Killer Insight. Virginia Vaughan

attention.

      Lucy grabbed her gun from the nightstand and hurried downstairs. She called out to Mrs. Ferguson. “Is everything all right?”

      No answer. Not even the hum of the woman as she cleaned the dishes.

      Lucy walked down the steps. The first night she’d arrived, before her run, the house had been filled with the sounds of Mrs. Ferguson humming as she did the dishes. Tonight, everything was quiet.

      Lucy glanced at her watch. Mrs. Ferguson told her she was usually in her chair in front of the TV by this time every night. The television was still off. “Mrs. Ferguson? Is everything all right?”

      She had a growing suspicion it was not. Her instincts were kicking in, but she tried to tell herself she was just hyperaware after being abducted, yet she couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling that something wasn’t right. How would she even know what was right or wrong in this house? It was only her second night here.

      She approached the kitchen, hoping and praying she would push open the door to find Mrs. Ferguson humming quietly as she handwashed the dishes. No sense using the dishwasher, she’d said, for only two people.

      She pushed open the door to the kitchen. It was empty. Hairs were standing up on her neck, a sign that something was seriously wrong. A flash at the window had her spinning around. Someone was there. Outside. She rushed to the door and down the back stoop, staring into the night with only the light from the streetlamp to illuminate the yard.

      “Who’s out there?” she demanded.

      She stepped into the darkness and moved around the corner of the house. Another shadow flitted, and she hurried to catch up to it.

      “FBI! Freeze!” she demanded, but she saw no one when she ran around the back corner. Her ankle was screaming for relief, and her head was beginning to pound. It had been such a long day. Perhaps her nerves were finally getting to her. She headed toward the back door, slamming into a figure as she turned the corner.

      A scream lit up the night, and too late Lucy realized she’d knocked down Mrs. Ferguson. Lucy lunged to catch her, but only managed to trip and fall herself. She slammed onto the concrete pavers and rammed her knee into one.

      “Mrs. Ferguson, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

      The older woman sat up and checked herself. “No, I’m surprisingly uninjured. I’m sorry, dear. You frightened me.”

      Lucy scrambled to her feet and helped Mrs. Ferguson up. “I was searching for you. I heard a noise and I was afraid something had happened to you.”

      “No, no. I received a call asking if I could walk Mrs. Littleton’s dog because she’d decided to stay another night at her sister’s house. But Mrs. Littleton was at home. She hadn’t even gone to her daughter’s house. Why on earth would someone do that?”

      Nothing about that sounded right. “You didn’t recognize the voice?”

      “No, but that’s not unusual. I don’t hear that well anymore. I assumed it was her daughter calling me. They have my number, and I’m always glad to help whenever they need me.”

      Lucy was certainly willing to believe Mrs. Ferguson was known for her helpfulness. “Perhaps you misunderstood the caller.”

      She nodded. “Yes, that must be it.”

      Suddenly a figure appeared in the darkness. “What’s going on?”

      Lucy spun around, gun raised and all her senses on alert.

      Bryce raised his hands and backed up. “Whoa. It’s only me.”

      “What are you doing back here?” she asked, her heart rate beginning to slow.

      “Mrs. Ferguson called me earlier and said if I wasn’t too far away, I should swing back and take home some of her lasagna for Meghan. I was at the gas station when she phoned.”

      “Yes, I did make that call,” Mrs. Ferguson stated. “I’m glad I did. You’re back just in the nick of time. Lucy thinks someone was in the house.”

      Bryce’s composure shifted to protective mode. “Are you sure?”

      She saw his concern and felt silly at her obvious misinterpretation. “No, I’m not.”

      “Let’s check anyway.”

      He headed inside, and Lucy instructed Mrs. Ferguson to wait while they searched the house. She and Bryce looked through every room and saw no evidence of an intruder. Lucy was starting to feel like she’d imagined the threat—until she opened the door to the back room.

      She shouted for Bryce, who was upstairs checking the bedrooms. She stared at the mess that was now her workspace. All her papers were strewn everywhere, and someone had been searching through her things. And on the wall, in freshly painted large letters, was a threat.

       Leave town now or pay the price.

      Bryce went through the entire house, checking all the doors and windows. He found what he was looking for in the first-floor living room. One of the back windows had been busted out, and it was obvious the intruder had gotten in that way. That must have been the noise Lucy had heard that made her investigate.

      Lucy did her best to make Mrs. Ferguson comfortable while they waited for the police to arrive. He couldn’t help but notice how gentle she was with the older woman, and it spoke of her kindness.

      The police arrived and got busy dusting for fingerprints and taking Mrs. Ferguson’s statement about the call she’d received that had lured her out of the house.

      Bryce chatted with Jim Ross about the likelihood of finding the person who’d placed the fake call.

      “We’ll try to trace the call, but if the guy was smart, he used an untraceable burner. It’s unlikely anything will come of it.”

      “At least he didn’t try to harm her.”

      Ross nodded. “We’ll increase patrols around her house just in case too.”

      “Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it.”

      Bryce looked for Lucy and found her in the back room glancing through her evidence files. The offending threat had already been photographed and well documented, but it sickened him to look at. He’d go by the hardware store tomorrow and pick up paint to cover it.

      “What are you looking at?” he asked her.

      “Just checking to see if anything was bothered.”

      “Was it?”

      “Only this.” She handed him a photo of Jessica Nelson, the same one they’d looked at earlier. Green paint now dotted its edges.

      “He looked through the evidence.”

      “This is the only thing I can find with any paint on it. It’s all he touched. I mean, why take the time to break in? What was he looking for? What did he want?”

      He motioned toward the threat painted on the wall. “To do that, I suppose.”

      “It doesn’t make sense, Bryce. The man who abducted me on the road—” she picked up the evidence photos of the murdered women “—the man who did this, he’s a killer. He wouldn’t be the type of person to orchestrate getting Mrs. Ferguson out of the house and vandalize my room just to frighten me into leaving town. It doesn’t fit what we know about him. Why not snatch us both? Or kill her then come after me?”

      “Serial killers have types, don’t they? All of these women are between a certain age. Mrs. Ferguson is in her seventies. Maybe she didn’t fit his type.”

      “Then he would have killed her and moved on. Besides, he brought the paint with him. He came here planning to do this with no intention of hurting anyone.”

      “Could