Gabriel (Guardian Defenders Book 1)

by Kris Michaels

  Anna eased one of Deacon's huge t-shirts over her friend's bruised body and pulled Jackie’s hair out of the back of the shirt. “Feel like sitting up for a minute? I'll braid this for you, so we won't have a snarled mess tomorrow.”

  Jackie yawned and nodded. “I can manage a couple minutes.”

  She hustled to grab the comb from the bathroom and trotted back across the deep pile of the thick shag carpet. She made quick work of combing out Jackie’s long blonde hair. With the expensive conditioner they used, it only took a second before she'd combed and separated Jackie’s hair into three sections. She started at the crown of her head and braided her friend’s long wet hair. It would take forever to dry braided, but it would be free from snarls.

  Jackie glanced over her shoulder. It was a small movement, but Anna saw it. “Anna, do you ever think life is nothing but a series of chance happenings?”

  Ah, the psychiatrist’s words were probably bouncing around Jackie’s head. Anna wrapped a ponytail tie around the thick base of the plait and considered her words carefully. “Would you like my honest opinion?”

  Jackie chuckled and then groaned a bit. “Stop making me laugh.”

  “Laugh? Girl, why are you laughing at me? I asked you a question.”

  “As if you have ever given anything but your honest opinion.” Jackie leaned back when Anna fluffed her pillow and encouraged her to recline.

  She sat down by her friend and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth for a moment. “I don't actually, you know.”

  “You don't what?”

  “I don't usually give anyone my honest opinion.” She waved her hand, stopping the comment she could see coming. “Seriously, I totally boss people around, true, and I play the fool a lot. But, like, when it comes to my honest opinion? I don't usually give that.”

  “Wow, so all these years you've been holding out on me?” Hurt laced Jackie’s voice.

  “Kinda? I guess, but that's not the point. The point is, I asked you if you really want my honest opinion.”

  Jackie’s eyes narrowed, and she stiffly nodded her head. “Yeah, I do.”

  She pursed her lips and drew a deep breath through her nose. “No, I don't believe life is a series of chance happenings. I believe there has to be... something more than chance.”

  “Why do you say that?” Jackie blinked up at her.

  She sighed and shrugged. “I've witnessed miracles in my profession. People who recover when there was no hope or rationale for their recovery, and on the other hand, I've seen horrendous things happen. Through my interaction with people, I've witnessed new paths, roads, or hell, even highways, built in their lives because of what occurred to divert their direction. I’ve witnessed lives forever changed and set upon a different course by a single, unanticipated event.”

  Jackie tipped her head slightly, wincing at the action. “So, you think things happen to people to bring them to a different course?”

  Anna nodded. “Partially, but life isn't all good or all bad. It is fluid. You take the good, the bad, and even the ugly shit that comes, and you make course corrections until you are on your destined path.”

  “So, the bad things are put in front of us by who? God?”

  She shook her head. “No, I think human nature dictates most of the horrible things that happen in life.”

  “Okay... I'm lost and have no idea what you're trying to say.” Her voice held frustration and anger, but she was obviously trying to understand.

  She tried to explain herself again, “Let me give you an example. Look at me. I believe I was put here with you, and with the others I've taken care of, for a reason. Each situation is a chance for me to interact with you and them. A piece of me is given to those I work with. I try to share positive, encouraging energy. I mean, we both know bad things happen, and I've had a boatload of bad things happen to me. When they do, I can choose to let that negativity change me and take away my positive thoughts, energy, and happiness, or I can look it in the face and deny it access to my life. None of that is chance. It's a choice. We cannot control the choices of the people who create the bad in this world. When their choices affect us, it isn't our decisions or actions that cause the pain, it is theirs. It isn't chance that determines your response to the actions they chose to create. That's your choice.”

  Jackie leaned back further in the pillows and stared at her, searching her face for a long moment before she spoke, “So according to how you see the world, life boils down to a series of choices.”

  She nodded. “That is my honest opinion. Choices others make that affect you and the choices you make that affect yourself and others. I don't believe there are chance happenings or bad luck scenarios. I believe you live your life with the conditions set in place by mankind's actions, and your decisions are what determine your fate. Not bad luck, or some cloud hanging over your head. Life isn't easy for anyone. It is how you respond to the hardships that determine the quality of... well... your own destiny.”

  Jackie closed her eyes, and the corners of her mouth ticked up a bit. “Has anyone ever told you that you are one hell of a lot deeper than you let on?”

  She stood up and pulled up the extra blanket, draping it over Jackie. A soft hum of appreciation from her friend made her smile. “Nope.” She popped the ‘p’. “No one has ever accused me of having any puddles above the ankle.”

  Jackie lifted a heavy eyelid. “I have no idea what that means.”

  She laughed. “That's okay. Go to sleep. Deacon will be here shortly.”

  A soft smile spread across Jackie’s lips, but her eyes remained closed. “I love him.”

  “And he loves you. Now go to sleep and let your body heal.”

  She glanced at her watch as she left the bedroom. Deacon had talked with the doctor before he left this morning and then once Jackie was settled, had left the apartment to take an afternoon meeting. A huge step in the right direction.

  She smiled at the quiet ping of the elevator opening in the foyer. Was it wrong that she was happy Deacon was on time? Probably, but she'd deal with that guilt later. Right now, she was too excited to make her way to the 16th floor. She needed to dash out to a market her brother said wasn't too far away. The walk outside would do her good because she had been vibrating with anticipation all day long. A smile spread across her face as Deacon lifted a hand in greeting. Life was all about choices, and tonight, she was going to make some that totally benefitted her. Like totally. Anna laughed and batted away her inner valley girl. Whatever!

  Chapter 17

  “So, according to the agencies that have called or faxed information, we count twenty-seven possible victims, spanning the last six years.” Harvey waved at the mound of files he'd placed on the conference room table.

  “Is there any indication of a pattern?” Delacroix asked as he shifted through the files, putting them into stacks.

  Gabriel leaned forward and placed his forearms on the police department's conference room table. Over thirty females dead, and the probable killer now strolled the streets of New Orleans. He examined his cuticles as he listened to the men talk.

  “Olsen is back at our office. We've got a map, and we are plotting the occurrences. When I left, it looked like a Rorschach Inkblot. No pattern or discernible configuration that I could see, though he seems to be centered in the middle of the country. No major cities have reported unsolved murders matching this guy’s MO. The reports we are receiving are from very rural, small, financially depressed counties—areas with no police departments. The only anomaly we have is the case of Sheriff King's. That victim was a transplant body as she didn't live in or near the county where she was murdered. All the other cases are local women who were killed in the town where they lived. There were no witnesses. In four cases, there have been convictions based on circumstantial evidence.”

  “Damn.” Delacroix rubbed his forehead.

  “Okay, so we know we have a serial killer who knows law enforcement limitations. We know he's killed twice in the
last twenty-four hours, and we know both of those victims were similar in description to Jacqueline Brenner.” Gabriel steepled his fingers and gazed out the steel-reinforced window.

  Harvey shifted in his seat. “He's escalating. The victims were found in areas subject to high traffic during the day, but not at night. He is rubbing the fact we can't find him in our faces. Dumping the first victim in a busy parking lot and then leaving the second victim behind an office building? Our profiler in D.C. called after I sent in a request for an immediate consultation. It is an off the hip diagnosis, but he's damn good. He likened his actions to a dare. He thinks he's smarter than we are. He is daring us to catch him. Without giving the doc any physical description based on Brenner's sketch, he pegged the guy as a white male, mid-thirties with a higher than average intelligence.”

  “Where are we with the composite sketch?” Gabriel turned his attention to Delacroix.

  “We have the original and the one adding facial hair, and another aging the one Ms. Brenner assisted the people up in Denver to develop.”

  Harvey nodded. “Right, we sent them to D.C., and they are blasting across all agencies and labeling him as a person of interest in our cases.”

  “And we have paper copies in every patrol car, break room, squad room and substation across the city. Also depicted as a person of interest.” Delacroix added.

  Gabriel leaned back. “What are your agencies saying about sending the picture out to the media?”

  “I think it is safe to say the answer is no. We have some people in D.C. who are well versed in hunting serial killers. They think it would drive the guy underground. I'm not sure that is a bad thing.” Harvey shook his head. He appeared just as stumped as everyone else in the room.

  Delacroix looked across the table at Gabriel. “Unless he leaves here and kills elsewhere, biding his time until we are no longer on alert. Jacqueline Brenner could never draw a breath without the fear of this guy showing up again. What kind of life is that? Aren't we smart enough to find this guy? Putting his picture on every television station could cause him to run. Besides, the sketch is pretty fucking generic. We’ll have false sightings clogging the lines.”

  “We don't know that. Harvey, your agency is in charge of this investigation. Get with your superiors. I'll get with Kenneth Southerland. We can attack this from both angles. A little bit of pressure from the top and questions from the field should get the bureaucratic middle off their butts and give us all a clear decision on releasing the composite sketch.”

  “Damn it, I don't like it, Gabriel. The sketch needs to be more detailed. Hell, cut my hair or Harvey’s, put a cap on us, and we look like the guy.” Delacroix shook his head as he spoke.

  “I know. Brenner still has no recollection of the recent attack. What we have is what we need to work with. But we need to ensure we cover all our bases. If we miss something and this guy slips through our fingers...” He didn't finish the statement. They all knew what was at stake.

  “What about DNA?” Harvey swung his gaze to Gabriel.

  Gabriel nodded. “I’ve called in favors, and the FBI lab is going to process the last victims, the ones we’ve been involved with.”

  Delacroix snorted. “DNA? Don’t you have to have the perp’s DNA to match it and last time I heard, that shit was getting kicked out of court more than it was being allowed.”

  “New scientific data in a court case in London has people taking it seriously,” Harvey explained before he swung his attention back to Gabriel. “At a minimum, we’ll know that it is the same guy for all of the women here in New Orleans.”

  “Like there is any doubt.” Delacroix sighed.

  “True, but proving it beyond a shadow of a doubt is what is going to put this guy on death row.” Harvey lifted a brow, challenging Delacroix to refute his assertion.

  “I hear you, my man. Just… I’m frustrated, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I get you.” Harvey nodded before he swung his attention back to Gabriel. “So this guy, how does he know law enforcement limitations?” Harvey threw his tablet onto the table.

  Gabriel narrowed his eyes as he thought. “A career that works with law enforcement.”

  “A career that allows him to move all over the country with anonymity.” Delacroix nodded.

  Gabriel agreed with that assumption. “So... if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. He could be law enforcement.”

  “Or prior law enforcement.” Harvey wrote as they brainstormed.

  “Associated and peripheral careers, not law enforcement but around cops,” Gabriel interjected.

  “Medical. EMT's, maybe fire department?” Delacroix added.

  “Don't forget the media,” Harvey added.

  “Media? Why media? Most don't have law enforcement backgrounds.” Delacroix shot a look across the table.

  “No, but they are entrenched with cops, follow investigations, make alliances, and have sources in the departments; it isn't a stretch.” Harvey countered.

  “Okay, let's keep them on the list. So, we start pulling information. Every cop on every investigation, EMTs, fire department responders, and media, television, radio, print reporters in the local areas while during the periods of each murder.”

  “There is no way we can sort through that much information.” Delacroix let his head fall to the conference room table with a sharp thud.

  Gabriel winced at the sound. “No, you're right, doing this old school would be impossible, but I employ some computer technicians that I can bring in from D.C. They have programs that will sort information a hell of a lot quicker than we can find associations. Start gathering the information. Delacroix, we'll need some people to do data entry after my people build the parameters of the programs.” He thought for a moment, leaning forward supporting his weight with his arms. “What about King?”

  “King? Damn, that's not a bad idea.” Harvey mimicked his posture.

  Delacroix rolled his head and threw a one-eyed glare at him. “The country bumpkin? How is he a good idea?” He rolled his head back and lifted his head an inch before thumping it against the table again. “Ow.”

  Gabriel smirked at the detective but answered his question. “He's fresh, doesn't come into this case with any preconceived notions.” He looked straight across the table at Harvey. “I'll give him a call, have him start anew or from a different angle. He's sharp and it couldn't hurt to have another set of eyes on this while we are doing the computer work.”

  “Great. Country bumpkins and computers. What is that saying? If you really want to foul things up, put it into a computer.” Delacroix spoke to the tabletop, his head still down on the shiny wood.

  “I've learned that computers don't make mistakes. Humans do. Computers are the future. Let's hope we find something to help us catch this guy.” Gabriel rubbed his eyes. His morning meetings had shifted to the afternoon since he was out at crime scenes for most of the morning. He glanced at his watch and then at his agenda for the day.

  “Are we clear on our tasks?” Gabriel asked.

  “I'm gleaning any information I can from the investigations on the last two victims. I'll inform Harvey and Olsen if there is anything new. Oh, and I'll ask the mayor’s office for two or three, what did you call them, data entry people, unless they need law enforcement backgrounds?”

  “No, actually, just skilled typists. They don't need to understand the data, just input it. The computer will do the rest.” Gabriel swung to look at Harvey. “Do you need more people? I can ask Southerland to send more assistance.”

  Harvey shook his head. “Right now, I'll say no. Olsen and I are yours. I'll call King tomorrow and follow up with him after your initial brief today to make sure he has all the information he needs. The team coming from D.C. will land tonight, and they will take the active investigations. Our field office is small. Any more people and Olsen and I would have to move our offices over with you at the Longline building.”

  “Which isn't a bad idea. We have the e
ntire floor. If you need the room to spread out, let me know, I'll accommodate.”

  “Noted.” Harvey stood and started gathering his folders.

  “Check in with any new information.” Gabriel drew a deep breath and stood, preparing to move back to the Longline building and on to his next meeting.

  “Hey, you okay?” Delacroix tossed the question across the room.

  “I am. Thank you. I had an overseas situation that required my attention last night when my body thought it should be sleeping.” He chuckled humorlessly. “And my day is swamped with other urgent items that are not related to our serial killer.”

  “You need to get people. You know, people to take care of the things, so you can concentrate on what is important.” Harvey looked up from his stack of paper as he spoke.

  “My boss is working on that. In the meantime, I'm at the helm. If you need me, you have my pager information. Please preface any page about this case with a 911, so I respond immediately.”

  Harvey and Delacroix headed toward the door. Delacroix paused before he followed Harvey out. “I want to be one of the people working on the computer thingy. I don't know enough about them, and I think that is a detriment. I need to learn. I'm floating at the station just monitoring the investigations. The mayor's office is off our back, thanks to you, so I can do that data entry stuff. Let me work with your computer people to find this guy.”

  A small smile lifted his lips. Delacroix was eager to learn, which wasn’t a bad thing. “Perhaps another time, detective. I think your talents could be better used helping Harvey and Olsen.”

  Delacroix gave him a two-finger salute and sauntered out of the room. Gabriel exited the precinct and closed his eyes as he was driven back to the Longline building. He made it to his office two seconds before St. James and McNair entered.