by Andrea Kane
“She’s stable,” he assured her quickly. “Fighting every step of the way, in fact. She’s right here with me. I’m sure she’ll attest to what I’ve said loud and clear.”
Sloane got the message. Lillian was far from fine. Her cancer was in its final stages. But Luke certainly wasn’t going to say that in front of her. He wanted to sound as upbeat as possible.
“However, I am calling on her behalf,” he continued. “She wanted to call you herself, but she’s in a bit of pain today.”
“Please apologize to Sloane,” Lillian called out in the background. From the sound of her voice, Sloane could tell that her “bit of pain” was actually a fair amount of pain. “I just don’t understand how that mix-up could have happened,” Lillian managed. “I’m so upset about it.”
“What mix-up?” Sloane asked.
“Your name.” Luke drew a slow breath. He sounded so exhausted that Sloane’s heart went out to him. “I know you’re aware that my mother is retiring a little earlier than expected. Well, the college is holding a small party in her honor, right at John Jay, on April twenty-eighth, at seven P.M.” “Yes, I know. And I—”
“You know?” Luke interrupted. Now even he sounded upset. “That makes this even more embarrassing. You’ve worked with my mother for several years, served on a number of panels together. She has a tremendous amount of respect and admiration for you.” “As I have for her.” Sloane was totally at sea.
“To be blunt, your name was inadvertently deleted from the guest list. I have no idea how. It was on the original; I saw my mother enter it before she e-mailed the attachment to the department secretary at John Jay. There was obviously a screwup when the invitations were mailed out. Somehow your name was missing. So you never got the invite. As you heard for yourself, my mother is mortified. She hopes you’ll accept her apology and come to the party. I’ll give you whatever specifics you need now, and a new invitation is already on its way.”
Sloane blinked in noncomprehension. By this time, Derek was propped on his elbows, gazing quizzically down at her.
“Luke, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sloane said. “If there was a screwup, they obviously fixed it. I received my invitation on Saturday, and RSVP’d right away. Please tell Lillian that the only mix-up is what she saw on that final guest list. Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“That’s great, and my mother will be delighted.” Luke sounded as puzzled as Sloane. “Although, frankly, I’m not sure how this happened. I saw the final guest list. And your name was definitely omitted.”
“I’ll never understand computers. The printer might have cut off a line. Who knows? The important thing is, neither you nor your mother has anything to apologize for. I feel very included, and I’m honored to have been invited.”
“Thank you, Sloane.” Luke sounded very, very relieved. And given that he wasn’t the emotional type, this incident had obviously thrown Lillian badly—which was the last thing she needed at a time like this. “I’ll tell her right now. She’ll feel much better.”
“Tell me what?” Sloane heard Lillian ask.
“Everything’s fine, Mother,” he called back. “Sloane got her invitation, and she’ll be at the party. I’ll fill you in in a minute.”
“Luke, I realize now’s not the best time to talk,” Sloane inserted quickly. “So I won’t keep you. But before we hang up, thank you for what you did for Elsa and Burt. It’s made a big difference to Elsa’s state of mind—not to mention her health.”
“I hope it helped Burt, too, even if just to make him feel a little more informed about his options, and in control of the situation,” Luke replied. “He’s not the easiest guy to talk to, or to read.”
“You tried. That’s all that matters.”
“Let’s hope so. Sometimes trying is good enough. Sometimes it’s not.”
Sloane swallowed hard. “I take it things have deteriorated at your end.”
“More quickly than I expected,” he responded, keeping his voice low so as not to upset Lillian. “I’m just taking it a day at a time, managing my mother’s pain, and keeping our spirits up. Oh, and I’ve taken a leave of absence from work,” he added, his voice returning to normal. “All these years, my mother and I have both been so immersed in our careers, we’ve scarcely seen each other. Now we can finally enjoy spending time together.”
“You’re an amazing son. I’m sure that brings Lillian a great deal of peace.” Tears burned behind Sloane’s eyes. “Why don’t we catch up at the retirement party? That way we don’t have to talk in code. And in the meantime, you can get back to your mother.”
“I think that would be best. Right now you’re obviously in a time crunch. So go finish preparing for your meeting. You can fill me in on Elsa’s progress at the retirement party.”
“I hear you,” Sloane replied. And she did. Luke was making it seem like it was she who was pressured to hang up. “By the way, tell Lillian I’m making that strawberry cheesecake she loves, and bringing it to the party.”
“I’ll do that.” There was a wealth of gratitude in Luke’s voice. “I’m sure it’ll make her day. See you on the twenty-eighth.”
Derek sat up the minute Sloane ended the call. “What was that about?”
Briefly, she explained.
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I know how fond you are of Lillian.”
“What can I say? Sometimes life sucks.” Sloane blinked away her tears.
“You didn’t tell me about her retirement party. Or that you were attending.”
“Things have been kind of hectic around here, with two new abductions. I guess it slipped my mind.”
“Not a problem.” Derek’s wheels were turning. “I assume this party will be small and intimate, with just the significant people in Lillian’s work life there.”
“I assume so.” Sloane’s brows drew together. “Where are you going with this?”
“To the party.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll be your date. That way, I can meet the people you interact with at John Jay, and give Hank the night off.”
“So you’ll be going as my bodyguard,” Sloane clarified.
“Bodyguard and date.”
She shot him a dark look. “I don’t need a bodyguard. As for a date, this might surprise you, but most guys ask a woman for one of those. They don’t announce it as a fait accompli.”
“I seem to remember hearing that rule of etiquette somewhere.” Derek shrugged. “Oh, well. I’m not most guys.”
“No kidding.” Sloane slid out from between the sheets and headed for the shower. “It’s a good thing you’re dynamite in bed,” she called over her shoulder. “Otherwise, you’d be out of here on your ass.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Derek followed her into the bathroom. “As luck would have it, I’m also dynamite in the shower.” He leaned past her, reaching into the tiled stall shower and turning on the water. “I’ll give you a quick demonstration while we get ready for our meeting.”
Conference Room 531T
John Jay College of Criminal Justice
New York City
1 P.M.
“Let’s not waste any time,” Derek proposed, glancing around the oval table where Sloane, Elliot, Bob Erwin, and Larry Clark were gathered. “We’ve got a ton of ground to cover. Everyone’s here. Everyone’s been introduced. There are two urns of coffee on the credenza, and two dozen bottles of water in the minifridge next to it.” He waved his arm in that general direction. “Bill, how about you?” he asked, turning his head so his voice was aimed at the speakerphone. “Are you set?”
“Ready to go,” Bill confirmed, projecting loud and clear from the BAU in Quantico.
“Good. Then let’s get started.” Derek flipped through his notes. “To begin with, C-6 has set up surveillance all over Chinatown in the hopes of catching our serial sexual killer, now dubbed ‘The Butcher of East Broadway.’”
“Catchy name,” Bob no
ted drily.
“Yeah, well, that catchy name is all we’ve got so far,” Derek continued, scowling. “We’ve succeeded in relieving the gang pressure in Chinatown. And there’ve been no more murdered prostitutes—yet. But the local residents are nervous. So are the local business owners. The situation’s strung tight as a bowstring. We’re really hoping that our surveillance will spot this guy. It’s our best chance of catching him, since he’s more careless with his prostitutes than he is with his kidnapping victims. Especially this last time. In addition to his usual python coin, he graced us with a DNA sample.”
Whipping out a press release, Derek continued: “Obviously, you’re all aware that two more abductions took place on Sunday, both of which carried our Unsub’s signature style. Just so we’re all on the same page, here are the details.”
He picked up the printout and read directly from it. “Dr. Helen Daniels and her daughter, Abby, were kidnapped sometime between eleven-thirty A.M. and three o’clock P.M. at Stone Valley Recreational Center, which is located fourteen miles from Penn State’s main campus at University Park. Dr. Daniels is a professor of horticulture at the College of Agricultural Sciences. Her daughter, Abby, is a junior at the College of Liberal Arts, working toward a B.A. in crime, law, and justice.”
“That’s the same degree that Sloane…” Elliot started to blurt out the obvious, then fell silent.
“Correct,” Derek told him. “Penn State is Sloane’s alma mater, and her undergraduate degree is exactly the same as the one Abby Daniels is a little over a year away from receiving.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted.” Elliot’s face was flushed.
“No apology necessary,” Derek assured him. “Your point is well taken, and supports our theory that the Unsub is intelligent and well versed in the entirety of Sloane’s life.”
Elliot shot a quick, concerned look at Sloane, who was sitting straight and alert, displaying positively no emotion.
“Back to the kidnappings,” Derek continued. “Helen and Abby Daniels had a weekly ritual of going to church Sunday mornings, then stopping at Stone Valley for a picnic followed by a hike on the trails of Lake Perez, a seventy-two-acre body of water at the recreation center. Abby was supposed to meet her boyfriend at his apartment around three o’clock. Her mother was expected home around the same time by her husband. Neither woman showed. Based on the kidnappings in New York and New Jersey, the campus police jumped right on it, and contacted the FBI field office in Philly. Agents from the State College RA were dispatched, and started an investigation in concert with the state and local police. Their search dogs led them to a wooded area off the hiking trail where there were definite signs of a struggle. Plus, the cops found two discarded hypodermic needles at the scene. The investigation is ongoing, but it’s evident that our Unsub has struck again, making these two cases officially part of our task force.”
“He’s starting to unravel,” Bill asserted from the other end of the phone. “He’s making mistakes, getting careless enough to leave evidence behind. Also, he’s moving out of his comfort zone, which, up until now, has been the New York/New Jersey area. Hopefully, all this will work to our advantage. Careless leads to capture.”
“Agreed.” Derek nodded. “Any other updates?”
“I have two,” Larry announced. “In my investigation of the circumstances surrounding Lydia Halas’s disappearance, I discovered enough unexplained coincidental details to support Sloane’s theory. I’m convinced that Ms. Halas, too, was a victim of our Unsub.”
“Great,” Derek muttered.
Larry passed copies of a stapled report around the table. “In the interest of time, I wrote up the particulars. If anyone has questions, I’m available to answer them.” He turned to Sloane. “My second update relates to that voluminous list of people we came up with, including just about everyone you’ve ever known. In checking out the names, I uncovered something involving Lauren Majors.”
“Who’s Lauren Majors?” Bob asked.
“My mortgage broker,” Sloane responded. “She handled the details of my mortgage when I bought the summerhouse from my parents.” A wary look crossed Sloane’s face as she met Larry’s gaze. “I’m almost afraid to ask. What did you uncover?”
“Lauren Majors disappeared on September twelfth of last year, during a visit to her sister at Rutgers University. She was last seen walking along the Raritan River. The cops were swamped with cases at the time, so her sister chose to hire a PI instead. He came up empty. I retraced his steps, and, in my opinion, this wasn’t a random disappearance. It was an abduction—one that fits the profile of our Unsub.”
“I don’t believe this.” Sloane’s veneer cracked a bit, and she raked a hand through her hair. “It’s like this bastard has invaded every aspect of my life, and helped himself to innocent women along the way, simply because we crossed paths. Why? It makes no sense. Lauren and I barely knew each other. We met four, maybe five times.”
“Since we can’t answer that—at least not yet—and since we all agree that until we do, you’re in perpetual danger, we’ve elicited Professor Lyman’s assistance.” Derek’s tone and expression were grim. “Everyone here has been briefed on the professor’s artificial intelligence system. I’ll let him supply us with the details.” A nod in Elliot’s direction. “The floor’s yours, Professor.”
Elliot had been furiously taking notes as everyone around him shared facts, observations, and gut reactions. More and more he realized the awesome responsibility he held in his hands. This was no longer about proving the merits of his system. It was about saving lives—Sloane’s included. He had no intention of failing.
Tamping down his nerves, he began.
“I realize that what I’m about to describe to you is going to sound like a reach. But every technological advance once fell into that category. All I ask is that you listen with open minds, and an awareness that none of this is meant to diminish the contributions of law enforcement.”
With that, he went on to describe the basics of his system in a succinct and compelling manner, omitting as much “geek speak,” as Sloane called it, as possible.
He concluded by saying, “My computer model emulates the mind of a great detective. I spent countless hours working with New York’s finest to distill their knowledge, experience, and talent into my artificial intelligence system.” A faint smile. “Even with their instincts dulled by six rounds of beer at ‘choir practice,’ the cops I worked with are better than any computer could ever be at solving crimes. But, as I said, with their input, I think my program comes close.”
There were a few chuckles, after which Sloane asked Elliot about his progress.
“The data structure is almost complete,” he replied. “I’ll format the last of the information from this meeting and enter it tonight. From there, I expect to have to fine-tune the system—respond to its questions for direction, provide more information as needed. I can’t promise how long all this will take, and I can’t promise where it will lead us. But my hope is that it will be in the direction of the killer.”
Elliot paused, glancing from person to person. “And, should any of you still think is a bunch of crap, remember that it’s only serving as an augmentation to your classic ongoing investigation. Therefore, we have nothing to lose.”
“I can’t argue with that one,” Bill’s voice resounded through the speaker phone. “I say go with it.”
“I agree.” Bob Erwin nodded. “I was one of the cops whose brain Elliot picked. He’s a brilliant guy. And nothing he’s doing is like a scene out of Alien Encounters.”
Everyone chuckled at that one, and the light moment dissipated some of the tension in the room.
“Elliot’s point is well taken. We do have nothing to lose,” Larry said. “The rest of us will continue our investigation while Elliot runs his. It doesn’t matter who comes out ahead. We all have the same goal—catching this serial killer.”
“So we’re in agreement,” Derek concluded. “We have our m
arching orders. Let’s schedule a follow-up meeting.”
“Lillian’s retirement party is the twenty-eighth,” Sloane noted. “Let’s avoid that date since several of us are attending.”
“I’m off-site and unreachable all day on the twenty-ninth,” Bill supplied. “Does the thirtieth work for everyone?”
“We’ll make it work,” Derek stated flatly. “Same time and place?” He looked around the room for reaction.
Everyone voiced their assent.
“Maybe the meeting will be unnecessary,” Sloane murmured, not sure whether she was trying to convince everybody else in the room or herself. “Maybe by then, Elliot’s system will have nailed the guy.”
“Maybe.” Derek’s jaw was tight. “But until then, we’re tightening security around you.”
Office of Professor Elliot Lyman
John Jay College of Criminal Justice
New York City
9 P.M.
It had been a long day, punctuated by the sheer number of donut crumbs sprinkled around Elliot’s computer, not to mention in between the keys on his keyboard.
The meeting had finished up around four o’clock, after which Elliot had stayed on to talk to Sloane about the Penn State kidnappings, and to thrash around ideas on a search strategy for his program.
It was close to 5:30 by the time he got back to his office. He was operating on overload from all he’d ingested and all he’d explained, not to mention that he was worried sick over Sloane’s safety.
He needed time alone to recoup.
He’d shut his office door, taken two aspirin, and closed his eyes for a power nap. After that, his plan was to stuff a jelly donut down his throat for the energy boost he needed to get back to work.
He must have fallen into a deeper sleep than he’d intended.
He jumped up with the sense that too much time had passed. Sure enough, the clock on his desk said 8:40. Dammit. Three hours lost.
Automatically he checked his computer screen. Nothing yet.
Following his earlier plan, he made the rest of the Krispy Kremes his dinner. That did the trick. His mind jolted awake from the sugar high, and he was alert and ready to work.
