Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Adrian sat in the waiting room. Perfect name for this place.
Waiting. Dale’s wife was next to him, trying to be brave.
Trying not to fall apart. Dale was in surgery.
He’d been shot twice before returning fire.
The intruder had escaped out of an upstairs window, landing in the bushes below.
Dale thought he might have hit him, but he wasn’t certain.
He couldn’t describe him more than to say that he was male, white, and wearing a dark hoodie.
After that, he’d lost consciousness. Adrian and his officers had been so busy attending to him, no one had chased the intruder.
Later, they’d try to find him, but for now, Adrian was focused on Dale.
Still, Adrian wanted the man who had shot his officer.
Who was he, and why had he been in Erin’s house? What was going on?
His mind was still trying to process what had happened.
None of his officers had ever been seriously injured on the job before.
He’d seen it happen in Chicago, but moving to Sanctuary had allowed him to let his guard down.
They should have had their guns drawn when they went inside the house.
Why hadn’t they done that? Dale and Lonzine hadn’t noticed anything that made them think someone was still inside.
No car. No movement. Nothing that made them suspicious.
Standard procedure was to draw your weapon anytime you entered a building that had been breached.
Why hadn’t he followed his training? He’d been attacked outside Erin’s cabin, yet he still failed to encourage his officers to protect themselves.
Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer.
It was because this was Sanctuary. Not Chicago.
Yet just a few months ago, they’d encountered evil.
Adrian had seen it as a fluke. He even chalked up the attack on him as something unusual.
His mistake may have cost Dale his life.
He vowed to never take another chance with his officers’ lives again.
Even if it made them feel paranoid. He wiped tears from his eyes as he prayed silently yet fervently for Dale’s life.
He looked across from where he and Alice sat.
Lonzine, one of the strongest people he’d ever known, was also wiping away tears.
To her, everyone in the department was family, and now she was suffering.
He could hear her whispered prayers for Dale.
So could Alice, who seemed frozen, unable to process what was happening.
He’d seen this before. An officer in Chicago, a friend of Adrian’s, was shot by a druggie who thought he was the devil coming to take his soul.
Adrian had sat with his wife, just like this.
She’d been like a statue, unable to move, unable to speak.
When the doctor in Chicago came out into the waiting room, Adrian knew his friend had died by the look on the surgeon’s face.
It was only then that Kim fell apart, overwhelmed with emotion.
He prayed as hard as he could that it wouldn’t happen a second time.
“Mrs. Robinson?”
Adrian had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that the doctor had stepped into the waiting room. But Alice had seen him. Her eyes were focused only on him. She didn’t blink. Just stared.
“Will you come with me?” the doctor said. “We have a room where we can talk.”
“No!”
Alice’s response startled him, but the doctor appeared to take it in his stride. He was probably used to this.
“Tell me now,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now.”
The doctor nodded. “Dale came through the surgery just fine. Both bullets passed through without causing major damage. He’ll need some time to recover, but he’ll be able to resume his duties in a month or two.”
Alice looked at Adrian. “I don’t want him on the force anymore. I almost lost him. I won’t go through this again.”
Adrian didn’t say anything, just nodded. He knew how she felt at that moment, but after Dale was better, she would probably see things differently. Dale loved his job. He’d be back. But now wasn’t the time to talk about that.
“I’d really like to speak to you about what to expect during his recovery,” the doctor said. “Now can we go somewhere to talk about that?”
Alice nodded, got up, and followed the doctor without a word to Adrian or Lonzine. He wasn’t offended. He nodded at Lonzine, and they got to their feet.
“I think it would be best if we leave her alone for a couple of days,” he said. “We’ll send flowers and check in with her when she’s had a chance to process what happened.”
“But what about Dale? I’d like to let him know we’re thinking of him,” Lonzine said.
“Let’s call him tomorrow. Today, we need to find out who was in Erin’s home and why. What was he doing there? Was it a simple robbery? Or was there more to it?”
“Okay,” Lonzine said. She frowned. “Odd to shoot at a police officer over a simple B&E. He would have been arrested, maybe spent a little time in jail, but nothing major. Why take a chance at throwing away your life by trying to kill a police officer?”
She was right. “Well, we’re going to have to find the answers to those questions, aren’t we?”
His phone rang and it startled him. “Just a minute,” he said. It was Tim. He listened, thanked him, and hung up. “They found blood at Erin’s house. Outside in the bushes and along a path where a car had been parked behind the cabin, hidden in the trees. The tire tracks are fresh.”
“We looked back there,” Lonzine said, “but we didn’t see a car.”
“It was well hidden. Besides, you weren’t searching for a vehicle in that location. Easy to miss.”
By the look on her face, Adrian could tell that she felt guilty about not finding it. If she and Dale had discovered the automobile when it was parked back there, they would have entered the cabin with guns drawn. Dale might not have been shot.
“Tim took samples of the blood,” Adrian said. “He sent it for DNA testing. The lab promised to get back to us later today. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Lonzine nodded. “Good.” She frowned at him. “Have you called Erin yet?”
Adrian shook his head. “I was going to tell her that someone was in her house. Now, I have to tell her that Dale was shot there.” He sighed. “This is one phone call I don’t want to have to make.”
Erin was thankful that Detective Herrington was going to allow her to sit with Pat while he interviewed her.
It was obvious how nervous she was. It was also clear that Herrington wasn’t going to get what he needed unless he could find a way to calm her.
He hadn’t shown her the same understanding and allowed Kaely to stay with her.
Either she’d hidden her apprehension well, or he’d decided he needed to change his tactics.
He pulled another chair up to his desk and gestured for Erin to sit down.
“I know this will be difficult,” Herrington said to her, “but I need you to look at some photos.” He cleared his throat, proving that even for a seasoned investigator, these murders were disturbing. Having to tell the truth to this uneasy woman was proving to be a challenge.
“How do you know this murder was based on my book?” she asked.
“The murder follows your plot exactly,” he said. “And he left a copy of your book along with a poem.”
Pat swallowed hard. “Read the poem, please.” She reached over and grabbed Erin’s hand. She was fairly certain Pat had done it subconsciously.
“All right,” Herrington said, clearing his throat again. “In every murder, he’s left behind a poem that includes the title of the novel. We found this one written on a piece of paper that was folded and placed inside your book. It reads:
“I am death, created by evil and fueled by hate.
I hold in my hands your ultimate fate.
You feel my presence as I draw near.
I feed on your anguish and relish your fear.
As your life drifts away, I make you Grin.
Now we wait while investigators uncover your sin.”
Pat gasped and squeezed Erin’s hand harder.
“It doesn’t make any sense. What sin?” Her voice shook.
She took a shaky breath, clearly trying to calm herself.
“Look, our books are based on research, not firsthand knowledge. But I believe serial killers have a signature. A reason to kill. Unless he’s a frustrated novelist whose manuscripts have been rejected, what’s his motive? Why pick these books? My book?”
“I’ve brought up the same thing,” Erin said. “Of all the serial killers I’ve studied, there’s no motive here that makes sense. We know he’s angry, but we have no idea why. This makes it very difficult to profile him. To understand him.”
She noticed Herrington’s irritated glance but decided to ignore it.
“I’m not asking you about motive,” he said to Pat. “I want to know if you know anyone who might have done this. Anyone who had a reason to copy the murders in your book. I need you to look over these photos and tell me if you see anything that might help us locate our unknown subject.”
“You can say UNSUB, Detective Herrington,” Pat said. “I know what it means.”
He let out a small sigh. She glanced over at Erin and rolled her eyes.
Herrington didn’t seem to notice. He clicked open a file on his computer and turned the screen toward her.
Although she thought she was prepared, Erin was shocked by the pictures.
The first showed a woman lying on the ground, her face disfigured by the killer’s attempt to turn her mouth into a grotesque smile.
Her throat was cut, and her blouse was open, another smile carved on her chest. It was immediately clear that it was created after she’d been dead for a while.
There wasn’t much bleeding from that wound.
The cut on her throat had killed her. The rest, her chest and her face, were done later.
“It’s . . . it’s horrendous,” Pat said. “When you write something like this it’s . . . not real. My imagination never envisioned this.” She frowned. “Is this my sin? That I wrote this book?”
“I understand, Pat,” Erin said. “But writing a book isn’t a sin. He’s trying to make you feel guilty. All of us. The authors. He wants us to believe we’re responsible for his madness. But we’re not. This is on him and him alone.”
“I know you’re right, but this is . . . monstrous.”
Erin nodded her assent. This killer really was a monster. It was then that she noticed something. “Her hair is blonde too,” she said. She looked at Herrington. “That’s important. All of the victims have been blonde. You can now be certain that he’s hunting a type.”
“You’re right,” Pat said. Herrington clicked through the additional photos, including one of the poem and another one of the book. “No fingerprints?” she asked.
Herrington shook his head. “We think he’s wearing gloves. So far, we have no evidence that could lead us to him.”
“No sexual assault?” Patricia asked. She’d let go of Erin’s hand and her voice was steadier.
“No. Not with any of the victims.”
Pat shook her head. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I can’t help you. This UNSUB has almost perfectly re-created the murders in my book. And I can’t think of anyone who could have done this. There was one man, but he’s dead.”
“We know about Jerry Jasper,” Herrington said. “We’ve already started checking out family members and friends. He was an only child, and his parents are dead. And Jerry didn’t have many friends. He was a weird guy.”
“Was there any kind of toy at the scene?” Erin asked.
“Toy?” Herrington shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I know you think the UNSUB is leaving twenty-year-old toys behind, but that didn’t go anywhere. We don’t think they have any connection to the crime.”
Erin was a little surprised and even more disappointed. She thought she’d found something linking the killings.
Herrington suddenly got a strange look on his face and clicked open another file on his laptop. He looked at Pat.
“These are shots of her clothing,” he said. He pointed to something next to the woman’s discarded jeans.
Pat looked at the photo and shook her head. “This doesn’t mean anything to me. I have no idea what it is.” She glanced over at Erin. “Do you recognize this?”
Erin scooted closer to the screen. What she saw made it hard to catch her breath. “It’s a My Little Pony sticker.” She looked at Herrington. “This proves that he’s leaving children’s toys at each scene. This is how you’ll catch him.”