brother’s friendship with J. T. Caruso.
Hans said, “Okay, what’s said in this room stays here. We’re not here to arrest you, but I have to know that you’re going to tell us the truth. These killers are targeting specific men-and so far, all known victims served in the U.S. Army. Two, at least, have been Delta Force trained. Not easy men to kill.”
Megan pulled out a thick folder from her briefcase, opened it. Turned the first photograph around. “Duane Johnson, served in the U.S. Army, rank corporal, 1986 to 2006. According to his friends, he was Delta, but we don’t have military confirmation on that.”
“You may or may not get it,” Jack said.
She nodded. “I figured. I’m trusting his friends at this point, at least to the extent that we need to come up with a victimology and suspect profile. Johnson is likely the first victim, though there is some question on that. We’re looking into a fatal home robbery in Florida as well-it may or may not be connected.
“Johnson was killed two months ago in Austin, Texas, hamstrung in his garage when he came home from closing his restaurant. No suspects, no prints, no DNA, no witnesses. Trace evidence is at the Texas State lab, but so far nothing has popped. They’ve agreed to send the trace to Quantico. Las Vegas agreed as well, and our scientists will work on connecting the evidence to the same person or persons.
“Johnson was tortured prior to his execution-style murder.” She showed the crime scene photo of Johnson with the bullet to the head. “The coroner believes he was pierced with acupuncture-style needles, and although he can’t say for certain, he believes that the locations were chosen to cause intense pain by stimulating specific nerves. There were one hundred nineteen known punctures on his skin, though there may have been more. These types of very small holes heal quickly and are also easy to miss in an exam.”
She slid over the next photo. “Dennis Perry, 1995 to 2005. Both men were stationed out of Fort Bragg for all or part of their enlistment. We have confirmed that Duane Johnson was Delta-as best we can because the military hasn’t been forthcoming with information- and I suspect that Perry was as well. Las Vegas is our next stop. Same M.O.: hamstrung when he was entering his apartment, then tortured. He had something stuffed in his mouth, most likely to prevent him from calling out or screaming. There was a note on the report that some puncture wounds were from possible drug use. A low level of barbiturates were found in Perry’s system, but no mention of multiple acupuncture-type markings. Doesn’t mean they weren’t there, but I don’t know that after this long we’ll be able to determine anything. Still, he was hamstrung, tortured in some manner, and had a broken nose. Then he was shot in the back of the head like Johnson. FBI ballistics now has the evidence, and we should get a confirmation in a day or so whether the bullets came from the same gun.
“Finally.” She opened a second folder. Much thinner, mostly handwritten notes-hers. She showed the few pictures that she’d taken with her cell phone. “George Price. Homeless veteran in Sacramento. Early Monday morning, I got a call from Sac P.D. about a murder that matched an FBI hot sheet connecting the Johnson-Perry homicides. I run the Violent Crimes Squad, so I went to the scene.
“Price’s murder had the same M.O.: hamstrung, but he was homeless and attacked in an alley late Sunday night. Downtown Sacramento rolls up the sidewalks at night, and after midnight on Sunday, no one is out. At least no one with honorable intentions. Price was carried-this is how we know there were at least two people involved- into a parking garage, where we believe he was tortured in a similar manner to Johnson and Perry.”
“Carried? How did you figure that?” Jack asked.
“From the drops of blood. They were consistent with the victim being carried by two people,” Megan said. “The size and spacing of blood evidence, plus the scrapes on his bare feet, indicated that he’d been picked up by the armpits and carried.
“It’s a theory,” she added, backtracking a bit. “But it’s supported by the evidence we have.”
“I’m not questioning your theory,” Jack said. “Just curious how you came to the conclusion.”
Megan nodded, but wasn’t sure exactly what anyone was thinking. Was she wrong about the two killers? Had she read the evidence incorrectly? Been swept away by Simone Charles’s confidence? Saw what Simone saw, and nothing else?
Hans spoke. “There is at least one key difference. Price was AWOL since 2004, wanted for the attempted murder of his commanding officer. When we ran his I.D., CID came down on us hard. Took the body and evidence.”
“You have the photos.”
Megan shrugged. “I saw something and the photographer had moved on.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, and Megan ignored him. She said, “I learned through a friend with contacts at CID that Price didn’t die from the head shot. He had a heart attack. Either the killers knew he was dead, and shot him to make his murder identical in M.O. to the others- meaning that they want us to know they are choosing these victims, laying down bread crumbs so to speak- or it was overkill. They had to do it because they are obsessive- compulsive. Complete the cycle, execute the plan to the letter.”
Hans nodded. “I think the shooter had to follow through, the exact same way. He couldn’t do anything but.”
Megan shook her head. “I think the shooter did it because he wants us to know that Price connects to Perry and Johnson. And now your friend.”
“Why?” Hans said. “It’s classic OCD behavior. The killer had to perform according to the script. Like you said, execute the plan to the letter.”
“Yeah, but … the dog tags.” She looked at Hans, then turned to Jack. “The killers sent part of Price’s identification plate to my attention. They want to make damn sure that we know Price is part of the puzzle. It’s a message, and when we figure out the code we’ll know who did it.”
“And Scout was just another victim.”
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Megan said. Jack was staring at her, and the pain of his friend’s death hit her in her heart. Jack Kincaid was more than an arrogant soldier, he was also a compassionate soul who’d lost someone close to him.
“Father?”
When Hans spoke, Megan and Jack both averted their eyes and turned to Father Francis. He looked stricken.
Jack questioned, “Padre?”
Megan raised her eyes at the concern in Jack’s word. “Father Francis, what’s wrong? Do you know any of these men?”
He looked from Megan to Jack. “I knew all of them.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jack ran a hand over his face, walked over to the window, and stared into the darkness. The storm that had been threatening all night had just started to drop its load of rain. It would come down hard for an hour or two, then stop. Dawn should be clear, though another storm was heading their way. As he listened to Padre talk, Jack knew Padre was on the kill list. All he could think about was what had happened to turn someone against an entire special forces team.
“I’ve known Scout for nineteen years-same as Jack,” Padre said. “Jack and I were in the Rangers together, both of us young and stupid.”
“I wasn’t stupid,” Jack said automatically, though there was no humor in the joke he’d repeated a hundred times.
“Met Scout two years later when he transferred in from Virginia.”
“With the dog,” Jack said.
Padre nodded. “Scout had a thing for dogs. That mutt almost got him court-martialed.”
“Scout tried to convince our sergeant that the dog just showed up one morning.”
“Hannibal didn’t believe him, but he let the dog stay.”
“Drew the line on letting the mutt come on tour.”
Padre smiled sadly. “I didn’t know Duane until after Jack left. I was thinking of going as well …”
“But?” Hans said.
