Already Lured, page 12
That was significant – it had to be. Seeing both deaths meant there had to be something to read into them. The first one, which didn’t stick, and the second, which did. There was some link between them.
And there was another thought which followed that, too. Nate had been right about them having a case with twins before that had similar visions. But there had been another case which reminded her of this one, now. Another case in which the killer had targeted people he perceived should have died years before. Those who had been saved after their hearts already stopped.
Was this another killer suffering from the same delusion? That people who had near death experiences were breaking the flow of natural life and had to be killed in order to bring things back to the correct order and avoid further evil?
There was only one way she could be sure if the link she had seen was something significant or something worthless. She needed to find out if the other two victims had near death experiences of a similar nature, too.
“If you think of anything that we haven’t gone over yet, I’d really like you to call me,” she said, taking a business card out of her pocket and passing it over to the sister. “Even if you’re not sure that it’s relevant – let us be the ones to decide. You’ll be kept up to date, too, by the local detectives. I know this is an awful time, so please take some time to process what has happened – are you staying locally?”
“We’re going to stay at Haydn’s home for a few days,” the husband explained.
Laura nodded. For a moment she didn’t know if they should stay there and potentially ruin any evidence – but she wasn’t even sure what she would be looking for, and the killing had happened near his workplace, not his home. She couldn’t justify keeping them from it on the possibility that they might one day maybe need to search the place. “If you happen across anything that looks significant, please give us a call.”
“We will,” he promised, and Laura took that as her cue to get up.
“Alright,” she said, nodding to them. “We’ll leave you alone for a short while. Someone will be along in a moment to speak with you about any other arrangements you need.”
There was a murmured goodbye from the sofa, from the husband and sister. Laura and Nate walked out of the room, and Laura closed the door behind them softly with barely a click.
“We’ve got something, haven’t we?” Nate asked.
“Yes,” Laura said. There was a gleam in her eyes. “And I know exactly what we have to do next.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
He sat in the parking lot with the lights off, watching silently. He was always watching silently in the dark these days. But it didn’t matter. This was part of his life now, he supposed.
The barista was cleaning the tables and putting chairs up on top of them, seats facing down, like she did every night. It was boring, physical work, he thought, but she didn’t seem to mind. Maybe that was the difference between them. She could just go on living this mundane life day after day and didn’t aspire to anything else.
He’d been watching her for a while and he couldn’t see any sign of anything else. Not like he had: the anger, bubbling away just under the surface. It was as though she didn’t feel it. But how could that be the case?
Maybe he should have admired her. Even asked her how she did it – how she coped each day without wanting to burn the whole place down. Hearing it from her might have helped him to deal with it himself. Might have taught him how to do it.
But he didn’t want to learn.
One day he would. One day, he would have cleared his demons and found a way to carry on. One day he would burn out all the anger and be left with whatever else there was. But not today.
Not until she was dead.
Her, and all the others.
The barista went around behind the counter and started doing something with the register – counting up all the cash that had been paid in that day and reconciling it with the records. It was going to take her a while. He didn’t mind that. He’d waited here a few times and watched her do this precise process, and he knew how long it would take. He didn’t mind settling in and watching her.
He only had to watch her this time, and then the next time, he would be ready. So long as nothing changed in her routine, so long as she went from the register and then turned off the lights –
And there she went, taking one final look around to check she had done everything she needed to before she flicked the switch.
He checked his watch. Right on time. She’d been working there for long enough that she had closing up down to a fine art. She did everything in the same order and it took her the same amount of time, every time. You could set your watch by her.
Which was good because that was almost exactly what he was going to do.
He watched with hungry eyes as she stepped outside and locked the door with a jingle of a hefty set of keys, then dropped them inside her purse for safety. She walked then with a brisk step towards the parking lot, towards exactly where he was sitting. He knew he couldn’t be seen. He had deliberately set it up like that: He’d parked his car alongside her workplace and then moved into the back seat, where the tinted glass would make it impossible for her to make him out in the darkness. But he could still see her. He watched her walk to her car, parked conveniently close at the edge of the parking lot. That was going to be the one challenge. Making sure he got to her before she reached safety, without giving her the chance to run.
He wasn’t particularly worried about it.
She sat inside her car, started the engine, and drove away. After a moment he got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s seat, getting in to follow her. He didn’t really need to know where she went or what she did next. It wasn’t relevant to his plans. But just in case – in case she slipped out of his grasp and he needed another chance – he followed. She drove home, parked, and went inside. He couldn’t see much of an opportunity there.
It had to be the parking lot.
And next time he saw her, that was exactly where they were both going to be.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Laura rubbed her eyes with her hands, trying to clear them. She had that kind of dry feeling of having been awake for far too long. It didn’t matter. She took another sip of her coffee, then a larger gulp, figuring she might need several cups to make a difference.
She looked down and checked the time on her cell phone – nearly five in the morning. She couldn’t help but notice as she did so that there were no messages or missed call notifications on her screen. Nothing from Chris, still.
She was beginning to feel like there was never going to be anything from Chris.
“I think I reached the bottom of the subject,” Nate said, sighing and rubbing his own face. He was sitting opposite her, both of them using computers that sat on adjacent desks. “I’m not getting anything new.”
“So, seeing a light at the end of a tunnel, flashbacks of your life, high points and low points, talking to people in heaven – that’s kind of the whole story?” Laura said.
“And the out of body experiences,” Nate said. “Don’t forget that.”
“Right, how could I?” Laura sighed. It all seemed so… stupid. She’d never seen anything like that when she’d come close to death – and she’d faced off against serial killers who were determined to make sure she never went home. Maybe she just hadn’t come close enough yet.
“Afterwards, it’s a bleaker picture. PTSD, anxiety, depression, survivor’s guilt. Do you think that might be a factor here? Some kind of guilt?”
“Maybe.” Laura shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. I feel like we’ve spent hours researching this and all we have are the same old clichés you always see on TV. I don’t even know whether people really experience these things, or whether they just think they do because it’s what they’re expecting.”
“I know what you mean,” Nate said. “And what I’m struggling to understand is how we can use this. Okay, so we know a lot about the way people with near death experiences feel them. We know about how they can disrupt lives. We just don’t know what that has to do with our killer. Or the other two victims, for that matter.”
“Yeah, well, we’re getting closer to that last part, at least,” Laura said, checking the time again. Not long before they could reasonably go wake up the families of the victims and speak to them. “Although – oh, my God.”
“What?” Nate asked, instantly on high alert.
“It must be sleep deprivation. That’s the only way to explain it. I’m just so tired, I’m not thinking straight.”
“What?” Nate demanded again, putting his hands flat on the desk in an expression of exasperation.
“Jessika Granger – she was working with patients who had PTSD from near death experiences,” Laura said. “That’s the link. She worked with patients who had one, and Haydn Townsend had one, too.”
“Right!” Nate snapped his fingers. “Damnit. I’m going to blame the sleep deprivation too. We just kind of ruled out the patient connection to the extent that I forgot about the possibility.”
“Maybe this is it,” Laura said. “Maybe the killer is one of her patients and that’s how he knows Haydn Townsend.”
“But Townsend wasn’t in Jessika’s patient files,” Nate frowned.
“Right. Oh!” Laura’s head shot up. “Maybe she had someone who used to be a patient but moved on to a different therapist. Or she refused to see them because they had violent tendencies. That might make them mad enough to include her on their kill list, right? And the killer could have met Townsend through this other therapist. Or maybe some kind of support group.”
Nate cocked his head to one side. “Laura… how many coffees have you had tonight?”
Laura cleared her throat. “That has nothing to do with anything.”
Nate chuckled. “Alright, we’re making a lot of leaps here, so let’s start with looking at local stories about near death experiences and see if there’s anyone who stands out.”
“Um.”
Laura glanced up. One of Cortez’s team – Overweight Detective – had been hovering at a nearby desk all night, apparently doing paperwork until he was needed. He was watching them both now with a nervous expression on his face.
“What is it?” Nate asked.
“Well, I just overheard you talking about people who stood out with regards to near death experiences,” he said. “And well, someone does come to mind.”
“Who?” Laura asked eagerly. She had a good feeling about this line of inquiry.
“There was a local guy who got brought in a few years ago,” he said. He scratched the back of his head. “I only remember it because it was so weird. He was harassing people and a couple of them got together to make a complaint. There was nothing that really came out of it – he wasn’t doing anything illegal. We just advised him to stop and that was the last I heard of it.”
“Tell us more,” Laura said, turning toward him fully. From the way he recoiled just slightly, she had a feeling that Nate was right: maybe she’d had too much coffee.
“Okay, well, his name was Pace or something. I remember that, too, because – well, again, it’s a weird name. I can look up the notes for you if you want?”
“You have notes?” Laura asked. “I thought you said nothing came of it? Just a complaint?”
“Yeah, but I kept my own notes,” he said. “Hold on.” He moved back to his desk, clicking around a few times on his screen. He started to type into a search bar, maddeningly slow; even from the next desk over, Laura could make out him typing, one-fingered, P-A-C-E.
“Alright,” he said. “Yeah, I have it here. Pace Christinsin,” Overweight Detective said. “He was going around calling himself the Death Guru.”
“The Death Guru?” Nate repeated, giving Laura significant look.
“Yeah, he said he was an expert in death, whatever that means,” the detective said, reading off the screen. “I think he had social media pages under that name. So, when these two people came in to make the complaint, it was about them having had near death experiences. They said he wouldn’t leave them alone – he was always asking them about what they’d gone through and trying to get more and more details about it. They were both pretty upset. They were recovering from what had happened, and all that.”
“I can imagine,” Laura nodded. “Did they mention what he was interested in, in particular? And what kind of vibe he had – curious, angry, violent?”
“He was just really intense,” the detective said. “My notes say he kept asking over and over again what they saw in the moment right before they almost died – right before they were saved.”
Laura looked at Nate. “What if he’s doing this so he can observe what happens in that moment? Or if he’s trying to get them to tell him what they see, but he keeps going too far and pushing them right over the edge?”
Nate nodded. “That’s a good working theory.”
“Do you have an address for this Pace Christinsin?” Laura asked, turning back to their detective.
“Sure,” he said, rolling his chair around back to his computer again and starting to type. “I’ll get it for you now.”
“Great,” Laura said, standing up. “It’s getting on towards dawn. I think it’s time we paid him a visit.”
“Agreed,” Nate nodded, grabbing the car keys from where they lay on the desk. “I’ll drive.”
***
Laura hesitated before knocking on the door, eyeing the sign that had been placed on it. It was very clearly a custom job, something made specifically for the owner of this home. It read, KNOCK FOR THE DEATH GURU.
As if anyone standing on the doormat – cheerfully themed with a waving skeleton – was going to need instructions for how to get someone to come to the door.
She knocked, holding her breath, and was rewarded by a sound coming from somewhere upstairs in the home. Given that the residents were probably sleeping, she waited, not knocking again but instead giving them time to get down to the door.
It opened with a wrench a few moments later, revealing a man who was hastily drawing a gown closed over what looked like very innocuous pajamas. He was tall and gaunt, with sunken cheeks and a mess of dark hair over his eyes. “Hello?”
Laura lifted her badge to show him. “Special Agent Laura Frost and my partner, Special Agent Nathaniel Lavoie. May we come inside?”
“Uh, sure,” he said, stepping back and gesturing. He self-consciously ran a hand back through his hair, which did nothing at all to neaten it. “Just take a seat through there.”
Laura followed his directions and stepped through into a room that was certainly death themed. There were skeletons of all kinds of small animals inside bell jars and display cases, different types of skull-themed artwork on the walls, and everything was either painted or upholstered in black. There was a click as Christinsin turned a light on, but the bulb was a dim glow only, leaving it still not so easy to see what was going on in the space.
“You’re Pace Christinsin, yes?” she asked, pausing in the middle of the room to look back at him. “Or are we supposed to call you the Death Guru?”
A somewhat pleased expression came over his face. “That’s me, yes,” he said. “Are you here for a consultation?”
“A consultation?” Laura asked, taking a seat on a black velvet sofa. Nate remained by the door, ostensibly looking at some framed black and white photographs of what appeared to be Victorians – though Laura knew he was actually blocking the exit.
Christinsin sat down in his own armchair, crossing his legs comfortably. He was obviously not used to greeting people in pajamas and a robe, but in this room in his own domain, he seemed to be settling into it easily. “I provide a number of services,” he said. “As an expert in death, since you’re here to investigate the murders, I guess you need my help.”
“Something like that,” Laura said smoothly. There was no point in disavowing him of the notion right now. He would soon figure it out for himself. “Did you know any of the victims?”
He tilted his head to one side. “I only know the name of the first one for sure – Brooke Ware,” he said. “The second one was named locally in the press as Jessika Granger, but I don’t know if that has been confirmed.”
“Those are correct,” Laura said. “And there’s the third – Haydn Townsend.”
Christinsin’s eyebrows shot up. “A third?” he said. “My, my. Someone has been busy. No, I don’t know any of these individuals.”
“Are you sure about that?” Laura asked, watching him closely.
“Yes, quite sure,” he said. “Why? Should I?”
“I’m surprised,” Laura said. She kept her tone casual, as if she were discussing the weather, but she was carefully gauging his reaction. “I would have thought you would be aware of them, given the connection to near death experiences they have.”
Christinsin sat upright in his chair. “There’s a connection? What is it?”
Laura ignored that question. “Are you sure you haven’t spoken to any of them before? Not even, perhaps, interviewed Haydn Townsend? We know from records that you’re interested in that kind of experience.”
“I haven’t interviewed him.” Christinsin shook his head in what seemed to be wonder. “What a shame! I had no idea there was someone else local that I could have spoken to. Now, what a waste. He’ll take that whole experience to his grave. I so wanted to know about it – I love to talk to anyone I can that has been through that kind of thing.”
“What’s it all in aid of?” Laura asked, trying to sound conversational. “I mean, why are you so interested in the topic?”
“I’m interested in the secrets that they can tell me,” he said. “You see, I believe it’s all part of a larger puzzle. That when we’re about to die, we get just a small glimpse of what lies beyond. A tiny one – so small that we can’t even comprehend what we’ve seen. But if we add all the glimpses that everyone has together, we can start to see a larger part of the picture. It’s my strong belief that if we get enough little glimpses, enough witness statements, then we’ll be able to know what the afterlife is really like. And even if there is one, since I know there are those who have their doubts.”
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