“I’ll drive over to her flat, and you do a search on Aideen O’Banion,” Evan said as they got into his car.
Beside him, Chelsea fastened her seatbelt and switched on Evan’s police tablet. There was a slight tremor in her fingers, and her heart raced faster than usual. She’d never been hunting in her life, had never been drawn to the act of stalking an animal for sport, but this hunt for Aideen heated her blood. The woman was a killer, a lunatic. Unlike a wild beast, she deserved to be hunted and brought to justice.
As she accessed social media websites, she found what she’d expected.
“She has a social media profile under her real name,” she told Evan, reaching out to turn up the heat. “She describes herself as an ‘Artist and literary whore.’”
Evan chuckled. “Literary whore? What’s up with that? Was she a literature lover?”
“No. She was actually a below-average student but not lacking intelligence, which again fits the profile of some psychopaths. Other than her innate talent at drawing, I don’t recall her having good grades in any subject or a passion for any specific class. I still wonder how she managed to acquire these computer skills. When I knew her, she could barely turn on the thing. And then there’s the fact that she was able to buy a flat.”
“Probably internet fraud. We’ll dig deeper, but if she doesn’t have a job listed, it’s most likely. It’s a path a lot of people take in order to make a living with little work,” Evan said, stopping for a red light. “It doesn’t take a lot of intelligence to be a good hacker. You just need time and a willingness to learn.” He glanced over at the tablet and whistled. “Boy, that’s a lot of selfies. Add ‘narcissist’ to her list of mental illnesses.”
“That’s the least of it,” Chelsea murmured, looking at Aideen’s posted photos.
As Evan had pointed out, almost all of them were selfies, taken indoors—probably in her apartment. In one of them, she wore a Batman kid’s T-shirt and a Batman mask. Another one was taken in a very provocative pose, with Aideen staring at the camera across her bare shoulder, nude to the waist. There were more of her wearing provocative negligees, as though posing for a video chat ad. Chelsea noticed there wasn’t a single person who liked her photos or any of her content. In-between ranting posts trash-talking any and all successful people, couples, politicians, activists, vegans, and just about everyone, there were more photos.
Chelsea couldn’t suppress a giggle when she reached a picture of Aideen hugging a huge plush toy penis.
“Holy Mary, she’s got it bad!”
“What?” Evan looked over and gave a short laugh. “She’s itching for it, isn’t she? And… Is that a photo of her on the toilet?”
“Yep.” Chelsea wasn’t even surprised at the selfie Aideen had taken in the bathroom. “At least she’s dressed here.”
“Charming.” Evan winced in disgust. “That’s a turn-on for all guys.”
Chelsea continued to swipe through the photos. As she stared down at those yellowish-green eyes, outrage and revulsion twisted her stomach. They had proof that this woman was a murderer. She would have killed Chelsea, too, given a chance.
“She’s still single,” she said. “Not one photo of herself and a friend, a lover, a family member—just selfies of a desperate loner craving attention. She has a black cat—what a surprise! She didn’t even like cats before she met mine,” she said bitterly, unable to suppress her fury. “Feckin’ freak! She’s imitated my whole bloody life, Evan.”
The rage that had built inside her was like a wave of lava, hot and destructive, ready to erupt and consume everything in its path. She’d never known she owned this dark side, didn’t want to acknowledge it, but as she spiraled between past and present, she felt she could kill Aideen with her own hands. At the very least, she wanted to smash her fist into that malefic, smug face, rip off that fake blond hair that was a pathetic imitation of her own, and slap that crooked, vampiric smile off her enemy’s face. That’s what Aideen was. Her enemy. While Chelsea had lived a quiet, peaceful life and struggled to be a good person, this sick bitch had become her enemy without her even knowing it before now. For the first time in her life, Chelsea knew what hate was and embraced it. She wanted revenge for the women who’d died and for herself.
“Hey, calm down.” Evan reached out to squeeze her thigh gently. “We have her. It’s only a matter of time now. We’re getting close. Maybe you should stay in the car.”
“No fecking way. I want to be there. I want to look her in the eyes and see her in handcuffs. I’m going with you; that’s not negotiable.”
“Okay. Just… Keep your cool.”
“I will.”
Chelsea focused on her breathing, conjuring calmness and peace of mind. Evan was right. They had Aideen. It was only a matter of minutes before he arrested her. The DNA would be a match, and she would spend the rest of her life in jail or, most likely, in a mental institution. Knowing Aideen, this would be more humiliating than prison. Maybe not enough to make up for the lives she’d taken, but it was all they could do while obeying the system.
Evan rolled to a stop in front of an old building, one of those establishments that usually were inhabited by elderly people who couldn’t afford better accommodations. He hadn’t even cut the engine, and Chelsea was already climbing out, staring up at the four stories. There was something menacing about the cracked gray walls and dark windows. No flowers or people peeked or smiled from behind the dusty glass. The word ‘haunted’ came to mind. Simply living in this dump was a hazard to anyone’s mental health.
“Which floor?” she asked Evan as he stepped beside her.
“Second. Stay behind me. Let’s do this properly.”
“Okay.”
She let him walk in front of her, then followed at the same brisk pace, doubling her steps to keep up with him. There was no elevator, so they climbed the two long rows of cement steps in silence. Here and there, small pieces were missing from the edges and corners of the steps. Chelsea didn’t dare touch the rail, which was covered in dust and mysterious sticky substances. If Aideen could buy a flat, why hadn’t she been able to afford something in a better neighborhood? Just one more question to thicken the plot.
Once they reached the second floor, Evan consulted his tiny notebook, then hitched his chin toward a door marked by a crooked number 6.
He knocked several times, but there was no answer, no sign anyone was home. Despite the drumming of her heart in her ears, Chelsea listened for all she was worth. There were no sounds coming from inside.
Evan knocked again, louder this time.
“Aideen O’Banion? This is Detective Gallagher from An Garda Síochána. I need to speak with you. Open the door.”
Silence. Stillness. Evan reached toward the old-fashioned doorknob and pressed it. Chelsea was amazed when the door slid open, revealing the dark interior of the apartment. Evan signaled her to stay behind and advanced cautiously into the flat, finding and flicking on the light switches. A few minutes later, he returned to the entrance where Chelsea waited, a bundle of nerves and anxiety.
“Fuck! She’s gone,” Evan said through clenched teeth. “Can’t be more than an hour ago. The stove is still warm; she was making eggs. She must have added some kind of security program to your laptop that alerted her when I started digging.”
Chelsea followed him inside the sick, twisted little world Aideen O’Banion had created for herself. The smell of half-cooked eggs, cigar smoke, and cat urine were nauseating. She felt worse with each step she took as if she were walking through the valley of the shadows of death. Her skin rose in goosebumps as she realized she probably was.
The apartment was furnished as though it belonged to someone twice her age, with old-fashioned furniture, dozens of knick-knacks, and crocheted doilies. Walls were partially covered in photographs, some of movie stars, others of comic book heroes, heavy on posters of Batman and Catwoman. The air was thick with cigar smoke in the small, stuffy rooms.
The kitchen was off the hallway. Chelsea tried not to cringe as she stepped on the manky linoleum-covered floor. Evan was right. The stove was still warm, covered in stains of oil and food. On one of the burners, there was a frying pan full of half-congealed eggs.
For a second, Chelsea was sure she would throw up. She rushed to open the window, flinging aside the gray curtains which had probably been white decades ago. As she took several deep breaths, she felt Evan’s hand on her waist, caressing her back, then gently massaging the back of her neck.
“Are you okay? Go and wait outside in the fresh air,” he said softly. “I’ll finish here.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “No. I just need a minute, that’s all. I can do this. I didn’t expect this place to be so filthy.”
“Take your time. Do you want me to go and buy a bottle of water?”
She shook her head again. After taking several gulps of rain-scented air, she pulled back inside and squared her shoulders. Damned if she was going to act like a wuss!
“I’m okay,” she told Evan.
He glanced at her skeptically.
She stared right back, lifting her chin. “Give me a pair of gloves. I won’t touch anything if I don’t have to, but I want to be prepared.”
She sensed Evan wanted to ask if she was sure she’d be fine, but he dug in his jacket pocket and produced two pairs of latex gloves. Chelsea pulled them on, snapping the edge just a little harder than necessary. The sting served its purpose, keeping her anchored in the here and now, aware that they had a job to do.
“I’ll do my best to stay out of the way.” She stepped away from the window. “How in the hell did she know we were coming for her? Could she just be gone to the supermarket?”
Evan shook his head. “I checked the bedroom. Clothes are strewn everywhere, as though she packed some in a hurry. She scrammed. There are programs one can plant in a computer system to alert them in real-time if anyone tampers with anything they’ve installed on that device. They’re hard to detect, and I didn’t take the time to check,” he said bitterly.
“Don’t.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. “You found her. Just give yourself credit for that. She can’t go far. She has no friends, no one to help her. We’ll find her.”
“Yeah. Let’s search this place, then track down her folks. Even though she didn’t get along with them, family is usually the first place one turns to when in trouble.”
“I doubt it, but we’ll give it a lash.”
Chelsea followed him through the small flat, trying to breathe through her mouth. In the bathroom, they found a pile of dirty laundry and a litter box that desperately needed cleaning.
“I wonder where the cat is.”
“She took it with her,” Chelsea replied, sure of herself. “That cat is her talisman, which is an asset to us. If she wants to stay in a hotel or motel, it won’t be easy to find one that accepts pets. Do you see a computer or a laptop anywhere?”
“No. Let’s look in the bedroom. Thank God this place is small. It makes it easy to search.”
The single bedroom was at the end of the hallway, the door wide open. As they walked inside, Chelsea looked around carefully, taking in every detail. The bed was small for a double, covered in a patchy quilt. Multiple claw marks made it look even more ragged. Both doors of the armoire were wide open, and clothes were scattered on the floor and over the bed. Chelsea doubted Aideen had taken much, and what was left was a modest selection. Several T-shirts, a couple of pairs of jeans, a house robe, some underwear that had seen better days, a couple of dresses that were in style a decade ago. Aideen clearly didn’t invest in fashion—this was, in fact, one of the many subjects she criticized in her rants.
“Wow. Uh… Chelsea? Would you step over here for a minute?”
She looked around to see where Evan’s voice came from. On the wall across from the bed, there was a space that had probably been a separate closet or dressing area. As she stepped inside, Chelsea realized Aideen had created an office here. The desk and chair almost filled the tight space, illuminated by twin lamps mounted on the wall above the desk. The warm light fell almost obscenely over the photos taped to the wall. Chelsea’s mouth went dry as she stared at dozens of photos of herself, side by side with photos of Shannon and Jenny. It was like an altar built by a very disturbed woman.
“Holy shit,” Chelsea whispered, taking an involuntary step back.
In the middle of the photos, there were a couple of newspaper clippings. One was titled Doctor Chelsea Campbell receives the Royal Irish Academy Charlemont Grant for her second published book, “How to Live with Schizophrenia.” Chelsea remembered the article, as well as the picture below of herself holding a copy of the book she’d worked so hard on. She’d never imagined she would get an award for it, much less a prestigious one, but it had been a very proud moment in her career.
The second article was about her previously published work, an essay about criminal behavior in serial killers she’d written for a psychology medical journal. The irony didn’t escape her.
“Is that you?”
Evan had to ask because, in both clippings, Chelsea’s face had been burned, apparently with a cigarette.
She swallowed heavily. “Yeah.”
“This article is dated April seventeenth this year.” Evan pointed at the paper without touching it. “I think this is what set her off. You getting a prestigious award and having such a successful career made her flip out.”
Evan was right behind her, his body solid and protective. He put his hands on her shoulders, his touch firm.
“We really don’t have to worry about not having enough evidence against her,” he said shrewdly. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her. She’ll pay, I promise you.”
He stepped around her to take a closer look at the desk. He brushed one gloved finger over the wooden surface.
“She has a laptop, and she’s taken it with her.”
“How do you know?” Chelsea asked, forcing herself to look away from the wall of photos.
“The desk is covered in dust except for these two rectangular patches. See? A laptop was here, and next to it was a mouse pad. She even forgot her eyeglasses, but she took her laptop and cat.”
There was an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the desk. Evan took an evidence bag out of his pocket and collected a couple of butts.
“I’m taking these to do a DNA match, and I’ll also grab some hairs from a brush if there’s one in the bathroom. Let’s see if we can find any hint as to where she could have gone.”
They searched every inch of the flat, collected some more evidence for DNA matching, but didn’t find anything that would shed light on Aideen’s current whereabouts. There was no phone, no address book with phone numbers on it, no scribbled name or address of a friend. They found an impressive stash of sex toys in a nightstand drawer, most of them destined for self-service usage. Chelsea did her best not to blush when Evan took out a plus-size dildo, whistled, then placed it back into the drawer.
“It seems the woman has a… healthy sex drive,” Evan observed. “Was she like that in high school too?”
Chelsea shrugged, still feeling slightly uncomfortable.
“No. I mean, I don’t know for sure… She liked boys, but her parents were very strict. They wouldn’t let her date. Anyway, no one asked her out, as far as I know. It’s not unusual for girls like that to become promiscuous. But despite the fact that she advertised her availability to a lover, no doubt the men she’s dated over the years weren’t crazy about her personality. None seems to have stuck around for long. She’s so bitter and full of hate…”
Chelsea didn’t notice the tinge of pity that had sneaked up on her, but Evan must have detected it in her voice.
He took her arm and turned her around to face him. “Are you kidding me? Don’t tell me you feel sorry for this sick bitch. Men didn’t stick around because she’s bitter and full of hate. She killed two innocent women. I don’t even want to think what plans she had for you, or I might snap her neck by mistake when we capture her,” he said angrily. “Don’t even think of her as human, Chelsea. Shannon and Jenny deserve your pity, not this monster. Now focus and think. Where might she go?”
Chelsea rubbed her temples, her mind spinning in circles. She’d remembered a lot about Aideen lately, but she hadn’t really known her that well to begin with. They had been teenagers during their brief friendship, and like most teenagers, they didn’t pay much attention to details. Their flighty, self-centered minds had been on other things.
“I have no idea, Evan. It’s been such a long time… I never knew her that well, and I have no clue who she is now. You know, other than a crazy stalker and murderer. If she took her phone and laptop, I don’t even know where to start looking. Couldn’t you track her somehow through GPS if we can get her phone number?”
“I could, but she knows that. I’m sure she’s ditched that phone by now. Maybe she had some fake ID at the ready, in case we were on to her. She must have been prepared because she fled awfully fast for a person otherwise unaware. I think she believed we wouldn’t be able to trace her but wanted to be ready just in case. Let’s see where her parents and sister live, then go talk to them. Maybe they can help us.”
“Don’t count on it,” Chelsea said gloomily. “Even if she’s not their favorite person, they’d never hand her over to the police. I’ll bet they won’t even believe us or accept what she’s done, despite the evidence against her. Those people have lived in denial all of their lives.”
The O’Banions’ house was located in Ashbourne, some ten minutes north of Dublin. It resembled a small fortress, sporting a tall wooden fence that hid everything beyond it. Even the No Parking sign nailed on the fence sent a ‘stay away’ vibe.
As much as she hated being right, Chelsea’s predictions came true. The O’Banions were just as she remembered them. Mrs. O’Banion was belligerent and defiant, calling them crazy guards and claiming her daughter had never broken the law in her life. How the bloody hell could they show up at her door at this time of evening and lie, saying Aideen had killed some people? Mr. O’Banion—the shadow of his wife—didn’t speak much, just shook his head and said he didn’t know where Aideen was and that this must be some terrible misunderstanding.
Despite Mrs. O’Banion’s loud protests, Evan walked quickly but thoroughly through the two-bedroom house, making sure there was no trace of Aideen, her cat, or her things. Unlike in the United States, he didn’t need a search warrant here to enter the premises if he had serious reason to do so.
“When was the last time you spoke with Aideen?” he asked Mrs. O’Banion after he finished his quick search.
Chelsea waited by the front door. Neither of Aideen’s parents had recognized her, and she was grateful for that. Evan had only introduced her as Doctor Campbell.
“She was here just last month for dinner,” Mrs. O’Banion said, her arms crossed over her thin chest. The resemblance between her and her daughter made it difficult for Chelsea not to stare at her sharp cheekbones and frowning eyebrows.
“Can you please give me her phone number?” Evan pulled out his notepad and pen, standing at the ready, his no-nonsense cop-mode on.
Mrs. O’Banion looked up at him defiantly, then turned her head to her husband without looking at him.
“Go and fetch my phone, Aengus.”
As her husband left, she turned to Evan and Chelsea again. “Where did ye get this mad notion that Aideen has killed two women? Are ye not the full shilling, lad?”
Evan glanced at Chelsea, confused.
“She’s asking if you’re crazy,” she clarified.
“Ahem. I assure you I’m perfectly sane, Ma’am. What about Aideen? Have you ever taken her to a doctor to see if she’s… the full shilling?”
Mrs. O’Banion looked extremely affronted. “Why would I do that? I haven’t given birth to mad children, officer. I want you to know I will call your supervisor as soon as—”
“Here’s your phone, dear,” her husband interrupted from behind her.
She darted him a look that could shrink a cactus, then snatched the phone and started clumsily pressing buttons. In the end, she came up with a number and turned the phone to Evan. He wrote down the number, then took out a card with his own contact information.
“If Aideen contacts you, or if you have any news from her, please call me asap. This is a serious police issue, ma’am. If you don’t cooperate, you and your husband will be considered accomplices. Where can I find your other daughter?” He consulted his notes. “Laura?”
“Laura has been living in Germany for over five years,” Mrs. O’Banion said, pride filling her voice. “She manages a big hotel there.”
“Can you give me her contact information? Your cooperation could save us a lot of time,” Evan added.
Grudgingly, Mrs. O’Banion gave him Laura’s phone number.
“Thank you.” Evan tucked his notepad back in his pocket. “Could Aideen have gone to her sister?”
Mrs. O’Banion looked genuinely puzzled. “Whatever for?”
“To…visit.” It took Evan a moment to find an alternative for hideout. “I gather your daughters are not close? Do they visit each other often?”
“They’re sisters, but each of my girls is busy with her career. They don’t have a lot of time to visit.”
“Right. What’s Aideen’s career, Mrs. O’Banion?”
“Aren’t ye supposed to know?” she said scornfully. “She’s an artist. She paints, she draws, that’s her career.”
“Does she have any other job that you know of?”
“Why would she need another job? She makes a good living from her art. Aideen is very talented.”
“Yes, she is.”
Chelsea heard the sarcasm in Evan’s voice and knew he was referring to something else entirely.
After thanking the O’Banions and warning them one more time to contact him if they had any news from Aideen, Evan turned on his heels. Chelsea walked at his side, darting one last glance over her shoulder at Mrs. O’Banion, who stood on the porch, fists clenched, and Mr. O’Banion, always behind his wife, still and as expressionless as a statue.
“What do you think?” she asked Evan once they were back in the car.
“Creepy as hell. I think this is what Jeffrey Dahmer’s family must have been like,” he said, referring to the famous serial killer also known as The Milwaukee Cannibal. “They don’t know anything, and they don’t want to know anything. I’m counting on that. They’ll rat her out if they learn something because, underneath it all, they’re scared. They don’t want their image tainted, their world disturbed. Let’s try Aideen’s phone number.”
He dialed the number but lowered the phone several moments later. “Disconnected. Figures.”
“She’s crazy, not stupid,” Chelsea said.
Desperation crept upon her at the thought that Aideen was out there, unknown, unseen. What if they never found her? Probably now, she was too busy to think of picking a new victim, but what was to stop her from reinventing herself and continuing her activities? They had to stop her.
“What now?” she asked.
Evan looked at his watch.
“It’s past eight. Let’s go home. I’ll write an email to brief the chief and send an alert to all the Garda members with Aideen’s data. We’ll all be on the lookout for her. Then, we need to get some sleep. Nothing more we can do tonight.”