Page 57 of Stalked

This was ridiculous. “Get those things looked at,” he barked to the guard. The man nodded quickly.

He slipped his arm around Rosalyn, keeping her close to his side as they walked down the hall.

“I need to write this note in my notebook. It’s important for me to keep an accurate record. Detective Johnson said so.”

Rosalyn’s voice sounded unnatural. Distant. Steve shot a concerned look over at Andrea.

“Sure, honey.” Andrea rubbed Rosalyn’s arm. “Your notebook is in the conference room. I’ll help you write it down.”

When they got to the room, Jon grabbed Steve’s arm. “Brandon and I found something interesting last night after you left.”

“Okay.”

Brandon and Jon both turned to look at the two women, who were settling in at the conference room table. Jon shook his head. “I’m not sure if it’s something we should say in front of Rosalyn. Especially given her fragile state right now.”

“Okay, let’s go into my office. You can run it by me and then we can decide whether to tell Rosalyn. Although I don’t want to keep secrets from her if it’s going to affect her safety. More information is better in this case.”

Brandon nodded. “I think we both agree. It’s some other cases we found that are interesting.”

As soon as they were in Steve’s office, Brandon pulled out four files. He opened one and laid down a picture of a young woman.

“This is the one I remembered. It’s from two years ago.” Brandon’s genius mind didn’t forget much of anything. It had helped them on cases more than once. “Her name was Tracy Solheim. From Jackson, Mississippi.”

Steve picked up the file and looked over it. “Says she committed suicide.”

Brandon nodded. “She did. She was twenty-one. But for six months before she killed herself she told multiple people, her family, friends, even the police, that she had a stalker. Said she was receiving notes.”

“Nobody believed her,” Jon continued. “Tracy had a history of emotional trauma. Did a lot of weird stuff to get attention over the years. Police reports did say she had notes but that none of them were threatening in any way.”

Steve shrugged. “Okay, there are some similarities there. But not enough to convince me it’s the same guy.”

Brandon nodded. “I agree. But look at these three others. One’s from Tampa, one’s from Birmingham, Alabama, and one’s from New Orleans.”

“I’m assuming the point is the radius to Mobile, Alabama, Rosalyn’s hometown.”

“It’s almost a semicircle,” Jon said. “And within the last six years there’s been a woman who has committed suicide in all those cities. All white females within twenty to twenty-five years of age. All who complained to family and at least once to the police about receiving ‘strange’ notes. In all the cases nothing was done to help them, because they were deemed nonthreatening.”

Brandon pulled out a piece of paper. “This is what clinched it for me. One of the officers from the New Orleans case at least wrote down in his official report what some of the notes said.”

Brandon had blown them up so they were each on a separate sheet of paper.

The park was nice today, wasn’t it?

I would’ve chosen the red sweater, but the blue one looks nice too.

Did you enjoy dinner with your friends? I was hoping you’d get the shrimp rather than the chicken.

“Those are all similar in tone to some of the notes Rosalyn has quoted in her notebook.”

Brandon nodded. “Exactly. And also, innocent enough to not be taken seriously by the police.”

Steve sat down in the seat next to the table and leaned back. “Okay, let’s assume this is the same guy. So what happened? The Watcher killed them? I thought you said they were suicide.”

“Yes, all confirmed suicide.” Brandon sat in the other chair. “We think that’s his MO, Steve. He drives these women away from their families, away from their loved ones. He isolates them. He’s smart enough not to threaten them in the notes, so nothing can be done with the police.”

“To what end? He’s obviously not living out any fantasies with these women.” That was almost always part of a violent stalker’s MO—having the women with him. “He’s not killing them, right?”

“He’s a serial killer, Steve.” Jon braced himself on the table with both arms. “Every bit as much as ones that we profile. But instead of using a certain weapon or certain ritual, he pushes and pushes until they do it themselves. Thatishis ritual.”

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