Fermilab in Illinois, and now Maurice Ovierto was putting the finishing touches on his latest taunt at the FBI's premiere inspector, Thorpe. Chained to a bulkhead in the rusty old freighter that he had been using as his base of operations in the Portland-Seattle area was the third of his slaughter victims. He needed three body parts from three distinct individuals quickly to make his plan work. The parts would round out a little package he wished to forward to Thorpe, a little joke he had arranged both to alert her to the fact that he knew Hogarth was somewhere in Washington State, but also to continue his thoughtful, concerted effort to drive Thorpe out of her mind. With each cut, each death, each "gift" to her, he knew he was eroding away her strength and resolve, peeling back the layers of her ail-too civilized veneer, scratching at the demon within her. He was molding her in his image, to one day be as unfeeling as he had become.
As for alerting the FBI to the fact he knew they were holding Hogarth somewhere in the vicinity, his ego could do nothing else. He had once again made fools of them in Chicago. Now, if they dared oppose him again, he'd make fools of them in Seattle. Besides, he enjoyed the game. Alerting them to his whereabouts also had the effect of causing them to show their hand. They'd likely make some troop movements, roust the Hogarths out to remove them to yet another location. It could only serve his purposes.
His mind was filled with these thoughts even in the midst of the dirty little butcher's theater he had created of the old ship he had purchased, moored here at the forgotten end of a dying pier where a tuna cannery, unable to compete with the majors and the save- the-dolphins movement, had left the area bleak and useless save for the few ships plying the Pacific for oysters and shrimp and a unique little area where pearls were bartered.
He had purchased a few of the pearls himself, paying twice their value, knowing he was being hustled. But he didn't care, for the idea that the pearls gave him was exquisite. It was when he learned that this area was the only area left in all of Seattle that dealt in such trade that he knew his idea had come to full fruition.
The dark interior of the ship was perfect for the work. His victims had been chosen at random, off the street, for no other reason than that they were at hand. He glanced at his watch, a sterling silver Rolex that told him it was almost midnight, three days after Chicago. Not a bad average for a killer, he silently quipped.
He wore a blue surgeon's gown and mask and was nude beneath these. As he approached the woman chained to the corner braces of the bulkhead, he saw that the drug had now completely worn off. She was fully conscious, fully aware of her situation and of the fact that he was coming back for more. He had forced himself on her earlier, but it hadn't been good. She had been too out of it. The tension was not there.
Now things were different. The pupils of her deep brown eyes were so dilated as to appear to be those of a frightened horse. Even her sweat-drenched body added to the moment, as did the wild, flowing hair. He stood about three feet from her, taking her all in, smiling behind the mask, the blade as thin as spaghetti but large enough to reach from his hand at the base of his chin to the forehead.
"I'm here with you, my dear. Dr. Ovierto is on the job," he said with a little laugh, savoring the moment. "I just need a little something from you, my dear," he continued in his best bedside voice, as if he were about to take her pulse or a little blood. "The doctor won't hurt you."
The blade and the exaggeratedly pleasant voice made her tear at her bonds and scream against the gag, which was soaked with her spittle. "Here, let me make you more comfortable," he said, taking away the gag. "Isn't that better?"
"Why? Why're you doing this to me?"
"It's the only way for me."
She was a hooker who had responded to the wrong
As for alerting the FBI to the fact he knew they were holding Hogarth somewhere in the vicinity, his ego could do nothing else. He had once again made fools of them in Chicago. Now, if they dared oppose him again, he'd make fools of them in Seattle. Besides, he enjoyed the game. Alerting them to his whereabouts also had the effect of causing them to show their hand. They'd likely make some troop movements, roust the Hogarths out to remove them to yet another location. It could only serve his purposes.
His mind was filled with these thoughts even in the midst of the dirty little butcher's theater he had created of the old ship he had purchased, moored here at the forgotten end of a dying pier where a tuna cannery, unable to compete with the majors and the save- the-dolphins movement, had left the area bleak and useless save for the few ships plying the Pacific for oysters and shrimp and a unique little area where pearls were bartered.
He had purchased a few of the pearls himself, paying twice their value, knowing he was being hustled. But he didn't care, for the idea that the pearls gave him was exquisite. It was when he learned that this area was the only area left in all of Seattle that dealt in such trade that he knew his idea had come to full fruition.
The dark interior of the ship was perfect for the work. His victims had been chosen at random, off the street, for no other reason than that they were at hand. He glanced at his watch, a sterling silver Rolex that told him it was almost midnight, three days after Chicago. Not a bad average for a killer, he silently quipped.
He wore a blue surgeon's gown and mask and was nude beneath these. As he approached the woman chained to the corner braces of the bulkhead, he saw that the drug had now completely worn off. She was fully conscious, fully aware of her situation and of the fact that he was coming back for more. He had forced himself on her earlier, but it hadn't been good. She had been too out of it. The tension was not there.
Now things were different. The pupils of her deep brown eyes were so dilated as to appear to be those of a frightened horse. Even her sweat-drenched body added to the moment, as did the wild, flowing hair. He stood about three feet from her, taking her all in, smiling behind the mask, the blade as thin as spaghetti but large enough to reach from his hand at the base of his chin to the forehead.
"I'm here with you, my dear. Dr. Ovierto is on the job," he said with a little laugh, savoring the moment. "I just need a little something from you, my dear," he continued in his best bedside voice, as if he were about to take her pulse or a little blood. "The doctor won't hurt you."
The blade and the exaggeratedly pleasant voice made her tear at her bonds and scream against the gag, which was soaked with her spittle. "Here, let me make you more comfortable," he said, taking away the gag. "Isn't that better?"
"Why? Why're you doing this to me?"
"It's the only way for me."
She was a hooker who had responded to the wrong
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