Judgment

by Carey Baldwin

  Caity let out a sharp gasp and covered her mouth, then dropped the crime-­scene photo of Gail Falconer’s brutalized body.

  “Is this the first time you’ve seen this?”

  She nodded, and her hand fell to her lap. She stuck up her chin. “The judge excluded me from the trial on a few select days. This must’ve been presented on one of those days.”

  “I’m sorry. You okay to go on?”

  “Of course.” She was already shuffling through a batch of police reports. “Spense, did you know they found Gail’s DNA in the trunk of my father’s car?”

  He did. That was one of the strongest pieces of evidence against him. ­Coupled with Thomas Cassidy’s confession—­coerced or not—­and the fact he was on campus at the time, along with a wild story about receiving an anonymous phone call that his wife’s car had broken down at the university, meant prosecutors had had a slam-­dunk case.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd they never found his DNA at the scene, though? I mean, she’d been tortured and raped, and her engagement ring was pried from her finger. How is it possible for the killer to have left no DNA?”

  “It’s possible, Caity. If the killer was careful enough.” He scratched his head. “But you’re right. It doesn’t add up. If the killer was organized enough to get rid of all trace at the scene, why would he leave blood evidence in the trunk of his car?”

  Her face had flushed bright red. “Because my father wasn’t the killer.”

  Suddenly, Spense got to his feet. He had a wild hair of his own, but it wasn’t about the Falconer case. It was about Sally Cartwright. “I’m going to ask that Gretchen advise the task force to take another look at the DNA in the Sally Cartwright case. I mean, if Kramer was smart enough to leave no trace evidence, why was he stupid enough to get caught with the temporal-­bone trophy in his possession? They need to look again.”

  “You think it’s too late to do that in my father’s case?”

  It killed him to dash her hopes, but he wasn’t going to lie to her. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it’d be much harder with a case that old. I’m not sure DNA is the right place to start with the Falconer murder.”

  Chapter Twenty-­Four

  Thursday, September 19

  Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office

  Phoenix, Arizona

  CAITLIN FOUND SHE was becoming an expert at compartmentalization. Difficult as it was to shift her focus away from her father’s case and onto Ferragamo, she had no choice. Until they found the Man in the Maze, no one was safe. She wasn’t safe. Warily, she watched Thompson pace the circumference of the same fifth-­floor conference room where they’d met with Herrera on other occasions.

  “Cool. Never been invited to FBI headquarters before,” Thompson said as he walked to the window.

  “Don’t,” Gretchen Herrera said, just in time to stop Thompson from raising the blinds. “And welcome. Why don’t you have a seat, so we can get started? I understand there’s been a break in the Ferragamo case.”

  Thompson swaggered to the table and dropped into a swivel chair. “That’s right. In spite of all the criticism I received from certain parties . . .” He looked pointedly at Caitlin. “It seems that thanks to my wheedling an invitation into one Mr. Silas Graham’s apartment, important evidence has been obtained from his computer—­which is now in our custody—­thanks to my good old-­fashioned and much maligned police work.”

  Of course, Caitlin thought, it would have been nice to have both the computer and a living suspect in custody. But she said nothing, simply folded her hands on the table and smiled politely, ignoring Thompson’s barb.

  “Stop showboating and get down to it.” Baskin sent Thompson a warning look. “Do you want to read the e-­mails or—­”

  “Maybe just pass them around if you will,” Gretchen interrupted. “I think we’d like to see the details, and looking at the hard copies would facilitate our ability to see something others might’ve missed. You did make copies for everyone, right?”

  “Of course.” Baskin gestured for Thompson to pass the e-­mails around.

  Thompson’s face fell, and Caitlin suspected he’d been looking forward to a theatrical reading of the two e-­mails that’d been found on Graham’s computer in a file marked Labyrinth. Both the computer and the file had been password-­protected, but Graham was logged in to his desktop at the time of his death, giving the Phoenix PD cyber specialists a head start. It’d taken them less than forty-­eight hours to hack into Labyrinth. Up until now, this whole cyber kill club had been mere speculation on her and Spense’s part, and had reportedly caused a good deal of cynicism among the local authorities when Spense shared their theories while loading information into ViCAP—­especially with Baskin and Thompson. But Caitlin had a feeling the Man in the Maze and his cyber kill club were about to become a great deal more in everyone’s mind than a final fuck you from Judd Kramer.

  Spense leaned over and whispered something in Gretchen’s ear, and she nodded her agreement. Caitlin guessed it was about the DNA in the Cartwright case. Then Gretchen passed the papers around. Like a good hostess waiting for her dinner guests to take their first bites, she didn’t look at her own e-­mail until they all had a copy in hand. But screw manners, Caitlin couldn’t wait anymore. She started reading hers right away:

  From: Man in the Maze <395204@253.0.101.212>

  To: Labyrinth

  Subject: URGENT

  Date: July 10

  Greeting students. Thank you for your marvelous postings. As always, I’ve gotten much pleasure from them. This week’s pick goes to Doom for his photographs of the redheaded girl. I find her delightful.

  Doom, you’ve made a fine selection, and your skill in obtaining such intimate shots is impressive. The hidden camera in her bedroom has revealed the girl’s true nature. A whore like that will enjoy her punishment, so do not hesitate to take what is yours. And once you’ve finished with her, don’t forget to share your spoils with the group. It pleases us to see you succeed. If you show us the labyrinth, you will, of course become a lieutenant, and therefore will be authorized to recruit new members.

  Now then, there is one other matter we must address: the urgent subject of this message. I delayed only because I did not want to forget my praise for Doom. It has come to my attention that one of our lieutenants, Zeus, is in police custody. You may have seen his story on the news and understood by the labyrinth found in his possession, that he is one of us, although the dim-­witted authorities do not understand its meaning and refer to his trophy merely as a piece of bone.

  It appears he succeeded in his mission—­which was clearly outlined here on this forum—­but before he could share with the group, he was arrested.

  This situation has created anxiety in me, not on my own account, but for your sakes, dear pupils. Let me make you this promise, I will keep close watch on the matter. I would not wish harm to come to one of our own unless it was the only way to protect the group. I may call on you for help if that sad day comes.

  One final word, please exercise great caution in your communications. Be sure to use safe transmission guidelines, as outlined in the Labyrinth rules. In particular, you must use only authorized browsers. Feel free to post as usual, as long as you take proper precautions. I will keep you apprised of further developments.

  CAITLIN FELT A rush of excitement. This was it. The killer’s motivation was suddenly crystal clear. She tapped her finger on the e-­mail so hard, she nearly poked a whole through the paper. “Look at this date! July 10.”

  Thompson began scrolling through his BlackBerry, presumably looking for the date’s significance.

  “That’s the same week Judd Kramer was booked for the murder of Sally Cartwright. You still think the Man in the Maze is some BS Kramer made up?” Caitlin crushed the e-­mail in her hand, then opened it and s
moothed it out again.

  Baskin’s face went white. “I don’t think anyone can doubt the existence of a Man in the Maze or his connection to the Ferragamo case at this point. The e-­mails get even better.” He waved at his associate. “Thompson, send around the second e-­mail. That one’s dated less than a week after Kramer’s grand-­jury indictment.”

  Thompson fired a paper across the table toward Caitlin, and she grabbed it, and read:

  From: Man in the Maze <395204@253.0.101.212>

  To: Labyrinth

  Subject: Desperate Times

  Date: July 23

  Greetings students, and thank you for all your wonderful posts that have brought me great pleasure. Although it is my habit to choose a best pick from among your offerings, today I must forgo the honor. We have pressing matters before us. Our glorious Zeus has been brought before a grand jury, and there is to be a trial.

  The situation is most desperate, as Zeus has a clever attorney, and I fear this counselor will urge him to save his own life in exchange for ours. In truth, I am absolutely certain this will be the final outcome as I know our once-­loyal Zeus is now selfishly clinging to his own life. To further complicate the matter, I am told he has spent many hours in discourse with a psychiatrist. To the weak, a psychiatrist’s couch seems as compelling as a confessional. If our Zeus confides in his psychiatrist, then even without a prosecutorial deal, our group is in grave danger.

  I only hope it is not too late. Who knows what Zeus has revealed of the group to these outsiders. My heart is heavy, but I must call on you for help. Doom, I have chosen you, since I know you have military skills. Doom, please make note of what I tell you next. This is quite important. Do NOT attempt to contact me on the loop. Do NOT reply to this e-­mail. I will send instructions, which you may save elsewhere. Let me repeat—­do NOT contact me via the loop.

  To all of you. Do NOT reply to this e-­mail. Let us never discuss it again unless I give the signal. I hold our unfortunate Zeus dear to my heart, but I hold all of you dearer. Those who may know too much must be eliminated for the greater good.

  With much sadness and great thanks,

  MIM.

  THOMPSON PUSHED BACK from the table and spun in his chair. “I accept your apology, Dr. Cassidy. As you can see, I’ve solved the case in one fell swoop. And all I had to do was take a crap in Silas Graham’s john.”

  She held her tongue, not wanting to answer rudely, but it took all her will to keep silent. Across the way, Spense’s nostrils were flaring. Not good. Caitlin tugged on her ear.

  Leave it alone, Spense.

  Baskin did some facial acrobatics, then clutched the e-­mails in his hands so hard they shook. “The case isn’t quite solved, now is it, buddy?”

  “Sure it is. We got the guy cold. Even found the Ferragamos in Graham’s closet. And right in the e-­mails, it explains the whole reason he went after Kramer and the rest of them.”

  Gretchen impaled him with her stare. “Please take note, Detective Thompson, that one of the rest of them is seated at this table.”

  “Detective.” Spense’s voice could’ve frozen mercury. “You may have found the trigger man, but you haven’t found the man behind the curtain. Until we find the Man in the Maze, this case is far from solved.” He turned to Baskin. “Maybe you should have your boy take notes and I’ll explain it to him point by point.”

  Baskin circled two fingers in the air, and Thompson, muttering something beneath his breath, pulled out a pen and pad.

  “Ready?” Spense asked, his voice taut and precise.

  “Fire away.” Thompson kept his eyes on his paper like a schoolboy who’d been reprimanded by the teacher.

  “Judd Kramer appears to have been a member of an online kill club known as Labyrinth. Labyrinth is controlled by an individual who goes by the handle: the Man in the Maze. Silas Graham, also a Labyrinth member, aka Doom, was sent by the Man in the Maze to silence Kramer, aka Zeus, before he could trade information about the kill club to save his own skin. Graham was also apparently ordered to take out Harvey Baumgartner and Dr. Cassidy out of concern that Kramer had given them information that could lead back to Labyrinth. Did you get all that?”

  Thompson’s complexion darkened. “I got it, yes. So I guess we’ve got to start all over again and find the Man in the Maze.”

  “I guess we do.” Spense raised his voice to be heard over the beeping of Baskin’s BlackBerry.

  “Motherfucker.” Baskin shot to his feet. “We got another DB on campus.”

  Chapter Twenty-­Five

  Thursday, September 19

  Tempe University

  Tempe, Arizona

  ANOTHER DB ON campus. Another coed tortured, raped, and killed. The advance report had come in that the MO was different than those used on Sally Cartwright and Darlene Dillinger. But the signature was the same. Adjacent to the ear, a section of temporal bone had been removed.

  Caitlin looked straight ahead, scanning the horizon as they approached the east-­campus parking lot. But from the corner of her eye, she caught the stony look on Spense’s face, the determined set of his jaw. “Spense?”

  When he didn’t respond, she realized he must be gathering his concentration, pulling in his focus. She’d almost forgotten how hard he had to work to tune out the extraneous noise in the world. She raised her voice slightly, just enough to be sure he heard her. “Spense?”

  “You think this is the work of Man in the Maze . . . I mean here we go again. Different MO, same signature.”

  “It could be him, or it could be anyone in the club.” His golden eyes darkened until his pupils all but eclipsed the iris.

  Her gut clenched at the realization they had no idea how extensive this Labyrinth was. But Spense had said it was likely new, given the fact there was nothing in ViCAP. No nationwide grab for the bony labyrinths of college coeds—­at least none that had been entered into the system. Once the signature was broadcast via the media, though, more reports might come in. But she could hope for the best, that the club was in its nascent form, with few members, or at least only a few who were true killers.

  Spense eased up on the accelerator, and the look he sent her told her he was about to order her to stay in the car. Preemptively, she leapt out the passenger door, just as he finished applying the brake, but before the Rodeo had come to a complete stop. The car screeched to a halt, and Spense bolted out of the car, coming up behind her before she could get a yard ahead of him. He had a good foot in height on her, and there was no way she could outrun him, even if her flank hadn’t been burning like a son of a bitch.

  “You don’t have to do this, Caity.” His hand was on her shoulder.

  She turned to face him. “Yes, Spense. I do.”

  “You got nothing to prove here. They already know you’re tough—­Baskin, Herrera, Thompson. And even if they don’t, I know you’re tough, so there’s no sense in putting yourself through another crime scene just to make a point.”

  “I’m not trying to make any point, Spense. This isn’t about me. I could give a flying fuck what Baskin and Thompson think of me. I need to see this with my own eyes. Maybe I’ll catch something another would miss. I mean you have to admit, I’m the one who connected the temporal bone to the Man in the Maze.”

  “Photographs are one thing. Dead bodies are another, and if this is the work of a sexual sadist, it’s not going to be something you’ll soon forget.”

  “I may be a psychiatrist, but I’m still a doctor. You think I’ve never seen a dead body before? Never dissected a cadaver or attended an autopsy . . . been on duty in the ER when a gunshot wound came in? Not to mention I was at Graham’s crime scene less than forty-­eight hours ago. I’ve seen it all, Spense. I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t going for bravado so much as believability, but Spense didn’t seem to buy it anyway.

  He put h
is arms around her, caging her in. “You haven’t seen it all, Caity. You haven’t seen anything like this up close and in person, and you don’t have to . . . not now, not ever. Just leave this part to me.”

  She pushed her arms up and used her elbows to break out of the cage. “No.” Sidestepping, she kept trekking up the grassy hill. It was obvious where the body had been dumped because she could see a team of uniforms up ahead. And Gretchen. Gretchen turned, and when she caught sight of them, she hurried down the embankment.

  “What the hell, Spense? Why is she here?”

  “I can’t leave her to fend for herself with a psychopath gunning for her.”

  “I meant you should’ve left her in the car! There are plenty of uniforms around.”

  “You and I both know the killer might be around, too, watching the show.”

  “We can send Thompson back to the car with her. He can protect her until—­”

  “I’m right here, Agent Herrera.” She deliberately didn’t use Gretchen’s first name. Today she was all business. “So please don’t talk about me as if I’m not. I jumped out of the car before Spense could order me to stay put, but frankly, if he had, it wouldn’t have made a difference. You may have forgotten, but I’m a civilian, and I don’t take orders from the FBI.”

  Herrera’s eyes narrowed. “At a crime scene, you sure as hell do, Doctor Cassidy. And you may be an independent consultant but you do report back to the BAU.”