The First Victim (9 page)

He watched her from a safe distance. As with every other aspect of the plan, it had taken some time to figure out where he could remain unseen, but still have a clear view of her. Finally he’d found this spot, nestled among pine trees.

He didn’t have to wait long for her to show up this morning.

Emily’s cheeks were still flushed pink from the exertion of her run, but the rest of her was deathly pale as she examined the gift he’d left for her to find. Peering through his binoculars, he saw her exquisite lips move. How cute, she was talking to the doll!

Even across the space that separated them he could see her trembling as she touched his creation. Her fear was a powerful aphrodisiac that warmed his blood. “Good girl, play with the dolly.”

Emily whirled to the side, puking her guts up. Oh wow, he couldn’t wait to gloat about this. He chuckled. This was even better than he’d anticipated.

Suddenly her head jerked up. Like a frightened deer, she scanned the area, looking for the predator she sensed hiding in the shadows. She was looking for him.

Had she heard him laughing at her? He held his breath. How could he have been so sloppy? It wasn’t time yet, not this soon.

Slowly she turned her attention back to the dead girl she knelt beside. She studied her.

His chest puffed with pride. No doubt she was admiring his skill. As horrified as she was, she couldn’t overlook his talent. He’d done an exceptional job transforming this particular baby doll. He was damn proud of his handiwork.

He was grateful Emily had the sense to turn away to barf. Thankfully now everyone could admire his artistry.

His grin was so big his cheeks ached.

“Did you touch her?”

Emily pretended that she didn’t hear the question the first time it was asked. Instead she stared out the rear window of the police cruiser at the yellow crime-scene tape flapping in the breeze. It looked so bright and shiny, cheery almost, in direct contrast to what it was roping off.

“Did you touch her?”

Bailey had asked—no, ordered—her to sit in the patrol car when he’d arrived at the scene. She’d been all too happy to oblige, eager to get away from the body she’d kept watch over from the time she’d called him until he pulled up. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had the car to herself for very long. Williams, the dispatcher who had driven her to The Garden Gate after her car crash, was ordered to wait in the car with her after he stumbled into the investigation while on his morning jog. Now he sat in the front seat, practically vibrating with a nervous energy that raised the hairs at the back of Emily’s neck.

“Did you?”

Deciding that he wouldn’t stop asking until she answered, Emily muttered, “Yes, I touched her.”

“To make sure she was dead?”

She nodded, not taking her eyes off the yellow tape.

“What did she feel like?”

Emily shrugged. She didn’t want to be having this conversation but since there were no handles in the rear of the car, she couldn’t open the door and escape his incessant questioning. She wondered how long it would take for someone to notice if she beat the windows and screamed to be free.

“Was she cold? Stiff?”

“Dead. She felt dead.”

“I’ve never been part of a murder investigation before.”

She had to bite her tongue in order not to say that he still wasn’t. Bailey had obviously banished Williams to the automobile in the hopes of keeping him out of the way.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

He stared at her with wide-eyed fascination through the metal grid. “I wish I’d been the one to find her. It must have been cool.”

“It definitely was not cool.” She made no effort to hide her contempt. “The poor girl is dead.”

He hung his head, properly chastised. “Sorry.”

She remembered how excited her paramedic friend Collin had been the first time he got the chance to work on an actual bleeding patient. He too had been practically giddy over the misfortune of some random stranger.

Williams had probably been waiting half his life to be part of something like this. She could almost understand his excitement. Almost. “It’s okay. It’s just…I’m just…”

“Scared?”

“Shaken up. It’s not every day I find a dead girl in the driveway.”

She turned back to watch what Bailey was doing. She’d seen the way he paled when he’d first laid eyes on the victim. He’d tried to hide it, clenching his jaw and going all stony-eyed stoic, but she knew how deeply it affected him. She could still spot it in his tight, almost jerky movements as he barked orders at the other deputies. For a man who normally displayed such physical grace, he looked awkward as he patrolled the scene. He kept glancing up at the sky and grimacing.

The storm was blowing in fast. Ominous dark clouds, swollen with rain, filled the sky.

She wondered if he was worried about the weather or something else. There’d been a time when she’d known pretty much everything about Bailey O’Neil, but not anymore. The thought saddened her.

Blinking away the unhappy thought she focused on the man who’d suddenly appeared behind the police car. Sam Castle, a camera draped around his neck, stood as still as a statue, his eyes riveted on the tarp-covered body of the dead girl. Looking as forlorn as he had when she was a kid, he barely resembled the man she’d spoken with the morning before.

Bailey strode over and shook the older man’s hand. It was enlightening to watch him at work. He was confident and in charge, demanding respect and receiving it. Their voices were too muffled for Emily to make out their words, but she could see Bailey point at the threatening clouds twice. Sam nodded, but not before sparing a quick glance in Emily’s direction. He nodded a greeting, his expression grim. After a few more words with the deputy, he shuffled toward the crime scene.

Bailey opened the driver’s door and climbed inside the car. “Give us a minute, Williams.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Williams was only too eager to get outside.

“Make sure you don’t cross the tape,” his boss warned before the dispatcher closed the door.

Emily and Bailey both watched him lope to Sam Castle’s side. The tarp had been removed from the dead girl, and Sam was snapping picture after picture.

“Department camera’s crap. I asked Sam to take some photos before the storm lets loose.” He twisted in his seat to face her. The metal grid separating them distorted his face, making it look like disjointed puzzle pieces. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” The lie came swiftly and smoothly.

He ducked his head, trying to get a better view of her through the grate.

Damn him for always knowing when she lied. What did he expect her to say? This is turning out to be the second worst week of my life and I’m falling apart?

“I touched a dead girl. How do you think I am?” Her hostility seemed to bounce off the small space within the automobile, bouncing first off him, then her. “Do you even know who she is?”

“Jackie Willet, the runaway I was asking you about earlier. She goes to school with Laurie.”

“They’re friends?”

He nodded.

Worry lines etched in his forehead, and a somber scowl had him looking ten years older.

“I’m sorry, Bailey. I can’t imagine how tough this is for you. First your dad and now this.”

“I’ve had better weeks.”

Someone who didn’t know him as well as she did might miss the additional strain in his voice, but Emily picked up on it immediately. He was worried about something. This time she didn’t avoid asking him what it was.

“What’s bothering you, Bay?”

“I’ve seen something like this before…when I was at the FBI…”

“I didn’t know you joined the FBI.”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Em.” An emotion she couldn’t identify glittered in his eyes, but then he blinked, snuffing it out. “The point is if I’m right…” He trailed off, turning to look at the crime scene. Sam was still snapping pictures with methodical precision, while Williams examined the gruesome tableau from afar.

“Can you keep a secret, Em?”

She almost shook her head. Instinctively she didn’t want to know whatever it was that he wanted to confide. She’d already let him down when she’d come back to town and hadn’t asked what was bothering him. She couldn’t do it again. If he needed to share whatever burden he was carrying… “Are you going to make me take another blood oath?”

Even the reminder of their childhood antics didn’t alleviate his solemnity.

“You can’t tell anyone, but if it’s the same killer,” Bailey said slowly, his eyes riveted on the dead girl, “he’ll strike again. He always kills in pairs.”

A cold finger of fear slid down Emily’s spine. She shivered as the true horror of the situation hit her. “Do you think Laurie could be in danger?”

He turned slowly back to face her. His expression was somber, as though he’d already seen the next victim. “I think every teenage girl is potential prey.”

A series of images seared themselves to her psyche.

Laurie: her body dressed in pink pajamas, her hair and makeup done so that she looked like a perfect doll.

The horrible vision made Emily’s heart skip a beat. She couldn’t breathe.

Laurie: a plaything for the monster who’d killed Jackie Willet.

“Em?” Bailey’s voice seemed to come from far off. She couldn’t see him sitting right in front of her. All she saw was her baby sister’s desecrated body.

Emily’s gut churned, nausea rising like flood waters. She reached for the car door, desperate to get out, desperate for air.

Laurie: Dead.

There was no handle. She was trapped. There was no escape. She could hear
his
voice, calling after her, mocking her,
“You’re not going anywhere, Emily.”

Starting to cry, she slapped at the door. Miraculously it opened. She scrambled out, falling to her knees, retching. She’d already lost her stomach contents when she’d found the dead girl. Now it was bile that she spewed. Acid burned her tender throat as her body was racked by violent dry heaves.

“It’s okay, Em. Everything’s going to be okay. Just breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

She was dimly conscious of Bailey’s murmured assurances. Hunched over, a chill settling in her bones, she became aware of his warm, strong arm wrapped around her, holding her semi-upright. She leaned in to him, desperate to latch on to his solid presence. He was the lifeline that could pull her free from the dangerous undertow of fevered imaginings and remembered horrors that threatened to drown her. Bailey was here. Everything would be okay. “I feel funny.” Shivering, she felt weak and spacey.

He shifted his position so that he could see her face. Worry lines creased his forehead. Concern clouded his usually clear gaze. Gently, he brushed her hair off her face. “You’re in shock, sweetheart.”

Bailey O’Neil had called her “sweetheart.” The realization warmed her, taking the edge off.
God, I hope I didn’t puke in my hair…or on his shoes.
She didn’t know if the thought made her want to cringe or laugh out loud. Instead, she offered him a tremulous smile. “Sorry.”

She wasn’t in the habit of falling apart. That’s not who she was. She took pride in being strong and competent. She could handle anything. Now that she was getting her bearings again, she was embarrassed by her outburst.
Between threatening him with a rock and stick after the car accident and now this debacle, he must think you’re a basket case, Emily Jane.

As though he guessed her thoughts, he assured her, “It’s okay. You’ve had a hell of a week.”

A big, fat raindrop smacked Emily in the face, startling her.

“Storm’s starting,” Bailey growled, hauling her to her feet. “Let’s get you undercover.” He practically dumped her into the front passenger seat of the patrol car. “Wait here.” He must have spotted the panic on her face because he added, “Don’t worry. You can open this door any time you want.”

With that, he closed the door and rushed toward the crime scene. Emily didn’t turn to watch what was happening. Instead she watched the rain beat on the windshield, distorting the view. No doubt the downpour would wash away some of the evidence of Jackie Willet’s murder, but Emily knew she’d never rid herself of the memory of this awful day.

The Baby Doll Strangler.

He was here. In Lakeside Acres. His town.

Bitter acidic bile rose in Bailey’s throat. He didn’t need any forensic evidence to know it was him. Bailey hadn’t been with the FBI for long, but while he had, he’d crossed paths with this sadistic monster. He’d recognized his sick signature instantly.

Jackie Willet had not been this killer’s first victim, but Bailey would do whatever it took to make her his last. Her safety had been his responsibility and he’d failed to protect her.

An all-too-familiar sense of guilt twisted his gut. Telling Emily had been a mistake. Finding a dead body would have been traumatic enough for anyone, but when she’d asked, when she’d genuinely seemed to want to know what was eating at him, he hadn’t hesitated to tell her. For a moment he’d forgotten that he wasn’t confiding in his best friend, but a woman who already had enough to deal with.

Not wanting to be overheard in the station house, for fear of setting off a state-wide panic, Bailey had come home to place the call he had to make. As he’d rushed home, he hadn’t stopped or so much as waved to his grandmother when he’d driven past her haranguing Frank the mailman. Glancing in his rearview mirror he’d caught her watching his car whiz away, probably wondering why he was going home in the middle of the day. Most likely cussing him out for being a good-for-nothing-lazy-son-of-a-bitch just like his father.

Sighing heavily, he sat down at his kitchen table. Physically and emotionally drained, he felt like the silver ball getting batted around inside a pinball machine, bouncing around from place to place with no control over his path.

He eyed his cell phone. He’d laid it on the table in front of him. He knew what he had to do. He knew who he had to call. He needed help if he was going to have a chance in hell of keeping the teenage girls of Lakeside Acres safe.

Scrolling through his list of contacts, it didn’t take long to find the name he was looking for: Sebastian Black.

Pushing the call button, he held his breath. It rang once. Twice. Tightening his grip on the phone he hoped that the call wouldn’t go to voice mail. Bailey couldn’t afford to sit around waiting for Sebastian to call him back. Time was in short supply. The Baby Doll Strangler usually waited only a few days before claiming his next victim.

“Hello?”

Exhaling shakily, Bailey struggled to come up with the best way to phrase the news he was about to deliver. “Hey, Sebastian. It’s Bailey, Bailey O’Neil?”

“I guessed that since it’s what my caller ID said.” As usual Black managed to make a simple exchange sound like a challenge of a fight to the death.

Bailey didn’t take the bait. He’d expected as much. He and Sebastian had been in the same class at Quantico. They’d spent their entire time there leapfrogging over one another in a race to be named the best in the class. Bailey had almost forgotten how bitter their rivalry had been, but apparently Sebastian had not.

Still, what Bailey remembered most about his former competitor was that he’d been very good. Maybe the best.

He needed the best now. “Think you might have time to come to Pennsylvania? I need your help.”

If Black was alarmed or surprised by the request he didn’t indicate it. “Kind of a strange request, don’t you think, Sheriff? Or is it Deputy?”

Bailey ignored the dig. He knew why he’d given up his career with the FBI. He didn’t give a crap about what Sebastian thought of him. “I think The Baby Doll Strangler’s in my town.”

The panic was spreading like wildfire, and the arsonist was pleased. It always started like this when the first girl’s body was discovered. Law Enforcement running around, wringing their hands ineffectually. Parents in a panic. A town in trouble. Rumors and the winds of fate conspired to fuel the fire until everyone was consumed by it.

Waiting until the worry crested and began to abate a bit, and then taking another girl, was the trick to getting the fear to come roaring back to life. It was just another part of the game.

Pleasure was taken in controlling the girl, hearing her cries, feeling her trembling, delighting in her pain, but inflicting mass hysteria on a sleepy town had its own rewards. When the terror became palpable, when the paranoia was rampant, it was like there was another victim trapped in the lair.

News of Jackie Willet’s death had traveled fast. As usual, much of the buzz was false. Reports were already circling that it was the work of Satan Worshippers, that her body had been chopped into thirteen pieces and that Emily Wright had only found her head, and that a bunch of teenage girls in town had formed a suicide pact and that Jackie was just the first to die.

Most of the school buses at Lakeside Acres High began their afternoon rounds less than half-full even though all after-school activities had been cancelled. He watched as parents shepherded their children from the building to their cars. He had to restrain himself from laughing. The fools were suffering from the delusion that they could protect their precious brats.

Their eyes darted furtively, left and right, as they scurried through the puddles left by the earlier storm. He could tell that some of them were already viewing their neighbors differently than they had that morning, wondering if this one or that one was a threat.

A lot of them glanced the way of Emily Wright, who leaned against her father’s SUV, sunglasses hiding her eyes, even though the day was still overcast. Some regarded her with curiosity, others with pity, and some with outright hostility as though they sensed she was to blame for this mess.

And she was, even if she didn’t yet know it.

He’d waited to play with her for so long. All these years of waiting. So much time spent wanting to make her into
his
perfect doll. But the time had never been right. So he’d had to satisfy himself with inferior models. Still, he enjoyed his time with them.

He reached into his pocket to fondle the lock of Jackie Willet’s hair he had hidden there. He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling how soft she’d been. He remembered her breathlessly begging for mercy, but none had been granted. He imagined it was Emily crying out in agony, and he smiled.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Laurie Wright fall into her sister’s arms, sobbing. Anna, her weird friend with the funny hair and all the piercings, stood close by. He could see that Emily was talking to her while she patted Laurie’s back. The three of them climbed into the SUV and drove away.

He watched them go.

He let them go.

This time.