by Anne Patrick
"Yes," he said softly. "I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before and she gave me some aspirin for my headache."
"Do you remember anything out of the ordinary during the flight, maybe a male passenger making advances towards her?"
His eyes narrowed in recollection. "There was this one guy she seemed particularly friendly with."
"Do you remember what he looked like?"
"I didn't get a very good look at him. He was seated a few rows up from me on the other side of plane. I remember he had dark hair, but that's about it."
"Did you see him hanging around the gate when you got off the plane?"
"Not that I recall, but then there were a lot of people around when I got off."
Could this be the guy they were looking for? "Think, Brad, was there anything about him that seemed familiar to you? If he is from Portland, you may have seen him around."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jo. I wish I could be of more help, but the only thing I remember about him is the color of his hair."
"Okay, you said she seemed particularly friendly toward him. How so?"
"Meaning for short flight, she spent a lot of time with him."
"How many times did you see them talking?"
"I don't know, maybe four times. And the flight only lasted forty-five minutes."
She sighed and then picked up the photo and returned it to her briefcase.
"Do you think he could be your guy?"
"It's a good possibility."
"Maybe one of the other passengers or flight attendants could give you a better description."
"Yeah maybe." She didn't bother to tell him he was the only one she'd planned on questioning. It would take weeks to track down everyone on the flight, and even then all they had to go on was the sketch the waitress was doing.
"Now that you've given your profile of the killer, does that mean your work here is done and you'll be heading back to Virginia?"
"Normally I would, but I think I'm going to stick around for awhile. There are a few things that aren't setting right with me. Besides, tomorrow night we're having a vigil for the victims and I don't want to miss that."
"You think he may show up?"
"There is always that possibility. We'll videotape it and compare it to the videotapes taken at the dumpsites. You'd be surprised at how many of these guys are stupid enough to show up at one or the other."
"You think this guy is that careless?"
"Honestly, no, but we haven't many other avenues to try."
"You said there were some things that weren't setting well with you, like what?"
"I don't think our second victim was subdued the same way as the others," Jo said.
"She wasn't drugged?"
"She was, just not in the same way. I don't think he took her from the airport like he did the others." She took a drink of her iced tea and met his gaze.
"You think he met these women at the airport?"
She gave him a brief synopsis of how the killer met the victims, took them to the lounge, drugged them, and then took them back to his place. "Stephanie Harrison was engaged to be married, though. I don't think she would have gone to the lounge with a man she'd just met. I don't care how charming he may be."
"Spouses cheat on one another all the time, Jo."
"I don't think she did, though, not according to her personal background and that of her family's."
"So how'd he get to her?"
"I don't know."
*****
It was almost three when Jo dropped Brad off at the morgue, their hour-long lunch having gone an extra hour. Though she hadn't accomplished anything, she was glad she made the trip. She at least had made amends with her old friend.
As she headed toward the Interstate her mind drifted back to their conversation about Stephanie Harrison. She thought back to her experience with the body. Luxuriously carpeted hallway. Gold plated numbers. A hotel maybe. It wouldn't be any riskier than an airport lounge.
To Jo's knowledge, no one had contacted the hotel because they'd thought she, like the others, had been taken from the airport. She pulled to the side of the road and retrieved her laptop from her briefcase. After waiting for it to boot up, she brought up her file on Stephanie Harrison. According to her notes, the woman had spent one night at the Hamlet Inn, charging her room to a credit card belonging to the company for which she worked. After pulling her map of Portland from the glove box, Jo located the address of the hotel and saw it was only a few miles from the airport.
It took almost thirty minutes in light traffic to make it to the hotel. Another ten spent waiting at the desk for a supervisor to appear. Presenting her badge, Jo peered up at the face of a nice looking gentleman with graying hair and matching mustache who identified himself as Steve Russell.
"What can I do for you, Agent McDaniels?"
Jo laid the photo of Stephanie Harrison on the counter. "This woman was a guest in your hotel on April second. I need as much information as you can give me about her stay here. Any messages she may have gotten, phone calls she received if anyone noticed anything peculiar or out of the ordinary. If she checked out in person, or just left the keys in her room."
"What's the name?" He stepped to one of three computers that lined the front desk.
"Stephanie Harrison, from Salt Lake City, Utah. She paid with a company credit card and only stayed one night but I believe was booked for several."
"Let's see…here we go. Checked in at seven-fifteen p.m., April second. Room 1209. Was booked for seven days, but the key card was turned in the following morning by the maid. Nothing was left in the room and no phone calls, or room service was charged to the room. That's about all I can tell you."
"Do you know if she had a rental car?" Since the woman had planned to stay a week, she may have rented one in lieu of taxi fare.
"Let me check with our valet service." He took the photo and disappeared around the corner.
Jo met the curious eyes of the young brunette behind the counter. "I don't suppose you were on duty that night?"
"Sorry, I was on vacation. I can check and see who was if you like."
"I'd appreciate it, thanks."
In her absence, Jo looked around the elaborately decorated lobby and imagined the rooms were just as beautiful. Guessing their rate at over a hundred dollars a night, she entertained the thought of maybe staying the night. No doubt Isaac would have a stroke when he saw the expense report, though.
"Sorry, no luck," the man said upon his return.
"Do you have a phone book I can borrow?"
"Sure." He produced the thick directory.
Jo shuffled through it and jotted down the numbers of the rental services with offices listed at the airport. She was on her second call when the young woman returned and handed her a piece of paper with a name, address and phone number. "He'll be on duty tomorrow night, or you can call or go by his house."
"Thank you." She continued down her list of phone numbers. "Is anyone staying in 1209 tonight?" she asked while on hold.
"Yes…Why? The room's been cleaned daily since Miss Harrison's stay."
Only then did Jo realize how odd the question must have seemed. "Just wondering," she said and ignored the puzzled looks that passed between them.
Thirty minutes later she learned Stephanie Harrison rented a 2015 Lexus on the second of April from Hertz Rental and that it'd been returned the following day. As luck would have it, the same woman was on duty both days. She got the name, address and phone number of the employee, thanked them for their time and hung up.
Jo smiled. 'You're good…but I'm better.'
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Mr. Russell asked.
"Do you mind if I go up and have a look around on the floor where she stayed?"
The pair exchanged curious glances.
Jo figured she might as well offer some sort of explanation to her strange requests. "I'm a behavioral profiler, and this woman was murdered the same night
she checked into this hotel. In the course of my work I try and reenact the crime so as to figure out what the killer's motives are. What I'm trying to determine right now is if she left this hotel of her own free will."
Their eyes widened. Then Mr. Russell asked, "Would you like me to notify the guests of room 1209 you'd like to see the room?"
Jo could just imagine their reaction to the news that a woman may have been abducted from their room. "That won't be necessary."
Jo took the elevator to the twelfth floor. Room 1209 was located several doors down from the elevator. She looked further up the hallway and noticed an EXIT sign posted on the wall only three rooms away. As she neared the stairwell, Jo began to feel strange—as if she was being watched. The eerie feeling grew stronger as she stood at the corner of the hallway and looked back towards the room where Stephanie Harrison had stayed.
She closed her eyes and thought about the vision she'd had when she visited the woman at the morgue and waited for the picture to form in her mind of what took place in the hallway that night. It seemed like hours before he saw the door of room 1209 open and a young woman stepped out into the hallway, an empty ice bucket in her hand.
This was it, the moment he'd been waiting for.
Her beautiful locks of blonde hair were pulled back into a ponytail that reached just below her shoulder blades. She glanced to her right, in the direction of the elevator. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he moved from his hiding place. As he approached, she turned, smiling. He smiled back and pretended to walk on past. When she started to pull the door shut he grabbed her by the waist, placing his hand over mouth at the same time. Her scream muffled, he quickly dragged her back into the room.
The next vision Jo experienced was looking up as a blurry figure came toward her. Her arms felt like lead as she raised her hands to push him away. He laughed at her feeble attempt to protect herself. Whatever was in that syringe he stuck in her neck had stolen all her strength and the tape he'd placed over her mouth, preventing her from screaming, left her at his mercy. She felt herself being pulled to her feet, and then guided to the door. As they stepped out into the hall, she saw the ice bucket she had dropped lying on the floor. He leaned her against the wall long enough to retrieve it and toss it back into the room. She watched as it landed underneath the unmade bed. She was then led on weakened legs down the hallway. Her heart began to pound faster when she saw the metal door leading to the stairwell and realized her assailant was abducting her.
Jo felt her knees growing weak and leaned against the wall for support, the vision gone. She bent over and grasped her knees and took a deep breath.
"Are you all right, ma'am?" a masculine voice asked.
She rose abruptly, then recognized the supervisor she'd spoken to earlier. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"We didn't see you leave and it's been almost an hour so I thought I better come and check on you."
"I'm glad you did." Jo glanced down the hall to room 1209. "I need in that room."
The occupants, an elderly man and woman in their early seventies, seemed more than receptive to the idea of having their room searched by an FBI agent until they witnessed Jo getting down on her hands and knees to peer underneath the bed. Their expressions of amusement quickly changed to alarm when she pulled a pair of latex gloves from her blazer and slipped them on, then retrieved the ice bucket from underneath the bed.
"I need a bag, a paper sack preferably," Jo said, rising to her feet.
Mr. Russell stepped to the wastepaper basket, and after pulling out the bag, reached inside for an unused plastic bag. "Will this do?"
"It'll have to." She waited for him to open it up so she could deposit the ice bucket inside.
"Looks like I'm going to have to have a talk with housekeeping."
"I wouldn't be too hard on them. They may have just helped to apprehend a murderer."
Jo and the man turned at the same time to meet the shocked expressions of the elderly couple.
"I'll see about getting you another room," Mr. Russell said, seemingly reading their minds.
"Sorry for the inconvenience," Jo added before stepping from the room.
As they got on the elevator together, she noticed him staring at the ice bucket dangling from her hand. "It was just a hunch," she said, suspecting he was curious as to how she'd known it was under the bed. "She was a smart woman. She wouldn't have opened the door to a perfect stranger."
He nodded, appearing receptive of her explanation. It was, after all, more convincing than the idea of someone being able to relive the events of that night through the eyes of the victim and killer.
After thanking the staff once again for their help, Jo drove to the Portland field office and dropped off the ice bucket. She asked them to run the prints and fax the results to the sheriff's office. Jo contemplated stopping at McDonalds for a double cheeseburger for the drive home, but her stomach was still upset from the spicy chicken she'd tortured it with at lunch. Instead, she stopped for a large bottle of water and another package of Rolaids.
On the drive home, Jo was haunted by the memories of Stephanie Harrison's family. It'd been over two weeks since she and Austin had met with them. She could only imagine the agony they must be going through by the lack of progress on the case. She then thought of her own family, her mother in particular, and prayed her mother would never know such pain. The loss of a husband was bad enough, but she suspected the loss of a child would be much worse.
She thought of Austin's suggestion of visiting her mother. It was time she put the past behind her, to let bygones be bygones, and with any luck, she would find out what was going on with her brother at the same time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jo was awakened the following morning by the shrill ringing of the telephone positioned next to her bed. Glancing at the neon light on her alarm clock she saw it was just six-thirty a.m. Fearing it was news of another body being found, she hesitated momentarily before answering it.
"Morning, beautiful."
She smiled in recognition of Austin's voice. "Good morning. Don't tell me you're already at the office?"
"No. Just starting to fix breakfast, thought you might like to join us?"
"Sounds good. Do I have enough time for my run and a quick shower?"
"Since Bailey isn't out of bed yet, my guess would be yes."
Jo arrived just as Bailey was coming out the door. "Running late for school?" she asked, when the teenager almost ran over her.
"No school this week, it's spring break," she shouted on her way down the steps toward a late model Camaro now parked at the curb. "Dad's in the kitchen. See you later."
Smiling, Jo entered the house without knocking.
"Bailey, you better clean up your mess before you leave," Austin said as she stepped into the kitchen.
"Too late, she's done gone." As he turned, Jo wrapped her arms around his waist. "You know you look very good in an apron," she teased glancing down at the plain white material covering his uniform.
He immediately stepped back and yanked it off, tossing it onto the counter. He then pulled her back into his arms. "I hope you're hungry, Bailey barely ate a thing."
"As a matter of fact I am." When his mouth found hers she wrapped her arms around his neck, lost in his kiss.
Seconds later, Austin gazed down at her. "I thought you were going to call me when you got back?"
"Sorry." She stepped from his embrace and moved to the table. "It was late when I got in and I was afraid you'd already gone to bed."
"That was an awfully long lunch. Should I be worried?"
"I was only with Brad a couple of hours. The rest of the time was spent retracing the steps of Stephanie Harrison the night she was killed."
His eyes narrowed on her. "I thought you were only going to Portland to ask Brad about the stewardess."
Jo took Bailey's dirty dishes to the sink and grabbed a clean plate from the drainer. "That was the original plan, but then Brad and I got to talking abo
ut the case and I remembered my earlier suspicions that she wouldn't have gone to the lounge by herself. So I did some checking around and by the end of the evening I had a set of prints that belong to the killer."
"You're kidding?"
She tossed him a smug smile and continued to the stove to fill her plate with bacon and eggs. She'd no more sat down when he joined her at the table.
"How did you manage to get a set a prints belonging to the killer?"
Jo filled him in on the events of her evening, including the experience she had at the hotel where the victim had stayed. "According to my vision, the lab should be able to pick up a good thumb and index print of our man." She pulled out the piece of paper the clerk at the hotel had given her, with the information she had gathered from the rental agency added to it, and handed it to him. "You should have one of your deputies talk to them as soon as possible, they may be able to help identify the guy."
"It's your lead, Jo. Don't you want to follow up on it?"
"No. I'm taking the day off. There are some personal matters I need to take care of."
He fetched a glass of orange juice and set it down in front of her. "I'll be at the office. If you want me to tag along, just call."
"How do you know where I'm going?"
He peered down at her, smiling. "You're going to visit your mom."
"How'd you know?"
"Because I've been praying that the Lord would guide you to do the right thing."
"That figures."
"You track down serial killers for a living, Jo, you can handle a 100-pound woman."
"You don't know my mother very well."
Austin leaned over and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You'll be fine." He'd only managed a couple of bites of his breakfast when his cell phone rang. "Garrett…okay, I'll be right there."
"You have to leave?" she asked as he hung up.
"Sorry. One of the guys called in sick so I have to go in early."
"All right." The pout which followed earned her a kiss.