Dr. Underwood thought for a moment, then named two researchers who were on the list of a dozen names that Charlie had already compiled. As, in response to the same question, David Myers had also given them a couple of different names that were already on Charlie’s list, the information was not particularly helpful.
“You kicked ass in there, babe,” Michael told her as they left. Having forgotten herself so far as to glance at him in response, she caught the look in his eyes and knew that she hadn’t been mistaken: he was proud of her. She couldn’t help it: she smiled at him. Sometimes, having Michael in her life actually felt good. And she meant good in a way that had nothing to do with sexual attraction.
“At least we’ve got a sort of consensus about the probable next experts he’ll contact,” Buzz said gloomily when they were in the air again, en route to Hampton, Virginia. That was the town from which Jenna, Laura, and Raylene had been kidnapped, and the team hoped to find something there that linked the three girls. They were armed with fresh details of how Jenna had spent the hours before she was kidnapped, gleaned from another interview with her via Skype, into which her mother, hovering anxiously in the background, had continuously interpolated comments. They had also acquired comparatively fuzzier details about how Laura and Raylene had spent that day, which they compiled from interviews with family, friends, and the team’s own reconstruction of events. Once the plane landed, they would be back to beating the investigative bushes in hopes that something substantive would turn up.
“We’ve got local teams conducting round-the-clock surveillance on the experts on your list, including their offices and residences,” Tony said to Charlie. Like the rest of them, he was seated around the airplane’s pop-up table. Since they were doing so much traveling, the sleek Gulfstream V had become their de facto War Room. “If the unsub delivers a letter to one of them, we should have him.”
“The problem with that is, by the time he drops it off, he’ll have already kidnapped and probably killed his next victims,” Kaminsky pointed out.
“And it’s possible that he won’t personally drop off the letter,” Buzz said. “He could mail it, like he did to Riva. Or convey it to the intended recipient in any number of ways.”
“Or the list could be wrong,” Charlie reminded them. “We wouldn’t have put Eric Riva on it, for example.”
“At least it’s a starting point,” Tony said. “If he’s casing the expert ahead of time, surveillance should pick up on it. We’ve got helicopters and ground personnel looking for possible kill sites in the vicinity of the names on the list. If he shows up at any of them, we’ve got him.”
“Here are the key points to keep in mind.” Kaminsky had set up what amounted to a PowerPoint presentation for their delectation. They’d already gone over several facets of the investigation, but the discussion had for the last few minutes gotten diverted. Now she called their attention back to the slides she was projecting on a pull-down screen above the couch where Michael lay. Since Charlie was the only one who could see him, she was the only one who found his presence there distracting. To all appearances, he was napping, although, of course, he didn’t nap.
“We know that the unsub is a white male between the ages of approximately twenty-five and forty. We know that he possesses or has access to a blue or gray van with an interior that may or may not (because it might not be permanent) be outfitted with a cage and that smells like fish. We know he spoke on the telephone to someone he called Ben. We know a stun gun was used to initially subdue at least some of the victims, and that later a sedating gas was used to keep at least some of them either semi- or unconscious. Bloodwork on the last three victims identified that gas as nitrous oxide, so the unsub will have access to it. We know that the murder scenarios he plans are unusually complex, and require significant prior preparation. We know that he somehow knows or knows of Eric Riva, Dr. David Myers, Dr. Jeffrey Underwood, and our own Dr. Stone. We know that all of the sites of the murders and kidnappings are no more than a seven-hour drive apart, which means he lives or is staying within that area, at least during the time the murders are being carried out.” Kaminsky flipped to the next display, which was a bulleted list of names. “We know that these victims witnessed or were present at the violent death of someone close to them before they were involved in this case. That’s more than half. A large enough percentage to be statistically significant. In the case of the victims where we have not confirmed close exposure to a violent death, it’s because the information isn’t available, not necessarily because it didn’t happen. Which means the incidence rate is likely to rise. So I think we can assume that close exposure to violent death in victims is important. Also important is how the unsub knows of the violent death in the victim’s past. We need to determine how he has access to that information.”
“Any insight into that?” Tony looked at all three of them in turn.
“Checking the medical personnel and hospitals involved,” Buzz said. “So far nothing’s jumping out.”
“I think we’re going to find that our unsub was exposed to a similar violent death at a young age,” Charlie said. “So that gives us one more marker to look for. It’s possible his exposure will correlate to the ages of the first victims, which was between twelve and fourteen.”
“How about checking obits for past accidental or violent deaths for something like ten years before those first murders?” Michael suggested without opening his eyes. “There can’t be that many newspapers in North and South Carolina and Virginia. And they all keep archives.”
Charlie almost said, Good idea. Catching herself in time, she instead repeated his suggestion.
Tony looked at Buzz.
“On it, boss,” Buzz said.
“What about trying to find out where he gets his nitrous oxide?” Tony asked.
Buzz shook his head. “You’d be surprised how many uses for nitrous oxide there are: dentists use it, race car drivers use it in their engines, it’s used in cooking and in aerosol products like whipped cream, it’s also used illegally, as in, teenagers inhaling it. All that makes it fairly easy to come by.”
“Suppliers?” Tony asked.
“Not that many, but the distribution is so widespread that it’s taking some time to check,” Buzz replied. “We’re talking about going through thousands of individual bills of sale. Then there’s the secondary market.”
“Keep on it,” Tony said.
Buzz nodded.
“People.” Kaminsky’s voice drew their attention back to her presentation. The screen changed again to show pictures of the five survivors, with a bullet list beneath each. Certain items were highlighted in red. Indicating it, Kaminsky continued, “We’ve talked to all the survivors now—well, Matt Hayes wouldn’t talk to us, but all the other survivors—and their accounts are consistent: they were kidnapped, drugged, forced to kill, released, and ordered to run for their lives as the sole survivor. They describe the unsub as wearing all black with a white, grinning mask. Estimates of height and weight vary significantly. At least two thought he was disguising his voice with some sort of digital device.”
“Does that mean the unsub knows the victims, do you think?” Buzz asked.
Tony shook his head. “It might just mean that he doesn’t want the survivors to be able to identify his voice later.”
Buzz nodded. Charlie concurred: that made sense.
“What about unsolved single murders in the Buggs Island Lake area around the time and previous to the first Gingerbread Man attack?” Charlie asked.
“Going back ten years from that date, there are two unsolved murders, neither of which seem to fit our criteria. One was thought to have resulted from a bar fight and one appeared to be a professional hit,” Kaminsky said. “But there are a number of accidental deaths that might be something more. I’m still working on it.”
“So what’ve we got?” Tony asked.
Kaminsky made a disgusted sound. “Not as much as you’d hope. Our best lead is a violent
death in the victims’ pasts. Like Dr. Stone said, we’re looking for a common denominator, and that’s the closest thing we have.”
“Okay,” Tony said as the pilot came over the intercom and advised them they were getting ready to land. “Let’s keep digging. We’ll figure it out.”
Charlie was stepping down onto the blisteringly hot tarmac when it hit her. Her mouth fell open. Michael, beside her, saw the expression on her face and said sharply, “What?”
“Holly,” she answered before she thought, and then as the others looked at her she pulled herself together and refocused on them. “I was exposed to a violent death at a young age, too. You remember, my friend Holly Palmer.”
Who had died at the hands of the Boardwalk Killer, while Charlie had survived.
“Holy cow,” Buzz said.
“That’s a link.” Kaminsky sounded excited.
“Check the other experts. See if Riva, Myers, or Underwood has exposure to a violent death in their pasts.” Tony looked at Kaminsky. “Maybe that’s how he selects the experts.”
“If so, then finding the next expert just got a lot easier.” Buzz sounded almost as excited as Kaminsky.
“And the next kill site. Because it will be within close proximity to the next expert,” Kaminsky chimed in. She looked at Buzz. “You take the list of experts he’s likely to target, and I’ll take Riva, Myers, and Underwood. Let’s see if this pans out.”
Charlie missed Buzz’s reply to that, because at that moment her cell phone went off. Glancing at it, she saw that the caller was Tam. Her heart sped up. This call was not likely to be anything good.
“Excuse me a minute: I need to take this,” she said. Then she walked a few yards away from them for privacy’s sake while staying within the shadow of the plane, and within their view.
“Hey, Tam,” she said into the phone.
“Cherie,” Tam greeted her. “Oh, cherie, I have something I need to tell you. First, are you someplace safe?”
Tam’s tone made Charlie feel cold all over. A quick glance around found Tony and Kaminsky talking to each other and, hopefully, paying no attention to her, while Buzz was walking away from them, presumably going for the car. Michael was beside her, looking down at her with a frown. She was, she realized, glad he was there. He had somehow become a bulwark in her life.
“Yes,” she said, while Michael drawled, “If that’s the voodoo priestess, ask her if she knows a way to make this damned leash I’m on a little longer.”
But Charlie didn’t have a chance to ask Tam anything, because the other woman burst out, “I know where the danger comes from. It’s water. You are in terrible danger around dark water.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“You’re getting Dudley all worked up, you know.” Michael walked through the closed bathroom door, then stopped to watch her with hard eyes as she smoothed on fresh lipstick. Charlie flicked a look his way.
“What part of the bathroom is off-limits did you not understand?” she asked tartly.
His lip curled. She took that to mean, it’s only off-limits if I want it to be, and frowned at him.
The bathroom they were in was a small, elegantly appointed ladies’ room right off the Marriott’s patio, where she, Tony, Kaminsky, and Buzz had not so long ago finished having a late, badly needed dinner. A little while earlier Kaminsky and Buzz had gone upstairs, where the team had four adjacent rooms on the twentieth floor, while Charlie, at Tony’s invitation, had chosen to stay on for coffee and dessert. He’d ordered key lime pie and she’d ordered mango sherbet, which they’d eaten. They had been waiting for the server to bring the check when she had excused herself to go freshen up. Since the door to the ladies’ room was visible from where they sat, neither of them had seen any need for him to escort her. The restroom contained a single stall, divided from the sink area by a partition, and once inside Charlie had locked the door. Nobody was getting to her in there—except, of course, for Michael.
He’d been bent out of shape ever since Tam’s phone call. He wanted her to tell Tony about Tam’s calls, about the danger Tam said she was in. He wanted her to leave the investigation and go hole up somewhere until the Gingerbread Man was caught. He wanted her to abandon her entire career and find an alternative use for her medical degree that did not involve serial killers.
And he wanted her not to get involved with Tony. That one he hadn’t said in so many words, but she didn’t have any trouble interpreting the increasingly grim set to his mouth, or the antagonistic glint in his eyes, as she and Tony had talked more and more exclusively to each other over dinner, while Kaminsky and Buzz did the same. Then, when the others had been leaving and Tony had asked her if she wanted to stay on for coffee and dessert, and she had agreed without so much as a glance thrown at the frowning ghost sprawled in a chair across the table from her, Michael had started to radiate hostility like rays from the sun.
She’d felt that hostility all but scorching her as over dessert she and Tony had completely abandoned shop talk and he’d told her self-deprecating stories about his days as a college football player that made her laugh. Then when she had excused herself to go to the restroom and Michael had (of course) followed her, her back had practically blistered from the heat.
“The bathroom is off-limits,” she had warned Michael out of the side of her mouth as she reached the ladies’ room door, in an effort to avoid the discussion (fight) she had a pretty good idea was coming.
So much for that. At least he’d had the decency to wait until (she assumed) he’d heard the buzzing of the air dryer that had told him she was drying her hands.
The dress wasn’t helping.
The thing was, she was wearing one. It was a sundress, a beautiful deep red print, with a thin strap over each shoulder and smocking that kept it snug to the waist and a floaty, tea-length skirt. She’d bought it in the hotel’s upscale gift shop, when the four (five) of them had come in from walking Hampton’s sidewalks as, straight off the plane, they had followed the route Jenna said she’d taken before being grabbed. Evening had fallen as they went inside each of the establishments Jenna would have passed, and examined the spot where the abduction had occurred, but the temperature stayed in the nineties, and the humidity was thick. By the time they returned to the car and drove to the hotel, besides being cross from listening to Michael without being able to answer back, Charlie had been hot and sweaty and heartily regretting the way she was dressed. Her sleeveless silk blouse had been clinging unpleasantly to her skin and her lightweight slacks felt like they were heavy wool and plastered to her legs. No surprise: she’d packed work clothes, but what she had failed to consider was that her work clothes had been chosen with an indoor, air-conditioned office in mind. They weren’t suitable for being outdoors in so much heat and humidity.
So when she had seen the pretty, lightweight summer ensembles in the hotel gift shop, she’d left the men to check in and, with Kaminsky following on her heels, headed for the clothes. If anything, Kaminsky in her fitted suit was even more inappropriately dressed for what they’d just been doing and were planning on continuing to do the next day than Charlie was. They had a brief meeting of the (female) minds and Kaminsky, too, had indulged in some shopping.
The result was that Kaminsky had worn a sleek, knee-length (she told Charlie with a wry twist of her mouth that she couldn’t go longer because of her height) black linen shift with a nifty little short-sleeved bolero to hide her shoulder holster, plus her own stilettos, which she refused to forsake, while Charlie had worn the sundress, and a pair of embellished sandals with delicate kitten heels that she’d purchased to go with the dress.
Having of necessity followed her into the gift shop, Michael in typical male fashion had displayed little interest as she had rifled through the clothing. So when she’d emerged from the bathroom of her hotel room to find him draped over one of the two wing chairs on the other side of the single king bed, desultorily watching TV, the night sky black behind him through the opened curtains an
d the room itself softly lit by the floor lamp between the chairs, his eyes had widened in surprise as he glanced her way.
“You look beautiful,” he said. Fresh from her shower, with her hair twisted into a cool updo that left a few tendrils loose to curl around her face and neck, and her makeup subtle but there (it had all but melted away earlier), she felt so much better that she smiled at him, which, because she’d been hot and cross and tired of him telling her what she needed to do, she hadn’t done for a while.
“Thank you,” she said.
He stood up and came toward her, his gaze sliding over her before lingering on her nearly bare shoulders. “All this for Dudley?”
Her brows twitched together. “All this because the dining room closed at nine, so we’ll be eating outside by the pool, and it’s hot out there.” She reached for his watch, which she’d left beside her purse on the console table that ran along the wall opposite the beds, and slid it onto her arm. Then she picked up her purse and turned to head for the door.
“Listen to what you just said: you’ll be eating outside by the pool. You know it’s night, right? That makes the pool dark water. For that matter, this hotel’s on the beach. The ocean is right there. More dark water.”
Already having had the same thought and conquered it, and aggravated at having all that latent fear stirred up again, she turned around to glare at him. “If I stay in the room and run a bath, and turn the light out in the bathroom, the tub will be full of dark water, too.”
His lips thinned. “The difference is, there’s not likely to be a serial killer who knows your name in the bathroom with you.”
“No, he’ll be right outside the door,” she retorted.
“Oh, ha ha.” From his expression, he clearly didn’t find that amusing. “Your friend the voodoo priestess says you’re in danger. You say the voodoo priestess is generally right on. How stupid is it to stay here in harm’s way when it would be the easiest thing in the world to stay in your room tonight, hop a plane tomorrow, and fly somewhere safe?”
The Last Kiss Goodbye: A Charlotte Stone Novel Page 25
