Drop Dead Perfect (An Ellen Harper Psycho-Thriller) (13 page)

None of the objects in the room, or the room itself, was the focus of this gathering, however. Ellen scanned the twelve faces around the table: Big Harv’s boss, commander and head of the Bureau of Investigative Services, Larry Ames; four FBI special agents she’d met from the local office on a couple of prior cases, including a profiler, Lelani Olsen, a thin, mid-forties woman with shocking-black hair and bright, gray eyes; four detectives from southern precincts; Brice; Bella; herself; and Big Harv making number thirteen, standing at the head of the table, acting like this was his world.

She guessed, in a way, it was. She’d seen him like this only a time or two. Fear and anxiety didn’t fit him. Not to mention, no child, no matter the age, wanted to see those kinds of subtle expressions in the eyes of
his or her dad. It didn’t fit. Dads were indestructible. Strong. Protectors. They were . . .
dads
.

Big Harv
quickly checked his emotions, but Ellen had already seen the look, and it made her nervous. Plain and simple.

She
folded her hands together and was suddenly aware of how hard she was squeezing them together. Apparently, Big Harv wasn’t the only one a little nervous in this gathering of brains and wit. It dawned on her how out of place she felt. She was a science girl, an empirical evidence geek, not a detective and not an administrator. Just the FACTS. Sitting next to Brice helped. He’d asked her opinion and listened in the cruiser. That meant something. Not to mention Oscar’s otherworldly input during her dream-state Hell ride. Her mind ran back to what remained of that dream, Oscar’s voice giving her advice on how to separate facts and intuition—common sense, if you will. It was hard to ignore the ring of truth echoing in her mind, but it was outside the box for her.
We all dance with the partner we’re the most comfortable with, don’t we?

“Let’s get this meeting on the road,” said Big Harv, now as in charge of his emotions as the meeting.

“First thing I want to do is bring to the forefront that we lost one of our own last night. Oscar Malloy, one of our talented young FTs, was murdered after he’d left one of this sick bastard’s crime scenes. He brought a lot to the department, and he’ll be sorely missed.”

“Sorry to hear that,
Big Harv, that’s never easy. But what does that have to do with these two kidnappings and subsequent murders?” asked Lelani Olsen, the FBI profiler.

“We’re working on that.
The crime-scene evidence from the second murder was stolen from the van. We’re not sure, but right now we’re operating on the premise that the three incidents—Rice, Seabrook, and now Oscar—could be related.”

“Could just be some kook who thought taking the bags would be a fun thing to do,” said Bella. “Like
, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Could be. But like I said, we’re going to function on the idea that it wasn’t a simple prank, until proven otherwise,” said Big Harv, his voice growing raspier.

Ellen suspected he’d been up most of the night studying and analyzing whatever the detectives and the preliminary reports had to offer him. He’d probably hounded the third shift until the FTs gave him something. She felt a surge of pride. He was on top of the heap when it came to being an asshole sometimes, but he did everything hard and right. She also felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe she should have been up all night as well. But she kicked the thought. She wouldn’t have been good. She would’ve most certainly missed something, being that tired.

“
The Seabrook evidence could be critical in determining how this perp does what he or she does. With the first batch of evidence from the Rice case, we’ve got a baseline for comparison, but Seabrook’s data would put us closer to what’s going on with the killer’s thought process,” said Lelani. “As a profiler, it’s invaluable to be able to see a pattern.”

“Agreed. That’s where Ellen Harper comes in,” said Big Harv, nodding in Ellen’s direction.

Ellen felt all eyes turn her way, and instead of experiencing the reoccurrence of uneasiness she’d gone through when she first sat down, she felt calm and sure of herself now. Evidence was her world, and she knew where her father was going with this.

“I don’t get
what that means,” said Lelani.

“I was the lead FT at both crime scenes. I can tell you anything you want to know about what we gathered and what we talked about when we gathered it. I can tell you how they were killed, when, where the clothes were purchased, or at least the outlets for them
. I kept some of the evidence, namely both victims’ cell phones, so that I could analyze them myself,” said Ellen.

She surprised herself with her own air of confidence. But then again,
the truth was easy. Nothing about those crime scenes had escaped her, tired or not.

“Everything?” asked Lelani doubtfully, leaning back in the chair
, which seemed to suck her in, making her look even thinner.

“Everything,” answered Ellen.

“What’s on the phones?” asked the profiler.

“Photos that shouldn’t be there. Pictures I
’m sure the killer took. I just have to remove the memory cards and take each photo apart from top to bottom to make sure.”

“Interesting,” answered Lelani, frowning. “Do you have any
thoughts on why the killer would have done such a thing?”

Ellen
glanced at Brice and caught his small, almost-mysterious smile. She had to stop herself from smiling back. So damned good-looking.

“You’re the profiler, but Detective Rogers and I have discussed a couple of possibilities, so that’s where you come in, right? I’ll get them ready for you. That should help.”

“I’d be interested in knowing what you think. There’s nothing like being at the scene when it’s fairly fresh. Impressions are important. The three of us need to talk,” said Lelani, now leaning over the table and staring intently at Ellen.

“We’ll get you three together
,” Big Harv said, “and get Harper to the lab as soon as this meeting is over. And that won’t be long. We need to get to work. This son of a bitch won’t stop, in my estimation, until we stop him or her or it. So this is what’s going to happen.”

He
took a long draw from his huge coffee cup and continued.

“We’ve got the FBI’s help and access to all of its databases, including the National Crime Information Center and
its new Criminal Justice Information System. Throw in CODIS for DNA matches and IFAIS for the fingerprint info, and we’ll have plenty of work to do on that side.”

“Not to mention, we’ve developed some facial recognition software that is becoming more sophisticated as that database grows. We just need something to compare with what we have, and who knows?” chimed in one of the special agents
, who apparently ran that part of the show.

“Good to hear, Agent Milchman. More avenues to explore,” said Big Harv, nodding.

“The rest of us will do what we do. I’ve got five teams of detectives doing legwork. Yes, that means doing door-to-doors and interviewing anyone and everyone who might have seen something. I don’t give a shit if we’ve done it once. We’re doing it again. I also want two detective teams out to each of the crime scenes, going over them again. I don’t want anything missed, so no uniforms on this one. We’ve also got cameras at most intersections on that end of town, and we’ll need those films reviewed and categorized to boot. Each detective team will be answering to Detective Brice Rogers, and he’ll keep me updated every couple of hours, or more often if appropriate.”

Captain
Harvey Patterson ran his hands over his face and exhaled. “I’m turning the whole lab operation over to Harper. She’s not had time to get into the lab, but she’ll live there until we’ve exhausted every possible forensic and good-old-fashioned-police-work lead, relevant or not. Any questions?”

Heads nodded, hands unfolded, chairs pulled away from the table, but no one spoke.

“I guess not. We meet back here at six p.m. sharp and talk about what we’ve found, or haven’t found. Let’s get to work.”

Big Harv turned his eyes to
Sanchez. “I’ve got a special assignment for you, Detective Sanchez, so I want you to come with me.”

“Wait,
Captain. I have one question,” said Lelani.

The room grew quiet
.

“Fire away.”

“Why so much fire power so early on this one? Two murders are serious, no question. But if this is the same killer, and I’m sure you’re right about that, it doesn’t even qualify as a serial-killer scenario.”

Big Harv’s stare tore a hole through the profiler’s face.

“You ever heard the saying that if people don’t learn from history, they’re doomed to repeat it? I’m not repeating the history of twenty-six years ago when half a dozen women were killed because we didn’t move fast enough. Clear?”

She nodded, not able to meet his gaze.

At that moment, a uniformed officer rushed into the conference room, found Big Harv, and whispered into his ear.

Big Harv
swore and then gestured at the profiler. “It looks like we may have your serial-killer quota after all. Another woman has gone missing.”

CHAPTER-23

Joannie watched the door swing open from the outside in. Two men entered. Her situation was terrifying enough, but when she saw that both men wore black masks, it took all of the control she possessed not to break into tears. Or worse, let go of her bladder. The smell of stale urine now added up. Her lip quivered under the tape.

Holding her breath, she watched as the first hooded man strolled over to the wall farthest from her viewpoint. He carried himself with a certain grace that was hard to ignore even in these circumstances. It was Kyle. No mistaking that gait. A second later, the music began to play. The theme from
Somewhere in Time
gently rolled from speakers she couldn’t see, but the sound was sinless. She knew pure music and, of course, this piece always got her attention.

The other man, the one that wasn’t Kyle, moved toward her. His walk was much the same as Kyle’s, but not quite. Her first thought was that he was a wannabe.
He leaned close to her. Through the slit in the hood that showed his full mouth, she felt his warm breath. She tried to stretch away.

“Don’t be afraid, Joannie. I can see it in your eyes, and that’s the last thing any of us want to see. You have no reason to fear. Love is devoid of fear. And I love you. We love you. Certainly you understand that, don’t you?”

It was the same voice that she’d heard the last time someone had spoken to her. Again, not Kyle’s voice, but close.

What in the name of God is going on?

Joannie stared back at her captor with the velvet tongue and was suddenly struck with what she had to do to have any chance of getting out of this. Love? That was what this was about? Love? This delusional twosome thinks this is about winning her love, her very heart.

She suddenly realized she might have an edge that could lead to getting out of this unholy prison. She’d minored in theater while getting her undergrad and everyone had told her that was a total waste of time
, that going to Hollywood to try to make it as an actress would only put her in the unemployment line or waiting tables, or hooking, to make ends meet. She’d been good, but she eventually conceded that her friends were probably right and became a nurse. But at this moment, they were dead wrong. Acting just might save her life.

Softening her eyes, Joannie gazed at the cloaked face in front of her and slowly nodded. Her eyes saying she understood, after wavering just the right amount of time. She had to make it look like she’d gone from unsure to a shade of trust. Hesitant trust, but trust just the same.

Praying that she’d buried her true emotions behind her facade and could continue to do so, she waited for his response. Slowly he leaned ever closer, inches from her nose, his hazel eyes penetrating to her very soul. She let him see what she needed him to see, hoping it was what he wanted. His hand reached out and stroked both sides of her face. She remained steadfast, confident, hiding the reaction that would probably get her killed.

Abruptly, he stood and motioned to Kyle.

“I think she’s ready. I want to talk to her, to hear what she has to say.”

There was a vein of excitement in his words. She’d passed the first test.

Kyle came around to his partner’s side as he removed his hood. “If you think so. She’s seen me already, so no reason to keep this on. If she’s the one, it won’t matter. If . . . well, if she’s not, that won’t matter either.”

Kyle flashed a quick,
ever-so-attractive
yet
ever-so-deadly
grin toward the other man. Joannie almost lost the composure she’d sought so desperately to find.

Kyle Black was crazy.

“The one. It has such a deliciously mysterious connotation, doesn’t it?” the other man answered.

Kyle bent on one knee and smiled at her.

“Joannie, I’m going to take off the gag and the duct tape, and that will allow you to speak. If you scream or rant and rave, I’ll put it back on until you’re ready to be reasonable. Understand?”