Could this be the work of someone in the medical field, even a surgeon? Maybe someone who'd broken the rules at some point and had his license suspended?
I kneeled down, trying to hypothesize what this girl was thinking when she'd interacted with her killer. I assumed this girl hadn't been raped, just like the others. Yet she had no clothes on. What was her purpose the day or night they met? Pure lust? A hitchhiker trying to catch a ride into town? Had she trusted this man? I wondered how long before he killed her that she knew she was going to die. I closed my eyes and forced air through my nose.
Carl approached us.
“Did they find any clothes in the rug?” I asked.
“Not a stitch.”
Carl extended his arm, and we followed Andi back to the cars, then he broke off to take a call.
“Do you think you'll have any nightmares?” I asked Andi.
“I'm usually a big horror-movie watcher. But when you see the real thing up close, it changes your perspective.” She looked over to the scene. “I haven't been in all the meetings with you guys, but I know about the murdered college girls. You read about it...that's one thing. But to see it, smell it...it's just so disturbing. Human killing human. It's not natural.” The wind blew hair in her face, but she didn't bother brushing it aside. She just stared off into the distant sky.
Andi's poignant words triggered a lump in my throat, and I coughed.
Stu double-checked his notes from Andi as Carl walked back over, flipping his phone in his coat pocket.
“Talked to Guidry.”
“Yeah? What did the Ragin' Cajun have to say about all of this, besides offering up his cyber unit and BSU?”
“He's jumping on a plane. He'll be here in six hours or less.” Carl looked at his watch, ignoring my opinion on the FBI's plethora of resources.
I turned to my right and saw Andi getting into her van.
I hollered to her. “Hey, thanks for everything...working with the couple that found the body, asking questions, taking down important information for Stu,” I said. "And it took some backbone to look at the dead body."
She exhaled and let out a thin smile. “No problem. This is going to stick with me for a while. I feel like I'm invested in this whole case.”
She put her keys in the ignition and closed the door. I approached the van. “You late for a class or just ready to get the hell away from this scene?”
“I missed my class three hours ago.”
“Do you need me to call your professor and let them know you were working a real crime scene? Your teacher is a journalist.”
“She's more concerned about her academic world, but I'll figure something out. I have to if I'm going to graduate in three months,” Andi said. “Right now, I've got a date with a computer geek.”
“Yeah? Love at first sight?”
“Something like that.”
Chapter Forty
“Sorry I'm late, Satish,” Andi said, setting her purse and jacket down on a padded metal chair next to his suede, purple couch.
The little man with the intelligence of the Google search engine propped his neck against the back of his chair, his eyes fixated on the far left monitor. “No problem. I've been involved in this wicked game of War Games XXV. We've got about sixty people online, and we're in a battle to save the free world.”
He jerked the controller right, his body leaning at a forty-five-degree angle, then pressed the red and black buttons, toggling between two fingers.
“Oh, you think you can sneak up on our unit? Say hello to my little friend,” he said in an Indian-influenced Hispanic accent. Beads of sweat formed on his veiny forehead. “Die bitches die. Do you hear me? Die!”
Andi jiggled her legs impatiently, wondering if Satish's maturity level would ever come close to his IQ.
She snapped her fingers. “Helloooo, Satish, I'm still here. Do you think you can break away from your toy soldiers? We've got business to attend to.” She tapped her wrist, where there was no watch.
“Uh, sorry, let me just....” He leaned left and lunged forward. “Let me just get out of this pickle and—”
“Satish!”
“And I'm out without suffering a fatal injury, just a flesh wound to my right shoulder. Whew. And now I just need to save.” He clicked the mouse then spun his chair to face Andi.
He clapped once. “How may I help you?”
“You know why I'm here.”
He twirled back around and clicked three times and typed in a user name and password.
“There you have it,” he said. “Far left, we're looking through the camera lens at Jenny's computer. Audio is turned off...that's pretty typical in an office setting.”
Andi studied the scene. Jenny, wearing a black pantsuit over a white collared shirt came into view, her eyes focused on paper work to the right of her computer. It appeared she was talking to someone.
“Not much to see there,” Andi said. “What else you got?”
Two clicks. “Wallah.”
“What am I looking at?”
“This center screen is showing the logs of every keystroke, document, and website that hit Jenny's computer. I've scanned it a few times and nothing alarming so far. Not surprising since it's Jenny's computer. Now, if this were on someone else's computer who we suspected was involved in the illegal activities, then we might find something.”
“Okay. What's behind door number three?”
Satish smiled then clapped again like he was a game show host.
“I got this program to scan her entire hard drive, looking for certain key words I entered. Also, if she ever opens a shared drive, then it also scans that set of folders. So far, we're coming up empty.”
Andi huffed. “Geez, I was hoping we'd find something without Jenny having to take more risks.”
Just then, Andi looked to the left monitor and saw Jenny picking up her purse and waving goodbye. Must be lunchtime. Andi gave her five minutes then sent a text.
God love Ireland
Sixty seconds later, her phone chirped.
“Hey, Jenny. I'm here with Satish. Let me put you on speaker phone.”
“What's up, little lady?” Satish said. Andi gave him the eye.
“Are you in a safe location to talk?”
“I'm walking through this park area about three blocks from the office. No one around except squirrels searching for food.”
“Good,” Andi said. “We've been reviewing the logs and—”
“Did you get anything you can use?” Jenny asked eagerly.
“No, not really. We have that same email you mentioned where they gave you and your peers incentives to speed up the process. But we need a lot more than that.”
“Damn.” Jenny sounded dejected.
Andi said, “Jenny, I've done some more searching on the execs. Do you know Florence Wilcox?”
“Yeah, she pretty much runs the day-to-day things here. She's constantly in meetings, on site, off site. And, from what I hear she even travels to Russia—but we're not supposed to know that.”
Andi felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach and realized her anxiety was connected to what she was about to suggest to Jenny, an innocent young woman caught up in a desperate situation where even younger lives—those who had no voice—were impacted every day. She bit the inside of her cheek. “Jenny, we can wait this out. It might take a week, a month, or even a year. I'm okay with waiting until your computer is exposed to a document or email that we can use to put these assholes in prison.”
“I can't hold out that long,” Jenny said. “And I can't imagine how many more kids would be harmed, and parents swindled. It's just all so wrong, it makes me sick to my stomach every time I enter the building.”
So they all agreed to take the next step. Satish explained that the software download process would work the same way it did on Jenny's computer. Jenny would need to open the email and double-click on the attachment to load SpyAgent—all from Florence's computer. Brief text messages w
ould be their communication method.
Andi paced the room, waiting for the first note from Jenny. Finally, it came through.
God love Ireland
For the next forty-five minutes, Andi stared at three monitors. Satish broke the silence by jumping back into the online fray with his comrades. He captured two enemy soldiers without giving up his location. He was a video game pro—and he said as much over and over again.
Finally, at two thirty-three p.m., Andi's phone chirped.
God love Ireland
Satish clicked send, and then they waited for the right monitor to light up. If all went well on Jenny's end, they should see her face on their monitor within three minutes. Andi started the stopwatch on her phone.
Sweat formed on Andi's back. She flapped her oversized T-shirt then lifted her hair off her neck. She checked the phone: one minute forty-five seconds had passed.
She started second-guessing herself, thinking she shouldn't have put Jenny in this position. She tried to keep her pulse in check, in case she needed to think on her feet. The phone now read three ten, three eleven, three twelve. “Something's wrong. Where is she?” Andi stared laser beams at the right-side monitor.
“Three minutes forty seconds and counting,” Satish said.
“I can see that. Damn it!” Feeling absolutely helpless, Andi ran her fingers through her hair. She was winded, like she had been jogging uphill, the weight of the heavy air pressing against her lungs.
“Four ten.” His voice raised an octave, Satish looked at Andi, then he shook his head.
“Five minutes five seconds,” Andi whispered, dread in her voice. She tried to think of something, anything they could do to help Jenny. She thought about calling Jenny's cell phone but worried it would only deteriorate the situation if anyone was around.
When another forty-five seconds had passed, Andi slammed her hand on Satish's computer desk.
As if on cue, Jenny's face popped to life on the monitor. Andi pumped her fist then put her hand over her chest, trying to calm her rapid-fire heartbeat.
“Whoop, whoop, you go girl,” Satish said. “Whoop, whoop.” He gyrated in his chair and began tapping his keyboard.
Andi lowered her head for a few seconds, allowing some of the anxiety to drain from her body. She looked back at the monitor then saw a short, round woman in the frame shaking a sausage-like finger six inches from Jenny's face.
“Holy shit.”
Jenny's eyebrows shot up, her eyes wide with bewilderment.
“What do we do?” Satish rubbed his face so hard it almost took off his humped nose.
Andi grabbed her phone, scrolled to her browser, and found the Big Heart website still open. She dialed the main number.
“Big Heart Adoption Ag—”
“Florence Wilcox, please.”
“Please hold.”
“Here, Satish, take this.” Andi put the phone in Satish's face. “Once the lady answers, start talking in your native Hindi. Get mad at her about...whatever.”
“But I hardly ever speak Hindi.”
“She'll never know the difference. Take it!”
Five seconds later, the woman with a fire-hydrant body suddenly stopped talking to Jenny and reached for the desk.
Andi leaned toward her partner and listened to the receiver, while watching the woman speak into the phone on the monitor.
“Florence Wilcox's office, this is Pam, her admin.”
“Her admin,” Satish whispered and shoved the phone back to Andi.
“It doesn't matter who it is, talk to her!” Andi pushed the phone to Satish's ear.
Satish spread his arms at Andi, who punched his arm. Satish turned his body and unleashed a Hindi tirade, sounding as if he was delivering an emotional ultimatum that threatened Florence's job and her life. Meanwhile, Jenny disappeared from the screen.
Satish ended his soliloquy in English. “And I will never do business with Big Heart again!” He punched the line dead and handed the phone to Andi. Perspiration bubbled on his upper lip.
“Damn, Satish. What did you tell her?”
“My mind went blank. I panicked. I just started repeating my favorite Bruno Mars song.”
“Seriously?” Andi shook her head, relief allowing her lips to curl into a smile. “You're one strange dude.”
Andi's phone buzzed.
“Jenny, are you safe?”
“I left early for the day. I'm in the park now. I think everything is okay.” Jenny sounded strangely calm.
“I'm glad you're safe now, but I think we need to get you out of there...now. They're on to you.” Andi felt her pulse increase again.
“Really, I think I'm good. Before I went into Florence's office, I found out today is her birthday. So, I sent her an email with a link to a page that displays fireworks and says happy birthday in the sky. I just told her admin that I was in her office to open the web page so Florence could see it when she got back from her meeting.”
Andi and Satish looked directly at each other, shaking heads.
“Wow, Jenny. I think the FBI might be interested in you.”
Chapter Forty-One
The rain had let up, but midday traffic still slowed my return to the God love Ireland newsroom, following the early-morning FBI press conference in their downtown Dallas office—off Justice Way, no less. Annoyed and hungry, I exited the highway when I spotted the yellow and red sign of In-N-Out Burger. I drove around back and let out a huff. The line went around the block. I pulled behind a loud diesel truck that spewed a rank smell. Thirty minutes later, I was still at least twenty cars from the window, and I'd developed a headache that seemed like it might turn into a migraine—something I experience only once a year or so. I spun the car to the right and hit the highway.
Almost immediately, red lights popped up and cars jerked forward. I took in a deep breath, knowing a quick trip back to work wasn't in the cards. I recalled the barrage of questions thrown at FBI agent Tucker, as Guidry and others huddled behind him.
The fifty-something man in charge, his mustache appearing more white than brown and far bushier than just a couple of weeks ago, handled the press corps like a pro. As the alligators snapped at him left and right, it was obvious he had a purpose to the proceeding—he needed help from the public, and it wasn't just a call to be vigilant.
He told everyone about the emails, which sent shock waves through the sea of reporters and photographers. “We have received some communication from a person or persons who could be associated with these murders.”
I remember glancing at Rolando and Stu. I think all three of us were thinking the same thing: a coordinated group could be behind these murders. I'd never heard of such a thing. The worst serial killings in American history were typically tied to men, loners, emotionally unattached to the rest of the world. But with the Internet allowing people with fringe, even crazy thoughts and beliefs to congregate and manipulate, I wondered if the incredible technology innovation we'd experienced in the last two decades had enabled such a group to evolve—or devolve, as the case may be.
The traffic began to lighten up, and I stepped on the gas. I wasn't sure which was growling louder, the engine in my Accord or my stomach.
I thought more about the families impacted by this wave of brutal murders in college towns, and I couldn't imagine their grief; their little girls seemingly all grown up, yet their lives cut short by some sick bastard...or was there more than one? Tucker had reminded us of the most recent person whose life had ended before it really began. The victim found in Denton County, Olivia White, was murdered with a straight-blade knife. Olivia had been a music major at UNT, where Andi was finishing up her degree. That didn't sit right with me. Everything about this situation—these murders, the personal, even taunting, nature of the emails, and now the proximity of the latest killing—seemed like a runaway train that couldn't be stopped.
The first sound I heard entering the back door was a chorus of straws slurping from nearly empty cups. I walked to
the break room and found Stu and Rolando sharing war stories. While walking out of the FBI press conference with Rolando, I offered our newsroom for his use while he was in town. He'd jumped on it. “Good to see the press corps isn't going hungry.” Media folks, especially print, usually ate anything and everything, especially if it was cheap, and fast.
“Found this new fried chicken chain going up the tollway. Can't beat it.” Stu picked food from his teeth. My head throbbed so much from hunger, I began looking for bread crumbs on the table...anything to fill my stomach. “No lunch for you?” Rolando asked.
“Dude, I'm about to eat my left arm.”
Turning to leave, I spotted a pizza box next to the coffee pot. I made a beeline for it. Chewed-up crust was all that remained. I picked up a piece, actually thought about gnawing on it, then dropped it and wiped my hand on my pants. Desperate for anything nontoxic, I found loose change scattered throughout my top desk drawer and settled for a plastic container full of pretzels and humus and a bottled water from the vending machines. At least my headache seemed like it was retreating a bit.
I spent the next hour sifting through invoices and signing my name, making a separate stack for those requiring follow-up. A couple of flashing images lured my eyes upward. I saw Stu and Rolando striding down the hallway—Rolando taking two steps for every one of Stu's longer strides. A minute later, the pair came back, Brandon not far behind, his head down reading a piece of paper. All three entered my office and just stood there, seemingly holding their breath.
“Yours Truly sent us another note.” Brandon flipped a copy down on my desk then handed copies to Stu and Rolando.
I took a breath and read the email. Much shorter than the others. I read it again and curled my lips, trying to draw a picture of the person on the other end of the note. Pushing back my chair, I got up and paced behind my desk, nearly forgetting I had three of my staff staring at me for the next move—until I heard a forced cough from Brandon, never bashful.
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