Oliver Quick

by Ditter Kellen

  Oliver took down a box of freezer bags and stuffed the note along with the envelope inside. He then went to the coffee table and plucked up April’s locket with his gloved hand. That went in the bag as well.

  He zipped it shut and faced Jason. “Not long after I hung up the phone with you this morning, someone knocked on the door. When I opened it, there was no one there. I found an envelope on the welcome mat, addressed to SA Quick. Upon opening it, I discovered a locket I’d bought April for our second wedding anniversary, the same locket she was wearing when she went missing.”

  Oliver gripped the top of the freezer bag tightly in his uninjured hand. “There was also a note inside, and at the bottom of that note, it said, It would be rather difficult to replace someone like April. She was two of a kind. Sincerely, S.”

  A frown marred Jason’s face. “Why contact you now? And why the hell would he say two of a kind instead of one of a kind?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Oliver softly replied. “He also signed it, S.”

  Jason held his gaze. “For Silencer.”

  “That’s my first thought as well. Either way, it doesn’t tell me shit.”

  “He’s toying with you,” Jason unnecessarily pointed out. “What are you going to do?”

  Oliver gathered up his keys along with his cell phone and marched toward the door. “Once I get my car, I’m taking this to the FBI field office in Fort Walton Beach and having it analyzed.”

  Jason trailed close, pulling the door shut behind them. “Since when is there a field office in Fort Walton Beach?”

  “Several satellite offices have been erected in the past five years. There’s also one in Panama City. The BAU has expanded to a Huntsville office as well. It’s being run by Richard Holland.”

  Jason moved around to the driver’s side of his car. “You’ll be back with the BAU before the week’s end.”

  Oliver remained quiet as he slid into the passenger seat of Jason’s red Mustang.

  Jason started the engine. “You never did tell me how your SUV ended up at the hospital.”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Chapter Seven

  After Jason deposited him next to his SUV in the hospital parking lot, Oliver absently thanked him and moved to climb behind the wheel.

  He hesitated, noticing Angie exit the rear of the building and make her way in his direction.

  “Have you been out here all night, Mr. Profiler?”

  Oliver assessed her from behind the lenses of his favorite pair of Oakley’s. “You would never make it as a profiler, Nurse Angie. Surely you can see I’m not wearing the same clothes.”

  “I don’t usually pay attention to what my patients are wearing,” she slung back. “But I can tell you this. You’re thirty-eight years old. You live alone, because no woman in her right mind would stay with a man who pointed out her flaws. Also—”

  “Who said they were flaws?” he interrupted, confused by her sharp tongue. “They were more compliments than anything else.”

  That gave her pause. She stopped next to his vehicle, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “Pardon?”

  Oliver stepped from behind his door but kept his hand resting along the top. “The fact that you make sacrifices for your kid speaks volumes about you as a person. You even let him or her have a cat you don’t like. It shows what a good mother you are.”

  Though she lifted her chin a little, her gaze softened a touch. “I don’t dislike the cat, Mr. Quick. I’m allergic to him.”

  “So, you allow your child to have a cat that you’re allergic to? You might just be in the running for sainthood, Miss…?”

  A quiet laugh escaped her. “Palmer. And the kid you speak of is a him.”

  “Angie Palmer,” Oliver said aloud, the corner of his mouth lifting a tad. “Well, Miss Palmer, I apologize if I came across as rude last night. It was not my intention.”

  Why the hell was Oliver standing in a hospital parking lot, bantering with last night’s nurse?

  He needed to hurry the hell up if he thought to make it to Fort Walton Beach before road construction got underway.

  “You’re forgiven,” she muttered, moving to step around him.

  Oliver stopped her. “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  He wondered how much to tell her. “Be careful leaving work by yourself. In fact, make sure someone walks you to your car. There’s a serial killer at large, and you… Just be careful.”

  She gave him a strange look, nodded, and then turned and walked away.

  Oliver got into his SUV before cranking it and switching on the air conditioner.

  He watched in his rearview mirror as Angie ducked into an older model Honda.

  Memorizing the license plate, he put the SUV in gear and drove out of the parking lot.

  His gaze strayed to the freezer bag containing the charm and note.

  Why had April’s killer waited six years to contact him? And why give back the charm she’d been wearing when she disappeared? Serial killers usually kept things like that as trophies.

  Oliver had spent the first few years after April’s death grieving and attempting to hold on to what was left of his mind.

  He’d immersed himself into his work, hoping to become exhausted enough to close his eyes at night. But sleep rarely came.

  Resorting to nightly bouts of drinking, Oliver fell into a depression he couldn’t seem to climb back from. His work had suffered, as well as his family and friends.

  There had been only one constant in Oliver’s life over the years—his memories of April. And even those had been fading as of late.

  Oliver ended up selling their home and purchasing the condo on the beach he now lived in.

  Other than his continued drinking, life had eventually returned to some small semblance of normalcy for him. That was…until today.

  The buzzing of his cell phone yanked him out of his walk down memory lane. He snatched it up and brought it to his ear. “Quick.”

  “Hey, Oliver, it’s Richard. The Okaloosa County Sheriff’s Office just called. A woman has been reported missing from Destin this morning.”

  Oliver flipped down his visor, attempting to block out some of the blinding sun that happened to make it past his Oakley’s. “Why would they call the FBI with a missing person?”

  “Because she fits the description of the three murdered victims currently in the morgues. Her name is Sandy Irvine. Thirty years old, pregnant. She works at a local bank in town.”

  Oliver mulled that information over. “And we’re sure she didn’t just simply run off with last night’s date or had too much to drink and decided to sleep it off at a friend’s?”

  “Since she’s married and has a child, I doubt that would be a likely scenario. She left work yesterday at five pm. When she didn’t pick her daughter up from daycare, the husband grew concerned and called 911. Deputies on scene advised him that she wasn’t considered missing until twenty-four hours after her disappearance.”

  Taking a right at the stop sign ahead, Oliver asked, “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours. What changed?”

  “Her car was found on the side of the road about four am this morning, her purse and phone still inside. It’s being processed as we speak.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, Richard. But the Dockside Killer wouldn’t have left those things behind.” He’d just referred to the monster as the Dockside Killer.

  Richard sighed. “She’s pregnant, Quick. This is our guy. I’d stake my career on it.”

  Something didn’t sit right with Oliver about the entire situation. The Dockside Killer hadn’t left so much as a hair on his victims they could use for DNA sampling.

  He’d disposed of his victims’ vehicles, purses, phones, and any other personal items they’d had with them at the time. He wouldn’t have taken another vic without covering all bases. “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at the field office in Fort Walton Beach, but I’ll be leaving soon to go s
peak with Mrs. Irvine’s husband.”

  Oliver flipped on his blinker, making an expert turn onto Dune Street. “Stay put. I’ll be there within ten minutes.”

  Chapter Eight

  A pale-faced Richard stared back at Oliver, his eyes reflecting a quiet fury. “What kind of sick fucking game is this guy playing?” He waved a hand toward the baggie containing the note and charm.

  Oliver held his gaze. “He’s taunting me. He obviously gains some sort of perverse pleasure from the fact that he bested the FBI. Specifically, me, the one who let him get away.”

  “You didn’t let him get away.” Richard’s words hung in the air for several seconds before he spoke again. “Do you think maybe he wants to be caught?”

  Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Not a chance.”

  “You sound very sure of that.”

  Did the Silencer want to be caught? Oliver wondered for a brief second. “I’m not sure of anything, other than the fact that he took April from me, and I’ll never have her back.”

  Richard averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “I’ll have this sent off to be analyzed. If we’re lucky, he left a trace of something we can use to identify him.”

  Oliver ran a hand through his hair. “We now have two serial killers in the same vicinity.”

  “The public needs to be alerted,” Richard informed him. “I’ll have Nancy call for a press conference today, once I brief her on what’s transpired this morning.”

  “Wait.” Oliver shook his head. “Knowing about the Dockside Killer will assure the public’s vigilance. Let’s hold off on mentioning the note until we know something more. At least until it’s been analyzed.”

  Richard frowned. “I’m not sure if that’s wise.”

  “Well, if it’s attention he’s seeking,” Oliver shot back, “I’d rather not give it to him. He would love nothing more than to make the front-page news.”

  Richard seemed to consider Oliver’s words. “Okay. I’ll hold off for a couple of days.”

  Another thought slid through Oliver like an oily film. “My family. I want eyes on them at all times. My parents, my sister, and her children.”

  “Of course.” Richard jerked up the phone situated on the right side of his desk.

  Oliver remained quiet while Holland made arrangements to have his family protected.

  “Someone will be on them around the clock until this sick bastard is caught,” Richard assured Oliver as he hung up the phone. “In the meantime, I think you should consider coming back to the bureau. At least for the time being.”

  Oliver opened his mouth to answer, but Richard continued without missing a beat.

  “Not only could we use your help in catching the Dockside Killer, but you very well may be the only one capable of finding the Silencer before he slithers from the shadows and grabs another victim.”

  Sandy Irvine’s abandoned car floated through Oliver’s mind. “He might already have.” He surged to his feet and began pacing along the front of Richard’s desk.

  “Pardon?” A deep indention appeared between Richard’s eyes.

  “The missing woman from the bank. Sandy Irvine. Her car was found on the side of the road, her purse still inside.”

  Richard stood as well. “You think the Silencer is responsible for Mrs. Irvine’s disappearance?”

  “I don’t know.” Oliver slowed his pacing and moved to stare out Richard’s third floor office window. “The Dockside Killer didn’t take her. That much, I’m sure of. Unless it happened to be a random abduction, my money is on the Silencer.”

  Richard joined him at the window. “Because of the timing.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes,” Oliver softly agreed, watching a bird hop across the parking lot below. “It happened the evening before the note was left at my front door.”

  A heavy sigh escaped Richard. “If you’re right about this, that only leaves us two days to locate Sandy Irvine alive.

  “If she’s still alive,” Oliver stressed, his stomach tight with dread. “If the Silencer is responsible for taking her, he may have already killed her.”

  “Why would he change his MO now?”

  Oliver thought about that for a moment. “As far as we know, he’s been dormant for the past six years. He resurfaces now, takes another victim, and then contacts me.”

  Richard frowned. “I’m not following.”

  “This isn’t about his need to torture. It’s about baiting me. This is a game to him, Richard. A game of cat-and-mouse. And I’m definitely the mouse in this scenario.”

  Understanding dawned in Richard’s eyes. “The hunter has become the hunted.”

  “Precisely.”

  Chapter Nine

  Oliver pulled his SUV along the curb of a small yet charming house on the outskirts of town. The home of Russell and Sandy Irvine.

  He climbed from his vehicle, his gaze sweeping his surroundings.

  The pale-green house was in need of a coat of paint, but the yard appeared clean, and the flower beds were weed free and manicured.

  A swing set rested along the right side of the yard, along with a few other random toys scattered about.

  He made his way up to the porch and knocked.

  The door opened, and a disheveled-looking man appeared. His red-rimmed eyes were swollen, and a day’s worth of hair growth appeared along his jawline. “Can I help you?”

  “Russell Irvine?”

  “Yes,” the man answered, his voice hoarse and gravely.

  Oliver extended his hand. “My name is Oliver Quick. I’m here on behalf of the FBI. May I come inside? I need to ask you some questions.”

  Accepting Oliver’s outstretched palm, the man murmured, “FBI? Why is the FBI investigating a missing person case?”

  “We, ah—”

  “Oh God,” Mr. Irvine groaned, cutting off the rest of Oliver’s words. “You think she was taken by the same man who cut up that woman and left her tied to the pier?”

  Oliver hedged. “Actually, I don’t think that at all. May I come inside?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been a mess ever since my wife…” His voice trailed off.

  Oliver waited for Russell to take a step back before he ducked inside.

  “Have a seat,” Russell offered, nodding toward a well-worn recliner. He then moved to sit in a blue chair across from it.

  Oliver lowered his frame into the recliner, perching on the edge, his gaze fixated on Mr. Irvine. “I know the police have already questioned you. I also know how difficult this is for you. But I—”

  “How difficult this is for me?” Russell’s face twisted with grief. “You have no idea how difficult this has been. My wife is missing, Mr. Quick. And every bad scenario I can imagine has tormented me, every waking second. Which has pretty much been since she disappeared.”

  Without breaking eye contact, Oliver quietly stated, “I lost my wife six years ago, Mr. Irvine. I do understand what you’re going through.”

  He shifted his gaze from the pain he saw in Russell’s eyes to a photo of a woman resting on the fireplace mantle. “Is that your wife?”

  Russell didn’t acknowledge his question. He simply continued to stare back at Oliver, a muscle ticking along his jaw. “Did…” He cleared his throat and started again. “Your wife, how did she…pass?”

  Oliver couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t. Instead, he got to his feet and moved to the mantle. He plucked up the picture and studied the beautiful woman in the frame.

  She had long brown hair and pretty green eyes. Her smile was infectious, revealing straight, white teeth and a dimple in her left cheek. Just like April’s.

  The contents of the note Oliver had found earlier that morning echoed through his mind like a mantra. She was two of a kind.

  If he’d had any doubts that the Silencer had taken Sandy Irvine, they left him in that moment.

  He turned to face a now standing Russell. “Tell me about your wife.”

  Russell moved forward until he stood in front of
the mantle as well. He nodded to the picture Oliver held. “Everyone who’s ever met Sandy loves her. She doesn’t know a stranger. She’s expecting our second child.” His voice caught.

  It wasn’t lost on Oliver that Russell hadn’t referred to Sandy in the past tense. Which meant that he believed his wife still lived.

  “Take your time,” Oliver offered, resting his hand on the man’s shoulder to guide him back to the blue chair behind him.

  Once he had Russell seated, Oliver took possession of the recliner once more. “How far along is she in her pregnancy?”

  Russell wiped at his eyes and rested his elbows on his knees. He locked his fingers together, Oliver assumed, to keep them from shaking.

  “She’s a little over eight months. It’s just hard to sit here discussing her while she’s out there somewhere, probably hurt or… I should be out there looking for her!”

  “Daddy?” A little girl hesitantly stepped into the room, holding a doll that had seen better days in her small arms. Her light brown hair had been pulled up into a ponytail, and her pink shorts were twisted slightly, as if she’d dressed herself.

  She bashfully glanced at Oliver before hurrying to her father’s side.

  Russell hugged her to him. “What’s wrong Lexi?”

  “I want mommy.”

  A lone tear leaked from the corner of Russell’s eye, which he quickly brushed away. “Mommy will be home soon, baby. Why don’t you play in your room for a few more minutes while Daddy talks to this man?”

  Oliver could see the amount of strength it took for Russell to speak without breaking down in front of his daughter.

  Oliver wanted to jump to his feet and run from that place, to run from the pain that seemed to bleed from the very walls surrounding him. He recognized the agony swimming in Russell’s eyes, the grief he tried so hard to suppress in front of his child.

  Oliver slept with that same grief every night of his life. He had since April’s death.

  Lexi sent Oliver a shy smile, her green eyes so like her mothers, so like his own child’s would have been…had April lived.