by Debra Webb
Dan gritted his teeth to keep his mouth shut. Her pointed censure had signed him up for that same PO’d club his colleagues had already joined. She was the only one still calm and wherever she was going with this presentation remained frustratingly unclear. These people—he—needed help. Not a block of instruction in identifying intent or motive.
“It appears we all agree that there is only one feasible explanation. These girls,” she indicated the photos again, “were taken against their will by someone who means them harm since there has been no ransom demand. We could be looking at a human trafficking ring, a sexual predator, or just a plain old psychopath.”
A quiet, heavy with agony, coagulated in the air, making a decent breath impossible.
“If that is, indeed, the case,” Jess continued, “you,” she pointed to Griggs, “you,” then Patterson, “and you,” her attention rested finally on Dan, “are missing relevant details in your investigations.”
Disgruntled glances were exchanged but no one argued. She was right. It was difficult to argue with that. Guilt added another layer to the burden already straddling Dan’s shoulders and knotting in his gut.
“Every single one of you has been in this game long enough to understand the one fact that makes all the difference in this case and all others.” She paused, made eye contact with each member of the task force. “When a person commits an act against another person, violent or otherwise, that act is always driven by motive. Always. Whether the act was impulse or calculated, a motive exists. There are no exceptions. Whoever took these girls, whether one unknown subject or four, had a motive.”
Jess moved to the table and leaned down to flatten her palms on the shiny, manufactured wood surface. “We have to find that motive. Otherwise we won’t be looking for four young women.” She pointed to the photos on the board. “We’ll be looking for four bodies.”
That heavy silence continued to reign for one, two, three more beats.
“Did you come all this way just to tell us what we don’t know, Special Agent Harris?” Griggs spoke up, breaking the spell she had cast. “Or are we going to talk about what we do know?”
Jess straightened, eyed him with blatant skepticism. “I read the interviews with family and friends. I studied the photos of the homes and the places where the girls were last seen. Pardon my frankness, Sheriff Griggs, but what you do know is irrelevant to this case, as far as I can see. It’s all that you don’t know that makes the difference.”
Face beet red, cheeks puffed with outrage, Griggs visibly braced for retaliation but Jess beat him to the punch. “These girls didn’t vanish without someone somewhere seeing or hearing something. It may be the smallest detail. So small that it seems insignificant to the person who knows it. So commonplace, it goes unnoticed. But it’s there and we need to find it. If all four of these girls were taken by the same unsub, then there’s a connection we’ve missed. This one seemingly insignificant thing they have in common could be the key we need for a break in this case.”
“Agent Harris,” Detective Wells said, “we haven’t found even one person these girls have in common. Not a friend or minister or employer. Nothing.” Wells shook her head. “None of the associates or intimates has a record or history of trouble or violence. If we’re looking for a serial perpetrator, wouldn’t there be some of those details you’re talking about in his background? Some suggestion of unacceptable or questionable behavior?”
Wells made detective last year and she had quickly shown she was one of the best Birmingham PD employed. Despite twenty years in law enforcement, Dan found himself on the edge of his seat in anticipation of Jess’s answer to the detective’s provocative query.
“Study your serial offenders, detective. Whether they’re killers or rapists or plain old peeping toms, the experts often disagree as to whether they were born that way or evolved as a result of environmental factors. But the one thing those same experts all agree on is that these offenders have a single trait in common. Not one was a serial anything until he committed that first act. As far as evil goes,” she shrugged one shoulder, “I’ve spent a dozen years studying the subject and there’s one thing I know for sure.” Her expression grew distant, breakable somehow. She blinked and seemed to push whatever had distracted her aside. “If you want to know what evil looks like, look in the mirror.”
She leaned down, flattened her hands on the table once more and went face-to-face with Wells. “Any one of us is capable of evil, detective. We all have a line. It’s not crossing it that separates us from the Ed Geins and Charles Mansons of the world.”
“With all due respect, Agent Harris,” Patterson piped up.
Jess drew to her full height, squared her shoulders and turned to him.
“I’m sure we all appreciate the lecture on motive and overlooked details, but I, for one, would like to get to the part where we do something besides talk about what we don’t have and don’t know.”
“You read my mind, Chief Patterson.” Jess strode back to the board and directed their attention to the information she’d posted there. “We go back to the source. To the people who know these girls best. Their family and friends. And we find what we’re missing. We don’t stop until we do.”
“What about involving the media?” Griggs ventured. “The girls’ photos have been running on all the local channels and in the papers. It’s time we stepped up that venue, wouldn’t you say?”
Dan bit back the acid response he wanted to give to that one. With the families’ pleas for help, the thousands of fliers distributed and the news updates there had been near continuous coverage in the media and the community. Obviously, this unsub wasn’t feeling neglected by the media. “What else do you want to do, Griggs? Rewards have been offered. Pleas for information. This guy ain’t taking the bait.”
“No offense, Burnett,” Griggs fired back, “but I’d like to hear what the agent has to say about the subject.”
Fury roiled in Dan’s gut, twisting those infernal knots. The man was old school. Dan had to bear that in mind. It would take them all working together to get the job done.
“The media can be an ally, that’s a given.” Jess rubbed at her forehead.
She had to be exhausted from the drive. She’d turned down his offer of lunch after her arrival. Her whole life she’d been thin, but, in his opinion, she was too thin. Too pale. Not that she would care what he thought. And he damned sure wouldn’t mention it.
“After nearly three weeks,” Jess said in answer to Griggs’ suggestion, “I would conclude that attention isn’t what this unsub is looking for based on the simple fact that he hasn’t responded. If he wanted more attention, you would certainly know it by now.”
“We go back through the steps,” Patterson offered.
Jess nodded. “We go back through the steps until we find something on which to build a profile. Or until the unsub gives us something.”
“This profile business is just fancy talk,” Griggs countered. “What difference will your idea of who he is and what his motives are make? In my experience, you beat the bushes and shake things up until he makes a move.”
Jess took the slight in stride. “We will beat the bushes, sheriff. And we’ll shake things up. And you have my word that when I have sufficient details to put together my profile, we will find him. That’s a promise.”
“I’ll set up the interviews with the families,” Wells offered. “We won’t be able to start until morning.”
“Why can’t we start now?” Patience had never been one of Jess’s virtues.
“There’s a prayer service tonight for the missing girls. The families and friends are supposed to be there. I assume,” Wells added with a glance at Dan, “that setting would not be conducive to interviews.”
Dan had forgotten to mention the prayer service to Jess. “We have a dozen undercover officers and another ten in uniform covering the service.”
In fact, he and everyone seated at this table had to be on site in just over an
hour. Damn, he was losing his edge in addition to the perspective he felt confident was already compromised.
“That’ll do for tonight.” Jess hesitated. “Wells, we’ll work together. You introduce me to the families and significant friends. There is something to be gained from merely observing the persons of interest in a case.”
“It would be a privilege, ma’am.”
Wells was obviously impressed by Jess. Patterson and Griggs, on the other hand, exchanged another of those skeptical looks.
“Gentlemen,” Jess said, commanding their attention once more, “I’d like you to watch all significant persons closely tonight. Take note of who’s missing, of anything at all that seems off. We’ll share notes at seven tomorrow morning.”
With that Jess picked up her bag and walked out of the conference room.
“Is she running the investigation now?” Griggs demanded.
“Dan,” Patterson said before blowing out a lungful of frustration, “this is not what I expected. Are you sure she’s as good as you’ve been told?”
Dan didn’t know what he’d expected. He had worked with the Bureau before and most often they spent their time with him speaking in polite tones and offering reassurances. They worked their magic behind the walls of their slick federal building and returned with what they wanted to share compiled in a neatly organized and labeled folder. Jess hadn’t sugar coated one damned thing. And he was glad. They were against a wall here. There was no room for platitudes.
“We need her, that much I can say without reservation. As far as the other, I’m running this investigation,” he reminded all present. That decision had been unanimous a week ago when Griggs and Patterson insisted Dan take the lead. He stood. “I’ll see you at the prayer service.”
He didn’t hang around to hear them vent their complaints. He went in search of Jess.
The corridor and lobby outside the conference room were empty. The offices all locked up for the night. That left only one other place to look.
He tapped on the ladies’ room door. “Jess, you okay?”
“Just a minute!”
The response was muffled by the door but it sounded like…she was crying. “I’m coming in.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Too late.” Just like he thought, she was swabbing her eyes with a wad of cheap toilet paper. “Hey,” he offered, “don’t let these good old boys get to you.”
He wanted to pat her on the back or hug her or something. But that wouldn’t be a good move, at least not for him. The last time he’d touched her he hadn’t wanted to let go. He doubted the final embers of that old connection had died beyond rekindling even now.
She made a face. “You think I’m crying over those old geezers?” She winced and a pained sound escaped her as she dropped her head in her hands. “What is wrong with me? Geezers? Really?” She shook her head and swiped at her eyes again. “I just need a few minutes alone. That’s all.”
Not trusting his self-control, he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. A woman in tears never failed to rouse his protective instincts. He’d had this same problem with Andrea. And back in high school and college with Jess, not that she cried often. Jesus Christ, this was a mess. His gut clenched. Andrea had to be okay and he had to find her. Anything else was unacceptable.
Smart or not, he had somehow pinned his hopes on Jess. Maybe he just wanted to believe she could swoop in here and save Andrea and the others. Maybe he needed saving, too.
The water running hauled his attention back to Jess. She washed her face and exhaled a big breath. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just tired, that’s all.”
She picked up the wedding band and slid it onto her left ring finger. She’d gotten married a couple years back. Her sister had put an announcement in the Birmingham News. He’d stopped keeping tabs on her after that. Thinking of her as married just felt wrong somehow.
You had your chance, buddy.
Ancient history. Jess had done him a huge favor coming here. He wasn’t about to say or do anything to make her regret that decision. If she could help him find those girls, he would owe her big time.
“We have time to grab a bite before the service.” She needed to eat. And he needed a way to comfort her that didn’t involve touching or delving into personal areas of discussion.
“I’d like to change.” She tugged at her jacket and smoothed a hand over her hair. “Freshen up.”
The striking red looked good on her, but then anything would. Her hair still hung in long, thick honey-blond waves. Those wide, rich brown eyes had always gotten to him. As kids he had been mesmerized with the vivid contrast. Another good reason to get her to a restaurant as quickly as possible. He needed the diversion.
She faced him, all signs of whatever demons she’d battled gone except for the faint redness around her eyes. “I can eat later. I need a hotel.”
“No hotel.” He opened the door for her to precede him into the corridor and came face to face with Detective Wells.
She blinked. “Sorry.” Frowning, she checked the door, then looked from Jess to him. “I can…use the men’s room.”
“We’re done,” Jess announced as she barged out, forcing him aside.
Dan opened his mouth but Detective Wells waved him off. “No problem.” She sidled past him and hurried to one of the stalls.
The click of the stall door locking snapped him into action. He launched out the door and quickened his pace to catch up with Jess. He would explain the incident to Wells later. He had no desire to hazard a guess at the conclusion she had no doubt reached.
“The Holiday Inn will work,” Jess commented as she strode back to the conference room. “Unless you made a reservation someplace else.”
Lucky for him the others had cleared out of the room already. She wasn’t going to readily agree with his decision and under no circumstances did he want the others to get wind of any discord between him and Jess. “No hotel.” He braced for her argument. He wasn’t giving in.
She paused in the dismantling of the case board. “Are you telling me that there isn’t a room to be had in this city? What kind of convention is it this time? Mary Kay or Tupperware? Surely I can find something within a half hour’s drive.” She shook her head and continued with tucking the photos and other material into her enormous purse.
It was actually more like a piece of luggage than a purse. What the devil did she carry in there? She looked at him expectantly when he failed to respond in a timely manner.
“What kind of friend would I be if I stuck you in a hotel?” He scoffed at the idea, mostly to conceal the new rush of uncertainty at his hasty decision. Maybe a hotel would have been the smart way to go. “My folks are in Vegas for their anniversary and I know they would want you to make yourself at home at their place.” He’d gotten out the whole spiel and she hadn’t tried interrupting once. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
The longer she stood there staring at him, the stronger the taste of shoe heel got. Evidently he had stuck his foot fully into his mouth with the offer. Did their history as lovers preclude any possibility of being friends?
As if the offer had suddenly penetrated her thoughts she shrugged. “That works.” She hauled her bag onto her shoulder, then frowned. “Does your mother know I’ll be staying at her house?”
The question was delivered with aplomb, but like the profiles she created the motive was all too clear. Twenty years and Jess still hated his mother. “My mother wouldn’t have it any other way.” If she knew.
Suspicion narrowed Jess’s gaze. “You don’t live there, do you?”
He smiled, felt more like a flinch. At least he knew where he rated on her opinion poll. “No.” He motioned to the door, “Let’s go, Agent Harris.”
Chapter Four
Mountain Brook Methodist Church, 8:15 p.m.
“That’s Reanne Parsons’ mother.” Detective Wells directed Jess’s attention to the petite woman in the white blouse and pink skirt. “Her fathe
r didn’t come.”
Jess studied the woman deep in conversation with Chief Patterson near the podium that had been set up for the occasion. Mrs. Parsons stood small and frail, nothing like the tall, athletic build of her daughter Reanne. The red hair was lighter, almost a strawberry blond. She wore it high atop her head in an old fashioned bee-hive do. The hem of her skirt fell well below her knees and the sleeves of her blouse were long no matter that the temperature outside still hovered around eighty-five degrees.
“Why didn’t her husband come?” Grief, possibly. But this was a prayer service for his missing daughter and three others. A show of faith and strength to the general public in hopes of garnering information from anyone who might have seen or heard something about one or more of the missing girls. Strange that he would be a no-show.
“One of Patterson’s deputies said he overheard the wife say her husband was very ill. This is the second tragedy the family has experienced this year. They lost everything in the April tornadoes.”
Jess remembered well that devastating day in April. She’d worried about her sister and her family. And Dan, though she would never admit that out loud. She’d had one of her colleagues check in on him twice that day. Just because she no longer felt the way she used to about him didn’t mean she didn’t care what happened to him. Those crazy emotions that had been playing havoc with her ability to think the past forty-eight hours tried to resurface.
She mentally hit delete and filled her mind with lines and lines of information from the numerous statements and reports she had reviewed. Wells had pointed out the families of three of the missing girls. Andrea Denton’s family hadn’t arrived but was, according to Burnett, on the way. Significant friends of all four girls had gathered to hear various clergymen representing the community offer hope and solace. The service took place in the enormous main chapel, the subtle music and expansive stained glass windows setting a somber tone.
Reanne’s father and the delayed Dentons had missed an emotionally-wrenching forty-five minutes. Afterward the crowd was herded here, the praise and worship hall, for refreshments. That part, Jess had learned, was Burnett’s idea. He hoped the stirred emotions combined with the spiritual setting might prompt someone to come forward with information during this less formal gathering. Sort of like those who often threw themselves before a minister whose thunderous sermon had hit just the right emotional chord.