“Why did you reject me, Caity? It’s obvious you’re physically attracted to me.”
“Is that so?” His arrogance was really insufferable, but there was a little bit of peanut sauce on his chin, and that was what saved him. It was hard to be too mad at a man wearing kung pao. Especially when he was right. “You want me to be brutally honest?”
He found his napkin and dabbed in the general direction of the sauce but failed to erase it from his chin. “If the truth is brutal, then, yes.”
“I really can’t recall.” She did recall, but she thought it was better to shut this down before the nice working rapport they were developing went straight to hell in a handbasket.
“It’s because I called you a mix of tangy and sweet, isn’t it?”
If he knew what a lame line that was, then why had he used it? To her, it signaled he was a player and not to be taken seriously. And this was the worst possible time to bring it up again . . . but there was something in his coaxing tone that was hard to resist, and the set of his jaw told her he wasn’t going to simply let this drop the way she’d hoped he would. “Was I supposed to enjoy being likened to the perfect curry?”
He turned his palms up and gave her an innocent grin. “I admit it wasn’t my best line.”
To this day it bothered her that he’d exerted so little effort in his so-called seduction. Now more than ever, since she knew he was perfectly capable of intelligent conversation. “I mean if you’d put a little elbow grease into it . . . paid me a genuine compliment instead of rambling on, comparing me to various dishes from around the globe.”
“If I’d told you the truth, I don’t think you’d have believed me, and anyway, I hadn’t had dinner.”
She smothered her laugh in her napkin. “I can’t imagine how you ever get laid. Does the culinary excursion thing generally work for you?”
“Honestly, pretty much anything I say usually works for me.”
He was so lucky he was still wearing that kung pao, but if he didn’t get real with her soon, his luck was going to run out.
“In my experience, lines work because women want to believe them,” he said. “It’s reality they don’t want to believe—that you remind them of the one that got away for example . . . which you certainly don’t . . . remind me of anyone but your lovely sweet-yet-tangy self.”
Damn his charm. Maybe she was being too hard on him. After all, they’d been bantering back and forth for years, and it wasn’t as if she’d ever put her cards on the table for him either. “You said if you’d told me the truth . . .” Her voice trailed off, and her breath seemed to catch in her throat. She’d been battling her attraction to Spense for years, and suddenly, he was right here, sitting in the kitchen with her, talking over tofu. It felt so . . . real.
“Would you believe me if I said that when you smile at me, it’s like I’ve never seen a woman’s smile before?” He reached across the table and took her hand.
Her fork went clattering to the floor, but she didn’t mind.
“That it’s as if you invented the whole concept of smiling right there on the spot? And when you give me that Caity look, all earnest and eager, suddenly the noise in my head disappears. Would you believe me if I said you make me feel like I really am the man I want to be?”
She tried and failed to look away. “I’d want to believe you.”
“Then trust me, Caity. It’s not that hard.”
She eased her hand from his grip. This wasn’t the right time for them. Not now, not while they were trying to work as a team. “It’s a conflict of interest.”
With a sigh, he shoved his chair back and rose from the table. “Yeah, well, I don’t really give two flips about that, but I can see you do, so I’ll keep my hands to myself . . . for now.”
A long, awkward silence passed. Then Spense took his plate to the sink, rinsed it, and slid it in the dishwasher. She did the same. Finally, she offered the only answer she could. “I’ll think about it, Spense. But not tonight.” Then, she sailed past him on her way to the living room. “Are you coming or not? We’ve got a profile to finish.”
“SO, WHERE WERE we?” Willing to let personal matters drop for the moment, Spense resumed his place at the whiteboard. Pushing Caity would only make her put up higher walls, and they had other, urgent matters at hand. They’d promised Herrera a profile by morning, and that was what Herrera was going to get.
“We were saying maybe Kramer didn’t kill Sally Cartwright after all,” she chimed in, as though the kitchen conversation had never taken place.
If Kramer really was innocent, that meant both he and Caity had read him wrong. Spense had been certain Kramer fit the profile he’d created for the Cartwright case. Hell, Kramer did fit the profile. But a profile was only a starting point for an investigation, not the be-all and end-all, and he knew that well enough. Without hard evidence, a profile meant jack. That was a sticking point for Caity and him, too. She seemed to believe he’d jump to conclusions that weren’t warranted, when in reality he was he was a stickler for hard, cold facts. But she was right about one thing, he didn’t mind bending a rule now again to get a killer off the streets.
“Of course it’s possible Kramer was preparing for his first kill but simply hadn’t had a chance to carry out his plans yet.” Caity got to her feet and wobbled to the board to add a note of her own. In big red letters she wrote the following:
Judd Kramer: Guilty or Innocent?
“Can we table that discussion for now?” Spense asked. “It’s an important question, but it’s not really ours to answer. We’re not looking to prove our UNSUB is the man who killed Sally Cartwright. Though he may well be. That’s a job for the Tempe Police Department. Right now we need to focus on the Ferragamo murders.”
Her face fell, but then she nodded her agreement.
“So our UNSUB is a white male in his late twenties to early thirties. Average enough looks not to be noticed. College-educated and intelligent. Given his expertise with guns and knives, I suspect he has past military or police training. He’s also familiar with security at the courthouse and nursing procedure. So top of the list would be either a legal professional or a nurse though I wouldn’t rule out other occupations. With Google around, it’s easy to obtain expertise on just about anything. Anyone who was sufficiently motivated could find out courthouse and hospital security protocols.” He took a breath. “Now that we’ve got that nailed down, let’s move on to the psychological profile. That should be a cakewalk for you.”
She seemed too intent on the profile to register his compliment. “Our killer is organized, intelligent, and makes very few mistakes—so that means he’s not operating under any delusions and has a good grip on reality. In other words, he’s evil, but not insane. He’s also fearless. And that fearlessness is what really stands out to me in determining his psychopathology. He had the guts to walk into a county courthouse, teeming with law enforcement, and take out four people, then follow that up with the assassination of a hospital patient while said patient was under armed guard.” She raised her dry-erase marker high in the air. “That kind of fearlessness, notice I didn’t say recklessness—our guy is very careful—marks the UNSUB as a psychopath. It’s not merely a matter of failing to avoid danger; he deliberately seeks it out. And that makes him unpredictable because he may engage in behavior so risky we would never expect it.”
“Do you think the UNSUB was a stranger to the victims or someone within their same social circles?”
Her mouth twitched at the edges.
“Not a total stranger. At least not to Kramer.”
He admired the way she tackled the issues head-on, despite the anxiety it must cause her. “You seem pretty certain of that.”
“I am. Kramer told me to find the Man in the Maze, suggesting he suspected who might’ve targeted him. I’m not sure if that means he knew his assailant, or
simply that he was in some kind of trouble with this Man in the Maze. I mean if he knew the guy’s true identity, wouldn’t he have told me his name?” Closing her eyes, she continued, “One thing I am sure of is that Harvey Baumgartner definitely did not recognize the killer. I remember something from that day. Something that happened just before my world went blank. Baumgartner spoke to the gunman.”
Spense nodded. “That’s good. Take your time and just relax into the memory.”
“Baumgartner said . . .” She squeezed her eyes harder. “He said: You’ll have to come back later. I have this room reserved.” Her eyes popped open. “Baumgartner thought he was talking to a maintenance worker who’d come to clean the conference room, so it couldn’t have been anyone he recognized.”
“Baumgartner didn’t recognize him. But I find this to be the interesting point”—Spense wrote the words Kramer knew who was after him on the board—“if the Man in the Maze isn’t just some bullshit Kramer threw out to get the last laugh on you. I wouldn’t put it past him to have sent us to chase a monster who doesn’t really exist.”
Chapter Nine
Friday, September 13
From: Man in the Maze <[email protected]>
To: Labyrinth
Subject: Hangman
Greetings students and happy Friday the thirteenth! Thank you for your postings this week. I take such pride in all of you. In particular, I must commend the Hangman. Your description of your sister, and the ways you intend to enjoy her suffering are most titillating. Let me make you this offer, my friend: I would love to participate in your games if that would be something that would please you. From what you’ve reported, your sister deserves what you intend to give her and more. If I am by your side, you surely will not lose your nerve.
To the rest of you: Keep planning and watching for your opportunity. If you are prepared, your time will come. Should you succeed in your mission, don’t forget to post a photograph of the spoils of war. When you show me the precious labyrinth, it honors me. As I have promised, I will promote anyone in possession of a labyrinth to the rank of lieutenant. With that rank comes the privilege of acting as a mentor. As a trusted officer of the group, you will be authorized to bring in another member of your choosing. Only you and I will know his true identity. And please has anyone considered recruiting a she? Don’t overlook the possibility, for that would be most delectable to have a whore to train up in our ways. Some of the greatest hunters have employed female helpers. Again, stay alert for the opportunity to fulfill your destiny. Your time will come. And we will all be here to delight in your achievement.
Chapter Ten
Friday, September 13
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Field office
Phoenix, Arizona
DETECTIVE BASKIN’S FACE was screwed on so tight, Caitlin was amazed he could open his mouth to speak. And in truth, his words had been a little difficult to understand when he’d read the profile she and Spense had penned last night.
Gretchen Herrera, looking impeccably smart in a crisp white blouse and gray blazer, drummed her fingers on the conference-room table. Caitlin and Spense had been summoned to the same fifth-floor field office location where they’d met with Gretchen yesterday. Only today, Detective Baskin had also been invited for the unveiling of the profile. “You don’t seem satisfied,” Gretchen addressed Baskin.
“With this profile?” His lips puckered, and his brows slanted into a deep V. “No. I can’t say that I am.”
“Give me some specifics. What exactly don’t you find useful?” Gretchen replied, seemingly unfazed.
“None of it. I don’t find any of it useful.” Baskin’s gaze flicked about the table, his tone conveying no small amount of aggravation. “We’re looking for a vigilante. I thought that would’ve been perfectly clear.”
Caitlin watched for Spense’s reaction, but Spense didn’t say a word, and Caitlin suspected he was giving Baskin plenty of rope.
“And because we’re looking for a vigilante, we don’t need a profile at all. We just need evidence, real evidence that will lead us to the shooter.”
“You mean the shooter-slasher-poisoner,” Caity corrected Baskin, then followed her words up with a soft, conciliatory smile. No reason for her to antagonize the detective. She’d leave it to Spense to play that role. “Rather a complex MO for a run-of-the-mill vigilante.”
“Thanks for making my point for me. That’s not a complicated MO; it’s not an MO at all. The UNSUB is simply employing whatever means are most likely to succeed under each particular circumstance. That’s why he used a pistol at the courthouse and switched to poison in the hospital.”
“Don’t forget the knife.” Caitlin certainly couldn’t forget what the killer had done to Darlene Dillinger. Heat crept up her neck. Baskin seemed to be disregarding the woman’s murder altogether, having put her squarely in the category of collateral damage—as if she didn’t figure into the equation at all. But to Caitlin, she not only figured . . . she mattered.
“I agree with Baskin . . . about the MO.” Spense jumped in, saving Caitlin from losing her cool despite her best intentions. “The pistol and the poison are simply a means to an end, hardly something I’d consider an MO. The UNSUB used the most efficient method he could find at the courthouse, then later on Kramer at the hospital. So when your chief,” Spense put special emphasis on the word to let Baskin know who was really calling the shots in the investigation, “first asked me to develop a profile for the Ferragamo case, I wasn’t sure one would be useful.”
Caitlin was surprised by Spense’s composure, but she shouldn’t have been. Today was important, and Spense was always at his best when the pressure was on.
“So then, this was just a perfunctory exercise for you. You don’t think the profile is useful either,” Baskin said in a voice infused with sarcasm. He snapped open the file and read aloud for the second time in ten minutes: “Caucasian male, approximate age late twenties to early thirties. No facial scars or deformities. Height five-nine to five-eleven, weight approximately 170 pounds. College degree or better. Professional occupation. Organized, highly intelligent, with a history of frequent job changes due to conflict with authority. Recent trigger such as job loss or divorce.” He scowled. “Likely military or police background.” Here he paused and rolled his eyes. “History of trouble with the law, probably voyeurism. Extensive online and other pornography collection of a sexually sadistic nature. Geographic location unknown. Consider recent relocation to the Phoenix metropolitan area.” He snorted. “I must be missing a page or something. I don’t see anywhere where it says if he wears boxers or briefs.” Baskin slapped the papers on the table. “For fuck’s sake, you call this police work?”
“I call it a criminal investigative analysis. Each characteristic listed is well supported either by epidemiology or by our experience with serial murderers. I can explain point by point how Dr. Cassidy and I arrived at our conclusions, but I think that’s a waste of time. You’re not here to learn profiling.”
“Damn straight I’m not. I’m here to catch this goddamn vigilante—the asshole who took out one of our own.” His clamped fist came down hard on the table as he glared at Spense. “And you sashay in here and hand me this load of crap. This is the profile of a serial killer. If I’m wrong, say so.”
“I never sashay, I waltz.” Spense gave a forced smile. “You’re not wrong about the profile, though.”
“So you agree it’s a useless piece of shit.” Baskin sent Caitlin an apologetic look. “No offense to you, Dr. Cassidy.”
“None taken.” She couldn’t quite figure the guy. He was obstinate and close-minded, but something about him told her he’d lay down his life in the line of duty if called upon.
“You’re right that this is the profile of a sexually motivated serial killer, not a vigilante. You�
��re wrong that it’s crap. If you’re looking for a vigilante, you’re looking for the wrong guy. Have you interviewed the likely suspects under your present theory? Victims’ family members, members of the community who’ve been outspoken about Kramer’s guilt? What about the staff at the courthouse, maybe one of them got tired of watching felons duck their punishment.”
Baskin shifted in his seat and steepled his fingers. “All courthouse personnel have been questioned except one janitor—and he’s in the clear—dead from a heroin overdose.”
The hairs on the back of Caitlin’s neck started to itch. “That seems suspicious to me.”
“And yet it’s not. The guy had a habit. He was clean at the time of his hire, but his friends confirmed he’d started using again with a vengeance. Since he was tucked away in a wood box before the hospital murders, I’d say we can safely rule him out. So far we got nothing. Family members and close associates all got rock-solid alibis. Local radicals want to take credit but can’t come up with any facts not already made public via the media. Thompson even talked to the Baumgartners and crossed them off the list yesterday.”
“Then hear me out. What I was going to say is that when your chief asked us to come up with a profile on Ferragamo, I wasn’t sure it would be worthwhile to do so. But that was before Darlene Dillinger’s body was found. After what the UNSUB did to Darlene, I knew we had a sexually motivated killer on our hands. And that’s why this profile is worth the hard work Dr. Cassidy and I put into it. You’re a smart man, Baskin. I know you’ll see what I mean if you just set aside your personal beef with the chief for one minute.”
“I got no personal beef with the chief.”
“Didn’t he recently deny your request for vacation and pass you over for promotion?”
Baskin pushed back his chair and got to his feet, then began pacing around the long mahogany table, eyeing first Gretchen, then Caitlin and finally Spense.
“Suppose, just suppose, your profile is right. If this isn’t the work of a vigilante, we got no motive. You got any idea why a serial killer would want to kill Kramer and Baumgartner? You got a reason a serial killer would want to kill Dr. Cassidy? Because until you do, I’ll circulate the profile, but the task force focus is going to remain on a vigilante killer.”
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