Deadly Dance

by Dee Davis

“So what have we got?” she asked, signing on to the computer to access her databases. “You said you had a name?”

  “Yeah.” Harrison nodded. “But it’s not making any sense at all. The match came from Interpol.”

  “Someone international?” Her head jerked up, as she shot a glance first at Harrison and then at Avery.

  “Seems so,” Avery confirmed. “The hit was for a Martin Vanderbeek. A Swede who was caught in the sweep of a suspected arms trafficking ring in Vienna. There wasn’t enough to hold him. So he was released. Only reason they had his DNA was that he’d been drinking with other suspects at a local bar. The authorities took the samples as part of the investigation.”

  “So you’re saying that a foreign national, one who may or may not have been involved with an arms deal, is our serial killer?” Hannah shook her head, wondering if maybe this was just a bad dream.

  “Well, this is where it gets interesting,” Harrison said. “Turns out his ID was fictitious. The real Vanderbeek was dead. So this guy just assumed the identity. No doubt covering a multitude of other sins. Only the local authorities didn’t discover the fact until the man was long gone.”

  “Let me guess, after that he just fell off the map.” Drake walked over to pour himself more coffee.

  “Yeah, and even worse,” Avery said, “the case files were lost when the evidence warehouse burned down a few years ago.”

  “So how’d we luck into the DNA?”

  “As a matter of protocol, basic information on the case was passed on to Interpol. The operation crossed international boundaries, so they were involved in the takedown from the get go. Anyway, some tech there entered the pertinent details into their database.”

  “And there haven’t been any other hits on the DNA?” Hannah asked. “Something that might give us this guy’s real name? Or at least another alias?”

  “Nothing so far.” Harrison shook his head, his frustration evident. “We were kind of hoping you might be able to figure out another angle.”

  “Did they fingerprint him?” she asked, frowning as she typed the name into her computer.

  “Hang on,” Harrison said, scrolling through a document on his screen. “Yeah, got it right here, I’m sending it to you now.”

  The file downloaded, and Hannah transferred it to a program she’d created to cross-check fingerprints against various databases both locally and internationally. “I’ll run the print and see if we can get a hit.” She hit a key and the program started comparing prints in the databases to the one taken from the DNA match. “In the meantime, do we have a mug shot or a photograph? We can run facial recognition software as well. It might give us something more.”

  “Already on it.” Harrison smiled, sending Hannah’s stomach lurching in its wake. “I’ve got the program running now. I’ve linked it to Homeland Security and our database at Langley. But I figure it’s a long shot. The only picture that survived is one Interpol has of the scene; the suspects are standing off to one side. One of the agents present at the time remembered Vanderbeek and identified him for us. But the picture is grainy at best.”

  “If this guy was smart enough to use an alias in the Viennese sting, he’s probably too smart to have his photo readily available anyway.”

  “What I still don’t understand,” Hannah said, watching her computer as the fingerprints flashed across the screen, “is how some international thug wound up here at Sunderland murdering women and pretending to be a wanted American serial killer.”

  “I’ll grant you it doesn’t make any sense at all.” Avery shrugged. “But then nothing about this has followed any real logic.”

  “When you worked the case for the cyber killer,” Drake asked, his attention on Harrison, “was there any kind of international component? Something with the victims that might have pointed to a foreign connection?”

  “No.” Harrison shook his head. “In fact, we profiled that it was someone local. And I see no reason to believe we were wrong. But the case hit the airwaves big time. It’s not unreasonable to believe that someone overseas could have heard about it. Either at the time or after the fact.”

  “Speaking of which,” Avery said, “word on our killer here has gone national. The wire services picked it up after Jasmine’s body was found.”

  “And it’s traveling even faster on the Net,” Hannah said. “I was just searching to see what was out there, and I came back with over a hundred thousand hits.”

  “Great, now the guy is headline news.” Simon blew out a frustrated breath and drained the last of his coffee.

  “It’s definitely going to bring unwanted attention to the college, which means security threats for us,” Avery said, “but so far I’ve managed to keep the campus closed. It’s actually helpful that neither murder occurred on college ground. But the sooner we find this bastard, the better for all of us.”

  “Has anyone talked to Tina today?” Hannah asked, suddenly feeling guilty. She’d spent her night with Harrison while her TA had been cooped up in the admin building mourning her friend.

  “I haven’t talked to her, but I spoke with Reid this morning,” Simon said. “He told me that she didn’t sleep much, but she’s coping better than expected. Reid’s moved inside the apartment. Her request. So at least she’s not alone.”

  “And her boyfriend is driving up from the city tomorrow.” Avery leaned back, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “He’ll take her back to New York, assuming nothing happens to warrant us keeping her here. Reid will go with them to make sure they get there safely and then continue to keep watch until this is over.”

  “Good,” Hannah said, still feeling ashamed not to have at least called. “Her parents live in Brooklyn. She’ll be better off with family.”

  “What about the videos?” Drake asked. “Don’t we need her here for that?”

  “No.” Harrison shook his head. “I’ve tapped into all of her accounts. Phone, Internet, the works. I can monitor them from here. If she gets anything else from the unsub, I’ll be able to see it here in real time.”

  “Talk about big brother watching,” Simon said.

  “It isn’t ideal, but she understands the situation.” Harrison shrugged. “And she has more reason than anyone to want us to catch Jasmine’s and Sara’s killer.”

  Hannah’s computer emitted a soft beep and stopped scrolling, a flashing cursor indicating that it had found something. “Hang on, guys,” she said. “I think maybe I’ve got a hit.” She scrolled down, her eyes widening as she read. “Actually looks like we have more than one.”

  She took a minute to skim the data, frowning as she scrolled through the first two matches. “The first is a partial, taken from the scene of an assassination attempt in Bosnia a few years back. Some UN diplomat. Anyway, the print is unidentified. Just part of the evidence. Looks like they never found the shooter.”

  “What about the others?” Avery asked.

  “The second one is a full-on match, but again it’s an unidentified print. This time from a bombing in Dubai. Sixteen people were killed. The print was found on a fragment.”

  “Great, so the guy’s a ghost.” Simon’s words gave voice to everyone’s frustration.

  “Hang on,” she said, “there’s one more. From a recent police altercation.” Hannah skimmed the pertinent details. “In Atlantic City. Looks like our guy—if it is him—got caught up in a vice sweep. He was booked but later released. And since he wasn’t prosecuted, there wouldn’t have been any reason for them to have checked him out with anyone higher up the food chain.”

  “Why? If he’s a foreign national under arrest, wouldn’t that have at least pulled in immigration?”

  “Actually, according to this, he’s not foreign. He’s homegrown,” Hannah said. “From right here in New York.” She hit a button and a picture filled the large monitor Harrison had set up on the buffet beside the table. “Meet John M. Walker—aka Martin Vanderbeek.”

  “And Daniel Raiser,” Harrison added, putting a se
cond photo next to the first, the two photos unquestionably the same man, although the hairstyles and clothing worn were radically different. “A U.K. citizen, according to his passport. It came up through facial recognition. But like Vanderbeek, the ID’s a fake. He was wanted for questioning in conjunction with one of the London subway bombings.”

  “So this guy gets around,” Avery observed. “What have you got on Walker? Is it an alias as well?”

  “So far, it seems to be checking out,” Hannah said. “He was born upstate just outside of Syracuse. Went to college in Rochester. But there’s nothing to show that he graduated. He pays taxes in Kingston. And he’s listed as a freelance technical consultant. Self-employed. Travels quite a bit. There’s not much information about where he goes or what he does once he’s there. Basically, this guy is good at staying off the grid.”

  “Can you tie him to any of the locations where he used false ID?” Drake asked.

  “Yes,” Harrison answered, clearly doing his own online investigation. “I’ve got confirmation that he was in England at the time of the bombings. Supposedly in Manchester, but it would have been easy enough to slip down to London. And I’ve also got a record of trips to Vienna—although nothing that directly coincides with the arrest of Vanderbeek.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve got confirmation here,” Hannah said. “An airline ticket in his name, flying into Geneva. The dates match. And he rebooked his return. Which would match up with his being detained by authorities in Vienna.”

  “But why use his real name if he was traveling under an alias once in Vienna?” Simon asked.

  “Alibi,” Drake said, taking a sip of coffee. “Dude, can’t be in two places at once.”

  “So what are we talking about, here?” Hannah asked. “Some kind of mercenary? Three of the matches put him at the site of some kind of terrorist activity. Two bombings and an assassination attempt. You think he was the shooter?”

  “It’s possible,” Avery said, studying the photograph. “Hannah, forward everything you’ve got to the brass at Langley. Maybe they’ll have something more on this guy. And at the very least, they’ll be able to shed some light on the various investigations he’s been linked to. And in the meantime, if he is our killer, we need to run Mr. Walker to ground. Let’s check rentals and hotels in the area to see if by some chance he’s registered under his real name or one of the aliases we’ve found.”

  “I’m already on it,” Hannah said. “And I’m also running the names we know he’s used through several systems CIA analysts have created to analyze chatter. There’s a possibility that the names we have are associated with other names. Which will broaden the list I can check against.”

  “Harrison, what about the FBI? Do they have anything on this guy?”

  “They don’t have any open files on him. And he’s not in the serial killer or sexual predator database. But I’m not really surprised about that.”

  “What do you mean?” Simon frowned. “This son of a bitch has been hacking up girls for fun.”

  “That’s just it. He hasn’t been hacking them at all,” Harrison said. “He’s taken them and possibly roughed them up a bit in the process, but according to Tracy’s forensic evidence, he killed them with one surgical slice. They were most likely dead before they had time to realize what happened.”

  “What about the stabbing?” Simon asked.

  “Again, this guy isn’t interested in torture,” Harrison said. “For the most part, he inflicts the wounds postmortem. And there’s no evidence of either hesitation or rage. It’s surgical. As if he’s—”

  “Going through the motions,” Drake finished for him. “We said that before. What if that’s exactly what’s been happening? What if he’s been following a script?”

  “The cyber killer’s,” Avery mused. “So using that line of thought, his attempts to get our attention wouldn’t be about a power play, but about pulling us into his game.”

  “But for what reason?” Drake asked. “We have no connection with the raid in Vienna, the bombings in Dubai or London, and certainly nothing to do with his arrest in Atlantic City.”

  “And it doesn’t seem likely that he would have been connected to any of my cases at the FBI,” Harrison said. “Unless he really is a serial killer, and like you guys, I’m beginning to wonder if that’s truly the case.”

  “So what the hell is really going on here?” Simon asked.

  “No better way to find out than to take it to the source.” Hannah turned her computer so that everyone could see. “There’s a J. Melrose registered at the Twin Pines motel.”

  “Let me guess,” Harrison said, his eyes on the screen. “John Walker’s middle name is Melrose.”

  CHAPTER 18

  How are you holding up?” Simon asked as they sat across from the Twin Pines.

  The motel was T-shaped and set off the main highway at an angle. The pine trees that had inspired the name served as a backdrop, making the whole place look appealing from a distance. Unfortunately, close up, the Twin Pines had seen better days. The kind of motel popular half a century ago, it consisted of small attached units, each with its own front porch. Like little log cabins, they were meant to inspire feelings of warmth and comfort. But clearly that was no longer the case.

  At the moment, they were waiting for the Camry parked outside the front office to pull away. A woman, dressed in a form-fitting red dress and four-inch, gold stilettos had emerged from a unit in the front about five minutes ago and pulled her car up to the office, conceivably to check out.

  “I’m holding up fine,” Hannah said answering Simon’s question with a frown. “What makes you ask?”

  “Nothing specific, just that it’s your TA getting the videos. Plus Sara Lauter was a student of yours, and you were friends with Jasmine Washington. I can’t imagine it was easy finding her or Sara like that.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t. And you’re right, it did shake me up.”

  “Well, for the record, I didn’t know either of them, and it threw me for a loop, too. I mean, I’ve seen men die in combat. Guys I lived and worked with, but this was different. You know?”

  “Evil personified,” Hannah agreed. “I don’t see how Madison does it day in and day out. I don’t think I’d ever sleep.”

  “I guess, if you’re exposed to it enough, you develop defenses. Ways to cope,” Simon said, his gaze moving somewhere far away. “Or you just go crazy.”

  “Was it bad—the war, I mean? You were with the SEALs, right?”

  “Yeah. And the truth is that war seems almost civilized compared to all of this. But it was tough. I did three straight tours, and then I got caught in a firefight that took out three-quarters of my unit and effectively ended my military career. At least with the SEALs.”

  “Once a SEAL always a SEAL?”

  “Something like that.” He shrugged. “Anyway, let’s just say I could read the writing on the wall. And so I got out before I wound up riding a desk until retiring.”

  “I can’t imagine you doing that.” She shook her head with a smile. “But you’re here, so things have gotten better, right?”

  “I’m young and healthy, if that’s what you’re asking.” He grinned, his eyes not quite reflecting the sentiment. “But not enough to qualify for special forces.”

  “Their loss is our gain,” she said, meaning every word of it. “I’m glad you’re part of the team.”

  “Were you there when they found Jason?” Simon asked, his gaze still on the hotel in front of them.

  She paused for a moment, surprised by the question, her emotions more on edge than she’d realized.

  “I’m sorry, that probably came out of left field.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I was thinking about losing team members, and so my thoughts just—”

  “—moved to Jason. I understand. And it’s never easy,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “But thankfully, no, I wasn’t there. I’m not sure I could have handled that. It w
as hard enough to lose him. But at least I don’t have that image branded in my brain.”

  They sat for a moment in silence, and then the woman emerged from the office and got into her car.

  “Looks like she’s on her way.” Simon nodded as the Camry roared to life and the woman drove away. They waited a couple of minutes and then got out of the car, guns holstered, fake FBI credentials at the ready. The office was located in the center of the top of the T, a rusting sign out front indicating that there were vacancies.

  With the departure of the Camry, the place was quiet. No sign of activity at all. Only a couple of cars were pulled up in front of rooms, and most of those were in the back.

  “If it’s a woman, I’ll do the talking,” Simon said, with a crooked smile as they headed for the door. “And if it’s a guy, I’ll leave it to you.”

  “Nothing like a little sexism to get us going.”

  “Hey,” he protested. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that it’s usually easier to get cooperation from someone of the opposite sex.”

  “Especially when they look like you,” Hannah said, laughing, as they walked into the office. “And you’re right, it’s a good strategy.”

  A bell tinkled behind them as they closed the door, the wooden floor creaking beneath their feet. Not exactly a stealthy arrival. But no one had answered the phone when they’d tried to call, so they still needed to find out which room John Melrose had been assigned to.

  The front desk took up the length of the tiny room, a doorway behind it sporting rows of swinging beads.

  “Looks like this place never left the sixties,” Simon whispered as they waited. A minute passed, and then another one, and then the beads started to shimmy. Hannah reflexively closed her hand around her gun, but Simon shook his head in warning as a white-headed woman stepped into the room.

  She was tiny, her face wrinkled with age, but her blue eyes shined with intelligence. “Can I help you?”

  “Actually,” Simon said, stepping up to the counter, “we’re looking for a friend. And he told us he’d be staying here. John Melrose?”