Filed to story: The Mindf*ck Series Read Online Free
“It’s almost always about power,” I amend. “Contrary to popular belief, there are very few sexual assault cases that have anything to do with sexual desires.”
She nods absently, but I notice a distant look in her eyes. “He’s a sadist. Relative to the case, he’s most likely unable to orgasm without the life threatening pain he inflicts. Impotence was probably a factor in his psychotic break. Maybe he stumbled upon this feeling of euphoria by mistake, and he’s escalated now to actually killing women. He gets high on the power, and gets off on the pain.”
She blows out a breath as her hands tremble, and I start to apologize. She really can’t handle seeing this shit, and it was stupid of me to even involve a civilian who hasn’t been desensitized to the point of seeing them as dead bodies and facts instead of people and merciless assaults.
But she speaks before I can.
“He’d be unnoticeable to the world. Probably a blue-collared worker who doesn’t draw any outward attention. He’d likely be unsocial, given the struggle he’s had with impotence. It would have left him withdrawn because he’d have felt like he was lacking, emasculated even. Now he enjoys the shadows where he’s dwelled because it allows him to hunt without being noticed.”
Damn, she’s good.
She flips another page. “In the beginning, there was a lot of rage-again, that stems from the impotence. Now there’s a controlled method to his psychosis. He’ll develop an immortal complex where he feels as though he’s untouchable. I’d say a white male between the ages of twenty-five and forty. He’s right handed, and he has the ability to blend in with the unremarkable. Possibly in the custodial field.”
My eyebrows pinch together.
“You were dead on until the custodial field. We guessed someone in law enforcement or security, due to the fact he has been able to gain access to homes with no effort, and the cameras to the apartment buildings have been disabled each time.”
She shakes her head. “He may have an understanding of security measures, but most custodial workers do. They come in after hours, spend long amounts of time talking with night shift guards or behind the scenes issues that no one else sees.”
I narrow my eyes at her, studying her features as she looks up to meet my gaze.
“What makes you so sure you’re right?”
She smirks before sliding a page in front of me. “How he cleaned up after himself. He shined the murder rooms up.”
“Forensic countermeasure,” I point out. “Most seasoned killers always clean up after themselves.”
She nods. “I said how he cleaned up after himself. He didn’t just clean. The room was spotless, and each surface was cleaned with an appropriate cleaner.”
She points to a line. “Window cleaner for windows. No streaks left behind either, whereas it’s noted the rest of the windows were dingy.” She points to another line. “Hardwood floors were cleaned with hardwood cleaner. No streaks.” She points to another line. “The tables were all shined with wood-safe cleanser. No streaks…”
As my head wraps around the facts I should have already caught, she goes on.
“My father was…um…friends with a janitor when I was younger. It’s a habit, almost a compulsion, to use the appropriate cleaners for surfaces after so many years of training the mind to use those. If I were you, I’d look for custodial services in the area and check to see if these apartment buildings ever outsourced to individual cleaning companies.”
I slide the paper closer, my eyes moving over all the facts. “We interviewed all employees and did background checks,” I say absently. “And we considered the cleaning so thoroughly bit to be a case of OCD but ruled it out based on the fact there were different amounts of stab wounds, and they didn’t clean anything other than the kill room.”
“A lot of custodial services pay cash under the table because it’s hard to keep workers. Some of them have a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy because they have to hire whatever walks in needing a job. The company keeps the majority of the money. Workers make crumbs in comparison. So cash under the table that isn’t taxed is a big way to draw in more workers, and also keep from having to supply benefits to said employees. It’s likely they never mentioned them because they didn’t want to have to tell you that.”
“You’re a fucking genius,” I groan.
I grab her face in both my hands and kiss her hard, even though I also want to throttle her at the same time.
“But now I have a call to make,” I grumble, feeling her smile against my lips.
“Make your call. Catch a bad guy. Maybe the lead is solid and you can catch him before he kills again.”
Reluctantly, I pull up my phone, and dial Hadley. She’s going to fucking kill me.
Chapter 12
We have to do the best we can. This is our sacred human responsibility.
-Albert Einstein
LANA
I won’t lie and say it’s not hypocritical to hope he catches the sicko who raped and killed all these women. It’s hypocritical because I’m also hoping he never catches me for torturing and killing a string of men.
But it also feels good to listen to him animatedly tell someone this amazing new lead. I’m worried and shocked when he tells Hadley it’s me who inspired this new lead. He shouldn’t tell them he let his girl give him that info on a case I was never supposed to see.
Maybe the fact he called me his anything has the butterflies stirring. It’s definitely something. The fact he sounds proud of me also makes me feel…
good. That word again.
My phone rings as he continues to talk to someone else, and I head outside to answer it when I see it’s Jake. My eyes stay on the window, keeping up with Logan.
“Hey. Any luck?”
“Lots of luck. I hate rushing this date the way we’re going to, but I’m going to help you on these.”
My eyebrows go up in surprise.
“Like in person? You’re going to do this too?”
“Just this once, and only for the securing part.”
“No. You can’t. You threw up when I tried to give you details, Jake.”
“You have no idea how much I wish I had your ability to kill without hesitance,” he says quietly, an edge to his tone.
“But you don’t,” I remind him, still watching to make sure Logan can’t overhear me.
“Doesn’t matter. I can’t risk you taking on something like this alone.”
“I can’t talk about this right now,” I say on almost a whisper when I see Logan hanging up his phone and running a hand through his hair.
“Shit. You’re with him? That’s still a discussion we need to have.”
“I moved my murder room in that secret room you built me years ago.”
“You think that’s enough to keep a profiler from figuring out you’re slowly killing off a list of people?” he asks dryly.
I heave out a heavy breath as I continue to watch Logan through the window. He looks around, then moves to grab a glass.
“You know how it’s easy for me to do what I do?”
“Because of what they did to you two,” he says, his voice barely above a broken whisper.
“No, Jake. It’s because there’s nothing but hatred inside of me that’s been driving me since I was able to do something other than curl in a corner in fear of them finding me again. I never thought anything else would drive me. I thought after this was over…I had nothing to look forward to after I killed them all. Now… Now there’s hope. I never realized the power of hope until he suddenly appeared in my life as though the universe was giving me a gift at the wrong time.”
He exhales harshly, and I sag backwards a little.
“I’m glad to hear you have hope, Lana. Really. I am. Just… Just couldn’t you have found it with someone who couldn’t toss your ass in prison?”
His tone ends on a joking note, but the seriousness of the situation is still present.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we have to. Trust me to be cautious.”
“If anything ever feels off… If he ever asks you questions… Just listen to the questions he asks you. You know what to look for. Promise me you’ll get the hell out of there if that ever happens.”
“Promise,” I tell him, grinning.
“You’re going to make me go bald with worry,” he groans, as I start walking back inside.
“I’ll call you later.”
As I hang up and make it back to where Logan is in just a pair of boxers and working diligently on making some type of drink in the blender, I lean against the island, soaking in the sight of him.
He turns and catches me ogling him, and he waggles his eyebrows.
“Do you have to leave?” I ask him, desperately trying to keep any neediness out of my tone.
“Not tonight. Possibly tomorrow, but not tonight.”
I smile, even though it’s masking a certain level of disappointment. I wanted at least two days, but I’ll take what I can get, since it’s more than I thought this cruel life would ever allow me to have.
“You’re incredible, you know?” he asks, coming closer.