Free HEARTBREAKER by Julie Garwood Page B

spoon in the saucer, took a breath, then nodded.
    He hit the play button and leaned back. Laurant stared at the whirling cassette as she listened to the conversation that had taken place in the confessional. Hearing the stranger’s voice made the horror more real to her, and by the time the tape ended, she was nauseated.
    “My God.”
    “Did you recognize his voice?”
    She shook her head. “It was such a low whisper, I didn’t get all of what he said. I don’t think I’ve heard him before. I’ll listen to it again,” she promised, “but not yet, all right? I don’t think I can . . .”
    “Some of what he said was deliberate . . . calculated. At least that’s what I think. He wanted to spook Tommy.”
    “And he succeeded. I don’t want my brother to worry, but I don’t know how to stop him. It isn’t good for him . . . the stress.”
    “You’ve got to be realistic, Laurant. A man tells him he’s going to kill his sister after he gets his kicks, and you don’t think he should worry?”
    She threaded her fingers through her hair in agitation. “Yes, of course . . . it’s just . . .”
    “What?”
    “It isn’t healthy for him.”
    Nick had noticed her slight French accent when she first spoke to him, but now the accent was more pronounced. She might have looked calm and collected, but that facade, like a thin layer of ice, was cracking.
    “Why me?” she asked, sounding genuinely bewildered. “I live such a boring . . . ordinary life. It doesn’t make any sense.”
    “A lot of weirdos don’t make any sense. There was this case a couple of years back. This pervert did six women before they finally caught him. You know what he told them when they asked him how and where he chose his victims?”
    She shook her head.
    “At the grocery stores. He’d stand out front and he’d smile at the women as they rushed past him. The first one who smiled back . . . that’s the one he wanted. Ordinary women, Laurant, leading ordinary lives. You can’t look for reasons with these guys, or waste your time trying to figure out how their minds work. Leave that to the experts.”
    “Do you think the man in the confessional is a serial killer?”
    “Maybe,” he allowed. “And maybe not. He could just be getting started. The profilers will know more after they’ve heard the tape. They’ll have some insight.”
    “But what do you think?”
    “There’s a hell of a lot of inconsistencies here.”
    “Such as?”
    He shrugged. “For one thing, he told Tommy he did the other woman a year ago, but I think he was lying about that.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he also said he’s gotten a real taste for it,” he reminded her. “The one statement conflicts with the other.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “If he got off on it—torturing and killing the woman—then he did her recently and not a year ago. He wouldn’t have been able to wait that long.”
    “Nick, what about the letter he said he sent to the police?”
    “
If
he wrote it, and
if
he mailed it, then they’ll get it tomorrow or the day after. They’re ready,” he added. “And they’ll run it for prints, but I doubt he left any.”
    “I don’t suppose they found any prints on the cassette, did they?”
    “Actually, there was one, but it wasn’t our man’s. The kid who checked him out at Super Sid’s Warehouse had a record, so his prints were on file. It was easy to track him to the warehouse,” he explained. “His probation officer helped him get the job.”
    “Did he remember who bought the tape?”
    “Unfortunately, he didn’t,” he answered. “Have you ever been to one of those stores? The traffic going through there is unbelievable, and it was a cash-only counter, so there wasn’t any credit card receipt or check to trace.”
    “What about the confessional? Did they find any prints there?”
    “Yeah, hundreds.”
    “But you don’t think any of them are his?”
    “No, I don’t,” he replied.
    “He’s very smart, isn’t