Southern Lights: A Novel

Halfway into the week Alexa was relieved that Savannah was with her father. Her days had been insane. They had found another victim they could link to Luke Quentin. This time, a nineteen-year-old girl. He had sixteen victims that they knew of, and the forensic lab was working overtime on DNA. The task force was growing under the supervision of the FBI, since several states were involved now. Jack had a dozen investigators working on the case full time. The trial was three months away.

On Thursday Alexa met with Judy Dunning, the public defender, to discuss discovery with her. Alexa had to give her the evidence she had, all of which was incredibly damning. Alexa tried to convince Judy to get him to plead guilty, and Judy explained that she was beginning to think he had been framed, possibly by someone he had had bad dealings with in prison, who had sworn vengeance on him. She said that she was convinced herself that he hadn’t done it. There were too many victims, and suddenly every dead girl in half a dozen states was being blamed on him. She told Alexa that he was a very sensitive man, and of course he didn’t want to plead guilty, if he hadn’t committed the crimes. Alexa stared at her as though she was out of her mind. It was clear to her what had happened. Luke Quentin had turned his smoldering sexual gaze on her, had done his sociopathic dance, and she was falling in love with him, in a frighteningly innocent way. It was what he did, and probably how he had seduced all his victims, made each one feel special and like the only woman in the world—for those few minutes, until he killed her. He wasn’t going to kill Judy Dunning, but he had blinded her to the truth. Maybe it was what she needed to defend him, but Alexa came out of the meeting shaking her head.

“Where have you been?” Jack asked her when he ran into her in the hallway.

“On a UFO, eating Twinkies,” she said, with a grin at him. “Doing drugs again, counselor?”

“No, but the public defender is. She just spent a half hour trying to convince me of Luke Quentin’s innocence. What’s worse is that she believes it. He sure has cast his spell on her.”

“Good. She can visit him in prison. That happens, you know. Women fall for them, no matter how heinous their crimes, and visit them in the slammer for years. We just got our seventeenth victim.” The numbers grew almost every day.

“I feel like I’m following a presidential election,” she said as they stopped at the coffee machine. She had already had too many cups that day. “How many states do we have now?”

“Nine,” he said with a grim look. “The guy is amazing, and I don’t think we’re through yet.”

“We’re not overestimating him, are we?” She didn’t want to get sloppy, and start pinning crimes on him that weren’t his, and blow their case. She had “reasonable doubt” and a jury to think of.

“I think we may be underestimating him. So far it all matches up. We’ve got his DNA now with every victim.” She nodded and went back to her office. She was there until nine o’clock that night, and had been all week. She was at her desk on Friday until ten-thirty, going over all the forensic reports from every state. It all looked solid. Nothing surprised her anymore, except that he wouldn’t plead. He was still claiming he was innocent, and even more incredible, his attorney believed him. But no one else on the planet, and surely no jury, would. Alexa had a good case.

She was exhausted when she got home that night, dragging her heavy briefcase. It was nearly eleven. She had talked to Savannah at six o’clock. She’d had a great week in Vermont with Tom, and she was coming home the next day.

Alexa sifted through her mail and was about to toss it on the hall table unopened, and then a familiar envelope caught her eye. She tore it open and held the sheet of paper in a trembling hand. In the same boldfaced type, printed on a computer, were the words “I’m coming to get you now, and then you will be mine. Say goodbye to your mom.” Alexa stood in the hallway with her coat on, shaking from head to foot as she read it again and again. What did he know about them? Why was he writing to her? Was it just a prank, or was Luke Quentin torturing them? There was no way to know, no way to trace the letters. She called the doorman, and he said that no one had dropped anything off for her. Whoever he was, he was getting into the building and slipping them under her door. It was frightening beyond belief. And what if sending Savannah to school with Thad Lewicki wasn’t good enough protection? What if someone got her in the end?

She pulled her cell phone out of her bag, sat down on the couch, and called her mother. She hated to worry her, but Muriel had a level head. Alexa read the latest letter to her, and asked her what she thought. Just how panicked should she be? She was too frightened herself right now to make sense.