by Whitley Gray
Crap. “Are you with him?”
“No.” Sands cleared his throat. “He’s, uh…got someone there.”
Huh. Krell had family. “Good. I didn’t know he had anyone nearby.”
“Next of kin was listed as a buddy from the Marine Corps. Apparently they used to be close.”
Close? “Glad someone is there with him.”
“Yes.” Sands huffed a breath.
“What happened?”
“Manhunt in rural Iowa. The killer decided to make a stand and shoot it out. Iowa State Patrol lost an officer. A sheriff’s deputy was also injured.”
Zach winced. “And the perpetrator?”
“Alive and in custody.”
Better than expected. Now the man would stand trial, and families could have closure. From the FBI’s perspective, a federal trial.
“Zach. I’m sure you know where this leaves the unit.”
Here it comes. “Warren—”
“Hear me out. The Crossroads case isn’t over. There are loose ends and multiple jurisdictions. And this Follower case is heating up.”
“Warren, I resigned.”
“Technically you’re on paid leave from the unit. I’m recalling you to duty.”
Fuck. Zach’s heart turned over. Beck might explode. “Isn’t there someone else?”
Sands’s tone became coaxing. “You’re my best profiler, Zach. You’re intuitive and smart as hell. You know these cases. I need your help.”
Sands needs me. Even as sick dread invaded Zach’s gut, his inner profiler gave a fist pump. He dug his nails into his palm. “I—”
“The Follower is active. You’ve worked with Denver Homicide before, and you’re in Denver right now. Nail this asshole.”
Don’t do this. Walk away. “Sir—”
“One more case. That’s it. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
That meant nothing. What Zach meant to say was, No way in hell. What came out was, “I understand.”
“You’ll be compensated for the lost leave. And I’ll make sure you can meet your obligation to cover for the DPD psychologist, even if I have to drag someone out of Quantico.”
Zach closed his eyes and fell back on the bed. “I’ll need Ruskin’s files.”
“Electronic copies will be on the way within the hour. I appreciate your dedication, Littman. You won’t regret this.”
I already do. Zach ended the call and draped his forearm over his face. How was he going to explain this? It felt like he was cheating on Beck with the FBI.
“Why do you need Ruskin’s files?”
Zach sat up and turned. Towel around his neck and arms crossed, Beck wore briefs and a scowl. Crap. Why didn’t I tell him about the paid leave? Beck had deserved to know about Zach’s vacation-versus-resignation arrangement. Hell, Beck deserved to have a partner who could say no. A partner who could let go of the pursuit of serial killers. Zach motioned him forward. “Come sit down.”
Beck narrowed his eyes. “Is this something I need to be sitting down to hear?”
It wasn’t going to go well. “Please.”
Sighing, Beck sat. “What?”
“Ruskin is in ICU, but he’s stable.”
“Good.”
“He won’t be back to work for a while, and he’s got active cases.”
Expressionless, Beck said nothing.
“Look. The Follower is a complex case. It’s tied in with Perny and has multiple jurisdictions.”
“You don’t work for the FBI anymore, Zach. You quit. It’s tough what happened to Ruskin, but you’re out of it.”
Might as well come clean. “Actually I’m not. Out of it, that is. Right now I’m on paid leave from the bureau.”
“You’re what?” Beck’s voice had a hard edge Zach had only heard him use on criminals.
“I took this time as two weeks’ vacation before I start covering for Jay.”
“You…didn’t…quit.” Beck looked like a man who had awakened in an alternate reality.
“I had paid leave coming and decided to take advantage of it.”
“You let me think you had resigned.” Beck jumped up and paced. “You let me think you left profiling behind.”
“I did leave it behind.” Irritation nudged aside guilt. “I said I was done, but who could have foreseen Ruskin getting shot? They need me, and I’m available.”
Beck whirled, brows drawn into a hard line. “When were you going to tell me you weren’t done, that you were on leave instead? Or were you planning to keep working for the FBI?” Fucking A. What was it going to take? Zach leaped to his feet and stepped in front of Beck. “You think I wanted this? That I expected this would happen? The last thing I wanted was to get tangled up in a profiling job.”
“You don’t exactly seem broken up over it.”
The nugget of truth in that statement stole his breath. It pained him to see Beck like this, see the frustration and fury, see the hurt underneath the armor of anger. Yelling wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the paid leave?”
“I meant to, but it didn’t seem like a big deal. I’d get paid to vacation for two weeks. When I left Minneapolis, it felt like the end to me. I never expected this to happen. We’ll work the case together.”
“Did it ever occur to you that you shouldn’t be involved?” Beck threw the towel on the bed. “The Follower is gunning for you. He wanted you involved, and now he’s gotten his wish. This guy is a psycho’s psycho. He could make a play for you at any time.”
“He’s not going to get me.” Zach pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and tossed his towel over a chair.
“We don’t have the faintest idea who this guy is.”
“And I’ll help you with that. We’re on the same team, Beck.”
“You’re still on the FBI’s team, and you didn’t even tell me about it. I find that significant, and we need to talk about it.” Beck stepped into a pair of faded jeans. “I know you’re an excellent profiler; if you don’t want to give it up, just say so.”
Zach opened his mouth, then closed it. Goddamn it, why did it have to be this way? They’d worked well together last fall. Now it seemed they were in constant disharmony. Sparring at home would inevitably overflow into work. Catching the Follower would require intense teamwork.
Bzzz…
Zach glanced at his phone. “It’s yours.”
Beck retrieved the cell and answered as he left the bedroom.
A fine mess. Grade A. Zach pulled on black jeans and a powder-blue polo shirt and went to make coffee. He started the machine, popped bread into the toaster, and leaned against the counter. The lilacs in the backyard perfumed the morning breeze, waving fat purple spears. He massaged the back of his neck.
Why wasn’t there a way for him to work at what he was good at and have the relationship with Beck? The thought of letting Beck go—considering it made Zach’s heart feel twisted and sick. No matter the issues pushing them apart, he loved Beck. Zach would have to barter a truce.
Doughnuts from Zimmerman’s won’t cut it this time, Littman.
Beck would come around. He always did.
There’s always that first time that he doesn’t. The time when he’s had enough of broken promises and separation and endless hours at work.
Some heavy discussion was in their future.
* * * *
Anatomy.
Beetle loved the way the word tasted on his tongue, crisp and clean like seltzer. He loved the sights and smells. Anatomy.
There was beauty in striated muscles, elastic arteries, and glistening nerves. There was beauty in blood, which wasn’t a liquid but free-floating cells suspended in a slurry of water and proteins. The ruby richness of blood was lovely, but the structure of the human body…now that was perfection.
That was anatomy.
He moved around the tiny apartment, making coffee before settling in his room with the sketchbook. Much better than the Sunday Denver Post. Leisurely, he
flipped through the sketches he’d made at the scenes. The white of skin, the gray of shadows, the inky black of blood. Eyes wide and shiny.
If possible, Beetle would opt for a female every time. The curve of a cheek, the sweep of a spine, the hairless chest and belly. Amazing.
The male specimen had not brought the same satisfaction. From the anatomy standpoint, it should be yin and yang, but it was more like good and evil.
On a fresh sheet of paper, Beetle drew boxes the size of index cards, leaving narrow gutters between the cells.
Referring to a sketch, he copied salient features. Pausing, he waggled his pencil. Eyes were tricky. It wasn’t the execution—no, it was the reflection. The character’s eye didn’t convey the sense of terror. Eidolon commanded terror.
He rubbed out the iris.
The highlight on the cornea needed to be more than a white rhombus. It should be a miniature picture in its own right. It should reflect a shadow holding a glinting blade. With the fine point of a mechanical pencil, Beetle configured the tiny drawing, his grin ever widening.
Beautiful.
* * * *
Beck wanted to throw the phone across the room. He hadn’t even had coffee, and Sunday was falling apart. He pulled on a shirt and went to the kitchen.
Zach stood at the sink, eating toast and staring at the backyard. He seemed a million miles away.
Beck got a mug and poured coffee. “That was Elmo. There’s been a development.”
“Mmm.” Neutral, noncommittal. No eye contact.
“He got the forensic anthropologist’s report on Annika.”
A sigh. Zach brushed crumbs from his hands and turned. Twin frown lines between his brows. “What did the anthropologist find?”
“She confirmed not all the bone damage is from animals.” Not the usual four-legged predators, anyway. Beck took a slug of coffee and offered an olive branch. “I need to get down there, and I think you should come along.”
Leaning back against the counter, Zach met Beck’s gaze. “Why?”
“We may be dealing with the Follower.”
* * * *
Despite exhaust fans, Beck detected a lingering hint of rot that tinged the air in the autopsy suite. On the table, bones the color of aged parchment were laid out in an approximation of anatomical normal. Elmo waited with a petite blonde woman.
She grinned at Beck. “Hello, Detective. Thanks for comin’ down.”
Delta Sugarhill was as Southern as her name, but she was no pushover Dixie debutante. Blonde, blue-eyed, and buxom, she looked like a prom queen; underneath the facade was a razor-sharp intellect. Delta didn’t take crap from anyone.
“Hello, Dr. Sugarhill.” Beck gestured toward Zach. “This is FBI profiler Dr. Zach Littman. Zach, this is Dr. Delta Sugarhill, a forensic anthropologist.”
Delta shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Littman.”
“Likewise.”
Beck peered at the bones. “What have you got for us?”
Delta rested gloved hands on the table. “It’s common for remains left outside and in a superficial manner to be scavenged. When scavengers gnaw on bones, they leave teeth marks.”
Beck nodded. Nothing new there.
Elmo chimed in. “And marks on bones can be difficult to interpret.”
“Bones can also be scattered a significant distance. Often the small bones of the hands and feet go missing.” Delta smiled at Elmo. “I assisted with the recovery of these skeletal remains and authored the forensic-anthropology report. Elmo asked me to show you a particular finding.”
Zach shot Beck a wary look.
“This is the left hand.” Delta pointed at the bones. “She’s missing the tips of three fingers and her thumb. The index finger is also missing the middle phalanx.”
Beck could see the gaps from the missing bones. “Okay.”
“On the right hand, the tips are missing on the index and middle fingers. One phalanx is missing from the thumb.”
Stepping toward the table, Zach stared at the right hand. “Which bone has tool marks?”
“The distal end of the fifth metacarpal.” Delta selected a bone. “These aren’t animal marks. They’re blade marks.”
Zach paled. “Definitely a blade? No question?”
“None.” Delta set the bone on the table. “Additionally, no other digit is missing in toto.”
No. No. Not this girl. Beck said, “So you’re saying she’s missing her entire right pinkie. All three bones.”
“Yes.”
“None of the other metacarpals had this kind of damage?”
“None of the other recovered bones had these marks. All ten metacarpals were recovered. This is the only one with blade marks.”
Shadows darkened Zach’s eyes. “Someone cut off her finger. Is there evidence of sternal damage?”
Delta pointed at the chest and ribs. “The sternum is missing. No tool marks on the recovered ribs.”
“Hyoid fracture?” Zach’s voice faded out.
“No. But strangling can still be the cause of death when the hyoid is intact.”
Christ. Now they knew less about Annika, not more. “Is this consistent with what you found on India yesterday?”
“The finger amputation is,” Elmo said. “Without soft tissue, I don’t have much else to offer.”
Unger would go nuclear over this. Not only was his daughter dead, but the Follower might have killed her—and the Follower was very much alive.
Zach turned to Beck. “I need your Follower file. Everything.”
* * * *
Once out in the sunshine, Zach could breathe. Morgues always had a claustrophobic feel. The caress of fresh air felt good as he walked next to Beck. “This changes things.”
“It changes who might’ve killed her, but she’s still dead.” Beck unlocked the car, and they climbed in.
Dead. Nothing but bones, and those told a tale of violence. “I should’ve known. Perny wouldn’t have killed twice within a month.”
“Maybe he was escalating.”
“It was four months between the last Crossroads victim and the girl in North Platte. Even if he was devolving, the two girls were taken too close together.”
“You didn’t have all the information.” Beck started the engine. “Look. About…earlier. I know this move has been hard on you. I understand why you decided to take the paid leave, and about helping your unit. It just caught me off guard. I was an asshole about it, and I’m sorry.”
A weight lifted from Zach’s heart. “Forgiven, forgotten. I should have told you about the leave right away.”
“You want to get breakfast?”
What he wanted was to dive into the files, but Beck would probably work better on a full stomach. “I could eat.”
“Let’s grab something from Zaidy’s.”
“The deli? I thought they just did lunch.”
“They do it all.”
* * * *
Two orders of basted eggs, ham, and toast later, they sat in robbery/homicide at facing desks, the Annika Unger case file spread out between them. Zach studied Annika’s photo. God, she appeared so…untouched. Why did you trust the Follower?
Beck lobbed his juice container into the trash. “You know what the confounding problem is here? Annika’s barrette. If Perny didn’t kill her, how did that barrette get in with the other trophies? It’s one thing for the Follower to get inside Perny’s apartment, but to know where those things were kept? The Follower knew Perny.”
“It would require inside knowledge, but not friendship.” Zach rubbed the scruff on his jaw. “I’m confident Perny didn’t kill Annika.”
“Why?”
“The North Platte girl disappeared from outside a mall on December nineteenth.” Zach tapped a pen on the desk. “Annika disappeared on the fifteenth. Perny took seven girls. They were all blonde—”
“Annika was blonde.” Beck looked sheepish. “Playing devil’s advocate here. She fits with Perny’s type.”
“
All his victims were college students, taken near a college campus. All were found nude, bathed, wrapped, and strangled with a Tarka necktie.”
“Okay. Annika was in ninth grade, but tall for her age. She was found clothed, without a wrap, and had something silk around her throat, but there was no tag. Likely not a necktie.” Beck took the lid off his coffee. “Could Perny have changed his MO? Maybe up close he saw how young she was, panicked, strangled her, and dumped the body.”
“Possible, but I’d say it’s unlikely. All seven known victims were handled in the same manner. The girl in North Platte got the same treatment as the first six in Omaha. I don’t think he would have deviated from what he needed to get gratification.”
“What about staging? Could Perny have staged Annika to look different?”
Zach shook his head. “I can’t see him doing that. I’m convinced Perny didn’t kill her.”
“Are you convinced the Follower did?”
“I’m…ninety percent sure. Perny never took a finger.”
Beck blew out a breath. “I have to tell the Ungers. And Matt Unger will go ballistic.”
“Hold off for now. I have a ton of files to review, including Hogan’s records on the Jane Doe from last October and Perny.”
“Didn’t you analyze her case last fall before you saw Xav-D?”
“No. I only had enough information to ask questions and report back to Sands.” Zach hadn’t wanted to see the complete file. It had been an unpleasant errand—a pointless errand. Xav hadn’t given up anything useful.
“I’ll copy the file on India for you. Then I need to call Hogan and update SJ.” Beck’s brow furrowed. “Then a task force meeting.”
“If you could convince Hogan to travel to Denver, it would make things easier.”
The frown deepened. “How is bringing in another jurisdiction going to make things easier?”
“Because it’s a multijurisdictional case. Hogan knows the two Omaha victims—especially the first one. I know Perny the killer, but Hogan knows Perny the victim. You know Annika and India. It makes it easier if all parties work together in person.”
“I’ll mention it to SJ.” Beck sounded tired. “You need anything else?”
You. “A little luck.”
* * * *
After Zach was elbow-deep in murder books, Beck pulled out his phone and dialed Hogan. Hopefully the man had the round-the-clock approach to murder investigation.
