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“All he needs is Ripley’s name,” Ella said. “This old dog is famous enough to have her own Wiki page. He’ll search her.”
“And it says divorced on there?”
Mia rolled her eyes. “Sadly, yes.”
“Alright, six o” clock. The world is watching,” Ella said. “Ready?”
Mia cleared her lungs with a vicious cough. She downed a gallon of coffee, hoping the liquid would hit her bladder within the next few minutes. One of her old partners told her that you were magically more charismatic when you needed the bathroom. It was a bizarre piece of advice, and perhaps that was why it had stuck with her.
“Ready.”
Ella said, “Hit the main points, hit the location. Be subtle. We know at least one of our killers will be watching this, and if we get lucky, both of them.” Even if they just lured in the Rose Killer, Ella would consider it a success.
“Let’s do this.” Ripley pulled open the precinct door and headed towards the rabble of reporters, journalists, and news pundits crammed in front of the podium. Ripley embraced the nervous energy, stockpiling it as a fuel source to keep her on track. This was their chance to pull off a miracle. She realized she was still holding her phone, which was now lit up with a message.
I’m watching. Good luck!
Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t help but smile. She passed her phone to Ella then took her place on the podium. Sergeant Grant went up first, gave his introduction and said, “Here to provide more details, Special Agent Mia Ripley.”
She took her position in front of one mounted camera, five microphones, and a horde of faces. There were two more cameras on either side of the podium.
“Good evening everyone, my name’s Mia Ripley and I’m with the FBI. Over the past three days, the city of Davenport has been terrorized by a lone perpetrator responsible for the deaths of four innocent civilians, including an elected representative of the city. Me, my team, and the Davenport PD have worked tirelessly for the past forty-eight hours to bring this situation to a close and I’d like to take this opportunity to reassure the public, and officially inform press and media outlets that we’re close to making an arrest in this case.”
Ripley stopped to take a breath, then was interrupted by a voice from the crowd.
“How close?” someone shouted.
“We can’t reveal any specific details because this is still an active investigation.” A chorus of follow-up questions came, but Ripley had found her groove. Questions would have to wait because she had bait to lay. “I’d also like to take this opportunity to remind people that we’re not dealing with a monster. We’re dealing with a human being. These sensationalized press reports do nothing but encourage the perpetrator to offend because he thrives on the attention. I’ve been a behavioral profiler for thirty years, and indeed, some of you may be familiar with me. What we’re dealing with is a disorganized lust killer, someone driven to rage through sexual inadequacies. What he lacks in character and confidence, he makes up for by attacking innocent people.”
Ripley didn’t have to think about the words. They just came to her. She was already in these killers’ heads, rearranging the furniture, skewing their public images. When it came to verbal assassination, she rarely missed.
“This is someone of low moral character. His crimes lack a certain class, which is why news of his crimes is yet to penetrate the media in other states. We’re dealing with a coward, someone who struggles to stand up for himself. If his victims had seen him coming, things would have played out much differently.”
“Do you have a name?” a woman in the front row shouted.
“Such details are still under wraps. All I’ll say is that we’re closing in on this offender and aim to have good news very soon. If anyone has information about this case, please send any tips to the Davenport PD office. My team will be heading back to D.C. shortly, but I’ll remain in Davenport for the time being. Tips can also be dropped at the desk at the Capri Motel for my attention.”
Ripley was out, accompanied by another barrage of questions. She strode off the podium with her head held high, exiting stage left. Sergeant Grant took over.
Ella pulled Ripley behind the podium, out of sight. “You got out of there fast.”
“Golden rule. Always leave them wanting more. Did I hit the right notes?”
“You sang like an angel. Now we just have to hope it works. Ready for the next step?”
Ripley heard Grant fielding questions, giving vague answers, spewing law enforcement buzzwords. She had to remember to thank him for taking the question-shaped bullets. “Ready. What is it?”
“We’ll get to that in a second,” Ella said. “By the way, I told you that you looked good.”
“Come again?”
Ella handed Ripley her phone back. “Martin seemed to think so too.”
Mia read the new message.
You won’t see this for a while, but you own that podium.”
Ripley smiled again. “Son of a bitch.”
