Deep in the Night

This is the first chapter of a female romance story woven in with a crime story. Each chapter builds onto the next chapter like a novel. Romance is the primary focus with some thrills and suspense thrown in. There are sexual moments too, of course, but they are a natural part of the narrative. If this interests you, then I hope you will be rewarded with a good read. So to those who want to take their time, please enjoy.

Chapter 1 A Sheriff Asks a Female FBI Agent For Help

William Hagan was startled from a dead sleep by a ringing phone. In the darkness, he rolled over in his bed and groped for it. "Hagan," he mumbled into the receiver.

An excited voice exclaimed on the other end, "Sheriff, we've got another one!"

Hagan paused a moment to let the grim news sink in; he knew exactly what the voice was referring to. Another mutilated body had been found; the victim of a savage killer.

After getting the location, he replied, "I'll be there in 10 minutes." He replaced the phone and rose wearily from the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"What is it, Bill?" his wife asked groggily.

"It was Jimmy." He replied, "They found another one. It's Christy Davis."

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. Evelyn Hagan sat up and switched on the bedside lamp, "That poor woman! What in the world is going on? Do you want me to make you some coffee while you're getting dressed?"

"No, I don't have time." He answered, "Don't worry, just go back to sleep." After quickly donning his uniform, Bill Hagan, Sheriff of Shawnee County, climbed into his unmarked cruiser on a muggy August night and hurriedly drove to a gruesome scene.

Shawnee, population 9,300, was just east of Albuquerque, located along U.S. Rt. 40. Travelers rarely stopped there though, unless they decided not to go on to the city or way into Texas the other way. A sleepy little town, it was the perfect model of small town America nestled in the middle of the high plains.

Everyone knew everyone else and their business. But, they also looked after each other and would do anything for a neighbor. A meat packaging plant, five miles north of Shawnee, employed sixty percent of the town's working population. Most of the other forty percent were either ranchers or held blue collar positions such lawmen, teachers, waitresses, ranch hands, etc...

Miles of prairie and scattered clumps of pine forests surrounded Shawnee. A couple of Indian settlements were nearby, but nothing much happened there. At this time of year the rain hardly ever fell and most of the crops had been harvested and used as food for cattle. Life was slow paced and quiet. People could keep their doors unlocked at night. Children played on the streets while the old folks watched them from their rockers on their front porches.

Hagan was really troubled about this latest murder; it was the third one in eight months. The three homicides represented the first time that first-degree murder had been committed in Shawnee. The manner of death they usually dealt with was either accidental or acts of passion.

Like when the town drunk, Elmer Potts, stumbled out of the Ranch Pub at 1:00 a.m. and onto Rt. 40 where he was run over by an 18-wheeler. Or, the Cobb brothers who fought to the death in a knife duel over a woman. Or, 10 year old Tommy Philips who snuck into his father's gun cabinet and accidentally shot his best friend with a Winchester rifle.

No, these new murders were planned, grisly acts. A monster was lurking in Shawnee. It also angered him that the killer was arrogant enough to repeat his crime twice in a region where his identity couldn't be hidden for long. Surely, this deranged individual knew he would be in the spotlight. He killed three times by night and most likely was walking the streets of Shawnee by day.

Hagan's thoughts returned to the present as he rolled to a stop in front of Christy Davis' house. Yellow tape stretched across the yard to keep the bystanders out. Going inside, he shook his head despairingly as he surveyed the bedroom of this latest victim, thirty one year old Christy.

A single mother, she was a bartender at the Ranch Pub and lived with her 12 year old son. Michael had been sleeping over at his grandparent's house and was spared the horror that occurred in his home. When Christy didn't report for work, the manager of the pub had called her home and got no answer. It wasn't like Christy to not show up. He went into the house, saw her dead, and called 911.

Now Hagan looked down at her nude body lying on the floor, slashed to ribbons with a ½ inch thick pool of clotting blood covering a ruined carpet. Drying blood was also splattered in little drops on all four walls, the bedding, the furniture, and the ceiling. It was a repeat of the previous two murders with one exception; they were getting bloodier. He carefully backed out of the crime scene leaving the way he came.

Stepping outside again he noticed all of the deputies were at the scene now, along with what seemed every inhabitant of Shawnee gathered on the street. A chill spread down Hagan's spine and for the first time in his career he felt fear as he contemplated the character of the individual who was capable of causing such savage destruction to another person.

His newest deputy had been the first to arrive. He took a quick peak into the bedroom and hastily retreated from the house and lost his dinner in the bushes. The other deputies had buttoned up the place, not wanting to disturb the crime scene anymore than possible. They were not used to dealing with such crimes and Hagan had noticed the distressed look on their faces.

He organized them together, disguising his own apprehension and worry. He had to maintain command and authority so that the crime scene wouldn't be contaminated and that his deputies wouldn't lose their composure. There was evidence to be collected, neighbors to interview and photographs to be taken.

Hagan began making the necessary calls to Albuquerque for the crime scene unit to be sent. Shawnee couldn't afford a crime scene van and he borrowed the neighboring force's unit for cases such as this. Dawn came and the sun rose high in the sky before the night's distasteful duties were finished. Another van from the Medical Examiner's Office arrived and two technicians took the body away after Hagan gave the okay.

* **

No progress had been made in the investigation in a month, but Hagan was sure the same person committed the three murders. Each victim was female, between the ages of 23 and 31, and had been stabbed and slashed in their homes at night. He poured over the reports and scene photos; the images disgusted him.

Hagan had put on a few pounds since his rookie days and his hair was starting to thin, but at 6'5", he presented an imposing figure. At 52, he took his duty very seriously and considered it his personal responsibility to protect the citizens of Shawnee.

Sheriff Hagan was a professional law officer by the standards of others doing the same job in rural counties. When he was elected five years ago he already had the required law enforcement training and only had to take command training. He had kept up with refresher courses and tried to maintain current by reading journals and attending conferences.

Fortunately, violent homicides were unheard of in Shawnee, until now. So, despite his 25+ years in law enforcement, Hagan was inexperienced with solving first-degree murder investigations and he knew it. He didn't necessarily attribute the town's quiet lifestyle to his performance as a lawman, but he had simply assumed that Shawnee was one place where people were still good.

He had asked the State Police to step in to assist with the investigation and they sent two detectives, a male and female homicide team. It was obvious neither was too happy to be involved in the small town investigation. They preferred the excitement of the city, but they had little choice in the manner when their captain had given them the assignment. As such they provided backup help to his shorthanded department, but no ideas on solving the crimes.

All standard procedures had been followed, reviews of the deputies' reports, review of photos and autopsy reports, fingerprint checks on the NCIC database, everything they knew. They best they came up with was that the force be more on the alert for "strange" characters. Hagan needed help.

Life was continuing in Shawnee in the weeks that followed, only now the women were a little more cautious, and a lot more nervous. A killer hiding in any town would be a huge source of anxiety and gossip. But, in a town where these kinds of things didn't happen, people were terrified. Stories circulated concerning the killer's identity that ranged from an anonymous drifter to an escaped mental patient. Hagan did his best to calm the citizen's fears while at the same time urging women to use caution. Not surprisingly, guns sales were up.

***

Around mid-morning, on a late September day six weeks after the last murder, deputy sheriff Jimmy Watson knocked on the sheriff's office door.

"Sheriff, take a look at this. I found something that I think could help us," Jimmy said as he entered.

Jimmy handed Hagan 'The Albuquerque Journal'. The local section contained a news brief in regard to an FBI profiler giving a lecture at the University's Health Science Center that very day. Hagan's interest went up. He read the short article and decided to make the most of the opportunity presented. He beeped his office assistant on the phone.

"Barbara, Jimmy and I are heading to the city this morning. You know how to reach me if you need me." Looking up at Jimmy, he stated more than asked, "You ready for a road trip, partner?"

"Sure Sheriff." Jimmy readily replied.

Hagan quickly called his wife to inform her where he was headed and that he wouldn't be home for lunch. Then after checking his holster for his gun, pager and cell phone, he grabbed the keys to his cruiser, left the other two deputies on duty in charge and nodded to Jimmy.

They sped westward arriving a little over an hour later at the university campus. After driving around for several minutes, they found the lecture hall. With dismay, they realized they missed nearly all the lecture. The hall was nearly filled to capacity with law enforcement and psychology types as well as students. Hagan and Jimmy quietly took seats in the back row of the theater style auditorium and listened to the closing comments from the smartly dressed brunette behind the podium down below.

She fielded questions from the audience and subsequently received their ovation. As the audience filed out, Hagan, followed by Jimmy, made their way down the carpeted steps to the front of the auditorium where the woman was replacing her notes into a briefcase.

"Ma'am", Hagan said as he approached her.

The woman turned to find two men standing in front of her dressed in tan uniforms holding western style hats. In one swift glance she knew she hadn't seen them before or during her lecture series this week, that their heavily tanned faces and light hairline meant they worked outdoors with hats, that their Sam Brown belts were rigged western style, that the shoulder patch and star shaped badge on their shirts meant they were county, not city officers.

The big man with a silver star pinned to his collar meant he was a top ranking officer, probably the Sheriff himself, and finally their dusty western boots meant they were from some rural location and had arrived this morning after driving an hour or two.

"May I help you?" she said, offering her hand in a confident manner to the man in front of her wearing the star.

Hagan was slightly surprised at her strong handshake and appearance. He would never have guessed that the pretty woman standing before him was a profiler for the FBI. Her nametag said "Special Agent Jordan Conner".

Hagan took her in with one glance too. She was dressed in a navy women's business pantsuit with matching navy pumps. Her dark chestnut hair fell below her shoulders and framed an attractive, almost beautiful face with intelligent, deep blue eyes. She was probably in her early thirties and had on an amount of makeup that would be acceptable in a conservative office. She had a trim figure and, despite her medium height compared to him, she almost seemed petite.

Her self-assured manner suggested a subtle sexiness that both men found appealing. Adding to that appeal were the unfastened top two buttons on her blouse. Hagan tried to ignore that, but it was difficult.

"May we have a few words with you, Agent Connor?" he asked and went on to explain, "We desperately need your help."

Now it was Jordan's turn to be surprised. Not because the man looked her over, which happened all the time, but for another reason. Since she was so good at masking her emotions, she covered it up. Never before had a law enforcement official ever claimed that they needed her help. As a federal agent, her presence at investigations was resented. Whether it was because she was a woman or the fact that her position was perceived as an intrusion, the good old boys of local law where usually less than cordial toward her.

"And you are?"

"I'm Sheriff Bill Hagan, we're from of a county east of here, Shawnee. This is one of my deputies, Jimmy Watson. We have had a series of murders that are related. It is my first experience dealing with a serial killer. Our town has been very safe and, frankly Agent Connor, I'm not sure exactly who we are dealing with."

Jordan was amazed at the candor coming from the small town sheriff.

"It's Jordan," she corrected him. "What makes you think the murders are committed by a serial killer?"

Looking her in the eyes, he said, "That is the obvious part. Same M.O. each time. All young, pretty women with multiple knife wounds. I guess you are a busy wom...well," he caught himself, "I know you are busy. But, I would be grateful for any advice you could give us. It should only take a few days."

Jordan took an instant liking to the sheriff; it made her job so much easier when other agencies worked with her. She had an uncanny ability to size up people instantly. This intuitiveness was a huge plus in her line of work. The sheriff seemed genuinely interested in catching the killer, but she also noticed his interest in her too. He apparently did not perceive it as an insult to his masculinity to ask a woman fed for assistance. She took his word that the killings were related.

He never would have taken the trouble to beg for her help if there was not substantial reason to do so. She hadn't any current assignments that were important and this case could be interesting. It could also help her get additional research on serial killers, her specialty.

"I would have to have a look at your case files and all evidence Sheriff. Will you pardon me for a moment?" Turning from the two men, she stepped away from them a few feet while she pulled a cell phone from her purse where she kept it a pocket next to her gun. Hagan heard the end of the conversation after she punched in a number.

"Joanne, what does my schedule look like for the next few days?" She listened a few moments nodding with the phone. She continued, "Listen, go ahead and postpone them, we will have to reschedule later. I am going to be staying on awhile. I'll be in...," turning back to the officers; she tilted the phone away from her mouth, "Where did you say you were from?"

"Shawnee,"

Hagan answered with a small smile, hoping the gesture concealed his slight defensiveness at having to repeat the name of his small town and the huge county that surrounded it.

Replacing the phone to her mouth, she spoke into it, "I'll be in Shawnee, it's east of Albuquerque. You can reach me at this number as usual and I will give you additional info when I arrive." After another moment, she finished, "Okay, thanks Joanne...Bye. All right, Sheriff, I'm all yours for a week. Lead the way."

Hagan was startled and pleased. He never expected the agent would actually become involved with the case. "I very much appreciate what you are doing for us."

Jordan dismissed it, "These lectures I can do in my spare time when I am not actively hunting a killer. If there is indeed a serial killer in Shawnee, then your situation is priority."

"Would you like to ride with us? Can we buy you lunch?" Hagan inquired, hoping for more time with the attractive agent.

"No, I have a rental car and I'd rather not waste time." She informed him. "Plus, I have to pack my things and check out of the hotel. I can meet you in Shawnee."

"Good enough." He replied, resigned to the fact it would be all business with this woman. "Just follow U.S. Rt. 40 east and take the Shawnee exit. It's a little over an hour from here, you can't miss it. The sheriff station is a flat-topped brick building on the left on the main street. It has our name on it. When can we expect you?"

Jordan glanced at her watch, it was 1:00. "I should make it before 3:00."

Hagan and Jimmy turned to go, "Fine, we will see you then, and thank you again."

Jordan called after them, "Oh, by the way, Sheriff, please keep my arrival quiet. I don't want anyone in town to know who I am."

Hagan began to chuckle softly and Jimmy snickered, "Ma'am...I mean Jordan...I'm sorry, but I can guarantee you that your arrival is probably already spread all over town."

"Damn." Jordan muttered under her breath, then she spoke authoritatively, "In that case, you may want to post deputies at the main roads, in case he decides to run. Have them check any cars leaving town." Hagan noted the irritated expression that crossed Jordan's face. Her friendly demeanor had faded and it already confirmed his suspicion that there was a lot more than meet the eye beneath her pretty figure.

Jordan changed her shoes into more comfortable ankle boots, put her travel bags into her rental BMW, and checked out of the hotel. She turned on the air conditioner and a classical music station and munched a banana as she drove to Shawnee. The cool interior and the soothing music were calming and helped her to think since the adrenalin was beginning to rush through her veins. The prairie blurred by her as she organized her thoughts about the type of killer who would strike in small town, USA.

***

Jordan Connor already had a bachelor's degree in psychology when the FBI hired her. She went on to finish a Master's in criminal psychology by taking classes at night while working Federal homicide cases. She had always wanted to work in the behavioral science division of the FBI and was elated when she was promoted into the division.

Now, she had nearly five years experience as a profiler under her belt. She loved her job, but there was an inevitable downside to it. She had seen the horrible, destructive damage one human could inflict on another and she had to carry those images around in her memory forever.

On more than one occasion, she had been jolted awake from a nightmare with her heart pounding and a cold sweat soaking through her bedclothes.

Her profession had also cost her a dear relationship. Jordan had learned through the years to conduct her job objectively, to not get emotionally involved, and to stay cool and detached. After all, there was nothing she could do for the victims anyhow, except to see that justice was done.

Despite the heinous nature of their crimes, the perpetrators fascinated her. Each case was a puzzle to Jordan. Every killer left his own distinct mark at the crime scene and it was her job to piece together the clues to come up with an assessment of his personality. A crime scene told her volumes about his habits, his methods and his behavior; and this frequently enabled her to predict his next move. Then the true hunt began and nothing thrilled her more then hunting the most feared of American criminals, the serial killer.