Strings of Fate (Mistresses of Fate)

by Dore, Deirdre

  “She is very good at what she does,” Sandeep commented, his brown fingers racing over her keyboards.

  “Why do you say that?” Helmer leaned over the man, wanting to know as much about her as possible . . . for the case.

  Sandeep shrugged. “She reminds me of a gamer in a way; they can sit for hours just playing in a virtual world. She has created worlds for these people, but more than that, she listens and hunts for specific language, for words or phrases that will help her find what she is searching for—the missing. She is logged in and working constantly; this is what she does,” he concluded, his tone indicating tacit approval.

  “Isn’t that strange?” In Ryan’s experience, women, especially women as beautiful as this one, did not spend the majority of their lives glued to a computer.

  “Not for some,” Sandeep argued, but he was from Cyber Crimes, of course it didn’t seem strange to him.

  “She also went through something traumatic as a child,” Midaugh argued. They’d researched her background before coming over. There’d been several articles about the disappearance in the local paper. “That can change you.”

  “Hmm . . .” Ryan glanced at the picture of the pretty eight-year-old girl who was at the center of the tableau Chris had created on her wall. He supposed that if he’d lost one of his brothers, or a niece, at an early age, he might be equally driven to search for the missing.

  “Anything else so far?” Ryan questioned Sandeep further. “Any evidence that she’s been in contact with the unsub?”

  “Not that I can find. I’ve traced two of the names the unsub has used back to the original requestors. They seem legitimate, though I’ll confirm tomorrow. I believe she’s been hacked. The unsub is using her usernames and passwords to take over the identities she’s created. She leaves them ‘alive,’ for lack of a better word, but stops actively posting once a job is complete.”

  “Why would she leave them ‘alive’?” Ryan had trouble spitting the word out of his mouth.

  Sandeep continued to click the mouse and talk at the same time. “According to her records, occasionally a client will request that a persona they’ve used in the past be resurrected for some occasion.”

  “She doesn’t actually arrange physical meetings, does she?”

  “No, it’s all online. Mostly it’s people wanting to look like they’re attached on Facebook to avoid romantic entanglements or look good to their friends. My cousin Babita would love this service; it would get her parents off her back about getting involved in a relationship.”

  Ryan started to argue that the concept was insane, but then he thought about his parents and how they’d been hinting that he needed to get involved with someone since he’d broken up with his fiancée, Cara, two years ago. A girlfriend would shut them up, at least until they asked to meet her.

  “Okay, so if she’s been hacked, is she able to log in to these identities and see what he’s been communicating?”

  “It’s hard to say.” Sandeep frowned. “She may not have tried. It’s possible that he changed the usernames and passwords of the accounts, but if she contacts Facebook or any of the other platforms, she can likely claim her account was hacked and prove she’s the owner by validating a method of payment.”

  “Can you check?”

  “Yes, though it will take some time to check them all. It would help if she assisted us in matching the identities she’s created with the information we’ve gathered about the victims.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to her about coming in tomorrow.”

  “I think that would be best.”

  “So we’re going with the idea that she’s not involved with the killer at all,” Midaugh clarified, looking out the window at the brick building next door.

  Sandeep stopped what he was doing to look at Agent Midaugh. “I haven’t found any evidence that she is anything more than what she seems, a woman passionate about finding the missing.”

  Ryan interjected, “Then if the unsub considers her his Creator, she could be in danger if he finds out she’s helping us.”

  Sandeep shrugged. “Anything is possible,” and he turned back to the computers.

  Ryan scowled. Anything was possible, his ass. From the crazy shit Ryan had read on the Mysteries of Fate blog, this guy was obsessed with her.

  He glanced up at her wall of success, at the six kids posted there, their faces smiling. Somewhere out there, those six kids were alive because this strange woman had spent most of her time hunting for them. It seemed strangely pointed that six little girls had been dead at the end of his previous serial murder case, a fact that made his teeth clench in rage and sorrow.

  “What does she do that’s different from other rescue groups or law enforcement? Does she use the same methods and she just spends more time doing it, or what?”

  “That’s part of it,” Sandeep agreed, and hesitated.

  “What?” Ryan shoved his hands in the pocket of his coat, wishing he could leave this tiny room with its staring faces. How did she stand it; how could she sleep with all those kids watching her?

  Sandeep looked deeply uncomfortable. “She also uses less sanctioned methods, venturing into the Undernet, pretending to be interested in child porn, to look for the missing among trafficked girls. Sometimes she has help hacking people’s sites—she doesn’t have to worry about warrants . . .” Sandeep trailed off.

  Ryan got the idea. She broke the law. She wasn’t worried about paperwork or procedure, she just wanted to find them, was obsessed with finding them at any cost, but in the meantime she created lies for money. She was a professional liar.

  Ryan understood obsession. He’d been obsessed on his first serial murder case, trying to prove to his father that he was just as good at catching killers as any Texas Ranger. If he hadn’t been such a stubborn jackass, determined to crack the case single-handedly, maybe some of those little girls would be alive.

  Ryan couldn’t help but feel a sting of resentment for her brazen disregard for the law that he had dedicated himself to upholding. In his mind, if Ms. Pascal hadn’t spent her time making up lies, maybe this killer wouldn’t have been nearly so successful, and they would have caught him long ago.

  11

  THE AGENTS WERE still going through Chris’s computers at ten o’clock, gathering evidence of god knew what from her files. She’d walked Sandeep through most of it and then gone into the living room to pretend to read a book.

  Suddenly her thoughts drifted to her father, who would be appalled that she hadn’t called an attorney . . . though his attorney certainly hadn’t kept him out of prison. The IRS didn’t fucking play, especially when millions of dollars were kept from them over a course of several years. Both Agent Helmer and Agent Midaugh were on the phone to what she assumed was the task force assigned to the case on and off throughout the evening. She caught snippets of conversation, but they always stepped out onto the landing. She wished they’d share the details of the case with her, or at the very least that she could look up what she could on her iPad, but it was in the room with them.

  She glanced at her own cell phone, which she’d fetched from the kitchen and set next to her wineglass on the coffee table. She wanted to call Tavey and Raquel to get their take on the situation, but she didn’t want to call while the FBI was in her house.

  From what she understood about serial murders, the cases were usually run by a task force headed by one or two lead investigators. The FBI wasn’t always the lead, but if it made sense in the situation, like when a killer crossed county or interstate lines, they might take charge. She imagined that with the plethora of small towns in northwest Georgia, the crimes may never have been linked together at all, especially if the details hadn’t been entered into ViCAP.

  If Tyler Downs was involved in the case, then it was likely that at least one of the murders had been committed within Cherokee County. She couldn’t re
member if Raquel had mentioned that or not.

  Chris brooded, drank another glass of wine, and thought, not for the first time, that she should get a TV. A TV would distract her from worrisome thoughts about serial killers using her work, about weird teenagers with cryptic messages, about the intel she could be missing while they meddled about in her business. Still, if it helped catch this guy, it was worth it.

  “Okay, Ms. Pascal, we think we’ve gotten what we need,” Agent Midaugh informed her.

  Chris sat up on the couch and set her wine down on the table. “So, I’m good. You believe I’m not involved with him?”

  “We haven’t ruled anything out.” Helmer seemed determined that she be to blame for something.

  Chris wiggled her eyebrows mock-seductively. “Ooh, so everything’s on the table, huh, Helmer?”

  Helmer looked away, a muscle in his cheek twitching, while Sandeep looked confused at the byplay between the two of them. Chris knew that, for her, there was a direct correlation between nervousness and obnoxious behavior. And if you threw alcohol in the mix, well, you got a lunatic who couldn’t behave appropriately even in the most serious situations. She immediately reverted to the gracious hostess she was supposed to be. “Sorry, Agent Patel. I hope something you found helped the investigation.”

  “Oh, it helped us enormously,” Helmer chimed in. “You’ve been hacked, Ms. Pascal.”

  “Hacked?”

  “Yes, hacked.”

  Chris focused on Sandeep. “You found evidence that I’ve been hacked?”

  “Yes, miss.” He bent slightly to pat her shoulder. “I’m afraid so.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible. I have firewalls, antivirus, sixteen-digit passphrases that I change weekly.”

  “I know. Your security is very good, but you were hacked, Ms. Pascal. The unsub, he is watching everything you do, even helping you sometimes. He is very clever.”

  “Helping me.” Chris put a hand to her chest, as Tavey’s grandmother used to, but Chris didn’t have any pearls to clutch.

  “He sends you tips sometimes, like the one that led you to the little boy being held by his cousin in Shreveport.”

  “He sent me that?” Chris whispered.

  “He seems to like you,” Agent Helmer muttered darkly. “Actually, strike that. He seems to worship you.”

  Chris flexed her fingers a little. “Why do you say that?”

  Agent Midaugh made a calm-down gesture. “We’re going to take all this information back to the analysts in Rome, put together a display board with all the identities you’ve created for the past year, and match them with the cases we’ve got on this unsub. We’d really like it if you came in tomorrow and talked to our analysts about the background to each identity, how these identities are requested, things like that. Maybe bring a list of identities you’ve created. Would you be able to do that for us, Ms. Pascal?”

  Chris nodded, standing. “Yeah. I have a class at ten, but I can be there by twelve.”

  “Don’t you think your class can wait?” Helmer sounded impatient with her, like she was being obtuse.

  She wanted to explain to Captain Jackass that, in light of this information that she’d been hacked, the yoga studio could possibly end up being her only source of income, but a thought occurred to Christina, an unwelcome one, but she’d learned to trust her intuition. “Just women?”

  “What?” Helmer shoved his hands in his suit pockets.

  Chris waved her hands in the air like someone calling for silence, and then she began to pace in a small circle. “You said I’ve been hacked, but I don’t just create online profiles of men for women; I also create women for men. Have any men been killed the same way as your other victims?”

  Helmer looked intrigued in spite of himself; his hands had come out of his pockets, and his fingers twitched as if he were clicking a mouse.

  “Check it,” Christina ordered. “And I’ll be there as soon as I can tomorrow.”

  Agent Helmer looked taken aback, but Midaugh nodded. “I think you might be on to something. We’ll call it in to the rest of the team; see what they can dig up.” He nodded to Helmer, who pulled out his cell phone, looking disgruntled, and walked away to make the call.

  Midaugh turned back to her. “Thank you, Ms. Pascal. We appreciate all your cooperation.”

  Chris squirmed uncomfortably; she wasn’t a big fan of thanks.

  “All right; they’re on it.” Helmer shoved his phone back into the holder on his belt.

  “Good.” Agent Midaugh held out his hand for her to shake. His massive palms engulfed hers; he even patted her hand in a fatherly fashion before going to gather up his things from her bedroom.

  Mr. Patel was next, shaking her hand. “I think what you do is very noble, Ms. Pascal. I’m sorry this has happened to you.”

  Chris felt tears sting her eyes, taken aback by the rare praise of her work, but she ignored them and smiled at the man. He had very gentle brown eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  “All your computers are still running. We’re going to be monitoring them. I created a remote connection to one of our secure servers.”

  “Okay, I won’t mess with anything.” Great. So Agent Helmer would know everything she did and said. Perfect.

  Mr. Patel left first, since he’d brought a different car. Apparently they were all heading back to the resident FBI station in Rome.

  Agent Midaugh brought her the coffee cups from the bedroom.

  “Just set them down in the kitchen. Thanks.”

  Agent Helmer came over to her; his face said he meant business. “I know it will be uncomfortable for you, Ms. Pascal, but we’d like you to continue with business as usual.”

  “Business as usual?” Christina frowned. “You mean you want me to continue working on online profiles? How can I do that? He’s using them to kill people.”

  “Odds are he knows we’re on to him, but if he doesn’t he’ll be easier to track. We’ll know the name he’s using, who he’s targeting, and we’ll be able to keep them safe.”

  Chris shook her head. “You think you’ll be able to keep them safe, but you can’t make any promises.”

  “We’ll do everything we can. We’ve also asked the sheriff’s department to send someone to watch over you.”

  Fate was small enough that it didn’t have a police department; instead the county sheriff had deputies assigned to patrol the town. They even had a small office in the circle, but it was only open on weekdays.

  “Great,” Chris muttered sarcastically. “The whole town will know I’m besties with a serial killer. Awesome.”

  Agent Helmer ignored her and picked up his jacket, shoving first one arm through and then the other. Chris had a brief flash of déjà vu, like she’d seen him dressing in extreme annoyance before.

  When he was finished, he addressed her formally, as if he hadn’t just spent the last several hours in her home, probing into her life and work. “Ms. Pascal, thank you for your assistance.”

  Chris folded her arms over her chest, but managed a polite nod.

  They were standing there silently, not shaking hands, when Agent Midaugh came back in the room.

  “We’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to Agent Helmer. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  The two men headed to her door while she stayed in the doorway to her kitchen with her arms folded over her chest.

  Agent Helmer looked back, a frown gathering between his eyes. “Will you be all right here alone, Ms. Pascal?”

  Chris was a little surprised that he had asked; he certainly didn’t seem to want to. After all, what was he going to do if she said no?

  She looked at his face, again seeing the handsome features beneath his unwarranted aggression, suddenly wishing he would stay. Overwhelmed once again by the pressing need to have someon
e with her tonight.

  “I’ll be fine,” she prevaricated. After all, it wasn’t a lie, exactly; fine was a relative term. What she intended to be was drunk . . . very drunk, if she could help it . . . and her good friend Jack Daniel’s and her other good friend Coke would undoubtedly be happy to help her with that.

  12

  RYAN MADE SURE that the door to the lobby of the building shut and locked behind him on the way out. They’d parked behind the building, next to what they knew was Ms. Pascal’s Subaru. Ryan took the passenger seat; Midaugh tended to get carsick if he didn’t drive.

  “What’s on your mind?” Midaugh asked about twenty minutes into the drive back to Rome. Ryan realized he’d been silent, turning over the case, the girl, the strangeness of the unsub’s messages in his mind.

  “I can’t get the way the unsub described her out of my head.”

  “As his Creator?”

  “Yes. BAU believes that he’s one of the rare ones that is actually suffering from some kind of psychosis. It’s likely he can’t interact normally with others without people noticing or assuming that he’s different. So instead of meeting people on his own and charming them, he relies on her to create connections for him.”

  “Why does that worry you so much?”

  Ryan wasn’t sure he could explain. The last serial murder case he’d worked had involved someone suffering from a psychosis as well. Joy Cantrip had believed that the girls she’d kidnapped were her daughters, believed it and made the girls believe it, too, after being held in captivity for over a year. But once they’d been made to believe, Joy had started finding reasons why the girls should be punished—they hadn’t behaved a certain way or hadn’t defended her properly in front of others. She’d locked them in a closet and starved them to death when they’d pushed her to her breaking point.

  The thought of this unsub, with his insane talk of strings, had brought it back, the feeling that he was dealing with something so beyond the scope of reason that the killer would be impossible to predict, impossible to defend against. Kind of the way he felt about Ms. Pascal. One evening, and he couldn’t get her out of his head. She unnerved him with her constant motion, her gold eyes, her obsessiveness, her brazen disregard for rules, her lies. His ex had been a liar as well, just the more traditional kind—the kind that slept with other men. He didn’t want to be attracted to Ms. Pascal, but there was something about her. Something compelling.