by Jenifer Ruff
“Of course. Otherwise it would have been too easy.”
“That’s not all.” Rivera tapped the steering wheel. “Remember little Gomez said the blonde woman left the parking lot in a black pick-up? Well, guess who owned a black pick-up?”
“I’m betting on Steve Horrigan.”
“Exactly. We’ve got an alert out on the truck. The description will be on every electronic billboard within a few hundred miles of here. Every patrol officer in the mid-Atlantic will be looking for it.”
“So we know what our killer looks like, sort of. But who is she? Why is she doing this? And why did she choose these people who don’t seem to have anything in common?”
Rivera’s expression turned grim. “And why is she sending messages to you?”
“I have no idea.” Victoria looked out the window, lifting her eyes toward the sky. Having seen little of the sun in the past few days, it was hard to tell if it was dusk, or if the clouds were thickening and darkening in preparation for another rainfall. Or maybe both. It had been another long day. Ned would have fed the dogs their dinner hours ago.
“I’ve got to send Ned a message and let him know I’m coming home.” She had to do a better job of keeping him updated on her schedule, or it really wasn’t fair to him. He had his own life. But what if she didn’t text ahead to let him know he could leave? What if she showed up and maybe he stayed and maybe they just hung out together for a while? Wouldn’t that be just what she needed to clear her mind, relax, forget about her work for a few hours so she could see everything again with an objective, clear mind in the morning?
“What are you thinking?” Rivera asked.
“Nothing. Just . . . looking forward to going home tonight.”
Who was she kidding? A few hours with a nice guy talking about something other than murder probably was exactly what she needed, what she should do. It was how normal people spent their after-work time—right? But was it fair to Ned? It would be impossible not to think about the cases and the crime scenes, not to text Rivera when a new idea or question occurred to her. That wasn’t fair to Ned. She wouldn’t be very good company at all.
She typed a text—I should be home in an hour. Thanks for everything—and pressed send.
# # #
Victoria pulled into her garage. Ned’s SUV was still there. That was unusual.
She entered the house through the garage. The dogs jumped up and went crazy greeting her, even Leo and Bella. She put her bureau-issued gun and holster in the safe. An incredible aroma emanated from the kitchen.
She walked into the kitchen. Ned was standing over the sink. “You’re still here.” Oops-that sounded rude. She smiled warmly to cover up her faux pas. She really was happy to find him still there. “Something smells amazing.”
“That’s dinner and there’s a plate waiting for you if you’re hungry. I waited for you to get home because I just have to show you something.” He smiled ear to ear.
“What is it?”
“It’s a surprise.” He walked into one of the family rooms. The dogs had all lain down, a sure sign Ned had given them plenty of exercise during the day.
“Izzy, come,” Ned called.
Izzy leapt from her bed and trotted to Ned, her body wagging side to side.
“Okay, ready for this?” Ned’s enthusiasm could not have been more obvious. He was bursting to show her the new trick he’d taught Izzy. His smile was contagious. Just what she needed to push the murders out of her mind, if only for a short time.
# # #
Ned left a few hours after Victoria arrived home. They’d hung around, laughed, and emptied several bags of organic dog treats teaching the dogs new tricks together. The evening had been light-hearted and fun.
Just a few minutes after he pulled out of her garage, she had a phone call from him.
“Hey. I’m still here, at the end of your driveway. There’s someone waiting in a black sedan outside the front gate. Says he’s an FBI agent.”
“Oh, sorry. I should have mentioned that. He’s a colleague. He’s keeping an eye on me.”
“Why do you need someone to keep an eye on you?”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “It’s just work stuff. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow about some ideas I have for the trip.”
“You sure? Because—"
She smiled. “I’m sure.”
He sighed. “Okay.”
“Hey. Thanks for tonight. It was fun. Just what I needed.”
“Yeah? Well we can do it again sometime. My boss lets me have a pretty flexible evening schedule.”
Victoria laughed. “Great to know. We might just have to do that. Have a good night.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Victoria took her seat at the conference table with Rivera, three other agents, local detectives, including Sullivan, and government officials. Most were absorbed with their own phones. The Chief of Police made small talk with the mayor, waiting for the meeting to begin. Victoria poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.
Pictures of Arnold Gomez and Steve Horrigan had been added to the montage of images lining the white board. Listed in chronological order were the messages left on the victims and the notes addressed to Victoria.
Todd Meiser - #2 - Liar
Robert Cossman - #3 – Cheater- Sonesta Hotel.
Anne Cossman - #4 - No message found – Sonesta Hotel.
Note to Agent V. Heslin with Cossmans: Does your partner treat you well?
Note on Agent V. Heslin’s property: Without trust, you have nothing. Do you trust Rivera?
Steve Horrigan – no message, no number. Suspect’s car left behind. Sonesta Hotel.
Arnold Gomez – #6 -You’ll be sorry.
Note for Agent V. Heslin with Gomez - Watch your back, Agent Heslin.
The names Jim Johnson, Thomas Wilson, and Jason Bourne, the only guests at the Sonesta Hotel who had not been located, interviewed, and alibied, were circled with question marks around them.
Murphy entered the conference room, unsmiling. With a curt nod he acknowledged a few of the people seated around the table, slapping the Chief of Police on the shoulder as he passed. He set his Bulldogs thermos down. “Let’s get started.” He fixed his eyes on Victoria. “Agent Heslin, go ahead.”
Victoria pushed her chair back, stood up, and turned on her tablet. Full of neat bullet-point lists, underlined phrases, starred and capitalized items. Rather than reading from the notes, she kept her gaze focused on the faces around her. “We haven’t identified our perp yet, although we have a description. Here’s what we know. We have five murders—four males and one female—that we know were caused by the same gun. We think the numbers represent the order in which the victims were killed, and the ME’s findings support that.”
The mayor raised her hand as she spoke. “I thought the man they found by the river didn’t have a number on him.”
“Correct.” Victoria folded her arms. “But ballistics match, and the Honda left behind at his crime scene matches one witnesses saw the suspect driving.”
“I see.” The mayor settled back in her seat, looking uncomfortable.
Victoria gestured toward the white board. “The victims don’t seem to have been targeted by race, age, or gender, unless Anne Cossman was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, which is possible. But most likely, these aren’t hate crimes in the typical sense.” She made eye contact with the Chief of Police. “We’ve spent the morning combing through your team’s interviews with the victims’ employers and family members. We compared your reports to our own, as I’m sure the detectives are doing as well.” She nodded at Sully. “We’ve found no commonalities. The victims don’t appear to share friends, family, activities, attorneys . . . nothing.”
“So why them?” the mayor asked.
“The connection must exist from the killer’s point of view.” Victoria clasped her hands in front of her body. “These people have done something to
her.”
“Her?” The mayor’s mouth hung open.
“Yes, ma’am. We believe the killer is female,” Victoria said. “The victims have done something to wrong the killer, at least from her perspective. It could be anything. All of them are from out of town, except Todd Meiser. All but Meiser and Gomez stayed at the Sonesta hotel.”
“Where was Gomez staying?” the mayor asked.
“We’re not sure yet.” Sully shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, staring at the white board as he answered.
“So have we looked into everyone else staying at the hotel?” the mayor asked.
Sully answered. “We have three guests still unaccounted for. Two left after one-night stays. Might not have even stayed overnight. Both paid cash. We’re thinking they met a woman or . . . a paid date. It happens in that hotel. The third is Jim Johnson. The minute that Mr. Johnson comes back for his stuff, we’ll know about it. We’re trying to track down all three of them.” The detective swirled his coffee absentmindedly with a stirrer. “You know, maybe the victims all drove too slow or cut our killer off changing lanes.”
Sully’s suggestion was an attempt to diffuse the tension in the room, but anything was possible. Victoria pointed to the whiteboard. “The killings took place in daylight, three of them in open, public areas. They’re sloppy, not well planned, with prints, hairs, fibers and other evidence left behind.”
A colleague of Sully’s interlocked his fingers, resting his hands on the table. “The killer also left behind a scarf.”
Agent Heslin nodded. “However, there’s no match for any of the fingerprints in our systems. We believe the perp just recently became unhinged somehow.”
The Chief of Police made a fist and tapped it on the table. “Unhinged. Sloppy. New at killing. You’ve got the hotel connection. And yet, you—I mean, we—still haven’t caught the person.”
Rivera cocked his head. “It’s only been three days.”
“Only three days?” The chief’s voice rose. “Have you been reading the papers? Or watching TV, Agent? It’s wall-to-wall coverage. We need this case closed yesterday.”
Victoria took a sip of water from her glass, giving herself another second to think. “Based on the footprints, the hairs left behind, and our descriptions of a suspect seen at two of the crime scenes, we’re looking for a woman in her early to late thirties, with straight brown hair dyed blonde, about five foot four. She’s been seen wearing her hair down and also in a ponytail. She may not have a job, since the crimes have occurred at different times throughout the day.”
“Did anyone see her at that hotel?” the mayor asked.
Murphy set his thermos down with a thump. “No.”
“So we’ve got a female serial killer in our city?” The mayor fiddled with the top button of her blouse as she spoke.
“Yes.” Victoria nodded. “A spree killer, actually. More than one murder in a short period of time, different locations, no cooling-off period between them. It’s possible she’s not acting alone, but she’s our only suspect at this time.”
“Isn’t that unusual? Doesn’t that make it easier to find her?” The mayor let go of her button and clasped her hands together.
“Yeah,” Murphy said. “It cuts our potential suspects in half, so we only have 150 million possibilities—in the USA.”
Victoria addressed the mayor. “Men are more likely to be serial or spree killers because they’re more socialized to express their aggression outward, more likely to hunt down victims. And it’s rarer for women to kill using guns. But none of that makes our jobs easier. We really don’t have statistically significant samples of female spree and serial killers to study. And on average, female killers manage to evade arrest for much longer than men.”
Sully twirled the stirring stick between his fingers like a tiny baton. “What type of spree killer do you think we’re looking at?”
“The short timeframe for these kills argues for a mission-oriented killer, someone with a purpose for elimination, like revenge. But, as I said, the murders are highly disorganized, So, it’s possible we have a visionary killer.”
“Can you elaborate?” the mayor asked, again clasping her top button.
“Visionary killers select their victims in a way that tends to appear random to investigators. They’re usually suffering from psychosis, having delusions or hallucinations that compel them to kill. The victims they choose are directly related to their psychosis.”
“Like David Berkowitz,” Rivera said. “The ‘Son of Sam.’ He claimed Satan, or a demon told him to commit murders.”
“I thought it was his dog.” Sully laughed.
“Yeah. And like our killer, he also left letters for the police.” Rivera crossed his arms, placing his hands on his biceps. “Some visionary killers believe or come to believe they are someone else entirely.”
Victoria made eye contact with her colleagues around the conference table. “Female spree killers still attack for the same reasons as men, though—anger, revenge, the need for control, mental illness. Based on the messages she’s left, it’s likely she’s been wronged by a man, a boyfriend or husband. She appears to be leaving messages related to that experience.”
“Are we even considering that the Butlers had anything to do with all these killings anymore?” an agent asked.
“We’re still considering everything.” Murphy set his arms on the table. “Until we can rule it out with absolute certainty.”
“Well, then . . .” The Chief of Police shifted his gaze to the notes on the wall, then settled it on Victoria. “As far as I can tell, in addition to the hotel, what connects these victims—and their murders—is you, Agent Heslin.”
“Excuse me?” The pitch of Victoria’s voice rose. Beside her, Rivera sat up straighter.
“It was you who convinced Todd Meisner to testify,” the Chief said. “Then we’ve got the couple killed hiking with their dogs, and I understand that hiking with your dogs is one of your big hobbies. And all the notes were left for you. Someone is obsessed with you.”
Victoria crossed her arms and shifted her weight. “The first note was left when the Cossmans were murdered. It’s possible the killer saw Rivera and me being interviewed on television after Todd Meiser was murdered. Channel 14 was on the scene when we left.”
The chief rolled his eyes “Where I come from, when we hear hoofbeats, we think horses, not zebras. You are in this up to your eyeballs. Let’s not overlook the obvious just because it’s uncomfortable for you.”
She turned red. “I’ve never met… I’ve never met the Cossmans, Steve Horrigan, or Arnold Gomez. And it’s not me that our suspect seems to have taken an interest in.”
The Chief maintained his hard stare. “Could have fooled me.”
“She appears to be focused on . . . an imagined relationship between Rivera and me. Perhaps she . . . has some displaced anger towards us.” Victoria inhaled deeply, took her time exhaling. “At this point, I’m certain we need to focus on what connects these victims in the killer’s mind.”
The Chief leaned forward. “Still, is there anything you want to share with us? Anything that might shed light on the messages written on the victims? Liar. Cheater. You’ll be Sorry. Is it possible those messages were intended for you?”
Victoria opened her mouth to speak, closed it again. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep from curling her hands into fists. Sully coughed and averted his eyes.
The Chief’s gaze roamed from Victoria to Rivera. “Is there something going on with you two? Because if there’s something we don’t know, and it allows this perp to keep killing, accumulating victims . . .”
Another detective jumped in. “If the FBI is going to be taking the lead on these cases, don’t be making things worse for us. We’re the ones who have to take the heat for these deaths.”
Rivera glowered at the detective. “Don’t forget—we live here. This is happening in our backyard, too.”
Murphy cut in. “Enough. We
’re not going down this territorial battle path. The FBI was called from the beginning because of Meiser’s connection to the Butler case. Now that we have a serial killer on our hands, we would have been called in anyway. This is our case, no doubt about it, but I like to think that we’re all working together in the best interest of the public, to catch this killer.”
Rivera set his hands on the table. They were still and steady, as usual, steady as a rock, but the muscles around his eyes tightened. His voice sounded carefully controlled. “To address concerns anyone may have, there is nothing unprofessional going on between Agent Heslin and me. There never has been. Everything points to those messages being intended to represent the killer’s thoughts on the victims.”
“Sorry to say this, Rivera—” Sully looked away from his friend, grimacing. He gestured toward the white board. “But the notes and the one-word messages are directly tied, and the notes are directed at Agent Heslin.”
“The killer is unstable.” Victoria dropped her hands to her sides, the heat of anger rising to her cheeks. She couldn’t believe the turn the meeting had taken. She focused on Detective Sullivan, taking in the hint of red capillaries around his irises and again wondering if he was just overworked or if he’d been drinking. She placed her hands on her hips. “There may be no rational explanation for what The Numbers Killer leaves behind. Insane or not, people do some horrible things without any reason at all.”
The Chief of Police narrowed his eyes, offering a slight nod.
“So what can we do?” the mayor asked. “How can you put out extra people to protect the public if we don’t know who is at risk?”
Her question met silence.
Victoria cleared her throat and everyone looked at her. Hands on her hips, she lifted her chin, and squared her shoulders. “Finding victim number one might be the key to all this.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
After the meeting, it was a relief to be alone. Sitting at her desk, Victoria shook off the feeling that she’d been accused of something. Resentment wouldn’t help and would only distract her from the case. There was work to be done. Detectives were still at the Sonesta Hotel trying to figure out how the staff or guests might figure into the murders. Sam and other intelligence analysts were still searching into connections between the victims. The police were handling the calls coming in through the tip lines, and Victoria and Rivera were following up with the few that seemed legit and warranted further investigation. There hadn’t been anything else useful since they talked to Jason and Kelly Smith. Victoria also had a pile of paperwork waiting, forms she had to complete from her last case. And she was expected to testify in court during the Butler trial, although she was still waiting on the exact date and time.
