Rainey felt the most passion for interviewing and researching serial murderers and rapists. Finding out how and why they did it in their own words, learning what they thought caused them to commit the crimes they did, that was the most satisfying part of the job. Of course, she would take whatever assignment the bureau deemed fit and do the job expected of her.
She was telling herself that again when she saw SSA Wood pulling on his coat as he stepped into the hallway.
“Ah, there you are, Bell. Sorry to interrupt your run, but I need you to come with me.”
Rainey guessed her workout clothes were a giveaway, but couldn’t help the little shiver from imagining Wood as the all seeing eye.
“No problem, sir. I just need a minute to redress.”
Wood waved her off. “Do you have your credentials?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you’re dressed.”
Rainey fell in step with Wood as he moved off down the hall.
“May I ask where we’re going, sir?”
“We’re going to see a man about some bones.”
#
Ten minutes later…
FBI Laboratory
Quantico, Virginia
“The bones were delivered in this box.”
The “man” Wood took Rainey to see turned out to be a woman. While Rainey surveyed the items and evidence bags exhibited on the stainless steel tables in front of her, she listened to senior FBI forensic examiner Dr. Joan Munzer present her findings.
“This is a file storage box. It is very common and distributed widely. The company makes over two million boxes a day. The identifying stamp was removed; so no chance of tracing it. No fingerprints were found on the inside. The outside of the box is covered in the prints of those who processed it through the police department before they realized what it was. Those prints have all been identified and eliminated.”
Assuming this was some kind of final test before her unit assignment, Rainey commented, “A pristine box. That doesn’t narrow the pool of suspects much. Any office could have a stack of unfolded boxes in the store room.”
SSA Wood agreed, “True.”
Rainey turned to the woman in the lab coat. “If boxes are found in the suspect’s possession, could you match the batch?”
Dr. Munzer nodded her head. “Yes. According to the manufacturer, it would be possible to match batch-mates. I sent a sample of the cardboard to their lab. They may be able to identify approximate date of manufacturing by comparing contents.”
Rainey suggested, “A note should be made to include boxes on the search warrant when the time comes.”
One corner of SSA Wood’s lip curled into a slight smile. He began to fill Rainey in on the case.
“The box was left outside the back entrance of the St. Augustine Dunes Police Department during a rainstorm the night before New Year’s Eve. Thinking it was left outside by accident, a clerk brought it in out of the weather. Once they realized what they had, they checked the security cameras. A man in a rain slicker walked out of the shadows, left the box, and disappeared again.”
Rainey moved down the table. A short length of jute twine tied in a familiar knot drew her attention. She voiced her realization to Wood, “I suppose this is why I am here.”
Dr. Munzer handed over several photos. “These were taken after the box was opened, but before the seal was broken on the bag.”
The photos showed the box with the lid removed, exposing a clear, vacuum-sealed bag containing a skull and some smaller bones. The jute had been tied around the bag in a miniature replica of the ropes found on the victims Rainey believed were linked to Joshua Lee Hale’s son. The jute ran through a hole punched in a manila shipping tag.
Wood picked up the clear evidence bag containing the tag and said, “It was rather thoughtful of the suspect to identify the victim.” He handed the bag to Rainey. “The information does match an open missing person case. We’re waiting for DNA confirmation.”
Through the plastic, she read the neatly typed information on the tag, “Eileen Baker—Shipped January 29, 1999, from Portland, Maine.” There were no other markings on the cardstock.
Dr. Munzer pointed at the tag. “Again, no prints. The lettering was done on a manual typewriter—old, maybe antique. Find the machine, we can match the strikers to the imprints on the paper.”
Rainey returned the evidence bag to the table. She was drawn again to the jute. “This elaborate presentation and this specific knot, they serve no purpose other than to fulfill some element of the fantasy. These actions are compulsory to the unknown subject’s crimes. It’s part of his signature.”
“Crimes? You are assuming this isn’t a one-off,” the doctor said.
“I’ve seen this knot before.” Rainey turned to Wood. “What do we know about Eileen Baker?”
“She was a shift worker at Industrial Manufacturing by day and a local barfly by night. Hung out with the harbor crowd, commercial fishermen and charter fishing crews.”
“How old?”
“Miss Baker was twenty-eight when she disappeared. She left her favorite bar at closing time and was never seen again.”
Rainey thought aloud, “Well, that doesn’t fit.”
“Don’t try to make it fit a theory or previous crime,” Wood said. “Just look at what’s here. What is this evidence telling you?”
Rainey took the prompt and began with the box.
“The box is ordinary, but the care to keep it clean of identifiers is extraordinary. I’m guessing the vacuum-sealed bag was just as clean?”
Dr. Munzer answered, “Yes. The skull and other bones in the bag were devoid of expected contaminants. My colleagues and I think it was processed and packaged in some sort of clean-room.”
Rainey moved with SSA Wood to the table where the skull and its dislocated bottom jaw were displayed, as Dr. Munzer continued, “The remains were boiled, cleaned of tissue, soaked in bleach, and dried under a heat lamp or direct sunlight.”
Rainey pointed at the horizontal divot and the hole it created in the skull. “This was the cause of death, I assume.”
“The instrument she was struck with was slender, very hard, and attached to some kind of heavy dowel. It was strong enough to enter the skull. It would have been a death blow.”
Rainey pointed at parallel scrapes on the surface of the skull. “These marks, I’ve seen this before when a body was left to forest scavengers. Do you think that’s what happened here?”
“Well, yes, but not quite,” Dr. Munzer said. She lifted the skull from the table. “We could identify deep scars in the bone from substantially large teeth. The measurement of the bite width indicates something sizeable. On the east coast, that’s going to be a bear probably. I’ve called some fish and wildlife guys to take a look. Also, look here.”
Munzer showed the base of the skull to the agents.
“See these striations. Under magnification, we were able to determine the skull was separated from the body with a saw. The tool marks indicate it was an industrial size bandsaw. The cervical bones that were cut are missing, but the saw struck the external occipital protuberance and shaved a sliver from the mastoid process over here. And to add to the mystery, the body was frozen before the skull was removed. The same holds true for the other bones here. The teeth marks overlay the saw marks.”
Rainey nodded with understanding. “The body was frozen, cut into pieces, fed to an animal, recollected, processed in a clean room, and then delivered to the cops in an untraceable package. That’s a lot of alone time with the body. This UNSUB has a private space to work.”
Wood crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back from the evidence display. “Okay, Bell, what do you make of all this?”
“Because I’m here, which I don’t believe is a coincidence, the freezing of the body, the head injury, and the knot could be associated with the four linked murders we discussed in my initial interview,” Rainey answered. “But the age and area where she was taken d
o not match, so this could be a lesson in looking for clues to fit theories instead of theories that fit clues.”
Wood remained quiet, while Rainey paused and thought carefully about what she would say next.
“Sir, if I was asked to analyze this murderer and it is murder just based on the tool marks—accident victims don’t generally end up with their heads sawn off—I couldn’t do it with just this evidence here. I could, but it would be incomplete and likely erroneous in many aspects.”
Wood asked, “What isn’t here? What can’t you see?”
So this was a test. Rainey answered with confidence.
“Well, sir, I don’t know who Eileen Baker was. I know her name, but I don’t know how many drinks she had at her favorite bar, nor who she had them with. I don’t know who saw her last and what they saw. What was the weather like? Was the moon out or was it a black night? Was there any evidence left behind? If not, is the lack of evidence significant?
“I don’t know what Eileen’s friends and family said about her. Was she good at her job? Was her barfly status a problem? Will anyone miss her? Would she give a stranger a ride? Did she have a routine? Did she drive or walk? Did she often engage in risky behavior, or was she streetwise and capable of taking care of herself?
“I need to study the victim to understand how she became one. I need the missing person report. I want to know who filed it. I need to see police reports, investigation notes, anything in the case file that can identify singular elements of this particular crime. I have to have comprehensive knowledge of the victim before I can understand the type of UNSUB that would murder her.”
Wood nodded his agreement, but asked, “What can you tell me about the murderer, from just what you see?”
“He’s organized, smart, meticulous, detail oriented. He plans things out and takes extreme precaution to leave no evidence behind. He most likely watched her for a few days before taking her. People probably saw him, but he blends into the crowd. He’s nothing special. People that have met him can’t really tell you anything about him. He’s Mr. Nobody.”
Rainey looked at the photos again, while she continued her evaluation of the evidence.
“He chose when and if the body would be discovered. The victim was taken in Maine, and the bones delivered to Florida almost a year to the date of her abduction. He has transportation and a private space to keep a live victim until she becomes a frozen one. We know he has a freezer large enough to hold a body and a bandsaw able to cut one up. He’s confidently mobile. I’d say he is also single or has a job that leaves him free to move about untethered.”
“Like a long-haul trucker?” Wood asked the question, verifying what Rainey was thinking.
“Yes, sir. Like a long-haul trucker with a freezer rig.”
“Anything else?” Wood prodded. “How about age?”
“That’s the most difficult element to predict. Given this level of preparation, patience, and follow-through, I think he’s in his mid-thirties to mid-forties. If he’s found to be younger, I wouldn’t be surprised if he started killing in his teens.”
Wood turned to Dr. Munzer. “You can show her.”
Munzer’s hand dropped into her lab coat pocket. She pulled out a small plastic see-through evidence bag.
“Don’t break the seal,” she said, before handing it to Wood.
He, in turn, handed the bag to Rainey.
“This was found in the bottom of the box. Do you recognize this card?”
Rainey saw right away that it was a standard bureau business card emblazoned with the Justice Department seal. She blinked once, then again to assure she read the name correctly. The card was hers. Rainey turned the card over and saw her handwriting on the back. She knew to whom she had given that particular card.
She met Wood’s stare with, “Yes, sir. I know where this UNSUB has been, at least once.”
“And where would that be?”
“He’s been in my father’s bail bonds business; specifically in my dad’s office, where this card was removed from his desk.”
“You’re sure about that. You must hand out cards to lots of people. How do you know this one came from your father’s office?”
“Because I wrote this address on the back when I moved to North Dakota. I saw it on his desk on at least three occasions since I gave it to him. It’s the field office in Grand Rapids, where he sent my mail until I had my own address.”
“We’ll need to talk to him,” Wood said, and then turned to say, “Thank you, Dr. Munzer.”
He motioned for Rainey to return the evidence bag holding the card.
Rainey placed the card in Dr. Munzer’s hand, said, “Thank you,” and then scrambled to catch up with Wood who was already moving toward the door.
When she caught up, Wood said, “You know, Bell, everything isn’t a test. You’re in the BAU. You’ll start in crimes against adults. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Rainey fought the urge to celebrate. “Yes, sir. Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir.”
“You earned the position. Now go to work.”
Boxing her soaring emotions for the moment, demonstrating the compartmentalization skills she had developed with the training to do the job, Rainey calmly commented on the case.
“Well, we know the UNSUB has an arrest history and where to look to find it. The only reason anyone would be in my dad’s office would be to deal with a bail issue. This person was either arrested or signed for someone else that was.”
“Is Chance Hale still in North Carolina?” Wood’s mind had already gone where Rainey was trying to lead him.
“I don’t know, sir, but I’m going to find out.”
“Bell, are you concerned about your father. We can have a car sit on him till we catch this guy.”
A little smile crept across Rainey’s lips, not unnoticed by Wood.
“What are you finding amusing, Bell?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Billy Bell, sir. He’s more prepared than your average citizen for confrontations with a criminal like this one. Unless, of course, I’m entirely wrong about the UNSUB, and she’s a good-looking woman with issues. Then he’ll need help. He can’t seem to see beyond the boobs to the agenda.”
“Most of us can’t,” the twice-divorced Wood said with a chuckle.
#
“Billy Bell’s Bail and Bait. This is Ernie speaking. How can I help you?”
No matter how many times Rainey heard Ernie answer the phone, it made her smile. Her dad’s office manager had been a fixture in Rainey’s life since she was ten-years-old. All was right with the world, as long as Ernie answered the phones at Billy Bell’s Bail and Bait on Jordan Lake, in Chatham County, North Carolina.
“Hey, Ernie. It’s Rainey.”
“Well, good morning Agent Bell. “
“Good morning to you, too. Is Dad around?”
“No, honey. He’s out with Mackie, picking up a skip.”
“Well, you can probably help me more than he can.”
“I can certainly try,” Ernie said.
“Did you guys write paper on a Chance Obadiah Hale while I was in North Dakota. It would have been in 1998?”
“Let me look.”
Rainey heard Ernie typing on the keyboard.
“No, I’m not seeing a Chance Hale.”
“How about anyone with the last name Hale or associated with Hale Trucking?”
More keyboard typing produced an, “Aha! We have a Robby Hughes. His bail was set up and paid for by Obadiah Hale of Hale Trucking.”
“Do you remember if either of them came to the office?”
“Well, it isn’t the client I recall. It was the redhead your dad nearly married when she came through the door. She was absolutely his type, all made up and dressed to the nines.”
“Oh, you know he secretly wishes you’d leave Henry and the boys and run off with him.”
Ernie laughed. “If I run off, it won’t be with Billy Bell, but Sean Connery. That I
would do.”
“Now I know why you made me watch all those James Bond movies with you and only the Connery ones.”
“He’s the real James Bond. The rest just wish they were him.”
Rainey chuckled. “Does Henry know about this?”
“Honey, he does the best Sean Connery imitation. I just close my eyes and—”
“Hey, hey, hey. I don’t need that much information about you and Henry Bond.”
“We’re consenting adults, Rainey. Grow up.”
“I will never be grown enough to want to know about your fantasy life. Anyway, does that file give you the redhead’s name?”
“Jean B. Berry, it says here. She came in to get the paperwork releasing the collateral used to secure the bail after, let me see, yes, the charges were dismissed.”
“What were the charges?”
“Possession of a controlled substance, distribution to a minor, resisting arrest, assault on a police officer. It says Ketamine on the drug charge, so he probably lost his mind and raised some hell.”
“When was that?”
“October of ’98.”
“Okay. That’s what I needed. Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Ernie said, and then added in her version of a Connery accent, “Glad to be of service.”
Rainey ended the call with a Bond impression too.
“Well done, Moneypenny.”
7
June 29, 2005
Federal Bureau of Investigation
National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime
Quantico, Virginia
“Special Agent Bell,” Rainey said into the phone receiver, as she opened another file folder full of crime scene photos from Phoenix, where apparently two competing serial murderers were shooting people at random.
“Is this Rainey Bell, Billy Bell’s kid?”
Rainey with a Chance of Hale (A Rainey Bell Thriller Book 6) Page 5
