Malice

by Anne Patrick

  "You can't help but feel a little empathy for this guy."

  Boone's words hit Jo like a lightning bolt and she turned to him. She struggled to contain the anger his words sparked, reminding herself he hadn't seen the bodies of those little girls in the cellar that day.

  As if sensing her glare, he looked her direction. "What? Don't tell me you don't feel the least bit of sympathy for what happened to him as a kid. Come on, Jo, his uncle molested him for at least eight years. Then his own parents turned against him."

  "That's no excuse to kill innocent children," she snapped. "Children are abused and neglected every day, but they don't all grow up to be serial killers. Harland Briggs was a police officer for twenty-five years, had he wanted to get help, he could have."

  "You're right."

  Needing some privacy to concentrate, she leveled her eyes on her older colleague. "Would you mind covering for me for a couple of hours. I need to go to the motel."

  "Sure. You feeling okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine. I just need some time to go over this and to collect my thoughts."

  He glanced at the photo album in her lap. "I don't envy your job any. Dissecting a dead body I suspect is much easier than dissecting a murderer's mind."

  "I don't know about that, I used to work for the medical examiner's office. I never could stomach doing an autopsy."

  *****

  It was almost three in the afternoon when Boone dropped Jo off at the motel. She grabbed a bottle of water from the compact refrigerator and then made herself comfortable on the bed. Positioning herself against a mound of pillows, she shifted to her side and opened the photo album lying beside her on the bed.

  From birth, throughout the first five or six years of Harland Briggs' life, he appeared a perfectly happy child, and seemed particularly close to his mother, as many of the earlier photos portrayed from the way the small boy would gaze lovingly at his mother as the picture was taken.

  It wasn't until later, after another addition to the family, that Jo noticed a change take place in the photos she studied. Once the dark haired man in thick glasses began to appear, Harland Briggs world seemed to have collapsed. Gone, was the innocence and orneriness one would expect in the expression of a child of eight.

  Satisfied with her earlier suspicions, Jo concentrated on his siblings. Starting at the beginning, she followed their growth through the photo album. Though there was an occasional sign of unhappiness, which came through in the photograph, they appeared generally happy and well cared for, even doted upon. Like their mother, they were very pretty.

  Jo closed the photo album and ran her fingers over the tattered surface. She tried to imagine what Harland Briggs must have felt when he had gone to his family and told them the dirty secrets he'd kept hidden for eight years. Most likely, having been threatened harm would come to his parents and sisters if he told anyone, he would have been relieved by his uncle's death. The pain and suffering had ended, and at last, he was safe. He would have been devastated when they didn't believe him. Alienated by his own family. His mother, whom he had once worshiped, turned her back on him. Jo could easily imagine the anger that grew in him at the unfairness of it all.

  The motivation that drove him, she now understood. Next, she needed to know the stressor. What sparked his urge to kill?

  She struggled to sit up and retrieved her notes on the case to search through them. There was no mention of a stressor prior to the Maine murders. Jo reached for the phone and dialed Isaac's cellphone number.

  "We need a stressor," she spoke the moment he answered.

  "Where are you?"

  "At the motel. Didn't Boone tell you?"

  "He said you were tracking down a lead."

  "Right." She smiled at her colleague's solidarity. He had no doubt sensed her reluctance to share her plans with Isaac, knowing he would assume his father figure roll and put a halt to her plans. She couldn't help but wonder just how much Boone knew of her abilities to get close to the killer.

  "Well, stay put and I'll be there shortly, I've got someone you're gonna want to meet."

  Before she had the chance to ask who it was, the line went dead.

  Ten minutes later, he pounded on her door. "Special Agent Molly Ryan, Special Agent Jo McDaniels," Isaac introduced as he stepped into the room followed by a young brunette.

  The female agent carried a paper sack and what appeared to be a VCR. After setting them on the bed closest to the TV, she turned and offered her hand to Jo. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent McDaniels."

  "You were right about the convenience stores, Jo," Isaac said.

  "I was?"

  "I think we're after the same man, Agent McDaniels."

  "What are you guys talking about? And what's the VCR for?"

  "We want you to look at some tapes, Jo." Isaac motioned toward the young agent who immediately began connecting lines at the back of the TV. "Agent Ryan has spent the past year and a half tracking a guy from the DC area. Three of the cases involve the disappearances of twenty-one year old females. They were able to get video footage of him from a half dozen convenience stores. The guy is similar to Briggs' height and weight, but we can't be sure it's him because he wears dark sunglasses, a blue baseball cap, and has a mustache and beard."

  Agent Ryan turned on the television and popped one of the tapes into the VCR she'd just hooked up. After several minutes of distorted images, Jo walked past them to the compact refrigerator and retrieved another bottle of water.

  "Okay, here it is," the young agent announced.

  Jo unscrewed the lid and took a drink before turning to the screen, then almost choked as she tried to speak and swallow at the same time. "Wait a second, rewind it," she finally managed.

  A muscular man entered through the double glass doors. With his right hand in the pocket of his jacket, he approached the counter where a young woman, slightly shorter than him, stood at the register. His eyes never left the woman as she began to dump the money from the register into a paper sack. Jo concentrated on the man's face. Though he wore a black beard and mustache, there was something familiar about him. As the woman handed him the bag, he grabbed her wrist with his left hand, and with seemingly little effort dragged her over the counter. Her mouth opened with silent screams as she began to struggle with him, knocking the sunglasses from his face in the process. Grabbing the glasses with his right hand, he turned and glanced at the camera briefly before covering his eyes, but Jo had seen all she needed to. She knew beyond a doubt that it was Harland Briggs.

  "Where was this robbery?" she asked before sitting on the edge of the bed.

  "Cresentville, Ohio, a small town west of Cleveland, three months ago. The woman you just saw abducted has never been found."

  "You won't find her. He buried her alive within a week of the abduction," Jo said, callously.

  "So it is him," Agent Ryan said as she turned to Jo. "I thought so. I came close to catching him after this abduction. I had all the local news channels run the video, and a motel clerk came forward saying she had rented out a room to a man who strongly resembled the one in the footage. Unfortunately, since the room had been cleaned we were unable to get any prints and the ID and tag information he gave were all false."

  "Maybe you should look at these other tapes just to be sure it's him," Isaac suggested.

  Jo was positive it was Briggs, but lacking any reasonable explanation as to how she had arrived at that assumption with barely a glimpse of his eyes, she decided she'd better at least make it look good for Agent Ryan. "Let's see them."

  For the next half hour, she watched the remaining tapes, two of which were almost identical. The clerks from Joliet, Illinois, and Elmwood, Iowa, had put up similar struggles, but to no avail. Her thoughts drifted back to Isaac's words when he'd first informed her of Briggs' resurrection. In the past three years, there have been an alarming number of teenaged girls abducted across the country.

  "What do you think, Jo?" Isaac ejected the last tape and hande
d it back to the younger female agent.

  "I think Harland Briggs has been a very busy man."

  "Agent Washington tells me you two have been after this guy for three years?"

  Jo nodded. "Due to his variation in victim profiles, he managed to slip through our screens. Aside from Maine, where he began his rampage, this is the first time he's abducted more than one victim from any particular place."

  "I think we could be a vital asset to one another. I've got permission from my supervisory agent to join the taskforce if it's okay with you," Agent Ryan informed, her eyes leveling on Jo.

  "Don't look at me. He's in charge."

  "I told her I'd have to run it past you first."

  Jo gave a dry laugh. "Since when do you need my permission to recruit help?"

  "Since the two of you are going to be working together."

  Jo narrowed her eyes on him. She'd always worked alone or with him. "I guess we can use all the help we can get."

  "Great. I really appreciate the opportunity to work with you."

  "Then it's settled. Welcome aboard, Agent Ryan." Isaac walked toward the door, "I'll go see about getting you a room. Then we'll head downtown to the briefing."

  "What briefing is that?" Jo asked.

  "We're briefing the chief and his men on what we've learned so far, so you might want to gather your notes because we're going to need your input."

  CHAPTER Nine

  On the way to the station, Jo went over in her mind what she had learned in the past few hours. Having been molested by a male member of his family, something he'd never come to terms with, seemed to be the driving factor behind Briggs’ anger. But why was he taunting them? It seemed so out of character for him. In the past, he'd been so meticulous, so careful. Had torture and killing lost their thrill? If so, God help them all.

  Her frustration grew as she sat in the command center and listened to the other members of the taskforce offer information they'd gathered while Chief Benzali and half a dozen officers on the force listened in.

  "According to his teachers, those still living, he was a bright student. One even described him as unusually intelligent for his age, and he seldom missed a day of school," Lindsey informed the taskforce.

  "School was his salvation," Isaac pointed out.

  "So his having been molested by the uncle is what's driving him to do these things?" Agent Milano asked.

  Jo could sense everyone looking at her. She merely nodded in agreement, still not comfortable with the way things were coming together.

  "What set him off?" a young officer on the force asked.

  "I talked to one of his old partners - seems he had several," Agent Farrell said. "Anyway according to him, Briggs had an anger management problem that lasted throughout his career, which probably explains why he went through so many partners. I also learned he was in the running for a promotion not long before the abductions began in Maine, but he didn't get it. A detective, half his age and experience got it instead."

  "What do you think, Jo?" Isaac asked.

  She didn't answer immediately, her thoughts lingering on the bodies discovered at Harland Briggs' boarding house. The victims had endured unimaginable torture, and evidence of extreme rage. She thought of the photographs she'd gone over earlier, and the abandonment he felt when his family refused to believe him. Suddenly the pieces began to fit.

  "I have to agree with Agent Farrell; the loss of the promotion was the stressor that began his carnage. It also explains the point he seems to be trying to make."

  "What point is that?" Agent Farrell asked.

  "Though sexual fulfillment plays a large part in his signature, the torture and the ability to elude officials is where he gets gratification. He needs total control of the situation," she said. "He wants us to know he is the one in charge."

  "Okay, now that we know what triggered him and what's driving him, what's his next move going to be?" Isaac asked of no one in particular.

  "We're missing something here." Jo walked to the easel positioned at the front of the room with the photographs of the missing teenagers fastened to it with thumbtacks. "He came here for a reason."

  "You said he was taunting us," Agent Farrell was quick to answer.

  "It's more than that."

  "He's nuts, Jo. Why does he have to have a reason," Agent Milano commented.

  "You underestimate him. Everything he does, he does for a reason."

  "What's the big mystery? He snapped. The pressure of the job, his divorces, the lost promotion, it all combined, it pushed him over the edge. He's crazy," Agent Farrell said.

  Jo met the agent's smug expression. "He isn't crazy. He only wants us to think he is. He knows exactly what he's doing."

  "What are you saying, Jo?" Isaac asked.

  "It's obvious he needs to feel in control, but there seems to be another motive at work here. Those little girls in Maine and what's happening now, it's as if he's seeking revenge."

  "Revenge on who? His uncle is dead, as are his parents." Chief Benzali commented.

  "His sisters aren't though," Agent Ryan pointed out.

  "That's right," Jo said, a missing piece fitting perfectly into the puzzle. "Uncle Floyd had a preference for little boys, the girls were never touched. Briggs sees this as unfair; he wants them to know his pain. He led us here to uncover the truth. He knows their lives here will be destroyed by the humiliation." She turned to the chief. "He's done here. He's ready to move on."

  "Oh great," Chief Benzali responded, "and how are we supposed to prevent that?"

  "By finding that blue Camaro."

  "My boys already followed the lead on the Camaro; it's a dead end. There isn't even a car matching its description in the tri county area."

  "Then they didn't look hard enough." She refused to give up on the only lead they had. "That Camaro is out there."

  "Listen here, I won't have you come in here making accusations that my boys aren't doing their jobs."

  "He's right, Jo. I went over every interview and report myself; the Camaro is a dead end. The witness must have been mistaken in its make and model."

  She looked at Isaac. "I'm telling you it's out there, and not only did Lauren Shipley get in it, she got in of her own free will."

  "Let me guess, you saw it in a vision."

  Jo turned sharply and glared at the chief. "What is it with you? You've disliked me from the moment we met. Is it because I'm pregnant or just the fact I'm a woman?"

  "Jo!" Isaac stepped forward, placing a hand on her arm. "You're way out of line here, Jo," he warned in a low but stern voice.

  She grasped onto what little control she had left. "You know me, Isaac. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

  "I want her out of here. She has no business working on this case. Not after her performance in Maine."

  The chief's words came like a sucker punch, knocking the air from her.

  "That's right, I know all about you, Agent McDaniels. You almost killed a fellow agent the last time you went after Briggs and ended up spending four weeks in a psycho ward."

  Jo could feel the entire room looking at her, the embarrassment bringing her to near tears. Turning to her colleagues, she noticed they all avoided her glare, except for Lindsey. "I didn't say anything, Jo. I swear."

  "I know you didn't, Lindsey." She wondered if it was Agent Farrell. "It doesn't matter who told him, and I'm not about to justify myself to any one of you." She then turned and left the room.

  Jo clung desperately to her composure as she made her way through the station. She didn't need this headache. Her plate was full as it was. In the parking lot, she grabbed the first uniformed officer she saw and demanded a ride back to her motel room.

  "Briefing already over?" the young patrolman asked as he opened the passenger side door for her.

  "It is for me." She glanced at his nametag. Chad Benzali. Figures.

  "Can I ask you something agent?" he asked once they were on their way. She glanced at him, hoping for his sake
he was nothing like his father. "Do you think there's much chance of finding those girls alive?"

  "Right now I'd have to say that would depend on your father."

  "I take it he's not cooperating very well?"

  "Let's just say we aren't exactly seeing things the same way."

  "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  He seemed sincere in his offer. "You need to find that blue Camaro. You find it and you've a good chance of catching the guy."

  "My guess is he's got it stashed out in the county somewhere. There are all kinds of abandoned buildings and barns around here."

  She was starting to like this kid. "I don't suppose you've checked any of them out?"

  "A few. I haven't had any luck though. Pop is convinced the car doesn't exist, but I interviewed Mary Talbert myself, and she was pretty adamant about what she saw."

  Jo smiled. "You've got good instincts, kid."

  "You've talked to her?"

  "No, but I know the car's out there. You keep looking, you'll find it."

  He nodded, and when she glanced away, she realized they were already at the motel. "Thanks for the ride, officer. It was a pleasure meeting you."

  "You're not leaving us are you?"

  "I've done all I can here. Good luck in your search."

  *****

  Jo was packing her bags when Lindsey returned to the room.

  "What are you doing, Jo? You know as well as I do that Chief Benzali isn't the one in charge of this investigation. Only Isaac can dictate who's on the taskforce."

  "The chief was right, I shouldn't have come here," she said, as she continued to pack her bag. She wished now she'd listened to Austin's pleas. She was too close to the case. The visions she'd been experiencing lately were proof of that.

  "But we need you, Jo."

  She glanced up briefly. "I'm not the only profiler the FBI has. Farrell's got good instincts, and you said Ryan was good. You also have my original profile to work with."