by Lisa Gardner
Pierce Quincy shouldn’t know his name. Former FBI Agent Pierce Quincy should have no reason to know anyone at the National Academy. Unless he had been explicitly told to look for Mac. And that could only mean …
“If you two would follow me, we need to have a meeting,” Quincy was saying in that carefully modulated voice.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Kimberly said tightly.
“I was invited.”
“I didn’t call you!”
“I would never presume that you did.”
“Dammit, did they tell you about the body?”
“Kimberly—”
“I am doing just fine!”
“Kim—”
“I don’t need help, especially from you!”
“K—”
“Turn around. Go home! If you love me at all, please for God’s sake just go away.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not!”
Pierce Quincy sighed heavily. He didn’t say anything right away. He simply reached out a hand and touched his daughter’s battered face. She flinched. And his arm instantly dropped back to his side, as if burned.
“We need to have a meeting,” Quincy said again, turning toward the front of the building. “If you’ll please just follow me.”
Mac finally rose. Kimberly much more grudgingly shoved back her chair. They both fell in step behind her father, Mac’s arm settling lightly around her waist.
“I think we’re in trouble,” Mac murmured in Kimberly’s ear.
And she said bitterly, “You have no idea.”
CHAPTER 13
Quantico, Virginia
5:44 P.M.
Temperature: 97 degrees
Quincy led them to an office in the main administrative wing. The sign on the door read Supervisor Mark Watson. Inside, the man in question was leaning against the edge of his desk, facing two guests. The first person Mac recognized as being the NCIS officer from the crime scene. The second person was actually a very attractive woman. Late thirties, Mac would guess. Gorgeous long chestnut hair. A face that was startlingly angular, more arresting than classically beautiful. Definitely not FBI. For one thing, she already looked annoyed as hell with Watson.
“Kimberly!” the woman said. She stood the moment Kimberly walked in the room, and gave the girl a quick hug.
“Rainie,” Kimberly acknowledged. She offered the woman a faint smile, but immediately appeared wary again as Watson pushed away from his desk. It was clearly the supervisor’s show. He was now holding up his hands and awaiting everyone’s attention.
He started with the introductions: Rainie turned out to be Lorraine Conner, Quincy’s partner in Quincy & Conner Investigations out of New York; the NCIS officer was Special Agent Thomas Kaplan from General Crimes out of Norfolk.
Quincy & Conner Investigations, Watson announced, had been retained by NCIS to assist with the case. Given the location of the body on Marine grounds and near FBI facilities, the powers-that-be had determined the presence of independent consultants would be in everyone’s best interest. Translation: Everyone was keenly aware of what it would mean if the bad guy turned out to be one of their guys and it looked like they’d tried to cover it up. Score one for the politicians.
Mac settled in next to the door, which had now been closed for privacy. He noted that Kaplan stood next to Watson, while Quincy had taken the seat next to Rainie Conner. Kimberly, on the other hand, had put as much distance between herself and her father as possible. She stood in the far corner of the room, arms crossed in front of her chest, and chin up for a fight.
So everyone had their alliances. Or lack thereof. Now they could get down to business.
Mark Watson addressed his opening comments to Kimberly. “I understand you saw Special Agent Kaplan earlier today, New Agent Quincy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought we had reached an understanding this morning. This is NCIS’s case. You are not to go near it.”
“As part of my pledge to cooperate with NCIS,” Kimberly replied evenly, “I found the officer in charge in order to volunteer my statement. At the time, interestingly enough, he was about to observe the autopsy of the body. I asked if I could join him. He graciously let me in.” Kimberly smiled stiffly. “Thank you, Special Agent Kaplan.”
Watson turned to Kaplan, who shrugged big Marine shoulders. “She told me her name. She asked permission. What the hell, I let her join us.”
“I never lied,” Kimberly spoke up promptly. “And I never misrepresented my interests.” She scowled. “I did, however, miss the snake. For that I apologize.”
“I see,” Watson said. “And earlier in the day, when you directly violated my orders and attempted to revisit the crime scene, were you also thinking of the urgency of NCIS’s investigation?”
“I was looking for Special Agent Kaplan—”
“Don’t play me for dumb.”
“I was curious,” Kimberly immediately amended. “It didn’t matter. The Marines obediently chased me away.”
“I see. And what about after you harassed the Marines in the woods, New Agent Quincy? What about the hour you then spent talking to Special Agent McCormack, after you were explicitly told not to discuss your find with anyone in the Academy? How would you care to explain that?”
Kimberly stiffened. Her gaze flickered to Mac, uncertain now, while he swallowed back a fresh curse. Of course: their meeting in the Crossroads Lounge. In full view of everyone. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
This time, Watson didn’t wait for Kimberly to reply. He was on a roll—or maybe he was aware of just how tense Quincy had grown in the seat opposite him.
“Imagine my surprise,” Watson continued, “when I discovered that far from returning to her room as requested, my student first wandered into the woods, and then was seen in animated discussion with a National Academy student who just happens to have once worked a case bearing a startling resemblance to the homicide discovered this morning. Were you sharing information with Special Agent McCormack, Kimberly?”
“Actually, I was getting information from him.”
“Really. I find that extremely interesting. Particularly since ten minutes ago, he became Special Agent Kaplan’s primary suspect.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mac burst out. “I’m doing my best to help with a case that is only the beginning of one long, hot nightmare. Do you have any idea what you’ve waded into the middle of—”
“Where were you last night?” Special Agent Kaplan interrupted curtly.
“I started the night at Carlos Kelly’s in Stafford. Then I returned to Quantico, where I ran into New Agent Quincy on the firing ranges. It doesn’t matter—”
Kaplan’s gaze had swung to Kimberly. “What time did you see him on the ranges?”
“Around eleven. I didn’t look at my watch—”
“Did you see him go back to the dorms?”
“No.”
“Where was he headed?”
“I don’t know. I was heading back to the dorms. I didn’t pay attention to him!”
“So in other words,” Kaplan homed in on Mac, “no one knows where you were after eleven-thirty last night.”
“Don’t you think it’s an awfully big coincidence,” Watson spoke up, “that we should just happen to get a homicide that bears so many resemblances to one of your past cases, while you’re staying here at the Academy?”
“It’s not coincidence,” Mac said. “It was planned.”
“What?” Watson finally drew up short. He shot a glance at Kaplan, who appeared equally perplexed. Apparently, they’d both been big fans of the Georgia-cop-as-a-killer theory. Why not? Get a dead body at eight A.M., wrap up the case before six P.M. It made for good headlines. Assholes.
“Perhaps,” Quincy interjected quietly, “you should let the man speak. Of course, that’s only the advice of the independent consultant.”
“Yes,” Rainie seconded beside him. “Let him speak. This is finally getting to be good.”<
br />
“Thank you.” Mac shot Quincy and Rainie a grateful look, while carefully avoiding Kimberly’s gaze. How must she feel right about now? Hurt, confused, betrayed? He had honestly meant none of those things, and yet there was nothing he could do about that now.
“You can verify everything I’m about to say with my supervisor, Special Agent in Charge Lee Grogen from the Atlanta office. Yes, starting in ’ninety-eight, we had a string of murders similar to the one you discovered today. After the third incident, we formed a multi-jurisdictional task force in charge of the investigation. Unfortunately, seven murders later, the man we were seeking, the so-called Eco-Killer, simply vanished. No new crimes, nothing. The task force started out with over a thousand leads. Three years later, our work was down to a trickle. Until six months ago. When things went hot again.
“We got a letter in the mail. It contained a newspaper clipping of a letter to the editor similar to the ones our guy used to send the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Except this letter wasn’t sent to a Georgia paper. It was sent to the Virginian-Pilot. And then I started getting phone calls—”
“You?” Quincy interrupted. “Or the task force?”
“Me. On my cell phone. Hell if I know why, but lucky me has received six calls now. The caller’s voice is always distorted by some kind of electronic device and he/she/it always has the same message—the Eco-Killer is getting agitated again. He’s going to strike. Except this time, he’s picked Virginia as his favorite playground.”
“So your department sent you here,” Watson spoke up. “Why? To be a watchdog? To magically prevent another crime? You didn’t even make anyone aware of your concerns.”
Mac shot the man a look. “For the record, I told everybody who would listen about my goddamn concerns. But let’s face it, around here, cold cases are a dime a dozen; everybody comes bearing that one investigation that’s still keeping them up at night. Best I could do was get a preliminary meeting with a forensic linguist in the BSU—Dr. Ennunzio—and show him the letters to the editor. What he thinks, however, I don’t know ’cause he’s been dodging my calls ever since. And now here we are. I got a good lead a bad way, and you’re barking up the wrong tree, you paranoid piece of shit.”
“Well, that summarizes things nicely,” Rainie said.
Watson’s face had developed a red mottled look above his regulation red tie. Mac just kept staring him in the eye. He was angrier than he should be, making enemies when he needed allies. He didn’t care. Another girl was dead, and Mac was tired of standing in an office, discussing a case these guys would never understand in time to make a difference.
“I still see no compelling evidence between this body and what happened in Georgia.” Kaplan spoke up finally. “Did the caller tell you this so-called Eco-Killer was going to strike this week?”
“Not specifically.”
“Did he tell you it would be at the FBI Academy?”
“Can’t say that he did.”
“Did he give you a reason why this killer has done nothing for three years?”
“Nope.”
“Or why he would move from Georgia to Virginia?”
“Nope.”
“In other words, the caller has told you nothing at all.”
“You got me, sir. That is the major weakness of our investigation. Five years later, we still know nothin’, and today hasn’t changed a thing. So maybe we can wrap this up now, so I can get back out there and, you know, do something.”
The former Marine ignored him, turning his attention to the rest of the suits instead. “So what we’re really left with is a letter to the editor written six months before the body was found today. It’s too far-fetched,” he said flatly. “Some Georgian serial killer, who does nothing in three years, suddenly delivers a body to Quantico grounds, while only notifying a National Academy student. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Should he have called you instead?” Rainie asked. Her voice held just the barest hint of sarcasm and Mac liked her immensely for it.
“That’s not what I’m saying—”
“Or maybe he should’ve explained himself better in one of his notes?”
“Now that’s not a half-bad thought! If this guy is leaving notes, where’s the one for this body? Seems to me he likes to take credit for his crimes. So where’s the ownership?”
“It’s been three years,” Rainie said. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart.”
“Listen,” Mac interjected tightly. He could feel the urgency growing in his voice. Vainly, he tried to swallow it down. But he just didn’t have time for this. They didn’t understand; without the proper paperwork and memos, they never would understand. And maybe that’s what the Eco-Killer grasped better than any of them suspected. No bureaucracy moved fast, particularly one involved in law enforcement. No, law enforcement agencies moved painfully slow, dotting i’s, crossing t’s, and covering asses along the way. While a lone girl was dropped off in some surreal wilderness terrain, clutching her gallon of water, wearing her party clothes, and probably wondering what was gonna get her next.
“There’s more than a damn letter. The Eco-Killer has rules, Rules of the Game, we call them, and we’re seeing plenty of them in this murder. At least enough to convince me.” Mac ticked off his first finger, “One, he only strikes during a heat wave.”
“It’s July, we have plenty of heat waves,” Watson objected.
Mac ignored the FBI agent. “Two, the first girl is always found with clothing and purse intact. No sign of robbery, no sign of sexual assault. Body has one bruise in the thigh or buttocks, but cause of death is an overdose of the tranquilizer Ativan, injected into the upper left arm.”
Watson skewered Kimberly with a look. “Well, you really didn’t spare him any of the details, did you?”
“I went and looked for myself!” Mac spoke up sharply. “Dammit, I’ve been waiting for this moment for three long years. Of course I paid a visit to your crime scene. New agents aren’t the only people who can go skulking around in the woods—”
“You had no right—”
“I had every right! I know this man. I have studied him for five goddamn years. And I’m telling you, we don’t have time for this kind of bullshit. Don’t you get it yet? This girl isn’t the only victim. Rule number three: he always kidnaps in pairs, because the first girl is just a map. She’s a tool to help you find where the real game is going down.”
“What do you mean, ‘where the real game is going down’?” Rainie asked.
“I mean there’s another girl out there, right now. She was traveling with this girl, maybe her sister or roommate or best friend. But she was with the first victim when they were both ambushed, and now she’s been taken somewhere. He picked out the place ahead of time. It’s somewhere geographically unique, but also very, very treacherous. In our state he chose a granite gorge, a vast farming county, then the banks of the Savannah River, and finally marshlands around the coast. He likes places exposed, with natural predators such as rattlesnakes and bears and bobcats. He likes places isolated, so even if the girls roam for days they still won’t run into anyone who can offer them help. He likes places that are environmentally important, but no one thinks about anymore.
“Then he turns these girls loose, drugged, dazed, and confused, and waits to see what will happen next. In this kind of heat, some of them probably don’t make it more than hours. But some of them—the smart ones, the tough ones—they might make it days. Maybe even a week. Long, tortured days, without food, without water, waiting for someone to come and save them.”
Rainie was looking at him in rapt fascination. “How many times did he do this before?”
“Four. Eight girls kidnapped. Seven dead.”
“So you got one back alive.”
“Nora Ray Watts. The last girl. We found her in time.”
“How?” Quincy spoke up.
Mac took a deep breath. His muscles were bunching again. He grimly fought his impatience down. “The man l
eaves clues on the first body. Evidence that, if you interpret correctly, will narrow down the location of the second girl.”
“What kind of clues?”
“Flora and fauna, soil, sediment, rocks, insects, snails, hell, whatever he can dream up. We didn’t understand the significance in the beginning. We bagged and tagged according to SOP, merrily trotted evidence off to the labs, and found only dead bodies after that. But hey, even we can be taught. By the fourth pair of kidnappings, we had a team of experienced specialists in place. Botanists, biologists, forensic geologists, you name it. Nora Ray had been traveling with her sister. Mary Lynn’s body was found with a substance on her shirt, samples of vegetation on her shoes and a foreign object down her throat.”
“Down her throat?” Kaplan spoke up sharply. Mac nodded his head. For the first time, the NCIS agent seemed to have gained real interest.
“The sediment on her shirt proved to be salt. The vegetation on her shoes was identified as Spartina alterniflora. Cord grass. And the biologist identified the foreign object as a marsh periwinkle shell. All three elements were consistent with what you would find in a salt marsh. We focused the search-and-rescue teams on the coast, and fifty-six hours later, a Coast Guard chopper spotted Nora Ray, frantically waving her bright red shirt.”
“She couldn’t help you identify the killer?” Rainie asked.
Mac shook his head. “Her last memory is of her tire going flat. The next she knew, she woke up ravenously thirsty in the middle of a damn marsh.”
“Was she drugged?” Watson interjected.
“Bruise still fading on her left thigh.”
“He ambushes them?”
“Our best guess—he scopes out bars. He looks for what he wants—young girls, no specific coloring required, traveling in pairs. I think he follows them to their car. While they get in, he drops a tack or two behind their back tire. Then he simply has to follow. Sooner or later the tire goes flat, he pulls over as if offering to help, and boom, he has them.”
