Abomination (9 page)

“Let me guess, you have another guy?” asked Michelle.

“I just might. I’ll see if I can reach out to him while
I’m in Baltimore.”

 “What about the reverse engineering of the profiles?”
asked Ryan. “Any clues on who or what created them?”

“Well, it took very little time for us to figure out
they weren’t fabricated,” answered Tom.

“You just told me it wasn’t Arrington in Syracuse.”

“Correct,” said Tom.

“English, please,” pleaded Ryan.

“The information in each of their files is real,”
explained Tom. “The crime scene photos, the police reports, witness accounts,
and even the coroner’s reports are all real. The interesting part is, I believe
they’re all the same killer. All the data points to one guy.”

“We fully expected the information in the reports to be
fabricated,” added Michelle. “A made-up crime scene, a fake police officer
making a fake report, and so on. But they seem to be legitimate. From a
profiling standpoint, it’s as if they carbon copied one suspect four times.
Now, taking what we know about Arrington, we can rule him out as the suspect.
That narrows it down to Richard Elliot, Derek Mathews or Joshua Bell as the man
behind the murders. Well, at least the killings in these files.”

“Okay,” exhaled Ryan. “Working off what we do know, we
can establish we have at least two killers. Arrington being one, and the other
being the unidentified suspect responsible for the murders in these reports.”

“What I don’t get is why somebody wants us to believe
Arrington is responsible for Syracuse.” said Dallas.

“I believe it’s because they wanted to make us angry,”
replied Ryan. “And it worked. I focused most of my energy on locating Arrington
and very little on figuring out why he’s killing. They want us to discover
where he is, not what he is.”

“No offense, Boss,” said Dallas. “But you make that
sound like a bad thing. I really don’t give a shit which part of his brain
misfired. I just wanted to stop him, and if it meant killing him, then so be
it. After we get the rest of them off the streets, we’ll let the Toms and
Michelles of the world pore over the reports to determine what made good men
turn into bad ones.”

“Because we’re not hired thugs, Dallas,” replied Ryan.
“I personally put three bullets into Peter Arrington and gave the order to kill
him if he tried to escape. If I’m going to kill a human being, I need to know
why. You should want to know why. I’m not a hit man for the government and
neither are any of you.”

“I don’t like getting played either, but the bottom line
is that Arrington won’t be cutting the throats of any more women,” said Dallas.

“But the other three will be,” said Tom. “If we could’ve
interrogated Arrington instead of cutting him down, he may have disclosed some
information that would’ve helped us find the others. Establishing a pattern
allows us to anticipate movement, and there’s always a pattern. Even seemingly
random events or taking victims based on opportunity versus stalking are
patterns. The more we know about them, the more we’ll know about how to stop
them.”

“That’s the reason you and I are going to Baltimore,” said Ryan. “According to Scott, Kristina Anderson worked with all four Marines
since the program’s inception. I believe she’ll be able to shed some light on
their progression from squeaky clean soldiers into what they are now. I’m also
hoping she’ll be able to tell us another way to go at Elliot instead of waiting
for him to take another victim.”

“That part I get,” said Dallas. “I don’t see going toe-to-toe
with any of them as a smart option. Other than carrying a rocket launcher, we
don’t have much of an advantage in a straight shootout. Imagine the damage
Arrington could’ve done if he had gotten ahold of a weapon.”

“Not that taking Arrington was easy, but I have a
feeling the others are going to be much more difficult,” continued Ryan. “Scott
alluded to the possibility that all four are somehow communicating with each
other. If they know we’re closing in on them, they’re going to be better
prepared. I don’t think the others will be leaving any doors open for us like
Arrington.”

“Understood,” replied Dallas. “What’s the plan in
Baltimore?”

“I’ll figure that out on the way there, but we need to
check in at the field office before we head to the airport. I want us to be
seen by the local feds before we disappear.”

For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, the
team pored over the stacks of files, and Michelle began digging into Kristina
Anderson’s life. Tom drove Ryan and Dallas to the field office for some face
time with the New Orleans feds. After the visit, he dropped them off in a
questionable part of town near the airport. Ryan instructed Dallas to wait for
him in an even more questionable corner bar while he met with his unknown
contact in the city. He returned less than an hour later with the fake IDs used
to purchase the plane tickets.

They easily passed through airport security as Michelle
started sending information on Kristina’s daily routine to Ryan’s phone. By the
time they landed at Baltimore Washington International Airport, he and Dallas had
already started working out a plan to make contact with her.

They checked into a hotel room near the East Campus of
Johns Hopkins University where Kristina Anderson was a tenured professor at the
Medical School. She lived a few blocks away from campus in a modest house.
Some of the files sent by Michelle were too large to download on Ryan’s phone,
so he used his laptop to retrieve the data.

“I’ve never seen so many acronyms after a name,”
confessed Dallas. “PhD, ScD, MD, MPH. I’m surprised she doesn’t have an MPG. Earning
one undergraduate degree nearly killed me. How old is this lady?”

“Thirty-six, never married, no kids and lives alone,”
responded Ryan, reading her file.

“Thirty-six?” emphasized Dallas. “How is that possible?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing she has a house full of
cats.”

“No kidding,” replied Dallas. “Do you have a photo?”

“Yeah, I’m downloading it with her itinerary now,” said
Ryan. “Whoa. This can’t be right.”

“Let me see,” said Dallas, standing over Ryan’s
shoulder. “That’s a ‘Wow,’ not a ‘Whoa,’ Boss. How old is she in that photo?”

“It was
taken two months ago at a university dinner.”

“That is
one beautiful mind,” said Dallas.

“Hey, there’s a note from Michelle under the photo,”
chuckled Ryan. “‘Tell Dallas he doesn’t have a chance.’”

“Obviously, she’s never seen me work,” gloated Dallas.

“Obviously, she has,” responded Ryan quickly. “You and Michelle
remind me of two third-grade kids pulling each other’s hair.”

“That’s crazy talk, Boss,” said Dallas, defending
himself. “There is no mutual attraction there whatsoever. She’s not even my
type.”

“Mutual attraction?” asked Ryan, cocking his head at Dallas.
“I was just talking about the bickering. You just got busted, sailor.”

“Anyway,” said Dallas, turning red and changing the
subject, “The itinerary Michelle put together shows Anderson teaching a class
until six tonight. According to her purchasing habits, she religiously stops by
a bookstore after class called Drusilla’s. It’s about two miles from the
medical school. She doesn’t own a car, but has a Metro card she normally uses
for the train between seven-thirty and eight.”

“Good,” said Ryan. “That gives us plenty of time to
check out the area before we meet her.”

“I take it you’ll make contact with her in the
bookstore?” asked Dallas.

“Yeah, that’s my brilliant plan. I’m just going to walk
up to her and ask a few questions. I should know fairly quickly if she can help
us. I want you outside looking for anyone that may be following her.”

“Are we expecting company?”

“I really have no idea,” admitted Ryan. “But nothing
surprises me lately.”

“This traveling under the radar is exciting, Boss. But I
have to admit I don’t like the idea of being unarmed.”

“I thought your mind was your deadliest weapon?”

“Oh, it is. And it’s telling me we need to head out.”

Dallas drove the car rented with the credit card that
accompanied his fake ID. He dropped Ryan off a few blocks away from the bookstore
which was located on Antique Row in the cultural district of Baltimore. It was
shortly after seven when he entered Drusilla’s. He was a little surprised to
discover the quaint store housed antiquarian, rare, and out-of-print books. Their
main specialty seemed to be children's books, folklore, and fairy tales. With
Kristina’s advanced education, he expected her to frequent a bookstore filled
with textbooks and research material far beyond his own comprehension.

Ryan walked nearly every inch of the store to locate
blind spots and possible exits. He needed to make every effort to conceal his
identity from anyone watching from outside. One public entrance and only two
windows gave him the distinct advantage of eyeballing anyone walking into the
store. He picked up a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales and took a seat at a table
with a direct line of sight to the front door. Before he started reading, Ryan
transmitted Kristina’s photos and other key information to his unidentified
source in New Orleans. Forty-five minutes later, the bell chimed over the front
door as Kristina Anderson walked into Drusilla’s.

With her dark brown hair pulled tight in a ponytail and
oversized reading glasses sliding down her nose, the brilliant doctor’s face
lit up, resembling a kid walking into a candy store. She was greeted by an
elderly woman rearranging books on a shelf who looked just as excited to see
her. She immediately dropped what she was doing and quickly ducked behind the
counter.

Kristina wore a drab suit jacket and skirt with plain
shoes that added only half inch to her already respectable height. Even with
the obvious attempt to dress down, she was strikingly beautiful.

“It came in this morning,” said the elderly woman,
handing Kristina a package. They both were bubbling with excitement.

The young professor gingerly opened the package and
carefully picked up the rare book. “First edition, first issue of
Treasure
Island
. I can’t believe this is mine, Emma.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful, sweetie,” admired Emma. “I know
you’ve been waiting a very long time for this one.”

“My father started reading this to me when I was seven
years old,” reminisced Kristina. “He’d come bouncing into my room after work
and read to me until my mom would remind him of the time. After they tucked me
in, he’d sneak back in and finish the chapter. He’d always say the book wasn’t
ready to say goodnight.”

“He sounds like a wonderful man,” said Emma.

“Oh, he really was amazing,” said Kristina. “He read to
me almost every night. When he became too sick to even hold a book, I began
reading to him. He never stopped smiling while I fumbled through the words. We
didn’t have enough time left to finish
Treasure Island
. I think that’s
why I wanted the first edition. Whenever I open it, I can hear his voice and
see his face as if he were still sitting on the side of my bed.”

“Stop it, child, before you have me ruining this book
with tears,” said Emma, sniffling. “How about I put on some tea and we turn a
few pages?”

“That sounds perfect, Emma. Thank you. I’ll be at my
usual spot.”

“Be back in a jiffy,” said Emma, disappearing into the
stockroom.

Kristina stood for a moment at the counter holding the
book close to her chest. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Ryan overheard
her conversation and knew she was somewhere far away hugging her father. For a
brief moment, he thought about leaving the bookstore unnoticed and finding
another way to get his answers. He didn’t want to bring the ugly reality of his
world crashing into the peaceful daydream of hers. But that moment passed when
he thought of the women who would be dying soon if he didn’t get those answers.

“Dr. Anderson,” said Ryan, startling her.

“Yes,” she said, quickly returning the treasure to its
box.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. My name is Ryan Pearson,” he
said, producing his credentials. “I’m a special agent with the FBI. I was
hoping to have a few minutes of your time.”

“In regards to…?”

“Your work with the Marines at the Michaels Laboratory
in Maine,” said Ryan, wasting no time.

“I’m sorry, Agent Pearson. I can’t openly discuss any of
my work at the lab. But you should already know that.”

“Scott Wilson gave me your name as somebody who could
help answer a few questions,” said Ryan. “I understand this is an unusual
setting to approach you, but I’m under some severe time constraints.”

“Scott Wilson? Is he okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. You could say we’re working together. Why
would you ask if he’s okay?”

“He’s a dear friend and I have my reasons,” said
Kristina. “Some of those reasons being why I left the program. I am sorry, but
I really can’t talk about our work. If you’ll excuse me, I have a little
reading to do.”

“Dr. Anderson, it’s my turn to apologize.”

“For disturbing me?”

“For having to tell you Peter Arrington was shot and
killed by federal agents two days ago. He was wanted for the murder of three
women in Virginia and one in New York. He killed one of his victims in front of
me before I could stop him and murdered two of my agents with his bare hands.
Right now we’re closing in on Richard Elliot who is also wanted for killing
three women and will kill another very soon. After we find him, we’re going
after Derek Mathews and Joshua Bell for the same crimes.

“Dr. Anderson,” pleaded Ryan. “I’ve been assigned to
hunt these four Marines and bring them in dead or alive. I’m trying like hell
to find a way to do that without killing them or letting them kill anyone else.
For some reason, I’m being kept in the dark about why these four men went from
being model soldiers to brutal rapists and killers. I need help, and Scott
seems to think you’re the one to ask.”