His former boss had made the mistake of feeding information to a powerful vigilante organization called The Gateway Project that tracked and eliminated pedophiles and serial killers before they entered the justice system. Hanrahan’s complicity had been revealed in the presence of a vicious serial killer who’d threatened to bring down not only the vigilante group, but also the BAU. Frazer had killed the man, saving the FBI’s reputation, the lives of those involved in The Gateway Project and, not to mention, millions of dollars of taxpayers’ money. Since then, he, Rooney, and Alex Parker, had worked rigorously to make sure The Gateway Project was truly finished, but there was one last loose thread remaining.
Frazer had become a federal agent to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. Legally, what he’d done was wrong—ethically he had few qualms. The serial killer he’d shot dead had stolen a nine-year-old girl from her bedroom and kept her captive for nearly eighteen years. When she’d died, the killer had gone on a murder spree, looking for the perfect replacement. Frazer still saw those women’s battered faces in his dreams.
Killing that man had done the world a favor. Under the circumstances Frazer had had no real choice, but the price had been a dark stain on his soul, and the knowledge he wasn’t as righteous as he’d once thought. The justice system wasn’t always “just.” Maybe that’s why Hanrahan had fallen off the path of right and wrong, but he’d placed Frazer in an untenable situation.
Art Hanrahan was the reason Frazer had joined the FBI in the first place. To say the older man had disappointed him was an understatement.
With Denker’s execution only a few weeks away, the window for this new killer to make an impact was narrow. If this murderer went on a spree to cast doubt on Denker’s conviction, then there would be more victims. Frazer pushed it out of his mind. He’d deal with this one victim at a time until he had something solid to work with.
Crime scene investigators were bagging the clothes. He and Randall shielded their eyes from the sand that caught on the wind. Trace evidence was going to be impossible. If the young man in the hospital didn’t know anything, their best bet was contact DNA, blood, or semen. Maybe a stray fingerprint on the shovel or the girl’s body—assuming they could match a sample.
The sand-sharpened breeze grazed his skin. “Rooney told me you guys were friends as kids. You must be disappointed to see me here instead of her.”
“The politically correct answer to that is ‘no, sir’ ‘it’s an honor to work with you, sir’.” Randall’s eyes assessed Frazer’s ability to handle the truth. “But honestly, I’ve known Rooney a long time, and we worked well together in Charlotte. She’s a damn good agent.” He scanned the horizon. A fishing boat out in Pamlico Sound rode the rocky waters. “I haven’t spoken to her in a few weeks. Parker’s keeping her on a short leash nowadays.”
“Leash?” Frazer queried sharply.
Randall grunted.
Despite supposedly being friends, the guy didn’t know she was in the hospital, and it wasn’t Frazer’s secret to spill. “We’ve been pretty busy,” Frazer’s mouth twisted wryly. Serial killers, terrorists, Russian spies. Rooney and Parker had earned their Christmas vacation but being in the hospital didn’t seem to count. Worry for his agent curled through him like secondhand cigarette smoke. “I thought you were friends with Alex Parker, too?” He tucked his face into his collar.
Randall checked his watch as if he had somewhere else to be. Definitely not comfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “We served together in the Army, and I ask for his assistance on cybercrime issues. Guy’s a frickin’ genius, but you already know that or you wouldn’t have seconded him to your unit.”
The true circumstances under which Frazer had transferred the former assassin to his unit were known to only a handful of people, none of whom would be sharing. A gull landed close by and eyed him like a mark. “It sounds like you have issues with the guy,” Frazer said carefully.
Randall shrugged and turned in a circle, maybe trying to keep the chill out by moving. Or maybe avoiding the question.
“What happened?” Frazer pressed.
Randall eyed him like he wanted to tell him to mind his own business. “Agent Rooney is like a sister to me.”
“You don’t think he’s good enough for her?” Oddly, despite everything he knew about Alex Parker, Frazer thought they were perfectly suited.
“She went through hell.” Randall let out a ragged sigh. “Parker’s got money but…”
“She’s not interested in his money.” Frazer peered at the other man. “You sure your interest isn’t a little less brotherly?”
“What? Hell, no.” Randall shook his head in denial. He paused for a moment and shrugged. “I guess their relationship took me by surprise. Rooney and I were partners for over a year. A month after she leaves Charlotte she’s desperately in love and living with a man she barely knows? A guy I introduced her to?”
“They’re a solid team.” Alex would die to keep her safe, and sacrifice his soul if she asked him to. “You don’t have anything to worry about…” He’d been about to say he’d never seen two people more in love but over the last two months there had been an outbreak of romance in Frazer’s unit. The condition seemed contagious and potentially terminal, but so far not deadly.
Frazer had no intention of catching it. Been there, had the divorce papers to prove it.
He eyed a figure on top of a dune about three hundred yards away taking photographs with a zoom lens. He shook his head in disgust and signaled the uniform to get rid of him. Vultures.
“Did the kids bring the shovel, or does it belong to the unsub? If the unsub brought it, was it a weapon or a tool? Was this attack premeditated or were they victims of opportunity?” Frazer asked the question that had been bothering him since he first arrived. “Is this the work of a single killer—or not?” The scene showed conflicting evidence. “Could the bracelet be an attempt to throw us off the real reason for the rape and murder of Helena Cromwell?”
He couldn’t afford to ignore any avenues of investigation.
Randall remained silent. Letting him think it out.
Frazer glanced over the vast expanse of the dunes. “Something tells me the unsub came out here to dig for something, hence the shovel.” Which suggested an organized offender.
Randall’s pupils flared. The obvious clue was Beverley Sandal’s bracelet, which meant maybe Beverley Sandal herself was out here somewhere.
“I think we need to expand our crime scene,” said Frazer. “Maybe the unsub was disturbed, or maybe he spotted the teens when he was finished digging, and started watching them. Then his lust or lack of control got the better of him and he couldn’t stop himself from taking what he wanted.” Helena Cromwell.
“Which could suggest a disorganized offender,” said Randall.
Frazer frowned. “Maybe, but he knew enough to take out the biggest threat first”—Jesse—“mixed signals, which is common in most murders.” But his gut was telling him they were dealing with an experienced sexual psychopath who was highly skilled and organized when it came to murder.
“So what now?” asked Randall.
“We investigate. Quietly.” Frazer softened the order. “I don’t want the media connecting this thing to Denker. We’ll let the local Police Department take the lead and organize a search through the dune system, looking for recently disturbed sites, and any evidence at all. If there’s nothing obvious to the eye I’ll call in ground penetrating radar.”
“Looking for bodies?”
Frazer stared at the soft valley between the dunes where a young woman had met her death. “Yes.”
Randall swore under his breath.
“Local cops know the area, they know the people. I want them invested and involved in the case. I want you to track the victims’ final few hours.” Detailed victimology was the cornerstone of writing a useful profile. The feeling like they didn’t have much time sat on his shoulders like the devil. This killer was one s
tep ahead of them, and Frazer needed desperately to catch him before anyone else died.
Chapter Four
THEY STARTED WALKING back toward the road. Frazer didn’t want dozens of FBI agents or State Police digging into this case. Not yet. First, he wanted to know more about this crime, maybe even solve it before the press got a whiff of the juicy story involving a new murder and a condemned serial killer. He needed to see the girl’s body and talk to the ME, contact Hanrahan, maybe interview Denker, talk to Jesse as soon as the kid woke up, speak to the father who’d been the one to find the intact crime scene.
That was going to be fun.
Especially as he wasn’t yet ready to rule him out as a suspect. The vast majority of murders were committed by friends or family. Frazer should probably be glad he didn’t have many, although he’d made enough enemies to fill the void.
A silver SUV pulled up behind the squad car on the main road. A woman got out, wearing tall boots, black jeans, and a shearling jacket over a chambray shirt. Tall. Caucasian. Early thirties. The breeze played with long strawberry-blonde hair that was tucked beneath a gray woolen knit cap. She came around the hood and opened the passenger door, bent inside to get something. He caught Randall checking out the woman’s ass and refrained from rolling his eyes. She straightened with a cup holder containing four hot beverages, and then he started to salivate.
He’d kill for a coffee.
They walked over to the uniform officer who was talking to the newcomer. The guy handed them each a cup.
“I appreciate it. Thank you.” Frazer raised his drink to the woman. She nodded, but her gaze didn’t quite meet his.
“This here is Izzy Campbell. Her sister is—” Officer Wright cleared his throat, “—Er, was best friends with the female victim.”
The woman flinched. She had ivory-pale skin and a patch of freckles across her nose. High cheekbones, wide mouth. Her eyes were a soft dark sage, the same color as the sea oats that covered the dunes. The wind had drawn a flush to her cheeks, but her lips were bloodless, a fact emphasized by a mole that sat above the left side of her mouth.
The beauty mark took him by surprise. He didn’t know why. It was one of those so-called imperfections that enhanced rather than detracted.
She stood stiffly, holding firm against a buffeting wind that was strong enough to knock him back on his heels.
Randall shook her hand and Frazer reached out to do the same as they introduced themselves. Her fingers were warm, her grip firm. Her gaze finally met his with a mask of cool detachment that mirrored his own. From the tightening of her lips she knew he was assessing her and didn’t like it. People rarely did.
She raised a pair of fine pale brows at him because he hadn’t let go of her hand. She didn’t jerk it away, but he felt the muscles in her fingers flex as if she wanted to. “I’ll need to interview your sister, Ms. Campbell.” He watched her closely, but she didn’t react with anything except a nod.
“Doctor Campbell,” the police officer corrected.
Frazer let go of her hand.
“Izzy works part time at the local hospital. In fact, she was out here walking her dog this morning and helped save young Jesse.”
Her mouth formed an unhappy line. “The ambulance crew was already here and the ER did the rest. I was glad to help.”
The police officer had a distinctive brogue where the ‘I’ sound was rounded and stretched. She didn’t.
Something about her drew his interest. It wasn’t her looks per se. She had an ethereal quality that usually made him shift into reverse gear fast, but she didn’t look fragile or delicate. Her standoffish body language combined with the Scandinavian bone structure, rigid posture and slightly annoyed expression intrigued him, made him pay closer attention. She wore zero make-up and had dark smudges beneath each eye. She made no effort to attract male interest, but she captured it anyway. Both the patrolman and Randall were fascinated by way more than her eyewitness account.
“What’s your specialty?” asked Frazer.
“I help out in the ER when they need an extra pair of hands.”
“Dr. Campbell was an Emergency Physician with the US Army Medical Corps. Served in all the world’s hot spots.” The officer grinned widely. “We’re all very proud of our Izzy.”
The guy was more than proud, he was infatuated, and the two did seem pretty tight if she was bringing him coffee.
“Where’d you serve?” asked Randall.
“I was stationed mainly in Texas, Fort Hood, but did tours in Germany and Afghanistan.”
“Landstuhl?” asked Randall.
She nodded.
“I spent six unhappy months in Ramstein Air Base back in 2000,” said Randall.
“I thought you served in the Army?” Frazer asked.
“Exactly,” said Randall.
“Bagram?” Frazer asked the woman.
She gave him a curt nod.
“I’m sure you’ve seen some pretty interesting things in your career, Dr. Campbell,” said Frazer.
“Ditto, Agent Frazer.” Her expression was impassive, but there was a tiny flicker in her green eyes that said the passivity was a lie.
He nodded. She hadn’t directly answered the question. “What can you tell me about the events of last night?”
Her coolness evaporated and she huddled into her coat. “I’ve been covering nightshifts over the Christmas period and was working again last night. My sister told me she was spending the night with Helena—that’s the girl who d-died.” Isadora Campbell’s voice caught, but she swallowed the emotion that had leaked through. She must have a defense system akin to his own, a way of disassociating from her emotions, otherwise she’d never be able to do her job. Some people mistook that for arrogance or aloofness. For him it was a survival mechanism. She banded one arm across her stomach as she sipped her coffee with the other. “Helena told her parents she was staying with Kit—that’s my sister. Instead, they apparently went to a party I didn’t know about.” Her expression screamed parental guilt. Was she her sister’s guardian?
The girls had exhibited typical teen behavior. Not something that should have gotten them killed.
“Party was at the Cirencester’s hotel. Local family,” Officer Wright cut in. He straightened up from where he slumped against the hood of his cruiser. “Parents were off island and didn’t know anything about it. A lot of young folk were there. Parents are on their way home now. Something tells me young Franky is about to get grounded for a year.”
“Any idea what Jesse Tyson and Helena Cromwell were doing out here during the storm?” Randall asked.
The officer rubbed the back of his neck. “According to Franky, who is Jesse’s best friend, Jesse wanted to watch the storm and asked Helena to go with him because he’s sweet on her. They’re good kids, but they’d had a couple of drinks…”
A girl was dead. Frazer didn’t care about the party unless it was tied directly to Helena Cromwell’s death.
“I need all available law enforcement personnel running a grid search through the dunes ASAP—three hundred yards either side of where the victims were found,” Frazer instructed. They were wasting time. “Spreading out another hundred feet either side if the first search yields nothing.”
The officer eyed the darkening sky. “What’re we looking for?”
“Everything. Anything.” He wouldn’t voice his suspicions. “Signs of recent disturbance, clothes, litter, condoms.”
Dr. Campbell’s face paled.
The officer glanced at the sky. “I’ll organize it. Not sure we’ll get sorted before dark though. Probably better to organize it for first light tomorrow.”
Even though Frazer was frustrated, he nodded. They couldn’t afford to miss anything due to poor light conditions. They’d have to pray the rain held off. “Sounds like a plan. We need the area guarded overnight. Can you arrange that too?” asked Frazer.
The officer nodded.
“Does Kit lie to you often?” Frazer turned and a
sked the doctor. A blitz attack was the best way of getting a genuine reaction.
A flicker of emotion rippled over her features. The micro-expression was gone in an instant, but Frazer knew whatever came out of her mouth next was going to be a lie.
“Kit’s a good kid.” She took a step away from him. “I need to go be with her. She was pretty upset when I spoke to her on the phone—”
“You haven’t seen her, yet?”
“Earlier.” Another strand of hair slipped free from her hat. Inexplicably, his fingers itched to touch it. That was another kind of investigation entirely and not one he’d conduct while in the middle of a murder case. “After we found Jesse and Helena, I dropped my dog home, and Kit came with me to the hospital. Once Helena was declared DOA, Kit became very upset and went home. I had to stay with Jesse until a specialist from the mainland arrived. When I grabbed coffee on the way home I figured anyone on duty might appreciate one, too. Now I need to get home and check on Kit before I head back into work again.”
Kindness? Or a way of insinuating herself into the investigation?
“How’s Jesse doing?” Officer Wright asked.
“His temperature is back up to normal, but he hadn’t woken when I left. They were about to do a head CT.”
“Why don’t we come with you now to question your sister? Get it over with,” Randall suggested.
Frazer checked his watch. It was late afternoon and he’d seen what he needed here for today. “Is there a place either of you can recommend where we can get a bed for the night?”
“What about your beach house?” The police officer suggested to the doctor. “You’re always complaining no one stays there in the winter.”
Dr. Campbell’s mouth opened and closed, clearly not happy with the idea.
Why? Did they make her uncomfortable, or was she just tired? “It’ll take me an hour or so to make up the beds.”
“You could do that while I speak to your sister. Agent Randall is going to go question the other teens who went to the party last night.” Randall shot him a narrow-eyed look that lacked appreciation. “For starters, he’ll need an address for the Cirencester hotel?” Frazer said to Officer Wright.
Cold Fear Page 4
