Gabriel (Guardian Defenders Book 1)

by Kris Michaels

  Gabriel crossed his arms and watched Olsen as he held a sheet of paper, found a location on the map, and inserted another pin. He turned to grab the thread spool and noticed that he was no longer alone.

  “Tell me what you have.” Gabriel nodded to the wall.

  “A theory.” Olsen shrugged.

  “He's modest. What we have here is a stroke of brilliance.” Harvey sat down on one of two chairs that sat facing the wall and waved at Olsen. “It’s your brainchild, tell him.”

  Olsen placed the sheet of paper in his hand on a bookshelf that held stacks of folders. “Well, I was plotting the murders as they came in. After a while, a pattern started to form. There are some that don't fit the pattern. They are annotated by the white tacks. The rest...” He looked at the map and puffed up his cheeks with air before he shook his head. “If what I believe is true, the killer is based out of New Orleans.”

  Gabriel sat down and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and stared at the board. “Break it down for me.”

  Harvey jumped up from his seat. “Hold on. I'm getting another chair, this could take a hot minute.”

  Olsen glanced back at the board. “That is too many lives cut short.”

  “One life lost is too many.” Gabriel stared at the graphic representation of the bastard's work.

  “Isn't that the truth.” Harvey banged in the open doorway with a metal chair and kicked the door shut behind him. He plopped into the chair he'd retrieved and motioned at Olsen to continue.

  Olsen turned to look at the map again and rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm a visual learner, always have been, so I started this map. I needed to see where the crimes were committed so I could conceptualize it. Only, as I progressed, I noticed a pattern. With the exception of Miss Brenner's case and four others, the murders happened within an arc of New Orleans. See?” He splayed his hand in an arc that tracked from Texas to the Florida Panhandle and up into Oklahoma, Arkansas, the lower corner of Missouri, Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. The four white tacks were located in Colorado, Kansas, Illinois, and Kentucky.

  Gabriel nodded. “All right, but what makes you think the killer is based here?”

  “Well, I didn't until Harvey asked how far each location was from New Orleans. That question started me plotting miles away from the city. Then I put the day of the week each murder was committed.”

  “Tell him how you did that.” Harvey snickered.

  “I used a math theory called the Doomsday Algorithm. It isn't hard to do after you get the hang of it.”

  Harvey snorted. “Yeah, he had a notebook full of calculations. But...” Harvey raised his eyebrow at Olsen.

  “But, the day of the week is annotated on most of the reports.” Olsen flipped his partner off. “Anyway, there is a pattern. For the two years after Brenner's attack, the murders occurred for the most part on Saturdays and Sundays. Those are the ones in black thread.”

  “For the most part?” Gabriel studied the maps.

  Olsen nodded and glanced at the map. “Yeah, there were a couple that were on Mondays, and that threw us off for a bit.”

  “Until we realized those Monday murders fell on holidays,” Harvey clarified.

  Gabriel turned and stared at the map as it dawned on him. “The killer had a steady job.”

  Harvey shook his head. “Has, not had, we think.”

  Olsen pointed to the map and the blue tacks and thread. “Then after that two-year period, for the next thirty months, the murders all occur on Thursday and Friday. Each murder on a Friday is closer to the city. Just like each Sunday and Monday murders were closer to the city unless the Sunday was during a holiday weekend. If it is a holiday weekend, the Sunday killings are farther away from the city.” He traced three longer black threads indicating the holiday murders.

  “No holiday murders when the days changed?” Gabriel followed the arc and noticed the shorter distances now that Olsen had mentioned it.

  “No. These are all within driving time from the city. All in very rural areas; and we found something else. There is a specific time interval between each murder.”

  Harvey cleared his throat. “We think he was casing his next victim or at least the location.”

  “And the green thread?”

  “The last, as you can see, are all very close to the city. The days are all over the map, as if he no longer has set days off and being away from the city for any length of time has become a hardship. After this point all the murders occur in Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, and Texas, all less than a day's drive away.” Olsen sat down as he finished.

  Harvey cleared his throat and nodded at the board once Gabriel looked at him. “The murders in green are well thought out. He didn't go back to the same state for at least a year and never in the same county. The counties he chose were always rural with a depressed economy and lack of funding for law enforcement.”

  “Okay. So, tell me your theories based on what you have in front of you.” Gabriel looked from Olsen to Harvey.

  “My gut says the murderer is a cop or, at a minimum, a person who has knowledge of how murders are reported. Just like we brainstormed before. This bolsters that theory.” Harvey said, and Olsen nodded in agreement.

  Gabriel drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. This had been a theory going in, but having it prove true sucked. “So, we are looking for a cop, or law enforcement type officer, first responder, or someone connected to law enforcement, based somewhere in the New Orleans area. What did your people in Washington say?”

  “I haven't briefed this up the chain yet.” Olsen nodded to Harvey. “We think it’s best if we keep this close to the vest. Mr. Southerland gave us carte blanche to work this case any way we saw fit as long as you agreed with our methods.”

  “All right, the next step will be investigating what personnel in New Orleans’ law enforcement and related areas had days off that correspond to our murders—and then checking their individual alibis.” Gabriel rubbed his jaw as he stared sightlessly at the map in front of him. One needle, ten fucking haystacks.

  “Yeah, that’s what we thought. Those computer people you have coming in, perhaps we could focus their search?” Harvey nodded as he spoke.

  “Do you have room here for them? I don't want anyone at the Mayor's office getting wind of what we are looking for.” Leaks happened everywhere, and Harvey and Olsen were correct. If the serial killer was someone in law enforcement, they needed to hold this close. Very fucking close.

  “We can access the pay records for the city employees through the archives using the IRS. Audits happen all the time, and this way, there are no alarms going off. We can start with the Greater New Orleans Area, pull the original time sheets and discount any who don't fall into the pattern we are looking for. Those that do, we can add to your people's computer search and see what spits out.” Olsen ran his hand through his hair and shook his head again.

  “You'll need help.”

  “Yeah, but not for a week or so. It will take time to get the records and figure out a method to sort the timesheets. Between the two of us, and your people from D.C., we should be okay, at least until the data entry starts.”

  Gabriel stood up and extended his hand to Olsen. The man stood and took the proffered hand. “I want to thank you.” He turned and extended the same handshake to Harvey. “This is damn good work. I'll make sure Southerland knows how invaluable you've been.”

  “With all due respect, sir, we'd rather you offer us those jobs. Working on this case has been hard as hell, but we are making a difference here. We agreed this morning. If we could do this, full time, all the long nights and vending machine meals would be worth it.” Olsen nodded, agreeing with Harvey when Gabriel looked at first the one man and then the other.

  “Done. I'm working hard to set up the domestic side of operations. There probably won't be cases like this right away, but I'll gladly ask my boss to bring you on and help set us up.”

  “I'll wait. I'm not a
nxious to leave the area. I've got a kid in elementary school. A couple more years down here won't bother me. Harvey is chomping at the bit, though.”

  “Damn straight. I'm not from down here, and I'd love to go back to the east coast, but not before we get this bastard. I'm thinking the follow through on this case could be extensive.” Harvey nodded at the board. “That map represents forty-two cases over a six-year period that we believed are connected. Seven murders a year. Not counting the three murders in the last month, all originating here at the heart of the city. The shrinks in D.C. believe finding Brenner again may have been an accident, but it pushed our guy over the edge, accelerated the bastard.” Harvey waved at the New Orleans PD folders on the small table beside the shelf where the other files sat.

  “Unfortunately, he hasn't made a mistake yet. Delacroix's last report indicated nobody saw when he left the bodies. There are no traffic or security cameras in that area.”

  “Proof he knows the area,” Olsen added. “Where is Delacroix?”

  “He had to work on a previous case. He won't be here today, and tomorrow is questionable. Why? Do you need him for something? I can send over one of my guys if you need someone to assist.”

  “No, like I said, I think we are good until we get the documents from the IRS. The reason I asked, is Delacroix is PD. We don't need him saying anything, even in a casual mention, you know what I mean?” Harvey grimaced as he spoke. “Remí is a good guy, but if we can limit the number aware of the direction of our investigation...”

  Gabriel nodded. “I don't think Delacroix has loose lips, but we can wait to bring him in until we are ready. We'll keep this among us, King, and my computer people until then. I have enough work to keep Remí busy. St. James is in charge of getting my computer specialists set up. I'll send him over. The computer techs will report here. That will separate the two operations, so there is no co-mingling of information. Sound good?”

  Both of the agents nodded. Harvey snorted, “That Cajun cop is going to be hotter than a bayou baked gator in the middle of July when he finds out he was doing busy work instead of working this lead.”

  “Yeah, it sucks to be Delacroix. After this is over, we can take him out and get him shitfaced drunk and swap war stories. He'll get over it.” Olsen chuckled and gazed at the board again.

  “We are getting closer. You two work this and tell me what you need. Whatever it takes, I'll get it for you. St. James will be here this afternoon. Again, the fewer who know what we are doing, the better. You two, King and me. The computer techs are to be isolated; they've been vetted, and I trust them, but just like with Remí, I'm not going to risk a stray comment. I'll check in by phone every morning. If you hit pay dirt, page me and preface your number with a 911. This was damn good work.”

  Gabriel shook each agent's hand again and headed back to the Longline building. For the first time in six years, he sensed the case was moving forward. It was time to stop that bastard, for good.

  Chapter 21

  Anna drifted into Gabriel's apartment and snagged a bottle of red wine since her stash had whittled away to nothing. She'd need to go out and get some more, but not tonight. The day had been emotional for Jackie, but because she was so heartbroken for her friend, she felt like she'd been through the wringer, too.

  Jackie’s therapist was good, but the devastation he left in his wake after every session was hard to deal with for Jackie, Deacon and, yes, even her. She bled inside when her friend hurt. The emotional wounds that Jackie endured this time around were twice as raw because, according to the therapist, Jackie had never properly dealt with issues the first incident had caused.

  Anna inserted the corkscrew into the top of the bottle after cutting the foil off the top. She felt useless and frustrated because God knew she wanted to help her friend, but Jackie’s meds could be administered by anyone. When she mentioned the possibility of her leaving to Deacon the man adamantly stated that he and Jackie would be a mess without her. So, that settled it. She would stay. She could have Gabriel in her life for a little bit longer. She pulled the cork out of the bottle and twisted it off the corkscrew.

  She glanced around for a glass as she spoke to the empty room, “Where would you be if you were a wine glass? Oh, hello, darling.”

  She bent down, disappearing under the bar to grab a wine glass when she heard the front door to Gabriel's apartment open. Fisting the stem of the goblet she spoke into the bar, talking louder than normal so he’d hear her, “You're home early!”

  With the wine glass held in one hand, she popped up, raised the glass victoriously, and grinned from ear to ear. Only the smile faltered immediately.

  “What in the fuck are you doing in this apartment?” Craig McNair stood in the doorway.

  “Getting a bottle of wine and wine glass. What are you doing here?” Anna put down the goblet. She wasn't going to be intimidated by this asshole again.

  “What do I need to do to get rid of you?” The man seethed, his voice was low and very, very angry.

  Anna leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Why do you think you have the right to get rid of me? Last time I checked, Gabriel was an adult. You are not in charge of his love life.”

  The man stalked across the room, but Anna held her place behind the bar. She wasn't going to let the man see any fear. If need be, she'd open a can of whoop-ass on the man. She was tough, and she'd taken self-defense classes. Her eyes floated to every weak point on the man. Eyes, nose, throat, gut, nuts, knees, and ankles. She'd leave a mark on the son of a bitch, that's for sure.

  He dropped a heavy envelope onto the bar and pointed at her with a meaty finger. “I know your type. I've had to clean up too many messes from soul-sucking women like you. Let me guess, you see a meal ticket, and you're trying to get your hooks in him. Have you poked a hole in the condom yet, or did you tell him you're on birth control and you have it handled? I'm here to tell you he will never marry you, and you will never be on the gravy train. That man is too damn important to be tied down with a bastard and a woman like you.”

  The words that flew at her with such menace hit her like a sledgehammer. The shock of the impact washed over and overwhelmed her. So many responses to the assumptions this man made flew through her mind that a jumbled mess of words fell where she wanted a stinging reply to manifest. “What in the ever-loving hell... poked a hole in the condom? Are you insane? Who do you think you are? You have no idea about what is going on between us. How dare you!” The man gave a caustic snort and shook his head. The sneer on his face was ugly and vicious. “How dare I? Who do I think I am? I know who I am. I'm his second in command. I've been by his side for years. I've seen him bleed, watched him grieve as men he's served with died. I've worked with him through events and situations you'll never understand. But hey, let me apologize, because you know him so well, right? You know everything about him. Where he was born, where he went to school. What he actually does for a living? I mean, you know his full name, right?”

  Anna blinked back at the rapid-fire questions. Questions she had no answer for. Questions she hadn't even thought of asking.

  McNair scoffed, “You're using him, but don't make the mistake of thinking a man in his position is stupid. I've seen this before. In my opinion, you're his convenient distraction, and I'll probably be the one to make you disappear when he's had enough.”

  The man shook his head, equal parts disgust and exhaustion laced his expression. He stopped his vitriol laden tirade and calmly said, “Why am I worried? You don't even know his real name. Admit it. You're playing house and have big flowery daydreams. I'm telling you, you're nothing more than a passing fascination. Don't get ideas in that hayseed head of yours. He isn't going to marry you or pay you off when you turn up pregnant.”

  McNair turned and walked to the front door. “Gabriel isn't, and will never be, yours.” The words were quiet, and because of the utter confidence with which he spoke them, they resonated like a death knell. The door opened and shut behind the man withou
t a sound. The silence left behind echoed down to her soul. Somehow, the eerie quiet punctuated his words far better than any angry demonstration.

  To still her shaking hands, Anna gripped the bar and deliberately breathed through the adrenaline spiked emotion currently cascading through her. McNair’s rapid-fire questions and callous assumptions bombarded her vulnerable emotions. She hated to admit it, but each dart-like question thrown at her exposed a weakness in whatever she thought she was building with Gabriel. Each accusation pierced the happy bubble she'd created for herself.

  She pushed her wine glass forward, away from the edge of the bar and re-corked the bottle of wine. As much as she detested the man, McNair was right. Partially. She didn't know Gabriel, and what they had was a physical relationship based on this moment. His reference to any future had been couched in vague terms.

  Her feet carried her toward the doors that joined their apartments. She walked through and carefully shut her door, flipping the lock behind her. Not to keep Gabriel out, but rather to keep McNair away from her space. Since he obviously had a key to Gabriel's apartment, leaving her door open allowed him access to her area as well. She walked by the thermostat and adjusted the air, the chill more prominent now. Her eyes drifted to the clock. It was only seven. What she needed was to get out of the apartment. Go for a walk, find a restaurant, have dinner and just... well, hell, get some space and perhaps some perspective. All things considered, she needed an honest look at what was happening with… well with where her mind was and where she and Gabriel were heading. If they were heading anywhere.

  Her eyes scanned the little space. She shook her head. Everywhere she looked, she saw Gabriel. Where they’d eaten breakfasts together. The small sitting area where they’d made out like teenagers. The hall. She smiled and replayed the mind-bending sex against that wall. The bedroom. Her eyes closed remembering the sense of intimacy that had grown between them in that small room—at least she thought it had. Was it a “big, flowery day dream” as McNair had accused? With a sigh, she opened her eyes and groaned. No, sitting in this little apartment wasn't the way to clear her mind. Distance. Anna nodded her head. Yes, distance is what she needed to organize her thoughts before she talked with Gabriel.