by Alexa Grace
“Are you finished? Nice to know your brother thinks of you as cold and heartless. I’m doing my job, Gabe. I have to interview each of them to find the vandal before he hurts the Lucas couple. He’s escalating. What about that do you not understand?”
Their food arrived, and Gabe ignored him as he inhaled his breakfast, attacking his food with short, quick, angry movements. After a few minutes, he chugged the rest of his coffee. He aimed a glare at his brother. “Is there anything else?”
Cameron swallowed hard. “One more thing—Robynn Burton is calling Kaitlyn to set up an interview for Wednesday at ten o’clock.”
“Robynn Burton? Isn’t she the state police detective that interviewed me when I was a suspect for Abby Reece’s murder?”
“One and the same.”
Gabe shook his head with disgust. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
“I can’t interview Kaitlyn myself because it would be a conflict of interest.”
“Just shut the fuck up, Cam.” Clenching his teeth, Gabe was furious. He slid out of the booth, withdrew a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, slapped it along with his napkin on the table, and stormed out of the cafe.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Office
Bradley was in the shower when Tisha barged into the bathroom to tell him he had a phone call, and it sounded important. Wrapping a towel around himself, he headed to the phone on his bedside table. Tisha whispered it was Angie.
Angie Hunt had been his administrative assistant for fifteen years. She was an ideal employee, early to work, late to leave, and saved his ass with client issues more than once. And this was the first time Angie had ever called him at home. Something was wrong. Alarm tightened his stomach, and he asked Tisha to run downstairs to get him a cup of coffee so she wouldn’t hear the conversation.
As soon as she closed the bedroom door, Bradley lifted the receiver.
“Mr. Lucas…” He could hear Angie struggling to even her breathing. “Come now. There’s blood everywhere.”
“Angie, where are you?”
“The office. Come now. Please”
Bradley threw on a pair of khakis, along with a light blue oxford shirt. He slipped into a pair of loafers and then raced down the stairs. In the kitchen, he pulled Tisha into an embrace. “Honey, got to head to the office. I forgot an important meeting.” He sprinted to the garage, leaving Tisha in the kitchen holding his coffee mug.
It took fifteen minutes to get to his office building and it was the longest fifteen minutes of his life. His mind was zipping at breakneck speed. Did Angie say “blood”? Was she hurt?
Bradley extracted his cell phone from his pocket and called Cameron Chase. The moment Cameron answered, he blurted out the information. “Something’s happened at my office. My assistant said there was blood. Please come.” He disconnected the call and focused on his driving. Reaching the industrial park, he made a right into his office building parking lot. There were a few employees standing near their cars. When they saw Bradley, they flagged him down to ask him what was going on, and why they were locked out of the building.
“We’re having trouble with the AC today,” he lied. “Take the day off. Take a vacation day on me.”
Parking in front, he leapt out of his car, ran to the glass entrance door, and used his key to get in. Angie sat in a guest chair toward the back of the lobby, wearing a pink dress that was stained with brown splotches and smears. Her face, dead-white, was streaked with crimson, which also dripped from her hair. Trembling, she wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were trying to stop her body from shaking.
A wave of apprehension coursed through him as he moved toward her. “Angie?”
Looking up at him with horror in her eyes, she whispered, “It’s everywhere. Just everywhere.”
“Are you hurt, Angie?”
“Don’t know. The blood is everywhere.”
Clearly, she was in shock. Bradley got out his cell to call for an ambulance. Hearing the whoosh of air as the front door opened, he spun around and saw Cameron enter the lobby, and overheard him calling for backup.
“Don’t move, and don’t touch anything,” Cameron said. “This is a crime scene now.”
His words prompted Bradley to take a closer look at his surroundings. There were smeared bloody footsteps coming from the door that led to the back offices going to Angie’s reception desk in the lobby. Something covered the top of the desk and dripped down the sides like hot fudge on an ice cream sundae, only this topping was blood-red. His stomach felt queasy, but he struggled to stay in control.
By the time Cameron reached them, Angie had bent over in her chair and vomited all over the floor. Bradley held her hair back and murmured that everything would be all right. This was the biggest lie he’d ever told. Bradley wasn’t sure that things would be ever be all right again.
Heart beating out of his chest, the room was spinning, and it became difficult to remain standing. He felt someone tug on his sleeve and he turned to look into the eyes of an emergency medical technician who led him away from Angie, so his partner could tend to her needs. Leading him to a small leather sofa, the EMT made him sit down and took his pulse. Soon he looked at Bradley with concern. “Are you having chest pains?”
Bradley shook his head, which made the room spin out-of-control. He slumped in his chair.
“Sir, I need you to bend down and place your head between your legs.” Reaching into a black medical bag, the EMT pulled out a paper bag and handed it to Bradley. “Would you please breathe into this? Breathe slowly. Breathe in to fill your lungs. Hold it for just a second, and then breathe out. That’s it. Now repeat.”
Impatiently, Cameron stood near the EMT. “Can I talk to him now?”
Embarrassed, Bradley tossed the bag aside. “Yes. I can talk. I’m fine.”
Cameron led him near the reception desk, away from his assistant. He dabbed his finger in the crimson gore and held it up to Bradley’s nose. “Smell this. It’s not blood. It’s paint. Looks like our perp dumped a half-gallon on the desk, and then got it on the floor. See where he walked across the room. He left footprints, noticed them, and then retraced his tracks, purposely smearing the original footprints. This guy’s no dummy. He probably spends his nights watching old episodes of Forensic Files or C.S.I.”
Bradley moved from embarrassment into full-throttle fury. “He’s one sick sonofabitch that I’d like to find before you do. I’d give him a lesson in my version of payback.”
The same female deputy who’d been at his house the night the bloody rock was thrown came in from outside. Cameron waved her over.
“Gail, did you find anything outside?”
“Yeah, he got in by using something like a tire iron to pry open a window to the warehouse out back.” She glanced at Bradley. “You might want to consider getting a security system, Mr. Lucas. Deadbolts on your doors aren’t enough to keep out intruders.”
“Aw, shit. Before this psycho targeted us, we never needed anything more.”
Cameron threw in his two cents. “Deputy Sawyer is right. You need a business security system with all the bells and whistles, not only to protect the building contents, but also for your employees’ safety. I assume all this was done in the middle of the night when no one was working. But what if an employee had been here when he entered? I don’t think our guy would be big on leaving witnesses.”
Bradley smirked. “Hell, all he did was pour some paint out here. A twelve-year-old could do that. I’m not seeing much violence, just anger.”
“If only you’d been that lucky. You haven’t seen your office suite yet.”
With Bradley and Deputy Sawyer in tow, Cameron led the way down a short hallway into the executive suite. Bradley stood in the entrance, tongue-tied and shaken. His state-of-the-art computer system lay smashed on the jade green and black Oriental rug. The red paint dripping from its sides made it look like it was hemorrhaging from the beating. His hard drive was obliterated. The
ivory suede sofa along the wall opposite his desk had been ripped with a sharp instrument, and then splattered with paint. The desk itself had been hammered so that tiny shards of glass were intermingled with the paint and any business papers that had been on top. The damage was horrible, but nothing compared to what he saw next. Careful not to step in the paint, Bradley made his way to the doorway of a room just off his office, where a series of filing cabinets held important client information, architectural drafts, contracts, and more. The room was destroyed, with filing cabinets upended and the files and papers within soaked with red paint. On the wall, written in red were the words: “Payback is a bitch.”
Bradley leaned heavily against the doorframe. The shock wedged any words he might want to say deep in his throat, as he stared wordlessly at the destruction. Business had slowed down after the murders, but if the information in his files were irretrievable, he may be bankrupt, or very close to it. Why in the hell had he not installed a security system? But even if he had, would an alarm have scared off the maniac who did this damage? Not likely.
He felt Cameron’s hand on his shoulder. “Let’s talk outside, Bradley. The crime scene technicians are here and we’re in their way.”
Outside Bradley and Cameron leaned against the ambulance, as the EMTS worked inside to calm Angie Hunt who was still in full-blown panic mode, even though she’d been told it was red paint, and not blood.
Bradley combed his fingers through his hair, his mind still spinning too much to come up with a concrete plan to recover from the damage. It was shocking the damage one vandal could do to a business. What the hell was he going to do?
“The good news is no one was hurt.”
Bradley shot Cameron a glare. “Thanks, Sergeant, for that less-than-astute observation.”
“The bad news is our guy is escalating.”
“Please translate the cop-speak.”
“The severity of his vandalism is increasing with time. He started with a note left in your mailbox. From there he proceeded to throw a bloody rock through your window, knowing you and Tisha were in the room inside. Next, he set your mailbox on fire, and last night he did his best to destroy your office, again sending the message that he wants payback.”
“So what are you getting at?”
“I think his ultimate goal is to hurt you and Tisha. It’s possible he wants to kill both of you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. He’s a chicken-shit vandal. If he was going to kill us, he could have shot us instead of throwing that bloody rock. And if you say any of this to my wife, I’ll have your badge. She’s paranoid enough.”
“Aren’t you going to tell Tisha what happened here?”
“Hell, no. She’s jumping at shadows now. If she doesn’t calm down, a nervous breakdown may be in her immediate future.”
“Your wife. Your decision.”
Bradley scowled at him, annoyance evident in his eyes. “Have you talked to Carly Stone about any of this? She’s a consulting profiler on the Sheriff’s payroll. How about one of her profiles for this case? Maybe it would speed up the bastard’s apprehension.”
“No, I haven’t spoken to Carly about this. She’s on her honeymoon with my brother. Carly deserves a little peace and quiet after that ordeal with Jim Ryder. I mean, he’s a convicted serial killer who escapes, then pops up outside the community center to abduct her in the trunk of his stolen car. She deserves some rest.”
“I personally don’t give a shit if she’s on her honeymoon, or in line to interview the Pope. You call her and ask for her thoughts on this damn vandal. We need her help to catch this prick.”
Cameron rolled his eyes and gave him a stiff, sarcastic salute. “Yes, sir.”
Bradley rubbed his face with his hands. “Another thing. I have to go out of town for four days next week. I’ll be at a conference in New Orleans networking and following up on some sales leads. After the damage done last night to my files, my business is going to need those sales more than ever. I’ve got to go.”
“Is Tisha going with you?”
“No. She hates flying and hates my conferences.”
“I’ll send word for the deputies on patrol in your area to keep an eye on the house.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Carly
Carly stretched and applied more suntan oil to her long legs, and stole a glance at the amazing specimen of masculinity lying on the lounge chair across the pool from her. A ball cap covering his face, he slept as the rays of the sun warmed his body and tanned his skin bronze. Her new husband, Sheriff Brody Chase, was six-foot-three-inches tall and weighed in at two hundred pounds of hard muscle. His tanned, chiseled body was designed purely for female pleasure—specifically her female pleasure, and she intended to make the most of their one-month honeymoon at her house in sunny Florida. They’d spent the night before making love until the early hours of morning, so she was letting him rest before she tempted him with another round.
Her cell phone sounded, and Carly noted the name on the display. “Sergeant Cameron Chase, I presume.”
“The wonders of Caller ID strike again. Is this Carly Stone, my favorite profiling consultant?”
“Hey, that’s Carly Stone-Chase to you. And I’m only your favorite because you need my input on your vandalism case.”
“I didn’t know you were going to use your married name professionally.”
“I’m proud of your brother and am honored to share his name.”
“How is Brody?”
Carly smiled. “Right now your brother is asleep in a lounge chair across the pool from me. He’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him.”
“I don’t remember Brody ever taking a vacation. He takes his sheriff duties as seriously as you do your profiling.”
“Agreed. That’s why a month-long honeymoon was such a good idea.”
“I feel like a jerk bothering you on your honeymoon, Carly. But I need your help.”
“No problem. I’ve reviewed the letter, crime scene photos, and read your reports, so let’s talk about your case.”
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out my perp is targeting Bradley and Tisha Lucas, the parents of Devan and Evan Lucas.”
“I agree. I read your report and think your theory is correct. Your suspect is a white male who lost a loved one to the Gamers. It was this specific stressor in your offender’s life that fueled and built up his desire to harm the Lucas couple.”
“It’s no secret he’s pissed off and looking for someone to blame,” Cameron added.
“Losing a loved one to violence often causes the victims’ families and friends to be angry, but your suspect is more than angry. He’s vengeful, and believes the only way he can honor the death of his loved one is through exacting revenge on the murderers. Since their sons are unavailable for his wrath, it is logical for him to focus on the Gamers’ parents.”
“Help me narrow down the suspects, Carly.”
Pulling out her notes, she said, “Your unsub is antisocial. He may appear to be outwardly friendly, but at the same time he is the bogeyman who harasses the Lucas couple and means them harm.”
“What are your thoughts on his personality?”
“Your suspect has a vindictive personality with an inability to forgive. He obsesses over a slight or insult. He has anger issues and needs to feel he is in complete control at all times. His type of anger slowly builds and eventually explodes. He’s volatile, so it could take just the threat of disrespect, disloyalty, or mistreatment to set him off.”
“Do you think this is the first time he’s sought revenge?”
Carly shook her head. “No. This is not the first time he’s retaliated over a perceived offense or mistreatment. Your suspect has a history of getting even with employers who have mistreated him, relatives who have offended him, and friends who have been disloyal. His perception of the event is the key here. Keep in mind, he may perceive insults when there were none.”
Cameron was quiet for a m
oment. Carly could hear the click of his keys as he typed notes on his computer. “I assume my perp would think the murder of his family member as a milestone life event.”
“That’s an understatement. He’d perceive the murder of a family member as victimization for which he would go to great lengths to exact revenge. His desire for revenge could quickly turn into an obsession, making it difficult for him to think of anything else.”
“Got anything to add to a physical description?”
“He’s in good enough physical condition to handle the bloody rock and the paint vandalism of the Lucas business office. I doubt he is a stranger to physical altercations, so he’d have to keep himself fit to win fights. Because his crimes were committed on various nights of the week, he may be either unemployed, retired, or employed at a job where he can make his own hours.”
“Interesting.”
“Did you enter the information about the crimes in the ViCAP database?”
“Yes, and got nothing. I don’t think our guy has done anything like this before. I think the murder of his loved one pushed him over the edge. He can’t get past his rage and need for retribution.”
“I’m not sure I agree with that theory. I think it’s likely your guy has a criminal record for assault, vandalism, and/or stalking. Your suspect is not afraid to get confrontational and physical. After reading your notes, I think his behavior is escalating, and your fears he may harm Bradley and Tisha are realistic. He will not stop until he perceives they have paid enough. Ultimately, that could be with their lives. The unsub believes that only retaliation will bring him peace.”
“The rock-throwing incident was well-planned.”
“I agree. He’s an organized offender who carefully plans his attacks. Bringing blood to the scene to coat the rock is a good example of his planning, as is using gloves to ensure his fingerprints were not left behind to identify him. Your offender is methodical, spends time watching his victims, and displays control over the scene. If he escalates to using weapons, you will find that he brings the weapons to the scene, and they leave the scene with him.”
