The Dying Room (22 page)

June 25, Two months earlier...

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“You don’t have enough evidence.”

Jess wanted to tear out her hair! Gant wasn’t listening! “Naomi Proctor is dead,” she reminded her boss. “I believe she’s dead because she gave me his name.”

Gant wagged his head from side to side in the most infuriating manner. “The autopsy showed no conclusive evidence that she’d been forced to hang herself, Harris. She put that rope around her neck and climbed over the banister. Those are the only two facts we can prove.”

He just wouldn’t see it. Jess pointed to the case board she had created on the wall in her office. “Not one of her friends or family members saw this coming. Not a single one. No history of depression or any other mental illness. Proctor was at work the day before and no one noticed anything out of the norm.”

“It happens,” Gant argued.

Jess shook her head. She was not letting this go. “No, it doesn’t.” She propped her hands on her hips and stood her ground. “There are always warnings when something like this happens. Always. People see what they want to see, or maybe they’re afraid or feel guilty and won’t admit what they noticed, but there are warnings.
Always
,” she repeated just in case he didn’t get it the two other times.

He shrugged. “So no one noticed or no one wants to admit what they saw. Either way, Naomi Proctor committed suicide and we have no evidence Eric Spears was at the restaurant where victim four worked.”

“Sierra Timmons,” Jess corrected.

Gant frowned. He was annoyed at her insistence on following this lead. “What?”

“Victim four’s name was Sierra Timmons.”

Gant glanced at her case board then heaved a big breath. “No one wants to solve this case more than me, Harris. But what you have on Spears is nothing. You don’t have a witness who can place him at the restaurant during one of Proctor’s shifts even if that would prove anything. Your job is to help identify and anticipate the movements of the unsub in the Player case, not track down potential suspects. We have agents in the field for that. You’ve already stepped on too many toes with the locals in Richmond. The lead detective is more than a little pissed at you.”

Jess didn’t care. No one was listening! She had two employees at the restaurant who kind of, sort of remembered Spears. But, unfortunately, Gant was correct. No one could corroborate Naomi’s story. And Jess was way outside her jurisdiction on this case. Still she argued. “Spears owns businesses in all five of the cities where the previous murders occurred.”

“SpearNet is global, Harris. What city doesn’t he have assets in?” Gant challenged.

Eric Spears was one of those “garage entrepreneurs” who’d created a Fortune 500 company from nothing that had propelled him to the top of the top one percent.

“He fits the profile.” There were a number of traits that identified a sociopathic serial killer. More than enough of those applied to Spears. Jess collapsed into her chair. She refused to give up on this lead. She was onto something. Dammit.

“But he has no record. Nothing about his past screams serial killer.”

Jess was the one heaving a big sigh now. “Just because no one ever caught him killing a puppy when he was a kid doesn’t mean he didn’t.”

She had never met the man but she’d read the one interview he’d granted to GQ. Spears was a recluse for the most part. He’d created his international corporation, and now he gave his instructions from wherever in the world he decided to land for the day. He owned his own jet, among other things. Most who’d met him personally called him an arrogant genius. Spears had never been married and had no friends that Jess could find. Not that she could mention that particular fact since certain things she’d been doing weren’t technically in her job description.

Not that being friendless outside of work made him a serial killer. If that were the case, most in the Behavioral Analysis Unit would fit the profile. Who had time for friends?

“I warned you about this before, Harris.” Gant leaned across her desk and tapped the photos of Spears. “Your obsession with this case makes your assessments unreliable. This is why I took you off the case last year.”

When she would have contended otherwise, he held up a hand to stop her. “You’re the best.” He glanced at the closed door. “Not that you have permission to tell that around, but it’s true. Be that as it may, this case has gotten under your skin and you’re operating on emotion. We all hit a brick wall on a case eventually, Harris. No one can find the killer every time. Not even you.”

If that was supposed to make her feel better, it did not.

“I need your total objectivity on this case,” he went on. “Get past this Spears thing and help all those other agents and cops who want to find the Player. You’re operating as if you’re the only person on the team. That has to stop for the job to get done. I know it and you know it.”

Jess stared at the photos of Spears for a moment. Somehow, in her heart, she knew this man was the Player. But Gant was correct in his conclusion. She couldn’t prove it. Worse, she had no right to leave everyone else out of the loop. Guilty as charged. Her job was to provide information, not to take off on some maverick investigation.

“You’re right.” She gathered the photos and placed them back into the case file. “I’ll set up a meeting ASAP to brief Richmond PD on my latest assessments.”

As Gant left, satisfied he had ushered Jess back into line, she considered whether SpearNet would still be open when she arrived in Richmond if she left now.

Only one way to find out.

Richmond

The corporate offices as well as one of the largest labs belonging to SpearNet were nestled amid the city center of downtown Richmond. Twelve stories of sleek tinted glass, SpearNet specialized in electronic security, but the mega corporation dabbled in everything from drones to medical technology. The founder was so proud of his accomplishments he offered tours of certain areas of its research and technology laboratories.

Jess strolled along with the crowd of folks who listened intently to the tour guide’s every word. Her senses, on the other hand, were honed in on the facility. Giant monitors and floor to ceiling windows provided firsthand views of the newest technology. Staff members in crisp white coats hurried around the corridors.

The perfect place to hide if one was a killer. Eric Spears was surrounded by dazzling displays of his financial portfolio as well as his brilliance. This was a man with immense, possibly endless, resources. He could do anything, go anywhere... and no one would be better at hiding than someone who specialized in security.

Briefly Gant’s words echoed a warning, but Jess ignored them. She needed to soak in the atmosphere of Eric Spears’ life’s work.

His blond haired, blue-eyed likeness stared out at her from a two-story poster proclaiming him the gifted CEO of SpearNet. Sophisticated. Charming. Determined. Ruthless in all things business.

She had driven by his home as well. Like this building, his home was austere. Sleek, modern, and so very cold. A fortress complete with a guard booth and most likely a state of the art security system.

No one was getting close to Spears without an invitation.

Yet, all she needed was a few minutes in a room with him and she could confirm if he was the monster she thought him to be. So far, her attempts to get an interview had proven futile. Eric Spears was always on one continent or another but rarely on this one, it seemed.

Jess followed the crowd, reminded herself she had an appointment with Richmond’s lead homicide detective in just one hour. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she froze. Instinctively, her hand went to her bag but she’d had to lock her Glock in the car for this tour. She turned around, surveyed the long, broad corridor before lifting her gaze to the walkways above. A man standing on the walkway to her right appeared to stare directly at her. He didn’t wear a white coat and he didn’t appear to be a part of one of the tour groups.

Unable to stop herself, Jess reached into her bag for her glasses. He surely knew she was staring at him since she made no attempt to hide it and still he didn’t look away. She pushed her glasses into place and zeroed in on his face.

The man smiled.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Eric Spears
.

Present day...

Birmingham

“He was watching you,” Gina Coleman suggested, breathless.

Jess rubbed at her temples. “He was.”

“Did you talk to him that day?”

Jess shook her head. “No. He just wanted me to know he was watching. Then he walked away. What I didn’t know at the time is that he’d been watching me too.”

Gina pressed a hand to her throat. “With what I’ve learned about Spears, it must have been terrifying just being in the same room—no matter how large—with him. When did you actually speak to him?”

Memories of those minutes in the Richmond PD interrogation room filled Jess’s mind, causing her chest to constrict. “It would be twelve days before I interviewed him.” She remembered every hour of every one of those days and nights. Her life had grown consumed with Eric Spears.

Had it only been two months ago? Seemed like a lifetime. Jess closed her eyes. That had been the beginning all right.

The beginning of the end of her life as she knew it.

June 28, two months earlier...

Stafford, Virginia

Jess pressed the brew button on her coffeemaker and waited for the cup to fill. She had a little more work on the new case she’d been assigned yesterday, and then she intended to get some sleep.

Between the homicide detective in Richmond having moved on and her inability to connect Eric Spears to Sierra Timmons, Jess had decided to try and find some distance from the Player case.

Gant was grateful, that was for sure. He didn’t want his ace profiler, as he called her when his mood was right, getting bogged down with a dead end.

“Moving on.” She snagged her coffee and headed to her home office. She’d bought this house almost ten years ago, and still she hadn’t hung a single picture on the walls. Only two of the four bedrooms were furnished and one of those served as her office. During her brief marriage to Wesley, he had used one of the vacant bedrooms as his office. He’d also used that room as a place to sleep near the end.

Jess hesitated at the door of the room Wesley had used. The indentations in the carpet from his desk and bookcase were still visible. She stared at the wedding band on her left hand. She probably should take it off and put it away. But then she’d just have to explain that her marriage was over due to irreconcilable differences.

As long as she wore the ring, no one asked questions. Except Gant. He and Wesley had been friends. Wesley had told him the relationship was over. Gant hadn’t admitted as much, but he’d asked Jess on several occasions if she was okay. To anyone who overheard, he could have been asking about her health or a case. She knew the real motive behind the question. His not so covert glances at the wedding band she wore when he asked was all the explanation she needed.

She moved on to her office. Before taking a seat behind her desk, she stared at the case board she’d made on the wall. Graphic photos from the crime scene, including those of the victims, along with dozens of handwritten notes she used in creating her profile dotted the wall. She’d poked hundreds of tiny holes in the drywall of this room with all those pushpins. Her sister’s kids had managed to get a peek on their last visit. They had immediately proclaimed that their Aunt Jess had the creepiest office in the world. Her sister Lil had been appalled.

The chair creaked as Jess got comfortable and set her coffee next to the keyboard. She nudged the mouse and opened her inbox. She smiled as she read an email from the detective in charge of a case she’d recently profiled. Her suggested method of questioning had garnered a confession from the suspect.

A quick reply and she was on to the next email. The subject line surprised her.

The evidence you need
...

She tapped the necessary keys and the email opened.

I know you’re watching him. I can help. I know where he keeps his mementoes. Your Attic Mini Storage. Raines Tavern Road. Unit 12
.

Jess hit print, her fingers cold. What the hell kind of joke was this? She stared at the address of the sender. Watcher01. The Internet Service Provider was one used by millions. Anyone could create an ID and begin sending messages.

But this sender knew she was watching someone. With a few more keystrokes, she plotted the address, which was just outside Richmond. It was late. Almost ten. She could be there before midnight.

Jess chewed her lower lip.

Or she could be smart and wait until morning and turn the email over to Gant.

This wouldn’t be the first time she’d made a not so smart decision.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be the last decision she made.

Farmville, Virginia

Twenty minutes before midnight Jess parked in the lot of the Your Attic Mini Storage. She’d circled the property. Three long rows of storage units. No other vehicles were in the lot. Thankfully there was plenty of lighting. The road was pretty much deserted but visibility in either direction was good. No sign of another house or vehicle for miles.

Unit 12 was only a few feet from where she’d parked, and she’d positioned her car in such a way that it couldn’t be blocked in by anyone who might have decided to set her up. As a profiler she worked behind the scenes most of the time. The media rarely heard her name. Credit for support to local law enforcement was always attributed to the Federal Bureau of Investigation not to any one person.

Since her name wasn’t bandied about in the media, the most troubling aspect of the communication she’d received was how the sender had obtained her name much less her personal email address. She gave it only to those with whom she worked closely on a case and even that was rare. Of course, if someone with the right resources wanted her personal information it could be procured.

“Damned hackers.” One day the Bureau would be able to police Internet crime a little better.

Any way she looked at this, chances were it was a set up or a game someone wanted to play. There was a remote possibility that someone who knew the Player had decided he or she couldn’t live with the guilt any longer.

“Right,” she groused. Few sociopaths, much less serial killers, trusted anyone with their darkest secrets.

Still in her car, Jess scanned the lot once more. “You going to just sit here, Jess, or are you going to do this?”

Since she hadn’t completely lost her mind, she decided to send Gant a text just in case this was the kind of set up you didn’t walk away from. She gave him her location and reason for coming. He was likely in bed and wouldn’t see it before morning. At least if she ended up dead, someone would know where to start looking and why she’d been way out here in the middle of the night.

“Enough stalling.”

She donned a pair of latex gloves, opened the car door and climbed out. In the distance she could hear faint traffic noise from the interstate. Otherwise it was eerily quiet. The gravel crunched beneath her sneakers. She’d thrown on her favorite pair of jeans and a t-shirt but now she wished she had grabbed a sweatshirt. The air felt cool against her bare arms.

Though it had been a while since she’d worked as a field agent, she’d done this plenty of times before. As confident as she felt, the weight of the holstered Glock nestled against her torso was reassuring. The flashlight in her right hand was the Mag type easily used as a weapon. She was prepared.

“Or stupid,” she muttered, with another long, slow look around.

There was no lock on unit 12. Not a good sign. If there really was any evidence inside, why wouldn’t there be a lock?

She’d been had. “Dammit.”

Her cell phone vibrated with an incoming text and she dug it out of her back pocket. If Gant had gotten her message, he was going to blow a gasket and she would have some major explaining to do. All for nothing. She stared at the screen.

Open it
.

Her pulse jumped. Jess surveyed her surroundings again. There were no cameras on the buildings. No other cars in sight.

How the hell did he or she know Jess was here? Or get her cell phone number?

She turned to head back to her car. Whatever was going on here, she intended to call the locals for backup.

A sound whispered across her senses.

Jess stilled.

It was low, scarcely audible... but it was there. Soft weeping or whimpers.

The next sound to fill the air was the steel of her Glock sliding from its leather holster. Jess eased closer to the door of unit 12. The soft sound was coming from inside. Keeping her attention on her surroundings, she shoved the Mag light in her waistband and bent down to tug up the door with her free hand.

The grate of metal on metal drowned out the whimpering. She raised the door and reclaimed her flashlight. Definitely a woman crying. The sound was louder now. Heart thundering, she clicked on the light and surveyed the space beyond the door. A single cardboard box sat in the middle of what appeared to be an otherwise empty unit of about ten by twelve feet. She leaned in, tried to get a better look at anything that might be hanging overhead.

Nothing
.

“Well hell.” She wished whoever had set this up were here and she could just shoot the bastard.

Her cell vibrated again. Shaking her head, she dragged it out.

Evidence is in the box
.

She had to be out of her mind. Gant would go ballistic. There were rules and she’d already broken several.

Still, she had to look.

Checking behind her once more, she approached the box. Inside were articles of clothing. Bras and panties. The weeping was louder this close to the box.

“Where the hell is that coming from?” She surveyed the interior of the unit, top to bottom, once more.
Clear
. The sound had to be coming from something in the box. A recording or cell phone set to speaker. Cautiously, she picked through the garments, and then stalled.
Blood
. Some of the garments were bloodstained.

The weeping suddenly stopped with an audible click.

She moved aside the rest of the bloodied under garments and at the bottom of the box was a handheld recorder. The same kind Jess had in her desk drawer at home.

“Shit,” she hissed.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Jess whirled around, her weapon and the beam of her flashlight leveled on the man who held a shotgun aimed right at her. “FBI.” She steadied herself. “Let’s just stay calm, sir. I’m Special Agent Harris.”

“I don’t care who you are,” he growled without lowering his weapon. “You’re trespassing. I already called the sheriff.”

Jess exhaled a chest full of tension. “Good. Can you call him back and tell him we need a forensic unit, too.”

Present day...

Birmingham

“It’s a miracle he didn’t shoot you!” Gina proclaimed. She shuddered. “Harris, you really are lucky to be here.”

More so than anyone knew. “He wasn’t looking to shoot anyone. He was only protecting his property.”

Confusion lined the reporter’s smooth brow. “I thought you said there were no houses along that stretch of road.”

“There wasn’t. He received a call that someone was prowling around his storage facility.”

“The call was from an untraceable cell phone, I take it.”

Jess nodded. “A burner. Same as the text messages I received. The email, I learned later, was sent via the Wi-Fi from my own house. His goal was to prompt a reaction from me and he got one. I made the first and last mistake of my career with the Bureau.”

“But the stuff in the box belonged to the victims from the Player’s most recent murders, right?” the reporter guessed.

“That’s right. The box even had Spears’ prints on it.”

Gina put up her hands. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Jess assured her, “when you hear the rest.”