sank in while Sutter swallowed his disgust at the name the media had given the perp, who took each of his victims during the dead of night.
“How can you be so sure?” Sutter asked while his partner, James Pennington, grabbed his jacket and started for the door.
“Because she had a white silk scarf tied around her neck. Like the other victims. That information has never been released to the media.”
“Go,” Garrett Miles, one of the DCI agents, told him. “Trevor and I will head to the crime scene to see if we can find anything useful there.”
Sutter shoved his arms into his coat and followed his partner without a word.
“Ask for Dr. Rolland. He’s the one treating her. The two Amish boys are at the hospital. I’ll head to Silver Creek with Trevor and Garrett, and start canvassing,” the sheriff called after him.
Sutter barely heard him, his mind was on what lay ahead. He and James practically ran from the station. His partner clicked the key fob to their Bureau-issued black Suburban and then slid behind the wheel, while Sutter scrambled into the passenger seat.
They had a live victim. He couldn’t believe they’d caught such a break. Up until now, the only things tying the victims to each other were the method of death—a single gunshot wound to the chest—and the white silk scarf tied around each victim’s neck. Plus the note, “You made me do this.” The profiler in him was still trying to unravel the meaning behind that.
James backed out of the parking space, shoved the SUV into Drive and floored the gas pedal, dodging the light evening traffic until the blue hospital sign came into view. After turning, he drove the short distance to the lot and whipped into the nearest vacant spot.
They exited at the same time, as if choreographed. Inside the building, Sutter advanced to the receptionist’s desk, showed his badge and told her who they wished to speak with.
The young woman’s troubled gaze swept from one to the other before she picked up the phone and spoke briefly.
“Dr. Rolland will be down in a minute,” she assured them with a nervous smile. No doubt the news of the killer, along with the FBI’s presence in Eagle’s Nest, had the citizens on edge.
Sutter thanked her and stepped away, unable to sit. Too much at stake. He wanted to speak to their victim quickly. Find out what she could tell them about the Dead of Night Killer.
The elevator dinged. Both Sutter and James whirled at the sound. The doors slid open, and a tall, middle-aged man in a white coat stepped out and glanced around. Spotting them, he headed their way as Sutter suppressed a smile. He and James obviously fit the part of government agents.
“Dr. Rolland?” Sutter asked, once the man reached them.
He nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Special Agents Brenneman and Pennington. We’re here about the gunshot victim who was brought in earlier.”
“Come with me. We can talk on the way.” The doctor headed for the elevator. Sutter and James scrambled to keep up.
The doors opened, and all three men stepped inside the elevator.
“The two Amish boys who took her to the hospital probably saved her life.” Dr. Rolland spared them a look. “They were night fishing when she fell into the creek. I assumed you’d want to speak with them, as well, so I asked them to stay.” He punched the third-floor button. “We removed a bullet from her left shoulder. A few inches lower and it would be a different story. She’s awake now. All she’s been able to tell us is her first name. Catherine. She doesn’t remember her last, or any family members to contact.” The doctor spotted Sutter’s shock and added, “As I said, she’s suffered a lot and she took quite a blow to her head. I believe Catherine is suffering from a form of temporary amnesia.”
The reality of those words washed over him. This was the last thing Sutter wanted to hear. Their victim couldn’t recall parts of what happened to her. Without her help, they had nothing.
The silence in the elevator car was palpable. Sutter glanced at his phone. Almost midnight. He thought about all the questions he should be asking. “You have the bullet? We’ll need it for evidence.”
The doors slid open and the doctor stepped out. “Yes, we preserved it, along with the scarf she had around her neck.”
“Good.” All Sutter could think about were the horrific things the victim must have gone through. And the realization that she would have to relive it all telling him. Moving beyond something of this magnitude wouldn’t be easy.
Two young boys dressed in Amish clothing sat in the waiting area. Both appeared to be in their early teens. The sight of their traditional garb sent Sutter’s heart back in time. At one point, this could have been him. Was him.
“I’ll take the kids,” James said.
“Okay. Call Sheriff Collins. I need a deputy outside Catherine’s room in case this guy tries to finish the job.”
James nodded and headed to the boys to introduce himself.
The doctor stopped outside one of the rooms and faced Sutter. “I know you have questions, and it’s important to solve this case quickly, but she’s weak and frightened. Catherine’s suffered a lot of bad things at this creep’s hands. Keep that in mind.”
Not waiting for an answer, the doctor pushed the door open. A second ticked by before Sutter followed.
A nurse who had been seated beside the patient rose.
“Will you give us a minute, Beverly?” Dr. Rolland asked. The nurse squeezed Catherine’s hand and left without a word.
His first reaction when he stepped into the room was that she appeared so small and fragile against the pillows. Bruises covered much of her face and arms, along with cut marks. Sutter stuffed down his anger at the sight of them. The killer’s weapon of choice for torture had proved to be the knife. For murder, he preferred a gunshot at close range. It probably gave him a thrill to watch his victim’s life slip away before his eyes.
Catherine’s raven hair appeared matted with blood. A white gauze bandage covered part of her head, and the dressing on the gunshot wound in her shoulder peeked out from under her hospital gown. According to Dr. Rolland, she was fortunate to be alive.
Six other women had died in unspeakable ways at the hands of this monster. When he grew tired of them, he shot them, then disposed of the bodies somewhere he knew they’d be found quickly. He left his calling cards on each victim’s body: the white silk scarf and the note. Glued on red paper, the letters were cut out from what they believed to be a magazine. The abuse, along with the cause of death, showed the killer’s rage with someone. The only question was who?
With very few leads, the pressure to find the killer before he struck again increased each day.
“Catherine, this is Special Agent Sutter Brenneman. He’s with the FBI. If you’re feeling up to it, he’d like to ask you some questions.” Dr. Rolland turned to Sutter. “She’s been through a lot and needs to rest. Don’t tire her out too much. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bring you the evidence.” With a smile for his patient, the doctor left Sutter to his questions.
Catherine stared up at him with huge, frightened eyes so piercingly blue he found it hard to look away. Pale as the sheet she clutched, her face reflected the extent of what she’d suffered. Anger mingled with protective instincts rose inside Sutter. An instant connection he couldn’t begin to explain tugged him toward her like a magnetic force.
Pulling his gaze away, he dragged over a chair. The noise immediately put Catherine on edge and she shrank back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized, regretting his actions. She didn’t trust him. Probably didn’t trust anyone. As much as Sutter needed to take her statement down, he’d seen her fear and hated the questions he must ask.
“How