Relatively Rainey (23 page)

Sheila glanced at Rainey. Rainey shook her head slightly from side to side, indicating her beliefs. Sheila frowned and crossed her arms, her go-to body language when she wasn’t pleased, but said nothing.

One of the Chatham County detectives headed out the door, saying, “Time to bury this asshole for good.” He chuckled. “Look at him. He’ll be spilling his guts in minutes. Even with his lawyer sitting there.”

The detective closed the door behind him. Rainey thought his arrogance premature. He had just the type of aggressive attitude predators loved and presented a challenge they could not resist. Rainey focused on the sad young man at the table. He was guilty of something, but not sadistic murder.

“I never went into anyone’s house,” Shaun said, the moment the detective entered the room.

His lawyer reprimanded him. “Don’t talk. Just listen.”

“Shaun, I’m Detective Charles and we have a problem. Your DNA is all over two murder scenes and the evidence in your garage seals the deal.”

First mistake, Rainey thought. Don’t lie about DNA evidence. It had been only a few hours since the arrest. It wasn’t possible to know if there was a DNA match.

Shaun’s lawyer called the detective’s bluff. “That’s a good one, detective. We both know that isn’t true about the DNA. Try again.”

“Well,” the flustered detective said, “we have the underwear from the fetish burglaries and those pictures on the flash drives we found, that’s enough to get the needle for your client.” He turned his attention to the suspect. “Talk to me now, Shaun, and I’ll see if the DA will make it life without parole.”

The young lawyer, fresh out of law school from the looks of him, believed his client was guilty and jumped at the plea deal. “Let me see that in writing and we’ll talk. Until then, my client has nothing to say.”

Detective Charles tried a different tactic. “Shaun, you abducted a Durham police officer. If I walk out that door, they are going to make sure you get the needle. Tell me where she is and I can help you.”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Shaun said, frantically searching his lawyer’s face for help.

“Quiet, Shaun,” the lawyer admonished.

“You be quiet. You’re ready to make a deal and I haven’t done anything really wrong.”

There it was, Rainey thought, the admission of his guilt, but his confession wasn’t about murder. Maybe he peeped and took some underwear off a line or two, but he wasn’t a killer.

Teague spoke up. “He’s guilty. That was an admission. Charles needs to back down some, be his friend, play down the seriousness of his crimes, get him to confess to the fetish burglaries first and then work his way up to the murders. Would you agree, Rainey?”

Rainey had a one-word reply. “No.”

Teague looked surprised.

One of the other detectives lashed out. “You’re just pissed you were wrong.”

“No,” Rainey calmly replied. “I think we’re wasting time with what looks like a voyeur, but he’s no murderer. He doesn’t have my sister. Wendy would have taken a weak man like that and cleaned his clock.”

“Look at him. He’s over six-foot-three, weighs one-eighty-five, and built. Your sister is what, five-eight, a hundred and forty-five pounds. He’d kick her ass,” the detective retorted.

Rainey took in a breath and let it out slowly. “Detective, size and strength don’t outweigh determination. The man that was involved in the fight at my sister’s home was not a whimpering coward. Look at this guy. Look at his body language. Does that look like a predator to you?”

Teague chimed in. “That could be his intelligence showing, instead of cowardice. He might be playing at being weak. You’re too close to this case, Rainey. Maybe your emotions are clouding your judgment.”

“Pardon me, Dr. Teague, but exactly how many sexually sadistic serial murderers have you interviewed in person? I’d guess you may have been in the room with one or two reasonably deviant killers, but you’ve not dealt with a sadist, not like this. I have, Dr. Teague, and I have the scar to prove it.”

Sheila stepped closer to Rainey. “Let’s not start taking each other apart. I’m going to state for the record that I trust Rainey’s judgment. She’s never let me down, not once, but I agree you’re too close to this.”

A Chatham detective had an opinion also, which he let be known. “She’s just covering her ass. There’s someone smarter in the room and miss FBI profiler can’t stand it.”

Teague’s jaw muscles tightened, but his voice remained evenly toned. “It’s okay, detectives. I’m sure Rainey is under quite a bit of stress.”

Nothing made Rainey angrier than being dismissed as too emotional when she was right, and she was right. The doubts that plagued her just a day ago had vanished. She knew this wasn’t the killer and she could prove it. She just needed the chance to convince the people in the room with her.

Rainey challenged the Chatham detective. “Give me five minutes with Shaun George. He will confess to whatever he’s done because he is guilty of something, but it won’t be the sexual assaults or murders.”

Rainey pointed at the men in the other room.

“What Detective Charles is doing in there will only result in a false arrest. You’ll inform the public the case is solved. When the killer strikes again, will you be the face of this debacle? The task force will need someone to be the fall guy. Will that be you? It sure as hell won't be me.”

Teague suggested, “Let her go in there. If she’s right, then we can move forward with finding the actual UNSUB. If she’s wrong, then no harm will have been done. Either way, Rainey is the expert in the room when it comes to interviewing sexually deviant suspects. I bow to her experience.”

“Are you okay with this?” Sheila asked the detective.

Rainey’s remarks shook his confidence. He seemed to comprehend that if she were right, he would go down in a blaze of negative publicity.

“Sure, let her in there.” He acquiesced, but not too much. “If she’s wrong though, I want her off the investigation. Agreed?”

“Fine with me,” Rainey said, taking off her coat. She unbuttoned another button on her black silk shirt, revealing part of the scar where J.W. Wilson left his mark. While kicking off her shoes, she asked the men in the room, “Would you mind turning around for a second?”

Teague and the detective seemed confused but complied.

Sheila’s eyes popped wide open when Rainey dropped her slacks and slipped out of the black lace panties she wore, her mouth frozen in an unfinished question, “Wha—”

Rainey winked at her, as she pulled the slacks back on. “What, you want to give me yours?” Re-buttoned and re-zipped, she slid her feet back into her shoes, twirled the panties in the air, and said, “We’ll see who this guy is in about fifteen seconds.”

Sheila regained her ability to speak. “I could have had some brought up from the evidence in the lab.”

“No time,” Rainey said. “We’re wasting a lot with this guy. I need to prove that so we can look for Wendy without this distraction.”

“Let me tell you, Bell, swinging your panties on your finger is distracting.”

#

10:45AM, Friday, March 6, 2015

Durham County Sherriff’s Department

Interview Room 212A

Durham County, NC

Sheila beckoned to the detective, “Detective Charles, could I see you in the hall for a moment?”

He challenged, “What’s she doing in here?”

“She’s going to sit with Mr. George and his attorney while we confer outside.” Sheila wasn’t asking when she said, “After you.”

Command structure recognized, even as Sheila and Detective Charles were from different departments, he stood and left the room. Sheila followed and closed the door behind her.

Rainey sat down and tossed her panties on the table casually, watching for Shaun George’s reaction. He glanced down at them but looked right back up at Rainey.

“I know you. You’re Rainey Bell. I’ve read all your writings on the Chamber’s case. Man, that dude was sick.”

Shaun’s lawyer again reminded him to be quiet. “Don’t talk to her. Wait for the deal. And nice try on the panties. If that’s evidence, I’ll claim contamination.”

Rainey never took her eyes off the suspect, as she explained, “They aren’t evidence. They are mine.” She leaned forward, giving a good view down the front of her shirt. “I just took them off.”

Shaun smiled. “She’s trying to judge my reaction. I can’t believe I’m sitting here with Rainey Bell.” He couldn’t help himself. He had to look down her shirt. “That scar is from a guy she finally caught,” he informed his lawyer. Then hopeful, he said, “You know I’m not a killer. You’re too good not to see I’m innocent.”

“May I call you Shaun?” Rainey asked.

“Please do,” he answered, unable to control his excitement.

Rainey held up her phone with a picture of Wendy on the screen. “Do you know this woman? She’s a student at your school.” She added at the last second, “Do you take any of Dr. Teague’s classes?”

He looked at Wendy’s picture. “No, I’ve never seen her, but she looks like a younger you. I would have remembered her if I saw her. And I’ve sat in on a few lectures but never taken a class from Teague. He’s too clinical.”

“Don’t talk to her,” the lawyer warned.

“Shut up. You’re ready to sign a plea deal for something I didn’t do. You’re fired. Get out.”

Rainey interrupted. “No, he needs to stay. You invoked your right to counsel. If he leaves, we can’t talk because I’m acting as an agent for the police.”

“Okay, you can stay, but just shut up, before you bury my ass,” Shaun said.

Rainey spoke directly to the flustered attorney. “I’m not going to ask him about the crimes he’s accused of. I want to ask him about the novel he’s writing.”

That was all it took. Shaun George was more than willing to share his writings and inspirations.

“You know about that, huh? Well, if you’ve searched my house and computer, you also know I’m obsessed with the BAU and serial killers. I’ve been doing a lot of research that I know looks kind of shady on my computer. I used to joke that if the FBI showed up, I’d be toast.”

“You’re in quite a bit of hot water, now. I can only imagine how deep this rabbit hole will go,” Rainey said, prepared to hear this misguided but fairly innocent man’s twisted explanation for poor judgment.

“Do you have any idea what’s out there on the Internet?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you do. Anyway, I’m writing a book about a guy who lives two separate lives. One, he’s a normal dude, wife, kids, nice job, essentially boring existence. The other life, he’s a sexual sadist. I was trying to find the right profile to use for my bad guy. BTK has been done over and over. I wanted something fresh and when the Triangle Terror case hit the media. I started studying fetish burglars and stupidly thought it would be helpful to walk in his shoes, so to speak.”

“He’s not an original,” Rainey said. “None of them are. They all follow the same patterns and behaviors. The signature makes them different. What’s your character’s signature, Shaun?”

Shaun sat up closer to the table, excited to tell his story. “He cuts off their feet and takes their shoes.”

“Come on, Shaun, that’s Jerry Brudos. Everyone knows that one. What makes your killer original? What does he eat with his Fava beans?”

“Hannibal was great, wasn’t he?” When Rainey did not reply, Shaun went on to admit, “I don’t have a signature yet, but when the Terror is caught, I’ll have all the rest written and then I can just go in and stick the signature on a few scenes. My UNSUB is a terrorist too, pretending to be an upstanding American citizen. Instead, he collects feet and makes bombs. My hero is this FBI agent who is returning to work at NSA after a close call, and has chased this serial killer all over the world, but actually lives next door to him.”

Rainey didn’t want to hear the whole convoluted story. She cut off his creative flow, pointing to a snag in his storyline. “FBI agents don’t work for NSA. They may be retired, transferred, even on some joint task force, but no active FBI agent works
for
NSA. Do the research, before you put more misinformation on the street.”

A dejected Shaun looked across the table at Rainey. “So, that whole storyline has to be rewritten? That sucks, man. Are you sure an FBI agent can’t be an NSA agent too?”

“Pick one or the other agency, simplify the story.” Rainey refocused the disconsolate author. “Have you been out, trying to get into character, Shaun? Have you pulled a few pairs of underwear from dryers, that sort of thing?”

“My guys into shoes. I only touched the shoes,” Shaun answered as if that exempted him from any suspicion.

“So you admit to being a voyeur?” Rainey asked while smiling at how easy Shaun George was to manipulate. He was definitely not the UNSUB.

The lawyer was losing his mind and turning beat red, “Don’t talk to her. She’s going to fry you.”

Shaun put a hand up in his lawyers face. “Shush!” He then continued to talk to Rainey, “Look, I prowled around, peeked into some windows, but I never went into anyone’s house and I never stole any underwear. Ask my girlfriend. I don’t have a thing for fancy lingerie. You should hear her when I don’t notice something she spent bucks on. I’m like, ‘Babe, I like you better naked.’ She gets mad and I know I’m done for the evening.”

“Words of enlightenment, Shaun. In the bedroom, it’s really not all about you.” Rainey smiled at him. “So, you prowl about at night—”

Shaun cut her off. “I just wanted to see things through this character’s eyes, so my writing would be authentic. Stupid, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Rainey answered honestly. “How do you explain the evidence found in your garage?”

“You’re going to think I’m making this up, but I think someone’s been following me. I can hear him, but I’ve never seen him. I thought it might be my imagination, but now, after all this, I’m sure it was him, the real Terror guy. He’s setting me up.”

“That would be very convenient for you. The UNSUB just happened to be watching and followed you home.” Rainey shook her head, emphasizing her disbelief in his story. “How can you convince me you’re just a misguided author and not hiding your real personality under a cloak of feigned stupidity?”