by Chase, T. A.
“I see anything to make me think you’re queer, Guzman, I’ll let everyone in this department know.”
After delivering the threat, Sorensterm strolled off, and Mac’s pulse quickened. Shit! He needed to trust the guys in his department would back him in any kind of play, yet if they knew he was gay, they could leave him in a situation where he’d be killed.
Mac couldn’t help but wonder what Sorensterm would do if he found out four of the seven men they regularly played poker with were gay. Of course, none of the other men were from their company. Most of them were from the DEA or some of the other federal agencies. The man would shit himself.
“Ready, Mac?” Billingsley asked as he walked from his office.
It seemed no one else had noticed the confrontation between Mac and Sorensterm.
“Yes, sir.”
* * * *
“I didn’t realize the bureau agreed to afternoon naps. Maybe I should come work with you.”
Tanner flipped Mac off but didn’t open his eyes immediately. He heard the chairs scrape on the floor and two grunts as Mac and Billingsley, Tanner assumed, sat. Rustling papers were the only noises for a moment before someone cleared his throat.
“Are you done meditating or whatever the hell you’re doing?”
He opened his eyes and rolled them at Mac. “I wasn’t meditating or sleeping for that matter.”
Billingsley frowned. “Then what were you doing?”
After pushing the pile of drawings toward Mac and the ranger captain, he stood and strolled over to the board. “I’ve been trying to figure out what symbol is etched into their breasts. It’s been hidden by the intricate design, but it’s there. I was trying to draw the designs to see if I can repeat it.”
MacLaughlin walked in and shook Billingsley’s hand. “Good to see you again, Captain. Is this everyone?”
“Yes. I’ll have Mac update the others at headquarters for now. When Agent Wallace has more, we’ll call a meeting of the entire task force for him to bring everyone up to speed.” Billingsley glanced at Tanner. “Well, are you ready to wow me, Agent Wallace?”
“I’m not sure what you’re expecting, Captain. What I tell you will probably be what your own profiler already found out during his examination of the scenes.”
“Maybe, or maybe you’ll have seen something he missed. I’d rather catch this asshole than worry about the feelings of the men working for me.” Billingsley shrugged. “You might be right as well. You might not see anything new, but you’ve only been looking for a couple of days. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Thank you.”
Mac stared at Tanner’s drawings like he was trying to see what Tanner talked about. Whether Mac believed him or not, Tanner didn’t care. His instincts screamed to look beneath the surface and find clues to the killer’s identity.
“The floor is yours, Tanner.” MacLaughlin gestured toward him.
Folding his arms over his chest, Tanner looked at the three men seated in the room. “I’ve gone over the pictures several times, looked at them from all the different angles available. I can tell you some basic things about the guy.”
He pointed to the photos, tracing the wounds with his finger. “You’re definitely looking for a male. Not just because a majority of serial killers are male. If the killer was female, she would have to be extremely strong, and if a female bodybuilder was seen in the area, someone would have noticed.”
Mac snorted. “That’s true. There haven’t been any witnesses coming forward. They only seem to notice the women were missing, but they don’t know who took them.”
Tanner nodded. “I’m not surprised. Okay, so you’re looking for a male, probably around six-four or six-five, and he’s strong. None of the blood tests came back positive for drugs, which leads me to believe he overpowered them before stuffing them in his car or however he transports them. More than likely, he drives a van or a truck with a cap on the back, so he can move them without anyone seeing.”
“Do you have a thought about race or age?” Mac pulled out a notebook and pen.
“He’ll be in his mid to late thirties. As for race, I’m not sure. I haven’t seen any indicators to make you focus on one ethnic group over another, though traditionally African Americans don’t tend to be serial killers.” Tanner gestured again to the knife injuries. “Another thing suggested by the wounds is he’ll be left-handed.”
“Okay, explain why you believe that,” MacLaughlin spoke up. “I’ve never understood how you profilers come up with that from just looking at the wounds.”
“Mac, could you pull out the ME’s autopsy reports for the first four victims from their files on my desk?” Tanner nodded toward the pile of folders. “We don’t have the papers for the latest victim, but I’m confident they’ll tell us the same things as the others.”
Mac grimaced at the mention of Marissa but dug through all the files to pull out the right reports. He started to hand them to Tanner, but Tanner shook his head.
“I don’t know if you all want to look at them, but the ME was very thorough. He measured the depth of each stab wound. His determinations helped me with my ultimate conclusions. When you have a left-handed attacker striking from the front, the wounds will be deeper on the right side of the victim, even if the person being attacked isn’t fighting back. Again based on the evidence found at the scenes, we’re operating on the assumption that he bound them.”
“But wouldn’t the depth of the wounds be the same on both sides if there wasn’t any struggling or fight?” Billingsley asked, reading through one of the ME’s reports.
“Not entirely. You would still have deeper wounds on the right side, simply because the strength of the dominant hand would bring more force into his strikes.” He shrugged. “It’s not an exact science, but I haven’t been wrong yet when I’ve used the theory.”
He picked his tea from his desk and took a sip, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the lukewarm liquid. There wasn’t time to get more. He strolled back over to the board and stared at the pictures for a moment.
“The perp hangs his victim by her wrists before he starts the torture,” Tanner commented softly as his gaze outlined the bruises on the delicate wrists. “He doesn’t kill them where he dumps them, but he uses the same type of room or spot. Industrial warehouse with brick walls.”
Billingsley started to say something, but Tanner saw Mac stop him with a quick shake of his head. Sometimes profiling was almost like being psychic, yet Tanner’s knowledge came from studying hundreds, if not thousands of crime scene photos. He read articles and interviewed mass murderers, serial killers, and sociopaths. Each piece of research etched a scar into his soul until sometimes, at night, Tanner stared at the ceiling, wondering how much more of this he could do before he went over the edge into darkness himself.
“If you look at the photographs of their backs, you can see where their skin scraped against the brick each time he struck them. I’m sure the ME did tests to see if he could get any residue out of those abrasions.”
“Did you read any of the ME’s reports?” Mac sounded surprised at the possibility.
“Only the parts about the knife wounds. I haven’t gotten to the nonfatal injuries yet.” He stepped over to the second victim. “He starts with a shallow cut or two, teasing them with the hope that all he wants is to rape them. The perp likes the power he garners from playing with them. It’s not about sex, and he wouldn’t degrade himself by touching them in that way. With each new slice, he goes a little deeper, and as the blood runs down her body, she realizes she’s not getting out. That’s when she starts struggling.”
He blinked and turned to look at the trio of men sitting there. Billingsley and Mac stared at him, a little stunned by Tanner’s recitation of what probably happened during the murders. MacLaughlin didn’t even blink since he’d seen Tanner work before.
“What else?” He waved at Tanner to continue.
“He cuts until she passes out from blood los
s. Once she’s no longer conscious, he slices her throat and leaves her hanging until she bleeds out. After that, he waits until it’s safe to move her. At the dump site, he arranges her in the pentagram display.” Tanner rubbed his chin. “Like I mentioned before, we need to focus on the designs on their chests. That is the important part of his ritual.” Tanner shoved his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends once before he whirled and grabbed the enlarged prints of the carvings. He handed them to the trio.
“I’ve been studying these all day. There’s something inside the design, and I think that’s the most important item at the crime scene. I want to go through all the evidence collected at each scene. It might help me give you more of what to look for in a suspect.”
He went to the window and stared out at the people strolling on the sidewalk below. Most of them were aware of the killer stalking Houston’s streets, but none of them believed they could be victims. As of that moment, any woman in the city could be next.
“Have we figured out how he chooses them?” Billingsley glanced over at Mac.
“Not yet.” Mac growled low in his throat, frustration evident in the sound.
“We know he must follow them for some time before he takes them,” Tanner interjected. “The patterns of the crime scenes and the actual process of the killing speaks of an organized mind. Our killer doesn’t do this on a whim.”
Mac met his gaze with a raised eyebrow, and he smiled.
“I’m sure the investigators will come up with the connecting piece between the women before too long. Unfortunately I must admit I don’t think it’ll be soon enough to save our next victim. He’s already stalking her and will probably take her within the next two days or so.”
“Goddamn!” Billingsley shot to his feet. “We’ve got to get something on this man before we have mass panic and the women start carrying guns. We could have innocent men being shot for nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Tanner understood the captain’s anger and worry, but he also knew there was no way without some kind of miracle for them to get the identity of the killer before he took the next woman. It wasn’t optimal, but it was the realistic outlook, though Tanner would have preferred the miracle.
“We will. You just have to give your men and mine time. Very few of these types of cases go unsolved. Something will pop up, and our guy will make a mistake. Trust me, our men are the best at their jobs.” Sam spoke from where he sat in the corner of the room.
“How many more are going to die before we get him?” Billingsley paced Tanner’s office, dodging the other men and the furniture.
Tanner shrugged. “It’s hard to say. He’s gotten a true taste for this, and his need is growing. He killed one a month for four months, but the fifth only came two weeks after the last one. That’s why we’ll have another victim here soon. He’s escalating, and until we can get a witness or some other break in the case, we’ll have more deaths.”
“Fuck!” Billingsley rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I know it’s not your fault, Mac, or yours either, Wallace. It drives me crazy knowing the sick fuck walks the streets of Houston and gets off on killing women.”
“We’re with you, James.” MacLaughlin stood and clapped Billingsley on the shoulder while glancing over at Tanner and Mac. “We should leave and let them discuss things. I don’t know about you, but I have some other cases I need to look over.”
“You’re right. Mac, I’ll expect you in my office first thing tomorrow with an update.”
“Yes, sir.” Mac didn’t look too upset about pulling an all-nighter.
Of course he’d probably pulled quite a few since the murders started happening.
“Tanner, you’ll work directly with Detective Guzman until the case is solved.”
Tanner nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Mac and Tanner watched their bosses leave. After the door shut behind them, they looked at each other.
“Guess we’re having a working dinner tonight.”
“I’m pretty used to those. I tend to take my work home with me.” Tanner gestured to the pile of folders on his desk. He checked his watch. “It’s close to five. Why don’t we grab some takeout and head over to my place? We can work from there.”
“I’ll meet you there in an hour. What do you want for dinner?” Mac grabbed his hat from where he’d hung it on Tanner’s coat tree in the corner.
“Surprise me. I’m not very picky when it comes to food. Oh, except for mac ’n cheese. Ate too much of it growing up because it was cheap and easy to make. At times it was the only thing Mama could afford.” Tanner started to gather up all the files and copies of the photos. “If you hang on a minute, I’ll walk out with you.”
As they walked out of the office, he stopped to let MacLaughlin know he was working from home the rest of the night. His boss didn’t care where Tanner worked as long as the files were secure and the work got done. Mac tipped his hat toward Tanner when they parted in the parking garage.
Tanner put his briefcase on the floor of the passenger seat before walking over to his side of the car. After sliding behind the wheel, he rested his head back against the seat and breathed deep. Christ! It was going to be hard to focus on the case with Mac in the same room with him, especially after having tasted the man the night before. Yet he could be professional when he needed to be, and the case came first, no matter what Tanner’s body demanded.
Chapter Five
He watched as she strolled down the sidewalk, window-shopping like women seemed to enjoy doing. He never understood the urge, but hell, he’d never understood a woman yet. He checked his watch as she ducked into one of the shops. Yes, it was time for her daily cup of caramel latte. He’d followed her into the coffee shop one day, simply to see if she noticed.
The woman had smiled at him, but she never once acted like she spotted him following her, and that was important. To achieve his goal, she couldn’t know he stalked her. He lounged on a bench down the street from where she got her coffee. He opened the newspaper he’d bought earlier and read the article about the Knife Killer. A smirk crossed his face as he read the shit the reporter had written about him.
The police knew nothing, though reading how the rangers were taking over the murder cases from HPD did cause him to hesitate for a moment. Then he shook his worry off. It didn’t matter. They could get a psychic to work the case and he would still outthink them. It said they were bringing in a profiler from the FBI. The man wouldn’t be able to catch him. He grinned at a sudden thought. He’d write the fucking Fed. Maybe even threaten him. It would be a fun game, and it might throw the bastard off a little. He had no real interest in killing the man. He’d write a letter after he got back from trailing the woman.
He peered over the edge of the paper as she walked past him. With long blonde hair and big blue eyes, she looked good, if he went for that kind of woman. He didn’t and never had, but he understood why the other guys on the sidewalk watched her stroll past, hips swinging.
Her phone rang, and she dug it out from her purse. After standing, he folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. He straightened his suit coat before heading after her, acting like a businessman on his way home from work. Slowly weaving his way through the crowd, he came up right behind her. She chatted on the phone, ignoring everyone around her. Hell, he could pick her pocket without the woman realizing it until she got home.
Shaking his head, he eased back, not ready to make his move yet. The urgency wasn’t as strong as he needed it to be to take her. He was still running on the satisfaction from his last kill. The woman had been a fighter. It took far longer for her to stop struggling and lose consciousness than the other women. There were far more slices on her than he liked. It had looked messy when he finished laying her out in the pentagram.
He trailed her to the corner of her street. He knew what she was going to do. She would go home and change before leaving for her gym for her nightly workout. Once finished with that, she�
�d return home and stay in during the week. On the weekends, she’d work out, return to her house and change, then head to one of the clubs. He’d followed her while she went dancing with friends or on a date. He’d been tracing her routine for a week or more. Even before he took the last woman, he’d been searching for his next victim.
Continuing past her corner, he went down to the next one and dropped the act, moving quickly toward where he’d left his truck. He would come back in a day or two after finding the perfect place to take her and writing his letter. A terrible smile crossed his face at the fear he’d cause with his communication.
* * * *
Mac held the bag of barbecue in his hand as he knocked on Tanner’s door. He glanced around at the small front porch and yard. It was well kept, but the railings needed a coat of paint.
Tanner opened the door, and Mac caught his breath at the welcoming smile on Tanner’s face. He didn’t remember anyone ever looking as happy to see him as Tanner, not even his adopted father. He held up the bag of food.
“Barbecue.”
“Awesome, and you got it from Goode’s.”
“Where else would I get it from?” He grinned as he walked inside.
Laughing, Tanner led the way to the kitchen. “True. I’ll grab the plates, if you want to unpack the food. What do you want to drink?”
“Beer.”
Mac set the food on the table while Tanner set out the plates and silverware. He grabbed some paper towels and sat across from Tanner. They split the ribs and brisket between them, along with the cornbread and baked beans. Silence reigned except for an occasional moan of pleasure for the food.
With the last rib finished, Mac leaned back in his chair and groaned. “I always end up working out twice as long after eating at Goode’s.”
“It’s definitely a meal where you can feel your cholesterol climbing with each bite.” Tanner pushed away from the table and grimaced as he stood. “All I want to do right now is curl up on my couch and take a nap.”