Chapter 33

Roger rang the doorbell, waited and tried again. Finally he pounded on the door.

He could see into the entryway, see up a great staircase that curved towards the second floor. Finally he saw life in the house. A light upstairs turned on and then another in the entryway. He saw a woman approach the door timidly, her hand clutching a blue velour robe tightly to her throat. She was thin, not an appealing thin, but a scrawny one. Her face was all angles and would have been much less scary if she had used a trowel of makeup to cover some of it. She had a pinched look on her face, as if she terminally sucked on lemons and could never get rid of the taste.

He held up his badge and identification so that she could see it through the door and then confirmed the ID when she opened the door.

"I'm Special Agent Roger Knight, ma'am. FBI. We'd like to speak to your husband please." He kept his voice pleasant and unthreatening. He didn't want to alarm her or have her alarm her husband. If that was credible at this late hour of the night, he thought.

"My husband was in his study. If you'll come in and wait..."

"No, ma'am. If you could please just tell us the way." Stephanie pushed past the woman. She headed down the way the woman pointed, ignoring her gasp of outrage as she pulled her weapon.

The study was dark, the door slightly ajar. Just the sight sent a feeling of dread down her spine. He was gone. She could feel it. But she took one side of the door while Roger took the other. He pushed the door open and ducked down to take a quick look into the room.

Stephanie slid into the room, coming around and following her gaze with her gun gripped in both hands. She quickly studied each shadow, each piece of furniture. He wasn't in the room, she knew it. She leaned over and hit the light switches with one hand, flooding the room with light.

One of the French doors to the patio was slightly ajar.

"Bastard's not in here." He turned and left the room. He came back, the scared woman in tow.

"Where is he?" Stephanie's voice was biting. They didn't have time for this shit.

"When I went to bed, he was in here. I don't know where he went." The woman was shaking and pale, nothing like the public image she displayed.

"Does he have a work shop? Someplace where he goes when he's here that you don't have access to?" Roger gripped her arm, turning her toward him. "We think your husband has two women trapped out there. We think he is killing women and leaving the bodies in deserted farmhouses."