The White Carnation (31 page)

“Yes.” Rob took a deep breath. Sleep could wait.

Trevor poured two cups of coffee and sat across from him. Rob reached for one of the stale donuts in the box on the table and dunked it in his coffee. It wasn't the healthiest food, but it was the only thing available, and if he didn't eat something soon, he'd be working on an ulcer of his own. Judging by the number of antacid tablets he'd chewed in the last few hours, it was probably a moot point.

“They found traces of scopolamine on the chair cover and mud, slime, and various other unsightly things on and near the recliner. They also found fingerprints, lots of them. We know some will belong to you, Faye, and Dr. Chong, but we're hoping he left some of his behind, too.

“If you found prints, then you got there before his clean-up crew went in.”

“We did. We had the men scour the area around the cabin, and it yielded a treasure trove of evidence, as if he didn't care anymore, and that in itself is worrisome. He's sure he won't be caught—why? The bastard's been spying on you for at least a week. He had a nest in a white pine tree about 400 yards from the chalet. There are K-rations there, garbage, cigarette butts, and DNA. Even a watcher has to relieve himself sometimes. The man must have stunk to high heaven living like that. He probably had high-powered binoculars and a rifle. You're lucky you're alive. We also found evidence of a second car at the site—a small compact, not the van, so it's possible there are two of them involved.”

Rob shook his head. “The bastard may have been watching us, but we weren't in any danger of being killed—not by a high-powered rifle anyway. I saw what he did to Tina. There was a lot of rage there. I agree we're dealing with more than one man; if not, we have one sick son of a bitch with serious psychological issues on our hands. The Harvester poisons his victims, but he takes care of them. It's almost as if he's immortalizing them, whereas the man who killed Tina is a butcher. If that guy wanted to kill me, he'd do it with his bare hands, but he won't. Taking her like this is far worse than killing me. If I don't find her, I'll spend the rest of my life blaming myself.”

“He's a sick bastard. I'm sorry, Rob. Of course, there's always the chance this guy is just a transporter. If it's a cult, people have distinct jobs—Faye said so herself. Come on. Grab your cup, and let's go down to the morgue. Amos should have something to tell us by now. It's ironic, really. When I asked Tina why she'd sabotaged Faye's career, she said it was because she wanted her name and picture on the front page. People should be careful what they wish for.”

Amos looked up from the body as they entered the morgue.

“Welcome back, Rob. Thanks for the present, but you shouldn't have,” he said, indicating the body on the slab, and Rob shrugged.

“Believe me, Doc, it wasn't my idea.”

Tina had been cleaned up, but the discoloration and bruising were obvious. This was the part of his job Rob hated the most. He reached for a camphor-scented surgical mask, as did Trevor. The camphor didn't eliminate the stench, but it covered up some of it.

“I've just finished with the lovely Ms. Jackson. I won't keep you long. Cause of death, exsanguination caused by a lacerated carotid artery. I have three others in the back with similar CODs, but this one's different. Look here.” He indicated the cut. “Same knife, you can tell by that little chip mark, probably a hunting knife, but this time it was wielded by a much stronger man. He came close to decapitating her.”

“Maybe he was just angrier,” Trevor put in. “Rage and adrenaline can make people behave differently.”

“True, but while this blade is sharp and very efficient, the angle on this cut is different from the others. And there's something else.” Amos pulled the sheet up over Tina's face. “The deceased had rough sex before she was killed—lots of tearing—most likely against her will. He either wore a condom or didn't get off because there's no semen. There was a lot of rage there. I found a few dark hairs caught in that fancy watchband, a couple with roots, and I've sent them with one of your men to Langley instead of down the hall as you requested, Agent Clark. Her nails haven't been clipped. Not at all the kind of thing we've seen from the Harvester. In my professional opinion, the Harvester, the rapist, the person who killed Lucy Green and the Williamsons, and this killer are definitely not the same man.”

Trevor scowled and pursed his lips. “You're sure?”

“Absolutely. There is a high level of violence with these kills. The Harvester, on the other hand, is tender. It's a painless death for the victims. They go to sleep but never wake up. Mrs. Green and the Williamsons had their throats slit from behind—they didn't even see it coming, but Ms. Jackson fought for all she was worth. As for the rape, the man who raped her isn't the same man who impregnated the others. This rape was brutal, cruel, and punishing. If he'd done this to any of the other victims, the woman would have needed medical attention, and there would've been evidence, even after a vaginal birth. I've asked Special Victims to look through their database. I doubt this is the first time he's done this, and I'd be surprised if another of his victims had survived his assault. If the man who did this has Faye …” The doctor pursed his lips and shrugged. Rob and Trevor thanked Amos and left.

“Did he just confirm my worst nightmare?” Rob asked, stepping through the morgue doors into the corridor. “Is he seriously saying we may have three or more men working together on this? Can it get any worse? Of course it can—it has. He—they—have a buddy on the inside feeding them information. So, who has Faye?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Is it the Harvester behind door number one, the killer behind door number two, or the psycho-killer rapist behind door number three?” He punched the plaster wall hard, breaking the skin and bruising his knuckles.

Trevor put his arm around Rob's shoulder. “They should have finished matching Faye's file on Mary with ours. I have to look at what Pierce brought in, too, but there hasn't been a hell of a lot to work with so far. I'll probably pull him off surveillance tomorrow. Like Faye, my team thought Slocum was the place. But there isn't anything else you can do tonight, so why don't you go lie down in the break room? I know it's not much comfort, but I don't agree with Amos. I think whoever has Faye wants her alive. Whether you believe it or not, he could have killed you both at any time.”

He knew Trevor was right, but he hated the feeling of helplessness Amos had instilled in him. Trying to find one maniac had been bad enough, but the thought that there could be three or more …

The elevator door opened, and Rob made a beeline for his desk, grabbed his bag, and headed into the break room's dorm area. Unlike earlier, four of the six cots were occupied. He peeled off his shirt, jeans, and socks, and lay down on the narrow bed. It was almost two. The room was warm and exhaustion quickly claimed him.

• • •

Faye lay on the bed in the darkness, too frightened and confused to do anything but give in to her emotions. She was powerless to stifle the falling tears. This was her fault. She hadn't been comfortable staying at the cabin alone, but she'd been too damn proud to say anything. Why hadn't she asked to go with Rob? It wouldn't have cost them that much more time, and they'd be together.

Or Jimmy could've waylaid the car somewhere and killed Rob with that hideous knife and still taken me prisoner.

Eventually, exhausted by her crying jag, she sniffled. Nothing good would come of giving in to despair like this.

Come on, girl. Pull up your big-girl panties and smarten up.
Rob's not here. You're on your own.

For weeks, she'd been afraid her rapist would come back for her, and she'd cowered in Rob's arms for protection, but in the end, it hadn't helped. The monster had returned just as she'd feared he might. There was no mystery now, no creature in the dark waiting for her. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't. Ha! Whoever coined that adage didn't know what he was talking about. The Harvester—Jimmy? He was the last person in the world she'd have expected to rape her; the thought nauseated her. He'd kidnapped her and brought her here, wherever here was. She'd been in this room for at least an hour, but that was just a guess. He'd called the woman in charge “Mother,” so it was possible his parents were involved. Some parents were so devoted to their children they'd do anything for them, including abet in rape, murder, and kidnapping, but Jimmy hadn't called the man “father.”

Damn it, Faye, think. I know he drugged you, but pull it together.

Prophet! The word materialized in her mind along with another one. Eden—he'd said seven settlements. Who the hell were these guys?

Her arms and legs ached from the tape still binding them, but at least she was on her back, on what appeared to be a plastic or rubber sheet. To make matters worse, she stunk, almost as badly as the van had, and was in desperate need of a toilet. If she had to wait too much longer, she'd disgrace herself. Was that the point of this? Total humiliation? She'd heard cults tried to break the spirits of those who opposed them by disorienting them. You sure as hell had to have lost whatever human dignity you possessed to do what Jimmy had done.

Well, she wasn't going to give in to them. This wasn't the way Rob would expect her to behave, nor was it the way she'd been trained to act under these circumstances. She had let this son of a bitch terrorize her long enough. It ended now. What was the point of undergoing survivalist training if you couldn't apply it when you needed it most?

“So, you finally stopped your blubbering. Good. Now we can get somewhere.” The voice, stern, filled with authority, came from outside her cell and filled Faye with dread. What now? The sound of the bolt sliding open put her on alert. Her heart pounded.

She recognized the voice. It belonged to the woman who'd let them into the building and instructed Jimmy to bring her in here. Bright light flooded the small enclosure, blinding her, and she closed her eyes against the sudden discomfort. Curiosity warred with fear and won. She forced her eyes open again—it was so like the situation a little more than seven weeks ago, but this time she wasn't in the hospital. She wished she were.

Rob had been with her then.

The woman, dressed in a long, black gown, her salt-and-pepper hair braided into a coronet on her head, appeared to be in her mid-fifties, but there was nothing frail or delicate about her. She would have made a fine lady wrestler. The woman placed a small LED lantern, a porcelain jug of steaming water, and two towels on top of a dresser next to a small, plastic bag, before pulling open the drawer and removing something white. She opened the small door of a washstand beside the bed and took out a large porcelain washbowl, which she placed next to the jug of water.

Faye studied her quarters as the woman completed her tasks. She was in a small, cell-like room with walls only six feet high, much like horse stalls in a stable, only larger. Everything was made of white pine—the walls, the floor, and the furnishings, which, in addition to the washstand, bed, and dresser, included a portable closet, a high-backed chair, a small desk, and a matching desk chair. In many ways, it reminded her of a monk's cell, austere but not really lacking in anything. There were windows about ten feet up, big enough to let in the light, but too far up to be used as a means of escape.

At first glance, the woman looked intimidating, but she smiled disarmingly at Faye.

“There's no need to be afraid. No one's going to hurt you here. I know you've had a rough trip, but sadly, it couldn't be helped. Nathaniel's mistake caused more trouble than we could've imagined.”

The woman's voice had a low, sing-song, hypnotic quality to it, and despite the anxiety clawing at her, Faye felt herself relaxing. The woman's smile broadened.

“Who's Nathaniel?”

“No one you need to concern yourself with. He's gone now. I'm Mother Kate. I care for the new mares when they're brought to me. You don't usually come to me this early, but we're moving, so what must be done, must be done. I think what you need is something to eat, but you'd better clean up—you smell almost as bad as James did.” She chuckled. “Everything you need is on the dresser. There's cool water in the ewer beside your bed. Don't use it all. It's also your drinking water until tomorrow. While you clean up, I'll fetch you something to eat, and then I'll examine you. I'm the midwife here. The vet comes if I call him; otherwise, you're all in my care. James tells me you're with child. Such good news needs to be verified.”

She reached into the pocket of the white apron she wore over her dress and pulled out a small knife. Faye gasped.

“My, but you are a high-strung filly. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to cut the tape.”

She released Faye's feet first and then her hands. Faye thought of rushing the woman, but as the blood flow seeped into her hands and legs, the pain was excruciating, making any such movement impossible.

“You have twenty minutes to clean up. Now stand.”

Faye forced herself to do as she was told, biting her lip at the pins and needles in her feet and swallowing her gasp of pain.

“You'll be more comfortable once you're clean and have food in your belly. I'll be back shortly.”

“Wait!” Faye cried. “I … I need to relieve myself.”

The woman laughed lightly and pointed to the wooden chair against the door wall.

“What you need's right there. It's a commode. Lift the cushion and the wooden seat, and you'll find the chamber pot. Someone will empty your waste in the morning.”

She put the knife back in her pocket, and Faye heard the bolt slide back into place. She was locked in once more.