Penny ran. Ran away from him when he begged her to stay. He hadn’t wanted to kill Penny. He just wanted her to stay with him.
When he’d caught up with her, he realized everything she’d said to him was a lie. She didn’t love him, didn’t want to stay with him. Lies, lies, lies!
She died as painlessly as possible. He’d never wanted to hurt her. He just couldn’t help himself. And she’d lied. It was just punishment. But he didn’t want her to suffer.
The Bitch made him kill that first time. But when he looked down at Penny’s lifeless body, he felt emboldened. Powerful. He had a touch of God in him, the ability to take life, or give it.
With the little black-haired woman-he didn’t know her name was Dora until he’d read the newspapers-he developed a taste for it. He fucked her when
The thrill of the hunt was secondary to having power over life.
He always won. Except the one who got away…
He rose from bed, taking the sheet and wrapping it around himself. He crossed over to his desk and pulled open the drawer so violently that the contents spilled across the floor. Angry at himself, but mostly at The Bitch, he switched on the desk lamp and knelt on the floor to gather his treasures.
He stacked the driver’s licenses he’d collected-twenty-one in all-and put them aside, Rebecca on top. He fingered her photograph, reflected not on the kill, but the life-the life she gave him when she ran. The life she gave him when she begged
He rarely spoke to the women. They were nothing.
He picked up the worn leather notebook that held his life. He breathed in the old leather cover, feeling oddly at peace. Planning did that for him. Planning took time, focus, intelligence.
He had all three. And it was time to plan for the next hunt. The sooner the better.
Theron’s eggs would be hatching soon. He certainly didn’t want to miss it.
CHAPTER 16
BUTCHER’S LAIR FOUND
Dead girl identified as missing MSU co-ed
Miranda’s hands grasped the newspaper so tightly she couldn’t read the words, but the photographs were unmistakable.
Reproduced beneath the headline was a photograph of the shack where Rebecca had been held captive; next to it, Rebecca’s school picture, the same one that had been reproduced on flyers and distributed all over town.
“Goddamn him!”
She was about to toss the paper aside when something familiar below the fold caught her eye.
Her meager breakfast rose in her throat. She swallowed and whispered, “The bastard.”
Under the fold was another picture. Of her. Leaning against the tree outside the shack, her face stark white even against the grainy gray of newsprint. The caption:
“I’m sorry.”
She jumped at the voice. “Quinn.”
He’d come down the path from the Lodge, but she’d been so focused on the newspaper she hadn’t heard him.
“I would have spared you if I could.”
She shook her head, tilted her chin up. “I’m fine,” she insisted, though seeing the photograph had unnerved her.
“You give Elijah Banks power when you get upset at his theatrics.”
“I’m not upset.” She was lying. By the look on Quinn’s face, he knew it.
“All right, I am upset, but I’ll get over it.” She paused, looked at him closely. “Why are you here?”
“I talked to Olivia this morning.”
“And?”
“She’ll be in Helena tonight.”
“Really? Maybe she can come down here. It’s not a long drive. I’d love to see her.”
“You have her cell number, call her.”
“I will.” She made a mental note to call Olivia tomorrow morning.
“I’m heading to the University,” Quinn said, “but I wanted to tell you about Olivia. If there’s anything in the evidence…”
“She’ll find it,” Miranda finished his thought.
“Right.” He walked up the steps to the edge of the porch where Miranda stood. Her heart skipped a beat as he stood as close to her as possible without touching.
“Miranda, we need to talk. About last night, about Quantico.”
She swallowed, wanting so much to forgive and forget, but unable to put aside the lump of betrayal in her soul. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
He stared into her eyes so long she glanced down.
“Miranda,” he whispered. Then he kissed her.
Long, hard, and fast, then he stepped back. The kiss left her breathless. She couldn’t speak.
“We will talk,” he said firmly. “Be careful today.”
He didn’t wait for her answer, but left the same way he’d come.
Having a federal badge opened some doors and closed others. The new Privacy Act required that Quinn get a warrant before the University would give him the information he wanted. It took him all morning to have one drawn up.
By the time he got back to the college, it was after lunch. Fortunately, MSU’s dean had already asked his secretary to pull the necessary records. They were boxed up and ready for him to take.
Four boxes. One hundred eighty-nine men.
By the time he arrived back at the Sheriff’s Department, he had some ideas how to narrow the list. He just needed people.
Nick gave him deputies Booker and Janssen. The selected files reflected students who’d listed Montana or nearby Idaho or Wyoming as their residence prior to attending the University. The killer had an intimate knowledge of the area, so it reasoned that he would have lived in or near Gallatin County.
Quinn assigned the deputies the task of going through the names and removing anyone who was married, had moved out of the country, or was deceased.
He stared at the murder board in Nick’s office and tried to think like the killer.
Why did he rape? Control. Anger.
Why did he need control? Because he didn’t have control over his own life, especially as a juvenile. Had he been in foster care? Orphaned? Sexually abused? Were both parents in the picture? Had one of them physically abused him as a child?
Overwhelmingly, serial killers were sexually and physically abused as prepubescent children. That common trait had been used by defense attorneys to thwart the death penalty or cast blame on someone other than the killer for their horrible crimes.
