Rising Heat (80 page)

Hawk said nothing.

“Has anything about the notes or that drawing left with the victims been leaked to the media? How could the guy stalking me find out about them?” I continued, searching for a reasonable explanation. “A copycat maybe? I haven’t seen anything in the news referring to the specific drawing left behind by the killer of those other women, but it’s not like I’ve been privy to all of the information regarding this case.”

Hawk stood and stepped to the cold fireplace, placing one arm on the mantel.

“Look, Tracy, I know we’ve gone over this before, but I need to ask you again about the people in your past. Could it be just happenstance that this person… this killer has targeted you?” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s coincidence. But proving it is going to be another matter.”

“So you
do
believe that whoever’s doing this to me is not merely a stalker. You think the killer and the guy doing this to me are one and the same.” I needed to at least clarify
something.
He offered a short nod.

I sighed in frustration and growing anger. “I could understand that difference of opinion if it was just about the notes. Anyone can write threatening notes. But how do we get past the drawing? And that’s what it comes right down to. How can the FBI possibly think that those other women’s cases and mine aren’t linked?”

“They think that perhaps someone, maybe from within the police department, talked to someone about the drawings. After all, they’ve been seen by numerous investigators, the crime scene techs, the forensics lab… there’s always a chance that somebody talked to somebody who inadvertently talked to somebody else at a bar, on a date, who knows?”

I couldn’t believe this. I had to admit it. It certainly
was
possible, and I wanted to believe it, to think that I was a victim of an ordinary stalker. But stalkers could be dangerous. I was no FBI profiler, but profiling was an inexact science, wasn’t it? If the FBI told the Seneca PD that chances were that I wasn’t being stalked by a serial killer because I wasn’t engaged or married, like other two younger victims had been, would I be on my own? How long could I afford to hire Hawk anyway?

“Tracy, are you certain there’s nobody you’ve crossed paths with recently who gave you an odd feeling? Are you
sure?
Anyone who you turned down for a cup of coffee, something you might have inadvertently dissed…anything? It might be somebody you’ve crossed paths with. Anyone you can think of at all?”

“Hawk, I already told you when I first came to see you. No. Nobody has so much as made a pass at me since I moved here. I don’t even get into town that often.” I saw the look in his eyes. “And you already ruled out Jeremy. And there’s nobody from Boston that ever made a pass at me either, or expressed an interest in me… that I noticed.”

“And you never received any gifts from anyone in Boston? Flowers at your home with no card attached? No note or anything that could have been construed as a gift left under your windshield, on your porch, anywhere?”

I was growing frustrated. No, impatient. I stood and lifted my hands. “Hawk, I need you to believe me. There’s nobody!” And then it hit me. I dropped back onto the edge of the bed and stared at him. “You don’t think you can find out who it is, do you?” He turned to look down at me. The expression on his face said it all. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. “You don’t, do you?”

My hopes dashed. Maybe I was expecting too much of Hawk. After all, he wasn’t a magician. He was a hunter, yes, as most P.I.s were, but… “You’ve never investigated a case like mine, have you?” I asked, my voice uncertain.

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t, Tracy, but that doesn’t mean that I’m giving up.”

“I appreciate that, but what if you can’t find him? What am I supposed to do?”

He took a step toward me. I wanted him to take me in his arms. Comfort me. Assure me that everything would be okay. He didn’t.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Cutter’s still talking to the FBI. I wasn’t privy to their private conversation or many details, but Cutter did give me a portion of the profile.”

“And?”

“It’s important to be aware that there’s no specific profile of a serial murder. Every case is different, just as every murderer is different. They kill for different reasons, some of which may seem downright stupid to some of us, but there you have it.”

“Go on,” I urged.

“Don’t try to think only of someone who’s odd or weird, or who gave you bad vibes the minute you looked at them because of their looks or manners. Most serial killers look like perfectly normal people found in every aspect of society. Most of them are not social misfits, nor recluses. Many of them are handsome, have families, and keep normal jobs. That’s what makes them so hard to find. They blend in. They fit into society.”

Well that was just great, wasn’t it? So the person who was stalking me, maybe even the killer himself, could work or live in Seneca or in one of the neighboring communities. It
could
be the mailman, the guy who bagged my groceries at the store, the clerk at the post office. I began to despair. How in the world could the police, the FBI, or even Hawk catch such a guy?

I knew. He would have to get sloppy. He would have to make a mistake. He would have to start bragging or say something or talk about it, or leave some part of himself behind in the form of DNA. But then I thought of BTK… he wasn’t caught for what, thirty years? I nearly moaned out loud.

“This guy, he’s already committed three murders in the region. Chances are they’re not his first. He’s good, doesn’t leave any DNA behind. Yes, he’s left his calling card, but he’s taken care to ensure that there’s no traces of himself on those objects. He’s had practice.”

Hawk sat down beside me and reached for my hand. So warm, so comforting.

“The profilers told Cutter, and he told me, that a serial killer experiences a steep learning curve. First, they have to pick their target. Then they’ll make the approach. When they do, they’ll have to control the situation. What’s so different about this guy is that he’s not disposing of his victims or in any way trying to hide them. He’s leaving them where they can be easily found.”

“Does that mean he wants to get caught?” I asked.

“I doubt it.” Hawk shook his head. “He’s probably just arrogant, thinking he’s invincible, that they haven’t found him, and they’re not going to. The profile defines a guy who’s cocky, empowered by the feeling that he’ll never be identified. The longer he can get away with it, the greater his arrogance will become. That’s the time when most of them make a mistake that leads to their capture.”

I remained silent for a moment and then glanced up at him. “But why? Why is he doing this? Why has he targeted me?”

“That’s another thing that Cutter mentioned that the profiler told him. Sometimes it’s impossible to figure out their motive. The killer can have many motives for committing a crime. In some cases, a motive doesn’t even develop until he’s killed someone for the first, second, or even third time.”

“So the police, or even you, asking me about my habits and behaviors isn’t necessarily going to lead you to him?”

“No,” Hawk said bluntly. “Victimology is important in serial cases. I’ve been a P.I. long enough to know that technology can help catch criminals. If you study the victims — understand how they live, how they behave, whether they live a high or low risk lifestyle — all are effective tools in finding a criminal. Even a killer or a serial killer.”

I thought about that. “So what do you think this killer gets off on?”

“Power,” he said immediately. “He’s thrilled with his ability to control others, to determine life or death.”

And then a sudden thought struck me, one I hadn’t even considered before. “Hawk, were the other women… were the other women raped or sexually violated in any way?”

“Not in that sense,” he replied. “They were stabbed, other than the elderly woman, at least. Stabbing has often been associated with sexual release for men who are impotent or somehow unable to express their sexuality in normal ways.”

My mind was spinning. I didn’t care what motivated the serial killer. I just wanted him to get caught. I wanted my life to go back to normal. I looked at Hawk. “You can’t protect me forever, Hawk. The police can’t either. Worst case scenario, what am I supposed to do? Join the witness protection program or something? Disappear?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said.

He squeezed my hand. Although I was grateful for his presence and his efforts to comfort me, I was feeling so shaky inside. I don’t like to be maudlin or look at a glass half empty, but at the moment, I couldn’t help it.

“Why is it Westin is so sure that the guy who’s stalking me isn’t a serial killer, or a killer at all?”

Hawk shook his head. “I’m not privy to what goes on in Westin’s head, Tracy.”

I stared at his profile as he sat next to me, looking at the cold fireplace ready to be lit. “What’s going on between you two?” I just threw that out there. I wasn’t sure if he would answer or not, but all things considered, I thought he should. “If you don’t have the cooperation of the police, or the detectives, how can you do your job effectively? Westin looks at me funny sometimes, and I definitely saw the expression on his face when he read the… the stalker’s last note, about seeing what we did. Why does he dislike you so much? Or do you dislike him?”

He hesitated. “I guess the feeling is mutual.”

“Care to tell me why? Is it something I should know? I sense the animosity between you two. And to be blunt, although the reason for it may be none of my business, it does have an impact on my case, don’t you think?”

He looked at me for several seconds, and then stood and walked again to the fireplace. He said nothing for several moments, staring down at the floor, and then he turned toward me, his elbow resting on the mantle.

“I had an affair with Westin’s wife.”

Oh my God. I felt like someone had just kicked me in the stomach. “What?” I managed. That was the last thing I had expected to hear.

“Her name was… is Jessica. We all grew up here; Cutter, Westin, me… we all went to the same high school. Westin was voted the prom king, and Jessica was the prom queen. It was natural that they would date, end up getting married. But she wasn’t happy. I could tell Westin wasn’t either.”

I swallowed as my heart beat accelerated. I didn’t have any personal claim on Hawk, but I couldn’t help the feelings of jealousy that surged upward as he told his story.

“It started a long time ago. He and Jessica had gotten married while they were in college. She got a degree in education, he in criminal justice. She got a position at an elementary school, he as a rookie office with the Seneca PD. During that time, I was raising hell, ended up doing a brief stint in jail for minor offenses. Then my buddies and I stole a car. The judge gave me a choice to avoid felony charges. Join the Army or go to prison for a three-to-five. I chose the military. Did my three years and turned myself around. Got my P.I. license, opened my new business.” He paused. “Came back to Seneca. They’d been married four years by then, their fifth anniversary coming up.”

He paused again, but I said nothing. I didn’t want to interrupt. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know or remain ignorant.

“One day, Jessica came to my office. She was suspicious that Westin was stepping out on her.”

“Was he?” I asked.

Hawk nodded. “Yeah. He had just been promoted to detective. One thing led to another. During the investigation…”

“You slept with her,” I said. He nodded. I felt my stomach clench. Was that something that Hawk made a habit of doing? Sleeping with his female clients? A sense of anger burgeoned deep inside, but nevertheless it wasn’t strong enough for me to overcome my own attraction, my own growing feelings toward him. It was a long time ago, right? Still, the thought left me feeling uncertain.

“Is she still in the picture?” I finally managed to ask.

He shook his head and said nothing more about the incident. I wasn’t sure about the look on his face. Had he loved her? I wasn’t going to ask. For the first time since I met Hawk, I suddenly felt… Dammit! Why did I have to ask? Curiosity killed the cat. “Information brings it back,” I muttered to myself.

“What?” Hawk asked.

“Nothing,” I said, looking at the fuzz on the blanket next to me on the bed. Hawk said nothing for several moments, and then abruptly announced that he had to go outside and take a leak. I nodded. What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to feel?

He left, the door closing softly behind him. In the silence of the cabin, with shadows encroaching with oncoming dark, my gaze landed on his jacket and wallet on the kitchen table. Don’t ask me to explain what came over me, because I wouldn’t be able to. My curiosity got the best of me.

I quickly stepped to the table and picked up his wallet. I hesitated only briefly and then, taking a breath, already feeling guilty for snooping and crossing boundaries, I opened it and quickly scanned its contents. Nothing in the slots except a debit card, his P.I. license, and a gym membership card. In the money slot, a few twenty-dollar bills.

And then I saw the corner of a photograph half hidden behind one of the bills. I peered at it. It looked to me like a family photo. His clan? There were a lot of them in the photo. Everyone smiling, Hawk looking quite young, in his late teens or early twenties maybe. His hair was even longer than it was now, worn in two long braids over his shoulders that draped down his chest to his waist.

Despite my annoyance, I was impressed. Put him in feathers and face paint and he could’ve stepped out of the pages of a history book. I was just tucking the photograph back inside when it seemed to separate beneath my fingers. Surprised, I realized that another photo was stuck to the first one. I glanced at it, thinking that it would be another family photo. It wasn’t.

A Caucasian woman. Red hair, green eyes. Lovely. Smiling into the camera. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Was this Jessica? Was this an image of Westin’s ex-wife? I quickly pulled the photograph out and turned it over.