Eugene spent the next day at the cabin, deciding what his next move would be. Everything was going as planned -- maybe even better than planned. It sure helped to have dirt -- very juicy dirt -- on one of Seattle's richest bankers. He had plans for some payback against people who did him harm over the years.
First up: Kirsten and that bastard Phil.
He scanned the news for Yakima and learned that the bitch had changed their last names. He'd knew he'd likely never see either boy again, and that was a hard burden to bear. He honestly did think he felt emotion for the boys. They were his, and he felt some possessiveness towards them. They looked up to him as their father -- or they had.
Now, they'd moved to Yakima and changed their names to avoid being associated with him.
Well, he didn't want to hurt the boys, but he had malice in his heart towards Kirsten and that peacock of a goody-two-shoes Phil.
Phil Hammond, real estate manager, clean cut, all-American husband and father.
Eugene hated him.
He had to find a way to express all the hatred that had been bottling up inside of him since he went to jail, waiting for his trial. Planning how he could hurt Phil would occupy his time as he waited for his last hurrah.
He researched the small real estate office that Phil managed, located on the outskirts of Yakima. Phil employed five other real estate agents and together, they had a respectable sales reputation. Phil had been an all-star salesperson with the company, and several of his staff had success as well.
One in particular was an old football buddy from school. Tom Hubbard. Phil and Tom played on the winning team together and went to each other's weddings.
If Eugene had his way, their wives would go to the funerals of each other's husbands, too.
He scanned Hubbard's Facebook pages. The man was married to his high school sweetheart, Patricia, and -- BINGO. They had a twelve-year-old daughter. Kira. Pretty, with fair hair and a big innocent smile.
She was perfect.
He could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.
For several days, he planned his next move, all the time keeping one eye out on the news about his escape. It was all over the Seattle papers and news stations. Hell, he'd even made CNN. They showed his wedding photo and one of him being led into the courthouse for his arraignment after he'd been released from hospital. The report stated that he was suspected in at least twenty deaths in the three states over the years.
More than twenty, he'd like to have corrected them. He planned to add a dozen more names to that total before they caught him and put him out of his misery. But first, he had to lay a trail of crumbs to keep Mary Ann's family from being concerned about her absence.
He posted photos of trees and roads and other snatches of the local area, with too little detail so people couldn't tell where the photos were taken. To each picture, he'd added a breathy description.
Leaving Washington on my trip south to Vegas -- wish you were here!
Side trip through the Umatilla National Forest - beautiful!
So far, no one was the wiser. People on her friends list liked the posts and encouraged her to keep posting them.
Like her, they really were such simpletons...
He needed to get his disguise in order and spend some time in Yakima, getting to know Tom's movements on a daily basis. Then, he could make his first move.
He let his beard grow out over the next few days, unused to it, scratching at it and wishing he could use a fake beard, but this would have to do. It was a more permanent way to alter his appearance. He wore the glasses, which were theatrical only -- he didn't need them to read and luckily, they had plain glass lenses. He'd bought a pair of reading glasses, but they blurred everything at a distance. Luckily, he found a pair of fashion glasses at a bookstore and wore those instead.
With the shaved head and beard, plus the glasses, he looked quite different from usual. Certainly different from his photos taken before he went to jail and even while he was there. He wore several layers of clothing to bulk up until he had been able to do so physically.
No, if you took a look at him from a distance, hell, even up close, you'd be hard-pressed to know it was him, Eugene Hammond aka Eugene Kincaid, serial killer of little girls.
It would take a while to put on weight, but he was doing his level best, eating fast food three times a day. It had only been five days since he escaped, but he could already feel the weight creeping on him. His trips into Yakima to shop and grab food had so far been uneventful. He'd obeyed all traffic rules, and been another polite customer at every store and restaurant he'd visited. It made him practically gleeful that he had escaped custody and was now in line at the McDonald's drive through, waiting for his Big Mac and fries. No one was the wiser. He was another Washington State resident and customer.
When he was seated at a bar eating a meal, the flatscreen over the tables showed a news cast about the murdered man in the burning vehicle up near Clear Lake and how police had no suspects, but were checking traffic cameras on nearby highways for potential evidence. They wouldn't find any. He'd ridden his bike along the trails and had walked out of the forest, stowing his bike and picking up a vehicle left there by Al Young, who had stashed it before the events of the previous day. Then, the news reported on his case, showing his image and he smiled to himself as he ate his hamburger that no one in the entire bar had any idea the man they all feared and hated was in their midst.
Wolf among sheep.
He'd taken up watch over Tom, parking the vehicle near the real estate office, keeping note of Tom's movements. Most people went about their business each day without a thought to how boring their lives were -- boringly regular. They did the same things at the same time in the same way, as if that regularity was somehow comforting.
It made Eugene crazy. He hated routine.
Everyone else seemed to love it. Eugene would rather slit his throat than have a routine life like everyone else. He needed a change of scene and that was why delivery was a good match for him. He got to travel around and see different towns.
In fact, he was considering getting a part-time job in delivery using his fake ID, but that might be pushing it. He had enough money to last quite a while, if he conserved and didn't splurge.
Worse came to worst? He could make a little trip to see one Al Young and get some more.
It was that tendency to routine that he used to his advantage. Every day, Hubbard picked up his daughter from school and drove her home, before returning to the real estate office to get in a couple more hours of work before heading home.
He would move when he felt everything was in place and not until.
In the meantime, he had another chess piece to move that would require he do some sleuthing. Over the years, he had tracked Lisa Tate after she'd been sent to Seattle, for she was someone who could ultimately link him to the porn ring in Paradise Hill. She'd spent time in the more expensive sex slave circuit before being moved into a child prostitution trade when she turned fourteen. Then, she'd been a regular child prostitute, working for drugs and living with her pimp. She had been too old for Eugene, but there were many men who were happy to pay for sex with a fourteen-year-old drug addict.
He knew where she'd stayed and hoped to track her down through his contacts. It was easy enough to get a burner phone and number, make it look like he was Thad McClintock -- an old family friend.
Then, he texted the shelter's manager, and talked to the woman there, searching for Lisa's current location.
THAD: Hey, Maria, this is Thad McClintock. I'm an old family friend of Lisa Tate. I've been trying to locate Lisa for years and I was told by some street kids I know that she might have lived there for a while. I'm trying to track her down for my sister, Tess. They were best friends from public school, and I know Tess would love to get into contact with Lisa, if Lisa's willing.
THAD: I realize that she might not be happy to see people from the past, but if so, please let her know I contacted you. It's coming up to Tess's twenty-ninth birthday, and it would be the best present in the world for Tess to reconnect to Lisa after all these years.
THAD: Tess is a crime reporter and is used to protecting the identity of her sources, so I'm sure if Lisa is reluctant to come forward, she can trust that Tess would be willing to keep quiet and not reveal the truth about her location, etc. Tell Lisa that if she is interested, she can text Tess on her private cell. I'll leave the number.
THAD: I hope Lisa is well and feels like contacting Tess. It would mean the world to Tess. I know, as her brother, that Lisa's disappearance has been hard to bear for her entire life. She has obsessed over Lisa's disappearance for years but has given up trying to find her. Even knowing that she's alive and doing well would be enough of a gift, but to actually meet her would be heaven.
He didn't hear back from Maria for a full twenty-four hours, but then, as he expected, she texted him.
While Maria was hesitant at first to help him, she'd been convinced by his story.
He smiled to himself as he read her reply.
MARIA: I probably shouldn't be doing this, but I will contact a person I know who the person might be you mentioned. I'm not going to confirm or deny that she is who you are seeking, but I will pass on the message you gave me to this person. It's up to her to get into contact with your sister or not. Please don't contact me again.
Eugene made a fist and held it up to no one and nothing in triumph. If he knew Lisa, and he thought he did, she'd bite. He had the second burner cell phone in hand, waiting for her text.
He doubted Lisa would call, but she might send a text. If she did call, he'd let the call go to his voicemail and would text Lisa right back.
If worse came to worst, he'd get some woman to record a message. All he wanted was to know where Lisa was currently. If he could set up a meeting with Lisa, the rest of his plan would be a piece of cake.