the end, to overlook something.

“Dark. Dark brown. Thick lashes. Thick brows.”

“Were they close together?”

“Not really.” Tursky’s own eyebrows knit together as he tried to recall. “Seems they were wide-spaced.”

“Shape?”

“Round.” The witness nodded. “Round, wide dark eyes.”

“Lines around the corners?” Kendra had picked up her sketch pad, the pencil moving across the paper rapidly.

“No, I don’t think so. But there were some around the mouth, like a crease here.” Tursky drew an imaginary line down the side of his own face, from just to the side of his nose to just past the corner of his mouth.

“Anything else? Anything else you can remember?” The pencil paused. “Scars, a mole . . . anything that would distinguish his face?”

“No. No, I don’t remember anything else.” Tursky shook his head. “Oh. One thing I did notice that I thought was odd.”

“What’s that?”

“His clothes were wet. Like he’d been swimming in them.”

“Is there a pool or a pond in the area?”

“Just a stream down there at the foot of the path.”

“Mr. Tursky, can you approximate his age?” Kendra asked as Adam added to his notes.

“Early to mid-twenties.”

“Are you sure there was nothing distinguished about his face?”

“No. I’m not one hundred percent certain. I’ll tell ya the truth, the first time I saw him, I was more concerned about getting Casper under control, and the second, I was just surprised to see him. I didn’t look for scars or anything like that, if that’s what you mean.”

“Is this the face?” Kendra showed him the sketch.

“That’s amazing.” Tursky whistled in admiration. “That’s just what he looked like. How can you do that?”