A Perfect Wife (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 2)
Page 15
Astra thinks about it for a moment, then nods, seeming to accept my theory. At least, for now. And even I have to admit, it could turn out to be something entirely different by the time we close this case. But something tells me I’m not wrong. The ring of truth in my ears is almost deafening.
As I think more about the theory that he cared about these women in some way, that thing that’s been percolating in the back of my mind since we left Beks’ office suddenly flashes into the forefront of my head.
“That’s it,” I murmur.
“That’s what?”
“We need to get back to the shop. There are a few things I need to check,” I tell her urgently.
Feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through me and my heart racing, I start back down the path toward the car at a trot. Although much of the picture remains opaque, there are definitely some of the important details starting to come into focus. Things that could help me put together a coherent profile.
And once we have a coherent profile, we can actually start hunting this bastard.
Twenty-Six
Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office
As soon as we get back to the CDAU, I lock myself in my office and start going back through all of the murder books again, looking for verification of my theory. I study the photos and initial responders' reports carefully, scrutinizing each and every word. That thing that had caught my attention back in Beks’ office, at least subconsciously, has suddenly moved from the back burner to the front and is currently bubbling over.
I’m aware of the strange looks the team is giving me on the other side of my glass wall. I don’t need to see it to know they’re looking at me and whispering to one another about what has me in such a tizzy. I can feel it. But the momentum is building, and I feel the pieces of my theory starting to fall into place.
It’s tenuous, I’ll admit to that. But it feels right. And it’s better than anything we have right now, so there’s that too. I’ve most often found that my gut instincts rarely lead me astray. And when I feel that tingling in my gut that I have right now, it’s because I’m on the right track.
Getting up from my desk, I walk out into the bullpen, ready to deliver what I have so far so the team can dissect and debate it. All eyes are on me when I step out and walk to the front of the bullpen.
“When I was looking at the crime scene photos, a couple of things stood out to me. Things I didn’t catch the first time through,” I start. “But after Astra and I took our field trip out to Bothell today, it’s starting to come together.”
“Talk to us,” Astra says.
“Rick, can you pull up photo twelve-C from the Sylvia Benoit crime scene, and do a split screen with photo thirty-two-A from the Maggie Neighbors crime scene, please?”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Rick says and immediately starts punching keys.
A moment later, the split-screen of the two photos I asked for come up on the screen. I step aside and let everybody else take a look at them, giving them some time to study the photos in silence. I don’t want to color their own first impressions with my theory. I want them to be able to see it for themselves and hopefully come to the same point I’m at organically.
“The rose petals,” Mo says suddenly. “They definitely don’t belong. Roses don’t grow in the environments in which the bodies were dumped, which suggests they were carried in on the bodies from elsewhere.”
“Sounds like somebody’s been reading their crime scene processing textbooks,” I say.
The ball of excited energy in my gut bursts and I find myself smiling and nodding. I’d expected Astra to be the one to find it, but the fact that Mo, who’s got no experience with profiling or murder investigations, is the one who found it, makes me even more excited. And it also makes me feel validated. As if my theory actually can hold water.
“Excellent. Good work. We might just make a solid murder cop out of you yet, Mo,” I tell her.
She laughs and her cheeks flush. She takes a compliment about as well as I do. But then I turn to Astra, who is looking at the photos with her head cocked. She is either not seeing what I’m excited about or is skeptical of the conclusion I’m drawing. Or maybe a bit of both.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” she says. “What’s with the rose petals? Why are they relevant? Or as important as you seem to think?”
“We were out in that forest today. We were standing on the very spot our unsub dumped Sylvia Benoit. Right?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“Did you see a single rose bush out there?”
Astra’s grin is wry and she shakes her head, covering her face with her hands. “How in the hell did I not see that? How did the money cop see it before I did?” Astra groans. “I must be slipping. You should probably just put me down now, Blake.”
I glance over at Mo and see the triumphant glow on her face. Astra is laughing and gives her a thumbs up. Rick is just looking at us like we’ve all lost our minds. But this isn’t his area of expertise, so it’s understandable. But then the curiosity seems to get the better of him because he looks over at me.
“Not to be dense－”
“Too late,” Astra cuts him off.
He chuckles and shakes his head, but carries on, undeterred. “What is the significance of the rose petals? I mean, they were only found on two of the seven victims, right? Even if there was no rose bush out where you guys were today, I don’t see how it’s relevant.”
“And that’s probably what the task force clowns thought too,” Astra says. “They wrote it off as irrelevant because it wasn’t uniform across all of the victims.”
“Okay, so what is its relevance then?” he pushes.
I see Mo leaning forward and listening, really soaking all of this up. Being that this is her first murder investigation and she has no profiling experience, this is a fantastic learning opportunity for her. She really does have a keen mind and I think with some more experience, she could be a top-notch murder investigator.
“It suggests that he’s wooing them,” Astra says.
“Wooing them?” he cracks, arching an eyebrow at her. “What are you, ninety years old all of a sudden? And to think, you criticized me for using the word ‘yowza’.”
“Because that was creepy,” she protests. “There is nothing creepy about the word wooing. Now, shut up and listen.”
He flashes her a grin and gestures for her to proceed. She turns to me and I give her a nod to continue. I’ve got more to add, but I want Astra to share her thoughts. It’s like I told Mark－or rather, what I told him and he threw back in my face－cases are solved through the combined efforts of the team. When all of our minds are working in unison, that’s when we start to generate the breaks we need.
“The rose petals are red,” Astra says. “Rick, when you do something stupid and piss your girl off, what do you get her to say you’re sorry?”
He looks at her, a sheepish grin on his face. “Red roses, usually.”
“Right. Exactly. Because for one thing, you’ve got no originality in your whole personality,” Astra says. “And two, because red roses have come to symbolize love. Look at the sales receipts of any florist on Valentine’s Day and you’ll see it’s nothing but red roses and red hearts.”
“So okay, is he apologizing for hurting them?” Rick muses. “Or is he... wooing them?”
I give him a grin, happy that I get to drop my bombshell without it having been spoiled first. Fine, call me a little bit dramatic, but I do love a good reveal.
“Mo, can you please list out the stomach contents of all seven victims?” I ask.
She gives me a nod and calls up the ME’s reports on her computer, then starts to read a shopping list of foods that sound like they came off the menu at one of Seattle’s finest and most exclusive restaurants. Foie gras, lobster, Kobe beef, truffles, Beluga caviar, expensive wine, veal… the list goes on. And when she’s done, she looks up at me, the light of understanding shining brightly in her face.
“But why would he do that?” Rick asks.
“It’s part of his ritual,” Astra says.
“Ritual?”
I nod. “This unsub has a very distinct ritual. He spends a year wooing these women he takes. And his ritual culminates with this fine meal, rose petals, champagne… the works. And I would posit that if she doesn’t do something he wants or doesn’t display the sort of behavior he’s looking for, he decides that she’s not the one after all, and discards her. Then he takes somebody new.”
“Damn. That’s cold-blooded,” Rick says.
“But these women all mean something to him. You can tell by the way he disposes of them,” I say. “He took care to make sure Sylvia looked comfortable. Peaceful, even. I think that’s also evident in the way he kills. There is no more intimate way to kill somebody than to strangle them. It’s up close, personal, and you’re looking them right in the eye. It’s intimate.”
“Not exactly efficient, though,” Astra mutters, making the others laugh softly.
“So he keeps them chained up for a year, trying to woo them,” Mo chimes in, as if trying to wrap her mind around it. “And when it doesn’t work out, he kills them and picks up somebody new.”
“Judging by the fact that all seven women have had calluses around their ankle consistent with a metal shackle, it looks that way,” Astra says.
“That seems like a self-fulfilling prophecy to me,” Mo says. “We’re assuming he stalks these women before he grabs them, aren’t we? The snatches have all been too clean. No witnesses. No evidence. He had to have known their patterns and habits. Which suggest he stalks them, right?”
Astra and I share a look, both of us impressed. Mo really has been putting in the time to study up on criminal investigation techniques, as well as profiling. I like that. I like that she’s taking it serious enough to devote her time to it.
“I’d say that’s a solid assumption,” I say.
“Stalking takes time. I’m sure Rick could tell us better than anybody,” Mo says, a grin curling her lips that makes Astra and I laugh. I love seeing her coming out of her shell and make an effort to be part of this team.
Rick looks up at us. “Why am I the designated punching bag around here?”
“Girls rule, boys drool,” Astra says, an amused tone in her voice.
Rick chuckles and goes back to his work. I look over at Mo and gesture for her to continue. She nods and starts again.
“So, if he has one woman in custody and then goes out and starts stalking her replacement? If he’s wooing these women with the hope that one of them turns out to be the one, or whatever he thinks she’s going to be to him, why would he be out stalking a new one to replace her?”
“A year is a long time,” Astra offers. “At some point, maybe around month ten or eleven or so, he realizes she’s not going to conform to whatever ideal he has in mind and knows he’ll need to find somebody who will.”
“Twisted,” Mo says, shaking her head. “But are we sure he keeps them in captivity for a year?”
“The reports make no note of the typical markers that indicate a body was frozen and stored,” I say. “And then there’s the callus around the ankle. That takes time to form. It takes a lot of metal rubbing on the skin for a callus that extensive to form.”
“Probably about a year,” Astra adds.
A sober silence falls over the bullpen as we all contemplate the situation. It’s still all a bit amorphous, but things are starting to come together. I think we’re getting a clearer picture of what’s happening. Now, we just need to figure out why. And most importantly, who.
Twenty-Seven
Residence of the Unsub; Location Unknown
I load the tray into the dumbwaiter and send it down. As the machinery whines and creaks as it descends, I hum the melody of Bach’s Cello Suite no.1 in G Major to myself. I have always loved classical music. The timeless, intricate melodies still resonate, centuries after the composer first brought them to life.
Stepping into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror, smoothing my hair down and making sure there is nothing stuck in my teeth. I wouldn’t want to be embarrassed by such a careless faux pas. After all, making a good impression is important.
Cassie and I have been together for a little while now, but you never want to stop trying to impress the woman you love. The day you stop trying－or more precisely, stop feeling the need to try－you start taking your partner for granted. And when that happens, you might as well pack it in and move on because, as they say, the magic is gone, and the relationship is likely over at that point.
Satisfied with my appearance, I walk to the basement door and open it. I descend the stairs and find Cassie sitting on the edge of her bunk, looking pensive. Worse than that is the fact that she’s not dressed properly for dinner.
“Why are you not dressed?” I ask.
I look pointedly at the dress I’d laid out for her. It’s crumpled into a ball on the table and she remains in her yoga pants and sweatshirt, her hair sticking out in a hundred different directions. She looks frumpy and quite frankly, somewhat ratty. If I’m being honest, I’d say it’s most unattractive and unappealing.
“I didn’t feel like dressing,” she says sullenly.
“One must always strive to look their best for their partner. I thought you agreed with me on that point,” I say.
She looks down at the ground beneath her bare feet and I notice the tear splash on the concrete. She sniffs loudly and I have to fight to keep my temper in check. This is not how I wanted the evening to go. I thought a nice dinner with the woman I love would be a perfect ending to what had been such a lovely day at work.
It can still be salvaged. Walking over to the control knob for the stereo, I turn it on and turn up the volume, letting the music flow through the room. It’s beautiful and soothing, and I take a moment with my eyes closed, letting it wash over me.
“This is the Romeo and Juliet Ballet Suite by Prokofiev,” I tell her. “Some say it’s the most romantic piece of music ever written.”
“Where is Brad?” she asks. “What did you do with my fiancé?”
I bite back the scathing reply that jumps to the tip of my tongue. It’s a struggle to keep myself in check, but I take a deep breath and calm myself. This was supposed to be a beautiful, romantic evening and she’s starting to ruin it.
“I thought we were doing well, Cassie. We were beginning to develop some trust between us. I even let you off your shackle. Why are you behaving this way?” I ask.
She looks up at me. “You’re holding me captive. You’re… you’re using me against my will. Forcing yourself on me,” she spits. “How do you think I should be behaving?”
I laugh softly. “You certainly do have your moods, don’t you? That’s alright. We’re all entitled to a blue mood now and then.”
I walk over to the dumbwaiter and raise the door. The delicious aroma wafts out to me and I inhale, savoring it.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to cook tonight,” I call to her over my shoulder. “But the takeout is from Francelli’s. It’s truly exquisite and I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. This was my favorite place to take Debbie, so it’s special to me. So go ahead and get yourself dressed, Cassie. We want to be dressed properly for a proper meal.”
I set the food out on the table, setting it just so, smiling to myself. Frutti di Mare, Caesar salads, garlic bread… it smells divine. I can’t wait to enjoy this bounty with my best girl. Once the food is laid out, I light the candles on the table, and dim the lights in the basement, setting the mood. That done, I turn to find Cassie still sitting on the edge of her bed, pouting.
“Cassie－”
“I’m not hungry. I don’t want to eat with you anymore.”
“You sound like a petulant child.”
“Screw you,” she hisses.
I turn back to the table and pour the wine. “Get dressed, Cassie. Or I’ll dress you myself. I will not let you spoil this meal or this evening with your surly little attitude. We are going to have a beautiful meal with wonderful wine, and some sparkling conversation. And after that, we’ll enjoy some tiramisu, then make love to the most beautiful music you’ve ever heard.”
The words have barely cleared my mouth when I hear the sound of her running at me. I spin to the side just as the metal bar comes whistling down, so close I can feel the wind of it on my face. A moment later and it would have crashed straight into my skull. Luckily, my reflexes are superb; instead, it smashes into the table. The sound of glass shattering fills my ears. I watch in horror as wine and food go flying, splattering against the wall and the floor.
I lash out with a vicious backhand. Cassie’s head snaps to the side and she lets out a pained squeal as she staggers away. The metal bar hits the ground with a loud clang and I’m on her again. Grabbing a handful of those beautiful red curls, I haul Cassie to her feet. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth. She seems dazed and unfocused as she looks at me.
“Why are you being like this, Cassie? Why are you making me do this?”
Her eyes suddenly seem to come back into focus, and she spits a glob of blood and saliva straight into my face. I feel the warmth and wetness of it sliding down my cheek, and am suddenly consumed by an anger so deep, I can barely see straight. I deliver another open-handed slap, the sound of my hand making contact with her cheek as loud as thunder.
The blow rocks her and she falls to her knees and clutching her face in her hands. I grab her hair and yank her head back, making her look at me.
“Why are you doing this, Cassie? Things were going so well. And now you’ve gone and ruined it all,” I sneer.
“It this what happened to Debbie? Did you beat her to death too?” she sneers. “Is that why you’re doing all of this?”
“Don’t speak of my Debbie,” I fire back. “And you shouldn’t be talking about things you know absolutely nothing about.”