Twisted (26 page)

“The cell phone that was found at the crime scene where Tina Carroll was attacked.” Bob steepled his fingers, resting his chin on top of them. “This is a strange can of worms. The connection between that attack and the physical evidence and circumstances surrounding Cynthia Alexander’s disappearance are too close to be circumstantial.”

“Yet there are still so many outstanding questions.” Sloane leaned forward. “Were Cynthia and Tina this guy’s only victims? How did he choose them? If there were others, how many? Over what period of time? And what has he done with his victims, given that no bodies have turned up?”

“You forgot one question. Was Penelope Truman also one of his victims?”

Sloane went very still. “What are you basing that supposition on? I know Penny disappeared from a college campus, but we’re talking about a crime that happened a full year ago. In addition, she wasn’t a college student anywhere, much less at Richard Stockton, she disappeared in broad daylight when the campus was in full swing, and there was no physical evidence left behind. Plus, there’s no way her assailant could have planned that kidnapping, since Penny was a onetime visitor on the Stockton campus.”

“I realize there are inconsistencies between the Truman case and the other two we’re discussing. But that’s just it; we’re limiting our analysis to just a few cases. We might have to expand our thinking. You yourself just said that we have no idea how long these kidnappings have been going on, or if any or all his other victims are college age. This guy might just have a thing for college campuses. He also must have a thing for water, because he grabbed one girl right after she finished swim practice and the other girl at a lake on campus.”

“And Penny disappeared from a campus lake as well,” Sloane murmured. “Lake Fred. Which fits your water theory.” She spread her hands, palms up, in a baffled gesture. “But I still can’t get past the recklessness factor. This guy is clever. He’s also a planner. He knows when to make his move and get away with it. Penny wasn’t kidnapped during predawn hours, or spring break, or any other time when the Stockton campus would be deserted. Even if the kidnapper happened to be at Stockton, scoping out women when Penny was there; even if he spotted her, and liked what he saw, why would he grab her at midday in front of a potential sea of witnesses? Why take such a stupid, impulsive risk?”

“I don’t know,” Bob answered candidly. “I’m not an expert on the mind of a serial killer. But we can’t ignore the aspects that do fit the profile—an attractive young woman, a college campus, and a proximity to water.”

“Motive,” Derek supplied.

“Huh?” Sloane inclined her head quizzically in his direction.

“He’d take the risk if it suited his motive. Maybe he wasn’t scoping out just any woman. Maybe he was targeting Penelope.”

“Why?”

“Because of her relationship to you.”

“Derek…”

“Start with the basics Bob just laid out,” Derek instructed, cutting off Sloane’s protest. “Add to them the personal connections that link one case to another. Your longtime friendship with Penelope. Your casual friendship with Tina. The fact that the cell phone used to harass you belonged to the guy who attacked Tina. Everything ties back to you. And, on a separate note, if Bob’s supposition is right and Penelope’s disappearance is linked to the others, then our theory that the Truman case is the one our Unsub is worried about your stepping into is back on the table.”

“What theory?” Bob asked.

“That Sloane’s inside knowledge of Penelope Truman could result in a lead that the police and
FBI
missed, and that the Unsub is freaked out about that. Let’s say he kidnapped Penelope a year ago. He feels safe at this point, like he’s gotten away with it. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, the victim’s family retains Sloane—an ex–
FBI
agent, and a close childhood friend of the victim’s—to investigate their daughter’s disappearance. That would explain his harassing Sloane and sticking to her like glue. And that’s just part of the motive—the impersonal part. There’s more. There’s a pattern here, with Sloane at the center.”

“Before we go there, tell me one thing,” Sloane interceded. “Where does Cynthia Alexander fit into this idea you have that all these kidnappings tie back to me? I never even met the girl.”

“True.” Sergeant Erwin slid the file toward her. “But if Derek’s right, you wouldn’t have to. There’s more than one way for a perp to see a link between his victim and the person he’s linking her to. In the case of Cynthia Alexander, I’d say it’s a likeness to you rather than a relationship. You yourself noticed it. Cynthia sounds a lot like you must have been as a college kid. Same interests, same varsity athlete, same captain of the swim team, same wholesome, hardworking student. Plus, she’s from Cleveland, where you just left, and she’s enrolled at John Jay, where you just lectured.”

“That’s quite a reach.”

“Not if this wacko is fixated on you, it’s not,” Derek stated flatly. He turned to Bob. “I think Sloane represents more than a threat to this guy. I think he’s obsessed with her. I’m just not sure if it’s an idealization obsession or a homicidal obsession. That’s why we need to establish a profile on him. The
BAU
will help. But the more information we can give them, the better. We have to delve into every disappearance in the tristate area over the past few years that shares a common pattern, however vague, with these three cases. And we have to get as many details as possible from the one person we know has had contact with the Unsub.” He met Bob’s gaze head-on. “Which brings me to my other request.”

“You want to be present when I interview Tina Carroll.”

“Yes.”

“I anticipated that one.” Bob pushed back his chair. “I had a police escort drive her into the city. She should be in the waiting room by now. I’ll show her in.”

DATE:
7 April

TIME:
1030 hours

I thought I had Gaia under control. I don’t.

It’s snowballing way too fast.

I can’t call on Hera. I can’t call on any of my goddesses. And I can’t turn to my mother as I did when I was a child. God, I miss those days. She made everything right. When I was frightened or confused, she read me stories of the great Greek gods and their heroic feats. Apollo the sun god. Artemis the moon goddess. Their world was my escape.

I miss my youth. It was just the two of us back then. Life had yet to intrude. She taught me so wisely and so well.

She no longer can. I’m being squeezed into a corner from which there’s no escape.

Worse, the demons won’t relent. Each day their shouting grows louder, stronger.

I feel the walls closing in. Sweat is pouring down my face, my body. The morphine can dull the pain, but not the panic.

I’m being crushed on all sides.

Midtown North

New York City

11:05 A.M.

Tina looked like a bewildered kid when Sergeant Erwin showed her in. Her eyes were wide, her stance was rigid, and her gaze was darting everywhere. It reminded Sloane, once again, how young twenty-one really was, and how much Tina had been through.

“Come in and take a seat, Tina.” Bob spoke very gently and kindly to her. “I can offer you water, soda, or coffee. Which would you like?”

“A Coke would be great. Thank you,” she said in a small voice.

Bob nodded, and headed off to get the soda. At that moment, Tina spied Sloane and the relief that swept over her was palpable. “Sloane,” she acknowledged, leaning over the table to greet her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Sloane rose, reached over, and squeezed Tina’s arm. “That’s why I waited. I want to be here for you. But I want you to understand that, technically, you can ask me to leave. This is a law enforcement investigation, and I no longer officially fall into that category. It’s up to you. Just tell me if you’d prefer I go.”

“No. Please stay.” A shaky swallow. “I thought I was pretty strong, but I’m on the verge of losing it.”

“I will stay, and you won’t lose it. You’re strong. Just sit down and take a few deep breaths. I promise, Sergeant Erwin is a great guy. He just wants to catch the scum who attacked you and potentially others—women who weren’t as well trained as you are, and couldn’t escape.” Sloane gestured toward Derek, who’d risen to his feet and was waiting quietly. “This is Special Agent Derek Parker of the
FBI
. He’s a major part of this investigation, too. I can personally guarantee he won’t bite. He and I worked in the same field office when I was with the Bureau.”

Tina managed a small smile. “Hello, Agent Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Tina.” Derek shook her hand. “I’m sorry for what you went through. But from what Sloane tells me, your attacker is sorrier. You did some serious damage to his body.”

“Not serious enough.” Tina grimaced. “The cops have checked all the local hospitals. No one with the kinds of injuries I inflicted on him admitted himself.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t need medical attention. It just means he didn’t get it anywhere that would have kept a record of his visit.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

Bob returned with the soda, and they all sat down.

“I know you’ve been through this a dozen times with the local police, but just once more, tell us what happened early Saturday morning,” Bob began.

Tina recounted the entire incident, from when she stopped at the oak tree for her water break, to when her assailant attacked her, to the steps she took to extinguish him as a threat.

“I’m impressed,” Bob said, smiling faintly. “I know some cops that couldn’t retaliate that quickly, at least not without drawing their weapons.” He jotted down a few notes, then continued. “Can you describe the knife he held to your throat? Clearly, it was large enough to injure your shoulder.”

“It was big and intimidating. The blade was at least half a foot long, and broad, too, a couple of inches wide. It was made of thick steel, with a curved edge near the top. The handle was dark, with ridges for the grip. Oh, and it had a narrow vertical piece dividing the handle and the blade. Kind of like a guard to prevent the user from cutting himself when he held it.”

“Sounds like a Bowie,” Derek concluded. “It’s powerful and versatile. The big ones can be as long as swords. And the ones with saw teeth machined into the back side of the blade have been used in the military for decades. A good choice for this Unsub, and an easy knife to come by.”

Tina’s head came up. “That reminds me. I think he was in the military at some time.”

“What makes you say that?”

“When I grabbed his shoulder, I felt a chain around his neck. And when he jerked forward in response to my blows, dog tags fell out of his shirt, dangling from the chain.”

Bob was scribbling notes again. “Could you make out anything on the dog tags?”

“No. It all happened too fast. The whole thing lasted about thirty seconds.”

Derek’s wheels were turning again. “You said he told you to come with him or he’d slit your throat. You also said he muttered some things you couldn’t make out. Was it because he spoke too quietly or because his words were muffled by the mask?”

“Neither. The words he used didn’t sound like English. I don’t know what language they were. The first phrase was something like ‘tai kee.’ He used it when he first came at me. If he weren’t holding me at knifepoint, I would have assumed he was calling me by someone else’s name.”

“‘Tai kee.’” Bob glanced at Sloane. “You speak, Mandarin. Does that mean anything to you?”

Sloane frowned. “
Tai ji
means ‘birthmark,’ but that makes no sense in this context. If it’s a Chinese dialect, I wouldn’t recognize it.”

“What else did he say?” Bob asked Tina.

“When I attacked him, he shouted a couple of things. He’s was probably swearing at me.” She squinched up her face, trying to remember. “
Bow za
was one. And
chao ji bei.
Oh, and at the end he yelled out,
ta ma de
.”

“Oh, he was definitely cursing at you,” Derek assured her. “Even I know
ta ma de
. It means ‘fuck.’ As for
bow za,
you’re pronouncing it phonetically. It’s
biao zhi
.” He spelled the English transliteration. “That means ‘bitch.’
Chao ji bei
must mean something equally flattering, but I don’t know what. I’ll check with my squad or one of our language analysts on both
chao ji bei
and
tai kee
.”

“Since when do you speak Chinese?” Sloane asked in surprise.

“I don’t. I just know how to curse in it.” Derek gave Sloane a half smile, then turned back to Tina. “You said you caught a glimpse of your attacker’s eyes through the holes in his mask. Would you say he looked Asian? And what about his voice—did he sound Asian?”

“No and no.” She shook her head again. “His eyes were round, not almond-shaped. And they were light. So was his skin. I saw his wrist when I broke his knife hold. He was Caucasian. As for his English, it was unaccented. It was also the primary language he used, with the exception of those curses.”

“He could be second- or third-generation American,” Sloane pointed out. “His family could originally be from the Far East.”

“Or he could have been stationed there.” Derek took another belt of water. “The dog tags imply that he served. He’d certainly master curse words that way. What I don’t understand is why was he resorting to using them when his victim—all his victims so far, for that matter—were clearly American.”

“Something else to ask whoever develops a profile on this guy.”

At that moment, Derek’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the display, then rose. “Excuse me for a second,” he said, heading into the far corner of the room.

He punched on the phone, turned his back to the table, and spoke as quietly as possible. “What have you got for me?” he demanded.

At the other end of the phone, Joe Barbados, one of the FBI’s top forensic engineers down in Quantico, hunched forward in his chair. “I’ve been going through all the DVDs, one by one,” he replied. “But I’m primarily concentrating on the footage we have of the exact date and approximate time that Penelope Truman vanished. I’m examining the footage from every angle captured by the four different cameras in that area of Lake Fred.”