Rainey picked up her phone. “What’s his number?”
Sheila hesitated and then reached into her pocket for her phone. “Do not use my name. You hear me? Rainey?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Just give me the number.”
Sheila held up her phone for Rainey to see the information and then waited by her side to see what she did with it.
Rainey typed a text message, “Two teens dead, one missing, two unaccounted for, Lilly conversion camp tied to case. Evidence and two witness statements at Durham Sherriff’s department. Will only deal with Lilly personally, as long as possible. Call Det. Robertson in CID before media gets story. Don’t tarry. See you soon.”
She pulled up the penis photo, copied just the small section containing the unusually shaped mole, saved it to a new image, attached it to the text and hit the send button.
Rainey tossed her phone on the table with Wendy’s and said, “I really wanted to see his face, but desperate times and all that.”
“You used my name,” Sheila said, taking a playful swat at Rainey’s shoulder. “And where are these witnesses?”
“You have to promise not to arrest these kids. I’ll find beds for them, but you have to promise me they will not be thrown back into the system for trying to survive.”
“Rainey, I can’t ignore the law. Even if they aren’t charged with prostitution, I have to report underage homeless youth to social services.”
“Fine, then you get one seventeen-year-old witness you can’t touch.”
“That’s probably for the best right now,” Sheila said. “Get the others in a program and off the street before you bring them here. I don’t want them going back in the system, just to run again.”
“We have nothing by way of evidence. I have a picture and a story, but that does not prove murder. It also doesn’t get us any closer to the man who has Wendy.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Sheila said, “but it will stop Jedidiah Lilly from harming any more boys. Wouldn’t it be great to shut down that conversion camp once and for all?”
Rainey pointed at that not being the case. “Don’t discount the forgiving forces of the Lord and his minions, nor the moneymaking power of a repentant sinner.”
Teague grew restless. Rainey had ignored him too long. “What about the essay? Are we working on both cases together now, the dead teens and the fetish case?”
Rainey walked a confused Sheila to the door, gently holding her elbow and prodding her to move. “We’re going to talk about a lot of things, Edward. Clear the air and make some headway on these cases, both of which could lead to my sister’s abductor. Sheila, you will let us know when Lilly or his representative arrives, won’t you?”
When she was more or less pushed through the doorway and out into the hall, Sheila wheeled around and mouthed the words so that Teague couldn’t see her, “What the hell?”
Rainey spoke so he could hear her words, but not see her facial expression. “I think Dr. Teague can be a huge help in locating Wendy. Make sure the recorder is running. He’ll want it for later.”
11:10 AM, Friday, March 6, 2015
Durham County Sherriff’s Department
Interview Room 212B
Durham County, NC
Rainey closed the door and indicated the empty chair in the corner to Teague. “Have a seat. Notice how I’ve put you in the corner, symbolically showing you have nowhere to go without going through me.”
Teague laughed nervously but played along. “Oh, so I’m to be the interviewee. This is a new perspective.”
Rainey moved the backpack, rolled the chair so it was closer to Teague and sat down, blocking more of his view of the door. “Truthfully, you should be questioned. You are a part of the victim’s life, in this case, Wendy’s life. Surely you have observed the crush she has on you, professor.”
“I would think you would want to be out searching for her,” Teague said, ignoring Rainey’s comment on the crush and his relationship with the victim.
“There are professional investigators out there looking for Wendy. I’m helping my sister the best way I know how. I’m using years of training, study, and experience to explore possibilities. Some people call it throwing spaghetti at the walls to see what sticks. I’d like to think of it more as paying attention to the details, the frequently overlooked but immensely telling minutiae.”
Rainey smiled, putting Teague at ease. She picked up her phone and sent Connor a message, requesting his presence at the Sherriff’s department and giving assurances he would not be detained. She then sent a return email to the address from which the picture originated, with instructions on how Cane and Barron could reach her safely. She promised to personally come get them if necessary. She followed that correspondence with one to Brooks, asking her to track the email and find Cane’s phone. Rainey did all this while she continued to talk with Teague.
“Wendy is mixed up in the murder case you’re working on, the one with the two dead boys. She stumbled into it—a family trait it seems, stumbling into trouble. I’m afraid some very powerful men may have wanted her silenced. Wendy believes the young men I’m trying to reach can identify the person who put those boys in the pond. She may very well have spoken to the wrong person. Did she discuss the case with you?”
Rainey put her phone down and picked up Wendy’s. After sending Connor the identical message she sent from her own phone, she scrolled through Wendy’s call and text message history. Teague watched the phone, not Rainey while he answered her question.
“Wendy sent a text last night. She asked about the profile I was working on. I called her back and told her there wasn’t a lot of evidence. Two boys, bound, that’s it. Runaways, male prostitutes, but not much evidence at all on which to base a profile.”
“Oh, but there is more to cull from the information you have.” Noting Wendy’s text and Teague’s call in the history log on the phone, Rainey continued to scroll through information as she spoke. “Two teens bound together and believed killed at the same time. The question is how did a single UNSUB take down two streetwise teenage kids? They weren’t small, both fifteen, right? They went with the UNSUB willingly, together, thinking that was safer. They were bound similarly with flex cuffs on their wrists. The ropes around the knees were tied with different knots, suggesting one victim may have been forced to tie the other, or there were two assailants. The ankles were not tied, so the victims could shuffle but not run, suggesting one UNSUB who needed to move two teenage boys without resistance. Either way, the bindings were for control, not sexual gratification. This was an execution.”
“To what end?” Teague asked.
Rainey shrugged. “Silence, maybe? I don’t know. Snapping the necks of two bound kids, that takes some hellacious motivation. How terrifying it must have been to be the second to die, knowing it was coming.”
Teague stretched his legs and leaned back against the chair. Expressing with body language that the topic had moved into a more comfortable realm, a place where he felt empowered. He also purposely occupied more space, increasing his physical boundaries, the psychological equivalent of manspreading.
Marking territory. How testosterone driven of you, Doctor, Rainey thought, but remained silent and smiling.
“For someone who was supposed to stay away from the case, you sure have an abundance of information from the M.E.’s report,” Teague challenged.
“There are perks to having connections in a few places. I made a call or two.” Changing direction, she asked, “Did you know Dr. Glena Sweet, from the literature department?”
“No, I never had the chance to meet her. I knew of her, but I did not associate a name with a face until she became a victim. It’s a big faculty, different departments, it’s understandable that we would not know one another.”
Rainey saw guarding behavior, as Teague pulled his lower legs in under the chair and folded his arms
“Did you recognize Shaun George as someone who may have attended one of your lectures?”
“No, I heard you ask him that and I’ve been trying to recall his face, but there are so many students sitting in. I have an open door policy. I’m available to work with the fledgling crime authors on campus,” he paused to chuckle, “even if Mr. George finds me too clinical.”
Rainey nodded, agreeing with him, addressing him as her commiserate colleague. “The truth of what a behavioral analyst does appears clinical to most. I’m surprised more books aren’t written from the criminal’s point of view. The action lies with the UNSUB. The analyst’s chase is not glamorous enough for entertainment purposes. I guess that’s why authors have one of us lead the way through the door at the end of the story. In reality, we are rarely if ever there at the moment of arrest or victim recovery.”
Teague smiled at his inclusion, relaxed the grip on his biceps, and welcomed the exchange between peers. He wanted to belong in the room with her. Rainey could see it in his expression and hear it in his voice.
“I totally agree with that assessment. I’ve read numerous manuscripts from budding authors seeking my approval.” Teague leaned in, to lend his observation. “Too often they have analysts doing things that are out of the realm of possibility. We are not clairvoyant. Why should it be less exciting that we use our brains as weapons?” Teague chuckled. “Not quite as sexy as a Glock and knock approach though, is it?”
Rainey laughed with him, “There were a few times the knock turned into something entirely unexpected. One minute you’re ringing doorbells looking for information. The next, some name on a list turns out to be the UNSUB you’re looking for. You know what the bad part is?” Rainey asked.
“They see you before you see them,” Teague offered.
“Yes, most of the time, they know they’re caught before we know we’ve found them. That can be a very dangerous time for an unaware investigator. It’s in the scurrying to get away that we see them. It’s like when I watch my cat hunt in the yard. If the prey he’s focused on quietly goes about its business, he’ll stare at it long enough to be distracted by the one that runs away in a panic.”
Rainey continued to examine her sister’s life through the cell phone. She saw the texts and unanswered calls from Nick Prentiss and his friend apparently named, Junior. An exchange of texts with Connor informed Wendy of the missing Cane and Barron and asked for help. Wendy explained she couldn’t meet him until the morning after her “babysitting” job was complete. She told him to stay quiet and watch his back. Wendy, Rainey thought, was too cocky to have taken her own advice.
“Are you finding anything pertinent on Wendy’s phone?”
“Not yet,” Rainey replied, without looking up from the screen. “I took a look at your study on fetish burglaries evolving to sexual murder. It reads like a how-to-manual for the current UNSUB. The escalation follows the pattern of the most troubling cases at each step. This study has been widely distributed, I assume?”
“Yes, and if it’s true someone used it as a study guide, it will be hard to track it. It’s available online.”
“I see,” Rainey said, still watching the screen of the phone, as Wendy’s life flew by one finger swipe at a time. She appeared to become absorbed in the contents of the phone, but she had an eye on Teague. Rainey wasn’t sure what she was looking for until she found it, but she waited for him to speak before the reveal.
Teague couldn’t stand the quiet. When she stopped talking, he had to break the silence. He was used to commanding attention. Rainey’s indifference to his presence didn’t sit well with his narcissistic root personality.
“I thought you wanted to show me an essay?”
Rainey leaned forward, ignoring his question, and showed him the picture she had located. “I remember Wendy telling me about this,” she said. “Isn’t this you with her running group? Eno River Park, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I believe it was. I don’t run with groups often, but Wendy invited me and it sounded like fun. I had not run in that park before.” Teague grinned at Rainey while she looked at the photo again. “I can see that mind of yours at work, Agent Bell. I’m an off-trail runner like our UNSUB. So are many Triangle residents, including your sister. I understand from Wendy, you grew up running through the woods around Jordan Lake.”
“It’s just Rainey. I did and still do run those old trails. You should come check them out. My dad made them for me when I ran cross country in high school.” Rainey sat back, still thumbing through the phone. “Are you on Facebook, Edward? I’m not, except for the account I use to track bail jumpers stupid enough to post their whereabouts online. It's always funny when they 'like' their wanted photo.”
“The school encourages us to be available to social media, as long as we keep it professional,” Teague said.
Wendy was on Facebook and Edward was right there at the top of her friends list. Rainey clicked on his name to see what he shared with others. Not much, but enough. In the photos he shared publicly, she found another clue.
“So, since you say you’ve never experienced being interviewed like this, let me explain how this would go if I were still an agent. I’d inform you of your rights and let you know you’re under no obligation to talk to me. I would make sure you knew you could leave at any time or request an attorney. Those same rights apply if I’m acting as an agent for law enforcement, as I am here today. I explained earlier that everything we do and say in this room is being recorded.”
“This suddenly feels rather formal,” Teague said, not yet losing his cool.
“Like I said earlier, as a friend or acquaintance of Wendy’s you will be questioned. The first element of a crime we investigate is the victim. We need to know how and why Wendy was abducted.”
“What do you need to know to take me off the table as a suspect?” Teague asked.
“I’m sorry. Are you a suspect?” Rainey made sure to appear surprised.
Teague seemed prepared for the duel. “Well, it is about removing possible suspects when you examine the victim’s life. How do you eliminate me?” He paused to make sure his sly smile was fully realized and then added, “And how do they eliminate you, Rainey? You were there at the house. Maybe you had a fight with your sister that escalated.”