Pat fisted his hands. “I couldn’t watch you lose everything. Jeopardize the entire mission, embarrass the army, embarrass me-” He stopped.
“This was about embarrassing you? People were killed because you pulled me out. The mission was never in jeopardy. I was risking only
“You can’t save the world, Jack.”
“But I could have saved them!” He slammed his fist against the wall. Pictured the Ortega family when he found them a week later, executed. Father, mother, children, grandmother. A family of nine murdered in cold blood because their father had taken a stand against the criminal Noriega and his thuggish cronies.
“You don’t know that. They were safe where they were. How do you know that your impulsive decision to move them didn’t lead to their enemies finding them when I sent them back home?”
Turning his back on his father, Jack stepped into the staircase. He ran up the thirteen floors and stood at the top, unable to exit to the roof. He pounded his fists on the locked door, then put his hands on his knees and breathed deeply.
He didn’t know if he was to blame for the Ortega family being slaughtered. Jack had lived with that guilt for twenty years.
CHAPTER FIVE
By the end of Tuesday, Megan had exhausted all avenues she could think of to regain control of the evidence and Price’s body. She finally decided to break ranks and call an old friend. If J. T. Caruso, one of the principals in the local office of Rogan-Caruso Protective Services, couldn’t find the answers she needed, no one could.
She was one of the select few who had J.T.’s private cell phone number-courtesy of her brother who had been in the navy SEALs with J.T.-though she rarely used it.
“Caruso,” the deep voice said.
“It’s Megan Elliott.”
“Meg,” J.T. said warmly. “How are you doing?”
“Personally, fine. Professionally … well, I have a situation I need your advice on.”
“Does it have to do with the dead veteran you pulled yesterday?”
It always unnerved Megan how J.T. seemed to know everything. “I swear you’re a psychic.”
He laughed honestly, seeming to surprise both himself and Megan. “Sometimes I wish I were. Truth, Mitch mentioned it to me this morning. Do you need to borrow him? I know your squad is spread thin.”
She hadn’t even talked to her ex-husband, Mitch Bianchi, but he still had a lot of friends on the squad. Half the time Megan wished she had never encouraged him to take the job offer from Rogan-Caruso last year. The best agent in fugitive apprehension, Mitch’s exceptional instincts and abilities were sorely missed. However, Megan had to admit that Mitch was better suited to private investigation than following the rigid rules of federal law enforcement.
“Thanks, J.T, but I really need you on this one.”
“What can I do?”
“You were in the military police, weren’t you?”
“Navy.”
“My victim was AWOL from the army. Their CID took my evidence and my body. I want them back.”
“That won’t be possible. The army-hell, the entire military-doesn’t like to share. If CID has flexed its ju- risdictional muscles, you’re out of luck. Though I’m surprised they acted so quickly.”
“That’s what I thought as well, but the vic attempted to kill his commanding officer. At least that’s what they told us.”
“Okay, that makes more sense. If he was simply a deserter they’d probably have been satisfied with positive identification and the coroner’s report.”
“Price is the third in a string of murders with the same M.O. Two dead men in two other states killed by the same people.”
“There’s more than one killer?”
“Evidence suggests there were at least two on scene.”
“How common are serial killers working in pairs?”
“Not rare, but not common. There’ve been several high-profile cases-the Hillside Stranglers; several male- female partnerships, where the woman lures the victim into the trap; Bittaker and Norris, who were prison buddies and started a killing spree when they got out. There’s usually a dominant and submissive- Why am I telling you this?”
“It’s interesting.”
“You don’t need me to teach you Forensic Profiling 101,” Megan said.
“I don’t usually draw such violent cases.”
It was Megan’s turn to laugh. “Perhaps not serial murderers, but don’t forget I’ve known you for a long time.”
“I could never forget that,” he said, perhaps too seriously, or maybe because Megan was on pins and needles. “What would you like me to do?”
“If I can’t get the evidence back, do you think you can find out what’s going on? I am particularly interested in the autopsy report and any trace evidence report. The Sacramento Police Department isn’t letting go; the detective in charge is digging into the victim’s background, his last few weeks, trying to put together some sort of victimology profile, plus following up on one lead we had before the CID took our case. But without the autopsy report, a weapon analysis, and a comparison of the needle marks with the previous victims, it’ll be hard to tie him into the other two murders. I need to be sure we’re dealing with the same killer, or the joint investigation could be compromised.”
“Why? If you have two other victims, why is this one so important?”
“If there are three known victims attributed to the same killer, where the M.O. is similar and there is a cooling off period, that puts these killers into the serial murderer category and they’re most likely to kill again. It frees up staff and resources at the federal level, and when we’re competing with other, higher-priority squads like counterterrorism and counterintelligence-”
“Say no more. I know someone at the DOD. Let me see what I can find out. What information do you have on the victim?”
Megan shared everything she knew, and thanked J.T. She felt immensely better knowing that she was at least working the case.
Her BlackBerry rang and it was an out-of-state number. She took the call.
The caller had a Texas drawl, definitely southern with a slight accent that sounded Hispanic. “Miz Elliott? This is Detective Jose Vasquez with the Austin Police Department. To what honor do I owe speaking with the FBI?”
Megan couldn’t tell if Vasquez was being sarcastic or not. Her office had a terrific relationship with local law enforcement; other regional divisions didn’t. She glanced at her watch. It was after eight in the evening, putting Vasquez in Texas two hours later.
“Working late,” she said.
“So are you.”
Okay, no small talk. “I’m working with Sacramento Police Detective John Black. He told me he spoke with you briefly yesterday about a homicide two months ago in your jurisdiction.”
“Yes. He had a similar M.O. And the FBI is involved?”
“Three cases, similar M.O.s, and Black called me in early. We’ve worked together before.”
“What do you need to know?”
“My victim was in the military. Army. I’m trying to track down any connection among the three victims, but so far other than their gender, that they lived alone, and were roughly middle-age, we have nothing.”
“I sent Detective Black a copy of our files.”
She’d read them. “There was nothing about a military record. Did you run a check?”
“No need to. I didn’t see anything in the house-well, he had a POW sticker on his truck. Lotta people have
