Authors: Lynde Lakes
When she’d tried to rattle him about his relationship with Charmaine, he’d stayed calm enough. Other than head-turning looks, he didn’t fit the profile. But he’d been caught here. And now these photos. Together, those two things were more than enough to hold him.
But what about the blood-spatter?
She continued thumbing through the pictures.
She froze. Tess! She felt the blood drain from her face. What was her kid sister’s picture doing with those of the murdered women? She turned the picture over and looked at the back.
NEXT
was scrawled in red ink.
Chapter Three
Jill stabbed at the buttons of her cell phone with rigid fingers. Dane sat in a straight-backed chair, handcuffed, looking alter-boy innocent. The Janus-faced fiend! It gave her satisfaction to note the beads of sweat on his brow. Good, he was no longer calm and unruffled. Tess’ number rang hollowly.
Come on. Come on, Sis. Answer your phone
.
Perhaps she’d sheltered Tess too much, because at nineteen the kid was still quite naive and far too trusting. Add that impetuous nature of hers and it spelled easy mark.
“Sure, we’re friends. Met in the video class at the university.” A look crossed his face that told Jill he’d just made the connection. “You’re sisters.”
“If you’ve harmed her—” She dug her nails into her palms.
Any threat at this point would be empty and absurd.
“Look, I don’t know how Tess’ picture or the others got in my file. Don’t you get it? It’s so blasted clear—someone’s set me up.”
Jill took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly. Could he be telling the truth? The studio had been on her list of those to watch, and nothing had seemed out of the ordinary until she’d gotten the anonymous call. Who was the caller? And why had he hung up before she could get his name?
There were too many unanswered questions. The case against Dane seemed too pat, too easy. Nothing had come easy up to this point. For the killer to fall into her lap now was out of sync.
She studied Dane Clark. His reason for being there sounded feasible. Could those warm brown eyes belong to a psycho serial killer? Oddly, she hoped they didn’t. And if they didn’t, why had the killer pegged him as the fall guy?
The complexity of the case had just deepened, and she had a legitimate reason to let him go. But not just yet.
Chapter Four
From the second floor of the darkened building across the street from the studio, the Snuff Video Killer got tickled as he watched the raid unfold as though right there. And he got it all on tape. “Get um’, you oink’n bastard,” he’d shouted when the macho cop shoved the news snoop back into the room. Then when the Fed shrink found the glossy of her dear baby sister, he’d trembled with waves of hysterics. Grayson had lost it big—first shock, fear, then a fury that almost matched his own. The shrink, like him, hid her emotions in a cool facade, but when released they were explosive. He adjusted the metal eyepiece of the high-powered binoculars against his lid. The metal felt hard, warm and comforting. He drew in a long breath and expanded his chest, feeling a rush of incredible power. Imagine him and the Fed shrink coming together in an explosive TNT force. And they would. Soon. He’d see to that.
Grayson’s perceptiveness and tenaciousness made her a worthy opponent. It was a turn-on to pit his brain against hers and to bask in the fantasy of how it would all end—with him the victor and her
his
snared prey.
For a while, she’d worried him. But the balance tipped in his favor when he happened upon Tess, who, to his good fortune, answered his university bulletin board ad for a model. He’d seen Tess in the video class, yet hadn’t made the connection. When she mentioned that her sister was
his
Jill Grayson the Fed, the idea jelled and everything fell into place.
Tonight, in a stroke of genius, he’d unnerved the persistent shrink and gotten the hotshot reporter out of his hair.
Grayson would eventually figure out she had the wrong man. But for now, her investigation of Dane Clark would keep her off his trail.
He’d be free to accomplish his goals and have some fun with the supposedly unflappable Jill Grayson. Before he moved on to another state, he’d star
her
in one of his videos. She wasn’t a model, but she was beautiful enough. And that was key. Her beauty. Outwitting the psychologist’s sharp, probing mind and getting her on tape would be his most gratifying achievement.
Tonight, he’d planned everything perfectly and remained in control throughout, holding in check every moment of his explosive energy for the camera.
All through his teens the shrinks at the mental hospital had promised that if he harnessed the force within him, he could excel in whatever he wanted to do. Now he believed it.
The doctors assured him he was much smarter than average and it would be a waste not to develop his mind. So, he enrolled in college and eventually earned a master’s degree in the arts, and then he completed courses in journalism, film, video and stage production.
Soon after, what he feared most happened. He killed again. This time it wasn’t his beautiful mother. It was a stranger. Yet, he experienced the same rush and release. Then fulfillment.
As he stood over the young model, watching the blood gush then ooze from her neck, his psychiatrists’ words echoed in his head like a Greek chorus: “Control the force, channel it.”
Today, ten years later, his doctors might be horrified at the way he’d used their advice. But he’d channeled the force. Now he killed with artistic flare—for profit.
Chapter Five
Nineteen-year-old Tess Grayson paced a path on the Jester Motel’s soiled red carpet. She stuck her hand in her pocket and fingered the cylinder of pepper spray that Jill had given to her. Knowing it was there bolstered her uneasy feeling.
Jill wouldn’t approve of her coming here alone. Her sis had never been a risk taker, never did anything without weighing all the pros and cons. Of course, caution was necessary when dealing with the scum Jill had to deal with, but to get somewhere in modeling and film a girl had to take risks.
Wearing a dark wig, she’d registered under the name of Shelly Simms just as
he
had instructed. She understood his reasoning. To get the part in the movie, it was important to not only look like Shelly, but to
be
her. The producer had to believe she was the only one right for the part.
She glanced at her watch. It was late. If the well-connected jerk hadn’t promised dinner with his producer friend, she wouldn’t still be hanging around here, cooling her heels in this musty, roach-infested place. Bored, she flipped T.V. channels, and sipped the orange juice she’d bought from a vending machine. Finally, at ten-fifteen, he called. “Something’s come up—be there as soon as I can. Don’t go out or use the phone.”
“Sorry, kid. I keep forgetting you’re a babe to the business. Solberg just happens to be an up and comer in a big way and you could ride on his shirttail to fame, if you’ve got the guts.”
“I still don’t see—”
“You have to keep the lines clear for me. When I get the go-ahead, we’ll have to move fast. And unlike the postman, there won’t be time to ring twice, Sweetie.”
“Just wait. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but this could be bigger than we thought. Come on, Miss Future Movie Star.” His words dripped with honey. “Be patient just a little longer.”
Tess munched on the last potato chip. Why was she eating junk food? She crumpled the bag into a ball. It opened mid-arc and floated gently into the wastebasket, mocking her anger. Why was she in this rundown, hooker-hangout, putting up with his excuses anyway? She knew the reason—he was her shortcut to fame.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he crooned.
He
had
set her up with a few jobs, and she couldn’t discount that. “Yes, but—”
She heard a click, then silence. Her face flamed hot. “Jerk, jerk, jerk,” she shouted into the dead line. Still, she had to see this through, no matter what it cost her.
Chapter Six
Jill checked the airport and bus stations and then she drove rapidly along the hilly wet streets of San Francisco, toward the nightclub district. Estudiantes was one of the hot spots frequented by college students. Someone there might know where Tess had gone.
Smells of salt and sea came through the inch of open window. She pressed harder on the accelerator, ignoring the hazard of the foggy mist creeping in off the bay. She chewed her lip. She’d already lost time. Although the medical examiner and coroner finished quickly, the process of combing the studio for clues seemed to take forever. She’d been pulled in two directions, wanting to see every molecule of evidence the technicians uncovered, yet needing to race out and turn the city upside down.
Did Dane Clark know more about her sister’s disappearance than he admitted? What did her emotional reaction to the reporter mean? It wasn’t like her to be in denial about a suspect.
Jill gripped the steering wheel tighter. She couldn’t allow herself to label him the killer or dismiss him as innocent until all the facts were in. She’d profiled the killer by comparing this case to other serial cases and by using evidence gathered at each murder scene. The man she was after was a white male, mid-thirties to early forties, probably an attractive, persuasive man and someone all the victims had known at least on a casual basis. The varied hours of the killings indicated that perhaps he had no one to whom he was responsible and therefore was most likely living alone. She wondered if Dane Clark lived with anyone.
Club Estudiantes was just ahead, only a block beyond the cable car tracks. How long had it been since she’d taken a cable car ride up the hill? Not since she’d gotten this case. Case—such a cold, detached word, and she’d never felt detached. And now with Tess involved she had to fight panic.
As she pulled into the club’s parking lot she prayed she’d find a lead to Tess’ whereabouts here. But the nightspot turned out to be a dead end. No one knew her sister, or so they said.
Time was fleeting. As she slid behind the steering wheel again, she tucked her hair behind her ear. Perhaps there was a clue in Tess’ room. Jill made a U-turn and headed toward Tess’ apartment.
Jill passed a block of darkened row houses. Tess and Ellen had almost rented one of them. She wished they had. The apartment they had chosen was not in the best neighborhood. Nervously, she licked her lips. Tess had been so evasive in the last few months, closing her out. Now the photo she’d found in that file had changed everything. Jill shivered. Until the maniac was locked away, she had to know where Tess was, whom she was with, and exactly what she was up to.
She remembered the evening Tess graduated from high school. Agent Gary Peters was also there to see his nephew get his diploma, and they’d watched the ceremony together. It’d been easy to pick Tess out in the procession of seniors in flowing burgundy robes and tasseled caps. All she did was aim her camera at the tallest, prettiest girl, the one with silky blonde hair and a sweet, irresistible smile.
Jill sighed. Mom would have been so proud, if only she’d lived through her fight with cancer. Getting Tess beyond the traumas and raging hormones of the teen years hadn’t been an easy task alone, but somehow she’d made it. Now her sister was in college. But exactly where was she now?
Tess’ apartment parking lot was almost full, but Jill found a space and squeezed in. She lifted the collar of her jacket against the chilly breeze and ran most of the way. All the windows in the two-story apartment were dark. It was late and she hated waking Ellen for the second time in one night, but finding Tess was too urgent to wait.