Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (18 page)

From working around crime lab criminalists for years, Cam knew Skarlis was considered by his peers to be nothing short of brilliant. Given the lab’s chronic backlog, coupled with the test requests for priority-flagged evidence from this case so far, the efforts Fenton and his crew were putting forth on Sophie’s behalf were staggering.

“Sounds like you’ve got things well in hand.” Cam was still a little stunned, but couldn’t have asked for a better update. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” Fenton promised.

When he hung up, Jenna was eying him impatiently. “That’s the longest conversation you’ve had with Fenton without uttering a veiled threat or bribe.”

“I never threaten.” He felt obliged to set the record straight. Intimidation was in the eye of the beholder. And the lab manager didn’t respond to it, in any case. “Benally is the one who requires bribes to get a tenth of the cooperation Fenton is showing us tonight.” He told the other two agents the gist of what he’d just learned from the man. Franks whistled softly. “I have to say in my thirty years with the agency, that’s a first.”

“It’s Sophia.” For a moment Cam thought Jenna’s eyes were shiny. An instant later he decided he’d been seeing things. “That’s the effect she has on people. The toxicology results might give us a valuable lead, too.”

“Maybe.” Cam’s response was noncommittal. The more common the substance, the faster the results, he knew. But that also meant they’d be harder to trace.

He turned his attention back to Gil Humphrey. Although the lab was moving at unprecedented speed, they were still talking a fifteen to twenty hour window to hear anything. Those were hours in which Sophia was still in danger. Vulnerable.

A sense of bleak desolation settled over him. It was a struggle to battle through it. Maybe Gonzalez was right. Maybe he shouldn’t be anywhere near this investigation. Because God help him, it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on getting the job done when images of what might be happening to Sophia right now were torturing him.

Time crawled to a stop. Frantically, Sophia tugged at the comforter to free it from where she’d wedged it above the gate. Part of it loosened, unfolding as she pulled. Other areas were caught on the wire.

Sophia heard the telltale squeak of unoiled hinges again. The bang of a door closing. Frantic now, her fingers were clumsy as they sought to find all the spots the lace was snagged on the wire.

A drumbeat of fear rolled through her chest. Like counting seconds between a lightning bolt and the inevitable accompanying thunder, she measured his approach. Her ears strained for the sound of footsteps even as everything inside her recoiled from the thought of seeing him again. Another spot of the comforter was freed. Then another. A beam of light shone in front of her cell. There was a scrape of a shoe on concrete and the light drew closer. Brighter.

She scrambled off the gate, picked up the expanse of comforter and yanked with all her might. There was a telltale ripping sound. Then the material released with a suddenness that sent her sprawling. She barely had time to backwards crawl to the edge of the mattress, pulling the fabric around her as she went, before the spotlight was abruptly blinding her. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes.

“No greeting? That’s just rude. Seems I need to teach you some manners, along with a few other lessons.”

Sophia battled to draw air into her lungs. It was all she could do to avoid scrambling into the corner, a huddling, shuddering mass of fear. She made herself look at him. Consider what he was. She’d spent her career helping law enforcement bring men like him to justice. The thought shot a little steel to her spine. She might be victimized by him. But she refused to be a victim.

The brave thought dissipated when she noted several threads hanging from the wire above the gate, like billboards proclaiming her recent attempt at escape. She couldn’t look away from them. A boulder-sized knot of fear formed in her throat. Would he notice?

In the next moment she realized the folly of that particular concern. What he had in store for her involved unimaginable suffering. A failed escape attempt could hardly worsen her fate.

He was dressed for the gym with a sleeveless dri-fit shirt that strained across his thick chest, gym shorts and sneakers. His arms were so corded with muscle he had to hold them a little away from his sides, reminding her of a primate. Sophia recalled again how all the victims had died of manual strangulation. She didn’t doubt for a moment that this man could accomplish the feat with one quick flex of his hands around a neck.

“It occurs to me that I’ve seriously misjudged you.” The calm words seemed to emanate from someone else. Someone who wasn’t currently cowering in panic. He blinked a moment and she knew her matter-of-fact statement had taken him aback.

“I said so, didn’t I?” He set the light down on the floor next to him. Not a flashlight at all, she realized now, but a portable floodlight of some sort. Powerful enough to bathe the interior of the cell with brightness and bathe the area outside it in a soft glow. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of chances to apologize.”

“Of course. It’s what I deserve for disappointing you.” He’d used that word twice when they’d last spoke. The psychologist in her had recognized its significance and filed it away. Curious that the habit of analysis was so automatic even while her physical being was quaking. Her mouth seemed filled with sand. Every word had to be forced out of her closed throat. The unrelenting glare of the light pinned her like a bug to cardboard. A very nearly naked bug. “But I’m a professional. It bothers me that my profile of you was so very wrong, and that I left the public with an erroneous impression of you.”

He stepped out of her line of vision for a moment. Came back with a key. The gate rattled as he fitted it to the lock. “You’re about to start paying for that, bitch. You’ll pay for every word you wrote.”

“As I should.” Disassociation was critical. Sophia had to find a way to distance herself from the scene emotionally, even as shudders of fear racked her body. She couldn’t hope to mount a physical defense against him. Their short-lived struggle in her bathroom had proven that.

But a psychological battle? It was a slim chance. And her only one. “In my profession, mistakes are costly. They shouldn’t be tolerated. They especially shouldn’t be allowed to stand, when there’s an opportunity to make them right.”

The gate rattled, and then it was swinging open. And then—oh, God, then he was striding inside her cell. Rational thought took flight and instinct took over. She scrambled across the mattress, one hand thrown up in a futile attempt to ward him off.

Hulking over her, he reached out a hand and grasped her by the throat, hauling her up with one hand and pinning her against the wooden side of the cell. Her ankle dangled helplessly off the floor. “You made a mistake all right.” He shoved her harder against the wall, his face close to hers. Dots swam before her eyes as the breath strangled in her lungs. “Maybe I should film your punishment. Stream it on the computer or something. Show people what happens to fuck-ups.” He shoved away from her then, and she crumpled at his feet, gasping for air.

She lay there for several moments, hauling much needed oxygen into her tortured lungs. When she spoke, she didn’t need to manufacture a weak voice. “You’re in charge.” Since offenders like this one operated out of a need for power and control, she had to play to that need. Pretend to accede to it. “If you think that will convince everyone of how wrong my profile on you was, of course, that’s what you should do. My idea is probably not nearly as smart as yours.”

Bending down he wrapped his fist in her hair and yanked her painfully to her feet, grabbing one of her breasts and squeezing it in a viselike grip. “Ideas? See, that’s the problem. Every time women go around thinking they have brains, we get mistakes like these. What would happen if dogs started thinking they were smarter than men? Or pigs? Females are on the same level. Lower. Least dogs can be taught to hunt.”

Cackling at his own words, he threw her to the side violently, so she tumbled to the mattress. He was on her in the next second, his hands running over her body, pinching, probing, squeezing. Panic clawed in her throat. It took more effort than she would have suspected she was capable of to rein in the primitive urge to struggle. Her limbs trembled from the stress of immobility.

“Of course, you’re right. And releasing a new profile was probably a stupid idea. You wouldn’t want to be interviewed by me so we can get the profile exact. And even if we did, there probably isn’t any way to get it picked up by the media.”

He stilled. “What the hell are you babbling about?”

It was, she knew, her only opening. “Releasing a new profile on you to the public. Except this would be based on your own words, rather than my inaccurate guesses about you. I’ve interviewed many famous men who spent their lives outwitting the police while they did exactly as they pleased. But maybe the media wouldn’t be interested.”

“And you’re a doctor? Dumb bitch, the media would eat it up.” He rolled off her to sit, glaring down at her. “Most of ’em would chew off their arms for a story like this. But I’m not stupid enough to want to bring even more attention to myself. Like I want to give the cops more to go on.”

It was such a relief to have even that small distance between them that the strength streamed out of Sophia’s bones. Tremors of revulsion still shook her. She longed to roll up in the comforter, to shield herself from his eyes. From his touch.

But he was sitting on part of the fabric, making that action impossible. And she knew any attempt she made to cover herself would merely goad him further. Better to focus on a way to keep him from touching her again.

“The police have nothing on this case. Why else would they have brought me in on it? They were desperate. They wanted to convince the public they were making progress so they released the profile. People don’t know how wrong it is, so of course they believe the DCI. They don’t realize that you’ve managed to outsmart them completely.”

“I got news for you, bitch. It wasn’t that hard. And since I snatched you from right under their noses, everyone already is going to know who has the brains.”

“Oh, but…” It didn’t require acting for her to shrink from the sudden threatening move he made at her protest. “I’m sorry, of course you know this. I consult with law enforcement all over the nation on any number of cases at the same time. I’m certain you’ve already figured out how to let the media know that my disappearance had nothing to do with any of those other cases I’ve been working on.”

His blow came so quickly Sophia had no chance to dodge it. The backhanded slap was delivered with enough force to snap her face to the side. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, know that? I should kill you now and be done with it.”

“That’s your decision. You’re in charge.” Sophia blinked back the tears stinging her eyes from the blow. “I only wish I could help undo the idea the public has of you, since it’s my fault that the profile is so wrong.”

“I’m going to think of a whole new way to make you pay for that, too. Already got some ideas.” The smile on his lips made her flesh crawl. But his next words had tiny wings of hope fluttering in her chest. “State cops will probably try to make it look like your kidnapping is related to one of those other cases, just to make themselves look less like a bunch of fucktards.”

“They won’t want the public to know how badly you’re outwitting them.”

“I know exactly who would release a new profile.” He was sitting close enough that Sophia could see the sheen of perspiration dampening the back of his neck, although the temperature inside the structure was relatively cool. She wondered then if his over- developed muscles came from steroid use. “I remember this news gal from a couple days ago. Wouldn’t mind paying her a little visit afterwards, either, just to thank her.” He laughed again, the high-pitched sound like an icy finger stroking down her spine. “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the teeth to the cops? Not only did I grab the dumbass consultant they had helping them, I let the public see they don’t have shit on me. Everyone would know they’re standing around with their thumbs up their asses.”

“People would realize who was in control.”

He stabbed a finger in her direction. “Exactly. So that’s what we’ll do. I’ll get you some paper and you can write a new profile. I’ll hand deliver it to someone who will get it on the air. And the cops will be the laughingstock of the state.”

When he stood suddenly, Sophia felt a sharp blade of relief. He’d leave now. He’d have to fetch a notepad. A pen. She could use the time to work at the fencing again. Or perhaps she should focus on the lock securing the gate to the cell.

He yanked his shirt over his gleaming bald head, and her relief suffered a quick violent death. Her heart stumbled to a stop. Then lurched, pounding in her chest like a runaway locomotive.

“First things first, though. You got a few lessons to learn. And I’m in the mind to start delivering them.”

Chapter 10

It might have been the smell of bacon that woke him. Either that or the coffee.

Cam lifted an eyelid. Definitely the coffee. His brain responded innately to the matter that provided it fuel. But the bacon provided the necessary impetus required to summon the effort to sit up. To eye the tray Sophie was waving temptingly before him.

“What did I do to deserve breakfast in bed?” He reached out to snag a piece of bacon before she could change her mind and make him get up and go in to the table.

“Absolutely nothing.” She calmed his fear by sitting on the bed next to him and settling the tray on his lap. “As a matter of fact, you should feel serious guilt for how little you’ve done to deserve this extraordinary effort..”

She filched a half piece of buttered toast and took a bite, eyeing him angelically as he reached for the steaming coffee mug on the tray.

“Now that my suspicions are suitably heightened, I’m sure you’ll tell me how I can make it up to you.” After a long gulp he felt human enough to set down the coffee and pick up the fork to attack the eggs. Over hard, just the way he liked them, with ketchup on the side. Apparently she hadn’t been able to set aside her culinary objections and douse them with the substance, as was his habit. No matter. Cam scooped up a forkful of eggs and bathed them in the ketchup before lifting them to his lips. Followed up with another slice of bacon.

“Make it up to me?” She fluttered her lashes in mock surprise. “I can’t imagine how. Oh, I guess I do have some shopping to do. You could come to the mall with me this afternoon and carry my bags.”

He felt a mild pang of panic at the thought. “Or you could just shoot me now.” He pointed to the center of his forehead. “Put the bullet here and get it over with.”

She went on without a hitch. “It’s promising to be a beautiful day today. They’re saying mid-seventies. Perfect weather to clean the garage.”

Cam reached out to grab another pillow to stuff behind him. This playful side of Sophia was still new enough to fascinate. He wouldn’t have guessed that it lurked behind the professional demeanor he was used to seeing. There were a lot of things he wouldn’t have guessed about her.

“I could eat off the floor of your garage. Garages have grease. They have clutter. It isn’t natural to have everything hung up and neatly stored away. I’d lose my man card if I made your garage any cleaner.” Enjoying himself hugely, he shook his head, dug into the eggs again. “Sorry. I won’t willingly surrender my man card, even for you.”

When she reached over as if to take the tray away, he added hastily, “That isn’t to say that I’m not willing to do something else to repay you.”

Without missing a beat, she reached beneath the tray for the newspaper and held it out to him. The Iowa Life section had been extracted from the bulk of the Sunday Des Moines Register and laid neatly on top. “Really? As it happens…”

Feeling indulgent, he scanned the headline before him. “Des Moines Arts Festival? I thought that was usually next month.”

“It was moved up this year because of the road repair projects slated for downtown this summer.”

He made a nonchalant sound and continued eating.

“You’ve been to it before. You said that’s where you got the picture in your family room.”

“Lots of walking.” He pretended to grouse. Tipping the cup of coffee to his lips, he hid his grin at her crestfallen expression. “Crowds. Strollers everywhere. Plus there’s a Cubs game on today. Double header with Cincinnati.”

He reached out for the last slice of bacon, but she beat him to it. Brought it slowly to her lips. “Of course I can always DVR the game,” he said quickly.

She lowered the bacon back to the plate on the tray. “You could, couldn’t you?” Leaning forward, Sophie gave him a much too brief kiss before bounding from the bed. “I’m going to take a quick shower before going home to change. You can pick me up at ten.”

Cam took the bacon and savored it as he shook out the newspaper for the sports page. He could think of far worse ways to spend a sunny May afternoon than strolling around with Sophie, crowds or no crowds. He knew for a fact that they sold beer at the festival. Probably the only way to get guys to attend, but it worked for him. And ice cream. He was definitely going to get ice cream if they stayed past…

A manila envelope landed on the bedcovers beside him. Frowning, he picked it up. Turned it over. It must have been tucked inside the newspaper folds but there was no writing on either side. He sent a quick glance toward the closed door to the adjoining bathroom. He could hear the water running. Sophie was already in the shower.

He opened the clasp, half expecting to find some sort of additional inducement to accompany her today. His gut tightened when he saw the images depicted on the pages before him.

There was a picture taken from the street in front of his condo. Another zoomed on the address plate attached next to his front door. Yet another close up of the license plate on his car. A shot of the DCI headquarters. And the last was of Cam and another man. One he hadn’t seen since that last fateful day in California.

This was the picture he studied the longest. Matthew Baldwin. He remembered when it had been taken. Gabriela, Matt’s wife, had snapped it on the afternoon of their baby’s christening. Cam had successfully managed evade accepting the role of godfather for the baby. The hypocrisy of the act had been too much for him to swallow. But he hadn’t attempted to stay away from the festivities. Wouldn’t have tried.

The danger of any undercover work wasn’t just the constant threat of exposure. Or dealing with men to whom human life had less value than a warm pizza. It was getting to know the people he was investigating too well. Getting too close. Seeing them as more than just a criminal and recognizing they had good qualities as well as bad.

The scumbags were easy. But not all the people he’d met in the undercover task force investigation had been scumbags.

Despite his best efforts, Matt had become a friend. And that friendship had led to a decision that even now kept Cam awake nights.

Staring at the photo in his hand he wondered grimly what that decision was going to cost him.

Cam’s vision was blurred from reading the ViCAP reports, yet again. There had to be something he’d missed in them. An offender like the one they were seeking didn’t spring from nowhere.

He evolved.

That’s what Sophie had said, and it was likely true. But there should be similar details from the assaults that would link earlier crimes to the bodies they’d found in the cemeteries. He’d re-submitted a more general search with rape, cigar burns, and the Midwest as the key elements. The result was a ream of data he’d yet to completely get through. Certainly he hadn’t hit on an offender matching all three qualities in Iowa.

Yet.

Franks disconnected the call he was on, looked at Cam. “That was Officer Gomez, the uniform Treelord assigned to Humphrey. He’s been outside the guy’s address for hours but there’s been no sign of him so far.”

“One of the terms of Humphrey’s release was a six PM curfew,” Cam said. “I’d like to verify that he’s home where he’s supposed to be. Call him.” Franks was looking the number up in their violent felon file. “And if he doesn’t answer, have the uniform go up to his door.”

Cam picked up his cell and redialed Mitch Mead. Once again there was no answer. Parole officers were used to being on duty even after hours, so the lack of response bothered Cam a bit. Not that the Mead wasn’t entitled to a private life. But he’d never had a parole officer fail to answer a call, regardless of the time.

He got up to get the file from Franks. Humphrey’s information not only included a listed number for Zipsy’s place of business, but one for the owner, himself. Cam dialed it, shooting a look at Franks as he waited impatiently. The agent shook his head. Humphrey wasn’t answering.

After several rings, an irascible greeting sounded in Cam’s ear. “This is Agent Cameron Prescott with the Division of Criminal Investigation. I’m trying to locate an employee of yours, Gilbert Humphrey. Could you tell me the last time you saw him?”

“Ex-employee.” The words were brimming with frustration. “And if you find the lazy son-of-a-bitch, you can tell him that for me, too. Give a con a break, I thought. Lend a helping hand. Son-of-a-bitch all but spit in my eye.”

“Was he at work today?”

“If he’d a shown up for work, I wouldn’t be firing him, would I? Two days since I last saw him. And that’s what I told that parole officer of his, too, when he called and asked about Humphrey. The guy started out all right, and hey, hiring an ex-con comes with a pretty good tax break. But the tax break don’t mean shit if the guy leaves me shorthanded.”

Sifting through the litany of complaints, Cam zeroed in on the one bit of information that interested him. “And when did you last speak to Mr. Mead?”

“Who? Oh, you mean the parole officer. Called him yesterday about noon to let him know that Humphrey hadn’t shown up for work. That’s our deal. Humphrey is supposed to let the parole officer know if he’s sick or something, and then call me. But neither of them called, so I contacted Mead. He said he’d check on Humphrey for me. Never heard from him either.”

It wasn’t clear from his voice who Zipsy was more unhappy with, Mead or Humphrey. “Have you ever seen Mr. Humphrey driving a white or navy cargo van?”

The man gave a contemptuous laugh. “Driving? Where would he get the money for wheels? Humphrey took the bus to and from the job.”

“What were his duties while he worked for you?”

“Whatever I told him to do. Sweep up the office, or file things sometimes, but mostly I had him showing people cars for parts they were interested in. The guy was strong as an ox. That was one good thing about him. He ran the end loader I have for moving heavier car parts, but I’ve seen him shoulder a bench car seat and walk it across the yard for a customer like it was nothing. Guy like that came in handy in my line of work.”

“So he mainly worked at your salvage yard.” Tommy was openly listening, but Jenna was engrossed in something online.

“Where the fuck…” The man apparently remembered at the last moment who he was talking to, and amended, “Where else would he be working?”

“I understand you own another business property.” He picked up the slip of paper to read the address Jenna had scribbled on it earlier. But the man was answering before he got the words out.

“Yeah, I own it but there’s no business going on there. Just an old warehouse. I use it for storage mostly, but a few months ago I had Humphrey and another guy I employ over there cleaning it up. They’re re-developing some blocks in that neighborhood for lofts and office space. I figure it’s only a matter of time before a real estate agent comes knocking on my door with an offer on that space. I don’t plan to sell cheap.”

Cutting in before the man could expound on his canny business sense, Cam said, “And you have the only key?”

“Got an extra in my office, but yeah, I’m the only one with access. And I’m careful with my office stuff. I mean, when you hire ex-cons you have to be, right?”

“I appreciate your time, Mr. Zipsy. If I need more information I’ll call you back.”

The man’s shrug sounded in his words. “Don’t know why. Can’t tell you anything else. But suit yourself.” Without further elaboration he hung up.

“Bingo!” Jenna was doing a self-congratulatory fist pump even as Cam finished his conversation. “Cam, you should go to work for the psychic hotline. Your talents are wasted here. Humphrey has a license, but no vehicle. He’s been a safe motorist, no moving violations, but…there’s a traffic camera image of him snapped five days ago, two blocks north of Zipsy’s abandoned warehouse. And he’s driving a white cargo van.” She turned her laptop screen around to show them.

Squinting at the image, Franks observed, “Doesn’t leave him much time to paint the van a different color in time to snatch Sophia yesterday.”

“He wouldn’t necessarily have had to paint the vehicle. He could have foiled it.” Cam looked at Jenna, his brows raised. “You’ve heard of that, right? There’s a film you can get to apply over vehicles for temporary color changes. Applies like window tinting. Costs a good amount to have it done professionally, but if a person had some know-how, a cargo van wouldn’t be especially difficult compared to a car. Not as many curves and angles to work around.”

A slow smile crossed Cam’s lips. “Sometimes she surprises you, doesn’t she?” he said in an aside to Franks.

The other agent was peering at his cell phone. “Scares me more often than she surprises me.” Apparently finding the contact he was looking for, he pressed a button and brought the phone to his ear.

“My uncle’s a teacher, but paints cars on the side,” Jenna said, exuberance from her discovery still sounding in her voice. “I’ve actually watched him foil a car. Unless you find someone who works cheap, like my uncle, it’s not all that much less expensive than a professional paint job. But if you can do it yourself, the cost of the materials wouldn’t amount to more than a few hundred dollars.”

Cam studied her, half listening to Tommy’s conversation. “Where do they buy the materials?”

Jenna was already shaking her head. “I know what you’re thinking. Auto stores and department stores with an automotive department would carry them, but my uncle always orders from a discount place on the Internet. A lot of Chinese outfits sell everything you’d need for the job online.”

Cam tucked the information away for further reference. First he wanted to be certain that Marchand’s vehicle had, indeed, had the color changed. And he needed to talk to Humphrey himself. He would have preferred to have Mead with him when he approached the man, but he wasn’t willing to wait around for the man. “Good find, Jenna.”