Body Count

by P. D. Martin

  “No, that’s okay.” I’m still fighting to bring my mind into reality and out of the dream.

  “I think you should come off this case, Sophie.”

  I can feel the tension in his body.

  “I’m not leaving Sam with him. I’ve got to do something.”

  “But what if you’re a target?”

  Has my biggest fear been realized? No, it was just a dream.

  “He’s got Sam. He won’t come after anyone else while Sam’s…” I trail off.

  Josh pulls back a little and looks into my eyes. His hand comes up to my face and he wipes away a tear that, to my disgust, has squeezed its way out of my eye.

  I look down and finish my sentence. “Not while Sam’s alive.”

  Josh looks at his watch. “You better get ready.”

  I head to the shower and undress. I look at my naked reflection in the mirror. My deathly white skin accentuates dark circles under my eyes. My hair is greasy, making it look brown rather than blond, and strands cling to my scalp and face. I turn the shower on. Josh stands in the doorway, able to see me but not within touching distance.

  “Any luck last night with the Michigan force?” I ask.

  “They’re couriering the files to me.”

  “Same with Arizona.”

  I roughly massage shampoo into my scalp, creating a thick lather. I rinse. “I looked up the symbol from the necklace.”

  “And?”

  “It’s a Triquetra—the three shapes represent the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”

  “So we’re looking for a religious nut.”

  “Could be. Or if the killer did take it from another victim, she could have been the religious one.”

  I rinse the last soap from my body and turn off the taps. I emerge from the shower with water droplets glistening on my naked skin. I grab my towel.

  Marco takes in my naked body. “Do you feel better?”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Look, Sophie, maybe you should stay with me. Just until this is over.” He’s being protective again. He moves closer and strokes my arm. “Or I could stay here.” His hand moves slowly to my breast.

  I look up at Josh and wonder if our timing could have sucked any more. I choose my next words carefully. “Josh, I have to stay focused on this case. On getting Sam back.” I pause, hold his hand and take it off my breast. “And spending time with you…”

  Josh backs away, offended.

  “It’s a compliment,” I say. “I can’t have any distractions, not even one as wonderful as you.” I’ve laid a little more of my emotions on the line than I would have liked.

  “We don’t have to…what I mean is, we could work on the case together. I don’t want to be a distraction, I want to help. I want to find Sam too, you know.”

  I withdraw my hand and start towel-drying my hair.

  “I’ll even sleep on the couch,” he says with a cheeky grin.

  I look at him, wondering if we’d really be able to keep our hands off each other. I don’t want to be by myself, I really don’t. And I would feel safer with him in the apartment. But I could never forgive myself if something happened to Sam while Josh and I were fooling around.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, walking past him and into my bedroom to change. But my mind’s already made up. I’m not abandoning Sam. Not now.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Let’s have it,” O’Donnell says at exactly 6:30 a.m., turning to his immediate left. Flynn. Sandra Couples walks in and hurriedly takes a seat.

  Flynn looks up, addressing all the team members. “I made contact last night with Chicago and we should have the two case files by midday. But like I said, it was a dead end when we looked into it a couple of weeks ago. Detective Hogan who worked the cases said they had no firm suspects and no substantial leads.” Flynn counts off on his fingers. “No prints, no DNA, no witnesses to the abduction, no nothing.” He places his hands flat on the table. “They saw the similarities between the two murders and were getting ready for a long haul. Waiting for victim number three in Chicago.”

  “So there were only two murders in Chicago over a four-year period,” I say. “Are they sure only the four? It seems very low compared to our perp’s activities in other years.”

  O’Donnell flips the pages of his notepad and on a new page transfers some figures. “He’s averaging about two murders a year, except for Chicago.”

  Flynn leans forward, his blue eyes seeming even brighter than usual. “I mentioned that to Hogan and he said once they connected the second murder they went through past homicides but nothing seemed related.”

  “So why was he so quiet?” Jones asks, scribbling on his pad and looking at Josh and I.

  An unspoken recognition occurs between Josh and I.

  “Girlfriend,” we say in unison.

  Josh elaborates. “The first Chicago murder was May 2001 and the second was in January 2005. Somewhere in the middle there he had a ‘normal—’” he makes quotation marks in the air “—relationship.”

  Krip takes his eyes away from the window but stays reclined in his chair. “Ah, yes. The old, ‘I’m not going to kill anyone because I’m getting some at home.’”

  “Well, not quite but almost, in terms of the psychology behind it,” I say, choosing not to go into detail. I want to get back on track—Sam is waiting for me.

  O’Donnell senses my impatience and moves it along. “Jones? Anything on the locksmith angle?”

  “I checked it out on the Net last night. There are dozens of sites where you can buy a lock-picking set or one of the lock-picking guns.” He hands out a few printouts of guns and sets. They range from $29 to over $500.

  O’Donnell nods. “That doesn’t help us much.”

  “Depends when he got it,” I say. “If he got it in Arizona, it may have been before they were available online.”

  “True,” Jones says, scribbling something on top of his doodles.

  “Jones, keep checking into it.”

  Jones nods. “I should also be able to find out which locksmiths did the doors at the apartments today.”

  “That could end up being our link,” I say. Please let it be the link.

  “I also went over the files from the D.C. cases and worked on the victimology for Susan Young. I’ll have it ready by the end of the day,” Jones says.

  “Excellent.” O’Donnell moves his gaze around the table to Josh.

  “I contacted the Michigan Field Office and our guys are sending through the files. I spoke to the original profiler on the case and the agent who worked it. They backed up what we’ve found here.” Josh double-clicks his pen. “The guy’s like a ghost. No one’s ever seen anything suspicious and he’s always very clean in his work. No prints, no DNA.”

  “Not exactly comforting,” Couples says.

  “We need to concentrate on the medical, scientific background or law-enforcement angle of Sam’s profile,” I say.

  “I agree. That’s what we should cross-reference once we start going through all the student records from the Michigan colleges,” O’Donnell says.

  “It’s going to take some time.”

  Someone had to say it. Sifting through student names and records will be a nightmare. Sam doesn’t have that much time. We have to find another lead, or more things to cross-reference, unless the locksmith angle pans out.

  “Let’s do this now, while we’re on it.” O’Donnell gets up and writes student records on the whiteboard. “So, we’re going to concentrate on med and science students first.”

  “Who sat their SATs in Arizona,” I say and O’Donnell writes it on the board.

  “We could use IRS records to narrow it down by tax returns with addresses that correspond to the murder locations,” Flynn says.

  “Yep, that’s a good one. Unless he’s not listing his real address,” O’Donnell says as he writes IRS records on the whiteboard. “Anything else?”

  No one responds.

  O’Donnell starts a new co
lumn. “Let’s move on to the law-enforcement angle.”

  “We could look into FBI and CIA records for recruits and applicants who studied in Michigan,” Josh says.

  “And maybe the forces in Arizona, Michigan, Chicago and Washington,” Couples says.

  O’Donnell writes it all up.

  Couples smoothes her hair out. “Not looking too bad now.”

  “Certainly one step up from the needle in the haystack,” Krip says.

  O’Donnell stops writing. “Anything else?”

  No one responds.

  “Okay, back to our status.” O’Donnell crosses the room and takes a seat once more. “Couples, where are you at with Wright’s place?”

  “Nothing new from forensics. Still no foreign prints,” she says, then looks at me. “I got my guys to check her trash can. There was a half-empty tub of cream past its use-by and a few wilted vegetables.”

  “Surely that can’t be coincidence—all four victims cleaning out their fridges before being abducted?” Flynn says.

  Couples shakes her head. “It’s so bizarre that he empties their fridges.”

  “Not really,” I say. “He thinks of the victims as his girlfriends and he feels comfortable in their homes. He makes himself at home, completely. In his own sick way, he’s looking after them.”

  “Plus, if he’s got a medical background he could be a germ freak. Science guys are often pretty nutty about that sort of stuff,” Josh says.

  We’re silent for a few moments before O’Donnell turns his gaze to Krip.

  Krip leans forward. “Well, Florida’s more of the same. Clean crime scene. Virtually no real leads or suspects. Full file is on the way.” He uses the minimum number of words.

  “Okay.” O’Donnell stands up and walks to the whiteboard again. He lists the different states and the different leads. He underlines Arizona and turns to me.

  “Arizona?”

  “I spoke to them last night. The file’s on its way too.” I force a small smile. “I really think this first victim, Sally-Anne Raymond, is the key. He must have known her. I’d like to fly over there. Find out more about the murder, actually interview her family myself.” It would be standard practice for us to reinterview in this sort of case, even if an FBI agent hadn’t been nabbed, but I’m also hoping being at the crime scene might somehow trigger a vision. So far the only time I’ve been able to induce something was yesterday in the project room, when I saw Sam being raped—and I’m sure as hell hoping that was my imagination. If I can’t control this psychic ability, I need to at least provide stimuli that might trigger it.

  Josh moves uneasily in his seat and again I fluctuate between being annoyed and being flattered by his protectiveness. Should I tell him about my dreams and visions? I will, but not yet. I’d like to have some form of control over them before I drop that bombshell on Josh.

  O’Donnell flicks the whiteboard marker against his hand. “Sounds like a good idea. We’ll split all the leads up in a moment and work out who’s doing what.”

  “What about the media? Are we going to use them?” Krip says.

  The group focuses on Josh and I—it’s usually the profiler’s call.

  “What do you think?” Josh says.

  “Could be useful. We could follow the suggestion in Sam’s profile and attribute a murder to the D.C. Slasher.”

  “But with our time frame, I don’t know if contact with the killer will help. He’s already had Sam for about fifty-six hours,” Josh says.

  She’s been with the bastard for almost sixty hours. I furiously twist the ring on my finger.

  “We need to find some suspects and then hope one is right. That way we’ve got a chance to get to Sam in time,” Flynn says. He’s trying to reassure me, but his statement has the opposite effect. There are one too many steps in his scenario, and the clock is ticking.

  O’Donnell tosses the whiteboard marker back and forth between his hands. “A newspaper story could help us identify him, if it draws him out in some way.”

  “It’s worth a shot. But he may be expecting it,” I say. I don’t know if it will lead us anywhere, but we have to try everything.

  “Let’s run a story and see what happens,” Josh says.

  O’Donnell writes up Newspaper story and places a tick next to it. “Agreed.”

  “I’ll give Murray Cavanaugh at the Post a call and get him to run something about a fourth Slasher victim,” Flynn says. “What dirt are we going to add?”

  Jones leans back, pulling himself away from his doodles. “We could release the med-student angle.”

  “I think we want to run with something we know to be wrong,” Josh says.

  “I agree. We know he thinks of the victims as his girlfriends and that he’s targeting highly educated women. So why don’t we say that we’re looking for a blue-collar worker and that the fourth victim is a prostitute,” I say.

  “Or what about a ‘lead witness in police custody’ angle?” Flynn says.

  Josh and I both raise our eyebrows. A good suggestion.

  Flynn runs with it. “Someone’s got to have seen him. Even though he seems invisible. So we fabricate. Make him think he slipped up.”

  “Which is more likely to get a response?” I say, thinking out aloud.

  Josh looks at me. “The blue-collar worker. He’s really improved himself and worked his way up. He’s proud of that. Too proud to be thought of as a factory worker or laborer. He’s a head man,” he says, tapping his finger on his head.

  O’Donnell writes the Post and blue collar on the whiteboard, underneath Newspaper story. “Okay, so that brings us to me. I’ve got the full list of Michigan universities, forty-four in total.”

  We all moan at this news.

  “I know. A few more than we were hoping.” He walks back to his place at the table and fumbles through his files. “We’ll have to divvy them up. Some we’ll be able to cross off altogether if they don’t offer a science or medical program.” He hands out a photocopied Web page with the full listing.

  Once everyone’s got the list, O’Donnell goes back to the whiteboard. He works his way across the handwritten leads. “So, this morning. Jones, you’re looking into the locksmith thing.” He pauses. “Couples, do you need to follow up with your team and forensics?”

  “Not really. They’ll call me if they find anything. I can work on the college lists.”

  O’Donnell nods, then pauses, scanning the whiteboard and his notes. “Anderson, you go to Arizona. Find out what you can, but make sure you’ve got the cops on your side.”

  “I’ll get the next flight out.”

  “Um. Dr. Rosen,” Josh says.

  “Shit.” Everyone turns my way. “Pike and Rivers have ordered everyone in our unit to see one of the Bureau’s psychologists. I’m on at ten, so I’ll have to fly out after that.”

  “If you schedule for the afternoon, the Arizona files should have arrived and you can review them on the plane,” Josh says.

  “Good idea.” I’d momentarily forgotten about the Arizona files. I’ll need them.

  “I want the rest of us on the colleges. We need a list of suspects,” O’Donnell says. He splits up the list of colleges between everyone except Jones and I. “Look at the programs they have first, and if they didn’t have science or medical programs while our guy was there we’ll rule them out for the moment.”

  O’Donnell goes through the list and divvies out the colleges. Josh recognizes three names and is able to say with certainty that these colleges have neither a science nor a medical program and never did. It narrows the list down a little.

  “And Wright’s phone call?” O’Donnell looks at Krip.

  “I’ve got a nine o’clock appointment on that one.”

  “Good.” O’Donnell looks around the room. It’s obvious the meeting is closing.

  “I’m going to head back to Quantico. I’ll work from there until my appointment with Dr. Rosen,” I say.

  “Okay, Anderson. We’ll get you
the Arizona files as soon as they arrive. Depending on the time, we’ll courier them to either Quantico or the airport. Let us know what flight you’ll be on.”

  “Will do.” I walk out of the room, resisting the urge to glance back at Josh. I need to devote my attention to Sam and the killer. Not to Josh.

  By 10:00 a.m. I’ve booked a 1:00 p.m. flight to Tucson, Arizona, via Chicago, spoken to Detective Carter from Arizona Homicide again, and set up an interview with the parents of the first victim.

  I sit in Amanda’s office, legs crossed. Her office is very different from the standard Quantico Bureau issue. Most offices are small and cannot hide their seventies origin. Amanda’s, on the other hand, is double the size—probably two offices joined together—and it’s had a redecorating job this century. The walls are a warm musk color, complemented by several pastels of landscapes. Ironically, one looks like it’s of East Potomac Park when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. The painting makes me think of Susan and the letter. Why didn’t we realize Sam was in real danger? Why didn’t I see it? Thoughts of my brother also swirl into the storm in my mind—why did I doubt myself then? My rational mind kicks it, but only for an instant: You were eight years old, for God’s sake.

  I take my eyes from the pastel and focus on the room again. The office furniture is also different to the BAU look. Amanda has a large teak desk, which is covered in files and two coffee cups, with her computer squashed up in the corner. In front of the desk are two black leather armchairs, and to the side is a small wooden table. On the table sit two glasses of water and the standard box of tissues—something any good shrink always has at hand. The room is topped off by several potted plants, which help give the room a slight homey feel. No doubt it’s all in the name of helping agents open up and feel relaxed. But it has the opposite effect on me.

  I sit uncomfortably in the large armchair, with Amanda opposite me. Her dark brown hair curls around her face and is tamed at the sides by two silver bobby pins. Her olive complexion looks smooth, despite her forty-odd years. Amanda’s curvaceous figure is highlighted by her clothing. She wears a black V-neck, a purple-plum pencil skirt, black stockings and classy court shoes with a strap around her ankle.