Chapter 27

Homecoming

We spent the next two days hiking and playing. On the third, we drove to San Francisco and flew home. Greg was in first class while Furey and I slummed it in economy. We picked up our luggage at the carousel and drove back to Princeton. When they dropped me off at my house Furey jumped out to sit in the front, but before he got in he grabbed me and squeezed the breath out of me.

"Auri, thank you, thank you, thank you. I feel real close to my Mom and you helped me understand my Dad. I had the most fun ever. I love you. "

Greg was watching all of this and rolling his eyes. As Furey climbed in he waved to me, "I'll call you about this weekend, we'll all go do something."

I waved back, "Okay, thanks for the ride."

He drove off and I walked inside. As I walked in, the hairs on my arms and neck stood up. Something wasn't right. I sat my bags down and pulled my gun from my shoulder holster. Walking through my house I could smell the unforgettable smell of a corpse rotting. It permeated the entire house, causing me to gag as I got closer to the source. I went around the entrance into the kitchen and immediately spotted the corpse sitting in my chair in the office alcove as if she was working on something at my desk. She was gray and swollen and there was a wire around her neck. The only thing she had on was her bra and panties, which were cutting into the bloated body. If she had been pretty, you couldn't tell now. The body was so far gone, it was grotesque.

I saw that my computer was on, so I snuck over. It was on my screen saver, so I took a pencil and moved the mouse to get the screen to go back to the window it had been on. I had to catch my breath as the image popped up. I ran to the front yard and pulled out my cell, dialing the FBI for help.

I didn't want to go back in, but I realized that I needed to see if there were any imprints that could help. Still, I didn't want to do it alone. I waited until the team showed up. The first agents to show up were from Philly so I didn't know them that well. Finally a car drove up with Freddie and Rhodes. I went running up to Freddie.

"He's targeting me now."

Freddie nodded, "We'll take care of you."

"It's not me I'm worried about, come with me." We walked in as three agents hovered around my small office alcove. There were a dozen looking around, prying into my things. We walked over to the desk, holding masks up to our nose as I pushed the mouse again. The photo that the killer had been looking at while posing the body, flashed up on the screen.

Freddie looked at Rhodes, motioning for us to get out of the alcove, the smell was getting to all of us. When we got outside he looked down at me, "I don't get it?"

"That's a photo of Dr. House, his son and me in a field of blackberry bushes near Yosemite National Park. It had to have been taken four days ago. Either he flew to California and followed us, or he has an accomplice."

"Well, are you getting any images or feelings?" Rhodes asked.

"To be honest, I was so upset about the photo, I waited outside for you to get here. If I could have a few minutes alone now, I'll see what I can pick up. Okay?"

Freddie and Rhodes cleared everyone out and I stood in the kitchen. It didn't surprise me that she wasn't killed in my house. I could see her limp body, before rigor mortis had set in. He slid her across the floor on an old blanket, a gray one. He left her on the floor while he played on my computer. My protected files were encrypted and he was unable to access them. The password is changed on a weekly basis by the Agency. But he did look through my personal photos, documents and my personal email. He uploaded photos before he printed off a photo of me. Then he turned his attention to the body. He had a hard time getting the victim into the desk chair, causing him to curse the whole time.

I waited to see if I could pick up anything more. I was hoping to get an imprint on how the woman had died or who she was without having to touch the corpse, but I didn't pick up those images just from standing nearby. I was going to have to make contact. I walked into my living room, took a deep breath and then went back inside the alcove. I touched the dirty blonde hair.

My body was propelled back and I fell on the kitchen floor. I couldn't get up; the visions were coming fast and furious. She was screaming and fighting, he hadn't been able to control her like the others. She knew her only chance was to fight. She'd been reading about the murders and knew the guy was going to kill her. He hit her and then grabbed the wire he had brought to the warehouse… the murder was in a warehouse, a warehouse in Princeton.

I tried to get a good look at the victim, but things were flying through my head. I saw her try to grab the wire, but his grip was too tight. Her legs were splayed out on the floor, twitching and flailing as she died from the strangulation. Her sphincter let loose. It was hideous. Her last words were, "Mother fucker."

I had a vision of her body on the floor and my heart began to pound in my chest. I knew the girl. I started crawling across the kitchen floor towards the living room, screaming and clawing my way towards help. Freddie rushed in and pulled me up from the floor. I was shaking and vomiting, everything was going bright white around me. Finally, he got me outside where I could breath.

"Auri, Auri!" He started shaking me. "Auri? What is it?"

Everyone had gathered around me. The blood was rushing through my ears so hard, all I could hear was Freddie and a wooshing sound. I lay back on the ground and closed my eyes.

Rhodes finally asked, "Does she need a bus?"

Freddie shook his head, "This is pretty bad, but she does have some bad reactions occasionally. Especially when it's pretty horrendous. Just give her a minute."

After five minutes, Freddie lifted me up into a sitting position and offered me a bottle of Aquafina. I took a good gulp and said to no one in particular, "Her name is Trica. She lives in Princeton and she's 28. She works in physical therapy at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital." I continued to drink and get my breath. "He strangled her with a wire, but you're going to find defensive bruising and offensive marks. She managed to scratch and bite him."

Freddie let me take a deep breath, "Anything else Auri?"

I nodded, "Yes, she used to date Gregory House."

Freddie's eyes flew open and he nodded. He looked up at Rhodes, "Our killer is now stalking Auri and Dr. House."

I almost cried, but held in my tears, "Please send someone to look after Greg and Furey."

Rhodes nodded, "We'll do it right now."

I realized that, now more than ever, I needed to use my skills. I had to compose myself and go back in, but I really needed to calm myself down or I'd be useless. When it comes to capturing a serial killer, outside of dumb luck, it's usually the public that tips us off. Profilers don't help that much and the CSI team is invaluable at telling us how the crime was committed and possibly some details about the perpetrator, but rarely can they tell us specifically who the killer is when the killer is a stranger.

"Rhodes? I think we need to get this out to the public. Get out my four sketches; tell them that he had access, a key to a warehouse where he killed the victim. Tell the public that he has been in the Princeton area, but left abruptly a few days ago and then returned just as abruptly."

We were lucky in one way-- we had a serial killer with a solid Modus Operandi. Using MO to link crimes can be problematic. If the MO changes within a series of homicides, the murders may not be seen as linked and a serial killer may go unnoticed. Gary Taylor is one such serial killer whose MO was all over the map. He started his criminal career by hitting women over the head with a wrench at bus stops. Then he started shooting women with a rifle. Next he chased women with a machete. He went on to using a ruse to get women out of their apartments. He would call up the victim and claim there was a fire at her place of employment or an emergency of some sort and attack her when she was getting into her car. He also posed as an FBI agent at the door of one of his victims. Near the end of his killing career, he kidnapped two women, tied them up in the basement, shot them in the head, and buried them in the backyard. Then he stopped killing and went about the country raping, but letting his victims live.

Clearly Taylor's MO changed as his needs to control the situation changed. If one took MO to be a way to link these homicides together, one would end up with five different killers! Likewise, if one assumes that the use of the same MO signifies one killer, then the investigator runs into the opposite problem. Since there are only so many ways to kill a person, a good portion of homicides look pretty much alike. One group will be strangled victims and another group will be stabbing victims. A smaller group victims of a shooting. If we just look at MO we'd have to surmise thats there are just three killers out there for the entire United States. And we all know that's not true.

We have something called VICAP (Violent Criminal Apprehension Program). When a murder occurs, the police investigator fills out an ungodly long form with details of the crime scene. This form (if it is actually filled out as many times detectives don't bother) is sent to Langley where all the data is added to a database. Somehow, the incredible mass of information with MO details and particulars (was the victim naked or not, was she tied up or not, etc.) is matched with other crimes and, lo and behold, crime linkage is accomplished. Supposedly.

With the huge number of serial murders, the difficulties with ever-changing MO and signatures, the added problem of unexpected occurrences at a crime scene (like the rape never happened because someone interrupted the killer or the normal five stabs turns into 50 because the victim mouthed off at him), how accurate can any of this be? While VICAP may be valuable in retrieving other useful law enforcement information, it's easy to understand that it doesn't make a major difference in identifying serial killer suspects.

What most of us agents and homicide detectives would prefer is a suspect bank that would match suspects with victims through relatives, mutual friends and acquaintances, residences, work, hobbies, amusements, and travels. It would be nice if this bank would detail any odd behaviors on the part of the suspect that would help identify him in another crime. It would be advantageous for a police department to know that one of the persons they were interviewing was actually a suspect in two other homicides in two other jurisdictions. However, at present, this information is not shared, and the detective may simply let that suspect walk out of his office and cross him off the suspect list without even realizing another police department had already investigated him in connection with another homicide.

For example, when Ray Biondi, one of the finest serial homicide investigators in the field to date, was investigating the serial murders of Roger Kibbe, wouldn't it have been helpful to be able to plug in "weird cutting up of clothes" and get a match to Roger Kibbe who was one of the persons of interest in the investigation? They did eventually find out that there were records of just this sort in an old juvenile case file from 30 years earlier in another jurisdiction. Tracking this kind of information could really make the difference in identifying suspects.

The typical scenario in a serial homicide investigation follows a well trodden path. First, the police try not to let the public know there is a serial killer out there. If they get lucky, there will only be a small paragraph in the local paper and within a short time, everyone will forget about the murder. Then, hopefully the killer will move to another jurisdiction. If he doesn't stop killing in your jurisdiction, law enforcement will just keep denying that the string of murders in your community are linked. Before DNA actually linked the death of five women in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in 2002, the police steadfastly told the community there was no serial killer on the loose. This was rather hard to believe considering how many women were dead. The words of victim Pam Kinamore's brother-in-law, Ed White, sum it up rather well. "The truth is I don't care how many of these cases have been linked by DNA evidence. The truth is either we have one serial killer in Baton Rouge or we have a lot of killers in Baton Rouge, and either way we've got a serious problem here."

When the citizens start to get surly like this, then our local yokels hold a bunch of news conferences and say law enforcement is doing everything possible and guarantee this guy is going to be caught. Finally, as time goes on and the killer doesn't get caught, no one will remember that promise. Eventually people will even forget a serial killer is on the loose. Fear fades away and we go on with our lives. Multiply this scenario across the nation and you can see why there are far more serial killers out there than most people realize. The truth is that there are many more serial killers outside of prison than inside. Until find better ways of catching these predators, we can "safely" assume one of our neighbors is the real Hannibal Lector you should be on the look out for.

So where does that leave me? In the driver's seat. I'm the closest thing the FBI has to "getting lucky." I don't always get enough details to send the agents and detectives in the right direction, but I have a much better batting average on cases than others. So, I usually get assigned the worst of the worst. And this guy was quickly becoming my personal worst.

The fact that he was now killing more frequently and getting personal added a very scary and odd twist to my life.

I spent the next three hours on the scene and, being completely exhausted, drove over to Greg's house. I knocked on the door and a few minutes later, a perturbed looking Grinch answered.

"Jesus Auri, we just saw each other. I promise I'll call you this weekend."

"Do you see the bag in my hand? I need a place to stay for a few nights. My house is a crime scene."

He woke up a little and opened the door wide for me to enter. "What the hell happened?"

I took off my jacket, "Greg, you're going to be interviewed, so I can't tell you much. I can tell you that your friend, Tricia was the murder victim they found in my house."

He pulled his head back to take a good look at me, to measure my reactions and whether I was lying. I guess I passed muster because he shook his head, "Come on up. Bring your bag." I followed him and then I stopped by the guest room door. He smirked, "Oh for God's sake, you can still sleep with me, can't you?"

I thought about it, "I guess so. I asked my boss if I could stay with you and he seemed to think you could easily be eliminated as a suspect because …well, because of some evidence we found."

"Great, I've been given the seal of approval by the FBI. Excellent. What about sex, did they say we could have sex? And do they have a preference for a certain position? I would assume, being the FBI, they expect us to do it Missionary style."

"I'm really tired, can we just go to bed?"

He looked at me and took pity, "Come here." I went over and he hugged me gently, "Okay, you can tell me about it in the morning."

I didn't bother unpacking; I just grabbed a t-shirt out of his drawer and put it on then climbed in bed. We gave each other a peck and said goodnight. Being in that room, in that bed, with him, made me feel safe. I guess the two guys in the car outside also helped, but I slipped into a deep sleep with my body curled up next to him.

"Auri!"

I recognized Furey's voice immediately. Opening one eye, I could feel Greg move slightly to get his arm out from under me.

"My arm's asleep."

I lifted my head and let him pull it out from under me, "Sorry." I turned and smiled at Furey, "Hi sweetie, did you miss me?"

Furey laughed, "Did you decide to come and live with us?"

"Only for a few days. I need to get rid of a smell in my house before I can sleep there."

He nodded, "Oh, you mean the dead body?"

House raised his head and looked at his son, "What do you know about dead bodies?"

"I don't know, I dreamt of it last night. The killer downloaded a picture on your computer, printed one of you and then put the dead lady in your chair. You were frightened when you saw the photo because it was a picture of the three of us in Aspen Valley, by the blackberry bushes."

Greg sat up and looked down at me, "Is that true? This guy took a photo of us in California?"

I nodded.

"Auri, is that why the FBI are sitting in cars outside?" Furey asked.

I took a deep breath, "Yes, they're here to protect the three of us. Furey, if you're picking up imprints or anything, you better tell me everything you see in your head." I looked over at Greg, "I'm sorry to ruin your Sunday morning."

He whispered into my ear, "There are ways to make it up to me."

I laughed, "Hmm, why am I not surprised?" I turned back to Furey. I could feel how excited he was to have me in their home, "Let's go down and make some breakfast for your Dad, okay?"

I got up and put on a pair of Furey's sweat pants which he let me borrow, and went down to the kitchen. "I love French Toast, what about you?"

"It's one of my favorites too. French Toast and bacon."

"Great."

We made the French Toast and bacon, then called Greg down for breakfast. I told Furey I would talk to him later about his impressions and then we packed Furey and an agent off to see a new friend that only live two blocks away. Once he was gone, we collapsed down on the couch. I pulled my laptop out and started working. After about fifteen minutes Greg turned to me.

"Are you ready to tell me what happened?"

"They're on their way over to interview you. After the interview, we can talk, okay?"

"Suit yourself."

The knock on the door was expected so I got up and answered the door. It was Rouche and Freddie. I was a little shocked to see Rouche, but I got the feeling that he just wanted to see me in a personal setting. They all knew that Greg and Furey were important to me.

"He's in here." I motioned for them to follow me. Greg leaned forward and turned off the television, which shocked me. He was actually taking this interview seriously.

"Greg House, Special Agent Rouche and you know Freddie."

They shook hands and it was Rouche who started off, "Dr. House, how long have you known Agent Ferrell?"

I must have looked stunned that he was asking about me and not the victim. Greg just frowned at me as if to say 'I have to answer.' He looked at me for help in responding because he obviously didn't remember, "It was near my son's birthday which is in April. We met at a Star Trek Convention in San Diego."

Rouche almost smiled, giving me a strange look. Freddie did snicker a little.

"I assume that you and Agent Ferrell have been intimate?"

House rolled his eyes, "We're sleeping together. I boldly went where no man had gone before back in April."

"So you've been seeing her for about ten months?"

He looked at me and actually gave me a quick smile, "Yes and no. There was a period of six months that I didn't have any contact with her, not until Furey was kidnapped."

"Would you say you're close?"

He furred his brow and narrowed his eyes. I could feel the 'annoyed House' starting to surface, "She's sleeping right next to me; I'd say that's close."

Rouche didn't smile or laugh, "I meant emotionally close."

"She saved my son's life and she went on vacation with him. I'd say we're close enough."

"What about Tricia Griffith? When did you meet her?"

"I met her in the cafeteria line at work about six months ago."

"Were you intimate with her?"

"Yes."

"Would you call her your girlfriend?"

"No, just someone I was dating."

"You met at the hospital?"

Greg nodded, "Yes, she worked in Physical Therapy."

"Were you still seeing her?"

"No."

"Why?"

Now he looked really annoyed, as if he was embarrassed to say it. He glanced over at me as we all sat, anticipating his response. "I told her that there was someone else in my life, someone I wanted to date exclusively."

"Did you tell her who?"

Greg inhaled air into his cheeks and blew it out in frustration, "Yes."

There was a deep pause as we all waited for him to tell us who. He looked around as if he had given a response and that was it.

"Dr. House, who was it that you wanted to date exclusively?"

He gave half a frown, "I told her that I wanted to date Auri."

I let a smile cross my lips. Greg saw it.

"Don't get misty eyed on me." He then chuckled.

I grinned, "Excuse me. I just didn't realize…" I waved at him, "Later."

"Can you tell us anything about Tricia?"

"Vacuous red head with great body, large tits and a willing libido. She was perfect company for what I needed at the time. She comes from Connecticut, went to a small college and graduated with a degree in Physical Therapy. She liked all the S's, skiing, shopping and sex. I wasn't her only ride."

"Did you tell her you were flying out to California to see Auri?"

"No, but I told her that Auri and Furey had flown out to California to camp and we'd have some "alone" time."

"So when did you stop seeing her?"

"Two days before I flew out to California."

"So who was her 'other ride'?"

"Not sure, didn't care. I know he worked at the hospital."

They asked him another forty-five minutes of questions before finally getting their fill. I walked them to the car.

I leaned in the passenger window, "We need to brainstorm tomorrow. Any more interviews today?"

"We're meeting with her parents; they came down to pick up the body. A little premature. We told them we can't release it for at least a week. They just wanted to be near her."

"I'm going to interview Furey, he's getting impressions. After the house is released back to me, I'll take him over and see if he picks anything up. That is, if his Dad lets me."

Freddie shook his head, "I wouldn't; he's only ten. Those visions can't be pretty."

"I know, but his safety is obviously at stake here."

They both nodded as Rouche started the car. I stood back and waved as they drove off. Turning around, I went back inside and found the living room empty. I looked around downstairs, yelled down the Basement, but no Greg. I ran upstairs and found him, laying in bed naked, waiting for me.

"I thought you might like a ride on my horsey."

"Ride 'em bronco!"

I started to take off my clothes and climb in with him. It was comfortable being in his arms, both of us rubbing each other's backs and kissing. I could taste the maple syrup and bacon, smell his day old musk – woodsy notes that I recognized as him. Poking into my thigh, his erection told me that he was ready for me.

"This is a nice reaction, quicker than I thought."

"Talking about being intimate with you downstairs was hot."

I laughed and for a moment I let the gate down. Our physical connection was like a hotwire into my brain and I could see that he was thinking about screwing Tricia. I pulled back and pushed his chest back.

He narrowed his eyes, "Wha?"

"You're imagining humping Tricia, not me!"

He frowned and sighed at the same time, "Damn, sometimes I hate that you can do that. It's an invasion of my privacy."

"Privacy! You were broadcasting it all over the place! I don't believe you, you'd rather pretend I'm Tricia than make love to me!"

He sat up and shook his head, "That's not it. I'm just a guy for God's sake. All this talk about sex with you and her, it was bound to stir up memories. You can't do this to me. You can't hold this against me, because I didn't give you permission to listen in on my brainwaves!"

"Oh, you're like the guy who gets caught with porn on his computer and complains because someone figured out your password."

"It doesn't mean I don't want to screw you…it means that…crap. It means nothing." He wagged a finger at me, "And you know it. Now, do you want your pipes plumbed or not?"

"You're so romantic."

"Fine." He threw the covers off and started to get up.

"Okay! Fine!" I threw back the covers and started playing with myself.

He stopped and pulled his head back in shock, "What are you doing?"

"Well, if you won't get me off, I'll do it myself." I leaned back and made a big deal about what I was doing, moaning and groaning.

He looked at me as if I was the Superbowl in overtime. I certainly had his attention, evident by the slight rise in his erection. His head tilted as the other head tilted too. Slowly climbing back in bed, he ran his hand down my hipbone and around my thigh, covering my hand with his. Together we continued to rub between my legs. He brought his lips up to my ear and began licking and nibbling my earlobe. I turned my mouth towards his and he covered it, his tongue darting in and out. Pulling my hand away, I let Greg take over.

We were both breathing hot and heavy. Greg's lips followed the curve of my neck to my breasts. He continued to rub, but lifted his body to cover half of me. The feel of his skin, warm, moist and hairy, very much a man's, made my whole body ache for him. I put my hand up on the back of his head as he rolled his tongue around my nipple. Reaching down, I sucked his earlobe and neck, the taste of salt exploding on my tongue. I felt his hand pull back and his erection slip between my legs. He was ready; the tip of his erection was wet and glistening. Hard and fast, he pushed up into me.

"Greg?" My voice was hoarse and wobbly.

He wasn't listening; all of his concentration had gone between my legs and what he was doing to me. I was going to point out that he had gone commando and I wasn't on anything, but he was already coming down the home stretch, grunting as he let loose. He paused and then pulled out, wincing from how sensitive it felt. There was no hesitation, he quickly found my clit and started rubbing as he reached up and kissed me. It was quick, but I felt my body start to dance under his hand. I loved it, the release of the orgasm crashing through me felt so good I wanted to hold on to him and not let go. When it was over I took a deep breath.

"Auri?"

"Hmmm?" I could barely respond. My mind was foggy, like I had just had a huge hit of a great drug.

"My mind may wander sometimes, but it always comes back. There's something about you that demands it. I need to stop kidding myself."

"About what?"

"I'm losing this war."

I was finally starting to hear him, "Losing the war? What war?"

"I'm not getting out of this alive. Between your body and Furey's harping, I might as well just buy an engagement ring and get it over with."

He said it with such resignation, it didn't feel real. I opened up the gate and probed his mind.

Well, for being past her prime, she's got a great body. Good at what she does with it. Bright. Loves Furey. Cooks, cleans, picks up after me. Marriages have been built on less…

I closed the gate and turned my face away, my jaws clenched, my stomach churning. I was nothing more than a sexual maid to him. I was about to scream at him, but he was staring up at the ceiling, looking sober, his brow furred, his attention on something beyond the plaster on the ceiling. I opened the gate.

Plus, every time she goes home, I'm lonely. I miss her; she makes me feel alive again. Is it love? It feels like love. Am I crazy? Another mind reader? Is that what I need to be kept in line? Looks like it. She'll keep me in line.

"Auri?"

I knew what was coming, so I felt my way to the edge of the bed and sat up, my heart beating so hard in the hollow of my chest, I thought it would jump out.

"Yes, Greg?"

He sat up too, but couldn't look at me, "I'm really uncomfortable being affectionate, telling a woman how I feel, so I may screw this…"

The fucking phone rang. Greg's eyes looked up at mine. We both thought about him ignoring it, but with a killer running loose, he picked it up.

"Yeah?" There was silence as he listened to the person on the phone. "Crap! Who's in?" There was a silence, "Okay, call in the whole team, I'm on my way. And give him cortosteroids, yeah prednisone should work." He hung up, glanced quickly at me and then shrugged, "New patient, crashing fast. I'll talk to you later. Can you come down this afternoon around 2:00 pm? Oh, and can you do your psychic thing and find Furey? Uh, can you see if Wilson will take him?"

"I'll watch him and bring him down to the hospital. You don't need Wilson; that is if you don't mind me staying here with you until they release my house?"

"I already told you it was okay." Not bothering to look up, he stepped into his old boxers and levis, then continued dressing. I figured he was going to take a shower when he got to the hospital because he stuffed a pair of clean boxers in his back pocket, most of the plaid cotton Hanes sticking out like an umpire's flag. He actually came over, pecked me on the cheek, "That was hot this morning, see you later." And he was off.

Literally, saved by the bell.