Profiled (7 page)

“Which means?” Lieutenant Sims prompted.

“Remorse. Our killer began seeing his victims as more than mere bodies after 1985. This means the UNSUB had a change of heart, so to speak, with regards to his interpretation of humans and life in general. However, it wasn’t strong enough to stop his urge to kill. In past experience, our unit has found that a change of MO such as this means one of two things.”

When she paused, Pierce scowled. “We’re listening.”

“Either we’re dealing with a copycat killer, or the original murderer experienced a life change
during that time, which I believe is the case in this series. Although the modification in the number of women murdered during each series still doesn’t make sense in the scenario outlined here. Why he only killed six that first year, then maintained his number at seven for the following three series is still anyone’s guess, but I feel certain there’s a reason for the change. We just have to find it.”

“So how do you know it wasn’t someone different, a copycat killer, like you said, starting in 1992?” Lou Marker asked.

“I don’t. However, with the signature remaining the same, it would appear we’ve got the same UNSUB. All victims were blonde, single and pregnant. They were all strangled until they, and their unborn children, died.” She looked at Lexie, then back to the remainder of the group.

“From the criteria I’ve already listed, three of the people within this room fit our target suspects: Deputy Chief Marker, Lieutenant Sims and Detective Tucker. Captain Pierce wasn’t living in Macon at the time the first murders were committed, and Zed Naylor is, I’m assuming, above our age range.”

Zed ran a wrinkled hand through his thin crop of stark white hair. “I’ll say I am.”

“But, if you’ll notice the item in red at the bottom of the page, none of you meet the last criterion. Our killer knew Molly Taylor, the first victim. In some way, shape, or form, a serial killer almost always selects that very first victim due to past experience with that person. From my files, and from Special Agent Carlton’s reports, none of you ever met the girl. But our killer did. And because of her death occurring on Easter, I believe the way he knew her had something to do with religion. Or non-religion.”

Lexie listened to the men at the table mumble their suspicions regarding Molly Taylor, how every lead about her killer had turned up nothing and how the potential suspects for the girl’s murder had been exhausted throughout the past twenty-eight years.

She started to keep her thoughts to herself, but one thing had been niggling the back of her mind all day, and the reporter in her couldn’t resist bringing it to light. True, she wasn’t a cop or an FBI profiler, but her dedication to reporting the news did cause her to ask pertinent questions. And since she hadn’t been involved with the case before, she had no idea whether the question had ever been answered.

“Special Agent Jackson?”

“Yes?” Angel’s green eyes studied Lexie’s face as if trying to determine the question before she asked. After the profiler’s quick analysis of the men at the table, Lexie wasn’t so sure she couldn’t. Even so, she’d ask. There was no such thing as a stupid question.

“Has the FBI considered the killings could be more religious-geared than they first realized? I’m sure you have,” she added, not wanting to insult the government, “But as I looked over the days of the week for kills in each series, I couldn’t help but notice that when the dates were definite—that is, when the body was quickly found and the coroner didn’t have to estimate the date of death—several of them also coincided with the same day of the week.”

Angel Jackson’s chair scraped against the floor as she scooted forward. “Go on.”

Lexie sifted through her notes until she found the page she needed. “In 1992, the first victim was found on Tuesday, the tenth of March. Then the second one that year was found on Easter. In 1999, the first body was found on Tuesday, February twenty-third. The second one, again, on Easter. In 2006, the first body was also found on a Tuesday, March seventh. Then another Easter for the second kill. This year, however, Cami Talton’s body wasn’t found immediately, but the coroner stated she died four to five weeks ago, which could have put the date of death on Tuesday, February nineteenth.”

“You’re saying that since 1992, the first murder has always happened on a Tuesday?” Captain Pierce asked.

“No, what I’m saying is—” Lexie started, but stopped when Angel, flipping through her pages, nodded her head. Her eyes widened as she got it.

“What she’s saying is the first murder always occurred on the same weekday. And that, in fact, every murder in the series occurred on the same day of the week.”

“Yes.” Lexie nodded. “The first murder in the series seems to have always occurred on Tuesday, except for the very first murder in 1985, on Easter. And the third murder is always on a Friday, the fourth on a Wednesday, and so on. But even though that’s what I noticed, I don’t think that’s the pattern.”

“You said you believe it has to do with religion.” Lou’s interest tuned in on Lexie’s observation.

“It does. His first kill is always forty days prior to Easter, isn’t it?” Angel directed the question to Lexie.

“It looks that way. And even though the remaining dates each year don’t appear to hit any religious holidays,” Lexie continued, while everyone at the table searched through the murder dates with renewed interest, “they all occur on the same day of the week, with response to the previous murder.”

“Because they’re all forty days apart.” Angel wrote several notes in her file. “Forty days and forty nights. I should’ve looked for more Biblical references. Good job, McCain. This gives us something to work with. The guy’s got a knowledge of religion, albeit a sick interpretation, and it goes deeper than including an Easter kill in each series. He’s following a pattern, and we need to figure out why that pattern was established, what it means.”

“Then why didn’t he follow it the first year?” Lou asked. “It makes no sense. There was no murder that year forty days before Easter. Everything started with Molly Taylor on Easter Sunday.”

“Maybe not.” Papers stopped rattling and whispers ceased as everyone turned their attention to John Tucker.

Angel looked up. “What are you saying, Detective?”

But Lexie knew, and she agreed. She turned in her chair to hear him convey the same thing she’d been thinking since she’d first noted the pattern in the past three series.

“I’m thinking they missed a murder that first year. Yeah, I know his MO changed, and I think you’re right about him humanizing his victims after that point, due to a marriage, or a kid, or something along that line, but I don’t think he changed the number of women killed between '85 and '92. Someone was murdered on that Tuesday, forty days before Easter in 1985, and that’s the
real
first victim. That’s why you haven’t been able to match any suspects to Molly Taylor.”

“She wasn’t the first victim.” Angel nodded as though the theory had potential.

John agreed. “After hearing what Ms. McCain brought to light tonight, I think there was another woman murdered in 1985. It makes more sense than any of our previous theories, I’m surprised we didn’t question it earlier.”

“Kind of hard to say a murder was committed when you haven’t got a body,” Ed Pierce droned from his seat.

Lexie watched John Tucker’s jaw twitch, listened to his deep inhalation, then the steady whoosh of air as he released the breath. She’d bet money he had counted to ten. Or a fast twenty.

“No, we didn’t find another body, but after the following series, we should’ve gone back and taken a better look at that year.”

“We did. I’ve got the reports right here.” Ryan Sims lifted his copy of the information the police had gathered throughout the past twenty-eight years, information on the murders, autopsies, victimology and crime scene photos.

“We checked out the information on the murders and the victims,” John corrected. “We should have looked more at the year in question to determine if there could’ve been an additional murder, as Ms. McCain suggested. Missing persons’ reports, number of recoveries, number unrecovered. That information would provide a good starting point in identifying if there was a different initial victim.”

“You think Molly Taylor wasn’t the first?” Zed Naylor looked skeptical. “He left all the bodies out to be found back then. Why wouldn’t we have found the first one?”

“Maybe because he knew that kill would point to him,” Angel said. “Because it
was
personal.”

“You know, that could be right.” Captain Pierce changed his tune and sounded interested in pursuing this new avenue. “We
haven’t
connected any possible suspects to Molly Taylor. Her family checked out, friends checked out and the girl had never done anything out of the ordinary or produced any enemies, from what the department learned back then.”

“And I think if we find that first victim, then we’ll find the link between that person and the people who fit your profile. All of it, including the last item on your list, Agent Jackson.” John Tucker underlined the item on his page. “The killer did have some type of relationship with the first victim. We just haven’t identified the first victim yet.”

Angel looked at Lexie and gave her a slight smile, then nodded in appreciation. “Maybe I should always request a media professional for my cases.”

“Thanks,” Lexie said, thrilled to be an active member of the group, and even more pleased they were getting closer to finding, and stopping, the killer.

“Missing persons?” Zed Naylor asked, rising from his chair.

“Yeah,” Captain Pierce answered. “Pull January through April of 1985 and let’s see what we’ve got.”

“It’ll take a while.” Lou Marker stood beside Zed. “That stuff’s still in hard copy and handwritten. Don’t think the techies have scanned that far back. Nothing will be in the system, and it’s combined with the rest of the state’s records.”

“Fine.” The captain’s tone emphasized his determination. “See how many people we can put on it, and let’s try to have something together by morning.”

Lexie looked at the big round clock on the wall. White circle, black numbers, and both hands pointing straight up. Midnight. Twenty-four hours before the murderer planned to kill again. Her pulse raced. They were on the right track; she could feel it. If they identified that first victim, she believed they’d find the killer. And perhaps, put an end to her personal nightmare.

Chapter Four

In spite of Zed and Lou finding the surplus of boxes with missing persons’ data from 1985, the reports weren’t as detailed as their modern counterparts. To locate those identified as missing from Bibb County, they had to go through the state files one by one and search the victims’ addresses. By 3:00 a.m., tempers flared, patience was fleeting, and the group realized they needed sleep if they weren’t planning to kill each other before they finished.

Captain Pierce announced they would call it a day, leaving Zed and Lou to continue perusing the files until 6:00 a.m., when Tucker and Sims were scheduled to relieve the pair. The captain wanted somebody on it until all potential victims surfaced and the team could determine which of them, if any, was the Sunrise Killer’s initial murder. He’d have additional police personnel to help sort the information by morning, and the task force would reconvene at 8:00 a.m. Not a lot of time for sleep, but time was a limited commodity.

Weary from the stress of putting the pieces together and from the painstaking chore of searching for Macon addresses within those endless files, Lexie gathered her things.

“Ms. McCain.” John Tucker stepped close.

She tried not to react to the prickle on her skin, an immediate response to hearing him say her name, and a response she neither understood nor could control. Fear, or something else? “Yes?”

She had to tilt her head to look at his eyes, blue eyes that gazed straight through her, and seemed to see more than she wanted to show. How much did John Tucker know about her, anyway? Nothing. No one knew her part in what had happened so long ago. That portion of the records had been extinguished from public access years ago. Angel had even verified the fact when she joined the Bureau.

“You’re an asset to this team.” His mouth crooked up on one side. “I admit I wasn’t sure anyone from the media would help. But then again, you’re not the average run-of-the-mill reporter, are you?”

Relieved, she smiled. “Guess not. And thanks for the vote of confidence. I hope to help catch him.” He couldn’t realize how much.

“We’ll get him this time. We have to.” He leaned closer, those blue eyes making her stomach quiver. “I—” He didn’t get the chance to finish before Captain Pierce interrupted.

“Tucker, I need you to take a look at this.” He held up a file.

“Right.” He gave Lexie an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

“Of course.” She added her surplus of new notes to her briefcase and started leaving. Then, aware she had an hour to get her story to the paper, she searched out Agent Jackson and found her walking toward the lobby.

“Angel.” Her voice bounced off the tile walls.

The profiler turned around, peered beyond Lexie and shook her head.

Realizing her mistake, Lexie whipped around to verify no one had heard her casual reference to the FBI agent. She mouthed, “Whoops,” but Angel motioned her to come on.

Lexie neared and matched Angel’s steps toward the exit.

“No problem.” The profiler looked around once more, lowered her voice. “You doing okay?”

Lexie shrugged. “You would know better than I. I may know how to cover the stories, but I’m a rookie in this type of thing. Who would have thought they’d ask me to join the task force? So, how am I doing?”

“Fine. I can’t tell you how pleased I was when Etta told me you were inside. Figured we’d better keep our distance while I’m in Macon, all things considered, but working together on the task force will make communicating much easier. I’d requested an investigative reporter, but wasn’t sure who they’d get. Of course, I assumed they would realize you were the best person for the job.”

“Your boss doesn’t know about me? I assumed the FBI knew everything.”

“Quantico knows, of course. The Atlanta field office, however, doesn’t. Until this guy is caught, it’ll stay that way. Safer for both of us, according to the guys at the top.”

Lexie nodded. “Tucker didn’t tell me the name of the profiler, but I knew if there was any way for you to get this case, you’d try.” She smiled. “By the way, I was impressed with how cool you seemed when you came in and saw me sitting there with the cop crew. I should’ve realized Etta stuck around and filled you in.”

“Checked me out was more like it, although she’d staged her one-woman ambush for Carlton. That lady’s mighty protective of the town’s number one homicide detective.”

Lexie didn’t comment. It seemed odd to say she also felt protective of him, given he was a walking mountain, but for some strange reason, she did. This killer had ruined his life. Granted, not in the same manner as he’d ruined the lives of his victims, but John Tucker had also been violated. He’d lost his wife, his baby and his credibility due to the Sunrise Killer. And he seemed as committed as Angel and Lexie in making the man pay.

The two women kept walking, passing through the lobby then exiting the building. Thankfully, the rain had taken a break.

Angel indicated the vacant parking area. “We’re all clear now. Did you need to ask me something?”

“Yeah.” Lexie looked behind her to make sure no cops headed their way. She didn’t want to seem too chummy with the FBI agent assigned to the case. They didn’t need anyone suspecting the truth, but she had to ask this question. “Paul Kingsley, my boss, extended my deadline until 4:00 this morning to let me get the most up-to-date story for the early news segment.”

“Sounds good. What do you need from me?”

“I’d like to broadcast the updated profile, as well as the fact that we now know the first kill of each series occurs forty days prior to Easter and subsequent murders are also spaced forty days apart. Bring up the whole Biblical aspect that may be associated with each series. During the 2006 series, they aired Stan Carlton’s evaluation; however, with your additions, the changes between 1985 and 1992, I think the public deserves to be informed of what they’re looking for. It’ll help us pinpoint him, narrow down our list. And maybe convince a witness to come forward, if they know of someone who fits the description. Knowing the guy probably married or had a serious relationship between those years might spark someone to put two and two together. And the whole religion theory might also spark a memory.”

Angel stopped walking, seemed to consider the ramifications of the information hitting the airwaves, where the killer could hear every word of their progress.

“Would it be a good thing? Or would it set him off to do something else, something not in his plan?”

“That’s what I’m trying to decide,” Angel admitted. “In all honesty, if our UNSUB believes he’s conducting some sort of religious objective and that he’s supposed to perform his duties on specific dates, I don’t think anything you do will change that plan. It’ll just make him more aware that we’re onto him. And that might make him nervous, might even make him slip up.”

“So you think I should? Granted, I’ll be the first to admit I’m hungry for the story, but I don’t want the guilt of knowing someone died because of my news segment.”

“That won’t happen. Maybe with some killers, but not this one. He’s too detailed, too precise.
I don’t believe there’s anything that’ll make him veer from his plan. He hasn’t had a fear of getting caught before. Maybe if he thinks we’re watching for him to act, that we may anticipate his next strike, he won’t find it so easy to hit his target.”

“All right. I’ll include the specific dates that we suspect he’ll strike; that should remind the public how serious this is and how deranged he is. I’ll write the copy now.”

“You’re going to your office? Now? Alone?” Angel shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t have to go in. I’ll email the text from home. One of those amazing modern conveniences we all love. But thanks for the offer.”

“When will you tape the broadcast?”

“I’ll call Henry, my cameraman. We’ll bring a van here and tape the footage in front of the police station.”

“In the middle of the night?”

Lexie grinned. “The news doesn’t sleep.” She held up a hand when Angel started to argue. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“What about this Henry guy? Can he protect you? And do you trust him?”

“Yes, I trust him, and since when have I needed a man for protection, anyway?”

Angel glared. “Lexie...”

“I’ll be fine, and I’m counting on producing a story that throws the killer’s careful plan off-balance, or at least exposes it to potential victims.”

“I never doubted your abilities,” Angel clarified. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Still determined to even the score?”

“Hey, I’ve never denied it.”

“Problem is, like I said, I can take care of myself.”

Angel held up her palms in defeat. “I’m not going to argue with you anymore. And I have to tell you, the Biblical reference, the whole forty days and forty nights thing, that was crucial. You did good catching that.” She shrugged. “Religion isn’t my strong suit.”

“It could be.”

Before she could say more, Angel added, “Listen, I think it’s fine that you turned to church and all to help you cope with what happened. But for me, I’d say God let me down before I even got started.”

“He didn’t let you down. The world let you down.” Lexie cleared her throat. “I’m planning on going to an Easter service Sunday. Why don’t you come? It will be like old times.”

“The only way it’d be like old times is if Aunt Carol was dragging me against my will.” Angel laughed. “But the fact that you think you’ll get to go to church Sunday—and that we won’t be spending the day dealing with the aftermath of another Easter kill—proves that you’re still the glass-half-full girl. Mine is still half-empty.” She pressed the keyless remote to unlock her SUV. “Where are you parked?”

“Right there.” Lexie gave up on coaxing Angel to try God again, for now. She pointed to a silver Lexus.

“Wow, guess it pays to be a big time newswoman. Last time I saw you, you still had the dirt brown minivan.”

“My minivan was silver, thank you very much. It was just dirty from running Phillip, Jr. to baseball, football, basketball...”

“Quite the athlete, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Lexie gushed with pride. He’d moved on campus last summer and had become a
confident, self-assured young man who would make it in the world. God had blessed her with an amazing son.

“So when did you get the new toy?”

“I bought it as a celebration of Phillip Jr.’s scholarship to Georgia. I saved more in tuition expenses than what the car cost.”

“And did he get anything out of this deal?”

“His daddy bought him a Jeep for high school graduation, so I figure we both made out like bandits.”

“I guess you did.” Angel turned to look at the police station. The rest of the group remained inside. “Listen, I saw the way you looked at him, John Tucker.”

Lexie’s mouth opened to protest, but then she saw Angel’s eyes, and knew it’d be wasted breath. “Okay.”

“You realize he’s still a suspect.”

“He didn’t do it, Angel. Besides, he had an airtight alibi for when his wife was murdered. You know that. You’ve seen the reports.”

“And I also believe it doesn’t appear to be a copycat killer. But I’ve been wrong in the past.”

“Funny, I never remember you admitting that before.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t happen often.”

“You being wrong, or admitting it?”

Angel grinned. “Both. Just be careful, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

“And try to watch what you let happen with Tucker, or anyone, at least until we catch this guy.”

“Understood. But if memory serves, I’m older than you. Older equals wiser, right?”

“Not necessarily.” Angel climbed in her SUV.

“And speaking of wiser,” Lexie countered, “A wise FBI profiler would get some sleep tonight so she’d be ready for the rest of the weekend.”

Angel’s blonde ponytail swished across her left shoulder as she jerked her head toward Lexie. “And when are you going to sleep? Before you write the copy? During the broadcast? Or after you’ve taped, when I know you’ll edit the segment until the minute it airs?”

“Guilty.” Lexie couldn’t deny the truth. “And you’ll search Internet sites for info on whacked out religious buffs all night, right?”

“Admit it. If you didn’t have to produce your story, you’d do the same thing, but I requested six books on Biblical numerology to be left at the front desk at my hotel.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“After I read them, then I’ll sleep.”

“Sure you will.” Lexie did another scan of the parking lot to verify they were still alone then lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “Have you seen him lately?”

Angel’s smile converted to a thin, solemn line. “Last Monday.”

“I went Saturday. He looks good, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he does. When are you going back?” Angel held up a finger as an officer exited the building and crossed the lot. “See you tomorrow, Ms. McCain, Agent Jackson.” Lou Marker waved at them, then entered a car parked two spaces away from Angel’s Tahoe.

Lexie watched Angel start her SUV, then drive away. Disappointed they didn’t have more time to talk, she moved toward her car.