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10
Whitney sat at his desk, the city he served spearing up through the window at his back. His big hands rested on the arms of his chair; his eyes, dark and keen, stayed on Eve’s as she briefed him.
He wore command as he wore his suit – a good fit with clean lines. While she spoke, his wide, dark face remained impassive.
“And this deputy traveled here from the Ozarks on his own time and dime because the searches you ran were flagged by him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And he did this – at the base – because he believes a war vet with PTSD, with a history of substance abuse and antisocial behavior was one of the victims of the spree killers currently being sought by this department, others, and the FBI in spite of the ruling of his own ME – and the subsequent determination of accidental death by the FBI.”
In blunt, logical terms it didn’t ring the bell, but…
“The local ME in this case is also the town doctor – a GP. I checked, and she’s only worked on a handful of murders in seventeen years. The FBI has profiled these unsubs, has cemented their victimology. So far they’re not very flexible about thinking outside those lines. Deputy Banner’s vic is on the route I’ve speculated independently, as are several others both Deputy Banner and I have on our separate lists. They didn’t start with Tennessee, Commander. The Nashville vic is only the first we can determine had the carved heart. And the gaps between killings are inconsistent – until you fill them in with the names both Banner and I have added.”
“Have you spoken with Special Agent Zweck?”
“No, sir, and I don’t intend to at this time.” She paused only a moment when he raised his eyebrows. “They’re not interested in this line or these victims – Banner’s already been shot down there. If we find evidence they were part of this spree, I would, of course, share all data and information. I realize this is all based on speculation, Commander, but it’s logical speculation. It fits. And it’s a big stretch to dismiss the fact both Banner and I have hit on so many of the same names.”
He tapped a finger on the edge of his desk. “It’s a big stretch to exhume two bodies and have the remains transported here, to have our people and resources study them for the purpose of overturning CODs.”
“If either of those CODs are overturned, I have a third body. Noah Paston, age nineteen, abducted, tortured, murdered – missing the carved heart in September.”
“That would bring the tally to twenty-four,” Whitney stated.
“Paston’s body wasn’t cremated but buried. If we determine either Little or Fastbinder – and I lean to both – were killed by these unsubs, I believe Paston’s parents would agree to have his body exhumed and tested.”
“And Jayla Campbell?”
“She’s the next, but she won’t be the last. It’s my belief that coordinating with Banner, compiling our separate investigations will open something up, help us find her in time.”
Nearly ten hours off the forty-eight already, Eve thought.
“We have no names, no faces. They’re like ghosts, Commander. That tells me they look normal, ordinary, and know how to blend and behave
in a way that doesn’t bring attention. I’ve got uniforms and droids canvassing the area between where Campbell was last seen and her apartment, using the location McNab pinpointed where she texted her roommate. She made it that far, and we don’t know how much farther. Walking alone, as Kuper was, as Little was, as Fastbinder was.
“There’s a mistake somewhere,” she continued. “There always is, but nobody’s found it. Not yet. Mistakes may have happened further back, where nobody’s looked closely enough. We find a mistake, and maybe we’re in time to save Campbell.”
He tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair, then leaned forward. “I want to talk to Banner’s superior.”
“Chief of Police Lucius Mondale. I did a quick background on both of them. Small-town cops, sir, but solid from what I can find. I sent you that data and Mondale’s contact information.”
“I’ll speak with him, and let you know my position on this. Meanwhile, coordinate with Banner. Information’s never wasted.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They were coming here,” he said as she stepped back.
“Yes, sir, by any route I’ve projected, New York is probable destination.”
Rising, he walked to his wall of glass, looked out, hands linked behind his back. “That will be one of their mistakes. Keep this low on the media radar as long as possible.”
“Absolutely.”
“Get it done.”
“Yes, sir.”
