Rainey let slip a slight grin of her own. “Okay, I’ll go first. I was on a domestic flight from Quantico that arrived too late to have done the damage at Wendy’s house, hidden her body, left my son behind, gone back to my house, and then sped back to Wendy’s, where I was spotted arriving, and witnessed entering the house by way of a broken front window. My alibi is relatively tight.”
“It would seem so,” Teague said but didn’t offer his own accounting.
Rainey asked, “Have you ever had reason to be at Wendy’s house?”
“No, I’ve not been in her house, but I have run the trails behind her house.”
Rainey’s phone sounded a ding. A text message had arrived. She led Teague, “So, you do know where Wendy lives.”
“Yes, I do. She told me when she found out I live just a few miles away in Falcon Ridge.”
“You live in the center of the geographic profile for this UNSUB. How many of the other burglary, sexual assault, and now murder locations do you pass on your runs?”
“I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Wendy. Are you now officially questioning me about the Terror case?”
Rainey listened to his response while reading the message from Brooks on the screen. She worked very hard at keeping her breathing steady. Rainey was once accused of having ice water in her veins, able to control the very beat of her heart, so as to never give the killer across from her a hint of reaction to the violent acts he or she described. It took all she had to maintain that stoicism now.
Rainey smiled at Teague. “I’m not questioning you, Edward. I’m a consultant. I’m gathering information. You can answer what and if you choose. I will tell you that answering a question with a question hints at evasion.”
Teague admitted, “Yes, I run by all of the crime scenes, some before and some after I acquired the knowledge of their existence from the police files. I’m one among thousands who use those trails, you and your sister included.”
She left Teague hanging, awaiting her next move while she copied the text message from Brooks and sent it to Sheila, with a postscript added, “Get a warrant.”
Rainey then turned her attention back to the man in the corner. “And now you add qualifying statements to explain why you were at a crime scene. See how easy it is for innocent circumstances to become concerns for investigators. Something as simple as you run the same trails as a killer and wear the same brand of running shoes. Bet you have a new pair you’re breaking in as we speak.”
Teague tried to maintain the calm air of intrigued, innocent professor, but his forehead tinted pink, his ears flushed, and the smile he adopted to hide his concern did not do the job. He couldn’t fake a genuine smile. He could project authenticity to the untrained eye, but not to Rainey.
“How do you know I wear the same shoes as the killer?”
“Social media, photos, likes, comments, posts, all that stuff says a lot about a person. A psychopath’s toy box—that’s what I call social sites on the Internet. That line, ‘I can be whoever you need me to be,’ is deadlier than it is romantic.”
“The Internet is a source of much enlightenment, for good and bad,” Teague noted. “These guys can find whatever brand of fantasy they want out there. Rule number thirty-six of the Internet: If it exists, it is somebody’s fetish, no exceptions.”
“Okay, now as an interviewer, I could consider your last statement deflecting, an attempt to draw me off the topic of what I found through your social media interactions.”
Teague shifted in the chair, crossed a leg over the other, and rested his hand on his ankle. He attempted a depiction of calm. It would have been normal to show signs of stress, yet Teague tried pretending indifference. He didn’t know how an innocent man would react because he wasn’t one, neither was he practiced in front of a doubter. For everyone else in his life, Edward Teague was absolutely convincing in his portrayal of the model citizen scholar.
He grinned at Rainey. “By all means, tell me what I’ve divulged about myself on the Internet.”
Rainey obliged him. “I can see that you do, in fact, wear the exact shoe we’ve been looking for, or did a few months ago, before you were asked to consult on the case. Much like our UNSUB, you’re an off-trail runner, loyal to a particular shoe brand and have a new pair. You are an avid photographer, again fitting the profile, and prone to selfies, some of which show you wearing the exact clothing the UNSUB is said to wear. You even have the black hat and neck gator.”
“All circumstantial,” Teague said.
“If you were guilty, I’d call that peacocking-foreplay or an attempt at re-experiencing, standard behavior for a sadistic sexual murderer. It amounts to taunting, all that ‘look at me, look at me’ cock-strutting. The obsession with mocking documentation usually makes excellent evidence, especially in the penalty phase.” Rainey let that sit a second before adding, “But as you say, it’s circumstantial. Still, if you’d like to stop, you can seek an attorney’s advice.”
“Broad generalizations are not evidence,” Teague said, waving off her intimations.
Rainey pointed out, “Circumstantial evidence does lead to questions, such as why your DNA would be inside the homes of the victims?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, and then remembered he should deny and did so. “Well, it shouldn’t be.”
Rainey let out a little chuckle. “This UNSUB rather foolishly left deposits of DNA, so it will be easy to link him to most of the sites. We left some information out of the files for signature element verification. It helps maintain a pristine chain of linkage. If I were an investigator, I’d ask you to volunteer for a DNA swab for elimination purposes. Of course, I could just run the water bottle you left in the other room.”
The blood left Teague’s head and ran to his heart. He lost his color for a millisecond. It returned with a rush, bringing the blush of a guilty man.
Rainey continued closing in on him. “It’s part of the signature, leaving behind sheets or a pair of underwear, a towel, something this UNSUB stained almost unnoticeably. Part of his fantasy is the hope the victim will wear or use it before noticing his prolonged violation. You write about this behavior in your study. In fact, you mention some of our UNSUB’s behaviors precisely, attributing them to the fantasies and crimes of anonymous study participants. What do you think the chances are of two perpetrators’ behaviors matching in such minute detail? One would have to assume they have compared notes or inspirations. The other option is a copycat.”
Teague tried very hard to look entirely unconcerned. He was unaware his ears were now scarlet and his forehead was damp with nervous perspiration. Hell yeah, this guy was guilty. Rainey wanted to beat him with a chair until he told her what she needed to know but remained in control. She’d heard worse, been closer to men who ate victims, took home heads to sleep with and other unimaginable things. Teague’s only distinguishing note was one of his victims might be her sister. Rainey had forced him inside his head hunting for a way out, a way to explain the circumstances that brought him to each victim’s home. His brain was occupied with calculating the chances of escaping the needle.
Rainey smiled at him as she pulled the essay and Wendy’s binder for his class from the backpack. Teague’s eyes followed her every move.
“My sister is much more organized than I am. She has an individual binder for her classes and appears to keep every scrap of paper associated with each one neatly tucked inside. I had time to read the notes and handouts in this binder when we first arrived this morning. The class description doesn’t really fit the materials. It appears to be a survey class, and you do spend a moment or two on all the topics, but the focus is on your research area, paraphilia leading to sexual violence.”
Teague had the academic answer ready. Rainey guessed he had probably justified his methods of teaching to some administrator along the way. He gave her the spiel, “Behavioral analysis, or profiling as some call it, is the sexy in the class. It’s why people take it. My roster is always full and has a waiting list. I cover everything in the syllabus using my area of expertise as the basis for discussion.”
“What brought you to this particular study topic, Edward?”
“An undergraduate assignment becomes a life study. Nothing more suspect than that, I assure you.”
Rainey slid the essay to the end of the table, just off Teague’s right. “Have you seen this, Edward? Is it from your class?”
He had to turn in his chair to see the paper. He winced with the movement and answered, “Yes, that’s from my class.” He picked it up and smiled, almost laughing, as he said, “You don’t believe the Triangle Terror wrote this do you?”
Rainey sat forward, closing the space between them. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“I wrote this,” Teague said. “I used the file and wrote this for a class exercise in profiling. If it’s too accurate, it’s because it is based on actual evidence and Arianna Wilde’s victim statement.”
“What does your wife do for a living, Edward?”
“She’s a fabric designer. What does that have to do with this essay?” He put the paper back down on the table.
Rainey didn’t let up. “Does she travel a lot?”
Teague knew he was caught, but his ego wouldn’t let him give up. He thought himself too smart. He thought he could still talk his way out of the trap he had walked into.
“My wife travels, yes. More circumstantial evidence.”
“How did you get those scratches on the back of your neck?”
He reflexively reached for his neck, before stopping himself. “When I tripped on the boulder, I guess a branch got me.”
Rainey pressed him, “Where exactly were you when you fell? You do know we can track cell phone locations. When you answered Detective Robertson’s call, where were you?” Rainey wore the smirk now. “Be careful, this is where the lies start to become difficult to remember. Stories become convoluted the more they are told, especially the fabrications. Did you say, ‘I slipped on a boulder,’ or ‘I tripped on a boulder?’ Little nagging details like that are the threads investigators pull and then watch the whole thing unravel.”
“Slipped, tripped, what’s the difference? I fell in the woods and scratched my neck, bruised my ribs.”
“How difficult do you think it would be for someone like me, who has seen countless violent injuries, to distinguish between bruises made falling and bruises made by a victim fighting a predator? Would you care to lift your shirt and let me show you?”
Teague sat back away from Rainey. She countered, moving nearer, closing off more of his escape route, reclaiming the space. She changed subjects quickly, not allowing his brain to process information thoroughly, before adding complications.
“Is your wife home now?”
“No. She’s in India. No one saw me come home from my run injured if that’s what you’re asking.”
Rainey rolled the chair closer, taking more control and freedom from her prey. “Edward, I took Arianna Wilde’s statement. I know what was in it. I signed it. I know what was not included in any file. Can you guess your mistake?”
Teague’s eyes darted to the paper. He started reading it silently. Rainey watched him try desperately to see his error. The fact that he was reading it at all and not screaming about his innocence spoke volumes about his guilt.
“I thought it interesting that you chose to make the UNSUB sound younger than you are, less educated, in order to match your profile. Serving that ego right up to the bitter end. You can stop reading. You read it in the first ten seconds.”
His eyes jumped back to the beginning.
Rainey read the line from the page to him, “She ran her tractor into a ditch.”
Teague pushed the paper back toward Rainey. “That’s in the report somewhere. Just because she didn’t say it to you, doesn’t mean she didn’t say it to someone. Whose ego is showing now?”
Rainey held up a hand. “Sheila, knock once if Arianna spoke with anyone other than me, twice if she did not.”
One knock and his smile started to come. With the second knock, he deflated.
“You’ve done two things here, Edward. You used information only the UNSUB knew and you’ve made it clear Arianna has seen you. She’ll be able to pick you out of a lineup. We’ll put you at the scene and we both know the DNA evidence is going to bury you.”
Teague fell into a blank staring silence. Rainey could see his brain trying to think of a way to explain it all away.
“Where is Wendy?” Rainey asked. “Is she at your wife’s old family estate?”
He looked up from his now bent posture.
Rainey answered his silent inquiry, “Yes, we know about that too. What are you willing to put your wife through? Search warrants are about to be served for your residence here and the place in lower Chatham. I’m sure the college has been notified that a search warrant is about to be served for your office and work products. How is this going to play out, Edward?”
His knee began a nervous jitter. Rainey watched him, careful not to disturb the silence. An intelligent criminal needed time to process, to look at the circumstances from all angles. He had to know he was cornered before he would give over to damage control. Rainey let a full minute go by before she prodded him.
“If Wendy is still alive, you helping us find her will look good to the prosecution. Is she still alive, Edward?”
He looked up from his contemplation, making eye contact with Rainey. The supreme sadist to the end, still thrilled with the suffering of others, Teague calmly said, “I don’t know.”
He was now watching Rainey, waiting for her reaction. It was probably not what he expected.
“Dr. Edward Teague, well-respected research fellow, an up and comer. People are going to want to know what happened. How does a man who has a happy marriage, a noble job, and a bright future go so far off the deep end? What will that tale be, Doctor? The only thing you’ll ever control from this moment forward is your side of the story.”
He turned his eyes to the floor, mute again. Rainey fought internal battles of her own. She repeated the silent mantra,
Keep it together
, to the voice in her head screaming for vengeance.
Don’t lose it now
, she told herself.
He’s so close. Keep it together.