Page 13 of The Killer She Knew

“Keys and wallet were recovered with the body. No one touched her until you were on the scene.” Ford swept his flashlight toward the end of the corridor as the door threatened to come off its hinges. He lunged for the lock and secured it before it had a chance of ripping wide. “Killer must’ve taken her devices. If he’s the one who’s been texting her—threatening her as her roommate claims—he’d have good reason to make sure they’re never recovered.”

They weren’t getting anywhere. Not with evidence. Not with the autopsy. And sure as hell not with their victimology. Alice Dietz had been a solid B student according to administration records. Perfectly average. Came from a well-off family, tuition paid for in full by her parents each semester. Full schedule of core classes. No real extracurricular activities or clubs. Every ounce the isolated, secretive type her roommates had described. At least on paper. From what little they’d been able to gather and without being able to speak to her parents or close friends, Alice Dietz had seemingly gone out of her way to remain invisible.

The complete opposite of Teshia Elborne.

What was the connection? Why kill Alice with the same MO of another co-ed after all these years?

“That fugitive you’ve been tracking.” Leigh lost motivation to keep up the search and let the tension in her shoulders drain. Dean Groves wasn’t here. Always one step ahead. Just as he had been over the past eighteen years. Out of reach. “You said he assumed his victims’ identities after killing them with a combination of cyanide and arsenic. That’s what led you to Durham and to Alice Dietz’s death scene, right? He lived their lives for weeks before moving on to the next target. Are there any connections between victims, or to this university?”

“Each victim was killed in a different city, but from what we can tell he started in California and has made his way to the east coast.” Ford swiped his hands through his hair to contain the rigid style he must’ve spent hours to perfect. “If there’s a connection between the four victims we’ve recovered, the US Marshals Service and local homicide detectives haven’t been able to find it.”

“Do you have a description, possible age, sightings?” she asked. “Anything to tell us who you’ve been chasing?”

“Nothing on age or description considering the only sightings we have of this guy are when he’s in character. We’ve recovered boxes of store-bought hair dye, used prosthetics and putty to alter his facial features, colored contacts—all of it bleached to destroy evidence of DNA. This guy is thorough. He cleans up before moving on to the next city. No fingerprints left behind. Nothing to suggest he was even there until after the fact.” Ford swept his attention down the length of the corridor. “Best we can determine is that each of the victims’ bodies were discovered after he’d already moved on to the next city, sometimes days later when a coworker or neighbor reported not being able to contact the victim.”

She arced her own flashlight to the opposite side of the hallway. They were outcast to the dark for now. On their own. “He would’ve had to watch his prey. Maybe even become part of their lives before killing them to ensure he had a reason for being in his victims’ homes if evidence ever did turn up.”

The marshal’s dark gaze locked on hers. The soft planes of his jaw dissolved. Letting a hint of a too-familiar darkness investigators had to own to survive the realities of this evil they dealt with. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s impossible to step into someone’s shoes you haven’t studied. How else would he have fooled the people in his victims’ lives? We each have our own cadence when we speak, we use certain words more than others. Penmanship is different for everyone, the way we hold a pen or pencil. Apart from that, people are more aware than they give themselves credit for. Friends, family, co-workers. Sooner or later, they would’ve noticed something off, so the longer he retained an identity, the more risk he took,” Leigh said. “Your fugitive would’ve had to learn their habits, routines, the way they spoke, visit their favorite restaurants. What better way to become an expert on your target than to slip into their life under normal circumstances? But to be honest, it all seems a little far-fetched.”

“You’d be amazed at how often people refuse to acknowledge what’s staring them right in the face.” Ford spoke as though he had experience in that department.

She automatically wanted to swim in the mess of alternate theories Ford might not have considered in his chase across the country. To distract her from the growing feeling of guilt. Guilt for failing to see Dean Groves for who he really was. For allowing herself to be taken in by his charm and lies. Even after all this time, he was managing to get under her skin, and she hated it.

His disappearance told volumes about his guilt concerning the murder of his ex-girlfriend eighteen years ago. Question was: Had he killed Alice Dietz?

“We interviewed relatives, co-workers, and friends during each of the investigations.” Ford kept pace with her all too easily at more than a head-and-a-half taller in height. “Between four victims, there weren’t any crisis events or concerns for safety. No significant others or intimate relationships other than a few past breakups. At least, nothing recent. None of them worked for the same company or donated to the same charities according to their financial statements. In fact, nearly all of them worked remote or owned their own businesses where they could vanish for days or weeks at a time. Something the unsub certainly took advantage of.”

“Your killer has a type.” Leigh forced herself back toward the building’s lobby. “With as much detail as he would need to assume their identities, I would bet his victims weren’t random. He chose them for a reason.”

Ford rewarded her with a half-smile that could trigger a war if in the wrong hands. “Best we can put together, this guy chose victims around his same build with similar features to make the transition easier. No best friends or close family. That seems to have been important. He probably couldn’t run the risk of being identified or having anyone looking into his victims’ deaths until he was ready. Which means he sought out loners, victims who isolated themselves for one reason or another. The guy is a chameleon.”

“Except he can’t assume Alice Dietz’s identity.” The deaths Marshal Ford described seemed almost… calculated. Serving a purpose. What purpose did Alice Dietz serve? “You said it yourself. If your fugitive is connected to what happened on campus, he’s never killed a woman before now. She’s the outlier. She’s the one we need to focus on.”

Ford cut her off from reaching the lobby and gripped on to her arm, pulling her up short. “How? Our crime scene is being washed away as we speak, and the medical examiner can’t perform the autopsy until the storm passes. We don’t even have power or access to the internet.”

Leigh swallowed through the heat branching up her arm from his touch. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d gotten since stepping foot back in Durham. It shocked her system, and almost had her leaning in. Almost. Prying her forearm free, she cut her gaze to the university president surveying the student body crowded in the lobby. Her throat dried. “If we want to find Alice Dietz’s killer, we need to look in the one place police gave up on. We need solve Teshia Elborne’s cold case.”

EIGHT

Durham, New Hampshire

Wednesday, September 6, 2006

8:19 p.m.

She didn’t know how to be a girlfriend.

She’d never done it before.

But nerves and common sense had lost their hold over the past two weeks since Dean had helped her move into her dorm in Christensen Hall.

Leigh let her knees sink deeper into the beat-up couch on either side of his hips. His hands were on her, smoothing up her jean-clad thighs. His touch alone had the ability to make her lose her train of thought. It’d been this way from the very first time he’d brushed against her the night she’d met his friends at the beginning-of-the-semester party. She’d convinced herself his initial contact had been accidental, but the subsequent touches left her with little doubt and wanting more. He’d strode into that room with a freshman on his arm without a single care in the world. Him, a junior who had his entire lifegoing for him. All the campus lab time he could possibly need, letters of recommendations from his toxicology professors, early offers from some of the best labs in the country pouring in. From law enforcement, pharmaceutical companies, even the federal government. He was older, had more… experience, but where she’d expected nothing but embarrassment on his part for his choice in bringing her—she was eighteen and knew nothing about college life or living on her own or having a job—nerves scattered whenever it was the two of them. Like this.

She wasn’t even sure how she’d found herself in this position. One minute they’d been watching an old-school horror movie, and the next she’d climbed into his lap. His mouth was on hers, coaxing her heart rate higher. Sweat had built over her skin despite the frigid temperatures outside. Dramatic screams filled the small living room from the television behind her, but she wasn’t paying attention to the movie. All she could feel was the trail of heat his kisses left behind.

It’d started out gentle—careful on her end—but now there was a wildness inside her clawing to get free. Made of curiosity and trauma and loneliness. A need to connect to someone and something completely and totally hers. Nothing tied to what’d happened to her dad or tied to her brother. Dean was… hers.

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