The Night Killer

intimidating them. It hadn’t made them afraid, but it did make them grief-stricken. Diane took the job as director of the museum and hired David when the city wanted her to house a crime lab in the museum’s building. Jin and Izzy were two of her crime scene crew. Jin, a transplant from New York, worked in the DNA lab, and Izzy was a Rosewood police officer who wanted a change after his own personal tragedy. He was also Frank’s best friend.
    “Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t seem fine,” he said.
    “I’m not injured,” she amended. “I am very tired.”
    She wasn’t sure about mental injury. She was exhausted—her adrenaline seemed to be running out again. She’d explored caves and climbed rock faces for a longer period of time than she was lost in the woods. Why was she so exhausted?
    Because you were afraid all that time , she said to herself. She was still frightened—scared that someone was following her.
    Damn, I’m probably going to dream about being chased for the rest of my life—by dogs, and Slick, and Tammy with her long nails.
    And Diane was sick about the Barres. Who had done this to them? While she was out in the woods trying to get to their house, who was killing them? And why?
    Diane said good-bye to Frank, closed her cell, and put it in her pocket. She had taken off the poncho, rolled it up, and put it in the passenger seat, glad Deputy Conrad hadn’t asked for it. At the same time, she was disappointed that he hadn’t requested it, suggesting that he—as he confessed—didn’t really know how to investigate a crime like murder.
    Diane drove the SUV from the gas pumps and parked in front of the door to the convenience store. She walked to the back to the women’s restroom. It was small and relatively clean, thank goodness.
    She washed her hands and scrubbed with soap the tender red scratches on her arm made by Slick, mentally cursing him. She looked at her face in the mirror. No one who knew her would recognize her right now, she thought. There were deep, dark circles under her eyes and scratches on her face where limbs and underbrush had whipped and slapped at her. Her short brown hair was tangled and plastered to her head from the rain. She actually looked worse than she felt.
    Diane washed her face, wetting her shirt again after it had almost dried after the drenching rain. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get the tangles out and to get her hair to do something besides lie flat. Tammy, apparently, had also taken her comb. She examined herself again in the mirror. She didn’t look great, but she wouldn’t scare children now. She cupped her hand and rinsed her mouth out with tap water.
    When she finished, she bought a cup of black coffee, two Milky Way candy bars, a tube of Neosporin, a box of Kleenex, a small bottle of mouthwash, a pocket comb, and a tire gauge.
    “Looks like you’ve been out in the rain,” said the clerk, a girl who looked too young to be working at night by herself. “I hate carrying umbrellas too. I’d rather just get wet.”
    But an umbrella could make a great weapon in a pinch , Diane thought. “The rain kind of messes with your hair, though,” she said, smiling. She paid for the purchases and walked out to her car.
    She scanned the parking lot, particularly the shadowy places, looking for a vehicle that might be waiting for her. Paranoid , she accused herself. But she wasn’t altogether confident that Slick hadn’t followed her. She shivered and got in her SUV, thankful for the people who were coming and going from the store, despite the hour of the night.
    First, she rubbed the Neosporin into the scratches on her arm with a tissue, hoping they weren’t going to get infected. After the first aid, she used the mouthwash to rinse the stale taste of twenty-four hours away from a toothbrush from her mouth and return her taste buds to normal. Much better. She ate the candy bars and drank her coffee. The coffee was old and bitter, but the hot liquid felt good going down her throat, and the caffeine would have a welcome kick. Then she combed her hair. That would have to do.
    She got out and measured the air in her tires. Just the thought of a flat tire put her stomach in a knot. Shit , she thought, as she checked the last tire. She hadn’t looked, but she’d bet Slick and Tammy had stolen her spare tire. “Of course they did,” she said out loud. “Why wouldn’t they have? I was lucky they hadn’t completely