“And you think they were killed because of that connection?”
“I can hear the skepticism in your voice. Just remember, my far-fetched ideas have saved your sister’s life and several others.”
“You’ve got me there. I have nothing but respect for your ability to . . . uh . . . stalk on my behalf.”
McCord gave her a dirty look. “Way to butter me up, Jennings.”
“It’s what I do.” She gave him a wink. “Okay, I won’t give you a hard time anymore. Explain this thal . . . thala . . .”
“Thalaikoothal.”
“That. Explain it to me, and how it might be involved, and I swear I won’t discount it outright.”
“Fair enough. It’s an ancient Tamil practice that is essentially either a mercy killing or a form of geronticide, depending on the health of the victim. Rarely done at the behest of the victim, it’s something a family does to its elders, often as a ritual with the whole community involved. In a nutshell, traditionally, they would force-feed an elderly person tender coconut water—the coconut water from inside an immature coconut. It’s one of those new health fads these days, because it’s full of electrolytes, especially potassium.”
“Give a frail elderly person a large amount of that, and you’ll definitely induce renal failure,” Webb said. “Depending on the health of the victim going in, it would cause irreparable damage to the kidneys and they’d die within a day. Maybe two at most. And no traceable poison.”
“And lots of coconuts grown in India, especially in Tamil Nadu.”
“But why would anyone do that?” Cara asked. “That’s awful.”
“Not all cultures revere their elders. Some see them as a monetary burden who require resources they can’t or don’t want to provide. It’s illegal in India, but it still goes on under the radar. Some stats I’ve seen lately suggest that possibly more than one hundred people still die every year because of the practice.”
Meg considered McCord over the top of her mug as she sipped her coffee. “You’re suggesting we have an Indian Tamil killer who moved here and is continuing an ethnic ritual killing. I understand the motives as you’ve outlined it for a family committing such a murder.” She paused for a second. “Scratch that, I don’t understand it, it’s horrifying—”
“I’ve got it,” McCord interrupted. “You understand it on an intellectual basis, not an emotional one.”
“Right. But I’m having trouble seeing why someone would come here to do it. If there are a hundred victims a year lost to this ritual in a southern Indian state, it’s because someone is turning a blind eye to it. That wouldn’t happen here. No one would be sympathetic to that kind of killing.”
“Maybe, but the reasons could be a Western version of what McCord described.” Webb set his empty coffee mug down on the tray. “If there’s life insurance, the motive could be straight-up monetary. Same thing if retirement or nursing home care is too expensive or is no longer available. Perhaps some families aren’t able to pay for required lifesaving drugs. Or some may find the elderly to be too big a burden physically or emotionally. Especially if the younger generation works full time, who’s going to give up their career to look after Grandma?”
Meg fixed him with a stare that conveyed her disgust.
He held up both hands, palms out in surrender. “I’m not saying I agree with it, I’m just saying there are some who would.”
“I guess. Let me get this straight, McCord. For this theory to hold water, you’re saying there’s a killer, some guy who families can contract out to do the killing for them, which is why there doesn’t seem to be a direct connection between the victims. Somehow, word is out there in the community that someone will carry out this traditional kill for a price, and he’s being hired by the families. Then, instead of tender coconut water, which isn’t readily available here as it is in India, he uses common rat poison. Easily available and causes the same kind of slow death.”
“The other piece of information that’s missing here is the number of Tamils living along the eastern seaboard,” McCord said. “There are large populations of Tamils in Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and DC. Even though they’re now here, where it’s flat-out illegal, in their ethnic background this is considered an acceptable practice.”
“While it’s not acceptable here by any stretch of the imagination, you’re suggesting the killer may have brought the practice, or something based on it, with him when he immigrated,” Meg clarified. “Either that or a family did, and they’ve hired him to carry out the practice for them. I’m still not sure I buy that, but leaving that aspect aside, why the urbex sites? That’s not part of the ritualistic killing.”
“I have a theory on that,” Webb said. “The murderer isn’t using ricin or arsenic or cyanide, or another of the fast killers. If he poisoned the victims in their own homes, they could call for help or crawl to find it. To get around that, he’s taking them somewhere out of the way, somewhere they can’t escape and where the chances of someone stumbling across them right away are low.”
“But that actually means that the killer could be someone inside the urbex community,” Cara said. “Maybe that’s how you could track him down.”
McCord leaned forward to pull out the notepad and pen he always carried in his back pocket. He flipped open the pad and started making notes. “That’s a really good angle. I like it.”
“I do, too,” Meg agreed. “You don’t have me sold on motive, but I do think we may be onto something when it comes to the killer. This isn’t just some guy off the street. This is someone who’s handpicking locations from places he likely already knows. Someone who has visited, maybe even scouted, each location ahead of time so he knows where he’s going and how to get in as fast as possible with his victim, and then back out again undetected. Though I question his sanity with the meat-packing plant and carrying Mrs. Devar over that drop. I wonder . . .” Palms pressed together, she brought her hands up to press her index fingers against her lips as she stared sightlessly at the table.
Webb tapped her shin. “Earth to Meg. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of a couple of people who could be pretty useful right now. First off is Chuck. He knows these people. Maybe he could suggest some possibilities or do a little digging inside his community.”
“I can ask him. I don’t think he’d say no. What else? You said a couple of people. Who else?”
“SSA Rutherford, the profiler who worked with us on the Garber case. He might have some insight that would be extremely useful. He certainly made a big impact the first time we worked with him.”
“Would you need Beaumont’s approval to pull him in?”
“The case has been handed off to Agent Moore, so I think it would need to be her, but Craig would be onboard and could help to convince her. I’ll call him later and run the suggestion by him. See what he thinks. On the bright side, we scored one for our side today, which is the best we’ve done so far in this case.” She clinked her coffee mug against McCord’s. “Good job, partner. We make a good team.”
McCord grinned at her. “Have since the beginning. And I’m not done yet. I’m going to keep digging. See what I can come up with.”
“That’s good, because while we won this round, there’s no guarantee that will happen next time. And for sure, there will be a next time. It’s just a matter of who, where, and when.”
CHAPTER 17
Usufruct: The right to enjoy or profit from another’s legal property as long as you don’t destroy it.
Tuesday, November 6, 3:58 PM
Behavioral Analysis Unit
Quantico, Virginia
Meg knocked on the closed door and was rewarded with a muffled “Come in.”
She pushed the door open to find Agent Rutherford behind his desk. He looked up and smiled in recognition. “Ms. Jennings, it’s nice to see you again.” He stood, extending his hand in greeting.
Meg shook hands with him, having to look
up to make eye contact with the tall African American. As always, Rutherford was immaculately dressed, wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and a maroon tie. “Thank you for making time in your schedule to see us.” She moved over a step. “Agent Rutherford, this is Agent Moore, the field agent running this case.”
Kate stepped forward and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You as well. Please, come in.” Rutherford’s gaze dropped down to where Hawk stood patiently at Meg’s feet. “I remember you. It’s Hawk, right?”
“It is. I hope it’s okay he’s here. We’re basically inseparable. Part of the job is the constant connection.”
“That’s perfectly fine.” He circled his desk and sat down. “Please have a seat.” He waited while Meg and Kate sat down and Meg settled Hawk at her feet. “What can I do for you?”
“It was my idea to bring you into our case,” Meg began. “You were instrumental to our understanding of the suspect in the Garber case, so I proposed to Agent Moore that you might be able to shed some light on our current suspect. Considering the serial nature of the case, and the fact that we have practically nothing to go on, we can use all the help we can get, hopefully before he strikes again.”
“You know it’s a man?”
“We don’t,” Kate clarified. “We have some indications that lean toward male based on size and strength, not to mention the fact that most serial killers are male, so we’re using the masculine pronoun as a placeholder. But we know the killer could be a woman.”
Rutherford turned to his computer and opened a blank document. “I understand you have three definite victims, one of whom survived, and the possibility of a number of others. I’d like you to send me the detailed case notes and photos, but for now let’s go over what you know so I can ask any questions that come to mind at this stage. Then once I get the case file, I’ll put together a profile for you.”
Kate glanced at Meg, who nodded at her in encouragement. “That sounds great. How long does it take to put together a profile? I don’t mean to rush you, but—”
“But your next victim could go missing at any time. I understand. We’re used to working quickly and revising our profile as new information becomes available. Start from the beginning of the case as you know it, and we’ll go from there.”
“I’m going to let Meg start since she inadvertently found the body.”
Rutherford quirked a single eyebrow at this new aspect of the case but simply looked expectantly at Meg.
Meg took him through the case, starting with Hawk’s discovery of Donna Parker at the Massaponax Psychiatric Hospital. The deployment of the search teams looking for Warren Roth at Bethlehem Steel. The identification of difethialone as the deadly poison. Kate’s introduction into the case and her discovery of the greater potential scope of the murders. The disappearance of Bahni Devar, the team’s first chance to rescue a victim before the poison was fatal. Deciding which site to investigate and their success at the Bowie plant. And finally, McCord’s theory about a possible connection between the deaths and disappearances.
Rutherford sat back, scanning his notes for a moment before turning to the women. “This McCord. That’s the same gentleman who was involved in the Garber case? The investigative reporter whose involvement got you suspended from duty?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Meg saw Kate’s questioning look. “Yes.”
“Also the same gentleman who brilliantly figured out the body drop locations once the coded messages were decrypted?”
“Yes.”
“Good man. He seemed to be right then and was apparently right about the body drops this time as well.”
“He’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to research. That’s his real superpower.”
A slow smile creased Rutherford’s face. “Research as a superpower. I like it. Is there anything else you want to add to this?”
“No,” Kate said. “I don’t think we’ve missed anything, but all the details will be in the case file. If you have any questions, please let me know. I feel like there are multiple factors clouding our view of this case, and I know we’re fighting the clock.”
“Can you get me the file this afternoon?”
“I can send it as soon as I get to my office in the Hoover Building.”
“I’ll bump it up my list. Give me tomorrow to work on it. Can we plan to meet on Thursday?” He pulled up his calendar, checking his schedule. “In the morning? Say, ten?”
Kate pulled out her phone, checked her own schedule. “That works.” She looked at Meg. “What about you?”
“My schedule isn’t that regimented. As long as we’re not called off-site to an incident, I’ll be there, though that’s really Craig Beaumont’s call. But I know Craig, and I suspect he’ll want me there, and likely the rest of the team as well. Brian Foster has taken part in one of the searches, and while Lauren Wycliffe and Scott Park haven’t been involved yet, as part of the team, they could be the next SAR teams sent out depending on who is already deployed at the time of a victim disappearance. He’ll likely want everyone to be in the loop so anyone can step into the case as needed. I’ll run this all by him.”
“Let me know what he thinks.” Kate glanced at her watch and stood. “We won’t take up any more of your time now. I’ll get the case file to you in the next hour or so. I look forward to hearing your opinion on Thursday.”
Meg followed her out of the office. As she pulled the door closed behind her, she caught a last glimpse of Rutherford, sitting back in his chair, staring at his notes on the case, his eyes narrowed in thought, already conjuring the deviousness of the perpetrator of such heinous crimes.
CHAPTER 18
Third Rail: The rigid conductor rail used to provide power to subway trains.
Thursday, November 8, 10:03 AM
Fourth-floor conference room, J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Brian came into the conference room with Lacey at his side, spotted Meg, and circled the long table to take the chair beside her. He nodded across the table at the rest of the team.
Tall, blond, and lanky, Scott Park slouched in a chair, his bloodhound, Theo, flopping at his feet and looking as relaxed as Scott did. Beside him, Lauren Wycliffe sat straight, one hand idly stroking the black and white head of Rocco, her border collie. As always, Lauren was poised and polished, but she was always ready at a moment’s notice to kick off her Italian designer shoes, lace on her hiking boots, and wade into a search.
“Where’s everyone else?” Brian asked Meg.
“On their way. I saw Rutherford in Craig’s office as I was leaving, so they’ll be here shortly. Kate was coming right from her office. She wants to do a general update of the case with everyone while Rutherford is here in case any new evidence will affect his current profile. That way he can adjust it on the fly.”
“Good plan. While we’re all in the room together, that makes sense.”
Meg looked up as the door opened and her SSA and the BAU profiler came in and took their seats. A minute later, Kate Moore rushed in clutching a thick file folder.
“Sorry I’m late.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, laying the folder on the table in front of her. “I was waiting on a report from the crime scene techs, and it came at the last second.” She tapped the papers lying on top of the file. “I thought since we are all in one room, it would be good to bring everyone up to speed.” She turned to Rutherford. “I don’t think I’ll be able to add anything that will change your profile, but this is new information that wasn’t in the case file I sent you Tuesday.”
“The more information, the better. And let me be the judge of what might alter the profile. Small details can make a big difference—you’d be surprised.”
Kate opened the file. “Let’s run through the forensics we have so far. First of all, the techs have gone through the dump sites with a fine-toothed comb and didn’t find anything definitive. They were looking for hair and fibers and any commonalities betwee
n sites, but the problem is really too much trace versus too little.”
“The sites are absolutely filthy,” Meg said. “Is that causing part of the problem?”
“That’s definitely part of it. Dust and grime, layers of it, make it hard to collect trace evidence without taking everything else along with it. Then that stuff needs to be separated out, which isn’t entirely possible. The other issue is that a lot of those places have had a surprising amount of traffic. When they dusted for prints, they found hundreds of fingerprints and handprints, and they are working their way through IAFIS, but the problem is they’re actually getting way too many hits. Urbexers love these sites, but when push comes to shove, they’re trespassing. Many of them have been caught trespassing in the past and have been convicted on minor charges. But they’re there, so we need to check each and every one.”
“If we’re leaning toward the possibility that one of those urbexers could be the suspect—and that makes sense considering where we’re finding the bodies—then you may have already found him,” Brian said.
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking, so we’re going to have to do a lot of interviewing and alibi confirmations. Now, if the guy is smart and is wearing gloves when he’s in these sites, then he’s the one we’re not going to find this way. However, we do have some directly related evidence from the roadside location Meg found behind Hampden Manor, Bahni Devar’s residence. Due to the nature of the site, we have several types of evidence. The vehicle was parked in the gravel on the shoulder of the road. When the vehicle left the shoulder, it did so at a high rate of speed, which gave us some good information.” She opened the file folder and flipped through several pieces of paper. “First, the driver floored the gas pedal, causing the tires to spin. This left distinct marks in the gravel right down to the dirt substratum beneath all four tires. That allowed the techs to calculate the wheelbase, the measurement between the midpoint of the front and rear tires. It also let them determine the track size between the front and back tires. Keep in mind this isn’t an exact science—it wasn’t a tire impression on pavement. It’s in gravel, so the measurements won’t be precise, but it leads them in a definite direction. The tire tracks combined with the approximate wheelbase measurement have a best fit with the current Ford D-class platform. So we’re potentially looking at a Ford Explorer, Ford Flex, or the Lincoln MKT.”
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