Malice

by Anne Patrick

  Isaac quickly intervened. "Have a seat you two."

  Agent Farrell pulled his chair up next to Isaac, while Boone sat next to Lindsey.

  "Were you able to come up with anything on the sisters?" Isaac asked.

  "One still lives in Maine, while the other two moved back here several years ago. All are married with children, and according to the youngest, Emily Farris, none of them have spoken to him in years."

  "Any indication as to why they're estranged?" Jo figured the family would be the most help, if they were willing to talk.

  "She wouldn't say, but I got the impression it goes back a long time."

  "And the other sister?"

  "She said she'd meet with us after lunch."

  Jo nodded as an idea began to form. She turned to Isaac. "Why don't I take Boone and go talk to the other sister?"

  "What, you don't like my company?"

  "You know better than that. It's just, well, this way we can move at our own pace and not hold everyone else back." Jo winked at Boone. "Who knows, we may want to stop for a nap after a while."

  "Sounds like a good plan to me." The older agent smiled.

  "Has anyone checked out where he used to live?" Agent Farrell asked, looking around the table.

  "According to Chief Benzali, the house burnt down a few years after they moved," Isaac informed. "Some farmer owns the property now. The only thing left of the original homestead is an old barn he uses to store hay."

  "Jo, why do you think he buries them alive?" Agent Rifkin asked; his face void of any expression.

  Jo pondered his question. She'd asked herself the same question three years ago. Having been a police officer for twenty-five years, there had to have been some decency in him at one point in time. "I'm not sure, but I think a part of him hopes we'll find them before they suffocate."

  "It'd help if he gave us some clues," Agent Farrell said.

  "He has, we just haven't found them yet. Almost every serial killer I've had the misfortune of profiling has left some sort of clue, made contact in some way. It's part of a sick game they like to play. They envision themselves as god-like, with the victim's fate in their hands. The clues are left as a dare to play along with them."

  Agent Farrell picked up a menu. "In most of the case histories I've studied, there were signs pointing to sociopathic behavior early on, but that doesn't seem to be the case with Briggs."

  "We just haven't dug deep enough. Most serial killers I've interviewed felt abandoned or neglected as a child and at some point drew away from the family structure. There'll be signs of an abnormal anger early on, probably resulting from frustration, and thinking of themselves as outsiders in their own families."

  "I'll finish looking up his old girlfriends," Lindsey said. "Maybe they'll be able to shed some light on the subject."

  "We can request his service record with the Prairie View PD," Milano suggested.

  "Don't expect much help there." Isaac exchanged glances with Jo. "They've yet to be convinced he's a killer."

  "He worked for a vet, we could investigate that avenue as well," Agent Rifkin proposed. "Cruelty to animals is usually a red flag to abnormal behavior."

  Needing some fresh air and to stretch her legs, Jo stood and went outside. She'd only traveled a few feet down the sidewalk when Isaac joined her. "Don't think for a minute I don't know what you're up to."

  "Excuse me?" She turned and met his gaze.

  "You want to interview his sister so you can get at him."

  Figuring there was little use in lying, she nodded. "You know I need to learn more about his childhood in order to understand what's driving him to kill. Most pedophiles were molested at some point in their life, as I believe he was, but that doesn't fully explain his anger. It doesn't explain why he did such horrible things to those little girls we saw in that cellar."

  "I don't like it, Jo."

  "I know you don't, Isaac, but I've got to know everything there is to know about this guy. The more we know the better chance we have at nailing him."

  "Then let me come with you."

  "All I'm going to do is talk to the woman. I promise."

  "You better not be lying to me, Jo."

  "You worry too much."

  The door of the restaurant opened and they both turned as Boone exited. "Ready to hit the road, partner?"

  With a wave of acknowledgement, her eyes leveled on Isaac. "Do me a favor and bring hot shot down a notch or two."

  "Farrell is a little arrogant. Kind of reminds me of you sometimes."

  "Now that hurt. I was feeling guilty for ditching you, but not anymore."

  Isaac laughed. "See you back at the station."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Isaac watched the two agents make their way to their rental car. He wasn't in the least surprised when Jo insisted on driving, making the elder agent ride shotgun. What a pair they made; Boone in his late fifties and vitamin deficient, and Jo looking as if she could give birth any day.

  Agent Farrell came out and stood at Isaac's side. "Is she always so overbearing?"

  "Son, that woman is one of the best agents I've ever worked with. What she could teach you about the criminal mind, you'll never learn in any textbook."

  "I've heard she's one of the bureau's best profilers."

  "You could say that. She has the best instincts I've ever seen."

  "I don't think she likes me very much."

  "Jo's worked hard to get where she's at and it hasn't been an easy road, which explains the attitude. Give her some leeway and hopefully she'll return the favor."

  They went back inside, and while the other agents ate their lunch, Isaac checked his email and phone messages. It was no surprise to see that Joyce had called twice and left three texts. His personal life was in shambles, but right now finding Briggs was his main priority.

  Elaine Shipley, though obviously overwrought with worry, was both pleasant and cooperative upon their arrival. It wasn't until they asked to see Lauren's bedroom that the mother became overly protective of the missing girl's privacy.

  "Lauren is a very responsible teenager. It upset me to no end when some of the people around here suggested she ran off."

  "Your daughter was seen talking with someone in a dark blue Camaro? Any idea who it could have been?" Isaac asked.

  "No. They still haven't located it?"

  "No one in the area owns a car fitting its description."

  "Mary Talbert is just as responsible as my Lauren. If she says she saw my daughter talking to someone in a dark blue Camaro, you can bet money she did."

  Isaac followed the woman's gaze to Agent Farrell, who now glanced over items on the missing teenager's dresser. "Is Mary Talbert a friend of your daughter's?" Agent Farrell asked.

  "They hang out together sometimes. Can I ask what it is you're looking for?"

  "We have a behavioral profiler working with us on the case. Learning the personality and habits of your daughter and the other missing teenagers helps in developing a profile of the person who's abducted them," Isaac explained.

  "I heard in town you already know who took them?"

  "We have a suspect in mind, but we've no proof he's our man."

  "He's done this before, hasn't he; I mean that's why the FBI's involved?"

  "I'm afraid I can't offer any more information at this time, ma'am. I'm sorry."

  "Is there even a chance we'll get her back alive?" she asked softly.

  "We'll do our best to find her," Isaac promised. Recalling the tip on the Camaro, his smile faded. "This Mary Talbert, would you by chance have her address?" He knew from the case file she had already been questioned, but figured a follow-up wouldn't hurt.

  "It should be here in her address book." She stepped to the nightstand next to the bed and picked up a small green book.

  "If you wouldn't mind, could we borrow that?" he asked.

  "If it'll help."

  "Some of her other friends may have noticed a stranger in the area prior to your da
ughter's abduction."

  "Do you have children, Agent Washington?"

  "Yes ma'am. I have a son and daughter."

  "If you speak with them today, be sure and tell them you love them. You can never express it enough."

  "Yes ma'am. We'll keep you advised of our progress."

  "Thank you."

  *****

  It took them almost an hour to track down Mary Talbert, finally finding her at the local movie theater where she worked the ticket window. Taking a break, the pretty blue-eyed blonde stepped outside with them. "Sorry to bother you at work, Miss Talbert, but we're hoping you might answer some questions for us," Isaac said.

  "That's okay; I don't mind the extra break."

  "You informed the local police that you saw Lauren Shipley talking to someone in a late seventies model Camaro. Where did this take place?"

  "Just outside of Dante's. After school, several of us, including Lauren, had gone for a pizza and sodas. They had tuna sandwiches for lunch that day in the cafeteria so none of us had eaten since breakfast. Anyway, we were all inside eating and all of a sudden, Lauren jumps up, says she'll be right back, then runs outside. I didn't think anything about it at the time. I mean she acted like she knew the guy and all. I went to the bathroom and when I came back the Camaro was gone and so was she."

  Isaac wondered if she might have gotten the car's make or model wrong. "In your statement, you gave no mention of the sex of the driver, only the vehicle description, yet just now, you said a guy. What makes you think the driver was a male?"

  "I was pretty freaked out when I talked to the police, but the more I've been thinking about it, well, she seemed pretty excited when she spotted the car, so I just assume it was a guy. She doesn't get that excited about too many things. She's pretty laid back."

  "Had you ever seen this car before, or have you seen it since?"

  "No, never. Lauren and I are friends, but we don't always hang with the same kids. She goes more for the jock types, if you know what I mean."

  Isaac smiled. Some things never changed. "Does she have a boyfriend? Someone her mother might not know about."

  "Not that I know of, and I'm sure I would have heard if she had."

  "Have you noticed any strangers in the area, maybe hanging around in Dante's or at other places you hang out?" Agent Farrell asked.

  "Not that I can remember."

  "Did any of the other kids see the Camaro that day?"

  "I don't think so. No one mentioned it anyway."

  "Why do you think that is, I mean that you were the only one to see Lauren and the car?" Isaac asked.

  "I don't know, maybe because of the way we were sitting. I sat facing the door and most everyone else had their backs to it."

  "Is Lauren a passive person, is she one who might give into peer pressure?" Agent Farrell inquired.

  Mary grinned. "Are you asking me if she smokes pot?"

  "Not necessarily. I'm just curious as to the type of personality she has."

  "She's the most goal-orientated friend I have. She wants to go to Harvard if you can believe that. And no, she doesn't smoke pot. I've never even seen her drink a beer."

  "Thank you for your time, Miss Talbert. We appreciate your help."

  "No problem. I hope you find her. She's really a sweet girl."

  Isaac nodded and watched as the young girl returned to the ticket booth.

  "What do you think, sir?"

  "I think maybe we’d better split up so we can cover more ground. Drop me off at the station so I can continue working on this Camaro lead. You check out the rest of her friends." Isaac handed him the address book Mrs. Shipley had given him. "See if anyone else saw the car or any strangers in the area. We'll meet back at the station in a couple of hours."

  *****

  Back in the command center, Isaac went over the printout of every early model Camaro registered in the tri-county area, but just as Chief Benzali had assured him the day of their arrival, there were none fitting the description given by Mary Talbert. He gathered the phone books from neighboring counties and made a list of all the body shops in the area. He then called each of the twenty-five on the list to inquire if there had been any cars fitting the description to come in for a new paint job in the last eight weeks.

  No luck there either; Isaac had one of the officers run a national search for any vehicles matching the description that'd been reported stolen in the last three years. A total of ten had, but all had been accounted for.

  "Sorry, sir," the young patrolman offered, seemingly conscience of his frustration. "It was worth a shot."

  He glanced at his nametag. Chad Benzali. Realizing he was the chief's son, he leveled his eyes on the young man. "Do you suppose we might keep this between the two of us? Wouldn't want your old man thinking I was critical of his investigation."

  "No problem, sir. Just let me know if I can be of any more assistance."

  "I'll do that." Isaac smiled at the young man's enthusiasm before heading back to the command center. He prayed the others were having better luck than he was.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Just as Jo had suspected, Lynnette Carlson was reluctant to talk about her brother. A pretty brunette in her late forties, she quickly informed them she hadn't spoken to her brother since their father's funeral almost twenty years ago. When their mother passed away just two years later, he didn't even bother to go to her funeral.

  An hour and a half had passed since their arrival, and Lynnette didn't seem like she was going to budge on the subject, the last half hour spent talking about the joys of motherhood, and how important it was for a mother to stay at home with her children.

  "Was your mother a stay-at-home mom?" Jo asked, taking the opening.

  "Oh yes. She didn't go to work until all of us kids were in school."

  Jo wasn't buying her portrayal of a perfect family. She knew from experience no such thing existed. "So am I to understand you've had no contact with your brother through the years, not even a phone call?"

  "Harland never was very family-orientated, which probably explains his two divorces."

  "Three," Jo corrected.

  "See, you know more about him than I do. What's he done anyway?"

  "We don't know for sure he's done anything. We only want to question him."

  "It's about those missing girls, isn't it?"

  "Why would you think that?" Jo pressed.

  "No reason. Look, the kids are due home any minute. I'm sorry I can't be of any more help."

  Determined not to leave empty-handed Jo turned to her partner. "How much did the chief say that reward was?"

  "There's a reward on him?"

  Quick to catch on, Boone came through. "I don't remember right off hand. I'd have to check."

  "What kind of information do you need to know?"

  "We could start with the real reason you haven't spoken to him in over twenty years?"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  Tired and frustrated, Jo glared at the woman. "Look lady, I know your brother was molested as a kid. What I need to know is when and by whom."

  She gasped, exchanging looks with the agents at the same time. "I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't appreciate you coming into my home making such accusations."

  "It's not an accusation; it's a fact, and the longer you sit here denying it, the longer those girls are going to suffer."

  The color drained from the woman's face and she stood and walked toward the door. For a minute Jo thought they were about to be tossed out. Instead, the woman stopped at a buffet, opened the drawer, and took something out. When she turned, Jo saw what looked to be a photo album in her hands. Without a word, she thumbed through it and then handed it to Jo, pointing to a photograph midway through the album.

  Jo glanced at the faded black and white photo of a dark haired man wearing thick glasses. Several children were gathered around him. They were all smiling, except for one little boy who sat on the man's lap. The boy looked t
o be six or seven years old, and in his hand he held what looked to be a stuffed rabbit. "Who is it?" Jo asked softly, fearing her suspicions were about to be confirmed.

  "My Uncle Floyd. He used to live with us. My dad fixed him a room in our basement."

  "This is Harland, isn't it?" Jo pointed to the little boy on the man's lap.

  "Yes. I think he was seven in that picture."

  "How long had it gone on?"

  "I don't know." The woman shook her head slowly. "We didn't even know anything about it until Harland was fifteen or sixteen and Uncle Floyd died. Guess he figured it was safe to talk then."

  "Only no one believed him, did they?"

  "No. Dad called him a liar and told him if he ever spoke about it again, he'd send him away to school. We moved away shortly after."

  Jo closed the album and looked at the woman. "Do you mind if I borrow this?"

  "I don't mind, but there aren't any recent pictures of him in there. The last picture I have of him is his high school graduation picture."

  "That's okay. I'd still like to borrow it if I may."

  "Did he really take those girls?"

  "It's a very good possibility." Jo then stood, along with Boone, and the woman walked them to the door. Pausing in the doorway, Jo turned to her. "This is very important, and I need to know the truth, did Uncle Floyd molest you or your sisters?"

  "No." She looked at Jo with tears in her eyes. "Do you think he will try and contact us? Are we in any danger?"

  "If what you just told me is the truth, I doubt you'll ever see him again. We'll see that the chief posts some extra patrol in your neighborhood just in case."

  "Please see that he gets the help he needs."

  Jo nodded, keeping to herself the fact it was too late for that. Guys like Harland Briggs were beyond rehabilitation.

  *****

  Jo let Boone drive so she could look at the photo album. Starting at the beginning, she studied a family photograph. They appeared the average American family, a mother and father posing proudly with their four children. This particular photo showed a young Harland Briggs smiling at the camera. Narrowing in on his face, Jo gazed into his tiny eyes. That vacant, haunted look that she saw many years later at the most horrible crime scene she'd ever witnessed had yet to form.