Angel Killer (28 page)

Johnson circles the molecule with his laser pointer. “A search for scopolamine and some of the more obscure tropane alkaloids used to incapacitate someone came back negative. We were about to move on when we decided to do a screening for any substance with a tropane ring. That’s when we found this. The nitrogen bond is in a different place, suggesting this is some kind of synthetic. We’re reaching out to pharmacology experts and doing a search of the literature to see if this has cropped up before. Our assumption is that it would have the same effects of scopolamine, but break down faster. A synthetic that the Warlock could expect our screenings to miss.

“This drug in its original form, ingested through an injection or even a spray, would render someone in a somewhat zombie-like state and leave them with little memory. We believe our suspect is using this substance to help subdue his victims and keep them under control until he kills them. They would be docile and have very little motor function. He could administer the drug with something as simple as an aerosol. One spray and you’re under.”

One of our early assessments was that the Warlock might be involved in drug trafficking or manufacturing. This gives that theory a whole lot more credibility. He might not just be a chemist working with known drugs, but an inventor of new kinds of drugs. Nothing about him would surprise me at this point.

Knoll takes the podium. He looks like he hasn’t slept since we returned from New York. “Thank you, Agent Johnson. A few hours ago our friends in the DEA brought something to our attention that may be a major break. Five days ago, in cooperation with Brazilian authorities, they raided a pharmaceutical company thirty miles outside of Rio. The company was under suspicion for supplying compounds on the black market used in the manufacture of a variety of narcotics, including the kind that would be used to manufacture the drug Johnson just mentioned. In searching through their shipping records, DEA found a shipment two weeks ago, of something I can’t pronounce, to an address of a hotel approximately twelve miles away from where the first victim was originally found.

“We’ve obtained a copy of the signature on the receipt from the courier company. The name is ‘Jose Doe,’ obviously an alias, Handwriting analysis suggests the same person who signed for it also signed for the CO2 canister in New Jersey. It’s circumstantial, but we think it’s the strongest lead we have so far. We know this man is involved in the illegal drug trade, is probably wealthy, has access to boats and aircraft. Behavioral analysis is working with the DEA to check our profile against their database of known offenders and suspects. We’re also checking the signature against FAA records and Coast Guard certification.”

It’s a tenuous link, yet our best one so far, only discovered because I thought the Warlock may have needed a CO2 canister to cause the explosion. One of those wildcard, stab-in-the-dark leads that hit pay dirt. In this case, a link to our Michigan crime that would have gone ignored. As Knoll makes the connections, I allow myself a small smile. The Warlock is human. He’s making mistakes.

When he was in Michigan preparing to kill Denise, Chloe’s twin sister, he made another batch of his knockout drug in a portable lab. I’ve seen suitcase-sized kits capable of producing small batches of everything from LSD to meth. Little did he realize that his signature on a FedEx form there would connect him to a welding supply shop in New Jersey. Different names. Same man. You can change your letters, but it’s hard to change the shape of your hand and your unique way of drawing curves and lines.

Knoll clicks the remote and shows an image of Claire in Times Square. “Forensics has found dust fragments on the victim’s body that suggest the traumatic impact that broke her bones took place somewhere else, which we already suspected. We don’t have a geological match yet, but we believe we’ve found traces of volcanic ash. This suggests he dropped the body somewhere on the West Coast. We’re talking to volcanologists to see if we can place that more approximately, although our current priority is stopping the next murder and apprehending this man.”

The Warlock drops the girl in the middle of nowhere to break her bones, then brings her to New York to make it look like she falls from the sky. If he flew his own plane, avoided the major traffic corridors and landed at a private airfield, he could have done the trip in a few hours.

Knoll introduces an equally tired Dr. Ailes, who tells us that his team made a big leap with the Faceplaced image data once they got more computational resources from the NSA. A slide of a petite brunette appears behind him. She can’t be more than sixteen. She reminds me a little of the girl who asked for my photograph last night. “We think this is our next victim,” explains Ailes. “In going through the data, this girl’s photograph has been accessed five times from IP addresses that lead to anonymous proxies, similar to the other victims. We don’t have her name yet, but our computers think the trees and landscape behind her suggest somewhere in south Texas. We’ve got agents calling high schools in the area to try to identify her. All of the previous victims were killed within twenty-four hours of their discovery. Last night’s murder is still only less than a day old. We have every reason to think she’s still alive and we can get to her before the Warlock does.”

Knoll returns to the podium. “We’re setting up a covert outpost outside of Santa Lucia and working with Texas law enforcement to create a dragnet to apprehend the Warlock. It’s a good bet that he’s already headed to or in the vicinity. Let’s catch him, folks.”

What does the Warlock have planned for her? Is this girl going to be the assumed public victim like Chloe or our angel, Claire? Or is she going to be a double for another victim, like Katya? Is she even the fourth victim?

I stop Knoll before he leaves. “What about the fifth point in Colorado?”

“We’re sending a team there. It’s in the middle of nowhere, though. I can’t see what he’d want out there.”

“A little town in south Texas isn’t exactly Metropolis either.”

Dr. Chisholm walks over to us. “Second thoughts, Blackwood?”

“I just don’t know. Everything is meant to get bigger. Are we missing something?”

“You seemed certain he wouldn’t realize how far we’ve come,” replies Chisholm.

“Yes. But I’m sure he knows we’ll pick up on the pentagram sooner or later. He has to be aware we’re going to be looking in these places. There’s something missing,” I explain.

“What about this girl?” asks Chisholm. “A wild-goose chase?”

“No. I still don’t think he realizes we know his Faceplaced gimmick yet. I’m sure she’s a real target,” I reply. He’s counting on us proceeding at our normal pace with our standard procedures.

“Then let’s focus on saving her,” says Knoll. “If it’s all we can do right now.”

I agree, but I’m still uneasy. I notice Chisholm seems a little unsure as well. We’re interrupted by a young agent handing me a slip of paper.

“This came in through the main switchboard,” he says.

I read the note:

I hand the note to Knoll. He reads it over and looks up at me. “What does this mean?”

I type the address into my phone and pull up a map. The pin drop on Google Maps is about eight miles from the cemetery where we found Chloe’s twin. “I think it’s Damian giving us a clue.”

“There’s not much we can act on there,” says Chisholm. “Maybe at best a stakeout. But it hardly seems worth it. He might just be vying for attention. Although that only makes him more suspicious in my mind.”

“He’s plenty suspicious, but I’m sure it’s worth looking into. Damian has been on target so far,” I reply.

“Yes, he has,” Chisholm replies with a touch of suspicion in his voice.

Knoll’s face contorts. “I think your friend has been doing his homework. Back when I was a police detective we were looking for meth houses in a neighborhood block. We had it pinned down to fifty units, but we needed to narrow things down even more. No judge would grant us search warrants for all of those houses. Instead, we just needed to know which ones weren’t the house. To eliminate the houses that weren’t likely to be the meth house, the DA came up with a clever gimmick. He got the mayor to deputize us as Water Commission inspectors to walk on property and look at water meters. We could search the outside of all the houses when we looked for the meters.”

“I don’t see how that’s admissible,” replies Chisholm.

“It was,” says Knoll. “We had probable cause that one of those fifty houses was the meth lab. After we searched the premises of forty-nine of the fifty and found nothing, only one house stood out as suspicious. No evidence that we found as Water Commission inspectors was used in court against the lab operators.”

“But you already knew by then which house was the meth lab,” insists Chisholm.

“I could smell it in their backyard. But our warrant didn’t mention that. We just testified that forty-nine other houses were ruled out. The judge ruled that it would have been unreasonable for us to stake out the other houses if we lawfully knew they weren’t the ones we were looking for.”

“That’s clever,” I reply. “We could see if this address is worth investigating.”

Knoll nods. “I’m going to send you and Danielle there. I’ll check in with our field office and the Michigan Bureau of Investigations.”

“What about Texas?” I ask.

“We’ll hold down the fort there.”

Chisholm has a pained look. “I don’t like this. We don’t know what’s in there. It could be a trap.”

“I don’t think the Warlock knows we’re coming,” I reply.

“I’m not sure if it’s him I’m worried about.” Chisholm still doesn’t trust Damian.

Neither do I.

I express my own doubts. “I find it scary too that he’s the only one who seems to know how the Warlock thinks.”

Chisholm looks me in the eye. “I’m not sure he’s the only one.”

I was beginning to warm up to him. This sends a chill down my spine.

T
HERE’S A LIGHT RAIN
as we stand outside the metal fence surrounding the property. Thunderclouds rumble in the distance. The local FBI office has staked the place out per our request for the last twelve hours while Danielle and I traveled here and Knoll cleared things with the local authorities. Agent Shannon picked us up from the airport and gave us the rundown on the way over.

“We flew a sheriff’s helicopter overhead. We didn’t see any cars or evidence of recent activity. Thermal imaging didn’t show us anything either. We’re pretty sure nobody is there.”

On the satellite image, the property looks like a large warehouse with a few smaller buildings on the lot. Most of the land appears to be a junkyard. Property records show it was purchased two years ago. Around the time Chloe was murdered. It’s not proof of anything, but it’s a meaningful coincidence.

The title holder is a company called JTC Investments, incorporated in the Virgin Islands. The D.C. bureau is trying to get to the bottom of it. Unlike the Warlock’s Fort Lauderdale hotel reservation under an attention-getting name, this was not meant to be discovered.

Danielle has her arms crossed as we stare at the fence. Solid aluminum panels make it impossible to see into the lot. Our four sheriff’s department escorts and five field office agents look anxious as they wait for us to decide what to do next.

The local water meter inspector we had to bring with us is staring down at the lock on the gate, not sure what he should do. In a normal inspection he’d make two calls to the premises, then ask the sheriff’s department to serve a notice if there was no response.

I gently push him aside and look at the lock. It’s a simple barrel lock. “Would you ask Agent Reed what she thinks?” I tell the inspector, sending him over to Danielle.

She gives me a funny look. I give her a wink. The inspector begins to walk away and I grip the lock. Five second later it falls to the ground. The inspector spins around and stares at the lock resting in the dirt. “I guess it was already unlocked,” I reply innocently.

Shannon shakes his head. “I’m not sure if this is procedure.” There’s a trace of a smile on his face. “But I guess it’s legal if it’s unlocked.”

I reach for the gate to push it open. Danielle’s hand snaps out and grabs my wrist. “Hold up there, darlin’. We don’t know what he may have on the other side.”

“We checked it from the air,” replies Shannon.

“She’s right.” I pull my hand back. I lost my head in the moment. “We don’t want him knowing we’re here. I wouldn’t put it past him to have some kind of surveillance system in place. The moment we walk in the door, he’ll know we found his secret spot. And if there’s a chance he might come back here, we don’t want to ruin it.”

“So what do we do? Got a trick for that?” asks Shannon.

Another thunderclap booms in the distance. “Yes. I think so. If he has this place under surveillance he’s probably using an Internet connection. If we cut power to the whole block when there’s another lighting strike, it’ll shut that off.”

“Then what? I’m sure he has a backup plan,” Shannon points out. “This guy is clever. Real clever.”

Shannon is right. Cutting the power won’t be enough. I’m sure the Warlock had thought about the possibility of this place being discovered. Who knows what kind of booby traps he could have set up here. If he has something to hide, he might want to take the whole place out. We saw what he did to the body in the cemetery.

“Hold on,” I say. “Maybe we need to get some of our own geniuses on this.”

I call up Ailes for the thousandth time and explain the situation. We go over a few scenarios and decide that the Warlock would probably not have a bomb connected to a motion sensor, but that he would use a motion-sensitive camera to tell him if someone was on the premises. He could watch the feed on his phone anywhere in the world and react if necessary. If he sees some homeless man digging through the yard for scrap metal, he isn’t likely to set off a ton of C4 explosive. If half a dozen FBI agents come marching in through the front gate, that is a different matter.