by Lisa Harris
Jack nodded. “I agree. When is the last time he struck?”
“Almost ten years ago. The authorities never caught him.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a serial killer showed up out of nowhere years later and decided to strike again,” Gwen said. “He could have been sick, in prison, or simply lying low.”
“If it is him, that typically means something had to have set him off,” Tyler said. “Did they ever discover some kind of common stress trigger connecting the different victims? Something that set him off?”
Nikki thought through the question. “Nothing that specific. What I do know is that he was extremely meticulous and planned every abduction, presumably stalking his victims first. No DNA was ever found. Nothing that ever allowed police to make a positive ID. But as far as the man’s personal life or habits . . . there’s never been enough to make those kinds of conclusions.”
“What about a description?” Anderson asked.
She didn’t have to close her eyes to see the police sketch that had been circulated around the time of Sarah’s disappearance. But even with the description, they’d never come up with a name beyond the one the media had circulated.
“Witnesses connected to each of the disappearances gave similar descriptions of a man, late twenties, reddish-blond beard, and small loop earring in his right ear, but no arrests were ever made and only four bodies were ever found. His MO was to stalk the girls and leave a Polaroid photo of each one at the crime scene. He took them from schools or deserted locations, killed them, then buried their bodies.”
“So today, if this is our guy,” Simpson said, “he’d be, what . . . in his late thirties? Maybe early forties now?”
“I’ve got the original sketch the police artist came up with right here.” Jack stepped out of the truck where he’d just finished printing out the sketch, then added it to the whiteboard. “Given time, we can come up with a computerized sketch of what he might look like now.”
Nikki stared at the familiar black-and-white sketch. He could have changed drastically, but at least it was a place to start.
“Here’s something else that doesn’t line up in my mind,” Anderson said. “Technology has changed tremendously in the past ten years. I read the initial report that said Bridget’s abductor used GPS technology to track her. That’s a far cry from a camera even ten years ago, let alone a Polaroid camera that would have already been considered vintage by then.”
“Yes, but there’s no reason to believe he didn’t keep up with technology.”
“But the Polaroid photo?” Gwen asked.
“An added touch. A bit of nostalgia for him? That’s what we need to find out.” They could sit here all day asking questions, but every minute they spent discussing the whys was a minute they could be looking for Bridget. “All his victims were ages twelve to sixteen, white females.”
“And where were they taken from?” Gwen asked.
“All six girls lived within a hundred-mile radius of Nashville. The four bodies that were found were discovered farther east. One as far as Morgan County.” Nikki glanced at the map Gwen had hung on the whiteboard beside the sketch. “Many abductors don’t run with their victims. Most are kept within fifty miles of the abduction location, often held in the home of the suspect. Those statistics didn’t hold true in these cases.”
“And he didn’t stick to that pattern if he brought Bridget here.”
“We need to get out there, now, and find her. Tyler, since you’re here, we could use your input as well, especially with your psychological experience. A fresh pair of eyes always helps. Jack can ensure you have access to all case files currently available on the Angel Abductor. Look for anything that might give us a better picture of who this guy is.”
Nikki turned to the rest of the officers. “Anderson, you and your rangers—along with those here from the Gatlinburg police—will be in charge of coordinating the search within the park. My team and I will continue handling the logistics of the investigation, as well as coordinating our efforts on the state level and with the FBI.”
“What about the brother?” Jack asked.
“Kyle’s driving in now and should be here within the hour. I’ve already had him establish himself as the link with the media, including coordinating with them all updates on the case after going through us. Gwen, I want a list of every outgoing and incoming call on Bridget’s phone as well as a printout of all texts over the last two months. See if you can find anything that stands out. Jack, I want you to continue searching through her Facebook page, Twitter account, Instagram, and whatever else she was on. Go through her conversations to look for clues. They used social media to connect. Which means if this guy made a mistake and slipped up, that’s where we’re going to find it.”
Nikki tried to ignore the wave of fatigue passing through her as the group split up. She moved in front of the whiteboard to tape up a recent photo of Bridget. “When Kyle gets here, I want him to help us reconstruct a detailed timeline of Bridget’s last forty-eight hours. Someone had to have seen something.”
She started to turn away, then stopped to study the sketch of the Angel Abductor. When the police had released the picture to the public, they’d admitted that not only was the description too vague but the sketch was also too generic. While she might not exactly know what he looked like, she did know the basic drive of the man they were looking for. Someone able to compartmentalize his feelings to the point where he felt no empathy. Someone with an abusive background. Someone wanting to be in control and call the shots.
Nikki felt the familiar wave of grief—mixed with a measure of panic—wash through her. She drew in a slow breath. She’d come to learn that she couldn’t predict when or in what form grief might arrive. And that as much as she wanted it, she simply didn’t have control over everything that happened around her.
“Nikki?” Jack’s voice pulled her back to the present.
“Sorry.” She followed him inside the command post, then sat down at the workstation beside him.
“I was actually going through some of this on my way here,” he said. “Here’s something you’re going to want to see. Apparently Bridget had multiple Instagram accounts on her phone, and this one here shows a far different persona online than what her friends described.”
“You’re sure this is her?” Nikki asked.
“Yes.” Jack scooted back to give her a closer look, then pointed to the screen. “Look at this one. Her screen name is Cat, but we’re not talking about the furry kind.”
“Then what are we talking about?”
“It’s connected to cutting or self-harm, and look at these hashtags—#alone . . . #suicidal . . . #depression . . .”
Nikki scrolled slowly through the photos on the girl’s account. Anorexic girls, protruding collarbones, and thigh gaps. Dark rooms and faces, and dozens of poems Bridget had written about death and loss.
“What do you think?” Jack asked, looking up at her.
“I think things are never as simple as they seem. Now we possibly know why she agreed to meet with him. She was struggling with who she was, and a guy showed up claiming to love her. She bought into the lie, making her an easy mark.”
Jack tapped his fingers against the desktop. “Maybe I’m missing something, but I saw her other accounts. How does a popular girl get involved in this?”
Nikki pointed to a photo of Bridget. “That was Bridget on the outside. You just found the one on the inside. The one underneath the smile.”
“So where . . . ?” Jack sneezed twice. “Sorry. Where does this lead us?”
“I don’t know, but it’s a clue into her life and what she was struggling with.” Nikki glanced at her watch. “Do me a favor. Find out if Chloe and Mia have made it back to Nashville. I’d like to set up a Skype call with them as soon as possible and see if they knew about any of this.”
Thirty minutes later, Nikki was staring at Mia’s and Chloe’s faces on the computer screen. Chloe’s mom sat in the back-ground, lis
tening in.
“Mia . . . Chloe . . . I appreciate your taking the time to talk with me again,” Nikki said.
Mia leaned forward. “Have you found Bridget?”
“Not yet, but I do have some more questions I’d like to ask you if that’s okay.”
The girls nodded.
“We found Bridget’s phone. We’ve been looking through it, trying to see if we can find anything that might help us track her down. We found one of her accounts where she goes by Cat. And shares a lot about depression and anorexia.”
Mia looked at Chloe, then shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. She was just letting her feelings out. It’s what we all do. Bridget spent a lot of time writing those poems.”
“They’re pretty dark. Was she depressed?”
Chloe glanced at Mia. “I don’t think Bridget would like us talking about this stuff with anyone.”
“Listen, girls, I have no desire to invade Bridget’s privacy, but we need to find her. And it’s possible what you can tell us will help us find a clue to where she is or even who might have her.”
“Okay.” Mia frowned, but she nodded in agreement. “We’ve been friends since we were in third grade. I guess things began to change after her dad died and her mom left. She never understood why her mom freaked out. Bridget’s struggled ever since, but she really doesn’t talk about any of that.”
“So she never talks about her mom?”
Mia shook her head. “Not very often, though she did tell me a couple of weeks ago that her mother was planning to come and see her.”
“When?” Nikki asked.
“She didn’t say.”
“Did Bridget seem excited?”
“Yeah, but I think she was nervous too. I mean, she missed her mom, but they hadn’t seen each other for a long time.”
So instead of talking to her mom or her brother, Bridget posted online, anonymously, to a group of strangers—people she’d never even met. It was a completely different world today than the one Nikki had grown up in. Social media had thrust kids into a world where it was far too easy to end up feeling completely alone in the middle of a crowd.
“What about cutting or suicide?” Nikki asked. “Did she ever talk about that?”
Chloe chewed at a fingernail. “Bridget cut a few times. Threatened suicide once or twice, but she never would have gone through with it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Bridget could be a bit of a drama queen. We just thought . . .” Chloe hesitated. “We just thought she was looking for attention.”
“Did you tell an adult? Try to get her to seek help?”
Mia dropped her gaze away from the computer’s camera. “She made us promise not to tell anyone. And I guess we didn’t think she was serious.”
Nikki pressed her lips together, hoping they were right. “I know this has been hard, girls. But I appreciate your talking with me. If I come up with any more questions, I’ll let you know.”
Tyler, Jack, and Gwen were still sorting through Bridget’s information when Nikki ended the call.
Tyler pushed back his chair. “I’m going to grab some water from the vending machine outside the visitor center. Anyone want something?”
“I’ll come with you, actually,” Nikki said, standing up. She needed a couple minutes of fresh air to think and clear her mind so she could begin to assemble the pieces of Bridget she’d been given. Whether she’d truly been suicidal or not, she’d clearly painted a persona of a vulnerable, hurting young girl. And he’d found her. A girl who was vulnerable and willing to respond to the attention of a stranger. Able to fall in love with the image of someone she’d never met.
They heard a scream from the visitor center’s lobby, which had been reopened to tourists, as she and Tyler walked by. Nikki bolted inside with Tyler, then froze.
A woman stood in the middle of the large room with a gun clutched between her unsteady hands. “Nobody move!”
Another scream rang through the room.
A ranger—Ford, according to his name tag—reached for his gun.
“Don’t even think about it.” The woman fired a blind shot, her hands still shaking. The bullet slammed into one of the displays of a black bear, shattering the glass six feet from where Nikki stood. The room went silent. “Nobody. Move.”
A mother huddled beside the information kiosk, her toddler whimpering, while an older couple crouched next to them.
Nikki studied the woman. Late forties, slightly overweight. Hair unwashed and pulled back in a tight ponytail. But what bothered Nikki the most was the look in her eyes. She was clearly high on something.
“How did she get in here with a weapon?” someone shouted behind her.
“Don’t move . . . none of you . . . I’m the one who’ll be asking the questions.” She pointed the gun at an old man clutching a map of the park to Nikki’s left. It fluttered silently to the floor. “Because until I get the answers I’m looking for, the next person who moves, I’m going to shoot.”
8
Time seemed to tick by in slow motion as Nikki absorbed the scene around her. The majority of the tourists who had been milling in the lobby of the visitor center had scattered at the sight of a gun. Those remaining now hid behind displays or the information counter. At least four were still potentially in the line of fire besides herself. Tyler—who’d managed to step between the shooter and a young girl and her mother—Ford, and a couple in their mid-forties crouched ten feet to her left.
Basic protocol made it a priority to isolate and contain a gunman, then secure the perimeter in order to keep the gunman and any civilians separated. But in this situation, they weren’t going to have the luxury of setting up tactical and negotiating teams. Neither was there time to get information on who the woman was or why she was here.
Jack and Gwen were still back at the command post. Once someone discovered what was going on, they’d bring in backup. But for now, it was up to her, Tyler, and Ford to handle the situation themselves.
We need a way out of this, God. A way out where no one gets hurt.
Nikki took a step toward the woman. She needed to find a way to connect, and that began by hearing her out. “My name’s Nikki Boyd. I work with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, and I’d like to try to help. You said you had questions?”
The woman shifted the weapon in front of her, aiming it this time at Nikki. “I said don’t come any closer.”
“Okay.” Nikki held up her hands and took a step backward to give the woman some space. “I’m moving back now.”
“I know who you are. You’re with them, and they . . . refused to help me.”
“I want to help you.”
“No . . . no, I don’t believe you.” She held the gun out in front of her, clearly panicked. “I want everyone over here, standing in front of the information counter where I can see you.”
“Okay.” Nikki nodded at the other hostages. “You heard her. Everyone move slowly toward the counter.”
Something moved in Nikki’s peripheral vision. She shifted her gaze to the right where the ranger stood. Ford had turned toward the counter and was slowly drawing his weapon from the holster on his hip.
But he wasn’t fast enough.
The woman’s weapon went off again. This time the ranger dropped to the floor. The little girl to her left screamed.
“You should have listened to me,” the woman shouted.
Nikki glanced back at the ranger. Blood had already begun to pool around the midsection of his tan shirt.
Nikki held up her hands. “I’m going to help him.”
“I didn’t mean to shoot him, but I’m not going to let them win this time.” The woman’s hands were shaking, her finger still against the trigger. She was breathing hard and fast. They had to find a way to de-escalate the situation and get the gun away from her. Because if they didn’t, this could quickly turn into a bloodbath.
“Nikki . . .”
Ignoring Tyler and the risk, Nikki hurri
ed to the ranger’s side, pulled off her fleece jacket, and pressed the fabric against his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding. She looked up at Tyler, caught his gaze, then nodded for him to take over. They were going to have to use whatever resources they had. And at the moment, her one trump card was Tyler.
She could sense a brief moment of hesitation in his eyes before she turned to concentrate on the ranger. But years of special ops training had given him the negotiating skills needed for a situation like this.
Tyler held his hands up. “My name’s Tyler Grant.”
“Are you with them too?” she asked.
“With the police?”
She nodded, her jaw tense, gun still held up in front of her. Finger resting on the trigger.
“No.” Tyler kept his voice calm and even. Only Nikki could sense the battle raging inside him. “I don’t work with the police, but my job is to help people. And I’d like to help you. The first thing we need to do, though, is take care of this man. If you let him go, we can make sure he gets the medical treatment he needs—”
“No. I don’t trust them. They took my husband.”
“Who? The police?”
Nikki caught the panic in the ranger’s eyes. “Ford . . . Ford! I need you to stay with me. Come on. You’re going to be fine.”
She quickly evaluated the situation while Tyler continued to talk. He needed to convince the woman to let Ford go. His breathing was steady but rapid, his pulse weak. Any gunshot wound—no matter where on the body—could be life threatening. In this case, there was the high probability of massive internal injuries.
Nikki continued pressing on the wound. “He’s got to get medical help, Tyler.”
“I’m sorry about your husband,” Tyler said, “but she’s right. The ranger needs medical help.”
Nikki looked up. Sweat beaded on the woman’s forehead. Her hands shook. Her rapid speech probably meant she’d taken an “upper” drug like cocaine rather than drinking alcohol. But people were capable of doing all kinds of crazy things with adrenaline rushing through them.
“No . . . no one is leaving. Not until someone answers my questions.”
