Free Predator by Terri Blackstock

his temples.
    “Hi, David. How are—?”
    David cut him off. “You should have told me another girl had been attacked.”
    Silence. “David, we’ve been busy. We got the call in the middle of the night. We haven’t had the chance—”
    “My daughter Krista is with her.”
    Another pause. “With who?”
    “The girl who was attacked last night. Megan.” David scanned the windows of the apartment. The blinds were closed. “She asked me to come by Megan’s apartment to check on her roommate. The door’s unlocked, and there’s blood on it. The girl’s car is here.”
    “ Here? You’re there now?”
    “Yes.” He bent over, hand on his knee, trying to steady his breath. “I’m not leaving until you send somebody here to see if she’s all right. Megan said the police told her you were doing that already. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you send someone? Why didn’t you watch for him?”
    “We did. Her car wasn’t there last night when we checked, so we posted a plain-clothes cop to watch her apartment.”
    “Well, where is he?” David yelled.
    “He’s in a tan Pontiac.”
    David scanned the cars, saw one that fit the description. He stalked toward it, and saw a man with his head back…sound asleep. With the heel of his hand, he struck the guy’s window. The cop jumped.
    “You idiot, you slept while a killer went into that apartment!”
    The man opened his door. David grabbed his collar, pulled him out. “Get in there! She could be bleeding to death!”
    He heard Pensky’s voice in the phone. “Let me talk to him, David.”
    David thrust the phone at the useless cop, then turned away, both hands clutching his head. He heard sirens.
    The groggy cop handed David his phone and headed for the door. “Calm down. She’s probably just in there sleeping. You know how college kids are.”
    David looked at him. “So…what? You think she cut her hand on the way in? That maniac may be in there now.”
    As police cars descended on the place, David went back to his car and tried to stay out of the way.
    He should call Krista back, tell her what he’d found. But why upset her and traumatize the girls further until he knew for sure?
    Two cops went to the door, banged on it. Finally, pulling on gloves, they tested the knob. The door came open.
    David leaned against his car, aching with hopelessness, as the cops went in, guns drawn. He waited for them to come back out, prayed that the girl wasn’t there…
    But moments ticked by too slowly, and they didn’t come back. Instead, an ambulance arrived on the scene, no lights or sirens heralding its arrival.
    She must be dead. David covered his mouth and wept. He watched, horrified, as they roped off the area with crime-scene tape.
    Finally, Pensky pulled up. The detective got out and crossed the parking lot to David. “I guess you know by now.”
    David’s face twisted, his lips compressed, and his forehead ached with the fresh wave of grief. He rubbed his mouth. “She’s dead?”
    “Yes. You were right. She wasn’t home when we checked on her last night, but apparently the killer was waiting when she got home. I can tell you that the guy we stationed here will soon be looking for another job.”
    David turned and gave his car a savage kick, denting the fender. “What are you people doing? Why haven’t you stopped this maniac?”
    “David, we’re working on it. This case will give us some trace evidence and DNA. Megan Quinn’s case gave us even more, and she’ll be able to identify the killer. We’re making progress.”
    “But your progress comes from girls who are raped or dead. How many more?” He bent over again, staring at the pavement, trying to keep from imploding.
    “David, I know this is hard. But I need for you to pull yourself together and go to the police department to make a formal statement about why you were here.”
    Not again. David’s mouth fell open. “I told you why I came.”
    “We just need it in writing.”
    David breathed a