Profile of Fear: Book Four of the Profile Series (Volume 4) (5 page)

Once Cameron started the car, he adjusted the air conditioner to high and pulled a small first aid kit from the glove box.

“There’s a café in Hillsboro not far from here. Let’s assess the damage and talk there.”

By the time they reached the café, Robynn had slicked her hair back into a ponytail, rubbed her bites with alcohol pads, and rolled up the sleeves of her white cotton blouse. She chastised herself for not dressing more appropriately when she’d known ahead of time the projected sweltering temperature, as well as the inevitable trek through the weeds to see the dump site. Worst of all, she’d let the heat get to her and aimed her annoyance onto the profiler who might enable them to catch the killer before more young women died. Not her smartest move.

At the restaurant, a familiar face greeted her. A poster for Shirley Metz was taped to the inside of the front picture window. Hillsboro was a small town, and people took it hard when one of their own went missing. They were even more devastated when her body was found. Robynn had been unable to stop thinking about the young mother since she received the case.

A waitress appeared and scrutinized the three of them. “Bees?”

“Wasps,” Robynn replied. She fisted her hands so she wouldn’t scratch at the bites, which were now large scarlet bumps that itched and hurt like a bitch.

“I’ll go get our first aid kit. Meet you back at the restrooms.” The waitress hightailed it back to the kitchen, retrieved a first aid kit, a stack of clean towels, and a bottle of antibacterial hand soap. She then rushed to the back of the restaurant where the three were waiting for her.

“Who wants to go first?”

Cameron nodded toward the two women. “I’ll wait.”

Robynn and Carly shouldered the door and entered the ladies room, which thankfully was clean. At the double sink, Robynn lay down the towels and Carly opened the first aid kit.

Ripping off her blouse, Robynn dampened a towel and poured on antibacterial soap, then carefully washed the throbbing bumps on her arms, chest, and legs. She noticed several stings on her face and lips. In fact, her lips were swollen twice their normal size.

“Turn around and let me see your back,” said Carly, who then began washing the reddened welts near Robynn’s spine. Carly then turned around and let Robynn do the same.

Robynn pressed a cold damp cloth to her lips. “This experience just strengthens my aversion to bugs in general, and wasps specifically.”

“Totally agree. When we were kids, my brother, Blake, once trapped a bee under a Mason jar and asked if I wanted to see it. The second he lifted the jar, the bee dive-bombed me near my eye. It was swollen shut for a week.”

“Ugh.” Robynn found two cold packs in the first aid kit and handed one to Carly. They picked up the first aid kit, remaining clean towels and soap, then went into the hallway where Cameron was waiting.

“You don’t look so good,” said Carly.

“Thanks. Might I say you look like you have a monumental case of the measles?”

Carly grinned as the waitress appeared. “I’ve got a booth in the back open. It’s pretty private. Want that one?”

Carly nodded in the affirmative and followed the waitress.

Robynn turned to Cameron. “Do I look like I have the measles, too?”

“Nope, but your lips look like Lisa Rinna’s: sexy, plumped up, and made for kissing.”

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That buzzing sound? That’s the inappropriate-comment-alert going off.”

Holding both hands in the air, he said, “You’re right. Won’t happen again. Sometimes I forget my filter and whatever I’m thinking just flies out of my mouth. Sorry.”

Robynn handed the first aid kit and towels to Cameron. “Apology accepted. Just think of me as one of the guys.”

He scanned her body appreciably. “Not going to happen.”

Robynn chuckled and responded, “Cameron, you just did it again.”

Cameron cheeks flushed and he dipped his head. “Then I guess you’re just going to have to blindfold me.”

She started to walk away, but he captured her arm. Startled, Robynn whirled around. “What are you doing?”

“I have wasp stings all over my back. I need your help.”

“That is not a good—”

Her words were cut off as he pulled her into the small men’s restroom and locked the door. “You can’t be serious. This is a men’s room.”

“I’m in pain and serious as hell. You going to help me or not?”

Stripping off his shirt, Cameron turned around, revealing a deep gorge that gave rise to the thick walls of muscle on either side of his back. His arms were muscled, his stomach tapered, without an ounce of fat. Her body tingled with awareness.

As she gazed at the dozens of angry reddened welts on his back, a sense of guilt rushed through her. The stings must have happened when he was shielding her with his body as he helped her in the woods. Taking the towels from him, she moistened one with soap and water and gently cleansed the welts on Cameron’s back.

“Feel better?” She asked.

With his eyes deep, dark, and mysterious, he turned to gaze down at her and huskily replied, “Infinitely.”

“You’re welcome.” Robynn’s eyes lingered on Cameron’s full lips and he leaned in toward her. She wanted more than anything to feel his lips on hers again. Kissing her. Possessing her. The thought stoked the fire that kindled in her core. Realizing what was about to happen, Robynn pulled quickly away. She couldn’t go there with him.

Once they settled in the booth, Carly on one side and Cameron sliding in next to Robynn on the other, they ordered a round of iced tea and tenderloin sandwiches. Cameron sat so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body next to hers. His woodsy, masculine scent surrounded her. Her self-control was circling around and around, slowly going down the drain. Damn Cameron Chase and his effect on her. Why couldn’t he be an accountant or a teacher? Any occupation except law enforcement.

The waitress delivered the iced tea. Robynn thirstily attacked her drink, not setting it down on the table until it was empty. She’d never been a big fan of summer heat, and today was no exception. Inquisitively, she studied Carly. From all accounts the profiler was meticulous, working her way through the evidence until she came to a conclusion. She couldn’t wait another second to hear Carly’s thoughts about their killer.

Robynn’s approach was head-on. “Carly, do you agree that we have one killer for both victims?”

“Yes.” Carly sipped her tea and fingered the paper from her straw.

“What are your initial thoughts about who could have committed these murders?” Robynn asked.

“I think your suspect is an organized killer who planned both killings and moved the bodies from the original crime scene. In Brandy Murphy’s case, he moved her body from the place where he killed her to a dumpster behind a busy shopping mall, thus denying law enforcement any trace evidence that may have been found at the original crime scene. A disorganized killer would have no interest in moving the body.”

“What do you think moving the bodies signifies?”

“The transfer of the bodies indicates planning before and after the kill. Leaving the bodies in plain sight and within view of a surveillance camera may indicate your killer is advertising his presence to law enforcement. He’s saying, “I’m here. What are you going to do about it?”

Robynn respected Carly’s knowledge, but this theory bothered her. “So you’re sure he does these things, but he
doesn’t
want to get caught?”

“Like I said before, he thinks he’s bulletproof, and there’s no chance he’ll get caught. He’ll follow the cases in the media to make sure he’s getting the attention he thinks he deserves.”

“So we’re not talking run-of-the-mill, dumber-than-dirt criminal?”

“Definitely not. He’s smart enough to make sure evidence is destroyed by using latex gloves and cleansing the bodies with bleach. In addition, he is careful to take the weapon with him. He may not be book-smart, but he’s street-smart.”

The waitress returned to check if they needed more iced tea. Waiting until she was out of earshot, Cameron asked, “What are your thoughts on motive, besides the fact he’s a sonofabitch who preys on women?”

“I think he is a full-blown sociopath whose motive is power or control, the ultimate possession of his victim. Complete domination is how he gets self-fulfillment. To the killer, the life-or-death power over his victims gives him tremendous emotional satisfaction.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He didn’t kill either of his victims immediately. With Brandy Murphy, it was six months after he abducted her. With Shirley Metz, it was a year.”

Carly paused as the waitress delivered their plates of tenderloin sandwiches with fries. Dipping a french fry in ketchup, she gobbled it down before she continued.

“Because he held his victims over a period of time, instead of killing them right away, it’s likely he intimidated them with violence to make them obey him. Fear is a powerful motivator. In fact, he uses restraints to render his victims helpless, and heighten each victim’s fear. He needs to see their fear in order to get sexual satisfaction. The more hysterical they are and the more they struggle, the more he likes it. The cutting of the victims’ throats while they are restrained is his signature, his preferred method of killing.”

“Can you imagine the terror the women must have experienced as they watched him prepare to slice their throats?” Robynn’s words were whispered and filled with empathy. She wished she didn’t think of victims so much, but she did. The images in her brain of how their lives ended were haunting, and made her that much more determined to catch their killer.

With a look of distaste, Cameron offered, “He’s one sick bastard, is what he is.”

“What about the victims?” asked Robynn. “Do you think he had relationships with them?”

“No, he was a stranger to his victims. He targeted and may have stalked them. Both victims frequented Sycamore Mall. Shirley Metz worked in the Diva Hair Salon on the first floor, and Brandy Murphy liked to hang out there. The mall is his hunting ground.”

After finishing his lunch, Cameron pushed his empty plate aside and glanced at Robynn. “We know from the surveillance tape that Brandy was last seen leaving the mall with a man driving a black Escalade. According to her father, Brandy didn’t trust strangers. Leaving the mall with someone she didn’t know was not in her makeup. We need to find out what kind of a lure or con he’s using to convince a young, but careful young girl to leave the mall with him.”

“What about Shirley Metz? How did she connect with her killer?” Robynn wondered aloud.

Waiting until the waitress cleared their table, Carly answered, “Shirley works in the mall as a hairdresser. The perp could have been a customer, or he could have approached her in the mall with his offer. Shirley does not fall for his con and it pisses him off. He follows her home after work and stalks her until the time is right to grab her.

“I know that your detectives have talked to both victims’ significant others. I think it’s important to talk to her co-workers to see if they noticed Shirley talking to a man in the mall. We might be able to get a suspect sketch. A second talk with Brandy’s friends might help us identify her killer.”

“Do you have any ideas as to what he’s doing with these women as he holds them captive?”

“Which brings me to an important part of our discussion. Our killer may be interested more in profiting from his victims rather than killing them. It is very possible these women were victims of sex trafficking. They probably were murdered when they tried to get away. If there is one thing our killer craves, it’s control and power. An escape attempt is a slap to his face, an affront to his power.”

Cameron stared at Carly in surprise. “Sex trafficking? Seriously?”

“The tattoo is a red flag. Branding by tattoo or intentional scarring has become particularly common in the last few years by sex traffickers. The tattoo indicates ownership. It lets other pimps know that this individual is his property. The practice is not new. Slave owners used to brand their slaves to show ownership.

“If he’s a trafficker, why would he commit the murders himself, instead of having one of his flunkies do the deed?”

“Both murders were the ultimate punishment for disobeying
his
rules. He would do them himself for a couple of reasons. First to satisfy his overwhelming need for power and control. In addition, he would have done it himself to instill more fear in his other victims. It’s a possibility he had the others watch. As if to say, ‘This is what happens when I am disobeyed.’ However, having said that, he may not have been the suspect who dumped the bodies. Depending on where he is in the food chain, he could have a flunky do it. But the killings? He’d insist on doing those himself.”

“Back to the tattoo. How can we link it to a suspect?” Robynn asked.

“The FBI has a relatively new database, Next Generation Identification (NGI), which increases automated identification capabilities beyond fingerprints and palm prints. Although law enforcement has used photographs of scars, marks, and tattoos for several years to help identify or eliminate suspects, the NGI automates that process. Before I left the office, I sent NGI a query about our tattoo. Hopefully, the info is there when I return.”

Chapter Nine

It was four in the morning and the cloudless sky was pitch-black. The white clapboard farm house was illuminated by floodlights atop three deputy vehicles, parked side-by-side facing the structure.

The meth bust was in full swing. Slapping at a mosquito, Sgt. Cameron Chase watched as Deputy Ben Deacon, clad in protective yellow coveralls with an air mask over his face, hauled a man out of the house. Hello, Willie Hicks, methamphetamine cook and one of the most prolific dealers in Shawnee County, Indiana. It had taken three months to infiltrate his inner circle, and this bust was the cherry on top of their law enforcement sundae.

Deputy Deacon, a six-foot-two body builder, effortlessly gripped Willie’s arm. The meth dealer flipped about like a fish out-of-water—an anorexic fish—especially compared to Deacon. Reaching the police cruiser, Deacon handed him over to another deputy, who shoved him in the back seat after reading Willie his rights.