by Jaden Skye
Tracy cried out for help but no one could hear her. She raised her arms to the sky and so did the shadow. “Run, run, run all you like,” it shouted to her. “Trample the flowers under your feet. You’ll never get away from me, never!”
With a sharp jolt, Tracy threw her pillow on the floor and woke up, rumpled and drenched with perspiration. The early morning light rose as she sprinted out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and splashed cold water over her face. It was a dream, just a dream, she kept telling herself, opening and shutting her eyes. The dream unnerved her, though, shook her to the core. Was it a foreboding of something out there, waiting for her?
Tracy dressed quickly, ordered breakfast up to the room, and drank the whole pot of hot, steaming coffee. She wished there was someone she could call to talk the dream over with. Of course Wess was off limits right now. But at least when they were together at night, Tracy was never gripped by these kinds of dreams. She felt safe and cared for nestled deep inside his arms.
For a moment Tracy thought about calling Clay, but he was home with his wife and young children. And of course, Hunter wasn’t a possibility. He kept his distance carefully, as well he should.
Tracy dressed quickly, brushed her hair for a long time, and took extra care with her makeup. By the time she was ready to leave for the FBI office, she looked fresh, lovely, and well rested. Exactly the way she wanted to appear.
*
When Tracy walked into the office, Special Agent August Lane stood beside Sergeant John Harding.
“Here she comes,” August commented, walking over and extending his hand. August was a few years older than Tracy, nice looking, with dark hair, strong eyes, a scar on his left cheek, and a well-toned body. They’d worked together on the other two cases and there’d been a rough edge between them both times.
“Hi, August, nice to see you again,” said Tracy, hoping things would be smoother this time.
Sgt. Harding came over and joined them while Hunter and Clay stayed in front of the room, sorting through papers.
“We got quite a few calls after the press announced that you were on the case,” Sgt. Harding said to Tracy. “Law enforcement called, reporters, TV, random individuals.”
“It’s the random individuals I’m interested in,” Tracy answered quickly.
“I thought the announcement was premature,” August interrupted.
Tracy disagreed. “This is a killer who needs to be smoked out as quickly as possible.”
“What makes you think this announcement will do it?” August’s eyes got steely. “It’s just going to stir up nuts jobs of all kinds. They’ll get in our way. Who needs them?”
“That’s possible,” said Tracy, “but if we make the killer nervous enough, I believe he’ll show his hand.”
“Or retreat further,” August grumbled. “Just for the record, I was against making this announcement public.”
Sgt. Harding shook his head. “I can’t help but agree with August. It’s a bit of a reach, but let’s hope our guy takes the bait. You never know.”
“I believe we have to make everything we do as public as possible.” Tracy held her ground. “The killer’s out there, listening to every word we say.”
“Listening and laughing up his sleeve at us,” August muttered. “Sick bastard.”
Clay walked over and interrupted the conversation. “Good night’s sleep?” he asked Tracy, looking at her closely. Clay was incredibly aware, Tracy realized. He noticed things he didn’t even realized he noticed.
“I’m ready to start the presentation now.” Tracy smiled, bypassing his question.
“Okay, come up to the front of the room,” Clay agreed.
“I’ll take questions as I go,” Tracy offered, smiling at August, who still seemed put off.
A few other officials came into the room then, including Wanda Allen, a beautiful young African-American woman who worked for the FBI, specializing in forensics. Wanda was a link to the medical examiner and had been particularly helpful to Tracy in cases they’d worked on together before. The two of them liked and respected each other. They smiled at each other now.
Hunter tapped on the table then to announce that the meeting was beginning.
“Okay, before we get going, I have some general information,” Hunter started. “I have the medical examiner’s report, which shows that, as we suspected, Shannon Glaze, the second victim, was killed by strangulation. But most importantly, when the body was found she’d only been dead for about eight hours.”
Tracy shivered. This was huge! The killer had kept Shannon alive for almost two weeks. How did he do that and why? Where had he kept her? Did she go with him willingly? hat went on between them during that time? Once Tracy had those answers, she would know exactly where to find him.
“Of course this adds a strange component to the crime.” Hunter noted it as well. “So this is a perfect time to hear from Tracy Wrenn, our profiler. Today Tracy will offer an initial sketch.”
Then Hunter looked over at Tracy, really taking her in for the first time today. His voice grew softer. “Thanks for being here, Tracy. We’d love to hear what you have for us so far. And to emphasize the point, we’re all aware that these are preliminary impressions only.”
Tracy smiled at Hunter and went up beside him, in front of the room. She felt shaky for a moment, thinking of Shannon alive with the killer for two weeks. Tracy pushed her hair back from her face and looked out at the audience directly.
“Firstly, thank you for having me,” Tracy began. “It’s incredible that the killer kept Shannon alive for almost two weeks. What made him decide to finally kill her? We’re looking at a volatile character and we don’t have a straightforward signature or MO, either. On the surface the two murders and victims are completely different from one another. But let’s remember, that’s on the surface only.”
Once again, the audience became silent and engrossed by Tracy’s delivery. There was something about the way she spoke. They must have sensed Tracy’s unrelenting determination to find the culprit, no matter what.
“This killer’s need for attention is, of course, obvious,” Tracy went on. “That’s clear in the message he left behind in both cases, ‘Find me,’ written in blood. The killer’s taunting us, inviting us to the chase. He’s testing to see who’s smarter. He’s taking pleasure in baiting the police, and seeing how long it will take for him to be found. If ever.”
Tracy could see this didn’t sit well with some of the agents, especially August, who grimaced at the thought of it.. “Not only are the victims in both cases very different,” Tracy continued, “but they were killed differently and left in opposite settings. I’d say the killer has a need to create confusion, to keep the public on edge. And the focus of this killer’s aggression is not only women, but male authority. He wants to see who’s more powerful, him or them? This killer desperately needs to prove himself. Basically, he’s a frightened, insecure man.”
“Hold on, hold on, you’re going too fast. We can’t be absolutely sure those messages were left by the same person,” August interrupted. “It’s very possible that we have a copycat killer here.”
“Well noted.” Tracy remained unflustered. “Of course, the possibility of a copycat has to be accepted in cases of this magnitude with so much publicity. The second killer could also be a decoy, working with the first killer and keeping authorities off track. But my contention is that there is only one killer.”
“Based on what?” August was rankled.
“If we stay with the killer’s signature, both victims had ash-blonde hair, were young women in the same age range, and lived in the same city. There was no effort to conceal either body. Both were left outdoors, in public sight. He wanted the bodies to be found. The killer took deep satisfaction in shocking and disturbing the public. He either has a message to deliver, or a very personal need met by killing these particular women. I believe he knew both of them.”
“How did he know them? Where did he meet them,
how did he lure them into his world?” Sgt. Harding spoke up forcefully. “What’s the connection between them?”
“The only thing similar in his methods,” Tracy continued, “was that both women went missing before they were killed, he kidnapped them. Tina was killed quickly, only missing for two days before found. Shannon was missing and kept alive for two weeks. What did he do with Shannon during that time? Did he take delight in using the time to torture her? Her body showed no signs of torture. Did he torture her emotionally or was there something else he needed from her? To me it is clear he was after something else.”
“What exactly?” Wanda called out alarmed.
“Company and comfort, for starters,” Tracy breathed. “This killer is an incredibly lonely man.”
“A lonely man?” Sgt. Harding echoed. “So, should we look for him in bars, on dating sites, hanging around the club scene, just waiting to spot his next victim? Do you know how many lonely men there are in Boston?”
“This is a different kind of loneliness, though,” Tracy murmured. “It’s a hollowness to the core of his being that cannot be filled.”
Wanda closed her eyes and dropped her head.
“This is not a killer on a rampage who can’t stop,” Tracy went on. He’s organized and methodical. Both crimes were carefully executed, and the scene of their discoveries staged carefully. He had a careful plan about where to hold Shannon. These were not crimes of passion. The motivation is much deeper than that.”
“What’s the motivation?” August called out.
To fill up his loneliness, thought Tracy, though she couldn’t say that yet. She could think it and feel it though. Once he killed the women, they belonged to him. They were part of his inner world, forever.
“Let’s think it through together,” Tracy said instead, wanting to take it step by step. “The first killing was sexually motivated, although no sex took place. She was a prostitute, slashed sexually and left in a degraded sexual pose. It’s easy to think that he was getting revenge on sexual women, particularly those who sold themselves for money. But let’s look deeper. His second victim, Shannon, was about as different from Tina as you can get. On the surface anyway. She was soft-spoken, gentle, a loving mother and teacher.”
“So?” August stood up from his seat, impatient. “What does this all add up to?”
“This killer doesn’t fit into any preconceived notions we might have,” Tracy answered, trying to prepare them to look deeper.
“I don’t buy it,” August insisted. “From the nature of the first crime, I’d say the guy hated sexual women. He was getting his revenge on them.”
“The second victim didn’t fit that category, though,” said Tracy. “And neither will his next one.”
“Next one? “There’s not going to be another,” August was rankled. “What are you, a prophet of doom?”
“I disagree,” said Tracy. Whatever she said upset August, but she had no intention of holding back. “I do believe there will be another victim, and the next victim will move us closer to an understanding of the killer’s true motives.”
“You’re going too fast and too far.” August was adamant. “I’d say the first victim came onto the killer, he couldn’t perform, and he killed and slashed her to make up for it. He probably hates sex and wanted to clean the neighborhood of the filth.”
Tracy grew quieter, wondering why August was so heated about that point.
“That’s the usual take on a killing of this kind,” Tracy responded, “but your theory has no connection to the second victim.”
“That’s why I believe we have two killers out there.” August glared at Tracy.
Tracy ignored August’s threatening glance. “We have to find out about the relationship these women had with the killer before they were kidnapped,” Tracy challenged him. “How did he even come across these victims and what method did he use to kidnap them? I am certain that they both knew him, and that itself is fascinating.” The more she spoke, the more determined Tracy became. “We must find linkages between the victims. Once we do it, we’ll know exactly who we’re up against. And what his next moves will be.”
“You can speculate day and night,” August interrupted. “I just want specifics, direct leads, physical evidence.”
Oddly enough, the only physical evidence they had so far in both cases was the odd little crucifix Tracy had discovered in the alley, under the back wall.
“So, do you have anything specific for me? Do you?” asked August.
Tracy didn’t want to say anything about the crucifix though.. It felt too private and personal to Tina. Tracy wanted to dwell on it alone.
“We had an interesting comment from Shannon’s mother,” Tracy responded instead. “She suggested that Shannon’s husband, Jeffrey, might be having an affair. Could this be the connection? Is it possible Jeffrey was Tina’s customer, or that he frequented another prostitute in Tina’s neighborhood?”
“You’re grabbing at straws!” August’s voice grew rougher.
“Are you pointing a finger at Shannon’s husband, Jeffrey Glaze?” Sgt. Harding seemed stunned.
“Not pointing a finger, just sharing thoughts,” said Tracy.
“Farfetched, very farfetched,” August insisted. “Plenty of husbands have affairs. It doesn’t mean they go out and kill a couple of women. Besides, why would Jeffrey go down to Tina’s lousy neighborhood? There are better places close to where he lived.”
Hunter suddenly stepped in, trying to calm things down. “My question is, were these simply crimes of opportunity, did these women just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Is that why there are no real linkages between them? We cannot overlook that possibility.”
August made a strange sound. “Good point. It’s more than a possibility. The victims are too different from one another.”
“Maybe they’re only different on the surface,” Tracy responded.
The room became quieter, but August was agitated by Tracy’s remark again.
“Come on,” August burst out, “Shannon lived a respectable family life, taught nursery school in the church. She was left in the park on a beautiful day, on a well-known ride for families. Tina was a dancer at a shady club and a prostitute. She was left sexually mutilated in a dark alley.”
“We have to discover what linked them in the mind of the killer though,” Tracy continued.
“What do you think linked them, Tracy?” Wanda spoke up. “Of course, it’s too early to be certain, but what’s your conjecture?”
“Innocence,” Tracy replied, without thinking.
Chapter 13
“Innocence?” Wanda looked amazed.
Tracy startled herself with her comment, but it also resonated deep within.
“The killer needs to destroy innocence,” Tracy continued. “He destroyed the innocence of the child who found Shannon in the boat and the joy of a beautiful spring day.”
“Nothing innocent about Tina, though!” August could not help blurt out.
“We don’t know that,” Tracy replied, suddenly thinking of the crucifix again. Had Tina held onto faith, despite what had happened to her life? Did she still have hope that things would turn out differently? “Despite the work Tina did, I heard things that led me to see another side of her.”
The room grew strangely silent again.
“Tina was attending recovery meetings and also stayed in touch with a few people back home,” Tracy continued. “Did she have other hopes for her future? Did the killer know that other side of her as well? Was he determined to keep her from healing? Is that why he exposed the dark side of her to the world?”
As Tracy was speaking the back door of the room swung open suddenly and two police officers dashed in. They ran over to Hunter, who was at the front, and whispered something to him fervently.
“What? Oh God,” Hunter said, his voice cracking.
The entire room stood up as a look of alarm spread over Hunter’s face.
“What is
it?” August called out.
“Another victim has gone missing. Reported one hour ago,” Hunter proclaimed. “Candace Barclay.”
“Kevin Barclay’s daughter?” Sgt. Harding was stunned.
“My God,” August joined in. “Buckle up. We’ve got a spree killer on our hands.”
*
The entire city froze as the search for the killer intensified. Roadblocks were set up, more helicopters flew overhead, and new search teams with dogs piled out onto the streets. The phone in the FBI offices rang off the book. The park near the third victim’s home at the South End was closed and her neighborhood scoured, one café and townhouse at a time.
Hunter was beside himself. “Why her? If he took Kevin Barclay’s daughter he could take anyone.”
“Who’s Kevin Barclay,” Tracy asked, sitting in the FBI offices, listening to the chatter all around.
“He’s a well-known philanthropist with three daughters.” Hunter spoke with fear in his voice. “Candace was the oldest, recently engaged to be married. I read about it in the paper a little while ago.”
Tracy saw how unnerved he had become, got up, walked over to the desk he was sitting at, and sat down close beside him.
“We’ll get him,” she whispered. “It’s going to be all right. When they’re on a rampage, guys like this always slip up.”
Hunter looked at Tracy gratefully, his beautiful eyes softening. “You’re sure we’ll get him?” he asked with apprehension.
“Of course we will, I know it,” Tracy shored him up.
Hunter smiled wanly. “You said there’d be another victim,” he murmured, “and you were right. How did you know?”
“The killer’s not done yet,” Tracy repeated. “Each woman is part of a tapestry he’s weaving. When the pieces fit together, he’ll suddenly stop.”
“We’ve got to get him before that!” Hunter was horrified. “The killer kept the second victim alive for two weeks. There’s no reason to think he’s killed Candace yet.”
“But he killed Tina in two days,” said Tracy. “We don’t have an MO we can count on. Let’s go to Candace’s home immediately and speak to her family. It’s imperative.”