by Robin Mahle
Jameson glanced at the screen. “Doesn’t look like it. Damn. It’s going to take a while to go through these. Why don’t you copy them over to me and I’ll start looking at the back half and you can take the front half.”
Agent Jameson left and Nick began dividing the task.
“Okay.” Jameson reemerged with his laptop. “Let’s do this.”
Nick welcomed the help and as he began opening file after file, reviewing the gas station’s surveillance of the prior three days before the victim was discovered, he hoped he would find something of value. He had a name and the woman’s family had already been notified. According to the husband, Carla Atkins had left for work as per usual the day she disappeared. He’d filed a missing person’s report the following day with local authorities. Carla’s credit card hadn’t been used again after filling up her Chevy minivan the morning she went missing.
As he uploaded each file and watched the stillness of the cameras focused on various areas of the station, he began to think of Katie. How she’d asked for some insight into this current investigation. Okay, so it wasn’t for her exactly, but for that guy, Aguilar, he’d met in Rio Dell.
It brought to mind how strong she’d been. How she refused to take a back seat in finding Hendrickson, even if it meant risking her safety. Nick admired her greatly for that and for what she’d suffered through, coming out perhaps even stronger than before. He’d given her a chance, an offer to take her skills and talent to the next level, but in retrospect, it had probably been too soon to propose such an offer.
He wondered now, though, if she was ready. If she might reconsider. Time offered distance and allowed healing. It wasn’t often he came across such a determined individual that had the knack for developing theories and testing out those theories with tremendous detail.
“Hey, I think I’ve got something here.” Agent Jameson turned his laptop towards Nick.
“What’s that?” He was pulled back into the moment and turned to see what Jameson had found.
“That’s the minivan, right?”
“I do believe it is.” Nick patted the agent’s shoulder, pleased with the man’s attention to detail. “And I believe that,” he pointed to a dark spec in the black and white image off in the distance, although it would require the computer analysts to scrutinize the video, “may be our suspect.”
***
Once again, Katie found herself sitting in a blue paper gown on a table lined with paper. She shifted uncomfortably as her feet dangled beneath her, the blood rushing to her toes, her feet turning purple.
Today would see the results of the final blood test to determine if treatment had worked and if Katie was officially out of danger. The past week had been harder than she could ever have imagined. Dreams of sitting in a rocking chair in a dark room with a bundle of blankets haunted her more than once. In one of the dreams, she had pulled down the blankets to reveal a heap of body tissue, hair, blood, and tiny fingers; a malformed ball of human bits and pieces.
The way her mind worked often frightened Katie. It found ways to bring forth her deepest fears, forcing her to face them head on. What she had discovered, however, was that those fears could be conquered and she could learn from them. Dr. Reyes had once told her that it was Katie’s gift and she should not squander it. Most who faced their darkest secrets, fears, and desires would choose to run from them. Katie’s mind and soul would not allow her to run, at least, not for very long.
“Okay, Katie. I’ve got the results back.” Dr. Johnson entered the room, seemingly pleased with what she had read on the chart. She raised her head and cast a pleasant smile in Katie’s direction. “Everything is back to normal. You will be just fine.”
These were words Katie was glad to hear, but reverberated the single thought that continued to trouble her; she would not be able to conceive naturally. “What are the risks that this could happen again?”
“It is, of course, possible, Katie, especially considering the extent of the damage. However, I’m reluctant to suggest removal of one or both of your tubes. I just don’t feel it’s necessary. I would suggest, though, that you remain on the pill until such time as you and your partner are ready to conceive. We can then talk about IVF or other options that are available. On the off-chance it occurs again, we can discuss preventative measures.” Dr. Johnson placed her hand on Katie’s knee. “I am sorry you have to deal with this, but it isn’t the end of your future hopes of becoming a mother. Now why don’t you get dressed and we’ll get you out of here.”
Dr. Johnson left Katie alone to dress.
A mother. Before this, she had rarely considered the possibility, although the scenario had seemed much more viable in another life. A life that involved Spencer—and Sam.
If she was being honest with herself, motherhood seemed a distant dream, unattainable to one like her. She wasn’t even sure now if that was what she really wanted. Motherhood meant love, of course, but it also meant pain and possibly loss, and Katie wasn’t sure she had any more room for those feelings.
***
The night sky had already shrouded the sun and the clouds obscured the stars as the tide rolled in. It was Marshall who had greeted her at the door on her arrival home and it was Marshall who would be the one to offer comfort. As always.
Katie was relieved that he was home and gladly returned his greeting.
“How’d it go?” He gently removed her coat and placed it on the hook attached to the wall.
“It’s done. Over.” He had expressed a desire to be there for her today, but she had refused. Katie walked towards the kitchen and inhaled deeply. The apartment smelled of pasta and garlic and offered solace. “You made dinner?” She cocked her head and unveiled a smile masked in genuine surprise as she turned back to him. “Thank you.”
Marshall wouldn’t press her, as he knew she would talk when she chose to do so. Instead, he dished up their dinner, poured a generous glass of wine for each of them, and they simply enjoyed each other’s company for a rare few hours. Uninterrupted by calls, texts, or emails, they shut out the world around them. They finished the night intertwined in the warmth of each other’s bodies, remembering the love they had for one another. Whatever prospects the future held for them could wait.
***
The vibrating cell phone sounded in her dream like a swarm of bees diving straight for her. When the noise erupted again, her conscious mind was awakened enough to bring her out of her sleep.
Katie lifted her head, still heavy and foggy. The light from her phone stinging her eyes, she squinted to see the screen more clearly. Marc. She noticed the early hour and wondered if something must be wrong. They didn’t speak all that often, let alone at this early morning hour that masqueraded as night. She pressed the silent button so as not to wake up Marshall.
The stone tiled floor felt icy on her bare feet as she stepped out of the bed. A quick glance to Marshall. Still asleep. Katie shuffled towards the door, the call having already gone to voicemail. She reached for her robe and wrapped it around her chilled body.
On approach to the second bedroom that served as an office, Katie slipped inside and closed the door. A small lamp on the corner of the desk illuminated when she pressed the button at the base. Her eyes still hadn’t quite adjusted and she turned away from its harsh light.
The sun was working its way up in the west, shining a dull, pale light through the slats in the window blinds. Katie sat down in the chair behind the desk and began to listen to the voicemail.
She rubbed her eyes and listened to Marc speak of the “Highway Hunter.” It seemed he’d found himself another victim. This time in Hudson, Colorado, northeast of Denver. Katie had never heard of the place, but Marc relayed his discomfort at the nearing proximity to California.
The idea that he simply wanted to capitalize on the story entered Katie’s mind. It wasn’t really Marc’s style, but she couldn’t quite work out his intense interest. It didn’t seem likely the Highway Hunter would happen upon the
m.
Agent Scarborough had made it clear he didn’t have any useful information, or if he did, wasn’t inclined to share it. She knew how these things went down. The FBI didn’t let on more than they had to. Still, she would return Marc’s call out of respect and friendship, but remind him that it was far too early an hour to rouse her from sleep and set herself to feelings of anxiety over the message.
“It’s me. I just got your voicemail.” Her tone was gruff, not out of anger, but because she hadn’t yet soothed her throat with the warm, welcoming taste of coffee that signaled the official start of her day.
“I’m sorry to have called so early, Katie. It’s just that I’ve got a real bad feeling about this. They found another victim yesterday, only this morning issuing a press release that it was a suspected victim of the Highway Hunter.”
“Marc, I already told you…”
He abruptly cut her off. “I know, I know. Scarborough doesn’t know anything. But, Katie, you gotta talk to him again. This psycho’s moving west and we need to get a handle on the situation.”
“What are you planning to do, Marc? Warn everyone in San Diego to lock their doors and don’t pick up any hitchhikers? Most people already know that. Hell, they stand a better chance of getting killed on our streets by gang members than getting picked off by some hitchhiking killer.” Her severe tone wasn’t intentional, but she was beginning to feel frustrated and it was much too early. “I’m sorry. Look, I know you want the scoop on this, but I’m telling you, Agent Scarborough is being tight-lipped about all of it and probably for good reason.”
Marc was quiet on the other end of the line. “You’re right, Katie. I shouldn’t have called you so early. There’s nothing you can do. I understand that.”
Katie’s head fell and rested against the back of the chair. Marc knew her well enough to know what buttons to push and it seemed he’d pushed the right one. Telling her she could do nothing, that her hands were tied, was a great way to piss her off. “Fine. I’ll call him again. But I can’t promise you anything.”
“That’s all I ask. I swear I’ll drop it if he says no again.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Can I go now? I need some coffee.”
“Thanks, Katie. It means a lot to me. I’ll talk to you later.”
She ended the call without another word and shook her head. On the one hand, Katie appreciated that Marc believed her to have some sort of influence. But on the other, her work with the department kept her busy, not to mention school, and so to begin to get involved in something she had no business being involved in wasn’t a proposition she wanted to explore, intriguing though it may be. Unfortunately, she would be required to keep her word and once again call on Agent Scarborough to ask for any insight he might have. Marc wasn’t the type to accept no for an answer.
Resigned to the fact that she was now completely awake, Katie padded softly to the kitchen and put on the coffee. A quick glance at the clock on the bookshelf and she noticed that it wouldn’t be long before Marshall would be up. She also took notice of the now vacant spot on the shelf above where a picture once stood, remembering that it had been shattered into several pieces on the ground. Katie cast her eyes down, regretting her intense reaction.
She wondered, though, if Marshall would really be accepting of the fact that having children would be no easy task, if it happened at all for them. Then there was the flip side of it. The thought of the Markham case, of the young girl who found the courage along with the opportunity to seek help and escape her captor came to mind and so did the child who didn’t survive.
Katie’s work showed her the evil inherent in this world and especially the sort that took the most innocent as its victims. She was beginning to believe the risk of bringing a child into the world in which she had now become entirely too familiar was too great. She’d seen pain in the eyes of parents, devastating pain that she herself would likely be unable to bear if she was in the same situation. So, perhaps it was for the best. For her, at least. Marshall might yet find difficulty in accepting such a fate.
With a hot cup of coffee in hand, Katie returned to the den and put herself to task. Getting a jump on the day would be the only benefit to having risen so early. Too early to call Scarborough just yet, although she suspected he would not be sleeping much these days.
The laptop hummed and began to wake from its sleep. Katie sipped her coffee and turned towards the window. The sun was now exposed just over the horizon and she opened the blinds a little to bring in the natural light. Her caseload seemed to be winding down, but that never lasted for long. In a city the size of San Diego, it would only be a matter of days before the next case file would be tossed on her desk, or she would find herself on another crime scene. She didn’t work with Marshall on every one of his cases and that was preferable. They had three different tech teams that rotated with each of the different units.
Katie punched in her password and the emails began filling her inbox. It seemed that she would have reason to call Agent Scarborough after all. He’d sent her an email late last night, already in Colorado and mentioning the need to speak to her. She set her coffee down on the desk and reached for her cell phone.
“Good morning, hon.” Marshall was standing outside the door, his robe opened, revealing his boxers. “You’re up before me? That can’t be good.” He started in towards her.
“Good morning.” Katie rose from the chair and moved to greet him. The call would have to wait. It would be a challenge explaining to Marshall why he had contacted her. Of course he already knew about the initial conversation and seemed unmoved, but this particular email suggested further involvement; to what extent, she didn’t yet know and until she did, it would have wait to be discussed further with Marshall.
“I’ve already got the coffee on. How about some breakfast?”
6
IT HAD BEEN almost a week since the Kentucky murder and it seemed this latest victim, a woman in her thirties outside of Denver, was also a casualty of the man of which Scarborough was growing increasingly wary. His style was erratic, his movements too unpredictable, but Nick had no doubt of the connection.
The victim was a professional woman with manicured nails and hair color not of the bottle-type variety, her makeup elegantly understated. Even in the condition in which they found her, naked and marred by her attacker, she was different from the others.
That was why Nick and his team had arrived on the red-eye last night when he got the call from local authorities. Some of the staff were still on scene, but the victim had already been transported to the local morgue and was awaiting autopsy. This was, of course, standard procedure, but Nick didn’t need the results. He knew it was his guy. What he didn’t know was the significance of the dandelions or the carving. What the hell did a dandelion have to do with any of this?
Nick wasn’t a profiler, but the woman who had been assigned to work with him had been assessing the information. As of now, she had a few theories, nothing concrete. She needed more time, but time was a precious commodity in these situations. He had a string of murders that was growing and a supervisor hungry for answers. Not to mention a ravenous media for which he had little tolerance and despised the notoriety they had already given the killer.
It was approaching eight a.m. and Nick wondered if Katie had read his email yet. She was an hour behind, but he figured her for an early riser. He didn’t know why for certain he had asked if she wanted to help. His team was extremely qualified and he didn’t lack for resources. But when he spoke to her the other day, that idea she had triggered in him more than a year ago, that she could quite possibly be an excellent federal agent, still lingered in his mind.
She’d gone after a killer. She’d gone after him and found him as if it was in her nature to do so. And she’d accomplished it with exquisite resolve. Maybe it was because he’d been up nearly all night, only catching a few zzz’s on the plane, but he wanted her input and her unique insight. Katie had been in the belly of the beast and fought he
r way out. Maybe that was what he needed now.
Time was ticking away. It was urgent that he get to the morgue and talk to the coroner, then head back out to the scene.
Nick placed his cupped hands beneath the faucet and threw water onto his face. His wet hands pushing through his hair, working to tame it. The blue oxford shirt hung haphazardly in the closet of his hotel room. It was in desperate need of a press, but there was no time. He slipped on the shirt, fingers fastening the buttons. The single-breasted jacket lay across the desk chair and he pulled it on. After one last glance at his cell phone, he pocketed it and left his room of the hotel.
***
Ready to leave for work, Katie approached Marshall as he brushed his teeth in the small bathroom adjacent to their bedroom. She looked at his reflection and unveiled a smile. “I’m heading out now. Don’t forget I’ve got a class tonight, so I’ll be late. Call you later?”
Marshall nodded, a white foamy smile crossing his lips.
Katie stepped out onto the landing of their apartment, the noise of downtown filling her ears. It was seven a.m. and the cold air settled on her skin. The short walk to the parking garage meant she would have to brave the crisp fall morning, foregoing the jacket tossed over her forearm.
Upon sighting her car, nestled between a Mercedes and an Audi, she pressed the remote to unlock it. Her small SUV paled in comparison to the much more expensive vehicles flanking either side of her. This building was home to many wealthy individuals who had purchased their units when the market was at its peak. She had to snicker a little. The mortgage on their two-bedroom was likely a paltry figure compared to what these people faced.
Pulling out onto E Street, Katie contemplated making the call to Scarborough. She thought a private conversation would be in order in this particular case. Katie was housed in a cubicle at work where ears listened intently and with great interest. She was not immune to the hushed conversations that still sometimes occurred at the proverbial water cooler. Although most of the people she worked with empathized with her past, others remained envious of her position and the fact that she had attained it so quickly. So, eavesdropping on a conversation with the FBI on what had become an increasingly noteworthy case wasn’t an option for Katie. It would quite possibly be used against her by those who pressed on others as rungs on a ladder.