With Cruel Intent (60 page)

seen her come in and he informed her that

visiting hours were over, however, he'd

let her see him if she'd do him a favor

first.

"So what can I do for you deputy?"

she said, somewhat puzzled.

"The Sheriff has asked me to speak

with each of the witnesses from the diner

to see if you can pick out the type of

sunglasses the perp was wearing. Would

you give it a try?"

"Sure, don't know if I'll be able to,

hardly remember and it was such a poor

angle."

"Try anyway, if you would. I'll

show you five different styles, all you

need to do is pick the one that most

closely resembles the pair you saw the

shooter wearing," he explained.

"K, let me see them."

He handed her five full size sheets

of paper, each with a large picture of a

pair of sunglasses of various styles and

makes. Blanche carefully looked through

the sheets, running through them once

before making any decisions. The second

time through she removed two of the

sunglass pictures, explaining to Breland

that she was sure it was neither of them.

She returned her attention to the others,

knowing that any help she could provide

could assist Seymour's case. Again,

scrutinizing each photo, she compared the

color, the material and she was able to

eliminate one more from the batch. Two

remained. The Ray-Ban and another metal

frame but she had already eliminated

Seymour's from the queue without

knowing it.

"I can't be sure but I know it wasn't

any of these," she said, pointing to the

three she removed from the stack.

"Thanks, I'll note your selections.

You are free to go Miss."

Blanche was allowed a few

minutes

alone

with

Seymour,

she

explained that his mother was able to

secure the money for the bail but that it

had taken longer than she anticipated.

They would be by sometime around noon

to finish the matter and see to his release.

Seymour had been almost overcome with

appreciation and relief. The two hugged,

as they were able, separated by one inch

reinforced steel bars but the kiss was

memorable.

"Thanks for letting me see him,

we've arranged his bail for tomorrow

morning," Blanche said.

"Good for you, he's a model

prisoner but I know he'll be glad to go

home, even if he still has to appear in

court," Breland said.

"Thanks again and goodnight."

Blanche treated herself to a taxi

ride home. Unbeknownst to her a silver

van followed the taxi closely, a troubled

man at the wheel.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

The sun was cresting over the tree

line when Lester pulled the van into his

driveway, parking it in the usual spot. He

sat behind the wheel for a few minutes

collecting his thoughts in anticipation of

the day ahead of him. The hours he’d spent

sitting outside Caroline’s B&B waiting to

see if Blanche would venture out for an

evening walk or run had been a total

waste of time. By 2:00 a.m. he was

convinced

that

everyone

in

the

establishment would be in bed, all the

lights were out and all appeared quiet.

He’d left the van parked in the alleyway

between the homes that led to garages and

backyards. With his face painted black

and wearing his standard issue dark shirt

and jeans he had made his way around to

the rear door that entered into the kitchen

area. Lester thought back, closing his eyes

as he sat in the van, reliving the previous

hours and events.

Standing on the porch he felt for

the hunting knife attached to his belt and

slid it from the sheath, the blade gleamed

in the dim light of the lone street lamp that

sat atop a pole two houses down. The

9mm stuffed into the front of his pants was

somewhat uncomfortable; he smoothly

moved it to the small of his back, and

certain his belt would hold it in place. His

gloved left hand grasped the old doorknob

and tried the lock. It was secure but he

was sure it would not take much pressure

just to force the door open without

damaging the frame. He’d seen these old

style locks too often to have it slow him

down. Inserting the blade of the knife

between the jam and the door, he twisted

his wrist while turning the knob and

pushing with his shoulder. The door

popped open like using a bottle opener on

an old-fashioned coke bottle.

Once inside Lester inspected the

frame and lock for damage, it would be

difficult for Caroline to see that anything

had changed. For a split second he was

unsure what he was doing in the home, but

the thought of seeing Blanche one more

time and the remote possibility that he

could spirit her away tonight, rather than

waiting, spurred him on. The antique old

wood planks that made up the kitchen and

dining room floors squeaked as he tiptoed

across their surface. He had not bothered

to remove his shoes. The Stalker would

not be there long. Lester knew exactly

which room was Blanche’s after spending

an evening a short time ago watching her

through the bedroom window. He eased

his way up the stairs from the dining area,

the knife still in his right hand.

Rooms appeared on either side of

the long hallway, a small lamp cast

shadows and eerie images along the

walls. He counted the doors on his left,

assuming each room would have a single

window visible from the street. He stood

before Blanche’s; his heart beat wildly

causing his hands to shake and ears to

ring. Patiently he waited for the initial

adrenaline rush to subside before he tried

the lock with a steady hand. The handle

rattled ever so slightly but it did not

budge. He dropped to one knee to inspect

the lock more closely using only the faint

light of the hallway to help him. An

obvious skeleton keyhole looked back at

him and he could see a diffuse light inside

the room. The intruder moved his eye

close enough to the keyhole to get a better,

less obstructed view of the room’s

contents. It was not perfect but he could

make out the woman’s form on the bed,

moonlight providing the light he could see

through the hole.

Lester felt for the gun in the

hollow of his back and adjusted it slightly,

then removed a lock pick device from his

front pocket. With both hands he

manipulated the small metallic rod and

file, slowing himself when he felt he was

making too much noise, even though it was

barely audible. Years of doing the same,

on more sophisticated locks, made the old

skeleton lock open without much of a

challenge. He returned the pick set to his

pocket and pulled the knife again from the

sheath before entering the room. The door

opened without a sound, he closed it but

did not allow the lock to fully latch.

Standing within the very room that he had

only taken pictures of the week before,

thrilled the assailant. He concentrated on

keeping his breathing under control,

slowing his heart and perspiration in the

process. Lester held the knife in his right

hand as he approached the sleeping

Blanche. To have her so close, so

vulnerable, was mind blowing for the

thief. He yearned to slide into bed with

her and prove his love for the woman, but

he knew better, at least for now. With the

knife in his right hand he approached the

bed standing inches from the edge and

within reach of the woman’s throat.

Lester loomed over the woman,

taking in her beauty, hair swept across a

portion of her forehead, her face fully

exposed to him as she slept on her back.

The perp couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

The small digital camera was extracted

from his rear jean’s pocket and he took a

picture of the slumbering damsel. He

contemplated the possibility of removing

her tonight, half convincing himself that it

could be done without disturbing the

others, but he had come unprepared, no

ether and no plausible way to keep her

quiet.

“Only a few hours,” he told

himself, and she would willingly give

herself to him, but his patience was at its

limit.

He wanted and needed to feel her

soft skin, to know the sensation of skin on

skin with the striking beauty. Lester

peeled the glove from his left hand,

partially sticking it into his jean’s pocket,

and brought the razor sharp knife blade

within an inch of the sleeping woman’s

jugular. He would need to control her if

she suddenly awoke. With the left hand

exposed he placed it as close as he dared

below his sleeping victim’s nose. The feel

of her breath caressing, then ebbing and

returning to caress his hand again, made

him feel invincible. He looked closely at

her face, so perfect, light freckles

scattered across her delicate nose, her lips

slightly parted calling for a kiss. Leaning

in close, his hand pulled away from her

face but the knife still in place, he

inspected her closely, taking in the smell

of her skin as he did so.

The Stalker detected movement

under her lids, Blanche's eyes moving

back and forth, right and left in a rapid

saccadic motion. She was dreaming, he’d

seen it before and knew what it was. The

idea excited him as he closely watched

her closed eyes wondering if she was

thinking of him after he ruffled her feathers

earlier in the day. His will power was

fading. To touch her once would be

ecstasy and would possibly be worth the

risk, but he fought off the urge and settled

for running his hand over the sleeping

woman’s figure just an inch above the

single sheet that covered her motionless

form. The knife, still very close to her

throat, did not vary as he extended his left

hand above her navel. The Stalker was

able to see through the thin sheet revealing

a tiny nightgown, hiked up, and showing

the outline of her panties underneath.

Slowly he moved his hand upward over

her flat stomach to the rise of her breasts,

which strained against the fabric of the

sheet. He stopped, his hand just above the

breast closest to him and ached to touch

and squeeze her.

Behind him he heard the creaking

of an old door opening, he wheeled

quickly but without sound to see

Blanche’s still in place. His breathing

stopped as he listened for further

indication that someone was up. Footsteps

moved down the hallway just outside the

door and he moved to see what and who it

was. As the muffled noise moved beyond

Blanche’s room he pulled the door in just

enough to look into the hallway. An older

woman dressed in a robe and slippers, her

head wrapped with toilet paper, was

making her way down the hall. Lester

watched her closely as she opened a door,

flipped on a light and stepped inside.

“Must be the bathroom,” he

thought.

He watched and waited for her to

make the return trip, closing the door

slightly so he could still listen to her pass.

A few minutes later she did and he could

hear the toilet flush as she exited the

bathroom. Caroline moved down the hall

and back to her own room without any

concern and was once again safely tucked

away behind a locked door. The intruder

breathed a sigh of relief but knew it was

time to go. As he stood across the room,

he once again removed the camera and

took a departing picture of the still restful