Before It's Too Late

by Sara Driscoll

  “What were his methods this time?” Rutherford asked. “I assume he held to his previous method of changing the kill method each time, based on the victim.”

  “Your assumption is correct.” Meg opted to follow Rutherford’s previous lead, naming the victims by their first name to humanize them. “For Cara, it was drowning, based on the fact our great-grandfather drowned during the sinking of the USS San Diego during World War One. She was taken out to the remains of the American World War One Ghost Fleet in Mallows Bay, near Nanjemoy, Maryland, just upriver from the Aquia Creek Landing, a major Union Army port along the Underground Railroad in 1862. She was tied to the remains of a warship and left to drown as the tide came in. The second victim, Julie Moore, a pulmonary care nurse who cared for lung cancer patients, was actually taken earlier in the day and hidden in the Pry House Field Hospital Museum on the outskirts of the Antietam Battlefield outside Sharpsburg, Maryland. The museum is only open from Thursday to Sunday, so it was unoccupied at the time. Julie was stabbed—a single, very precise wound, exactly placed so she wouldn’t bleed out. Instead, the injury induced a collapsed lung on that side—called a pneumothorax—which would lead to a very slow suffocation death, the kind of death that takes hours. Lieutenant Webb’s knowledge and skills as a paramedic enabled him to save her, chiefly because Mr. McCord predicted her method of death in advance. That allowed Lieutenant Webb to have on hand the supplies needed for the required invasive procedure.

  “There was a significant change in the suspect’s modus operandi this time. There were no dogs involved, no public note left in my name. Instead, he had a direct conduit to me through my sister’s cell phone, and it allowed him to deal directly with me for the first time.”

  “Mr. McCord’s article in the Post warning women about the attacker likely precipitated that change,” Rutherford stated.

  “In your opinion, sir, is the suspect escalating or devolving at this time?”

  “I don’t know enough yet, but from what you’ve told us so far, he’s simply compensating. You’ve blocked his proven method of luring his victim, so he’s taking a different tack.”

  “This time, he didn’t lure them at all. Both times, the victim was attacked from behind and overcome with inhalation anesthetics. He picked remote or low-traffic predictable areas to do so. For Julie, it was the dark parking lot at her gym at five-thirty in the morning. For Cara, it was in the deserted area where she parked her car behind her obedience school before a regular private lesson. Due to the nature of the attacks, neither victim saw the suspect. When both of them regained consciousness, they were already at the kill site and the suspect was gone.”

  “How did he manage to take two victims?” Brian asked. “How did he manage to put them both in life-threatening situations, where you still had time to rescue them? And why would he go to that trouble?”

  “He took the victims sequentially. Julie was taken first and then moved to Sharpsburg. She was stabbed and left to die. He then got back to Arlington in time to take Cara out to Mallows Bay. As far as why go to the trouble, as best we can tell, it’s all part of the game to him, and the game is sacred. It’s almost like he considers it unsporting if I don’t have a chance to make the save.”

  “It’s all part of his intention to torture you,” Rutherford said. “But it must be frustrating the hell out of him, because he’s being trapped in his own rules.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not supposed to keep winning. Sure, he could just find women who looked like you, kill them, and hide the bodies for you to find, but where’s the adrenaline rush in that? The excitement is part of the game for him. The thrill of the kidnap, of pitting his wits against yours.” Rutherford turned to take in the team at the back of the room. “Or you and your team, as the case may be. This tells me the victims are incidental. Their deaths are incidental. The thrill for him is the game. He actually doesn’t care if they live or die, so long as you think they might die. His thrill comes from making you suffer through the game. The victims are merely pawns.”

  Cara made a sound from the back of the room that was almost a growl, and Meg looked up to see her poised to spring out of her chair. McCord had one hand clamped over both of hers to keep her seated.

  “Ms. Jennings, my apologies,” Rutherford said smoothly. “We don’t ever have this discussion with a victim in the room. Please understand our clinical analysis of the crime is what helps us catch the perpetrator.”

  Peters’s fist thumped on the table to draw Meg’s attention. “Jennings, why is she here?”

  “Because I asked her to be here, sir, as an integral part of the team. Yes, Cara’s a victim. She’s also a survivor. But more important, as you now know, she’s been a crucial part of this case practically from the beginning. And I need her to play an important role in what I hope will be the close of the case.”

  “And that is . . .” Peters’s tone said he was reaching the limit of his patience.

  “Sir, with Cara’s help, we think we may have a lead on the suspect, but we don’t have nearly enough evidence to actually get a warrant from a judge to pursue him. I was able to examine the sketch that came out of Karen Teller’s abduction. And while it’s not an exact match, I believe the suspect may be Derek Garber. He fits much of Agent Rutherford’s profile. He’s thirty-one and white, and has recently moved back into the area from Jackson, Mississippi. He’s had some significant challenges in life, one of which was at my hands, although I didn’t make the connection at the time. He completed high school with some difficulty, but was convinced his path lay in medical school. Needless to say, he was not accepted by any of the leading colleges, but managed to get into the premed program at Our Lady of the Lake College in Baton Rouge.”

  “He washed out, didn’t he?” Rutherford asked.

  “He did. He got through the first year, but was not invited back for a second. But, apparently, that was enough time to learn some specific anatomy lessons. He took that knowledge of human anatomy and then tried to apply it to animals, but the best he could manage was a diploma from Penn Foster’s online courses as a vet tech. It would seem that didn’t work out either, since he currently works at a county animal shelter in Rocky Mount, Virginia, which would give him access to the van used in the abductions. Shelters like that don’t provide substantial veterinary care. They simply try to find homes for the animals they have and they’re already overcrowded. Badly behaved or sick animals are often euthanized. That would be the technician’s job.”

  “That explains the access to anesthetics,” Craig said. “But aren’t those things controlled substances? Don’t they have to be tracked with each use?”

  “They do, but someone who wants can play fast and loose with those drugs. Let me be clear, this is pure speculation, but we’re working with someone who is essentially a serial killer, even if he’s really only had one kill we know of. Is that correct, Agent Rutherford?”

  “It is. And I see where you’re going with this. The three big warning signs of serial killers are persistent bed-wetting, fire starting, and animal abuse. If Garber in his capacity at the shelter simply killed the animals some other way, likely with his own hands, he’d have the satisfaction of the animal’s horrific death and he’d be able to pocket the drugs and no one would ever know. Are the two drugs we’re looking at drugs that are specifically used in shelters like this?”

  “They are. Overdoses of ketamine are used to euthanize animals, but usually this work is done by only a single tech and it needs to be a direct vein injection. They use an inhaled anesthetic like isoflurane to quiet the animal enough to do the injection. So he’d have access to both.”

  “He likely wouldn’t use the inhaled anesthetic if his end goal was to torture an animal to death. The thrill for him would be the animal terrified and in pain.”

  “Bastard,” Brian muttered under his breath, but still loud enough to carry.

  “But at some point, that wasn’t enough for him,” Rutherford sa
id. “So what caused him to focus on you? The Mannew case?”

  “That’s our best guess.”

  “So, then, why you?”

  “This is where we launch into pure theory. Cara and I grew up next door to the Garber family during our elementary- and middle-school years. The younger son, Marty, was a close friend of mine. The older son, Derek . . . was not. He was not a popular child and was seen by most kids as being somewhat odd and a loner. But we never saw him as anything but harmless back then. If he was into anything darker, we missed it as children. And we lost touch after they moved away when Derek was thirteen. Until last night, when I reached out to Marty, just two old friends connecting and swapping updates on the family. That’s where the information on Derek came from.”

  “This isn’t playing for me,” Peters said. “Where is his motivation?”

  “I had an hour-long chat with Marty, sorry, Martin now, last night. He’s worried about Derek. Nothing has gone the way he wanted, and I got the impression from Martin that he’s worried Derek could just go off on someone. When he flunked out of med school, but before he became a vet tech, he then turned to a new passion—search-and-rescue. He’d set his sights on law enforcement and thought search-and-rescue could be his way in, because he didn’t have the chops to actually attend the police academy. Apparently, he had a real hero complex. Wanted to be the guy to ride in wearing the white hat. He wanted to be considered important and thought he could make his name that way. And that’s where I come in. Deuce and I did some volunteer work with the Virginia Search and Rescue Dog Association, the oldest volunteer SAR group in Virginia, and still one of the biggest. I went back and looked through my notes. Garber was in my class, but when it came time to test for skills to join the team, I rejected him. His skills weren’t up to par and he was always staying in control, rather than letting his dog, Boomer, do the job he was trained to do. More than that, I suspected he abused Boomer, simply from the way the animal reacted to him. I blackballed him because he wasn’t SAR caliber.”

  “You dashed his hopes,” Rutherford said. “He had to settle for a job where his major role was to kill innocent, unwanted animals. He had a dream and you killed it, trapping him in his miserable existence. And then you got all the glory denied to him when you caught Mannew. So now it’s time for you to pay for everything that’s gone wrong in his life.”

  “That’s what I think. Now, I hadn’t seen him for more than ten years before he took those classes, and he changed from a boy into a man. I likely never saw his first name, just his last name and the name of his dog, so I never connected it with the boy I once knew. Honestly, he was so far beneath my radar when I was a kid, I’m not surprised I never made the connection.”

  “So you think this is our guy,” Peters said, “but you have absolutely no evidence it’s him.”

  “Correct, sir. And a suspicion won’t convince any judge to invade someone’s privacy because maybe, just maybe, it’s him. But we think, based on what happened yesterday, that I’m his next target. And if that’s true, then we want to take control of the situation.”

  “How?”

  “We have a theory that yesterday was a major move on his part to put me at a disadvantage. He knows that to get me, I need to be off my guard and vulnerable. And what better way than for me to lose two women on my watch, especially if one of them is my sister? What if both Cara and Julie had died? My career with the FBI would be on the line.” Meg braced both hands on the table and leaned in. “So let’s let him think that’s exactly what happened. That Julie died from her injury. That Cara was rescued, but died last night from a pulmonary edema brought on by secondary drowning. Lieutenant Webb assures me that while this is rare, it is possible. So now I’ve lost both victims, and my job is on the line because I risked their lives going vigilante. My job is at risk, and you’re threatening to take away my dog. So what’s my knee-jerk reaction? I quit and go home to my parents’ isolated rescue in Cold Spring Hollow, Virginia, where I’m a wide-open target.”

  “You want to make yourself a target?” Craig’s tone was thick with disbelief.

  “I want to set up a sting with the help of the FBI,” Meg responded. “If the theory is right that his planning is done, and he’s exhausted his preselected victims, then I’m next. I can spend the next week or two looking over my shoulder at every opportunity and risk being caught unawares. Or I can be proactive and draw him out into a space where no one else will get hurt, and where we can bring in agents for the operation who will blend in.”

  “How?” asked Peters.

  “You can’t run a large rescue with just two people. My parents have volunteers who help out daily. I propose replacing some of those volunteers with undercover agents in the short term. There are only so many roads in, so when he comes for me, we’ll know it. Then we simply wait.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Peters sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You want to set yourself up as a target out in the country, with only a handful of agents to protect you.”

  “I can protect myself,” Meg snapped back. She forced herself to stop, and gathered herself calmly. “I’m an ex-cop. Of any of the Human Scent Evidence Team members here, I’m the most capable of protecting myself from attack. That being said, additional agents for extra assistance would be appreciated. If we control the setting, we can take him. Then we have him on attacking a federal officer and we can get whatever search warrant we need. We can also let Karen see him and testify if that’s really him or not. But we have to let him make the first move.”

  Peters was silent for a minute, staring at her over the closed fist he pressed against his lips. Then he leaned forward. “I like it, but we need to make sure you’re safe and so is everyone else involved. So now the only problem is how to let him know where to find you.”

  “That’s where I come in, sir.” McCord pushed out of his chair to stand. “I’ve already cleared it with my editor. I’m going to write the story of yesterday’s rescue and how it went so badly wrong in our fictional world. Add to that the fallout of Meg resigning, rather than facing consequences, and retreating to her family’s rescue, which will be named in full and a location identified. That will run on the front page tomorrow. We can be ready for him tomorrow, but I bet he won’t move until Thursday. If there’s one thing this guy has shown us, it’s he’s prepared. He’ll take his time, get ready, and then he’ll go after her.”

  “And we’ll be ready.” Peters pushed back from the table to stand. “Jennings, put it together. Beaumont, you have clearance to get her whoever and whatever she needs. But keep it clean—I don’t want any technicalities getting in the way of this arrest. Let’s finish this, once and for all.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Feigned Retreat: A feigned retreat is a planned withdrawal designed to lure an enemy force into leaving a superior defensive position in order to attack. If executed successfully, the retreating force leads the enemy into an ambush.

  Thursday, June 1, 7:14 AM

  Cold Spring Haven Animal Rescue

  Cold Spring Hollow, Virginia

  “You’re sure you’re ready?”

  Meg looked up at Webb from where she sat on the bed, lacing up her hiking boots, Hawk at her side, watching her with interest. She stood and adjusted the unbuttoned shirt she wore over the plain white T-shirt that hid her bulletproof vest, making sure the outer shirt lay smoothly over the shoulder holster tucked under her left arm. “Yeah, I’m ready.” She looked up into his eyes, seeing concern and worry there. “He’s not going to win this.”

  “It’s not that I don’t have faith in you.” Webb ran one hand through his short dark hair, making it stand up on end. He, too, was wearing jeans and heavy boots, with an old shirt, perfect for working in the barn and fields. “I don’t have any faith in him. He’s unpredictable, and, as Cara said, has no boundaries. No one is going to be that close to you if things go south. He’s going to have a weapon with him.”

  “I’ll be read
y. And no one can be closer than we’ve already got them positioned. If he sees anyone, it’s game over. He’ll pull back in a heartbeat. The whole point of this op is that he thinks I’m alone and vulnerable. If I’ve got a half-dozen agents peeping around the nearest tree, he’s going to rabbit.”

  “I understand what you’re doing. It doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with it. You’re purposely inviting him to attack you from behind.”

  “Just like he did with Julie and Cara. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

  “And if he uses an inhaled anesthetic like he did on them?”

  “Then I’ve got five seconds to step on his instep and plant my elbow in his solar plexus. He’s never tried to take down someone trained in self-defense. He may be a bit surprised by the experience. Then there’s the barbed wire.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s what the fences are made of. But if he comes up behind me, I can flip him over my shoulder and right into it. Let me assure you that will slow him down. Yes, it’s a hazard to me, but I can also use it as a weapon on site.”

  “And if he goes Indiana Jones on you and simply pulls out a gun?”

  “That’s what the bulletproof vest is for. Truthfully, I’d rather not have it because it will slow me down, but even I can see I need to take that precaution. Don’t worry, we’ve got all the bases covered. Yes, I’m putting myself at risk, but he’s going to try to asphyxiate me, not shoot or knife me. He’s going to put a bag over my head, or a garrote around my throat. That also gives the agents time to move in. Suffocation isn’t instantaneous. But I hope to never get to that point.”

  “Is the gun the only weapon you’re carrying?”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.” She pulled up one pant leg to reveal the grip of a tactical knife protruding from her boot for easy retrieval. “And I’ve got my SAR knife here.” She turned back her left cuff. The strap of a sheath encircled her forearm, the handle within easy reach. Meg pulled it quickly from the sheath. “Don’t leave home without it.” She laughed at Webb’s raised eyebrows. “Normally, it stays folded in my SAR bag, but it’s a damned good knife and will be perfectly appropriate for protection.”