Page 74 of The Murder Between Us
A different victimology. A different killer, perfectly mimicking the first.
Who?
The voice tickled at him, at the edges of his mind, his subconscious still trying to put puzzle pieces together as he crept forward.
He was ten steps and one corner away from the kitchen. Katie was sobbing, crying, pleading. Crying out for Noah.
There. Another scream, a wail. A muffled shriek, ripped from a ragged, torn throat. The sound roared over Katie’s.Noah.
“Isn’t it awful?” the stranger’s voice growled. It was a man. Someone twisted, poisoned, ruined to the core. “Isn’t it fuckingawful? Seeing your daughter in agony? Seeing her suffering? Hurts, doesn’t it? Down deep, where you can never get the pain out.”
Another scream. Katie sobbed, crying, “Dad! Dad!” The wailing, the muffled roaring, rose. Cole edged a step closer. Around the corner was the kitchen. He’d have no cover as soon as he turned. He’d be exposed, silhouetted thanks to the moonlight coming through the sliding glass door and shining down the hallway while this man had Noah and Katie in the kitchen. This man had every advantage.
“Imagine,” the man growled again, “finding her dead.”
He found her dead. Are you kidding me?He remembered—
The deputy trying to catch his breath in Noah’s office. Noah telling him to take his time. Explaining to Cole that he’d been the one to find his own daughter, Monica, Garrett’s obsession.
Venneslund. Deputy Venneslund. Monica Venneslund.
Rage directed at law enforcement fathers. Making them suffer, making them see their daughters dead and dying.
Fathers who had failed to save his daughter or catch her killer.
Revenge, the most classic motive of all.
Who could mimic a serial killer’s crimes better than a victim, or the loved one of a victim? Someone who had experienced the killer, who had seen, had felt, his handiwork.
“Dad!” Katie sobbed. “Dad,please!”
A muffled scream. An impotent, raging, agonized bellow.Noah, I’m here. He edged closer, far enough to peek around the corner.
Katie stood on one of Noah’s kitchen chairs in her pajamas, a rope wrapped around her neck and tied off on the exposed ceiling beam. Venneslund stood beside the chair, one boot on the edge of the seat, ready to push it out from under her. She’d hang if he did, strangle and suffocate in under a minute. But the drop wouldn’t break her neck. No, she would die slowly, horrifically.
And Noah would have a front-row seat. He was on the ground, his arms over his head, both of his palms stabbed through with knives, pinning him to the wall behind him. Another knife went through his right wrist. Blood ran in rivers down both arms, soaking his T-shirt, his boxers. His thigh was bleeding, a small pool of blood growing beneath his leg. They’d been in bed. Venneslund must have knocked, asked to come in. Noah had trusted him, of course.
And then Noah had been shot. Subdued.
Katie’s cheerleading leggings were tied around Noah’s mouth, gagging him. He still screamed, still roared, still tried to fight his way free. Tears ran down his face. His eyes were red, swollen and anguished and trying to tell his daughterI love you love you love you love you—
Venneslund cocked his gun and aimed it at Katie’s temple. “You’re getting a little rambunctious, Noah. Calm it down, now.”
Noah stilled, still screaming through his gag but no longer trying to escape from the knives pinning him to the wall.
“I’m trying to perfect this,” Venneslund said. “At first, it was enough for Frank to find his daughter like I did. Dead. Cold.Gone. To give him the horror that I felt. Let him die with that feeling in the center of him, so that was the last thing he knew: that she was dead and he had failed. But then I wanted more with Bart, and with John, and now you. Especially you, Noah. I want you all to feel a fraction of what I’ve felt,every day, everysingleday, for these six years! Seeing it. Reliving it. Over and over and over again.” He gritted his teeth. Grabbed the back of Katie’s shirt and nearly shoved her off the seat.
Katie screamed. He shoved his gun against her back.
Noah roared. Fresh tears poured from his eyes.
“You will watch her die,” Venneslund hissed. “And you will know—know, Noah!—that you couldn’t save her. You failed her, just like you failedmy daughter!”
Venneslund pulled his gun back. He shifted his weight, pushed with his foot. The chair beneath Katie started to slide. Noah screamed, shrieking and bellowing as Venneslund turned the gun on him, aiming for the center of Noah’s forehead.
Cole burst from around the corner. He had one shot, one chance. If he missed Venneslund, he’d hit Katie. Then he’d have to take cover while Katie dangled, strangling on Venneslund’s noose. Venneslund would undoubtedly kill Noah, too. He had one chance—
Cole fired as Venneslund shoved the chair out from beneath Katie.
