Venator Page 4

  "White male, 25 to 40 years of age. Lives alone, no family. Possibly a resident of Virginia or North Carolina, that’s what I’m betting on at least. Not employed, but if he is it's something part time, flexible hours. He was abused at a young age, physically and sexually. And when he does kill, he’s assuming a role, playing a part. The character is much more confident than he is, stronger, smarter, in effect and idealized version of himself. He’s a voyeur, a sexual deviant and very, very nasty."

  "I’m a little blown away. How did you figure all of that out?" Eric asked.

  "Look at his patterns," Provo answered. "He’s obviously very bright and organized. His known attacks have occurred no less than a mile from the interstate. He attacks every Friday morning in broad daylight. I think he’s following his victims all week, watching their patterns, their habits and striking when their most vulnerable and isolated. He’s assuming an extremely dominant position by attacking pairs. He captures one of his victims and lures the other into a trap. He asserts his dominance by assaulting one while the other watches. He’s cocky, confident and under control. Lastly, all three victims who are missing fit the same physical profile. They are all between 5'6 and 5'10, blond, fit, attractive males. Our boy is bi-sexual or homosexual and may even be a pedophile."

  "Sounds like a real winner," Emily offered.

  "Yes, he is. In fact, I’m impressed with how our killer operates. He’s going to be very tough to bring down."

  "Unless, he screws up," Eric added.

  Provo smirked at this, "Ms. Sanderson I want you to get started pulling Richmond area field interviews with subjects fitting my profile who own or were driving a black vans, SUV’s, PT Cruisers and the like in the past month. DeJesus, your with me."

  Provo walked off.

  Eric hurried after her. His eyes traced down her back and over her hips, he hadn’t imagined she would be quite so attractive.

  Emily watched Eric follow after Provo with his eyes on her ass. She clinched her fists and found a seat.

  "Good riddance," she muttered.

  15

  Furman Frye had the old hearse cruising at 60 mph north on interstate 95. He traveled through Petersburg and into Colonial Heights. He took the Temple Avenue exit and arrived at a stoplight. There was a fast food burger place on his right. His stomach growled.

  "Easy my pet," Furman whispered.

  A sign at the light pointed right to reach the mall and left to find Route 1. Furman smiled leisurely and turned right. He pulled into the Southpark Mall parking lot and eyed the food court.

  The mall was slightly crowded for a Monday at noon. Furman received an odd look or two when he parked his hearse outside the food court entrance. He strolled inside and was greeted by a stale, fried food smell. His stomach rumbled again as he surveyed the scene.

  Business types sat in the small restaurants. There was a taco place, fast food fish, a pizza stand and another burger joint. Furman ordered a double with cheese, fries and large sweetened iced tea. He found a greasy table and brushed the crumbs off the seat. Furman sat and organized his meal in front of him. Fries on the right, burger on the left. He removed some excess lettuce and used a clump of napkins as a place mat for his ketchup. The big iced tea went above the fries and Furman put the last napkin in his shirt collar.

  Frye watched the foot traffic pass the McDonalds while his hands blindly shoved the food into his mouth. An attractive woman passed his table and Furman momentarily let his gaze fall to her bottom. He sighed. Frye’s attention went back to the passing lunch crowd while he finished his food.

  Frye dumped the whole tray into a trash bin and let the tray drop in too. He got back in line and looked over the fast food employee’s once more, in case he missed someone the first time. There was no one of interest to him and so he ordered a hot fudge sundae and frowned at the small helping of fudge. With the rest of his iced tea in the crook of his arm, Furman carefully dug into his ice cream while he strolled through the mall.

  He took note every person who walked by, every store employee, every maintenance worker, the security guards, everyone. Furman left the empty sundae container in a store front display window. He giggled and slurpped his ice tea through the straw.

  Furman wondered about the people he saw. Are the happy? Happier than him? Are they hiding dirty little secrets too? Do they talk to themselves all day, but refuse to admit it? Are they crazy?

  No, Furman decided. No one was like him. He was special, unique, one of a kind. Furman loved his new life. Certainly the road here was winding, confusing and painful. But he had arrived and he’d never have to go back. Now Furman Frye was running the show and Death was going to run amuck, unabated, free.

  Furman wandered into an Old Navy. He pretended to be interested in the cotton pull overs when he was interrupted by a vision of loveliness.

  16

  Emily poured through her database. Richmond, Henrico, Chesterfield, Petersburg and Colonial Heights, because of their close proximity, freely shared information with each other. Emily requested their field interviews for the past month and had dwindled down the mass of information into about 300 possible run-ins with their killer. Emily doubted that even one of the field interviews she was perusing would be with their man or be useful in any way, but it was a start.

  She was still reeling from her blow up with Eric that morning in the car. He just didn’t understand her at all. No one did. She thought about growing up an orphan and being adopted by the Sandersons, an elderly couple who had been missionaries in El Salvador. Living on the farm, Mrs. Sanderson was betty homemaker and Mr. Sanderson had been the domineering preacher. Emily, the only child, grew up independent and stubborn. She felt an overwhelming need to prove herself, especially to her adopted father. Emily needed to break out of the mold Mrs. Sanderson wanted to cast her in, loving house wife, chief cook and dishpan washer. She wanted to rub it in her father’s face that a woman could do much more than just keep a clean house.

  So, Emily rebelled. She stayed out late, smoked weed with her friends and abandoned her education. Then Emily met Kevin. At first his creative mind turned her on. It was a welcome contrast to her analytical personality. They quickly became inseparable. Kevin convinced her to go back to school, make something of herself, be a veterinarian and prove her dad wrong once and for all.

  And she did. Emily had always been an A student and she attacked her studies with a ferocity parallel to nothing, except Kevin’s temper. He was a hot-head and very controlling. He demanded to know her whereabouts every moment of the day and continually accused her of sleeping around. Then came the beatings. Kevin would throw her around their apartment like a rag doll. He’d bloody her nose, blacken her eye and once, had even broken her arm. Her body was always a mess of cuts, bruises and blemishes.

  The whole time Emily wanted to leave him. She knew that she should, that is was the only sane thing to do, but she didn’t. She loved him, felt she could change his ways and make him a better man. She couldn’t.

  The last straw came one night when she arrived home from work. She just started at the police department as a dispatcher and was loving it. Her mother, while opposed to Kevin, had never been more proud of her. Emily’s father was even giving her a begrudging respect that astonished her. She and Kevin had not fought in over a month and he’d asked her to marry him only the week before.

  When Emily entered the little apartment and noticed their small dog cowering in the corner, she knew things were going to go down hill very quickly. Kevin emerged from their bedroom with a pair of her underwear clenched in his fist.

  "Who the hell have you been fucking?" He demanded.

  "What?" She answered, confused. "No one, what are you doing?"

  He looked at her incredulously, "You fucking liar! I can smell it!" He mashed her underwear into his nose. "I can fucking smell him all over you!"

  "Kevin, I swear I haven’t been with anyone other than you."

  "Don’t you lie to me you stupid bitch, don’t
you dare!" He screamed, while advancing on her. Emily put the couch between them as she back-peddled toward the kitchen. Kevin’s eyes caught fire and he charged her. She screamed and ran for the back door. He caught her by the back of her head.

  "Noooo!" She wailed.

  Kevin wrapped a tight fist in her hair and slammed her face into the screen door. The door popped open and he kicked it for good measure. He drug her down the back steps and into the yard.

  "Fucking lie to me will you?" He sneered.

  Emily’s knees buckled and she fell to the ground. Kevin lost his balance and fell hard on top of her. Emily thought she heard her collarbone crack.

  Kevin mashed his face down next to hers, "I’ll teach you to lie to me you fucking cunt!"

  Kevin took a handful of feces left by their dog and crammed it into Emily’s mouth. She gagged. He head-butted the side of her face and forced the feces up her nose. She vomited all over his hand. He slapped her hard and stormed inside.

  Kevin was taken to jail that night. Emily packed all of his belongings in various trash bags and left them by the curb. She was never able to get past what had happened, felt that she never would and no matter how perfect any man was, including Eric, she would never trust again.

  Emily looked away from her monitor and rubbed her eyes. Eric was at one of the conference tables, using a phone and looking as exasperated as she felt. He was a good man. He meant well but it just wasn’t to be.

  17

  Frye replayed the conversation over and over again in his head.

  "That’s a good color on you, would you like to try it on?" The yummy salesman asked him.

  "You really think so?" Furman replied coyly. "I don’t know."

  "Don’t be so modest. A handsome man should dress well, look his best."

  "Now you're just trying to make me blush, Tony."

  "Why don’t you follow me. I’ll show you where the changing rooms are, okay?"

  "Okay, Tony." Furman walked behind the slim blonde. He was certainly put together, Furman thought. So much so, that Furman had to lower the cotton pull-over he was carrying down in front of his pelvis. He smiled from ear to ear, this one would be perfect.

  "Do you work here everyday? I don’t think I’ve seen you before."

  "Yep, Monday through Saturday 3 to close."

  "Really? Do you go to school during the day?"

  "Well, I’m only part-time right now. I go to John Tyler."

  "Oh, okay."

  "What do you do?"

  "Me? Nothing much. Actually, I drive a hearse."

  Furman thought that Tony’s expression had been priceless!

  "You drive a hearse?"

  Furman decided to get right to work. He indulged in fast food burgers again for dinner and waited for the mall to close. Normally Furman waited a day or two. Really got a feel for his quarry. What time do they leave in the morning? Do they stop for coffee or the paper? What’s their daily routine. How firmly do they adhere to it? When is the perfect moment to strike? But Furman Frye was feeling frisky in the cool night air and decided that this was the perfect time. A dark parking lot after closing, little or no witnesses. Two stoplights from 95. Not to mention how adorable Tony was!

  "Speak of the devil!" Furman shrieked, excitedly. "Here he comes now."

  Furman hadn't brought his death robe or scythe with him. He wondered how on Earth he'd forgotten them. Instead, he removed an aluminum baseball bat from the back seat, slipped out of his car and quickly walked through the lot. He’d spent the last three hours locating all of the security cameras. He wasn’t worried about them spotting him on foot but he didn’t want his hearse to be seen leaving the lot. So, after plotting the camera’s field of vision out in his mind, he made a couple of dry runs from different points in the parking lot, keeping in mind to use shadows where he could. He’d finally found the most discreet route, it was a little longer but, better safe than sorry.

  Tony was walking with a female co-worker. Furman wondered, to his car or hers? Probably hers. Tony seemed like a gentlemen. Furman picked up his pace and willed his feet to tread lightly. His fist clenched the handle of his baseball bat. The girl was laughing at something Tony was saying. Laugh while you can, bitch.

  Furman raised the aluminum bat over his head and brought it down hard. Just then, a security car rounded the corner. The headlights flashed over the girl’s car. Furman dove behind a small line of bushes and waited for the car to pass, it didn’t. It stopped right beside him and Furman heard the driver’s side window scroll down. The security guy was saying something, Furman couldn’t make it out. Why hadn’t he remembered his tools? The black death robe would have helped to conceal him. His light blue blazer surely had given him away!

  Furman decided he would not go down without a fight. He’d bash the security guys head in before he even knew what was happening. Furman felt his body coil tight like a steel spring and then when he could stand it no more, he leapt out from behind the bushes ready to rain down bloody murder.

  But the security car was gone. The red glow of the taillights were disappearing around the corner of the mall. The girl was in her car, talking on a cell phone. And Furman could just make out Tony a few rows over getting into his own car. A Toyota Tercel, Furman noted. The girl was looking at him now. Furman quickly walked away back toward the hearse. He chanced a guilty glance over his shoulder and saw the girl was hurriedly dialing on her cell phone.

  The bitch was calling the fucking cops, Furman thought. That’s when he ran. Furman pumped his arms and kicked up his knees. He noticed Tony’s car leaving the a parking lot, seemingly unaware of what was happening. Frye reached the hearse and dove in behind the wheel. The bitch turned on her high beams and he couldn’t see anything. Was she writing down his license plate number?

  Furman started the old hearse and gunned the accelerator. To hell with the security camera’s, he was driving too fast for them to catch his plate. Even if they paused the film and digitally enhanced the frame, what would they arrest him for? Driving too fast in a parking lot? He aimed the hearse right for the bitch’s headlights. If she was writing down his plate number she wouldn’t get it now.

  Her car horn blared at him. He answered with his own and was right on top of her. Then her lights peeled away and he sideswiped her car with the hearse. The steel on steel sound screeched through the parking lot and hurt Furman’s ears. He continued through the lot and, thankfully, met a green light.

  Twenty seconds later Furman was on the interstate when two Colonial Heights police cars rushed past him headed for the mall. His heart was racing a mile a minute. Furman decided to consider the whole thing a dry run. If he’d actually tried to kill the girl and take Tony away he would of had to deal with that security cop too. The whole affair would have become too messy.

  Instead Furman relaxed himself with thoughts of returning on Saturday night. The bitch would certainly relate her harrowing experience tomorrow with her co-workers and there would be heightened security for the rest of the week but they would soon lax and everyone would be getting back to normal for the weekend. The busy holiday rush of shoppers would make tonight seem like some distant nightmare from long ago. Then Death would come for Tony and most certainly for the bitch. He would be exceedingly greedy with her.

  18

  Eric was sifting through the recorded messages left on the hotline. The FBI set up the 800 number right after the last attack and the crazies were already using it with reckless abandon.

  "So I said to myself," the elderly woman’s voice crackled. "Something ain’t right. I didn’t order no new phone book, but there it is right on my front porch. To think someone just walked up through my yard and left it on my front stoop. My husband, God rest his soul, left me a shot gun for protection. A 12 gauge, and if I ever see somebody even given my house a second glance..."

  Eric rolled his eyes and erased the message. This was hopeless, like finding a needle in a hay stack. There just weren’t enough clues yet. Kinda like
Emily. He wanted desperately to solve the mystery but there just wasn’t enough information to go on.

  He sighed and slouched in his chair. He fingered the key pad and brought up the next message. It was someone complaining about their neighbor’s dog. The noise in the conference room had simmered into a dull roar of conversation, ringing phones, rifling papers and copy machines humming. Eric let his eyes wander over to Emily.

  She was beautiful. Emily hated the sun so her skin was this incredible ivory color. She had dark eyes and hair and Eric thought, the best collarbones imaginable. Her neck was immaculate. Eric could spend an entire afternoon nestled into the crook of her neck. The thought of it brought a pang of hurt in his chest. He was pretty sure he’d blown it this morning by trying to kiss her. He’d meant well. Eric only wanted to show her that he still cared but the whole thing back fired and for the first time he was pretty sure there was no going back. He’d lost the woman of his dreams forever.

  They met about ten years ago when she was still a lowly dispatcher and he was a beat cop. Back in the day, Eric mused, the county hadn’t gotten around to recording the chatter between the dispatchers and the officers. So when ever you wanted to have a private conversation you just flipped the radio dial over to the talk around channel.

  Eric had seen Emily around and was instantly hooked. He had to talk to her but how? Then one night it hit him. He was working the graveyard shift and luckily, so was Em. He called in and asked her to switch over to talk around. She did and his hands began to sweat.

  "Hey, I wanted to ask you a favor," Eric fumbled.

  "Shoot."

  "Well, I don’t know if you know this or not but I’m heading up the Explorers this year."

  The Explorers were the police departments version of boy scouts. They learned about police work, did community service and were even allowed to, "ride along" with the officers from time to time.