The River's Secret Page 10

  He stepped back, panic clearly evident on his face. “I don't want your job, so please come back.”

  I got into John's car and we drove out of the parking lot.

  “We've got a direct flight to Riverbend,” John said a few minutes later.

  “Fine.”

  “The team's on a chartered plane and should be there by the time we get there.”

  I nodded and leaned my head against the window. The cool glass felt good on my face.

  “Are you okay, Connie?”

  “I was finally feeling like my life was moving on and he's dragging me back.” I gazed at his strong, ever confident face.

  “Then we catch him this time and put him in a cage.”

  “That works for me. Who's in charge of the investigation?”

  “Me.”

  “Good, I like working with you. Who else is on the team?”

  “Sheryl, of course, since she was in on the original investigation. And we added Jake Carver.”

  “I never worked with him, but I heard he's a good man.” My stomach knotted up. I asked the one question I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to. “And the profiler?”

  Chapter 11

  John raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “Justin Marshall will join the group in a few days as our profiler.”

  My stomach churned with acid, but I managed a small smile. “Matthew didn't want to send William, did he?”

  “I couldn't say.” He shrugged. “But William is involved in a high profile case in New York right now and probably couldn't be spared.”

  I didn't make another comment the rest of the way to the airport. Between the acid roiling in my stomach and the pit of anxiety growing, I might have vomited my pizza lunch all over John's car.

  Thirty minutes later we boarded a chartered plane to Riverbend. John spoke to the pilot and then came back and sat with me. He handed me two files, one almost three inches thick.

  “What are these?” I asked.

  “The large one has the reports on the remains we've discovered and attributed to the Jackal.”

  I set the larger file on the table between us. “Did you ever find a connection between any of these victims?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then it's all about finding the dump site.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Excuse me?” I sat forward. “The Jackal case has always been to find the dump site, lay a trap for him, and then catch him when he dumps the women alive into their graves.”

  “That was true in the past, but not anymore.”

  “What's different?”

  “Look at the smaller file.”

  I opened the file and scanned the information about the latest victims. They all came from different socioeconomic backgrounds and were last seen in different places. I spread the pictures of the missing women in front of me -- two brunettes, one blond, one redhead, and one with black hair -- they were all Caucasians and in their mid-thirties.

  “He's got a type now?”

  “It's more than that.” John reached into the file and pulled out the five autopsy photos. He laid them next to their missing-person photos.”

  I noticed it immediately. “He cut their hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “And changed the color?”

  He nodded. “The lab techs say it is some kind of spray dye.”

  “That's quite a change. Are we sure it's the same guy?”

  “Same single knife wound and lack of forensic evidence.”

  “Why would he change his M.O.? Serial killers don't usually do that.”

  “We have a theory.”

  I sat back in the seat. “I'd love to hear it.”

  John opened the large file and took out a picture. He laid it in the middle of the newest victims' autopsy pictures.

  A shiver ran up my spine and I swallowed down the bile that tried to escape from my stomach. My picture. The one they circulated when I was taken.

  John leaned forward and placed his hand on my arm. “Steady, Connie?”

  I took a deep breath and used every trick that I had been taught to stop the attack. Concentrate. Count. Focus on the river. I would not use the crutch again!

  John's eyes widened, panic clearly visible on his face. “What can I do?”

  I put my hand up and muttered, “Just give me a minute.”

  A few minutes later, I had my body under control. I picked up my picture. “I'm the connection.”

  “Yes. The profilers think he's killing you over and over because you're the one that got away.”

  “How nice.” I glared at John and despite my best intentions, the next words came out like the bark of a drill sergeant. “So, am I part of this investigation or the bait?”

  He sat back in his seat. “Honestly?”

  “We've never lied to each other before, John, let's not start now.”

  He nodded. “I think it's a little of both.”

  “I can't believe Matthew hates me so much he'd use me as bait for a deranged serial killer.” I couldn't keep the sarcasm or the hurt from my voice.

  John leaned forward and put his hand on my leg. “Oh, it wasn't his idea. In fact, he screamed, ranted, and threatened to throw a punch at the director. He did not want you anywhere near Riverbend.”

  I looked down at the victims' pictures; their eyes seemed to plead with me for closure for their families and justice for themselves. Letting them down would add another scar to my already damaged soul. “Am I really the only connection?”

  He nodded. “They're all white, mid thirties, and relatively tall.” He pointed to me. “That's the way I'd describe you, too.”

  I gave a small laugh. “I never was afraid of the Jackal. Even after he kidnapped me and left me for dead. But to cut and dye their hair - that terrifies me. He's not just looking to find women like me, he's searching for me.” I lowered my voice, slumped in the seat, and whispered the words that echoed in my head. “And he won't stop until he has me.”

  John's demeanor stiffened, probably a reaction to my posture rather than my words. “You'll be well protected at all times, Connie.”

  A lot of different emotions rattled around in my head and body. Fear for my life, anger at Matthew, the Jackal, and John for laying this all at my feet. But none of them would help me, the five dead women, or the next victim.

  Just do the job, Connie! I ordered myself.

  “Did you find the dump site on these girls?”

  “No, that's another thing he's changed. He no longer dumps them in one place.”

  “Where did you find their bodies?”

  “Thrown on the side of the highway, usually within an hour after they were reported missing. In fact, in one case, we found the girl before she'd been reported missing.”

  “Serial killers always have a favorite dump site. What the hell is going on with this guy? And it's kind of a short time span to rape, kill, and gut them, isn't it?”

  “He no longer rapes his victims, either.”

  “What?”

  “He just kidnaps, kills, and dumps them.”

  “That doesn't make any sense. Why would he change his entire scenario?”

  “You were the last victim to be raped. Now, the women are just taken, killed and dumped.”

  “He's waiting for me, isn't he?”

  “You're the one that got away,” John said again.

  I noticed that we hadn't taken off yet. “When are we leaving?”

  “Are you still willing to go?” His words were composed, but there was desperation in his tone.

  “I really have a choice?” I asked, ignoring the tenor of his voice.

  “Yes. Now that you know exactly what's going on,” he paused, then with more control in his voice, said, “it's up to you.”

  “I can say no and get off this plane and go back to my own problems in Arroyo?”

  “Yes. The director didn't want it this way, Matthew did. He threatened to quit if you weren't told the truth and given the opt
ion before we took off.”

  Bones floated down the streets of my town and I might have two murdered girls' bones mixed in with the rest. I wasn't an FBI agent anymore. Was the Jackal even my problem? Then the faces of the victims played through my mind. Could I live with the knowledge that I could have stopped the Jackal? Without me, they didn't have the right bait to catch him.

  “If I don't go, more women will die.”

  “That's going to happen whether you go or not. This guy's not going to stop for anyone. Not until we catch him.”

  “But you have a better chance of catching him if I'm out there as bait.”

  “That's true, but we'll also have a better chance with you helping us. You've always been good at getting into the killer's mind to anticipate his next move.”

  “The Jackal's next move is on me.”

  John sat back and put up his hand. “True. What do you want to do, Connie?”

  A good question. Instinct told me to get off the plane, go back to my safe little office, and sort out the bones. But the cost for my safety would be the death of others. I couldn't live with that. There really wasn't any choice.

  “Tell the pilot to start the engine.”

  John smiled, patted my hand, and handed me my FBI badge. “Thanks, Connie.”

  He left to talk to the pilot. As I turned the badge over in my hand, I looked at the pictures spread out in front of me. What were the possible outcomes? The Jackal's capture? My death? Both?

  Chapter 12

  We landed in Oregon at nine o'clock. As we exited the plane, I pulled my jacket collar tighter around my neck. The air was cold and crisp, typical for autumn, but there was no rain. Sheryl walked over to meet John and me. Sheryl hadn't changed one bit in the last two years. She was still petite and beautiful but I could see caution in her eyes. Another person worried that I would have a full-scale panic attack and pass out? I wondered.

  Standing by a black sedan were two men I didn't recognize. One was young, tall and gangly, with a sneer on his face. The other, short and stocky, looked almost old enough to be my father. He wore a baggy brown suit and had an unlit cigarette protruding from his mouth. One of them must be Jake Carver, I thought, the agent I didn’t know.

  Sheryl nodded to John and then smiled broadly as she gave me a big hug. “Howdy, girl.”

  “It's nice to see you again, Sheryl.”

  She pulled away. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

  “Me, too.” I stepped aside and let John and Sheryl walk together. They have things to discuss. I knew what it meant to be in charge of an investigation. John's words about my abilities as an FBI agent had been reassuring but I still felt like the worm on a hook, just waiting to be eaten.

  “How are the locals taking to us being here?” John asked.

  Sheryl shuddered. “Not too well, especially since no women have been kidnapped or killed yet.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “Lieutenant Ed Murphy has been assigned to us. He's our local contact. That's him standing over there by Jake. If we need anything, he's supposed to get it for us.”

  “How happy is he about being assigned the job?”

  “Crabby, crabby, crabby,” she smiled and nodded toward the tall man. “Can't you tell by his face? But, then again, I have a feeling that's a permanent condition for him.”

  “Great.”

  “They've set us up in a conference room at the station. I've had all the Jackal files brought there.”

  “Thanks, Sheryl.” John nodded.

  As we walked toward the sedan, I looked at the two men I would be working with. The tall one was thin as a rail, with a perfectly tailored pressed suit and hair that looked like he just stepped out of a salon. The short one looked like he had slept in his suit for a week. His scraggly hair extended over his collar and his face had a five o'clock shadow that looked two days old.

  Sheryl introduced me. I nodded to each and shook their hands. The older gentleman was the agent; the younger, the Riverbend cop.

  John drove, while Sheryl rode in the passenger seat. The men and I got in the back. Being closed in a confined space with two strangers, both of whom were men, was a certain trigger for my panic attacks. And the fact that I was squeezed in the middle between them didn't help.

  As soon as the door closed I felt the panic simmer, my stomach cramped, and my pulse accelerated. I concentrated on keeping my breathing slow and steady.

  Sheryl reached into her jacket pocket, brought out an envelope, and frowned. “Here's the next note.”

  “Already?” John's voice rose. “How the hell does he know she's here?”

  Sheryl shrugged and handed me the letter.

  The outside of the envelope was addressed simply.

  To Connie

  Concentrating on the envelope helped focus my attention away from the swelling attack. I opened it and unfolded the note.

  Hi Connie,

  Welcome to Riverbend. I've missed you.

  Answer your phone.

  “What?” I raised my eyebrows, and then handed the note to John. My cell phone rang.

  John took the note as I opened my phone.

  “Hello?”

  “This is so much better than those stupid notes, don't you think so, Connie?” His voice sounded mechanical, as if altered by a voice box.

  “I don't know. Why don't you turn yourself in and we can talk in person?”

  “I love your sense of humor.” He laughed but then his voice grew serious. “I'm sorry I messed up your life. I should have made sure you were dead before I left you. So I'm going to try and fix it for you.”

  “Don't do me any favors.”

  “Well, we'll see, but in the meantime let's play a game.”

  “What game?”

  “Hide-and-seek.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Come on, Connie. Everyone likes to play hide-and-seek. I'm going to hide and you have to find me before I kill again.”

  “I don't want to play your stupid game.”

  “I know it's a little childish, but it's my game.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Find me.”

  “How? You've made it harder.”

  He laughed. “I suppose I have. How disappointing it must be to all of you that I didn't stay within your profile.”

  “We can make a new one.”

  “Yes, you can. Well, I've got to go. It's been nice talking to you. I'm sure the next call will be traced, so I won't have as much time. Talk to you soon, Connie.”

  I closed my phone.

  “He calls you on the phone?” Jake asked, his brows furrowed together.

  “No, that's new,” I told him.

  “We've got to get a recorder and tracer set up on her phone,” John said to Sheryl, who nodded.

  “He said he won't spend as much time on the phone with me next time,” I said as I put my phone back into my purse.

  “But he might not know how fast we can trace calls these days,” John said, and the rest of the team nodded in agreement.

  “9-11 helped on that front,” Ed replied.

  John glanced at his watch and then over to Sheryl. “It's after ten. Let's go directly to the hotel, get a good night’s sleep, and start fresh in the morning.”

  “I've got us booked into the Riverbend Hotel,” Sheryl said. “It's downtown and only a few miles from the station.”

  “Can you drop me by the station before you go there?” Ed asked.

  “Sure,” John said.

  “We'll meet in the hotel lobby at seven for breakfast and then head over to the station.” He looked at Ed. “Are you coming over in the morning?”

  “No, I'll meet you at the station.”

  We dropped Ed off and then drove over to the hotel. When the car door opened, the fresh cool air felt good in my lungs, but the anxiety still rolled through my body. And like a tsunami, it was unstoppable - I just needed to hold on and ride it through. When we got our room
keys; I waved to the others and walked directly to the stairs.

  “Aren't you taking the elevator with us, Connie?” Sheryl asked.

  “No, I need the exercise after the flight.”

  “Okay.” She frowned. “See you in the morning.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her a small smile and opened the door to the stairs.

  I jogged up the three flights of stairs, went directly to my room, and dropped down on the queen-sized bed. Two minutes later, I was deeply entrenched in a full scale panic attack. It mushroomed like an erupting volcano and I blacked out, thankful for the end.

  I awoke around four, drenched in sweat but calm. Then I showered and hit the hotel gym. An hour later, I was drenched again but felt better.

  As soon as I stepped inside my room and closed the door, there was a tap on it. My pulse began to rise again. The Jackal knew I was here. Would he be so bold as to walk up to my hotel room and knock on the door?

  In two strides, I was across my room with my gun out of the nightstand and into my hand. I marched toward the door, ready to confront the Jackal.

  Then I heard Sheryl's voice, “Connie? Are you awake?”

  I took a deep breath, settled my racing emotions, and then lowered the gun to my side. Just because I heard Sheryl's voice, didn't mean the Jackal didn't stand behind her.

  When I slowly opened it, Sheryl stood there alone, dressed in gray sweats. “Do you want to run?”

  “I just got back from the gym,” I told her, using the gym towel to wipe off the sweat from my neck.

  “Just a quick run with me?” she asked, her voice tentative. “For old time's sake?”

  “Okay, give me a minute.” I put the gun back in the nightstand, and then closed the door behind me.

  “There’s a park a few blocks from here with a lighted jogging path. Shall we go there?” Sheryl asked we walked down the hallway toward the elevator.

  “Sure,” I told her.

  After a quick elevator ride, Sheryl and I walked out of the hotel. It was still dark and very cold. I always prefer running outside rather than on a treadmill but the sun hadn’t even risen yet.

  I frowned at Sheryl. “It’s kind of dark for a run.”