“Everything,” she said. “Everything that matters to me anyway. I love you and that’s all there is.” She smiled and he felt better.
After getting a copy of the video from Burt Lolly, Jaxon and Sally paid a visit to the J. Edgar Hoover building on Pennsylvania Ave in downtown Washington D.C. Having been there many times in the past, the building was still something Jaxon hated, not only for its Brutalist style of architecture, the huge concrete structure taking up an entire city block, but for the memories it wrung from his much maligned brain regarding his son’s murder and the subsequent investigation.
As a victim of another notorious serial killer, Michael had been the catalyst for the FBI’s involvement and Emory Holt’s rapid advancement to section chief. The then twelve year old Michael, had suffered at the hands of Malcom Switzer, and with the public outcry at the brutal slaying, the FBI felt they needed to get involved. Jaxon’s Department had gotten nowhere on the case and Holt had come in and broke it wide open.
Of course, Jaxon had remained outside the investigation of his own son. At least officially, but when they arrested Switzer at his sleazy, Herndon trailer, Jaxon had been there and it had taken the entire force to keep him at bay. Jaxon had still managed to shoot the killer in the leg. He survived and was now on death row, awaiting his execution for the murders of Michael and five other victims of his sick and demented mind. Jaxon would be there, front row and center, when the time came, to help him on his way. If only they would let him pull the switch.
Jaxon’s ex-wife was another problem. She had been a police officer in Fairfax with him, but after their son’s murder, she could not hide the blame she felt Jaxon deserved and had terminated their relationship along with her employment with the Fairfax County Police Department. She had then enlisted Holt’s help in securing her a position with the Bureau. After that it had only been a matter of time before she and Holt became a couple. Victoria Elliot was here, and the hatred he believed she felt toward him was something he could feel oozing from the walls as they entered the main floor.
“Detectives Jennings and Winston to see special agent Holt,” Jaxon told the receptionist.
“Is he expecting you?” she asked.
“No.”
She nodded and picked up the phone.
The main lobby was decorated in early 1970’s government. The furniture looked new, just not new in design. Framed pictures of the President and Vice President loomed over the reception desk while previous Bureau Directors trailed off in either direction. Silence permeated the area with the exception of a keyboard clicking somewhere and Sally sniffling as they waited.
“Agent Holt will be with you shortly,” the receptionist said, and indicated they were to sit until he arrived. Jaxon stood and stared at the pictures. Sally sat in a pale green, plastic, upholstered chair that looked far from comfortable. She fidgeted around in it for a few minutes, then stood up again.
“Maybe if you turned it upside-down with its little stubby legs sticking up,” Jaxon said, “you might be able to relax in it.”
She smiled at him. “This place rocks!”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Emory Holt said from behind Jaxon’s back.
Jaxon turned around and took in his old friend’s appearance. Taller than Jaxon, Holt’s greying hair was neatly trimmed tight around his ears and his gold, wire rimmed glasses sat down on the edge of his nose. His grey eyes conveyed a warmth Jaxon had a hard time appreciating. Holt smiled and extended his hand. Jaxon took it.
“Jaxon, good to see you. Detective Winston,” Holt grabbed Sally’s hand and pumped it once.
“Special Agent Holt. How are you?” Sally asked.
“Fine, fine. I hear you two are having a little trouble down there. Finally decided to bring in the experts, huh?” He laughed, but his humor failed to elicit the correct response from Jaxon. Sally smiled.
“Not yet, Holt,” Jaxon said. “We’re just looking for information and hoping you could give us a hand with it.”
“Whatever you need. Come on. Let’s go up to my office.”
They entered the elevator by the reception desk and rode up three floors to Holt’s office. He sat behind his desk and gestured to two chairs across from him. As they sat, Jaxon glanced around, his eyes settling on the framed picture of his ex-wife in a formal dress beside a tuxedoed Holt. Holt saw him looking and then pretended to miss it.
“So, what can the FBI do for Fairfax County’s finest?” Holt asked.
Jaxon pulled out a printout and handed it across the desk to Holt. “We need to see if you can track where this call originated from. It was routed through a Voice Over Internet Protocol, VoIP, phone service called Cobra Call based in Moscow.”
Holt was shaking his head. “Tough one my friend,” Holt said. “We’ve only been able to get information out of them once or twice. It’s the Russian mob and they are not too friendly with us.”
“I figured,” Jaxon said, “but I’d like for you to try. Can you give it a shot? It’s important.”
“I suspected as much or you wouldn’t be here.” He stared at Jaxon for a moment. “Is this related to the pool murders?”
“Yes,” Jaxon said.
Holt nodded, sat up straight and looked over the printout. “Who was the call made to?”
“My cell.”
Holt’s eyes looked up at him over the printout. “Who was the caller?”
Jaxon fidgeted for a second. “We’re pretty sure it was the perp. His voice was electronically altered, but he had knowledge of the case that has not been publically released.”
“What did he say?”
“He was basically taunting us.”
“Yes, I would suspect so, but what was the exact conversation.”
Jaxon sighed and pulled out his notebook. He read from his notes and Holt listened carefully with his fingers steepled over his desk and his eyes focused on the ceiling.
“He’s a brazen bastard isn’t he?” Holt said when Jaxon was finished. “Any luck finding traces of him after the call. I’m assuming you combed the area.”
“That’s the other favor we need,” Jaxon said, pulling out another printout. “He installed a kind of web-cam to a light pole and accessed the feed through a server belonging to a company here in the U.S.” He handed the information to Holt. “We could subpoena the company for its records, but I thought you might be able to do it faster.”
“This one will be easier,” Holt said. “Though it may not be what you expect. Usually these companies allow access to the server with just a user name, password, and the serial number from the device itself. They do not have to collect any personal information such as addresses or phone numbers.”
“I’m aware of that,” Jaxon said. “I was hoping to find out where he is accessing the server from.”
“We can usually get an I.P. address from the server records, but if it ends up being a public internet cafe or some wi-fi hotspot, it may not prove useful.”
“Anything will be helpful at this point,” Jaxon said.
“I’ll see what I can find out. When do you want this?”
“As soon as you can. He’s killing kids and it doesn’t look like he’s going to stop.”
“Has he started helping you yet?”
Jaxon was surprised. “As a matter of fact, yes. That was part of the phone conversation. He provided us with a means to identify his first victim. It was a class photograph from the boy’s school.”
“You were unable to identify the first victim? Was he badly mutilated?”
“He was frozen. For twenty seven years.”
Holt’s eyebrows went up and he sat forward. “Where?”
“We don’t know. He could have kept him in a freezer anywhere.”
“No,” Holt said. “Where was the boy from?”
“Reston.”
Holt sat back in his chair, his finger resting on the side of his temple. “So this was 1984?”
“Stewart Littleton disappeared Halloween night, 1984. Yes.”
“Any animals turn up frozen?” Holt asked.
