The Cipher

by Maldonado, Isabella

  Nina was surprised to see him at the meeting instead of on a video call. His personal attendance spoke volumes about the emphasis the FBI had placed on the investigation.

  Yakamura put down a Styrofoam cup brimming with black coffee and rubbed his eyes. “We contacted eBay as soon as we received notification from the task force about the envelope up for bid. They have a strict policy against selling illegal merchandise or any items that might encourage people to commit a crime. Once we explained that the envelope was material evidence in a murder investigation, they immediately removed the listing and provided the seller’s contact information.”

  “Nice,” Breck said.

  “Turns out the seller lives in Lynn, not too far from Boston,” Yakamura said. “We paid him a visit at home last night.”

  Kent raised his signature ceramic US Navy mug in a mock toast. “I’ll bet he dropped a load in his boxers when he opened the door to two federal agents.”

  Yakamura tried to hide his smile without success.

  “What’s his story anyway?” Kent asked.

  “Says he followed the case on social media all week. When he saw the Brew Crew post the solution, he drove to the nearest T station.”

  Nina had heard Detective Delaney refer to the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority’s rapid-transit system as “the T” when he told her that one of the stops came out a short walk from the beginning of the Freedom Trail.

  “He got off at the Park Street station,” Yakamura went on. “Then he decides to stop for a blueberry muffin at one of the local bakeries on his way to the Trail. He eats his muffin, then strolls to the nearest trash can to toss the wrapper. He drops it on the ground because he’s a putz but stoops to pick it up because he’s an environmentally conscious putz. That’s when he sees the envelope taped to the bottom of the receptacle. Says it was dangling down, so the bright blue lettering jumped out at him.”

  Along with everyone else in the room, Nina was riveted. Listening to this story was like watching a train wreck.

  “He figures it’s one of the Cipher’s clues,” Yakamura said. “So naturally, he snaps it up and stashes it in his pocket, taking care no one sees him. Then he follows the story on the news. Once he hears the Cipher escaped, he hightails it back to his place in Lynn rather than contacting the police.”

  A few groans could be heard around the table.

  “He opens the envelope and spends the next twenty-four hours trying to get his few functioning brain cells to kick in. He finally realizes he has no hope of solving the clue, so he comes up with plan B.”

  Nina stole a glance at Buxton, who looked even more exhausted than Yakamura. He was pressing a finger against his left eye to stop it from twitching.

  “Our guy figures he can’t win the million bucks Zarran is offering up for solving clues,” Yakamura said. “But he can still cash in by selling it to someone who thinks they can.”

  Wade gave his head a disgusted shake. “So he lists it on eBay.” He cut his eyes to Nina. “I guess there’s no risk of your neighbor’s foster daughter bumping into him at her next Mensa meeting.”

  “What was his demeanor during the interview?” Buxton wanted to know.

  “He did what came naturally,” Yakamura said. “He played dumb. When that didn’t work, he started asking about a finder’s fee.”

  Nina grimaced. “Not the sharpest tack on the corkboard, is he?”

  Yakamura gave her a sidelong glance. “He’s the tack that misses the corkboard altogether and gets stuck in the drywall.” He took another swig of coffee. “After discussing the amenities available in federal prison, our guy decides to turn over the envelope . . . without a reward.”

  “What was in the envelope?” Kent asked.

  “The message inside was another deviation from the unsub’s previous pattern.” Yakamura pointed to the oversize screen on the wall, which flickered briefly before a close-up of a four-by-six white index card popped up. “This time, he wants people to solve a riddle to locate the actual clue.”

  FIND THE CLUE.

  This was followed by four lines printed in boldface.

  IN SILENCE SHE WAITS, DAY AND NIGHT.

  LIVING WITH THE KEEPER OF THE LIGHT.

  SHE SEES THEM COME, SEES THEM GO.

  WHAT LIES IN HER HEART, NO ONE CAN KNOW.

  The words at the very bottom of the card laid out his timetable.

  THE NEXT ONE DIES IN FOUR DAYS.

  A pall descended on the room as everyone concentrated on the message. Nina’s fists clenched. Another deadline. Another girl in imminent danger. And they were no closer to stopping the Cipher.

  Buxton’s uncharacteristically harsh tone reflected exasperation. “We need answers, dammit.”

  “We’re working on it, sir,” a woman Nina had seen on the team of cryptanalysts said.

  “Any progress?”

  She squirmed uncomfortably under his withering glare. “Nothing definitive yet. We believe ‘the keeper of the light’ may refer to a lighthouse keeper, and he was recently active in Boston, so we’re checking coastal towns in New England to see what other factors in the poem match existing structures. We’ll keep you apprised of any developments.”

  Buxton swiveled to train his gaze on another agent sitting farther down the table. “And what about the flight manifests?”

  “There were no duplicate names listed as traveling between any of the three cities on the affected dates,” he said. “But now we know he has access to fake documents and disguises, so he could potentially fly under different names and have different appearances to match each identity.”

  “Or he might not have flown at all,” Nina said.

  “We can’t ask local law enforcement across the country to check for data on subjects or traffic stops without giving them a name or even a description,” Kent said.

  A short, stocky blonde woman seated next to Breck lifted her hand. “I might be able to help with that.”

  Buxton acknowledged her. “For those of you who haven’t met her, this is Emmeline Baker. She’s in charge of the Trace Evidence Unit.”

  A unit chief was another unexpected addition to the meeting, again marking the gravity of the situation and the highly public and time-sensitive nature of the investigation.

  “We figured out how he disguised his ethnicity in Boston,” Baker said. “Spray tan. Extra dark.” She tipped her head toward Nina. “The residue was found in the sample collected from Agent Guerrera’s nails.”

  “Black wig, brown contact lenses, dark skin,” Wade said. “Throw in a Public Works uniform, and he’s unrecognizable.”

  Baker nodded. “He’s proven he can operate in a crowded area where everyone is looking for him. It means he can move around with impunity.” She let that sink in before continuing. “I have an update on the fiber match as well. As we discussed during our last call, we resubmitted samples found at the DC and San Francisco scenes, as well as from Agent Guerrera’s abduction case, this time specifically comparing them to the unique set of fibers found in the Beltway Stalker series.”

  “The fibers from the gloves?” Nina asked.

  “It’s the only consistent evidence we have,” Baker said. “Once we knew what to look for, we were able to find almost microscopic filaments with enough detail to provide a conclusive match for all three crime scenes attributed to the Cipher. The Boston case gave us the break we needed. There was far less cross contamination and nowhere near as much scrubbing of the body as in the two prior murders.”

  “So the Cipher and the Beltway Stalker are definitely the same person?” Nina said, anxious to nail Baker down. They had debated whether the Cipher had been the Beltway Stalker’s partner, laying low for a couple of years before striking out on his own. “You’re saying we can bring charges against the unsub for thirty-nine murders and an abduction?”

  Baker held up a hand. “I can go so far as to say identical fibers, which come from a unique source, were found at each scene. That’s as far as the science
will take us. I couldn’t take the stand and testify that the same perpetrator was responsible for every crime based on the trace evidence we have at this point.”

  No matter what Baker said, how precisely she couched her summary of the findings, she had just confirmed what Nina had already accepted as fact. First, the man who now called himself the Cipher was also the Beltway Stalker. Second, the FBI had mistakenly identified a man who died two years ago as the Beltway Stalker. Third, the same man had abducted her eleven years ago.

  Buxton’s jaw muscles bunched. “Nothing about that leaves this room, understood?”

  She sympathized. Despite his previous refusal to make the leap, Buxton had clearly come to the same conclusions she had. He was the supervisory special agent for BAU 3. The unit chief who oversaw the profilers who worked with field agents and local law enforcement during the Beltway Stalker investigation. The BAU’s reputation had taken a hit when Chandra Brown died, and soon the public would learn that her killer was still at large, continuing his murderous rampage on a bigger stage. Buxton would be front and center for the inevitable backlash.

  His dark eyes traversed the length of the table before stopping on Wade. “Anything to add to your 302?”

  Wade would have submitted a 302, the FBI’s official form for documenting investigations, after their interview with Sorrentino.

  “Nothing,” Wade said. “Did you get the attachment with the club’s fight schedule?”

  Buxton nodded. “Forwarded it to Breck last night.”

  All eyes swiveled to Breck, who appeared to have been waiting for her cue. “I have a graphic.” Computer keys clacked under her fingers as the projected image of a chart appeared on the wall across from her. “We generated a program and populated the data points to find a nexus between fighters and victims.”

  A red pinpoint of light swept up and down the left side of the graph with a list of fighters on the vertical axis. Names of victims ran along a horizontal timeline on the bottom. Green dots marked the boxes where some intersected. Nina could see that Breck had compared the times when fighters were unaccounted for with the times of death for the Beltway Stalker victims.

  “We attempted to cross-reference the names with the times of each murder,” Breck said. “The ones in green represent victims of the Beltway Stalker.” She clicked another key, and a new chart popped up. “Here are the same fighters’ schedules matched with the times of disappearance for the Cipher’s victims.” This time, the dots were blue. Even without overlaying the two graphs, Nina could tell there would be hundreds of data points containing both colored dots.

  “I’ll combine them on a new chart.” Breck hesitated before adding, “Using only blue dots.”

  Breck had made it clear that anyone who felt the cases should be kept separate should speak up now. The team exchanged glances, but no one objected. In that moment, the investigation turned a corner. Nina knew Kent harbored doubts, but they had all tacitly agreed to move forward on the premise that the Beltway Stalker and the Cipher were the same person.

  Nina gazed at the graphic. The lives of young girls, lives that had held so much promise and so much suffering, had been reduced to data points on a chart. Anger coursed through her as she witnessed the swath of destruction left by a monster who thought he could use human beings and throw them away like trash.

  “Some of the older murders have a possible time of death that spans a few days or weeks,” Breck said. “So we could only use the ones with a more precise window for the purpose of narrowing down the list.” She moved the dot to the bottom of the screen. “Given those restrictions, we can definitively eliminate seventeen men from the list. That leaves more than two hundred potential suspects. And that’s if we only consider fighters as opposed to other people working at the club.”

  “He’s a fighter,” Nina said. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but the feeling was strong. “The way he moved. He had some serious experience behind him.”

  “I agree,” Wade said. “Some serial killers are sexually inadequate milquetoast types in their regular lives. They seek power over their victims because they feel they have none in other areas.” He stroked his jaw. “Not this guy. He doesn’t use a gun, because he prefers direct contact. His personality type relishes physical combat, especially if he has enough skill to dominate and punish his opponents. He feeds off the raw power and violence of blood sport. He’s probably stimulated by the crowd too. He certainly seems to enjoy a spectacle.”

  “But that’s a radically different behavior pattern,” Kent said, joining the discussion. “He flew under the radar before. Didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Never taunted law enforcement.” His brow creased in consideration. “Are we rushing to judgment here? Can we be sure the Cipher is also the Beltway Stalker? That they weren’t partners?”

  “He’s changed.” Wade grew animated, leaning forward in his chair. “That’s another part of his profile. He seems to have an unusual ability to adapt.”

  “What was the impetus for change, then?” Kent asked. “It would have to be something strong.”

  “Me,” Nina said before stopping to consider the reaction such a declaration would have. At a roomful of puzzled expressions, she began to explain something that had been in the back of her mind since the DC case.

  “We’ve just gotten confirmation of a trace evidence link between my abduction and all of the murders.” She glanced around the table as she spoke. “The Cipher began engaging with us after that video of the attack in the park went viral. He must have seen it and recognized me. If he’s not the Beltway Stalker, then something about seeing me again triggered him to strike after holding off for eleven years. If he is the Stalker, then that video provoked him to change his MO dramatically. Either way, I’m the common denominator.”

  No one argued the point. Their silence a tacit acknowledgment that Nina was at the center of it all.

  “How can we use this to our advantage?” Buxton directed the question to Wade. “There must be a way to throw him off his game, or at least to delay this next deadline of his.”

  Wade regarded Nina thoughtfully before answering. “His obsession with Guerrera is evident, yet he released prized mementos of his time with her.” He raised two fingers to indicate the items. “The god’s eye necklace and the video. He may have digital footage of every murder he committed, which would not be unusual. Many serial killers save trophies, photographs, or video of their victims to . . . enjoy later.”

  He didn’t need to spell it out. Nina suppressed a shudder at the thought of the Cipher masturbating while he watched her in the throes of agony. Did he wear her necklace when he indulged his fantasies? The very idea filled her with disgust. She kept her face a mask of detached professional interest as Wade continued his analysis.

  “I agree with Guerrera’s assessment that she’s a trigger for the Cipher, and I haven’t changed my opinion that he and the Beltway Stalker are one and the same and that he fed us a convenient scapegoat two years ago when we were closing in at the fight club.”

  Kent showed signs of wanting to argue, but Buxton silenced him with a raised hand. “Go on, Agent Wade.”

  “He began by directing his threats to Nina with the note and the clue at the scene in DC. Then he went on the news and got an extreme reaction from regular and social media, so he changed his MO again and went straight to the public. Each time he expands his audience. We had Guerrera engage him directly via DM, but he went back to his public platforms. He now has millions of people around the world talking about him, trying to solve his arcane puzzles, paying attention to him. It’s a heady experience for anyone.” He drew in a deep breath. “I want to pull him back in close. Divert his attention from the public frenzy that feeds his ego.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Breck said. “He’s the object of so much social media attention even though his profiles are down. People are still posting about him, and I’m sure he’s reading the comments.”

  Instead of answering her
directly, Wade addressed Buxton. “The only thing that could possibly entice him to give all that up is to offer him something he wants more.” He cut his eyes to Nina. “I believe Guerrera should try communicating directly with him again. If she’s amenable.”

  “That’s a big ask,” Buxton said. “And a big risk.”

  “It’s my risk to take,” Nina said. “I know the kinds of things he’s going to say, and I’m willing to do it. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “We would need to release the hold on his social media platforms,” Breck said quietly. “All of them cooperated fully with taking them down, but they may not want to put them back up knowing he’s fixing to put out more video.”

  “If we don’t release the hold soon, he’ll find another outlet that we can’t control at all,” Wade said. “He craves attention. He’s becoming addicted to his own game.”

  Buxton glanced at his cell phone vibrating on the table’s smooth surface. “Let’s keep that option in our back pocket for now. I’ve got to take this. It’s Dom Fanning from the DCU.”

  Nina didn’t think her nerves could stretch any tighter, but an incoming call from the DNA Casework unit chief did the trick. The fact that he had reached out to Buxton indicated he had news about the commercial genealogical database search.

  “I’m putting you on speaker,” Buxton said after exchanging greetings. “I’m with the task force leaders.”

  Fanning’s voice carried through the cell phone’s speaker. “We got an early result from both companies. The good news is we obtained several close familial matches. Several appear to be half siblings, and one is a full sibling. A sister.”

  Everyone exchanged excited glances. Everyone, that is, except Buxton. “What’s the bad news?” he said.

  “Both genealogy companies have agreement forms for sharing DNA that include contact information for investigative purposes. This led us to an unexpected conclusion.”

  Nina wasn’t surprised the companies required permission from participants to turn over their data. A lot of questions had been raised when law enforcement obtained familial matches from a commercial DNA database to identify a suspect in the Golden State Killer case. After the headlines, some companies had opted to have participants sign agreements declaring their willingness or refusal to share their DNA profiles with law enforcement.