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Ebury nodded. "I'll show you the photos. They were sent to us when the Interpol database picked up on the similarity in the crimes. Female, in her twenties, walking alone near a central area in the city, and you can see for yourself that the MO is identical. What makes it more serious, though, is that this time, he’s killed a government minister’s daughter. That’s why they called us immediately.”
“It’s a high profile crime. We’re doing our best to contain the information for now, but when it leaks out, it’s going to be disastrous,” the international operations director said.
Ebury turned the laptop in front of him toward Juliette, and she stared at the face shots.
This was the same MO. She saw it instantly, with a chill that seemed to freeze her entire spine.
What characterized Goldenface's crimes, apart from the extreme strength and swift brutality of the strangling, was the weird attention to detail he paid his victims afterward.
Just like the other three victims in New York and New Jersey, this woman in Paris had her face painstakingly painted. The gold stage paint looked like a second skin. Not a scrap of her own skin remained visible. The killer had even daubed gold paint onto her sightless eyes, so that her stare was blank and fathomless, the eyeballs coated in glittering gold, the lips perfectly outlined, the skin a satin sheen of gold. It was as if he'd spent hours in a make-up studio perfecting the effect.
"It's the same guy. Too similar not to assume that, anyway," Juliette said.
And he'd killed a government minister's daughter? That was a political disaster. A high profile death. Was this killer a U.S. citizen who'd now moved to a new hunting ground? Or was he French, and he'd been conducting his spree in the U.S. before returning home? She wished she knew more.
"Has forensics picked up anything yet? Did he leave any clues in the apartment here?" she asked, feeling desperate for some lead, any lead.
"There's no forensic evidence in the apartment," Ebury explained. "Not so far. No trace, no fingerprints. No information at all on the phone; it was wiped clean of prints and data. The apartment was actually standing vacant for a few months, ready for repair. The owner, who's currently in Michigan, was shocked to learn it was being used."
Having that sort of local knowledge was making Juliette think he was likely a U.S. citizen who'd relocated to keep a step ahead of the police.
"Border officials? Passports? We know he was here last week when he made that phone call," she said.
Ebury sighed. "There have been more than fifty flights from New York to Paris since then. Thousands of passengers. But yes, passport control is going through every traveler who fits the parameters, along with the judicial police. However, we need more."
Juliette glanced at the other two men at the table. Both were watching her, their faces grave. She felt a sense of shame. They needed more because she'd been too slow. If only she'd managed to piece together Goldenface’s location earlier.
"We believe that it’s now imperative that the FBI steps in and offers our help," Ebury said. "A killer like this, crossing international borders, is a serious safety threat. On cases like this, we know we can add value and resources, and with an international reach, it will make it more difficult for him to flee elsewhere. But up until now it's always been problematic to get the different law enforcement agencies to cooperate. That’s really the biggest stumbling block, but we feel that given the urgency of this case, and the political involvement, we can overcome it and offer our help."
"Yes, politics between agencies can be a big stumbling block." Juliette had personal experience of that. The daughter of a traveling diplomat, she'd spent her childhood all over the world, including a few years in France. She knew what it took to keep a cooperative atmosphere, especially when a crisis exploded.
That made her think of her father, and what had happened to him. She didn’t allow her mind to dwell on that. It was too distracting now, when all her focus needed to be on what the next steps would be here.
"This case might be the turning point, I believe," Ebury said. "I’ve spoken to the French authorities and they have agreed we can send a small task force there, immediately, to assist. We all know this killer’s interval and that it’s an urgent matter."
Juliette felt her heart beat harder. Was this why she was here? Was she going to be a part of it?
He looked at Juliette. "You have international experience. You are proficient in a few languages, correct?"
She nodded. "I speak good French, and passable Italian and Spanish." She could understand people well enough in a couple of others.
Glancing to her left, she saw the director of international operations nod approvingly.
"That's why I want you on the team," Ebury said. "You have the international experience and exposure that's needed, and you can bridge the gap between the U.S. and France, between the various agencies."
The FBI director nodded. "This is a crisis situation, but it's also a big opportunity to make progress in fighting international crime, and overcome some of the historic barriers. The political situation means we have to act with speed and discretion. Can you handle that?"
Juliette met his gaze. She knew what he was asking her. To step away from her existing role for as long as it took to catch Goldenface. To join unknown partners in an unfamiliar environment. And despite what Ebury had said about the international authorities being able to agree, Juliette wasn’t so sure. Personalities on the ground, the French police themselves, might resent the arrival of the FBI and she’d have to handle that, too. For a moment of uncomfortable self-doubt, she wondered if she was up to the challenge, especially given the stakes if she failed.
Then, she sat up straighter, remembering the tight timeframe of the mission and the urgency of the task. Resolve settled into her. This was her chance. It was an opportunity that suited her skills, and it would allow her to use those skills to catch a killer that she thought was taunting the FBI deliberately.
"I can do it," she said. "I won't let you down."
"Good," he said. Then, briskly, he added, "Go and pack. You're going to fly out tonight. We need you there as soon as possible, and you'll be traveling with another two agents.”
“Who are those, sir?” she asked. She guessed, with a feeling of disappointment, that Forrester, her current partner, would remain here and wouldn’t be deployed in this new venture.
“You’re my choice,” Ebury said. “The director has chosen his preferred candidate to partner with you.”
