by Anne Patrick
"And you hadn't talked to Billy until today?"
"No. Not quite the reunion I'd hoped for."
They crossed the motel parking lot and Jo dug in her pocket for her room key.
"Do you realize you spoke of those children as if you knew them personally?"
"I did in a sense. The same way I know all the victims I come in contact with." She unlocked her door. "It's hard to explain. Let's just say I have an unusual gift or talent that enables me to see more than most profilers."
"If you think I'm letting you off that easy, you're crazy."
She met his grin. "I doubt you'd believe me, much less understand it."
"Try me," he challenged.
She pushed the door open and waved him in. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."
Jo flipped on the lights and waited for him to take a seat at the table next to the bay window. She kicked her shoes off and joined him, propping her feet up on the nearby bed.
"A profiler's methods are basically the same as any crime scene investigator. Gather the facts, the victimologies, crime photos, and then study them, recreating in our mind what took place between the victim and the killer. The only difference is a profiler goes a step further. Learning as much as we can about the victim's background, their personality and the life they led prior to death, gives us a perspective as to the type of person that they were and enables us to recreate more accurately what took place in the final moments of their life. That, in the end, helps us to give a more detailed profile of the person responsible for their death."
"By knowing the personality and vulnerabilities of the victims, along with what the crime scene offers you, you are able to establish the motive behind the crime, why it was done and how he was fulfilled emotionally," Austin injected, his eyes leveling on her.
Jo nodded, convinced he'd seen his share of murder crimes. "If the victim was a passive person, and there are signs of torture, it tells us the perpetrator is getting off on hurting his victims. The murder itself wasn't enough, punishing them is more important."
"You said you're able to see more than the average profiler. How so?"
Jo hesitated. From the start, she'd known Austin was a proud man and dedicated law enforcement officer. Somehow she had to gain his trust. Maybe this would be a huge step in that direction. "You realize you're asking me to risk what little credibility I may have left with you as to my character?"
He smiled. "Come on, Jo. According to Agent Washington, you're seldom wrong. I'd really like to know how you manage a record like that."
"Isaac likes to exaggerate sometimes. There are several cases that I've worked on that have gone unsolved."
"Even so, what is this special gift you spoke of?"
She gave a heavy sigh, hoping she wasn't making a mistake in confiding in him, that her intuition wasn't wrong about him. "I sometimes have visions, for lack of a better description, of how a victim was killed."
"You're yanking my chain, right?"
She hesitated, hoping the information wouldn't be used against her later on in ridicule. "I'm serious. I have the ability of being able to sense the victim's emotions at the time of their death. In other words, I sense their anger and fear."
"Sounds more like a curse than a gift."
"It can be. Over the years, though, I've learned to utilize the investigative skills that I've been taught, rather than exhausting my ability and personal emotions."
He looked at her skeptically. "So you're telling me you can see exactly what took place between the victim and killer."
"Not everything, and it comes in fuzzy images. There's never really a clear picture of what's taking place, but the emotions I feel are the same of that of the victim."
"How long have you had this ability?"
"I became aware of it in my early twenties while working with the medical examiner's office. Every now and then when a body came in, I'd get these images. If they were in a violent car accident, shot or stabbed to death, I would always sense what they'd gone through the moments before they died."
"You must have thought you were going crazy."
Jo nodded. "I was afraid to tell anyone for fear they'd want to lock me up."
"So how did you find out what was going on?"
"It was during a case involving little boys, the victims of a serial killer. I kept getting these images of the boys, what they'd gone through, what was done to them. It was horrible. So much to the point I considered going to a shrink. I really thought I was losing it. Then I met Isaac, he was the profiler they brought in on the case. He told me he'd heard of people like me before, and that I shouldn't be afraid of what was happening. He said my gift could help him catch the killer, and eventually, it did."
"How many people around here know of your gift?"
"No one. Actually, you're the first person outside the FBI I've ever told."
"You're kidding, not even your family knows?"
She shook her head. "They already think I'm from another planet. And they're not the only ones. People are afraid of what they don't understand."
"If your family doesn't know about your gift, why did your father get so upset with your decision to join the FBI? Being in law enforcement, you'd think he'd be happy for you."
"It wasn't so much my joining the FBI that he disapproved of, but my choice of working in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He was old school, didn't put much stock in what we do."
"His not talking to you all those years, didn't that bother you? I mean he was your father."
"It used to bother me a great deal, but I see misery almost on a daily basis, I don't need it in my personal life. Stuff happens. You deal with it the best way you can. For me, my work was my salvation."
"This special ability of yours, would it be possible for you to pick up anything from the other victims?"
"I might be able to. I'd need access to the bodies and the dump sites."
"They're in cold storage at the morgue in Portland. We could go by there tomorrow on our way back from Salt Lake City. I doubt we'll have time to see the dump sites too, but I can take you to them the following day."
She nodded in agreement.
"I know what I'm asking, Jo…how hard this must be for you. I wouldn't ask if there was any other way. I've got four dead women on my hands, though, and a town that's living in fear. I need as much help as I can get."
"I'll give it a try." She'd suspected all along that she'd have to use her special gift on this case. Agent Washington had suspected it as well, that's why he'd been so adamant on her accepting the assignment. He'd seen from the case file, knew how thorough the killer was, and how difficult it would be to catch him without knowing the cause of death or the identities of his victims.
Jo was surprised at how well Austin accepted her news. Seldom had she met anyone that hadn't questioned her gift. Even some of her colleagues in the FBI made fun of her supernatural ability, which was why she didn't tell very many people about it.
"Thank you for doing this, Jo."
She smiled, suspecting that his plea had come with a cost to his ego.
He stood. "Since we have an early flight tomorrow I better get out of here and let you get some sleep."
Jo walked him to the door. "I haven't thanked you for dinner," she realized aloud.
"It was my pleasure. I enjoyed your company. You're an interesting woman."
She grinned, hoping he meant that in a good way. "Shall I meet you at your office?"
"I can pick you up here."
"Great. I'll see you in the morning then," she said, opening the door.
He stepped outside, then paused and turned back to her. "Thanks for your help today. I'm glad you decided to come. I know it must have been a difficult decision for you to make."
He didn't have to say it, she knew he referred to the strained relationship she had with her family. "We're going to catch this guy, Austin. We just have to be patient. As hard as that will be, it is the key to beating him at his own game."
"Just keep reminding me of that."
"I will," she promised.
CHAPTER SIX
Jo rose at four-thirty the following morning, ran her six miles, showered and dressed, and was ready to go when Austin pulled into the parking lot at six-thirty. During their flight, she reminisced with him about her years with the medical examiner's office and the FBI, and how she sometimes envied people whose lives weren't quite so chaotic.
"You don't strike me as the type of person who'd be content with a nine-to-five job."
"No, probably not. I enjoy the traveling and meeting new people."
"Have you ever thought of a family of your own?"
She laughed. "I wouldn't wish my lifestyle on anyone. I'm seldom home; I practically live out of a suitcase. Every plant I own is either dead or dying because I forget to water them and I can't even remember the last time I sat down to a home-cooked meal without it being interrupted by a phone call or fax."
"The glamorous life of an FBI agent," he teased.
"Yeah, and I wouldn't trade it for anything."
"Not even for the love of a good man?"
"Are you kidding? Practically every man I've ever dated ran to the nearest exit once they learned what I did for a living."
"Including Brad Cartwright?"
"No, Brad was different. He's probably the only person I've ever met who was more curious than I am. But our goals changed, and when I got the opportunity to join the FBI…well he wasn't real thrilled with the prospect of leaving Claremont, or his mother."
It seemed strange discussing her personal life with a man she barely knew, yet at the same time it was like talking to an old friend.
"I'd always suspected Brad was a mama's boy."
"Not anymore. She died several months ago."
"Come to think of it, I remember him mentioning her death awhile back. She owned some land here in the county and he was inquiring about the property values. Wasn't she a real estate agent in Portland?"
"Yeah, or at least she used to be when we were dating."
"You haven't kept in contact with him?"
"No. I wouldn't have even known about his mother if I hadn't run into an old classmate in Chicago a couple of months ago."
"Well maybe you can rekindle your romance now that she's no longer part of the picture."
"That's all water under the bridge. I doubt we'd even have anything in common now, and besides, we're too dedicated to our careers."
"He doesn't seem your type anyway."
"Oh yeah?" She shifted in her seat to face him, careful of the small cooler sitting between them containing Jane Doe number two's bone marrow specimen. "What type of man do you see me with?"
He tossed her a sheepish grin. "I haven't figured that out yet, but I can't picture the two of you growing old together."
"Why is it we're always discussing my personal life and not yours?"
"Probably because I don't have one, at least not one as interesting as yours. You grew up here. You know how boring it can be."
"I remember," she said. "In all honestly, though, I do miss it sometimes."
"I think it's a great place to raise kids, at least it was till a couple of weeks ago."
"Is that why you moved here, a better environment in which to raise your daughter?"
"Pretty much. After seventeen years in L.A., I was ready for a change as well."
"Were you with the department when my dad had his heart attack?"
"No. I'd just moved here. Slim had taken over as undersheriff and I was considering applying for a job when I read in the paper about the upcoming election. Being an outsider I didn't figure I had a chance at winning, but as it turned out no one else wanted the position."
"I'm surprised your Deputy Pendergrass didn't run against you," she said, recalling the run-in she'd had with him upon her arrival. "He seems pretty sure of himself."
"He probably would have if he'd been living here at the time. He's only worked for me about four months, though. He just moved back here from Seattle, where he was an EMT for the last eight years."
"Is he related to Anne Pendergrass, the attorney?"
"His aunt. She's semi-retired now, after being the mayor for six years. How do you know Anne?"
"Claremont's a small town," then with a smile she added, "and she once had to represent me."
His eyes widened. "Oh really."
Luckily the pilot came on over the intercom system announcing their approach into Salt Lake City and she didn't have to reveal the story from her rebellious youth. She doubted he'd find humor in a handful of teenagers taking a patrol car for a joy ride, or that she'd managed to outrun a deputy only to be stopped by the highway patrol before they got out of the county.
The musky scent of Austin's cologne tickled Jo's senses as she peered over his shoulder and looked out the window at the snow-capped mountains.
He turned, bringing his face within inches of her own. "I've never been to Salt Lake City, have you?"
Her eyes were immediately drawn to the fullness of his lips and for the first time, she noticed a narrow scar that went from his upper lip to his left nostril. It was an old scar, and she wondered if he'd gotten it during his childhood, or later, during the line of duty.
"I got it trying to break up a bar fight."
She raised her gaze to meet his. "Excuse me?"
"You were staring at my scar."
"Was I? Sorry." Jo immediately drew away from him, suddenly very uncomfortable with the close quarters.
He chuckled. "That's okay, I didn't mind. So have you ever been here before?"
She straightened the collar of her white blouse and turned into his gaze. "I worked a case here a few years ago. It's a beautiful city."
*****
They stopped at the first rental place they saw. Austin flashed his badge, requested the best car they had and was quickly handed the keys to a practically new Buick LeSabre.
"I'll have to try that," Jo said, as he unlocked her door and held it open for her.
"Yeah, you should. With your credentials, you're liable to be handed the keys to a Porsche."
He maneuvered through the busy streets of Salt Lake City with ease and arrived at the police precinct half an hour later. After parking the car, they signed in at the main desk as visitors and got directions.
"Jo McDaniels." Austin heard someone call out as they made their way through the maze of desks.
"Detective Thomas. How are you?" she greeted with an outstretched hand.
He ignored her gesture and gave her a brief hug instead, his actions causing Jo's expression to darken. "I'm great, only it's Sergeant now."
"You two know each other?" Austin asked.
"We worked together three years ago on a series of arsons," Jo answered.
The detective offered his hand to Austin. "Nick Thomas. Nice to meet you."
He absently shook the detective's hand. "Sheriff Austin Garrett, from Caldwell County, Oregon." He couldn't help but notice that Jo had stepped back several inches as if attempting to keep her distance from the detective.
"You're the one with the Jane Doe matching our missing person?"
Austin merely nodded, his attention focused on Jo and the icy glare she was sending the sergeant.
"We were told the parents would be meeting us here." Her voice sounded just as chilly.
Austin shifted his attention to the man. He was an inch or so taller than Austin, his dark mustache and neatly trimmed beard adding an air of sophistication to his thirty some odd years.
"Detective Robinson has them in one of the interview rooms in back. Come on, I'll introduce you."
They were about to follow when Austin's cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and seeing it was the office, excused himself to take it.
*****
Jo watched as Austin distanced himself from them. She prayed the call wasn't about another body being found.
"So how have you been, Jo? You look great."
"L
et's cut the chitchat shall we. Three years may have softened your memory, but I haven't forgotten."
"You still think we could have prevented what happened."
"If you had trusted my profile instead of the word of a junkie, that family wouldn't have burned up in that fire."
"Yeah, well at least Grimes is behind bars now."
"If the man hadn't showed up at the emergency room with third-degree burns to his hands, there's no telling how many others he would have killed."
"Okay, you ready?"
Jo turned to find Austin standing beside her now, prompting her to put her anger on hold. It hadn't been the first time her hard work had gone to waste and she doubted it'd be the last. She knew the world was full of men like Nick Thomas, whose thirst for promotions outweighed common sense. But why was it she got more than her share of them?
She followed the two men down the corridor and forced a smile as Sergeant Thomas held open the door of the interview room for them.
"Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, this is Sheriff Garrett and Special Agent McDaniels," Detective Thomas introduced them, as Jo and Austin took turns shaking their hands.
"Detective Robinson said you found a body fitting our daughter's description?" Mr. Harrison asked, taking his wife's hand.
The man appeared to be in his late fifties with thinning salt and pepper hair. His haggard facial features expressed many sleepless nights, as did his wife's, whose eyes were leveled on Jo.
"That's correct, Sir, but we won't be able to confirm her identity until we run a DNA test. We're going to need a sample of you and your wife's blood for comparison," Austin said.
Mr. Harrison glanced at his wife, then back to Austin, his eyes narrowing. "We brought her dental records. Wouldn't they be easier to identify the body?"
Jo swallowed hard as she looked over at Austin, glad she wasn't the one to have to give them the news.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Sir…you see the body…well…the body that was found, I'm sorry to say, was decapitated."
"Oh no." Mrs. Harrison lowered her head into her hands. Her husband immediately slipped his arms around her.
