Critical Instinct

by Crouch, Janie

  She was vaguely aware that she was in her living room –she had no idea how she had gotten there– and that Brett would talk to Tom every once in a while.

  Both of them had twin looks of concern on their faces, although the longer she stayed awake and coherent the more relieved their faces became. She finally stopped shivering and tried to sit up from Brett.

  He pulled her back to him. “Do me a favor, okay? Just let me hold you for a little while. You scared the hell out of me. Out of Tom too."

  Paige didn't want anything different so she didn't argue. She buried her face in Brett's neck. "I'm sorry."

  Brett didn't say anything for long minutes. After a while Tom brought in a cup of her favorite hot tea.

  "When you woke up I canceled the doctor we had about to come," Tom said, "but I can get Dr. Whitaker back out here if you want. She said she would come. That might be a good idea."

  Paige knew she needed to explain what happened. At least to Brett.

  "No, that's not necessary. I think it was just a mixture of exhaustion and shock."

  She felt Brett nod against her hair. "I never should've brought you in to help with the cases. It was too much. You're not trained for it and it obviously adversely affected your psyche."

  She lay back so that she could see his brown eyes. His face was haggard, residual fear etched in his features.

  "Yes, I was definitely exhausted. But it was more than that. I need to show you something."

  If anything his face got a little more haggard. "What?"

  "I drew in my sleep last night."

  She couldn’t bring herself to admit that it was her own face and body –her own dead face and body– that she’d drawn.

  He framed her face with both hands. “Show me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Brett followed Paige down the hallway to the sleep-drawing room. He wasn’t sure exactly what he thought she was going to show him that triggered her episode this morning, but what he found was much, much worse.

  It was Paige.

  He swallowed his panic at seeing her features drawn in such striking realism. In the picture she was lying at an awkward angle at the bottom of a set of stairs. Blood dripped from her nose, a piece of jagged wood clenched in one fist, the other curled loosely by her face. Her eyes stared out into nothingness.

  She was very obviously dead.

  A vile curse slipped from Brett’s lips as he walked closer to the image.

  Closer didn’t make him feel any better.

  Paige stood in the corner, about as far as she could get from the drawing and still be in the room.

  “You okay?” he asked. The last thing she needed was another repeat of her waking coma. Although now he understood why her brain had shut down to such a degree. Her mind had been protecting itself from the most traumatic drawing yet.

  “Yeah, I’m just keeping my distance from it.”

  Brett didn’t blame her. He wanted to keep his distance from it too. From the picture itself and everything it signified.

  He turned and faced Paige. “That,” —he jerked his thumb towards the picture— “is not going to happen. Do you hear me?”

  “All the other pictures did.”

  “Not all of them. I’m still in hopes that we’re going to find the last lady alive. She isn’t dead or we would’ve identified her like the other women. So, maybe everyone you draw isn’t an actual victim. Maybe they’re just people he thinks about.”

  But there could be no doubt Paige was connected with the killer.

  “I hope so.”

  Brett walked over and wrapped her in his arms. “But you can believe I’m not going to let this guy get to you.”

  He felt her nod against his chest, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Also, we should take into account that you spent hours looking over your drawings last night. Poring over them in a way you’d never done before.”

  “So?” Her voice was small, not combative at all.

  “So, maybe that got into your psyche. The fact that we spent time talking about how you should’ve been one of the victims. Maybe this is just your mind’s way of expressing survivor’s guilt.”

  “I guess.”

  Brett prayed that was true. But the way her mind had completely shut down —trapping Paige in the dark? Brett didn’t think so.

  Either way, Paige needed a break from all of this. She’d done what she could and now he needed to shield her from the rest. That he could and would do.

  He and Alex, and probably the Feds, would figure out who the killer was. The man didn’t know they were on to him, so didn’t know to be more cautious. Plus, they had time. Another payday wasn’t coming up for over a week.

  A phone call from Alex a few minutes later proved Brett wrong.

  “We’ve got another victim, Wagner.”

  “Is it—?” he didn’t even get the full question out.

  “The lady from Paige’s drawings? Unfortunately, yes.”

  Brett tried to keep the conversation from Paige, but one glance at her face told him she was aware of what was going on. Shit.

  “She was found in Salem. Name’s Denise Rubio. High school science teacher.”

  “Was she stabbed?”

  Brett could hear the tightness in Alex’s voice. “Yes. Fits the pattern just like we were discussing.”

  Brett glanced at Paige again. She’d gone white and was leaning heavily against the wall. He didn’t blame her. This now meant every single woman she’d drawn had ended up dead. He tightened his grip on the phone desperate to find a reason Paige wouldn’t be next on the list.

  “How long has Denise Rubio been dead?”

  “Coroner says less that twenty-four hours. She already had a crap ton of people looking for her, especially when she didn’t show up for work today.”

  “But it’s not a payday.”

  “I don’t know why he deviated, man. All I know is that this is definitely the same woman, same position, same brutality as what Paige drew. It’s the same guy.”

  Brett knew it. “I’m with Paige right now. I can’t leave her. She’s having some… issues.” There was no way in hell he was leaving her without knowing for sure the blackness wasn’t going to drag her back under.

  He felt her hand on his back.

  “I’ll be okay,” she whispered.

  He wrapped the arm not holding the phone around her, pulling her to him.

  “No,” he said simply. He wasn’t leaving her. Not tonight.

  “That’s fine,” Alex responded. “We have an appointment with the Salem detectives tomorrow. They were pretty surprised to hear from me since they thought it was just an isolated incident.”

  “Ameling is going to skin us alive if we mention this theory to Salem PD.”

  “Let’s see how far we can get without mentioning it. Because if we have to bring up Paige’s pictures this is all going to get ugly real fast.”

  That was the damn truth. “It’s not an option.”

  “It may be our only option, Brett. We can’t keep letting women die. What happens when Paige draws another picture?”

  He didn’t want to have this conversation in front of her. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’ll be in first thing.”

  “Work with her on alibis. Make sure she knows where she was on the dates of the deaths. It will go a long way if she has to be brought in for questioning again. And tell her to keep that lawyer’s number handy.”

  Brett didn’t want Paige anywhere near the station. Her mental state was fragile enough. But he knew there might not be any way around it.

  Like it or not, she was their only link to the killer.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  They were able to keep Paige’s drawings out of the conversation with the Salem police detectives. At least the murder had occurred within state lines, only about forty-five miles south of Portland, making Brett and Alex’s interest a little less questionable. If the murder had occurred over state lines, working
with the detectives would’ve required official permission.

  But within state lines didn’t make Denise Rubio any less dead.

  She’d been beaten, like all the women before her. Then she’d been stabbed.

  “Hell of a way to go,” Detective Ramon Gil said. “According to the coroner, victim was already nearly dead before the perp even stabbed her. Seems like overkill.”

  Brett glanced at Alex. They’d thought the very same thing with some of the other victims.

  “Anything unusual about Miss Rubio that you’ve found?” Alex asked. “Do you have any direction in particular you’re looking?”

  Detective Gil shrugged, a weary frown dragging his whole face. “Honestly, we’re still trying to wrap our heads around it. We’re smaller than Portland PD, don’t get a lot vicious murders. I’ve seen a few drive-bys, domestic dispute murders, but nothing like this.”

  Brett nodded. “Any known enemies? Fights?” Even if she had, Brett was willing to bet it wasn’t the person that murdered her.

  “Nothing as far as we can tell. Miss Rubio was well liked at the school by both students and faculty. Not married. No kids. Lived here for five years since she graduated from college.”

  “We’re going to talk to the principal next. See if we can find out anything.”

  Gil nodded, then studied them more carefully. “Why are you here anyway? No offense intended. This definitely isn’t a pissing contest. If you’ve got some insight to offer, I’m all ears.”

  Alex’s eyes shot to Brett. “We had a murder a few days ago. Lady was strangled, not stabbed, but she was beaten severely beforehand. Enough similarities that we thought we would see if there might be any connection.”

  The other detective looked like he would press the point further, but then just shrugged again. “I’d appreciate it if information could flow both ways.”

  “If we find out the cases are definitely connected, we’ll let you know,” Brett told him.

  Not long after speaking with Gil they were on their way to the high school where Denise Rubio worked. Brett drove. He’d hoped to get a call in to Paige. She’d been asleep when he’d left her early this morning, exhausted from the tension and constant fear of falling asleep, worried that if she did she might draw again. It wouldn’t matter if it was another unknown woman or herself, it would still be the same: death.

  She’d tried to keep her terror from him as he lay in the bed next to her. She hadn’t complained or talked or tossed and turned. But her body had radiated tension to such a degree that Brett couldn’t help but know what was going on.

  He’d pulled her into his arms, hoping the contact would help her, knowing she needed rest after what she’d already been through. She’d relaxed into his embrace, but it wasn’t long before the tension had returned.

  “Every time I close my eyes, all I see is darkness,” she whispered, when he’d tried rubbing the tension out of the muscles in her shoulders.

  It was an odd statement. One would expect to see darkness when closing eyes, but Brett knew what she meant. Not the darkness of a restful sleep, the overpowering blackness of the killer and her link with him.

  “I won’t let him get you,” Brett had murmured back. “I won’t let you get lost in the dark.”

  But his words hadn’t made a difference. Finally, deep in the night, he’d pulled her body underneath him and made love to her, slowly, thoroughly, bringing her to climax first with his hand, then his mouth, and finally his body, until she couldn’t fight the exhaustion any longer.

  Brett kept his word, watching over her as she slept, on the lookout for any nightmares, or worse — a pull from the bed towards that damn easel.

  Not on his watch.

  When he left her this morning the sun had been shining brightly into all the windows. She’d made it through the night.

  He’d still like to make sure she was okay. To hear her voice.

  Brett wasn’t sure how the hell she’d come to mean so much to him in such a short time, but he couldn’t question it. Catching the killer went way beyond getting justice for Paige now. He wanted this guy off the street so whatever connection her subconscious had with him could be severed.

  Otherwise, Brett was afraid he’d lose her. She’d lose herself.

  “What does a science teacher, physical therapist, Nike R&D executive, nurse and a receptionist have in common?” Alex was looking at the notepad he always kept with him as they now drove towards the high school where Denise Rubio taught. “And an artist?”

  “Besides the start of a “walks into a bar’ joke?” The professions of the women who’d been killed didn’t seem to have any link whatsoever.

  Neither did their gyms, shopping habits, political affiliations, or social media patterns.

  A few of them were part of online dating sites, but not all. Some had attended religious services, but others didn’t.

  They hadn’t found a single link between all the women except for Paige’s drawings. Although there was. There had to be. They just hadn’t found it yet.

  Denise Rubio’s principal, Lisa Haneberg, didn’t provide much further insight. She confirmed, like Detective Gil had said, that the young teacher had been popular among students and colleagues alike. The school was obviously reeling after what had happened to her.

  The principal took Brett and Alex to the teacher’s lounge where Denise had been last seen. They spoke briefly to the English teacher who had been Denise’s friend and was obviously distraught at her death.

  No, Denise Rubio didn’t have any enemies. No, she hadn’t mentioned anything unusual or suspicious before her death.

  The same answer that had been true about all the other victims. The only thing different about Denise was that she hadn’t been killed on a payday, and she hadn’t been held for as long as the other women had been.

  This killer liked to toy with his victims. Let their beatings heal just slightly before he killed them. Brett’s hands clenched into fists when he thought again of how close Paige had come to death.

  Principal Haneberg took them to Denise’s classroom. It wasn’t anything unexpected. Instead of desks, the classroom had lab tables, wooden with solid black tops and small sinks in the middle. Various high school science equipment sat on the tables: microscopes, Bunsen burners, and beakers of various sizes.

  “Students really responded to Denise,” Principal Haneberg said softly. “Especially the girls. She had such a passion for encouraging them to pursue STEM degrees. Science, Mathematics, Engineering.”

  “Has anyone looked through Miss Rubio’s work emails?” Alex asked as he looked around the teacher’s desk. Brett walked further into the classroom.

  Haneberg nodded. “Yes. I gave Detective Gil access right away. Nothing suspicious was found.”

  Of course not. Nothing suspicious had been found in the emails or phones of any of the victims. No “long lost friends” emailing wanting to meet for coffee, nor an “emergency” car breakdown text from a friend that would draw them out.

  Whoever had killed them had watched them. Knew patterns about each of them.

  Brett walked towards the back of the classroom, looking at a machine that stood there.

  “That’s a 3D printer,” Haneberg said. “Denise was so proud when she got the grant award to buy it. It only just arrived a couple of weeks ago. Kids were so excited to get to use it.”

  This one had to be much smaller than the one used to make the huge centerpiece at Paige’s art show.

  “What would a science teacher want with a 3D printer?” he asked. He could understand why an art studio would want one, but not a science teacher.

  Haneburg joined him at the back of the room. “I can show you Denise’s whole proposal if you want. But basically she argued that it could be used to interest students in a number of different aspects of science. Architects and engineers use them on a regular basis now. Any company developing prototypes for just about anything. Medical fields use them for making prosthetic limbs and I’m
sure other things.”

  Brett spun around at Haneburg’s words. “Physical therapists would use these? Nurses?”

  Haneburg shrugged. “Maybe. They might not use the printer themselves, but would definitely come in contact with what the printers can produce. Especially if it involved prosthetics.”

  Brett glanced at Alex before looking back at Haneburg. He was listening now also. “And a Nike Research and Development executive?”

  She nodded. “Without a doubt. A company like Nike would probably own multiple high end 3D printers for prototypes of shoes and other products. Like I said, Denise made a very compelling case for having one to teach students what sort of STEM jobs were out there. That’s what got her the grant. The printers aren’t cheap.”

  Alex joined them, his thinking now exactly where Brett’s was. “Boeing would also use one.”

  The fifth victim had been a receptionist for Boeing.

  “Absolutely. Why?” the Principal asked.

  They didn’t provide her with any details, just got the name of the company who had sold and set up the 3D printer for the school. They were rushing back out to their car less than ten minutes later, on their way to FormLabs3D back in Portland.

  The link between all the victims was found. And once they saw it, it couldn’t be denied.

  The northwest division of FormLabs3D, part of a much larger company, sold or serviced printers connected to the workplace of each victim, including the art studio connected to Paige. Charles Sevier, FormLabs3D’s manager, was able to immediately confirm this.

  “Boyd Anderson is the regional salesman for northern California, Oregon and Washington State. He’s one of our best sales people, has an excellent record. He would’ve been at all those locations.”

  Brett gave Alex a grim smile. “Is Anderson on the road right now? We’ll need his home address.”

  “What’s this all about? Is Boyd in trouble?”

  “We just need to talk to him about a case we’re working on. He might have some pertinent information.” Alex was careful not to leak anything important. The last thing they wanted was for the manager to let Anderson know they were looking for him in connection to the murders. He would take to ground.