Faces of Evil [2] Impulse

by Debra Webb

  Burnett lingered near the island, on his cell. Notifying the family or the Bureau. Jess had no idea.

  “Sergeant.” It wasn’t until the paramedics focused on Belinda Howard that Jess noticed the bottoms of her feet. At the moment that was all she could see.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Get a swab from the bottom of each foot before they take her away.”

  Harper nodded and went in search of the tools for the task. The crime scene unit should be outside by now. If not, Burnett had a collection kit in his SUV. Harper probably did, too.

  The Player always carefully cleansed his victims before dumping their bodies. It was another of his vile rituals. That he had forgotten the bottoms of Howard’s feet was either an enormous oversight or a clue purposely left for Jess to pursue. As long as it ultimately led her to Lori and to him she would follow even the vaguest hunch.

  Jess checked the kitchen, opening the cabinet doors one by one, then the fridge and stove. Nothing in the microwave or dishwasher. The apartment was neat and compact, making the effort quick and easy.

  Harper joined Jess, the swabs bagged. “I have a buddy at the lab I can get to process this for us.” He tucked the bag into the interior pocket of his suit jacket.

  “As in now?” Jess inquired. The techs would do the same but she wanted the results now.

  “Absolutely, ma’am.”

  “As soon as we’re done here, I’m going to the hospital with Burnett. Go see your buddy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And, sergeant,” Jess surveyed the kitchen area again, “does Lori do her laundry at a laundromat or at her mother’s?”

  “Her mother’s every Sunday afternoon. They have an early dinner. And yeah, she went there yesterday.”

  Oh, yes. The Player had decided Lori would be the one and he’d watched her. That Sunday ritual had made his next move as simple as breathing. She had unknowingly led him right to her mother’s home. Afterward, he’d obviously followed Jess to her sister’s. He’d lined up his prey that easily.

  I will get you, Jess promised.

  Several minutes were required for the paramedics to get Howard prepared for transport. An IV was sending much needed fluids into her veins. Communications with the ER’s trauma unit ensured they were standing by for the arrival of a critical patient in need of blood and more.

  Jess hoped the woman survived. If she did, she would be the first. As thankful as she was that Belinda Howard was alive, this was wrong.

  The Player never left survivors.

  A new kind of fear sent a chill over Jess. Maybe she was wrong and the Bureau was right. . .

  Maybe she needed this to be Spears. Was she losing any prospect of objectivity because she needed so badly to be right? To have a second chance to get him?

  “Chief Harris.”

  Jess snapped from the haze of new worries she’d drifted into and turned back to the bed and to Harper. “Yes, sergeant.” Her legs felt rubbery as she moved toward him.

  “You should have a look at this.”

  Jess hadn’t realized the evidence techs had already begun their work. The fear that she had this all wrong had bored deep. . . and was swiftly evolving into sheer terror.

  What if she was wrong? This could be a copycat. The earmarks were hard to miss. Work similar to the Player’s, but not quite right. . .

  “He left you another message,” Harper said.

  Beneath where Howard had laid, words were scrawled in blood. Jess reached out to touch the crimson ribbons. . . dry. The son of a bitch had written the message, waited for it to dry and placed Howard on top of it.

  I’m waiting.

  Burnett appeared next to her.

  Jess didn’t look at him.

  He said nothing.

  “Sergeant Harper, if you’ll oversee the collection of evidence and ensure it gets to the lab in a timely fashion,” Jess said, not waiting for Burnett to make the call, “Chief Burnett and I will go to the hospital and wait for a prognosis on Mrs. Howard.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Burnett gave his detective a nod before they left. He said nothing to Jess but she knew full well he had plenty on his mind. When he was ready, he would reiterate the idea that she was in danger. That she was too close to this case.

  And he would be right on both counts. But this madness had to stop. Jess tore off the gloves and the shoe covers and jammed her feet back into her shoes. Who else had to be tortured or murdered or both before this bastard made his final move?

  What was he waiting for?

  Jess shoved her hair behind her ears, slung her bag over her shoulder. “Has someone contacted the family?”

  “Deputy Chief Black is taking care of that right now.”

  Jess should call Lil. Make sure she was okay and give her the news.

  Inside, she started to shake. Lil and her family needed to leave tonight. What was wrong with these people? Didn’t they get that there was a murderer out there targeting anyone close to her?

  “Anything else?” she asked. He had more to say, she could tell by the grim face he wore and the way he avoided eye contact.

  “Gant called.”

  So that was what all the phone business was about in there. She crossed her arms over her chest. “And?”

  “And he’s pissed.”

  What was new?

  “He has no legal precedent to interfere with your investigation,” Jess argued. “This is your jurisdiction, for Christ’s sake. Your citizens. As long as yours doesn’t interfere with his, he can’t do a damned thing.” There were some cases where the Bureau could supersede and/or block what local law enforcement did – like in a bank robbery or basically any crime that occurred on federal property. But this was not one of those cases.

  She didn’t need to tell Burnett that.

  What in hell was the problem here? He looked as if he’d had his lunch money stolen by the school bully.

  “He threatened to take you into custody and hold you as a person of interest in the Spears investigation he’s conducting if you continue to be involved with BPD’s investigation. Apparently, one of the national news channels has slung allegations about our case and Spears and the Bureau’s involvement. Spears’ attorney was interviewed and he’s threatening to file suit.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What did you say to that?”

  “It’s my job to negotiate these situations, Jess. I can’t have BPD at war with the Bureau. And, frankly, I can’t prevent him from labeling you a person of interest and doing exactly as he threatened.” He shrugged. “I told him what he wanted to hear. You’re off the case. I’m putting Deputy Chief Black in charge. Crimes Against Persons will take it from here.”

  For about five seconds fury blustered so wildly inside her that Jess couldn’t have said a word if she’d wanted to until she considered the way Burnett had made the statement. I told him what he wanted to hear.

  “All right,” she said cautiously, “so you told him what he wanted to hear. What’re you telling me?” She held her breath.

  “Screw Gant. He can coordinate with Black. Harper and I will keep you in the loop. Gant can’t control what you do as long as he doesn’t know about it.”

  “So, what do we do now?” It wasn’t like she could go to the hospital as planned. The hurricane of emotions inside her was making a logical thought impossible. Gant wanted her off this case. Logically, she understood that his hands were tied to some degree. Considering the ongoing OPR investigation, Gant couldn’t exactly turn a blind eye and ignore her. If OPR pushed hard enough. . . how far would he be forced to take this situation?

  And what if he was right and she was wrong?

  She couldn’t wrap her head around that. . . not yet.

  “Black will keep us posted on Howard’s condition,” Burnett said. “You and I are going home to strategize.” He glanced at her without making actual eye contact. “You have what you need in that bag of yours?”

  “Sure.” She gave herself a men
tal shake. “No, wait, we need to get my car.”

  Her decade-old Audi was still parked downtown. She would need her stuff from the trunk. Why she hadn’t gotten it when she got her suitcase hours ago she would never know. Frustration and fear had her running in those damned loops Spears had created just for her. She felt like a guinea pig in its cage riding that wheel to nowhere.

  Her working case files were in the truck of her car. She needed the one related to Spears for this off-the-record investigation Burnett claimed she could conduct in spite of the Bureau’s warning. As much as she wanted to trust Burnett’s motives. . . this felt wrong, too. Was his need to protect her affecting his judgment?

  “We’ll pick up your car on the way.”

  “All right.”

  Jess led the way down the stairs from the landing. The rate this was going, by tomorrow Gant and OPR would have her back against the wall. Burnett could only fight him so far. . . then his back would be against that same wall.

  Somehow, she had to make Spears, or whoever this was, react. So far she had done all the reacting. It was time to turn the tables. She needed him to make the kind of mistake that would give her something to find him.

  Tires squealed. Jess stalled on the sidewalk as a news van rocked to a stop at the curb. Two uniforms rushed to contain the invasion.

  Burnett snagged her elbow. “Just keep walking.”

  By the time they reached the intersection of the sidewalk and the street the reporter, not that Gina woman, was shouting questions at Burnett.

  “Chief, is it true that a victim has been found alive? Was it Detective Wells or Belinda Howard?”

  “No comment,” Burnett slowed long enough to say what no reporter ever wanted to hear.

  “Are you making any headway on the case, Chief Burnett? The Bureau says this is not the work of the Player, is that your opinion as well?”

  Jess gritted her teeth, forced one foot in front of the other to keep pace with him and to prevent turning back and giving the reporter an earful.

  “What about you, Agent Harris?” the persistent woman shouted as they kept moving toward Burnett’s SUV.

  Jess stalled.

  The warning on Burnett’s face was loud and clear and still, for the record, he stated, “Not tonight, Jess.”

  She met that cautionary glare with a threatening one of her own. “If not tonight, when? When Gant gets his way and I’m in custody? When there’s another victim?”

  “Agent Harris, would you like to send the folks of Birmingham a message of reassurance that this madman will be stopped?” the reporter shouted.

  Jess pulled free of Burnett’s grasp and turned back to the reporter. He didn’t try to stop her. . . that wouldn’t look good on camera.

  The hurricane roaring inside Jess abruptly calmed, as if the eye of the storm had suddenly swallowed her.

  “What message would you like to send, Agent Harris? Do you have something to say to the man behind the abductions that have Birmingham’s citizens cowering in their homes?”

  She thrust the microphone in Jess’s face. The camera’s lens zeroed in on her.

  “I have a message for him, yes.” Fury roared in Jess’s veins. She stared straight into the camera. “I know what you want.” That eerie calm settled around her, inside her, once more. “Man up, you coward. Come and get me.”

  9

  Dunbrooke Dr., Tuesday, July 20th, 12:54 a.m.

  Dan grabbed a couple of Pepsis from the fridge, stretched his neck, and rejoined Jess in the dining room. He’d railed at her all the way home. He’d been so pissed that he’d had to turn around and go back for her car.

  What the hell had gotten into her? And why the hell hadn’t he stopped her?

  On the drive back, alone and following right on her tail, he’d calmed down. He still didn’t like that she’d thrown down a gauntlet, but it was done. Maybe she was right. Maybe provoking the perp into a reaction would somehow facilitate their efforts. Whatever the outcome, one thing was crystal clear: he had been correct in his conclusion that he could not let her out of his sight.

  Spears or whoever the hell this was had pushed her too far. And now she was feeling the pressure of sheer desperation.

  And Gant was livid. Another call from him had come as Dan followed Jess home. Gant used the incident as further proof that Jess wasn’t herself. Her fixation on Spears was prompting her rather than the facts in the case.

  To some degree the guy was right. Dan could see that. Jess was far more fragile than she realized.

  Pepsis in hand, he padded barefoot to the dining room.

  Documents and photos were spread across the table. As he watched, she picked up a photo and studied it carefully before moving on to the next one. She paced back and forth, from one end of the room to the other, while she analyzed and compared the information from her prior work on the Player case to this one, searching for commonalities.

  The images from those photos and from tonight’s scene kept scrolling through his head, only, in his mind, Jess was the victim. He banished the latest round of mental intrusions and set a Pepsi on the table for her, then popped the top on his own. “Found anything useful?”

  She wilted into a chair. “This is wrong.” She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then shook her head. “It’s just. . . wrong.”

  Dan pulled out a chair across the table from her and lowered into it. “Wrong how?”

  “The Player,” Jess began, her voice weary, “selects his victims, we believe, after careful consideration of one or more candidates who appeal to his urge for pleasure. The abductions are always pulled off without a hitch, suggesting that he learns the vic’s routine and determines the best time and place to make his move.”

  “But he didn’t do that with Wells or Howard. They were chosen strictly because of their connection to you – not just for his sadistic pleasure.”

  “Right.” Jess raked her hair behind her ears. “On top of that, the method of abduction was vastly different. The Player doesn’t manipulate a situation, he takes advantage of one. I mean, it’s possible he’s used a strategy similar to the one he used today, but we have no documented evidence of contact of any sort with a victim or anyone connected to the victim prior to the abduction. Not until now.” She turned her hands up. “The single commonality so far is the gift he sends announcing he’s claimed a victim. Like delivering Lori’s badge to me. And the flowers with Howard’s card. He uses that technique every time.”

  She rubbed at the gold band on her left ring finger with her thumb, turning it round and round. The habit annoyed him. It shouldn’t, but it did. The band was a symbol of what she’d shared with another man and he had a problem with that.

  He had no right. Hell, he’d been married three times. Three. Didn’t seem possible. The first doomed union had been a couple years after he and Jess parted ways. Meredith Dority, then personal assistant to the mayor. The whirlwind marriage had been a mistake. Rebound, he figured. He’d still missed Jess. He’d thought a permanent relationship would do the trick. Wrong. The second had come when he hit thirty. It was like boom, he wanted to get married. Nina Baron, daughter of Senator Robert Baron, had happily taken that ill-fated walk down the aisle with him. His parents had been ecstatic, especially his mother. One year later, they had divorced, citing irreconcilable differences.

  Then, a couple years ago, he’d married Annette Denton and thought that would be the one. Annette was beautiful, sophisticated. And Dan adored her daughter. Twelve months into the relationship, they’d both been ready to call it done.

  He had no right whatsoever to begrudge Jess her one marriage.

  Dan snapped out of the trek down memory lane. Just went to show how tired he was. “Since Howard survived,” he ventured, dragging Jess from her own reverie, “does that suggest better odds for Wells’ survival?”

  “Maybe. . . I wouldn’t dare guess at this point. Howard’s survival and the injuries she suffered are nothing like his usual work.” She shuffled thro
ugh the photos, selected three and then spread them out in front of him. “See for yourself.”

  Dan studied each one of the Player’s victims from his recent spree in Richmond. The bodies were nude, as Howard had been, but his previous assaults had been horrifyingly more savage. He had literally carved up the women’s bodies as if they were a canvas for his twisted creative outlet. Damage to the breasts, similar to Howard’s, the lips. . . the eyes. . . the fingers and then a path down the rest of their bodies. None of the wounds appeared particularly deep. The goal hadn’t been to kill, at least not at first, but to torture with endless points of agony.

  Dan shifted in his seat, tugged loose the top two buttons of his shirt so he could breathe. Though the Player appeared to use different torture techniques – probably dependent upon what prompted the most screaming – the end result was the same: the victims were raped and murdered. Once deceased, the bodies were meticulously cleaned and deposited in the most unexpected and open places without a speck of other evidence left behind. His delivery points ranged from a church pew to a public park.

  Jess tapped the photo in front of him. “See how precise his work is? The removal of the nipples almost as exact as a surgeon’s in preparation for a lift. He pinpoints major nerve centers, too. See that area of the shoulder where he seemed to concentrate? And here in the upper area of the inner thigh? The eyes?” She leaned back, distancing herself from the photos. “He knows how to inflict pain. He’s mastered the art.”

  Dan felt ill. “You mentioned before that he likes to use their fears against them. That’s why he asked about Detective Wells’ fears.” He swallowed at the lump that had lodged in his throat.

  Jess leaned forward again, pointed to marks on one of the vics. “Snake bites. Dozens of them. Only one bite was from a poisonous snake. That was cause of death. But all the others appeared to have been inflicted before death.” She put another photo in front of him. “This one, the remains of spiders were found in her stomach contents and even a couple deep in her throat. We believe he made her swallow them, probably one by one. Cause of death, myocardial infarction. He literally scared her to death. The rest of the wounds inflicted were just for fun.”