Taken! Box Set - Books 1-6 Page 2
Once the killer had dispatched their families, he had taken his time with the girls. That the killer was a male became unquestioned once the crime scenes were processed.
Although no semen was found on the victims, a T-shirt was discovered in the trash, with semen and bloodstains on it, blood that belonged to the first of the young, female victims. Forensic teams also found pubic hair and condom wrappers at all three crime scenes.
The girls were all tortured before being raped and the killer apparently took delight in disfiguring them with a knife. All of this took place in the span of one night.
As far as suspects go, there is only one.
Gregory Michael Rouse, 17, an outcast from the wrong side of the tracks.
Gregory went missing just hours before the murders took place, and a search of his home and belongings have uncovered no clues as to where he might have gone. The police and FBI have spent the day working the crime scenes and, as darkness falls, have little to show for it.
Mayor Hornsby handed Jessica White a folder containing the crime scene and autopsy reports and Stiles objected when she attempted to share them with her husband.
“Dr. White, I know that you have a need to study them, but I can’t see what need is served by having your assistant view them. Or does he possess professional training that I’m unaware of?”
His wife looked up from the file and stared at Stiles.
“He’s not my assistant; he’s my husband, and beyond that, my partner. If his help is unwanted, then so is mine, he either receives full access to all reports or we leave, and you can solve this on your own.”
Stiles stared back at her. “Have it your way, but there really isn’t any great mystery here to solve, is there? I mean it seems quite clear to me that Gregory Michael Rouse is our man, so to speak. This is just another case of a punk kid going off the deep end and paying back those that he feels wronged him, isn’t it?”
“I’ll let you know my conclusions after my husband and I have studied the evidence.” Dr. White said, and then she opened the folder and her and her husband looked through the reports.
***
After viewing all of the evidence, crime scene photos, forensic evidence and the interviews of pertinent parties, Dr. White asked a question.
“How long will it be before we know if the DNA recovered matches that of Gregory Rouse?”
“Preliminary results are being rushed.” Stiles said. “We should know any time now.”
“Well, barring that evidence coming back positive, I would say that Gregory Rouse is likely not the perpetrator and I strongly disagree with your assessment that the murderer has ‘gone off the deep end.’ These murders were methodical, particularly the torture and disfigurations of the girls. I know the reports state that Rouse was teased since grade school for being a stutterer, but I think that the pathology of the killer stems from something deeper than mere adolescent bullying.
“Whoever disfigured these girls was attempting to humiliate them. As I look through the family photos, I can see that all three girls were beautiful. The disfiguring seems more like a form of payback at some perceived injustice, rather than the simple venting of anger.”
“It was Rouse, and the DNA will clinch it.” Stiles said. “The kid is a wastoid, an outcast who the other kids only talked to when they wanted to score some weed. He’s from the wrong side of the tracks and he was further humiliated by the fact that his mother worked as a maid in all three of the victims homes. He’s been inside each of the homes while his mother worked there and that must be when he learned the codes for the alarms. He entered through the garage at all three crime scenes and the security companies records show that each alarm was reset within ten seconds, a pro couldn’t do it that fast, not without already knowing the codes.”
“And his mother reported him missing before the murders?”
“Yes.” Said the other man, the Chief of Police, Roy Martin, “He never came home from school yesterday and his mother was frantic to find him, Gregory Rouse might be a ‘wastoid’ as Agent Stiles says, but Martha Rouse is a good woman. If Gregory is the one responsible for these murders... I think it might destroy her.”
Dr. White’s husband whispered something to her and a moment later, she spoke.
“I want to meet Martha Rouse; I’d like to talk to her, and I would also like to get a look at Gregory’s room.”
Chief Martin nodded. “It’s getting late, but I’ll drive you over there first thing tomorrow morning, if that’s all right?”
Dr. White smiled at Mayor Hornsby. “That’s fine; it will give us a chance to catch up with Bob.”
***
Mayor Hornsby took them out to dinner at the town’s finest eatery, a four star steakhouse with an extensive wine list.
His wife and the Mayor reminisced about the old days, when the Mayor taught at the same university as her father. While the Mayor once taught mathematics, Dr. White’s father, also a psychiatrist, taught psychology, abnormal psychology to be exact.
Robert Hornsby looked over at him and smiled.
“Does James still give you a hard time, young man?”
“I think Dr. White finally accepts that Jessica and I are together, although I still don’t believe he likes me very much.”
“He can be a gruff sort at times, but he’s a very good man, and, I suppose no father likes to see his ‘little girl’ taken away.”
Jessica reached over and took his hand. “Daddy likes you more than he’s willing to admit.”
He sent her a doubtful look and then squeezed her hand.
“Your father was quite pleased when you decided to keep your maiden name Jessica.”
“It was strictly for professional reasons Bob. Being Dr. James White’s daughter opened a lot of doors for me early in my career, and I wasn’t too proud to take advantage of the reputation he’s built.”
Hornsby sighed as he looked about the room.
“There aren’t that many people out and about tonight. These murders really have everyone on edge.”
“Barring the DNA results stating differently, I really have my doubts about Gregory Rouse being our suspect.” Jessica said.
“Why is that?” Hornsby asks.
“Because of the level of depravity, whoever did this is sick, and has been sick for a long time. His arrest for possession of marijuana is the only brush he’s ever had with the law and there’s no evidence of him ever acting out in a violent manner.”
“Agent Stiles thinks that Greg just snapped.”
Jessica made a face. “Agent Stiles is a jerk.”
Hornsby laughed. “That was my impression of him also.”
***
The following morning, on the ride over to the Rouse home, Chief Martin gave them a little background on the town.
“We’re a very affluent community, as I’m sure you can tell from the size of the homes around here. Most folks here commute to Denver, but in recent times, we gained a handful of work-at-home types, thanks to the Internet, still, most weekdays a lot of these homes are empty until school lets out and the kids come home.”
“You mentioned that Mrs. Rouse is a domestic,” Dr. White said. “Given the income disparity between Gregory and most of the kids he went to school with, it couldn’t have been easy for him to fit in.”
“No, it wasn’t, add to that his problem with stuttering, and I guess you’d say that Greg was an outcast. To tell you the truth, he worked at it. He grew his hair long, sold pot and I even had him pegged as a suspect in a couple of instances of vandalism, but this, these murders... I really have a hard time believing that he was responsible.”
“Then why is he at the top of the suspect list?”
“It’s Stiles. He says that Greg disappearing on the same day that the murders took place adds up like two plus two. Maybe he’s right, I don’t know.”
They drove a few miles farther south and the homes were now a fraction of the size of the mansions that they had seen earlier.
“Did you find him Roy?” She asked Martin.
“No Martha, I’m afraid not, but listen, I’ve some people here who might be able to help. This is Dr. Jessica White and her husband.”
Martha Rouse forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Please come inside and I’ll get you some coffee.”
Chief Martin decided to stay with the car and Dr. White and her husband went inside. The furnishings were modest; however, the home was clean and appeared well maintained.
After they explained the reason for their visit, Mrs. Rouse escorted them to Gregory’s room.
“I’m sorry that it’s so untidy, but the police left the room even messier than Greg normally does. They also took Greg’s computer. They won’t find anything bad on it. My boy didn’t kill those poor people. I know he’s not a saint, but he’s not... wicked. Well, I’ll leave you to do whatever it is you do; you’ll find me in the kitchen when you’re done.”
***
He walked into the middle of the room and gazed around, trying to get a sense of his prey.
In a corner sat a guitar that appeared well used. On the floor beside it, laid a stack of heavy metal music magazines, atop the magazines was a digital music player with ear buds plugged in. Clothes littered the floor and he took note that black appeared to be Gregory’s favorite color.
There were no pictures in the room. No shots of Gregory with friends, because Gregory has no friends, the kid was a loner, much like himself at that age, and a life lived in loneliness can lead to dark places.
He knew that better than most; his teenage years were an ever tightening descent into darkness. When he abducted Jessica, with plans to rape and kill her, he stood on the very precipice of evil. However, in his case, love won out. It pushed him back from the edge and when Jessica reciprocated his feelings, it was as if someone lit a torch within a deep, dank cave.
And yet, although his wife’s love illuminated his life, he is still a denizen of that cave, and the darkness, the darkness always waits within the shadows, whispering.
He believed that Gregory was involved somehow within the events of the murders, however, the familiar tingle wasn’t there, that sense of anticipation he felt whenever he had entered his quarry’s lair.
His wife walked over and took his hand. “What do you think?”
He shook his head. “We’re missing something, something unseen as yet.”
A moment later, Chief Martin stuck his head in the door; his face was ashen.
“It’s happened again.”
***
“It was Greg!” Kayla Bell said from a face wet with tears.
She’s was a beautiful, petite girl, eighteen, with red hair and blue eyes. Her wrists and neck were covered with gold and the clothes she wore all sported designer labels.
They were in the kitchen of a huge house. Two rooms away laid three bodies, Kayla’s mother and father, and, her six-year-old sister, Morgan.
Kayla wiped at her eyes.
“I came home from shopping and just as I opened the door, Greg came from behind me and shoved me inside. He put the gun in my face and told me to shut off the alarm. I did as he said, and then, and then, he, he said he needed money. Well, I know my dad always keeps some in the lockbox in his desk and so we were headed to his study.”
Kayla then broke down and it took several minutes for her to gather herself enough to speak again.
“Just as we were walking through the foyer, the front door opened and my parents were standing there. I shouted at them to run and that’s when Greg started shooting. I just ran up the stairs, up to my room and prayed that he wouldn’t follow. A few minutes later, a heard a scream; it was Consuela, the babysitter, and that’s when... that’s when I saw Morgan. Oh God, what was she even doing here? She was supposed to be staying over at her friend’s house.”
Chief Martin answered. “Consuela says that your mother called her and asked her to work tonight. It seems Morgan’s friend developed Chickenpox... and so they thought it best to bring her home. It’s just a case of horrible timing.”
Stiles spoke up. “Prelims on the DNA came back. Rouse is our killer at the other crime scenes also. Denver is sending men in right now to help comb the woods. We’ll get this bastard.” He looked over at Jessica White. “I guess you were wrong, hmm doctor?”
Dr. White answered him with a cold glare.
A man walked into the room. He was in his early thirties, good-looking and muscular; when Kayla Bell spotted him, she rushed into his arms.
“Oh Tommy, it’s so horrible.”
“I know baby. I heard what happened, but thank God you’re all right. I’m here now; I’ll take care of you.”
“I want to get out of here Tommy, take me back to your place, please?”
“I thought that maybe we could go to your dad’s fishing cottage; we’d be more comfortable there than in my tiny apartment.”
Kayla straightened in his arms. “No, no that would only remind me of daddy, of what’s happened to him and mom and... oh Morgan.”
Kayla broke down again and this time Tommy led her out of the house.
Chief Martin shook his head, as his gaze followed them.
“Two bit gold digger, that’s all she needs,”
“You don’t like Tommy, Chief?” Dr. White said.
“No, Thomas Betcher is nothing but an opportunist. He married Jake Ketchum’s daughter fresh out of high school and then they divorced just a year later, the thing is, he’s the one getting alimony. Now he’s latched onto Kayla, and with her daddy dead, she’ll probably inherit a fortune. Oh hell, I’ve got plenty to do without butting into the poor girl’s business. By the way, are you folks sticking around? This has turned into a manhunt and there’s no longer any doubt that Greg is the one we’re looking for, not with an eyewitness.” He then looked over his shoulder and gazed toward the bodies. “That poor innocent child, Lord, what a shame,”
“Why are they searching the woods for Gregory?” Dr. White said. “I saw a K9 unit outside, did the dog track him into the woods.”
“No, the damn dog couldn’t catch his scent at all, but there’s only one road in and out of here and Consuela arrived only moments after the shooting. If he had left in a vehicle, she would have spotted him. Now, if you folks will excuse me, I’ve got a manhunt to coordinate.”
After the Chief left the room, Dr. White walked over to her husband and searched his face.
“I know that look; you’re onto something, aren’t you?”
He smiled, for unlike the police dog, he had finally caught the scent of his prey.
***
Within the woods north of the Bell home, the police and FBI had dozens of men and women searching for any sign of Gregory Michael Rouse.
Meanwhile, miles to the southwest, Dr. White and her husband parked at the top of a gravel road that led to the Bell’s fishing cottage. It was a ranch home, which sat near the shore and had a small boathouse.
Dr. White turned off the engine.
“You really think that Gregory is here, why?”
He explained his reasoning and his wife fell back in her seat.
“Oh my God, that is truly evil.”
“Yes, but profitable,”
“If you’re right, then why don’t we just drive down to the house and take a look?”
“I could be wrong, and if I am, then you would be in danger.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Be careful, and if you’re not back in half an hour, then I’m calling Chief Martin. I’ll also come running to help you.”
“I’ll be careful, and I’ll be back soon. If I’m right, this shouldn’t take long.”
Before leaving the car, he opened the glove box and extracted gloves, along with a
flashlight and a small kit that contained lock picks. He avoided the gravel and reached the house by walking on the grass.
It took him only a few minutes to determine that the house was empty and, afterward, he headed for the boathouse. The person he sought would not be out in plain view; he would be hiding, or rather, hidden.
After picking the simple padlock on the door, he found Gregory Michael Rouse.
Gregory’s body lay on the boathouse floor. The left side of his head showed signs of severe trauma. On a table near the body were Gregory’s possessions, a wallet, his cell phone and a few loose coins.
He picked up the phone and saw that the battery had been removed. He found it lying beside the wallet and connected it to the phone; afterward, he turned the phone on.
When he got back to the car, he nodded at his wife and said five words.
“Let’s go find the Chief.”
***
A few hours later, they stood outside the apartment door of Thomas Betcher. They were not alone. Chief Martin and Special Agent Stiles, along with two sheriff deputies, joined them to the right of the door.
The tenants that lived across the hall and to either side of Betcher had been quietly escorted to a safe location, and now it was time to serve the arrest warrant.
Stiles pounded a fist on the door.
“Thomas Betcher! This is Special Agent Edwin Stiles of the FBI. Open your door sir. If you do not open it within five seconds, we’re coming in.”
Four seconds passed and then the peephole darkened, a moment later, Thomas Betcher opened the door.
“What the hell is going on?” Betcher said.
The law officers ignored him and entered the apartment with weapons drawn. The two sheriff deputies each grabbed ahold of Betcher and guided him to sit on a sofa, beside Kayla Bell. The teenager sat staring at each of them with wide and wondrous eyes.
When her eyes met his, they narrowed, as her mouth opened to form an O.
“Who are you?” She asked him.