vacation. He’s had the job for a year and a half. No previous employment record.’
Scott used the remote to bring up the next image.
‘This is the photo of King on file at the Department of Motor Vehicles. It’s five years old.’
The man in the portrait hadn’t smiled for the shot. His narrow face was pale in a manner that made him appear older than his age.
Scott continued. ‘His appearance is a good fit for the man local police had contact with last night and it was his Georgia plate on the car we were tracking from Arizona. The address for the license plate is the Mead Street one. What’s the latest from your house-to-house?’ He directed the question to Angie.
She was pulling her thin braids into a ponytail, exposing a neck that was slender despite a well-known penchant for daily workouts. ‘Usual story from the neighbors,’ she replied. ‘He’s quiet, don’t see him that much, puts his trash out on time. Can’t track down any friends or social set and no one at his work has socialized with him or been to his house.’
Mark added, ‘He doesn’t own a cell phone – in his name, at least – so we can’t track him that way.’
Eric nodded. ‘He has used the Internet, however. We’ve been following info we had from this website, off- the-grid-dot-net, where we believe King was operating under the screen name Tripper. And if he is Tripper, he successfully masked his identity while online. The IT guys are monitoring the site but there’s been no recent activity under that screen name. There are no leads there right now. Catch is, if King
Scott forwarded the image on the screen and a map came up. He used a laser pointer to point out a street on the map. ‘Here’s where police recovered the vehicle that was wearing King’s license plate. The man driving the vehicle matches King’s description on the basic levels and we are working on the assumption that the man, who was wounded and wearing a police uniform or replica, was indeed King.’
He pointed to another location on the map on the screen. ‘Here’s Chesterton General, where King escaped on foot. And here –’ he pointed at another location two miles away – ‘is King’s residence. At about the time he was escaping from the ambulance at the hospital . . .’ Scott paused to consult his notes.
Mark finished his sentence. ‘We were breaking down his front door on the search warrant. If he’s tried to come home, then he knows we’re crawling all over it.’
Angie’s cell phone rang but she addressed the room as she pulled it from her pocket. ‘We’ve got surveillance at both ends of the street in case he does turn up. Nicks.’ This last was said into her phone. ‘Thanks.’ She stood up. ‘The scientists are here. I’ll escort them.’
Jayne and Steelie still had damp hair from the quick wake-up showers they’d taken at the motel after the overnight flight from Los Angeles. But hot water could do only so much and they’d maintained a fatigue-induced silence during the ride in a government vehicle to FBI Headquarters. The woman who met them in Reception introduced herself as Agent Angela Nicks and they hurried to follow her to the security station. Her swift pace befitted her short but compact stature and she led the way as soon as they had their Visitor badges.
She glanced back at them as she walked. ‘Motel OK? You need anything?’
Steelie pulled her glasses from the pocket of her shirt and began cleaning them. ‘Weirdly, I think I’m ready for breakfast.’
‘We’ve got stuff in the briefing room. Muffins, bagels, coffee. Sound OK?’
‘Sounds like I should come ’round here more often.’
They were passing offices that came off both sides of the hall and open doors revealed agents at work. Jayne half expected to find their way barred by the infamous Supervisory Special Agent Franks about whom Eric had told infuriating stories last night at the airport. She was still smarting over the fact that SSA Franks had acted on an anonymous tip about impropriety between Scott and Agency 32/1 without vetting anyone who called in with such specific information.
‘This is the office Mark and I share.’ Angie pointed into a room as they walked past. Two desks pushed up against each other, both relatively neat, with a potted plant right on the dividing line.
‘And here’s the briefing room.’ Angie swung open the door that anchored the end of the hallway.
Jayne saw Eric bent over a projector while Scott was at a table to the side. Both men greeted them and Angie introduced them to Special Agent Mark Wilson, sitting at a computer. As soon as he stood up, she saw how tall and trim he was, the brush cut he wore contributing to his air of neatness. He came over with a friendly smile and shook hands with a strong grip.
‘Good to meet you. Welcome to Atlanta. How you guys feeling?’
Jayne replied, ‘Been more awake before but we’re ready to help out on this.’
‘Great. Help yourselves to coffee.’
They put their bags on chairs and joined Scott, who was spreading cream cheese across a bagel sitting in halves on a paper plate. He winked at Jayne and she surreptitiously grinned back, noticing that he’d traded his blue suit for a black one, though he wasn’t wearing the jacket.
She relished seeing his left side after using the waking hours on the flight to study his right side, which was all she could see of him from one row back and across the aisle, as she continually turned over how he’d behaved after his meltdown on the freeway. He wasn’t ashamed of the impact Kate Alston had had on him and he hadn’t apologized for almost running them off the road while having a flashback. He’d even told Eric what had happened. He seemed to accept that there could be fallout from his work. Could she follow his lead? And if that kiss was just a prelude to what could happen between them, could he accept in her something she hadn’t yet accepted in herself?
A bright light in the briefing room behind her brought her to the present and she turned to see the projection screen lit up with an electronic map. She followed Scott and Steelie to sit at the table.
Angie picked up a remote control and pointed it at the projector. The map on the screen switched to a photograph of a smiling woman. Her face was full, her brown hair showing white roots, and she looked as though she was laughing at being teased. Her shoulders were visible around her sleeveless flowered top.
It was Eric who gave the photo a caption. ‘Eleanor Patterson.’
Jayne and Steelie simultaneously sat up straighter in their chairs. It was a shock to see a photograph of the woman whose dismembered limbs they were so familiar with, whose surgical plate had led to her identification. Eleanor Patterson, of whom only her arms had been found so far.
Scott addressed the room. ‘Patterson is the only identified victim we can associate with the perp’s van so we need to do two things as a matter of priority: put her with him while she was still alive and determine if how they met will give us a lead on where he is now.’
Eric said, ‘Starting with what we know about Patterson: the Thirty-two One preliminary analysis suggested that she had been the victim of physical abuse but the misper report filed by her husband made no mention of any scars related to that nor was there any mention of the surgical plate we eventually used to ID her. So we had Carlisle PD talk to the husband. They just sent over their report.’
Eric held up a piece of paper that looked like an email print-out.
‘OK, the husband admits to the beating but said he didn’t report it because he didn’t realize it would be helpful. Didn’t expect her to be found dead because when she left, she didn’t take any of her belongings or clothes and left behind her credit cards. He presumed she’d gone off to start a new life with one of the men he alleged she was having affairs with. Oh, and he told the Carlisle cops that he didn’t want to have her body returned to him; that he’d only filed the misper report so she would come back and, quote-unquote, get her shit.’
Eric looked up at the group. ‘Apparently, he’s still got her “shit” kept perfectly in place in an upstairs room. Carlisle PD has no leads on how Patterson came to be outside of Oregon, let alone dead.’
Steelie cleared her throat. ‘I know Jayne and I are here about the body parts at the suspect’s house, but I’ve just had an idea about this woman.’
Eric gestured with his hand, inviting her to continue.
She glanced at the screen. ‘OK, you said she left without belongings, not even credit cards, and that you have confirmation that she was being beaten?’
Scott said, ‘Yes.’ He was looking at her intently.
‘OK. Our sense from the healed fractures on her arm bones was that the abuse had been taking place over a long period of time. So I’m thinking that maybe she finally decided to do something about it.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Eric. ‘She didn’t report the abuse.’
‘I don’t mean reporting. I mean she decided to get the hell out of Dodge. What about checking with shelters
