Fifteen Times a Killer

by Alan McDermott

  Desperate to change the subject, Jess asked him about his business success. “You started out by making the EcoSafe car seat. Was Kerry an inspiration for that?”

  “No.” Swanson said. “She was already too old for a car seat by the time I had that idea.”

  “I see. And you sold that company in…” she checked her notes.

  “Twenty-oh-nine,” he told her. “There was a lawsuit, which we won, but I didn’t want to be involved in that industry anymore.”

  “Tell me about that,” Jess prompted.

  Swanson sighed. “Some of the children using our seats had died in collisions. Three, I believe. Their parents claimed it was because the product hadn’t been properly tested, but we showed proof that it had been. At the time, there was no requirement to test for side impacts, just head-on collisions, so that’s what we did. We got a five-star rating for safety. However, it was side impacts that killed their little ones. We could have tested for those, but the cost was astronomical, something like five grand for each hit. Looking back, it would have been worth paying the extra fifty grand, but at the time I just wanted to get the product to market. Technically, I hadn’t broken any laws, but it still hurts to this day.”

  Jess wondered how anyone could carry around so much emotional baggage without caving. To have those deaths on his conscience and then lose his own daughter…

  Jess moved on to his current set-up, manufacturing outdoor furniture. He gave her an overview of his product line and the rapid expansion that made it one of the biggest chains in the country, but he did so without enthusiasm. His mind appeared to be elsewhere, and Jess couldn’t blame him.

  She asked him a few other banal questions about his hopes and dreams for the future, then thanked him for his time.

  “No need to thank me,” he said. “If just one parent is reunited with a child because of this story, you don’t know how happy that would make me.”

  Guilt threatened to engulf Jess. The urge to tell him the truth was almost too much to resist, but she managed to keep herself in check. She shook his hand and walked to her car, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and not turning and blurting out the real reason for her visit.

  Her next stop was Oakmont Park and the home of Kerry’s college friend, Cassandra Lawson. That turned out to be a complete bust. All Jess learned was that Kerry Swanson liked to party a lot more than she liked to study. That was the reason they’d chosen Vegas over a local university. Her relationship with her father was give and take—he gave, Kerry took—and that no matter what the girl did, Anthony Swanson was always there for her. As for what Kerry might have done to upset anyone, Cassandra couldn’t think of any particular instance. Kerry was a fun-loving girl and everyone liked her. No spurned lovers, no crazed stalkers, just a typical college girl enjoying life.

  Cassandra also told Jess that Kerry’s other Facebook friend, Alexandra Powell, had moved to Texas a year earlier, but hadn’t updated her Facebook status. There was little chance she’d be able to give any further insights into Kerry’s personality, so Jess decided against going to see her.

  The plane touched down at LAX. Jess took a bus to Downey and walked the last few blocks to her house, her carry-on bag trundling along behind her.

  Jess always felt tired after a red-eye flight, and she’d only managed a few hours of sleep on an airport bench the night before. By the time she opened the door to her apartment, she’d been awake for just ten hours, but it felt like thirty. She dumped her case by the breakfast bar, retrieved her laptop and opened it up, then made herself a strong coffee. The walk from the bus stop hadn’t woken her, but she hoped the caffeine hit would.

  She opened up the document she’d been working on and read through what she had so far. She made a few minor changes, but overall, she was happy with what she had. Jess had decided to paint Anthony Swanson in a favorable light. She could have mentioned his lawsuit, but after all he’d been through—and what he was about to discover—she decided to let it go.

  She was tidying up the last paragraph when an email landed in her inbox. The subject said, “Not happy,” and Jess immediately knew it was from her boss. She hadn’t told him about the trip to Scranton until she’d arrived in Pennsylvania, and she was about to learn her fate.

  She clicked it, and her forehead creased as she looked at the sender. It wasn’t from the Telegraph, nor did it look like Kieron Lehane’s personal email account. It soon became clear who it had come from.

  Oh, Jess, what am I going to do with you? I hand you the story of the century on a plate, and what do you do? Nothing!

  What’s preventing you from writing my story, eh? Did I pick the wrong journalist? Maybe I should give it to someone hungrier for success, what do you think?

  If I don’t hear back from you in the next five minutes, I’ll find someone else.

  15X

  Jess flew into a panic. Two minutes had already passed since the email arrived in her inbox, leaving her just three to formulate a response. She clicked Reply and started typing, but her fingers refused to behave. The first sentence she typed was full of errors, so she scrubbed it and started again, concentrating hard, one eye on the clock in the bottom corner of her screen. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get it all down in time, so she highlighted everything she’d written and wrote over it with one sentence:

  I need more time. Give me five more minutes.

  She hit send, then clicked Reply once more. This time, calmer, she composed a proper answer.

  I have the story ready to go, but Corrina Stone of the FBI has warned me not to go to press. She said I can print it, just not yet.

  Jess.

  When she hit Send, Jess wondered whether the killer was really waiting for a reply. There must be a way for the FBI to trace emails, if the crime and thriller novels she read were accurate in any way. Fifteen-X would have considered that, she was sure, but it was a tense wait for his reply. She was about to give up and get a fresh coffee when her laptop pinged once more.

  I’ll speak to her. Just get ready to print it, and no changing the text I sent you. It has to go out word for word.

  15X

  Jess was relieved to still be in the game, but she wasn’t sure agent Stone was going to allow her to copy and paste the chapters into her story. Hell, she didn’t think her own boss would allow it. The details were too gruesome and would devastate those the victims had left behind.

  Still, she had to try. Jess tapped out Corrina’s number.

  “He just emailed me again,” she said when the agent answered.

  “Send me the chapter,” the agent instructed her.

  Jess explained that there wasn’t one, just a demand for his story to go public. She heard a terse shit in reply.

  “What do you want me to do?” Jess asked. “If I don’t print it, he’ll pass it to someone else who will, someone who won’t come and ask your permission first.”

  A silence followed, which eventually Corrina broke. “Leave it with me. I’ll talk to you later today. In the meantime, forward those emails to me.”

  “Okay, but in return I need copies of the first chapters. You took the ones he sent me.”

  The agent promised that she would, and the call ended. Jess sent the emails to Corrina’s FBI address, then made herself something to eat. She had a marathon session ahead of her, ensuring the story was as good as she could make it. If it wasn’t perfect, if it didn’t grab Lehane by the balls the moment he picked it up, he would surely give it to one of the others.

  Jess Duffey wasn’t about to let that happen.

  Chapter 15

  Corrina hated having to go to Dean Travis for guidance, but this was above her pay grade. She felt she had no choice but to accept the killer’s ultimatum, but the final authority sat with the ADIC. If she left him out of the loop and made the call, her career would be over before it had really begun.

  “The shit’s about to hit the fan,” she said when Travis beckoned her into his office.


  “How so?”

  She handed him the emails she’d printed out. “Fifteen-X had a conversation with Jess Duffey, the reporter I told you about. Seems he’s not happy with her holding back on the story.”

  The name had been given to the killer by Hank. At 1,500, California had the highest number of serial killings, and each murderer had been assigned a pseudonym by the bureau. Some of these nicknames reached the newspapers, which was why police now veered away from using disparaging terms.

  Travis read the printouts, his expression never changing. “I don’t like it,” he said.

  “Me neither, but what can we do? Tell him to go spit? He’ll just find another reporter who’ll give him his fifteen minutes of fame. As it stands, we’ve got Duffey on a leash and she’s playing along for now. I say we wait until he contacts me about it and play it from there.”

  “That’s all well and good, but we have to have a plan in place for when that happens. What if you push his buttons and he doesn’t like it, goes out and whacks someone for the hell of it?”

  “He’s too organized for that,” Corrina said. “But I agree that we should have a strategy.”

  Travis walked to the window. He thrust his hands in his pockets as he stared out. “I want someone to go and speak to the family of the victims, let them know what happened to their loved ones. I don’t want them reading about it in the papers first.”

  Corrina agreed. The families would have spent years wondering what happened to their children, their spouses, and to have the details splashed across the broadsheets and repeated every hour on the TV news would be devastating.

  “I’ll get McCrae to arrange it,” she said. The LAPD had a dedicated victim assistance team that would speak to the surviving relatives.

  “Okay. And have Unger on standby. If Fifteen-X emails you, get a trace running as soon as possible. Try to engage this guy in a long conversation so that we have time to pinpoint his location.”

  “I’ll do that now,” Corrina said. “And I’ll let Jess know she can run the story in the morning edition.”

  She left his office and returned to her desk. Her first call was to Larry Unger. After him, she dialed McCrae’s number.

  “I was just about to call you,” he said as soon as he picked up. “We had a misper land on our desks this morning. Woman went out for a meal last night, never came home. It could be our guy.”

  “You get hundreds of missing persons reports every week. What makes this one special?”

  “Because she doesn’t fit the normal profile. Most are runaways, kids looking to discover themselves or escape a violent household, husbands or wives leaving abusive relationships, you know the type. This one is different. Independently wealthy with a successful, loving husband and a place up in Bel Air. She had no reason to run.”

  “You know as well as I do that the husbands always say the relationship was great. It’s always different when we hear the woman’s side.”

  “I know,” McCrae said, “but this time it feels different. It’s a hunch, but I’m gonna follow it up.”

  Perhaps it was because they hadn’t worked together for a couple of years, but Corrina found herself wondering how she could doubt his instincts. She’d never done that when they were partners. If he’d had a gut feeling, she’d always encouraged him to go with it. Maybe she’d been away from him for too long.

  Corrina blinked the thought away. She knew where it would lead her, and she didn’t have time for that right now.

  “Okay,” she said. “If you need any resources, let me know.”

  “I will,” McCrae told her. “So, what did you wanna talk about?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. Jess Duffey got another email from Fifteen-X. He wants the story to go live, with all the unedited chapters included.”

  “Ouch. What did your boss say?”

  “He had no choice,” Corrina told him. “We gotta go with it.”

  “Okay. I’ll let our press office know to expect the phones to start ringing more than usual. We’ve already had some reporters fishing.”

  Corrina was only surprised that it had taken so long. Police officers or forensics personnel often topped up their income by selling scoops to contacts in the press. There were usually no details, just a tip that something had gone down and they should check it out. The practice was frowned upon, but few officers lost their careers over it.

  “You also need to send victim assistance round to see the families. Let them know what to expect in the coming days. I’ve got officers scheduled to visit Anthony Swanson as we speak. I’ll let you handle the others.”

  “Yeah. Poor bastards. The press are gonna be all over them.”

  “I was thinking more about the fact that their loved ones were brutally tortured and dismembered, and that the details are going to be shared with the world. They’ll probably need counselling. If they ask why we’re only informing them now, when the bodies were discovered days ago, tell them we needed to get a positive ID first.”

  “I’ll get on it right away.”

  “Please do. The story will probably hit first thing tomorrow.”

  “That doesn’t give us long to catch this guy before the shit starts flying,” McCrae said.

  “It doesn’t. Keep me updated on that missing person,” Corrina said, and a thought suddenly struck her. “Wait. Does her car have LoJack?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The husband thinks optional extras are for suckers. Bet he wished he’d bought it now, though.”

  “Yeah, twenty-twenty hindsight is a wonderful thing. Catch you later.”

  Corrina ended the call, and for the first time in days she felt a tingle of excitement. If the killer had struck again, there would be a good chance of catching him. Modern technology made life increasingly difficult for criminals, and they had to be extremely lucky to avoid leaving a footprint of some kind.

  Her next call was to Jess.

  “You’ve got the green light,” Corrina told the reporter. “Tomorrow morning’s edition, not before.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Jess didn’t sound enthusiastic, and Corrina told her as much.

  “I know,” Jess replied. “It’s just…I know how much this is going to hurt some people. I never thought I’d feel this way about a story, but then this isn’t how they usually go.”

  “You’re right about that,” Corrina said. Nothing in her years in law enforcement had come close.

  “I guess it must be strange for you to encounter a journalist with a conscience.”

  Corrina managed a laugh. “It’s unusual to find one with a soul, never mind a conscience.” She heard Jess chuckle, too, but Corrina was already back in serious mode. “Perhaps you should hand it off to someone else. I know it must be a difficult one to write.”

  “No, I got this. I’ve thought long and hard about how to approach it. I’m going to be sympathetic toward the families, despite their pasts.”

  “What do you mean?” Corrina asked.

  “You know. Anthony Swanson’s court case, Vincent Perry and his gentrification plans that angered a lot of people.”

  “I didn’t know about that,” Corrina said, and made a mental note to follow up with Josh. He should have flagged everything, no matter how insignificant it appeared. “Can you send me your research? Better still, bring it with you this afternoon for our daily briefing. I’ve got a spot open at three.”

  “Sure,” Jess said.

  “Thanks. While you’re here, I’ll get one of our guys to set up email forwarding on your account. That way any emails from him will also come to me. I don’t want you going to bed just before he sends another chapter and I don’t get it until the next morning.”

  “The email address seems to change each time,” Jess told her.

  “Not a problem. I’m sure Larry can work around that.”

  “Okay, but only Fifteen-X’s emails. I don’t want him planting spyware on my laptop so you guys can keep an eye on me.”

  “He won’t,”
Corrina assured her.

  “Okay. See you at three.”

  Corrina didn’t hear from Fifteen-X until after lunch. His email was succinct.

  If the story doesn’t go out tomorrow, I’ll stop contacting Jess. I’ll send the chapters direct to the relatives and let them know that because of you two, their bodies will never be found.

  Corrina called Larry Unger immediately.

  “I’ve been expecting your call,” he said on picking up.

  While speaking to Unger, she tapped out her reply to 15X.

  I’ve managed to clear it with my boss. The story will run in tomorrow’s morning edition. Why are you only sending your story to Jess now?

  She hit Send, hoping for a quick response. Ten minutes later, she knew she wasn’t going to get one. She called Unger again.

  “There wasn’t enough to get a precise location,” the tech told Corrina. “It came from somewhere within two miles of the Capitol Records building, that’s all I can tell you.”

  “A burner cell?” Corrina asked.

  “As always.”

  Corrina thanked him and hung up.

  Jess arrived at three on the dot, and Corrina showed her to an empty office. She wasn’t about to let her into the task force room.

  “I’ve made a list of all the websites I visited to learn about Swanson and Perry,” Jess said. “I’ll email it to you when I get home. It’ll be much easier than having to type out the URLs. I’ve also got a few on Miriam Crane, though there’s not much to tell.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get one of my people to go through them. He contacted me today, by the way. Told me he’d stop communicating with us if the story doesn’t go out tomorrow.”

  “It will,” Jess assured her. “I spoke to Lehane on the phone and told him I had something big for the front page. He wanted details, but I said I had to square it with the feds first.”

  “I bet that got him licking his lips,” Corrina said.

  “It did. He pressed me for details, but I told him he’d have to wait until this afternoon. He’s not happy about having to work late on a Saturday.”