The Hunted Girls Page 7

  “You think these two each killed their partner,” asked Tina.

  “I think,” said Demko, “that you look at partners until you know otherwise.”

  Nadine thought of his mother, who hatched a scheme to kill her second husband for insurance money, dragging her elder son into a murder plot that landed them both in federal prison.

  In the darkness, the bleached asphalt glowed gray in the headlights. Deep drainage ditches flanked them. These would fill in the summer rainy season, making an easy highway for the male gators seeking new territory.

  The silence in the vehicle closed in on Nadine.

  “Juliette, I want to ask a favor. Would you take a blood sample and run it for a specific enzyme sequence?”

  “Sure. I order lab work all the time. Whose blood?”

  “Mine.”

  The silence now crackled.

  “If it’s to add your blood to the DNA database, I’d advise against that,” said Demko.

  “Not for that.”

  “Research?” Juliette asked, her words holding caution.

  “Personal reasons.”

  “What am I looking for?” asked Juliette.

  Demko broke in. “Nadine, is this about that damned study?”

  “What study?” asked Tina.

  “Some doctor drew blood from felons and now Nadine is fixed on it,” said Demko.

  “Is this the gene sequence associated with greater frequency of violence?” asked Juliette, clearly recalling a conversation Nadine and she had had months ago.

  “Yes. I want to know if I have the sequences associated with aggression.”

  “Why?” asked Tina.

  “Because the sequence shows a strong correlation to violent behaviors, like homicide.”

  “You are not going to become a killer because you have some gene sequence,” said Juliette.

  “My great-grandfather, grandfather, my mother, and my brother all committed acts of—”

  Demko cut her off. “All made their own decisions and suffered the consequences.”

  She said nothing to that.

  “What about the rest of us?” he asked. “Do you think we’re all killers because of our parents’ crimes?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “One study,” said Juliette. “You can’t explain criminality purely as biological. There are other factors. Ones that won’t appear in the blood, genetics or the small research study you’ve fixed on.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Do you? Violence is not that simple. Scientists have been trying to attribute man’s evil deeds to brain damage, genetics, hormonal abnormalities and, in past centuries, to the lumps on a person’s head. I saw one bizarre argument linking crime to fluoride in drinking water.”

  “Really?” asked Tina.

  “It’s like trying to find the cause of cancer. PS, there isn’t one. There are many contributing factors, a mix of heritage and environment. So don’t place too much value on one study.”

  “Using your analogy, it’s like a cancer screening,” said Nadine. “Just something to be aware of.”

  “You are not like them. You’re a profiler,” said Demko. “You hunt killers.”

  Killers like her mother.

  “Nadine, you are what you do. Not what you fear you’ll do. Not what your mom did,” he said. “And I know you. You’re all about stopping these monsters. Not becoming one.”

  Monsters. That’s what he thought of her mom. What everyone thought. And she was. But Arleen was also her family.

  Confronting the Copycat Killer had shown her that she wasn’t like her. But Nadine now had other worries. Ones that replaced her old obsession of the possibility of becoming a violent offender and ending up in a jail cell beside her mother. Over the last year, she battled a new apprehension, one triggered by Clint’s desire to get more serious.

  What if the killing just skipped a generation?

  “Besides, you’re almost thirty, and you’ve never committed a violent act,” he said.

  “I stabbed the Copycat Killer.”

  “In self-defense,” he countered.

  “Five times.”

  Demko grumbled, “Should have made it six.”

  For a moment there was quiet. Then Tina spoke up.

  “I want the test, too.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Take my DNA, too.”

  Demko pulled into the dirt parking area, rolling over uneven ground and stopping before the nearest access to the trail where the bodies of Nikki Darnell and Rita Karnowski were discovered.

  He cut the lights and they sat in darkness. Gradually Nadine’s eyes adjusted to the moonlight casting a wide silver band across the black waters of the St. Johns River.

  Demko stepped out first, heading for the trail flanking the water. Insects buzzed in the trees. Nadine saw a blue light wink on and off to his left. Every hair on her neck lifted. She reached for her mace and threw open the door.

  “Stay here,” she called to the women behind her. To Demko she shouted, “Get down.”

  Demko fell to his stomach at Nadine’s shouted order.

  Nadine crouched, hurrying toward Demko, pointing. “What was that?”

  “What?”

  Nadine explained what she saw. Her fear was that it was a targeting laser.

  “Can’t be. That would have landed on a target, not flashed in the woods.”

  Demko moved forward to investigate as Nadine swatted at mosquitoes. Her skin was freezing despite the warm, humid air. Something brushed against her leg, making her dance sideways.

  Finally he returned.

  “Wildlife camera.”

  Had they just caught a break? Could that camera hold the image of their killer dragging two bodies along the trail?

  While they waited for the sheriff to arrive, Nadine took note of how empty the site was. The river access would be busy in the early morning and possibly throughout the day. But now, before midnight, it was empty of people. Even the alligators were absent. With no sunlight, they had no reason to bask on the bank and warm their cold blood. She couldn’t see them. But they were there, nocturnal hunters all but submerged, hunting fish and turtle in the river or waiting for the prey to venture too close. Possum, raccoon, armadillo and possibly a pack rat or two scurried in the dry palmetto leaves. Small night creatures also needed to eat.

  The sheriff arrived, lights but no siren, and Demko spoke with him as Nadine made her way back to the lot. Demko sent them home in his SUV as the sheriff contacted the FBI to see about procedures for evidence collection on an object possibly associated with their case. Juliette drove. Nadine was exhausted and her head began an incessant pounding, heralding a blooming migraine.

  The three said their good nights and Nadine made it to her room after midnight, downing one of her migraine pills. She was impatient to work on her profile. But her body wasn’t cooperating. In the bathroom, she tugged on her black headband, a knockoff Versace with the gold Greca border. She’d accidentally dripped bleach on it and so it was now relegated to the bathroom. She drew her hair back with the band and scrubbed the sweat from her face, determined to push through her headache and get to work, but upon reaching the bed, she spotted the flashing red light on the phone indicating a message. She lifted the handset and pressed the message button.

  “Dr. Finch, this is Rosie at the front desk. We have an envelope for you from Agent Skogen of the FBI. He asked us to deliver it to you as soon as possible. Could you please come to reception when you retrieve this message?”

  What was it? A list of contractors where Betters worked? Some detail on the identified victims vital to her profile?

  Nadine rose wearily. Her headache was getting worse, and the blurred vision and stomachache forecast a doozy of a migraine that her medication had yet to impact. Frustration blossomed with the pain. It was only a short journey to the desk, but her head pounded, and wavy lines disrupted her vision. They were better if she closed one eye.

  On the way out, she s
potted her key card and grabbed it. Closing one eye obviously affected her balance, because once in the hall, she toppled into the door beside hers and swore a string of obscenities that would have made her mother blush.

  The elevator was the easy part. It had handrails, but the bright halogen bulb blinded. The light sensitivity signaled that the migraine had a firm hold. She lifted one hand as a visor against the assault.

  As the elevator jolted to a stop at ground level, Nadine came to the recognition that her profile would have to wait for this headache to come and go in its own sweet time.

  At the front desk, she braced against the nausea, still shielding her eyes.

  The receptionist was male. She glanced to the bell stand to see one covered birdcage and one empty one. Juliette had taken to keeping the travel cage in her room and leaving this larger one in the lobby beside Petunia’s. It was well past both birds’ bedtime. Hers as well.

  She told the man behind the desk what she needed, and he passed her a manila envelope with her name scrawled in jagged strokes.

  Inside, instead of some vital document related to this case, she found four policy manuals on collaborating with the FBI and a Post-it with a message that read, For your team. This was what brought her down here? Fuming, she retraced her path, but the damn buttons on the elevator didn’t work.

  It was several minutes of fumbling before she remembered to use her key card. Tapping it to the panel, the button now engaged. The doors swept closed and the car whisked her upward. She clutched the handrail and held on, squatting as the lights swam with her vision.

  You are not puking in a hotel elevator.

  But she might. The doors opened and she stood, weaving forward with one hand on the envelope and the other over one eye. The closing doors bounced off her back leg and then opened again, causing her to spin and collide with a cylindrical trash container. It shot forward and rolled from the alcove into the hall with a deafening clatter.

  She collected the pieces of the can and reassembled them, with more clattering, now certain she was going to be ill.

  Nadine paused, deliberating between losing her dinner here in the bin or making a run for her bathroom.

  Bathroom, she decided, dashing along. In the hall outside her room, she was fumbling with the key card when the door she had earlier crashed into opened. Out stepped an older woman. Her brown hair, streaked with gray, tumbled in waves down her back, huge glasses with thick lenses made her eyes bulge and a look of fury reddened her face. She cinched her robe and glared.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  Nadine shook her head, the key card poised just above the slot.

  “It’s after midnight! I have to be up at four and I can’t sleep with you crashing around. What is wrong with you?”

  Nadine felt her face heat and her stomach gave a dangerous lurch.

  The door across from her opened. In the gap stood a man, dressed in khakis and a dark shirt. He held a towel around his neck, gripping it in each hand.

  Nadine’s stomach roiled and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “She’s drunk or something. Woken me up twice!”

  “Migraine,” she murmured.

  “So help her with her card and go to bed,” said the man.

  He met Nadine’s gaze, his face a perfect expressionless mask. The door swung shut.

  The woman huffed as she stepped forward and snatched the key card from Nadine.

  “No respect for others. Simply unacceptable,” she said, her words sharp as any schoolmarm.

  The door lock clicked, and she swung the door open.

  “There. No more racket or I’ll call the manager.”

  Threat delivered, she stormed away. Nadine lunged forward, making it to the toilet before losing the sour remains of her meal.

  She wiped her mouth on a hand towel and retrieved her migraine medication, downing the second bitter white pill with the crushed saltines she had in her purse.

  Then she lay on the bed with a wet cloth over her eyes, waiting for the medicine to work. It did, by degrees, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

  Bianca Santander was living a nightmare. After her shift on Wednesday, a man had approached her at the bus stop. She’d seen him coming and called her brother. Told him they were taking her into custody.

  He’d been in a uniform, said he was from Immigration. Only after she was in his truck did she see it was a forest ranger’s uniform.

  He had taken her into the jungle, shot her with an arrow and left her under the relentless sun, locked in an animal cage.

  Now, in the darkness, her thirst grew and the insects came in clouds. Her wounded leg throbbed and sent white-hot bolts of pain through her muscle every time she moved. The blood drew the insects in swarms, biting flies and mosquitoes. They landed, dotting her leg, biting, sucking and swelling with her blood, as she slapped and cried and finally screamed to the sky.

  No one heard. No one came.

  By now her brother would have told them she was in custody. They’d be calling Immigration. Trying to get an attorney to handle her case and expecting her to be deported. She had no papers. Neither did her father or two brothers. If they called the police, ICE might take them all.

  She slapped, moaning at the pain caused by the contact. Then she brushed at her leg, but the insects landed immediately. Should she pull out the arrow? But she had nothing to bandage the wound. He’d left her naked and caged.

  What time was it? Clouds covered the moon and stars of the endless night. A downpour at dawn had lasted only long enough to soak her. Why didn’t she think to try and drink what water she could?

  Now she shivered as a cold sweat dampened her skin. She was going to die here, she realized, and began praying to God, her dry lips moving with the words she knew by heart.

  “Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo, santificado sea tu nombre…”

  Something big rustled in the brush. Was it him?

  Six

  THURSDAY

  Nadine woke well before her six-fifteen alarm. Her head was fuzzy from the medication, but it no longer pulsed with each heartbeat. Her vision was clear, and the light sensitivity had disappeared.

  She carried the damp washcloth to the bathroom where she took her antidepressant, then stared at her reflection that showed dark smudges beneath her eyes.

  Nadine remembered the encounter with the woman, cringing. Then she recalled the envelope from Skogen. What had she done with that?

  A search of her room came up empty. She retraced her steps, dressed only in her robe. She found the trash receptacle now sitting beside the foyer table that held an artificial orchid arrangement. She pulled off the lid and there was the manila envelope.

  She blew out a breath in relief and reached into the bin, retrieving the package. Nadine pressed the parcel to her chest. Phew. Returning to her room, she discovered the alarm on her phone sounding.

  She flicked it off and noticed that she’d missed a 1 a.m. text from Demko asking her if she was still up.

  She glowered at the screen.

  No. She had not been. And he had not called. So far their reunion had been a bust. She pushed away her frustration because she approved of his decision to pursue evidence on that trail cam. Anything to get this guy.

  Nadine fired off a text to Demko asking him to meet her at breakfast. She’d deliver the damned procedural manual to him and find out what they’d gleaned from the wildlife camera.

  His reply was one letter.

  K

  Nadine spent several minutes on an unsuccessful hunt for her headband before washing up. Leaving the bathroom, she heard her phone sound with a notification. She’d missed a call from Juliette and retrieved the voice message.

  “Tina and I are going to see those owls. Leaving the hotel at six-fifteen. Call me if you want to join us.”

  “Nope,” she said to the phone and then quickly grabbed some of the few remaining clean clothes from her
suitcase. She paused to stare at the plastic bag and Bubble Wrap protecting her brick, considering bringing it to breakfast for Demko to admire, but left it, and quickly dressed. Somehow, she managed to reach the lobby at 7:15 a.m. to find Tina and Juliette just coming in.

  Juliette’s expression beamed with delight.

  “I saw them!”

  “Who?” asked Nadine.

  “The burrowing owls. God, they are so cute. They are only the size of soda cans, and their legs! They’re like stilts.”

  “You shouldn’t be on the trails alone.”

  “I wasn’t alone. I had Tina and Smith and Wesson along.” Juliette had a carry permit and, except when jogging, was generally armed. “There’s a kayak rental place near here. I spotted it on the way back. Do you want to go out on Saturday?”

  “Umm, if I do get free time, I’ll likely go visit Arlo,” Nadine said.

  “I’ll go!” said Tina.

  Juliette looked surprised. “Really. Do you kayak?”

  “No, but I can swim and I’m a fast learner.”

  Juliette nodded and gave Tina one of her most generous smiles. “All right then.”

  “How long until you get the DNA back from the sperm sample on Karnowski?” asked Nadine, back to business.

  “Should have it in a day or so.”

  “Fast.”

  “FBI labs,” said Juliette. “I’m getting spoiled. I’m anxious to see if they get a hit.”

  “Me too.” To get a match would be amazing, but it wouldn’t be the first time a serial was caught because of forensic evidence.

  “You heading to the office?” asked Tina.

  “Meeting with Nikki Darnell’s parents first.”

  Nadine was itching to get to work building her psychological autopsy of the two known victims, seeking commonalities in behavior, physicality, and mental state, but first she wanted to meet Karnowski’s boyfriend and Nikki’s mother.

  “See you later then,” said Tina.

  Juliette offered a wave and the pair headed toward their rooms on the first floor, which allowed pets.