by Janie Crouch
Translation: Bree needed to find it.
Bree nodded. “Let me write the pattern recognition program I’ll need to trace him when the next flawed transmission comes in. Then I’ll do my best to see if I can find any mistakes in the other transmissions.”
Without another word, Bree turned away from them all, giving Tanner’s hand a squeeze as she did. She’d been working on this for twelve hours. She’d already looked for any mistakes the killer might have made and hadn’t found anything.
She wrote the program and had it ready to go, then spent the next two hours searching for another needle in the haystack. At every top of the hour when new footage came in she ran it against the pattern recognition program she’d written, but nothing showed up. She wasn’t surprised. The fractal pattern was damn near brilliant and it was just sheer luck she’d discovered it. If he was using something similar for his other transmissions, Bree couldn’t spot it.
She was also tired, and working at a pace her brain wasn’t used to. At one time, thanks to Jeter threatening physical harm to her or her mom, she’d been able to work at this pace for days at a time.
Not being tortured for the past ten years had caused her brain to get lazy.
She was tired, wanted to rest. Plus, every time she looked over at Tanner, beautiful, blonde Penelope with all her appropriate emotional reactions was next to him. By all accounts Penelope had been here over twenty-four hours. Who looked that good after working twenty-four hours straight?
Bree caught her own reflection in the monitor. She didn’t look good, that was for sure. But she didn’t even try to fix the messy bun she’d piled her hair into. What would be the use. She had a pen resting behind either ear. Both of which she’d been looking for but hadn’t been able to find.
She was a mess. But attempting to fix her hair wasn’t going to change that.
They were twenty minutes from the transmission Bree needed to help pinpoint the killer when she heard a phone buzzing on a desk nearby. She waited for someone to pick it up before she realized it was hers.
When she glanced at the screen and saw it was Gregory Lightfoot, she almost let it go to voice mail. But the lawyer would just call back, and in a few minutes hopefully they would be on the road on the way to catch the killer. She might not be available.
“Lightfoot. I don’t have a lot of time I’m helping the police.”
“Good morning to you too, Bree,” Gregory said good-naturedly.
She cringed. “Sorry. All my people skills have already been used up.” Such as they were.
He chuckled. “I’ll keep this short, and hopefully this will be good news. Michael Jeter took a plea bargain.”
Bree’s hand raised to her throat and her heart rate kicked up. “What sort of plea bargain?”
Surely they wouldn’t let him out of jail. Would they? She felt like the room was closing in on her—the air being sucked out.
“Freckles, what’s wrong?”
She turned her head and found Tanner crouching on the floor beside her so his face was at the same height as hers.
She grabbed his hand. “Jeter made some sort of deal.”
She turned the phone so Tanner could also hear what Gregory was saying. She didn’t want to put it on speaker in front of all these people.
“Lightfoot, what’s going on?” Tanner asked.
“It’s good news, I promise. Yes, Jeter plea-bargained, but only to take the death penalty off the table. He’ll be serving four life sentences without the possibility of parole.”
Her eyes met Tanner’s deep brown ones. “He won’t ever be able to get out of prison?”
“Never,” Gregory assured her. “I think Jeter knew he was going to get the death penalty, so this was the best play he had. But he’s never getting out of prison, I can promise you that.”
“Where will he do his time?” Tanner asked.
“That’s a little bit more complicated. They’re transferring him tomorrow to the federal prison in Beaumont. He’ll be there probably three to six months until the details are finalized.”
Tanner nodded and it reassured Bree—if Tanner was happy about him being at Beaumont then that meant it was a good place for Jeter to be.
“That’s a solid max security. Definitely better than the county jail he’s been in,” Tanner said.
“Best of all, this solves all your testimony problems, Bree. You’re not going to have to take the stand at all.”
Finally, some good news.
She promised to contact Gregory for more details as soon as this case was done and she was back home, and ended the call. Right now she needed to focus on catching an entirely different bastard.
Tanner squeezed her hand. “You okay?”
She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just need time to process this. But that will have to wait until I’m done here. I’d rather stick with this. Computers, I know. Feelings are much more complicated.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Anyone would need time to sort this out, so don’t feel bad about that. Do you have everything ready for the next transmission?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything to make this quicker.”
He pulled her against him and kissed her hard and brief. “You found the pattern. That’s more than anyone else did. We’re going to catch this guy and we’re going to be in time to save this woman. Because of you.”
“Because of a lucky break.”
He used his knuckles to knock gently on the side of her head. “Because of a pattern your giant brain figured out. Doesn’t matter what got it thinking in that direction.”
She kissed him. “Thank you. I know I’ve been a mess. Everything I’ve learned about interacting with people seems to have flown out the window over the last few hours. I haven’t made many friends here.”
He grinned at her—that smile that had her heart stuttering in her chest. “Eh, you’re not here to make friends. Everyone’s tension level is high. Or maybe everyone’s interaction skills have flown out a window.”
Penelope’s interpersonal skills seemed to be working fine. Bree knew not to say anything. She was tired, stressed and not completely rational.
But damn it, that woman should not look so beautiful. And definitely should not be standing so close to Tanner every time Bree turned around.
“Is everyone else ready to go?” she asked. “I’m ready on my end with the equipment I need. But we’ll need to move pretty quickly once I begin to triangulate.”
“Yes. There’s a solid plan in place. You’ll ride with me and Whitaker. Penelope will follow with Leon and a couple other officers.”
“We’ll have to find the place and be ready and set up by the time he transmits again. Unless for some reason we get extremely lucky, and he’s extremely sloppy, the info we get from this first transmission will only lead us part of the way.”
Damn it. Why hadn’t she figured out a way to bypass whatever rerouting system the killer would use? That would’ve been a better use of her time rather than hunting for some possible other mistake like Penelope wanted.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking—stop,” Tanner pulled her close to him one last time. “No focusing on all the things you could’ve/should’ve/would’ve done. You did the best you could with the info you had.”
The time began to beep, signaling the upcoming transmission.
“I hope so. Because we’re out of time.”
Chapter Eight
It was one of the victim’s calmer moments, which didn’t necessarily make it any easier to watch. Tanner was afraid she was giving up hope. Everyone was.
Bree’s plan needed to work more than ever.
The footage was nearly a minute long this time and the entire room’s attention darted back and forth between Bree and the woman on the screen. Once the screen flicked to black and the transmis
sion was over, everyone’s attention turned completely to Bree.
She finally looked up. “I got it.” She rattled off an address and street name.
“Are you sure?” Penelope asked.
“Yes. That’s where this transmission was routed from. Why?”
“If I’m not mistaken that’s a residential area. We’re going to have to get a warrant,” Penelope said.
Jeremy was already at his computer. “Address belongs to a Patricia Webster. She’s actually retired and lives in Tampa. But her twenty-two-year-old son, Elliot Webster, currently resides at Mom’s house.”
Penelope started rattling off orders. “Leon, I need you to get me a warrant for this address. Karen, get some local uniforms out there until we arrive. Tell them not to engage, but to check for anything that would give them probable cause to enter. Jeremy, I need to know everything there is to know about Elliot Webster by the time we roll up at his house.”
Everyone burst into movement.
Tanner looked over at Bree. She was walking toward him, holding a laptop in front of her, typing on the keyboard with one hand.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded, still typing. “I’m gathering info on Elliot Webster. In case Jeremy...misses any.”
Meaning, in case the legal channels Jeremy was required to go through didn’t bring up all the information. But Tanner wasn’t going to give her a hard time about how she was getting her info right now. This wasn’t his case, and a woman’s life was at stake.
“Bree,” Penelope called out. “We’ve got nearly the entire four hours until the transmission you need comes around, right?”
Bree looked up from her computer. “Yes, but I’ve got to find the computer being used as the conduit before that time. It could be anywhere in or near that address.”
“Then let’s roll,” the woman said. “We’ve got a judge who’s been kept abreast of the case. Getting the warrant should be fast.”
Bree was still working at her computer when Tanner tucked her into the car and Whitaker drove toward the address she’d given them, following behind Penelope and her crew.
Bree read from her computer. “It looks like Elliot Webster is an engineering student at UT Dallas. High GPA. Never been arrested or in any trouble at all.”
“Anything in the unofficial version?” Tanner asked.
“Not so far. Some clubs at school, a couple of part-time jobs.”
“Where at?” Tanner turned to look at her in the back seat.
“Pizza delivery a couple of years ago and one of those giant home improvement stores for the last eighteen months.”
“Good place to get low-density polyethylene and any other materials needed to build your very own coffin-sized human aquarium,” Whitaker muttered.
“Is this house we’re going to anywhere near where the first two victims were found?” Tanner asked.
“Not at all. I’m as surprised as Penelope that this was where the killer was operating. It’s an older neighborhood. Not very upscale, but pretty quiet.”
“This probably isn’t where the killer is operating,” Bree said. “He’s just rerouting through his system here.”
Tanner rubbed his eyes. “Why would he do that at his own house?”
“That’s a good point.” Bree’s fingers began clicking on the keyboard again. “Elliot Webster could just be a patsy, and someone is using his house while he’s not aware. But it’s also possible that Webster is the killer and he never thought anyone would figure out his pattern and break his little code.”
When they pulled up in front of the house, Tanner understood why Penelope had been so surprised at the address. It was a nice neighborhood—small houses with well-manicured lawns. The type that had Neighborhood Watches and little old ladies peeking out their windows to see what was happening with their neighbors.
Not the type of place to easily get kidnap victims in and out of without being seen.
They parked and Penelope immediately knocked on the front door to make sure no one was around. While they waited for the search warrant since there was no one in the home in immediate danger, the team spread out, looking around the yard and questioning the neighbors. Bree and Jeremy continued to dig for info on Elliot Webster, including known associates.
Less than thirty minutes later they got word the warrant had been approved.
“Let’s move in,” Penelope said. “You want to come, Tanner?”
He looked over at Bree.
“Go ahead,” she said. “You’ll do more good in there than out here. I’m going to stay and see what else I can dig up on Elliot.”
Penelope handed him a Kevlar vest and began strapping on her own. “What exactly are we looking for in there, Bree?”
“Anything computer related. Try not to touch it if possible. He might have it rigged to notify him if someone messes with it.”
Penelope nodded and moved quickly to the front door. Tanner joined Whitaker and they jogged up the front porch steps together.
“Leon and I will swing around to the right,” Penelope said. “Whit and Tanner, you head to the left. Everybody stay sharp. I know we don’t expect trouble here, but that doesn’t mean we won’t find it.”
She banged on the door. “This is the Dallas police. We have a search warrant for this property and need you to open the door.”
Nobody answered. Penelope knocked and identified herself one more time. Everyone had their weapons raised as Leon kicked in the door with as little damage as possible a few seconds later.
Inside, Tanner and Whitaker swung to the left as instructed, checking each room and making sure no one was hiding anywhere. Penelope and Leon did the same on the other side of the house and they eventually met up back in the kitchen.
“We’re clear,” Whitaker said. “Nobody in the east side of the house.”
Penelope and Leon nodded. “Nobody on our side either.”
The all holstered their weapons. Now the search began.
“What sort of computer are we looking for?” Whitaker walked around the living room. “Laptop? Desktop?”
Tanner shrugged. “She didn’t specify, so keep an eye out for either.”
Thirty minutes into searching the house and there was no computer showing up anywhere. Tanner had double-checked all the rooms in the small house himself. They’d all double-checked.
“What kind of engineering student doesn’t have a computer at his house?” Whitaker asked.
The kind trying to hide a murder.
All four of them made their way back to Elliot’s room, the master bedroom. The room was neat, bed made. Different posters hung on the walls—some constellations, an Escher print and a shot of Kate Upton, the famous Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Tanner took a look in the walk-in closet again. Small, but nothing suspicious in there either.
It was all just vastly ordinary.
“Nothing about this screams serial killer,” Tanner said. “And yet...”
“There’s something about this room that’s just off,” Whitaker muttered.
“Exactly. Too perfect, right? Staged to look like how a college student’s room should appear.” Tanner studied the poster of the beautiful woman in the bikini and where it was situated on the wall. Definitely not where a college kid would put it. “It has to be staged. The Kate Upton poster gives it away.”
Whitaker crouched near the bed and whistled through his teeth. “I think you’re right.”
Penelope came farther into the room behind them, staring at the poster. “Why does this give anything away? What are you seeing that I’m not?”
Whitaker smiled ruefully. “You’ll have to lie down on the bed to understand what we mean.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s creepy, Whit. You’ve gotten weird since you moved to Colorado.”
He chuckled. �
�I know. Just do it.”
Penelope lay down, looking ready to jump back up any second. “Okay, I’m down here. What?”
Tanner stepped out of the way so that Penelope had a clearer view of the wall where the posters hung. “What do you see on the walls?”
“The bookshelf is blocking Size DD over there. All I can see are the constellation posters.”
“Exactly.” Tanner crossed his arms over his chest. “No twenty-two-year-old male would hang that poster of Kate Upton where it couldn’t be seen from the bed.”
Penelope jumped up from the bed with a shudder. “Okay. But what does it mean?”
Tanner spun around the room again slowly. “It means Elliot Webster is trying to make his mom and anyone else who might visit think that everything is normal with him at first glance. Which means he has some other place that he considers his personal space and feels more comfortable than this room.”
“Then why did Bree’s calculations lead us here?” Penelope asked. “If this isn’t where he spends his time—and obviously isn’t where he has his computer—why are we here?”
Tanner shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we need to bring her in to look around. See if she sees anything we don’t.”
They searched through the books and CDs on the shelves but found nothing of interest. The dresser drawers produced clothes, but nothing suspicious.
The walk-in closet was as organized as the bedroom and just as innocuous. A few shirts and pants hanging in the small space. Shoes scattered along the ground. A couple boxes filled with some useless junk—more books, some camping gear, sleeping bags.
Nothing that helped them in any way.
Penelope let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t see anything in here. Grab some of his shoes. We’ll take them back to the lab and see if they can find traces of anything, since he’s obviously not holding a woman in this house.”
Tanner grabbed a pair of well-worn tennis shoes closest to the door and decided to add the hiking boots that sat in the back corner.
One came easily; the other seemed to be stuck to the floor. He tugged hard on it and watched in disbelief as the back panel of the closet clicked open.
