The White Carnation

by Susanne Matthews

  “You said no one’s removed the surveillance equipment from my apartment, right?”

  “With your loft under observation, we figure he hasn’t been able to, but if you’re going where I think you are, it’s a dead end.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The equipment’s dead. It’s been disconnected from his end. We can’t trace it back to wherever he was receiving the transmissions.”

  “The bastard’s thought of everything, hasn’t he? Let me clean up the kitchen, and we can look at what you’ve got. I need to know all the details if I’m going to help you figure this out. No secrets this time.”

  In the past, even when he’d given her information, he’d always held something back. It had driven her crazy. If he’d given her something about O’Malley, she’d never have published that story, but information on cases, like that one, had been eyes only.

  “No secrets. You’ll know everything I know.”

  “Good. Then, I’ll tell you everything I recall about my research last Friday. If he was watching me, and we know that’s a real possibility now, I might have found something that forced his hand. Why else would he take the USB? There wasn’t anything new on it. My guess is I made a connection he didn’t like. But Rob, if he was watching me, why didn’t he know you were coming for me at nine? Having you find me couldn’t have been part of his plan.”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Rob watched as Faye bent over the table using a magnifying glass to examine the crime scene photos of the Harvester’s victims. She painstakingly went over each one, zeroing in here and there on some small detail that aroused her interest. Very little about the way the victims had been found had been released to the press, and Rob could tell by the way the color had leeched from her face and the pulse beat at the base of her throat that seeing them hit a nerve. He noted the tears shimmering in her eyes, green this morning because of the shirt she’d worn. Did she see herself mirrored in the faces of the victims? When he’d realized how much each of the women had resembled her, his heart had almost stopped.

  Unlike the bloodied and badgered corpses she’d seen in the countless murders she’d covered as a crime reporter, these women didn’t look dead. A quick glance made you think they were asleep, wrapped like babies in their pink or blue blankets. It was the way they resembled marble statues of angels that made your blood run cold. Beauty and innocence captured forever in death.

  Faye shuddered and dropped the photograph she held. “No wonder you guys have worked so hard to keep the lid on this, although I can’t imagine how you’ve done it. I’d heard the women had been posed, but even in my wildest dreams, I’d never have imagined something this macabre. It’s a corruption of the Galatea myth. Pygmalion fell in love with the statue he’d carved, and she came to life. This creature’s attracted to real women and then makes them look like statues.”

  “He’s a sick son of a bitch, that’s for sure, but we’ll catch him. He won’t be adding any more angels to his collection. Now that you’ve looked at everything we have, what do you think?”

  “It’s not what I expected, that’s for sure. No one mentioned the amount of ritualism involved. Surely they aren’t dismissing it?”

  “No, no one’s ignoring it, but we’re having a hell of a time figuring it out.” He lifted his coffee mug to his lips and drained it. “When they brought in the BAU after the third body was found, the agent suggested we might be looking at a blood sacrifice of some kind, but none of what this killer does fits anything they’ve seen before. And we have those babies to consider. The agent concluded the ritual is more likely a cleansing to cover his tracks and destroy evidence. The care he takes with the bodies indicates remorse for what he’s done, but that’s it.”

  “No, there’s more to it than that, I’m positive. That agent was working under the assumption that the women’s pregnancies were unconnected, but we know that’s not true.” She chewed her lower lip. “What if what we have here is a cult of some sort?”

  “A cult? Why the hell would a cult want to kill innocent women? Are you suggesting there could be more of these bastards out there doing the same damn thing somewhere else?”

  She threw down the file she’d been holding. “Here you go again. You ask me to add up the evidence, and when I do, you shoot me down. My theory is as valid as yours was, maybe even more so, because I do have facts to support it. I’ve done some research on cults and ritualistic behaviors,” she said defensively.

  “I’m sorry, Faye. You’re right. I’m being a jerk. I got upset when Tom negated my theory. I have no right to do the same to you. Explain it to me. I’ll listen.”

  Faye’s ideas were often out in left field, but how many times had she been right? Hell, that was why he’d involved her in the investigation in the first place. He needed to know what she thought, but he didn’t have to like it. Having one murdering son of a bitch on his hands was bad enough.

  “People in cults are often brainwashed. They’ll do anything for their leader, including commit murder or suicide, or even clean up after it. Think of it—Charles Manson, Jim Jones, David Koresh, they were able to get people to do what they’d never do in their right minds.”

  Rob frowned. What she said made sense, but the idea chilled him. The men she’d named had been charismatic sociopaths. Would the Harvester fit in with a bunch like that, and if he did, how many people would do his bidding? “Go on.”

  She picked up the picture of Meredith Howard. “We know Meredith gave birth to a baby boy, and Amos identified the sex of the other babies, so they match the color of the blankets and the mothers’ headbands, almost as if it were a trophy or a badge of honor. Everything is handmade from natural fibers, even the hair dye used to color their hair. A lot of cults shy away from modern ideas and scientific progress. They live by the old ways, and a lot of them use the Bible for guidance.”

  “There are plenty of organized religions who adhere to the teachings of the Bible and don’t go around turning innocent women into dead ones.”

  Faye tossed the photograph on the table and went into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, no doubt to calm herself. He’d done it again. He had to learn to keep his mouth shut. Coming back into the room, she sat on the sofa. He joined her.

  “Try to keep an open mind, will you? You wanted my take on the evidence, well, this is what I see.” She took a mouthful of water. “In the Bible, after a woman gave birth, she was segregated until she made a sacrifice and was purified. In pioneer times, after a woman gave birth, she went into a lying-in period, a time during which she stayed in bed to rest and recover from the ordeal. Her female relatives and neighbors would take care of her needs and her family’s while she bonded with her baby. They’d pamper her and do everything they could to make her comfortable.”

  “I thought pioneer women were tough, looked after everything alone.”

  She frowned, and her cheeks reddened. “What is it with you? Why are you always so argumentative? In case you haven’t checked statistics, back then about 4 percent of women died in childbirth—that’s four out of every 100 women, and the babies didn’t fare any better. While things have improved, childbirth is still the sixth leading cause of death among women in their twenties and early thirties in the United States.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that,” he said. “Look, I’m a detective, not a researcher. I deal with the facts as I see them. You’re asking me to think outside the box here, and it’s a hell of a box. Everything you’re telling me right now is something I hadn’t considered. So, let’s follow through on this. He uses technology when it suits him since he watches the women, sees them enter their third trimester, and what—he hedges his bets by kidnapping them to make sure they get the best care possible? Wouldn’t they do better in a hospital?”

  “For someone with Meredith’s condition, definitely, but a lot of people swear by home births. As long as there’s a trained midwi
fe in attendance and no complications, it’s usually a more relaxed experience.”

  “Well, they must be getting some kind of care because Amos said they were in good condition.”

  “But they’re still dead, and the babies are missing.” She huffed out a breath. “Thinking Mary may be trapped in something like this terrifies me.” She looked down at the pictures again. “How do you do it? How do you turn off your emotions to deal with stuff like this?”

  “You don’t turn them off. You use them and everything you know to find answers for them.” He indicated the pictures. “I may seem like a cold bastard at times, but I have to stay objective. I can’t let my emotions drive me. Being a detective means looking at the pieces of the puzzle and seeing how they fit. Right now, you’ve taken a couple of loose pieces and put them together in a different way. Your theory has as much merit as any other until it can be proven right or wrong.”

  Asking Faye to look at the files had been the right thing to do. Pierce thought they were wagging the dog, pulling precious resources away from the search for the Harvester by following up on these cockamamie theories, but Trevor disagreed. Now, as Faye spoke, Rob watched the various puzzle pieces start to fall into place. Despite what he’d believed, statistics suggested that there were more than two million Americans living in or allied with some kind of cult in the United States, and those had nothing to do with foreign terrorists or their organizations.

  “Amos said Meredith was still hemorrhaging. She’d have died on her own, right? So why not just wait? Why kill her?”

  Faye smiled. “Because the ritual has to be carried out or people would begin to ask questions. Let’s consider Baby Howard first, since he’s the one who cracked your case open. Dr. Chong says he was a preemie, but he can feed from a bottle. Since mother’s milk is supposed to be more natural and better for the child, and nursing causes the uterine contractions necessary to stop the bleeding, I’d say Meredith nursed him for a few days, probably until she was too weak to continue. Ideally, a little guy like him would be on breast milk a lot longer. If Meredith couldn’t nurse, and they wanted to keep the child alive, they’d need an alternative. In the past, they’d have used a wet nurse, but since the Harvester seems to have one delivery at a time and kills off the previous mother, he’s stuck with formula. It’s as if the bastard’s on some kind of schedule, and he can’t deviate from it.”

  “If we buy into this idea, why does he kill the women?”

  “I’m not sure. If I’d just given birth, I wouldn’t be too keen on giving up my child. Maybe they’re in the way. If he is running some kind of baby mill, he’d decide when the lying-in period was over. Ten days to two weeks would fit that scenario. He’d take the infants from the mothers and give them a lethal cocktail in return.” She blanched. “They may not even be aware they’re going to die. Not exactly my idea of a reward for a job well done.”

  “So the people in this cult turn a blind eye to the murders?”

  “Not a blind eye, but they may see it as the normal way of things. All of these women were outsiders, none of them belonged. A lot of cults consider unknowns to be dangerous, others think they’re beneath them. If the Harvester is the leader, then he can convince the others that what he’s doing is right. He may have them all under the influence of scopolamine, too. The stuff’s dangerous, but maybe if you get enough of it, it keeps free will suppressed.”

  “If he’s got a large, steady supply of the drug, anything’s possible. How big would this cult be?” The more she said, the more he believed she’d found the answer. Hadn’t one of the BAU experts mentioned the possibility of a cult?

  “It could be anywhere from a dozen to a hundred. They aren’t usually larger than that. I’m certain there are women involved, too.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “According to the files, the blankets and nightgowns were new, handmade, but not made by the same person. The women all had manicures and pedicures as well done as any professional ones I’ve ever had. Their hair has been brushed, colored chestnut brown if it wasn’t already, and styled simply. From my research, most cults adhere strictly to gender roles. I’m not saying a man couldn’t do it, but my gut tells me it was a woman. Of course the fact that it was done antemortem freaks me right out. I assume you noticed the missing rings?”

  “You mean Meredith’s wedding rings? Yes, we did.”

  “No, I mean all of them.”

  He got up, crossed to the table, and brought back some of the photographs. “What am I looking for?”

  “The ring finger on their right hands, not the left. There’s a slight depression as if until recently, they’ve worn a ring there, one that was a little tight. Some women, for example those married in the Greek Orthodox Church, wear their wedding rings on their right hands. If this is a cult, it’s one that allows polygamy, maybe even slavery, since the women were shackled. Rituals and ceremonies are necessary to keep everyone aligned. I’d hazard a guess he bonded with these women in some way, probably when he took them into wherever he’s keeping them. Other than the chafe marks from the shackle and the trauma of delivery, the women are in excellent condition.”

  Rob swallowed. Nothing she’d said was new, but she’d put the clues together in an unusual but definitely logical way. Amos had noted the missing rings, but concluded they must have been costume jewelry.

  “Okay. Let me get this straight, so I can relay it to Trevor. These women were kidnapped, taken to some compound where they were cared for by others until they gave birth. Once they did, they were given time with their babies, waited on probably by the same people who’d cared for them before, and then murdered. Afterward, the same people washed them in bleach and fixed them up the way we found them. They might even be the ones who go in and clean the apartments, too. What kind of monster can convince people to do that?”

  “Look at Hitler, Stalin, and bin Laden. There are people willing to believe anything. Cult members are often dissatisfied with the life they had before joining the family. The leader promises a new life, a better way, and they’ll do anything to belong.”

  “You’re right. The world is full of crazies. So what’s this maniac done with the babies? Is he using the income he gets from selling them to support his cult?”

  “You need to find the Smiths to answer that question. I told you in the hospital that I received five carnations, four of which line up with the dates you found the bodies, and the other one around Valentine’s Day. What if there’s a fifth body out there? One you haven’t found. That would mean there’s another child missing, too.”

  “Since we agree the carnations were from him, it’s a possibility.”

  He grabbed a blank manila folder off the pile and wrote Victim #4 on it, before changing the digit on the Meredith Howard’s file to 5. “As sick as this is going to sound, it means the original timeline the BAU came up with after we found victim number three is correct. The first body was found last May, the second in August, and the third in November. You’re right. If we do the math, the fourth victim should have been found mid-February.”

  Faye turned to face him, her face aglow as she pulled the threads together and wove her story. Gone was the scarcely hidden fear he’d seen earlier. This was the way she’d looked when she knew she was on the trail of something big. If she were right, this was far bigger than any of them had expected. With a story like this, she’d definitely be a contender for that damn Pulitzer Prize she wanted.

  “Let’s assume the Harvester is on a three-month schedule. He waits for one to give birth, knocks up another, and collects the next victim.” She rummaged through the files. “The cycle had to start sometime before you found the bodies. Kate Newcomb was his first, followed by Tracy Volt, and then Estelle Watters. Babies would be born every three months. Have you asked Clark to look into Ruth Hamilton’s disappearance? Her giving birth in February would fit the timeline. There’s got to be another woman out there he impregnated in February, one who doesn’t even know she
’s on his list. Mary fits as his target after Estelle Watters gave birth.”

  She paled and swallowed awkwardly as the truth hit her at the same time it did him. Faye was the planned victim after Meredith’s death, and if that were the case, where the hell did Lucy Green’s murder fit in? Rob stood and resumed his pacing, the fact the man had laid claim to Faye making his blood boil. Faye’s cult theory fit better than anything else they’d considered. Even Meredith fit the pattern.

  “If we assume he mistook Meredith for her cousin Liz, what does that tell us? Either the man pays little attention to the women he impregnates or someone else collects the women for him, something that actually makes more sense if the women are being watched. All of the other women disappeared near the beginning of their last trimester—Meredith vanished eight weeks ago. Liz left town after she miscarried. What if he didn’t know she’d lost the baby and didn’t know where she’d gone? Maybe he saw Meredith from a distance and assumed Liz had returned. Our victim had been living in South Boston. It’s doubtful she’d have crossed his path before moving into Liz’s apartment.”

  Faye stood and walked to the window. “It’s possible. Ask Clark to have Amos run the scopolamine test on Liz’s hair. If the drug’s there, we may have our answer. From a distance, they’d look alike, and once he had her, even if he realized he had the wrong woman, what choice did he have? He’d have to follow through just as he had the others. He wouldn’t be able to admit he’d made a mistake. That would seriously affect his credibility, and the members of his cult might get suspicious.”

  “Much as I hate to admit it, you have to be right. It’s too organized, too involved to be the work of one man. Having a group of people do the various tasks makes more sense.”

  Faye returned to the table and picked up the photograph of Meredith Howard. “I’ve worn my hair that way for years. As soon as I get the chance, I’m cutting it as short as I can.”