Killer Genius

by David Archer

  KILLER GENIUS

  Copyright © 2019 by David Archer.

  All right reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published by: David Archer

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  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  WHAT'D YOU THINK?

  READY FOR THE NEXT MYSTERY?

  ALSO BY DAVID ARCHER

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  PROLOGUE

  The house was absolutely quiet, for the first time in quite a while. Sam Prichard was sitting in the armchair beside his fireplace, looking through the box of photographs that was sitting on his lap. Beside him, Indie was looking through another box full of them herself, but it wasn’t easy.

  It had been three months since they had buried Sam’s mother, Grace. Some days, he appeared all right; other days, like this one, Sam just couldn’t quite accept the fact that she was gone, and those were the days that Indie dreaded. Grace had been such a fixture in his life for so many years that it was tough for Sam to accept that she was no longer with them.

  Sam and his sister, Carrie, had inherited everything but Grace’s house, which she had left to Kim, Indie’s mother. The two of them had been sharing the place for the last couple of years, and Grace didn’t want her to end up homeless. Sam had let Carrie have the money their mother had saved, and his sister had gone back to California the day after the funeral.

  As the days passed, Sam had started drawing deeper and deeper into himself. Indie, his wife, was trying to find anything that might pull him out of the grief and despair that was threatening to smother him, but it was an uphill battle.

  The last couple of weeks hadn’t been quite so bad. Sam had gone back to work for Windlass Security, on a case that involved tracking down a serial killer. The company had recently been awarded a new government contract, so every other agency could now call on them when they needed help, and this case belonged to the FBI. At first, it had looked like it might be impossible to identify the killer—the FBI had been working on the case for two years and never found a solid lead—but Sam had been giving it a lot of thought. There was one asset he had not yet used, and he was about to decide that it was time.

  He had been thinking about it for some time, and finally decided it was time to look deeper at the possibility. This was the second evening in a row when they had sat in the living room going through old photographs. Kenzie and Bo were with Kim for the night, so it was just the two of them in the house. He wouldn’t get a better chance to talk to Indie about it.

  “I need some coffee,” Indie said, stretching. “Would you like some, Sam?”

  Sam looked up at her and managed a smile. “Please,” he said.

  Indie grinned and got up to head into the kitchen. She was back only moments later with two cups of coffee, and handed one to her husband. When she was seated again, Sam looked up at her.

  “I need your help with something,” he said. “We’ve been trying to get somewhere on this case, and it’s driving us all crazy. The FBI hasn’t had any luck on it in years, but I think there might be something that can help.”

  Indie’s eyebrows rose and she looked at him. “Okay,” she said. “What can I do?”

  Sam held his coffee and slowly got to his feet. “Let’s go to the table,” he said. “We’re going to need your computer.”

  An hour later, Sam had made up his mind.

  With Indie’s help, he had been able to learn everything he needed about North Forest Hospital. This was a private hospital that had a contract with the government to maintain a secure facility for excessively intelligent individuals who could be regarded as criminally insane. Many of the inmates were quite young, and a fair number of them were willing and able to assist government and law enforcement agencies from time to time, depending on what their particular area of expertise and education might be.

  Harry Winslow had told Sam about NFH. To Harry, it was about as close as you could get to an abomination.

  “Sam, boy,” he had said, “I was forced to work with one of them kids one time. He was so smart that he didn’t even know how to act like a person, but I tried to treat him like just one of the guys. Trouble was, the harder I tried, the more attitude he gave me. Finally I found out that he was supposed to be on medication, and had stopped taking it when he was dropped off to us.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what they do to those folks, but it ain’t human.”

  Since then, Sam had occasionally asked other federal agencies he knew about the hospital and its programs. Darren Beecher, who used to be with the FBI, had worked with them on occasion and, while all of the “consultants,” as they were called, could be difficult, Darren had not had a lot of problems with the ones he had known.

  * * *

  Sam got up the next morning determined to contact NFH and see what it would take to get a super-intelligent consultant to work with them on the case. He went in early to meet with Ron Thomas and Jeff Donaldson, his bosses, who had been overjoyed when he had decided to come back to his job. Both men were delighted to see him.

  “Sam,” Ron said as he entered their conference room. “What can we do for you?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about the case we’re on,” Sam said. “We haven’t been getting anywhere, and since the FBI has been stuck for so long that we got called in on it, I really want to close it.”

  Jeff nodded. “Yeah, we’d like that, too,” he said. “Any ideas on how to make it happen?”

  Sam grimaced. “Well, maybe,” he said. “Did Harry ever tell you about NFH? North Forest Hospital, and their consultation program?”

  Both men lost their smiles. “We know who they are,” Ron said. “You’re thinking of hiring one of their assets?”

  Sam nodded. “They’ve got people who can analyze entire case files in a matter of minutes,” he said. “I did some research on them and it turns out that some of their people have a ninety-eight percent
success rate at solving similar crimes. Since we can’t seem to figure out where to look next, I thought we might see about using one of their brainiac consultants on this case.”

  Ron and Jeff looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to Sam. “You know what Harry thinks of them, right?”

  Sam frowned. “I do,” he said, “but I’m at my wits’ end on this case. We know the killer is going to dump three more bodies at any time, and none of us have any ideas how to stop him. If we can shut him down, it would be worth putting up with any idiosyncrasies the consultant might have.”

  Jeff turned to his computer and began typing, then looked up again a moment later. “I’m on their website,” he said. “You do realize they charge three thousand dollars a day for these people, right?”

  “So what? You’re going to pass it along to DOJ anyway, right? If it helps us stop this guy, Jeff, it’ll be worth it.”

  Ron and Jeff looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to Sam. “All right,” Ron said. “You’re the chief investigator, so you’re the one who gets make the decision. If you want to give this a shot, Sam, we’ll okay it.”

  ONE

  “Sam, are you sure about this?” Steve Beck asked when he explained what they were going to do.

  Sam shrugged and let out a sigh. “Of course not, but I’m not sure we really have much of a choice. We've been on this case for two weeks, now, and haven’t managed to find a single lead. If this guy keeps doing things the way he always has, we've got less than a day to stop him before three more bodies turn up."

  Darren nodded sadly. "I agree with you, Sam. I'm not against asking for help. You've just… never had to handle those people before. I have."

  Sam frowned and nodded his head. "I know. Psychotic savants—blows my mind there’s a government program that keeps people like that locked up and loans them out to outfits like ours." He waved a hand at the stack of dossiers on the desk in front of him. There were two stacks, actually; one of them was much higher than the other, and represented those he had already decided would not work out. “North Forest Hospital; sounds like the place you might go to recover from surgery. Instead, they house people and treat them like equipment they rent out.”

  "Yes, but these are people who were diagnosed as potentially dangerous," Darren added. "They cross the line between beyond-Einstein genius and criminal insanity, but they definitely can come in handy. When I was with the FBI, we had to call them in once or twice, and I can say it wasn’t the worst thing we ever did." He shook his head. “Unsettling experience, I can tell you that. Most of them have been locked away for years, and they don’t always get along well with people they don’t know.”

  "I know that, Darren," Sam said, picking up the one dossier that had actually caught his attention. "Another problem I have to consider is what effect this will have on the people we already work with. Are they going to be able to cope with whatever emotional problems this person might bring with him?"

  "The team will pull themselves together and do what they have to do, Sam." Steve shook his head at his boss. "They’ll know it’s a temporary situation. It isn’t like we’re going to keep him around; he’ll be nothing more than a resource, and we use him just the way it’s intended. You’re the one who has to make the decision, Sam. Make the call, and then join us in the conference room. We're thinking through some new ideas, but a lot of it hinges on what you decide to do about this."

  Sam looked down at the dossier in his hand once again, then nodded. “This guy,” he said. "I keep putting him off to the side, but I seem to keep coming back to him."

  “Can I see it?” Darren asked. Sam handed over the file and Darren looked through it.

  "Eric Brenner, seventeen years old, has an IQ of 179. No formal education, but he’s listed as an expert in computers, game theory, mathematics and psychology. He was committed to this program after developing an algorithm that allowed the hacker group he was part of to bypass the security on the NSA computer system, and—this can’t be right, it says he can read almost 5000 words a minute.” He looked up at Sam. “Definitely has the brainpower, but according to this, he has mood swings that can occasionally become violent. I take it you think his knowledge of psychology might be potentially helpful in this case?"

  Sam nodded, but said nothing. "Keep reading."

  Darren's eyes continued to scan the page, moving his lips silently as he read along. "According to this, he’s never worked with anyone before. This would be his first consultation."

  Sam nodded. "It’s like you said; it appears he doesn't play well with others. He suffers from severe depression, and takes medication to control it. He has problems with authority, and apparently no social skills at all." He shook his head. “When he wrote that algorithm, he was only eleven years old. He didn’t realize what his friends were going to use it for, and actually boasted about it when he was arrested. He’s been locked up ever since, and he’s spent a good part of that time in solitary confinement. I doubt he has any idea how to handle people.”

  "So, pick somebody else, then." Darren dropped the dossier back onto the desk and looked at Sam, then shook his head. “Oh, boy, I know that look,” he said. “There’s something about this kid that keeps drawing you back, right?”

  Sam shrugged again. "I’m not really sure, but I get the feeling that he might be the guy who could peg our suspect for us."

  “You know that these people are considered dangerous, Sam,” he said. He pointed at the pile of dossiers on the desk. "There are plenty of other possibilities here."

  "I know, I know." Sam felt like he was stuck in a loop, repeating the same phrase over and over. "This kid—he’s only seventeen, for crying out loud—I just get the feeling he might be exactly who we need. The trouble is, getting him to work with us comes with a price.”

  Darren looked him in the eye. “A price?”

  Sam nodded. “He wants to visit his mother,” he said. “He hasn’t seen her since he was committed to the hospital when he was twelve, and…" He shook his head slowly, frowning. "I know that people in this program are considered dangerous, Darren, but that just doesn’t seem like an unreasonable request. Just a short, supervised visit with his mother?"

  Darren thought about it for a moment, and then he picked up the folder again. He read through the words in silence, then dropped it onto the desk once more. "Do we know where she is? And do you really think it would be a good idea to let him make demands in exchange for his help?"

  Sam nodded. “She’s actually an inmate at Denver Women’s Correctional,” he said. “She was sentenced to three years for trying to break into the North Forest housing facility two years ago. It wouldn’t be impossible for us to arrange to bring her here and let them visit, under supervision, of course.” He looked at the floor for a moment, then turned his eyes back up to Darren. “These people are basically serving life sentences,” he said. “Frankly, I’d be surprised if he didn’t make demands.”

  "You really think this is the one you want, then?" Darren asked with a grin. "Well, the sooner you make the call, the sooner he can be here. If you like, I’ll see about getting his mother furloughed out for the visit."

  “Thanks, Darren,” Sam said. “I know I’m only going on my gut, but I think I want to give this kid a shot. Incidentally, they have a three day minimum on using their people; it means we’re going to be stuck with him for at least seventy-two hours.”

  Darren looked at the file again and held it out. “Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and get another case or two that we can use him on. Might as well squeeze out all the value we can, right?”

  Sam took the paperwork and gave Darren a grin of his own, then turned his attention to the form he would have to fill out to get this young man’s help. It was there, waiting on his computer monitor. They were down to forty-three hours, and while it was undoubtedly too late for the first two victims, there was still a third that might still be alive. The clock was running, and every minute Sam spent on the paper
work was a minute that could not be wasted. The earliest he could expect Eric to arrive would be at seven o’clock the following morning, which would leave them less than twenty-two hours to find the victims before the killer would be dumping the bodies.

  It isn't like we are adding him permanently to the team, Sam thought as he filled out the form and hit the submit button. He’s just a tool we’re using, and if it doesn't work, then it was still worth a try.

  * * *

  Sam and his team were gathered in the main conference room at seven the following morning, going over all of the evidence once again. Jade, Summer and Walter were going over crime scene pictures, and Darren was deep in talk with Steve as they looked at how the bodies had been disposed of.

  "Hey, Sam,” Jenna said, sticking her head in the door. “They want you up front.”

  Sam walked out of his office and headed toward the main entrance, where two men with federal IDs were bringing a thin, young man into the building. One of them handed Sam a clipboard and he signed a receipt, accepting responsibility for the kid as long as he was there at the Windlass offices.

  The boy was looking around, staring at everything he could see as if it was something new that he had never experienced before. He looked closely at Sam’s face, and his eyes narrowed for a moment before he turned away to look at the bulletin board with all of the required employee notices.

  He acts like he’s just stumbled into some strange new world, Sam thought. Of course, it might feel that way to him. He’s been locked up for five years with no outside contact at all.

  The federal agents looked over the receipt, then turned and left without another word. Sam was left standing in the hallway with the young man, and he turned toward him with a smile.

  “Eric? I’m Sam Prichard. I really appreciate you coming to help us out.”

  “Show me everything,” Eric said, ignoring the hand Sam had extended. “I want to see everything you’ve got.”

  Sam’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded curtly. “Sure enough,” he said. “If you follow me, we have everything laid out for you in my office.”