by Jenna Kernan
“Mom used Dad’s truck,” said Arlo.
Last year, her mother had told her that she’d killed a man. That she’d used the victim’s truck to move the body.
Arleen had failed to mention that victim was their father.
“Can you back up and explain about the sticker?” she asked.
“She drove them in his truck. Dad’s truck. She parked on a shoulder somewhere that night and took those bodies into the woods and buried them. While she was gone, a trooper tagged Dad’s truck. Just bad luck, really.”
She nodded, following him now.
“If you could help me, find out who tagged that vehicle. They’d know where Mom took their bodies.”
“But Mom said Dad left in that truck.”
Arlo looked away. “They didn’t. Mom had a friend; he knew a guy. They took the truck to a chop shop. I heard her talking about it and how much money she got.”
Nadine blinked, absorbing the implications. Up until this point she’d only had suspicions as to what Arleen might have done to their dad. Now she had something more, a witness to a possible crime.
“That truck would have been red-tagged over twenty years ago. I’m not sure there will be any record.”
“Check. Will you?”
“Yes. I will.”
“If you can find something and I come forward about seeing that sticker, my lawyer said it could help them solve two murders and might get me early release.”
And if he didn’t, their mother could find out that her son had snitched on her. Was Arlo right that she’d try to teach him a lesson?
Nadine started sweating. If she helped Arlo and he succeeded, he might be on the outside sooner than planned and might pick up exactly where he had left off. But if he failed, he’d be stuck in here and their mother might send someone to hurt him.
“What do you think, Nadine? Will you help me?”
Eleven
MONDAY
When she removed the Do Not Disturb door hanger, she noted that the hotel service included delivery of the Orlando newspaper. Looking down at the pages, Nadine spotted an article about an upcoming book tour by her former boss. Dr. Margery Crean had worked with a ghostwriter to produce a tell-all book on the Copycat Killer.
“Is everyone writing a book?” she muttered.
She reminded herself that she was through hiding who she was. But that didn’t mean she enjoyed standing naked in the spotlight.
Safely back inside, she tucked into the armchair and read the article while rain lashed her window. Crean, who had retired after their prime suspect shot her in the face last year, would be in Orlando on Friday to speak and sign copies of her book with the on-the-nose title: The Copycat Killer.
The AP photo of her former boss showed puckering pink scars on her left cheek and right lower lip. Nadine learned from Tina that Crean’s upper palate had been destroyed and her reconstructive surgery was still ongoing.
Her phone chimed, alerting her to a text: Juliette asking if she saw the paper. Before she could answer, Demko’s text arrived and then Tina’s, both asking her the same thing.
She did not see Demko Saturday because he had left early to visit with his mom and then gone directly to his son, Christopher, in Miami.
She group-texted them all, then sent a DM to Juliette, asking her if she had time for the blood draw.
Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, she headed to Juliette’s room where the ME drew a vial of blood. Meanwhile, Jack-Jack, the cockatoo, did a serviceable imitation of the beeping used by a garbage truck backing up.
Nadine spotted a small Easter basket on Juliette’s nightstand. Inside were the same chocolates Clint had left in a larger basket hanging from the door latch of her own room Saturday.
Juliette noted the direction of her gaze.
“Clint gave me that,” she said. “When I was a kid, we had an egg hunt every year before church.” Her smile and faraway look touched Nadine.
Unlike Tina, Clint or her, Juliette had been adopted as an infant into a normal, affluent home and only learned of her mother’s crimes when she was no longer a child.
“When did you see him?” asked Nadine.
“Caught Demko at breakfast, Saturday. He came by to get his blood drawn and deliver the basket before he went to the prison. He gave me one like it to deliver to Tina.”
“You got his blood draw?”
“Yes, and I took mine and Tina’s on Friday night. Do we know how to party or what?” She laughed and then secured the cotton ball and Band-Aid to the puncture site before placing the vial in her mini refrigerator. “So we’re all set.”
“Almost. I need one more of those tests.”
“Which one?”
“The same, only on this.”
She handed over Arlo’s soda can inside an evidence bag and the waiver, written on a napkin and witnessed by a guard.
Juliette rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’ll tell you again. You are not going to get any answers. Even if your result is positive, the association to violence is, well, it’s not widely recognized and it’s not like a diagnosis for a disease.”
“Small study. Correlational at best. I understand.”
“Do you?” Juliette eyed her suspiciously. “Did you know that an increased sales in ice cream is correlated to a spike in reported rapes?”
Nadine frowned. “What?”
“So, do you think it’s the ice cream’s fault or maybe it’s because the weather is warmer, and more people are outside?”
“I understand a correlational relationship, Juliette.”
Her friend looked unconvinced. Nadine was about to leave when the ME said, “How was your visit with Arlo?”
“I’ll tell you later. It’s a lot.”
“Highlights?”
“He wants to offer evidence to a double homicide in exchange for early release, but if he doesn’t get out, he’ll have implicated our mom and is worried she might send someone to kill him.”
Juliette whistled. “Your uncle?”
“Correct.”
Her phone chimed with a text from Demko.
@brkfast. Where r u?
She said good-bye to Juliette, fired off a text and headed to the hotel’s breakfast area.
Demko had settled at a table with a plate of sausage and biscuits and a mug of coffee for her.
“How was your Easter?” he asked.
“I went to church with Tina and Juliette, then back to work. Oh, and we all got your baskets. Thank you very much.” She kissed him and he smiled.
“That’s great.”
With her father gone and her mother and brother both incarcerated, Nadine spent most holidays with her aunt Donna’s family, never feeling quite at home. But yesterday Juliette and Tina had made her feel part of a family.
“How was your visit with Christopher?”
“Nice. Too old for an egg hunt, but I gave him a basket, too.”
“The one you left me is huge! It was so much.” She pushed a small box in his direction and then set the envelope beside it.
“What’s this?”
“An Easter gift. One that Molly can’t destroy. The envelope is from Skogen. The policy manual I told you about.”
He opened the gift, a metal flip-style wallet, tested its use and then gave her a kiss.
“Thank you.” He ignored the envelope. “Christopher was sorry you couldn’t be there.”
Nadine glanced down, breaking eye contact.
“Once he meets you, sees we’re serious, it will be good. He’s a sweet kid, Dee, and I really want you two to be friends.”
She nodded, remaining silent. She feared that Christopher would not want her as a friend.
“Maybe next time?” he asked, pushing.
It seemed they’d only pressed pause on their last conversation.
“After we catch this one. Okay?” Nadine glanced up.
His mouth was tight.
She stood. “More coffee?”
“Why is it every ti
me I mention getting more serious, you run?”
“I don’t.” She so did.
“You either take me to bed or change the subject. What are you afraid of?”
“Demko, can this conversation wait? We are here to catch a killer.”
She realized she’d just proven his point.
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, then released her. “I’m here because you asked for my help.”
“I know.” His reminder made her recall her conversation with her brother. She settled back to her seat. “Speaking of help…”
Nadine explained about the red-tagged vehicle that had belonged to her father.
He went silent, seeming to consider for a moment. Was he deliberating allowing her to again table this topic or pondering the problem of a vehicle tagged more than a decade earlier? At last he sighed and folded his hands before him.
The former, she decided.
“That’s a tough one. Let me call Willie Druckman.”
“He’s a trooper up here?”
“Orlando. That’s the closest barracks. This is their territory, though.”
He made the call and left a message for the highway patrolman to contact him. Then he rose.
“See you tonight.” He walked toward reception and then out the front door. Beside his empty place at the table, the envelope from Skogen still sat.
At the office, she found Tina working. She paused to beam up at Nadine.
“I wish you could have joined us on the kayak trip yesterday. We saw otters and loads of turtles.”
After Easter brunch, Nadine had skipped their outing in favor of work.
“Did you locate Bianca Santander with Immigration?” Nadine asked.
“Her attorney can’t find her. She’s not listed in the detainee locator. He’s still looking.”
“Is this normal?”
“It’s illegal to withhold a detainee’s location, but, yes, it happens.”
“Keep on it.”
Nadine tucked in behind her desk and opened her email.
“Holy cats!” she said.
Tina stopped working and came around her desk. “You’ve got one hundred forty-five new emails.”
“From media. Look at this. Major networks and newspapers… is that the Washington Post?”
Did the press somehow know she was profiling this case? Or could the influx of emails be linked to Crean and her upcoming book?
“Open one,” suggested Tina.
Nadine blew out a breath and did so. She scanned as Tina read over her shoulder. White cat hairs clung to the cuff of Tina’s black sweater.
Most days she could handle the myriad of offers she received, but since her initial success as a profiler, and Crean’s book tour apparently, her email box was slammed. Tina seemed to pick up on her disquiet.
“Do you want to be interviewed, provide a quote for their articles or appear on camera?”
“No way.”
“Then let me answer them,” said Tina.
“You got it.”
Nadine forwarded them to Tina, who went silently to work as Nadine did the same.
Exactly at noon, Tina announced she was going to the grocery store deli for a sandwich.
“You want something?”
“No.”
Forty minutes later, Tina returned with a cup of chicken noodle soup and a hard roll for Nadine.
“It’s pouring out again.”
“Really?” Nadine had no window to check. She glanced up to discover that Tina’s hair was plastered to her head.
“Wow.”
“Eat your soup before it gets cold.”
She did and devoured the buttered roll in minutes.
Tina gave her a critical stare.
“What?”
“You are worse than Demko, forgetting to eat.”
“Two meals a day are plenty.”
“It isn’t, though,” said Tina.
The afternoon sped along as she filled in details on the victims and searched for commonalities.
Tina stepped out for more coffee, passing Skogen, who appeared in her doorway, a wide, self-satisfied grin on his face.
“We got a match on the DNA from Karnowski with the groundskeeper, Barney Arnold.”
Nadine wasn’t exactly surprised.
“That’s great.”
“He’s in custody. Already amended his bullshit story. Now he’s admitted to the sex act. Pervert found Karnowski’s nude body arousing. He called it in and then, well, he had several minutes alone with the remains.”
“To masturbate,” said Nadine.
“It’s not normal.”
“Agreed. But masturbating doesn’t mean he killed her. Where’s the evidence for that?”
“I’ve got enough to charge and hold him. Get a search warrant issued and see what turns up. I’m heading over there now.”
Skogen’s team would confiscate Arnold’s computer, laptop, tablet and phone. The tech team would use them to assemble a forensic digital profile. Gathering the data would be quick, since they had the devices. Sorting through it all would take several days, and that was a conservative estimate.
“I’ll let you know what we get.” Skogen raked a hand through his hair. “Nadine, I think we got him.”
She felt a great weight lifted off her shoulders. If this was their guy, then they had succeeded in stopping the series in just two. That would be marvelous.
Nadine pushed aside the niggling worry. In many ways Arnold fit her profile. So why wasn’t she relieved?
Twelve
TUESDAY
Nadine glanced at the hotel clock beside Clint’s bed, wishing she’d gone to her own room last night after they’d tangled the sheets.
Last night, she had slept in his bed and Molly had slept on the floor. Now, her bedfellow lay on his stomach.
Nadine drummed her fingers on the sheets. She’d been up since five, thinking, and wishing she had her laptop.
Arnold was a possible match for her profile. He was a loner with numerous priors for offenses involving sexual misconduct. He was white, single, fit, lived alone, hunted, knew the terrain, drove a truck with a cab and was at the scene only hours after the body of Rita Karnowski was dumped. But despite all that, as of last night, the FBI had no weapon, no indication of transport in Arnold’s vehicle, and no souvenirs from either victim in his possession. There was nothing, in fact, to connect Arnold to the victims except the semen and his discovery of the bodies shortly after Karnowski’s death.
They needed solid evidence. But that was not her job.
Skogen’s team was on it. They would find proof he committed the murders.
Or they wouldn’t.
Enough, she thought. It was nearly six. Close enough to the time to get up. She slipped from the bed, creeping around trying to find her clothing in the darkened room, with Molly following her, hoping to go out.
“Nadine?” Demko’s voice was groggy.
“Taking Molly out. Be right back.”
She shimmied into her dress and clipped Molly’s leash to her collar. As she reached the corridor, her phone vibrated.
“Arnold’s timeline doesn’t work,” said Skogen as she picked up.
“What?”
“Barney Arnold was in Montana with his brother fly-fishing from March 12th to March 21st. Confirmed.”
Nadine knew that covered the two Saturdays their victims had been taken.
“All right.”
“All right? You don’t sound surprised,” said Skogen.
She had known. It was why she couldn’t sleep.
“I’m not. See you later on.” Nadine ended the call.
The killer was still out there. She needed to get back to work.
At the office, one of Skogen’s special agents delivered more bad news to Nadine.
“We have another missing woman. Details are on the file share.”
Nadine’s stomach clenched.
Her name was Linda Tolan. Nadine found her a likely vict
im because, like Nikki Darnell and Rita Karnowski, her car was found on a trailhead.
Tolan was a single female from out of the area, reported missing by her sister on Sunday night when she tried and failed to reach her. Tolan, a wildlife photographer on assignment for a birding magazine, had disappeared sometime after the sisters’ last contact on Wednesday afternoon. Like the first victim, Nikki Darnell, the abandoned vehicle was found by rangers shortly after the sheriff logged the call from Tolan’s sister on Sunday. Park rangers had made a sweep of the trail but found nothing.
Tolan’s car was well within Nadine’s geo-profile’s range for their unsub’s hunting territory, so she recommended to Skogen that search and rescue expand the search area, not just to the trail, but to a 100-mile territory she had identified as within the statistical probability range of this killer.
She then called her team with the bad news. They now all knew the killer was still out there.
Midmorning, Tina appeared from the break room with fresh coffee.
“I found out why the office is so empty.” She set the mug before Nadine. “They’re all out looking for that missing person.”
“Good.”
“Drones, dogs and men, that’s what the tech guy said.”
“Do they need me?”
Tina laughed. “You aren’t the go-to for this.”
That was true, but it was difficult to sit indoors and wait for news while the search was under way.
At noon, Nadine tried and failed to reach either Skogen or Demko for an update. Cell service in the Ocala Forest was spotty or nonexistent and her calls went straight to voicemail.
At two in the afternoon, Tina burst into her office, coming to an abrupt stop before Nadine’s desk.
“They got her,” Tina said.
Nadine startled to her feet.
“They used your profile.” Tina bounced up and down. “And the information from Tolan’s sister. And search and rescue found a woman in a hog trap out there.”
A hog trap. That sounded exactly right.
Nadine braced herself. “Dead?”
“No. She’s alive!” Tina bounded forward, capturing Nadine’s hands and shaking them in excitement. “Skogen said you saved her! Dr. Finch, you’re a hero!”