His cell phone rang as he left the morgue. His wife's shrill voice came over the line. She was upset because their daughter hadn't come home yet. He assured her that the girl was probably fine and that he'd check her normal hangouts before he hung up.
He didn't bother to mention that he already knew where the girl was; he had driven to her location while talking to the harpy he considered his wife. As he sat inside his Cadillac Escalade, he could see her through the large plate glass windows that spilled light into the darkened street. The SUV lights were off, but the engine was running. He lit a cigar. It was one of two places he could smoke; his wife hated the smell of cigar smoke. However, he had bought the Escalade himself, so she allowed him to smoke in it and in the backyard. As long as he picked up the stubs, of course, if he let any fall into the yard or left one on the patio, there was hell to pay.
As he smoked, he watched a group of teenage girls inside a pizzeria. The youngest was only fifteen. She was supposed to be home over an hour ago. Her mother was going to be livid. There would be shouting and screaming. After all, there was a serial killer on the loose.
This girl, though, wasn't his target. She wasn't his type. She was too young, too wild for his tastes. He preferred them to be prim, proper, full grown women. Besides, she was his daughter.
No one else in the group fit his purpose either, but their waitress, she was a different story. Her blond hair was pulled back in a very severe ponytail. Her face was hard set as she disapprovingly served the group of unsupervised girls. They were a little unruly in her opinion, and it showed on her face.
Then again, the fifteen year old currently shoving a slice of cheese pizza into her mouth, ensured that the waitress was safe, at least for the night. His wife had been insistent that he go find the girl and bring her home. If he didn't return with the girl, there would be hell to pay.
But he would give her a few more minutes to enjoy her pizza and her friends. He finished his cigar, put the stub in the ashtray, and got out. He adjusted his suit, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles.
He walked inside and made his way over to the girls. They were giggling and smiling. He was touched by their youth and innocence.
"Grace," he said to the fifteen year old.
"Hi, Daddy," she smiled up at him.
"You were supposed to be home by dark," he reminded her.
"Oh yeah," she blushed.
"Hi," one of the girls waved at him.
He smiled back, "Hi, Emily."
"Just one more slice?" Grace looked up at him with a smile and wide brown eyes.
"I suppose, slide over," Henry moved into the booth next to his daughter and grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza.
The girls in the booth with them; Emily, Kara, and Brittany, were all seventeen. Grace was on the basketball team with them and despite being two years younger, the girls all clicked. But, as a result of the age difference, he and his wife insisted that most of the sleepovers happen at their house. Their daughter was still not able to drive and they weren't ready to let her start dating or participate in any other rites of passage.
This meant the girls were at ease with Henry too. Just a week ago, they had thrown a neighborhood block party that everyone had attended. Henry was still proud of the block party with a bonfire and grilling in the snow, it had been a huge success.
Grace and Henry finished the pizza. Henry stood up and handed Grace her coat. He left money on the table for the three pizzas the girls had ordered as well as a huge tip. He would see the waitress again.
"Do you girls need an escort home?" Henry asked as Grace finished putting on her coat.
"No, my dad is coming soon," Emily told him. "It was the only way we could convince him to let us go out tonight."
"Maybe we should wait for him," Henry looked out the window as a SUV pulled into the almost vacant parking lot. He recognized the SUV, it belonged to the Sheriff, Emily's dad.
He walked out with Grace and the other girls. They waved good-bye as they piled into the SUV.
"Tucker," Henry said.
"Henry," Sheriff Rybolt responded.
"I was waiting to make sure the girls had an escort home."
"Glad you did, it was a bad one yesterday," Sheriff Rybolt looked at Grace. "We'll talk about it tomorrow though. Get some sleep."
"You try to do the same," Henry walked Grace to the SUV. It was still running, the inside was warm and welcoming as they slid into the heated seats.
"He did it again?" Grace asked.
"Yes, he did it again."
"Are you going to catch him?"
"I don't know, we've got some Marshals up here to help us," Henry thought about the female Marshal. She had struck him as odd. There was something different about her; he couldn't put his finger on it though.
"Took you long enough," Hilary, his wife, said as the two of them stomped snow off their shoes at the front door.
"She was having slices with friends, I went in and sat with all of them until Sheriff Rybolt showed up to pick up the other girls," Henry said, immediately defending Grace.
"Is that why you were out so late?" Hilary turned her eyes on Grace.
"Yes, Emily and Kara didn't want to leave until one of our parents came to get us," Grace took her book bag upstairs, away from her mother's piercing gaze.
"And you think that's an acceptable reason for her to be out late?" Hilary turned full force on Henry.
"Yes, Hilary, it's March, it gets dark early and I'd rather them have pizza at a busy pizzeria while waiting for parents than to have them be out on the streets, alone," Henry pulled off his coat.
"So their children are our problem?"
"There's a serial killer on the loose, I would hope that everyone is looking out for everyone else's children."
"Whatever, Henry," Hilary walked away, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.
Henry went to his study, glad the debate with his wife was over, at least for now. He was sure she'd bring it back up at breakfast, but for now it was quiet. They hadn't shared a bedroom since Grace had been born.
He pulled out all the case files from the drawer. Inside were all his autopsy photos. He had been meticulous about taking the photos. He wanted to make sure every nuance had been captured. The photos were good quality, they did his work justice.
Tomorrow held some promise. Tomorrow night he might be able to go out and find his prize. Or maybe he'd just grab the waitress at the diner. She had been just about perfect.
This thought brought him back to Dr. Cain. She was also just about perfect. She was very matter of fact. She was very proper. Her clothing had screamed loads about her. It had obviously been bought with meticulous care for color and shape. Even with the multiple fleeces on, she had been shapely. Yet, there was still something that nagged him about her. Something he couldn't put his finger on or identify. Something that was unique and screamed at him to be cautious around her.
He stopped thinking about her and went back to his photos. He did such good work on these women. He was a master in this domain.
There was a knock on the door of the study. His daughter, he thought as he stood up. Sure enough, Grace stood in her flannel pajamas outside the door. He closed the study behind him.
"Sorry I made Mom mad," she whispered.
"It's fine, honey, Mom is just freaked out because of the killer. But we had a group of US Marshals come in today to help with the search. We'll have him found out in no time," he assured her.
Grace gave him a hug and a kiss and went back upstairs. He went back to his study, locking the door behind him. His eyes fell on the photographs of the first three women. They were different. They weren't his.
Those three had belonged to his son, Henry Junior. He had come home from war a broken man. Too broken to even live on his own, he had moved back into his parents' house. His father had found the photos after Henry Junior had taken his own life.
A tear sprang to his eye. He wiped it away. His work made him feel close to his dead son-- the son that had taken a finely crafted blade to his own body, opening up over three dozen wounds. He had bled to death in less than three minutes. In the snow, in December, next to a freshly killed moose.
Henry still didn't understand the meaning behind the moose or the suicide. All he did understand was that his son had somehow turned into a killer when he arrived back in Alaska. A killer who seemed to hate women.
That was something Henry could understand. His wife was a monster. Always had been, always would be. He pushed the thought away, turned out the lights and left the study.
Hilary would be in bed by now. He climbed the stairs and when he reached his room, he hesitated for a moment. The fleeting glimpse of Dr. Aislinn Cain had distracted him again. Yes, she was his type, but she would be dangerous. The Marshals would double or triple their efforts if he went after her. He'd have to let her go.
He opened the door to his bedroom. The room was quiet. Hilary had the room next door and her snoring could be heard through the walls. But That was the only sound. He undressed as silently as possible and lay in bed for a long time, focusing on the waitress at the diner.