Page 62 of The Last Close Call

“I only care about finding him.”

Shaking his head, Bryan flipped to another picture. This one was a crime scene photo showing a Polaroid that Olivia had had taped to her refrigerator. The snapshot showed Olivia and her boyfriend, both in Hawaiian shirts and leis at a luau-themed party, smiling for the camera and holding up red plastic cups. Her attacker had removed the picture and left it sitting on the kitchen table.

Combing through the crime scene photos, the FBI profiler had locked on the kitchen table shot. In his report, he’d concluded that the Polaroid had been placed there as some kind of message.

Jack was no profiler, but he’d understood that the instant he saw it. It was a taunt.

“The victims don’t look alike,” Bryan said, shaking his head. “Blond hair, dark hair. Short, tall, different body types. What do they have in common?”

“They’re shorter than he is,” Jack pointed out. The surviving victims all described their attacker as at least six feet tall.

“You think that’s important?”

“He hasn’t used the knife yet, except as a threat. He holds it in his teeth and controls them with his hands.”

“The choking, you mean.”

Jack nodded.

But just because he hadn’t used the knife yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t. Mutilation might be coming. Slowly but surely, he was losing control of his urges.

Bryan flipped to another picture of the creek bed.

“Let me see that one.” Jack held out his hand, and Bryan passed it over.

Jack studied the photograph showing the wooded area under the harsh glare of the CSI’s portable light. The creek ran through central Austin, and Oliva’s apartment backed up to it. A hike-and-bike trail paralleled the waterway, and Olivia had frequently used it for runs.

So had Rowan.

Seven years ago, Rowan had lived less than a block away from WCR’s second victim. Jack had looked it up after their conversation. And Rowan had used the same jogging trail that ran along that creek.

Frustration churned inside him. Had Rowan crossed paths with WCR, too? Had she caught his attention? Jack’s gut clenched as he thought about how close she might have come to ending up in a killer’s sights.

Jack handed the picture back to Bryan, who was looking at the crime scene photo of Olivia’s back porch.

“He stalks them,” Bryan said. “He’s patient, too. He probably sat out there for hours.”

“I know.”

Bryan shook his head. “It’s like he’s a hunter.”

“Not like. He is.”

***

Bryan crossed the park, skimming his gaze over the rainbow-colored playscape. He spotted Evelyn at the base of a yellow slide. A little girl with wispy pigtails slid down and landed at her feet. Smiling, Evelyn scooped the girl into her arms.

Bryan’s chest squeezed as he watched her swing the toddler upside down and then set her on her feet as she squealed with glee.

Evelyn glanced up and spotted him, and the light went out of her eyes. She whispered something in her daughter’s ear that sent her scampering back up the playscape.

Bryan trudged over, getting sand in his dress shoes. In a suit and tie, he stood out with all the kids and caregivers. Evelyn sat down on the bench beside her stroller. Today she wore a fleece pullover and black yoga pants, like many of the other moms and nannies out here.

“Hi,” he said, stopping beside her. He tucked a hand in his pocket, making sure the other side of his jacket covered his holster. He hadn’t really thought about how conspicuous he’d look at a playground.

“Thanks for coming.” She held her hand above her eyes to shield her face from the sun.

“No problem.” He glanced at the kids on the slide.

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