Pitch Black Page 3

  “I believe Special Agent Lambert could be correct,” the team leader said. “Judging by some residual paint discovered on a tree near the water, the car might have crashed into it.”

  Though not surprised, Alec was relieved his instincts hadn’t dulled with the months of inactivity. He also couldn’t help wondering why Blackstone had let him theorize if he knew all along the car had crashed. But hell, the guy was whispered to be almost supernaturally perceptive. Maybe he just knew Alec needed to start believing he was any damn good at this job anymore.

  “And yes, we are looking at one suspect, and he typically acts alone.”

  The tension in the room rose, everyone realizing Blackstone had more to tell them.

  “This is somebody we know?” asked Brandon Cole, who’d been silent until this point.

  Nodding, Blackstone clicked a few keys again, changing the image on the screen to an enlarged shot of a single-spaced page of text. An e-mail. Alec read it quickly, wondering what some Internet scam that had landed in his in-box a hundred times had to do with their case.

  Confirming everyone had finished, Blackstone typed again and the image flashed forward. Several e-mails appeared now, many of them signed, “Jason.” And a few, “Your friend, Dr. Waffi.” The doctor reminded his friend to come alone to their meeting.

  Hence the unexpected complication—Ryan Smith.

  It was the “your friend, Dr. Waffi” that got Alec’s instincts sizzling. He shifted in his chair, leaning forward to drop his forearms onto the surface of the broad, pitted oak table gouged with the shadows of decades’ worth of handwritten notes. He tried to catch the random thoughts winging through his head but was unable to do it right away.

  “These e-mails were retrieved from Jason Todd’s computer during the days before the bodies were discovered. The local police had at first assumed they were dealing with a pair of teen runaways, which is why the media hasn’t been all over this.”

  Two kidnapped teen boys would have made national news. Two runaways not even a blip on the radar.

  “Once Jason’s parents discovered these messages, the police began to take things more seriously. You can follow the e-mails sequentially and see he was taken in by a get-rich-quick scheme.”

  It appeared Jason Todd truly believed some foreign diplomat was going to give him millions of dollars to help him get to hidden bank accounts. God, it was hard to believe anyone, even a teenager, would fall for one of the oldest scams on the Net.

  “So the e-mails are directly tied to the murders,” Lily said. “Which is why we’re in?”

  Blackstone nodded. “Yes. They were used to lure Jason Todd and his friend Ryan Smith to their deaths. Exactly the kind of thing we’re supposed to be involved with. I’ve already been in touch with the local authorities, who would be grateful for the help.” Casting a level stare in Alec’s direction, he added, “These aren’t his first victims. I believe the same unsub lured a young woman to her death using an online help-wanted ad five weeks ago.”

  Talk about a bombshell. The entire team, who obviously hadn’t known, reacted to the news, spewing questions and speculation.

  “We aren’t officially part of that investigation yet,” Wyatt explained. “Though I’ve talked to the lead detectives. I had a suspicion and have been watching it.” Those intense eyes gleamed. “Let’s just say the murders of Jason and Ryan have increased my suspicions.”

  Everyone continued talking. Everyone except Alec, who still felt his boss’s attention solely on him. Those quick, random thoughts continued to click away in his head, connecting the pieces, adding one more.

  It had been five weeks ago, before Alec was even medically cleared to go back to the job, when Blackstone had approached him to come work with his team.

  Blackstone held one hand up, silencing the voices. “The national media hasn’t gotten hold of the discovery of the bodies yet, but the story did hit the Wilmington press yesterday evening. Last night another e-mail came into Jason’s account. Obviously the person writing it knew it would be intercepted, because it was addressed to Jason’s parents. And to the FBI.”

  The whirring of the computer the only sound in the room, the picture changed again. The message on the screen was simple. Such a stupid boy. You are quite welcome for the service I provided in giving him the chance to prove his worth. Unfortunately for him, he failed. Which, I must say, is perhaps not so unfortunate for the rest of us trapped in a world populated by utter fools. Signed, Your Friend.

  And suddenly Alec got it. Why Blackstone had come to him, had plucked him up from certain termination and given him a place on his team. Why he hadn’t been kicked on his ass out of the bureau.

  Why he was so badly needed.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, every cell in his body going on high alert.

  Blackstone had suspected whom he was dealing with at the time of the help-wanted murder and had started working to get Alec on board. Now, on his very first day, the man’s intuition had paid off.

  Alec’s heart raced; his pulse surged. Adrenaline coursed through him, as it always did when the chase was on. “It’s him.”

  Blackstone nodded once, but Alec didn’t need the confirmation. He’d recognize the tone, the arrogance in the final e-mail, absolutely anywhere. The “your friend” signoff had been used in a note in one of the earlier murders for which Alec suspected this unsub had been responsible. It was only because he’d been focused on the bogus “Dr. Waffi” name that he hadn’t realized it before.

  He should have figured it out sooner for other reasons. The unusual crime scene was a dead giveaway, as was the intentional psychological torment of the victims. Jason and Ryan had been put on the ice conscious and aware, intentionally left to spend their last moments in utter terror, wondering when it would break beneath them.

  The teens had been lured into a trap that had been well thought out and beyond cruel. Murdered without their killer ever lifting his own violent hand against them. That alone revealed a wealth of information about the psyche of the suspect they were dealing with. Oh, yes. It all fit.

  “Who?” Stokes sounded annoyed at being out of the loop. “What’s he talking about?”

  Still not quite believing that he was going to get another crack at the criminal who’d haunted his most vivid nightmares, Alec sprawled back in his chair.

  “Well?” Taggert asked. Appearing equally agitated that the newcomer was the only other person in the know, he glanced back and forth between his boss and Alec.

  “Alec?” Blackstone said.

  Not even quite believing he was about to say it, Alec smiled—a determined, dangerous smile holding absolutely no humor.

  “We’re going after the Professor.”

  InXile: Can u talk?

  Wndygrl1: Yes. I was hoping youd b online. I’m lvng for work.

  InXile: Wish I could visit you. But hav 2 b careful. Being watched.

  Wndygrl1: You must go to the police! They can protect you.

  InXile: Police in my own country couldn’t protect me.

  Wndygrl1: It is so unfair that you had to leave your homeland. Can I help somehow?

  InXile: Being my friend is huge help.

  Wndygrl1: I want to do more. What else can I do?

  InXile: Cannot trust online conversation. Traceable.

  Wndygrl1: What are you saying?

  InXile: If we could meet . . .

  InXile: Friend?

  InXile: R U there?

  InXile: Never mind. Is a lot to ask, helping a stranger.

  Wndygrl1: No! I feel like I’ve known you all my life, but we haven’t met in person.

  InXile: Of course. You think I am thief wanting your money?

  Wndygrl1: Of course not!!!!

  InXile: Good. I would never ask for money. I have much of my own. Just cannot go out to spend it for fear of reprisals.

  Wndygrl1: How sad!

  InXile: If only I could see you and shower you with gifts.

  Wndygrl1: You d
on’t have to buy me a thing.

  InXile: Someday I will take you on a shopping spree. For now, though, we could meet somewhere safe, where I won’t be followed.

  Wndygrl1: Well . . .

  InXile: What?

  Wndygrl1: It’s just . . . they say you shouldn’t meet someone you met online face-to-face.

  InXile: They?

  Wndygrl1: You know. Experts.

  InXile: Right. You are wise. Don’t trust strangers. I am sorry to bother you.

  Wndygrl1: Don’t go! You aren’t bothering me.

  InXile: I have offended, though?

  Wndygrl1: Not at all. I’m so sorry. You’ve never done anything to offend or bother me.

  Wndygrl1: Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who really knows me.

  InXile: I am glad. So our friendship will stay as it is. Through computers and wires. You are my only ray of sunshine in these dark days.

  Wndygrl1: You say such lovely things.

  Wndygrl1: Maybe we could work something out.

  InXile: No. Out of question. I don’t want u 2 feel uncomfortable.

  Wndygrl1: I don’t.

  InXile: So we think about it for now. Is that . . . how do you say it, okeydokey?

  Wndygrl1: lol! Yes, we’ll think about it. That would absolutely be okeydokey.

  Chapter 2

  “So tell me again everything you know about this Professor guy. All the stuff you told us yesterday in the briefing and anything else you didn’t.”

  Alec glanced over at Jackie Stokes, his new partner. For the past thirty minutes, since they’d left the office, he’d tried to keep his eyes down, focusing on the case file in his lap. Studying ugly crime scene photos was somehow easier than watching her weave the dark sedan through the afternoon D.C. traffic, narrowly missing other cars. And pedestrians. And a poodle whose owner had snatched it from certain death-by-government-vehicle.

  Alec hoped she hadn’t seen him surreptitiously double-check his seat belt. He’d recently finished re habbing his arm and shoulder after the shooting, and he didn’t particularly care to break any limbs, or his neck, in a car crash. “You planning to drive for NASCAR or something?” he muttered under his breath.

  She pretended not to hear. “Why have I never heard of him?”

  “He’s kept a pretty low profile.”

  “A low-profile serial killer, huh?”

  If there was such a thing.

  “He’s been picky and methodical. Six kills in three years.”

  “Including these latest two, plus the woman from the help-wanted ad?”

  “Make that nine. He’s obviously accelerating.”

  Maybe because he’d realized how easy it was to lure his victims via the Internet.

  “Nine,” Jackie murmured, shaking her head.

  Those nine lives had certainly meant a lot to the victims and their loved ones. But when compared to a Dahmer, a Bundy, or a Gacy, the number wasn’t too shocking. The crimes, however, had been. The Professor was one sick, malicious fuck.

  “Nine murders but he’s the invisible man?”

  “He’s never gone to the press, never tried for infamy. He simply does his thing, taunts the bureau occasionally, always in his condescending, arrogant way, and moves on. Sometimes he goes more than a year between victims, sometimes a few weeks.”

  “Any particular location?”

  “All in the mid-Atlantic region.”

  “Sex of the victims?”

  “Varies.” Before she could ask, he added, “And yes, that is unusual. We’ve got a lot on him, but we haven’t been able to determine a specific victim profile because the guy’s pretty indiscriminate in who he kills. Varying ages, races, sexes, economic backgrounds. He’s an equal opportunity bastard.”

  “Why do they call him the Professor?”

  Sensing Stokes wasn’t going to ease up on the questions until she’d gotten all the answers she wanted, Alec closed the file. Just his luck to draw the inquisitive talker for a partner.

  Alec didn’t want conversation. He wanted to think, to go deep into unexplored fields of possibility in his mind, where every bit of information he had ever learned about the Professor had been taking root and sprouting. To get back inside the unsub’s head again, as he’d been trying so hard to do before getting sidelined by that damned woman and those twice-damned bullets.

  “Lambert?” Stokes prodded. “The nickname?”

  He sighed. “One of the first investigators started calling him that after a character on that old show Gilligan’s Island because of the intricate scenarios this guy uses to kill his victims. He specializes in setting people up to kill themselves while making sure they can’t possibly escape.”

  “Like the boys.”

  “Exactly. He didn’t hold them underwater to drown them; he put them on the ice and let it happen. One victim was decapitated in his own garage. The one Wyatt told us about, with the woman responding to the online job listing. You heard what he did to her.”

  “Yeah. Sick. And he’d never used the Internet to lure his victims before?”

  Alec shook his head. “Never. It is impressive if your boss really did figure out who he was dealing with last month. I was . . .” He had been about to say he was on medical leave, but didn’t want to open that issue up for questioning yet. “I wasn’t in the office at the time, but if the BAU had known there was another Professor case, I would have heard about it.”

  Oh, would he ever.

  “Our boss,” Stokes explained, “is better than anybody I’ve ever worked with. Or anybody you’ve ever worked with.” There was no slavish vehemence in her voice, no defensiveness. Just pure confidence. “So this change in his MO, using the Internet—does it mean anything?”

  “I’m sure it means something,” he admitted. “Any change in the pattern can leave him vulnerable to mistakes he’d been careful not to make in the past.”

  The timing of that change had been fortuitous. The killer had begun using the Web to lure his victims around the same time Alec had been on the verge of disciplinary action, possibly even of losing his job. Considering Alec knew more about the Professor than anyone else in the bureau, landing on Blackstone’s team had seemed a stroke of luck. Bullet holes in his body notwithstanding. But he already knew it was not luck at all. Wyatt Blackstone had known whom he was up against before anyone else had figured it out and had moved Alec into place like a chess master positioning his knight.

  That fascinated him, and Alec took no offense at the manipulation. He wanted to stay in the FBI. He wanted to nail the Professor. So, if anything, his respect for his new boss had gone up a notch once he’d figured everything out.

  “Think he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty? Or doesn’t think he’s really a killer if he doesn’t pull a trigger or plunge a knife?”

  Alec considered it. He had been considering it for a long time. He slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so. Deep down, my gut tells me he’s trying to prove how much smarter he is than anyone else. That it’s easy for him to kill because he’s so brilliant, and each kill is an in-your-face taunt to prove it.”

  “Yeah, real smart to commit murder.” Stokes frowned. “I don’t remember the Professor in Gilligan’s Island inventing wild scenarios. Maybe you guys should have called him MacGyver.”

  “I didn’t call him anything,” Alec pointed out. “Besides, there was another reason for the name. He typically writes to the family after the crime. The messages are condescending and arrogant. Very literate. All on the same stationery, which was expensive but not easy to trace.”

  Until he’d suddenly switched to e-mails.

  “What else do you know about him?”

  Having memorized the profile, since he’d contributed to it when he’d first been brought in after the Richmond killing, Alec quickly rattled off the details. “He’s highly organized. Above-average intelligence. Probably not involved in a relationship right now, but he might have been in the past. Likely a professional, an engin
eer, maybe a lawyer or a doctor.”

  Stokes snorted. “Right. White male, in his thirties, and his mama didn’t love him? I asked what you know about him.”

  He glanced at her through half-lowered lashes. “I take it you don’t think highly of profiling?”

  Stokes shrugged. “I think profilers are a lot like those crime-solving psychics. They always look back and focus on the stuff they got right, like, ‘The missing person will be found near water,’ and they claim victory when the vic shows up a block from a fire hydrant.”

  Alec chuckled despite himself. Stokes obviously had attitude. Her own personality, rather than any rumors she might have heard about him, had likely been behind her posturing when they’d first met at yesterday’s meeting. He relaxed in his seat, beginning to suspect he could actually like her, if only she’d stop talking so much. And perhaps not kill him in a car crash.

  “Give me numbers and calculations over guesses and hypotheses any day.”

  Her opinion wasn’t unique. Lots of people both in the bureau and out of it cast a skeptical eye at some of the work done by the BAU. Usually it was because they got caught up in the thriller novels and the serial-killer movies that romanticized the job of profiler until it became unrealistic. As if they were the crime-solving psychics she spoke of so disdainfully.

  “Human beings often behave in patterns, like computer programs,” he replied. “Profilers keep track of the patterns and use them to their advantage. No magic. No psychic powers. It’s almost mathematical, really. Statistics and probability.”

  “And a bunch of psychobabble. But math and computers I get.” The other agent’s frown eased. “Meaning I should be the one to talk to this Dalton woman. Her being into computers, too.”

  They’d just exited the city and were on the beltway heading toward Baltimore to interview one Samantha Dalton. During yesterday’s examination of a computer belonging to one of the victims, the IT specialists had found communication between Ms. Dalton and Ryan Smith. They’d e-mailed within hours of the boy’s death, and he and Stokes had been assigned to go interview the woman, some computer expert.