by Josh Lanyon
And they were off and running. Elliot sighed inwardly, but kept his tone neutral. “I don’t have to be to understand that there has to be a practical application to Corian’s uncharacteristic cooperativeness.”
Yamiguchi opened her mouth, but Marquessi was faster. “Do we have the tape? Some kind of recording? Can we see this interview for ourselves?”
“Yep.” Tucker rose and turned down the lights.
Funny how in a room full of people the only fragrance that registered on Elliot was Tucker’s aftershave. A sexy blend of leather, white wood, cinnamon, and something exotic and citrusy.
The interview was surprisingly short. Elliot had felt like he was locked up with Corian for hours, but in fact the meeting had barely reached the twenty-minute mark. There were more silences than he recalled. And the steady, cold way Corian watched him—while it had not bothered him at the time—raised the hair on his neck.
“That is...disturbing,” Marquessi said as Tucker turned on the lights again. To Elliot, he said, “He’s implying exactly what when he says you understand the possibilities and precedents?”
“Endocannibalism? Exocannibalism? It’s difficult to say because we don’t have any real profile of Corian. He’s that rare exception to the rule: the criminal who doesn’t want to talk about himself and his exploits. If you’re asking whether he implied some kind of ritualistic consuming of at least part of his victims, the answer is yes.”
Marquessi sank back in his chair. “Jesus Christ.”
Detective Pine had been eating what looked like a very stale doughnut. He set it down abruptly and brushed away the sugar sprinkling over his paperwork.
“Again, respectfully, that’s your best guess as a nonprofessional,” Yamiguchi said.
“Correct.” Elliot’s gaze flicked to Tucker, who continued to watch him steadily, without emotion.
“The papers are going to love this,” Marquessi said bitterly.
“The papers aren’t going to know anything about it,” Tucker said. “Not at this juncture anyway. We’ll be withholding this information from anyone outside the task force.”
“He’s threatening you,” Chief Woll said to Elliot. He was in his forties. A career cop. Nice-looking. Personable. Capable. Somehow he’d managed to live down the scandal of a serial killer living right under his nose. He’d probably remain police chief of his small community until he finally decided to retire twenty years from now.
Elliot nodded. “In his own playful way, yeah.”
Tucker said in a flat voice, “Kelli, why don’t you and Pine each give us your assessment of the interview?”
Yamiguchi was brisk and to the point. Her conclusion: “I believe this is simply a grudge match playing out between Corian and Professor Mills. I don’t think Corian is looking for anything beyond access to Mills—Professor Mills,” she instantly corrected. Yamiguchi didn’t want him in their case, but she did not forget that Elliot was the domestic partner of her boss. She rarely failed to insert one of those terse “respectfullys” each time she challenged him. “He’s feeding off your reactions. The fact that you don’t give him any just makes him push harder to try and get a response. That’s why we have the final threat as you were walking out.”
She was right about that last bit; Elliot knew his coolness irked Corian, goaded him into wanting to smash through and throttle Elliot. But that didn’t mean Corian wasn’t telling the truth. Oddly, now that he’d seen the interview, Elliot was starting to worry that Corian had been telling the truth.
Tucker was nodding. Yamiguchi’s views supported his own theory. “Detective Pine?”
“I think Agent Yamiguchi is right about Corian wanting access to Mills. But.” Pine looked almost apologetic.
“But?” at least four people at the table asked in chorus.
“The fact that he’s saying these things to get at Mills doesn’t mean they’re not true. The fact of the matter is we are missing body parts and we’ve previously considered the fact that Corian might not have worked alone.”
“Considered and dismissed,” Yamiguchi said.
“Is there any evidence that Corian could have had an accomplice?” That was from the King’s County Sheriff’s Department deputy. Elliot had already forgotten his name. In his late fifties, he was the elder statesman in the room. Tall and rangy with a thick head of iron-gray hair and a handlebar mustache like an Old West gunslinger. “Do we have anything but theories?”
“No,” Pine said. “No evidence whatsoever.”
Woll said, “He’s got something up his sleeve. Or thinks he does.”
Marquessi said to Elliot, “I appreciate what you’re doing here, but it is possible your presence in this case is complicating an already complicated situation.”
“It’s also possible we know more now than we did when I walked in there this afternoon,” Elliot said.
Tucker threw him a quick, grim look.
“Fair enough.” Marquessi said to the room at large, “If Professor Mills is correct and there is an accomplice—” Elliot started to point out he hadn’t made his own mind up on that question, but then let Marquessi continue unchallenged “—how does that help Corian now? Is he planning to bargain for his life by giving up—or pretending to go through the motions of giving up—the accomplice?”
Washington’s death penalty was on moratorium but in practical terms that meant if someone was sentenced to death and a change in the political climate occurred, he’d be back on the chopping block.
No one seemed to have an answer.
Yamiguchi said finally, “Assuming there really is another player, this could be something as simple as spite. Not wanting to go down alone.”
Marquessi said, “Is there any indication that the murders have continued?”
Pine said, “No. But young men frequently go missing. I’m not sure we can count too much on our ability to spot a pattern this early in the game or to interpret a pattern if it already exists.”
The longer Elliot listened, the more convinced he was that it would be better to talk to Tucker privately about his trip to Corian’s former dwelling. And since Tucker was not bringing up the subject, he probably agreed.
Not that there was much to tell. The fact that Corian had had a gardener and that gardener had somehow spooked one of his neighbors didn’t mean much.
“If, for the sake of argument, there is an accomplice,” Elliot said, “he might not have the initiative, strength or know-how to continue without Corian. That doesn’t mean he couldn’t eventually get up to speed.”
“Again, respectfully,” Yamiguchi began, “You’re not BAU. Your background was civil rights violations and domestic terrorism.”
The Behavioral Analysis Unit was the real-life inspiration for all those crime shows featuring intrepid profilers who flew around the country at the drop of a hat to join in on serial killer cases. In real life it didn’t work like that. Members of the BAU rarely left Quantico, with the exception of a few legendary figures like Unit Chief Sam Kennedy.
“I didn’t know that. Is that true?” Marquessi asked, concerned once more.
“Yes,” Tucker said. “That is true.”
It was true, but Tucker knew that Elliot had been cross-trained to handle violent crime. The Bureau continued to be fanatical about cross-training when it came to the basics, and violent crime was always going to be one of the basics.
Besides, it wasn’t like the fight over civil rights couldn’t get dangerous and deadly. Elliot absently rubbed his knee.
“Yeah, but he’s right,” Pine interrupted. It clearly pained him. “Mills is right. Even I know that much about serial killers. They evolve over time. If there’s an accomplice, he might have been a—an apprentice. An acol-whateveryoucallit. He might be looking to hook up with a new partner.”
“Or he might have clo
sed up shop never to be heard from again,” Tucker said. “If this unsub ever existed, there’s a good chance he’s left the vicinity. Personally, I don’t buy the story of a secret accomplice. I think Kelli called it right. Corian’s intent is to engage with Professor Mills. And I agree with Mills that Corian could be hoping to use this gambit as a bargaining chip in getting the death penalty taken off the table.”
“No way in hell is that going to happen,” Marquessi said.
Tucker said, “The question is how does this affect our court case? Where do we go from here?”
“First, I think there’s a legitimate question regarding Professor Mills’s continued involvement,” Yamiguchi said. “Especially after the threat made against him today.”
“Agreed,” Tucker said.
Did they rehearse or were they just naturally simpatico? The two-teaming was not a surprise, but still irritating given how much airtime this particular topic had already received between Elliot and Tucker. He gave Tucker a steady look, which Tucker ignored.
“It’s too late to pull Mills,” Pine said. “That’s my opinion. If there’s any chance at all that Corian is telling the truth, we need to hear what he has to say.”
“Professor Mills is two years out of the field. He’s not an analyst and he doesn’t have a background in criminal psychology. We’re setting him an impossible task by asking him to interpret Corian’s behavior. We risk derailing our court case by test-driving Corian’s psychotic attachment to a civilian consultant.”
Once again Tucker’s blue gaze met Elliot. Not in challenge. No. That look was all steel resolve, and Elliot understood where Tucker was going with this. He hadn’t been able to dissuade SAC Montgomery from insisting Elliot be part of the task force, but if he could get consensus from the rest of the task force that Elliot’s involvement was jeopardizing the case, even a micromanager like Montgomery would back down.
Elliot said, “Well, you keep trotting out the BAU. According to Unit Chief Sam Kennedy, if the objective is to get Corian to talk, you give him someone he can talk to. And right now, that’s me. Correct?”
Tucker didn’t answer. They both knew it was correct. They both knew calling on the BAU had been Tucker’s Hail Mary pass to try to come up with legitimate and impersonal grounds for keeping Elliot out of the case.
Pine said, “Corian wants Mills. Mills is the only person he’s talked to, besides his lawyer, since the night of his arrest. We need that channel of communication open. Especially if there’s another player out there.”
“We can use that,” Marquessi said. “We can use Professor Mills as leverage. If Corian wants access to him—and that seems to be the consensus—he has to play ball. Otherwise, no contact with Mills.”
Elliot could already predict the problems with that scenario, but before he could respond, Chief Woll said, “I think this is Mills’s call. He knows Corian as—better than anyone else in this room. And he’s the one who has to go in there and get him to talk.” His green eyes met Elliot’s. It was a funny look. Almost commiserating.
Deputy Sheriff...whatever the hell his name was—Damon? Dannon? Something like that—said, “I think our first priority is getting all the information we can out of Corian before his lawyer shuts him up again. Which is exactly what’s liable to happen the minute he gets wind of this.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Pine said. “I can’t believe we slipped Mills in this time.”
Yamiguchi looked at Tucker. Tucker looked at Marquessi.
Marquessi shrugged. “I bow to the collective expertise here. If Professor Mills is willing to go back into the lion’s den, I’m not going to object.”
Tucker turned his blue gaze on Elliot. “Up to you.”
“I’m in,” Elliot said.
Chapter Five
“Excellent choices, gentlemen.” The petite brunette waitress dropped her ticket pad in the pocket of her teeny tiny black skirt and bestowed a dazzling and impartial smile on both of them. “I’ll be right back with your cocktails.”
They were seated at Stanley & Seafort’s Steak, Chop & Fish House, one of their favorite places in town to dine on the evenings they weren’t in a hurry to get back to Goose Island. The food was fine. The bar was excellent. But more to the point, it gave them a chance to talk about the case on neutral ground. When Elliot had finally acceded to SAC Montgomery’s request that he visit Corian, one of Tucker’s stipulations had been that they not take the case home with them. From the point they boarded the ferry at Steilacoom, the topic of the Sculptor was officially shelved.
That was the goal anyway.
Tonight there was more to talk about than could be covered in the drive to the ferry.
Tucker sighed, loosened his tie and leaned back in the sofa-sized booth. Elliot gazed out the picture window at the stunning view of Tacoma and the blue waters of Commencement Bay Harbor beyond. He massaged his knee, which had started to ache.
Tucker glanced at Elliot. “If I seemed...harsh back there,” he began gruffly.
Elliot brushed the apology aside. “It’s all right. I get it.” He didn’t expect—or need—Tucker to pull his punches when they were working.
“You’re my priority. That doesn’t change. I genuinely believe your involvement is not critical, but even if I did think we needed your help, I wouldn’t be happy with this because I don’t think this is good for you. Or us.”
Well, hell. That was Tucker for you. No beating around the bush. And an unnerving ability to say aloud the things most guys, including Elliot, were not comfortable saying outside the privacy of their own bedroom.
“I know, Tucker. Like I said, I get it.” This ground was so well trod it was practically mud beneath Tucker’s handmade Italian shoes. “But just once I’d like to discuss the case without a preface from you on how much you didn’t—and don’t—want me involved.”
Tucker grimaced. Nodded.
They were silent for a few minutes. That was mostly weariness, though a small amount of irritation factored in. They were both too opinionated and strong-willed not to bump heads now and again. They’d learned over the past months that simply taking a deep breath and a step back usually took care of things.
The waitress appeared with their drinks. Whisky and soda for Tucker and a glass of California merlot for Elliot. He needed a drink after the day he’d had, but he would be taking pain meds that night for sure. He must have twisted his knee when he’d raced across Corian’s property to see who had opened fire.
Tucker’s expression was somber as he sipped his whisky.
Watching him, Elliot asked, “Do you want me to share my thoughts on my visit to Corian’s place?”
“If you think it’s relevant.”
Elliot let his head fall back, summoning patience.
“Sorry,” Tucker muttered. “It’s not pleasant watching a psychopath threaten your partner.” He threw the rest of his drink back.
Fair enough. Elliot would be struggling with that too, were the shoe on the other foot. There was nothing he could say to comfort Tucker, so he related his trip to Black Diamond and his encounter with Corian’s former neighbor Connie Foster.
“He had a gardener,” Tucker said at the end of Elliot’s recital. “You do realize that’s what it amounts to?”
“Yes.”
“Foster was interviewed. Twice. All of Corian’s neighbors were interviewed. Now she decides that the gardener was a suspicious character?”
“I know. Yeah. But we both know the reason for multiple interviews is that witnesses have a way of remembering information that didn’t surface during previous questionings. Memory is tricky. People remember stuff weeks, months, even years later. The point is we have information now that we didn’t originally have.”
Tucker mulled it over. “Do you think Corian was working with an accomplice?”
“I don’t know. My first instinct was no. Except... I’m not sure that was instinct so much as rejection of something I didn’t want to hear.”
“I watched the interview twice. I still can’t make up my mind.”
“Twice?”
Tucker was looking at his empty glass like he didn’t know what had happened to his drink. He caught the waitress’s eye and she nodded. He turned back to Elliot. “What I am sure of is there’s nothing he won’t do to wreck you.”
“Of course,” Elliot said. “We already knew that.”
Tucker’s expression drew a faint smile from him. “Come on, Tucker. We already know I’m the bad guy in Corian’s movie. He didn’t invite me over there because he thinks I’m the one person who can appreciate his artistic genius or have a civilized conversation with him, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. He wants me there so that he can dump his horror stories all over me and hopefully cause maximum mental distress.”
“That’s right,” Tucker said grimly. “He’ll try to get to you any way he can. Including physically, so don’t ever turn your back on him.”
“Is that literally or figuratively? Do you want me to shuffle backwards out of the room at the end of each visit?”
“I’m not joking about this.”
“I know. He’ll continue to be handcuffed and wear ankle restraints during our interviews. I’m not about to forget what he’s capable of.”
The waitress arrived with Tucker’s second drink and their dinners. Pan-seared wild Alaskan salmon for Tucker and rock-salt-roasted prime rib for Elliot. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he took that first bite of juicy rare beef dipped in horseradish. There had been no time for lunch during the very long day.
A few bites, a few sips and the wine and the food were working their magic. He expelled a long sigh.
He could see Tucker was finally starting to unwind, as well. Their gazes caught and Tucker offered a glimmer of the first real smile Elliot had seen since the night before.