Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  He inhaled a ragged breath, closed his jaw and swallowed. Then those vivid green eyes stared at hers. “Yes. You—will.”

  Chapter Nine

  Angel’s behind was numb from sitting. Perched at this conference table for over ten hours, she’d participated in the call with Quantico and met with each member of the task force, except Lexie, at some point throughout the day. They hadn’t scheduled an official meeting, but Ed, Lou, Ryan, Zed and John had taken turns reviewing the bulk of information they’d gathered, then each had followed his respective lead on the investigation. Most followed up with victimology, studying autopsy protocols and CSI files from the past murders. Lou Marker had returned to Cami Talton’s house and Vickie Jones’ duplex to see if they’d overlooked any details at the most recent murder sites. Tucker left Macon altogether, saying he had another lead that would take him out of the city and that he’d report the details as soon as they were available.

  Angel didn’t know why she trusted him, but she did. He meant something to Lexie, and she’d never known Lexie to misjudge a person’s character. Therefore, for now, he’d moved down on the list of potential suspects. Not that she’d removed him from the list, but he wasn’t as near the top.

  She grabbed her cup of coffee, her fifth cup today, judging from the empty Styrofoam containers littering the table, and she worried that her perceptiveness was slipping. The stuff tasted half good.

  Captain Pierce poked his head in. “Still here, huh?”

  “That’s what I’m paid for.”

  “You eat today?”

  “I’m planning on it, but right now the caffeine is keeping me sustained.”

  He grunted. “If that caffeine is satisfying you, you’ve got some serious issues.”

  She laughed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Here.” He entered and plopped in the chair beside her. “It’s tuna salad. My wife makes a mean tuna salad.” He placed a brown bag beside her empty coffee cups.

  “Don’t you want it?”

  “She never knows how late I’ll be working, so she always sends extra. Today, she made three. I ate two. There’re two bags of chips in there too. I’ll take one of them, but you can have the other.”

  Angel opened the brown bag, withdrew a sandwich covered in foil and unwrapped it. The scent of tuna filled the room, and her stomach growled.

  “That’s what I thought.” He pointed to the sandwich. “Go on, start eating, and tell me what you’re working on. I haven’t got the profiling experience you do, but I’ve solved my share of cases. Maybe I can provide a bit of insight.”

  She took a bite of the sandwich, then closed her eyes and enjoyed the delicious conglomeration of tuna, boiled eggs, sweet relish and mayo. Aunt Carol used to fix tuna sandwiches for Saturday lunches. She swallowed then looked at Pierce. “This is delicious.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “I’ll tell her you said so, though. Always means more when it comes from a stranger.”

  Angel laughed and took another bite.

  “So tell me what you’re following here.” He indicated the stacks of books.

  She had to consider how much to disclose, but Ed Pierce wasn’t on her list of suspects since he didn’t live in Macon at the time of the first murder series, and he seemed to want to help her solve the case. When she’d first met him, she’d had the suspicion he had his eye on John Tucker as a suspect; however, as she’d watched him interact with the remaining task force members, she’d come to realize Ed Pierce didn’t merely suspect Tucker. He suspected everyone, and that suspicion could help her narrow her list, since he knew more about the task force members, and the additional personnel involved with the case, than Angel. Past experience told her the killer would be close to the investigation. What she hadn’t determined, though, was how close.

  “After my conversation with the guys at Quantico, I realized I may have focused too much on the signature and not enough on the modus operandi.”

  “But the signature is the more reliable guide to the behavior of serial offenders.” He removed one bag of chips from the lunch sack, opened it and popped one in his mouth. “It’s static; MO is dynamic. Chances are, if our killer has come up with a better means of pulling off the crime, he’s done it. What he won’t change is the signature.”

  “I know, but that’s just it. His signature has stayed the same. He strangles blonde, pregnant and single women. Seven of them, every seven years. However, his MO changed between the first series and the second.”

  “He stopped leaving their bodies outdoors.” Pierce followed her train of thought.

  “Right. And his method for abducting them changed as well. He not only left the bodies indoors; he also attacked them within their own homes.”

  “That’s still the case, based on the past three series.” He ate another chip. “What about the MO bothers you?”

  “The part we haven’t covered.” She took another bite of her sandwich, then flipped back in her notebook to find where she’d annotated her theory. “Okay. I was thinking about the case I completed before I came here, involving a serial rapist in Oklahoma City. His MO was to scope out upscale restaurants for attractive women arriving alone. He’d wait until his target entered the restaurant, then he’d give her enough time to get seated. Afterwards, he’d drive through the parking lot and note the license plate on her car. Then he called the restaurant, told them he had just finished eating there and was on his way out when he noticed a car with its lights on. He’d recite the tag number, then he’d wait.”

  Pierce followed the scenario. “They’d tell her she left her lights on, she’d go out to turn them off, and he’d grab her.”

  “Then he’d abduct her in the parking lot, take her away to a remote location, torture her, rape her, kill her and leave her body in the woods.”

  He shook his head. “You got him?”

  “Yeah, we got him.”

  “How does his MO remind you of our guy?”

  “His MO involved taking all of his victims in the same manner. At a nice restaurant, with the ploy that they’d left their lights on.”

  “Our guy always comes to their homes,” Pierce said, not following her point.

  “But the guy I mentioned found the women he wanted at restaurants. He always found them in the same manner.”

  “We don’t know how our guy finds them. That’s the whole problem with Vickie Jones. She apparently hadn’t told anyone she was pregnant, so how did he know? How could he have found her, when he looks for such specific criteria, and she wasn’t showing any signs of pregnancy yet? Do you think he’s keeping track of all EPTs purchased in the city? Because if he is, he still wouldn’t know which ones were positive.”

  “No, I don’t think it was the EPT that did it. I believe it was her trip to Dr. Weatherly’s.”

  “That’s what Tucker thought too, but you talked to him this morning after he visited the doctor. There aren’t any male staff members, and she hasn’t seen any men fitting the profile hanging around.”

  “Just because she didn’t see him doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.”

  “You think he’s finding his victims at OB-GYN offices?”

  “I think he’s finding them at one particular OB-GYN’s office.”

  “Dr. Weatherly?”

  Angel nodded while she opened her bag of chips. “I called Cami Talton’s mother today, asked her if she’d mind telling me the name of her daughter’s doctor.” She popped a salty chip in her mouth.

  “Let me guess. Weatherly?”

  “Yeah. Mrs. Talton said Cami loved her doctor. She said since Yvette Weatherly is the only female OB-GYN in Macon, that’s the only doctor Cami wanted. She went on to explain Cami wanted a female doctor because she wasn’t happy with males at the time.”

  “That makes sense. If some guy got you pregnant then abandoned ship, you wouldn’t want to go to another guy to discuss what happened. If you could go to a woman, someone who would understand, you would.”

  “
Right. And, according to these statistics,” Angel withdrew a report she’d generated earlier, “during the past twelve months, Dr. Yvette Weatherly has handled eighty-five percent of all pregnancies in Macon involving single mothers.”

  “He’s stalking her patients.” Pierce’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Whether the doctor has seen him there or not, our perp has his eye on her patients.”

  “I think so.” Angel snatched another salty chip and popped it in her mouth.

  “All right. Tucker’s already got what he needs to access her files. He can get a list of Dr. Weatherly’s single patients by tomorrow, I’m sure. Then we’ll know who to watch. And I’ll put a guy on her office as well to keep an eye out for anyone fitting our profile. We’ll catch him.” He finished off the last chip. “Good observation, Jackson.”

  “It’d still be better if we were on the offensive. Pro-active, that’s the way to catch this guy. We won’t have to worry about trying to pick the right victims if we catch him first.”

  “I agree, and maybe putting someone on Weatherly’s place will help us do it. By the way, the State called today. We should have our missing persons info by tomorrow morning. That’ll help, but I still plan to keep an eye on the women most at risk. Matter of fact, I’m going to call Tucker right now, let him know we want that list by our meeting tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” Angel watched him leave then looked back at her notes. How he learned they were single, Angel didn’t know, but she knew without a doubt he learned they were pregnant via Dr. Yvette Weatherly’s office. Now she had to find out how many single, blonde, pregnant women were seeing the doctor. She got up, walked across the room and closed the door. Then she returned to the table and withdrew her cell phone from her purse. Keying in the numbers from her notes, she waited for the receptionist to answer.

  “Dr. Yvette Weatherly’s answering service, can I help you?”

  Angel’s eyes darted to the clock. 7:30. Was it really that late?

  “Can I help you? If this is an emergency, or if you’re in labor—”

  “No, it isn’t an emergency. I’ll call the office in the morning.”

  “The office opens at eight.”

  “Thank you.” Angel dropped the phone back in her purse. No, it wasn’t an emergency, and no, she wasn’t in labor, but she did need to see the doctor soon—and do her best to figure out how to keep Dr. Weatherly’s blonde, single and pregnant patients...breathing.

  Tucker hadn’t planned on taking longer than an hour to determine where Lexie had headed. His impromptu meetings with the captain and the profiler put a slight wrench in his plan, as did the amount of time it took to persuade the good folks at Lexus that he was a homicide detective on the trail of a killer. But, as he’d predicted, he’d found her. Or at least he’d found her car, as good a starting point as any.

  Last night, Lexie hadn’t said anything about leaving town. In fact, she’d talked about interviewing the victims’ families today and bringing their stories to the public. She’d been bound and determined to humanize each and every victim, until the public felt that every girl who’d been murdered had been a member of their family.

  John had no doubt Lexie could do it. But she hadn’t. She’d called in and requested a personal day, then headed to—he checked the address again—Valdosta.

  Valdosta? A hundred and fifty miles from Macon. A hundred and fifty miles from the killer. Or so he thought.

  The sun turned in for the day as he exited I-75, and his cell phone rang. “Tucker.”

  “Tucker, this is Pierce. How’s your lead going?”

  “Still working on it.”

  “Let me know if anything comes of it.”

  “Will do.” John didn’t know what he’d say if the captain pressed him for additional information. That he’d followed Lexie McCain to Valdosta on the possibility she had a lead on the killer? Or that he’d followed her to Valdosta on the possibility she might be in danger? Or that he’d followed her to Valdosta because he wanted to—period.

  Captain Pierce had seen enough of John’s work in the past to know he deserved full reign of his investigations, even this one, the only case that had ever yielded his own name as a potential suspect. That must have been enough reason to keep him from asking for additional details. “You’ll be back in Macon tomorrow, right?”

  “Planning on it.”

  “Good. I need you to use that warrant for Dr. Weatherly’s office. Jackson determined both of the victims were patients there. What’s more, the majority of single pregnant women in Macon go to Weatherly.”

  “She’s the only female OB-GYN in town, isn’t she?” Tucker followed the reasoning. “Why didn’t we think of that before?”

  “Maybe we needed a female’s perspective. But the important thing is we’ve got a probable link in his MO, so I want to pursue it. Get everything you can on the patients who fit his criteria and bring it to the meeting tomorrow.”

  “Done.”

  “And if you learn anything else tonight, let me know. I’d rather go on the offensive with this thing, rather than sitting around waiting for his next attack. We’ve only got thirty-eight days until he kills again.”

  “If I get anything at all, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Good. I’ll look for you in the morning.” Pierce disconnected.

  Tucker followed the directions he’d been given and turned down a side street off Mulberry. Within minutes, he entered a long driveway lined with towering magnolias. The branches met above him and formed a tunnel of leaves that absorbed every ounce of moonlight. At the end, however, the moon made up for lost time, illuminating a massive structure that resembled an elaborate dollhouse, complete with a wraparound porch and gingerbread trim at every peak. To the right of the entrance, a wrought iron sign identified the place as Murrell’s Assisted Living, An Exceptional Home for Exceptional Guests.

  Not what he’d expected, but he didn’t question the information he’d been given when he saw Lexie’s car, with its WGXA decal in the back window, parked nearby.

  After pulling his Grand Cherokee in the next spot, he parked and got out.

  Okay. He’d found her. Now what? What did an assisted living home have to do with the killer? Because John knew Lexie wouldn’t have come down here the day after he struck without a tie-in.

  When he’d first started this search, he expected to find Lexie on the trail of a prime suspect. However, he didn’t foresee the killer hanging out in Valdosta, and he didn’t anticipate finding him at an assisted living facility. But maybe Lexie had identified a victim’s family member inside. There could be several tie-ins to the case, reasons causing her to change her plans today and head to Valdosta, but John saw none at all for her to put herself in danger or keep John out of the loop.

  She said she trusted him. Then why didn’t she tell him about her lead? He’d ask her, as soon as he found her.

  He crossed the parking lot and started up the stone pathway leading to the porch.

  “Who’re you here to see?” The woman’s voice echoed through the porch shadows.

  John turned toward the sound and made out the petite figure of an elderly woman, her long gray braid hanging over one shoulder as she sat in a rocker on the far end of the porch. He couldn’t make out her facial features. Even with the moonlight trimming the edge of the wooden planks on the porch, the majority of her face and body were hidden in the shadows of the gingerbread-embellished eaves. However, after blinking to focus, he saw the whites of her eyes, two circular pricks in the jet-black recesses of the porch.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Lexie McCain.” He saw no reason to lie.

  “Whatchu want with Miss Lexie?”

  “I need to ask her some questions.”

  “She ain’t broke no laws.”

  John glanced down to see the shield at his waist glistening in the moonlight. “No, she hasn’t. But I need to see her and make sure she’s safe.”

  “Well, why didn’t ya
say so? She’s inside, in Nicholas’ room, but you better check with Jackie first. And you gotta ring the bell to get in. It’s dark now, ya know.”

  “Will do.” John nodded toward the tiny shadow, then turned to press the button beside the door. The familiar eight notes of the Westminster chime sounded from within the home, then footsteps echoed and the door creaked opened.

  “Hello,” The woman smoothed the front of her dress. “I’m Jacqueline Murrell. May I help you?”

  “He’s looking for Lexie!” the woman in the rocker yelled.

  Ms. Murrell sighed, smiled then stepped forward. “Just a minute, please.” She looked toward the tiny lady on the porch. “Agatha, aren’t you ready to come in now? Your dessert is ready.”

  “Nope. The moon’s bright, and I’m enjoying it. And don’t call me that name.”

  “But that’s your name. And it’s a beautiful name, the name of one of my favorite authors, in fact.”

  “Is your name Jacqueline or Jackie?”

  “Well, it’s both. Jacqueline is my given name; Jackie is my nickname.”

  “Right. Well, I want to be Aggie today. I’ll be Agatha again tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Aggie,” Ms. Murrell sounded exasperated, “do you want to come in and have your dessert?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Fine. Tell you what, I think Donovan wanted to come out and enjoy the moon too. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds good. Sounds real good.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell him you’d like for him to join you.”

  “All right.”

  Jacqueline Murrell turned back toward John, and her jaw dropped. She stared at his shield. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m a detective with Macon’s police department, and I’m working with Ms. McCain on one of her stories. I was concerned she may have put herself in danger by following one of her leads, so I came down to check things out.”

  Her brows lifted, head tilted to the side as she examined John. “Personally? Could’ve called her to see what she was doing, couldn’t you?”

  However, he did have an answer for her question. “She hasn’t answered her cell phone today.”