by Lisa Harris
“Why should it be? We’re both professionals, and whatever happened between us doesn’t play into our current case.”
He shot her a grin, clearly unconvinced. “Fine. If you say so.”
She tried to focus on the photos of the dead girl’s body. Ryley was right about one thing. Her career had always managed to come before commitment to a relationship. That was why she’d left Nashville for the FBI. She could have been a detective by now at some local precinct, but she’d wanted more. And she’d given up a lot to get there.
She loved her own family and respected what her parents had in their own marriage, but she hadn’t wanted their life. Their mom-and-pop store had somehow managed to survive the big chain stores coming in over the past decade. But how much longer were they going to be able to compete? They worked long hours and in the end made barely enough money to save for retirement.
She’d always wanted more for herself, even if it had come at a cost. And at this point in her life, she wasn’t sure she could even see herself with a family.
But none of that mattered. She’d spend the next couple of days working this case here in Tennessee, and then she’d be gone.
3
4:31 p.m.
Sumner County, Tennessee
Another hour of meticulous combing through the crime scene had turned up little further evidence. They’d systematically widened their search, slowly moving from one section to the next of the grid they’d laid out as they fanned outward from the crime scene. Every item recovered had been carefully packaged and labeled to prevent any damage in its transport from the scene to the lab. But beyond a few pieces of trash and a dozen or so footprints that at this point could belong to anyone, they’d yet to find any concrete evidence that could point to their killer.
Garrett studied the horizon, keenly aware of the fading daylight. An outdoor crime scene was always vulnerable to changes in physical evidence, due to both contamination and environmental conditions. And now with the sun setting in thirty minutes, it was going to be easy to miss or even destroy evidence if they weren’t extremely careful.
He kept walking, focused on the terrain in front of him. There was still no word on the results of the autopsy, but that was to be expected. Both the ME’s conclusions and the lab results were going to take time. But somewhere out here there had to be a piece of evidence that would lead them to the killer. Because no one committed the perfect crime. And finding whoever did this was the only way of guaranteeing it didn’t happen again.
A dozen yards away from where he worked, Jordan was holding a conversation with Sam. He’d forced himself to stay focused since her unexpected arrival, but her presence continued to pull him back to the past, a place he’d rather not go. He’d asked her if she had any regrets, but his question hadn’t referred to her joining the FBI. Instead, the meaning behind the question had been far more personal. Had she regretted leaving him and their relationship behind?
He might never hear the answer from her, but if he were honest with himself, he had his own regrets. Not of leaving his father’s law firm. He’d never looked back on that decision. But he did wonder what life would have been like if she’d never been recruited by the FBI. If they’d ended up getting married and starting a family.
But all the what-ifs in the world didn’t matter at this point. She’d left, closing the door to any further relationship between them. And it wasn’t as if he blamed her either. How could he? If he’d been handed the same opportunity she had, he would have jumped at the chance. But instead, he’d been the one who watched her walk away. Maybe he let her go because he thought they’d figure out a way to make their relationship work, but as the weeks and months passed, it became clear—at least to him—that any chance for a relationship between them was over.
And he’d been right.
He’d moved on and so had she. Which was why seeing her again shouldn’t matter. She seemed content. Focused on her own work, which was what he wanted for her. His heart had gotten over her leaving. He had his job and his friends, his new position at TBI . . .
He glanced back at the yellow crime-scene barrier, shoving the past aside in the process. The ME had driven away hours ago with the body neatly zipped up in a black bag in the back of his van. All that remained now was a half-dug grave and a dozen law enforcement officers still looking for answers. Someone was in the process of setting up large floodlights around the crime scene so they could continue searching even after dark, but they could only process so much without adequate lighting. And they could only light so much of the thick terrain.
Garrett stopped at the edge of the trail where his grid line ended. They’d divided the crime scene into perimeters, inner and outer, and were using the outer perimeter as a boundary to contain the crime scene. In a situation like this, the decision had to be made—based on resources and personnel—about how far to extend that outer perimeter. It was essential to make sure efforts in the search weren’t duplicated and at the same time make sure they didn’t miss any essential evidence.
He started walking along the trail, this time in the opposite direction from the crime scene and the parking lot where the search had focused. It was true that the most logical explanation was that the abductor had driven her here. If she’d been conscious, she probably would have been walking, and if she hadn’t been conscious, a grown man would be able to carry her the short distance from the parking lot to the site where she’d been found. But what if he hadn’t stuck to the trail?
They were going to need to expand their search even farther.
The temperature was beginning to drop again and he could feel a storm brewing, with the wind that was picking up. She’d been out here. Cold. Scared. Somewhere she’d lost her coat, assuming she’d been wearing one when she was abducted. The wind whistled through the trees. He buttoned the top button of his own coat to help block the chill. Two days ago, the temperatures had dropped below freezing. No one would have chosen to be out here dressed in only a thin T-shirt.
Just like their Jane Doe hadn’t chosen to be out here with a serial killer.
The gnawing urgency in his gut grew stronger.
Three girls abducted. Two for sure were dead. No solid clues. They needed answers. Something that would point them in the direction of their perpetrator. He peered up at the sky. The sun was already beginning to sink into the horizon, dipping the earth in the bluish-gray shades of twilight.
Within the next few hours, the temperature would drop once again to freezing, with a chance of snow flurries. Which meant if they were going to find anything, it needed to be now.
Garrett kept walking. His shoes crunched against the gravel. Eerie shadows danced through the woods around him. He could almost see her, running through the woods, trying to make her escape, until the killer caught her and ended her life.
A trash can sat partly obscured by overgrown bushes just off the trail. He pulled off the lid, dumped the contents onto the ground, and started sifting through them.
“Got something?” Jordan called out as he dug through the trash with his gloved hands.
“I don’t know yet.” He pushed aside soda cans, candy wrappers, and water bottles, then stopped.
“What is it?” Jordan crouched down beside him as he pulled out a beaded purse.
“I might be wrong, but if our murderer dumped her personal effects here . . .” Garrett unzipped the bag, quickly sorting through a pile of makeup, gum, and hand sanitizer before finding a fabric and leather wallet. He opened it up and pulled out the driver’s license.
Jordan shined her flashlight on the driver’s license photo. “That’s her.”
He studied the photo. Their victim now had a name. “According to the driver’s license, her name’s Julia Kerrigan. She was born December 15, 1987, she’s five foot six, and lives in Nashville.” He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket. “Get Sam over here. I’m going to see if there’s an open case file on her.”
He ended the call to the bureau headq
uarters the same time Bradford and Michaels arrived.
“Trying to impress the boss on your first day?” Michaels asked. “If so, you’re doing pretty good.”
“Just doing my job.”
“So who is she?” Bradford asked.
“Her name’s Julia Kerrigan. I just got off the phone with Detective Everston, who’s been working on the case. Her parents filed a missing persons report four days ago. She was supposed to be on her way home from working at a local coffee shop. When she failed to show up, her family went looking for her. When they couldn’t find her, they called the police. She was wearing the same thing she was wearing when we found her, plus a coat.”
“A runaway?” Bradford asked.
“Not according to her parents. They insist there was no trouble at home. That she was a bright student, did well in school, and had a lot of friends.”
“That’s what they all say,” Michaels said.
“Maybe, but we know this girl was abducted and murdered,” Garrett said.
“What about suspects?” Jordan asked.
“Apparently there were some recent work-related threats against the father in the past few weeks, but nothing they were able to connect to her disappearance.”
“For now,” Bradford said, “I want every scrap of trash gone through for evidence and DNA.”
Jordan shook her head. “I agree, but I don’t think you’ll find anything here.”
Garrett paused. “What do you mean?”
“Everything about this case has been meticulously planned. He wanted her to be found. Wanted her wallet and purse to be found.”
“Why do you say that?” Bradford asked.
“First of all, winter isn’t the time when most people go camping, but I checked with the park management. There are people in and out of here the entire season. Like the couple that discovered the body, they’re bird watching or simply trying to find a quiet place. She was found close to the trail. This time of year, all he had to do was bury her a few more dozen feet into the woods, and she more than likely wouldn’t have been found for months. And that’s another thing. He could have buried her, but he didn’t. Not completely. He wanted her found.”
“The same was true with Jessica Wright,” Bradford said.
“Normally, you can forget your Hollywood stereotype,” Jordan said. “Most serial killers aren’t interested in playing games with the authorities, because they have no desire to get caught. But this guy seems to want his work to be discovered.”
“What about Becky Collier?” Garrett said, turning to Bradford. “You said her body was never found. How does that fit into the equation?”
“Just because her body wasn’t found,” Jordan said, “doesn’t mean she wasn’t intended to be found. An animal could have carried her off, or he might have buried her in a spot he assumed she’d be found, but for whatever reason she wasn’t. But so far, at least with this case, it seems as if we’re finding what he wants us to find. Nothing more. Nothing less. He poses the bodies and is careful not to unintentionally leave anything behind. He wants to be in control.”
“What about her personal effects here?” Michaels said. “Her purse and wallet?”
“I’d say another calculated move,” Ryley said. “Think about it. Like every other American, he probably watches crime shows on TV. He knows that every criminal investigation begins with a search of the crime scene and a vigorous search for evidence. He also probably knows that we’re going to conduct that search systematically until we find that evidence.”
“Which means he knew we’d eventually find her things,” Garrett said.
“Exactly.”
“Wait a minute,” Michaels said. “Why would he want someone to find her or her personal effects? Seems to me it would be better if they were dumped in another county where they’d never be found. Same with her body. Wouldn’t this be a risk? You said most serial killers don’t want to get caught.”
“Yes, but maybe that’s the point,” Jordan said.
She was in her element. Garrett could tell by the intensity in her voice and her measured body language. She’d been that way even back at the academy. Always focused. Always centered. Always pushing harder than anyone else. When fitness events required a mile-and-a-half run in under fifteen minutes, she’d shoot to shave off an extra minute or two. And in class, while she might ask twice as many questions as any other student, she also worked twice as hard.
“It’s the same reason he leaves a Polaroid,” she continued. “It’s like a game to him. A catch me if you can. That’s why he’s meticulous to only leave behind the clues he wants to be found. It’s more than just his power over the girls. It’s his way of standing up to the authorities and maybe even society, believing he will continue to get away with what he’s doing.”
“Which means he won’t stop,” Bradford said. “At least not until he’s caught.”
“So then how do we stop him?” Garrett asked.
“He’s got the advantage right now, and he knows it,” Jordan said. “We don’t know when he’ll strike, let alone who he’ll strike. He can wait months, even years.”
“So you’re saying there’s a good chance we’ll never catch him?” Michaels asked.
“No. I’m saying he’s not going to make it easy on us. But I also believe there is no perfect crime. He’s going to make mistakes. We just have to find the mistakes.”
“And in the meantime,” Bradford said, “we need to make a plan. Garrett, I want you to work with Detective Everston. Drive back to Nashville and inform the family that we found their daughter. Special Agent Lambert . . . James . . . I want a complete profile on this guy. Give me everything you’ve got as soon as you can.”
Jordan glanced at Garrett. “I’d like to go speak to the parents with you.”
He was surprised at her offer. Most people preferred to avoid having to tell the family their daughter wasn’t coming home again, and Jordan wasn’t exactly used to dealing directly with victims of the crimes she analyzed.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’d like a chance to speak to the parents. They might not be suspects, but I’d still like to get a feel for their reaction and see what else we can learn from them. If these girls are being taken by someone who knows them, then it’s crucial that we find the connection between the cases.”
A uniformed officer jogged down the path toward them. “Thought you would want to know that the media’s just shown up. A couple news vans, including a local television station. They’re asking to speak with someone in charge.”
Bradford nodded. “I was hoping to hold them off a bit longer, but it looks as if we’ve just run out of time. I’ll get someone to finish processing the evidence here. Agent Lambert, go ahead and talk to the parents with Addison. If you want to take your car back to Nashville, I’ll bring your partner back with me. I’m going to want him to stay here and help me deal with the press. It can’t hurt to have the FBI’s backing on this one.”
“You’ve got it.”
“And let’s make sure that there’s no leak on the ID of our body until the family’s informed,” Bradford said. “Or a mention of the Polaroid.”
Garrett headed toward the parking lot with Jordan, careful to avoid an encounter with the media. “If you want to follow me back to the bureau, we can drive to the Kerrigans’ house together from there.”
“Sounds good.”
He caught her sober expression. “You ready for this?”
“I might not be used to dealing with cases on such a personal level, but I can still handle myself.”
“Never thought you couldn’t.” Garrett glanced at the news van on the other side of the lot. “And it’s a good thing, because we’re about to have a firestorm on our hands.”
4
6:37 p.m.
Nashville, Tennessee
Jordan pressed her fingertips into the armrest of Garrett’s Toyota Camry as he drove the twenty minutes from the bureau’s headquarters to thei
r victim’s home, wondering—not for the first time—why she’d volunteered to come with him. Not only were they on their way to deliver the devastating news of Julia Kerrigan’s murder to her family, but since leaving the bureau, anything in their conversation that had the potential of turning personal had quickly been steered around and avoided.
He’d told her how his brother had gotten married to a girl from Colorado, how they’d celebrated his grandfather’s eightieth birthday last month, and how he’d started volunteering as a big brother through a program in his church. She in turn had told him how she’d participated in the Potomac River Run Marathon in November and was planning her first full marathon in March. She told him about her sister transferring to the ER and how her parents were still struggling to keep their mom-and-pop grocery store afloat in a world of chain stores and internet shopping.
“I still miss your mother’s brigadeiros,” he said. “I don’t remember the last time I had one.”
Jordan couldn’t help but smile. It was one of her favorite childhood memories. Watching her mother stir the sweetened milk, cocoa powder, and butter while she waited for one of the resulting chocolate balls with sprinkles. “She still has a hard time making enough to keep her customers happy.”
“It’s one of the reasons their store has lasted this long. Your parents might not be able to compete with the larger stores in some ways, but no one can beat their customer service.”
“You should stop by and see Mom someday,” Jordan said. “She’s told me more than once that she misses seeing you.”
“You’re right. I should.”
Garrett turned off the highway and headed toward the suburb where the Kerrigan family lived. Jordan stared out the window at the rows of local restaurants, neighborhood businesses, and shops, faced with the uncomfortable realization of how much she’d missed him. And how seeing him again, even after all these years, affected her more than she wanted to admit.
