Feinberg put his glasses back on, adjusted the rims around his ears, and said, 'I forgot to mention that Farley and I went through your mail. It’s piled up on the table by your front door.'
Laurant took the invasion of privacy in stride. Although it hadn’t occurred to her that the FBI would be opening her mail, the fact that they had didn’t bother her. They were simply being thorough, and that was something she appreciated.
Wesson took a step closer to Nick and said, 'Just so you understand. You’re here solely as Laurant’s bodyguard. Your job is to protect her every minute.'
Wesson’s tone had been antagonistic. Nick’s was mild in comparison. 'I know what my job is.'
'And the plan is to enrage the unsub, so both of you have got to put on a show everyone in town will believe.'
Nick nodded. Wesson wasn’t quite finished putting Nick in his place. 'My team will do the real work and catch this creep.'
'The real work?' Nick repeated sarcastically. 'We’re working this together, like it or not.'
'You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Morganstern,' Wesson pointed out.
'Yeah, well, I am here, and you’re going to have to deal with it.'
The mood had turned hostile. They were like bulls getting ready to butt heads. Laurant squeezed Nick’s hand. 'We should get going, don’t you think?'
Nick didn’t say another word. The phone rang just as he was opening the door to leave with Laurant. He turned back when he heard Wesson exclaim, 'Hot damn.'
Nick waited until he’d finished the conversation, then asked, 'Hot damn what?'
Wesson smiled smugly. 'We’ve got a crime scene.'
Chapter 17
Wesson was a prick. He was also crass, obnoxious, rude, and arrogant, and his people skills sucked. Worse, he lacked compassion.
The agent’s response to hearing that a farmer had stumbled upon the mutilated body of eighteen-year-old Tiffany Tara Tyler had been grossly inappropriate. Wesson had been downright jubilant. Shouting with glee, the man had all but broken out in song, and what made his unbridled enthusiasm all the more obscene was that Laurant, a civilian, was there watching him.
Nick wanted to get her out of the cabin before she saw or heard anything more, and deal with Wesson later, but when he took hold of Laurant’s arm to lead her outside, she pulled away. What she did next not only surprised him, but raised his admiration a notch.
She made Wesson squirm. She got right in his face so he couldn’t ignore her, and then she gave him hell. She reminded him that a young girl had been murdered, and if he couldn’t feel any remorse or pity for poor Tiffany, then perhaps he should consider another line of work.
When Wesson began to argue, Nick took over, but his language was much cruder than hers.
'That’s going in my report,' Wesson threatened.
'See that it does,' Nick countered.
Wesson decided to end the conversation. He resented that an outsider would offer an opinion about his behavior, and he wasn’t about to waste any of his valuable time trying to placate her. That fell under Nick’s job description.
'Just do what I tell you to do, and we’ll catch him,' he said.
She didn’t back down. 'And keep my opinions to myself?'
He didn’t see any need to answer. Turning back to the computer, he ignored her.
Laurant swung around. 'Nick, may I use your phone?' He handed it to her. 'What’s Dr. Morganstern’s private number?'
Wesson did a one-eighty in the swivel office chair and sprang to his feet. 'If you have any problems, you bring them to me.'
'I don’t think so.'
'Excuse me?'
'I said, I don’t think so.'
Wesson looked at Nick for help in dealing with the difficult woman. Nick simply stared back at him as he rattled off Morganstern’s phone number. 'Just hit thirty-two. It will speed dial the number for you.'
'Look, ma’am, I know I sounded…'
She paused in dialing. 'Callous, Mr. Wesson. You sounded cold-hearted, cruel, and callous.'
Wesson tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes at her. 'It doesn’t do any of us any good to get personally involved. We’re trying to catch this pervert so that there won’t be any more dead bodies.'
'Her name was Tiffany,' Nick reminded.
'I’d like you to say her name,' Laurant told him.
Shaking his head resignedly, as though he’d say or do anything just to get her off his back, he said, 'Tiffany. Her name was Tiffany Tara Tyler.'
She handed the phone back to Nick and marched out of the cabin. She was inside the car before Nick could open the door for her.
'What an obnoxious man,' she said.
'Yes, he is,' he agreed. 'You made him sweat, and I didn’t think that was possible.'
'I don’t understand why Pete would put someone like him in charge.'
'He didn’t. Pete is consulting on this case. O’Leary’s the one in charge, and Wesson works under him.'
Nick headed the car back toward town. The sun was just beginning to disappear behind the trees, creating a luminous glow on the lake’s surface.
Laurant’s thoughts were on Tiffany. 'Wesson actually cheered when he heard about that poor girl.'
Nick felt compelled to set the record straight. 'No, he didn’t cheer because a woman was murdered. He was excited because we now have a crime scene, and hopefully, that’s going to change things. I’m not excusing Wesson’s behavior,' he added. 'I’m just trying to explain it. He’s supposed to be a good agent. I’ve only worked with him once in the past, but that was a long time ago, and we were both new and inexperienced. Pete says he’s good. But Wesson’s going to have to prove it to me.'
'You said that now that you have a crime scene, things will change. How?'
'Every killer leaves what the profilers call his personal signature at his crime scene. It’s an expression of his sick and violent fantasies, and it will tell us a lot about him.'
'He’s careful, you said so yourself. What if there aren’t any clues at the crime scene?'
'There will be,' he assured her. 'Whenever one person comes into contact with another, he leaves something behind, no matter how careful he is. A hair follicle, a scale of skin, a bit of a fingernail, tread marks from the bottom of his shoes, or maybe a thread from his pants or shirt… there’s always something left behind. The trick won’t be finding the evidence. It’s the analyzing what they find that’s more difficult. It will take time and care. And while the criminologists are doing their job, the photos of the scene will be sent to the profiler and he’ll tell us what fantasies the unsub’s acting out.'
He glanced over at her before continuing. 'A killer’s signature ' he explained, 'is his psychological calling card. He can change the methods he uses and the where and the when and the how, but he never changes his signature.'
'You mean there’s always a pattern.'
'Yes,' he agreed. 'Like the marks on the body or the way the body is positioned. The profiler looks at that and figures out what the killer is really after. I can already tell you that, with this man, it’s all about control.'
Nick stopped the car at the corner of Oak and Main. A young woman pushing a baby stroller crossed the street in front of them. She paused to give Nick the once-over and to wave at Laurant before continuing on.
'My house is on the next block, second from the corner. But I don’t want to go there. I wish we could just check into a motel.'
'You’ve got to go home and act like nothing’s wrong, remember?'
