The Kill Season

by Robin Mahle

  “And if Fisher and Reid have new information, along with whatever we get from the AdA, we might actually find this asshole and then get to go home.”

  Varela pulled up in the backseat. “I wouldn’t count on that, Agent Scarborough. In fact, I’d be surprised if you left this country alive. Any of you.”

  Noah Quinn stood with his arms folded as he waited for the lab technician to sign-off on the results that had finally come. “Well?”

  “You’re going to have to give me a minute. I need absolute certainty. Maybe it would be best if you returned to your office. I’ll be a little while.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Fine. Yeah. Sorry. I’m anxious. Call me when you’re finished.” He started to leave.

  “You know I will.” The lab tech returned to his computer.

  Quinn stopped in Walsh’s office. “He’s almost there. Has Duncan returned with the napkin?”

  “She texted me and said she’d be here shortly. I’d like to put a call into Scarborough and see how things are going there. I haven’t heard from them all afternoon.”

  “I think he’d call if he needed to or had the opportunity. I’m not sure it’s best for us to initiate contact.”

  With the phone at his ear, Walsh lowered it again and cocked his head. “What is it about him that you don’t like?”

  Quinn ambled his way to a chair and sat down. “It’s not that I don’t like the guy, I just don’t think he’s suited for this position.”

  “That’s a bold assertion. Do you think you’re better suited? Is that what I’m hearing?”

  “Not at all.”

  “And you’re sure this has nothing to do with Reid? Seems things have turned a little cold between you two.”

  Quinn shook his head. “She’s stubborn. Doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.”

  “And what is right in front of her? You?” Walsh appeared concerned. “Are there possibly some feelings involved there?”

  “No. That’s not at all what this is about. Look, I just think Scarborough has made some bad calls. And Cole seems to be on his side 100 percent.”

  “Then why does it bother you?”

  Quinn paused for a moment. “Because he’s holding her back.”

  “Who? Reid?”

  “Yeah. Reid. He’s holding her back. She knows it. I know it. And she won’t do a damn thing about it.”

  “By the sounds of things, you’ve decided to force the issue. Reid seems convinced of it. Is that true? Cause I’ll tell you one thing, Quinn, what we got going on here with all of us is a team trying to find its legs. And you’re knocking them out from under us. Something’s gotta give. And think it’s going to have to come from you.”

  Duncan severed the rising tension on her return. “I got it. Here’s the napkin. I don’t know if we’ll get anything from it. I’ve seen stranger things happen, but I say it’s worth a shot.”

  At that moment, Quinn’s phone rang. “It’s the lab.” He answered. “You have the results? Hang on, I’m going to put you on speaker. I’m here with the rest of the team.” He pressed the speaker button. “Go head.”

  “We did pull DNA off the samples you provided. However, there is no match in the system.”

  “That’s no surprise. The good news is you pulled DNA,” Walsh said. “But we might have something that could match what you’ve just pulled.”

  “And that is?” The tech asked over the speaker.

  “How good are you at retrieving DNA from a napkin?”

  20

  The last refuge in a city seemingly hellbent on ensuring the destruction of US federal agents was where Cain and Scarborough had returned. The abandoned structure hardly suitable for occupancy lay inside a suburban community that hid its own objectives.

  Cain returned the phone to his pocket and sat down on the cot. “Lambert says Varela is safely on the plane.”

  “Now we have to play off like we killed him.” Scarborough checked the time. “I should reach out to my team before we head back to Rocinha.” He picked up the landline. “This line is still secured?”

  “I’m no amateur, Scarborough. It’s secure.” He walked to the small refrigerator. “You want some water?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Nick waited while the line rang. “Hey, Walsh. I’m glad you answered. Please tell me you have the results?”

  Scarborough listened as Walsh relayed the news that they had retrieved DNA, but there was no match to anyone in ViCap, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. But he added the napkin could be the lynch pin. “I was hoping for something more definitive. You might not have enough on that napkin to get anything.”

  “That’s what the lab tech said, but he said it was worth a shot. What have we got to lose? There was another interesting development. A case was just entered into ViCAP by the NYPD. A woman who went missing a few days ago. When Duncan ran the parameters to find a match on our sample, it popped up as a new entry. She initially disregarded it but, well, now that we suspect Mason Wylder could also be involved, she opted to take a look, in the off-chance. Here’s the kicker. You won’t believe who the last person was who saw her.”

  “Who?”

  “Mason Wylder. He was at a café in Manhattan which just so happens to have been the last place the woman was seen alive.

  “Mason Wylder has returned from Rio?” Scarborough asked. “When did this happen?”

  “Don’t know. If Duncan hadn’t seen that NYPD report, I’m not sure we’d know now, but he’s here, Scarborough. He left Rio. What do you suppose that means?”

  “It means I might’ve made a deal with the devil and didn’t need to.” How much longer until we know for sure on this napkin? I don’t want to cut bait here until we are 100 percent certain there’s a match to the samples we provided and this napkin,” Scarborough said.

  “The tech says he’ll have something soon. I don’t know what that means. But I trust he’s busting his ass for us on this one.”

  “Okay. Cain and I have taken care of things on our end. We’re waiting for Reid and Fisher to return, which should be any time now. We’ll stick to the plan until we hear otherwise from you.”

  “Okay. Hey, be safe. All of you.”

  “You know we will. Talk later.” Scarborough ended the call.

  Cain peered through the window. “I think the rest of your people have returned.”

  “Good timing.” Scarborough returned to the cot and dropped down. “We might’ve just been handed a reason to go home. Regardless of what the AdA has.”

  Cain opened the door. “Welcome back. Come on in and join the party.”

  “Looks more like a wake in here than a party.” Fisher walked inside. “Good thing we come bearing news.”

  Scarborough perked up.

  “Reid, you want to let them in what we found?”

  Cain closed the door. “Please do, Reid.”

  “So, our first meeting was a little bit of a bust. The guy was a friend, but he didn’t know anything.” Kate continued inside.

  “Right. But after that. Tell them what happened.” Fisher appeared as delighted as a child tattling on his sibling.

  “He gave us the name of one of Rosella’s closest friends. We went to her work and she was willing to talk.”

  Scarborough stood up. “What did she say?” A thunderous noise rang out and a window exploded, sending shards flying through the room. He instinctively ducked, throwing his arms over his head. “Jesus!”

  Cain ducked and pulled Kate down with him.

  Scarborough’s eyes widened as he set his sights on the shattered window with curtains that now hung in tatters. “Fisher! Get down! Kate? Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. What the hell is…”

  The sound that followed was unmistakable this time. Gunfire. The front door splintered, and beams of light shone through the bullet holes. Shells clinked and clattered as the they fell to the ground.

  “We need to get the hell out of here!” Cain reached for his cell and pressed
a button. “Lambert! We need help! We got people firing on us left and right and I need to get these people out of here!”

  “I’ll send backup now. Stay put!”

  Cain dropped his phone into his pocket. “Lambert’s sending people, but I don’t know how much time we’ll have. We need to find a way out of here.”

  “How many are out there?” Fisher asked, still low to the ground.

  “Hell if I know. You want to look?”

  More shots pinged against the concrete exterior with one making it through the broken window and ricocheting off the refrigerator.

  “Holy hell!” Scarborough said. “We’re going to have to hold them off.”

  “Who’s out there?” Kate asked.

  “Varela had to get word to someone. There’s no other way,” Cain said.

  “Unless we were followed,” Fisher said.

  “No. Not a chance,” Kate replied.

  “We can dick around here and figure out why we’re being shot at, or we can find a solution for how we can vacate these premises,” Cain said. “I vote for the latter.”

  “Scarborough, you and I will have to provide cover so Cain can take Reid and get to the car. We’ll have to catch up with them,” Fisher said.

  “No way. We all go or none of us goes,” Kate said.

  “Nice try, Reid. But you aren’t calling the shots here.” Cain pulled her arm. “In five. You boys better be ready.”

  With Cain’s countdown, Kate had to be ready whether she wanted to or not. “Goddamn it! I need to stay with my team!”

  In unison, Fisher and Scarborough replied, “Go!”

  While Kate wanted to be offended for their overprotective prejudice, after all, she had done her share of joining in shootouts, she had to consider the idea that they were senior to her. “Fine.”

  “Five!” Cain pulled her along while they both remained crouched down. “Let’s go, Reid. Pick up the pace!”

  She trailed him outside amid the barrage of bullets and felt as though they’d just gone from the frying pan into the fire. Some relief came at the sound of returning fire from inside the house as Fisher and Scarborough provided cover so they could reach the car.

  Cain jumped in and Reid leaped into the back seat. “They’d better get their asses out here cause as soon as they hear this car running, all bets are off.”

  “I see them! I see them! Start the car now!” Kate said.

  Cain fired up the engine. “Come on boys. Come on.”

  Fisher and Scarborough reached the car and jumped inside. Scarborough was in the back with Kate.

  “Thank God,” Kate said.

  “We ain’t in the clear yet.” Cain slammed the car into reverse. “Keep your heads down, folks!” He pressed his foot on the gas and the tires spun.

  The hail of bullets followed them. Rapid fire weapons sprayed the car from every direction.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Fisher tucked his head between his legs.

  “Don’t you worry about it, son. I’ll get us clear.” Cain raced out of the driveway and shoved the car into Drive. Smoke billowed from the tires. “Hold on to your britches!”

  It had been over an hour since they made their harrowing escape and no word on who sang about the location of the safe house, though it was impossible to believe it was anyone other than Varela.

  “Where the hell are you?” Lambert screamed at Cain through the phone.

  “Still driving. Did your people find anything there?”

  “No. The assailants were gone before we got here. Your safehouse is shot all to hell, though.”

  Cain checked on the safety of his passengers before continuing. “Where’s Varela?”

  “In our custody in Brasilia. We’ve got our people interrogating him now to find out if he was responsible,” Lambert replied. “I think it’s time for you to get out of there and for the BAU team to go back home.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll get buy off on that. There’s still a killer out there and these folks won’t be keen to leave until he’s found.”

  “Then they’ll be risking their lives. You need to talk some sense into them. I don’t know how much more I can do to help. It’s a different ballgame here and I think you and I are the only ones who realize that.”

  “Let me see what I can do. I’ll be in touch.” Cain ended the call.

  “I already know what you’re about to say,” Kate began. “And I think this time, you might be right.” She looked at her colleagues for agreement. “What we found today, Fisher and I, I’m starting to believe we’ve overlooked the obvious. Mason Wylder. Rosella Ortiz’s friend said she was going to interview someone that day. Someone famous. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “That would explain things,” Scarborough replied.

  “What do you mean?” She pressed on.

  “Just before all hell broke loose when you two returned, I was on the phone with Walsh. Mason Wylder is back in New York. I don’t know when he left or why. But here’s the thing, there’s a missing persons’ report from the NYPD and Wylder was in the location of where the victim was last seen.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Fisher asked.

  “It’s still a longshot to jump to the conclusion Wylder is the killer. We have zero evidence,” Scarborough replied. “Except for one thing that could tie all this together.”

  Kate nodded. “The napkin.”

  “What?” Fisher asked.

  “The night we met Mason Wylder. He autographed, then kissed a napkin and gave it to Duncan.”

  “You got it,” Scarborough replied.

  “Lambert’s insisting it’s time to pull the plug on these shenanigans. Sounds like he’s right,” Cain replied.

  Inside the Manhattan apartment of Mason Wylder, light from a setting sun reflected through the windows and cast a purple and orange haze across the modern interior. He sat on his sofa with a scotch in hand and pressed the remote control of his television in search of news.

  The words of his closest and only confident reverberated and concern gnawed at him about the director’s niece. How was he to know who she was? It was her fault for harassing him for a signature. But now, he believed his behavior might jeopardize the lifestyle in which he enjoyed virtual impunity. These small moments of lucidity didn’t last long, and he recognized their transient nature, though could do nothing about it.

  “And in other news, the niece of a prominent Broadway director has been missing for over 24 hours. The director, along with the young woman’s parents, have pleaded for her safe return. This is Marc Aguilar, News10 live.”

  “This could be a problem,” Wylder opined. The question now was, should he return to Brazil where he could continue to bribe the officials until this blew over? Of course, how would he explain his absence from the set? The job kept him in the public eye and he desired fame almost more then he desired to kill.

  Without the job, the money would vanish quickly and so would his lavish lifestyle. No. These were not viable options. Perhaps the only solution would be to keep his head down and stick to the set and home. No more parties because he recognized his weaknesses. All of this would bring elation to Scott, no doubt. Then perhaps in a few months people would forget about the girl. They always did.

  Wylder picked up his phone. “It’s me. You might be right about keeping my head down.” He could hear the relief in Scott’s tone. “I’m sure this will blow over. Things can get back to normal. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He ended the call and stood from the sofa. After turning off the television, he walked toward the corridor and made a right down the lengthy hall until reaching the room adjacent to his bedroom. While not as sound-proof or sophisticated as the killing room in Rio, it was sufficiently equipped to do what was necessary. He unlocked the door and walked inside.

  A richly upholstered wide chair rested beneath a window. On that chair, a woman whose mouth was taped shut and whose hands and feet were cuffed, appeared fearful of his presence. “I’m really sorry about this, but I think I made a m
istake.” He crouched to meet her and placed his hands atop the arm rests.

  Her reddened eyes revealed a glint of hope.

  Wylder rubbed his smooth chin. “I have seen the unintentional results of my actions, but I don’t suppose I can set you free.”

  She vehemently shook her head and her muffled words formed. “No. No. I won’t say anything.”

  “You are lying,” He used his index finger to remove the strands of hair that clung to her face. “I really wish I’d come to this conclusion just a few hours earlier. My friend left me alone for just a little while and look what I did—again. But there you were, looking lovely. You’ve been a lot of fun, really. There’s just too much at stake here. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Not like I am now.”

  He pulled up. ‘Maybe I should sleep on it. Weigh my options before coming to a decision. Yes. That’s what I should do.”

  Her eyes closed and her shoulders dropped.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m giving you another chance to live.” He started to leave but stopped short and turned on his heel. He inhaled deeply and as if smelling a sweet rose and smiled. “I mean, you’re here anyway, right?” Wylder returned and removed the tape from her mouth. “Maybe just one last time.”

  A knock sounded on Wylder’s door and he rolled over in his bed to check the time. It was barely sunrise and he had been awake most of the night. He sat up and pulled on his shorts before walking to the door.

  “It’s Scott.” The voice sounded through the door.

  Wylder pulled it open. “Good. You’re here.”

  Scott slowly eyed Wylder’s appearance, noting every drop of blood, every pink vein of it that covered his undershirt, his face, his forearms. “What the hell did you do?”

  “You’d better come in. Don’t want the neighbors to see.”

  Scott appeared reluctant but walked inside anyway. “I thought. I thought this was the end.”

  “It was. It is. I swear it. No more, you have my word.” He held up his bloodied palm. “It’s just, well, she was here and I thought, I can’t let her go. That would be suicide, right? So just this one last thing and now we’re all finished. We’ll take care of this and go about our business, I promise.”