"Sometimes, you only remember details at a later stage, but it's important for us to follow up," Connor said. "All the information we can get will be important. Did Jill make an official complaint against him?"

  "She said she was going to, but I didn't hear any more about it. Unfortunately, I was sick with the flu last week, and so we didn't get together like we usually did. She avoided people with the flu, because being so fit made it risky to catch viruses since she had a race coming up. So I never got to find out."

  "You've been very helpful," Connor praised.

  And she had. As they stood, offering their sympathies again, Cami knew this had been a very productive visit. First, they had found out that Jill didn't scare easily. If she'd run from a suspected killer, she would have had a very good reason - and Cami doubted she would have been 'scared to death.'

  And secondly, she'd laid a complaint against someone who had not only been harassing her, but also other women. And that definitely pointed to the likelihood of serial crimes.

  As soon as Connor was out of the house. he got on the phone again to find out more about incidents at the local gym where Jill had trained and worked.

  "Is there any record?" he asked whoever he was speaking to. Then he nodded. "Thanks."

  He turned to Cami.

  "The man who was harassing the gym goers was given a warning by local police, and was removed from the area after complaints, but the police said nobody had yet pressed charges. However, they do know who he is. His name is Dirk Fisher, and he lives just a few blocks from the gym. He apparently works for a pharmaceutical company." Connor's face was thoughtful, and Cami knew he was being reminded of those strange cardiac arrests. "Let's go and speak to Mr. Fisher immediately," he decided.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The killer had a growing collection of masks. From the featureless, blank, and terrifying ski mask he'd used recently, to the ultra-scary Joker mask with its wide, bloody, haphazard grin.

  Every time he set out to try to get his revenge, he would wear a different one. Depending on his mood, of course.

  Last night he had been feeling blank, with an overdose of rage, feeling that the world was just too much for him. And so he'd chosen the mask with the blank features. He'd enjoyed using it. It had been a good disguise to have worn when meting out his payback.

  But it had been worn and thrown away, and now he was adding to his collection again.

  He was in a party shop, searching through the stack of Halloween masks, now on sale, as Halloween had recently passed.

  "Can I help?" the sales assistant asked. She was a blonde woman, with wide, blue eyes. Immediately, he knew that she wouldn't trigger his anger. She wasn't the type that he'd been compared to all his life. She was curvaceous, with a plump, pretty face. The kind of woman who probably tried to force herself to go for a weekly gym session, and mostly failed. The kind of woman who would eat a good dinner and then not be scared to have dessert afterward.

  This was the kind of woman - the kind of person - that he felt comfortable with.

  He smiled at her. He knew that when he was in a good mood, he was a good looking guy. She'd find nothing in him to be scared of, when he wasn't wearing a mask.

  "I'm looking for a few masks. Got to do some plays, with my nieces and nephews. We're always running short of characters."

  "Sounds like fun," she said. "How about Batman?"

  That was too distinctive, he thought.

  "We've done that," he said regretfully.

  "How about a pirate?"

  He smiled. "Now you're talking," he said.

  She held out the pirate mask. It had a ragged beard, a leather eye patch, a scar on the cheek, and a tilted hat. It was a good mask, apart from one problem. The eye patch covered one of the eye holes, and he needed both his eyes to catch his prey.

  However, it wouldn't be a bad thing to buy it anyway. It only backed up his story.

  "This is a cute one. A bumble bee. Very unusual."

  She held it up. It also wasn't right for him. It was too cheerful. The bumble bee had a smiling face, and it looked kind and non-dangerous. He wanted terror to be the final emotion in his victims' hearts.

  He liked to think of himself as a character when he was wearing his masks. He liked to think of himself as someone else. And he knew that the mask he selected would be something that would give him an angle, a logical reason for his actions.

  "I need scarier ones than that," he insisted. "My nieces and nephews are horror fans."

  "Oh, we have a few of those. They're more expensive, though," she said, smiling.

  "I don't care," he said.

  She turned and moved away to where a small rack of masks was tucked away. She took one off it, and brought it back to him. It was in the shape of a skull. Wide, empty eye sockets, sharp cheekbones, dark shadows, and grinning teeth. The skull was absolutely perfect. He knew as soon as he saw it, that he wanted to wear it when he was on the hunt.

  "Perfect," he praised her.

  "Or this one?"

  "That's great," he said.

  It was a devil's mask, with a red, curling mouth, dark, flashing eyes, and vicious sharp horns. That mask was perfect. He imagined arriving at his next prey wearing this. How terrified she would be. It would be the ultimate send-off, looking into that snarling face.

  He took it down from the shelf.

  "You're sure you don't want the bumble bee?" she asked, sounding disappointed.

  "Not this time. This one is definitely the best, and I'll also take the pirate, and the skull," he said, and handed over his card.

  She was looking at him, and he felt something stir. She was pretty. He liked the curve of her lips, and the color of her hair. But he didn't want to be attracted to her. He had to get over this bump in the road, and make sure that he'd vanquished the demons of his past. He could never have a normal life, with a normal woman, while he was damaged goods.

  Even so, he knew he liked her.

  He liked her better than the other women, who all liked to think they were so much better than he was. Those were the ones that awakened his monsters.

  He smiled at her, and she responded with a nervous smile of her own.

  "Have a nice day," she said, and she sounded as if she genuinely meant it.

  "Oh, I will," he said, and he knew he'd enjoy every moment of it. Perhaps he'd come back and shop at this place again, soon. It was a good experience. The interaction with that woman had been calming. She'd done nothing to antagonize him. Not like the others.

  He knew he had to put his mask on as soon as he could. He didn't have time to lose. It was time to hunt again, and he felt the familiar anger rise inside him as he saw the vivid neon signage of the gym across the road.

  There were so many of these women, and his job was so frustratingly slow. Doing the research, choosing the right prey, finding out when they would be alone: it all took time. And, of course, his signature, the all important heart rate before the death throes began.

  He knew he would end up in jail if he were caught, and that planning properly was essential. Even so, he knew he couldn't wait much longer. He had to do what he'd set out to do, and he had to do it soon.

  "I'm ready for you," he said.

  He could feel his body starting to burn with his anger, and he knew he had to stop off at the gym and work off some of it. The treadmill, the cross trainer, the bench press.

  Machinery that he hated. How he hated it. The associations were nightmarish, and the masked man knew it was the cruelest twist of all that he now had to use this equipment to stay fit and strong enough to do his all-important work.

  He had to use all his self-control not to vandalize the machines. Not to throw aside the weights, topple over the treadmills, slash a hole in the fitness bands and Pilates balls.

  And there were always women there, women in shorts, in sports bras, in tank tops. Fit, muscular: it made him burn with rage to be there in the same building with them.

  But he would do it. He had to. He had to use the machinery at the gym, and he had to set up his next kill. He had to have a plan and stick to it. He knew he was good at what he did, and he knew he was clever. He'd get it right. He always did.

  He wouldn't let his rage overtake him. He had to stay in control.

  This was all about power, and he knew he was going to reclaim the power that had been so cruelly ripped away from him, all those years ago.

  “Get that heart rate up! You’re a lazy body. You’re a lazy, useless, soft little couch potato. Make that heart work. I want to see it in the stratosphere!”

  Body by body, mask by mask, he would set his own personal world to rights. In the bag, he could feel the wicked curve of the devil's mask.

  This was the one he would use next, he decided. And by ‘next’ he meant ‘now.’

  It was time for the next kill.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Connor pulled up outside Dirk Fisher's house, Cami saw immediately that it looked as if nobody was home. The house, a simple, single-story home wedged between other similar ones, was locked up tight with curtains drawn.

  To make sure, Connor got out and banged on the front door.

  He waited a minute, then banged again. No answer.

  "He might be at work," Cami suggested, staring around the neighborhood. It didn't look like anyone nearby was home. This, she thought, was an area where people worked hard to raise their kids, and in the late mornings, there was nobody around. Kids and parents were all at school or the office.

  "What work does Dirk do?" Cami asked, wondering if they could head there next.

  "No record of employment," Connor said.

  "No record at all? Not even a past place of work?" Cami hazarded. It was frustrating to her that the databases which police and FBI could access could be so helpful at times, but at other times, could yield nothing.

  "I know. I feel the same way when they’re not up to date. He might have changed jobs recently, or be doing something that pays him in cash rather than being on the record," Connor said. "Lots of reasons."

  That didn't help them to know where he was. But then, Cami had an idea.

  "Would it be worth going past this gym where he was caught lurking?" she asked. "I mean, he clearly spends a lot of time there, and a warning from the police might mean nothing to someone who has a murderous agenda. Maybe we should go and see?"

  It wasn't far away. It wouldn’t waste their time. And Connor clearly felt her reasoning was good. He nodded.

  "Let's take a drive past. If he's obsessed with this, he might be there."

  They were definitely looking for an obsessive personality, Cami thought, with a sick feeling as she remembered those rapid kills.

  They got back into the car. As they drove to the gym, Cami took note of what a short way it was. This gym would have been his first stopping off point from his home, and he might have felt drawn to it. Perhaps as he gained confidence in his kills, he had broadened his horizons and gone further afield.

  When they pulled up outside the gym, Cami saw it was a busy center that clearly specialized in wellness. The gym itself adjoined a medical aesthetics practice, doctors’ offices, and a health food store along with a few coffee shops, clothing stores, and other businesses interspersed between them.

  The parking lot was three-quarters full. People in tracksuits, gym gear, and yoga pants were walking briskly to and fro. As soon as Cami opened the car door, the sound of thumping workout music filtered through the air.

  They would need to look around for a person who fit Dirk Fisher's description, Cami realized. Such a person might be trying to blend in, lounging in one of the cafés or juice bars, or simply standing around and checking his phone, waiting for a potential victim to walk out.

  "Let's sit down," Connor said, obviously concluding that they needed to see the lay of the land.

  Connor walked over to one of the juice bars and sat down at a table near the door that faced the gym.

  "Water, please," he said to the waiter, without even looking, and put a five dollar bill on the table. Cami respected that about him. He’d never sit down for a minute without ordering something, and she had noticed he was always kind to waiters, doormen, and the people who stitched society's fabric together.

  "So, show us what he looks like," Connor said, and Cami quickly called up the photo of Dirk on her phone.

  He looked to be in his early thirties. He was clean shaven, with a narrow face, and a mouth that was set in petulant lines, Cami thought, though that could have been just a bad photo angle. His hair was brown, and although you couldn't see very well from the photo, his eyes were blue.

  But he was an average person. There was nothing very remarkable about him. He could easily grow a beard, or put on a wig, and take on a totally different appearance.

  "Maybe I should go into the gym, see if I can find him inside," Cami suggested.

  "Let's wait for a minute," Connor said. "There’s more likelihood of him being outside, if I remember the wording of that police complaint. If he’s been harassing people, they’re not going to allow him in, that’s for sure."

  Cami kept her eyes peeled. The waiter brought a bottle of water, and Connor poured them each a glass. Cami sipped, staring around, wanting to find him. She wanted to be the first to spot him, and to show Connor that even in this emotionally traumatizing time, she was on her game.

  But of course, it was Connor who suddenly straightened up and said, "I see him!"

  Cami's head whipped around as she stared in the direction he was looking.

  Fisher had materialized seemingly from nowhere. He was standing outside the gym, and he had his back to Connor. But that dark brown, neatly cut hair was a clue, and now, so was the way he was hovering at the exit, as if waiting to pounce. His body language looked predatory, she thought.

  Although he lived close enough to have walked here, he hadn't walked, she observed, as he was holding car keys in his hand and glancing back at a white vehicle that was parked nearby.

  Maybe that was part of his chat routine. Come get in my car, I know a good workout place somewhere else. Or maybe he wanted to make a quick getaway if someone got angry enough. Maybe the women who got mad at him were the ones that he then targeted to kill. Cami didn't know what this killer would do to single out his victims, but clearly he had an effective method since three had died.

  The car was electric. Out of habit, she ran her search program, to see if it could pick up that car's particular Bluetooth and network. It might be a waste of time, but rather spend the time than pass by an opportunity, she thought.

  As she looked up again, holding her breath in suspense, he moved purposefully toward the gym’s entrance. He was moving toward a slim woman, with her sweaty hair pulled back in a ponytail, who looked fit and toned and around thirty years old. She was walking briskly out of the gym.

  Dirk Fisher was watching the girl, his head moving back and forth, as if he was trying to work out the right moment to approach her. And then, he did. He walked straight up to her and took her by the arm, grabbing her by her sleeve.

  The woman turned to him, first looking surprised, then angry. Dirk was speaking rapidly and now he had an actual hold on her arm that looked more like a strong grip than a friendly touch.

  And then, she started to look scared. She pulled away, and headed for the street at a half-run.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Now they heard Dirk’s voice, loaded with intent. With purpose in every inch of his bearing, Dirk turned to follow her.

  "It's time," Connor muttered.

  He stood up from the table. Cami always felt amazed how a big, solid man like him could cover distance at such speed. Within a moment, he was tapping Dirk on the shoulder.

  Dirk, who was a few paces behind the woman and gaining, stopped in his tracks. He looked around, just as Cami was rushing up to join Connor. She saw his face change. From the wheedling fake smile that was pasted in place, it tightened into an expression of horror.

  “FBI. We need to speak to you urgently,” Connor said shortly.

  “I’m not speaking to you!” His voice was filled with defensiveness.

  And then, he broke away, ducking from Connor's arm, and sprinting for the car that Cami had noticed earlier.

  He jumped in, started it up, and veered into traffic. Horns blared and brakes squealed as he sped away.

  Connor swore. "I didn't know he'd arrived by car. I thought he'd damned well walked."

  “I saw the car earlier,” Cami explained.

  Connor stared after the speeding vehicle, and then glanced back at his own car, all the way around the corner in the parking lot.

  "Looks like there's some traffic ahead. It might slow him. We can try and chase him down, and if he gets away, I'll put an APB out."

  Cami glanced down at her phone. She wasn't expecting much at all. But her program had performed far better than she'd hoped.

  It had not been able to hack into the car's electronics. That would have taken far longer.

  But tacked above those good, solid pieces of coding was something else. Dirk had installed a cheap, shoddy alarm system in his car. Why, Cami had no idea. Why not choose quality, since you had a nice car to start with?

  But the alarm gave her an in. If nothing else, the noise would startle him, but if it was wired deeper into the car's system, she might get more. And it was most definitely their last option for now, because the traffic at the light was already dissipating and in a moment, Dirk would be gone.

  “Wait, Connor. I’m going to trigger his alarm and see what happens,” Cami said quickly.

  Hoping that it might cause a chain reaction which would slow this fleeing suspect down, she stabbed her finger down on the ‘Alert’ button.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cami was hoping that something would happen when she activated the cheap, poorly coded alarm. Hopefully, it would be something that would slow Dirk's getaway, or better still, make him panic and jump out. And she wasn't disappointed. Immediately, the wail of a loud siren came from the car and the brake lights flashed.

 

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