The Mockingbird Murders - A John Riley Novel

Chapter 2 - In Search of a Hero

John Riley caressed the gun inside his jacket and prayed that the killer gave him an excuse to use it. Five years of detective work had brought Riley to this city, this bar, this moment.

He darted his eyes over to where the man was sitting–

Shit. The killer was looking right at him!

Riley's hand gripped the gun reflexively, as those cold pale blue eyes settled on Riley's face for too long, studying, probing. It was a moment that seemed to last forever and filled Riley with cold dread, the need to escape, run. This man was a monster. It took all of Riley's training to stay calm, and not to pull the gun out and empty the clip into that monster's face. Instead he immersed himself in his "drunk guy at the bar" act and slouched even further. The dead eyes flitted away to the next face, and then the next, scanning the bar, looking for something. Something that was not John Riley.

Riley exhaled slowly, calming his nerves. Just like his yoga instructor had taught him. Finally calm, he focused on the man again, going over everything he knew about him. The facts of the case were always useful to calm himself.

The killer currently called himself Lawrence Conroy. He had gone by at least twenty other names in as many years. From the way he scanned the room, Riley was one hundred percent sure that he was hunting for a new victim. Lawrence seemed less composed this evening, more on edge, his thin lips drawn in a humorless smile.

Something was different about this evening.

Maybe he senses that someone is hunting him, Riley thought.

Even from across the bar, Riley could see the strain in the gaunt man's smile, his dead blue eyes flitting from one bedraggled face to the next. Searching. Hunting. Lawrence's companion, a little balding man, waved his hands about as he spoke, oblivious to the lack of attention. A slim black woman with curly hair caught the killer's attention. His gaze locked onto her with a sudden intensity that startled Riley. The girl was a real Curly Sue by any definition. She wore a little black dress that showed off her curves and Lawrence's eyes travelled over them, greedily. His thin lips curled into a smirk, and his eyes brightened, brought to life for the first time since Riley had been watching the man.

She was exactly Lawrence's type.

Riley's hand curled into a fist. His heart raced, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He tried to slow his breathing; it didn't make sense for him to get worked up this early. If Lawrence had decided on a victim, it would still be days before he struck. From everything that Riley knew about the way he worked, it was the hunt that Lawrence took pleasure in. First, he would find out where the victim lived. Then the anonymous love notes would appear. The dead animals would be next and then...it would only be a matter of time.

The bartender slid smoothly to a halt in front of Riley. The whiskey tumbler made a solid thunk on the countertop and then with a cocky smile, the man cracked open the bottle and poured carefully. It was almost a performance. Riley raised a quizzical eyebrow as he got a look at the label. Macallan Black Label. It was easily one of the most expensive whiskies in the bar.

"I didn't order this," Riley said gruffly.

He cursed the bartender's bad timing and shifted in his seat to keep an eye on Lawrence. The potential victim joined a group of equally young and attractive young women in a booth, all of them wearing tight little party dresses designed to direct as much attention their way. They laughed and drank, chattering as if a serial killer wasn't twenty feet away. Lawrence scowled and resumed scanning the room, seemingly no longer interested in the girl. Maybe the group of friends was enough protection for now. For a moment, he'd thought that Lawrence had spotted him, and the drink was a taunt; the man had no interest in Riley.