inside her house is in there. I could leave here and, if her parents aren’t home, let myself in and play with her things for an hour or two. I’ve alreadycased her house. I know the best way to approach it without being seen, and I know the perfect spot where I can park my car.
It’s tempting. As I sip my bourbon, I actually consider it for a moment.
But I know better. Everything comes down to impulse control. That’s the key to not getting caught. You don’t strike or take any action when you’re fevered with bloodlust, as I clearly am right now. You plan meticulously and then you execute the plan so you don’t make any mistakes. And I can’t afford to make any mistakes, especially now that the FBI are in Red Hill.
The news has been circulating all over town for the past week. That’s the downside to living in a place as small as Red Hill; anything out of the norm instantly burns its way like a brushfire across the town’s grapevine. Terry Hoder, the famous monster hunter, is here in Red Hill to track down the Red Hill Ripper – it’s all anyone’s talking about.
I smile and sip my drink. The Red Hill Ripper. What a ridiculous name.
Tricia stands at the other end of the bar, her back to me as she talks on the cordless. I stare at her, marvelling at the way her dark jeans hug her ass, and wonder if she does that hot yoga thing, Bikram. Probably does that with her girlfriends and then they all go out afterwards to Starbucks and order low-cal scones and skim-milk cappuccinos and talk about how they use men.
I have plenty of time to find out. I can wait. Hoder can’t. At some point Hoder and his band of merry menwill pack up and leave, and then I’ll decide when to take Tricia or one of the others. They’re not going anywhere, my candidates. All I have to do is wait and be patient. Then, when the time is right, I’ll choose one.
Maybe I’ll bring Sarah along with me. No matter what time of night, people aren’t afraid to open the door to a woman.
Tricia laughs. It’s a lovely sound.
I wonder what her screams would sound like.
Just a glimpse , I promised myself. And now I’ve had it. Besides, there’s one other thing I need to do before I go home. I knock back the rest of my bourbon and place a ten on the table. I pick up my coat, feeling warm and comfortable and satisfied. Hopeful.
12
By 6 p.m. they had finished processing the master bedroom and bath, Samantha Downes’s bedroom, the living-room floor and the back deck off the sliding glass door. Darby’s lower back ached and her mind felt cramped from hunger and the fatigue that was working its way through her limbs.
They had collected the usual preliminary evidence found at a homicide – hairs and fibres from the bodies and rooms as well as an assortment of fingerprints, all of which, Darby suspected, belonged to the Downes family. The footwear impressions on the living-room floor were matched to footwear belonging to the family. No fingerprints had been found on either the toilet or the blue plastic bucket, which suggested he had wiped everything down. And he had taken away whatever rag or towel he’d used on the bedroom wall, because they hadn’t found it in any of the garbage cans.
Darby had checked the family’s medicine cabinets. While David Downes took medications for high blood pressure, insomnia and several anti-depressants for anxiety and depression, Darby hadn’t found a prescription bottle for neomycin belonging to him, his wife or his daughter, nor had she found an empty one in the trash. They’d need a court order to access the family’smedical records to see if any of them had been taking the antibiotic.
Coop had also found a ‘plastic’ fingerprint on the skirting board – a three-dimensional friction-ridge impression created when someone presses a fingertip in fresh paint, soap, hot wax, tar or car grease. In this case, it was in polyurethane. The skirting board had been treated with the polymer years, maybe
It’s tempting. As I sip my bourbon, I actually consider it for a moment.
But I know better. Everything comes down to impulse control. That’s the key to not getting caught. You don’t strike or take any action when you’re fevered with bloodlust, as I clearly am right now. You plan meticulously and then you execute the plan so you don’t make any mistakes. And I can’t afford to make any mistakes, especially now that the FBI are in Red Hill.
The news has been circulating all over town for the past week. That’s the downside to living in a place as small as Red Hill; anything out of the norm instantly burns its way like a brushfire across the town’s grapevine. Terry Hoder, the famous monster hunter, is here in Red Hill to track down the Red Hill Ripper – it’s all anyone’s talking about.
I smile and sip my drink. The Red Hill Ripper. What a ridiculous name.
Tricia stands at the other end of the bar, her back to me as she talks on the cordless. I stare at her, marvelling at the way her dark jeans hug her ass, and wonder if she does that hot yoga thing, Bikram. Probably does that with her girlfriends and then they all go out afterwards to Starbucks and order low-cal scones and skim-milk cappuccinos and talk about how they use men.
I have plenty of time to find out. I can wait. Hoder can’t. At some point Hoder and his band of merry menwill pack up and leave, and then I’ll decide when to take Tricia or one of the others. They’re not going anywhere, my candidates. All I have to do is wait and be patient. Then, when the time is right, I’ll choose one.
Maybe I’ll bring Sarah along with me. No matter what time of night, people aren’t afraid to open the door to a woman.
Tricia laughs. It’s a lovely sound.
I wonder what her screams would sound like.
Just a glimpse , I promised myself. And now I’ve had it. Besides, there’s one other thing I need to do before I go home. I knock back the rest of my bourbon and place a ten on the table. I pick up my coat, feeling warm and comfortable and satisfied. Hopeful.
12
By 6 p.m. they had finished processing the master bedroom and bath, Samantha Downes’s bedroom, the living-room floor and the back deck off the sliding glass door. Darby’s lower back ached and her mind felt cramped from hunger and the fatigue that was working its way through her limbs.
They had collected the usual preliminary evidence found at a homicide – hairs and fibres from the bodies and rooms as well as an assortment of fingerprints, all of which, Darby suspected, belonged to the Downes family. The footwear impressions on the living-room floor were matched to footwear belonging to the family. No fingerprints had been found on either the toilet or the blue plastic bucket, which suggested he had wiped everything down. And he had taken away whatever rag or towel he’d used on the bedroom wall, because they hadn’t found it in any of the garbage cans.
Darby had checked the family’s medicine cabinets. While David Downes took medications for high blood pressure, insomnia and several anti-depressants for anxiety and depression, Darby hadn’t found a prescription bottle for neomycin belonging to him, his wife or his daughter, nor had she found an empty one in the trash. They’d need a court order to access the family’smedical records to see if any of them had been taking the antibiotic.
Coop had also found a ‘plastic’ fingerprint on the skirting board – a three-dimensional friction-ridge impression created when someone presses a fingertip in fresh paint, soap, hot wax, tar or car grease. In this case, it was in polyurethane. The skirting board had been treated with the polymer years, maybe
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