But there was.
A few yards away, deeper into the woods, her flashlight's beam caught a shrub moving--as if someone might have just ducked behind it. She heard twigs snapping.
Lisa tugged at the leash again. But Toby was immobile, still staring in that direction. He let out a yelp. Again, Lisa saw something move amid the shadowy trees. She directed the flashlight's beam past the base of a tree. Close to the forest floor, she saw two eyes staring back at her. They glinted in the light.
'Oh, my God,' Lisa gasped.
The raccoon didn't seem startled or riled. He merely glanced up from his meal for a moment. Then he went back to gnawing at the bloody slash across the dead girl's throat. The pale cadaver was clad in just a bra and panties.
Lisa couldn't move. She watched in horror as the raccoon half-stood on its hind legs, hovering over his feast. Tresses of the girl's long black hair were caught in the creature's claws, and her head turned a little when he moved again.
In the flashlight's beam, Lisa could see her face now.
She recognized the dead girl--even though Molly Gerrard wasn't wearing her glasses.
Standing on the stairway landing of the movie theater's lobby, Kim held the cell phone to her ear and waited for the beep. On the wall behind her was a huge old poster of Gene Kelly dancing with Leslie Caron in
She only reached the automated voice system when Erin switched off her cell phone or her battery was dead, and Erin practically
But right now, Kim didn't know what to do.
She'd been sitting in the theater for the last fifteen minutes with an empty seat beside her and Erin's coat draped over the armrest. One of the guys behind her had stepped out and come back in the duration, but that had been at least ten minutes ago. Finally, Kim had gotten up and hurried to the lobby, but she hadn't seen Erin anywhere. So Kim had pulled out her cell phone, dialed Erin's number, and started up the stairs to the women's restroom.
'Hello, Erin?' she said, holding the phone to her ear as she continued up the stairs. 'Where are you? Did you ditch me or something? I can't believe this. You've totally ruined a really good movie for me. You're not in the lobby, so I'm about to check the restroom. I'm hoping you're there.' She let out an exasperated sigh. 'If not, for God's sakes, call me, okay?'
Kim clicked off the line as she approached the women's restroom on the second floor. Pushing open the door, she stopped suddenly. The light was off. As far as she could tell, no one was in there. Past some muffled rapid Italian dialogue from the film showing upstairs, Kim only heard the rhythmic drip of a leaky faucet. She felt along the wall for the light switch.
Her hand brushed against something wet on the wall. Shuddering, she stepped back and gazed at her fingertips. Blood.
He paid for his latte, and then politely asked the barista for the bathroom key.
No one in the Joe Bar Cafe paid much attention to him. As far as he could tell, none of the other customers in the bistro had seen him emerge from the old, three-story brick building that housed the movie theater across the street.
He found a small table by the window, with a view of the theater entrance and the lighted marquee. Leaving his latte on the table, he asked the bearded twenty-something man with a laptop notebook at the next table to make sure no one took his spot while he was in the washroom.
'Sure, no sweat,' the guy said, barely looking up from his notebook.
He thanked the man, then carried his Nordstrom bag into the bathroom at one side of the barista counter. It was tiny, with a narrow door and barely enough room for the sink and toilet. The walls were painted burnt orange, and the management had posted a reminder above the sink that all employees had to wash their hands after using the facilities. Above that little sign hung a mirror.
He studied his reflection for a moment. His face was clean, and his hair appeared slightly damp. With a sigh, he lowered the toilet seat lid and set down his bag. Then he turned to the mirror again. With his hand, he pressed down on the top of his head, mashing the hair against his scalp. Drops of blood slithered down his forehead.
He quickly grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser above the toilet and dabbed up the blood. Then he ran the paper towel over his head, and glanced at the crimson streaks soaked into the fiber sheet.
He should have worn a shower cap when he'd killed her.
Earlier, in the women's lavatory at the movie theater, he'd quickly rinsed off his face. He'd shucked off the blood-spattered, plastic rain jacket and gloves. They were now in a dark plastic bag stuffed inside the Nordstrom tote. He hadn't much time to clean up in that theater washroom, and the job on Erin had been messy.
Molly Gerrard had been much easier--and neater--three hours earlier.
She had been his first kill--ever. He'd tried to kill before, years ago, but it hadn't worked out. That failure was still the source of a lot of bitterness and frustration in him.
So he was surprised to have pulled off Molly's murder without a hitch. He'd been following her around for days now. He knew her car and had overheard several of her cell phone conversations. So he often knew what Molly was going to do before she did it.
Late this afternoon, he'd skulked up the Gerrards' driveway, crouched down behind Molly's Honda, and set a small board with four nails driven through it under the left rear tire. Less than an hour later, she stepped out of the house and hurried into the car. It only took four blocks for the tire to deflate--and in a perfect, remote spot, too.
He pretended he'd just happened by. And Molly looked so glad to see him--right up until the moment he punched her in the face. With one blow, he bloodied her nose, broke her glasses, and knocked her unconscious.
He drove her eight blocks to the ravinelike drive, where she started to regain consciousness. She was dazed and almost docile as he hauled her into the dark, wooded area. But then Molly seemed to realize what was happening. She pleaded with him--employing, no doubt, the same kind of reasoning and logic she'd used in school last week to save the lives of her classmates. Only it didn't work this time. It was hard for Molly to rely on those powers of verbal persuasion once he slashed her throat. Instead of words, a strange gurgling sound came from her mouth during the last few moments of her life.
He'd gotten only a few drops of blood on his glove and on the sleeve of his clear rain jacket. He wiped it clean with two Kleenex.
Along with Molly's broken glasses, he took her cell phone. There were three messages from Erin Travino about the movie: first, saying she'd meet Molly in front of the theater; next, asking Molly what had happened to her; and, finally, saying where she and Kim were sitting if Molly was still interested in meeting them.
As if Erin hadn't already made it easy enough for him to find her, she was the one who kept switching on her cell phone and checking her messages during the movie. That little blue light had stood out in the darkened theater. He'd followed her--and that blue light--out to the lobby, then up to the women's restroom.
He wondered if someone had discovered her body yet. Standing over the small sink in the coffeehouse washroom, he rinsed Erin's blood out of his hair. He watched the pink water swirl against the white porcelain. With some paper towels, he pat-dried his scalp, then checked for more blood on his jeans and shoes. He'd lucked out, just a few drops on his black sneakers.
After cleaning off the sink, he was about to toss away the used paper towels, but hesitated. They were smeared with blood. He didn't want anyone in the cafe later linking him to the murder across the street.
He stuffed the bloodied paper towels into the plastic bag, which was tucked inside his Nordstrom tote. Then he stepped out of the bathroom, returned the key to the barista, and headed back to his table. He set the
