by Jon Mills
“Ben. I’m sorry. I just heard. I’m en route as we speak.”
His mind was still on the crime. The steps creaked. How did you pass over these unless you had been in here before or maybe Janice didn’t hear you? To anyone else it might not have mattered but to him it was a part of knowing who he was dealing with. Ben sighed into the phone.
“You think I can get reinstated?” he asked Nate.
“Reinstated, no, it’s been too long, but having you work with us, that I can do. Already had the conversation with the powers that be. That is, if you’re up to it?”
“Of course I am.”
“I should be there within the next couple of hours. My flight gets in just after ten.”
He continued moving through the hallways down to the room where Chloe would have been. Janice’s room was next to hers. Suddenly he got a shot of pain in his head. Another migraine was coming on hard. It had been building. It felt like someone was stabbing him.
“I’m going to have to call you back.”
Ben hung up, fished into his pocket for his meds and went down to get himself a glass of water. He noticed his hands were shaking. He flipped the lightswitch on.
A question lingered in his mind. How long did you stay after you had subdued Janice?
As he stood there mulling it over he heard the front door open. Twisting around, he saw Dakota in the doorway.
“You sure it’s a good idea to stay here tonight?” she asked.
“I don’t think it matters. I won’t be doing much sleeping tonight.” He sighed. “Anyway, I’m not staying.”
It was hard to function knowing Chloe was out there with a madman. The thought of what he’d done to her or was doing was liable to send him over the edge. He couldn’t go there in his mind. He had to stay focused, clearheaded.
“Any leads?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
It wasn’t the news he wanted. But then someone like this wasn’t going to make mistakes.
“How do you think he took her out of here?” she asked.
“Through the woods. With all the police on the roads since the Hayes girl, he wouldn’t have risked it.”
“You think he drugged her?”
Ben nodded.
“What direction do we go with this?” she asked.
“We need to find the connection; something that ties them all together. I need a record of everyone who has gone missing in the park over the past five years, and can you speak with the coroner? I want to see the body.”
She pulled out a phone. “Yeah, I’ll make a few calls.”
He’d had his eyes closed for a while just allowing the medication to take hold. The memories of that day in the Everglades played over in his mind. He couldn’t lose her.
“Right, thanks, I’ll see you in ten.” He heard Dakota wrap up the call.
“Managed to get the coroner to come in on his day off. Let me give you fair warning, he’s not exactly the kind of person you might imagine. Oh, and don’t ask him about the scar.”
Ben ran a hand over his face. “Let’s go.”
They took Dakota’s car. On the way over he could tell Dakota was itching for answers on the Henri Bruns case.
“Go on. Ask away.”
“About what?”
“The Bruns case. Ever since we’ve met you’ve been eager to ask me but haven’t.” He pulled up one of his books that was lying on the floor that went into detail on the case.
“He changed his M.O. too, didn’t he?” she asked.
“Yeah, but for him it was personal.”
“How?”
“We located two of his victims before they died.”
“You mean he didn’t cut them up?”
Ben looked out the window at the town of Eden Falls as they hung a left into Hancock Street. The glow of lights made everything seem so peaceful but it was far from that. The media had kicked up quite a hornet’s nest. Townsfolk were fuming that they had been left in the dark.
“No, not all his victims. He looked for very specific ones. He didn’t have the luxury of following them for weeks on end. So the ones that didn’t match his specific look were buried alive.”
“And you don’t think this is personal? I mean Chloe is the first one that’s been taken from a home. He went to a lot of trouble to get her.”
“He’s bored. This risk of getting caught is beginning to excite him.”
“Do…”
“Do I think he will kill her?”
Ben looked at her. She gripped the wheel tighter.
“If we don’t get to her. Yes.”
When they pulled up in front of the medical examiner’s office he was waiting for them in his car. Dakota killed the engine. The man who got out was wiry and in a desperate need of a shave. He wore a brown tweed suit and white shirt but without a tie.
“Thanks for coming out, Lennie. This is Benjamin Forrester.”
Ben nodded.
“Lennie Sunns.”
He greeted them with a handshake, that’s when Ben saw the scar down the left side of his face and neck. A knife wound for sure. Lennie led the way in. Inside, he turned on the lights and changed out of his jacket into white scrubs and blue latex gloves. They entered a morgue full of shiny steel doors. Lennie opened one and pulled out the tray, he immediately pulled back the cover to reveal the cleaned-up cadaver of Rachael Taylor.
Lennie stood to one side while Ben and Dakota remained on the other.
“There was no sign of semen. Ligature marks on ankles and wrists were consistent with plastic zip ties. She was strangled using a piece of wire a quarter of an inch thick. She didn’t die fast, it was long and drawn out. Signs of vaginal and anal intercourse. She had a fractured skull, but it was strangulation that killed her. The knife wounds seemed to be unnecessary, almost like a form of torture rather than an attempt to kill her. She hadn’t eaten anything in a day. Toxicology showed signs of having secobarbital sodium in the system. She also had traces of formaldehyde and glycerin.”
Dakota jotted notes down on a pad of paper. Ben walked around the tray and looked at the bottom of her feet, around her ankles and legs. There were scrapes and cuts.
“How old do you think these are?” Ben asked.
“A few days,” he replied.
“Anything under the nails?”
“Nothing.”
“How much of the formaldehyde and glycerin did you find?” Dakota asked.
“I won’t have an exact figure on that for a day or two.”
Ben nodded, taking it all in. He looked a little closer at the side of her face. Using a pen, he pushed back some hair.
“What you got?”
Just behind her ear was a tattoo of three small black birds.
“In the report, the other women had marks on the body, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. Birthmarks, body modification, and tattoos.”
As they left the building heading back to the vehicle, Dakota stopped.
“Do you think there’s a connection with the marks?”
“Possibly. Look into formaldehyde and glycerin. See what you can dig up on that.”
Dakota gave him a lift back to Janice’s place to pick up his truck.
“The headaches, how long have you had them?” she asked.
“Two years.”
“You still have nightmares?”
Ben cast her a sideways glance.
“My father was a cop in Boston, he saw a lot of bad shit. I used to hear him at night.”
“How did he cope?” Ben asked.
She turned to him. “He shot himself. With his police-issued handgun.”
The car pulled into the driveway, she breathed out hard while it idled.
“Well on that note…”
Ben pushed out of the car. He was in the process of closing the door when she spoke again.
“Ben.”
“Yeah?” he leaned in through the window.
“I’m sorry.”
He
nodded slowly, offered back a strained expression and went inside.
Chapter 21
Making his way back to his home off Route 3, Ben Forrester was thinking about how he was going to catch this guy with so little evidence to go on. It wasn’t like the women were hookers. The girls weren’t local so they had to leave the investigating to police in their hometown until the FBI showed up. All they had right now was a dead body and a handful of reports from previous abductions.
Chloe. The memory of her last words burned him.
“Love you, Dad, see you Sunday night.”
He was thinking about the dead body when he turned the corner into his property. A black SUV was parked at an angle. Sitting on the step was Nate Mueller. He glanced up, blew out some cigarette smoke, and waited for Ben to pull in.
They had known each other since the academy. While others didn’t want to advance up the chain of command because it just meant more shit they had to deal with, Nate did. He’d always had his eyes set on promotion. Eventually he became Ben’s supervisor. That was an odd time but it worked.
“Ben,” he waited until he was out of the vehicle before he showed him the eighteen-year-old whiskey. It was how they kicked off every case and part of the reason Ben had ended up drinking too much.
He met him on the steps with a part handshake, part hug. Nate handed him the bottle. He glanced at it. It was Macallan 1997 18-Year-Old Sherry Oak. At one hundred and twenty-seven dollars a bottle, most might have waited for a celebration — that wasn’t how it worked with them. It had become almost like a rabbit’s foot. They had caught every single perp after drinking that stuff. On the Henri Bruns case the bottle was dropped accidentally. Call it what you will but to them it was not a good sign as it turned out they never caught him.
“Come on in.”
No one could have prepared him for the loss. Ben got into the FBI to catch them, not to wind up as bait but in many ways that’s what special agents were. Bait for the sick and depraved.
He tossed his keys on the counter and pulled down two glasses from the drink cabinet.
“Quite the place you’ve got here,” Nate said.
“It’s not much. But it’s home.”
“Just wish I could have visited under better circumstances. How are you holding up?”
Ben never replied. He didn’t need to. He took the whiskey and carefully twisted off the cap and poured out two fingers. That was the answer.
Truth be told, how he handled any kidnapping was different each time depending on who had been taken. Kids were the worst. Some might have thought that he should be sobbing on the floor or out there running in the woods searching for Chloe. But that wasn’t reality. He was no good to her in a mess. He had to think straight, fight the urge to break down.
Dad, I can handle it, her words drummed in his mind. He had to believe she could. For all he knew she might have escaped like the Taylor girl. At least that was the hope he clung to.
Nate got straight down to business. That was his strong point. He didn’t mince words. In the bureau, tracking kidnappings, murders, and serial killings was the norm. It wasn’t that you became numb to it but it was a part of an investigator’s daily workload.
“What have we got so far?”
Ben brought him up to speed on what they had. He handed him the reports.
“You look tired,” Ben said. “You should get some sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
That was always his answer, and it was true. The guy was a machine. Both of them at one point were tossing back smart pills just to function. Modafinil twice a day and they were good for twenty-four hours. Nate had got him on them. Up until then energy came in a cup, or a can.
Ben sat in silence, sipping on his drink and watching Nate flip through the file. He thought over some of the cases they'd been on and the ones who were the hardest to catch. Tracking serial killers wasn’t easy, at least those who didn’t plan on getting caught. They didn’t operate like most killers. The smart ones avoided detection in ten different ways. They never left DNA at the scene; they had no relationship with their victim; they chose their victims from areas where they didn’t live; they used guns that weren’t registered; they made sure not to take any trophies, touch the body, or leave behind a mess, and they usually struck in the early hours of the morning when people were asleep. Everything was taken into consideration; wearing gloves, buying vehicles ahead of time, paying in cash, destroying receipts, and setting everything that could be traced back to them on fire. If they were careful, they didn’t need an alibi as no one would even suspect them.
But even the smart ones slipped up, you just had to hope you were there when they did.
Once Nate was done, he tossed the folder to one side.
“Seems our guy is going to a lot of trouble to take someone from the town, you think this person is related to Bruns?”
“No,” Ben shook his head. “But I think he lives and works on the island. He knows these woods.”
“Have the police interviewed rangers, camp staff, someone who might have been able to blend in?”
“They haven’t done much of anything, Nate. I get the feeling they were hoping this was all just going to go away. They aren’t prepared for this.”
“Well they had better get it together.”
“Did the bureau just send you?”
“There should be a few from the Bangor department down here tomorrow for the briefing. By the way, I should give you this.”
Nate got up and went over to his luggage. He unzipped a side pocket and came back holding in his hand a holster with a Glock 22. He flashed gold; it was Ben’s old badge. When he had taken leave he handed it all in with every intention of not returning. Had he been any other FBI agent they wouldn’t be doing this, but his track record and expertise in catching criminals was enough reason for them to agree with Nate.
“You still know how to shoot one,” Nate said half-jokingly.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
It was virtually impossible to forget how to shoot. It was like riding a bike. Besides, it was drummed into them at the academy. They put them through hours of target practice, pulling it from the holster, and dealing with misfires and jams. By the time they left that thing was a part of them. An extension of who they were.
“You want another drink?”
“Sure,” Nate replied.
Ben began pouring when his phone buzzed. He immediately grabbed it, hoping it was Chloe. It was Dakota.
“You ready for this?” she asked.
“What you got?”
“The formaldehyde and glycerin together are often used in preventing tissue shrinkage. Essentially it’s a method of preserving and protecting used by taxidermists.”
“Where can you buy that?” he asked.
“Online. Your local pharmacy does both. But it doesn’t make any sense. Why would she have that inside of her?”
“Depends what our guy is doing with them or does for a living.”
“You don’t think…”
“Believe me, Woods. I’ve come across worse.”
“What time’s the briefing?” he asked.
“Nine.”
“Right, see you then,” Dakota said before hanging up. Ben stood there holding the phone in his hand for a moment. His mind churning over. It shifted back and forth from the present to the past.
“Who was that?” Nate asked.
“Officer Dakota Woods. Lead investigator on the case.”
“Good-looking woman?”
Ben snorted. Nate wasn’t married. The closest he’d got to it was getting engaged to a girl from California. But she wanted him to quit the bureau. He wasn’t going to do that. It was what kept him alive. Ben couldn’t see Nate doing anything else. He was made for it.
That evening Nate stayed at his place. He put him in the guest room. After he’d turned in, Ben went into Chloe’s room. He glanced around at her belongings. The room smelled of her. In his mind h
e could hear her voice, her laughter, and the sound of her guitar. He walked over to it and ran his fingers over the strings. It was usually kept in a black case but that Saturday she’d left it in the corner. He let out a heavy sigh and headed into his room. After splashing water over his face, and rubbing his tired eyes, he lay back on the bed and tried to catch a few hours.
He must have dozed off for an hour or two when he was awoken by the sound of his phone buzzing and jiggling around on the side table. He reached over and hit accept without even looking to see who it was.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”
There was heavy breathing on the other end of the line.
Ben asked again, “Woods?”
“Hello, Dr. Forrester,” the male voice said.
“Who is this?”
The person snorted on the other end. “Oh I feel hurt, after all we’ve been through together.”
A trickle of fear crept over him.
“You know, I’ve thought about you a lot since that day, have you thought about me?”
Ben glanced at his phone, hoping to see a number but there was none. “What do you want?”
“You know how hard it was to find you? But then when I heard about the lovely Chloe.”
Ben bolted upright in bed, his eyes widening
“Bruns?”
“Tell me, Ben, did you think it was me who took her?”
Ben had no words.
“Come now, you were never at a loss for words when you were pursuing me. What’s happened? Don’t tell me you’ve lost your edge. I must say it’s been rather boring without you around. These other agents just don’t have that touch.” He breathed in deeply. “They’re amateurs. Not like us, Ben.”
“How did you get this number?”
“Please. Give me some credit.”
“Where are you?”
He let out a small chuckle. “Close, but don’t worry, Ben, I’m not going to pay you a visit anytime soon.”
“Why not? I would love the company.”
He let out a laugh.
“Listen, I feel awful about Elizabeth and Adam.”
“Am I meant to believe that?”
“Ben. Just because I have a taste for blood, it doesn’t mean I don’t feel loss like you. What has it been like? Do you have trouble sleeping at night? Do you see her in your dreams?”