by Rick Murcer
Ellen smiled, despite the weight of the world. “Stick it, Kate. I never said I wasn’t a geek. And what the hell is that other thing you mentioned? Sex? What is that?”
“You’re a little old for me to explain it to you, don’t you think?”
“Oh, God help me. You giving The Talk? Really? Talk about giving a kid nightmares.”
Just then, there was a knock on the door. Ellen felt her heart jump a little. She still wasn’t totally clear as to why she reacted the way she did when Brice was near. Well, maybe she was, but infatuations were not on the agenda today.
“Don’t hold that thought,” said Ellen, as she left the room.
Opening the door, she focused on the Chicago PD’s version of Superman. Okay, more like feasted on him. His suit fit like it was supposed to, and the blue tie set off his eyes and her imagination. She quickly recovered. Almost.
Brice smiled, his iceman persona apparently on hiatus for the moment.
“Ready for this?”
“Yes. Let me get my jacket.”
She grabbed her brown blazer, gave Mulder a final stroke, and waved to Kate as her friend walked out of the painting room.
“Lock up when you leave, and we’ll talk later, okay?”
“You got it, Ellie.”
Kate gave her another hug and whispered in her ear, “That boy’s hot. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
Ellen stepped back and rolled her eyes. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
After a few minutes in rush-hour traffic, Brice broke the almost-awkward silence. “I, ah, sort of want to apologize for some of my behavior last night. I have a tendency to take charge and get into protection mode when the shit hits the fan.”
“I noticed. But at least you had my back, and I appreciate that.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, but seemed to think better of it.
“What?”
“I . . . I . . . You know, we’ll talk about it later, maybe. I want you to know why I do what I do, but it can wait.”
She shrugged to display an indifference she didn’t feel. Her insides swirled at the thought that he might want to confide in her. Then again, she wasn’t sure she was ready for that, either.
She nodded and turned to him and saw the final remnants of a glance—he was checking her out. She wondered if the warmth she felt was visible on her cheeks. “Suit yourself. I’d listen,” she said, smiling.
“Thanks,” he answered, almost shyly. “That means something to me. And just know, I’d return the favor, okay?”
Ellen titled her head toward Brice. “Careful, I might take you up on that.”
“Okay,” he said, trying to disguise his discomfort.
Time to change the subject, for both of them, yet this man wanted her to know she could trust him. Trust and men hadn’t shown up together in her thoughts in a long time.
“So, I haven’t been involved in one of these task-force meetings. What goes on?” she asked.
Brice exhaled, seemingly relieved to change the subject as well. Her curiosity rose a notch. What was he keeping to himself?
“It’ll be intense. This killer has one of those unique signatures that scares the hell out of cops. He’s organized and goes about doing what he does unnoticed. He has a purpose. That much I know. We’ll need everything on this. The FBI will bring one of their behavioral analysis units to help with reviewing the evidence. They’ll try to come up with a profile after they get all the forensic input and then any info we can get from canvassing the areas where the bodies were found.”
“That’s another thing. Why would someone take the evidence bags from the SUV?” asked Ellen.
“I don’t know. I know what it looks like, but it could be just some crazy coincidence. Someone taking time to screw with the cops. It happens all the time.”
“Maybe. Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that wasn’t the case. That would mean that the killing of the two young women had something to do with Oscar’s shooting, wouldn’t it?”
He frowned. “Again, that’s not likely, but yeah. If the two cases are related, we’ve got more on the table than we bargained for. Far more.”
Her mind raced with possibilities, and she hadn’t even gotten to the lab. All she had was the fieldwork observations, the pictures on her camera, and the victims’ cell phones. That reminded her of the question Brice had been in the process of answering when the call came in regarding Oscar’s shooting.
“Last night, you were about to tell me what you thought the symbolism of the buried phones might mean, other than some kind of memorial or funeral setup.”
The light changed to red and he turned toward her, his expression perplexed.
“I’ve given that some more thought since then. What if the killer thinks he’s going through some kind of final separation? That somehow things didn’t work out with him and his women. Maybe he needs the ritual of some pseudo-ceremony to say a proper good-bye, in his mind.”
Ellen felt the dread skewer her right to the core. “You mean like a funeral?”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
CHAPTER 21
The two men stood at the entrance to the room, each with a black piece of satin gripped in his hands. Their grins were eerily similar. Kyle Black nodded at the other man, his grin widening.
“Are you ready for this, Damon?”
The other man, who was almost the exact same height and weight as Kyle, tilted his head and looked at his older brother. “I’ve been ready for this my whole life. You know the saying that the heart wants what the heart wants? Well, this is my version of that.”
“Good to hear. She’s beautiful. Everything we could have hoped for. She’s different from the others somehow,” said Kyle.
“I know you’re right. I’ve seen her.”
“I thought you were going to wait?” asked Kyle, trying to mask his displeasure.
“I . . . I couldn’t help myself. Don’t be angry. I only wanted to see her. It’s like when you bring me new computers and bigger monitors. I can’t wait to open them, you know?”
Kyle raised his hands. “It’s all right. I’d probably have done the same.”
“It didn’t turn out the way we’d hoped with the other two, so I was curious.”
“You’re right. It didn’t.”
Damon glanced at the floor, his tone subdued. “I loved them, you know. They were both perfect. If only they’d—”
“They’d what? Loved you back? Listened to what you had to say about trusting you, living forever with you?” taunted Kyle, a tinge of bitterness and anger creeping into his voice.
Damon scanned his brother’s face. “Yes. That was part of it. But there was something more required, and you know it.”
“And what was that, Damon? I want to hear you say it.”
“Honesty,” he said with no hesitation. “I only wanted honesty. Is it unreasonable to expect the love of your life, the perfect love of your life, to be honest? To tell the truth, always? I think not.”
Kyle put his hand on Damon’s shoulder, his eyes growing kind.
“You’re right. It’s not. After all the shit we had to put up with, together, growing up, we deserve that much. No more lies, no more condescending asshole bosses to make us feel small, and no more women who don’t deserve us. Just the truth. I think that’s fair. We’re entitled to it because we’re special, Damon. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I try not to, and I know you’re right. We are. We are. We’re a great team. You make the money, I grow it. But I just want what’s next. I want a family.”
“I get that, Damon. I do.”
What Damon wanted was far different from what he craved. In his eyes, that made Damon weak. His goals too low, his vision nonexistent. But isn’t that why he did what he did? Because Damon lacked the strength to do what was
necessary? Not to mention the thrill of the hunt? His brother would never know that. Never.
Kyle pulled the black cloth over his head and nodded. “No more delays. Let’s see what we have. Well, what you have. Joannie Carmen is yours, and I might add, you’re a lucky man.”
Damon smiled a crooked smile and then followed Kyle’s lead and pulled his mask over his head.
“Thank you. I couldn’t agree more, brother.”
CHAPTER 22
“About damn time you two got your asses here. It’s 8:01 and late is not an option,” growled Big Harv.
“Sorry, sir. Traffic was worse than usual,” said Brice. The two of them found empty seats next to Bella Sanchez, who gave them a sour look and rolled her eyes. Ellen ignored her. She had a quick thought that another ass kicking might be in store for Sanchez, but she shelved it. Later.
The main conference room in the Chicago PD headquarters hadn’t been updated for decades. A huge, warped table stood in the center of the room. It had probably been the best money could buy thirty years ago, and budget cuts said it might have to last another thirty. The chairs weren’t much better. The unpadded, blond wooden frames no longer resembled stylish furniture for Chicago’s finest, but had faded to something resembling a gray, wet Chicago morning.
A large projection screen and four older computers, along with four speakerphones, were spread evenly over the length of the table. The portraits of the long line of Chicago police commissioners studded the pale walls at the front of the room.
None of the objects in the room, or the room itself, was the focus of this gathering, however. Ellen scanned the faces around the table: Larry Ames, Big Harv’s boss and the commander and head of the Bureau of Investigative Services; four FBI special agents from the local office whom she’d met on a couple of prior cases, including profiler Lelani Olsen, a thin woman in her midforties with black hair and bright, gray eyes; four detectives from southern precincts; and Brice, Bella, and Big Harv, standing at the head of the table.
She’d only seen him like this once or twice. Fear and anxiety didn’t suit him. And no child, no matter the age, wanted to see doubt clouding the eyes of his or her dad. It didn’t fit. Dads were indestructible. Strong. They were protectors. They were . . . dads.
Big Harv quickly checked his emotions, but Ellen had already seen the look, and it made her nervous.
She folded her hands together and was suddenly aware of how hard she was squeezing them.
Apparently, Big Harv wasn’t the only one a little nervous in this gathering of brains. She realized she felt out of place here. She was a science girl, an empirical evidence geek, not a detective and not an administrator. Sitting next to Brice helped. He’d asked her opinion and listened in the cruiser. That meant something. Her mind ran back to Oscar’s otherworldly input during her dream-state Hell ride. Oscar’s voice giving her advice on how to separate facts and intuition—common sense, if you will. It was hard to ignore the truth echoing in her mind, but it was outside of her comfort zone. We all dance with the partner we’re the most comfortable with, don’t we?
“Let’s get this meeting started,” said Big Harv. “First thing I want to say is that we lost one of our own last night. Oscar Malloy, one of our talented young FTs, was murdered after he’d left one of this sick bastard’s crime scenes. He brought a lot to the department, and he’ll be sorely missed.”
“Sorry to hear that, Big Harv. That’s never easy. But what does that have to do with these two kidnappings and subsequent murders?” asked Lelani Olsen, the FBI profiler.
“We’re working on that. The crime-scene evidence from the second murder was stolen from the van. We’re not sure, but right now we’re operating on the premise that the three incidents—Rice, Seabrook, and now Oscar—could be related.”
“Could just be some kook who thought taking the bags would be a fun thing to do,” said Bella. “Like, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Could be. But like I said, we’re going to function on the idea that it wasn’t a simple prank, until proven otherwise,” said Big Harv, his voice growing raspier.
Ellen suspected he’d been up most of the night studying and analyzing whatever the detectives and the preliminary reports had to offer him. He’d probably hounded the third shift until the FTs gave him something. She felt a surge of pride. He was on top of the heap when it came to being an asshole sometimes, but he did all the hard things right. She also felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe she should have been up all night, as well. But she wouldn’t have been any good. She would most certainly have missed something.
“The Seabrook evidence could be critical in determining how this perp does what he or she does. With the first batch of evidence from the Rice case, we’ve got a baseline for comparison, but Seabrook’s data would put us closer to what’s going on with the killer’s thought process,” said Lelani. “Patterns are invaluable in establishing a profile.”
“Agreed. That’s where Ellen Harper comes in,” said Big Harv, pointing in Ellen’s direction.
Ellen felt all eyes turn her way, and instead of experiencing the reoccurrence of uneasiness she’d felt when she first sat down, she experienced a wave of calm. She was sure of herself now. Evidence was her world, and she knew where her father was going with this.
“I don’t get what that means,” said Lelani.
“I was the lead FT at both crime scenes. I can tell you anything you want to know about what we gathered and what we talked about when we gathered it. I can tell you how they were killed, when, where the clothes were purchased, or at least the outlets for them. I kept some of the evidence, namely both victims’ cell phones, so that I could analyze them myself,” said Ellen.
She surprised herself with her own air of confidence. But then again, the truth was easy. Nothing about those crime scenes had escaped her, tired or not.
“Anything?” asked Lelani doubtfully, leaning back in the chair.
“Anything,” answered Ellen.
“What’s on the phones?” asked the profiler.
“Photos that shouldn’t be there. Pictures I’m sure the killer took. I just have to remove the memory cards and take each photo apart from top to bottom to make sure.”
“Interesting,” answered Lelani, frowning. “Do you have any thoughts on why the killer would have done such a thing?”
Ellen glanced at Brice and caught his small, almost mysterious smile. She had to stop herself from smiling back.
“You’re the profiler, but Detective Rogers and I have discussed a couple of possibilities, so that’s where you come in, right? I’ll get them ready for you. That should help.”
“I’d be interested in knowing what you think. There’s nothing like being at the scene when it’s fresh. Impressions are important. The three of us need to talk,” said Lelani, now leaning over the table and staring intently at Ellen.
“We’ll get you three together,” Big Harv said, “and get Harper to the lab as soon as this meeting is over. And that won’t be long. We need to get to work. This son of a bitch won’t stop, in my estimation, until we stop him or her or it. So this is what’s going to happen.”
He took a long pull from his huge coffee cup and continued.
“We’ve got the FBI’s help and access to all of its databases, including the National Crime Information Center and its new Criminal Justice Information System. Throw in CODIS for DNA matches and IAFIS for the fingerprint info, and we’ll have plenty of work to do on that side.”
“We’ve developed some facial recognition software that is becoming more sophisticated as that database grows,” said one of the special agents, who apparently ran that part of the show. “We just need something to compare with what we have, and who knows?”
“Good to hear, Agent Milchman. More avenues to explore,” said Big Harv.
“The rest of us will do what we do. I’ve got five teams of dete
ctives doing legwork. Yes, that means doing door-to-doors and interviewing anyone and everyone who might have seen something. I don’t give a shit if we’ve already done it once. We’re doing it again. I also want two detective teams out to each of the crime scenes, going over them again. I don’t want anything missed, so no uniforms on this one. We’ve also got cameras at most intersections on that end of town, and we’ll need those films reviewed and categorized, to boot. Each detective team will be answering to Detective Brice Rogers, and he’ll keep me updated every couple of hours, or more often if appropriate.”
Captain Harvey Patterson ran his hands over his face and exhaled. “I’m turning the whole lab operation over to Harper. She hasn’t had time to get into the lab, but she’ll live there until we’ve exhausted every possible forensic and good-old-fashioned-police-work lead, relevant or not. Any questions?”
Heads shook, hands unfolded, chairs pulled away from the table. No one said a word.
“I guess not. We’ll meet back here at six p.m. sharp to talk about what we’ve found—or haven’t found. Let’s get to work.”
Big Harv turned to Sanchez. “I’ve got a special assignment for you, Detective Sanchez, so I want you to come with me.”
“Wait, Captain. I have one question,” said Lelani.
The room grew quiet.
“Fire away.”
“Why so much firepower so early on this one? Two murders are serious, no question. But if this is the same killer, and I’m sure you’re right that it is, it doesn’t even qualify as a serial-killer scenario.”
Big Harv’s stare tore a hole through the profiler’s face.
“You ever heard the saying that if people don’t learn from history, they’re doomed to repeat it? I’m not repeating the history of twenty-six years ago when half a dozen women were killed because we didn’t move fast enough. Clear?”
She nodded, unable to meet his gaze.
A uniformed officer rushed into the conference room, found Big Harv, and whispered into his ear.
Big Harv swore and then gestured toward the profiler. “It looks like we may have your serial-killer quota, after all. Another woman has gone missing.”
