Strings of Fate (Mistresses of Fate)

by Dore, Deirdre

  “The yellow pins are everyone he’s contacted but hasn’t set up a meeting with,” Midaugh said. “The white ones are pins of people he contacted but chose not to kill.”

  “And the red one here?” Ryan knew, but he wanted to hear it, wanted to say it so that it might jar something loose, might start to make some sense. “Martha Cooper”—he answered his own question. “Who is missing, and her car is gone. There has been no activity on her credit cards and she hasn’t posted any messages on Facebook. Ms. Pascal reported that someone claims to have seen her at a gas station in Canton. We’re working on verifying that. There’s also the mention of a ‘rainbow-haired’ girl on the Fate blog. Anyone have any leads on that?”

  “We think we might have a match to a missing persons report, but without a body . . .” Midaugh shrugged. “Her name’s Belinda James. Went missing on Sunday. Rainbow-dyed hair. Works at a tattoo parlor in Canton. She’s the purple pin—placed at her last known location.”

  There was no discernible pattern to the killings; the black, green, and yellow dots seemed scattered about randomly throughout Floyd, Gordon, Cherokee, Bartow, and Polk Counties as if the killer just set up a net and waited to see who bit, just as Chris had suggested. Ryan paused, thinking about something Chris had mentioned.

  “Put the word out that we’re looking for her, make sure they call us first if someone meeting her description turns up. I have another idea, though. Let’s get some orange pins for the four other people Ms. Pascal identified as being specifically targeted by the unsub.”

  Ryan waited while one of the analysts grabbed the pins to mark the locations of the four special victims.

  All four victims lived within fifty miles of Fate, Georgia. Together, the red pin for Martha Cooper and the orange pins representing the potential victims made a rough circle around the town, as if the killer were spiraling closer and closer to his goal.

  “He’s in Fate.” Ryan was damn near certain of it.

  “Where does this new body fit, then?” Midaugh was holding a black pin.

  The reason they’d called Ryan in was that they’d found a new body, this one bearing the same wounds as the rest. It had been found, still clothed, on a park bench in Rome, definitely outside the circle created by the other victims. There were other dissimilarities as well—the body had been clothed and the man killed had been homeless. Every other victim, with the exception of Martha Cooper, had had strong connections to family, friends, lovers, and even Martha had been on Facebook. This man, nothing. No Facebook profile, nothing.

  He’d been on his usual bench, drinking, when a man had walked up with a knife. A surveillance camera on a nearby building had caught the slaughter. The unsub had attacked swiftly, viciously, slicing the victim’s throat first. The unsub had been wearing a hoodie and jeans, so they hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, and no other distinguishing marks could be identified.

  “What did the coroner’s report say about the wounds on the rest of the victims?”

  The GBI analyst who’d been coordinating between the coroner’s office and the task force looked up from his monitor.

  “The unsub took his time on every previous victim. Cuts were made on the wrists and ankles first, then the knees, elbows, and finally the throat. Several of the victims died before their throats were cut.”

  “He had to have somewhere private to commit that kind of crime. Odds are he has a van or a motor home, something that allows him to move easily and in private.” Midaugh was pacing now. “How’re we doing with the canvas and the roadblocks?”

  An officer from the Rome PD spoke up. “So far nothing. They’re searching all vans and motor homes leaving Rome and the surrounding areas, but nothing so far.”

  “Okay, then, surveillance.” Ryan turned to the crew of FBI agents who had been placed in charge of reviewing the surveillance from cameras throughout Rome. “Let’s add the city of Fate to the list and see what we can find. We’re looking for vans or motor homes going frequently in and out of the city. Also, let’s get the plates and descriptions of Martha Cooper and her car to the team.”

  “Not much going in and out of Fate,” chimed in a young woman who looked like she’d joined the FBI a week ago, she was so fresh-faced. “I used to live nearby. Surveillance is bound to be light going in and out of town, it’s pretty rural. The city itself might have surveillance around city hall and the local credit union, but the deputy’s office in the circle is your best bet for catching anything in that area.”

  “Let’s do it,” Ryan ordered. “Coordinate with Cherokee County on getting the video from the past two weeks.” The deputy from Cherokee joined the girl at her monitor, but his face said that he doubted the endeavor would be that productive.

  He gave voice to his doubts a few minutes later. “Forgive me, Agent Helmer, but we’ve only got two deputies working that office in Fate right now, and one of them is posted outside Ms. Pascal’s residence.”

  Ryan had gotten a text from Chris several hours ago, indicating that Raquel had arrived.

  “Call him, ask him to get back to his office and see what he can figure out. Officer Raquel Weaver, Atlanta PD, is staying with Ms. Pascal tonight.”

  “Will do.”

  Ryan looked at Midaugh. “I don’t know where this latest killing fits. We’ve sent everything over to the BAU, they should have something soon, but if I had to guess . . .”

  Midaugh shrugged. “Shit, you may as well.”

  “It seems like a ploy, a way to distract us—from what, I don’t know.”

  “You think he did this to pull our attention away from Fate, away from Ms. Pascal?”

  Yeah. That’s what Ryan thought, though it seemed pretty thin when he heard it out loud.

  “That’s what I think.”

  “Anything in Ms. Pascal’s past, in her background, that might help us out?”

  “Nothing concrete. She has one ex, but he’s clear. She’s been responsible for several arrests, so someone could be targeting her because of that, but according to the BAU, whoever’s doing this is psychotic; he believes he sees these strings, and that she is in some way special to him.”

  “Then we’ll concentrate on Fate and hope you’re right.”

  “Yeah, that’s usually when things go to hell.”

  24

  CHRIS GLANCED AT RAQUEL. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. It was around midnight and Raquel had fallen asleep with her head tilted back and a laptop open on top of her stomach. She’d been helping Chris search, even calling the detective in charge of the Martin Hays case. He’d told her that they had interviewed the man and had been keeping him under surveillance, but so far no additional information had turned up.

  Chris removed the laptop, shut it down, and set it on the coffee table. She found an extra blanket in the closet and spread it over her friend, hoping she didn’t get too cold in the living room.

  Careful not to wake Raquel, Chris checked the locks on the doors and fussed with the curtains, trying to get them to stay completely shut.

  She turned off the lights and retired to her bedroom, where she checked to see if Raquel’s cousin, Cora Scott, had responded and whether her Web search had found any hits on the image of Martha Cooper beyond the one she’d found earlier. Nothing yet.

  She used her iPad app of police frequencies to monitor the radio bands out of Rome. They spoke mostly in code, but she understood some of it from asking Raquel. Roadblocks had been set up in Rome and the surrounding areas looking for a van. Of course it’s a van. You need to kill someone and stay mobile? We have the large windowless vehicle for you.

  Her phone beeped, indicating that she had a message, and she grabbed it eagerly, hoping for it to be Ryan.

  Hope you’re sleeping.

  Chris felt a giddy, stupid eagerness that was undignified in a woman her age, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

 
Was waiting to hear from you. Hope you’re safe, she wrote, though she felt fairly certain that he was, at least for the moment.

  U2. Go to sleep.

  The man was forever giving her orders. She pinched her lips together and thought about telling him where to stick it, but figured he meant well, and since she was about to do something he really wasn’t going to like, she thought she could cut him a break.

  I will. You get some sleep too.

  I’ll try.

  She reread the conversation three times, allowing his apparent concern for her to fill her with a sense of warmth and safety.

  She knew that she was being ridiculous, allowing herself to feel this excited over a few inane texts from a guy she’d only known for a few days, but she couldn’t ignore her urge to touch him, kiss him, feel the weight of him on her.

  She set her phone down and pulled up the Mysteries of Fate blog. The creep hadn’t added anything since the last post, but there was nothing stopping Chris from posting something—something that might bring the bastard out of hiding. She hadn’t done it yet because she’d known that Raquel and Tavey, and now Ryan, would be furious if she were to put herself in danger.

  She would rather risk herself, though, than anyone else. The body count was already too high, and this creep needed to be brought to justice.

  Beneath his last post, beneath new comments calling him a nutcase and a freak, Chris began to write, pulling from his previous posts to imagine the world as he saw it, to make it real, so that he would trust in what she said. To do that, she pulled from deep inside her subconscious, conjuring her memories of Summer, of playing in the woods, of running:

  I know the girl in the woods. We played, she and I, in the deep woods, where a carpet of green moss and paths of fallen logs lead to the place where the world begins. We found where fairies sing and spiders spin the silk yarn of lives. We stole the silk, she and I. Thin and strong, beaded with dew like diamonds. I used it to tie her wrist to mine. Wearing that silk, she could see through my eyes, and we ran wild through the lovely dark forest.

  I can take you there, if you find me. I can show you where the thread-makers dwell.

  —The Creator

  Chris stopped, her breath caught on a sob. Though the nightmare dominated her sleeping self, awake she remembered days when this version of events was true, when Summer would share stories, and they would play in the woods, and everything was magical and mysterious and lovely—a time when anything was possible.

  She hadn’t planned on getting lost, on losing Summer among the trees, but she had; somehow she’d lost her friend, and she had yet to find her again.

  She would, though, she vowed to herself for the thousandth if not millionth time, as she pulled up Facebook. She would find them all if she could, but first she was going to build a profile, one that she didn’t think he would be able to resist, and one that she didn’t plan on sharing with Ryan or anyone else.

  Gender: Female

  Eyes: Blue

  Hair: Blond

  Age: 34

  Name: Summer Haven

  Favorite Quote: “Come and find me.”

  25

  CHRIS FELT LIKE her bagel with cream cheese was glaring at her accusingly, those two holes staring at her like wide, angry eyes, a look that she’d see again soon when Ryan found out what she’d done.

  “What time’d you go to bed last night, honey?” Raquel, looking gorgeous in a hot-pink tank top with her jacket thrown over it—hiding her weapon—was cheerful and rested despite spending the night on Chris’s lumpy couch.

  Raquel didn’t work on Thursdays or Fridays because she had the weekend shift, so instead of heading home when she woke up at the crack of dawn, she’d decided to short-shrift Chris’s beauty sleep and drag her out for breakfast at the coffee shop on the circle, where they indulged in lattes and bagels (though Chris knew she would later regret the caffeine boost, given that she was already jittery enough today).

  “Late, probably,” Tavey’s voice answered for her. She swung into the bench next to Chris, handing Raquel her purse to put on the opposite seat.

  “Tavey.” Chris smiled, taking in the fitted yoga gear and jacket her impeccable friend was wearing. “You’re coming to class?”

  “That’s right. I need to relax and stretch out.”

  Clearly her two best friends were under the impression that she needed some assistance. “You guys don’t have to do this. I’m fine.”

  Raquel raised her arrogant eyebrow—she was good at that; actually looked a little bit like her grandmother when she did. “Christina Pascal, you have a serial killer obsessed with your ass. How in God’s green earth is that ‘fine’?”

  Tavey looked at Raquel. “What? I thought you were just hacked.”

  Chris shrugged. “Apparently the unsub likes me.”

  “Well, what are we doing about this?” Tavey wanted to know.

  Their waiter, Charles as usual, came over before Chris could answer.

  “I’ll have a black coffee,” Tavey ordered, and sent him on his way.

  “They have lattes,” Chris pointed out, just to be contrary.

  “Takes too long,” Tavey countered. “I need caffeine.”

  “You’re as bad as your beagles.” Chris smiled, wishing she could just head out to Tavey’s house and play with the dogs. A puppy fix would go a long way toward decreasing her stress level.

  “How so?”

  “You smell coffee and go crazy. They smell food and go crazy.”

  “Hmm,” she snorted, unable to deny it.

  “So, what did you find out last night?” Raquel poured another packet of sugar in her coffee and stirred it.

  It wasn’t so much what she’d found out as what she’d done, but she wasn’t going to tell them that. “I found out Martha Cooper may have been seen in Canton, that she loved her Chihuahua, and that Lobelia Curso had a cousin, Robert, that she was afraid of.”

  Raquel nodded. “Send me the info, I’ll take a look at him when I get back to a computer.”

  “Already done,” Chris confirmed, feeling very efficient.

  “Good.” Raquel nodded. “But I think for the rest of this week you should refrain from looking for anyone and focus on staying off the radar.”

  “I can’t do that,” Chris protested. “This guy is killing people and I can help stop him.”

  “How?” Tavey demanded.

  How? Well, shit. “He’s been using my identities; I’ve already helped the Feds isolate some patterns and identify additional victims. Maybe I can find out who he’ll target next.”

  “Have you considered that his next target might very well be you?” Raquel pointed a half-eaten bagel at Chris’s face.

  “Yes,” Chris shot back, but she didn’t add that the Triplets had already indicated she would be his next target. Raquel was a big believer in the girls; she thought they were more accurate than Old Ninny. Chris also conveniently didn’t mention that she’d pretty much stuck her tongue out at the psychopath himself and said, Neener-neener.

  “So what are we going to do? Are you coming to stay with me, with Raquel, what?”

  “Neither,” Chris protested. “I’m fine. The county deputies are keeping an eye on my place when I’m alone and Ryan has been staying with me otherwise.”

  “Ryan?” Tavey drawled out his name so that it was two long syllables, making Raquel choke on her bagel laughing.

  Chris narrowed her eyes. “Yes . . .” she hissed. “Ryan.”

  Tavey gave her a narrow-eyed look right back. “Seriously, Chris, you be careful. I want you safe.”

  “I’m safe. He’s an FBI agent, for God’s sake.”

  “You’ve known him, what? Two days?”

  Chris didn’t care much for that question. She was not going to answer that question. Folding her arms over her chest, sh
e mimicked Tavey’s arch look.

  “Chris.” Tavey tried for a sober face. Chris was of the opinion that Tavey should be someone’s mother.

  “Tavey,” Chris mimicked. And maybe Chris behaved like someone’s kid.

  “All right, enough.” Raquel cut them both off. “Chris, I know you don’t like to take anything seriously, but face it, this is serious. Don’t fuck around.”

  Chris didn’t really want to think about her current situation. When she thought about it, she freaked the fuck out. She wanted to pretend that nothing was fucking wrong except that a hot guy was interested in her and if that was self-delusion, then she was all for it.

  Their waiter tiptoed into the silence and set Tavey’s coffee down on the table before hurrying away as if he’d just fallen into the lion cage at the zoo.

  When he left, Chris turned back to her friends. “Fine,” she muttered. “You want me to say I’m terrified, you got it. I’m fucking terrified. Happy? But I’m not going to stop trying to help them catch this guy. You know I can’t stop trying to help.”

  Raquel and Tavey fell silent. They knew. They also loved her and were worried for her.

  Remembering that, Chris unfolded her arms. “Sorry. I know you’re just worried. I’m worried, but I can’t do anything but try to stop him. I can’t sit and do nothing.”

  “I know, sweetie.” Raquel wrapped an arm around her.

  Tavey scowled into her coffee. “Fine, as long as you’re being careful and someone is looking out for you, I’ll trust you to know what you’re doing.”

  “Thank you.” Chris inclined her head graciously.

  “So what are you doing with the Fed?”

  Chris pouted. “Nothing yet.”

  “Good,” Tavey sniffed. “He’s on a case and you’re a key part of it. It would be unethical to get involved with you.”

  Chris wasn’t sure exactly what possessed her to say what she said next, but she knew it was ill-advised before it came out of her mouth. “Oh, yeah? Well, Tyler is the one that told him I wasn’t helping a serial killer, so I can thank him if Ryan shows an interest beyond the case.” Mentioning Tyler was a sure way of making Tavey back down—they had a hate-hate relationship, but it was one that seemed to hurt Tavey for some reason that she’d never fully explained.