“Women wouldn’t be afraid to approach him. They may actually be drawn to him,” Zachery said.
“It is possible he was having an affair with the missing women,” I added.
“You believe he had a relationship with them? All of them?” A ruddy man of about fifty had his eyes on me. I sensed irony clashing inside him. How could the feds know all this and not have their man.
“We believe it is quite possible—yes. He’s dangerous and unpredictable,” Jack added.
“We don’t believe he’s motivated by a hatred of women, but we do believe he’s had a hard childhood,” Zachery added.
“You believe he was sexually abused?” Another officer asked the question.
“Not directly. However, we believe he had been encouraged, or forced, at an impressionable age, to rape a woman found in two thousand. We don’t believe this is who he wanted to be but rather who he’s become.”
“You said he was encouraged by someone? Do you think it’s a father and his son?” the officer asked.
“Possibly. Or a man and his nephew. There is a definite connection there that made the duo feel untouchable and, at the same time, bonded them.” Zachery put his mug on a nearby table. “The victim from two thousand was taken in the summer, during school break. The ones prior took place at different times. One in the spring and one in the fall. Also, the latter victim was sexually assaulted, whereas the first two were not. We also have another reason to believe that we are only searching for one active unsub at this time.”
The fifty-something officer stood from where he had been leaning on the edge of a table. “And what is that?”
“The first three victims, starting with the one in nineteen seventy found on the side of the highway, were not buried. We have evidence that shows Harris was.”
“What made him start up again?”
“We believe it is linked to Leslie Keyes. His relationship with her was close and special. It’s likely she did something to hurt him, causing his past to resurface,” Jack said.
“He realized he couldn’t have her and made sure no one could,” Paige added.
Every time we briefed a police department, it occurred to me how we categorized everything into a neatly presented package, whereas reality often dictated something entirely different.
Paige continued. “Now we believe he’s abducted thirty women, including Keyes, plus two more in the past week—Rogers and Poole.”
“Thirty-two women? That’s—” The older officer’s face scrunched up as he went to do the math.
Zachery interjected. “A woman approximately every two months. Now we have Rogers and Poole missing within a week. He’s starting to fall apart. The man he has become is not what he wants. It’s something he does, whether it’s to please his father, uncle, or someone else entirely. He could even be holding himself accountable to a memory at this point.”
“What makes you think he wants to please someone?”
“Well, based on Nina Harris and assuming it holds true for his other victims, she was buried with her wedding ring. It seems his targets have all been married women who may have been cheating on their husbands. He buried them naked to disgrace them but left on their wedding bands.”
“That question begs why.”
“That question tells us we’re dealing with an unsub that is organized in his killing method, in getting the women where he wants them and how he disposes of the bodies, but he is not organized completely. He is capable of feeling regret, fear, and anger—unlike a psychopath who would feel and think nothing of rape and murder. The initial killer lends himself to that profile.”
“We don’t believe he gets pleasure out of what he’s doing.” Paige crossed her arms, and I noticed she swallowed deeply. I could imagine that as a woman this case would affect her more deeply.
“Why does he do this then?” another officer asked.
My attention was on Stenson. He stood at the back of the room, his focus on Paige. He must have sensed me watching and averted his eyes to Jack when he answered.
“As my team has made clear, he feels a compulsion and has a desire to please someone. It is possible he hears commands to do what he does.”
“He hears voices?”
Zachery answered. “Auditory hallucinations are more common than most think. Of those who do experience them, most say the voices help them become better people. Our unsub may be on medication to silence the voices, but, sadly in a lot of cases, this makes them louder and any good voices are muted while the darker ones take over. It would suit the suspected age of our unsub as well. Auditory hallucinations start up between the ages of sixteen to thirty and it can even be younger for men.”
“A demon is telling him what to do?”
Zachery smiled. “It has nothing to do with the spiritual realm. These types of hallucinations are brought on by abuse, an accident, or the loss of a loved one. This is the case with seventy percent who confess to hearing voices.”
“That would also fit with our unsub,” I started. “Because of a childhood that started out with rape and murder at the approximate age of fifteen, this experience would qualify as a trigger for the hallucinations.”
Paige nodded. “A lot of times these voices are those of the abuser. It’s quite possible the man who guided him in the rape and murder is the voice he hears or that guides him now. Because of this, it can affect his sense of self-esteem and self-worth.”
“These voices, based on the speed at which he’s now abducting women, are getting louder and becoming more dominant. He may have once come across as having his life together, but things are, or quickly will be, falling apart for him. He may have recently lost a job or be close to losing one. He won’t necessarily be as kempt as he once was.”
I took in Stenson’s longer hair. I wondered if he always wore it that length. This time, when he saw me watching him, he pressed on a fake smile.
“Sum it up for us then agents.” An older officer hiked up his pants.
Jack laid out the overview. “We’re looking for an attractive man, age mid-to-late twenties, who may be holding down a steady job but may now be at risk of losing it. He may appear disheveled, but, for the most part, could be the guy next door.”
“I should add this as well,” Zachery said. “With the experience of auditory hallucinations, our unsub’s line of thought will be disorganized. He may start sentences and leave the thought unfinished. He also is quite likely to appear agitated at times. He may repeat a certain movement over and over.”
“Either way, we’re out of time here. We’ve got to get moving on this case before there’s another murder victim or another woman abducted.”
“Do you think they’re still alive to save?” Stenson asked the question from the back of the room.
Paige answered him. “We have to believe that.”
Chapter 19
The way I saw it, I had two options. One was to go home and get some sleep or at least go through the motions. The other was to stick around and analyze the crime boards until the victims’ faces and stories melded together. I chose the latter. Maybe it would be seen as a desperate craving for Jack’s approval, but that wasn’t the reason. I knew the truth, and that was all that mattered.
Going home to the empty two-story house no longer held the comfort or served as the retreat, it once had. Deb had arranged to take several pieces of furniture with her. I didn’t really care—furniture was only material possessions. It was more what the empty rooms represented. My marriage was over. There would be no amendment to that statement.
The rest of the team had left a few hours ago. I had told them I’d find my own way back. Now I sat in the room straddling one of the chairs backward. My attention was on the board with the two recent victims. I had taken down the photo of Leslie Keyes at the start of the timeline and posted her picture near Rogers and Poole. The women didn’t share much in the way of similarities.
Leslie had the appearance of an innocent housewife. Her photo, croppe
d from one of her and her husband, showed her makeup tastefully applied with hues of mauve and beige dusting her eyelids. Her hair was brown and shoulder-length, worn straight. Her smile held sincerity. She was enjoying herself at the time the picture was taken. I believe the report said they were in the Dominican Republic for their two-year anniversary.
If I were to take the woman at face value, I would conclude she was someone who was really in love with her husband, a truthful person, not one who hid behind jewelry or other such things for false charm. She came off as the typical wife next door who was both beautiful and respected.
Thinking about Leslie on such an intimate scale, had my mind shifting periodically to Deb. I thought we had everything together. She seemed to be happy, but I suppose appearances can be deceitful.
Next, my eyes shifted to Amy Rogers. She had the spark of a tigress, her eyes carrying the come-hither look, but that could have been meant for the man taking the photograph—her husband? I made a note to check into this later.
Rogers had chestnut eyes and brown hair like Keyes, but that was as far as the resemblance went. I could imagine Rogers cheating on her husband, but I wondered if part of the reason was because I knew who her husband was—top in a communications business, a man who every simple-minded and easy woman would want to be with. There was no doubt in my mind the man was unfaithful. From there, it wasn’t a far stretch to imagine his wife having her own fun.
Sydney Poole. She was a stark contrast to the other women. Her hair was a platinum blond, her eyes green. Like the other victims, her hair was long and reached past her shoulders. She had high cheekbones and knew how to apply her makeup. The coverage was light and noticeable—a fine line for women to balance, or at least it seemed so to a man. When some applied the dark shadow and smack-me-in-the-face lipstick shades, it didn’t do anything for attracting my attention. Less is more, and, in this case, that motto applied. Poole never worked outside of the home, like Rogers.
With the three women, there was one thing that connected them all. Besides the fact they were all chosen by the unsub, they were all beautiful, married women. They had long hair. None of them had children except for Leslie Keyes. She was where things became personal for the unsub. He loved her.
Could it be as simple as the fact that she didn’t reciprocate those feelings?
“You look deep in thought.” A female officer came into the room. I had noticed her during the briefing, but she never made a comment, and we were never introduced.
“You have no idea.”
She came toward me, her hips swaying enough for me to notice the curvature was more than a natural heave.
“Name’s Becky Tulson. I’m actually with Dumfries PD, but I’m curious about how things are coming along.” She extended her hand and smiled. Her hair reached the middle of her back, even pulled into a ponytail. A few loose strands hung over her shoulders.
“Brandon Fisher.” When our hands connected, our eyes latched. She released her grasp hesitantly, her fingertips grazing mine.
“Where did the rest of your team go? You do something wrong and are being punished?” She paced the perimeter of the room, her arms loosely crossed. She stopped in front of the crime scene photos of Nina Harris.
I stood beside her. “It was either this and get something done or go home and stare at the ceiling.”
“Ah, you’re not a sleeper? Some sort of insomniac?” She smiled.
“Well, I’m not sure I’d go that far.” Maybe if I were being honest.
“Tragedy, what happened to all these women.” Her attention was no longer on me but on the spread of photos, specifically the one of Harris’s remains. “I can’t imagine what she went through up to this point.”
I didn’t really know this officer, but I detected a hint of underlying emotion. Her voice took on a gruff edge. This case was personal for some reason. “Did you know her?”
Becky turned to face me and shook her head. She swallowed deeply, her eyes probing mine. I sensed she was deciding whether I was trustworthy. She faced the photo again.
“When I was a teenager, there was this guy—”
She paused, and when she seemed content that I was listening, she continued. “He seemed great. He gave me gifts. My first gold necklace came from him.”
I noticed, with her comment, she didn’t wear one now.
“He spoke of getting married and having kids.” She let out a small laugh. “Me with kids? Can’t even imagine. Anyway, it all sounded wonderful at the age of sixteen. I loved him. I was the envy of my girlfriends.”
I had a feeling where this headed and wondered why she was inclined to share such personal information with an essential stranger. The intimacy of this confession had me wishing I had left for home.
“He told me his parents were out of town and that I should come over.” She smiled at me. “You know where I’m going with this?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’m telling you anyway. It wasn’t movies and popcorn that were on his mind. He raped me.” She went quiet for a few seconds. “I was in such shock, you know. Here was this guy who I loved, who was supposed to be my future, and he robbed me of everything. I had never been so humiliated in my life. Not before, not since. I walked home that night. It took me about an hour, and I cried the entire way. Not one person I went by even gave me a second look.”
“Sorry—”
“Oh, no,” she dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “There’s no reason you need to be sorry. You’re not the one who raped me. I’m over it now. I’ve dealt with it, but I will never forget it.”
My eyes were on the picture of Harris, my mind on the information Becky had shared with me. “I don’t understand what makes these men do this.”
Becky laughed. “I thought you were a profiler. Isn’t that sort of the job?”
I smiled. “Not really what I meant. I meant, I know why, from the standpoint of what makes these bastards tick, but not the why from a human standpoint. I don’t understand how a man could hurt a woman.”
The way the words came out made me sick with the vulnerability. Blame it on the hour. My stomach growled. “What time is it anyway?”
“From the sound of you, time to eat.”
I was happy that she didn’t latch onto my sentimentality, and I hated the fact it even surfaced. “Sounds about right. You know any good places to eat around here?”
“The Earth and Evergreen Restaurant.” Her eyes pinched with a large smile. “They especially like their military types. It’s a nice place—for around here anyway. Their prime rib is pretty good.”
“Prime rib. Sounds delicious.”
“Come on, I’ll go with you. They also serve cold, imported beer.”
Chapter 20
He swept his flashlight across the dirt path that was littered with small twigs and leaves from the surrounding trees. The weather had been unpredictable lately with high winds setting in without warning. He heard the trees howling above him, but the voice made it through the rustling leaves, reprimanding him, and scolding him.
You are a failure.
You have to make amends for this.
Be a man and make it happen.
You let it come to this.
You were careless.
I knew you didn’t have it in you. I knew all along.
His heart beat rapidly. Something snapped behind him.
He spun, casting the pinpointed light to the bushes. They shook. Something was in there. A few more steps, taken while walking backward, he kept his eyes on the shaking leaves. Was the source of the voice here to haunt him?
The doctors told him it lived in his head—the source of it simply a mental condition. But there were moments when it was so real that he swore he could reach out and touch the root of it, as if it were coming from a living being.
He hated coming out here at night. It gave him shivers down his spine and tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. He swore he could feel each of them rise in sequence.
“Go away.”
The bushes stopped moving.
“I mean it. Go away!” He turned and hurried his pace. There was more noise behind him. There was a pounding in his ears.
The voice was closing in on him, advancing from behind and the sides.
“Go away!”
You are a loser!
He plugged his ears—one with his free hand and the other while holding the flashlight. Its beam now cast off-center from the trail.
You are never going to be a man!
The voice surrounded him now, as if inside his mind. He needed the constant ridicule to stop and leave him in peace.
“The graves lay silent. The graves lay untouched.” He repeated the chant aloud hoping it would keep the voice at bay, and it seemed to be working. Only a few more feet, and he would reach the burial sites. He heard the river before he saw it.
He fell to his knees. The flashlight dropped to his side. He pulled on his short hair and let out a scream. He wasn’t this man, not the one he had become. How did it all get started? He couldn’t remember now.
“You! You did this to me.” He rose to his feet, the light casting out in a half circle from him. He spun, looking into the woods, into the bushes. “This is your fault!”
You made this happen.
Prove you’re a man this time.
“No! No more women. It has to stop—”
You will never stop. This is who you are. This is when you’re most happy.
Flashbacks paraded in his mind, all the women, all the rapes, and all the murders that took place, that he had orchestrated—or had he?
“You do this. Not me.”
He crumpled to the ground, his head level with his knees, and he curled inward. His hands were fists, and his arms wound around him—still there was no comfort to be found.
The grave that had belonged to Nina Harris had, in fact, been disturbed. The ground, now dry, had served as a mudslide to the river and revealed his horror. He had lost one.
Silent Graves (Brandon Fisher FBI Series) Page 9
