(2008) Compulsion Read online

  Leo stands close to the detective during the entire conversation like a watchdog. Rick can’t help but take an immediate dislike to the personal trainer with his see through tank top and tanning studio tan. He seems shifty and overcompensates with an alpha male dominating personality.

  Emily discusses a few techniques with Leo and then sets up another appointment.

  “Thanks Leo, see you tomorrow morning.”

  Leo leaves, but not before he says with a definite sneer, “Nice to meet you detective.”

  To the detective, “Come on up.” Emily opens the interior door to the downstairs area. A large black dog bounds through the doorway and jumps on the detective. “Sergeant, off!”

  Rick runs his hands through the fur on the large dog’s neck. “Hey there Sergeant.” He loves big dogs and this one was a prize.

  “I think he likes you detective.”

  Rick follows Emily up the stairs to the living room. He notices the sliding door in the bedroom has been taped up with cardboard where the window has been smashed out. As he walks up the stairs, the detective sees that it was a nice view of the trees.

  Emily goes to the kitchen and takes a bottle of cold water out of the refrigerator. “What can I get you detective? Mineral water, juice, diet soda? Sorry I don’t have any coffee made.”

  “Mineral water is great, thanks.” He watches Emily move freely about the kitchen looking for a glass. He muses that she is very attractive dressed in her black running pants and pink jog bra. He notices that her cell phone is clipped to her waist.

  Sergeant takes his spot next to the sliding door where he can watch everything that goes on in several rooms.

  “Here you go detective.” Emily hands Rick a tall glass of mineral water and directs him to the living room. She sits down on the couch sipping her water.

  Rick feels a bit uncomfortable now sitting alone with Emily in her house. He begins, “First, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. I didn’t want to give you the impression that I didn’t care about your complaint.”

  Emily is amused by the detective’s apology. “Well, I have to admit, I wasn’t very hopeful that the police were going to do anything.”

  “I pulled up some information about your neighbor and he seems to cause serious problems everywhere he goes.”

  “Especially with his weird behavior.”

  “He has several drug related arrests. It’s something that the Sheriff’s office can bust him for, and then that would get him evicted from your neighborhood.” He takes a drink of the mineral water. “And your neighbors won’t have to get involved. Everybody wins.”

  Emily’s cell phone tones an alert. She quickly glances at the screen and becomes distracted. The detective observes an immediate change in her demeanor.

  “Do you have to be somewhere?”

  “No, it’s just email stuff.” Emily becomes preoccupied with her hands.

  “What do you do? For work?” He never takes his eyes from hers.

  “I’m a writer. I write mystery stories and blogs on the Internet.”

  “I see.” Rick has the strong feeling that Emily’s not telling the complete truth and her deception makes her nervous. “So you work at home?”

  “Yes.” She motions to a small den off the dining room.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” The detective is often masterful at manipulating people to telling him more that they want to tell.

  Emily’s phone tones again. “No, just that there’s a nut that lives next door.” She smiles.

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can do and contact narcotics.” He retrieves a business card and gives it to Emily. “Call me if you have any more information or,” he pauses, “any questions.”

  Taking the business card, she adds lightly, “Thank you detective. And thanks for coming to my rescue.”

  “From what I saw, you don’t look like you need any assistance.”

  Rick gets back inside his car and turns the ignition key. He glances up the second story windows and sees Emily watching him leave. He can’t help but think that there’s more going on than what meets the eye.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thursday 1430 Hours

  Emily watches the detective drive away and gazes out the window after he’s long out of sight. She’s not sure if his visit was for her complaint or something else. The detective seems legitimate and shows integrity about his work. Her immediate racing thoughts go directly to her anonymity as a serial killer hunter. Does he know? Will he find out? She pushes her negative thoughts to the back of her mind for now.

  Emily’s immediate concern was the alert on her Blackberry displaying the California Amber Alert that a seven-year-old girl has been abducted in Paso Robles. She goes to her small home office to gather all the information available.

  The room resembles a high-tech command center instead of an average home office. Sitting off to the side, there are several phone lines with voice modifiers. Underneath one of the desks is a cleverly hidden drawer that houses another Glock, easy access for any type of emergency. The room has been painted in a soothing light blue with two landscape photographs to soften the sterile equipment harshness.

  There are two worktables that are pushed up against one another with three computers constantly running with wireless technology. It doesn’t include her mobile laptop. Now she has to purchase another one, since her last one was smashed into a billion pieces on Interstate 80.

  Emily begins to search all available news breaking information on the Internet regarding the abducted girl. She uncovers that the girl, Susie Williams, was taken on her short walk home from school. Emily pulls up maps from Google and Mapquest to assist her in the location and distances between the school, home, malls, and parks, in addition to the pedophiles living within the areas. The girl is described as petite, blonde, blue-eyed, and small for her age. She was a perfect victim for a trolling, pedophile, serial killer.

  Retrieving maps and miscellaneous information, Emily adeptly uses the computer technology to her advantage by educating herself on the limitations. She also accesses the crime statistics in the Paso Robles area as well as any information from San Louis Obispo County that takes many of the surrounding cities into consideration. In addition, there are many hiding places to keep a child, commit murder, and dump the body without the local authorities ever knowing where to look.

  Emily has gone to great lengths to update herself with computer technology, limitations of the criminal justice field, and child serial killer profiling. She uses every resource available on the Internet. Slowly a new plan begins to emerge to track this killer. This time she remains obsessed to find the child alive. She has a backup plan to retrieve even more information. She picks up the phone and dials.

  * * * * *

  Valparaiso, Indiana is a bedroom community where crime is relatively uncommon and not tolerated by the citizens. Children play in the streets and wave to passing cars. Neighbors look out for one another and help out whenever they can. Most residents do what’s right, even in a world where greed and materialism is rampant. Valparaiso is a true neighborly town and that’s the way people like it. And that’s the way it will stay.

  An unpretentious home complete with a manicured lawn and a white picket fence is the object of concern. A Porter County Sheriff’s Office patrol car pulls up to the driveway where there is already another patrol car parked out front.

  Sergeant Mike Sullivan gets out of his patrol car to assist one of his officers. He hoists his short stocky frame up the driveway, removes his sunglasses revealing a slight red tan on his fair skin. His uniform hasn’t been professionally ironed, rather he tried personally to flatten the creases the best he could with an iron that was on the fritz.

  Deputy Palmer greets the sergeant before he reaches the top of the driveway. “Sir, we’ve been trying, but no luck.”

  “Well, let me give it a try.” He follows the deputy to the front door.

  A tiny
blue-haired elderly woman is patiently waiting for the officers. She states good heartedly, “I see you’ve brought in backup.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The sergeant moves to the living room window where the screen has already been removed. He begins to jimmy the window and with a little luck and precision, the window pops open.

  “All right sergeant!” The deputy exclaims in admiration.

  “Oh thank you officer. I’m such a ninny when I went out and forgot my house key. And I don’t want the brownies to burn.”

  “Not at all ma’am. It’s my pleasure.” The sergeant heaves himself clumsily into the window and disappears inside the house.

  A few seconds later, the front door opens and the sergeant appears. “I’ve saved the brownies and turned the oven off.”

  “You boys come inside, I’ll serve you up some of those brownies.” The woman steps inside the house not waiting for them to follow.

  The sergeant answers as he pats his round stomach, “I don’t mind if I do.” His cell phone rings and he looks at the number. He motions to the deputy, “I’ve got to get this; you go on ahead. I’ll be right there.”

  After the elderly woman and Deputy Palmer are inside the house, Sergeant Sullivan flips open the cell phone, “Hey stranger.” He listens carefully and looks at his watch. “No problem, give me two hours to get that information, and I’ll call you back. It’s good to hear from you. Talk to you in a few.” He closes his cell phone and goes inside the house to get that homemade brownie.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty

  Thursday 2300 Hours

  The Ford truck creeps slowly into the Manresa Bar and Pool Hall parking lot and finds an out of the way location underneath a pine tree. The headlights and engine cut out, but an occupant remains behind the wheel obscured by the tinted windshield. The truck, dressed with a camper shell to conceal what’s in the back, doesn’t draw any particular attention to any of the patrons coming and going.

  The out of the way bar and pool hall is a favorite for many locals and tourists in the Seascape area. It’s a great place to meet friends and relax from a busy day. Groups can be seen chatting and laughing as they leave the establishment.

  The Killer gets out of the truck and moves toward a 1992 beige Toyota Celica. He tries the door; it’s unlocked. With a quick swipe of his hand, he unlatches the hood release. Moving expertly, like a predatory animal, he lifts the hood and disengages the distributor connection. He closes the hood with little noise and returns to his truck to wait. The Killer knows that it’s only a matter of time before his next victim walks out of the bar.

  Her schedule was extremely predictable; she rarely changed her routine and tonight was no exception. She awakes at six thirty every morning and showers, leaves for work by seven thirty usually eating a walnut muffin and drinking a cup of coffee as she backs out of her driveway. After work at the flower shop, usually five twenty, she goes home to her duplex to feed her cat and leaves again by seven thirty to arrive at the Manresa Bar. Her life has made a full circle and now he will have to set her free so that he can absorb her existence.

  The Killer lights a cigarette and leans against his car causally waiting for her to leave. He didn’t have to wait long, barely a whole smoked cigarette.

  The thirty-one year old brunette exits through the door of the bar, digging her keys out of her purse. Taking a couple of seconds, she retrieves the key set careful not to chip her fuchsia nail polish. She opens the door to her Celica and plops down in the seat. The ignition turns on, but the car winds down not able to achieve a spark to start the engine.

  The Killer approaches the woman, “Hi. You need a jump?”

  She scrutinizes the man for a moment and smiles, “Thanks. That would be great.”

  “I’ve got some tools in back of the truck. It may take me a moment to find the jumper cables.”

  She gets out of her car relieved that someone is going to help her and she won’t have to call the auto club. “No problem, I’ll give you a hand.”

  They walk to the truck together. She looks him over and lets her guard down. He looked wholesome enough to her.

  She asks, “After you get my car started, can I buy you a drink?”

  The Killer smiles, “Sure.”

  He stands for a moment at the back of the truck. He flips up the back window and opens the tailgate. The interior is dark.

  “Looks like you need a flashlight.” She leans in to the back of the truck and strains her eyes to see.

  A fist from inside the camper jabs her face with two quick successions. Her nose and lip are instantly bloodied and she slowly falls backward to the Killer, unconscious. He gently lifts her into the truck cab and the Accomplice pulls her into the darkness.

  The excitement of the capture has electrified the Killer almost into a rampage frenzy as he gets behind the wheel, barely able to contain his anticipation of the kill.

  * * * * *

  A rural section of Watsonville accommodates many sizable ranches that raise horses, cattle, goats, and sheep. The truck eases up an unmarked dirt road off of Larkin Valley Road. The headlights dim and then switch off, but the truck continues to move forward to a barbwire fence.

  The fence has a rotten post, and the strung wire easily moves aside to facilitate entry. Tall dried weeds and oak trees are abundant, giving the ideal cover. No one would ever see the two Killers performing their work, and the victim will be found after the morning sun rises.

  The Killer gets out of the truck and opens the tailgate. His Accomplice appears from the back, dragging the awake and terrified woman. She has common duct tape over her mouth that also binds her hands and feet. Her eyes are wide with unimaginable fright, her body language pleading. The Killers continue to their work as if it was a well rehearsed play, never hurrying or unsure of their next move.

  The Accomplice drags the woman through the fence to an open clearing and leaves her there for a moment. Both the Killer and the Accomplice synchronize their watches; it is ten minutes before the stroke of midnight. It is perfect timing; the last breath must be exhaled exactly at midnight.

  The Accomplice tears the woman’s clothes from her body and throws them aside. He begins to violate her sexually until his fury is satisfied ignoring her whimpers and moans. His fingers proficiently wrap around her thin throat squeezing until she passes out, she briefly regains consciousness several times, and then he squeezes even harder.

  The Killer takes a plastic bag from inside the cab of the truck and brings the severed arm to meet the air before it will eventually take refuge in its final resting place. He walks to where the Accomplice has just finished snuffing out her life. Now, it’s his turn; he will leave his mark and merge the once lively essence to his own. He will leave the mark of his alter ego on the back and neck of the victim. He’s that much closer to becoming liberated from the world and being free.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Friday 0700 Hours

  Before he leaves, Rick locks the front door to his modest two-bedroom house. Carrying a medium sized suitcase and duffle bag, he walks to his unmarked police vehicle, opens the back door and tosses his luggage in on the back seat. After slamming the door shut, he looks back at his house where his wife watches expressionless from the living room window.

  It’s finally gotten to this point where he’s moving out and going to stay at a weekly motel in town. He has no doubt that this is the beginning of the end, which will ultimately be divorce. He knew that he couldn’t make a daughter of successful doctor happy on his salary. She has never been happy being a cop’s wife; it was too tough for her. There’s nothing that he could’ve done to make things better, she’s just not happy. For once, he’s glad that they didn’t have any children because they would suffer the most.

  Rick gets in behind the driver’s seat and stares out at his neighborhood for a moment. He thinks fondly of his nice neighbors. His cell phone rings conveniently interrupting his current woes.


  Pushing the receive button, he barks, “Lopez.” He listens for a moment, “I’m on my way.” He hangs up the phone. It’s just as he expected. There’s been another homicide.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Friday 0730 Hours

  Emily packs the last piece of electronic equipment in the back of her rental Jeep. She is annoyed by the fact that there’s quite a bit less room than her Explorer, but it’ll just have to do. Sergeant stays close to her side, hoping that he might get to come along this time. He sits down and stares directly at Emily.

  Feeling a bit guilty, Emily explains to the dog, “I’m just going to be gone for a few days.” Sergeant just looks at her. “You always have a great time with them. I promise I’ll bring you something special.”

  Emily picks up a grocery bag filled with individual dog food servings and treats. Sergeant obediently follows her to her neighbor’s house.

  Theresa opens the front door before Emily has a chance to knock. “Thank you so much for looking after him on such short notice”, she says.

  “Don’t think anything about it; we love Sergeant. It gives me someone else to talk to.” Theresa opens the door wider and Sergeants pads inside.

  Handing Theresa the bag, “Here’s some more food and treats. Thanks again. If you need anything else feel free to get it from the house.”

  “Bye. Be careful.”

  Emily returns to her Jeep and seats herself behind the wheel. Her mind is reeling from the information she’s gathered about the abducted little girl. Her first stop will be Paso Robles and the exact location of the abduction. She will then finalize her plan of visiting the specific locations and narrow the list of suspects. As she finalizes her plan in her mind, she drives up the street to the main road.