Eleven
The little woman on her screen telling her how excellent her online dating experience was going to be made it all that much more real. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe she should have reconsidered. The temptation would be great, but what was it going to help if she ended up dead in a ditch somewhere?
It wouldn't help anyone, but they weren't going to catch the guy on their own. They weren't approaching the case with the right kind of serious concern, and it was going to bite them in the ass until they realized it.
She wasn't willing to wait that long. She was going to find this guy, and she was going to catch him. If she could only get him, then that would be one thing. But she wouldn't just stop there. She was going to go as deep down the rabbit hole first, before she pulled out and got the sons of bitches who did this cold.
Erin closed her eyes and tried to calm down. This was no time to be losing her cool. Not so early on. She needed to keep her head on her shoulders as long as possible. She was going into the lion's den here.
She had the account already. A few years ago she'd heard about online dating, and opened an account. It had lasted all of several minutes before she realized that it wasn't ever going to happen for her, and for that matter she didn't want it to happen that way if it was going to happen.
Pulling in a breath, Erin clicked the button to reactivate her account. It was a good thing that she had it already. If she had a one-day old account, it would make it difficult for him to trust when she emailed him out of the blue. As if someone had put up a fake account with a picture of his latest murder victim. He'd absolutely know the jig was up.
But now she had an account with two or three tasteful four-year-old pictures that were still just about good enough, she hoped. Then she got to messaging.
Craig Hutchinson might not respond. It might make him nervous, especially if he thought that she knew who he was, or who he had been, to her sister. But if he were a serial killer, or involved in serial killings, then he wouldn't be able to resist the chance at a repeat performance, even if he had misgivings. That was what the whole plan was built on.
She closed her laptop and went to watch daytime television, just like the Captain told her to. See, Erin thought to herself. I can do as I'm told. Besides, it might be hours before she got an answer from the guy, and it was a long shot in either case. She sat down on the couch, fished for the remote between her knees, and clicked the T.V. on. Some news story, but it wasn't about her sister. They probably weren't going to run anything about her on the T.V. at all.
Erin wasn't sure how she felt about it. If they let out all the details—that the FBI were involved, that they suspected the work of a serial killer, then there would be way too many unanswered questions and way too much trouble. They'd never be able to live it down. But if they left out details, then what was the point of doing any story at all?
So they didn't run one. That was typical. Exactly the reason that she couldn't stand letting someone else do the work to track down her sister's killer. One thing gets a little hard, and suddenly they're not so committed to the truth any more. If she wanted someone willing to do something hard, then she had to rely on herself. Nobody was going to do it for her.
She flipped the channel until she found a bunch of women talking amongst themselves. They had another woman at the table and proceeded to make ground beef out of her. It was like watching someone caught in a pack of hyenas. Everything she said was a chance to pick and criticize and fight.
Oh, it was all very friendly on the surface, but Erin knew all about how the game was played, and it was about as friendly as a gunfight.
She flipped the channel again. A T.V. judge was shouting at the defendant in a case. From what Erin could see, the girl deserved it, sort of. These shows held no real appeal for her, either. Everyone on them was scum. It wasn't a case of one person being injured and the other being a bastard. Everyone should have been put in the corner until they learned to get the hell along with other people.
Then again, that wasn't so different from real life. The judges were all a bit too keen to throw temper tantrums. Usually sitting judges manage not to do that, but it might have something to do with being able to threaten people with jail time if they don't shut the hell up. That probably made a pretty big difference in terms of frustration levels, Erin figured.
Her phone buzzed. An email had arrived. It was from the dating service. She'd gotten a message!, it read. Exclamation mark and all. Her face twisted into a taut smile. Already, the seed she had planted was starting to grow.
She opened the laptop again, refreshed her messages, clicked it open. Instead of Craig Hutchinson, she was treated to the profile picture of the man who had written her a very… excited message. A very explicit message, and attached was a very explicit photograph of a cock as thick as her wrist.
She closed it as fast as her fingers could click the buttons and she blinked. God damn it. That's exactly what she had hoped wasn't going to happen. Maybe this was a mistake. Her phone buzzed again. Another message.
She took in a deep breath and prepared to be disturbed. Then she clicked it open. A biker-looking type, built like he was still in the Army, smiled out at her. He still had all his teeth, which meant he was either just putting on airs with the motorcycle club vibe, or he was better in a fight than most.
That, or he had a very good dentist, but that was unusual by itself for that sort of guy in her experience.
He would love to meet. In public, of course. He suggested a coffee house on the south side of town. Too isolated for her, and it wouldn't play into her hand the way she'd hoped. What about the beach? She was right out by the boardwalk. It was crowded, so no danger for either of them. That would work better for her.
A message came back a minute later, asking how he'd know her. She took a deep breath. She had to play this to the hilt, that was the only way to do it. She'd be wearing a light blue swimsuit with a large flower-print. She didn't know how to describe the flowers, except they were dark-colored. Then she went off to find the bikini she hadn't worn in years.
Now her skinny figure would come in handy. She hadn't gained a pound in almost ten years, so the swimsuit should still fit, she hoped. But the problem was where it would be.
Well, that and how to carry her backup gun when most of her body was on display.