2. Asher
Chapter two
Asher
I dreamed about the dollhouse again. Every time it was the same.
I was walking down an empty road when I came across a dollhouse under one of the street lights.
I picked it up to look at it, and gallons of blood started pouring out of it, flowing down the street into the nearby gutter.
I dropped the house and it shattered at my feet, spraying more blood over the road.
There was a pile of bodies on the grass nearby, limbs twisted and gray, like someone’s discarded toys.
Each body had a face I recognized, each woman was someone we’d failed.
I woke up and winced, sitting up from the desk that I’d fallen asleep on.
I couldn’t have been asleep that long, or my neck would have been a lot more sore.
I checked my watch and sure enough, it had only been about two hours, so just enough rest to keep my brain from shutting down, which was all I needed anyway.
Stretching out my arms, I twisted my back until it popped, then stared blearily down at the papers spread out in front of me, blinking until my eyes began to focus once more.
I’d been going through these files for weeks now, trying to find anything that may have been overlooked.
We’d been in fifteen different cities across the country, gathering every last scrap of information from every single missing person’s case and Jane Does matching our profile.
Eight missing women, and seven Jane Does had been correctly identified.
Based on the profile that I’d been building, our killer kept his victims for roughly four months before killing them, and then quickly moved on to his next target.
If he stuck to his pattern, our eighth missing woman was running out of time.
I shoved the chair back and stood, letting the blood flow back into my legs.
I walked around a bit to wake myself up and moved to study the board again.
Eight women, all medium height and average build, with strawberry blond hair and blue eyes, in their late twenties to early thirties.
They all lived low-risk lifestyles and were all reported missing less than twenty four hours after they were taken.
Aside from their obvious similarities in looks, they all came from different cities and, as far as we could tell, had no connection aside from our killer.
Each and every one had been taken at some point in the early evening outside or near to their home without anyone witnessing the abduction and all but one had been found dead in a different city four months later.
I studied the crime scene photos, even though they were basically burned into my retinas at this point.
Each woman had been found mutilated and naked, discarded in a dumpster and posed almost like a broken barbie doll.
One particularly disgusting newspaper had dubbed him the Doll Maker, and it had stuck.
I grimaced at the name, hating that these sick bastards get some infamous moniker while the people they killed were left forgotten in the background of the story.
A knock on the door startled me, and I turned to find Hunter pushing the door open as he balanced two cups of coffee in one hand and a stack of files in the other.
I moved around the table to grab the coffees before he could dump them all over my hard work, and he smirked at my obvious panic.
“Thought you might need some caffeine, Sleeping Beauty,” he told me, and I nodded, taking a sip of it immediately.
Hunter despised police station coffee and would always go out to pick up the good stuff, which I was grateful for.
I wasn’t a snob like he was, but I hadn’t slept more than ten hours in the last five days so I needed proper caffeine.
“Oh, and in case you were wondering, you look like shit.”
I frowned and looked down at myself. Sure, my shirt was a bit wrinkled, and at some point in the last two days I’d lost my tie somewhere under the pile of papers.
And okay, I hadn’t brushed my hair in a bit, but I was sure it couldn’t be that bad.
Plus, who gave a shit what I looked like anyway?
My looks didn’t matter for this job, only my brain did.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to smooth it down a bit, and took another sip of coffee as I turned back to the board.
“So, remember how we were trying to figure out how the killer is finding his next victim?” I asked, and Hunter took a seat in my abandoned chair, dumping the files on top of my piles of documents.
“Yeah, since he moves so much, and there’s such a short window between dumping the body and grabbing someone else, how is he able to find someone new who matches his type?
” Hunter replied, leaning back in his chair.
He looked crisp and refreshed, having slept and likely showered last night, and I hated him a little for it.
I gestured back at the board, pointing at the pictures one at a time.
“We know each victim was taken in the same city that the last victim was dumped, and we know, based on Abby Keller’s dump site and Corine Ball’s abduction site, that he found her less than thirty miles from where he dumped Abby.
Assuming this is similar for each of the victims in turn, I came up with this map.
” I flipped the board around, showing the map of the US, now covered in push-pins and sharpied circles.
“Do you see what I see?” I asked him, watching as he frowned, his body shifting from relaxed to tense all at once.
“I bet his home base is right here.” I jabbed my finger in the center of the cluster of circles.
“Probably close to the major highway that feeds off into each of these areas. We need to get everyone moving, canvas this area here, and start looking for anyone who matches our profile,” I explained, and I could tell I was talking too fast again.
Hunter told me that when I got really focused, I forgot to slow myself down so other people could understand me.
I always wondered why none of them could ever speed up to match my pace instead.
Hunter nodded and stood up, already dialing.
“Grab your bag and a clean shirt, we’re on the road in ten.
” He walked out of the room, leaving his coffee on the table.
I grabbed the files I had yet to go through and shoved them in my bag.
According to my map, we were heading to Columbus, Ohio.
If we left now, we’d get there early tomorrow morning, and by then our analysts would have a list of possible suspects to start on.
I took a look at the latest victim on our board, the one who might still be alive.
Her name was Dahlia Porter, and I really wanted to find her before she had a second picture on my board.
“Wake up sunshine, we’re nearly there.” I jerked up in my seat, looking at my hands, which only moments ago had been covered in blood.
That damn dream again; I hoped we solved this case soon just to rid myself of those images and the feeling of blood coating my fingers.
I grimaced and rubbed a hand over my face.
I must’ve fallen asleep again just outside of Ohio.
I’d gotten through two more files while we drove, as well as the detailed autopsy report for Aubrey Melborn, our fourth victim.
Aubrey had been found in a dumpster in Louisville, but what I thought was curious was the samples they’d pulled from her hair.
“Do you know what a shagbark hickory is?” I asked Hunter, who looked over at me with one eyebrow cocked.
“Is it a sex thing?” he asked tiredly, and I rolled my eyes.
“It’s a type of tree. There aren’t many around Louisville, but they are found in Ohio.” I explained quickly. “They found leaves from a shagbark hickory in Aubrey Melborn’s hair.” I waited for Hunter to catch up.
“You want to ask all units to look out for these trees near the homes of our top suspects?” Hunter asked, giving me a sidelong glance.
I didn’t bother to answer, since he was already pulling out his phone to call his contact in the Columbus PD.
We had five suspects to check out, all of them matching our precise criteria.
I looked at each of their addresses and started to do my own internal calculations, based on their locations, relative geography, age of the neighborhoods, and how long each property had been owned.
“Suspect four, Steve Curing,” I announced, and Hunter checked the list of addresses we had, plugging Curing’s into the GPS and pulling a very illegal U-turn to get us going in the right direction.
He didn’t ask questions anymore, and I was grateful for that.
He was a true-blue FBI, with all of the training and years in the field.
He had been unhappy to get partnered with me at first, just like every other partner I’d had over the past six years.
However, unlike the rest of them, he’d overlooked some of my…
more frustrating qualities, and focused only on the results, and he’d figured out quickly that results were the thing I was good at.
We’d been working together for almost two years now, and our arrest rates were the best in the department.