Chapter Twenty

Once more, the pattern Faith had observed was challenged by a crime scene. Rather than kill the victim in an even more public place than a neighborhood street, the killer had stabbed her in her own garage.

In a way, that was another form of escalation. He had broken into her house. He had entered Rebecca Wells's unlocked studio, but entering someone's home was somehow more personal, at least from Faith's perspective.

"The victim's name is Jessica Peters," Wanda said. "Thirty-three. Ran a dog school in Tacoma. Came home last night about seven or so. Time of death will have to be confirmed by the coroner, but she's in her PJs, and there's dirty dinner dishes in the sink. Her hair looks like it was clean before it fell into a pool of her own blood, so I'm thinking she showered too. Best guess, she died around nine or ten o'clock."

Faith's hands slowly clenched into fists. That meant Jessica might have been killed less than an hour ago. Maybe while she was on the phone with David. Obviously, it wasn't her fault that she was on the phone with David when Jessica was murdered, but knowing that a woman was being murdered by the killer she was trying to find while she was on the phone talking with her boyfriend infuriated her. It was almost as though he was taunting her.

She knew that couldn't possibly be true, but knowing that didn't do anything to help her emotions.

It's not about you, she thought, recalling David's words. Don't focus on yourself.

"Did Jessica have exceptional hearing as well?" she asked.

"I don't know," Wanda replied. "Do you want me to find out?"

"I do. Michael?" Michael lifted his head up from the other end of the garage. "Take a couple of officers and look for signs of a break-in. I want to figure out how he got in. If we know how he got in, we might be able to trace his movements backwards from the murder and find more clues."

"Got it."

Michael patted a couple uniforms on the shoulder and quickly issued instructions. Faith looked at Turk, who was carefully sniffing Jessica's body to look for anything familiar. A moment later, he barked and looked at Faith.

"Find something, boy?"

Turk dipped his head and whined irritably. Faith chuckled mirthlessly. "Yeah, I'm upset too. Keep looking. We'll get this guy."

Turk put his nose to the ground and began searching for signs of their killer. Faith walked up the stairs into the house and tried to piece together the last moments of Jessica's life.

She was still in her PJs. She had her keys, her phone, and her purse, but she hadn't changed. She was still wearing her bunny slippers.

Faith would have said was scared and was making a run for it, but there were no defensive wounds, and if she was frightened for her life, she would probably have left the purse and maybe even the phone. Or she would have run out the front door and screamed for help.

The screaming was actually what had led the police hear. A neighbor reported a scream of rage coming from Jessica's house.

That was new. Had the killer screamed at Jessica, or had Jessica screamed because of something that angered her?

What would have angered her enough to grab her purse, phone and keys but not change before leaving… where?

Faith walked into the living room and saw the couch cushions on the floor. One of them rested on the coffee table, and the other was on the hearth. A throw pillow was a few feet away in the dining room.

That tracked with the report of a scream of rage, but there was no sign of a struggle. Nothing was broken, and there was no blood anywhere but right where she dropped, just like with the other victims.

Faith began to have a picture of what happened. Jessica was upset about something, and she had either torn up the couch over it, or she had torn up the couch to try to solve a problem, and when that didn't work, she had tossed the cushions away in a rage.

What problem would couch cushions solve, though?

That question was easy enough to answer. People put pillows over their ears to muffle loud sounds. The pillow hadn't been enough, so Jessica had tried the couch cushions. That still wasn't enough, so scream of rage and let's get out of here.

And the killer had been waiting for her in the garage.

How had he made it there without being noticed? Had he broken in earlier and lain in wait?

"You were right," Wanda said, walking into the living room. "Sensitive hearing. Specifically hyperacusis and secondary tinnitus. Anything louder than a ceiling fan was like an icepick in our girl's head. She had prescription hearing implants designed to mute high-pitched sounds."

"It didn't mute this sound," Faith replied.

"Well, they were designed to mute high-pitched sounds that humans can hear. I'm guessing they didn't think about sounds humans aren't supposed to hear."

Faith nodded. "So the killer used a dog whistle, and it rode over the hearing implant and sent her into a frenzy. She panicked and decided she had to get out of here, so she grabbed her keys, phone and purse and made a break for it, only to get stabbed to death as she stepped into the garage."

"Yep. Now we just need to find out how he got in."

Michael walked into the room from the back. His expression was grim, and when Faith asked, "Did you find something?" he sighed and shook his head.

"Nothing. Not a door or window out of place. Nothing unlocked, nothing forced, no scuff marks or tool marks in or out of any lock. Either this guy's much better at breaking and entering than anyone else we've ever seen, or he was let inside."

"Well, Jessica lived alone," Wanda said, "but I'll look up her personal life and see if she had any frequent visitors. Normally, I would say she would be the first victim if it's a lover, but sometimes killers work their way up to their girlfriends."

"What a lovely thought," Michael said drily.

"You want lovely," Wanda quipped, "go work at a carnival."

She left the room, and Michael made a face and mimed, "You want lovely, go work at a carnival."

Normally, Faith would laugh at that, but she wasn't in a laughing mood right now. "So now we're looking at a killer who lures people with sound and can materialize out of nowhere in someone's house."

"Looks like it."

"Yes, but that can't be the answer. We're missing something. I think we're overthinking this. What's the easiest way he gets into the house?"

"He gets let inside."

Faith shook her head. "That's true, but there's no sign of a struggle here. If there was a bad enough fight that Jessica tossed her couch cushions all over the place and fled the house in her PJs, we should be seeing something else. We should also have heard complaints of two loud voices, not one."

"So maybe it's not a fight."

"Then why a single scream of rage? Why any anger at all? And where was the killer? He stabbed her from the side when she walked into the garage. No, I agree that being invited in is the simplest answer, but this is another case where Occam is wrong. There's too much that says she didn't know anyone else was here."

Turk barked and ran into the room. His ears were up, and his tail swished back and forth with excitement. Faith and Michael shared a look, then followed him as he led them back into the garage.

"What is it?" Faith asked, "What do you see, boy?"

He ran to the back of the garage and put his nose down at the bottom of the door. He looked up and barked at them, then put his nose back down.

Michael and Faith shared another look.

"How about this?" Faith said. "Jessica comes home and opens her garage door to park her car inside. Then, while her garage door is slowly closing, she gets out of the car and heads inside."

"And our killer waits until she's inside, then quickly runs underneath the door from his hiding place and gets inside without being seen," Michael finished.

"Then it's just a matter of waiting for night to fall and luring her out. He kills her, and when he leaves, he can just lock the door behind him on his way out."

"Probably the back door," Michael surmised. "There's nothing behind this house but a hill. He could have parked on the other side of the hill and slipped into his car without being noticed. Easy peasy."

"I guess Occam got something right after all," Faith admitted.

Wanda returned to the garage, the uniforms with her. "No boyfriend or frequent visitors that I could find," she said, "but I heard barking, and I see excitement on both your faces. So we found something?"

"We know how he got in. He was hiding outside, and when she got home, he dove under the closing garage door. Then he left, probably through the back door."

"Go out the back," Wanda immediately commanded her uniforms. "See if you can find tracks." She looked at Faith. "You mind if we borrow your dog?"

"Sure. Turk, go with them."

"It's way too late to catch him now," Wanda said, "but maybe he'll have left something behind we can use to find him later. You'd be amazed what a shoeprint or a tire track can tell you."

"Oh, we know," Michael replied. "Trust me."

"In the meantime," Faith said, "Did the neighbor who reported the scream mention anything about dogs barking?"

Wanda lifted an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, he did. Said his dogs were going crazy for the half hour before he heard the scream. He thought they had smelled a raccoon. When he heard that scream, he thought maybe not."

Faith felt another rush of excitement. Maybe David's plan would work. The killer seemed to prefer attacking in residential neighborhoods. Tons of people had dogs at home. Rebecca Wells was an outlier since she was killed in her studio, but people were rarely alone at their businesses at night. The killer had gotten lucky with Rebecca, but his MO would tend to lead him toward people's homes.

At least, Faith hoped it would.

"Call the PD," Faith said. "All of them: Seattle, Tacoma, Redmond, every suburb in between. Have them put out a bulletin. If anyone hears any dogs acting out of the ordinary—excessive barking, whining, howling, general distress—they need to call nine-one-one immediately. I think we can find this guy by following these incidents. He's using a dog whistle to lure his victims, and these dogs are our early warning system. It's time to start using them."

Wanda nodded. "I like it. It's got a beautiful irony to it. I'll go make the calls."

Faith turned to Michael, who was watching her with a slight grin. "What?"

"Nothing. I just like when you get all authoritative and not all ‘woe-is-me, I'm a failure.'"

Faith rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully, but she returned his grin. It faded when she glanced back at Jessica's body.

I'm sorry I was too late for you, she thought, but I'll find this asshole. I promise.

Once more, that was a promise she shouldn't make. But this time, she was confident making it. Their killer had only gotten to Jessica minutes ahead. The next time, they'd know what he was doing ahead of time.

Next time, they would be the ones lying in wait for him.