Splintered (21 page)

“Still doesn’t explain why he’s coming after you,” Granite reiterated. “You’re a bit beefy to be a twink.”

“I have a theory,” Noah admitted as he continued to munch on his breakfast.

When he didn’t make any further comments, Granite huffed. “Are you going to share it with the rest of the class, Dr. Head Shrink, or are you waiting for a formal invitation? If you’re waiting for me to beg, you’ll be sorely disappointed. I don’t beg, big guy.”

“You beg to see Hutch’s ass,” Byte blurted.

Noah arched a brow at Granite. Were all three of them gay? Is that why they formed a special group working outside the bureau? But Granite must have seen the thoughtful expression on Noah’s face and guessed at what he was thinking.

Granite quickly put the notion out of Noah’s mind when he rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not. Well, I might swing the other way for Hutch. I mean seriously, Noah, have you ever seen a finer ass than on Special Agent Hutchinson?” he asked.

Hutch jerked and swatted Granite, who pulled his arm back quickly while laughing and scooching his chair away from Hutch. Noah couldn’t see what Granite had done beneath the table, but he assumed he must have pinched or grabbed the fine ass in question. Noah chose not to answer the question, at least not there with an audience around.

“Your theory?” Hutch asked, steering the conversation back to the case.

“I don’t think it’s me he is after. He’s still playing a game with you, Hutch. He’s impressed by you, enough to change his MO and take chances by staging the last crime scene. He knew you would recognize it for what it was. I believe he has been watching me, taking the pictures to impress you. He is showing you he is watching you, taunting you, because as intelligent as he finds you, he has to prove that he’s smarter than you.

“If it was about me, he wouldn’t have snuck in to take a few pictures. He would have killed me or lured me somewhere, tortured me, and then killed me. But, I’m not his type, and he isn’t changing the prey he seeks. This is a show for Hutch’s benefit.”

“It’s working,” Hutch grumbled. “This bastard is smarter than I am, because I can’t figure out how in the hell he’s getting such intimate photographs without anyone seeing him. It’s as if he’s a fucking ghost.”

“He’s not a ghost, and he damn sure isn’t smarter than you,” Noah said adamantly. “He’s simply one step ahead of you. I have no doubt that he’ll eventually stumble, and you’ll be right there to nail his ass.”

“Thanks,” Hutch responded sheepishly as he waved off the compliment. “The problem is the ‘eventually’ part. This guy normally strikes every twelve weeks. We know why he killed again so soon, but anyone got any theories on why the twelve-week timeline?”

No one offered one, including Noah. He’d noticed the same thing but couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t plausible that the urge to kill was on a specific timeline. There had to be a reason, but that reason eluded Noah.

“Okay, with a couple new brains in the mix, let’s see what we can figure out,” Hutch announced and pushed away from the table. He walked over to the other side of the room, grabbed an eraser from the nightstand, and cleaned the whiteboard before grabbing a marker. He scribbled “known” and “unknown” at the top of the board, then drew a line between the two. In the unknown column he wrote twelve-week intervals. He then turned to the rest of them. “So, let’s hear them.”

“White male, thirty to forty years of age,” Granite responded readily.

“Actually, those aren’t facts,” Noah corrected. “While we can surmise his race and age based on date and probability, I think we’d be fools to rule out any age or race, since there are always exceptions to every rule.”

“Noah has a point,” Hutch agreed. “While we believe he falls into the criteria, it’s still speculation and not fact. Let’s stick to those.”

The five of them sat there silently, glancing back and forth at each other.

“C’mon, guys, help me out here,” Hutch said imploringly.

“We don’t know shit about the guy,” Byte complained bitterly. “We know everything there is to know about his victims, right down to the name of their kindergarten teacher, but we don’t know jack shit about who killed them.”

The anger and frustration was evident on the somber faces of everyone in the room. Noah was feeling it too. He racked his brain, trying to come up with something, anything on the killer, but each thought was rejected since, like everything else they thought they knew about the sick bastard, it was conjecture at best.

“We know one other fact about him,” Struk offered. “He’s fixated on Hutch. We can use that to our advantage. He’s obviously watching both him and you.” He pointed to Noah. “Let’s give him something to see, piss him off, and draw him out.”

“We tried that,” Hutch said, sounding dejected. “Noah practically called him a fucking loser in his last lecture.”

“He didn’t respond,” Noah added.

“Oh yes, he did. I’d say taking a picture of you while you were sleeping is a hell of a response,” Granite said. “Think about it, he’s basically saying ‘you’re not worthy’ or ‘who am I trying to impress. I can take you out anytime I see fit.’ It’s Hutch who has to piss him off.”

Noah didn’t like the idea of Hutch putting himself in further danger. As he watched Hutch toss his marker aside and chat with Struk about setting up a press conference, Noah’s gut began to churn with worry. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Hutch was a very good, extremely well-trained agent, but Noah still didn’t have to like the idea of Hutch becoming bait for a madman. However, Granite was right. Hutch was the only one who could do this.

A
FTER
BREAKFAST
,
Hutch, Granite, and Struk left to make arrangements for addressing the public. They’d all agreed that it would be detrimental to the case to ostracize the different departments handling the cases. Although, as badly as they’d fucked up the investigations, they actually deserved to have their asses handed to them in the arena of public opinion.

Noah was left behind to grumble about being babysat by Byte. “I still don’t understand why I can’t go see my patients at the outreach center. We’ve all agreed it’s Hutch the sicko wants, not me.”

“Because there is the very real possibility he’d use you to get to Hutch,” Byte responded evenly without looking up from his computer. “But if you absolutely have to go to class, I’ll go with you.”

Noah flopped back on the bed sideways, stretched his arms over his head, and huffed out a pent-up breath. He wasn’t pouting, dammit. He really did need to go to the clinic. Well, actually he’d already called and gotten someone to cover his patients for the day, but he hated having to do it. He especially hated that he’d have to make it up and repay the favor, but he wasn’t about to pull Byte away from his work.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll make it up,” Noah assured him. He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “What are you working on?”

“I’m putting together a program that will cross-reference every statistic we know about each victim, comparing them with every known case of death of young effeminate gay men in the past ten years.”

“There couldn’t have been that many in Chicago before ’07?”

“No, but worldwide you’d be surprised.”

“Worldwide?” Noah asked incredulously.

“Mmmhmm. Hutch doesn’t believe Jared Martin was our killer’s first victim. The crime was too clean, even if the cops fucked up the investigation. Hutch had every sample tested and retested. No foreign hairs, DNA, prints, fibers, nothing.”

Noah tossed over the theory that there might have been more victims before Martin. He supposed it was possible the killer had moved to Chicago in ’07, but Noah didn’t believe it. “I think this guy is native to the Windy City. The rural dump sites are places an outsider may stumble on by accident once, but not seventeen times.”

“That’s a good point, and I gotta say I agree with you, but I can’t come up with another explanation for why the first kill was so clean.”

“He’s ritualistic,” Noah explained. “Every minute detail is thought out before he even begins the hunt. He’s also extremely knowledgeable about forensics. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if he turns out to be a crime scene investigator or a cop.”

Byte’s head snapped up. “You think he’s a cop?”

Noah shrugged. “Maybe. It could be an explanation for such shoddy police work. Have you done a background check on the investigators and techs that worked the Martin case, compared them to Hutch’s profile?”

“We just assumed—” Byte ran a hand over his face and blew out a low whistle. “Dammit, I know better than to assume. We instantly settled on the notion that the lack of investigation was because of who the victim was.”

Noah pushed up to a sitting position and scooted around until his back was against the headboard. “Martin being gay and into the BDSM lifestyle most certainly could be the reason, but I don’t think it would hurt to look at other possibilities.”

Byte set his laptop aside and went to the makeshift kitchenette. “Want one?” he asked, pulling a Coke out of the minifridge.

“Sure.”

Byte brought over two sodas, handed one to Noah, and then sat in the chair next to the bed, propping his feet on the mattress. “You’re going to be a hell of an investigator, Noah. You want a job?”

Noah popped the top on his can and took a sip. “Nope. I couldn’t imagine doing what you guys do every day. I want a nice office with a big comfy chair and to probe minds, not crime scenes.”

“I don’t hang out at the crime scenes either. Hutch takes Granite to those. I do my investigating sitting in shitty hotel rooms.”

The tone of Byte’s voice was part… disappointment, anger, sadness? Noah wasn’t sure which or if it was a combination of all three. “Would you rather be out in the field?” he asked cautiously.

“Sometimes, but I guess I’m better in cyberspace. Besides, I’m not part of the bureau. They don’t typically hire hackers, at least not officially.” Byte chuckled.

Suddenly Granite’s words came back to Noah. “Do you and Hutch have something going on? You know, intimately?”

He was extremely attracted to Hutch, but he’d never try to break up a relationship, no matter how badly he wanted someone.

“Oh hell no!” Byte hooted, sounding shocked.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. Granite said—”

“You didn’t. I’m bi, but me and Hutch?” Byte laughed heartily. This time the laughter was genuine.

“Why is that so funny? You’re both gorgeous men and obviously have a lot in common. I think it would be cool to work with my partner. I mean literal partner, not work partner…. I mean….” He blew out a flustered breath. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah I do, and I love Hutch to death, but more like a brother. He’s also totally not my type. Too big, too hairy, and too burly for me, plus he has no fashion sense and his table manners are horrible.”

That caused Noah to laugh. Hutch was kind of a Neanderthal, but Noah had always been attracted to alpha males, and oh how Hutch tripped all Noah’s triggers. “I think he’s perfect,” Noah admitted shyly.

Byte studied him for a minute, and then a soft smile played across his lips. “He’s a great guy, but he works too much, and I don’t know if he’s really the relationship kind of guy.”

“Oh, I wasn’t…. I mean…,” Noah blustered as his cheeks heated. “I’m not looking for any kind of relationship either. Hell, I’m more like you. I usually have my nose in a book or am too busy typing away at a computer to really date much.”
At all
.

“What a sad, sad group we are.” Byte snickered.

Noah chased the droplets of condensation on his soda can with his fingertip. Without looking up, he asked, “If Hutch did date, what kind of guys would he go after? Hypothetically, of course.”

“Muscular build, intelligent, blue eyes, shaggy blond hair.”

“Really?” Noah asked excitedly, then met Byte’s laughing gaze. Noah narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re just fucking with me.”

“Nope, you’re totally his type. That’s why we never fight, well, at least not about men. While I agree with him that you’re attractive, I like my men like I like my women—feminine.”

“Like CS’s victims,” Noah said sympathetically.

Byte’s features contorted into an ugly mask of anger. “This son of a bitch is taking something beautiful and torturing and disfiguring it.”

Now Noah understood why this case was personal for Hutch and Byte. Hell, it was personal for him too, and not just because of what had happened to his mom and sister. While he might not date or flaunt his sexuality, he’d personally witnessed the inequality and downright hate some members of society could inflict upon those in the gay community.

“We may not be able to make people care about what’s happening in the gay community, but once Hutch addresses the media, law enforcement will at least be forced to do their job.”

“Yeah, I’m not holding my breath on that. I don’t have a lot of faith in their abilities.” Byte sounded jaded.

“Maybe not, but I have a lot of faith in Hutch. He’s an amazing profiler and agent, I have no doubt he’ll… all of you, will catch this guy.”

“He is a great agent. He’s also sensitive.” Byte smiled.

“Hutch? Sensitive?” Noah snorted. “I can’t see him as big on mushy feelings, more the caveman type.”

“He’s definitely a caveman, but I was talking about sensitive as in feeling what others are feeling.”

Noah’s chin nearly hit his lap. “You’re shitting me? Like psychic?”

“No. He can’t foresee the future or contact spiritual beings or any of that crap. I’m talking about being aware of energy… being intuitive, feeling what the killer is feeling, knowing how he thinks. He doesn’t like to talk about it, it freaks him out, so don’t say anything. Granite and I have tried to talk to him about it, but he always brushes it off, tries to act like it’s not bothering him, but I know it does. He thinks he’s crazy, or when he does feel what the killer is feeling, he’s worried there’s the possibility it’s his own subconscious feelings.”

“Wow… just…. Wow. Now I’m even more convinced it’s only a matter of time before you catch this son of a bitch.”