"Police were called to yet another killing by the man that the media has dubbed 'the Garage Stabber',” the newsreader said. "This man is holding Southbrook in fear. His modus operandi is to break into garages and wait for the homeowner to return. The police are not disclosing exact details of how these crimes are committed but have asked anyone with information to call this hotline urgently . . ."
Tuning the radio out again, with a smile, the killer drew the knife over the steel once more.
It felt good to be famous, to be talked about. He wondered if, one day, Molly Blair would realize why he was taking this revenge. Perhaps she would connect the dots. Perhaps she would realize that this was what it took when you treated other people unfairly. He hated unfairness. His dad had hated it too. He'd had his problems in the past, his dad had. His dad had been a troubled guy, and all the more so because he'd had no way of setting the balance right.
The killer had found a way. He was going to make sure that there were no more problems. Only very effective solutions. He had always been a solutions-driven guy. Perhaps it had been the death of his dad that had actually inspired him to start focusing more on implementing the solutions that until then, he’d only fantasized about.
The killer mused over this. Yes, without a doubt, his dad's passing had changed his mindset. It had made him a stronger, bolder person. He didn't feel like he was living in his dad's shadow anymore. Now, he felt that he was his own person and could truly make his own mark on the world.
As he was doing.
He felt the blade again. This was super sharp. He didn't think it could get any sharper than it now was. This gleaming blade felt as if it could slice through the air itself and split it apart.
He looked at the weapon for a long moment, feeling a flood of power and confidence. After all, he had successfully killed three times. Surely, this was a sign that he was meant to do this.
Yes, his dreams were coming true. He liked the feeling of being a star of his own making. Of being known and feared for his talent in such a special way.
Would they catch him? He didn't think so. He'd been so careful. He'd been so professional in the way he carried out his crimes. He had followed the progress—or lack of it—carefully and was convinced the police didn’t have a clue. He was far better at research than they were. It had taken meticulous research to do these kills. And the next one, the one he was planning to do, he was the proudest about of all. Only someone exceptionally observant could have included this name on the list.
Poor police! They must be so frustrated because they were no closer to finding him. Listening to the news updates and the appeals on the radio was a source of quiet amusement to him.
He looked at the blade again, respecting what it lent him—the power to kill easily.
It gave him a deep, secret satisfaction to think he could do that. Strangely, it brought to mind how he'd used to steal beers from the secret stash in his dad's room, when he was younger, hoping he wouldn't feel the buckle end of his belt if he was caught, or suffer another harsh punishment.
The beer had tasted all the better for having been stolen.
He opened the fridge and cracked open a cold beer, smiling as the taste brought those old memories all the way back. The taste of hops, the fizz in his mouth, reminded him of a harsher time. His dad had been a strict disciplinarian, though more of the “do as I say, not as I do” category. Treats and luxuries had been meagerly doled out.
Two years ago, when his mother had died, he had seen the chance for his first kill. The first name on the list. What a special moment that had been. He’d ridden on the satisfaction and terror of that for weeks before starting to plan the next one. But then his dad had been in an accident. Partially paralyzed, he’d moved back home, and the killer hadn't had a chance to think about things. He'd been working long hours and commuting for his job. What with needing to clock in on time at the workshop, the twenty-mile drive there and back each day, and the overtime that had to be worked, it had been a pressured time. He’d had to put his hopes and dreams aside for what felt like an eternity.
Sometimes, during those two years, the killer had felt the strange but definite feeling that he was in prison. It had been a very frustrating time, that was for sure. He’d never stopped thinking about her, though. About his plans and dreams, and the importance of that list.
The day his dad had died, he’d stuck that list up on the wall again, and his plans had swung into action once more. He’d quit his job, having saved enough to live on while he achieved his goals. And he’d achieved a lot in the past few days.
Perhaps he could relax after this next kill, kick back for a while, lay low, and take a vacation.
He stood up and pushed that thought out of his mind. He was not going to let himself get distracted or become less watchful. He needed to keep his eye on the ball and his mind on his goals.
He walked back and forth in the room, slowly drinking his beer as he mulled over his plans. He was feeling focused and ready. And now, it was time to go out into the world once more with his weapon. He was going to go out and test its sharpness once more.
He smiled, drinking the last of his beer and tossing the can accurately into the trash. The next kill would be very soon.
He was ready, and so was his blade.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Owen got into the car, feeling encouraged that they now had two strong suspects with clear motives. Both Jeremiah Danver and Lucas Zane had a reason to have held a grudge against Molly. Jeremiah Danver had been a troubled man whose dad had had numerous run-ins with the sheriff, and who’d spent time in prison. That would have left scars for sure. And Lucas had been rejected by Molly when he'd asked to date her. He'd gotten very hurt by that and had threatened her with retribution. Perhaps that payback had been a long time in coming.
"There's a chance both these men might be psychopaths, don't you think?" he said to May, getting into the car. Since joining the police, he knew how dangerous such people could be and how they were often invisible within society, seemingly normal until something happened to trigger them. A normal man would not go out and kill a woman's boyfriends and husband because this had happened, but a man with psychopathic tendencies could have snapped.
"I agree. They’re both very likely suspects and both potentially dangerous. We can’t waste any time," May agreed. "Never mind how Molly must be feeling now, Jack is also going to be traumatized that his daughter has been the reason for these crimes. By the time he gets to hear about it, we need to have answers."
"Let's go to the police station and look the two guys up," Owen said, feeling terrible at what his boss, who he respected and admired, would go through when he realized what had triggered these killings.
So, where were these two men living? Time to find out.
May drove, fast, to the nearest police station, and they rushed inside.
