CHAPTER TWELVE
Alison found herself back in the passenger seat again as Detective Moore drove them to interview their third suspect in quick succession. There was a mild Pavlovian response, and as soon as she was in the car and they were driving, she craved an espresso and a croissant.
"They’re going to send the file through on Linda Ashford as soon as they have it, but we might be going in there blind," Moore said.
"I interviewed Marcus Webb as a suspect previously, and it was clear he hated me and the system. Now, he's part of the justice system, and perhaps doing something good after all these years. That's proof that people can change."
"It is," Moore admitted. "He’s obviously still wary of you and the police in general, but he did help, didn’t he?"
"Unless it’s a game he’s playing," Alison said. "I don't believe it from how he acted in the interview room, but we can't rule him out until we have the evidence to do so."
"Speaking of that, they’ve chased up the knives extensively, and we’re not going to get anything from that.
There’s no way to discover where the knives came from when there are so many places the killer could have bought them.
That’s if they bought them the state. I don't want to waste any more resources on that. "
"Okay," Alison said.
"As for the lawyers, we looked into that, and different lawyers represented Thomas, Jennifer, and Harold. There doesn’t seem to be any contact between the three of them. We can talk to them if you want."
"Put it on the back burner for now," Alison said. "It doesn’t make as much sense as some other leads. I don't see why they would start killing people. We don't discount them yet, but we don't use resources on them either."
"Sounds good to me," Moore said. "Do you think that—" She stopped talking when Alison’s phone rang.
"Sorry," Alison said. "I should get this. It’s Derek."
"Yeah, go ahead," Moore said.
"Hey," Alison said, answering the phone.
"Do you have a minute?" Derek asked.
"I do," Alison said. "We’re on our way to interview a suspect, but we won't be there for another…"
"Ten minutes," Moore told her.
"Ten minutes," Alison relayed to Derek. What do you need to talk about?"
"The skin sample found under Katrina Sands’s fingernails," Derek said.
The statement almost took her breath away. If there was nothing there or if it were Katrina’s own skin, he could have just texted her that. He had called her and asked if she had time to talk, and that meant it was important.
Her natural reaction was to push it all down and ignore the feelings of hope, as she had done numerous times before, but something was different this time. She pushed some of the emotion down, but not all the way.
"What did they find?" Alison asked. "Is it…?"
"They think it’s his," Derek said slowly.
"His?" Alison asked cautiously. "What does that mean?"
"It’s good news and bad news," Derek explained. "They were able to get enough of a sample together to do an analysis, and they have a genetic profile. Now, there isn’t a match in any of the databases, so that’s the bad news, but they do believe we are looking at a male in his forties or fifties.
I wish I could give you more than that, but it’s all they were able to get. "
"It feels like uncovering buried treasure after all these years," Alison admitted. "We’ve been down so many roads before with dead ends, but this is something. It’s really something, isn’t it?"
"It is," Derek said. "We just need to put it in context. The analysis doesn’t tell us who killed Katrina Sands, nor does it mean there is any connection to Emma’s murder."
"I don't care," Alison admitted. She felt the tears coming to her eyes. "It’s finally something real. We have something, and I don’t care about any of the unknowns or anything else; it just feels real!"
"We can't show that the DNA sample belongs to Emma’s killer, but if it helps us to bring in Katrina’s killer, then it’s been worth it, and perhaps it all comes out at that point.
The sample does indicate a killer who would have been old enough to kill Emma twenty-two years ago.
It also tells us that Katrina’s killer has no prior arrests or record, at least after DNA was collected.
There could be a record previous to that, but for someone to evade the law for this long, we know they’re careful, and unlikely to have been in trouble with the law a lot, if at all. "
"This makes me feel good, Derek," Alison told him. "It’s not been easy for me recently, and I know you know that, but this helps. I’ve been feeling like I’m losing my mind, and I’ve barely been on this case for any time."
She could see Moore staring straight ahead through the conversation between her and Derek.
She knew the detective was listening to everything she said to Derek, and she didn't care.
Perhaps it was a private conversation, but she had something real that might be connected to her sister, and she wanted to shout that from the rooftops.
"I’m always here," Derek said. "Just…I know I don't need to tell you not to get your hopes up, and I’m trying not to either. We take this one step at a time, nice and slow, as we’ve always done. We do it right, and if there is anything to find, we’ll find it."
"We will," Alison agreed. "I love you."
"I love you, too. I’ll keep you updated."
Alison ended the call, and a big smile grew across her face. Then, she burst into tears. She had spent years pushing down her emotions about her sister, and they flooded back all at once.
"Hey, are you okay?" Moore asked, reaching out a hand to touch Alison’s arm.
"I’m good," Alison assured her. "I’m happy."
It was a terrible thing to be happy about, and there might not be anything there, but she was happy all the same. It helped to ground her amid her current crisis. It wasn’t the good news that grounded her, she realized, but Derek. She only needed patience and perseverance.
Alison took a deep breath. "Let’s find this killer."
***
The man sat in his small home and watched the news on TV.
He considered the lack of news about a serial killer in their midst to be a greater failure on Alison’s part than anything she had done before now.
Two people were dead, and a third victim had been threatened, and none of it was being reported as it should be.
The people of Oakland didn't know what was among them, and that was her fault.
He smiled when his cat jumped up onto the kitchen table and took a step toward him over the psychology books before arching his back and purring softly.
He reached out and stroked the cat's back, moving his fingers back and forth near the tail until the cat flopped down onto its side and stretched out, almost matching the length of the table.
"Do you see how they try to hide from me?" he asked the cat. "Do you see the lies they tell to hide the truth? It is not that which I fight against, but perhaps I should. There are so much injustice and untruth in the world."
The cat remained in the stretched position as he ran a hand the length of its belly. The cat had no such problems in its world, nor did it understand any of its troubles. The cat was fine as long as it had food, sleep, and a little companionship—only when it decided it wanted it.
"I wonder about bringing her sister into it?
" the man mused as he stroked the cat. The cat did not respond, but the man could feel the response from the cat, a projection of his own thoughts onto the animal. "No, that would be wrong. That is something else entirely, and who’s to say what I’m campaigning for is not directly tied to what happened to her sister?
We know those who commit crimes are more likely to repeat them.
Was the person who killed Emma Payne someone who had broken the law before? "
The cat responded by deciding it was tired of being petted, and stood up on the table, walked to the edge, leaped off, and stalked away toward the darkness.
"One battle at a time," the man muttered to himself. "One battle at a time."
For now, he had to show everyone how wrong the system was.
He had to end the notion of early release.
He’d heard all the arguments before about rehabilitation and the cost to the taxpayer.
He firmly believed that if someone committed a crime, they should be punished.
The rehabilitation was part of serving the full sentence.
And the cost to the taxpayer? With so much taxpayer money going to unimportant things, the price to pay for keeping criminals in jail was a small one to ensure the safety of the populace.
The cat, the news on TV, his inner monologue, and the responses from Dr. Payne and the law enforcement around her so far have helped hone his mind. He brought it back to the single matter that was more important to him than anything else he had done in his life or career.
The only question was what came next?
He had killed two people and threatened a third.
It felt like casting a lure out into the water after buying two fresh fish from the market.
As they chased the bait on the line, they would never know where he got the fish from.
As they concentrated on Harold Jenkins, they would conflate it with the murders.
Sure, he had been released from prison too early, but he was merely a distraction.
While they questioned him and offered him protection, the two dead bodies sank into the past.
The only question now was whether he should kill another or threaten them.
What would occupy the police the most and distract them from coming after him, and what would help to get his message across?
The threatening letter would likely not make it into the press, and when the deaths were connected, they would report two dead bodies, and not two dead with a possible third targeted.
Was it time for a distraction or another nail in the coffin of his ultimate message? Was it time to focus on the short game or the long game?
The man picked up the files before him and went through them.
A part of deciding whether someone should die was selecting the person who should be targeted next.
Part of that was the victim's fate. He needed to have them alone so he could kill them, and that was dependent on access and timing.
There were some he would never have the chance to kill, and he could threaten them, or he could leave them alone completely.
Just the thought of killing got his heart racing, and he licked his lips.
It had been hard to break into Harold Jenkins’s house and not wait around to kill him.
When he closed his eyes, he could see the knife sliding into Jennifer Hayes’s chest. He had wondered whether it would be hard to kill a woman, but it hadn’t been.
In fact, the knife had slid into her chest more easily than into Thomas Warren's neck. He didn't know if he had managed to miss all the bones, or if the adrenaline was pumping through him so fiercely that he could have plunged his knife through solid concrete.
"Collect yourself," he whispered.
He opened his eyes and took a moment before picking up some of the files before him.
Not all the files were potential victims. All of the files pertained to Alison Payne, of course.
She deserved to be made an example of, but not all of the files were her assessments.
Some were case files in which she had not followed protocol or had mishandled the case.
She presented herself as some sort of deity, when she was as fallible as everyone else.
That was a part of the needed change. Not only did they need to obtain early release in full, but they also had to be more careful in how they conducted the assessments.
He was a far better choice than she was.
Yet, no one saw him—they all saw Alison.
"No, it must be a death this time," he muttered. "I imagine she’s trying to work out why Harold was threatened, and her great mind is trying to decipher the message behind the threat. The distraction has worked, and maybe someday, she will realize it’s only that. In the future, a distraction might be warranted, but not now. Now, it’s time for action. It’s the time to be decisive."
The man picked up the cup he had almost forgotten about and sipped the cold camomile tea, enjoying the taste but abhorring the temperature. Still, the cold sip was the shock to his system that he needed to focus his mind back on what was important.
He moved through the files like a computer hacker moves through a file system, knowing what they were looking for but not exactly where it was.
Then, he narrowed down the potentials. He cross-referenced each of them with his schedule and theirs.
He looked for the easiest target, the one he knew he could get alone soon, and who would be easy to kill.
The original crime didn't matter, nor did the life they lived after they were released.
It only mattered that they had been released early from a crime they had committed.
With each dead body, she is forced to confront her life’s work, and because she is regarded so highly, the ones who trust her are forced to confront the wrongs of the world and make some change.
The man picked up a file and laid it before him on the table. There was still some planning to do, but he would do very nicely.
"Michael Rodriguez," he whispered. "Hello, Michael Rodriguez. Prepare to die."