“What do you mean by weirdo?”
“Oh, I don’t know exactly.” Trish shrugged. “It’s hard to put into words, more a feeling than anything else. I just know when he touched me, my skin started crawling. At the time, I wrote it off to the heebie-jeebies because of what he does for a living.”
“You don’t seem the type to get creeped out just because a man spends his days doing autopsies.”
“I don’t see myself that way either. For a while, though, I thought maybe that was it. You know, on a subconscious level that I wasn’t even aware of.” She shook her head again. “I don’t know if that was it. All I know is, I put some distance between myself and Larry Adams as soon as possible.”
“How did he react to that?”
“He didn’t, thank goodness. I told him I didn’t think we should go out anymore, and that was that.” Her expression was troubled. “I told him in person. I thought that was only fair.”
She hesitated for a moment and then continued.
“He had a look in his eyes, Jen, that scared the heck out of me. His mouth was saying all the right words, being very civilized about the whole thing, but his eyes looked like he wanted to hurt me. I didn’t sleep well for a while after that, but nothing happened, so it was probably my imagination.”
Jen sat back in her chair, staring into the crowd in the direction Adams had gone. She didn’t know much about the man, only that he wasn’t from the area. Maybe it was time she found out more.
CHAPTER 27
He hated places like this. The sluts pressed against him, their musk nearly smothering him. Still, it was better than sitting in the car, waiting and thinking and growing more tense.
He’d spotted her the moment he entered the place. She was dancing with some unsuspecting young man, wiggling and writhing in her attempt to ensnare him. He snorted derisively. They called it dancing, but it was just simulated fornication.
Unbidden, scenes from his childhood popped into his mind, and his hand tightened around his beer. Mother. Beautiful, bewitching Mother with the ribbons in her hair. He’d tried to forget, but he’d never been able to block the memories. In vivid detail, he remembered the endless nights spent alone, crying and afraid, while Mother was out looking for men. He had been small then, but he’d never forgotten the fear.
He’d never forgotten the sounds either, the sounds that Mother and the foul-smelling men she brought home had made in the bed next to his. He had always lain quiet, feigning sleep, but once he had inadvertently made a noise, and she had realized he was awake. He still had scars on his back from the beating with the coat hangar. She had called him a “nasty little boy.” That had hurt worse than the coat hangar.
But then she brought home the man he came to know as “Father,” and for a while, she stayed home with them and life was good. Then she left them, like they meant nothing, like they were a set of old clothes to be discarded once they’d served their purpose. Father had explained to him how they were in words his eight-year-old mind could understand and began to teach him the intricacies of the hunt.
Life was good again.
CHAPTER 28
As Jen exited the ladies’ room, she glanced at her watch. It was a quarter till twelve, and she’d just about had it. They had both danced with a steady stream of men, but so far no one had aroused their suspicions. She was tired of the whole scene and wanted to get out of there, drop Trish off, and go home to her son.
On her way back to the table, she stopped at the bar and asked Rick about his friend, Troy. He laughed at the implication, telling her Troy was—in his words—a “pussycat.” Further, Troy had an alibi, since he and Rick had been in an all-night card game with three other friends. Jen copied down Troy’s last name and address, as well as information on the three friends, for further checking.
Trish was just returning from the dance floor as Jen sat down.
“I don’t know about you,” Trish said, “but I’m ready to call it a night.”
“You must have read my mind. If I don’t get out of here, I think I’ll go deaf.”
She waited while Trish stopped in the ladies’ room, then the two of them walked to her car. The night was cool and blessedly quiet after the cacophony of music and voices inside.
“So what did you think?” Jen put the car in DRIVE. “Did anybody strike you as suspicious?”
“Not that I could tell,” Trish said. “Not that it means anything. You know that. I mean, he’s not going to have an ‘x’ tattooed on his forehead.”
“Yeah, I know. I guess I was just hoping we’d luck into something—maybe have a little run of woman’s intuition.”
“Too bad it didn’t work. I guess you’ll just have to get leads the old-fashioned way, with plenty of hard work and late hours.”
“Where do you start with this kind of killing?” Jen smacked the steering wheel in frustration. “There’s no motive. I mean, at least not a sane one. They probably didn’t even know him until he showed up to kill them.”
“No sane motive, true, but there still has to be one, right? Or at least a plan, some method he uses to pick his victims. Once you figure out what that is, maybe you can get one step ahead of him.”
“Makes sense. Now, do you have any ideas on how to figure his plan out?”
“Hey.” Trish held up her hands, palms out. “You’re the detective. I can’t do everything.”
Jen chuckled, slowing the car as the light at the corner of Ross and Defiance turned red. She switched on the radio, scrolling through the choices
