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“Absolutely.” Rusk smirks. “In fact, there’d be a lot of opportunities to cover your tracks if you knew exactly where the investigations were going.”
“We’ve got a lot of blanks to fill in here,” Matheson says. “You’ve certainly got a long way to go before I’ll believe it.”
I stare at him, trying to picture this man and Charlie working together. Partners are close, right? But I can’t see it. Not this man with my Charlie. It doesn’t make sense. “You knew him?”
“Even ten, fifteen years ago they were giving me the rookies,” Rusk replies. “Only he wasn’t the typical rookie. He came to us lean and mean, fresh out of the Rangers, with years of hard-ass secret ops all over the world. From the beginning, he had a hard-on for serial killers. Every free moment, I’d catch him going through every piece of evidence we had on the Blood Drinker.”
Matheson leans back in her chair, her eyes wide. “Wow. Only our most infamous unsolved serial killer case. Why him?”
“I didn’t know in the beginning. Later, he admitted the Blood Drinker was his father, and the only reason he joined the FBI was to track him down and kill him.”
If my heart hadn’t already cracked in a thousand pieces when Charlie left, it shattered now. I knew his father killed his mother. It took Charlie years to track him down and stop him from killing more people. That was horrible enough. But a serial killer who makes hardened FBI agents ooh and ah with dread?
And the name. I know all too well why they might have dubbed him Blood Drinker.
“Within two years, we were the go-to team for serial killers. We had a great record. Unless you looked at how many of them didn’t make it back alive for sentencing.”
“So he was killing the suspects?”
Rusk nods. “At first, it seemed pretty innocent. He received an anonymous tip and he couldn’t get ahold of me, so he went alone. The guy fought back and nearly killed him, so it was clearly self-defense. The next one had a gun and refused to surrender. Maybe we could have talked him down, but Charlie took the shot. No one complained. After all, the guy had killed at least a dozen homeless street kids. But the next one ended up dead with no witnesses. And the next. Whispers started, eyebrows raised, ASAC called us up for lectures on proper procedures.”
“What happened?” I ask. “What made him leave the FBI?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Rusk replies. “They put him on administrative leave, and he said he was getting back to his roots. He was cleared to return, but he resigned. I never saw him again. Left me a pile of shit to clean up, though. I got the hairy eye for at least a year after that and never caught another serial killer case. Until this one.”
“So he killed some serial killers. In the line of duty.” I stopped shaking enough that I’m able to sip my tea without spilling any, though it’s cold now. “I don’t see why that’s so horrible.”
“Even in the line of duty, we bring suspects in for questioning and sentencing,” Rusk says. “We’re not vigilantes. We certainly can’t play judge and jury, even for the most sadistic killers. No matter how fun it’d be to knock off another bad guy and give him what he deserves.”
“I wouldn’t call it fun.” Matheson gives him a side-eye of her own. “Though I can understand the reasoning, even if it’s wrong. Ask those parents what they thought about their children’s killer being killed by a cop, and I’m sure they were relieved he’d never get out on parole and do it again.”
“Fine, but now he’s escalated to killing women he picks up online,” Rusk retorts. “Not so sympathetic now, is he?”
“I still don’t believe it.” They both look at me like I need to have my head examined, but I don’t care. “He’s not that kind of killer.”
“But he is a killer,” Matheson says slowly. “You don’t deny that.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t answer it. “I’m really tired.”
“Of course. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. Could we drive you somewhere for the night so you’re not alone?”
Tiredly, I push to my feet. I only have one place to go. Though I’d rather go to hell first.
PARTIII
REDEEMED
31
Knocking on my parents’ door at ten o’clock at night feels like the ultimate failure. I’m nearly thirty years old and still faking it. Still lost, still broken, still hopeless, still alone. Now I have to ask for help yet again.
I can only imagine how this is going to go.You remember that nice man I brought into your house on Christmas Day? Yeah, well, the FBI thinks he’s a serial killer and I was going to be his next victim. What’d you have for dinner? I’m starving. I’m too incompetent to feed myself.
The door opens and Mom drags me into a hug so fierce and tight I can’t breathe. Dad looms behind her and offers a hand to Special Agent Matheson. “Thank you, ma’am, for all you’ve done.”
“My pleasure, sir.” She leans close enough to me to whisper, “I called ahead and explained things. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Is she safe now, or do we have to worry about him coming after her?”
