Authors: Toni Anderson
Enormous canvases covered the wall
behind Walker’s head, distracting Marsh’s gaze. The colors were white flames
with the occasional intense splash of color that writhed and twisted as if
trying to escape. He remembered the first time he’d seen them. Stunning,
evocative—like the woman who’d painted them.
“Want to tell me what happened? Or
shall we move on?” Marsh asked. Tension joined forces with a headache that beat
the crap out of his skull.
Beetling his brows, Vince said, “I
don’t know if I can protect her if she refuses to cooperate with basic
instructions.” His eyes were on Marsh, intelligent, loyal and playing Josephine
like a pro. Except she’d never played well with others.
“I don’t need you anyway. I’ll
disappear. I know how—”
“Yeah, that worked out
so
well last time.” Marsh was careful with words in front of Sam Walker, but her
flinch of pain told him he’d struck home. The Mafia had tracked her down after
torturing and murdering her father and the woman who’d raised her. If Marsh
hadn’t found her first, she’d have been dead. Their gazes locked, the blue of
her eyes so vivid they looked like they’d been daubed on a fresh canvas.
Sam Walker took a seat next to
Vince on the opposite couch, looking short by comparison.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to
take off.” Walker’s tone was subdued.
Josephine’s hands gripped each
other like tangle weed.
“Why? What do you have on this
guy?” asked Marsh.
Walker pulled a folder out of his
case. The sober quality of the man’s stare made Marsh pay attention.
“Detective Cochrane pulled up a
list of possible victims linked to this killer as far back as the mid-nineties,
two cases from New Mexico and two from D.C. I’ve been going back through the
records trying to link more possible victims—”
“What are you using to assess
linkage?”
Sam shot a look around the room.
“Whatever I say is classified. If any of this information is leaked I’ll get
you all charged with obstruction.” He rested his elbows on his knees, a pen
held loosely between his fingers. “Even you, sir.” He nodded at Marsh.
Marsh figured he must have checked
his alibi for the murders and he was off the hook.
About time
. “Then why
are you telling us?”
“Because I know you have the clout
to get the information anyway and I like the illusion of control.” Walker
didn’t look impressed with Marsh’s status and Marsh respected him more because
of it. But he’d do whatever it took to keep Josephine safe from a killer.
Walker stared hard at Josephine. “And because I think you’re the first victim.”
“I’m not a vic—”
“Are you sure?” Marsh cut across
the denial that was an integral part of Josephine’s existence.
Walker nodded and reached for a
picture from the top of the pile. “I was initially concentrating on this woman
in New Mexico because I thought she was the first victim. Her name is Donna
Viera, murdered in the early nineties.”
The photograph slid across the
surface of the coffee table with a whisper of sound that stirred the hairs on
Marsh’s nape. Blonde. Skinny. Her body covered with a series of crisscross
patterns that had bled profusely, streaking her skin.
“Cause of death?” Marsh asked.
Josephine averted her eyes and
sipped water. Vince hunched over the table, staring at the photos of ritualized
slaughter.
“She bled to death.” Walker pulled
out another photo and placed it beside that of Donna Viera.
Angela Morelli
.
The woman from downstairs.
Two decades apart and the sonofabitch was still
killing
. Marsh tried to control the fury that surged through him.
“These victims are almost
definitely the work of the same person. Both vics are blonde, Caucasian women,
late twenties to early thirties—attractive women.”
Josephine put her water down
abruptly, spilling it. “I’ll get a cloth.” She was halfway to her feet, but
Marsh planted a hand on her thigh and held her in place. Vince got up to search
for a towel. Marsh knew she wanted to avoid this, but it was important that she
understood exactly what she was dealing with.
“Angela Morelli was a dyed blonde.”
Walker pointed to the woman’s pubic region. “He skinned her genitals, probably
as punishment.”
A wave of revulsion rose in his
throat, but Marsh shoved it down. Josephine had her hand over her mouth as
Vince handed her the cloth. It dangled uselessly from her fingers so Marsh took
it from her and wiped up the water she’d spilt.
“What about his MO?” Marsh asked.
Walker glanced across at Vince. “I
know you’re a decorated soldier and a war hero and all, but if this gets out…”
“I had top security clearance as
of three months ago and you think I’ve forgotten the rules already?” Vince’s
amused expression didn’t fool Marsh. The slur on his character insulted the
ex-SEAL.
“Vince is
the
most discreet
person you’ll ever meet,” Marsh stated.
“And the most law abiding.”
Josephine shot Vince a glare, but he returned it with a quiet smile and a wink.
“I figure you need to know what the
danger is.” Walker pulled out two more photos. Two more women brutalized.
“These women were attacked in their
own homes. They’re single and were alone during the time of the attack. He
spends considerable time with the victims. Several hours according to the
evidence.”
Josephine opened her mouth to
speak, but closed it again, no words escaping.
Walker carried on. “Evidence
suggests he gags them, ties them to their beds and then he cuts them.
Repeatedly.”
“Any DNA or trace evidence?” Marsh
asked, hoping against hope.
Walker shook his head. “Nothing
yielded a viable biological sample until the blood we found on the floor
downstairs when you bit him. Analysis isn’t back yet but they have a rush on
it. Let’s hope he’s in the system.” Looking at Josephine, he said quietly,
“From what you’ve told us we figure he wears some kind of hat or mask, at least
until he has the victim secured.”
Josephine shuddered and turned
away. Her skin was so pale the blue of her veins was visible beneath the
surface on the backs of her hands.
“Why does he cut them?” Josephine’s
voice was high pitched.
Walker shrugged. “Piquerism? Some
people get sexual gratification from the act of cutting or stabbing. Or get off
on the victim’s pain.”
“Sexual assault?” Marsh asked.
Walker shook his head.
“He didn’t rape me.” Josephine’s
tone held relief. Marsh reached out and took her hand, rubbing her cold fingers
with his. She turned to face him, eyes stark with confusion. “Why not?”
“Maybe he’s impotent.” Marsh
shrugged. He really didn’t know what drove a man to kill for fun. The fact the
victims hadn’t been sexually assaulted was a plus, but he still made them
suffer.
Walker fingered another file. Marsh
recognized it and gritted his teeth. His secretary Dora had sent a copy of the
report on Josephine’s attack from his office in Boston to the NYPD and FBI at
his insistence. Walker took out another photograph, this one a thin hollow-eyed
child who lay sleeping in a hospital bed.
Every muscle in Josephine’s frame
tensed to stone. Then she started to shake. Slowly she extended a hand and
stroked the edge of the photocopy like it was alive and the child might wake if
she disturbed her.
The form in the picture was
flat-chested, narrow hipped. Androgynous. Sexless.
“I think you were lucky on several
counts.” Josephine flinched but Walker continued. “His behavior hadn’t
escalated to murder yet, or you didn’t fit his victim profile.”
“You don’t think he chose her
specifically? You think she was an accident? Or an opportunistic attack?”
Walker shrugged. “It’s a theory.”
Vince stared hard at the table,
mouth turned down, eyes focused on the images. “Is that you?” He nodded to the
picture.
Picking it up, she nodded, her eyes
wide with shock.
His deep baritone stirred the air.
“So how many women do you think this animal has killed?”
Sam Walker looked grim, rubbed his
hands over his face.
“Well, after interviewing Ms.
Maxwell, I decided to run the information through ViCAP again, only this time I
omitted the MO and just used the knife wound information.”
They locked eyes and Marsh held his
breath, dread settling into his marrow. “How many?” he asked.
“I’ve found ten that fit with what
we already had—all blondes, with their skin sliced rather than stabbed, some
found in remote locations, others pulled out of rivers, some even burned.”
“He’s destroying evidence.”
Walker nodded at Marsh’s grim
statement. “And now Interpol is involved…” The silence stretched on and on
until Marsh wanted to grab the man by his jacket lapel and shake the
information out of him.
“How many?”
“We’re setting up a timeline of
disappearances going back as far as nineteen ninety-three when Josie was
attacked—”
“How many?” Marsh repeated harshly.
“Maybe fifteen since ninety-three,”
said Walker. “Sometimes it’s impossible to tell if decomp is too advanced.”
Vince swore and turned away.
Fear and unease radiated from
Josephine’s taut frame like a violin string being plucked. Walker stared at
her, but Marsh didn’t know what the man expected her to do.
Feel guilty? For
what?
He doubted she knew her attacker, though she wasn’t telling them
everything.
Marsh hated seeing her scared. It
tied a knot in his gut and scrambled his brains when he needed them most. He
stared at the hardwood floor, knowing this situation was going to get worse
before it got better—unless they got very, very lucky.
“Why does he cut them?” Marsh
repeated Josephine’s question.
Vince frowned, hunched forward, his
hands clasped together.
“Scarification is big on the S
& M scene. Lust murderers are often involved in sadism.” Walker shrugged.
“We don’t know, we’re guessing at this point.”
“So have you guys worked up a
profile?”
“The guys at the BAU are working on
it now we have more information—unfortunately there are more murderers than FBI
resources.” Walker frowned down at the coffee table, ran his hands along the
hard edge. “We know we’re looking at a geographically transient, organized
offender.”
“The hardest type to catch.” It
wasn’t news to any of them that they were dealing with a smart bastard, but
even smart bastards made mistakes.
Walker flipped some pages in his
notebook.
“Age,” he pressed his lips
together. “This new information revises our age estimate. Assuming he was
between eighteen and twenty-five when he first attacked Ms Maxwell, that puts
him around thirty-eight years to forty-five years of age.”
Which gave him a lot of good
killing years left…
“Caucasian?” Vince queried.
Walker looked at Josephine who
nodded in confirmation. “Yes, average height, white male with gray eyes is
about our only solid point of reference right now.”
“What do you want from me?” A
single silvery tear tracked down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away, perhaps
thinking they wouldn’t notice it if she didn’t draw attention to it.
Marsh answered for Walker. “In
serial murder cases, the first and last victims are the most revealing about
the UNSUB.”
He moved the photograph of Angela
Morelli next to the picture of Josephine as a child, mentally recoiling from
both. She was the key.
Her gaze was transfixed on the
gruesome photographs.
“What were you doing in Queens that
day, Josephine?” Marsh asked.
Pain filtered through the deep blue
eyes, followed by denial. She shook her head and then opened her mouth to
speak. Shut it again. Frowning, she picked up a shot of Donna Viera.
“Oh, god.” Shock made her sit up straighter,
balancing on the edge of the cushion.
“What?” Walker pushed. “What is
it?”
“My mom. This woman looks like my
mom.” Josephine covered her mouth. “Maybe he was stalking her, the night he
found me.”
“I thought you said your mother
disappeared before you were attacked?” said Marsh.
She went silent and Marsh wondered
if she’d finish telling her story or clam up the way she usually did.
Mouth half obscured by hair and
fingers she said, “I followed her that night. That’s why I went to Queens.” She
squeezed her eyes closed, clearly torn with indecision, a pink flush rising up
her cheeks and neck.
“Why did you follow your mom,
Josephine?”
“It was so long ago.” She slouched
back against the couch, staring at the high ceiling.
“
Try
to remember.” Sam Walker
barely contained his frustration. Marsh knew exactly how he felt.
She gave a bitter laugh. “That’s
the trouble. I remember every detail.”
The slight tilt of Walker’s lips
gave away his skepticism. Eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable. And after
all this time…
“I was worried she was going to
leave me again. She’d left for a few weeks when I was younger and…” Her laugh
was bitter. “Well, I was right wasn’t I? I never saw her again.”
Her eyes glazed over as she looked
into the past. “I was on my way home from school when she got on a bus I was
riding, but she didn’t see me because I was sitting toward the back.”
Marsh had to strain to hear her
voice as it grew softer.
“She’d been acting strangely,
dressing nicer, wearing make-up, smiling.” Josephine caught her lip with strong
white teeth. Continued to stare at the high vaulted ceiling. “So I followed
her. She got off in Queens, went into this big red-brick building with a
fire-escape that snaked up the outside.
“I climbed onto a Dumpster and
managed to catch the lower bar of the fire escape and hauled myself up. I was a
gymnast back then so it was easy.” A slight frown touched her brow.