Prime Time Bar & Grill
Princeton, New Jersey
Sam couldn’t believe how quickly two and a half weeks had flown by. Thankfully, no more bodies had been dumped in public lands, giving him a chance to organize his thoughts about the case. The forensics machine was cranking away at the mountain of evidence gathered, but as Jenn frequently reminded him, it would take some time for everything to be processed properly.
Both bodies had been autopsied, but had revealed little new information. Despite the number of packages holding pieces of the first victim, his fingers, toes, and right arm were either missing or damaged beyond repair. That meant getting fingerprints would be difficult. New techniques in gathering latent fingerprints from skin gave them some hope, but Sam wasn’t going to hold his breath for results. He’d have to work some other angles on identifying the victim. The Bradford County ME had complained about having to piece the guy together like a gruesome jigsaw puzzle.
Some parts of the skull had been smashed to little bits, but once it was restored, Sam could get a 3D scan and an approximate image of the man’s face. This would allow him to compare it to missing persons files. If he was lucky, the man disappeared from a state that kept archived electronic copies of their missing persons files. Despite leaps and bounds in technology and communication, most law enforcement communities still functioned like islands with a network of rickety bridges connecting them. If he was really lucky, the man would be a local, which would make questioning his next of kin that much easier. He hated that part of his job, but it was a necessary evil.
The interview with the second victim’s family had been tough, especially after he learned Haley Doherty had left a young daughter behind. Sam pondered how ordinary the second victim’s life had seemed on the surface. By day, Haley worked as a clerk in a local hardware store. By night, she supplemented the meager income by freelancing for a new kind of high-tech prostitution. The vice crew had scored big time for Sam, connecting Haley to Anything Goes, Inc. within five days of him giving them the scant information he had. It helped that Haley’s parents had filed a missing persons report promptly when she failed to pick up her daughter the day after the murder.
A gentle, tentative knock on Sam’s car window startled him, but he confined his reaction to a muscle twitch in his shoulders. His head flew left, and he found himself staring up at his date. He had to quell the urge to leap out of the car lest he knock her over in the process. That would be an unfortunate beginning. Smiling, he turned off his car and got out, pausing long enough to let her step out of the way as the door swung open.
“Sam?” asked the woman. Her tone was confident, yet soft and controlled, yet questioning. She turned his name into a warm invitation.
He liked her voice. Every line he’d rehearsed mysteriously vanished, so he dragged out the process of closing his car door. Heat rose up his neck toward his ears, but hopefully, a combination of cold winter air and enough shadows hid most of the reaction. He feared he would simply stare at her tongue-tied.
Say something!
“Hi, you must be Melissa.” Sam winced. His voice had as much character as a block of concrete. His right hand flexed as he resisted the impulse to offer her a handshake. “I’m Sam.”
Real smooth. The thought sounded suspiciously like Jenn in his head.
An eternal second of awkward silence stretched between them.
They stared at each other.
“Can you tell I’m out of practice?” Sam asked.
The question broke the awkwardness before it could flip to tension. Light laughter from Melissa finished it off.
“You and me both,” she admitted.
“I’m not sure I should shake your hand or try for a hug.” The statement escaped Sam. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to try either.
Melissa’s laughter bubbled brighter. Leaning forward, she wrapped him in a brief embrace and kissed him on the cheek.
“Hugs are okay where I come from,” said Melissa. “They sort of come with my job.”
Sam’s unease began melting. He saw her shiver.
“I’d love to hear all about that, but we should probably head inside. Shall we continue the getting-to-know-you thing over some hot drinks? I’m told they serve an amazing hot chocolate.” Turning so they stood side-by-side, Sam offered his arm to escort her.
Once inside, the hostess quickly settled them into a quiet booth near the back. Soon, they had tall glasses of ice water to tide them over until they decided what they really wanted.
“I’m glad you could make it on such short notice,” said Sam. He leaned forward, eager to learn everything he could about this woman.
They’d been exchanging emails and phone calls for several weeks, but this was the first face-to-face meeting. Melissa Novak was much prettier than her profile photos. The still images couldn’t convey her sense of presence or the kindness in her blue eyes. Her hair hung loose, brushing the tops of her shoulders. It too seemed to have more body and life outside the confines of a picture.
“You too. I’m glad I could steal you away from murder and mayhem for a while. How’s that going anyway?”
During their first phone conversation, Sam had elaborated on his occupation. Jenn’s innocuous “federal employee” answer had been designed to not scare potential dates off, but Sam wanted to be as honest as possible. He didn’t want to waste his time with anybody who couldn’t deal with his job. He couldn’t legally discuss details of the open investigation, but he did mention his current case was a murder. It didn’t take her long to figure out which one. As part of being the FBI’s public face on this investigation, Sam had had to endure several news interviews.
Sam shrugged.
“It’s hard to tell. We’re doing everything we can, but the truth of the matter is that often times we’re just waiting for the perp to make a mistake.” He toyed with his water glass, running his finger down the condensation on the side and absently making a smiley face. The case threatened to hijack his mind again, so Sam shook his shoulders to help him focus. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be lousy company.”
“No apology necessary,” Melissa replied. “It’s my fault for bringing it up. Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Shall we avoid work talk altogether?”
“Not necessarily. I’m sure you have a lot of interesting work-related tales to tell.”
A far-off look swept over Melissa’s face.
“The kids I work with are the strongest, bravest people I’ve ever met, but most of their cases are complicated and heartbreaking.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but you’re welcome to,” said Sam.
Time passed quickly as Melissa regaled Sam with quotes and anecdotes about some of her favorite patients over the years. The waiter came and took their order. Sam asked for a medium-rare prime rib, and Melissa requested the parmesan crusted chicken breast. Sam would have settled for water to accompany the meal, but since Melissa ordered an iced tea, he got a soda. The interruption allowed them to ease into a new phase in their conversation.
Thanks to Matchmaker Miracles, they already knew they both enjoyed working out, watching movies, and walking. They learned that his idea of a workout mostly involved weights and treadmills at a gym while her idea encompassed running along open roads or park trails. Sam’s movie preferences ran heavily toward the action, adventure, and thriller categories, while Melissa’s likes entailed way more Disney titles, romantic comedies, and the occasional suspense story. Strangely, they both enjoyed science fiction and fantasy stories. They agreed that the best kind of walk was late at night with a clear open sky filled with stars.
When their food arrived, Sam paused to appreciate the nice presentation the chef had arranged. As he worked his way through the steak, Sam peppered Melissa with more specific questions about her job, hobbies, and family. He fielded just as many or more questions from her, especially when it came to family. Being a trained inves
tigator, he honed in on the topic. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but he was curious as to why she volunteered relatively few tidbits of information. Finally, his gentle interrogation yielded results.
“My dad passed away when I was a teenager. Mom got cancer soon after, so it fell to me to keep things normal for my brothers. We’re not blood related since I’m adopted and they were surprises for my folks, but they’re still my brothers. They’re twins, but about as different as night and day. I keep in pretty close contact with Josh, but Andrew moved to California for college and fell off the map.” Melissa’s one-shoulder shrug tried to tell Sam the loss of contact didn’t bother her.
It didn’t work. Sam had spent enough time around Jenn to pick up on Melissa’s disappointment.
“Do you have any contact with him?” Sam inquired. He flagged down the waiter and ordered two hot chocolates since Melissa didn’t seem interested in a more official dessert.
“He sends me flowers on my birthday every year. It’s a nice gesture, but I’d rather see him, you know?” A pensive expression took over. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly haunted. “I try to reach out, but it’s like he’s actively blocking me. He always was better with computers than people, but I’d chalked that up to a teenage phase. He should be more … social. I feel like I failed him in some way.”
“Because you’re older than him?” asked Sam, understanding the sentiment. Jenn made his job of keeping in contact ridiculously easy, but as the older sibling, he understood the instinct to protect and pave the way for a younger loved one.
She confirmed his guess with a nod, then forced a smile.
“Sorry. I’m usually not quite so prone to doom and gloom. I must be tired.”
“It’s no problem. I enjoy getting to know you better.” Sam sensed it was a good time to press his luck. “I know the night’s not over yet, but would you like to go on a second date someday?” He gulped down some of the scalding hot chocolate that had arrived to keep from staring while she composed an answer.
“I’d like that,” said Melissa. This smile had a bit more life to it than the last one.
“Great. Now the hard part: what would you like to do?” Sam sipped at his ice water to counteract the near boiling hot chocolate he’d just poured down his throat.
“I’m sure we’ll figure out something. The truly hard part will be wrangling another time when we’re both free. The physical distance thing could be difficult.”
“I have off most weekends,” said Sam.
If there are no new bodies.
“I’m on call some weekends, and the ones I’m not on call, I’m busy painting or spackling or doing some other home repair project.”
A lightbulb blazed over Sam’s head.
“Why don’t I help? I can paint.” He realized he probably sounded too eager. Another thought struck him. “I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m trying to invite myself over. I’d like to help if I can.”
Melissa shook her head.
“We just met. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“If it needs doing, then we’ll get it done. We can have a nice dinner after if we’ve still got the energy for it.”
The waiter came by and dropped the bill on their table. Melissa reached for it, but Sam was faster.
“Mine!” he crowed triumphantly.
At first, Melissa looked stunned, but the expression soon turned amused.
“You know I don’t expect you to pay just because you’re a man, right?” she asked tentatively.
“I know, but you came a long way to meet me on a work night. This is just a small way to thank you for the effort.”
She eyed him suspiciously.
“If we … continue dating, will you ever let me pay for things?”
“Of course,” Sam said cheerfully. He left enough cash for the meal plus a generous tip then rose and crossed to help her into her coat. “You come skydiving with me, and I’ll let you pay.” He was joking. They had both admitted to a healthy fear of heights.
To his surprise, she said, “Deal.”
Chapter 11:
Tech Savvy Perp
FBI Field Office
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Samuel Kerman tried to concentrate on the report summarizing the gas chromatograph readouts from samples collected on or near the second victim. He especially wanted to know the identity of the gray dust found on both bodies, but his mind kept wandering away from the technical reports and back to Melissa. What would her hair feel like? He loved her laugh and the way she spoke about the children she worked with. The element names and percentages in the reports meant nothing to Sam, so he skimmed past the details to the conclusion.
Chemical identity: unknown.
Well, that’s a lot of help.
Instinct told Sam he ought to care about this mystery substance, but his gut was fuzzier on explaining why. In the grand scheme of evidence, it probably wouldn’t amount to much without some suspects to link it to. The first body, John Doe, couldn’t give Sam many leads since he was still in too many pieces. The second body, Haley Doherty, gave him plenty of people to question and leads to follow. While enlightening, most of the information gathered was useless.
Anything Goes, Inc.—Haley’s nocturnal employer—simply had too many safeguards in place to protect the identity of their shady clients. People either paid a premium for paying in cash when they met their date or paid through a third party website called shadowsales.com. For a small fee, this company would store people’s credit card information in one server and assign a unique client number. They would use their own credit to cover the client’s expenses. For 24 hours, the client information could be linked to the item or service purchased, but after that point, both got scrubbed. Scrubbing involved scrambling. After 24 hours, the clients could only be linked to a category of product, not an actual purchase.
Sam didn’t know too much about high-tech matters, but he was fairly certain a system like that could be beaten, dismantled, or at least peeked into long enough to gain answers. On the other hand, he could not predict whether a judge would sign off on the time and effort needed to pursue a long shot person of interest in this case.
What should we do?
The question initially concerned the murder cases, but Sam’s mind offered up several pleasant date options instead of new investigative angles. Finding a movie they both enjoyed might be tricky, but it was worth considering. When the weather turned nicer, they could check out some of the hiking trails in the Adirondacks or a state park somewhere. He’d probably suggest a park in New Jersey, seeing as Pennsylvania parks had been catching more than their fair share of bodies recently.
Unfortunately, much of what needed to be done concerning the case either lay outside his control—like the speed with which forensics tests could be accomplished—or had been done already. Being caught up had allowed him to go on a date with Melissa last night, but he didn’t like waiting for the bad guy to make a move.
Leaning back in his chair, Sam toyed with a pencil, stared up at the ceiling, and let the case details run through his head. Two bodies had shown up in separate parks or public lands in Pennsylvania within a week of each other. That told him the perpetrator was likely familiar with the tristate area, but didn’t want to lead investigators to his doorstep. The forethought meant the guy probably had a grand game plan. Sam could almost hear the professional development lecturer drone about political correctness and its role in the workplace, but in the privacy of his own head, he’d go with “guy” until proven wrong.
The first victim had been male and practically shredded. The medical examiner had said large animals, likely dogs, had eaten some of the body. That spoke of some serious animosity. Sam’s stomach did a flip within him at the memory. The killer had declared the first victim guilty of something, so identifying him needed to be a priority. Still, without easy access to fingers, fingerprints were difficult. The lab people would work up a DNA profile to glean some information, bu
t as yet, there was no missing persons DNA databank to throw it in for a match.
The second victim had been female, declared innocent, and shot. She had been easily identified, and obviously, stalked through her job.
Why a second victim?
If the killer had nothing specific against the second victim, why bother? The move gave investigators more to work with. The gray dust, similar dump sites, and messages about guilt or innocence were a pretty solid signature combination. That meant he probably wanted investigators to appreciate his handiwork.
Sam’s computer pinged like it wanted to update or had a special alert for him. He ignored it.
The plastic bags holding victim one’s body came up with little usable trace evidence. Sam would have donated a lung for a nice fingerprint on one of the plastic bags, but the killer must have worn gloves.
Heavy footsteps rushed by his office first one way and then the other. Sam glanced up, but then buried his head in his notes again.
Both victims were white, so it followed that the killer was likely white. Statistically, serial killers tended toward white and male anyway. Sam tried to keep an open mind, picturing the killer as a large black woman wielding a knife. The image didn’t work for him, and it shattered a moment later when Agent Newhouse poked his head into Sam’s cubicle.
“Hatcher says to unplug your computer, shut down your laptop, and turn off your phone,” Newhouse announced. “There’s a meeting in Conference Room B in five minutes. Be there.” The man’s tone zipped with a buzz of agitated excitement.
Before Sam could ask any questions, the agent had moved on to the next cubicle and was giving Adana Okiro the same speech. After following the instructions, Sam exited his office and followed the crowd to the meeting. He would have had a hard time getting in the door, except that it soon became clear SAC Louis Hatcher wanted him front and center. Agents and support personnel alike shuffled out of the way, moving Sam along like a leaf on an angry river.
Hatcher and Jordan Berkowitz stood up front near a chair which held a laptop. It had been rigged to a projector so that the laptop’s screen filled the wall behind them. They made quite a contrasting pair with Hatcher in a dark suit and Berkowitz sporting a blue FBI T-shirt and wrinkled khaki pants. The SAC’s bald spot gleamed under the overhead lights, while Jordan’s shaggy dark hair hung low over his forehead, almost covering his eyes.
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