Page 50 of Nothing Watching

A circle of a half mile in diameter wasn’t a small area, especially when it overlaid so many of central Berlin’s closely packed streets. But luckily they had certain parameters to work with.

For a start, no busy streets. This killer only used quiet streets. Another parameter to look out for was that he would target blondes. Not just any blondes, but classically beautiful blondes.

It was now five p.m., and Juliette was explaining this to the plainclothes crew of fourteen police officers, including Fischer and Lehmann, who were going to take part in this operation. They all knew what was at stake. They were going to need to patrol a massive area, and there would inevitably be some luck involved.

“This killer is literate, he’s in his fifties or older, but he’s strong and fit,” she said. “He knows this area very well. He will be using the side streets, the alleyways, the shortcuts.”

Juliette paused, taking a deep breath, and then continued. “We need to be vigilant and we need to be smart. We’re going to work singly, with earpieces that are linked to a central command station, which Sierra will be in charge of, and she’ll be tracking everyone on the map. The idea is to stay out of sight and not make your presence obvious, because this is his home territory and he’ll be looking out for police. We have to catch him in the act.”

Everyone nodded, their faces serious.

“Stay alert and pay particular attention to any blonde women alone, because he might be in the process of targeting them, but he won’t do it if he thinks he’s being watched. Hence, the importance of staying out of sight. You might be on his trail without even knowing it. We are here to catch a killer, and we need to work together to do it.”

She flashed up the faces of the victims, one by one, so that all the police could see their looks, and their type, and knew who he’d be targeting.

The officers all nodded, their faces grim and determined.

“You say he will track victims on the back roads?” one of the officers confirmed.

“Yes. That’s been his MO so far. He’s only going to take a victim if it’s quiet, and he thinks there are no witnesses.”

“Would you consider being a decoy?” one of them asked Juliette, who stared at him in surprise.

“I’m older than the victims,” she said wryly. “And also, we don’t know how long he’ll be watching the street before he goes out. If he sees me walking up and down, we might scare him off if he realizes the police are trying to trap him. So I’ll be covering my hair and staying incognito. I don’t want to be noticed.”

“It is a sensible plan,” one of them said. “We will need to be very covert, and not alert him.”

“That’s essential. Look for hiding places and use them. We have a detailed map here. Choose your route, plot it, and follow it, making sure all the side streets are covered,” Juliette instructed.

She felt suddenly as if there was hope, as if together they could catch this killer, having tracked his habits and his likely point of operation.

Sierra would be based in the office, keeping track of every single officer and making sure that nobody went out of communication. Any hotspots or problem areas would be Sierra’s responsibility to identify, and get other team members there immediately.

It was a good plan, although Juliette wished they had three times the manpower. But they had what they had, and now it was up to every single officer to do their part.

They only had this one chance, because the psychologist in Juliette couldn’t deny the terrifying truth.

He was going to strike again, as soon as he could. He could be stalking somebody already.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Juliette was in position, watching the area she’d been assigned, which consisted of five back roads branching off a main street. She was looking as unobtrusive as she could, hunched in a gray fleece top, with her hair bundled up inside a black baseball cap.

The hours had gone by—two, then three. Hours of tension, of breathless waiting, of trying to conserve her energy and suppress her adrenaline. She needed to remain alert. Every moment that passed by increased the chances that now was the time.

She patrolled her route, not wanting to walk it too frequently or remain too obvious, even in her dull, unrecognizable gear, because who knew where he was hiding? The area she had picked was filled with apartment buildings. He could be looking out from an upper window or peering from a basement. He could have stationed himself at one of the cafes along the way.

So she moved carefully, listening out for the others, their cellphones connected, and Sierra coordinating everything through messages, so that the intrusive noise of a walkie-talkie would not attract the killer’s attention.

The sky was darkening now, a sullen red sunset after the gloomy day of clouds making night fall more quickly. And she knew that with the onset of darkness, it was even more likely that he would be out, satisfying his lust for death, and who knew what other cravings, in his twisted mind.

She stood quietly, unobtrusively, moving down the side streets, listening to the hum of traffic and the tramp of footsteps, keeping a special eye out for any blondes walking alone. As she watched and waited, Juliette thought more about who this man really was, and what exactly made his mind work the way it did.

Juliette was wondering if he was the kind of impulsive psychopath that might fall instantly in love, and then have that emotion, never real to start with, become murderous anger when he perceived that a woman rejected him. She thought that might be what was pushing him—the need for a beauty to love him back, and then the need to vent his anger when the beauty turned away.

And this was somehow connected with the printed pages. He was clearly a lover of literature, stories, art. Perhaps he wrote himself, or tried to write. Perhaps he believed that finding love was the answer to success in his craft.

Now that she was thinking along these lines, she felt she was getting a better picture of him.

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