The Devil's Closet by Stacy Dittrich Read Free Book Online

people into making them think I’m in control. Everyone says my expression is always serious, as if I’m concentrating fiercely on a secret only I know. Maybe that’s what makes me seem so guarded and what can put people off. It’s certainly not my looks, which, according to others, are above average. I’m tall and thin, with long blonde hair, a dark complexion, green eyes, and, as Coop puts it, a body that can stop a freight train. I take these opinions with a grain of salt. Like most other women, I have a significant amount of insecurities.
    Michael walked back over to the chair and sat down. “We probably shouldn’t be talking about this subject right now. It’s too much to take in. I think for the moment we should just deal with the case. Why don’t you tell me about this sicko you’ve got on your hands?”
    A reprieve. I was more than happy to talk about the case, which took the better part of an hour and a half. There were two other agents assigned with him, but they were speaking with the sheriff, chief, and Kincaid about a timeline. All the agents were staying in a hotel by the interstate, paying by the week. No one knows how long an investigation like this might last, so they needed to be prepared for short-or long-term stays.
    While Michael was studying the crime-scene photographs, homing in on Hanna Parker’s painted face, it was easy to see how sickened he was at what was done to this poor child.
    “Dear God, I’ve never seen anything like this. She was strangled and sexually assaulted, but no fluid found.”
    He put one hand over his mouth and strained his eyes, going into deep thought over the pictures. He then grabbed the close-up photo of the doll shoe and put the photos side by side on the floor. He looked closely at one, then the other, all the while saying nothing. There was an old Adam-12 poster on my wall, which seemed to grab his attention while he studied the photos. Was there any connection? That was Michael; intense and mysterious, making people around him wonder what’s going on in his head. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I needed to know what he was thinking.
    “What, Michael? What do you see ?”
    “You do realize the killer put the doll shoe in her hand to tell us she was painted to look like a doll, right? He didn’t think we would have figured it out on our own—which concerns me. It’s ritualistic, and it makes me wonder if he’s done this before. I’m gonna say yes.”
    “What makes you think it’s ritualistic?”
    “Ritualistic killers remain constant, but are always improving their skills and testing law enforcement. Did you guys send out a national teletype to inquire if any other law-enforcement agency has had a similar homicide?”
    “Of course, but it’s only been a couple of days, so we haven’t heard anything of substance yet. Why do you think he’s killed before?”
    “Because of the shoe. I think when he did it before, law enforcement didn’t understand the message he was trying to get across. That made him angry, so he’s decided to help us along. Regardless, even if I’m wrong, he’s very smart, calculating, and the obvious—disturbed.”
    “The doll that the shoe came from has been around for twenty-plus years, sold in every retail and toy store across the country. This one particular shoe could never be tracked. So what do you suggest?”
    “Let me think for a minute. I need to go catch up with the other agents. You said you’re going to re-interview the owner of the stolen van? Let me know what you find out. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”
    Michael left. I stared at the doorway and wondered what would happen from here. It was utterly clear that we were trying to fool ourselves and each other. Reality was that we both knew our feelings hadn’t dissipated, but we also knew the unresolved complications they caused. I’d never made love to Michael, but we were dangerously close one night. It was Michael who stopped, mostly due to the consequence