by Ciana Stone
"I can say that when he knelt in front of my cage to unlock it or just to talk to me, he didn't seem to have problems kneeling or standing up again. That could indicate a man younger than his late sixties, or a man who'd enjoyed good health and stayed fit."
"Which leave us where we've been all along," Fiona complained.
A thought seized Izzi. One she'd had more and more over the last year. Since she was seven, she'd been interrogated, interviewed with and without hypnosis, and even undergone regression hypnosis. There were things about that night she could not recall, no matter what technique was employed.
Why had her mind blocked out portions of her memory? Was it of her own volition, or did the Unsub have something to do with it? Was there a way to unlock those memories? She made a mental note to search for answers.
Lost in thought, she let the conversation flow over and around her. When they reached the road where the crime scene was located, she noticed two Sheriff's cars parked alongside the road. A van pulled in behind them as they parked, bearing the logo of the state crime lab division.
After introductions were made, Izzi and Galen showed everyone where they found the first footprint. Markers were put into place beside every track discovered and those assembled followed the path, watching carefully for more. Due to their slow pace and search for any other potential evidence, it took an hour to reach Miller's Crossing. Sure enough, across the road was a piece of land that had seen a lot of car traffic.
There was little to no grass, and thanks to rain and tires, there were sizeable depressions and holes.
Everyone crossed the road and started looking around. Izzi wandered deeper off the road into the trees. There was a path, well-worn on each side with a hump in the middle, obviously formed by tire tracks.
She had a sudden flash.
Teenagers laughing, talking. An old jeep with a cooler of beer. Beach towels. She felt a smile rising. A lot of young people had followed this path. It must be the way to the lake. She could almost imagine the scene. A hot afternoon, kids swimming and sitting on towels, talking, and laughing.
It seemed idyllic.
Until suddenly, the temperature seemed to drop. She immediately hunched in, crossing her arms tightly.
That's when she heard it.
Humming.
It was the sound of someone happy. In anticipation. Eager.
She whirled around, searching, her eyes moving over the landscape.
It took you long enough. It's a shame you're not smart enough to know what to look for.
Where are you? She kept looking.
Close enough. But not as close as I will be.
"Iz?"
She jerked her head in the direction of Gib's voice. "Are you okay, Iz?"
"I heard him again."
"Here? When?"
"Just now."
"Is he nearby? Do you think he's watching?"
"I don't know."
"What does your instinct tell you?"
"That we need to visit the morgue and talk with the ME about the body they have."
"The locals think that's the Unsub."
"Why?"
"Because of the shoe print. A hair found at the crime scene. Matches the dead guy."
"And what do you think?"
"I don't know. I need to see the evidence. You ready to go? The locals will stay and keep searching, make molds of the prints and compare to the one from the house."
"Okay."
He gestured for her to precede him and then fell in half a step behind her. Iz cut one more look over her shoulder. Close but not as close as I will be.
Somehow those words filled her with a horrible certainty that her monster was changing the game on them. That maybe he was tired of his kills and needed more.
Maybe he wanted a more challenging prey to hunt now.
Them.
Chapter Eleven
Izzi could feel the frustration of the people as they headed for their cars. The time they spent with the Medical Examiner netted information that, in Izzi's opinion, refuted all claims that the deceased could be the Seven Bridges Killer.
Everyone on the BAU team backed her up, but to no avail. The Governor instructed the State investigators to close the case. They couldn't afford to have a serial killer running around, being written and talked about in the media. Particularly in an election year.
So, whether the BAU agreed or not, at this point and despite Gib's protests, the local and state police had decided to call a press conference the following morning, announcing they'd solved the murder of the woman, Bonnie Cole, and her children, and that the infamous Seven Bridges Killer was dead. He died when his car went off an embankment as he was fleeing the scene.
Gib was so angry he was stone cold silent. Izzi knew as well as anyone under his command, what that meant. When Gib was that quiet, you didn't want to be the one to break his silence. It was scary, and he didn't have to hit you to inflict deep wounds.
Which meant no one was eager to ride back to the hotel with Gib. They had two cars, so the rest of the Unit could ride in one, leaving Izzi to ride with Gib. Leo mumbled that she was probably the only person Gib wouldn't eviscerate. She wasn't sure she had immunity from his anger, but didn't argue. In fact, she suggested that the others find a place to eat.
"We're supposed to debrief in conference room B," Tamara argued.
"I'll ask him to have dinner with me and tell him I suggested you all go out. Just a little time for everyone to decompress and get a grip on our frustration so we can take a look with clear heads and see if we can come up with something that will change the Governor's mind."
"Just the fact that there was no knife or body part found negates their claim this is the Seven Bridges Killer," Fiona said. "He always leaves the knife and something from the victim."
"And we've made that clear and it's in our report. It's all we can do," Izzi insisted gently. "For now. Let's just take a beat and give Gib one as well. What if we meet at ten for coffee and dessert? I'll ask the hotel to set it up in the conference room."
"Sounds good," Galen was the first to agree. "And I think Isabelle's right. Let's give Gib some space."
"Fine," Leo agreed. "See you later."
"Yes. Enjoy your meal." Izzi hurried over to where Gib stood at the other car waiting.
Leo watched them leave and tossed the keys to Galen. "You drive."
Galen caught the keys, unlocked the car, and got in behind the wheel. "What about that steakhouse just off the highway?"
"Works for me," Dennis said immediately.
"I'm game," Fiona added and looked at Tamara, who was squeezed between her and Dennis.
"Okay by me."
"Then the steakhouse it is," Galen started the car and pulled out.
For the first minute, everyone was quiet, then Leo spoke up. "This is unacceptable," his voice rose with each word.
"I agree," Fiona chimed in. "I know I was hesitant to commit at first, but I don't buy that this guy is the Seven Bridges Killer."
"Nor do I," Galen added. "It doesn't add up."
"No, it doesn't," Dennis offered. "There's always a murder weapon, some kind of blade, found on a bridge. Why not this time?"
"Exactly," Galen cut a quick look at Dennis. "This guy doesn't leave evidence except what he wants us to find and never fails to leave a blade that nets us no clues or leads. There's no reason for him to change his pattern now."
"Which leads us right back to where we were," Leo groused. "Being ridden roughshod by a Governor who is more concerned with reelection than catching a criminal."
Galen blew out a breath. "Look, we're just going in circles, so how about we table it for an hour, have a beer, a meal and try to find something – anything to talk about aside from the Seven Bridges Killer."
"Like the Cheerleader Killer?" Dennis asked. "Has anyone come up with any new ideas on that? We'll be meeting the State Police tomorrow, and we need to have some idea what we're going to say."
That turne
d the conversation. Leo gave a silent thanks to Dennis. Right now, his head was about to explode, and he needed to get clear and calm so he could try and come up with a logical reason to present in defense of keeping the Seven Bridges case open.
What bothered him more than the frustration of believing his team to be right and the locals to be wrong, was something he wouldn't voice aloud. What if there was an off chance that he and the others he worked with were wrong and the Seven Bridges Killer was, in fact, dead? Didn't he want to close out that case, that long chapter of his life?
Or did he want to keep the case open because it had been such a big part of his life?
Did he not know how to let go of this case and if so, why?
*****
Izzi didn't say a word, she just stared out of the side window as Gib drove. When his phone rang, he pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, turned on his blinkers and answered.
"SAC, Foster."
He looked at Izzi as he listened. She estimated that took about forty seconds. "Thank you. Yes, I appreciate your call."
Gib slid his phone into the breast pocket of his jacket. "In a stroke of luck, or extreme coincidence, local police report some teenagers showed up at the police station last night. They say they were out drinking and partying and on the way home saw something unusual. A fishing pole tied to the rail of a bridge.
"They stopped and untied it and found a knife tied to the line. It was covered in blood. The police turned it over to the state crime lab who just called them to report that the pole has prints that match the dead guy in the car and the blood matches that of the woman who was murdered.
"The police say it's a done deal. The Seven bridges killer is dead."
"That is an amazing coincidence. Quite timely," Izzi commented.
"And?"
"And a lie."
"How do you know?"
"Because I felt him. At the crime scene, on the path that led down to Miller's Crossing and when we came out of the morgue. I felt him. He's watching."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Gib's voice was thunderous in the confines of the car.
With his jaw clenched and his brows lowered, he looked every bit like a man who was eager to hit something, or someone. Hard and repeatedly.
"Yelling isn't going to serve any purpose," she said as calmly as possible. "I've been wanting to talk to you about it, but couldn't until we were alone."
"And now we are. So?"
"So, I have no doubt at all that our Unsub is alive and well. The guy in the car was part of his game. Something new. Something to put us off balance, make us doubt ourselves and put us at odds with local and state law enforcement."
"He wants to embarrass us? Is that what you're saying. He wants to make us look ineffectual? Inept at our jobs?"
"To remind us that he's smarter," she said. "I believe he staged the entire thing."
"That would take an extraordinary amount of forethought, planning and orchestration. Pulling it off would be nothing close to miraculous. Do you really think he could do it?"
"I do."
"Then walk me through it."
It'd been on her mind all day, and she'd played out a scenario in her head, one that she believed their Unsub could have concocted and carried out. "What if he made friends with the dead guy in the car?
"Set up a time to get together, drink and shoot the shit. Only, he kills the guy, drives his car to where people park all the time at Miller's Crossing, then takes the guys clothes and shoes and wears them. He walks to the victim's home, kills her and her children and then returns to the car, redresses the dead guy and drives the car to the embankment. He then puts the dead guy behind the wheel, pushes it off the embankment and tada–the Seven Bridges killer for the police to find.
"And what about the fact that the guy in the car is twenty-six-years old and couldn't have committed the crimes in '95 because he wasn't born until '94, and during the 2008 to 2010 spree he would have been fourteen to sixteen years old?
"Add to that he was less than six feet tall and small framed. There's no way he overpowered the victim."
"Then how can he expect us to believe he's the killer?" Gib asked. "Does he think we're that stupid?"
"No. I don't think he expects us to believe it," she answered.
"Then what's the point?"
"To make the police here believe it. This state has two Senators up for reelection, along with their governor and at least one house seat. It's a volatile political climate and their party is scrambling to hold onto power.
"If the Seven Bridges Killer is becoming active again and has chosen Mississippi as his hunting ground, it could hurt them politically.
"Closing the case makes them look good and they'll use it – a lot– in their campaigns. So, it's not about what's true or what does or doesn't make sense. It's about closing this case and making them all look good."
"I get that – believe me. But that doesn't answer the question. What's in it for him?"
That was the question she'd dreaded him asking and knew he would. She didn't want to give voice to her suspicion, but the strength with which it was growing told her she had to. "To make it harder for us. He's changing the games. If the case is closed, we don't have any reason to keep looking for him. At least until he gives us one. As much as I know you don't want to hear this, he's proven one thing with this stunt."
"What?"
"That all we can be is reactionary. We can't be proactive, we can't do or say anything that will stop him from killing again, and even when he does, if it's in our own back yard, we're still two steps behind."
"Then how do we catch him, Iz?"
"We give him a dose of his own medicine."
"Meaning?"
"We don't argue with closing the file. We tell the media, the Seven Bridges Killer turned out to be not nearly as smart as he thought. I mean, who doesn't get their car serviced? To die from faulty brakes isn't the mark of brilliance."
Gib looked at her for a moment, then a smile rose on his face. "That will piss him off. We'll be telling the world he's not smart."
Izzi nodded. "And once he's pissed…"
"Oh, hell, Iz. He could go on a killing spree. We can't risk putting innocent people at risk."
"I don't think we will."
"Then what do you think he'll do?"
"I think he'll make us his marks."
"You think he'll go after the BAU agents?"
"I do."
Gib ran his hand over his mustache and down to his chin. "I don't know about this. I'll have to give it some thought. I can't use my people as bait."
"Then come up with another solution. It was just a suggestion."
He nodded. "And a damn good one if it didn't put my people in harm's way."
She smiled. One of the things she loved about Gib was his genuine concern for the safety of his people. She wished she could tell him that the decision might be out of his hands no matter how he felt.
Because she was beginning to feel that their monster was ready to step up from the minors and play with the big boys. And how better to win than to hunt the monster hunters themselves?
And end them all.
One by one, until there was no one left.
But him and her.
Chapter Twelve
Omni Atlanta at CNN Center, Atlanta Georgia
Izzy turned at the sound of the tap on the interconnecting door to Gib's room. "Come in."
"Are you decent?" he asked as he entered.
"Would it matter?" she looked up from the act of taking off her shoes. He'd removed his jacket, tie, shoulder holster, and badge, signaling he needed to step back from being Special Agent in Charge, for a little while.
"Actually, not decent might provide a much-needed diversion." He sat on the bed, kicked off his shoes, and leaned back against the stack of pillows at the head of the bed.
She knew what he meant. They'd been in Atlanta for two days, and the entire team was exhausted. They'd interviewed every cheerl
eader, team player, coach, trainer, driver, security personnel and stadium employee, and had viewed every second of security video footage, along with all the footage shot at the game by the various networks.
Gib, as Special Agent in Charge, took it personally that they'd not yet come up with a profile for the spree killer. The old saying "shit rolls downhill" didn't hold true here. It ran uphill. Straight to him. Sure, the agents would be reprimanded, possibly fired if they screwed up bad enough. But Gib caught hell for what all his people did or didn't do and knew their performance was seen as a reflection of his ability to lead a team and get the job done.
Izzi had known Gib for some years and had lived with him long enough to be able to tell when he needed what he called diversion. She called it stress relief. He needed to get out of that part of his head so he could calm down and see things clearer.
It might not be wise, but at the moment, the need to take care of him superseded wisdom. So, she acted on impulse, stood, unzipped her skirt, and slid it down over her hips. She then peeled off the pantyhose and tossed them aside. "Oh god, that feels good. My skin can finally breathe." Izzi ran her fingertips over the skin of her thighs and up to her hips.
She cut a look at Gib to find him smiling. Izzi turned back around, pulled her top up over her head and let it fall, revealing there was nothing else beneath it.
"Tease," Gib said.
"You said you needed a diversion," she turned one shoulder slightly, just enough to look back at him as she slid her panties down and stepped out of them.
"Well, you succeeded. I'm very–diverted."
"Not as much as you will be," she said and hoping she wasn't going to get shot down, turned toward him.
If a look could deliver a touch, his delivered in spades. Sensual, hungry. It was almost tangible, an energy that brushed her skin and inspired need and passion. His gaze traveled over her, taking his time. When the journey brought him back to her face, his expression made her breath catch.
"Iz."
Dear God. How could he make that syllable sound like the most sacred and vital element of his existence? It undid her. Completely. Her body was in motion before her mind caught up.
Three steps and she reached the bed. A heartbeat later, she was atop him, working at the buckle of his belt. Between the two of them, he was divested of his clothes in less than a minute. Then he pulled her down on top of him.
