(2008) Compulsion Read online

  Ken sits in his unmarked police vehicle and watches the last few regulars leave the bar. He reflects on what his partner said about how getting away with a crime in Santa Cruz County would be simple. Where did his cynicism come from? He agreed with his partner about how easy it would be to get away with crimes nowadays, but they still had an important job to do nonetheless. They had to perform their duties as best as they could.

  Ken knows exactly how crimes, homicides in particular, are investigated. He knows all the little loopholes and tricks to find a suspect. He finds and processes the evidence from these crime scenes. That’s what his job entails; no one questions him about methods or integrity on the job. What a perfect cover, especially with the thin blue line of silence to back him up.

  He observes two young women leaving the bar; they yell something back to the bartender and giggle to one another. The two women sway and stumble as they walk down the sidewalk and then disappear around the corner. Ken makes a mental note of the description of the two women and the direction of their home. He rubs the side of his temple with his fingertips and tries to ignore the splitting headache pounding inside his skull.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wednesday 0315 Hours

  The dark abyss of disorganized swimming thoughts and memories floats erratically in and out of her mind. Struggling to get to the murky surface of reason seems near to impossible. Suddenly there is surge of water pushing from side to side making it difficult to stay afloat.

  Emily slowly becomes aware of her surroundings as Sergeant licks and nuzzles her face with his wet nose. She can feel the carpet underneath her cheek. She blinks quickly; each time she feels a shooting pain up the back of her head. Sitting up, Emily steadies herself as the room slows its nauseating revolutions. Sergeant whines and sits down next to her as if to say everything’s okay.

  “Hey boy, you okay?” Emily runs her hands over the sleek flat coat searching for any type of injury. “How’d they get an upper hand on you?”

  Sergeant appears to be fine, the only blood Emily finds is her own from a minor cut. She gets to her feet and spots her gun still lying on the floor. She begins to run all of the previous events through her mind, weighing the scenarios of the possible suspect or suspects.

  Pulling on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt and nursing her aching head, she tucks the gun in her waistband and begins to investigate her home for any clue to the identity of the perpetrators.

  The doors and windows are secure, except the sliding door in her bedroom. Even the front door is locked. The spare bedroom had a small writing desk propped up against the closet. Sergeant had splintered the doorframe and pushed the desk slightly forward to make his escape. Nothing was moved in the house and nothing appeared to be stolen. This meant that the invasion was solely to intimidate, hurt or kill her. The intruder could have killed her if he chose to, but instead left the house and locked the door behind him.

  Emily opens the front door and steps out on the porch. She listens. There’s just silence. She half expected several police cars to come screaming up with sirens blazing with the whole neighborhood watching the events unfold out their windows. But there was nothing; homes were dark and still. Her neighbors must still be sound asleep and unaware of the attack. It would have been a different story if there were gunshots fired. She would have quite a bit of explaining to do. Calling the police at this point would be senseless; there’s little if any real evidence that would help to catch the intruder. The cops might get curious about her or dig up something that she didn’t want to have to explain.

  The whole situation didn’t sit well with Emily. The entire time, about ten years, that she’s lived in this neighborhood nothing has happened. Not even a burglary or domestic violence. She contemplates and weighs the odds of the situation and what has changed recently. Her thoughts keep coming back to one probable suspect – her new neighbor.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thursday 1000 Hours

  The small one-room Sheriff’s substation office is located in the shopping center for easy community access. There are just four desks, some locking filing cabinets, and a unisex restroom. Most people merely walk by the office on their way to the grocery or hardware stores, never taking the time or interest in the local police department. When there was a police officer inside, they are usually writing an incident report, taking a break chatting with another officer, or using the restroom.

  Emily sits in her rental Jeep observing two uniform deputies and a plainclothes detective through the two large plate glass windows of the substation office. She contemplates her next move and really doesn’t look forward to interacting with the local police. It’s too close for comfort. She knew that she needed to report the new neighbor’s activities for her neighbors’ sakes, but not her recent attack. No doubt that this new neighbor will have criminal record, and then it will be easier to get him to move – he’s only renting the house.

  Emily found out from the Brandens that his name is Donald Everett. She quickly checks her makeup in the rearview mirror, hoping that her cuts and bruises appear minimal. She tells herself that her makeup is as good as it’s going to get under the conditions and puts her sunglasses away.

  Emily unconsciously lets out a big sigh as she gets out of her car. She walks to the door of the substation office and it opens before she can grasp the doorknob. Two uniformed deputies, one really tall and thin and the other muscular, stare at Emily. They dramatically move out of the way and allow her to enter the office. The two deputies continue out the door to their patrol car, but not before comments to one another were made about Emily’s appearance.

  Emily ignores the two police officers and moves towards the seated detective. She observes that he is studying what appears to be homicide photos and miscellaneous reports, most likely witness reports. She had read in the newspaper about the woman found on the beach and realized that he must be a homicide detective. It seems strange that he was stationed at the community service substation and not at the main county building located in downtown Santa Cruz.

  Detective Rick Lopez continues to study his reports and doesn’t look up. Emily notices that he is actually quite attractive with dark hair and green eyes. He’s fit and muscular, but has a brooding demeanor that keeps people at a distance. He’s casually dressed in a black polo shirt and slacks instead of a dress shirt and tie.

  Emily interrupts the detective’s thoughts. “Excuse me.”

  Detective Lopez didn’t look immediately, which annoyed Emily. No wonder people don’t like to talk to the police, she thought.

  “What can I do for you?” The detective shuffles the graphic homicide photos into a neat stack placing a manila folder on top of them to hide them from view.

  “I would like to report a problem in my neighborhood.”

  The detective finally looks Emily in the eye and holds her gaze. He can’t help but notice that she a beautiful woman with intense eyes. Immediately, his thoughts are curious about the cuts on her face. “He states, “Domestic?”

  “What? No.” Emily is beginning to get really bothered by the lack of interest. “I would like to report a person that has been harassing and threatening elderly people in my neighborhood.”

  Detective Lopez relaxes a bit and leans back in his chair. He studies Emily with some interest. “Please have a seat.”

  Emily looks around and finds an uncomfortable metal chair on the other side of the room, drags it over to the detective’s desk, and sits down across from him. She feels conspicuous and uncomfortable.

  The detective takes out a legal yellow steno pad. “What’s your name?”

  “Emily Stone.”

  “Address?”

  “This is about the guy who just moved in next door to me.”

  The detective asks again, “Your address?”

  “529 Spruce Drive. The new neighbor’s address is 527 and his name is Donald Everett.” Emily watches the detective write down
some notes on the steno pad in tiny printing at the bottom of the page.

  “Do you want to file a report?”

  “He hasn’t done anything to me. But my neighbors are mostly retired and they are afraid of him and don’t want any kind of retaliation.” Emily continues, “He tries to get them to use his tree trimming and landscape service and when they refuse, he threatens them. I think this guy is capable of real violence if given half a chance.”

  The detective pauses and studies Emily carefully; he feels that she is truthful but not telling everything. “What would you like us to do? Talk to him?”

  Emily realizes that she’s wasting her time. She says, “Look, this guy shows signs of potential violence and he behaves erratically. Might be because he’s on meds or he’s just psychopathic. Can you just contact the home owner about their renter?”

  “I’ll look into it. But if he’s harassing people or threatening violence, they need to file a report with the Sheriff’s Department. Or dial 911.”

  “Fine. Thanks.” Emily felt that her concern had fallen on deaf ears and that she had only been talking to herself. She gets up from the chair, “I’ll let you get back to your homicide,” She said, leaving the office without waiting for a response from the detective.

  Detective Lopez watched her get into the Jeep, pull out of the parking place, and disappear into traffic. He thought it was interesting that she caught he was working on a homicide case. He couldn’t get her intense dark eyes out of his mind long after she left the office.

  * * * * *

  Detective Lopez refers to the Psychopathy Check list to assist him in creating a threshold assessment of his serial killer. He knows that serial killers are generally psychopathic and are unemotional, egocentric, lack remorse and empathy, deceitful and manipulative, and posses early behavior problems and adult antisocial behaviors. Well that sums up half of the population, he thought dryly.

  The threshold assessment is used as an investigative tool that incorporates the initial physical evidence of behavior, victimlogy, and crime scene characteristics. Many detectives simply go by the nearest person to the victim and work the case accordingly, but with serial cases, it must be methodically connected in the investigation. Detective Lopez studies behaviors and homicide crime scenes whenever he has the chance to help strengthen his knowledge of crime scenes.

  When it’s quiet with very little interruptions at the substation, Detective Lopez can put some of his best thoughts together about a homicide case. He knows several things so far about his beach victim. She has been identified as Candace Reynolds, a thirty-six year old who worked at the local coffee shop a couple days a week, with no boyfriend, and a family who lives in Portland, Oregon. Additionally, she had an elevated blood alcohol level.

  The body was posed at the crime scene showing control and a grandiose tendency by the organized killer; he feeds on recognition and control. The body was sexually assaulted and killed in another location. Both killers brought the body to the beach, knowing that she would be discovered in a short period of time. The cause of death was strangulation and the severe lacerations on her neck and back were inflicted post mortem as was the arm amputation. The coroner said that the cut could’ve been done by a small chainsaw or another type of electrical cutter, but not removed by a knife.

  Candace’s friends and coworkers said she liked to walk to the local bar in the evenings and walk home at night. No one the night she died said she left with anyone or noticed anything unusual.

  Even though this homicide hasn’t been officially considered a serial crime, Detective Lopez knew that it was only a matter of time. The killer must’ve studied her routine and found out the best time to interact with her without any possible witnesses. His best guess was the walk to and from the bar. A neighbor? Another bar patron? The killer has average to above average intelligence, is manipulative, works a non-skilled job such as the service industry, and has enough impulse control to lure his victim into a false sense of security before he strikes.

  What Detective Lopez wrestles with is the fact that the crime scene looked like it was committed by two serial killers. Who would seek a serial killer teacher? As he contemplates the types of individuals who would be drawn to this killer and why, his mind wanders back to Emily Stone. He can’t seem to get her out of his mind. And he’s beginning to feel a little bit guilty for not giving her his full attention.

  The detective clicks through several programs on his laptop and types in Donald Everett in the criminal justice data base with an approximate age between thirty and forty years old. He waits. Several individuals come up on the screen, most are over the age of fifty-five. He zeroes in on one, Donald Christian Everett. He was born in San Jose, California and is thirty-five years old. His previous residences are numerous.

  There were more than a two hundred complaints in the past six months for assault, harassment, stalking, minor drug possessions, and miscellaneous civil lawsuits. This guy had quite a history; Detective Lopez decides that he’s going to find out more about him.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thursday 1200 Hours

  The restless nights have become drawn out and nearly unbearable with each passing hour. Every time he closes his eyes, the mind begins to roll its own movie of the perfect victim, each time with even more crystal-clear intensity. It stirs the intense compulsion deep within his soul to seek another victim and to sustain their life only until their last breath completely consumes him, only then is he ultimately free.

  The severed arm is safe in a heavy plastic bag in a freezer. It’s important to have something from the last kill to bring to the next. All victims have been connected through him and with each other. They will ultimately bring him the freedom that he so desperately seeks. To be free with the falcon. To hunt as the falcon. And to take a victim as the falcon.

  The Hunter-Killer watches with even more intense interest as he drives through town, only stopping once in a while to observe the habits of potential victims going about their day. The victim must meet the criteria that have been designated by the endless killing fantasy. The ferocity continues to build deep inside his soul making it difficult to think about anything else such as eating or sleeping. The compulsive drive keeps him moving forward until the last possible moment of the trap. The thought makes him excited and barely able to contain his violence. The lure and capture will be soon – tonight.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thursday 1530 Hours

  Detective Rick Lopez pulls into Emily’s driveway and parks behind her white Jeep Liberty. He leaves his detail sheets in the car, but grabs a small pocket notebook. He exits the car and scrutinizes the entire neighborhood within view. He could see why Emily was concerned; the neighborhood was almost picture perfect with beautifully landscaped front yards, freshly painted modest homes, and an abundance of wildlife fluttering in the many surrounding trees. The worst thing that could happen on this street would be to have a psycho move in and disrupt the balance and tranquility of everyday life.

  Rick is completely sold on the neighborhood because of the eighteen-hole golf course that meanders through several of the connecting streets. He would like to move in right now, but unfortunately his police salary wouldn’t cover the mortgage in this neighborhood. He walks up to the front door and knocks. He waits. No one answers. Emily’s car is parked in the driveway. Maybe she’s in the shower, at a neighbor’s, or on the phone? He retrieves a business card and was just about to slip it through the door.

  The sound of a muffled groan interrupts Rick’s thoughts. He stops. He hears the faint mutters again. It sounded like it was coming from around the back of the house. Instinctively, Rick moves to investigate. He walks around the house and carefully flips the gate latch entering the backyard.

  He stops and listens again.

  The noise becomes louder and it appears to be the voices of two people. There is a distinct pounding sound of a heavy impact followed by a
distressing voice. The detective unfastens his gun holster and retrieves his weapon. He moves forward to a plain wooden door. He takes a moment and grasps the doorknob. Not taking another moment to think, he flings the door wide open.

  A large man in a mesh tank top is holding Emily in a front chokehold. Both look startled by the detective’s entrance. The room has been converted into a small training gym with punching pads for boxing, a weight bench, and several miscellaneous free weights.

  “Detective?” Emily blinks a couple of times, not really believing that the detective is standing at her door holding his police issue firearm on her.

  The buff man releases Emily and takes a step toward the detective. “Can I help you?”

  Interrupting, Emily says, “Leo it’s okay, this is a police detective.” She takes off her wrist wraps.

  Rick looks at Leo. “Leo?” He reholsters his gun.

  Shoving his large hand in front of the detective, the man introduces himself, “Leo Lewinski.”

  Slowly, “Detective Rick Lopez.” He shakes the man’s hand.

  Emily giggles, “You thought that I was being attacked?”

  “Well it...”

  Emily continues, “Leo is my personal trainer, sometimes a bit unorthodox in his training methods, but he helps me to be able to defend myself and stay in shape.”

  “I see.” Rick feels really stupid and tries to recover gracefully.

  “What brings you here?” Emily enjoys watching the detective recover with his pride barely intact.

  “I wanted to follow up on your report.”

  “Give me a moment?”

  “Sure, no problem.” He takes a step back and appears to be interested in the backyard.