The Dark Places by R. Whitfield (novel24 TXT) 📕

It was only then, at her most aware, that she realised what it was that had been different, a seemingly minor detail that she had missed. It was dark.

The security lights that ordinarily surrounded her car were all off. Not a huge difference in the scheme of the whole parking level, nothing that she or anyone would overly notice, especially walking to their car happily singing a tune, but now that she was standing there looking back, the shadows had descended, and for the first time she recognised how truly vulnerable she was. A small sob escaped her mouth, and she knew she should move, she felt the danger, but fear kept her immobile. Her brain tried to rationalise with her — there is no one here! For God’s sake, get in the fucking car, Lana!

A scraping sound on the cement floor near her jolted her from her paralysis. She ran around the vehicle and practically dived inside it, slamming the door. Once safely inside, she immediately felt like an idiot. God, I hope no one just witnessed that, she laughed, feeling relief course through her body. She pressed the lock down on her door, then the realisation hit her. That was the instant she knew. Closing her eyes, she replayed the moment in her head when she had thrown her bag in the passenger door. She began sobbing quietly as her body started shaking all over. The door had been unlocked.

When he finally reached around from the back seat and firmly pushed the gun into her temple, he smiled.

“Shhh, shhh now, it’s OK, Lana, I’m going to take really good care of you.”

18

“Another day, another dollar,” Dennis mumbled, walking past Parker on his way into the elevator the following evening.

“You coming or going?” he asked, holding the elevator door open long enough that it started beeping incessantly.

“Coming,” Parker replied, “Elliott is on her way up,” he added.

“Any movement on your case?” Dennis asked, genuinely interested.

“Not much.” Parker shrugged, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “We may have a new angle, but it may be nothing.”

“Nature of the beast,” Dennis replied. “See you tomorrow then.” And he nodded as the elevator doors finally squeaked shut.

Parker strode over to his desk and fired up the computer. Surin was chasing up some real coffee so the night ahead would be slightly more manageable. He looked up in time to see her enter from the stairwell. She had her eyes cast down, a tote bag slung over her right shoulder, and a tray of large coffee cups. She looked up as she entered, smiling at a few colleagues as she headed over to him.

“Biggest I could find,” she said, placing a brown biodegradable cup in front of his nose. He inhaled the rich aroma of decent coffee and smiled.

“This will do,” he replied, taking off the lid and having a long, generous sip.

She sat in her chair and then pushed off, rolling over in his direction. “Let’s start broad and taper in,” she said, blowing on her own beverage before sipping cautiously.

Parker logged into ViCAP, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program used across all branches of law enforcement.

“The first time I did this all I had to go on was method,” Surin stated. “You can’t imagine the hits I got when typing in: held, rape, dumped. It is disturbing how many crimes have occurred that fit that profile.” She shook her head. “I grabbed what I could, and honestly, I’m talking hundreds of cases.” Parker looked up at her as she continued. “I could have missed two, three, four girls, who knows.” She sat back, guilt overriding her features, and held the coffee firmly with both hands.

“Surin,” he said gently, leaving his hands on the keyboard in an effort not to touch her. “We have a lot more to go on now. You have help. Let’s see what we can dig up.”

She looked into his eyes for a beat too long and smiled. “You’re right,” she replied and sat forward again. “Enjoy that, because it won’t happen too often,” she smirked.

Parker looked at her with a grin and shook his head.

“There she is,” he said, “I thought you might have gone all squishy and girlie on me for a moment there.”

“Not today,” she answered, “start with this.” She reached over onto her desk and into her tote bag, retrieving a scrappy piece of paper, and slid it along the desk towards him.

“Long dark hair, early twenties, raped, held, dumped.” Parker read aloud.

“Shorten the time frame. We know about the then and now, we want the in-between,” Surin added.

Parker typed the information into the database and included the time frame they were interested in. “So, Emma was 2007, and then we had Kara Pettiman in 2011?” Parker asked, confirming the information with Surin.

“That’s right, four years is a lot of time to suppress his needs,” she answered, reaffirming their initial hunch. “He is good. His control is at freak level, but four years? Doubt that,” she added.

Parker nodded in agreement. “Control is one thing, this guy,” he said, gesturing towards the screen, “he has a deep-seated hate for women. Honestly, I doubt he can stand to be in their presence for very long unless he is in total control. He won’t have had any meaningful relationships — his ex-partners will feel like they dated a blank canvas.”

Surin listened intently adding, “He is smart, will have a job where he needs to use his intellect, he is at least average to above average looking and very well-groomed.”

“Well-groomed?” Parker added questionably.

“Yes,” she replied. “He needs total control in all aspects of his life. He will be impeccably groomed; his home will be clean and functional, but cold. Think modern,” she continued, “clean, blank, controlled. There will be no pictures, no warmth, just functionality.”

“What about