Chapter 18
Sidney spent a miserable day torn between worrying about Samantha and worrying about Marc. He called two minutes before closing time to tell her he’d be working late.
“Is there somewhere you can go tonight?” he asked. “I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I guess I can stay with my parents.”
“Then drive straight there, and don’t stop. The patrol car can’t follow you.”
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“Do you promise?”
“Yes,” she said in an exasperated voice. This time, it was she who hung up without saying goodbye.
Trudging outside, she took Blue out of his kennel to let him roam around while she performed the closing tasks. She was just about to leave when the phone rang again.
“Siddie?”
“Samantha,” she gasped, both relieved and anxious, for her sister sounded scared. “Where are you?”
“At the Downs. Can you come get me? I’ve been thinking…” As she trailed off, Sidney could hear the clink of glass bottles and a bark of male laughter in the background.
“I’ll be right there,” she promised.
The San Luis Rey Downs Country Club was one of Samantha’s old haunts. It was in Bonsall, close to the home where they grew up. On her way out the door, she considered calling Marc, but she was afraid he’d tell her not to go, and Samantha needed her.
Sidney didn’t even pause to put Blue away, she just whistled for him to hop in the bed of the pickup and stepped on the gas. She was parked outside the bar next to Samantha’s SUV a short time later.
At early evening, the place wasn’t exactly hopping, but it was full of regulars, mostly good old boys from the golf course.
She didn’t see Samantha.
Sidney checked the rest room, which was empty, before approaching the bartender. “Was there a woman here a few minutes ago? A pretty blonde?”
He steadied a tray of drinks on his shoulder, glancing at an unoccupied bar stool. “Yeah. She was right there.”
“Did she leave with someone?”
He looked around the bar, perhaps wondering who was missing.
“I didn’t really notice,” he admitted. When a man on the other side of the room let out a short whistle, indicating he was impatient for his drink, Sidney waved the bartender away.
Taking matters into her own hands, she ran her fingertips along the bar stool Samantha had been sitting on. The impression she got was vague and blurry, a wavering image of a dark-haired man. Frowning, because his face looked familiar, she moved on to the next chair. Touching it was like sticking her hand into decomposing flesh, and something clicked inside her head, like puzzle pieces falling into place.
The man who’d been sitting next to Samantha was none other than her childhood nemesis, schoolyard bully Kurtis Stalb.
At the public rest room near Guajome Lake, she’d been reminded of Kurtis, but because Sidney hadn’t seen him in so long, she hadn’t recognized his adult persona. The man in the mirror wasn’t
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t figured it out until now.
As an adolescent, Kurtis had lowered Lisa Pettigrew into an abandoned well and left her there for dead. He was the vandal who had eviscerated a helpless cat on top of Sidney’s bed. He was responsible for the rape, torture and murder of Anika Groene and Candace Hegel.
And now, he would do to her sister what he’d done to the others.
Marc dropped off Lacy at the station and drove on in tense silence, cataloging details in his mind, searching for a break.
He thought about dogs. Greta was a German breed of questionable heritage, a watchdog Annemarie had picked up at the pound. Candace Hegel had adopted Blue, a similar mongrel, and Anika Groene’s weird-looking mutt had also been a guest of the county at some point.
Could the killer have a connection to the dogs, if not the women?
A man who was familiar with the animals would have found them easier to handle. Easier to drug. Easier to manipulate.
Marc ventured a guess that all three dogs had been instructed to obey orders in German. Perhaps they’d all been to the same trainer, at some point, or even raised by the same breeder. Annemarie had said her garage had been broken into, an ordinary occurrence. He didn’t know if the other victims had been burglarized, but if they had…
How difficult would it be for the killer to stage a break-in then turn one of his ugly hounds into the pound? Had he called Annemarie Wilsey, and all of the others, posing as an employee of the humane society?
As nefarious plans went, this one had a low probability for success, and it was premeditated to the extreme. Contrary to popular belief, most serial killers weren’t masterminds. They attacked on impulse when an opportunity presented itself. Even so, Marc’s heart was pumping double-time, telling him he was on the right track.
He called Lacy. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for the composite sketch artist to come in.”
“Can you run a search on dog trainers?”
“Been there, done that.”
“What have you got?”
“Too many names to mention. I called Bill Vincent to see if he knew any of them.”
“And what did the good doctor say?”
“He mentioned a breeder in Bonsall who does Schutzhund training. Some guy named Kurtis Stalb. He supposedly turns out mixed-pedigree watchdogs of ‘dubitable nature.’ And get this-he lives less than a mile from Derek DeWinter.”
A chill raced down his spine. “What’s the address?”
“It’s 1431 Lilac. Do you want me to meet you there?”
“Yes,” he said, and the instant he ended the call, his cell phone rang again.
It was Sidney.
“The killer,” she said in a rush, “it’s Kurtis Stalb.”
All of his senses went on red alert. “Where is he?”
“With Samantha,” she panted. “She just called me from the bar at San Luis Rey Downs. I think she left with him. No, I know she did. I know she did!”
He accepted her words without question. “Where did he take her?”
“I don’t know. His house, maybe. He lives by Derek.”
The anxiety that had been riding him all day skyrocketed. “Don’t go there,” he warned. When she didn’t answer, he felt his blood pressure go through the roof. Stepping on the gas, he calculated the number of minutes it would take him to get to Bonsall. “Sidney, you will
The only sound was static as the call was dropped.
Sidney didn’t listen to Marc.
Just minutes after his voice cut out, she was standing at the edge of Kurtis’s property, pepper spray in hand, looking down into the shadowed valley below. She’d never been there before, but she knew it was the right place.
So did Blue.
Recognizing the scent, he lifted his head and let out a tortured howl.
The house was set away from the road, down an endless gravel driveway that wound along the banks of a tributary of the San Luis Rey River. Behind the house, a large concrete enclosure was visible in the deepening
