Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (12 page)

“I’m sure you do. And I think that’s how you can help me, Carl.” Sophia deliberately kept the conversation personal. Muller wasn’t predisposed to do anything to help the police, who he feared. But she thought maybe she could convince him to assist her. “Have you ever seen TV where an artist does a drawing of a person described by a witness?”

“No-o. But once when I was a kid my mom took me to the Minnesota State Fair. And a guy drew a cartoon of me and let me keep it.”

“That’s sort of what I’m talking about,” she said encouragingly. “The other woman in the woods today. Do you remember the lady with red hair?”

Muller visibly slunk in his chair, and his voice went flat. “She’s a cop, too.”

“She’s an agent with DCI in Iowa.” The differentiation was deliberate. In order to get him to cooperate with Jenna, Sophia had to make him regard the other woman as he did her, rather than as he viewed law enforcement in general. “She’s my friend. We’re working together to help that woman in the picture. Agent Turner is a good artist, too. If you describe the man you saw a few times in the park, she could draw a picture of him.”

His expression turned sly. “If I help her will the police let me go?”

“I can’t answer that question, Carl. I’m not the police. But even if they don’t, I’m sure your lawyer could tell the judge that you assisted us. That and the promise of treatment you’ll have when I give you names of some of my colleagues who will help you…both will go a long way in your next defense.”

Seeming to mull over her words, the man took his time answering. But in the end he just lifted his shoulders. “I guess. I mean, what do I have to lose?”

Jenna’s initial entry into the room had agitated Muller so much that Sophia had offered to stay in the room. Although she was aware that the agent usually worked alone with witnesses in a non-threatening environment, she feared the man would shut down completely if she left.

And after she’d subtly positioned her chair around to be closer to Muller, the man had seemed to calm. Even more so when Jenna made a point of shutting off the camera in the room.

The agent’s tone was easy as she snapped open the brief case she’d retrieved from the trunk of Cam’s vehicle and withdrew her sketchpad and pencils. “Do you do any sketching, Mr. Muller?”

The man shook his head. “Not since I was a kid. I was never much good at it.”

“I’ve been drawing since I was young. With your observation skills, I know you can help me make a reasonable sketch of the man you saw watching the lady in the park.” The agent’s manner couldn’t have been more different from when she’d encountered Muller earlier in the day. But Sophia knew the man would remember that first meeting. She just hoped her continued presence here would ensure his cooperation.

But Jenna was experienced at putting people at ease. Rather than getting started right away she spent several minutes establishing rapport, going so far as to send out for the can of Sprite Muller requested.

“The way this is going to work is I’m going to listen to your description of the man you saw in the park and ask you some questions about him. I might show you some pictures I have in a notebook in this case, too.” Jenna thumped the briefcase on the floor with her toe. “That sound okay?”

The man’s gaze slid to Sophia, who smiled encouragingly. “I guess,” he muttered.

“You said you saw the stranger watching the lady in the park several times. How close did you get to him?”

“I dunno. The closest was about like from here to the door, I guess.”

Sophia measured the distance with her gaze. Eight feet. It was plenty near enough to elicit a good description, if the angle had been right.

“Tell me what you remember about him.”

Muller launched into a verbal description that differed little from the one he’d given to Sophia earlier. Jenna listened, her head cocked slightly, her gaze never leaving him.

“That’s pretty good. What can you tell me about his hair?”

“It was brown. Medium, I guess. Not that short because I could see it curl below his cap in the back.”

“How about around the ears?”

Carl had to stop and think at that question. “No-o. It didn’t hang over his ears.”

“What can you tell me about his eyes?”

“They were always covered by the sunglasses. And the newspaper. I never saw them.”

“The same sunglasses? Or different ones each time?”

Slowly, painstakingly, Jenna drew Muller out on each tiny detail the man could recall about the stranger in the park. Then she’d started to sketch. Sophia was fascinated by the way the agent could draw and talk to Muller at the same time, seemingly never getting distracted from either task. She’d draw, push the pad toward Muller and ask for further details. At other times she’d reached for the big book of facial images she’d brought in her briefcase. The notebook was tabbed in an endless array of sections. Some focused on chins, others on noses or eyes. And then she’d ask, “Which of these is most like the man you saw?” Sophia was amazed to see that there was even a section in that notebook for images of caps.

Under Jenna’s expert questioning, even Muller’s most vague answers became more exact. He examined the pictures she showed him closely, and the agent would change the composite to more exactly match his clarifications.

Even so, it was a tedious process. While Sophia found it intriguing, she was also aware of the passing time. Each minute that ticked by meant Courtney Van Wheton was further away. Or perhaps by now she was at her final destination. Maybe her torment had already begun.

Because there was no point in the thoughts, Sophia tried to push them away.

Jenna had been at it for over two hours when she finally said, “Are you sure? Take a good look now. Is this the man you saw in the parks watching the lady in the picture?”

“That looks like him.”

“Anything else you want to change?”

“Nope.” Muller slurped loudly from his can of Sprite. “That’s the guy I saw before. That’s the one who was watching her on Monday.”

Sophia leaned in to peer more closely when Jenna ripped the sketch off the pad and nudged it toward the man.

The man in the drawing had pleasant features. Attractive, even. Thick wavy dark hair could be seen beneath the black-billed cap he wore. The nose was straight. The mouth—in her estimation—a little sensitive. It wasn’t a face to stir caution if he stopped and asked for directions. This wasn’t a man to incite fear.

Staring hard at the sketch, Sophia wondered if the man depicted in it was the one who had raped and tortured six other women before dumping their bodies in open graves in Iowa.

And if he were the same man who had kidnapped Courtney van Wheton.

He roamed freely through her condo, picking up her things, looking at them, setting them down again. It hadn’t been difficult at all to find where Dr. Sophia Channing lived. Not for him. Her security alarm was better than most, but there was always a way around them.

And she didn’t have a dog. He fucking hated homes with dogs.

Mid-afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds. In broad daylight he chanced being seen by nosy neighbors, but all they could report was a van with the glass company’s logo across the street, and a man wearing the company’s uniform working on the broken glass in one of Channing’s small garage door windows. It was the same van that had been used to snatch his newest possession. Now a different color with a magnetic logo on both sides to match the glass company’s, it wouldn’t stand out even if the cops had gotten a description of it in Minneapolis. Sleight of hand. It was human nature to see normal in daylight, and threats at night. People saw what they expected to see.

Most people were idiots.

Carrying a case of tools he’d walked nonchalantly up to the garage door. It’d taken less than three minutes armed with a wedge of wood and length of wire to open the door. Anyone watching would believe he was repairing the window, and that he had an opener. He was that smooth.

It was important to get an idea of the home’s layout to plan his approach. Look for weapons first. He hadn’t found any guns, but there were still the bedrooms to search. Casing the place in advance gave him an idea of where she’d run, where he’d trap her, and a chance to plan an escape route.

A check of the spare bedroom showed no weapons and no men’s clothes. He paused in the closet, eyeing an empty place on the floor next to a large suitcase. Wheel prints left an indentation in the carpet. Maybe the doctor wasn’t home. Maybe she’d taken a trip and wouldn’t be back for days.

The thought of having to wait made his gut clench and his chest tighten. He slammed shut the double closet doors and the noise calmed him. Boredom hadn’t set in with his new possession. She’d entertain him until he found Channing.

But the bitch would pay for making him wait. They always had to pay.

More quickly now, he moved to the master bedroom. No sign of men’s clothes here either and something inside him eased a bit. A husband or roommate meant it’d be easier to grab Channing away from her home, but it was looking more and more like he could just slip in here anytime he wanted and surprise her. Maybe take her while she was having breakfast, or just climb into bed with her while she slept.

He dropped down on the lace coverlet, imagined holding her trapped and helpless beneath him. Some duct tape over her mouth and no one would suspect what he was doing to the stupid bitch. He could slit her throat when he was done, cut off her tits and stuff them up her cunt. Show everyone that she was
worthless
. And what she’d written about him meant nothing.

Bounding off the bed he crossed to the dresser. Opened the drawers and ran his gloved fingers through her things. He could do this. Touch what he wanted. Take what appealed to him. Just the way he’d do whatever he wanted with her.

One drawer held panties and he pawed through them, brought out a scrap of lace and ribbon to his face, inhaled deeply. He imagined it smelled like her. Tasted like her. Delicately, he licked the crotch.

Through the blinds he caught sight of a neighbor checking the mailbox and frowned. He’d only have a few hours with Channing and that wasn’t long enough. No, not long enough to show her that she was stupid and useless and a fucking disappointment. He wouldn’t be able to take his time and punish her the way she deserved. Unless…

He shoved the panties in his jeans pocket, deep in thought. There was no reason to hurry this when there was already a perfect spot to keep her. A spot where he could take his time. Make her pay for writing those things about him.

A slow grin crossed his face at the thought. It’d be a change from his usual strategy, but they were his rules to break.

And if ever a bitch needed to be shown her place, it was this one.

Chapter 7

“Well.” Sophie drew the word out teasingly. “I learn something new about you every day.”

“I’m an open book,” Cam murmured. His eyes were still closed. His breathing ragged. How was it possible to get more intense every time he touched her? Moved inside her? God help him. If it got any better he’d need a wheelchair to get out of bed. And still count himself lucky.

“Hardly,” she said dryly. “You’re about as forthcoming as a vault. But who would have thought the steely-eyed DCI agent was ticklish.”

He popped open an eyelid to consider her. “Steely-eyed? Please, this endless flattery is getting annoying. And my feet are sensitive, not ticklish.” He winced slightly when he got a pinch in response.

“Ticklish,” she said firmly. “In another minute I would have had you begging for mercy.”

Both eyes open now, he rolled to an elbow to consider her. “Honey, I was already at your mercy. And I seem to recall doing a bit of begging a few minutes ago, too.” Delighted with the immediate flush in her cheeks he leaned down to nuzzle his nose against the soft skin there. “You’re amazingly easy to embarrass.”

“I’m…not used to this sort of thing.”

Something inside him stilled at the admission. “Apparently talent like yours doesn’t require practice.”

Surprisingly she smiled, a lazy feline curl of her lips that had his gut clenching in response. God, he was pathetic. But her answer distracted his re-awakened desire. “No, I mean…this.” She gave a vague gesture between them. “Easy banter and post-coitus repartee. Is this normal for men or is it more customary to fall asleep?”

He felt a quick flash of amusement at the slightly academic tone. There was a scholarly aspect to the woman that was all the more fascinating in light of her naked and mussed appearance. “Since the only man I’ve been to been bed with is me, I’m going to have to plead ignorance on that.” He slid his hand over the lovely curve from hip to waist. Back again. “But in your case, I tend to think any man who’s so easily sated lacks both imagination and stamina.” Her quick laugh turned to a gasp when he lowered his head and replaced his hand with his tongue.

Her skin was satiny. Her body endlessly fascinating. Cam tested the curve of her hip lightly with his teeth. He couldn’t get enough of her. The shape of her, the feel, the smell. He wasn’t some damn teenage kid who’d just bedded his first girlfriend. The female anatomy held no surprises for him.

The thought was made a mockery when his mouth moved to explore the expanse of her stomach. There was a whisper of muscle below the silky skin. Strength below softness. That contrast was present in her personality, too. Polish glossed over competence. Beauty paired with finely honed steel. Intelligence coupled with the most gut-wrenching glimmers of vulnerability.

He paused to dip the tip of his tongue in the swirl of her naval. He needed to get a grip before this fascination turned into something more. Something…deeper.

The thought should have sent a cold arrow of reason through his brain. But his mind remained pleasantly fuzzy. She drew a leg up then and he took the opportunity to stroke the sleek skin of her thigh. To follow the path of his hand with his lips. In his experience the hotter the start of a relationship, the faster it burned itself out. Endings were inevitable.

But damn if he was ready for this to end….

“Dammit, Sophie, pick up.” Cam left another terse message while pounding at the door of her condo again. Which was probably a wasted effort, since she’d already failed to answer the doorbell.

She was probably on her way in to headquarters. He glanced at his watch. It was still early, though. Barely seven. He normally didn’t see her around the DCI building for at least another hour.

Still in bed, then. He slipped his cell back in his pocket and propped his hands on his hips. That scenario was definitely one that didn’t bear considering.

They’d gotten back late from Edina last night. They’d stayed another day after Jenna had done that sketch using Muller’s description of the man he’d seen watching Courtney Van Wheton. They’d canvassed the area’s parks again yesterday, this time armed with photos of Van Wheton and the sketch. In addition to a few who’d recognized the woman were a couple of people who recalled seeing the man in the sketch, which at least made Cam certain Muller hadn’t been blowing smoke about the guy.

But no one had seen the man approach Van Wheton. No one remembered noticing him in the park on the day the woman disappeared. Nor had the woman’s traumatized daughters recognized the man.

The abductor had done some planning, he thought with disgust. The enhanced image from the security image at the bank showed plates on the van that had proven to be stolen. And as the vehicle had driven by the camera, the driver giving a friendly wave had been immediately recognizable.

Either Fred Flintstone had turned to a life of crime, or the offender had taken the precaution of wearing a mask.

But they still had a sketch of a man that
might
be the UNSUB. Cam had ended up leaving a copy of it with Boelin distribution to the news organizations up there before heading back to Iowa. It’d been almost midnight when he’d dropped Sophie off at home. He wouldn’t blame her if she were catching a few extra hours of sleep.

He considered the rest of the neighborhood. People were starting to move around. Collect their papers. Walk their pets. Leave for work. It wouldn’t be long before one of them wondered what the hell he was doing on Sophie’s front porch.

Cam actually started to turn away. He could keep trying to call her on his commute. She’d answer the phone eventually, right?

But maybe not before she’d watched the local morning news.

A scowl settled on his face. Damn Maria and damn ‘the reality of her job.’ Despite the conversation they’d had before he’d left, the assistant director had gone ahead with a press conference in which she’d released Sophie’s criminal profile. Not only that, but some enterprising reporter had found a picture to pair with her name. Despite a few professional differences he and Sophie might have, he knew they’d share similar opinions on actions such as the one Maria had taken. They muddied an investigation with no real hope of furthering it.

And he didn’t want Sophie to be caught unaware, the way he’d been this morning when he’d opened the Des Moines Register. With a little online digging, he’d discovered that the local TV station had run breaking bulletins with the news for a couple days.

He headed back toward his car parked in the drive. Hesitated and eyed her garage door. So sue him, he recalled her security codes. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to void that and all other memories of the time they’d spent together. Unfortunately, his memory of all things Sophie-related remained stubbornly entrenched.

Hell with it.

Wheeling around, Cam marched to the garage door. Punched in the code. It wouldn’t hurt to see if her car were there. And least then he’d know whether… Ducking his head under the rising door he saw that her sleek black Prius was parked neatly on one side of the garage.

Without giving it another thought, he headed through the space to the door that led into the condo. It was locked, as he’d figured and protected by her condo unit’s security system. He entered that code, too. He’d just have to take his chances that her outrage at his actions was tempered by concern for those taken by Gonzalez.

“Sophie?” He poked his head inside the condo. Noted that the purse she’d had with her on their trip sat on the table just inside the door. Which didn’t mean much. The woman literally changed purses to match shoes. A feminine accessorizing he normally found baffling, except that it was all wrapped up in the fascination she still held for him.

But he was working on that. Cam walked further into the condo, closing the door behind him. He wasn’t mooning over the woman like some seventeen-year-old pining for the lead cheerleader. There were hours every day when he never gave her a thought.

It was the nights that were still giving him problems.

“Sophie!” Even as he tried again he noted her car keys sitting next to the purse. He did a quick walk through the space. It was all one story. He checked out the kitchen. Empty. The automatic coffee maker had a full carafe. No mug was in evidence on the counter or—with a few extra steps he verified—the sink. A quick look out the back window showed no one in the miniscule yard or on the patio. The small sunroom, guest bathroom, office and second bedroom were also empty. Music was coming from the direction of her bedroom. She had one of those iPod alarms. It had been a source of conversation between them once. He preferred to waken to silence and she…well, Sophie had the unfortunate taste to prefer waking to a barely-out-her-teens singer wailing about bad break-ups.

The recollection almost, almost brought a smile to his lips.

He halted his progression through the condo just outside her open bedroom door. He was close enough to hear the shower running. A peek inside showed the bed only slightly mussed, with pillows askew. It was minus the lacy feminine comforter that had been on it the last time he’d been there. The door to the adjoining bathroom was also partially open. He jerked his head back to avoid seeing further into that room.

Deliberately pitching his voice louder, he said, “Don’t get mad but I figured once you heard what I’m here to say you might forgive my coming in like this.” With effort, he kept his gaze from straying toward the bathroom. He’d expected some sort of outraged protest, at least. He knew for a fact that one could shower in there and carry on a conversation with someone in the bedroom. They’d once had a spirited discussion in just that way over the merits of waffles over pancakes. Waffles had won, of course. That hadn’t even been a contest.

“I tried calling, but you didn’t pick up. So anyway, here’s the thing.” Propping his shoulder against the wall outside the bathroom, gaze determinedly turned toward the bedroom window, he gave her a brief rundown of what Gonzalez had done, and why. “Believe me, I tried to talk her out of releasing that profile before we left. Thought I’d succeeded, to tell you the truth. I didn’t want you to get ambushed by the news looking at the paper today because—big surprise—it’s splashed all over the headlines.”

When she still didn’t respond a trickle of unease slid down his spine. Sophie wasn’t one of those women who believed in the silent treatment. If he’d offended her by coming in like this—and that was a given—she’d let him know in a civil tone that flayed despite it’s evenness. Then she’d deal with the news he’d come to share.

But she wasn’t saying anything. And the queen of green as he’d once dubbed her was environmentally sophisticated. She even shut off the water while brushing her teeth in order to conserve.

She definitely didn’t take long showers.

The trickle of unease became full-fledged trepidation. “Sophie?” He nudged the door further open with his foot. “Soph?” He took a couple steps inside her room and paused, catching sight of something on the floor. Rounding the bed he saw it was the beige suitcase she’d carried with her on their trip. It was on its side, contents spilling carelessly from it.

The blood in his veins iced. Six quick steps took him to the half-open bathroom door. He pushed it open with his elbow. The walk in shower was clearly empty, although the water was still running. The door to the shower stood open. Water pooled in small puddles on the floor. One towel bar had been partially pulled from the wall and hung from the remaining screw. The flowering plant usually kept on the counter was on the floor, its container smashed. The rugs were in disarray and pinpoints of bright red spots dotted the tiled floor.

A fist clenched in his stomach. He tamped down fear, let instinct take over. He backed slowly out of the bathroom. Reached down to slip off his shoes and set them on the edge of the dresser. Swiftly he backtracked out of the room, crossing to where she’d left her purse. He knew she didn’t retain a landline.

Checking the cell phone he found in the front outer pocket, Cam discovered her last call out had been three days earlier. Which meant she hadn’t contacted an ambulance or a neighbor about an emergency. But the call log showed one missed call last night at twelve thirty-two. The name Livvie appeared next to the number. He pressed the call button, waited impatiently until a woman picked up.

“Hey, sorry about calling so late last night. Minor crisis averted here, at least for the short term, but still need your help with something.”

The voice was naggingly familiar. A moment later he placed it. “You’re the neighbor.” Livvie Hammel had the condo on the left. She and Sophie had seemed friendly the one time Sophie had been unable to avoid making stilted introductions when she and Cam had encountered the woman in the driveway. Already he was going to the front door, opening it and stepping out on the porch.

There was a pause. Then a guarded, “Who is this?”

“Cam Prescott. I’ll be at your front door in ten seconds.” He disconnected the call and strode to Hammel’s porch.

He had the distinct sensation of being studied for several seconds through the peephole before the door was finally opened. The woman’s freckled face looked worried. “Why do you have Sophia’s phone? Where is she?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. You haven’t seen her this morning?”

Hammel shook her head. “I haven’t seen her for a few days. I assumed she was on a job somewhere.”

“She was.” Deliberately he refrained from giving her any details about the scene he’d found inside Sophie’s apartment. “I dropped her off a couple minutes to twelve. She didn’t answer your call at twelve thirty-two. How did you know she was home last night?”

“My condo’s the opposite floor plan as hers. Standing in my bathroom I could see that the light in hers was on. I took the chance that she was still up and called.”