Chapter Eleven
Gabe watched through the two way mirror as the boy, his father sitting next to him, worked with their best sketch artist. The kid was trying, he had to give him that, sitting there studying each sample nose, ear, eye and mouth before choosing one, and then giving the artist extra, as if it just wasn't quite right.
He could see the picture of their killer, he watched it take shape and form under the artist's pencil.
The only problem, their witness was a boy, he saw with the eyes of a child. What he saw looked like a monster or the boogeyman with wild eyes and dark skin. It had also been dark, on a dark street. How correct the sketch was, well that was going to be a matter of interpretation.
He waited until the artist was through, standing outside the door and smiling at the boy as his dad ushered him out. Then he went in.
"The kid was a wonder," Gabe said, standing beside the artist as he finished a few more lines on the face.
"Yeah, he was real specific about every feature. I think we got a budding cop on our hands," Jean Peters, the artist said. "He was actually easier to work with than some of the adults I've had to deal with. He blew on the sketch to rid it of some eraser marks than lifted the paper. "Ta da! Gabe, meet your Red Ribbon Rapist."
Gabe chuckled, taking the paper and staring at the face. "You know, I'd really love to know who comes up with some of these names they give killers."
Jean laughed. "Yeah but it sure as hell sounds better than 'unsub' or 'unknown perpetrator'. Everyone knows who you're talking about."
He handed the sketch back to Jean. "Get me a couple hundred copies of that, okay? Have it sent out state wide, especially county wide. And I need some real clean copies to hand out to the press. I guess it's time to call a news conference."
"Yeah, guess you should go make yourself pretty," Jean said, standing up and slipping the sketch into his folder which he tucked into a case that held all his equipment. "Better you than me," he said, slapping his hand across Gabe's back.
"Not me, I don't deal with the press, that's the Captain's deal. He plays with the politics, I do the cop work." He watched as he picked up his samples, putting them back in their folders, cleaning up his space. "As soon as possible, Jean?"
"You got it," he said, picking up his case and heading out of the room.
Gabe's eyes narrowed, staring blindly at the dull gray wall. He could almost feel the collar, the satisfaction he would derive from putting this one behind bars for the rest of his life. He was close, now for a bit of luck on top of his police work. He was due.
* * * *
Tina woke slowly, keeping her eyes closed as she listened for any sounds that might indicate he was around. She heard the sound of breathing from the girl who was sleeping on the small cot with her, a feat she didn't know how she'd managed. Not after everything she'd had to do to get her there.
She hated to think of the begging and placating, the kissing ass almost literally she'd had to do last night to get him to loose the poor, frightened girl from the chair. By the time he'd been through playing with them, the girl's arms and legs had been bloody from those damn plastic zip ties. So she'd begged to be allowed to release her, promising to share her bed and the cubicle with her, to take care of her and to not try to escape. As if either had believed she meant the later.
Her name was Michelle. She was barely twenty, new to town and hadn't given much thought to the curfew when she'd left her place the night before to run up to the store for a pack of cigarettes. She'd had the innocence of the young, bad things wouldn't happen to her, they happened to other people, people you hear about on the news.
She knew differently now.
Tina lifted her head, opening her eyes and glancing around the dark basement. There were small night lights set up now, something he had done for her. She hated the dark, was terrified of it and had only just conquered her fear, in the safety of Angie's arms.
Now Angie was dead and Tina would be in the dark forever. A tear gathered on her cheek as a vision of her pretty blonde girlfriend came to mind, smiling sweetly at her. It was superimposed by a vision of blood, a vision that he gave her.
"Is it safe?" Michelle asked, her voice so small as to almost be unheard.
"Yeah, he's at work," Tina said, sitting up slowly, her abused body protesting every movement.
"I need to thank you, Tina. What you did for me last night, what you let him do to you for me, oh my God. I never expected that." Michelle sat next to her, snuggling close in the cool air of the basement.
"It's okay," Tina said, glancing down at her. Though in all honesty, Tina didn't know if she was. She'd never hurt this badly before, ever. Her pussy burned from his cock and his fingers that he'd forced inside of her. But worse, so much worse was her ass. She'd never taken anything there, not even the smallest of the dildos that she and Angie had played with. Not ever a finger before last night.
He'd forced her to bend over, her face buried between Michelle's legs while he'd pushed into her, his cock forcing through the tight ring of her anus, making her feel as if he'd split her wide open. She hadn't been able to stop the cries of pain that had escaped her as he'd wiggled his way into her dry opening until she took him all.
Then he'd taken her hand, making her feel his cock buried so deeply in her ass, wiping her fingers through the blood caused by his abuse, smearing it over Michelle's thighs. He'd fucked her long, though not as hard as he could have, actually gentling his movements when she begged him to.
But now she hurt, and she hurt badly.
"Would you like me to look to see how bad it is?" Michelle asked softly.
"How did..."
