Secrets in Shadow: Prologue and Ch.1
Supernatural/White Collar
Title: Secrets in Shadow
Author: Roselani24
Genre: adventure, drama, horror
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A big thank you to my fantastic beta,laughtersmelody who read and re-read this story, offering endless encouragement and tips. You're awesome, girl! Also a big thank you to my artist, loki_scribe for the beautiful artwork!
Prologue
November, 1994
Jennifer staggered along down the sidewalk in the direction she’d hopefully parked her car. She wasn’t entirely sure. Everything looked strange and glowy mixed together with dark shapes that her brain concluded were buildings and other cars. She grinned stupidly, pausing to lean against a rough wall. What a party! Granted, November 19th was more of a day of remembrance than partying in Gettysburg. First there was the great parade to the location where President Abraham Lincoln had given his famous Gettysburg Address. Then, the mayor would read the speech aloud for the crowd, honoring both the president and the soldiers who died in battle there. All very solemn and drab. Jennifer much preferred the energy and fun of the party afterwards. That, and the number of cute guys making passes at her, was just the pick-me-up she needed.
Why was it so cold all of the sudden? Jennifer shivered, blinking rapidly in hopes of getting her eyes to focus. It wasn’t much better, but definitely an improvement from the glowing swirls from before. She rubbed her arms. Odd. November had been pleasantly warm so far. Shrugging it off, she pushed away from the wall. Time to get on back to campus to catch some shut eye. Tomorrow she had a date with Vincent Greene, the hottest guy on campus. No way was she going to let a headache stop her from having the best night of her life!
Giving up on finding her car for the night, she turned the corner and headed down a small side street she recognized, one that would take her directly to the local coffee shop across from campus. The street only had one streetlight, which was almost always broken, but there was a full moon providing plenty of light tonight. She breathed in deeply, imagining the smell of fresh coffee and pastries. The shop was always open, even on local holidays like this. She could call her roommate from there.
As she walked down the street, a strange feeling caused the hair on her arms and neck stand on end.
Her breath fogged as it passed from her lips.
Fear, razor-sharp and cold, shot through her veins. She wasn’t feeling quite so drunk anymore, and everything looked surprisingly clear. A glance over her shoulder confirmed the alley behind her was empty.
Shivering, she faced forward again, determined to get to the coffee shop quickly. Only to come face to face with a man. With a shriek, Jennifer stumbled back. The man was unnatural pale, his hair matted and his exposed skin stained. Her breath hitched when the man-thing, suddenly flickered like a broken television set. His clothing bore a disturbing resemblance to the uniform costumes she’d seen worn by citizens of the town earlier that day. A hand came up, reaching for her. Beyond the transparent hand, she could see its face and eyes. Blood red eyes.
Screaming, Jennifer spun around and ran for her life.
Chapter 1
Monday January 9, 1995
Peter dropped the thick folder onto his new desk with a sigh, rubbing his eyes wearily. The pages were dog-eared and worn from being constantly touched and read over the past three weeks. Each time he flipped through the case notes and reports he hoped something-anything-would pop and provide some clue, some new direction to investigate. Zip. Nada. Bubkis. Frankly, he had no idea where to look next or how the pieces fit together. It was just a giant, tragic, bloody mess with no answers in sight.
The sound of the phone ringing cut into his thoughts.
“Professor Matthews,” He answered. Idly he wondered if he would ever get used to that name.
A friendly, female voice started speaking into his ear. “Hello Professor, this is Sharon Ross from Pennsylvania Hall. I’m calling on behalf of President Hummel.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“He wishes to speak with you in his office right away.”
“I’m on my way.”
He grabbed his suit jacket and over coat from the coat rack and strode out of his closet-sized office. It was the first official day of the spring semester and the halls were still fairly crowded. He wove through the students expertly, then out the door and down the steps between the Greek style columns of the building.
Snow drifted lightly to the ground. Turning up the collar of his coat, Peter hurried down the sidewalk. Thankfully, Weindensall Hall was close to Pennsylvania Hall where the bulk of Gettysburg College’s administration offices were located, including the college president’s.
A few minutes later, he walked inside the historical landmark. The ornate, but tasteful architecture of Pennsylvania Hall, like Weindensall Hall, was a nice change from the modern structural design he was usually immersed in. But he wasn’t here to look at architecture. There were much bigger concerns to be dealt with.
He trotted up the stairs and entered the college president’s front office. The secretary, Miss Ross looked up, phone cradled against her shoulder as she made notes, offering him a warm smile. Without skipping a beat, she waved him through the door to the right of her desk.
He opened the door to a plush, but practical office where a tall, pepper gray haired, man stood staring out the window absently. The man turned.
“President Hummel.”
Hummel stood at a solid six feet, his shoulders broad and muscular despite his office. Large glasses framed sharp, sky blue eyes as they met Peter’s brown.
“Ah, Professor Matthews.” President Hummel greeted, shaking his hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“Of course, sir.” Peter nodded politely.
Hummel waved his hand towards one of the worn leather chairs positioned in front of his desk. “Please sit.”
The younger man sat, waiting patiently for the administrator to speak his mind.
George Hummel had been Gettysburg College president for three years after working as a professor teaching a business class for nearly twenty years prior. He loved the students and he loved the school. Needless to say the recent kidnappings and murder had taken quite the toll. Hummel’s face was creased with stress; mouth twisted in a worried frown as he meandered behind his desk and paused there, back to his guest.
“Detective…Peter. Has there been any progress?”
Professor Peter Matthews, whose real name was Detective Peter Burke, sighed. “No sir. I’m sorry. There are no new leads, not since Hernandez’s murder and Fisher’s kidnapping last month.”
The brutal murder of Melissa Fisher’s boyfriend, Joseph Hernandez and her disappearance was the very reason he’d been brought in to investigate covertly. The Adams County Sheriff’s Department in Gettysburg believed the abduction was the second one to take place in a month’s time.
The first victim, Jennifer Stewart, disappeared almost a month before to the day, which initially linked the two incidents together. Peter had been sent in undercover at the college because if these disappearances really were the work of a serial kidnapper, the most likely potential victims would be other young college girls.
Hummel sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
Peter waited and a moment later the president continued. “The Stewart family is putting a great deal of pressure on the Boards of Trustees and myself. I have little doubt the police department is in similar straits.”
Undoubtedly. Sheriff Wayne from the Adam’s County Sheriff’s office had already briefed him on the pressure the department was under from the Stewarts to solve the kidnapping. The Stewart family was extremely wealthy and powerful, the family line tracing back to before the French and Indian War. Despite their daughter having been missing for nearly two months, the Stewarts remained as dogged and determined to find her as when she first disappeared. Mr. Stewart constantly called the police department, demanding updates and generally harassing the officers. Due to their wealth and position, however, Sheriff Wayne couldn’t put them off or risk being fired and the department crippled with a huge lawsuit. None of that would help the Stewarts find their daughter.
“I think I can stall for perhaps another week before Stewart levels a multi-million dollar lawsuit at this school and the state.”
Peter silently cursed. A week was not nearly enough time, not at the rate the case was moving. If he got lucky and caught a break, maybe the girls’ fate could be determined. But that was a big maybe.
The murder of Joseph Hernandez that coincided with the second kidnapping was brutal, and extremely gory. It spoke of a severely de-ranged individual with no remorse or hesitation. Personally, Peter didn’t hold out much hope for either of the kidnapping victims. Jennifer had been missing for almost two months and Melissa for three weeks as of Saturday. The fact their bodies had not been found however, compelled him to treat the case as if they were alive and that every minute counted.
“I’m sorry, sir, but a week to solve this isn’t going to be enough. There are no leads, no evidence. The best chance we have of finding them…” Peter allowed the sentence to trail off.
“Is if another girl is taken,” Hummel finished, rubbing his face with his hands. “God forbid.”
Amen. Under no circumstances did Peter want to find this monster because of another victim. That meant he had to find the clue, the single detail that had been missed. The answers were there; he just had to unpack them.
Hummel rubbed his temples and sighed. Blue eyes locked with Peter’s brown. “Do your best, Detective. Your first class is tomorrow morning at seven, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
Though how Peter had wound up contracted undercover as a history professor so quickly still made his mind reel. He was a New York detective for crying out loud! What business did he have working a case in Pennsylvania? He didn’t really, but here he was nonetheless. From what he knew, Sheriff Wayne was an old buddy of his boss, Detective Supervisor Lieutenant Aaron Reed, and had called in a favor.
Sheriff Wayne had needed someone to go undercover at the college to act as the eyes and ears for the police. This person absolutely could not be linked to law enforcement in the area. It required someone with undercover experience and years on the force, but not so much that he could be made as a cop.
Reed had chosen Peter, of all people, for the assignment.
Undercover work was not new to Peter. In fact, the NYPD chief and Personnel Officer had first sworn him in, in secret so he could work undercover to bust an art smuggling ring. Since then, Peter had participated in a select few other undercover jobs, but they were all quite minor cases compared to this. The pressure to solve the kidnapping was astronomical, especially with the murders that occurred earlier in the year. When Peter had expressed his concerns to Reed, the older man calmly assured him that he had complete faith he could solve the case.
So here he was three weeks later, working undercover as a history professor and only President Hummel and the head of campus security, Mason, knew who he really was.
“Then you best be off.”
Peter nodded and rose from the chair. “Night, sir.”
~*~
Ding!
Peter popped open the microwave and pulled out the instant lasagna. He frowned as he set it on the counter. It sure didn’t look like it did in the picture on the box. He poked the noodles with his fork. Yep, total goners. And the sauce smelled funny. With a frustrated sigh he threw the whole thing into the trashcan. He should have just gotten a burger and brought it back when he left the school, but in his rush he’d driven straight back to his apartment.
Well, no point in staying around here. He’d finished preparing for his class while the so-called “lasagna” cooked in the microwave, so he could just take the case files with him to a local restaurant. He needed to observe the locals some more anyway, and there was no better time then when eating a hot meal.
Re-energized, Peter quickly stuffed the files into his briefcase and grabbed his coat and keys. Chicken wings sounded good. It was Monday night so Pike’s wouldn’t be too busy. Some crunchy fried chicken, a soda, maybe some onion rings and a salad sounded great.
Before he went out the door, he grabbed his class history books and some folders. No need to get sloppy and blow his cover. Sheriff Reed would ream him from here to the next New Year if he did
Peter’s apartment was about half a mile from the college campus, on the second floor of a renovated brick house from the early nineteen hundreds. Shiny wood floors, new appliances, some furniture provided, and lost of space made the apartment ten times better the studio apartment he lived in back in New York. If it weren’t for the fact it was temporary and because he was working a serious case, he might actually feel comfortable here. As it were the detective had not yet been able to relax in the space.
Keys jingling as he stuffed them in his pocket, Peter briskly walked down the steps to the first floor.
On the first floor lived Ms. Nancy Jenkins, a professional photographer and professor of photography at Gettysburg College. She was thirty-eight, unmarried, and had been employed at Gettysburg College for almost ten years. Peter met her the day before New Year’s when he was moving in.
He’d liked her immediately.
She was rather comely in appearance with outrageously curly black hair, a pale, thin face with piercing dark eyes, and a rather plump figure. But she more then made up for it with personality. Bright and cheerful, Nancy talked a mile a minute bouncing from one topic to another like a kid on a sugar high. Most of all, she seemed to love talking about her passion, photography.
Several of her most prized photos were framed and hung in the outer hallways throughout the renovated house. Peter’s personal favorite was black and white photo of Little Round Top with the sun rising in the background hanging along the stairwell. It grabbed his attention the first time he walked up the stairs for some reason. Maybe it was the way the light flared or the silhouettes of the numerous memorials that were just visible. Either way, it was a great photo and Nancy had already promised him a copy of his own.
He walked out the front door, down the front steps, and over to the driveway where his 1979 dark blue Ford pick-up waited. As he climbed into the cab and keyed the truck up, he noticed the lights on in the basement apartment.
Eric O’Brien, the last tenant, lived there. A sophomore at the college, the twenty-year-old young man seemed like the average college kid on his own for the first time, stretching his wings. Peter had met him once when O’Brien was leaving his apartment. He was a bit evasive and obviously in a rush, but friendly. Otherwise, Peter had only seen O’Brien in passing as the young man went about doing what normal college boys did.
Twenty minutes later Peter was comfortably sitting in a red booth of the homely, rustic restaurant of Pike’s with the case files spread around him, snacking on onion rings while he waited for the rest of his meal. His history books were carefully placed and opened to hide the content of his files. Every once in a while he would pause to run a finger down a page, stop at a passage, and then write on a yellow legal pad. To the passing eye, he was just a man researching something while he ate.
Peter was once again re-reading the case notes from the two abductions and scribbling down possible leads to check into, although it was almost unnecessary given how many times he’d read it. He could practically recite the reports word for word. Peter had decided on the drive over that he would read the case as if it were brand new, and not read the conclusions the police came to. His focus was the evidence, witness statements, and known information about each victim.
There wasn’t much to go on. Sheriff Wayne and his officers had been very thorough during the original investigation into Jennifer Stewart’s disappearance. Peter reviewed the file on Jennifer Stewart yet again, working through her biography and then the reports on her disappearance.
Jennifer was twenty-one years old, an A student attending Gettysburg College for her third year working on her Bachelors degree. She was fairly popular, well liked, and the original canvas of her peers turned up no one with a grudge or reason to take her. Witnesses placed Jennifer at a local club, partying with some fellow college students on November nineteenth. No one had seen her again after she left the club unaccompanied shortly after one in the morning.
He flipped the incident report over and studied the photograph Mrs. Stewart had provided the police. Jennifer grinned brightly up at him, blonde hair loose and flowing around her shoulders. The sage green blouse she wore complimented her blue-green eyes, and her cheeks were rosy with laughter. According the post-script on the back, the photograph was taken over three months ago, on September thirtieth. Jennifer’s twenty-first birthday.
Peter closed his eyes, stomach rolling as he imagined what the young woman may have been through since her disappearance.
Taking a sip of his soda, he closed the Stewart file and opened up another, this one labeled “Fisher, Melissa”. Seeing as the abduction and murderer happened relatively recently, Peter was counting on finding some clue somewhere.
Like Jennifer, Melissa had shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes. The difference was she was only eighteen years old and a high school senior. Daughter of a local farmer, Melissa was a quiet girl who, according to family and friends, had big dreams. She planned to study criminology in college and was considering a career as a forensic pathologist according to her parents. A note at the bottom of the page informed him Melissa was a part time barista at a local coffee shop known as the Coffee Den, whose clientele notably consisted mostly of college students.
Peter tapped his pen on the notepad, studying what he’d written down. The alley Jennifer’s purse was found in came out directly adjacent to the coffee house. And according to the first report by the police, her car was located a block in the opposite direction. It was highly probable the Coffee Den was Jennifer’s destination the night she disappeared, especially if she was a drunk as witnesses at the club said she was. The dark alley was the perfect place to snatch a drunk, young woman alone without being seen. But how would the kidnapper know she would walk through the alley? Unless it was a crime of opportunity. It certainly read that way.
The police had extensively questioned all the employees at the Coffee Den since it was still open at the time of Jennifer’s disappearance. The report quickly revealed that Jennifer Stewart had been a regular at the shop, often meeting up with a group of her peers for a study session. Peter scanned the statements over again, noting the common thread. All the employees admitted to having served the study group or Jennifer herself over the course of the fall semester. Melissa’s statement verified she served the older girl at various times throughout the past spring and fall. Unfortunately, Melissa hadn’t mentioned speaking with Jennifer beyond the usual pleasantries or small talk.
Nonetheless, Peter still felt that the coffee shop the most probable connection between the two victims beyond the obvious physical similarities. He still couldn’t rule out the kidnappings being committed by two different offenders though. Not without evidence. The brutal murder of Melissa’s boyfriend, Joseph Hernandez was a big change in MO for the kidnapper in a month’s time.
From the timeline the police put together, Peter knew that Melissa had gone out Saturday, December 17th with Joseph on a date around six pm. Dinner and a movie, according to Mrs. Fisher. Witnesses placed the couple at the South Village Theater, exiting from The Santa Clause showing around 11:45pm. After the couple left the theater, traffic cameras on Main Street caught Hernandez’s white ’74 Ford Bronco heading in the direction of the Fisher farm before it disappeared down a small side street. Melissa’s curfew was midnight. Mr. Fisher confirmed that Hernandez had never failed to bring his daughter home on time, so when midnight passed and his daughter and her boyfriend did not show he knew something was wrong.
That left the fifteen minutes between leaving the theater and heading home for something to go terribly wrong, resulting in kidnapping and murder.
Closing the file, Peter pulled a history book closer, pretending to read over the information. He turned the page, paused, and then shifted his attention to the onion rings he neglected. As he chewed, Peter considered his next step. His gut instinct urged him to pay close attention to Hernandez’s murder. At first glance it seemed random, even a means to get Miss Fisher alone. It made sense, seeing as the kidnapper targeted Melissa. But Peter couldn’t shake the feeling it was more then that.
Looking at that particular file would wait. Peter wanted to enjoy his meal somewhat before delving into the bloody crime scene and autopsy photos. Hopefully, he wouldn’t lose any of it afterwards.
As if summoned, the waitress appeared with his chicken wings and salad. Peter thanked the waitress as she placed his hot meal before him. The smell of hot chicken covered in bread and spices filled his nostrils, immediately setting his mouth watering.
Before he could start eating, movement by the entrance caught his eye. Peter glanced up. A young man was at the door, stomping the snow slush off his boots and rubbing his hands together. He stood about six feet in height and was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, a dark button-down, and a worn leather jacket. A bit gangly, suggesting he was still growing and would fill out more. And he was a looker to boot. Peter immediately noticed the cashier’s doe eyes as she greeted him. The young man grinned, a charming, white smile and answered her. The poor woman seemed to be just melting where she stood.
Peter rolled his eyes and turned back to his meal. A regular bad boy with a pretty face. He’d met his share in his lifetime. If he were ten years younger he might actually be jealous. While he hardly considered himself a handsome man, Peter knew he could turn a head or two when he wanted to. He didn’t see the point. The young Casanova, who was now charming the waitress, didn’t fool Peter.
The waitress led the man past Peter’s booth. Peter paused, watching the young man walk by. Slightly bow-legged, Peter realized. Add that to a confident swagger… He glanced back at the counter and sure enough all the other waitresses and the cashier were staring. Releasing an annoyed huff, Peter resigned himself to not getting any further service. At least he got his food before Mr. Bad Boy Leather showed up.
Once he finished his meal, Peter mentally prepared himself to look at the crime scene photos. He flipped the crisp pages for the newest edition of his class’s history book, absently pausing at the famous staged photograph at the Devil’s Den after the battle. Staged it may be, it was a gruesome reminder of what happened in this town over a hundred years ago. Peter prayed he wouldn’t find Jennifer and Melissa like this poor soldier.
His hand was on the file, poised to flip it open when the front door opened again allowing someone else to enter. Maybe it was the cool air that entered when the customer came in that caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand at attention. Peter doubted it. This time he didn’t turn his head to look. Instead he listened and studied the reflection in the glass. Tall. Dark hair. Rugged face and well-worn clothes. The stranger stomped right by him and it took all of Peter’s control to not stand at attention. Military. No question.
And apparently Mr. Bad Boy Leather knew him.
Peter leaned forward slightly, straining to hear.
“Hey, Dad.”
The older man’s response was too low for Peter to make out. He sank back against the booth, mind churning. Well, that was unexpected. Charming as he was, Peter was surprised to hear only respect in Bad Boy Leather’s voice. Interesting. He flipped another page of the codex he’d brought and sipped his soda, listening closely. Unfortunately, the pair continued conversing in low tones and no matter how he strained he could not make out anything else that was said.
Resigning himself to learning nothing knew about the apparent father and son, Peter decided contacting Sheriff Wayne was in order. Hopefully the police chief could pull surveillance video from the restaurant and find out who they were. There was something about those two that made him uneasy.
Peter nudged the feeling aside, letting it take over his periphery defenses while his primary focus shifted back to the case. The crime scene photos were as gruesome as Peter remembered. Hernandez’s body was found in a service corridor of a parking garage a two blocks away from the town circle. He was torn apart; blood everywhere. Glazed brown eyes were forever wide with terror and pain. The detective puts the photographs to the side, facedown, and started reading the M.E’s report. The cause of death was the severing of a major artery in the neck. Death would have come swiftly. The medical examiner noted that the wounds were a mixture of cuts and teeth marks. It made Peter’s stomach curdle with disgust. Hernandez had been…gnawed upon as if by a wild animal. More precisely a wolf. A wolf! Peter wondered what the examiner was thinking when he wrote that conclusion.
He flipped the page, scanning the crime scene report with a finger. No trace of Melissa had been found. No blood, no clothing or personal items. Not even scuff marks to prove if she was dragged. The girl had just vanished.
The pen scratched the notepad.
Did Melissa know her attacker? Did she scream? If she did, why had no one hear her? What was the young couple doing at the parking garage? Why kill Joseph Hernandez this way? How was Melissa subdued and taken away?
Peter paused, clicking the pen open and closed. Mrs. Fisher told the police that Joseph and Melissa exchanged promise rings over the summer. They loved each other. If someone tried to hurt one of them, there was little doubt the other would have tried to interfere.
Two kidnappers perhaps? That could explain how Melissa was taken without any evidence of resistance and Joseph killed.
He munched on a cold fry. In theory it was sound, but something still wasn’t right. Stewart’s abduction seemed to indicate only one perp. Why would he or she have a partner for the second kidnapping? It didn’t make sense. Unless the kidnappings were not connected, but Peter’s gut told him they were. He just needed to figure out how and why the MO changed.
The key was the parking garage. He was sure of it. There was no reason for the couple to have gone there that night. So why did they? If he figured that out, Peter had a feeling the rest of the puzzle pieces would start falling into place.
Peter glanced at his wristwatch. Quarter after nine. Time to head back to the apartment for some shuteye. Gathering up his things, Peter spared a peek at the mysterious father and son pair. Newspaper clippings littered the table around empty food baskets and bowls. Mr. Bad Boy Leather’s head was down, reading something from a stack of papers. Military Dad was sipping a coffee and reading from another stack of papers.
Curious.
Next
Title: Secrets in Shadow
Author: Roselani24
Genre: adventure, drama, horror
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A big thank you to my fantastic beta,laughtersmelody who read and re-read this story, offering endless encouragement and tips. You're awesome, girl! Also a big thank you to my artist, loki_scribe for the beautiful artwork!
Prologue
November, 1994
Jennifer staggered along down the sidewalk in the direction she’d hopefully parked her car. She wasn’t entirely sure. Everything looked strange and glowy mixed together with dark shapes that her brain concluded were buildings and other cars. She grinned stupidly, pausing to lean against a rough wall. What a party! Granted, November 19th was more of a day of remembrance than partying in Gettysburg. First there was the great parade to the location where President Abraham Lincoln had given his famous Gettysburg Address. Then, the mayor would read the speech aloud for the crowd, honoring both the president and the soldiers who died in battle there. All very solemn and drab. Jennifer much preferred the energy and fun of the party afterwards. That, and the number of cute guys making passes at her, was just the pick-me-up she needed.
Why was it so cold all of the sudden? Jennifer shivered, blinking rapidly in hopes of getting her eyes to focus. It wasn’t much better, but definitely an improvement from the glowing swirls from before. She rubbed her arms. Odd. November had been pleasantly warm so far. Shrugging it off, she pushed away from the wall. Time to get on back to campus to catch some shut eye. Tomorrow she had a date with Vincent Greene, the hottest guy on campus. No way was she going to let a headache stop her from having the best night of her life!
Giving up on finding her car for the night, she turned the corner and headed down a small side street she recognized, one that would take her directly to the local coffee shop across from campus. The street only had one streetlight, which was almost always broken, but there was a full moon providing plenty of light tonight. She breathed in deeply, imagining the smell of fresh coffee and pastries. The shop was always open, even on local holidays like this. She could call her roommate from there.
As she walked down the street, a strange feeling caused the hair on her arms and neck stand on end.
Her breath fogged as it passed from her lips.
Fear, razor-sharp and cold, shot through her veins. She wasn’t feeling quite so drunk anymore, and everything looked surprisingly clear. A glance over her shoulder confirmed the alley behind her was empty.
Shivering, she faced forward again, determined to get to the coffee shop quickly. Only to come face to face with a man. With a shriek, Jennifer stumbled back. The man was unnatural pale, his hair matted and his exposed skin stained. Her breath hitched when the man-thing, suddenly flickered like a broken television set. His clothing bore a disturbing resemblance to the uniform costumes she’d seen worn by citizens of the town earlier that day. A hand came up, reaching for her. Beyond the transparent hand, she could see its face and eyes. Blood red eyes.
Screaming, Jennifer spun around and ran for her life.
Chapter 1
Monday January 9, 1995
Peter dropped the thick folder onto his new desk with a sigh, rubbing his eyes wearily. The pages were dog-eared and worn from being constantly touched and read over the past three weeks. Each time he flipped through the case notes and reports he hoped something-anything-would pop and provide some clue, some new direction to investigate. Zip. Nada. Bubkis. Frankly, he had no idea where to look next or how the pieces fit together. It was just a giant, tragic, bloody mess with no answers in sight.
The sound of the phone ringing cut into his thoughts.
“Professor Matthews,” He answered. Idly he wondered if he would ever get used to that name.
A friendly, female voice started speaking into his ear. “Hello Professor, this is Sharon Ross from Pennsylvania Hall. I’m calling on behalf of President Hummel.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“He wishes to speak with you in his office right away.”
“I’m on my way.”
He grabbed his suit jacket and over coat from the coat rack and strode out of his closet-sized office. It was the first official day of the spring semester and the halls were still fairly crowded. He wove through the students expertly, then out the door and down the steps between the Greek style columns of the building.
Snow drifted lightly to the ground. Turning up the collar of his coat, Peter hurried down the sidewalk. Thankfully, Weindensall Hall was close to Pennsylvania Hall where the bulk of Gettysburg College’s administration offices were located, including the college president’s.
A few minutes later, he walked inside the historical landmark. The ornate, but tasteful architecture of Pennsylvania Hall, like Weindensall Hall, was a nice change from the modern structural design he was usually immersed in. But he wasn’t here to look at architecture. There were much bigger concerns to be dealt with.
He trotted up the stairs and entered the college president’s front office. The secretary, Miss Ross looked up, phone cradled against her shoulder as she made notes, offering him a warm smile. Without skipping a beat, she waved him through the door to the right of her desk.
He opened the door to a plush, but practical office where a tall, pepper gray haired, man stood staring out the window absently. The man turned.
“President Hummel.”
Hummel stood at a solid six feet, his shoulders broad and muscular despite his office. Large glasses framed sharp, sky blue eyes as they met Peter’s brown.
“Ah, Professor Matthews.” President Hummel greeted, shaking his hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“Of course, sir.” Peter nodded politely.
Hummel waved his hand towards one of the worn leather chairs positioned in front of his desk. “Please sit.”
The younger man sat, waiting patiently for the administrator to speak his mind.
George Hummel had been Gettysburg College president for three years after working as a professor teaching a business class for nearly twenty years prior. He loved the students and he loved the school. Needless to say the recent kidnappings and murder had taken quite the toll. Hummel’s face was creased with stress; mouth twisted in a worried frown as he meandered behind his desk and paused there, back to his guest.
“Detective…Peter. Has there been any progress?”
Professor Peter Matthews, whose real name was Detective Peter Burke, sighed. “No sir. I’m sorry. There are no new leads, not since Hernandez’s murder and Fisher’s kidnapping last month.”
The brutal murder of Melissa Fisher’s boyfriend, Joseph Hernandez and her disappearance was the very reason he’d been brought in to investigate covertly. The Adams County Sheriff’s Department in Gettysburg believed the abduction was the second one to take place in a month’s time.
The first victim, Jennifer Stewart, disappeared almost a month before to the day, which initially linked the two incidents together. Peter had been sent in undercover at the college because if these disappearances really were the work of a serial kidnapper, the most likely potential victims would be other young college girls.
Hummel sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
Peter waited and a moment later the president continued. “The Stewart family is putting a great deal of pressure on the Boards of Trustees and myself. I have little doubt the police department is in similar straits.”
Undoubtedly. Sheriff Wayne from the Adam’s County Sheriff’s office had already briefed him on the pressure the department was under from the Stewarts to solve the kidnapping. The Stewart family was extremely wealthy and powerful, the family line tracing back to before the French and Indian War. Despite their daughter having been missing for nearly two months, the Stewarts remained as dogged and determined to find her as when she first disappeared. Mr. Stewart constantly called the police department, demanding updates and generally harassing the officers. Due to their wealth and position, however, Sheriff Wayne couldn’t put them off or risk being fired and the department crippled with a huge lawsuit. None of that would help the Stewarts find their daughter.
“I think I can stall for perhaps another week before Stewart levels a multi-million dollar lawsuit at this school and the state.”
Peter silently cursed. A week was not nearly enough time, not at the rate the case was moving. If he got lucky and caught a break, maybe the girls’ fate could be determined. But that was a big maybe.
The murder of Joseph Hernandez that coincided with the second kidnapping was brutal, and extremely gory. It spoke of a severely de-ranged individual with no remorse or hesitation. Personally, Peter didn’t hold out much hope for either of the kidnapping victims. Jennifer had been missing for almost two months and Melissa for three weeks as of Saturday. The fact their bodies had not been found however, compelled him to treat the case as if they were alive and that every minute counted.
“I’m sorry, sir, but a week to solve this isn’t going to be enough. There are no leads, no evidence. The best chance we have of finding them…” Peter allowed the sentence to trail off.
“Is if another girl is taken,” Hummel finished, rubbing his face with his hands. “God forbid.”
Amen. Under no circumstances did Peter want to find this monster because of another victim. That meant he had to find the clue, the single detail that had been missed. The answers were there; he just had to unpack them.
Hummel rubbed his temples and sighed. Blue eyes locked with Peter’s brown. “Do your best, Detective. Your first class is tomorrow morning at seven, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
Though how Peter had wound up contracted undercover as a history professor so quickly still made his mind reel. He was a New York detective for crying out loud! What business did he have working a case in Pennsylvania? He didn’t really, but here he was nonetheless. From what he knew, Sheriff Wayne was an old buddy of his boss, Detective Supervisor Lieutenant Aaron Reed, and had called in a favor.
Sheriff Wayne had needed someone to go undercover at the college to act as the eyes and ears for the police. This person absolutely could not be linked to law enforcement in the area. It required someone with undercover experience and years on the force, but not so much that he could be made as a cop.
Reed had chosen Peter, of all people, for the assignment.
Undercover work was not new to Peter. In fact, the NYPD chief and Personnel Officer had first sworn him in, in secret so he could work undercover to bust an art smuggling ring. Since then, Peter had participated in a select few other undercover jobs, but they were all quite minor cases compared to this. The pressure to solve the kidnapping was astronomical, especially with the murders that occurred earlier in the year. When Peter had expressed his concerns to Reed, the older man calmly assured him that he had complete faith he could solve the case.
So here he was three weeks later, working undercover as a history professor and only President Hummel and the head of campus security, Mason, knew who he really was.
“Then you best be off.”
Peter nodded and rose from the chair. “Night, sir.”
~*~
Ding!
Peter popped open the microwave and pulled out the instant lasagna. He frowned as he set it on the counter. It sure didn’t look like it did in the picture on the box. He poked the noodles with his fork. Yep, total goners. And the sauce smelled funny. With a frustrated sigh he threw the whole thing into the trashcan. He should have just gotten a burger and brought it back when he left the school, but in his rush he’d driven straight back to his apartment.
Well, no point in staying around here. He’d finished preparing for his class while the so-called “lasagna” cooked in the microwave, so he could just take the case files with him to a local restaurant. He needed to observe the locals some more anyway, and there was no better time then when eating a hot meal.
Re-energized, Peter quickly stuffed the files into his briefcase and grabbed his coat and keys. Chicken wings sounded good. It was Monday night so Pike’s wouldn’t be too busy. Some crunchy fried chicken, a soda, maybe some onion rings and a salad sounded great.
Before he went out the door, he grabbed his class history books and some folders. No need to get sloppy and blow his cover. Sheriff Reed would ream him from here to the next New Year if he did
Peter’s apartment was about half a mile from the college campus, on the second floor of a renovated brick house from the early nineteen hundreds. Shiny wood floors, new appliances, some furniture provided, and lost of space made the apartment ten times better the studio apartment he lived in back in New York. If it weren’t for the fact it was temporary and because he was working a serious case, he might actually feel comfortable here. As it were the detective had not yet been able to relax in the space.
Keys jingling as he stuffed them in his pocket, Peter briskly walked down the steps to the first floor.
On the first floor lived Ms. Nancy Jenkins, a professional photographer and professor of photography at Gettysburg College. She was thirty-eight, unmarried, and had been employed at Gettysburg College for almost ten years. Peter met her the day before New Year’s when he was moving in.
He’d liked her immediately.
She was rather comely in appearance with outrageously curly black hair, a pale, thin face with piercing dark eyes, and a rather plump figure. But she more then made up for it with personality. Bright and cheerful, Nancy talked a mile a minute bouncing from one topic to another like a kid on a sugar high. Most of all, she seemed to love talking about her passion, photography.
Several of her most prized photos were framed and hung in the outer hallways throughout the renovated house. Peter’s personal favorite was black and white photo of Little Round Top with the sun rising in the background hanging along the stairwell. It grabbed his attention the first time he walked up the stairs for some reason. Maybe it was the way the light flared or the silhouettes of the numerous memorials that were just visible. Either way, it was a great photo and Nancy had already promised him a copy of his own.
He walked out the front door, down the front steps, and over to the driveway where his 1979 dark blue Ford pick-up waited. As he climbed into the cab and keyed the truck up, he noticed the lights on in the basement apartment.
Eric O’Brien, the last tenant, lived there. A sophomore at the college, the twenty-year-old young man seemed like the average college kid on his own for the first time, stretching his wings. Peter had met him once when O’Brien was leaving his apartment. He was a bit evasive and obviously in a rush, but friendly. Otherwise, Peter had only seen O’Brien in passing as the young man went about doing what normal college boys did.
Twenty minutes later Peter was comfortably sitting in a red booth of the homely, rustic restaurant of Pike’s with the case files spread around him, snacking on onion rings while he waited for the rest of his meal. His history books were carefully placed and opened to hide the content of his files. Every once in a while he would pause to run a finger down a page, stop at a passage, and then write on a yellow legal pad. To the passing eye, he was just a man researching something while he ate.
Peter was once again re-reading the case notes from the two abductions and scribbling down possible leads to check into, although it was almost unnecessary given how many times he’d read it. He could practically recite the reports word for word. Peter had decided on the drive over that he would read the case as if it were brand new, and not read the conclusions the police came to. His focus was the evidence, witness statements, and known information about each victim.
There wasn’t much to go on. Sheriff Wayne and his officers had been very thorough during the original investigation into Jennifer Stewart’s disappearance. Peter reviewed the file on Jennifer Stewart yet again, working through her biography and then the reports on her disappearance.
Jennifer was twenty-one years old, an A student attending Gettysburg College for her third year working on her Bachelors degree. She was fairly popular, well liked, and the original canvas of her peers turned up no one with a grudge or reason to take her. Witnesses placed Jennifer at a local club, partying with some fellow college students on November nineteenth. No one had seen her again after she left the club unaccompanied shortly after one in the morning.
He flipped the incident report over and studied the photograph Mrs. Stewart had provided the police. Jennifer grinned brightly up at him, blonde hair loose and flowing around her shoulders. The sage green blouse she wore complimented her blue-green eyes, and her cheeks were rosy with laughter. According the post-script on the back, the photograph was taken over three months ago, on September thirtieth. Jennifer’s twenty-first birthday.
Peter closed his eyes, stomach rolling as he imagined what the young woman may have been through since her disappearance.
Taking a sip of his soda, he closed the Stewart file and opened up another, this one labeled “Fisher, Melissa”. Seeing as the abduction and murderer happened relatively recently, Peter was counting on finding some clue somewhere.
Like Jennifer, Melissa had shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes. The difference was she was only eighteen years old and a high school senior. Daughter of a local farmer, Melissa was a quiet girl who, according to family and friends, had big dreams. She planned to study criminology in college and was considering a career as a forensic pathologist according to her parents. A note at the bottom of the page informed him Melissa was a part time barista at a local coffee shop known as the Coffee Den, whose clientele notably consisted mostly of college students.
Peter tapped his pen on the notepad, studying what he’d written down. The alley Jennifer’s purse was found in came out directly adjacent to the coffee house. And according to the first report by the police, her car was located a block in the opposite direction. It was highly probable the Coffee Den was Jennifer’s destination the night she disappeared, especially if she was a drunk as witnesses at the club said she was. The dark alley was the perfect place to snatch a drunk, young woman alone without being seen. But how would the kidnapper know she would walk through the alley? Unless it was a crime of opportunity. It certainly read that way.
The police had extensively questioned all the employees at the Coffee Den since it was still open at the time of Jennifer’s disappearance. The report quickly revealed that Jennifer Stewart had been a regular at the shop, often meeting up with a group of her peers for a study session. Peter scanned the statements over again, noting the common thread. All the employees admitted to having served the study group or Jennifer herself over the course of the fall semester. Melissa’s statement verified she served the older girl at various times throughout the past spring and fall. Unfortunately, Melissa hadn’t mentioned speaking with Jennifer beyond the usual pleasantries or small talk.
Nonetheless, Peter still felt that the coffee shop the most probable connection between the two victims beyond the obvious physical similarities. He still couldn’t rule out the kidnappings being committed by two different offenders though. Not without evidence. The brutal murder of Melissa’s boyfriend, Joseph Hernandez was a big change in MO for the kidnapper in a month’s time.
From the timeline the police put together, Peter knew that Melissa had gone out Saturday, December 17th with Joseph on a date around six pm. Dinner and a movie, according to Mrs. Fisher. Witnesses placed the couple at the South Village Theater, exiting from The Santa Clause showing around 11:45pm. After the couple left the theater, traffic cameras on Main Street caught Hernandez’s white ’74 Ford Bronco heading in the direction of the Fisher farm before it disappeared down a small side street. Melissa’s curfew was midnight. Mr. Fisher confirmed that Hernandez had never failed to bring his daughter home on time, so when midnight passed and his daughter and her boyfriend did not show he knew something was wrong.
That left the fifteen minutes between leaving the theater and heading home for something to go terribly wrong, resulting in kidnapping and murder.
Closing the file, Peter pulled a history book closer, pretending to read over the information. He turned the page, paused, and then shifted his attention to the onion rings he neglected. As he chewed, Peter considered his next step. His gut instinct urged him to pay close attention to Hernandez’s murder. At first glance it seemed random, even a means to get Miss Fisher alone. It made sense, seeing as the kidnapper targeted Melissa. But Peter couldn’t shake the feeling it was more then that.
Looking at that particular file would wait. Peter wanted to enjoy his meal somewhat before delving into the bloody crime scene and autopsy photos. Hopefully, he wouldn’t lose any of it afterwards.
As if summoned, the waitress appeared with his chicken wings and salad. Peter thanked the waitress as she placed his hot meal before him. The smell of hot chicken covered in bread and spices filled his nostrils, immediately setting his mouth watering.
Before he could start eating, movement by the entrance caught his eye. Peter glanced up. A young man was at the door, stomping the snow slush off his boots and rubbing his hands together. He stood about six feet in height and was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, a dark button-down, and a worn leather jacket. A bit gangly, suggesting he was still growing and would fill out more. And he was a looker to boot. Peter immediately noticed the cashier’s doe eyes as she greeted him. The young man grinned, a charming, white smile and answered her. The poor woman seemed to be just melting where she stood.
Peter rolled his eyes and turned back to his meal. A regular bad boy with a pretty face. He’d met his share in his lifetime. If he were ten years younger he might actually be jealous. While he hardly considered himself a handsome man, Peter knew he could turn a head or two when he wanted to. He didn’t see the point. The young Casanova, who was now charming the waitress, didn’t fool Peter.
The waitress led the man past Peter’s booth. Peter paused, watching the young man walk by. Slightly bow-legged, Peter realized. Add that to a confident swagger… He glanced back at the counter and sure enough all the other waitresses and the cashier were staring. Releasing an annoyed huff, Peter resigned himself to not getting any further service. At least he got his food before Mr. Bad Boy Leather showed up.
Once he finished his meal, Peter mentally prepared himself to look at the crime scene photos. He flipped the crisp pages for the newest edition of his class’s history book, absently pausing at the famous staged photograph at the Devil’s Den after the battle. Staged it may be, it was a gruesome reminder of what happened in this town over a hundred years ago. Peter prayed he wouldn’t find Jennifer and Melissa like this poor soldier.
His hand was on the file, poised to flip it open when the front door opened again allowing someone else to enter. Maybe it was the cool air that entered when the customer came in that caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand at attention. Peter doubted it. This time he didn’t turn his head to look. Instead he listened and studied the reflection in the glass. Tall. Dark hair. Rugged face and well-worn clothes. The stranger stomped right by him and it took all of Peter’s control to not stand at attention. Military. No question.
And apparently Mr. Bad Boy Leather knew him.
Peter leaned forward slightly, straining to hear.
“Hey, Dad.”
The older man’s response was too low for Peter to make out. He sank back against the booth, mind churning. Well, that was unexpected. Charming as he was, Peter was surprised to hear only respect in Bad Boy Leather’s voice. Interesting. He flipped another page of the codex he’d brought and sipped his soda, listening closely. Unfortunately, the pair continued conversing in low tones and no matter how he strained he could not make out anything else that was said.
Resigning himself to learning nothing knew about the apparent father and son, Peter decided contacting Sheriff Wayne was in order. Hopefully the police chief could pull surveillance video from the restaurant and find out who they were. There was something about those two that made him uneasy.
Peter nudged the feeling aside, letting it take over his periphery defenses while his primary focus shifted back to the case. The crime scene photos were as gruesome as Peter remembered. Hernandez’s body was found in a service corridor of a parking garage a two blocks away from the town circle. He was torn apart; blood everywhere. Glazed brown eyes were forever wide with terror and pain. The detective puts the photographs to the side, facedown, and started reading the M.E’s report. The cause of death was the severing of a major artery in the neck. Death would have come swiftly. The medical examiner noted that the wounds were a mixture of cuts and teeth marks. It made Peter’s stomach curdle with disgust. Hernandez had been…gnawed upon as if by a wild animal. More precisely a wolf. A wolf! Peter wondered what the examiner was thinking when he wrote that conclusion.
He flipped the page, scanning the crime scene report with a finger. No trace of Melissa had been found. No blood, no clothing or personal items. Not even scuff marks to prove if she was dragged. The girl had just vanished.
The pen scratched the notepad.
Did Melissa know her attacker? Did she scream? If she did, why had no one hear her? What was the young couple doing at the parking garage? Why kill Joseph Hernandez this way? How was Melissa subdued and taken away?
Peter paused, clicking the pen open and closed. Mrs. Fisher told the police that Joseph and Melissa exchanged promise rings over the summer. They loved each other. If someone tried to hurt one of them, there was little doubt the other would have tried to interfere.
Two kidnappers perhaps? That could explain how Melissa was taken without any evidence of resistance and Joseph killed.
He munched on a cold fry. In theory it was sound, but something still wasn’t right. Stewart’s abduction seemed to indicate only one perp. Why would he or she have a partner for the second kidnapping? It didn’t make sense. Unless the kidnappings were not connected, but Peter’s gut told him they were. He just needed to figure out how and why the MO changed.
The key was the parking garage. He was sure of it. There was no reason for the couple to have gone there that night. So why did they? If he figured that out, Peter had a feeling the rest of the puzzle pieces would start falling into place.
Peter glanced at his wristwatch. Quarter after nine. Time to head back to the apartment for some shuteye. Gathering up his things, Peter spared a peek at the mysterious father and son pair. Newspaper clippings littered the table around empty food baskets and bowls. Mr. Bad Boy Leather’s head was down, reading something from a stack of papers. Military Dad was sipping a coffee and reading from another stack of papers.
Curious.
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