Tainted Mind

by Schultz, Tamsen

  Climbing from her car, she approached Ian in silence. When she got to his side, she too looked down. The ravine wasn't much of one, more of a steep slope ending in a swollen creek. But it was long enough to allow a car to roll a few times. And seeing the scarred land and brush, Vivi could trace the path Ian's Jeep must have taken when he had flipped over this embankment. Glancing at the creek, she gave a double thank you that he hadn't landed upside down in the water. Even though the seatbelt had saved his life during the roll, if he'd landed upside down in the water, it was high enough that it could have drowned him if he hadn't been able to get his belt unbuckled.

  She felt sick to her stomach.

  Forcing a deep breath in, she turned to Ian. “When I called this morning, the hospital said you'd checked out. You weren't at the station. I thought you might come here, but how did you get here?”

  He glanced up at her, and she saw the shadows in his eyes. “One of the doctors dropped me. I figured I could call someone when I needed a ride back to the station.”

  His voice sounded reasonable enough. Too reasonable.

  “Tell me about it.”

  He didn't speak for a long time, and when he did, his eyes never met hers. He relayed the events, as he remembered them, leading up to the accident.

  “I was driving, sirens on, to the call out on Hancock Road. Carly and Marcus were behind me by about a half a mile. I came around this corner,” his left hand came up to trace his route, “and as I was about here,” he pointed to a spot, “my front right tire blew. My Jeep swerved into the other lane, and when I saw the oncoming car, maybe I overcorrected, I don't know, but I ended up down there.” He turned and looked back down toward the creek. Vivi looked at him.

  “And the kids?”

  “That tree there.” Ian's answer and accompanying gesture were instant. Vivi eyed the tree and could see faint scarring along the bark. She studied the road and imagined Ian driving fast to make it to the call. Between the tightness of the curve and the additional speed, it was no wonder his car shot outward when the tire blew. And there were enough rocks at the edge of the ravine that, if his tires hit them with enough speed as he was skidding from the blowout, they could cause the Jeep to tip and flip.

  But something in his face, in the way his jaw ticked, told her he wasn't reliving the accident. His mind was somewhere else, somewhere worse.

  “Ian?” Vivi put a hand on his shoulder, then let it fall down his arm until she twined her fingers in his. He looked up and into her eyes, and the memory of him—of that moment when the thunder had ripped across the sky and he'd pressed her up against the tree, protecting her body with his—came to mind. That moment when she'd caught a fleeting glimpse of his fears. And his shame.

  “Ian.”

  His expression shuttered and he turned away. Pulling his hand from hers, he walked the few steps to the edge of the ravine and looked down again.

  “Your hair is down today,” he said.

  A car passed them, interrupting the quiet of the morning, and she debated whether to let the issue slide. She didn't want to. But where would it get her? Here in this public place with Ian already feeling exposed, she doubted any conversation about what he was thinking, or more to the point, what he was feeling, would go anywhere good. But she couldn't leave it. She had to try to take some of the pain away. But maybe the best way to do that, in this moment, was to let him have his space. She hoped.

  “Chris and your sister came by this morning,” she said. “I wasn't quite ready to leave yet and hadn't pulled my hair back. He told me I looked pretty, like a princess, and that I should leave it down. He's a hard kid to disappoint.” Vivi couldn't help but smile remembering her conversation with the little boy. Thankfully, her smile was contagious and she saw the hint of one touching Ian's lips.

  “He's a boy with good taste,” he said, walking toward her.

  “Maybe it runs in the family.”

  “It definitely runs in the family.” Ian wrapped his good hand in her hair, tilted her head up, and covered her mouth with his. The kiss ended in laughter when a car full of kids drove by hollering, “Go MacAllister!” to cheer Ian on.

  Still smiling, Vivi pulled back and rested her cheek against his chest. He held her there, his lips brushing the top of her head.

  When the honking stopped and the sound of the car faded, she looked up. She wasn't going to let him ride this out alone. But for now, they had a job to do. They'd talk later.

  “I've always loved a man in uniform. Want a ride?” she offered with a mock-lascivious look.

  “If you ask me, I think you prefer me out of uniform.”

  “Ian!” she smacked him playfully on the chest, though the gesture had no real effort in it since she couldn't argue. He let out a bark of laughter and pulled her tighter into his arms, his cast pressing into her back.

  “Maybe I should leave you out here. I bet I can convince your team to let you walk.”

  “Nah, well, maybe,” he conceded then sighed. “I hate to say it, but we do have a couple of murders to solve.”

  She answered with a sigh of her own. “Yes, yes we do.”

  * * *

  Ian walked into the station with Vivienne, on the phone with Daniel, right behind him. Sharon looked up, an expression of concern flitted across her face, then stayed.

  “Are you sure you should be in today?” the receptionist asked.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Don't have much of a choice. What's the update?”

  “Marcus, Carly, and Nick are upstairs. Wyatt is out with Teddy, cleaning up a car accident out on 203,” Sharon said, referring to one of their part-time officers.

  “Vic's going to have a fit when he sees the bill for the part-timers,” Ian muttered.

  “The mayor will back you. He already stopped by this morning to make sure you know that. He wants this cleared up. Nothing like this has ever happened here, and he doesn't like that it happened on his watch.”

  “That and he's my uncle,” Ian said.

  Sharon grinned. “He is that.”

  Ian let out a little laugh and, as Vivienne hung up her cell, he motioned her up the stairs, asking if there was any news from Daniel.

  “No. They're running some more sophisticated tests on the wood and dirt—” Vivienne was saying.

  “Soil.” Marcus, Carly, and Nick all interjected as they hit the landing.

  Vivienne let out a put-upon breath and cast Ian a look. “Soil,” she corrected. “But nothing yet. Daniel is more interested in the bodies, so he's spending some time researching and brainstorming some other tests he might be able to run.”

  “To look for what?” Ian asked as he approached the board, looking for anything new that might have been posted in the last twenty-four hours while he was in the hospital.

  “A variety of things. Other objects that might have been used on the body, elements that might have been absorbed into the bones or body tissue. Things like that.”

  He opened his mouth then closed it. “I don't want to know. Not unless they find something.”

  “Good choice, if you ask me,” Vivienne said.

  “So, how are you, boss?” Carly asked. His two officers were looking at him with genuine concern.

  “I'm okay. A little sore. But thanks for pulling me out. I'm glad you all were behind me. If you or those kids hadn't been there to see it happen, it could have been a while before anyone found me.”

  To his right, Vivienne was going through one of the boxes he'd brought back from Boston. Her back was to him, but he saw her straighten at his comment and he gave himself a mental kick in the ass. She didn't need to hear that.

  “Yeah, we're glad we were there too. It's weird though. Those tires were only put on about six months ago, but I guess sometimes those things happen,” Marcus commented before going back to his papers.

  “I'm just glad it wasn't any worse,” Carly added.

  “You and me both.” Ian replied, turning in time to catch Vivienne and Nick sharing a look.
He watched them for a heartbeat before they realized his attention. Vivienne went back to her box.

  “Whatever happened with the call you were on your way to?” Vivienne asked as she pulled out a file and opened it on the table.

  “Wyatt went.” Marcus answered. “It was a report of multiple gunfire. It's not too unusual around here, though this time of year, it's less common than in hunting season. People shoot on their own property for practice all the time, but because it was a report of multiple shots fired in rapid sequence, we wanted to check it out.”

  “Did he find anything?” Nick asked.

  “No, couldn't even find the caller, but if I weren't local and heard gunshots, I'd probably hightail it, too,” Carly answered.

  “Anyone mind if I open a window?” Vivienne asked suddenly. Nobody did, so she crossed the room to do just that. Ian didn't miss the piece of paper she slid in front of Nick. Without being obvious, Ian watched as the agent folded the sheet, put it in his pocket, and stood.

  “I'm off to see the felons. If anyone needs me, you all know how to reach me,” Nick said. And he was gone. When Ian's eyes sought Vivienne's, she looked away.

  “Felons?” Carly asked.

  “Naomi and Brian,” Ian supplied. “Not actual felons, I feel obligated to point out.”

  “But they could kind of pass as some,” Marcus interjected with a grin. “I ran into one, Naomi, at Frank's. Said she'd spent the night with you, Vivi, and was on her way back to The Tavern. I think Frank might actually be in love. Not real love, mind you, since he's like twenty years older,” he added as an aside.

  Now this was news to Ian. Not that Frank might be in love, but that Naomi had spent the night with Vivienne. He certainly didn't mind and was actually glad she'd had someone with her. But the fact that she hadn't mentioned it made him wonder if maybe Naomi's visit was more than just a girls’ night in. Again he turned to Vivienne.

  Avoiding his look, she cleared her throat. “Carly do you have any updates?” she asked.

  Both Carly and Marcus stood. “Yeah, and I don't think you're going to like it,” Carly answered.

  Ian's gaze lingered on Vivienne a moment longer before he turned back to his officers. “But I'm not going to be surprised, am I?” he said. He could hear the inevitability in Carly's voice.

  “I wish, but no,” Marcus responded.

  “All right,” Ian said, stepping to the front of the room. “Lay it on us.”

  “Turn the board over, boss,” Marcus said. “It's all there.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.” Ian crossed his arms and stared at the board. The newly updated board of death. They'd started with eighteen women, three confirmed dead and the other fifteen missing. The last time Ian had looked at the board, Carly had eliminated five of the victims, bringing the number down to thirteen women who fit the profile.

  This board had twenty-one women on it. Girls, some of them. And went back over fifteen years.

  “There were a few earlier than this woman, or, uh, girl,” Carly corrected herself, pointing to the first picture on the board. Amanda Corlis, seventeen, found raped, strangled, and murdered in a summer resort town in southern Maine. She was probably getting ready to go to college. “But they only had one or two similarities so I didn't include them,” she added.

  “Shit.” Ian ran his good hand over his face. “So, how many of these women are missing and how many confirmed dead?” Ian couldn't believe he was hearing those words out of his mouth. This wasn't Afghanistan, asking for “confirmed dead,” while standing here in his small, quiet town was more than surreal.

  “Ten in total are confirmed dead. The remaining eleven are missing, presumed dead,” Marcus answered. His voice sounded about how Ian felt.

  “And do we have the files?” Vivienne asked.

  Carly nodded. “I was able to track down everyone I needed yesterday, and we have all but one, but that one should be here today.”

  They all stared at the board for a long, silent moment. Ian thought about turning to Vivienne and asking that she call in the Bureau. But as he studied the board, a pattern emerged in his mind. A plan.

  “We need timelines,” Ian said.

  His officers looked at him with a combination of curiosity and eagerness in their expressions. Vivienne's face said something more along the lines of “you know what we need to do, now tell us.” That she didn't bother to hide that little bit of “I told you so” brought a faint smile to his lips.

  “A couple of timelines. Of the women we know are dead, we need to know when they went missing and the estimated times of death,” Ian continued.

  “To get an idea of how long he holds them,” Marcus interjected, speaking more to himself than anyone else.

  “But we also need to know more about where they were last seen. If they were seen at a bar on Friday night and reported missing on Saturday, we'll have a more reliable sense of when the clock started ticking for them,” Ian kept talking.

  “But if they went missing from somewhere where it's harder to lock down a time, like if they went camping by themselves or something like that, then we need to take that into consideration,” Carly added, catching on.

  Ian nodded. “We also need to know where they went missing from and where the bodies were found. If there is any pattern there, it might give us an idea of how far he takes them from the grab sites. And it might also help us know where to look for the other women, depending on what we find.” Both Carly and Marcus moved into action—pulling up their computers, calling off dates and locations, examining the files.

  “Ian?” Vivienne's voice held a note of concern.

  He swiveled his eyes from his officers to Vivienne. He could tell by the look on her face that she'd seen the same pattern on the board he had. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “And folks, I hate to say this, but I think we need to work fast,” Ian added. Both heads shot up. “When he started his spree, he went after about one woman a year for several years,” Ian continued. “But in recent years, his attacks have been getting closer and closer together. If all these women really are his victims, a few years ago he went after two a year. Then there were the three in Boston, all in one year. After that, it looks like there might have been a short break for some reason, but he picked up again a little less than a year ago, and since then he's already gone after two, with Rebecca being the most recent.”

  “What does that mean? Other than the obvious, I mean,” Marcus asked.

  “It means that he is devolving,” Vivienne answered. “Whatever it is that's driving him is becoming more and more of an obsession. To the extent he's losing control over it.”

  “Isn't that the definition of an obsession? Having no control?” Carly asked.

  “That's the definition of an addiction,” Vivienne corrected. “With a lot of serial killers, killing itself is a kind of addiction, they get a high from it. But some are driven by compulsion, the desire to commit the act itself, and some by obsession, a desire or need for something else that results in the killing.”

  “Is there a difference that can help us?” Ian asked, unsure why what drives a killer would matter.

  “Maybe.”

  Ian didn't like the sound of doubt in her voice. “Vivienne?” he prompted.

  She sighed. “Compulsive killers can often be easier to identify because the more they kill, the clearer their compulsion becomes to those of us trying to find them. And, at some point, their compulsion can overwhelm other parts of their personality, making it harder for them to hide what they've done.”

  Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “And obsessive ones?”

  “Honestly, they're all over the board. It all depends on the obsession.”

  The cool breeze and clean scent of spring that blew into the room through the open window was so at odds with the conversation that Ian felt unbalanced for a moment. But watching Vivienne pull her hair back into a ponytail, as if girding herself for battle, broug
ht him back to the here and now.

  “What do you think his obsession is?”

  “This woman, whoever she is.” There was no doubt in her answer as she gave a sweeping gesture that encompassed all the women on the board.

  “And what does that mean for us?”

  “He'll keep going until he gets her. Whether or not he falls apart before that happens, your guess is as good as mine.”

  Ian liked the sound of that about as much she did, judging by the look on her face. “When you say “gets her,” what do you mean? It sounds like you're talking about a specific woman, but you're looking at all of them.”

  “Oh, it's definitely a specific woman. And I think he wants her as a lover. And when he can't have her or doesn't get her, he takes out his frustrations on these other women,” Vivienne answered.

  “Uh, what's the likelihood of him actually being able to be her lover?” Carly's voice was filled with disgust.

  “And what happens if he is, will it be over?” Marcus asked.

  “It depends on who she is. If she's a celebrity, it's unlikely. If it's just a woman he knows, it's always possible, depending on how charming he is. And, as to your question, Marcus, if only it were that simple. What I've seen is that once obsessive killers actually get their hands on the person or object of their obsession, paranoia sets in and they devolve in a whole different way than, say, how compulsive killers might devolve.”

  “Meaning?” Ian pressed.

  “They are unpredictable. They might kill themselves because they don't think they are worthy. If their object of obsession is a person, they may kill him or her. They might also start to believe that the people around them are starting to judge them, believe them unworthy.”

  “And take it out on a big crowd of people?” This whole thing started out as a nightmare for Ian and it was only getting worse. At least in Afghanistan they had a general idea of who the bad people were and what they might do. When they would do it, who knew? But at least they knew what to look for.

  “I've seen it happen,” Vivienne said quietly.

  “Shit,” Ian muttered, more to himself than anyone else.