by Mary Stone
Ever since the press conference the day before, the Danville PD’s tip line had been inundated with all types of phone calls. As with just about any outlet for anonymous tips, the majority of the calls had been of little to no consequence. Either the information provided by the callers was already known to law enforcement, or it was irrelevant.
But there was one that stuck out.
Glancing to the front of the room, Noah nodded to SAC Osbourne. “That’s everyone.”
Max returned the nod before he stepped up to the podium. “It sounds like this has been a productive day. I’ve been in and out of meetings for most of the day, so this briefing hasn’t been ironed out all that well. But essentially, we’re all here to combine our notes and see where we end up.”
As Noah took a seat behind Ava Welford, Max brought the overhead projector to life.
The SAC gestured to Winter and Bree. “Agent Stafford, Agent Black. Thank you for going through the potential leads that our friends at the Danville PD have collected. Let’s hear what you found.”
Brushing off the front of her white dress shirt, Bree pushed to her feet. After Winter picked up her matte silver laptop, the two women stepped around the table and made their way to the podium.
Once the laptop was plugged into the projector, Winter’s blue eyes flitted around the room. Her gaze settled on Noah’s for a moment longer than the others. Of the agents present for the briefing, Noah was the only one who had been informed of Bree and Winter’s findings.
As Winter tapped a couple keys to summon up the image of the notes that the Danville police had taken when they received the call, she glanced over her shoulder to the whiteboard. “As expected, most of the anonymous tips that Danville received weren’t viable leads. There were a couple that confirmed information we were already aware of, but we had one that was new.”
Bree tilted her chin in Noah’s direction. “Agent Dalton, would you mind giving us a rundown of the statement that you and Agent Brandt got from Mariah Young?”
The room’s collective attention shifted to Noah.
“Of course. Agent Brandt and I went down to Danville yesterday to talk to Mariah and Tim Young. As you all already know, Sadie and Dana Young were killed the night before last. Sadie was stabbed in the back while she slept, and Dana Young was stabbed a total of four times. Two of the wounds were superficial, and the fatal stab wound pierced her left lung. She was barely alive when the paramedics and the police arrived, but she died in route to the hospital.”
From where she sat beside Miguel Vasquez, Sun held up a hand. “I’m still not sure I completely follow what happened. How did it take Tim Young so long to do something? He was shot, sure, but how didn’t he wake up before his wife was stabbed four times?”
Noah could admit that the concern was valid. Sun and Miguel had been busy poring through the Danville PD’s old case files, and Noah hadn’t yet been given a chance to bring them up to speed on the Young case.
“Agent Brandt and I wondered that too. Mariah Young woke up when she heard her sister scream in the next room over, and that’s what woke Dana too. But Tim Young suffers from an anxiety disorder that makes it hard for him to sleep. He’s had a prescription for Ambien for the past decade. Even if it’s not Ambien, he still usually takes something that knocks him out.”
Sun nodded. “It would make sense that they had a home security system installed then.”
As Noah thought back to the hallowed looks on Tim and Mariah’s faces, his expression turned grim. “That’s exactly why they had it installed, actually. Dana Young is…or was, a computer programmer. Every third week, she would be on call and she’d work late hours.”
A flicker of understanding passed over Sun’s face. “Okay. I saw in the case notes that Tim Young wasn’t a suspect, I just wanted to make sure I understood what happened. Did either of them get a good look at the perp?”
Noah’s nostrils flared. “No. The killer was wearing a partial ski mask that covered the bottom of his face. The house was dark, so neither of them saw him very well, but Mariah remembered seeing something a little out of the ordinary that afternoon.”
Miguel tapped his fingers on the desk. “The security salesman.”
“Right,” Noah said. “Of the three murders that were committed inside the victims’ homes, all three security systems were disabled. The guy claimed to be with Anderson’s Alarms, but when we sent them a picture of the composite sketch that Mariah helped come up with, they didn’t recognize the guy. Plus, one of their technicians had his work van broken into about a week ago.”
The irony hadn’t eluded Noah when he’d read over the police report filed by the home security tech. The theft had occurred during the man’s lunch break. Whoever had broken into the vehicle was brazen enough to commit the crime in broad daylight.
According to the worker, the thief had taken all of his tools along with his spare uniform and ID badge.
“Was there any security footage of the break-in?”
Noah turned in his chair to meet Aiden Parrish’s gaze. “We’re working on it right now. The restaurant normally only keeps forty-eight hours of footage at a time, but we got in touch with the company that operates their surveillance system. They’re going to see if there’s anything they can do to recover it, but it might take a few days.”
Aiden nodded. “How about the witness’s sketch? Have you been able to turn up anything based on it?”
Noah swallowed a knee-jerk sarcastic rebuttal. “Other than eliminate the employees of Anderson’s Alarms, no.”
When Bree spoke, Noah and Aiden both shifted their attention to the front of the room. “Maybe it wasn’t an easy button to solve this case, but it has pointed us in the direction of a solid lead. Now, that being said…” she waved a hand at the whiteboard, “what Agent Black and I found makes everything a little…hazier.”
At Bree’s side, Winter placed both palms on the table. “The Danville PD received this tip earlier this morning, and they sent it over to us along with the notes from hundreds of others. Now, even though the tip line is anonymous, this caller gave her name and address to the officer she spoke with.”
Bree tapped a key on the laptop, and the image projected onto the whiteboard changed to a DMV photo of a woman in her late thirties. “The caller identified herself as Beverly Walsh, and she said that she and her husband lived next to Adrian and Kelsey Esperson when they were killed. The Danville PD interviewed them after the couple was killed, but at the time, they didn’t have anything unusual to report.”
After another key press, the image switched back to the notes from Beverly’s phone call.
Glancing to the text, Winter took a step away from the podium. “When the detectives interviewed Mrs. Walsh at the time, they were looking for witness testimony from the time the crime was committed. But after she and her husband saw the press briefing about the murders, she remembered something they had seen earlier in the day. A home security salesman.”
Noah swore he could hear everyone in the room narrow their eyes to read over the text.
Max’s gravelly voice cut through the short spell of silence. “Do we know yet if it was the same person who was at the Young household?”
Scooting to the edge of his seat, Noah propped his elbows on top of the table. Though Bree and Winter had managed to give him a high-level rundown of the tip they’d discovered, they hadn’t gone into detail about the witness’s description.
As she shook her head, Winter crossed her arms over her black blazer. “It’s not the same person.”
“How can we be sure?” Max’s question was calm and measured.
Rare were the occasions when the SAC doubted his agents, but the tenured investigator preferred that Noah and his colleagues showed their work. In fact, that might have been the only real-life lesson that Noah had taken away from his various high school math classes. If he wanted to convince a superior that he was right, he had to show his work.
Winter and Bree exchanged gl
ances. “The descriptions are too different,” Bree said. “There’s no way it’s the same person.”
Winter nodded. “Mrs. Walsh said that she and her husband were outside working in their garden when the salesman showed up to the house next door. They weren’t all that close with the Espersons, but they’d exchange baked goods around the holidays and chat about their houses and their gardens. They were neighborly.”
“This happened about three months ago, though.” Sun’s voice was laden with skepticism. “How can they give an accurate description of someone they saw one time three months ago?”
“Well, like I said, they were neighborly.” Winter waved a hand at the text, but her stare was fixed on Sun. “That afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Walsh were pulling weeds in their garden. Mrs. Walsh wanted to ask the Espersons what type of plant food they’d been using, but she wasn’t sure if they were home, so she kept an eye on the door. When the security salesman showed up, she told her husband she was going to go talk to Kelsey now that she knew she was home. She said that the man looked very similar to her nephew, which was why she was able to give a good description. The Espersons were killed that night, so that was the last time Mrs. Walsh ever talked to them.”
Though the motion was grudging, Sun nodded. “And that’s not consistent with the Youngs’ description?”
Winter shook her head. “No. We took into consideration how much time had gone by and how appearances can change, but it still can’t explain the differences.”
“Mariah Young described a white male, early twenties, with a beard and dark hair.” With a couple more taps, Bree pulled up a sketch of a bearded man. “She described him as fairly tall, broad-shouldered, and a little on the husky side. On the other hand, the man that Mrs. Walsh described was tall and lean, with a little stubble and black hair.”
As Noah leaned back in his chair, he swallowed a sigh. Though he’d by and large agreed with Winter’s cult theory, he had hoped the prediction wouldn’t pan out. Dealing with a single suspect could be tricky enough on its own, but dealing with a group of murderous psychopaths came with an entirely different level of chicanery.
“That just about confirms Agent Black’s theory, then.” Max’s gray eyes flicked away from the whiteboard and over to Autumn and Aiden. “Dr. Trent, what are your thoughts?”
If Autumn had been caught off guard, she didn’t show it. Then again, with her Jedi mind-reading capabilities, she was almost never caught off guard. When it came to maintaining composure, Noah thought she would be able to give Aiden Parrish a run for his money.
Autumn brushed a piece of dark auburn hair from her shoulder. “I think Agent Black is right. I think we’re dealing with a disgruntled group of young men who are following in Tyler Haldane and Kent Strickland’s footsteps. They’re clearly focused on a singular goal, and that leads me to believe that their leader is charismatic enough to convince them to kill. Based on what I’ve read in the manifesto from Haldane and Strickland, there’s little doubt that we’re dealing with a male. Likely Caucasian and in his early to mid-twenties.”
Noah laced his fingers together. “Hate is a powerful motivator. And that’s what these guys all have in common. They all hate modern society.”
Autumn gave him a solemn nod. “That’s their goal. They want to start a revolution against modern society. I think our suspect is using the current political landscape as a way to rally them all together, just like Jim Jones and Charles Manson did.”
A silence settled in over them like a shroud. Amidst the sudden quiet, Noah could hear the dull taps as Max drummed his fingers against the table.
Though the SAC’s gaze wasn’t fixed on any of them, he narrowed his eyes as he sat in contemplation. “Agent Dalton, Dr. Trent, you’re both right.” Max’s eyes snapped to Noah and then Autumn. “And now we can safely say that our suspect can no longer be classified as just a serial killer. We are officially dealing with a domestic terrorist.”
23
Will couldn’t remember the last time he slept. He’d thought that his nervousness about carrying out his and Jaime’s plan would abate after he killed his targets.
He’d been wrong.
As he signaled his turn onto a residential side street, he glanced to the rearview mirror. Three intersections ago, he’d noticed the same white truck trailing three to four car lengths behind him. Though he’d initially tried to rationalize the paranoia, his heartbeat pounded in his ears as he caught another glimpse of the vehicle.
Grating his teeth, Will returned his focus to the road. The distance between him and the driver of the truck was lengthy enough that he couldn’t make out the driver, but his racing mind was quick to fill in the blanks.
Jaime had been adamant that Will dispatch all the members of the Young family—including the two who hadn’t been at the Riverside Mall, Tim and Mariah Young. The reasoning Jaime had provided was straightforward enough. The husband and younger sister were witnesses. They were collateral damage in Jaime and Will’s noble crusade. In addition, they were of the same bloodline as the two sinners, and they needed to be treated accordingly.
Will tightened his grip on the steering wheel until the blood drained from his knuckles.
Ever since he’d met Jaime, Will had been sure he was destined for their work. Jaime had reassured him, and he’d believed every word. But when the time came to make good on his commitment, Will hadn’t been able to follow through.
Was this how Jaime felt after he killed someone? Did Jaime see the peoples’ faces every time he closed his eyes? Especially the girl. Sinner or not, her screams had pierced through his soul even as he was piercing his knife into her body.
The blood. So much blood.
The taste in Will’s mouth had turned bitter, and he felt the sting of bile on the back of his throat. He needed to pull himself together. And quick. He needed to think.
By now, the news that Mariah and Tim Young had survived would have reached Jaime. Will had worn a ski mask and had taken precautions to avoid the family’s exterior security cameras. Surely that was enough to prevent a witness identification, wasn’t it?
He was sure Jaime would see his reasoning. After all, they should avoid collateral damage, not actively seek it out. Will had prevented the collateral damage. He’d avoided the deaths of two people who weren’t on their list.
Right?
His stomach continued to churn.
If Will was so sure Jaime would see the wisdom in the decision to leave Mariah and Tim alive, then why was he so hesitant to reach out to him? Even the thought of checking for a new text message or a missed call made Will want to toss his phone into the closest body of water.
Before they’d even begun to map out the plans to eliminate the sinners that had eluded Tyler and Kent, Jaime had purchased a pair of prepaid phones so they could maintain contact with one another. Aside from anonymous forum posts or disposable email addresses, prepaid cellphones were among the most difficult methods of communication to monitor or track.
Other than a message to advise Jaime that he intended to maintain a low profile for a few days in order to stave off any potential interest from law enforcement, Will hadn’t spoken to his mentor since before he’d left for the Young residence.
But right now, Will wasn’t worried about the police tracking his movements. As he managed another glance in the rearview mirror, he knew who he was trying to avoid.
The shame of his failure seemed to trail after him like a shadow, but even more than the failure, he was plagued by another sentiment. A feeling he hadn’t expected.
Regret.
Maybe the remorse was normal. Maybe all he needed to do was lay low for a day or two to collect himself. Then, once he’d put his thoughts in order, he could reach out to Jaime. He could explain himself, and he was sure Jaime would understand. Will’s dedication to their cause hadn’t waned, had it? No, he was certain it hadn’t.
Still, whenever he pictured the inevitable conversation with Jaime, Will couldn’t shake the im
age of Jackson Fisher’s bloodied corpse. Jackson’s grave had taken close to two hours to dig, and throughout the entire time, neither Will nor Jaime had spoken a single word.
Jackson was different. I’m not like him. Jackson was a rat.
Swallowing against the sting of bile, Will looked back to the white truck. The driver was still a respectable distance behind him, but the person hadn’t altered their course. Though Will’s destination was the Danville city limits, he flicked on his turn signal to veer onto a street with higher traffic than the quiet residential areas he’d driven through so far.
As the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, he knew he had to lose his stalker. He still hadn’t been able to make out the person’s appearance, but he was certain they were following him.
He didn’t know how Jaime could have found him so quickly. After he’d left the Young household, Will had driven blindly until he reached a dilapidated parking lot. After he’d thrown up the meager contents of his stomach, he’d sat in the shadowy lot until the sun rose. Even now, he still wasn’t sure where he’d been. The trip away from the ramshackle neighborhood had all been a blur.
If Will hadn’t even known where he was, then there was no way Jaime would know where he was. Besides, Will wasn’t really trying to avoid Jaime, was he?
No. He just needed to collect his thoughts. He needed to rest. When he talked to Jaime next, he wanted to have a clear mind to articulate himself.
Will wasn’t a rat like Jackson. He pounded his fists on the steering wheel. He wasn’t!
He and Jaime were still on the same side. Their mission hadn’t changed.
A dull ache crept to Will’s hands from the abuse he’d given them on the steering wheel. His mind kept wandering, but he needed to focus. If the driver of the white truck was Jaime—or a person sent by Jaime—then Will could talk to them. Reason with them. He was on their team, after all.
His tired muscles groaned in protest as he turned his head to look quickly out the rear windshield. Apprehension flooded through his body as he switched over to the right lane.