Killer in The Woods: A Psychological Thriller Page 2

  It wasn’t so long ago that Quinn believed his life was over for all intents and purposes. He had lost the only woman he thought he’d ever love in such a cruel way. And he’d blamed himself. Then an attractive, sweet woman named Selene entered his life and taught Quinn what it meant to live and love again. Marrying Selene had been the smartest choice he’d ever made.

  Forking over some of their savings for a cause they both deemed more than worthy seemed like a small price to pay.

  “Why not make it a hundred grand?” suggested Todd. “I’m sure The Woods Business Association would be happy to kick in half the amount.”

  “Two hundred thousand would be even better,” Marvin said. “A similar crime happened last year in Portland, Oregon. A couple hundred G’s got some people talking pretty fast—and the police ended up getting their man in no time flat!”

  In the end, they settled on a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of the killer.

  A citizen patrol group was established to walk and drive around the neighborhood. The belief among many was that the killer must be from outside their community, finding it difficult, if not impossible, to accept that he could be one of their own.

  Selene was surprised when Marvin, Julian, and Todd nominated Quinn as the director of the newly formed group called The Woods Citizens Against Crime. Quinn looked equally taken aback, but dutifully accepted, as no one else volunteered for the job.

  The gathering had already begun to disband when Selene thought of something else.

  “Just one more thing...” Selene said, catching everyone’s attention. “Although the killer has only targeted adult women, no one knows if he will start to go after others he considers vulnerable. So, just to be on the safe side, I think everyone should drive their kids to school or at least make sure they get on and off the bus safely. And there should also always be an adult present when children are outside playing, especially when they’re at The Woods Park.”

  She wondered if they could ever feel safe in their community again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Detective Dennis Cramer drove away from The Woods Community Center feeling like he had aged at least twenty years these past few months. He hated that a serial killer was tormenting his community. He had a wife and teenage daughter who could have just as easily been his victims. And they were still in danger, even though he was doing everything in his power to protect them.

  Dennis ran a hand through his hair. As the lead investigator on the case, there was tremendous pressure on him to make an arrest. But these things did not always come together quickly and cleanly like they did on CSI or Law and Order. He couldn’t magically bring the culprit to justice by snapping his finger and all would be right with the world, especially when this killer seemed as lucky as he was elusive.

  That won’t last forever. It’s only a matter of time before we get you.

  Dennis knew time was running out to make an arrest before there was a shakeup in the department. The last thing he wanted was to be taken off the case and reassigned to something beneath his capabilities as an investigator.

  Maybe the reward money would help flush out the killer. Three hundred and fifty grand should be enough to make someone talk.

  He pulled into the diner parking lot, which was the place the latest victim of The Woods Strangler was last seen.

  * * *

  Officer Ashley Leighton waited in her squad car in the small parking lot of The Woods Diner. Technically speaking, it was not actually in The Woods, but it was close enough so they could use the name to possibly attract a better clientele than in Bluffs Bay proper.

  According to credit card records, Sophia Pesquera had charged a meal at the diner less than an hour before she was murdered. The thought of dying by strangulation gave Ashley the chills. Of course, she realized there were equally bad ways to be hurt and killed. She just hoped her number would not come up anytime soon.

  Ashley turned her thoughts to her desire to move up in rank. To do so would mean she’d have to climb over the backs of some sexist men who would prefer that she stay a patrol officer. It would also mean she’d have to defy her husband. She knew he loved her, or so he kept saying. Yet that didn’t stop him from resenting her decision to go into law enforcement and bringing it up in her face every chance he got—including sometimes using his fists to get his point across.

  Ashley cast aside her concerns for the time being when she spotted the familiar Ford Crown Victoria department-issue vehicle approach. She got out of her car and waited for him to do the same.

  * * *

  Dennis got out of his car and approached Officer Ashley Leighton. She wasn’t that muscular or tall, but what she lacked in size, she more than made up for in determination. He was impressed with her work ethic and believed she could be a detective someday, so he encouraged her to pursue it.

  “Hey, Leighton.”

  “Good evening, Sir.”

  Dennis frowned. “It could be better.”

  Ashley blinked. “I know what you mean.”

  “Let’s go see if Ms. Pesquera left here with anyone.”

  They went inside, and Dennis immediately got a whiff of onions and grease. He noted the place was small and had booths close enough to listen in on someone else’s business, perhaps without the person even knowing it.

  Dennis showed his badge to the cashier, Rosemary Walters, and identified himself and Officer Leighton. “We’re investigating a homicide.”

  “Oh?” She fluttered her lashes.

  He showed her a recent photograph of the victim they had obtained from a family member.

  “Do you remember seeing this woman in here yesterday?”

  Rosemary flinched. “Sure do.” She looked up. “Is she the one just killed by the Woods Strangler?”

  “It looks that way, Ma’am,” Ashley said. “Her name is Sophia Pesquera.”

  “Oh, no...” The cashier put a hand to her mouth. “I feel so sorry for her and her family.”

  “Do you know if she came in here with anyone?” asked Dennis.

  “No, she was alone.”

  “She leave alone, too?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it,” Rosemary responded.

  “Did anyone leave right after her?” He peered at the cashier, wondering just how good her memory was.

  She thought about it. “Couldn’t say. This place usually gets real crazy at dinnertime and people are coming and going like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I do believe it,” Dennis said. “And I also believe there’s a good possibility the killer may have been one of those patrons. Now if you could just focus, maybe you can help us narrow it down to anyone who might’ve exited the place right on Ms. Pesquera’s heels.”

  Rosemary stiffened and seemed to concentrate. “Well, let’s see... I think a Latino guy left the restaurant soon after she did. But so did a black man...and I think two white men and a white woman. I’m not sure what the order was, though.”

  Dennis was frustrated with her response, even though he knew she had no reason to be observant when Sophia Pesquera left. “Okay, then why don’t we start with the male Latino and work our way from there?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Can you describe him?” Dennis prompted her.

  “He was tall, kind of muscular, and maybe around thirty or so.”

  Officer Leighton jotted that down and asked, “Do you happen to remember what he was wearing?”

  Rosemary shrugged. “Jeans and a tee shirt, I think. And I’m pretty sure he had dark hair.”

  “What about the African-American man?” Dennis asked.

  Rosemary pressed her lips together as she thought about it. “He was thin, about my height, and I’d say he was in his early twenties, with short dark hair. I can’t remember what he was wearing.”

  They listened as she described the white men in generic terms, who may have been together or left separately or possibly with a woman.

  “Le
t’s get a sketch artist down here,” Dennis told Ashley. “And see if any of her descriptions match those others have given of possible suspects.”

  She nodded and eyed the cashier. “Do you know if Ms. Pesquera talked to any of these men?”

  Rosemary shook her head. “Couldn’t tell you one way or the other. You should ask the waitress who served her. She’s right over there.”

  * * *

  By the time they finished their interviews at the diner, Dennis was generally satisfied that Sophia Pesquera had not struck up a conversation with her killer. But he believed there was a strong possibility that the killer had been in the diner and followed Sophia to her office.

  Dennis planned to do a follow up interview with the cleaning woman who found the body. Maybe she saw something or someone that she overlooked. Perhaps they could jar her memory with some details that might make the difference.

  Dennis knew it would be a step in the right direction if the killer had been in the diner filled with potential witnesses who could identify him. And, with any luck, Sophia Pesquera’s murderer had inadvertently left behind some fingerprints or DNA. Or maybe a credit card receipt. He wasn’t holding his breath that they were on the verge of cracking this case anytime soon.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Selene and Quinn Hererra lived in a lakeside cul-de-sac that bordered The Woods Park. Homes in The Woods were priced in the mid to upper six figures. Sidewalks meandered past well-manicured lawns and lush landscaping. Maple, oak, and Douglas fir trees were abundant throughout the neighborhood and park.

  The Herreras had quickly become friends with their neighbors, Elisa and Marvin Bonet, who had moved to The Woods from Seattle six months earlier.

  Selene had invited the Bonets over for dinner after the community meeting. Dinner was served buffet style in the gourmet kitchen. After filling their plates, they went outside to eat at the picnic table in the backyard.

  “I feel so sorry for the families of the victims,” Elisa said.

  Selene sat down beside her. “I can’t even imagine how I’d deal with it.”

  “Do you think the reward money is going to make a difference?” Elisa asked.

  “It should,” Marvin said. “Three hundred and fifty thousand bucks should be able to jar some memories in a hurry.”

  Quinn nodded. “Yeah, and it can also draw out every nut case, greedy person, and amateur sleuth in Bluffs Bay.”

  “But the money won’t do any good if the killer has been clever enough to keep this to himself,” Elisa uttered glumly. “Obviously he hasn’t left a roadmap to his front door.”

  “Killers usually make a mistake at some point,” Marvin said. “This killer isn’t smart enough to keep his mouth shut forever. I’d say his days of freedom are numbered.”

  “Isn’t it always someone you least suspect?” Selene asked.

  Quinn chuckled. “Honey, I think you’ve been reading too many mystery novels or watching too many movies.”

  “Yeah, I can see it now,” Elisa said. “The killer turns out to be a friendly, quiet neighbor that nobody can believe could do such a thing.”

  Marvin laughed. “Well, I guess that rules me out. I’m not usually friendly and I’m anything but quiet.” He tapped Quinn firmly on the shoulder. “Now this guy, I’m not so sure about. You’re definitely a friendly, quiet neighbor, and the last person anyone would suspect.”

  “Real funny, man,” Quinn said.

  Selene winced. “I don’t find that funny at all you guys,” she said. “Don’t even joke about it!”

  “I’m sorry,” Marvin said. “That was mean. Your husband’s cool with me.”

  Quinn lifted his glass. “Well, I guess that lets me off the hook then, huh?” He kissed Selene on the cheek.

  Everyone clinked their glasses together as a show of support.

  * * *

  That night, the Herreras were in bed making love. Selene released a deep breath as their bodies moved in harmony. She stroked Quinn’s back and moaned as he caressed her breasts and nipples with his fingers.

  When she felt her climax approaching, Selene buried her face into Quinn’s neck. She shuddered violently at the moment of pleasure, contracting around him and his powerful release. It was a full minute before order was restored and Selene felt she could breathe again. They kissed passionately and cuddled without any words being spoken.

  Soon Selene heard Quinn snoring lightly. She thought about how comfortable they were with each other, each knowing what the other liked in bed as if years in the making. He was a gentle yet thorough lover, which had been absent in her first marriage. She had opened up to him and his needs in ways she never thought she could.

  Selene’s eyes grew weary and she drifted into a peaceful sleep still wrapped in Quinn’s protective arms.

  As such, she was unaware that her husband had awakened with a start.

  Staring into the darkness, Quinn trembled. He had experienced a similar nightmare before his first wife was killed. Glancing at Selene’s beautiful silhouette, he feared that history might repeat itself and she too could become the victim of a terrible crime.

  Quinn was well aware that life did not always follow the scripted path of his novels. He could not prevent death if fate had another plan. He’d already learned that the hard way.

  CHAPTER SIX

  S.A.W. (Stop Abusing Women) House was a battered women’s shelter located in a reconstructed Victorian mansion in downtown Bluffs Bay. The once grand home was dilapidated and slated for demolition by the city. That was until Selene seized the opportunity and took the initiative nine months ago, convincing the city council that the building would be perfect for a much-needed local shelter for victims of domestic violence. Supported by state and federal funds, the dream turned into reality and S.A.W. House was opened.

  Selene became the director and relished the opportunity to help other women who had been abused by husbands, boyfriends, or intimates.

  She sat at her desk in her first floor office where a staff meeting was underway. The regular staff numbered eight, five of whom were volunteers. Like Selene, all of them were women who had been battered at one time or another. Now they were survivors with a purpose.

  The oldest staff member and assistant director of the shelter was Harriet Johnston. A decade ago, she had struck back at her abusive live-in lover after years of battering and stabbed him to death. Harriet was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to five years in prison.

  Selene believed that was why battered women’s shelters or safe houses were so critical. Too many women had nowhere to turn before either killing in self-defense or being killed by their batterer. Amazingly, such shelters did not even exist in the United States till the early 1970s.

  In spite of this response to the problem of battered wives and girlfriends, Selene understood why so many women still found it hard to ask for help, having been there before herself. Sometimes it seemed easier to live behind a wall of silence and denial than not.

  Selene listened as Harriet outlined for some new staffers their procedures for accepting victims at S.A.W. House.

  “As much as we’d like to take in anyone who needs help—from females strung out on drugs to the homeless to streetwalkers—it’s just not possible. We’re here to provide a temporary shelter for battered women and their children who have no place else to go. Period.”

  “What about when we reach full capacity? Do we turn women away?” asked Persephone Atkins. The twenty-four-year-old graduate student was their newest volunteer.

  Selene responded to her question. “No, we never turn anyone away in need of protection from batterers,” she said. “If we have to bring in roll away beds or share rooms, we will.”

  Local ordinances required that admissions be limited to occupancy. S.A.W. House had twelve rooms that were each designed to hold one woman and up to two small children. But since there was a paucity of local places for battered women to go, overcrowding was sometimes necessary, given the alternative of the v
ictim remaining in an abusive situation.

  “What we really try to do at S.A.W. House,” Selene continued, “is provide short-term refuge—usually three to four days—while we help the victim find a more long-term living arrangement. We’re also here to assist battered women with medical and psychological treatment, social services, and pressing charges against the batterer.”

  The latter was easier said than done. Fear, intimidation, isolation, and financial need all played a role in perpetuating the abuse and preventing victims from seeking justice. She should know.

  “Shelters like S.A.W. House can really make a difference in these women’s lives,” Harriet said. “Believe me, I’ve been there—”

  Selene nodded. She admired Harriet for her refusal to shy away from her experience, as if it were a rite of passage for battered women in the worst-case scenario. It made Selene wonder if she would have taken such extreme measures if all else had failed in escaping her abuser. It was a disturbing thought.

  “Each of us can personally make a difference,” Selene told them. “Every battered woman who comes in here is scared to death, confused, and asking where do I go from here? All too often the burden falls on our shoulders to provide the answers.”

  Selene knew that those answers frequently hinged on a reciprocal working relationship with overburdened social service and law enforcement agencies. Alas, red tape, inadequate budgets, and politics usually kept the relationship from being a perfect marriage.

  * * *

  In the afternoon, Selene met with S.A.W. House victims for a group discussion in the shelter’s main meeting room. She considered this the most important part of being there: recognition that they were not alone in their ordeal. The present group consisted of eight women of varying ages and racial and ethnic persuasion.

  Selene recounted her experience as a battered wife, a tale that had become almost as routine for her as getting up in the morning. She considered it a necessary trip down memory lane to encourage others to share their ordeals. However, on the inside Selene could still feel the pain of being beaten as though it were yesterday. After counseling and the support of her husband who understood as best as he could what she had gone through, she had essentially managed to put that difficult period behind her.