Evan could admit he had wanted Dunhill to be the killer from the moment he’d learned of his existence and the man’s interest in Chelsea. Although he didn’t appear in Jenny’s match list on the dating website, that didn’t eliminate him as a suspect. Was Black Dawn Dunhill’s alias? Chelsea had thought it was a woman, but now it seemed most likely that Jack Dunhill was the elusive Black Dawn. However, it nagged at Evan that Dunhill would be careless enough to use his own car on his mission to murder Jenny. Was he simply cocky? More prolific killers had been caught for less obvious mistakes. Perhaps Dunhill had been sure he was out of camera range. One slight miscalculation on his part was the thing that would crack open this case where nothing was what it seemed.
Evan reached for his phone and dialed the contact number he had for Jack Dunhill. The phone was still off. The incriminating clues were piling up. He couldn’t wait to be face-to-face with this guy.
Biding his time, he tried to decide on his next move. In Ireland, a police officer didn’t need a warrant to arrest an individual suspected of committing a serious crime if he had reasonable evidence to take the suspect into custody. If he could find Jack Dunhill, he was free to drag his ass straight into the interview room. Technically, Evan could determine Dunhill’s location through GPS even if his phone was off, but legally he needed a warrant to track the device through the telephone operator Dunhill used.
Inspired, he called John O’Sullivan, briefed him and explained his need for a warrant, asking for advice. John promised he would take care of it, warning Evan that it might take several hours or even longer. Dispiritedly, Evan thanked him and promised to stay in touch. Next, he sent a heads-up to all patrol cars and foot Gardaí, transmitting the plate number of the car in question, instructing they detain the vehicle and driver if they spotted it, then contact him asap. Grabbing his coat, he headed out.
Jack Dunhill lived in the south of Dublin, in an old, beautifully restored brick house that reeked of family money. Evan knew his address from a previous visit. He drove over there now, finding the house dark and apparently empty. Despite his repeated knocking, no one answered. There were no signs of any neighbors, nor was there any trace of the black car. So far not good.
Making a U-turn, he drove over to Chelsea’s house, still not sure how much he should tell her about her resemblance to the two victims. For the first time, he found himself emotionally involved with a coworker, who could also be a potential victim. They hadn’t taught him the protocol for such a situation at Quantico. They had taught him to be smart and objective. Putting aside his protective instinct, he knew he had to tell Chelsea everything. After all, she might have valuable information she didn’t know she had. If someone wanted her dead for some reason, there had to be clues somewhere. Together, they made a stronger team.
It was a little past eight when he reached her house. The porch lights were on, and the living room windows were illuminated as well. Evan rang the doorbell, then shoved his hands into his pockets and waited. This was going to be difficult no matter how he approached it.
He heard soft footsteps, saw the peephole darken, then Chelsea unlocked the door. She wore a black robe, her feet tucked into fluffy red slippers, her hair framing her face. Seeing the deep shadows under her eyes, a twinge of worry tugged at his heart. She didn’t look like she had gotten any sleep.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi. Come in.”
He stepped inside and followed her through the house, taking in the snazzy interior, the paintings on the wall, the tasteful art pieces scattered in strategic places. Which of the paintings were hers? Art was another thing Chelsea, and the victims had in common. He saw that now. An educated man like Jack Dunhill must appreciate talented women with good taste.
He swallowed audibly, unable to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach.
Once in the living room, she invited him to have a seat on the red sofa.
“Do you want something to drink?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks. Chelsea, I’ve identified the plate number for the car the killer drove. It belongs to Jack Dunhill.”
Her lips parted in shock, and she dropped onto the sofa beside him, close enough that he could see her pale face. Incredulity was her first reaction, followed by confusion.
“Jack Dunhill, seriously?” Her voice sounded rusty. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I have to bring him in for questioning, but I still can’t reach him on the phone. I have to find him. John is trying to get a warrant so we can track his phone, but I don’t know how long that will take, and I can’t just sit around. Do you have any idea where he could be?”
Chelsea moistened her lips, her eyes still wide, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. She shook her head hesitantly. “I don’t know… Did you get his address?”
“I’ve already been there. No one seemed to be about. Didn’t he tell you during your therapy session where he was going?”
Chelsea’s eyes snapped back to his. “Yes, he did. Uh…” She bit her lip as though trying to remember. After a few seconds, she snapped her fingers. “Malahide. That’s where he said his girlfriend’s parents live. It’s a village about half an hour away from Dublin. He said they would be spending the entire weekend there.”
Evan keyed the name into his phone. “Okay, thanks. I’ll find out if he’s there now. I think he must have tried to establish an alibi for last night.”
Chelsea rubbed her forehead, watching him sideways. She still looked stunned.
“It doesn’t make any sense. Would he be stupid enough to pick Jenny up in his own car, but smart enough to secure an alibi?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he got overly confident. The only thing we know for sure is where his car was last night. Now, we have to find him. It’s way past time I meet this guy face to face.”
He set the phone down and brushed his damp palms against his thighs. That had been the easy part. Looking around, he searched for a way to start the rest of the conversation. As his eyes landed on Chelsea’s laptop sitting on the coffee table, he realized he was too late. On the screen, there were three photos side by side: Shannon with Kieran—a photo taken when her hair had been dyed blond, Jenny and her cat—which his brother had promised to take care of, and a photo of a young smiling Chelsea holding a black cat up to her cheek. Evan’s blood chilled all over again as he stared at those images. He should have realized she was smart enough to put the pieces together.
“You know.” He said it as a quiet statement.
Chelsea fixed him with her tired, lavender eyes. She looked absurdly young and achingly helpless, her face devoid of makeup and any trace of color.
“You knew?” she accused. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I just figured it out, not an hour ago,” he countered, fighting to sound calm instead of defensive. “I was rearranging my murder board and… I saw a resemblance. I thought I was imagining it. I suppose it could be a coincidence,” he said, reaching out to take her hands. “But Jack Dunhill being your patient is no coincidence. He is the link between the three of you. Maybe he developed an obsession for you during your hours of therapy, and…”
“Because he couldn’t have me, he decided to hunt women who looked like me?” she finished, her voice barely a whisper.
“It makes sense—as much as it makes sense in any sick mind. You’re a beautiful woman. Any man would be attracted to you. A healthy guy would check if you reciprocated his interest and move on if the answer were no. A sick individual would take it as a rejection and become fixated on you.”
“And he would seek revenge for being rejected.”
“Most likely. How did you piece it together?”
She shrugged slightly. “I was looking at Shannon and Jenny’s social media profiles to make a list of the things they had in common. As we had already established, they were of a similar physical type, they were both artistic, they didn’t have many friends… And they both owned black cats. That’s when it hit me, I guess. I wasn’t sure, but…” She hesitated, lifting her troubled gaze toward him. “Now that you told me about Jack Dunhill, I am. There couldn’t be that many coincidences. For some reason, it seems that I’m an intended victim, too.”
“Or the killer’s inspiration, the model he uses to choose his victims.”
“I don’t know… It doesn’t make sense. Jack Dunhill hardly knows me. We spent exactly two hours together. Statistically, it’s too short a time for him to develop some sort of obsession over me.”
“This isn’t about statistics, Chelsea. Probably the guy is much sicker than you could have asserted during those two sessions. You know better than I do how well sociopaths dissimulate sanity. He could have been stalking you ever since he first met you. Or maybe he’s simply focusing on a type of woman, and in his mind, you, Shannon, and Jenny are that type.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “Have you ever used that dating website?”
She shook her head, her gaze direct and clear. “I’ve never used a dating website. I, of all people, know what sickos can lurk around there.”
“This proves my theory. You were the first one, the one he actually met in person and became fixated on. Since you brushed him off, he sought out women who looked like you, who had things in common with you. I’m sure he chose them from that dating website.”
Chelsea’s knuckles were bone white. Evan squeezed her hands tighter, fighting to convey reassurance.
“Listen, Chelsea, I’ll find this guy even if I have to move mountains. We’re on to him now, and he doesn’t know it. Until I lock him up, I need you under police protection. I’m placing a patrol car in front of your house 24/7 until we close these cases.”
She shook her head vehemently. “Don’t be silly. What will my neighbors think? The last thing I need is crazy speculation about me and why I have guards lurking outside my house.”
Evan wanted to bang his head against a wall. He’d been so sure she would understand his point of view.
“For Christ’s sake, do you prefer ending up dead? I’d hoped a woman with your insight would realize the need for this.”
“I can take care of myself,” she snapped, snatching her hands from his.
“I’m sure Shannon and Jenny believed the same thing! I won’t let you stay here alone, period. If I didn’t have feelings for you, I would just force you into a safe house. But since I do, I’ll give you a choice: it’s either the Gardaí protecting you, or you’ll come and stay with me until all of this is over.”
She gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing several times before she could speak. When she did, her gaze softened. “What sort of feelings?”
Evan, at his wits’ end, stared back at her. “Do you want to analyze them, Doc?”
Her mouth twisted wryly. “When you’re ready, it might be interesting.”
“Yeah, well, I have a serial killer on the loose. You know, I have to catch him before he kills someone else.”
She sobered up instantly. “What can I do to help?”
He looked her in the eyes. “I don’t have a warrant yet, but I’ll get one that will overrule your doctor-patient confidentiality agreement. In the meantime, I need all the details you can give me about Jack Dunhill. Time is of the essence.”
Chelsea watched him intently for a few moments, a deep frown drawing her eyebrows together. At last, she bit her lip.
“I don’t know that much about him. I’ve already told you the basics. He’s forty, comes from a wealthy family, has two failed marriages, no children. In my professional opinion, he’s an immature, spoiled, self-centered misogynist who thinks he’s entitled to whatever he wants. But I took the fact that he made this concession to his current girlfriend and came to therapy as a sign of emotional maturity. A change in his behavior.”
“He would have been better off staying immature,” Evan mumbled, leaning his head back against the sofa. He was so tired and tense the muscles in his neck and shoulders trembled slightly. “What else? Do you know anything about this girlfriend of his?”
Chelsea let out a breath, fighting to recall everything Dunhill had said during their meetings.
“I got the impression that she’s considerably younger than he is. He called her Helen. From what I understand, she’s very close to her parents. That’s why she insisted they meet Jack.” Suddenly, she snapped her fingers, eyes glinting. “He mentioned they were religious people and lived next to the church. I remember he said he was going to hit the church for some sacramental wine if they proved to be too boring.”
Evan looked at her, his heart starting to beat faster. “How many churches do you figure are in Malahide?”
Chelsea grinned, reaching for her laptop. “I don’t know, but I’m sure Google does.”
After searching for a few minutes, Chelsea read the information aloud.
“Malahide has two Catholic parishes, St. Sylvester’s and Yellow Walls, and one Church of Ireland parish (St. Andrews), and also a Presbyterian community with a church built in 1956.”
“So there are four. You don’t happen to know which is the one we’re looking for?”
She shook her head.
Evan scratched his thin thoughtfully. “You said sacramental wine. Is that the expression Dunhill used?”
“Yes, I’m sure of that.”
“Isn’t that an expression Catholics use?”
Chelsea raised one shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m not Catholic.”
“I am—at least officially.” It had been ages since he’d thought about religion on a personal level. He stood abruptly. “I’ll start with the Catholic churches and check out if there are houses in those vicinities. Come on, get your stuff, and I’ll drop you off at my place.”
Chelsea’s lips parted, and color rushed into her cheeks as she got to her feet, planting her hands on her hips. Evan tried not to gawk at her breasts, outlined under the robe.
“Didn’t you hear me when I told you I’m not going anywhere? I’ve lived alone all my adult life, and I can take care of myself. I’m not some bloody helpless female who needs a big strong man to defend her—”
“I know you’re not.” Conjuring up reserves of patience he had no idea he owned, Evan squeezed her shoulders gently. “Understand that I worry about you, and that won’t allow me to focus on this case. Please, Chelsea. I can’t afford any distractions. I need to know you’re safe. I need to know that I am keeping you safe.”
He gazed intensely into her eyes, putting all of his power of persuasion into that plea. He’d never thought he would beg a woman to come and stay with him. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel like an idiot.
After holding his stare for several long moments, Chelsea relented and looked away. Her long lashes cast shadows over her skin, enhancing the traces of fatigue.
“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry if I came off as ungracious or ungrateful,” she said, leaning into him for the first time tonight. “It’s very kind of you to do this, to take on the responsibility of protecting me.”
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. Her hair smelled citrusy and fresh, as though it had been recently washed.
“It’s my privilege, Doc. Now go pack your essentials.”
“I will. But after that, I’m going with you to Malahide. Take it or leave it; that’s the deal,” she said loudly before turning around and disappearing out the door.
Evan watched the empty doorway long after she was gone. Secretly, he was grateful for her help, her company, her insight. She wasn’t a cop, but she could think like one when she had to. Her skills were valuable to him. Hell, she was valuable to him when he’d least wanted any emotional entanglements. For better or worse, he cared about this woman. He would keep her safe no matter what.
As he waited for her, he did a search on his police tablet and outlined the route to Malahide. With a bit of luck, he and Chelsea might track down the bastard themselves without the help of any warrant. He had no idea whether or not Dunhill was indeed in Malahide, but he had to check. He couldn’t think of the next best step.
Chelsea returned in less than ten minutes, wearing jeans and a black sweater. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she carried a medium-sized bag. Moving swiftly and efficiently, she closed the lid on her laptop and set it in its bag, then walked to the foyer. She pulled on boots and a black wool coat.
“I’m ready.”
“I’m impressed,” Evan said, meaning it. “Most women I know take ages to get ready for… anything.”
She laughed lightly. “I can do that too, but I can also be practical when I need to be. I didn’t think putting on makeup or folding all my clothes, so all the edges matched to perfection, mattered now.”
He reached out and took the bags from her while she turned off the lights and locked the front door.
“I thought women like you existed only in fantasies.”
Although his tone was joking, he was serious and sensed that Chelsea knew it.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Evan put her bags in the trunk and indicated she should get into the car. As he climbed in, he programmed the GPS to guide them to Malahide. Chelsea fastened her seatbelt, then curled her hands together in her lap.
“It will get warm in a minute,” Evan said, turning up the heat.
“Thanks.”
He drove silently, grateful the traffic was light. It was the thing he loved most about holidays here; people stayed inside instead of crowding the streets. He still found it challenging to drive on some of the old Dublin streets where it seemed impossible for two vehicles to fit side by side. When he’d first arrived in the city, he had been nervous and couldn’t understand how drivers navigated these narrow streets, which should have been one-ways in his opinion. Somehow, most drivers had an innate sense of discipline, and if there wasn’t enough room, then one vehicle would pull aside, closer to the cars parked there, letting the other driver pass by. It was an unspoken rule.
Just like the streets, most houses in the city were close together, without a patch of yard. Some were large buildings, converted mansions where several families lived; others were singles, charmingly mismatched. Evan knew this was prime real estate but couldn’t understand why since one had very little privacy here.
As he had expected, a fine rain started, tiny drops covering the windshield in seconds. Turning on the wipers, he continued to drive carefully and stare at the gloomy landscape. The Halloween decorations did nothing to lift his mood. He wondered what had possessed him to go on this crazy quest, to search for a house next to a church, probably among dozens of other houses? It would have been easier to find a needle in a haystack.