by Debra Webb
“So. . .” Dan couldn’t believe he was about to say this out loud. “Based on his prior pattern and what we’ve seen here with Belinda Howard’s condition, which bore no marks of a specific fear inducing torture, the perp we’re dealing with isn’t Spears or this Player?”
But if it wasn’t him, then who the hell was this guy?
Jess propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. She didn’t answer for a time. She’d been back in Birmingham less than a week and the troubles with Eric Spears had started weeks before that. She was tired, disgusted and scared – even if she wouldn’t admit that last part.
He thought of the challenge she’d issued to this maniac that would be run over and over on the news. She was desperate to stop him. And that scared him.
“Even if we learn that Belinda Howard was terrified of a paper cut,” Jess said finally, “it still doesn’t fit the Player’s MO.” She peered at the photos again. “Based on what we have so far, I’d be a fool to believe this is him.” She lifted her gaze to his. “But it is him. It has to be. The messages he sent to me are the same tone and rhythm. I could get past that by assuming Gant was right and we had a copycat who had latched onto the media frenzy back in Richmond and had targeted me. But, we have four eye witnesses who have positively identified Eric Spears.” Exhaling a burst of frustration, she busied herself organizing the photos and reports back into a stack.
“Spears’ likeness is plastered all over the city,” he said, hoping to reassure her. The Bureau wasn’t happy, but the media blitz and the flyers were out there. “By sun-up whoever this guy is, he’ll have a hell of a time moving around freely.”
Her efforts at pulling the file back to order stalled. “That’s the thing, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “Whoever this guy is. What if I’m not only wrong about this, what if I’ve been wrong all along like Gant said?”
Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his, gave it a squeeze. “Considering this guy looks just like Spears, I say until we have a better alternative, we keep following our instincts. That can’t be wrong.”
“That’s the part that’s driving me crazy. The part I can’t get past even though every other aspect of this case points to someone else.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I can see one witness being way off on the ID, but four? Unless he has a long lost twin – and we found nothing on any siblings or close family whatsoever, much less a twin – or has a fan who idolizes him to the extent that he went to the trouble to change his entire appearance, this has to be Spears.”
“Let’s say it is him, no question,” Dan proposed, “is there anything in his psychology that could explain this sudden departure from his usual methods?”
She reflected on the question for a few moments. “The compulsion that drives a sociopath like Spears is immense. Most can’t control those kinds of extreme impulses but he has worked long and hard, probably disciplined himself with physical abuse to maintain a rigid level of restraint. He knows what he wants, what he must have, and he goes after it when the time is right. When he’s prepared.” She tortured that lush bottom lip of hers. “He’s keenly intelligent and a lot OCD so everything has to be perfect. Methodical. Precise.”
She pushed out of her chair and started pacing again, arms wrapped around her middle like a shield.
“I can only assume that he got distracted for some reason by the interaction with me and he’s fixating on whatever it is about me that intrigues him. That fixation has prompted him to act on pure impulse which is way outside his comfort zone. He’s making mistakes and he knows better. Yet he doesn’t care because he’s lost control to the degree that it makes him feel in control to pretend this is exactly what he intended.”
Dan had given into plenty of impulses of his own. Ten years ago in the Publix when he and Jess ran into each other for the first time in years. . . neither had been able to control what had happened between them.
She stopped, hauled Dan back from his wayward musings, and faced him.
“It’s possible he’s turned this into his new reality to block those old feelings of inadequacy and failure that haunted him in the past.” A light came on in her eyes as if the assessment were a relief, then her face fell, scrunched with worry. “If that’s the case, then he’s on the edge and the smallest thing could tip him over. The results of a fall like that are immeasurable. Until he’s contained, there’s no telling what level he’ll take this to.”
“So, the longer it takes us to find him, the more dangerous this situation could become.”
She nodded but he doubted his comment registered, she was still analyzing.
“The trouble I have with that scenario is that Spears found control and held onto it with an iron fist for all this time. Otherwise he might not be the wealthy man he is today. Not to mention, if he’s the Player, as I believe, he has at least thirty murders on his resume and not one can be connected to him. He’s nothing short of brilliant. Surely a bump in his path as insignificant as my interference couldn’t undo all that rigid control.”
She shook her head, clearly exasperated. “And yet that had to be the trigger.”
Dan had read that about Spears. He’d built an empire out of a small software company – for security systems, no less. A recluse, he worked from his mansion when he wasn’t traveling. He spent more time outside the country than in it.
A man like that could have hundreds of victims all over the world.
“Maybe he’s given in to the impulse, to his obsession with you,” Dan tossed out, “and he’s lost total control, like you said.”
She lowered back into her chair. “Maybe. But if we look at the victimology, I’m not convinced even a loss of control or this rush he seems to be in would change his methods so completely. Howard’s wounds are not nearly as detailed as his usual work and he’s a perfectionist. He would never be so careless.”
Dan could see that it was killing her to be totally confused on a case where she thought she knew the perpetrator so well. “During the investigation in Richmond, you were thinking maybe he had an accomplice or partner. Could this be his work? Could he be,” Dan shrugged, “attempting to walk in his teacher’s footsteps? Even going so far as to change his appearance? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”
“It’s possible. I suspected he had at least one student, protégé, whatever. Even if I couldn’t prove it. Considering I received all those emails while he was being held for questioning, there had to be someone else involved. I sure as hell didn’t send them to myself – even if they were sent from my home computer.” She made a derisive sound. “But I would be more inclined to believe this is a relative who bears a striking resemblance to him. The way Lily and I look so much alike. Or. . . or the way my niece looks so much like the both of us.”
“Yet, in five years, the Bureau’s investigation found no such relatives.”
“None.”
“That takes us back to Spears himself.” Dan blew out a breath. Talk about going in circles.
“Which presents a whole other problem,” she declared, frustrated. “No print matches. Who knows if any of those collected at the scenes were his since Mrs. Wells said he was wearing gloves. But the women at the floral shop said he wasn’t wearing gloves and we haven’t found a single print matching his, not on the business card or anywhere else.”
She opened her drink and took a long swallow as she leaned back into her chair. Dan’s throat tightened as he watched her tilt her head back, lengthening that smooth, slender neck and then licking her lips after savoring her drink. As tired as he was, as awful as the situation with the case, he couldn’t deny himself the luxury of looking at her as a woman. The woman with whom he had once shared everything. The same one he’d walked away from.
The biggest mistake of his life.
“I’m stumped,” she confessed. “I can’t fit what we have in this case into what I know about the man I interviewed in Richmond three weeks ago. I just can’t make the leap.
”
“Believe it or not,” he said, the idea gaining momentum, “I think we found our answer. What we have on our hands is a copycat.” Made the most sense in his opinion. That Jess didn’t look surprised prompted him to go on. “And since the name Eric Spears wasn’t connected to the serial killer known as the Player until last month, this copycat would have already had to know who Spears was. Had to know and love him enough to have gone to all the trouble to do whatever necessary to look like him.”
She stared at Dan for a long moment without saying a word. Then, as if his pronouncement had abruptly sunk in, her eyes widened. “Then the real question is, whether or not Spears is involved. If he is, then we don’t have just one sadistic killer to worry about. We have two.”
The idea sent dread plowing through Dan’s veins.
His cell vibrated. He blinked away the new, troubling concept and stared at the screen. Gant. Damn.
Burnett was still on the phone when the doorbell sounded. It would be Harper. He’d sent Jess a text asking if he could stop by. It was too early for him to have results from the sample he’d taken from Belinda Howard’s feet, but there could be other news.
After confirming it was Harper, Jess disarmed the security system and opened the door. “Sergeant, I hope you have some good news. I’ve reached my limit for bad in a single twenty-four hour period.” Her nerves were shot. The concept that both Spears and his protégé were here. . . working as a team upped the stakes dramatically.
Maybe the ultimatum she issued to the media would goad one or both into making a move against her. Get this over with. . . so she could take him or them down. She recognized the thought as irrational but that didn’t stop her from meaning it just the same.
Harper waited while she secured the door. “We’ll have those results by noon, ma’am. The lab is seriously backed up but my friend assured me that we have priority.”
“Good. Anything else?”
Harper nodded, his face grim. “The yellow fabric used to wrap the wounds on Howard’s arms was from a blouse. Someone ripped it into pieces to use as makeshift bandages.”
There was absolutely no way Spears would do that. Had to be the protégé or copycat, whatever the hell this guy was.
“Another piece of that blouse was used to staunch the blood flow from the wound to the abdomen.”
“Do we know what Belinda Howard was wearing when she was abducted?”
He nodded. “A light green dress. I also reviewed the statements Mrs. Wells and Terri made after. . . we arrived.” Pain pinched his face. “Both Terri and her mother stated that Lori – Detective Wells – was wearing brown slacks and a yellow blouse.”
That could mean Lori was still alive and that somehow she had attempted to provide first aid to Belinda Howard. Jess’s heart squeezed. She wanted to cling to that slither of hope. Jess refused to believe Lori was dead. She was strong. She would survive longer than the average victim of a heinous killer.
“She would do that,” Harper said, as if he’d read Jess’s mind. “Try to help, I mean.”
Jess met his gaze, her heart squeezing again at the agony in his eyes. “Detective Wells had to be alive to administer first aid.” She pressed her lips together before she said too much. It would be wrong to give him any additional assurances.
“That was my thinking.”
Just move on, Jess. “Any word on Howard’s condition?”
“That’s part of the reason I came by.”
It struck Jess then that they were still standing in the entry hall. “Come in, sergeant. I don’t know where my head is much less my manners.”
He touched her arm and she hesitated. He glanced beyond her before speaking. “How’s he taking all this?”
Jess shook her head. “He’s sick about it, just like you and I. And he’s pretty pissed about the TV thing.”
Harper smiled. “I saw it. You looked pretty tough. If I was this guy, I’d be worried.”
As tired as she was, he made her smile. “That was the goal, sergeant.”
She led him to the dining room. Burnett was still in the kitchen. The hushed sound of his voice made her want to walk right up to him and demand to know to whom he was speaking and what it had to do with the case.
Then again, it could be that reporter. . . Gina. . . wondering if he was available.
You’re an idiot, Jess.
“Have a seat, sergeant.” She gestured to the chairs lining the table. She’d bet a million dollars if she had it that the table had never been used before tonight. This was no home. It was a status symbol. Apparently Burnett’s mother had rubbed off on him without Jess here to intervene. “Would you like coffee? Pepsi? Water?”
An excuse to go into the kitchen was more than welcome.
“No, ma’am, thank you.”
Harper waited by a chair for her to take a seat first. If she could only convince him to loosen up. The ma’am thing got on her nerves. But he was far too courteous and dutiful to ever loosen up when it came to showing proper respect. His parents had taught him well.
She sat.
He sat.
“What’s the update on Howard?” Jess braced for more conflicting details.
“She’s conscious now and talking a little. Agent Gant and Deputy Chief Black have spoken to her but she was in no condition to give a statement.”
“What about lab results? Toxicology? Anything?”
A small smile breached the somber line of the detective’s lips for the second time since his arrival. “Black has a niece who works in the lab at the hospital. She gave him the results, verbally of course, before the lab got around to releasing their findings.”
It paid to have friends and relatives in the right places. “What type of sedative was used?”
“Ketamine.”
Special K, the very one the Player used. Not that he was the only one. The sedative, used for human patients as well as equines, was popular with the druggies dragging around a death wish. “Was she sexually assaulted?”
“No, ma’am, she wasn’t.”
One step forward, one back. Not that Jess wasn’t thankful the poor woman hadn’t suffered that horror as well. But the Player, Spears, always raped his victims. Always. That would seem to corroborate the scenario that regardless of the similarities to his work, this was most likely not Eric Spears. More likely the copycat. With no print matches and no other evidence, identifying a man wearing another’s face was not going to be easy.
Burnett appeared in the doorway. Harper brought him up to speed.
Jess waited, her patience growing paper thin, for her turn. “Was that call about the investigation?”
“It was Gant. He’d like to have a joint briefing with BPD at ten in the morning to review where we are on the case.”
“Does that include me?” Jess knew it was pointless to ask but she did it anyway.
He gave her a fake smile. “Since my ears are still ringing from the chewing out I got from the mayor as well as Gant about your television appearance, that would be a no.” Before she could protest, he added, “You have a different briefing at that time.”
“What briefing?” A barrage of new worries entered center ring in her already crowded brain.
“With one of the detectives assigned to your unit. She’ll be bringing you up to speed on how we do things at BPD and showing you around.”
Harper kept quiet. Probably wished he could run for the door.
In other words, Jess was out of all official steps related to the case. Period. She stood. “Whatever you say. You’re the chief.” She turned to Harper. “You should get some sleep, sergeant.”
Then she walked straight to the guestroom and slammed the door behind her. It was childish, she knew. But she was tired and frustrated and. . . a bunch of other things she didn’t want to think about.
With her suitcase plopped on the bed, she dug out her lounge pants and tee and her toothbrush. She tossed her glasses on the night table, peeled off the dress. She’d already kic
ked off the blasted high heels. When her sleepwear was on, she stamped into the en suite and washed her face and brushed her teeth.
Her hand slowed with the work of scrubbing her teeth as she stared at her reflection. For as long as she could remember she had worked harder than her peers to ensure she achieved her goals.
What else was a girl from no less than four foster homes going to do. She lowered the toothbrush and spit into the sink. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She understood the motives behind her own psychology. Her parents died when she and her sister were kids. They had nothing. At eighteen they were turned out of the last foster home with the same thing they brought in. Nothing. No one understood how that felt until they walked that lonely, frightening path.
Lil had chosen the course perfect for her. She wanted someone to rely on who would give her the home and life for which she yearned. Not Jess. She hadn’t trusted anyone else to take care of her. Her parents had deserted her by dying.
Burnett had left her.
But that was okay because by then she had known she could take care of herself. All she had to do was be relentless. . . be the best.
She stared at the band on her finger. Old forty had rolled around and she’d awakened scared that she would be alone for the rest of her life. Middle age did that to a woman. So she’d married a nice man, a fellow agent. Things had been okay at first. But he’d quickly grown disillusioned. Jess loved her work more than him. He’d wanted a social life. Jess didn’t have time. He’d wanted children. Jess didn’t have time. If she slowed down to do all that she would fall behind. . . and that was unacceptable.
And then she wouldn’t be the best anymore.
The idea terrified her.
Dan had asked why she still wore the ring and she’d lied. She wore it because to take it off would show the world that she had failed again. Burnett had left her and twenty years later her husband had, too.
Another truth flashed in her eyes. She saw it. . . couldn’t deny it.