by Ellie Marney
Maybe the need for control is the key? Her own desire for control is exaggerated, she knows, but that kernel of desire is in every teen. In what ways did the Butcher’s victims seek to control their own worlds?
She goes back to their families, their hangouts, and finally their medical histories. Bell is packing file papers into the boxes he knocked over yesterday. For a while, the only sound is Bell sighing over the paper mess, with a brief interruption when Emma asks him to pass her the phone.
After a few calls, Emma makes a noise.
On his knees on the floor, Bell squints up at her. “You got something there?”
Her own scribbled notes are starting to blur in front of her. “Maybe. A few crumbs, I don’t know.”
“Crumbs can leave a mark.” They know that now, from Linda Brown.
Emma spreads out her pages. “Seven teenage victims. They all had different doctors. But at least five of the seven consulted another clinic, and saw someone different from their primary doctor, in the last six months. Lamar Davis went to the University of Mary Washington student clinic. Sienna Ramirez had an appointment last February at an upstate medical center. They each saw alternative doctors on occasion.”
“For emergency treatment?” Bell clambers up and dusts off his chinos.
“I’m thinking for something personal—sexual health tests or birth control, maybe. Something they didn’t want to get back to their parents through a family doctor.”
Bell props his hand on the back of her chair as he examines her notes. “Can we narrow down which practitioners they saw?”
“We only have access to partial records. But of the alternative clinics we know about, I found one other detail—they all used the same MT service.” She looks up at him. “Medical technicians take blood samples, Bell.”
“What?” He seems less tousled now, more directed. “Lewis, that’s no crumb, that’s big. That’s the first real point of commonality we’ve found. Which medical technicians are on the service register?”
“It’s a long list. Sixty-two med techs, who were all rotated around half of Virginia.”
Bell chews his lip. “The stakeout yesterday… I don’t have a transcript, but Cooper said something. He said the Butcher knew the hospital.”
“Fairfax?”
“Yeah.” Bell’s mind is working, his eyes moving across her notes. “Try something for me. Cross-check the medical technicians on the service register against records from Fairfax. How many of them worked or still work at the hospital?”
Another series of phone calls, to dig up the information that the FBI has already gathered from Fairfax, but it gets results. When Emma taps her pen to get his attention, Bell’s just finished hauling the last file box back into place.
“Did that help?”
She nods slowly.
“How many also worked at the hospital?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve.” He comes forward fast. “Show me.”
Emma’s written out the names she circled from her original list on a fresh sheet of paper. Bell’s hand shakes a little as he holds it up.
“I already crossed out the female names,” Emma says. “With them, it was fourteen.”
Bell reads aloud. “Robert Fortescue, Raffaele Carozza, Anthony Hoyt, John Frankel… Lewis, the Butcher could be on this list.”
“Maybe.” She takes a steadying breath—she doesn’t want to give in to excitement yet.
“So who do we hand this to? Do we trust Martino?”
“Martino, or maybe Cooper’s second-in-command, Howard Carter.” Every agent they contact is a question mark, though. How far does Raymond’s influence extend? “Whoever we tell, we’ll have to hope they’ll do something useful with it.”
“We need to go see Betty to find out if Martino’s around, or at least get his phone contact,” Bell says. “You return your lanyard yet?”
“No.”
“Then come on.”
They leave the Cool Room and walk back through the gerbil run. Even though Bell is taller, they keep step with each other. It’s one of the things about being around him that Emma’s going to miss.
“Are you flying out tomorrow?”
Bell shakes his head. “Ticket’s booked for Monday morning, I’ll have to stay off base tomorrow night, but I’ll find someplace near Washington National. How about you?”
“Long drive ahead.” She bites her lip. “I was going to leave after lunch tomorrow.”
“Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“I won’t.”
Bell chuckles. “I know you want to. Don’t bullshit me.” When Emma glances over, he peers at her. “Seriously—don’t just disappear. I’ll be here or in my dorm.”
“Okay, I’ll find you.” The look between them feels like a promise. Emma tears her eyes away as they go through the door into the Behavioral Science foyer and up to the reception desk. “Hi, Betty.”
“Good…” Betty checks her watch. “… afternoon. How can I help you?”
Bell allows his lanyard and Emma’s to pool together on the desk. “The Section Chief said we’d be delisted after tomorrow, so we’ve been instructed to return our lanyards and IDs to Behavioral Science. Is there anything we need to sign?”
“There’s nothing you need to sign, and the Section Chief is incorrect,” Betty pronounces. She looks radiant today, in emerald-green wool boucle. “Identification invalidation can only be completed during a standard business day. Your identification will remain valid until midnight on Monday evening.”
“So we have another forty-eight hours?” Emma asks.
Betty checks her watch again. “Technically, you have fifty-nine hours.”
“That’s… that’s great.” It means Bell can stay on base tomorrow night. It also means they’re still technically FBI until Monday. Emma exchanges a glance with Bell at the implications. “Betty, can I ask one last favor? We’d like to say goodbye to Agent Martino, but we don’t have his contact number.”
Betty picks through her Rolodex, writes Martino’s contact down on a card. “There you are. And Agent Carter has been engaged with work in Berryville, but he’s due to arrive back Monday morning. I took the liberty of suggesting that you would like to speak with him, when he arrives.”
“Betty, thank you.” Bell leans to shake Betty’s hand. After a startled moment, she allows it. “We really appreciate everything you’ve done while we’ve been here.”
Betty straightens. “It’s been a pleasure working with you. And I wanted to say that Agent Cooper…” Her eyes get a little bright and she swallows. “Agent Cooper was a good man, and he put a lot of store in you. In both of you. I just thought you should know.”
Emma finds her throat suddenly has a frog in it. “Thank you, Betty. That means a lot.”
She and Bell walk out of Behavioral Science together, and Emma’s not sure whose face is more surprised.
“Now what?” Bell asks.
“We have extra time.” Emma’s confused about what to do with it, but they have it, and strangely enough, she’s grateful. “And we need to call Martino.”
“I’ll do that.” He steers them toward the elevators. “You’ve gotta do something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Eat.” He hits the button. “You have breakfast?”
“No, but I—”
“And I know you didn’t have lunch, because I’ve been in the office with you for the last three hours.”
“That’s not—”
“Lewis, you’ve lost about ten pounds since you arrived on base, and there wasn’t that much of you to begin with.” He holds the elevator door for her. “Go up to the cafeteria and get something. Get me a coffee while you’re at it. You’ve done all the legwork, now let me do the phone schmoozing.”
Emma knows she should feel indignant, but she can’t hold on to it. As the elevator arrows upward, she thinks about the MT list. Then she mentally plans her trip back to Apple Creek, which roads to take. T
hinking about both these things hurts less than thinking about saying goodbye to Bell.
She grabs a sandwich and two coffees and returns the way she came. Her brain won’t let her be, though.
She’s going to miss Bell. Beyond being partners for the interviews, they’ve got something. They’ve made a connection. She and Bell look out for each other—she knows he’s got her back.
Tucking the plastic-covered sandwich under her arm and juggling the coffees, she opens the door to the office. Bell is occupying the chair she vacated, sitting sideways at the desk, legs stretched out. He has one hand still on the phone receiver, like he just put it down. She closes the door with her foot and he looks over—somehow she knows instantly that something is wrong.
“What is it?”
“I just spoke to Martino, explained about the MT list. He said he’ll chase it. But he also told me that Raymond’s putting an operation together.” He holds out a hand. “Give me the coffee first, because you might drop it on the floor when I tell you about this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
You got it?”
Bell nods, chafes his fingers. “Wouldn’t be here otherwise. Walk back with me.”
It’s Sunday morning, and Emma can hear the sound of birds nearby. She and Bell move briskly through the big pines, cutting off the main track and heading for the sunny place where the trees change. Oaks signal that the Quantico buildings are close.
Bell is in sweats—Emma guesses he was working the bag until Betty sent word. He’s interrupted what might be her last chance to run the Yellow Brick Road so they can both find out how much shit they’re in with Raymond’s ham-fisted “operation.”
“Did Martino call again with more information?”
“Nope. But he sent a message through Betty. Apparently, Raymond served Dr. Scott with an injunction to make sure she complies with the operation at the asylum.”
“So this whole thing is really happening.”
“Yep. It’s crazy, but it’s happening.”
“Is Raymond planning to booby-trap the entire asylum?”
“That was probably his original idea, but no.” Bell ushers her toward the path that leads to the entry to the bunker-style building substructure. “Just Gutmunsson’s part of it.”
“What the actual fuck.”
“That’s pretty much what I said to Martino on the phone yesterday. Come on.” He opens the door for her.
They can take the stairs to the basement from here. The corridor is like a refrigerator and the inside of the Cool Room is worse. Emma hunches to keep warm.
Bell opens out his copy of this morning’s Washington Post. “There it is.”
Emma still barely believes it. But Bell has the relevant item circled in ballpoint, so there’s no denying it. It’s a personal ad from Simon Gutmunsson, the key component of Raymond’s plan to trap the Butcher.
She reads the ad aloud:
“Dearest Siegfried,
“Are you safe? Forces swirl around me and, I suspect, my correspondence. I fear for your liberty. If you are yet unconfined, I will rejoice. Reply here to reassure me.…”
“Jesus.” Bell makes a face. “Does Gutmunsson really talk like that?”
“No.” Emma backpedals. “Kind of. It doesn’t matter, it’s the persona he uses when writing to this guy. He’s being pretty smart about it—he wants the Butcher to know he didn’t cooperate willingly with the Annandale stakeout. Wait, let me read the rest—
“Or if your offer still stands, we might have a professional exchange this evening. A visit from you would calm my heart and assuage my concerns. But time is fleeting—I’ve been informed my tenure here is at an end. Whatever may divide us, I will always look back on our connection fondly. Please remember I am your most sincere,
Artist.”
She looks up at Bell. “Simon’s inviting the Butcher to St. Elizabeths and offering to make a donation. That’s the ‘something he can’t refuse’ that Martino mentioned to you on the phone. What the hell, Bell?”
“I hear you.” Bell, still frowning at the ad, wipes newsprint off his fingers onto his T-shirt without seeming to realize.
She checks the ad again. “Another thing—the wording makes it sound like Simon’s being transferred out of St. Elizabeths. Is this true?”
“Maybe. Can Raymond authorize that?”
“I guess so.” Emma tucks her fingers in her armpits. “But how did Raymond get Simon to agree to this? To offer himself as bait?”
“Cooper said Raymond prefers to use a stick than a carrot. He must’ve explicitly threatened Kristin.”
“I can’t believe Simon would do this. Let himself be used like this.”
“I don’t get it either. But he cares about his sister. She might be the only person he’s ever cared about.”
“And having the FBI inside St. Elizabeths is a change in the asylum’s routine.” Emma stares, unseeing, at the newsprint stain on Bell’s T-shirt. “Simon’s motivated by boredom, remember? So maybe…”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She slides a hand free to rub her forehead. “All I know is that, because of his nature and his previous escape attempts, there are really specific procedures around how Simon is handled at St. Elizabeths. If the FBI comes in and takes over, those procedures might be altered. Weakened.”
Bell is suddenly very serious. “You think Gutmunsson’s planning another escape attempt?”
“Simon never does anything without thinking about his own self-interest. If he’s agreed to cooperate with Raymond, to act as bait, it’s because he thinks he can work it to his own advantage.”
“That’s scary.”
“Yes.”
“Then we should say something. We could ask Martino to contact Howard Carter—the guy flies in tomorrow morning.”
“That doesn’t help us. Simon’s ad says this evening. Whatever’s happening at St. Elizabeths is happening tonight.”
Emma is starting to shiver, and she’s not sure if it’s just because of the cold. Bell is warm beside her; his gaze is back on the newspaper, his bottom lip indented between his teeth. He smells of sweat and the vinyl of the gym mats and, underneath that, of soap. Emma pulls her awareness away. They have to figure this out and they’re running out of time.
“What the hell do we do now?” Bell asks.
First steps, Emma thinks. They can only start with first steps. What would Cooper do in this situation? “Okay, let’s contact Linda Brown about the ad. I don’t trust Simon not to include something in there we’re not seeing, and she could give us advice.”
“It’s Sunday—but I’ve got Gerry Westfall’s number, I can call to find her.”
“That would be great.” She backs toward the door. “I’m going to hit the shower before I freeze to death. And you should go change, too. Back here in twenty?”
“Got it.” Bell reaches for the phone.
Emma dashes to the elevators, her mind racing fast. She and Bell tried to reason out Raymond’s thinking last night, to little effect. Does Raymond just not realize the bigger threat? Yes, catching the Butcher is critical, but he’s a pale shadow of what Simon Gutmunsson could become if he somehow got loose during the Butcher’s arrest.…
After a hot shower, she pulls on a jacket over her clean T-shirt and jeans. Then she packs up her room; by digging further into the details of Raymond’s asylum operation, she and Bell could end up being kicked off the base, “standard business day” or not. She sets her suitcase near the door and goes back to the office.
“Okay,” Bell says as she enters. “Linda Brown is at home, but Westfall’s calling her there. Take this.”
Bell is back in his dark suit, his hair damp. He offers her a hot mug and a pastry, and Emma accepts them both.
“I think we should contact Kristin at Chesterfield,” he says. “We owe it to her to warn her about this.”
“Yep.” Emma speaks around a mouthful, swallows. “But Raymond has already set things in motion.”
>
Bell throws a hand up. “Then we should call Howard Carter in Berryville!”
“And say what?” Emma swipes crumbs off her front. “It’s all going to sound like alarmism over the phone. I’m sure Raymond’s plan looks solid on the surface. It’s only because we know Raymond, know the case, know Simon, that we can see the flaws.”
Bell’s expression is glum. “Maybe the Butcher won’t show.”
“He’ll show.”
“But he has to know this is a trap. The letter stakeout, now the personal ad and the asylum… Why the hell would he bite?”
“Don’t underestimate his drives. For him, the blood is everything. Simon’s offer to donate would be a huge incentive. And if Simon is being transferred…” Emma sets down her mug and pastry. “The Butcher outsmarted the FBI in Annandale. He might think he can do it again. He’ll be wary, but he’ll have his own plan.”
“How the hell is Raymond even going to stake out the asylum?” Bell, lost in thought.
“The center building is a kind of isolation area.… Look, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that instead of Scott and Pradeep, there’ll be FBI agents taking care of Simon. Let’s contact Scott, try to find out more details.” Emma peers up at Bell. “Have you packed yet?”
“What? No, not yet.”
“Maybe go do that. If this all goes south, you might want to have everything ready for a quick exit.”
A knock comes on the door. It’s Betty, holding a small black envelope.
“These are the details for Agent Cooper’s funeral.” She hands Bell the envelope. “It’s tomorrow, at one PM. While only family and close acquaintances will be at the burial and the wake, the memorial service is open to everybody. I thought you might like to attend.”