by Alexa Grace
"Why?"
"I dated Abby. I found her body. Hell, if I was a cop, I'd suspect me, too."
A flicker of doubt crossed her face for a fraction of a second, but Gabe noticed it and said, "Are you wondering if you just made love with a killer?"
"No, of course not," Kaitlyn said, not sounding too convincing, even as she shook her head.
"She was murdered between midnight and two in the morning on Thursday," he explained, watching her intently. "Do you remember what was going on during that time frame?"
"Oh, God. Wednesday was the night you caught me in the Hoosier Bar and Grill. You took me to your office, and then drove me home around two in the morning on Thursday, and we talked in your truck when we got here."
"Since I was with you, it's literally impossible that I could have murdered your sister."
"Oh, Gabe. I am so sorry."
"You were right about what you said before. This conversation isn't over. I'll call you later."
Chapter Six
The small room was lined with plastic storage bins, each labeled with a name. Devan and Evan worked carefully around each one as they scrubbed the floor with bleach.
"After we get the floor done, we'll strip the bed and take the sheets to the Star's Laundromat. With enough bleach and hot water, we should get any trace of Abby Reece's DNA out of them," said Evan.
"Did you learn that from C.S.I. or Forensics Files?" asked Devan. "Man, you watch too much television."
"You should thank me. What I learn about forensics could keep us safe from Indiana's death penalty. Lethal injection has no appeal for me," Evan replied with a smirk.
"Get a grip. Our ages alone will do that. No chance of the needle until we hit eighteen. Sometimes you can be so dense."
"Who was being dense when he chose to attend the Ryder trial? Who was the dim-wit who knocked Gabriel Chase's laptop out of his arms? Do you think he won't remember the description of who did that?"
"That's enough!" Devan snapped. "It was worth the risk to get extra credit from my English teacher. The bitch was going to fail me. And Chase's laptop was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn't resist."
"Both were needless risks. You were probably the youngest person in the court gallery. Did you really think no one would remember you later?"
"Shut up, you fucking idiot."
"Who was being an idiot when he passed a note to Ryder through his attorney, who can now identify him?"
"I used a hair color spray and wore colored contacts. He will identify a kid with brown hair and brown eyes."
"Why take the risk?"
"I wanted Ryder to know that we admire him, and we're taking up where he left off," said Devan. "Don't worry. He won't know who we are. I signed the note 'Gamers.'"
"Whatever." Evan pushed the mop to clean the last inch of cement flooring. He bumped against one of the clear plastic bins and it tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents.
"Damn it!" He began picking up clothing, shoes and jewelry, stuffing them back into the container.
"Whose container is that?" asked Devan, making no effort to help his brother.
Evan checked the bin's label. "Sharon Maud. Remember her? For a skinny, drug-addicted whore, she sure was a fighter. She almost kicked your ass," Evan said, making a considerable effort not to laugh. His twin was not one to make the object of a joke. His rage was instant, his temper something to be feared.
"Hell, yes, I remember her. She's the one who blackened my eye, and I had to wear Mom's makeup for a week so no one would notice it at school. The bitch got what she deserved."
Evan remembered the beating of Sharon Maud. He'd had to pull his brother off of her dead body, which Devan had beaten beyond recognition. It was an ugly memory he'd like to forget. He preferred his killings to be less-messy, no blood at all, if possible.
To avoid one of his brother's tantrums, Evan changed the subject. "Let's get on your laptop and look for our next girlfriend."
"Girlfriend? Is that what you're calling them? What the fuck have I told you about targets? They're off-limits. If I catch you making puppy eyes at another target, like you did Abby Reece, I'll beat you until you can't stand up."
"Sorry, Devan. Poor choice of words," Evan responded. Eager to redirect his brother's focus, he asked, "Where's your laptop?"
Heading for a couple of folding chairs near the door, Devan sat down on one of them, pulled the portable computer onto his lap, and turned it on.
Evan joined him and watched as the system found a wireless network. Soon they were on Facebook.
"We need a victim who will cause such a county uproar that it will be hard for Sheriff Chase to contain." Devan said.
"I have an idea. Go to Abby Reece's page and pull up her friends."
"What for? We're done with her."
"Humor me. Pull up her friends."
Soon the laptop screen filled with names and photos of Abby's friends. Evan pointed to a photo at the center of the page. "Click on this one."
"I'm looking. So what?" Devan became increasingly frustrated and angry.
"Calm down and really look at her."
"Kaitlyn Reece? Are you fucking kidding me? Who said this game was a family affair? She's Abby's sister, you idiot."
"C'mon. Doesn't she look familiar?"
"Yeah, she resembles her sister but not much. She looks like that actress on Friends. What are you getting at?"
"She's the stacked blonde we saw going in and out of Gabriel Chase's office building."
"So what? She may have hired him to look for her sister."
"Yeah, that's possible. But what if they're involved? You know, dating, having sex, and so on. Can you imagine how freaked out he'd be if we snatched another one of his girlfriends? And if he's freaked out, his sheriff and detective brothers would be, too."
Devan leaned back in his chair and gave the idea consideration.
"C'mon. This could be a blast," Evan urged.
"No. The answer is no. Making her a target now doesn't work. We need to kick the game up a notch by targeting someone who's important from Morel. We need to snatch a local woman whose disappearance and murder will set this county on fire, upping the pressure on the sheriff. Let's add some excitement to this game, so we can watch the media go nuts. We can sit back and enjoy every second."
"So why wouldn't Kaitlyn Reece inspire this kind of county hysteria?"
"Because she just wouldn't. Drop it, Evan! Drop it." Devan's scowling face reddened as he searched Facebook. After a couple of minutes, he paused. "What's the name of that beauty queen who's from Morel? Remember how Mother was raving about her?"
"What's so special about a beauty queen?"
"She's the first African-American beauty queen from Shawnee County. I can't believe you don't remember Mother gushing about how pretty and smart she is. According to Mother, she's like the Shawnee County sweetheart of all time."
"If she's so popular, why have I never heard of her? Why can't you even remember her name?" Evan knew better than to push his brother, but couldn't resist.
"Stop being such an ass-hat. I'll remember. Give me a second. I know her name starts with a 'D.'" He sat quietly for a moment, and then nearly jumped out of his chair. "It's Destiny. I know it is. Destiny Cooke." In no time, Devan pulled up Destiny Cooke's Facebook page. "Look at her in this picture wearing her pageant crown. She's perfect."
"Oh, yeah? Read this posting. She's about to get married to an Indiana State Police Trooper. Still think she's perfect?"
"Just adds to the challenge. I love a good challenge, especially when it comes to one of our games."
<><><>
With Dr. Richard Anderson at the wheel, Carly sat quietly, thinking of how she'd approach Jim Ryder to get the most relevant information from him. Anderson turned off U.S. Route 136 and onto a country road that ran through farmland on either side of the road. She had no idea where they were as they headed to the secret location where the FBI was holding Jim Ryder.
&
nbsp; Anderson broke the silence. "The Bureau's interest in Jim Ryder is two-fold. First, we want to find out if there are additional victims. If so, where are they buried or discarded? We also want to study him, learn all we can about his personality, his background, and development. When and why did he start killing?"
"What have you discovered so far, Dr. Anderson?"
"Please, call me 'Richard,'" he said, pausing as he passed a slow-moving car. "Ryder's crimes exhibit the stages many serial killers display," he continued. "Fantasy, stalking, abduction, killing, and disposal."
"I agree," said Carly. "The only difference between Ryder and the more infamous serial killers like Bundy and Ridgway is that he did his stalking online."
"Don't forget John Robinson in Kansas, who in the early nineties roamed social networking sites, offering jobs, and a BDSM experience to his victims if they'd join him in Kansas —"
"Victims who were later found in chemical drums at his farm and in a storage facility," Carly interrupted.
"You know the case?"
"Yes, and there are similarities between Robinson's and Ryder's killings," Carly admitted, and then changed the subject. "Have you received any valuable information from Ryder about his background?"
"Not directly. He refuses to talk to any of the agents or to me. Once we had a sample of his DNA, we ran it through CODIS and got a hit from a cold case in Francis, Utah, population 919."
"Ryder is connected to a cold case in Utah?" Carly asked with disbelief. She'd tried getting more information about Ryder's background from the deputies who worked with him. But none of them talked to Ryder about anything but day-to-day activities, gossip, etc. "Tell me more about the cold case."
"It seems Ryder's real name is Jim Dawson. He and his sister, Erin, grew up in Francis. It's such a small town, the agent we sent there had no problem getting information from residents who knew them."
"What did he have to do with the cold case?"
"His parents were found dead in their bedrooms from multiple knife wounds. I've seen the crime scene photos, and it was a horrific act. The early responders looked everywhere for Jim and Erin, but they were gone. The detective assigned to the case didn't know if the killer had abducted the two, or if they were the killers."
"What did the agent find out about their childhood?"
"The father was the town drunk, and the mother, a shy, timid woman, didn't work outside the home. Neighbors reported that they heard screaming from the house when the father was drunk and beat the wife and both kids. According to Child Protective Services, nothing is in their records that suggest anyone reported the abuse."
"Neighbors don't want to get involved, so the abuse continues," Carly commented.
"After the parents' murder, the Dawson teens disappeared off the face of the earth. Later, the car Jim Dawson drove was found abandoned in Indiana. With new identities, Jim and Erin Ryder started their new lives in Shawnee County, working odd jobs to support themselves. They both earned GEDs, and Jim eventually graduated from the Police Academy to become a deputy for Shawnee County."
Thirty minutes later, Anderson turned onto a long gravel driveway leading to a farmhouse, a weathered barn, and several huge, arched steel buildings. Doors were open on two of the steel structures. One housed a single engine airplane; another was filled with bales of hay from top-to-bottom. Anderson pulled up and parked in front of the third building, where several agents guarded a door. Carly immediately recognized Brody's SUV parked nearby, and wondered why he hadn't mentioned he'd be here today.
"Sheriff Chase is here?"
"Yes, he's questioning Ryder after you finish your interview with him. Sheriff Chase is going to show Ryder a map of Shawnee County to see if Ryder will tell him where additional victims are buried."
"Has Ryder admitted there are additional victims?" asked Carly.
"Yes, but he refuses to give any specifics. We hope you can help in that area."
Two armed agents approached either side of the car. Recognizing Dr. Anderson, they focused their attention on Carly.
"Good morning, sir. I see you have a guest," said one of the agents, peering into their vehicle, his hand resting on the gun holstered at his side.
"This is Special Agent Stone. She's here to interview Mr. Ryder."
"May I see your identification?"
Carly and Dr. Anderson handed their Bureau identification to the agents, who reviewed each card, then opened the car doors and led them inside the building. Though it looked like a pole barn from the outside, there were offices and several cubicles inside.
Leading them down a long hallway, one of the agents said to Carly, "Special Agent in Charge Isley is waiting for you."
Hearing the name, Carly tensed. Surely there was another agent in the Bureau with last name 'Isley.' He couldn't be the same man with whom she'd had an affair when they both worked in the Tampa field office. Saying nothing, she kept moving.
They hadn't walked far when she spotted Brody standing before an office and talking to whoever was inside. She was several feet away when Sam Isley entered the hallway from the office, and her stomach dropped to the floor. Both men stared at her as she approached.
"Dr. Anderson," said Isley. "We've brewed a fresh pot of coffee for you, sir."
Anderson smiled, heartily shook Isley's extended hand, and then darted into what looked like a break room across the hall.
Isley turned to Carly and warmly greeted her, "It's good to see you, Carly."
Coldly shaking his hand, she turned to Brody. "Good morning, Sheriff."
Brody told her good morning as if it were the first time he'd seen her that day. He gave no indication she had awakened in bed next to him that morning, or that they'd made love the night before.
To Isley, she said, "I was surprised to hear that you're heading this project. Isn't it a bit unusual for the Bureau to assign a special agent in charge of an Indiana project from their Tampa field office?"
"I'm assigned to the Indianapolis field office now. I moved from Tampa a couple of months ago," Isley said, inching intimately close to her, prompting her to step back.
Carly couldn't look at him without remembering how much she used to care about him. That was before she caught him screwing her trainee in his office, on his desk. The anger and pain were still very real, and she detested him for it. Had he succeeded in destroying her trust of any other men, as Brody suspected? She couldn't allow Isley to have that kind of control over her life. Not if she wanted a future with Brody.
Brody's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I wasn't aware that Brad Roth was no longer heading the Indy office." A muscle flicked angrily at Brody's jaw as he glared at the special agent in charge.
"I took over last month. Brad accepted a position with the Bureau's field office in Denver to be closer to his ex-wife and kids."
If there was one thing Carly didn't need as she prepared to interview Ryder, it was the thoughts and emotions now spinning in her brain. Why would Sam Isley make a lateral career move to a position in Indiana, and leave his cushy assignment in Florida? If he made the decision to be closer to her, he was in for an epic disappointment. Sam Isley was her past. Brody Chase is her future.
Frowning at Isley, she asked, "Where is Jim Ryder? Is he ready for my interview?"
"Follow me."
Isley took Carly and Brody to an observation room where Dr. Anderson sat at a conference table, next to a woman she didn't recognize, watching Jim Ryder on a huge, flat screen monitor mounted on the wall.
SAC Isley quickly made introductions. "Sitting next to Dr. Anderson is Special Agent Susan Black from our field office in D.C. Susan is an interrogation analyst, who will advise us on Ryder's truthfulness in answering any given question." Special Agent Black, who appeared to be a very serious woman, simply nodded. "This is Special Agent Carly Stone, who will be interviewing Mr. Ryder first this morning. Standing next to her is Sheriff Brody Chase, whose jurisdiction is Shawnee County, where Mr. Ryder committed his murders and was c
aptured. The victims we know about were all found in the sheriff's county. He will question Mr. Ryder immediately after Special Agent Stone."
"Mr. Ryder appears to be annoyed and a little agitated this morning," Dr. Anderson observed, referring to the closed-circuit television. "I'm told he's been sitting in the interview room for close to twenty minutes."
"Ryder perceives himself as an important person, and doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"I agree," said Dr. Anderson. "Like most sociopaths, our Mr. Ryder is quite the narcissist, pumped up with self-importance."