by Andrea Kane
He’d need to interview Tina.
“Tina,” Sloane continued, setting the stage. “You know I have quite a few contacts in law enforcement. I want to run this incident by them, just to get their take on it. Obviously, I’ll keep the campus police in the loop. But the more professional views we elicit, the better chance we have of catching this guy before anyone else gets hurt.”
“That makes sense.”
“My NYPD contacts will want to ask you a couple of questions, just to expedite nailing this guy. Would that be all right?”
Tina’s eyes narrowed. “NYPD? This isn’t just about what happened to me, is it? It’s about that girl who was kidnapped at John Jay College. I read about her in the newspaper. Is there a pattern between what happened to her and what happened—or almost happened—to me?”
“There are some definite similarities,” Sloane replied candidly. “Except that the other girl, Cynthia Alexander, is still missing. Sergeant Erwin of Midtown North is working round the clock to find her.”
“Then call him. Tell him I’ll talk to him right away. If anything I say can help him find her, I’ll take him through my assault step-by-step.”
Sloane gave Tina a grateful smile. “Thanks. I will.”
As it turned out, Sloane didn’t call Sergeant Erwin—at least not the minute she stepped out of class the way she’d planned.
When she left the martial-arts academy and flipped on her cell phone, she found two terse, urgent messages from Derek.
“What’s up?” she asked the minute he answered his phone.
“You tell me. An hour ago I got a call about one of your stalker’s disposable cell phones.”
“He used it?” Sloane stopped in her tracks, car key in her hand. “Where was he calling from?”
“The College of New Jersey. And he wasn’t the one at the other end of the phone. The campus police were. Seems they just found the phone in a cluster of trees near Lake Ceva, where one of their students was attacked yesterday. Tina Carroll. But something tells me you know more about that than I do.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
DATE: 7 April
TIME: 0130 hours
The demons have been howling all night.
I can’t hear or think above their tirade. My head is about to explode. They’ve crept inside it. They’re relentless. Pounding away like a jackhammer. Coupled with my other injuries, the agony is unbearable.
I can’t stand it any longer.
And I can’t escape it.
I’m waiting for the extra syringe of morphine I injected to work. The seconds have ticked by so slowly—it feels like an eternity. This throbbing must stop.
I did as the demons commanded. I watched the most recent videotapes. I could see for myself the power I wield, the enormity of the purification process with which I’ve been entrusted.
I know what I’m capable of doing to a filthy Ji Nv like Tyche.
The demons have ordered me to wait. Disinfection first. Revenge later.
But Tyche won’t get away with her intolerable desecration. She’ll suffer.
And she’ll suffer by my hand.
Till then, let the whore parade around campus, boasting of her physical prowess, feeling utterly victorious and safe. On the other hand, if she’s smart, she’ll lock herself in her dorm room and tremble in a corner, knowing full well she’s not.
Soon. The demons will demand it. There will be no shame in the pleasure I take. Not with her. I’ll revel in the terror in her eyes when I have her. When she realizes it’s me. When she finally comprehends that there’s no escape. That my violation of her unworthy body is only the nightmarish beginning. That she’s going to die. That her death will be prolonged, and preceded by unendurable suffering.
I’ll describe to her what might have been. She’ll hear my voice every second as I slowly cut her flesh. No drugs. Not with her. I want her to be wide-awake and alert. To hear every word. Feel every slice. Watch every rivulet of her blood seep away. By the time death comes, she’ll welcome it. Scream for it. Beg for it.
That image alone will have to suffice for now—until the demons decree otherwise.
Right now they condemn another Ji Nv to die.
I must regain full use of my body—now. The pain is inconsequential. I’ll manage it with the morphine. But the rest…how can I accomplish everything I have to in my current condition?
Weakness is unacceptable. One more day. That’s all I’ll allow for my injuries. Tomorrow night, I’ll silence the demons.
The morphine is starting to work. Good. Because tonight I have a different, more important task to attend to—choosing an alternate goddess. I must study my Ancient Greek literature. The goddess I select will be far more deserving than the original. So will the woman I choose to embody her.
And, in the end, she’ll join the others.
Starbucks
120 West Fifty-sixth Street, New York City
9:20 A.M.
Derek carried a tray with two tall steaming Starbucks cups and two blueberry scones over to the corner table.
“One venti cappuccino with skimmed milk and one venti café americano, black,” he announced, setting the cappuccino down in front of Sloane and passing her a blueberry scone.
“Thanks. I only ordered a grande.”
“I know. But I owe you. Not only did you battle rush-hour traffic so we could talk before you headed over to Midtown North, but you convinced Erwin to include me in your meeting. I normally avoid stepping on the NYPD’s toes, especially in situations like this where I technically have no connection to the case. My connection here is you, and the fact that your stalker’s cell phone was found at the crime scene. On the other hand, after Tina Carroll’s attempted abduction, we’re no longer talking about the single John Jay disappearance Erwin’s investigating. We’re talking about at least two related attacks, with the possibility of others. And with the two attacks we know of occurring in two different states, FBI involvement might be imminent anyway.”
“I agree. So based on all of the above, I accept the extra-large cappuccino. I need a hefty jolt of caffeine. As for the blueberry scone…” She eyed the one in front of her. “We had a very recent conversation about how seldom I eat junk food.”
“Yeah, but you love Starbucks’ blueberry scones.”
A half smile. “You always bought two for yourself, because I pretended I didn’t want one.”
“I remember. And you took ‘just one bite’ of my extra scone until it was three-quarters gone.”
“Half,” Sloane said in defense.
“If you say so.” Derek sat down across from her and took a belt of coffee. “Either way, feel free. I’ll polish off whatever you leave over.” He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers in front of him and meeting her gaze. “I know we discussed this ad nauseam on the phone last night. But I want to try to make some sense of it before we head over to Midtown North—and I can’t. That cell phone the TCNJ cops found in the woods on campus means that the bastard who’s been stalking you is the same guy who attacked Tina Carroll.”
“Unless her assailant stole my stalker’s phone, which I doubt, yes. And I don’t get it either.” Sloane sipped at her cappuccino, as unsettled by all this as Derek was. “The parallels between Cynthia’s disappearance and Tina’s near abduction are straightforward. They’re both college students. They’re both athletes. They were both attacked on their respective campuses when the grounds were virtually deserted. The timing of the two attacks is only several weeks apart. And now the blood on both their hair fasteners—it all fits the pattern of a repeat performance by the same criminal. But why would he be stalking me? When we thought the harassment was tied to Penny’s case, it made sense. I grew up with Penny, and I knew a lot about her. That made me a potential threat. But now—where do I fit into the equation?”
“You also knew Tina,” Derek pointed out.
“Casually, yes. We both worked at the same martial-arts academy. She took a few
of my Krav classes. Oh, and we planned a few tae kwon do parties for the kids together. But I don’t know the first thing about her private life, her friends, her family—anything that would make me a threat to whoever attacked her.”
“What if he’s not viewing you as a threat? What if he’s viewing you as a target?”
Sloane grimaced. “Derek, I know you think this guy is after me in some way, and I admit his weird behavior has me on edge. But Tina’s attack makes your theory weaker, not stronger. This assailant grabs his victims when they’re isolated. If he wanted me, he’s had tons of opportunity to attack me. I might not go to college, but I do go for a several mile run with the hounds every morning. Most of my route is all woods and no civilization. I know he’s been watching me at home. I sense it. Which means he’s well aware of when I go out running. So why hasn’t he acted?”
“Maybe he’s waiting.”
“For what—a formal invitation?”
Derek’s grip on his coffee cup tightened. “I don’t know. That’s what’s driving me crazy. My gut tells me there’s something we’re missing.” The crease between Derek’s brows deepened. “Even without considering where you fit into all this, we’ve got to face the prospect that we’re dealing with a serial killer.”
“I agree. Either a serial rapist and killer, or a serial killer—one who’s done a hell of a job of getting rid of his victims’ bodies so they’re never found.”
“There are a bunch of ways to make that happen. Some we’ve come up against, some we haven’t. I hope Erwin will let me join him when he interviews Tina. The details she remembers may help us establish a profile on this guy.” Derek clearly had thought this through. “If Tina delivers, I’m putting a call in to one of my colleagues at the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico. He and I have worked together in the past. He’ll do me the favor of putting this at the top of his list.”
“Good. And I’ll call Larry Clark. He’s retired now, but he was an SSA at the BAU. He’s served on panels with me at John Jay. He’s sharp as a tack, and he’s got twenty-five years of Bureau experience. I’m sure he can help us.”
“Works for me. Between your contacts and mine, we’ll get our criminal profile.” Derek took a bite of his scone, chewed it with a vengeance. “Now let’s get back to you. Finding that cell phone in the woods clinches it. I’m arranging for you to have round-the-clock protection. So pick your poison—FBI, the police, or a PI. I’ve got lots of friends who owe me favors. So don’t bother arguing. It won’t work.”
“I wasn’t going to argue. And I’ll let you decide who the lucky candidates are. But under one condition. Get that same level of protection for Tina, too. You know as well as I do that this sicko is going to come back for her. She outsmarted him, beat the crap out of him, and got away. He’s not going to be satisfied until he’s gotten even and gotten rid of her.”
“Agreed. And already taken care of. When I met with The College of New Jersey campus police, they were more than happy to assign several rotating officers to Tina. They’ll watch her twenty-four/seven. The only stipulation is that she’s got to stay on or around campus. No drives to the academy, not till her assailant is caught.”
Sloane blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Tina’s a really great girl. She shouldn’t have had to go through this trauma at all, much less prolong it by walking around campus glancing over her shoulder in fear.”
“Police protection only goes so far. Tina won’t be safe until we’ve caught this psycho.” Derek glanced at his watch. “Time for our meeting. Let’s see what Sergeant Erwin can tell us.”
Midtown North Precinct
308 West Fifty-fourth Street
New York City
Bob Erwin carried a file folder and three bottles of springwater into the large interrogation room—now doubling as a conference room—and shoved the door closed behind him.
“Here you go.” He distributed the bottles to Sloane and Derek, then took a seat at the table, placing the file in front of him. “Trust me, you’re better off with the springwater than with the coffee,” he pronounced. “I had a cup this morning. It tastes like sludge—as usual.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Sloane uncapped her bottle and took a swig. “It’s just as well. I’m flying on caffeine as it is.”
“Ditto.” Derek settled himself in the chair beside Sloane and across the table from Erwin. “I lost count of how many cups of coffee I’ve downed since five A.M.” He put the bottle of water down, rolling it between his palms. “I appreciate your including me in this meeting and bypassing all the bureaucratic crap.”
“No arguments there,” Bob agreed. “Although I am curious about your interest in this. You’re with C-6, not violent crimes. I’m aware that you and Sloane worked in the Bureau’s Cleveland field office at the same time, but you worked two different units. Is this all about your friendship with her, or does the FBI have other reasons for assigning you to this case?”
It was a fair question, one that Derek answered as honestly as possible.
“The Bureau knows I’m here, although I’m not here at their request. And you’re right; I am with C-6. But before that I was with Violent Crimes. I’m still the agent of record on a few of those cases, one of which I’m heavily involved in bringing to closure. I’m actually temporarily stationed in the Atlantic City area in order to make this case top priority. Sloane happens to be consulting on that case. I’m sure you’re familiar with it; it’s been in all the newspapers.”
“The Truman case.” Sergeant Erwin nodded. “I remember when Penelope Truman first disappeared. It was a high-profile kidnapping. Bizarre that a year later, her body hasn’t been found.” A questioning look at Sloane. “Any reason the Trumans called you in?”
“Penny and I were friends since kindergarten. The Trumans are grasping at straws, and they saw me as their last hope,” Sloane supplied simply. “So I started working that case a few days before Cynthia was kidnapped from John Jay. To further complicate things, I started getting harassing phone calls at the same time as I got involved with both cases. I had no idea which one was prompting the calls. We traced the cell number of my caller. It was a disposable cell phone. No way to know who or where he was, until he used the phone again. The next call that was made from that number came from the campus police at TCNJ.”
“The cell phone that was found at the crime scene where Tina Carroll was attacked.” Bob steepled his fingers, resting his chin on top of them. “This is a strange can of worms. The connection between that attack and the physical evidence and circumstances surrounding Cynthia Alexander’s disappearance are too close to be circumstantial.”
“Yet there are still so many outstanding questions.” Sloane leaned forward. “Were Cynthia and Tina this guy’s only victims? How did he choose them? If there were others, how many? Over what period of time? And what has he done with his victims, given that no bodies have turned up?”
“You forgot one question. Was Penelope Truman also one of his victims?”
Sloane went very still. “What are you basing that supposition on? I know Penny disappeared from a college campus, but we’re talking about a crime that happened a full year ago. In addition, she wasn’t a college student anywhere, much less at Richard Stockton, she disappeared in broad daylight when the campus was in full swing, and there was no physical evidence left behind. Plus, there’s no way her assailant could have planned that kidnapping, since Penny was a onetime visitor on the Stockton campus.”
“I realize there are inconsistencies between the Truman case and the other two we’re discussing. But that’s just it; we’re limiting our analysis to just a few cases. We might have to expand our thinking. You yourself just said that we have no idea how long these kidnappings have been going on, or if any or all his other victims are college age. This guy might just have a thing for college campuses. He also must have a thing for water, because he grabbed one girl right after she finished swim practice and the other girl at a lake on campus.”
“I don’t know,” Bob answered candidly. “I’m not an expert on the mind of a serial killer. But we can’t ignore the aspects that do fit the profile—an attractive young woman, a college campus, and a proximity to water.”
“Motive,” Derek supplied.
“Huh?” Sloane inclined her head quizzically in his direction.
“He’d take the risk if it suited his motive. Maybe he wasn’t scoping out just any woman. Maybe he was targeting Penelope.”
“Why?”
“Because of her relationship to you.”
“Derek…”
“Start with the basics Bob just laid out,” Derek instructed, cutting off Sloane’s protest. “Add to them the personal connections that link one case to another. Your longtime friendship with Penelope. Your casual friendship with Tina. The fact that the cell phone used to harass you belonged to the guy who attacked Tina. Everything ties back to you. And, on a separate note, if Bob’s supposition is right and Penelope’s disappearance is linked to the others, then our theory that the Truman case is the one our Unsub is worried about your stepping into is back on the table.”
