Cut to the Bone

by Ellison Cooper

  Windsor recovered still holding his gun and stood up panting with a mixture of pain and rage. “You’ll ruin everything. It has to be now!” he shrieked like a wild animal as the first cop car screeched to a stop half a block away.

  “Freeze!” The responding officers leaped from the car, guns out.

  Ignoring the police, Windsor aimed back toward the girl.

  Nell tried to scurry away, but couldn’t move fast enough.

  Gasping for air, vision blurring with pain, Sayer realized she couldn’t reach him in time. Instead of charging him, she flung herself over Nell.

  A series of gunshots echoed as the officers opened fire.

  Windsor grunted in pain as fresh blood appeared across his left arm.

  “Drop the gun!” the police shouted.

  “What have you done?” Windsor let out a frustrated cry as he spun and ran toward the car. He dodged the shots fired by the cops as he dove around the far side of the sedan. Without looking back, he crawled in and peeled away.

  The police jumped back into their car and took off after him as Sayer turned her attention to Nell.

  The girl looked up with a grimace of pure anger on her child’s face.

  “We attacked him,” Nell gasped.

  “Good for you.” Sayer lifted the girl’s shirt. She tried not to react to the blood pumping slow but steady from the wound on Nell’s stomach. “I’m going to put pressure on the gunshot wound to stop the bleeding. It’s going to hurt.”

  The girl moaned when Sayer pressed down hard.

  “Where was he keeping you? Where are the rest of the girls?” Sayer asked, trying to keep Nell conscious.

  “Big room with columns. Not sure where. So many black holes. Hundreds of them. We really hurt him…” The ghost of a smile fluttered across Nell’s face and then she passed out as another police car screeched to a stop at their side.

  Sayer called an officer over to render first aid for Nell and she shouted to the other arriving officers, “Suspect is an injured male. Just took off north on 6th Street in a dark blue four-door sedan, D.C. plate number 55N6B6. Armed and dangerous. Need him alive! Alive!” she repeated.

  DCPD swarmed the scene while Sayer sprinted to her bike, dialing Ezra on the phone. She told him what happened so he could scramble Max and Kona their way to try and track the car.

  “Yeah, I’m listening to everything via DCPD. The car chasing him already lost him. I’ll get Max and Kona there ASAP. Ambulance is almost there for the girl.”

  Sayer grunted understanding and hung up. She screeched off up 6th Street hoping she could catch up with Windsor on her bike.

  Body jittering with adrenaline, her senses felt painfully sharp as she flew along the corridor of office buildings. Driving too fast, Sayer’s eyes roved back and forth hoping to catch sight of the blue sedan. The tall buildings soon gave way to town houses and corner stores. A few heavily bundled residents strolled along 6th, but there was no sign of the unsub.

  When she passed the red-brick clock tower of Howard University, Sayer finally accepted that she’d lost him. Windsor most likely turned off 6th Street long ago and she had no way to track him down.

  It was only after she pulled over that she realized that her hands were coated with Nell’s blood. A shudder of frustration and horror rocked her body. “Dammit.” She slammed her bloody fist down on the handlebar so hard it sent a spike of pain along her ribs. She’d been so close and yet she let him get away.

  FBI COMMAND CENTER, QUANTICO, VA

  Sayer sat at the front of the empty command center, looking at the ragged bullet hole through the back of her jacket. Since the attack at the Hearing Voices Institute, things had happened so quickly she hadn’t really had time to process everything. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what.

  “So, how’d your trip to the doctor go?” Ezra asked sarcastically as he entered. “When you said you were going straight from the Hearing Voices Institute to the hospital, you must have meant ‘I’m going to take on the unsub single-handedly’ instead.”

  Sayer gave him a “very funny” stare.

  Ezra sat down, expression turning serious. “You know I’m joking. I’m glad you’re all right. The hospital just called and said that it looks like Nell Goodyear will pull through, though she’s in rough shape. Gunshot to the abdomen and at least one broken bone. I’ve got Max and Kona trying to follow Windsor’s scent from the fountain but no luck so far.”

  Sayer nodded as she pulled her jacket back on. Though she’d washed her hands, rust red flecks of Nell’s blood still stained the edges of her nails.

  “Did Nell manage to tell you anything before the EMTs took her?” Ezra asked.

  “Not much. She said that the girls attacked Windsor. She tried to tell me where the rest of the girls were being held, but she didn’t seem to really know. All she said was something about a big room with columns and then she talked about black holes. I think the pain was making her a little delirious and that’s all I managed to get before she blacked out. Just in case, see if you can find anything that matches that description.”

  Ezra nodded, face grim. “Now what?”

  “Now we figure out how to stop this bastard,” Sayer said sharply.

  “You know what I mean,” Ezra responded softly.

  Sayer sighed. “Sorry, I feel like I’ve got a knife stuck in my side and I’m angry that I let him get away. He was really hurt and I still didn’t manage to bring him in. For now we process the scene at the fountain, process Nell’s clothes, and keep following the leads we’ve already got.”

  “You said he was hurt?”

  “Yeah.” Sayer bared her teeth in a harsh smile. “His face looked like a boxer on the losing end of a ten-round fight. I’m willing to bet he had a few broken bones, too. That was all before the cops hit him in the arm.”

  “The girls did that?”

  “That’s what Nell said.” Sayer let herself momentarily enjoy the thought of a pack of fierce girls whaling away on Windsor.

  “So…” Ezra said. “Do we know why he hadn’t already killed Nell before bringing her to the fountain?”

  “No clue. I assume it’s because of the attack. Maybe being hurt interrupted his plans and so he just dragged Nell to the spot with the idea that he would kill her there. He seemed surprised to find the fountain dry, so maybe he was going to drown her like the other two. He was definitely way more focused on killing Nell at the right time than he was on fighting me.”

  “I wonder what he’ll do now that he didn’t get to create the third goddess…”

  Sayer closed her eyes. She hoped that he wouldn’t just go back to the bus and kill another girl. “Here’s hoping he goes somewhere to lick his wounds and regroup for at least a day.”

  “You didn’t tell me yet how you even found the right place. We had ten analysts on that.”

  “Holt.” Sayer smiled at Ezra’s shocked expression. “I remembered someone mentioning that she’s writing a book about the architectural history of D.C. I always thought she was the FBI’s top field agent because she was tough as hell, but I guess she’s also smart as hell.”

  “That’s wild.” Ezra looked intently at Sayer. “There’s something bothering you.”

  “Yeah.” She got up to pace but realized that it hurt too much. Instead, Sayer pulled out her worry beads and tried to hold the rest of her body still while she thought through everything that had just happened. It was something about the MRI she’d seen at the Hearing Voices Institute.

  “I got a decent look at our unsub at the fountain,” she said. “I saw his face up close and it looked exactly like Luke Windsor.”

  “But…?”

  “But something’s not right. Pull up the brain scan from Dr. Lilenhammer for me.”

  Ezra sent a digitized copy of the MRI scan to the large screen.

  Sayer gingerly approached the image, shaking her head. “Can you put this side by side with Luke Windsor’s childhood MRI?”
/>   Ezra clacked a few keys and the second MRI appeared. “There’s something wrong with the scans?”

  Sayer looked back and forth between the two for a long moment before responding. This was what had been niggling away in her mind. “You and I both know that most serial killers are psychopaths, not psychotic.”

  “True,” Ezra said. “They’re controlling narcissists with personality disorders, but they aren’t usually experiencing the kinds of delusions associated with psychosis.”

  “Exactly. And when I saw Luke Windsor’s childhood brain scan and it showed markers for psychopathy, I was totally convinced that we ID’ed our unsub. It made perfect sense at the time to assume that Windsor is a psychopath killing for some perverse but internally logical reason.”

  “But now you’re not so sure. Were we wrong about Windsor’s motive? Or do you think we ID’ed the wrong man?”

  “I don’t know. Al and Dr. Lilenhammer both directly interacted with the unsub and they both described someone experiencing deep psychosis. I also know that, other than this damage here to the temporoparietal area of the cerebral hemisphere”—Sayer pointed to the MRI provided by Dr. Lilenhammer—“the brain in the new MRI looks totally average.”

  “So, not belonging to a psychopath,” Ezra said.

  “Does it say in any of Luke Windsor’s school records what hand is dominant?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Ezra scanned his computer screen. “He’s left-handed.”

  “Yeah, see here, the left part of the motor cortex is far more developed, a trait you see in right-handers. And other than the injury from the accident”—Sayer pointed to the recent MRI—“this brain is perfectly healthy. People like Luke Windsor with extensive histories of drug and alcohol abuse almost always show visible reduction of cortical gray matter.” Sayer paused.

  “You don’t think this is a scan of Luke Windsor’s brain?” Ezra said.

  “Exactly. These are two different brains. The unsub’s brain suffered the exact kind of traumatic brain injury well known to cause major shifts in behavior and personality, including triggering psychosis. I think, rather than looking for a psychopath, we should be looking for someone who, until very recently, led a perfectly normal life and whose personality dramatically changed after a car accident.”

  “But Luke Windsor fits the profile perfectly in every other way. You even said it yourself, he looks exactly like the unsub described by Al and Declan. Plus, his dad’s job explains why he knows so much about ancient Egypt.”

  Sayer eased herself back into the chair, face pulled into a frustrated scowl. “That’s exactly right. Luke Windsor clearly seems to be our unsub, but this is not Luke Windsor’s brain. So what the hell is going on here?” Her voice rose slightly. “Does the childhood scan not belong to Luke? Is our unsub a random person who just happens to look exactly like Windsor? This damn case just doesn’t make any sense.”

  Ezra put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’re both tired. It’s almost midnight and we didn’t get much sleep last night and no sleep the night before that. Rather than pound our heads against this wall, how about we go get a few hours of sleep and then try to tackle this in the morning. You did save a girl’s life tonight.”

  “I saved one girl, but not all of them.”

  Ezra just stared at her expectantly.

  “Fine.” Sayer relented. “But I want everyone here in the morning including Al Valentine. I want anyone who could help us in the same room tomorrow at 7:00 A.M. sharp. And send the information on the fourth chamber to Holt. We need her and all of our analysis to start working on possible dump spots for the next body.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Ezra saluted.

  “Good night, Ez,” Sayer said and slowly made her way out into the night.

  ROAD TO ALEXANDRIA, VA

  Ignoring the pain in her side, Sayer called the hospital on her way home to check on Nell and Declan. Doctors didn’t expect Nell to be awake for an interview anytime soon. Declan was sound asleep and recovering well. Both of them had guards at their doors.

  That thought was cold comfort as Sayer replayed the frenetic last two days in her mind. If Luke Windsor wasn’t their unsub, who was? How did the false witness and the man who attacked her at the institute fit into the unsub’s plans? Who saved her life earlier today? And who had been following her?

  Sayer found herself pondering a call to Subject 037, then immediately quashed that thought.

  She glanced in her side mirrors but no one followed as she turned off the highway into Old Town Alexandria. Maybe it had been the fake FBI agent following her and he was dead now. Or maybe it was her guardian angel. Either way, they weren’t on her tail tonight.

  In the deep quiet, Sayer parked the Silver Hawk next to her town house, grateful to turn off the engine that rattled her ribs all the way home. Her mind felt jumbled with too many diverging thoughts. None of which led to the most important place of all, the location of the missing girls.

  Sayer took a moment to look up at her town house. A faint light glowed in Tino’s downstairs window and she debated saying hello. Adi was still at Stanford and Sayer realized she longed for a moment of human connection before sleep. Plus, she’d promised him a drink date to discuss some kind of big question he had. Any conversation would be better than sitting alone in her apartment right now.

  With a soft tap, Sayer knocked on Tino’s door.

  When no one answered, she knew he must’ve fallen asleep reading in the living room. And Vesper slept like a log once he was down for the night.

  Slightly disappointed, Sayer headed upstairs and unlocked her own door. Without the warm comfort of Adi’s and Vesper’s soft breathing drifting from Adi’s room, the apartment felt dark and empty.

  She removed her heavy jacket and her eye caught again on the bullet hole in the back. Brushes with death weren’t all that uncommon in her job, but it always left her feeling chilled to the core.

  She walked around flipping on the lights, irrationally trying to drive out the cold.

  Standing in the fully lit apartment, she wasn’t sure what to do next. She wanted to keep working on the case, but she knew her mind was dulled by sleep deprivation. She glanced over at Jake’s file but thought about Nana’s comments. She was right of course. Sayer was obsessing over his death as a way to cling to a life that no longer even existed. Maybe it really was time to start finding joy in the life she had instead of dwelling on the life she’d expected.

  Rather than pick up the file, Sayer grabbed a beer and a cold hot dog and clicked on the TV, hoping to wind down for a few minutes.

  On the screen, Becky Blane’s mother stood in front of a podium, flanked on both sides by what had to be lawyers in suits. Her eyes were still raw from crying, but now she wore some makeup and a bright pink sweater.

  The reporter’s voice-over said, “We’ve all been following the case of the girls on the bus, but this new wrinkle comes from the press conference held this evening by Rebecca Blane’s mother. This mother of one of the murdered girls had some harsh words to say about the ongoing investigation.”

  The sound transferred to the conference as Ms. Blane began to speak.

  “My daughter, Rebecca Elizabeth Blane, was killed yesterday.” She leaned slightly forward into the microphone, reading off a sheet of paper that she clutched tightly. The gaggle of reporters and cameras in front of her jostled for a good view. “I have proof the FBI task force was chasing a hoax that they should have been able to quickly dismiss as false. They wasted precious time while my daughter was being brutally murdered. I’ve also learned that there have been multiple attacks on the FBI that they are covering up.” She paused and looked away, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “My beautiful, brilliant daughter is dead because of their ineptitude. I plan to bring a lawsuit against the FBI to ensure that this never happens again. Thank you.”

  Her lawyers pulled her away from the podium and swiftly guided her away.

  Sayer stared at the screen, gripping her bee
r. She understood that this woman was hurting, and angry parents were a normal part of kidnapping and child murder cases. What wasn’t normal was the level of detail that Ms. Blane clearly had about the ongoing investigation.

  Sayer sent a quick email to the family liaison, asking for an explanation before realizing that she was blurry-eyed with exhaustion.

  Rather than dwell on the intense mix of emotions the press conference conjured, Sayer stumbled to the bathroom to get ready for bed. She took off her shirt to clean the small cut along her side where the bullet had grazed her skin. On the other side, a bruise darkened half of her torso and her rib protested when she poked at the bruise. “Bruised but not broken,” she muttered to herself.

  Barely awake enough to pull on her flannel pajamas, she fell into bed, welcoming a deep, dreamless sleep.

  TINO’S APARTMENT, ALEXANDRIA, VA

  Tino had struggled against the rope that bound his arms and legs as Sayer tapped on his door.

  The more Tino writhed and bucked, the tighter the rope constricted his body and so he stopped. Lying still, he had called out for Sayer, but the heavy wrapping of tape around his mouth muted it into nothing more than a frantic sound trapped in the back of his throat.

  Other than the stench of kerosene assaulting his nose, everything was quiet.

  Except for the man breathing softly in the next room. What was he waiting for?

  Eventually, Tino could hear Sayer shuffling around above him, floor creaking as she probably ate a damn hot dog or something equally vile.

  Then nothing.

  Time felt frozen until the sharp crackle of a match lighting in the other room sent a wave of dread through his body. The front door opened and the man left, closing the door behind him. Tino and Vesper were alone as the apartment caught fire.

  Vesper scratched against the closet door, whining so piteously Tino’s heart broke for the hundredth time. The poor dog was probably having his own flashbacks to the Cage Killer case where he was trapped in a cage with a dying girl.