Evil Never Dies

“Why do I get the feeling I’m in therapy?”

“Because I don’t think you understand how lucky you are to have a mom and a dad who love you.”

“I promise to think about everything you said,” Kitally told her. “Are you done?”

Hayley didn’t answer; she just let the conversation drift away. They both did. There wasn’t anything more she could say or do to lessen Kitally’s pain. Life wasn’t fair. That wasn’t ever going to change.

It was a while before they reached the center of the park.

Hayley heard a noise, stopped, and looked around. Kitally was checking something out farther back, standing still and peering into the night. She must have heard the same thing.

A scuffling noise sounded to Hayley’s left. There was movement behind a patch of dense shrubbery. Bending over, she put out her cigarette, then unsnapped the sheath around her ankle and pulled out a three-inch blade. She took a careful step toward the brush. Better to be on the offense rather than be caught off guard.

“Who’s there?” Hayley called out.

The noises stopped. No rustling of leaves or crackling of twigs.

“Step out of there or I’m calling the police.”

“Leave me alone.”

It was a female voice. Young. Whoever it was sounded exhausted, as if she’d just run twenty miles. Hayley marched forward and spread open the thick brush, surprised to see a girl lying on her side in a makeshift bed of dirt and leaves.

Kitally joined them. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

Hayley guessed the girl’s age to be about sixteen, maybe older.

The girl struggled to get to her feet. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Except we’re not alone,” Kitally pointed out.

She was olive-ski

“Maybe.”

Hayley snorted. It was obvious she was pretty far along. Probably in her last month or so.

“Maybe we should take her to the hospital.”

“Leave me alone.” The girl shooed them away. “I can take care of myself. And I don’t need to go to a hospital. I’m pregnant—I’m not bleeding to death.”

“Why are you out here?” Kitally asked.

“None of your business.”

“How old are you?”

“Same answer.” She picked up a flimsy bag, heaved it over her shoulder, and started to walk away.

Kitally stayed on the girl’s heels. “I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but we’re not leaving without you. We can take you to a friend’s house. Or maybe you have a relative living nearby. If neither of those options sound appealing, my friend will be forced to call the police.”

The girl twirled about. “Why?”

“Because there’s no way we’re leaving you here in the dead of night all by yourself,” Hayley said.

“It’s dangerous out here,” Kitally added.

“You two are unbelievable. Sure,” she said, struggling not to drop her things. “You can take me to my sister’s place a few blocks from here.”

“Can you at least tell us your name?” Kitally asked.

The girl kept walking. “Why do you need to know? You haven’t told me your names.”

“I’m Kitally, and this is Hayley.”

“OK. Fine. My name is Salma. There, are you happy?”

Kitally gave Hayley a look.

The girl bitched and complained all the way to the car.

They drove in silence for more than a few miles toward the address she tossed off, but Hayley suspected the girl had no place to go. If she really had a sister living nearby, why was she sleeping in the park?

“So what’s your sister’s address again?” Hayley asked.

“Drop me off right here. This is close enough.”

Hayley ignored her, made a left on Sixteenth and then turned right and merged onto Interstate 80.

“Where are we going?”

“Since you obviously don’t have any place to go, I’m taking you home with us.”

“I believe that would be considered kidnapping in most states.”

“We live with one other woman, Lizzy Gardner,” Hayley went on, ignoring Salma’s sarcasm. “There’s an extra room. At least you’ll be safe.”

“I don’t want your handouts.”

“You look like you could pop at any moment. Do you really want that happening behind a bush in the park?” Kitally asked.

That seemed to do the trick. Salma sank back into the seat and kept her thoughts to herself for the rest of the drive.

CHAPTER FIVE

Wearing a brown cotton robe and white socks that came up to his knees, he made his way across the hardwood floors. He caught his reflection in the refrigerator and laughed. His hair was all over the place. With the Sunday paper tucked under his arm, he sipped his morning energy drink as he made his way to the kitchen table. Drinking too many of these energy drinks was said to cause restlessness, palpitations, and shaking, just to name a few of the top ten side effects, but he wasn’t worried. Like anything else, it was all about moderation.

It was the weekend. He’d slept late. After taking a seat, he slid the rubber band off the newspaper and unfolded it. He took another gulp as he read today’s headline in the Sacramento Bee: “Sacramento Strangler Strikes Again! Businessman and Philanthropist Mark Kiel’s Daughter Found Dead in Capitol Park.”

Within a heartbeat, his surprise turned to amusement. Who would have thought the billionaire’s daughter would be ru

He shook his head.

Damn. Mark Kiel’s daughter. This would change everything.

The public outcry. He could hear it now.

The mayor and every other official who received “contributions” from Kiel would have most of the city’s law enforcement on the case sniffing every bloody trail, perhaps digging up cold cases, dead bodies here and there, victims who had been denied justice, random killings whose faces he could still see in his mind’s eye. There were so many and yet here he was, enjoying the view from his balcony.

If Special Agent Shayne were still alive, things might be different. That man had been hot on his trail and yet now he would never know how Shayne had managed to get so close. He had attended Shayne’s funeral, watched as people closest to him grieved. Agent Shayne’s fiancée had stood stoically to the side while an elderly woman he assumed was the agent’s mother fell to her knees, her arms draped over her son’s coffin, and wept.

Lizzy Gardner. The thought of her sparked an idea. Perhaps he would check up on the gal and see how she was holding up. After keeping track of Jared Shayne for so long, he felt as if he knew her, rather quite like the dead sister he once had.

It hit him then—felt as if he’d been clunked on the head with a stick.

A moment of clarity was all he’d needed.

Everything happened for a reason, and everything was playing out exactly how it was meant to be.

He’d been on a downhill spiral of late, hadn’t understood what he was feeling, didn’t know what was wrong with him. He absolutely did not appreciate the heavy waves of overwhelming melancholy that hit without notice. Definitely a new experience for him.

When it came to killing, he’d done his homework. He liked to think he was extraordinarily careful, but the truth was he’d left clues on or around every single one of his victims. What made him do that? Was he looking to get caught? Did he want recognition, after all?

Perhaps now was the time to change things up.

He folded the paper neatly in front of him. He would strike quickly and randomly over the next few weeks, over and over, often enough to make the investigators’ heads spin.

A dead body here, another one there.

They wouldn’t know which way was forward and backward, let alone up and down.