Alex Kava - A Perfect Evil (Maggie ODell Novels)

Synopsis:

A Killer Is Watching ... The brutal murders of three young boys paralyze the citizens of Platte City, Nebraska. Whats worse is the grim realization that the man recently executed for the crimes was a copycat. When Sheriff Nick Morrelli is called to the scene of another grisly murder, it becomes clear that the real predator is still at large, waiting to kill again. Morrelli understands the urgency of the case terrorizing his community, but its the experienced eye of FBI criminal profiler Maggie ODell that pinpoints the true nature of the evil behind the killings a revelation made all the more horrific when Morrellis own nephew goes missing. Maggie understands something else: the killer is enjoying himself, relishing his ability to stay one step ahead of her, making this case more personal by the hour. Because out there, watching, is a killer with a heart of pure and perfect evil.

Nebraska State Penitentiary
Lincoln, Nebraska
Wednesday, July 17

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. Ronald Jeffreys raspy monotone made the phrase a challenge rather than a confession.

Father Stephen Francis stared at Jeffreys hands, mesmerized by the large knuckles and stubby fingers, nails bitten to the quick. The fingers twistedno, strangledthe corner of his blue government-issue shirt. The old priest imagined those same fingers twisting and choking the life out of little Bobby Wilson.

Is that how we start?

Jeffreys voice startled the priest. Thats fine, he answered quickly.

His sweaty palms stuck to the leather Bible. His collar was suddenly too tight. The prisons deathwatch chamber didnt have enough air for both men. The gray concrete walls boxed them in with only one tiny window, black with night. The pungent smell of green pepper and onion nauseated the old priest. He glanced at the remnants of Jeffreys last supper, scattered bits of pizza crust and puddles of sticky soda. A fly buzzed over crumbs that were once cheesecake.

Whats next? Jeffreys asked, waiting for instructions.

Father Francis couldnt think, not with Jeffreys unflinching stare. Not with the noise of the crowd outside the prison, down below in the parking lot. The chants grew louder with the approach of midnight and the full effect of alcohol. It was a raucous celebration, a morbid excuse for an outdoor frat party. Fry, Jeffreys, fry, over and over again, like a childhood rhyme or a pep-rally song, melodic and contagious, sick and frightening.

Jeffreys, however, appeared immune to the sound. Im not sure I remember how this works. Whats next?

Yes, what came next? Father Francis mind was completely blank. Fifty years of hearing confessions, and his mind was blank. Your sins, he blurted out over the tightness in his throat. Tell me your sins.

Now, Jeffreys hesitated. He unraveled the hem of his shirt, wrapping the thread around his index finger, pulling it so tight that the tip bulged red. The priest stole a long glance at the man slumped in the straight-backed chair. This wasnt the same man from the grainy newspaper photos or the quick television shots. With his head and beard shaved, Jeffreys looked exposed, almost impish and younger than his twenty-six years. He had gained bulk in his six years on death row, but he still possessed a boyishness. Suddenly, it struck Father Francis as sad that this boyish face would never wear wrinkles or laugh lines. Until Jeffreys looked up at him. Cold blue eyes held his. Ice-blue like glasssharp glassvacant and transparent. Yes, this was what evil looked like. The priest blinked and turned his head.

Tell me your sins, Father Francis repeated, this time disappointed in the tremor in his voice. He couldnt breathe. Had Jeffreys sucked all the air out of the room on purpose? He cleared his throat, then said, Those sins for which you are truly sorry.

Jeffreys stared at him. Then without warning, he barked out a laugh. Father Francis jumped, and Jeffreys laughed even louder. The priest gripped his Bible with unsteady fingers while watching Jeffreys hands. Why had he insisted the guard remove the handcuffs? Even God couldnt rescue the stupid. Drops of perspiration slid down the priests back. He thought about fleeing, escaping before Jeffreys realized one last murder would cost him nothing more. Then he remembered the door was locked from the outside.

The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Silence.

Youre just like the rest of them. The low guttural accusation came from somewhere deep and dead. Yet, Jeffreys smiled, revealing small, sharp teeth, the incisors longer than the rest. Youre waiting for me to confess to something I didnt do. His hands ripped the bottom of his shirt, thin strips, a slow grating sound.

I dont understand what you mean. Father Francis reached to loosen his collar, dismayed to find the tremor now in his hands. I was under the impression you had asked for a priest. That you wanted to offer up your confession.

Yesyes, I do. The monotone was back. Jeffreys hesitated but only for a moment. I killed Bobby Wilson, he said as calmly as if ordering takeout. I put my handsmy fingers around his throat. At first, he made a sputtering noise, a sort of gagging, and then there was no noise. His voice was hushed and restrained, almost clinicala well-rehearsed speech.

He kicked just a little. A jerk, really. I think he knew he was going to die. He didnt fight much. He didnt even fight when I was fucking him. He stopped, checking Father Francis face, looking for shock and smiling when he found it.

I waited until he was dead before I cut him. He didnt feel a thing. So I cut him again and again and again. Then, I fucked him one last time. He cocked his head to the side, suddenly distracted. Had he finally noticed the celebration outside?

Father Francis waited. Could it be the massive pounding of his heart that Jeffreys heard? Like something out of Poe, it banged against the old priests chest, betraying him just like his hands.

Ive already confessed once before, Jeffreys continued. Right after it happened, but the priest Lets just say he was a little surprised. Now Im confessing to God, you understand? Im confessing that I killed Bobby Wilson. The ripping continued, now in quick, jerky motions. But I didnt kill those other two boys. Do you hear me? His voice rose above the monotone. I didnt kill the Harper or the Paltrow kid.

Silence, then Jeffreys lips slowly twisted into a smirk. But then, God already knows that. Right, Father?

God does know the truth, Father Francis said, trying to stare into the cold blue eyes but flinching and quickly looking away again. What if his own guilt should somehow reveal itself?

They want to execute me because they think Im some serial killer who murders little boys, Jeffreys spat through clenched teeth. I killed Bobby Wilson, and I enjoyed it. Maybe I even deserve to die for that. But God knows I didnt kill those other boys. Somewhere out there, Father, theres still a monster. Another twisted smile. And hes even more hideous than me.

Metal clanked against metal down the hall. Father Francis jerked, sending the Bible crashing to the floor. This time Jeffreys didnt laugh. The old priest held Jeffreys stare, but neither man made an attempt to pick up the holy book. Were they coming to take Jeffreys away? It seemed too soon, although no one expected a stay of execution.

Are you sorry for your sins? Father Francis whispered as if back at the confessional window in St. Margarets.

Yes, there were footsteps coming down the hall, coming toward them. It was time. Jeffreys sat paralyzed, listening to the