All The Dead Girls Read online

  TIM KIZER

  DEAD GIRLS

  MANIA

  DAYS OF VENGEANCE

  Also by Tim Kizer

  Abduction

  The Vanished

  The Girl Who Didn’t Die

  An Evil Mind

  Spellbound

  The Mindbender

  Days of Vengeance

  Deception

  Copyright 2014, 2018 Tim Kizer

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  CONTENTS

  Dead Girls

  Sample chapters from Abduction

  Mania

  Days of Vengeance

  Other titles by Tim Kizer

  DEAD GIRLS

  Inspired by a true story

  Description

  When Holly finds a phone with pictures of murdered women on it on the bus to Miami, she realizes that one of the passengers is a serial killer. A game of cat and mouse begins after the owner of the cell sends Holly a message saying that he wants his phone back.

  Holly's shocked to find out that the killer knows her name and address. She races against time as she and her fellow passenger Nick Hayden try to figure out the identity of the owner of the phone. When he murders a young woman during one of the stops, Holly fears he’ll kill her before the end of the day.

  Chapter 1

  1

  A jolt of terror shot through Brooke when she peeked into the picnic pavilion over the foundation wall. Maggie was lying on the floor and the jogger was stabbing her in the chest with a knife. Brooke ducked down and covered her mouth to hold back a scream.

  When Maggie had left to get a water bottle from her car, Brooke had decided to hide and scare her (they were in their twenties, but they didn’t consider themselves too old for pranks like that). Maggie was accompanied by a man in a blue jogging suit when she came back, and Brooke wondered if he was flirting with her. Maggie and the jogger went into the pavilion, and moments later Brooke heard someone grunting. Then she heard a thud.

  Are they making out? she had wondered, and peeked into the pavilion.

  What should I do?

  Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer, her stomach was knotted up.

  If this is a dream, I want to wake up now.

  “Nice,” the jogger said in a low voice. “Very nice.” A pause. “You’re cute.”

  Brooke scanned the woods, praying that someone would emerge from the trees.

  If she ran for help, the jogger would see her and chase after her. She wasn’t fast, so she didn’t think she’d be able to outrun him. When he caught her, he would stab her to death.

  There were no other people in sight, so even if someone heard her screams for help, she would probably be dead before they came to her rescue.

  A squirrel scampered up a nearby oak and vanished.

  It was quiet in the pavilion.

  What’s he doing?

  Brooke squatted, pressed her back against the wall, and looked up. The killer might see her if he came close to this side of the pavilion.

  She breathed as quietly as she could, ready to bolt as soon as the jogger’s forehead appeared above her.

  What should I do when he leaves?

  She should follow him and try to prevent him from getting away.

  She heard footsteps on the other side of the pavilion.

  Did he leave?

  She counted to fifteen, then peeked around the corner and saw the killer walking down the trail toward the parking lot. When he disappeared behind the trees, Brooke took out her phone and rushed into the pavilion.

  She gasped at the sight of Maggie. Her friend lay faceup on the concrete floor covered in blood, her dead eyes staring at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream.

  “Maggie,” Brooke called.

  Maggie didn’t answer.

  She’s dead.

  Blinking away tears, Brooke dialed 911.

  Don't waste time, Brooke. Follow the killer.

  “Nine one one, what's your emergency?" the operator said as Brooke pulled the car keys from the pocket of Maggie’s jeans.

  “My friend’s been stabbed in the Arbor Hills Nature Preserve,” Brooke replied, running out of the pavilion. “She’s in the pavilion near Arbor Vista Drive. I’m following the man who stabbed her. Please send the ambulance and the police. She’s dying, please hurry!”

  It would take the cops at least five minutes to get here. The killer might be gone by then.

  What if she couldn’t find anyone to help her stop the killer from getting away?

  “What’s your name, ma'am?”

  “Brooke Osterman.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Maggie Culver.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m running toward the parking lot on Arbor Vista Drive.”

  “Please stop following the man who stabbed your friend and find a safe place to hide.”

  “Send the ambulance and the police.”

  “They’re on their way.”

  “Please don’t hang up.”

  “Okay.”

  When Brooke ran out of the woods, she saw the killer approaching the parking lot. She slowed down to a trot so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

  Was he going to his car?

  There were no other people nearby. She could find someone to help her in the main parking lot off Parker Road, but it was five hundred feet away and she didn't want to let the killer out of her sight.

  She slipped behind the wheel of Maggie’s Mazda and told the 911 operator, “He’s in the parking lot on Arbor Vista Drive. Tell the police to go to the parking lot on Arbor Vista Drive.”

  When the killer opened the driver's door of his black BMW, Brooke started the engine and told the 911 operator, “He’s driving a black BMW.”

  She had to stop the killer from leaving the lot.

  Brooke backed out of the parking slot and headed toward the black BMW.

  “How far are the cops?” she asked the 911 operator.

  “They should be there any minute.”

  Brooke stopped right behind the BMW as it pulled out of the parking space. The killer had no time to brake and banged into the side of the Mazda, rocking it hard.

  If he tried to drive away, she would ram his car. If he tried to get away on foot, she would run him over.

  She pocketed her phone as the killer climbed out of the BMW. He walked over to her door and said, “Are you blind?”

  Brooke rolled her window down a couple of inches. “I’m sorry. I stepped on the brake instead of the gas. I’m very sorry. Let me get my insurance information.”

  It appeared the killer didn’t know that the Mazda belonged to the woman he had just murdered.

  She opened the glove compartment and began to rummage in it, pretending to look for her insurance card.

  “I don’t need your insurance information,” the killer said. “Just move your car, please.”

  “No, no. I don't want to get in trouble.”

  Half a minute later, the killer said, “Just give me your number. You can give me your insurance information by phone.”

  “Can you give me your insurance information?”

  “Just move the car.”

  “Who’s going to pay for the damage to my car?”

  “This accident’s your fault.”

  She heard a siren approaching.

  “I’m not an expert,” Brooke said. “I don’t know whose fault it is.”

  “I’ll give you two thousand dollars. Now move your car.”

  “Two thousand isn’t enough. I have to replace both doors.”

  A police cruiser pulled into the parking lot, siren wailing, lights flashing.

  “Did you call the poli
ce?” the killer asked, looking at the cruiser.

  “No. Someone else did.”

  As the cops drove up to them, Brooke climbed out of the Mazda and waved.

  “They’re going to tell you the accident’s your fault,” the killer said.

  The police car stopped and two officers got out with their guns drawn.

  “My name’s Brooke,” Brooke said as she stepped away from the Mazda.

  An ambulance came screaming down Arbor Vista Drive and turned into the lot.

  Brooke pointed to the killer and said, “This man murdered my friend. Please arrest him.”

  Chapter 2

  1

  This is who I’ll kill first.

  She was a slim olive-skinned cutie, probably in her twenties, with long brown hair, big breasts, and a perky butt, wearing a purple tank top and tight blue jeans. The ID tag on her plastic suitcase said that her name was Veronica Mendez. Osiris had overheard that she was headed to Houston.

  Veronica was his type. She was Castor’s type, too.

  Castor is going to enjoy raping her.

  The phone number on the ID tag had a Dallas area code, so Osiris assumed that Veronica lived in the Dallas area. Was she going to Houston to visit her mama and papa? To see her hot boyfriend, who probably had tattoos all over his body (Osiris had no tattoos—not because he didn’t like them, but because he didn’t want to have identification marks)?

  Veronica was traveling alone, which made her a good target. Was anyone meeting her at the Houston bus station?

  The bus made only one stop between Dallas and Houston—in a tiny town called Buffalo, with a population of about 2,000—so they had two choices: they could snatch Veronica either in Buffalo or in Houston. Because there was a good chance someone was meeting Veronica at the Houston station, Osiris favored the former option.

  He opened the camera app on his phone, surreptitiously took Veronica’s picture, and then emailed it to Castor.

  It was ten minutes to twelve. Osiris was waiting in line to get on the bus, two people ahead of Veronica, his small duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He occasionally glanced at the woman, who was staring at her cellphone, unaware that she had gotten on a serial killer’s radar.

  The bus was scheduled to depart at 12:05 p.m. and arrive in Buffalo at 1:40 p.m. It left Buffalo at 1:55 p.m. He and Castor would have fifteen minutes to abduct Veronica, which was enough because they knew what they were doing.

  Osiris was thinking of sitting next to Veronica on the bus and building a rapport with her so it would be easier to lure her into their trap.

  His phone vibrated, announcing an incoming text. The message was from Castor, and it read: “Nice.”

  2

  Holly Williams handed her ticket to the bus driver fifteen minutes before she found a serial killer’s cellphone with pictures of murdered women on it.

  It was going to be a long trip, possibly the longest bus trip she would ever take.

  Her destination was Miami, and she would arrive there the day after tomorrow at 1:15 in the morning, thirty-six hours from now. Holly liked traveling by bus—it was cheap and gave you a chance to see the scenery—but she couldn’t imagine enjoying a thirty-six-hour bus ride. To date, her longest bus trip was eight and a half hours, from Houston to New Orleans.

  Holly Williams was twenty-nine, tall, slender, with blue eyes and shoulder-length curly blond hair. She worked in the marketing department of a real estate development company in Dallas, and she loved her job.

  After the driver, a lean middle-aged man with gray hair, checked her ticket, Holly gave her suitcase to a baggage handler and climbed into the bus.

  Thirty-six hours. How do people endure long bus journeys?

  They must be exhausted as hell and close to going insane at the end of the trip.

  Holly loved Miami. It was a beautiful and fun place with hot guys, great nightlife, and amazing beaches. They called it the Magic City, and Holly thought it was an apt nickname. She had been to Miami four times, and each time she had flown there and back to Dallas. Why had she decided to take a bus this time? It was a long story.

  “Is anyone sitting there?” Holly asked the man in the aisle seat in the seventh row on the right side of the bus, pointing to the seat next to him.

  “No.” The man shook his head. He was in his thirties, athletic, with a short beard and mustache, and wore a black T-shirt and blue jeans. A tattoo of a dagger decorated his right forearm.

  “Can I sit there?”

  The man smiled. “Sure.” He stepped out into the aisle.

  “Thank you.” Holly slid into the window seat and put her canvas messenger bag on the floor. “I’m Holly. What’s your name?”

  “Nick.”

  Holly pulled a bottle of water from her bag and took a sip.

  “Where are you headed?” Nick asked.

  “Miami. You?”

  “Same place as you.”

  Holly put the bottle in the bag and pushed it under her seat.

  “Want to hear a joke?” Nick said.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the difference between crocodiles and alligators?”

  “What is it?”

  “One will see you in a while and the other will see you later.”

  Holly smiled.

  About five minutes later the bus door swung closed and the air conditioning came on.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” the driver said. “My name’s Bill and I'll be your driver today.”

  Bill told the passengers that they would be stopping in Buffalo and that the estimated time of arrival in Houston was four-fifteen. He asked them to use headphones and keep the volume low when listening to music, and said that they weren't allowed to smoke, drink alcohol, or use drugs aboard the bus.

  3

  At seven minutes past noon, the bus pulled out of the terminal and turned right onto Commerce Street. Holly took the charger from her pocket, plugged it into an outlet on the back of the seats in front of her, and connected it to her phone. Nick reached into his duffel bag and brought out a book called Napalm & Silly Putty, by George Carlin.

  Holly stared out the window until the bus merged onto Interstate 45, then turned to Nick and asked, “Is it a good book?”

  “Yeah. I love George Carlin. He was hilarious. Have you seen any of his specials?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one where he talks about the big club.”

  “It's a big club and you ain’t in it.” Nick smiled.

  “I wish I’d brought a book with me.”

  “What kind of books do you like to read?”

  “Science fiction and thrillers.”

  “If you get bored, you can take a nap.”

  “That’s the plan. I brought an inflatable neck pillow. It’s really comfortable. Did you bring a pillow?”

  Nick shook his head. “No.”

  Holly opened a browser on her phone and searched for “Miami weather.”

  Nick asked, “Have you been to Miami before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have family there?”

  “No.” Holly closed the browser. “It will rain in Miami on Wednesday.”

  “Rains usually last only half an hour there.”

  “I love Florida weather. I’d move there if they didn’t have hurricanes.”

  “Have you ever been in a hurricane?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Yeah. Once, about twenty years ago. It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Where? In Florida?”

  “No, in North Carolina.”

  “I’ve heard North Carolina is a beautiful place.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  Holly looked out the window and saw they were passing a wastewater treatment plant.

  “What’s the longest bus ride you’ve ever taken?” she asked as she took her earphones from her pocket.

  “I took a bus to Chicago two years ago. That’s the longest bus rid
e I’ve taken before this trip.”

  Holly plugged her earphones into her phone. “How long was it?”

  “Over twenty hours.”

  “I like buses. And I like trains, too.”

  “They’re safer than planes. If your bus or train crashes, odds are you’ll survive. If your plane crashes, your chances of survival are slim to none.”

  “Yeah.” Holly nodded. “Remember that Malaysian plane that disappeared a few years ago? I wonder what happened to it.”

  “I read that four people missed that flight. If I missed a plane that crashed, I’d buy a lottery ticket the next day.”

  “Do you think those people were saved by their guardian angels?”

  Nick nodded. “Yes.”

  “Me, too.”

  Holly placed her earphones in her ears, opened the music player on her cell, and put on Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars. When the song ended, she touched Nick’s arm and said, “Excuse me, Nick.”

  Nick lifted his eyes from his book and looked at her.

  “I need to go to the restroom.” She smiled apologetically.

  “Sure.” Nick got up and stepped out into the aisle.

  Chapter 3

  1

  Nick Hayden was thirty-seven, resided in the Dallas suburb of Irving, and drove trucks for a living. He had never been married and was currently single. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t handsome enough for women to throw themselves at him. Nick was your average Joe Schmoe, who stayed out of trouble and was just trying to get by.

  He thought Holly was cute. She wore no wedding ring. Did she have a boyfriend? Was she talking to him because she was attracted to him?

  When Holly came back from the restroom and took her seat, she leaned close to Nick and held out a cellphone, whispering, “Look.” Her face was full of terror.

  On the screen, there was a picture of a young woman lying on her back on the ground, with her eyes closed. She wore a pink sleeveless blouse and light blue jeans and had a large red stain on her chest.

  “Who is it?” Nick asked, taking the phone.

  “I don’t know. I just found this phone.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “I think so.”

  The woman’s jeans were unzipped. Had the killer raped her?