Twisted (21 page)

He cut a brief glance in her direction as he stepped into the room.

“Mark Wolfe.” He shook hands with Mia while Allison looked on. He didn’t spout his title, she noticed. And he had that confident, commanding air about him that made him seem in charge in any setting—whether he’d been there before or not.

“Please, pull up a stool,” Mia said, returning to her computer.

Mark followed her across the room, but instead of taking a seat, he stood beside the worktable.

“What’d I miss?” He shrugged out of his coat.

“Nothing yet. Mia was just opening the file.”

Allison didn’t look at him. He smelled like rain and aftershave, and she realized he must have gotten in late last night and stayed at the motel. And he hadn’t called her, of course, because maybe he didn’t want her showing up at his door like a little welcome wagon.

She felt his gaze on her and glanced up. “What?”

“Doing some jogging?”

She glanced down at her running clothes and sneakers. “So?”

“In Stony Creek Park?”

From his disapproving look she could see he already knew the answer to that question, so she ignored him and turned to Mia.

“So, you were saying? About the DNA?”

Mia was pretending to be immersed in her computer file. “Okay, so I ran the samples from both rape kits—Stephanie Snow and Jordan Wheatley. The vaginal swabs revealed traces of lubricant, but no semen. It appears the attacker wore a condom in both cases.”

“That’s what we expected,” Mark said. “What about nail clippings?”

“That was my next step. Jordan Wheatley’s clippings yielded skin cells belonging to someone besides her—presumably her assailant.”

Allison listened anxiously. They were so close to a break, she could practically taste it, and yet she could tell there was some sort of catch.

“With Stephanie, nothing under the fingernails. I did, however, get touch DNA from the waistband of her pants. Using the tape-lift method, I recovered material from the elastic. Analysis revealed skin cells from someone besides her, most likely left by her attacker as he pulled off her clothes.” Mia paused. “Same genetic profile as what I got from Jordan’s nail clippings.”

Allison held her breath. She felt Mark tense beside her.

“We ran it through CODIS,” Mia said, referring to the nationwide DNA database maintained by the FBI, “and it came back negative. No perfect match. I did, however, manage to find a partial.”

“Familial DNA,” Mark said.

“That’s right. Whoever contributed the sample isn’t in the system, but has a relative who is.”

“A relative?” Allison was surprised. “You can tell that?”

“It’s a very close profile,” Mia said. “I would expect it to be a brother, or possibly a son, of the offender we have on file.”

“Who’s the offender?” Mark asked.

“David Moss.”

“Moss?”

“Like the plant.”

Mark shook his head. “Never heard the name. Don’t think we ever interviewed a ‘Moss’ in connection with any of the crimes. I’ll double-check. Where’d you get this?”

“You mean his DNA profile?”

“Yes. I didn’t think the FBI condoned sharing partial matches across state lines.”

“The rules are in flux,” Mia said. “Anyway, this one’s in California. They’re paving the way out there with this investigative technique, so I figured they’d be open to my inquiry about a partial match, which they were.” She looked at Allison. “The state of California has the third-largest DNA database in the world, and since your case has a California connection, I thought I’d at least try. I’m glad I did, too, because we got this lead. But fair warning: It could result in some controversy for you guys.”

“We’ll be careful,” Mark said.

“Wait, why the controversy?” Allison turned to look at him. “Why shouldn’t states share DNA profiles? Think of all the crimes we could probably solve.”

“Full matches are one thing,” Mia said. “Partial matches are a whole different ball game.”

“The Bureau’s worried about backlash,” Mark said. “Specifically, civil rights groups and privacy activists.”

Allison scoffed. “In my book, you pretty much forfeit your right to privacy when you commit a felony.”

“Yeah, but what about your cousin?” Mia asked. “Does he get to forfeit your privacy for you?”

Allison looked at her, shocked. “Listen to you. I thought you were all about using DNA to solve cold cases.”

“I am. I’m just playing devil’s advocate,” Mia said. “A lot of people don’t agree with DNA technology being used for this. Sins of the father being visited on the son and all that. Plus, there’s the Big Brother aspect. Some people don’t like the idea that some relative commits a crime, and now the whole family is under some sort of perpetual genetic surveillance.”

Mark nodded at the computer screen. “Tell me about California.”

“Well, they’ve solved some high-profile cases this way.” Mia looked at Allison. “You may have heard of the Grim Sleeper case in L.A.? Investigators found a partial match with a felon already in the system and linked his DNA to a string of killings. Police zeroed in on a new suspect—the incarcerated man’s father—and confirmed the DNA through a slice of discarded pizza. They ended up charging the father with ten counts of murder.”

“Wow,” Allison said.

“There’s a new saying in law enforcement circles,” Mark said. “ ‘If your brother’s doing time, don’t commit the crime.’ ”

“What about
our
case?” Allison asked, getting impatient.

“Like I said, it’s only a partial, but it’s still very useful. Are you familiar with how we do DNA profiles?”

“More or less.”

“When we compare DNA, we don’t actually analyze the entire chromosome. That would take ages. Instead, we look at thirteen designated genetic markers where the DNA is highly variable among people, and we compare those.” Mia paused to make sure they were following. “In this case, the samples matched at eleven of the thirteen.” She turned and nodded at the report pulled up on her screen. “I was here late last night double-checking my work with a peer’s findings, just to be sure. I feel confident saying the UNSUB you’re looking for is closely related to David Moss, who was once in the California prison system.”

“Was,”
Mark said. “But he’s not anymore.”

“That’s right.” She consulted a notepad on the counter. “I contacted the law enforcement agency listed with the record, and they had him in for aggravated sexual assault. He served six years in San Quentin, was released four years ago.” She took a deep breath. “And you’re not going to believe where he is now.”

Allison’s heart lurched, and she knew what Mia was going to say.

“Texas,” Mark said for her.

“That’s right. And not only that, I have an address.” She ripped a sheet off her notepad and handed it to Mark. “He’s in prison in Huntsville doing life for murder.”

“David Moss, twenty-nine. Sentenced to life, no parole, for the murder of Patricia Stewart, a twenty-year-old waitress in Arlington, Texas.” Mark wrote the victim’s
name on the dry-erase board beside the mug shot of the man who shared almost the same genetic fingerprint as their elusive UNSUB. “Okay, what else do we know?”

He scanned the faces in the room, which included everyone they’d been able to drag in thus far: Allison, Sean, and Jonah. Ric was tied up with a domestic complaint and Reynolds was missing in action. Mark figured he was hiding in his office, where he wouldn’t have to be overshadowed.

“Born in Redding, California,” Allison said, reading from the file that had been faxed over by Arlington PD. Mark had skimmed the fax when it came in, but hadn’t had time to study it. For the last half hour he’d been on the phone with an agent in the San Antonio field office who was running down every available detail on David Moss.

Allison glanced up. “So our UNSUB’s from Shasta County, like we thought.”

“Why’d we think that again?” Sean asked.

“The first murder occurred there,” she told him. “Serial killers often strike first in the place they’re most comfortable.” She looked at Mark. “Isn’t that how you came up with that piece of the profile?”

“Also, the location of the attacks and the recovery sites shows a strong familiarity with the area.” Mark wrote the name “David” on the board and circled it. “Let’s get back to his family. Particularly the males.”

Allison looked down at some papers. “Okay, parents: Paul Michael Moss and Sheryl Randolf Moss. Both parents deceased, like you said.”

“When did the dad die?” Sean asked.

“I looked up Paul . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It was 1984, so he’s not our man.”

Mark had already drawn an “X” over Paul’s name and was waiting for Allison to continue.

“Okay, one brother. Damien Michael Moss.”

“Shit, his name’s really Damien?” Sean asked.

“Really is. Born December 6, 1976, also in Redding, California.”

Mark turned his back on her and continued jotting facts on the white board. Damien Moss fell right within the profile age range.

“No sisters listed here,” Allison said. “So, looks like a family of four, with the father dying when the kids were young.”

“Let’s hear about Damien,” Mark said, although he already knew she’d hit a snag. The San Antonio agent who was helping him had been running into walls, too.

Allison slid the papers aside and flipped open a notepad. “Here’s what I got, just in the last two hours. Damien was issued a California driver’s license at the age of sixteen. It was never renewed. California DMV has zilch on this guy besides his original driver’s license. Texas doesn’t even have that much. I’ve got nothing here at all for a Damien Michael Moss. Or Damien Moss. We’ve got three Michael Mosses, but they’re totally the wrong age.”

“What about tax records?” Sean asked.

“Nothing in Texas. He must not own property here.”

“How about California?” Sean persisted. “They pay state income tax out there, right?”

“You better believe it,” Jonah said.

“No tax records in either state on this guy,” Allison said. “No criminal record. No voter registration. I’ve got nothing. It’s like he doesn’t exist. I thought you said he went to college?”

Mark turned around. She was looking at him, and he saw the frustration on her face. Everyone was feeling it. They had a potential ID now, but it was getting them nowhere. No record of a Damien Michael Moss living anywhere in Texas or California. They’d found several in other states, but the ages didn’t fit at all. Even so, Mark had his contact running down the IDs. The Bureau had access to much better databases than a small-town cop shop.

“I still believe he went to college, but I think he dropped out,” Mark said.

“Then how come there’s not a record of him in the California university system?” Allison asked.

“Maybe he went private,” Sean suggested. “Wolfe said he’s some kind of whiz kid, maybe he was at Stanford.”

“We’re checking on it,” Mark said.

“Who’s ‘we’?” Jonah wanted to know.

“I’ve got a couple agents out of San Antonio giving us a hand.”

No one objected, which was good. They were getting down to the wire here. November 19 was only three days away, and this UNSUB’s name was useless if they couldn’t get a location before he made his next kill.

“This is unbelievable,” Allison said. “I called phone companies, electric, gas, water, you name it. I called freaking ISP providers.
Nobody
has a record of Damien Moss.”

“Why don’t you let Wolfe call?” Sean said. “Probably
have better luck dropping the word ‘FBI’ into the conversation.”

“I already dropped it.”

Mark shot her a look. “You impersonated a federal agent? You know that’s a felony?”

“Ask me if I give a damn.”

“Nice going, A.” Sean winked at her. “Way to take the bull by the horns.”

“Anyway, I didn’t say I was FBI, I said I was calling on
behalf
of the FBI. That’s different.”

Jonah laughed. “No, it’s not.”

“Telemarketers do it all the time,” she said. “Anyway, what the hell are we arguing about? We need a location on this guy. Soon.” She looked at Mark. “What did your people get?”

“They’re working on it, same as you. They’re also looking for any other close male relatives.”

Mark’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the text message coming in from the agent in San Antonio.

“His age doesn’t work for a son,” Allison said. “Even if David Moss got someone pregnant by the age of thirteen—which is highly unlikely—that kid would only be sixteen now, and these murders have been happening for more than a decade.”

“I talked to Mia,” Jonah said. “She thinks the brother’s our best bet. Something about the DNA. She said it’s likely these two share the same mother, although there’s a small chance it could be a cousin on the mother’s side.”

“Great,” Sean said. “Now we’re not even looking for guys named ‘Moss.’ We’re looking for ‘Randolfs’ and who the hell knows what else.”

“I think we should follow Mia’s advice and focus our attention on Damien,” Allison said. “Somebody somewhere has a record of the guy.”

“Just not in Texas or California,” Jonah said.

“I received a text from someone who was checking on prison visitation records for me,” Mark said. “David Moss had no visitors in lockup either in California or Texas, with the exception of his defense attorneys.”

“Shit,” Sean said, tossing his pencil on the table. “The leads just keep pouring in.”

The door opened and Ben Lawson poked his head inside. “Got here soon as I could.” He stepped into the room and grabbed a chair next to Allison.

Jonah shot her a look that said,
Who the hell is this guy?

“Ben, meet some other members of our task force, Jonah Macon and Sean Byrne.”

Ben nodded distractedly as he pulled a notebook computer from his backpack and powered up.

“Ben’s with the Delphi Center,” Allison added. “He’s been running down some Internet leads for us.” She turned to Ben. “I hope you’ve got something, because we’re coming up with zip on Damien Moss. It’s like he’s totally off the grid.”

“That’s because he is.” Ben’s computer chirped to life and he tapped at it for a few seconds as everyone watched impatiently. He glanced up.