Southern Lights Read online

  “We’ll see. I wouldn’t count on that,” Jack said with a confidence he didn’t fully feel. They needed some hard evidence to use in the case. They’d had enough to arrest him, although not enough to convict him yet. Hopefully it would come, with a few more lucky breaks. They had good men on their team. Maybe another snitch would turn up, although Quentin didn’t look like a guy who talked. He was much, much smarter than that. And the forensic evidence they were waiting for would nail him.

  The questioning went on for several hours, about where he’d been, what he’d done, who he knew, who he met, the women he’d gone out with, the hotels where he’d stayed. It checked out that he’d been in the cities where the women were killed, but so far there was nothing conclusive to tie him to the other girls. They were hanging by a slim thread, but it was good enough for now, and they were counting on the forensic lab to give them more with DNA.

  “You’ve got to prove a hell of a lot more than that I ran in the same park.” But the blood and hair would do for now. Even Luke Quentin knew that.

  They had never mentioned his passion for snuff films during the entire interrogation. They didn’t want to tip their hands yet. They had offered to have his public defender with him that morning, but Quentin said he didn’t care. He was not afraid of cops, and he thought public defenders were jokes, they were always young and innocent, and most of the guys they defended were convicted anyway. The fact that they were guilty was irrelevant to him. And the PD he’d been given was no better. She’d been in the public defender’s office for a year. He didn’t care. He figured it would never get to trial, and for lack of evidence, they’d have to let him go. They couldn’t prove a goddamn thing, and blood on his shoes wouldn’t be enough.

  The blood from all four victims came from scratches they’d gotten on the ground when they’d been raped, or dragged away, one from a cut on a victim’s arm. The site of the bleeding hadn’t been the cause of death. They had been naked when he raped and killed them, and when they were found. He always took their clothes off and didn’t bother to dress them again once they were dead. The first two girls had been found in a shallow grave in the park, dug up by a dog. The other two had been dumped in the river, which was harder to pull off, but the killer had found a way, without being observed. The other bodies in the other states had been found disposed of in similarly casual ways, and some still hadn’t been found, but were almost surely dead. They had disappeared and never returned, often while jogging in the very early morning, or at night, in parks.

  The killer seemed to like a pastoral setting for his trysts. One girl in the Midwest had disappeared off a farm, she was just eighteen, and her parents said she had a bad habit of hitchhiking into town, but they knew everyone for miles around. This time, clearly, a stranger had picked her up. They waited for months, hoping for news of her, and that she had run off with some handsome young guy, she was a bit of a wild thing, but a beautiful girl. They never heard from her again, and her body was found in a field when a bulldozer was moving dirt months later. And she had died just like the others, raped and strangled.

  They interrogated him for three hours, and then sent him back to his cell. Quentin sauntered out of the room, without even a look back. He didn’t look in Alexa’s direction on the way out, and she was as tired as the police officers and detectives when they met in her office to discuss what they’d heard. He hadn’t given them anything, except confirmation of where he’d been, which they knew anyway, and a lot of names that would amount to nothing, just people he’d met along the way, had dinner with, worked for, or gone to bars with. He knew how to stay out of trouble, on the surface anyway. He had never been arrested since being released from prison. He had no history of drugs, except marijuana in prison. He liked tequila and cheap wine, but so did every kid in college, and they didn’t rape and strangle women. Drinking cheap booze wasn’t a crime, and those who knew him said he could hold his liquor, he wasn’t a sloppy drunk who got into bar fights. He was cold and calculating, kept his own counsel, and watched every move he made. He had during the interrogation too.

  “We didn’t get much,” one of the younger cops said, looking discouraged.

  “I didn’t expect to,” Jack said calmly. “He’s smarter than that. He’s not going to give us some slip or the lead we’ve been waiting for. We’re going to have to put this case together twig by twig and brick by brick and pebble by pebble, with grains of sand, like the three little pigs building their houses. He’s not going to make it easy for us. We’re going to have to do our jobs on this one, and work our asses off to nail him.” Alexa liked the image, and smiled as the others left the office.

  “So what do you think?” she asked Jack candidly, when they were alone again. They were both aware that Quentin had no history of convictions for violent crimes before this. But after his last stint in prison, he had changed his MO, and Alexa was convinced that he had done it, as was the task force that had trailed and studied him for months.

  “Honestly? I think he did it. My gut says he killed them all, maybe even more than we know about. But I think we’re going to have to work hard to get him. I think he’s guilty. All we have to do now is prove it, and then you can do your job.” Alexa nodded, she agreed with him. It was no slam dunk yet, but she wanted more than anything to get him, if he had done it, and she believed he had. Her instincts were the same as Jack’s, but Quentin was as slick as a greased marble, and it would be hard to catch him. He had all the earmarks of a sociopath, a man who could commit heinous crimes, and remain indifferent and unruffled. He clearly wasn’t frightened or remorseful. Maybe he would be later. “Want to share some lunch, guaranteed to give you indigestion?” Jack offered. “We can talk about the case, or not if you prefer. I still need to absorb what he told us this morning. Sometimes I pick something up later, when I think about it. It looks like nothing, but turns out to be a thread that’s tied to something else.” It was why he was good at what he did, he focused on every minute detail, and it always paid off in the end. It had on every case they’d worked on together. He was the best investigator they had, and she was the best assistant DA.

  “Sure. I have to be back here at two for a meeting. I’m getting ready for the grand jury.” It was in two days, and Jack would go with her. She wanted to be well prepared. For lack of stronger, totally conclusive evidence, her arguments to bring Quentin to trial had to be tighter and better and more convincing. There was no smoking gun yet. But she was as good at what she did as he was.

  They walked across the street together to the deli they all hated but frequented daily. Alexa tried to bring food from home but usually left in too much of a hurry to do so, so she either starved all day, ate junk out of the machines, or sacrificed her digestive system at the deli. The deli was awful but the closest to the building where they worked. They all agreed that you had to be either starving or suicidal to eat there. The food was heavy, greasy, and either fried into oblivion or dangerously undercooked. Alexa usually tried to get by with a salad, which seemed minimally risky. Jack liked a man-sized meal, and took the daily special, which was lethal.

  He ordered meat loaf and mashed potatoes, and she a Caesar salad, which arrived looking limp and wet.

  “God, I hate the food here,” she muttered as she started to eat it, and he grinned.

  “Yeah, me too. That’s why I try to eat here at least twice a day, sometimes three. I never have time to go anywhere else.” Since his divorce years before, he spent most of his waking hours at work, even on weekends. He had nothing else to do and said it kept him out of trouble. Alexa had the same theory for herself.

  “We both work too hard,” she commented, making a face over the soggy lettuce that seemed weeks old and probably was, and had been the cheapest they could buy in the first place.

  “So what else is new? How’s your love life?” he asked casually. He liked her, he always had. She was smart, she worked hard, she was tough when she had to be, even relentless, but she was also fair, and kind
, and a truly nice person, and pretty too. It was hard to find anything he didn’t like about her, except that she was a little too skinny for his taste, and didn’t do much with her hair. It was always tied back in a knot, although he suspected it would be long and luscious in bed. He tried not to think about it, and to remember that she was one of the “guys” in his life. It was how she acted, and the only relationship she seemed to want with him or anyone else. She’d been badly burned by her marriage, and her husband’s betrayal. She had told him the story once, it was even worse than his.

  “I assume you’re kidding, right?” She smiled as she answered his question. “Who has time for a love life? I have a kid and a full-time job. That’s good enough.”

  “Some people seem to manage more than that. They even go on dates, fall in love, and get married, or so I’m told.”

  “They must be on drugs,” Alexa said as she pushed away the salad. She had had enough. “So what do you think of our case? Think we’ll get him?”

  “I hope so. I’m sure as hell going to try. He’s as cold as they get. I think he would kill damn near anyone he chose to, if he could get away with it and had the chance.”

  “What makes you think so?” Alexa was intrigued by his comment and trusted his judgment, and always had before. He was rarely wrong. And he probably wasn’t this time either. “He has no history of violent crimes, and he’s never killed anyone before this spree, that we know of.” She was playing devil’s advocate for them both.

  “That just means he’s good at what he does. I don’t know why I think so. But I’ve seen guys like him, and so have you. Ice cold and dead inside. They’re like machines, they’re not human beings. He’s a classic sociopath, and they’re usually smart, just like he is. The most dangerous guys around. They’d as soon kill you as shake your hand. He may not have killed anyone when he was younger, but I’m convinced he would now. Maybe something snapped the last time he was in prison. I think he’s one sick, twisted sonofabitch, and he’ll give us a run for our money. He’s covered his tracks pretty well. I don’t know why we got lucky with the blood on his shoes. Sociopaths don’t usually make mistakes like that. Maybe he got too cocky, and he sure didn’t know we were watching him.” That had been clear in the interrogation, and they hadn’t told him. They had just let him talk to see what he said.

  “Shit, I hope we get him,” Alexa said with fervor. She wanted nothing more. She wanted to put him away.

  “So do I,” he agreed.

  “It makes me sick when I see those girls’ faces. They’re all so young and pretty. They look like my daughter.” As she said it, a chill ran down her spine. She hadn’t thought of it before, but they did. Savannah was just his type. But fortunately, he was safely in jail, and not wandering the world. For now.

  “How is she, by the way?” Jack asked, changing the subject. He felt as though he knew her from the gallery of photos on Alexa’s desk, and he’d met her once or twice at the office. She was a pretty girl just like her mother.

  “She’s applying to college. She wants to go to Princeton, at least that’s in New Jersey. I’m scared to death she’ll get into Stanford. I don’t want her that far away. My life is going to be a wasteland when she goes.”

  He nodded and could see the real sadness in Alexa’s face. She was too young to have given up her whole life for a child. “Maybe that’s something for you to think about. You still have time to do something about it.”

  “Excuse me? This from a guy who works as hard as I do? My last date may have been in the stone age, but something tells me yours was several millennia before.” He laughed out loud at her response.

  “So take it from me, it’s a mistake. It’s too late for me now. By my age, I can either go out with younger women who want babies, and I don’t, or women my age who are angry and bitter and hate guys.”

  “And there’s nothing in between?” Alexa wondered if he had a point. She knew she was bitter herself, about Tom, and men in general. She had vowed never to trust any man again, and she hadn’t, even those she had gone out with, rare as it was. Her walls were a mile high.

  “Nope,” Jack confirmed. “Hookers. But I’m too cheap to pay for sex.” They both laughed at that, and he paid for their lunch as Alexa thanked him. “Don’t say that I don’t take you to the best places. If the theory about getting laid in exchange for a good dinner holds, you should probably kick me in the shins for lunch. How’s your stomach holding up after that salad? Feeling sick yet?”

  “Not yet. It usually takes about half an hour.” The jokes about the deli were legion, but it was just as bad as they all said, and worse. All the cops swore the jail food was better, and it probably was.

  They walked back into the building together, and Jack said he’d keep her posted on the latest developments about Quentin. The press was taking a major interest in him, and they were all being extremely careful about what they said. Reporters had already tried to interview Alexa and she declined. She was leaving that to the DA.

  Alexa spent the rest of the afternoon in meetings, worked on her file for the grand jury, and left work earlier than usual, at six o’clock. Her mother and Judge Schwartzman were coming for dinner, and Savannah had just put a chicken in the oven when she got home. She looked pretty and fresh and had played volleyball that afternoon. She was elated that they’d won against a rival school. Alexa tried to get to her games whenever she could, but it wasn’t as often as she liked. And she was struck again by the resemblance between her daughter and Luke Quentin’s victims. It made the death of all those young women seem that much worse to her.

  “How’s your big serial killer case coming?” Savannah asked her as they stood in the kitchen. Alexa was making a salad, and they had just put baking potatoes in the microwave. Her mother and Stanley Schwartzman were due in half an hour. They could chat, as they always did, until dinner was cooked.

  “It’s coming along,” Alexa answered. “I have a grand jury hearing on it in two days. How are the applications coming? Did you finish any more? I want to see them before they go out,” she reminded her, but Savannah wrote excellent essays, and her grades and board scores were high. She was going to get in everywhere. Alexa had done her job well, and Savannah was a bright girl.

  “I finished Princeton and Brown. I still have Stanford and Harvard to do. I don’t think I’ll get in anyway, they’re both too hard. GW would be okay too. And Duke.” Going to college still seemed unreal to her, like a dream, but she was excited about it. She was looking forward to talking about it with her dad when they went skiing.

  Alexa and Savannah chatted in the kitchen, as they set the table and finished making dinner, and then the doorbell rang. It was Alexa’s mother and Stanley. He was a handsome, distinguished-looking, vibrant man, despite his age, and exactly what a judge should look like. He was serious, conservative, but he had a great sense of humor and a twinkle in his eye.

  The chicken was delicious, and everyone pretended not to notice that the baked potatoes were overcooked. The conversation was lively, and the three generations of women always had a good time together, and Stanley enjoyed being with them. Alexa reminded him of his own daughters, and Savannah of his favorite granddaughter who was the same age, and at Boulder, having a ball. They talked about Savannah’s applications, and a funny case Stanley had heard recently, a suit brought by a man who had sued a co-worker for sneezing on him constantly and making him sick. The case had been dismissed for lack of malicious intent or tangible damages, and no damages had been awarded.

  “Once in a while you have to ask yourself if people are all crazy,” he said as he finished a dish of ice cream. “What are you working on these days, Alexa?”

  “The big serial killer case that’s been all over the press,” Muriel answered for her, and he looked impressed.

  “Those cases are always hard. They’re very emotionally disturbing. Cases like that always haunt me for months.” Alexa nodded. It was already starting to do that to her. She knew in every detai
l the faces of each dead girl, and their lives. The one she knew the least about so far was the defendant, how he had done it, when and where, and what made him tick, but she’d get there. She always did.

  “I hate it when Alexa has cases like that,” her mother complained as she carried their dishes to the sink and helped load the dishwasher. She loved coming to Alexa’s for dinner, it was always easy and relaxed. And Stanley liked coming with her. They had a comfortable relationship and enjoyed many of the same things. Not enough to want to get married at this point in their lives, but enough to spend a lot of time together and talk on the phone every day. Sometimes they had lunch in his chambers or hers. “I always worry that the defendants are too dangerous and have equally dangerous friends on the outside.”

  “Any sign of that?” Stanley asked, looking mildly concerned, but Alexa shook her head.

  “No. It’s fine.”

  The evening ended shortly after that, and Alexa and Savannah went to their own bedrooms. Savannah spent the rest of the evening talking to friends on the phone, and Alexa pored over files, until she fell asleep on her bed, fully dressed. Savannah came in to say goodnight to her, and gently took her papers out of her hand, covered her with a blanket, and turned off the light. It was not an unusual occurrence. Alexa fell asleep that way on many, many nights, especially when she was in trial. Savannah kissed her, and Alexa didn’t stir. She was purring softly, as Savannah smiled and closed the door.

  Chapter 4

  The next day, after Alexa’s dinner with her mother, she got good news about the case. The latest, more extensive report on the DNA definitely determined that the dried blood caked into Luke Quentin’s boots was a match with two of the women, and that the hairs were from the other two victims, and were a clear match too. Alexa considered the news a real gift, so they could now link him to all four women. How the blood and hair got there was up to them to prove. But it was solid evidence for their side, just in time for them to go to the grand jury the next day. Jack called and told her, and Alexa beamed when she heard the news. There were still more tests to do, which would be more conclusive, but the information they had now was reliable. Luke Quentin was in big trouble. As was proper, Alexa called and told his public defender, who was not thrilled to hear the news.