Good Morning, Killer

“Nobody put it together. Nobody alerted Quantico to go back to the local police in Austin, South Beach and DC with what we now know.”

“But you did. I can see why Rick has a lot of faith in you.”

Fawning makes my teeth ache. Too much sugar in the Christmas punch.

“SOP,” I said dismissively.

“So how was it for you?” she asked, not going away.

“How was what for me?”

“The investigation. To confront what you were most afraid of?”

“I was afraid she’d be dead.”

I turned into the office of the kidnap squad.

Kelsey followed.

“Rick inside?” I asked the duo of wavy-haired clerks in miniskirts and high heels.

I took a chocolate kiss from a plate on the counter and smiled vacantly at Kelsey, wondering if she were going to explain to me what I was really afraid of. Kelsey Owen never would have guessed it was she. Or, I should say, Special Agent in Charge Galloway’s keen interest in her. Why would he allow a rookie to tag along unless he wanted a report? Standing quietly with soft round hands crossed, holding a file, her patience seemed feigned. The move from NSD to crimes against children could not be accomplished in one leap. Besides, she was not that savvy — worn, thin-soled boots and a long flowery skirt with the big soft sweater to pick up the teal? A gold charm bracelet that peeked below the sleeve, shyly asking to be queried over and admired? Galloway, with his herbal supplements and out-of-control daughter, was just paranoid enough these days to recruit a susceptible wannabe to be his eyes and ears on a high-profile case. I really wanted to know to whom Kelsey Owen returned at night.

She trailed me into the supervisor’s office.

“Grab the hot seat,” offered Rick.

It was so cramped in there you got about two inches of legroom from the desk. Rick was looking expectantly over my head at Kelsey.

“I thought I would sit in. The SAC said it would be a good idea,” she announced.

“Really?”

“To learn from you. And Ana.”

Rick tipped back in his chair with a questioning look. If this was Galloway’s deal, Rick wasn’t in on it.

“Karen?”

“Kelsey.”

“Aren’t you on—?”

“The national security squad.” She nodded vigorously as if to affirm the waste of her talents. “But I have a degree in psychology and I want to move over to kidnapping.”

My boss rocked his chin at me. “If Ana doesn’t have any objection.”

How could I have an objection? Balling up the foil from the kiss, I fired it into the wastebasket.

“Nope.”

Kelsey settled into the other chair, positioned against the wall where I could not see her, like the goody- goody who always sat behind you, breathing cherry drops and ambition down your neck.

“This is what we’ve got from Quantico,” I told Rick. “At my request they sat with the locals and evaluated the evidence in those rape cases again. First of all, the victimology is similar. White teenage girls with long brown hair disappear from a mall. Nice girls, never in trouble, not your liberated types. Two of them are still missing. The victim in South Beach was reinterviewed. The assault took place in a vehicle. A truck. He was into asphyxiation. When he stopped at a gas station she escaped.” “She wasn’t drugged?”

“No, but this was several years ago. I’m guessing rape drugs weren’t as widely available.”

Rick seemed to buy it.

“What if we’re looking at a serial rapist,” I went on eagerly, “and the reason nobody tagged it is he kept moving out of their territories? He’s shrewd. He manipulates these girls at the same time the police walk right by him. He knows how to fit in, not draw attention to himself, because he’s just like everybody else.” Kelsey murmured, “This gives me the chills.”

“What are the lab results on the Santa Monica kidnapping?”

“They haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“Hello?”

“I specifically asked them to cross-reference the results. Arnold Reinhold, the head of lab, says, ‘We see this stuff by the bushel basket. Maybe a thousand a year,’ imitating Dr. Arnie’s hang-loose groove. ‘The only way we’d consider it special is if you had a bunch of these cases coming in and the same person in the lab got this stuff.’ I said, ‘Come on, you wouldn’t notice if some guy was choking girls with a metal chain?’” We shared a look of cynical frustration.

“Just tell me: why a lab way out in Fullerton? With all the traffic, it’s faster to overnight the stuff to Quantico.”

“Politics,” said Rick, disgusted.

We had recently started using Result Associates instead of the FBI facility back east. Somebody must have had connections, because the Sheriff’s Department and the Santa Monica police had switched some of their cases, too.

“The good news is we recovered major physical evidence I think will be significant.”

“Such as?”

“The partial impression of the sole of a boot. On her back.”

Rick’s expression was dispassionate, but there was a silence in the room, as between the ticks of a clock, as we all ran through in our minds the picture of how a man stomps with all his might on the back of an unconscious girl.

“What kind of boot?”

“They’re checking the Bureau database of footwear impressions. Maybe a work boot. Or those thick-soled shoes the punkers wear?”

“Dr. Martens.”

“Rick, you are too hip for words.”

Rick winked at Kelsey, who paused uncertainly, taking notes.

“The victim reported the shoes were shined, so they had to have some kind of leather uppers.”

“Keeps his weapons polished.”

He winked again, but it was more of a twitch.

“What else do the propellerheads say?”

“They’re all excited about examining the reverse side of the victim’s T-shirt, but you know, that’s what gets them off.”

“Gets their rotors turning.”

“The inside of the T-shirt might retain skin cells that could be enhanced to show more of the shoe print,” I explained to Kelsey.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m still lost. When you said—”

Rick ignored her. “All of that’s a good evidentiary base.” He snuck a look at his watch. There had been an abduction of a minor to Iran that morning. “What was Juliana able to tell you about the offender? Anything about the method of approach? How hostile is this guy?” I shook my head. “She’s still in shock. I know there’s more, but her response was guarded.”

“I don’t like it,” Rick said sharply. “If this is a serial rapist, he’s going to repeat.”

“The nurse was an obstacle,” I muttered, hating myself for the lame excuse. Meanwhile, Kelsey was clearing her throat and fidgeting as if anxious to be called upon.

“When’s your next interview with the victim?”

“Thought I’d give it a couple of days.”

Kelsey was raising her hand.

Rick: “We need her narrative,” putting stuff in his briefcase. “Sooner rather than later.”

“Can I talk to Juliana?” Kelsey was standing now. “I have experience treating battered women. I know the