B00CCYP714 EBOK (26 page)

“You’re fucking insane,” Bladen shouted.

“No, I’m not. I’m quite sane. I just don’t give a fuck.”

#

After dinner, Rainey retired to her office with the colonel. The first thing she did was look to see if the .38 was still secreted away. It was.

The colonel chuckled. “They missed one, eh?”

Rainey smiled back at him. “Only you, me, and my deceased father know about this. Let’s keep it that way.”

“I take it Katie would not approve.”

It was Rainey’s turn to chuckle. “Oh no, she would hit the ceiling if she knew this was in here. My philosophy is what she doesn’t know doesn’t hurt.”

The colonel shook his head. “Word of advice from an old married man, that philosophy will get you a night or two on the couch.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Rainey said with a wink.

 She crossed to her desk and sat down, where she attempted to make contact with her satellite image source. She received only a standard recorded message stating Brooks was out of the office, which was highly unusual, both in style and content. Rainey sent an encrypted email requesting a new satellite image for the GPS coordinates she supplied, and waited for a reply.

“She might be out of the office,” Rainey explained to the colonel, “but she is never far from her email.”

Curious about the videos on the flash drive Sheila gave her, she plugged it into the computer and clicked on the file labeled “Hospital Security.” A video of the emergency room waiting area began to play. Rainey recognized the moment, because she saw herself stand and hug her stepfather. She stopped the video and restarted it, this time watching the other people in the room.

Looking over her shoulder, the colonel pointed at the screen. “There. See that guy. He’s watching you.”

Rainey restarted the video again. Leaning on the wall near the entrance of the waiting area, a man was focused on her, while pretending to be engrossed in his phone. She actually saw him snap the picture that ended up on the Triangle Lesbian blog minutes later. Regrettably, Rainey could not see his face. The stalker/blogger was concealing his identity with a baseball cap and seemed to know right where the security cameras were. Rainey replayed the video, this time catching a glimpse of Martin Douglas Cross, the writer, standing on the other side of the exterior wall of windows, looking in on the scene. She was pondering that, when the video skipped forward to another short clip attached at the end. Rainey forgot all about the writer.

“Gotcha!” she said with delight, as she watched Cookie Kutter give the stalker money. Rainey still could not see his face, but she clearly saw him hand Cookie a flash drive.

“I assume this is good news,” the colonel commented.

“You have no idea how good,” Rainey said. “I’m about to send a copy of this to my lawyer and then I’m going to watch Cookie crumble.”

Rainey saved a copy of the video to her hard drive and then sent an email to Molly with the video attached. She wrote, “Make an appointment with the judge,” in the subject line, and “See attached,” in the body of the message. Uncharacteristically, Rainey added a smiley face icon at the end. As an afterthought, she wrote, “I want this guy’s name, whatever it takes.”

She checked to see if Brooks had responded to her earlier email and then opened the second file on the flash drive. The view from a patrol car’s dashboard camera popped on the screen as the video began to play. The patrol unit was parked behind Rex King’s unmarked vehicle.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rainey whispered, as she watched Rex hand her Glock to Martin Douglas Cross.

Rex then exited the vehicle, leaving Cross alone with Rainey’s weapon. The video went on for several minutes, as Rainey stared in disbelief. Three minutes and thirty-two seconds into the video, Cross exited the car.

“Reasonable doubt,” the colonel commented. “Probably ought to send your lawyer a copy of that one too.”

Rainey agreed. This time she simply wrote in the subject line, “We need to talk.”

She then clicked on the images of the shell casing, noting the markings left by the weapon that fired it. She was zooming in on the image, when her phone rang. Rainey did not look at the caller ID, assuming it was Molly calling.

“That was fast,” she said into the phone.

“No kidding,” Sheila said. “How did you know?”

“Sorry, I thought you were Molly. What’s happened?” Rainey asked.

“I’m on my way back to the office. Just pulled into the parking garage,” Sheila said, excitement speeding her words. “They patched a call through to my cell phone. It was him, the killer.”

“What makes you so sure? What did he say?” Rainey asked, knowing so many nuts inserted themselves in investigations, even falsely confessing to garner attention.

“First, he asked for me specifically and flat out told the dispatcher he was the man who was holding Bladen Asher. Second, he said, ‘Tell Rainey Bell she might need to refer to her notes.’ I asked him what notes he was talking about and he said, ‘Schaefer, DeBardeleben, Bundy, they are just part of my study.’ Only a handful of people know we discussed those killers and I trust every one of them without reservation.”

“Did you tell him I’m not on the case?”

Rainey could hear Sheila’s heels tapping on the parking garage floor as she answered, “Yes, but he said if we wanted to keep Bladen Asher alive, then we better call you in. We haven’t released anything about her abduction, so how would he know her name? He also said he didn’t want a bunch of amateurs evaluating his work, since the FBI couldn’t be bothered. Boy, you really nailed this guy’s reaction to the press conference.”

“Was the call recorded?” Rainey asked, already preparing to leave.

The colonel knew something had happened and was anxious for information, but did not interrupt. Rainey held the phone to her ear as she walked out of the office, the colonel following, while Shelia relayed the conversation she had with a killer.

“Yes, we have the recording. Rainey, he was cold, almost pleasant, as if he were inviting me to an art gallery exhibit. He said he was giving us his ‘museum of serial murder’ and then rattled off GPS coordinates, but the location is in the Indian Ocean, off the coast of Perth, Australia.”

“Try the antipodal position,” Rainey said. “Send the position and the recording to my phone. We’re leaving my house now.”

“Antipodal? What’s that?” Sheila asked.

“The exact opposite place on the earth’s surface. North Carolina’s antipodal position is in the Indian Ocean, off the coast of Australia. Once you have the location, send out some covert surveillance teams first. This guy will be out there watching your arrival. Pay close attention to the vehicles that pass more than once. He may even stop to ask what’s going on. If you block one lane with emergency vehicles after you arrive, you can slow the cars down and get a good look. By the way, he won’t be driving the truck. His car will resemble a law enforcement vehicle, or a muscle car, something manly.”

“Okay, I’m about to get into the elevator,” Sheila said. “I’ll send you the correct coordinates when I get upstairs. Are you going to meet us there?”

“Yes,” Rainey said, arriving in the den, where Katie and the others were now gathered. “I just need to tell my family good night and then we’re on the road.”

“How do you know where to go?” Sheila asked.

“I’ll bet it’s within a few miles of where they found the first missing woman’s car. We’ll head that way.”

“That’s over by your old office, where the women’s shelter is, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and remember, there are no coincidences,” Rainey said, smiling at Katie playing with triplets. “Oh, and thanks for the video. I owe you one.”

“And I’m about to collect. See you in a few,” Sheila said.

Rainey turned to the colonel. “Let me talk to Katie a second, and then I’ll fill you in on the way.”

Katie noticed Rainey and came out into the hallway. After the colonel thanked her for the hospitality, he went to wait by the front door. Rainey took Katie across the hall to the formal living room they never used.

“Honey, I have to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Wake Gunny up after I leave. If her headache gets worse, you call Junior. Understand?”

Katie wrapped her arms around Rainey and hugged her tightly. “Don’t worry about us. You be safe.”

Rainey bent to kiss Katie’s lips, before smiling down at her. “I will. Call and check on Mackie for me, and you call if you need me, promise?”

“I promise. Now, go kiss your kids good night.” As Rainey passed, Katie popped her on the butt. “And don’t think you’re getting out of that conversation about Gunny’s weapon being in her car.”

“Technically, it wasn’t in the house,” Rainey said, skipping out of Katie’s reach.

Katie narrowed her eyes. “Technically, it was a deliberate attempt to circumvent the rules. Program her prints into the system, if you think she’ll need to get to her gun. I’d rather you do that than hide things from me.”

Rainey stopped moving and turned back to Katie. “Okay, you’re right, but I think we need a separate safe for people like Junior and Gunny. They do need to be able to reach their weapons in an emergency. So, call the safe company tomorrow and have one put in. Will that work for you?”

“Yes, and that is how adults handle conflict. Don’t sneak around, Rainey. That bothered me more than the gun in her car.”

Ooh, that hurt. Rainey hated to disappoint Katie. She tried for redemption. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” She silently vowed to remove the .38 from her office before she ended up on the couch.

#

 “My best arabesque and no one is here to see it,” Bladen said, her foot in demi pointe on the wooden stake, her other leg stretched out behind her, trying desperately to balance and relieve the strain on her wrist. “All those years of ballet are paying off, Mom,” she said with a little laugh.

At least the dripping was not a problem this time. In his excitement to leave, her tormentor also forgot to turn on the music. To pass the time, Bladen played through childhood memories of tutus and nutcrackers, the annual holiday tradition of ballet and candy canes. She performed in “The Nutcracker” from age six to twelve, before she discovered running was more her passion. When Bladen declared at dinner one night that she was no longer interested in becoming the Sugarplum Fairy, she was sure her mother was secretly glad the days of afterschool dance class chauffeuring and endless recitals were over. Although she had not continued dance, Bladen’s heart still quickened when she heard Tchaikovsky at Christmastime.

She closed her eyes and began with the party scene, remembering how the period costumes smelled like dry cleaning and mothballs, and how she relished that smell each year. She recalled the excitement of the first time she was chosen to dance in the opening waltz. A shortage of boys forced her into knickers and a waistcoat, but she did not mind. Bladen was simply glad to have graduated from tiny winged fairy in the sugarplum scene. She relaxed her pose, putting pressure on her wrist, and relieving the stabbing pain in the ball of her foot. While her body hung suspended in the dark room, her mind took to the stage. Beneath a behemoth Christmas tree, “The Nutcracker Suite” began to play, and Bladen waltzed.

“Three years ago, about a month before the first woman went missing, the company developing this land declared bankruptcy. They cleared some of it, started landscaping, and paved a drive. It’s been tied up in court since then, but recently changed hands. Construction is scheduled to begin again next month. The search warrant is on the way, but we have verbal permission from the new owners to enter the property.”

Sheila huddled close to a small group of detectives from the task force, while she told what she knew about the property they were about to enter. She was no longer wearing heels, and looked prepared for a hike in the woods. Rainey stood by her as they waited for the chains on the large gate to be cut. Rainey had been right about the location; it was exactly where she said it would be, just off U.S. 501, south of Chapel Hill. The first missing woman’s car had been found less than two miles away. The area was heavily forested and about a half a mile from the western shoreline of Jordan Lake. Rainey’s old home was a little more than five miles to the south.

 “The construction starting up again. That’s why he gave us his museum. He knew it would be exposed soon,” Rainey told Sheila. “That’s his stressor. He needed to manipulate and control its discovery.”

Wiley Trainer stood to her left, shining a flashlight on a map in his hand. He drawled out, “Looking at the satellite image, there’s quite a lot of forest to cover in there. Where should we start?”

Rainey looked at the map. “Before we let anyone in there, let’s drive this lane. I want to look at these areas here.” She pointed at several places. “See how these old paths through the woods come in from several directions? He didn’t come through this gate, but used these paths. You need to put patrol cars at these access points. I’m guessing we’ll find most of his victims pretty close to where these paths enter the property, at least the first ones.”

Wiley turned to the assemblage of patrol officers, standing a few feet away. “Y’all wait out here. We’re going to take a look and then come back to set up the grid search.” He then spoke to the young detective next to him, showing him the map. “Put patrol cars at each of these access points. Nobody in or out.”

While Wiley discussed sealing the area off with the detective, Sheila spoke to Rainey. “I’m worried about displacing evidence in the dark. Shouldn’t we wait until daylight?”

Rainey nodded in agreement. “I understand what you’re saying, but I think he dumped the last body in here months ago. He took Jacquie in September and he kept her body. Unless he grabbed someone we don’t know about, any evidence was washed away long ago. Still, we don’t want the search team crashing through the site. Make sure the search is slow and deliberate.”

Flatbed trucks carrying high-powered outdoor lighting lined the narrow two-lane road running in front of the property, accompanied by large generators. Rainey could hear the police helicopters coming nearer. They were equipped with searchlights that could turn the night sky into day. The state medical examiner had been called in advance of finding the bodies, at Rainey’s suggestion. She was sure this was no hoax. The ME’s vans were arriving now, lining up behind the flatbeds. All traffic was being diverted through roadblocks surrounding the area. Rainey knew the killer was watching and she imagined he was enjoying the show.