After the murders of Ryan Smith and Jason Todd, when investigators realized the boys’ cell phones had not been in their submerged car with their clothing, the families had been instructed not to cancel the accounts. Nobody had believed the Professor would be careless enough to use one of his victims’ phones, but you never knew.
So when word had come in that Ryan’s phone had been used last night, Alec had been anxious for the details. Wyatt hadn’t known much, certainly not enough for any members of the team to head back in at one in the morning. Going home, Alec had grabbed a little sleep, then returned to headquarters.
Taggert and Fletcher were already there, as, of course, was Wyatt. They all looked up and greeted him, Wyatt with cordiality, Dean with a noncommittal nod, and Lily with a friendly smile. No glares. No turning away, like what he might have gotten at the BAU. Progress.
“Conference room at seven thirty, all right?” Wyatt said as he departed.
Alec knew Wyatt wouldn’t want to go over the new evidence more than once. Waiting a half hour for everyone else made sense, even if he was impatient for the details.
Intending to go to his office, he hesitated when he heard Stokes’s voice. “Man, somebody needs to call the weatherman and tell him to send this cold shit away. I have had enough.”
“Sorry, it’s only January. The shit’s staying for at least two more months,” said Taggert, sounding almost as if he were joking around. This must be a good mood for him. Then again, his partner, Kyle, wasn’t in yet to light his short fuse.
When Stokes finally saw Alec standing in his doorway, her eyes widened. She looked almost surprised that the new guy had shown up for work a full hour early like the merely mortal agents.
Alec lifted a brow to tell her he knew what she was thinking. “Problem?”
“Nah,” she muttered, sounding reluctantly amused. “I guess you might cut it after all.”
“No more ‘hotshot’ remarks?”
“Deal.”
He managed to keep a straight face when he asked, “And I get to drive?”
“Don’t push it.”
“Yeah, don’t push it, Lambert,” said Dean. The other agent confirmed his good mood with a real smile, which made the usually serious face look a whole lot more approachable. “You think she’s bad behind the wheel, wait’ll you experience her talents as a backseat driver.”
Alec grinned. “At least I won’t get killed in a wreck.”
“You might wish you had.”
“Hey! I didn’t hear you complaining when I drove your butt home last week.” She turned to Alec. “Our boy has a new live-in lady friend who needed to borrow the car.”
“How does your husband put up with you?” Dean asked.
She ignored him. “How is Stacey, anyway? She settling in to city life okay?”
“Yeah. She starts her new job with the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office next week.”
“Gonna be a lot different from Hope Valley. But she’ll be running the place in no time.”
The serious man actually chuckled. So the guy obviously had a soft side, if only for his cop girlfriend. Suddenly recognizing the name of the town Jackie mentioned, Alec asked, “Hope Valley? The Reaper case?”
“Yes,” Dean replied.
“Wait-are you talking about the sheriff who helped you bring him down?”
“Stacey Rhodes,” he said, obviously proud. “She was sheriff at the time, but didn’t run for reelection. She was ready for a change and wanted to-”
“Move in with your grouchy self,” Jackie said.
“Leave him be,” said Lily, who had been quietly listening to the exchange from just inside the small, cramped break room: a glorified closet with a coffeemaker and a sink.
Though a member of the team, Lily seemed to hover on the periphery, and not merely because she wasn’t in the hall with the rest of them. The woman appeared comfortable being slightly on the outside, not in the middle of things, as if she hadn’t totally let down her guard. Alec didn’t take it personally, having noted the separation was from everyone, not just him.
“Don’t pay attention to either of them, Alec. We really aren’t that nosy around here.”
“Yeah, we are,” another voice said. Kyle Mulrooney had arrived. The barrel-chested man, his slicked-down black hair unmoved by the windy weather, removed his coat and tossed it on a rack. “So nosy we’ve got a few questions for you, Lambert.”
Alec stiffened. He had been waiting for this, wondering when they’d work their way up to asking him about the rumors. Anybody who bothered to look into the case would know he had been shot by the sixty-year-old mother of the suspect. Not a girlfriend, not a wife, not a young suspect he’d gotten tangled up with against all policies and agency rules. But few people were interested in looking into it.
An agent had died. Alec was to blame. That was all they needed to know.
“There’s something Dean’s been dying to ask you,” Mulrooney said, his jowly face pulled into a frown. “Uh, who’s your tailor?”
“Bite me, buddy,” Dean said.
Stokes snorted, and Alec felt the tension leave his body. His coworkers were going out of their way to welcome him today, while they hadn’t the previous few. It was as if they’d waited for him to prove himself and, somehow, yesterday he’d done so.
Now they were intentionally bringing him into their world, letting him know that, even though he hadn’t been a Black CAT for long, he was one of them. And whatever they’d heard about him before he’d arrived, they were giving him a chance, as their boss had.
At least, that was how he interpreted it.
“Ignore them. We’re glad to have you,” Lily said, confirming he was right.
He couldn’t name a moment in his career when he’d been more appreciative. “Thanks,” he murmured, saying more than just that simple word.
Lily got the message. “There’s no outside garbage here; we drop it at the door.”
“Yeah, ’cause everybody treats us like garbage, anyway,” Kyle said with a wide grin, as if not bothered by the idea whatsoever.
Alec thought he understood. There was a certain freedom in being ignored due to Wyatt’s infamy. The ability to operate under the radar, investigating an unsub who appeared to be a serial killer the BAU had been hunting for years, for instance.
Kyle continued. “I guess you might be good enough to become a gen-u-ine Black CAT.”
Smiling as he realized the team didn’t seem to mind the nickname, which he’d already gotten used to himself, Alec said, “Thanks. I’ll do my best.”
Lily stepped out of the break room, closer to the group, though still maintaining a few feet of distance. Not fully joining in, but trying. “And I hope you’re not second-guessing yourself about yesterday. Trying to engage the unsub through Mrs. Dalton’s Web site was an excellent idea, and we all wanted it to succeed.”
Stokes jumped in. “There’s still a chance. I checked the site this morning; comments are still coming in. Not from Darwin, but he could be watching.”
“If Darwin is the Professor, he’s definitely watching,” Alec murmured, feeling sure of it.
He didn’t mention that he had also checked the Web site every hour throughout the night. And every time he checked, he found himself wishing he could have kept Sam out of this nightmare.
“He’s the Professor,” Jackie said, sounding certain. The other three agents nodded, the conclusion a unanimous one among the team. “We all know it.”
“I agree,” Alec said, wondering if they heard his lack of happiness about that.
He hated to admit it, knowing they needed the lead, but he wouldn’t be completely disappointed if the man who had reached out to Sam was not who they were after. She’d been through so much already. Hearing what her bastard ex had put her through had broken his heart a little. That she had been drawn out only because a psychopath had zoned in on her as some kind of ally seemed not only unfortunate but damned unfair.
She could already be out of it.
If only he could believe that. Though as of an hour ago their unsub had not returned to Sam’s Web site, Alec knew it could still happen. The Professor was out there, an angry, murderous bull, and Sam was holding the red cape that could enrage him.
He would worry about any civilian in this situation; it was his job. But last night, Alec had realized he no longer had the impartiality of his job to hide behind when it came to Sam. Already, this was deeper. This was personal.
He let himself repeat it, if only in his head: His feelings toward Sam Dalton were personal. It had taken a lot to say good night and leave her in the doorway last night, when neither of them wanted him to go. He’d been tempted by a lot more than the friendly poker game she’d suggested. Losing himself in the softness of her mouth, which he suspected hadn’t been offered to any man since her prick of a husband had tossed her away, it had taken serious willpower to walk away after just one kiss. But a second helping would have led to only one place: bed.
Maybe when this is over…
Yeah. Maybe then. What might happen, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was only attraction, as he’d told himself at first, and his liking and admiration for her wouldn’t come into play.
But he doubted it.
“You think he’s just waiting it out, wanting to get more of her blog visitors riled up, screaming for his blood, before he comes back and ‘instructs’ everyone?” Lily asked, making the very point Alec had been considering.
“Yes, I do. I think he’s intentionally letting the debate rage on, liking the attention and the drama he started. When it dies down…”
“He’ll stir the pot again,” Kyle said. “Like a sous chef straight outta hell’s kitchen.”
Right. And when and if Darwin stirred the pot, they’d be watching. Alec had only one fear-that Sam would stir it first.
He couldn’t think about that. He needed to focus on the case, stop the Professor before he hurt anybody else. Before he dragged Sam deeper into his nightmare. That included finding some other way to talk to Jimmy Flynt.
“There is one other possibility about why Darwin didn’t come back last night.” Lily’s shoulders were slumped, looking as though they carried the weight of the world. She didn’t have to continue. They all knew what the other possibility was.
The Professor might have been out killing someone.
“What’s going on? Did I miss a staff meeting?” Brandon Cole entered the office. Pink shirt today, loud tie. Alec felt pretty sure he’d seen the look on a billboard or on the cover of GQ.
“Perfect timing; we’re about to go in,” said Jackie.
Alec glanced at his watch. Seven twenty-five. Tossing his briefcase onto his desk, he joined the others in the conference room. Wyatt was waiting for them, poring over some paperwork strewn out on the table. Glancing at one file, Alec realized these were copies of the evidence report from Ryan’s and Jason’s murders.
“Anything of use?” he asked.
“The forensics came back as expected. Not a single usable fingerprint on the car, other than those belonging to the boys or Jason’s family members. The same can be said for the duct tape, the most popular brand on the market. There was a black fiber trapped in the weave of it, however. It might have come from a knit glove.”
And how many of those could there be in the northern hemisphere?
“The metal folding chair was a brand distributed through a couple of big-box retailers all over the country.”
The hits just kept coming.
“So what’s the deal with the phone?” Taggert asked.
Wyatt pushed the forensic report back into the folder. “Someone used it for more than three minutes last night. Ryan Smith’s father has been checking his son’s account every night, and he noticed a call took place around nine p.m. The phone company has the account flagged, and they would have noticed it this morning… Thanks to Mr. Smith, we knew twelve hours in advance.”
Smart man. Or simply a grieving father who felt powerless and wanted to do something to help solve his son’s murder.
“The cell phone provider should be calling at any time with the information on the tower, and the approximate location of the caller.”
Meaning, if the Professor had used the phone himself, they would know where he had been less than half a day ago. Where he had really been, not just what Internet sites he had cruised. Alec forced himself not to even think of that issue, not wanting his head clouded today by his concern for Sam.
As if Wyatt had willed it to happen, the office phone rang. The dour receptionist, whose name Alec couldn’t even remember, hadn’t arrived yet, so the boss answered the call himself from the phone in here. They all quieted when he started speaking, but every person actually fell silent as soon as they realized he was not talking to the cellular provider.
“Yes, Detective, we are assisting the Wilmington police.”
Something about the boys.
It was impossible to glean anything from merely the words Wyatt uttered on his side of the conversation. It was not, however, difficult to spot the way their boss shook his head and covered his eyes at some bit of particularly bad news. “Yes, of course.” He reached for a pen and paper, jotting something down, then continued. “Morning traffic will tangle us up a bit, but we should be able to get there by nine or shortly thereafter. You will still be working the scene?”
Oh, damn. Another crime scene?
Every other person in the room realized the same thing. Jackie groaned in disgust. Lily’s pale face lost what little color it had. Kyle and Dean both muttered expletives, and Brandon flipped open his laptop, ready to dive in with whatever information Wyatt gave them.
Their leader hung up, rising and stuffing the forensics pages back into their files. “It appears we don’t have to wait for the phone company. Ryan Smith’s cell phone was discovered at a crime scene. Lily and Brandon, please remain here to provide us with off-site support, as well as monitoring Mrs. Dalton’s Web site.”
“And the rest of us?” Jackie asked.
“We’re going to Baltimore. A woman’s body was found this morning.”
Alec jerked to his feet. “Not Sam…”
Wyatt immediately shook his head. “No, no. Of course not.”
Thank you, God. His conscience was already heavy over what had happened to Ferguson. One death-another agent’s-was all the guilt he could carry. A civilian’s could break him.
Samantha’s? Well, that could crush him for good.
No one commented on Alec’s response, probably because they’d all seen him sit in this room with her for nine or ten hours yesterday. They knew he felt responsible for his plan not working, and would feel even more responsible if Sam was hurt because of it. They couldn’t know he had gotten personally interested in the woman, though Jackie did eye him speculatively.
He didn’t care. Those few brief seconds thinking something had happened to Sam had thrust the reality of his feelings toward her home with the power of a blade. There was no maybe about it. When this case was over, he would be knocking on her door for that shot of tequila, that poker game. That kiss. And whatever came after it.
“Let’s go,” Wyatt said.
Everyone rose quickly. Grabbing coats and keys, they hurried out, Blackstone shooting details over his shoulder. “Baltimore police were called by a construction foreman before dawn. A woman’s naked body was spotted on the grounds of a waterfront site. She was a thirty-eight-year-old operator, unmarried, living with a female roommate in the city. Judging by the body temperature, it appears she’s been there all night.”
Alec didn’t have to think long before he caught the vision. “Blindfolded too, right? Then left alone to stagger around helpless and fall to her death.”
The others simply stared. They hadn’t been after the Professor as long as Alec had. God willing, they would never know him as intimately as he did.
“Very likely,” Blackstone said. Inside the elevator, he added, “They found her clothes and ID on the top level of the building, along with a cell phone that they quickly discovered had belonged to a murder victim. The Wilmington police directed them to us.”
“Ryan Smith’s,” Alec confirmed.
Wyatt nodded.
“So I guess we know why Darwin wasn’t hanging around online last night,” Jackie said, shaking her head in disgust.
“Yeah,” Kyle said, ever the blunt one. “He was busy tossing an operator off a building.”
But he probably wasn’t busy now. In fact, the unsub was likely relaxed, sated for the time being. Perhaps he had some time on his hands. Maybe even enough to do a little Web surfing.
Wyatt seemed to read his mind, not the first time his boss had exhibited some pretty amazing intuition. “Brandon and Lily will notify us the moment he shows up on her site.”
Alec eyed the other man warily, wondering if his reaction in the conference room had revealed more than he’d intended to about his relationship with their witness. “I know,” he said, wanting to place a quick call to Sam to give her a heads-up that Darwin might be back online this morning.
But it would have to be from the road. They were all anxious to get to the crime scene before too many people had gone through it. Alec needed to look at every inch if he wanted to try to imagine what the Professor had been thinking and feeling.
Thinking, yes. Feeling? The Professor? Probably not so much. He suspected the unsub didn’t have feelings, that he was completely detached from what he was doing. One step removed from the human race, as if they were his subjects, or his guinea pigs, free to be played with and disposed of at will.
He only wished they had stopped him before he’d had a chance to play his deadly game with the poor woman lying cold and dead on the ground in Baltimore.
Considering Sam had spent the last couple of days wrapped up in a murder investigation, mourning the loss of a nice kid, and wondering whether she had attracted the attention of a serial killer, she probably shouldn’t have been so surprised to forget an important date. In most cases, such a lapse in memory could probably be expected.
Except, of course, if the date was her own birthday.
It wasn’t today. The official anniversary would occur tomorrow. However, this was the day her mother had decided to celebrate. Why? Because the older woman had a Saturday-night date and needed all of tomorrow to prepare. Who said mothers weren’t sentimental?
If it’s with someone she met online, I’m going to lock her up and throw away the key.
“So you will be there for lunch?” the older woman asked. “Eleven forty-five a.m. at Raphael’s, that lovely café I like on Charles Street?”
She shouldn’t have answered the phone this morning when it startled her awake a few minutes ago. Actually, she wished she hadn’t turned the ringer back on last night. She had thought, however implausibly, that Alec might decide to call her and fill her in on what that mysterious phone call from his boss had been about. But no, the only call had been this reminder from her mother. Which effectively removed any chance of Sam using the legitimate excuse that she had forgotten about today’s lunch.
“Samantha?”
“I’ll be there.”
“You won’t forget? I know how you are when you get busy doing that computer thing.”
That computer thing. Oh, her livelihood?
“I said I’ll be there,” she insisted. Then, knowing the reaction she would get, added, “I asked Tricia to join us.”
Tricia hadn’t committed to the invitation, mainly because she and Sam’s mother had their own mutual non-admiration society. But considering how contrite Tricia had sounded when e-mailing and calling to apologize for the answering machine snafu, she’d probably show up.
Not that Sam had responded to her pleas for information about who had been there to hear the amplified conversation. Tricia had naturally assumed it was a man, but Sam wasn’t ready to go there yet, not even with her best friend.
“She’s such a wild girl, Samantha.” Her mother’s disapproval came through the phone loud and clear.
“That wild girl has been my best friend for two decades.”
“Well, it is your birthday. I suppose you should decide who you want to spend it with.”
Magnanimous. “She is so looking forward to seeing you, too.”
Her mother harrumphed. “There’s no need for sarcasm.”
Sarcasm had been her go-to defense for a year now, but she usually didn’t target it at her normally easy-to-get-along-with mother, who was only a pain in the ass in the way that all mothers were a pain in the ass. And because she was a little lacking in the commonsense department. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, and I’m sorry, too. I know how close you two are. I’m sure Tricia can be on her best behavior for one lunch. She does know better than to do anything inappropriate, doesn’t she? Nathan cannot afford to be seen in the midst of a scandal.”
“Uncle Nate is a big boy,” Sam replied. Big and tough, with a reputation as one of the strictest judges in town. Scrupulously honest, but open to no bullshit, as criminals like Jimmy Flynt had learned. Nate had presided over Flynt’s state trial and had tried to dissuade Sam from talking to the man, being very protective of her. He might be a hanging judge on the bench, but she knew him as a quiet, loving pseudo-uncle.
“I told him to meet us at eleven forty and no later. I know it’s early, but it’s such a popular spot, that was the only lunch reservation available. Tell Tricia the same thing, will you?”
Sam had wondered more than once why Nate still put up with being bossed around by his late partner’s widow. There was only one explanation: She suspected he had feelings for her mother. The hope that she’d someday see him in that light and return the sentiment had to have been what kept the man coming around all these years, through other men, other marriages.
He must truly love her. But her mother was too flighty to see him as anything more than the stodgy, reliable big-brother figure who’d hovered in the background for so very long.
“I must run. Can’t wait to see you, honey!”
“Me, too, Mom.”
On most occasions, she didn’t mind seeing her family. Hers had always been a small one. Her grandmother’s death had made it even smaller, as had Sam’s divorce. So Nate’s and Tricia’s presence had become even more important, and she usually wanted nothing more than to share holidays and special events with them.
Frankly, though, she’d rather skip today. Tomorrow, too. What was so great about turning thirty-one? Last year’s birthday-thirty, and two weeks divorced-had been bad enough. Now a whole year had gone by and she was no closer to being “back to normal” than she had been when hitting the big three-oh. She had begun to wonder if “back to normal” was overrated.
It’s not.
Hearing that voice in her head, she paused, gave it some thought, and suddenly realized her attitude had begun to change. Maybe because of Alec, who was certainly not overrated. Thinking about him, and about those unexpected moments they’d shared last night, she knew he was anything but.
The nearly imperceptible quake in his voice when he’d told her about the shooting, the tenderness in his eyes when she’d told him about her marriage-they had done something to her, made something begin to thaw. So had their single kiss, which had left her more aware of herself as a woman than she’d been in a long time.
It wasn’t just sex. She’d almost felt as if she could start coming to life again, begin the process of moving on.
Sam smiled, letting the truth of it flood her. A return to warmth and vibrancy and sensuality was not overrated. In fact, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she was starting to look forward to rejoining the land of the living. Not fully yet, not with this awful investigation looming and a psycho talking to her. But beyond that, into the future. The long-term one that meant a return to the world she’d shut out.
Moving on. What a simple concept. And what an exciting one.
Throwing back the covers with a laugh, she greeted the day a lot more pleasantly than she had in a long time. After a quick shower, she picked out something to wear that would meet her mother’s conservative standards and Tricia’s outrageous ones.
Venturing to the kitchen, she made some coffee, then sat at the table to jot some notes for the new book. By hand. It wasn’t until she had filled a page that she acknowledged what she had been doing: avoiding the living room, avoiding her desk. All so she could avoid the computer on her desk. Contrary to her daily routine, she had never even flipped the thing on, even though she’d hooked it back up last night.
Within a half hour, she had the shakes, Internet withdrawal setting in so badly she was almost sweating. But she remained torn, wanting to check in, wanting just as much to stay checked out of the awful situation in which she had found herself.
Coward. Just get it over with.
Alec had called and left her a message while she was in the shower, saying Darwin had not posted to her message board overnight. But there was still that twinge of concern. Not to mention the awful possibility the psychopath would decide to try educating her by personal e-mail, rather than posting publicly.
Yet she couldn’t steer clear of the cyber world forever. Bad enough the need to check her site, her regular blogs, and her e-mails; she also needed to look up the damn address of the restaurant. She hadn’t seen an actual hard copy of a phone book in a couple of years.
So, with her heart somewhere in the vicinity of her larynx, she sat at her desk and flipped on her connection to the rest of the world, hoping one particularly vile part of it had not once again reached out and connected to her first.
The team had caravanned up to Baltimore in three cars. Unfortunately, sometime during morning rush hour a tractor trailer had devoured a MINI Cooper on the beltway. Two northbound lanes and the shoulder were blocked, and a ride that had taken about an hour yesterday took almost three this morning.
When they arrived at the scene, Alec noted the chaos. Uniformed officers from the city’s police department guarded the entrance. Somebody had gone through a whole lot of crime scene tape circling the fenced lot. Onlookers ranging from suit-wearing businessmen to dock-workers milled around on the street. Guys in hard hats clustered in small circles, wondering when they could return to work. Also wondering what she had looked like, you know, afterward.
He could almost hear them.
Stokes swung their car directly behind Wyatt’s, getting out quickly, her badge already in her hand. Alec followed suit, but moved more slowly.
“Well?” she asked, impatience evident in her inflection.
“Go ahead,” he said, waving her forward. He wasn’t really paying attention, already completely focused on following the path the victim-and possibly her killer-must have taken.
He hadn’t circumnavigated the site, but judging by the severed chain on the ground and the residual fingerprint powder on the post, this was where the detectives believed the suspect and/or the victim had entered. He walked through, his gait slow. His footsteps crunched on the frozen dirt as he stepped past shards of woods and masonry nails. With every step, he pictured the scene, thinking the victim’s thoughts, thinking the unsub’s.
He doubted the Professor had incapacitated the woman and brought her here against her will. Even late at night, anybody could have driven by; a late worker could have left one of the nearby businesses. This wasn’t like the woods or an enclosed warehouse, where he could knock out his victims and then position them.
Lured her here, somehow. Fraudulent investment?
No, she wasn’t the type. Nor would she have come here late at night for a job interview, like the warehouse victim.
Personal, then.
Come, it’ll be special. Wait until you see the view.
He walked on, his head down, careful to avoid the marked evidence. Usable footprints would probably be doubtful, given the amount of activity on an average construction site. But he wasn’t about to make the forensics guys’ job any harder.
The bits of information continued to churn in his brain, coming together like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit and had to be repositioned. At some point, the entire puzzle would take shape, but for now, he simply played with the pieces.
A thirty-eight-year-old operator. Lived with a roommate. Unmarried.
A spinster? Maybe a dating-service scam?
Reaching the exterior walls of the building, he heard Wyatt and the others talking to the local detectives. Again, he barely listened, continuing to move toward the core of the facility, to the construction elevator in which the victim must have risen to meet her doom. Mulrooney and Taggert watched him in visible curiosity, but Wyatt merely nodded as he passed.
She’s anxious. Nervous. It’s night, off the beaten track. The top of the building? Are you sure it’s safe? I’m afraid.
He reached the elevator. Inside, a tech continued to swab the grating, yawning widely as he went through the motions by rote. “You need to go up?”
“When you’re through.”
“I’ve cleared a zone to haul people up and down,” the other man said.
“Find anything?”
“Got some prints; ten to one says any that aren’t from the crew are from the victim.”
He wouldn’t take that bet.
“Stay in that area, okay?” the man said, pointing to a corner.
Alec entered as directed, turning to stare out at the water through the side grates as they slowly ascended to the top of the building.
Slow. It’s so high. Choppy water. Cold and black like a night sky without stars, falling away from my feet. Lights across the harbor? Far away. No one can see. All alone. Private.
Perfect.
The victim’s impression? Or the killer’s?
The higher they went, the easier it was to see. Not just the panorama-the water, the shoreline, the ships-but the past. The crime.
Come with me; I’ll show you the city as you’ve never seen it.
She trusted him enough to trespass on a closed construction site.
She’s willing but she’s nervous, excited. He keeps her calm. Earns her trust. How?
He slowly turned in a complete circle, trying to imagine what she’d felt, what she’d thought as she had been drawn inexorably closer to that date with death.
Did you ride up with her, calm her fears, then strike her into unconsciousness?
That didn’t sound like their man. The Professor’s past crimes had an element of detachment. His letters claimed his hands-and conscience-were clear. He’d never killed anyone, never hurt them, just put them in situations to kill or hurt themselves. Like incapacitating the boys in a car accident before putting them out on that ice to fight for their lives. Impersonal.
She rode up alone. He told her to come up to meet him and she did it.
Why, he couldn’t say.
Deep in thought, he stared down, removing the distraction of the water, wanting to imprint the scene in his head. Make it come to life.
Before it could, though, he saw a tiny red spot near his shoe. He crouched down close, not touching it. No more than the size of a pen’s tip, it must have been overlooked by the tech in his hurry to clear an area to take detectives to the roof.
Not blood; too light. Too waxy.
On his hands and knees, he bent closer, until his face nearly brushed the metal. He suddenly realized the tiny drop was actually the tip of a larger blob that had slipped through the grate. The material had solidified into a tiny icicle hanging from the floor beneath the elevator.
And it wasn’t merely waxy. It was wax. “Candles,” he murmured.
“What?”
He pointed to the spot. “Make sure you get this. I suspect it’s candle wax.”
Red candles. You romanced her, didn’t you, you son of a bitch?
That was the opening. The one detail that allowed him to build the entire scenario in his head from that starting point.
He had romanced her.
They reached the top floor and the tech, visibly embarrassed, immediately descended on the spot of wax. He couldn’t risk grabbing it here; it could fall, and he was probably eager to go back down. “It’s all right,” he said, waving the man away as he stepped out.
A few feet away, another crime scene investigator was carefully bagging clothing. Yet another was on his hands and knees, outlining footprints left in the faint layer of construction dust. Even from here he saw they had been made from bare feet.
“Here’s where she took the dive,” one of them said, looking up at Alec and obviously recognizing him as a fed.
He nodded, but didn’t walk over. Instead, he stood his ground, still visualizing.
Taped hands. Blindfolded. Did she even try to fight you?
He doubted it. “Any signs of physical attack? Blood splatter?” he asked.
“Nothing so far inside the building,” one of the techs said. “There’s a splash zone outside, where she landed, like something you’d see at a water park.”
Grim visual.
“But in the elevator and up here? Not yet.”
Which just reinforced his belief that the Professor hadn’t physically tangled with her at all, either before he’d stripped her, or after she’d regained consciousness. The tox screen would be important on this one, especially because the unsub had used ketamine, a fast-acting drug, on the help-wanted victim.
He added that piece to the story puzzle in his mind, letting the scene roll out like a snippet of a movie. The operator came to meet some wonderful man in response to an e-mail. Maybe even a phone call, if the Professor was the one who had used Ryan Smith’s cell the previous night. Alec wouldn’t put it past the man to intentionally taunt authorities in that way.
She got into the elevator; the scene had been set. Candles. So romantic. Her guard down, she had consumed something. She lost consciousness. The Professor waited until she was down, stepped into the elevator, took her out, and got her ready.
You never even laid eyes on the man you came to meet, did you?
“How did he leave her clothing?” he asked the tech who had just bagged them. “Neatly piled, folded?”
“Yeah, very carefully,” the guy said, further cementing Alec’s image of what had happened. “Hose tucked into the shoes, underwear inside the dress. All neat and tidy. Which is pretty funny, since they had been cut off her.”
Check for cuts. He wasn’t sure it would be possible, given the condition the body must be in, but he wanted to know. Had the Professor wounded her while cutting off her clothes? If she was conscious, she would have struggled; there would be signs, nicks.
But there had been no blood. She wasn’t conscious. She didn’t struggle. Any wounds would have been inflicted out of carelessness or for the unsub’s own pleasure.
The Professor was never careless.
Besides, the way he’d folded her things hinted at such restraint, such calmness.
You don’t hurt your victims, right? Your hands are totally clean.
Alec would lay money the woman didn’t have a mark on her from the knife. What the construction debris she’d hit on the ground had done to her, however, was another story.
“Think I’ll walk around a little,” he said, already looking past the technician.
“Sure. You know the drill.”
Of course he did. He remained on the periphery, stepping only into already cleared areas. He studied the cut edges of the security netting, the patterns of bare footprints in the dust, running in circles until a straight pair disappeared off the side of the building.
For the next hour, he lost himself in thought, staring at the clothes, the elevator, the footprints, the water, the shoreline. Not seeking evidence, but understanding. Reconstructing the crime in his head, he saw it so well. Yes, there were holes, gaps, but for the most part the picture was clear. The woman, the lure, the romantic touches, the drug, the trap, the terror, the fall.
The only thing unclear was the killer. Where had he been? Had he set this awful scene in motion, then blithely walked away, not even knowing whether his victim plummeted as he expected her to, or somehow survived by keeping calm and waiting for rescue?
He didn’t know. They had no way of knowing whether the Professor had watched his other victims die. Couldn’t be sure if he had stayed on that cold, snowy night, listening to the cries of those boys, until the earsplitting crack of breaking ice predicated their final plunge.
One thing he suspected: The Professor would not have remained on this roof until the very end. Someone could have seen the victim fall, cutting off his own escape from the building. That didn’t mean he hadn’t stayed close by to watch his morbid fantasy play out, waiting with bated breath for a pale form to tumble from the sky and a sharp scream to rend the night.
Alec needed to know. Needed to get inside the man’s head, figure out how he thought of his victims-as worthy of his attention to their final moments?
No, it didn’t sound like him.
But as vehicles of sheer entertainment? That seemed much more plausible.
Or as validation for his own theories-wanting to see the inevitable moment when his victims “failed” their tests? Another valid reason for him to watch.
So where would he go? How long would he stay? What vantage point would provide him with an adequate viewing area without exposing him to capture?
Not for the first time, he thought about what Sam had said the previous night. About that con man, Jimmy Flynt. The one who seemed to think like this unsub, viewed his victims the same way, even used the Internet to reach out to them and destroy their lives.
Also not for the first time, he realized talking to Flynt was a good idea. Which he was sure would please Sam. She wouldn’t be pleased, though, when she found out he was going without her.
Grabbing his phone, he speed-dialed back to the office and asked for Lily Fletcher.
“What’s up? Anything useful on the scene? Does it look like the Professor?”
Alec covered one ear with his hand, straining to hear her despite the whoosh of the wind flying through the open building. Stepping closer to the solid face of it, he found a little bit of a buffer zone and answered, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. Listen, Lily, I need information on an inmate. James T. Flynt. He did time in a federal pen; now he’s in a Maryland lockup.”
“Hold on.” He heard a faint clicking-her keyboard. Within seconds, she said, “Got him.”
“Can you contact the prison or his attorney? Try to arrange a meeting? I want to talk to him.”
“About this case? Do you have a new lead?”
“Possibly. I think he might be of some help.”
“Sure thing.”
He hated to even concede the possibility, but time was of the essence. “Look, try not to use her name if you don’t have to, but if you get resistance from Flynt, see if Sam Dalton’s presence would make a difference in his attitude.”
“Ahh,” she said. “One of those types? Sleazy criminals who will spill their guts to a pretty face?”
“Something like that. The sooner, the better, okay?”
“You got it. I’ll let you know as soon as I get it set up.”
“Thanks.”
He cut the connection and was about to drop the phone back in his pocket when he noticed the message symbol on the screen. Frowning, since he hadn’t even heard the thing ring, he dialed his voice mail, learning a call had come in about ten minutes ago.
“Alec, it’s Samantha Dalton.”
He muttered a curse, wishing he’d thought to set the phone on vibrate. Then he stepped even closer to the wall, listening intently.
“I… Oh, hell, I feel stupid for calling. It’s, uh… Something weird happened. At least, I thought it was just weird at first. Now I’m beginning to wonder if it’s scary, instead.”
She went silent, amid background noise. Voices, the clank of dishes. Someone saying, “Samantha, get off the phone; we’ll lose our table!”
Then another voice. “Welcome to Raphael’s. Is your entire party here?”
“Sorry, I should go. I’m having lunch with my mom.” She hesitated, as if debating whether to continue, then mumbled, “Do me a favor, okay? Check my blog. There’s a new post, but I didn’t put it there. I thought it had been hijacked by spammers; they’ve targeted me before. It wasn’t even until after I left my place that I thought of another possibility.” Her voice shaking, a hint of fear so obvious it clutched at his insides, she added, “Can’t deny it has me a little rattled, considering last night.”
The call ended abruptly, with no good-bye.
His heart pounding, he punched a button to call her back and cursed when he got her voice mail, too. “It’s Alec; I just got your message,” he said. “Call me back as soon as you can.”
Disconnecting, he set the phone to both vibrate and ring. Don’t panic. She sounded okay.
He wasn’t panicked. He was just concerned. He wouldn’t relax until he knew what had put that note of fear in Sam’s voice.
Alec suddenly felt completely cut off. The elevator hadn’t returned-the crime scene technician, still smarting from missing the candle wax, was probably going over every millimeter of it. He was stuck hundreds of feet in the air when what he wanted was to drive straight to that restaurant, wherever it was, and see what had frightened Sam.
He dialed Lily again.
“Hey, I’m good, but I’m not a miracle worker. I called about setting up the meeting with Flynt, but I need more than ten minutes to get a response.”
“It’s not that. Are you at your desk?”
“Of course.”
“Do something for me, would you? Pull up Samantha Dalton’s Web page.”
“I checked it forty minutes ago. He hadn’t posted.”
“Humor me.”
This time, the clicking was more audible, since he was more sheltered from the wind. And he easily heard her when Fletcher murmured, “That’s new.”
“What?” he snapped. “Is it Darwin?”
“No, no. I guess Ms. Dalton has some kind of inside joke with her regulars or something. She put a new blog post up. Kind of unusual, too.”
Alec’s heart pounded. Sam had not done any such thing. “What does it say?”
“Just five words, in big, bold print. They take up the whole screen.”
“Read them to me,” he ordered.
“It’s not threatening or anything.”
He gritted his teeth. “Lily?”
Apologizing, she did as he asked. “It says, ‘What was in the box?’ ”