“Eli believes that John Robinson had something to do with his sister’s disappearance five years ago.”
“What do the police say?”
“They have no proof of any wrongdoing.”
Jessica scratched her chin. “What are you going to do?”
“If Eli Simpson is correct and John Robinson is the man who worked for the Daltons, then I need the usual pictures to prove that he’s able-bodied so I can close this case. It should have been an open-and-shut case.”
“If John Robinson lied about who he is on the workers’ comp form,” Jessica asked, “couldn’t he be arrested for fraud?”
“That’s a possibility.”
“If he’s lying about who he is, he could be dangerous,” Jessica said. “Have you talked to Jared about this?”
“He’s busy,” Lizzy said. “Besides, I only discovered John Robinson’s name the other night after talking with Eli Simpson again.”
“You went alone?”
“She’s a private investigator,” Hayley reminded her. “They talk to people they’ve never met—complete strangers. That’s what they do.”
“You’re such a bitch,” Jessica said.
Hayley shrugged. “Just stating the facts.”
Lizzy ignored their bickering. “Any more questions before I take off?”
“I still don’t get the Dennis Nilsen connection,” Jessica said, “and why you would want to talk to him.”
“I promised Eli that if he gave me the name of the man who he believed used his name on the workers’ compensation claim, I would do some investigating of my own into the case of his missing sister.” Lizzy fished for her keys at the bottom of her purse and looked at Jessica. “I’m hoping Dennis Nilsen can tell me something about his tenant, John Robinson. Want to go?”
“No thanks,” Jessica said. “I’ll pass, but I still need to talk to you about the Dominic Povo case.”
“Can it wait a few more hours?”
“Sure, I guess.”
As soon as Lizzy reached the door, she snapped her fingers and turned to face the girls. “Two more things: Best Limousines and pine sawyer beetles. I’ve done a search, but I can’t find anything on Best Limousines. I also need everything and anything you can find out about the pine sawyer beetles: what they eat, how long they survive, where they hang out, any hidden meanings, et cetera.”
I love to kill people. I love watching them die. I would shoot them in the head and they would wiggle and squirm all over the place, and then just stop. Or I would cut them with a knife and watch their faces turn real white. I love all that blood. I told one lady to give me all her money. She said no. So I cut her and pulled her eyes out.
—Richard Ramirez
Sacramento
Friday, June 8, 2012
The sound of the door alerted him to Kassie’s arrival. He glanced at his watch. She was thirty minutes earlier than expected, which meant he would have to work a bit faster than planned.
He set the book on the bedside table, stood, straightened the bedcovers, and went to the bedroom door so he could listen. The heels of her shoes clicked against the tiles in the front entrance leading to the kitchen. Cupboards opened and closed. He heard running water.
Although he wouldn’t mind hiding in the bathroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of her undressing, he preferred to take her to his place fully clothed. She habitually parked in the garage, which would make it easy for him to drag her into the trunk of her car
unseen and head back to his place from there. He’d brought his standard kidnapping attire: a wig, sunglasses, and lipstick, in case a nosy neighbor caught a glimpse of Kassie leaving so soon after arriving home from work.
Now he could hear her talking on the phone, probably chatting with her mother or her husband. He liked the sound of her voice, smooth and velvety, with a calming lilt. Since she was a child psychologist, he imagined he would have benefited from long talks with her when he was young.
Strange
, he mused,
that she became a child psychologist but bore no children. Hmmm.
He’d have to remember to ask her about that. Her voice was getting louder. She was coming this way. He looked around, smiling, alert, excited.
His mom used to play hide-and-seek with him. It was his favorite game. The Scotts’ shower was one of those glass-enclosed types, no curtain to hide behind, so he opted for the closet. Tiresome and uninspiring, but it would have to do. If he ran for another room, she might see him as she came up the stairs.
The walk-in closet was one of the largest he’d ever had the pleasure of hiding within. There was an island in the center, made of rich mahogany. He went to the far side, where she wouldn’t be able to see him right away. Then he plunked down and made himself comfortable.
A minute later, he heard random little noises within the main part of the bedroom.
“No, I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet,” she said. “I tried calling him, but it’s his night out with the boys. I’ll have to tell him later. Please don’t tell anyone else until I’ve had a chance to tell Drew.”
Apparently she had news to share. The notion made him giddy. He could barely contain his excitement. As he sat alone in the dark, the anticipation of taking her was almost too much.
Restless, he rubbed his arms as if he were cold, though he was anything but. He was hot—eager and hopeful with high expectations, maybe too high.
In an attempt to calm himself, he closed his eyes and thought of his mother instead. Thoughts of Mom calmed him, reminded him of why he was here and what he had to do. He heard a noise and when he looked up she was standing there, not even a foot away, staring at him as if he were a ghost.
He was no ghost.
He was the real deal.
When she finally grasped the idea that he was not an apparition, it was too late. She was fast, but he was faster. He was the pursuer, the one with the plan. He lunged for her and grabbed her ankles before she could escape from the closet. He dragged her back toward him. Her screams were piercing, slicing through the quiet. His plan was to choke her until she passed out, but the bitch was stronger than she looked. He considered her to be tall, at five foot seven, but she was small boned and had little meat on her body. No padding at all, all sinewy muscle and well-worked tendons.
She was on her back and he straddled her waist while she kicked and clawed. Reaching out with his right hand, he yanked loose the first thing he could grab hold of, which turned out to be one of her husband’s long-sleeved shirts. While she took his skin under her nails and left her mark on his arms and neck, he stayed focused, oblivious to any pain she caused him, even enjoying it as he shoved the overly starched cotton into her mouth.
Her eyes bulged with fear.
That look, that moment when she realized he might get the best of her, was the moment he got a hard-on. She had no choice but to concentrate on keeping an open airway. Using both hands to grab for the shirt, she gave him the chance to bind her wrists
together, using the same shirt that had been clogging her airway only moments before.
He ripped another shirt from a hanger and used it to tie her ankles. Breathless, he worked fast, choking her until she passed out. He then pulled out his handkerchief and enjoyed one of the finest orgasmic thrills of his life.
Getting Kassie Scott from her walk-in closet upstairs to the trunk of her car parked in the garage did not go as planned. With his hands grasping her ankles, he pulled her from the closet. He dragged her body down the stairs and through the living room. But along the way, she woke up and managed to untie her hands.
Kassie Scott was doing everything she could think of to stop him from taking her any farther. Chairs were knocked over and decorative items were broken. A hard object struck the side of his head, pissing him off. Another knot on his head.
The bitch was going to wish she had cooperated.
As he pulled her through the kitchen, she screamed and kicked, so he decided to take a moment to teach her a lesson. He grabbed the biggest knife he could find, held it to her throat, and threatened her into submission. His hands shook. He wanted nothing more than to stab her, slice her open, and play with her innards. She must have seen the resolve in his expression because when their eyes met, she stopped fighting him.
By the time he secured her arms and legs, shoved her inside the trunk, and slammed it shut, he’d come down a long way from his incredible high.
He returned to the house and righted fallen chairs, cleaning up the path of destruction as best he could. After returning to the garage and climbing behind the wheel of Kassie’s car, he shuffled through his bag for the blonde wig and slid it over his smooth bald head. Using the rearview mirror, he made a few necessary
adjustments, and then slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Lipstick came next. “Impassioned” was the shade of the day. He rubbed his lips together and admired his new look.
Beautiful.
Next, he pulled out the disposable cell phone he’d bought to make contact with his favorite private investigator.
It was time.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Lizzy was up to. Had she gone for a run this morning? He laughed at the notion. Had she found the gift he left in her office?
Did she have any fucking clue who she was dealing with?
He already knew her number by heart, but he’d never called her before. He pushed Favorites, and one more push of a button was all it took before he felt a rush of adrenaline stream through his veins as he listened to the ringtone. “Come on, Lizzy, answer your phone. Let’s play.”
Davis
Friday, June 8, 2012
The moment Lizzy drove off, heading for Lincoln, Hayley went to her room to grab her backpack. She made a mad dash back into the living room and said, “Come on.”
Jessica looked frantic, her eyes wide, her face pale. “What are you talking about? We have to stay here. There’s work to do.”
“That’s what we’ll be doing,” Hayley said. “Working. Come on.”
“What’s in that backpack?”
“Nothing that would interest you. I would borrow your car and go alone,” Hayley added, “but I need a lookout.”
“A lookout?”
“Yeah, you know, the person who calls you on your phone to tell you somebody is coming and that you have two minutes to get out of the house if you want to get out alive.”
Jessica crossed her arms over her chest, something she often did. Her lame way of saying she wasn’t going to budge.
“If you don’t take me,” Hayley told her, “I’m going to call Lizzy right now and tell her all about you aiding and abetting a fugitive the other day.”
“That’s blackmail. You wouldn’t dare.”
“Do I look like I wouldn’t dare?”
“You can stop with the threats. You wouldn’t do it because you would be giving up your own freedom.”
“Good point.”
“If you do this,” Jessica said, “Lizzy is going to return home and see that you are gone. You’ll get caught for sure.”
“She’s going to Lincoln. That’s almost an hour away. We have plenty of time. Besides, if you don’t take me, I’m calling Tommy. I’m sure he’ll be a perfect lookout.”
Jessica practically growled as she came to her feet and tugged the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
Hayley held open the door for her.
“I’m going to remember this,” Jessica said.
“I’m sure you will.”
Lincoln
Friday, June 8, 2012
Lizzy made a left off Forbes Road onto a narrow street. There were tall pines on both sides of the road, which made it feel less like day and more like night.
She followed the road for about a mile until she came to a road block. A chain was hooked from a tall pine on the left to a wood post on the right. Pulling to the side of the road, she parked the car and decided to go the rest of the way by foot.
The majority of the property was made up of a forest of trees. The ground was covered with dirt and leaves still damp from recent rains. Towering redwoods, oaks, and pines filled the air with a woodsy smell. As she walked along, she heard a strange sound. She stopped and listened. It wasn’t the high-pitched sound of cicadas—it was a low, eerie hum, a quiet munching, distinct and rhythmic.
Not far ahead, she spotted the roof of a single-story house. A closer look showed that the house was bigger than she’d first thought. It was L-shaped, with a surrounding porch. There was an unattached barnlike building in the foreground. The wood paneling on the house was faded and weathered. More than half of the foundation appeared to be gone, giving it a slant that made it look as if part of the house might topple over at any moment. The bottom edge of the siding appeared to have extensive termite and weather damage.
She might have thought the house was abandoned, except once she made her way up the three wooden steps leading to a new cedar porch, the place showed signs of life. An umbrella leaned against the wall near the door, nearby work boots were covered with dried mud, and a stack of wood was shoved against the siding. She opened the screen door and knocked. After a minute, she knocked again. Backing away, she let the screen door shut on its own.
As she followed the length of the porch, every step echoed off the wood planks.
“Anybody home?” she called as she worked her way westward until the porch ended. From where she stood looking over the
rail, she saw acres of rock outcroppings and creeks. It was a peaceful setting, yet there was a subtle eeriness to the place that she couldn’t shake.
She knew she shouldn’t do it, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d come a long way. She looked through the trees, toward her car, making sure nobody had shown up. The last thing she wanted was a reputation as a Peeping Tom. Leaning close to the front window, she cupped her hands around her eyes and took a look inside.
Her gaze settled on an old couch with a print fabric. Not too far from the couch was a well-used brown recliner. There were built-in shelves filled with books. The kitchen was to her right. She pushed her forehead closer to the windowpane, trying to get a better look at the kitchen table. There was a tablecloth, but it was covered with—
bang!