Cain's Blood: A Novel by Geoffrey Girard

Author:Geoffrey Girard
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Touchstone
Published: 2013-09-03T00:00:00+00:00

NIGHTMARES SHARED

JUNE 08, WEDNESDAY—ROUTE 50, IN

The rest of Ohio and eastern Indiana passed in a blur of fields, one-church towns, and Dairy Queens. Castillo drove like the devil was chasing them, but it was the other way around. It was newly morning. An hour or so down this same highway, there’d been a holdup a few days before. Couple of teens, a boy and a girl, tortured and killed behind the store. And on the wire this morning: the two missing Ohio women was now an apartment complex with three or four murdered. One of them purportedly chopped up. Another woman. Emily-something, Collins, still missing, and the main suspect. And two hours down the road, if Jeff was right, there was a teenaged clone of a famous serial killer living in Hitchcock, Indiana. It was, Castillo mused, quite the stretch of highway. Offering answers or only more questions.

Kristin called as they passed through somewhere called Loogootee, her number flashing on the cell’s screen like a living thing. Castillo eyed Jeff in the seat next to him. The kid seemed preoccupied, lost to the monotony. “Hey,” Castillo answered. “You find something new?”

“Nope,” Kristin replied. “It’s . . . It’s been a couple days. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Wasn’t asking about ‘Everything.’ I was asking about you.”

“Are we on the clock now? This going in my little folder?”

“I’m asking as a friend.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you.”

“And it’s an enormous folder, by the way. The biggest Staples had.”

“Naturally.”

“Asshole.”

“Yes.”

“How much longer, Castillo?”

“Don’t know.”

“What can I do?”

“Probably done too much already.”

“Probably. What else?”

“I don’t know. Maybe check in every few days and ask how I’m doing.”

She laughed, but it was a sad sound, full of regret and rumination.

He needed to change gears quick, to talk about something, anything, without the thoughts of what might have been. “Tell me,” he said, his reflections shifting back to the day’s latest discoveries. “Would a girl run with these guys? By choice, I mean? I’ve got two, maybe three women at least who may be involved in this. Not sure if they’re victims or . . .”

“Superfreaks? Sure. Why?”

“I don’t know. Some info this morning I got. Been wondering some if these women are victims or maybe even accomplices somehow. Would help if I knew even that much.”

“It’s hard to tell. The dirty truth is most women have some level of hybristophilia. It’s a common psychological condition of arousal or attraction to individuals who commit crimes. Sometimes it’s called ‘Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome’ for Bonnie Parker. Again, it comes in a thousand flavors and degrees, from SKGs, which is our abbreviation for serial killer groupies, to full-blown accomplices.”

“Groupies?”

“It’s a fact. As many lonely women sign up for Writeaprisoner.com as Match.com. These men are both the little boy you want to mommy and the bad boy you want to . . . well, you know. And, as a bonus, you know exactly where your man is on a Friday night. Locked safely behind bars. You’ve heard of Ted Bundy?”

Castillo could not help himself and snorted back his laugh.

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