Thursday, September 19
Tempe University
Tempe, Arizona
ANOTHER DB ON campus. Another coed tortured, raped, and killed. The advance report had come in that the MO was different than those used on Sally Cartwright and Darlene Dillinger. But the signature was the same. Adjacent to the ear, a section of temporal bone had been removed.
Caitlin looked straight ahead, scanning the horizon as they approached the east-campus parking lot. But from the corner of her eye, she caught the stony look on Spense’s face, the determined set of his jaw. “Spense?”
When he didn’t respond, she realized he must be gathering his concentration, pulling in his focus. She’d almost forgotten how hard he had to work to tune out the extraneous noise in the world. She raised her voice slightly, just enough to be sure he heard her. “Spense?”
“You think this is the work of Man in the Maze . . . I mean here we go again. Different MO, same signature.”
“It could be him, or it could be anyone in the club.” His golden eyes darkened until his pupils all but eclipsed the iris.
Her gut clenched at the realization they had no idea how extensive this Labyrinth was. But Spense had said it was likely new, given the fact there was nothing in ViCAP. No nationwide grab for the bony labyrinths of college coeds—at least none that had been entered into the system. Once the signature was broadcast via the media, though, more reports might come in. But she could hope for the best, that the club was in its nascent form, with few members, or at least only a few who were true killers.
Spense eased up on the accelerator, and the look he sent her told her he was about to order her to stay in the car. Preemptively, she leapt out the passenger door, just as he finished applying the brake, but before the Rodeo had come to a complete stop. The car screeched to a halt, and Spense bolted out of the car, coming up behind her before she could get a yard ahead of him. He had a good foot in height on her, and there was no way she could outrun him, even if her flank hadn’t been burning like a son of a bitch.
“You don’t have to do this, Caity.” His hand was on her shoulder.
She turned to face him. “Yes, Spense. I do.”
“You got nothing to prove here. They already know you’re tough—Baskin, Herrera, Thompson. And even if they don’t, I know you’re tough, so there’s no sense in putting yourself through another crime scene just to make a point.”
“I’m not trying to make any point, Spense. This isn’t about me. I could give a flying fuck what Baskin and Thompson think of me. I need to see this with my own eyes. Maybe I’ll catch something another would miss. I mean you have to admit, I’m the one who connected the temporal bone to the Man in the Maze.”
“Photographs are one thing. Dead bodies are another, and if this is the work of a sexual sadist, it’s not going to be something you’ll soon forget.”
“I may be a psychiatrist, but I’m still a doctor. You think I’ve never seen a dead body before? Never dissected a cadaver or attended an autopsy . . . been on duty in the ER when a gunshot wound came in? Not to mention I was at Graham’s crime scene less than forty-eight hours ago. I’ve seen it all, Spense. I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t going for bravado so much as believability, but Spense didn’t seem to buy it anyway.
He put his arms around her, caging her in. “You haven’t seen it all, Caity. You haven’t seen anything like this up close and in person, and you don’t have to . . . not now, not ever. Just leave this part to me.”
She pushed her arms up and used her elbows to break out of the cage. “No.” Sidestepping, she kept trekking up the grassy hill. It was obvious where the body had been dumped because she could see a team of uniforms up ahead. And Gretchen. Gretchen turned, and when she caught sight of them, she hurried down the embankment.
“What the hell, Spense? Why is she here?”
“I can’t leave her to fend for herself with a psychopath gunning for her.”
“I meant you should’ve left her in the car! There are plenty of uniforms around.”
“You and I both know the killer might be around, too, watching the show.”
“We can send Thompson back to the car with her. He can protect her until—”
“I’m right here, Agent Herrera.” She deliberately didn’t use Gretchen’s first name. Today she was all business. “So please don’t talk about me as if I’m not. I jumped out of the car before Spense could order me to stay put, but frankly, if he had, it wouldn’t have made a difference. You may have forgotten, but I’m a civilian, and I don’t take orders from the FBI.”
Herrera’s eyes narrowed. “At a crime scene, you sure as hell do, Doctor Cassidy. And you may be an independent consultant but you do report back to the BAU.”
Caitlin pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Her legs were shaking from the uphill climb—she was still a bit weak. Her breath was short, and her heart was just about to jump out of her chest, but she didn’t care. She had to see this evil with her own eyes. She had to know, once and for all, what kind of a monster . . . “You’re absolutely right. I’m out of line. This is your call, not mine. It’s true this is your scene, so if you order me to leave, I will. But I’d like to remind you, I’m the one who was shot, not you. I’m the one who watched Kramer die, not you. I’m the one who connected the Man in the Maze to the bony labyrinths taken as souvenirs. I’ve been in on this case from the start, and I want to see it through to the end. I’m not a child who needs to be spared the ugliness of it all. I’m a professional, and I can handle an in vivo crime scene no matter how violent, no matter how perverse it may be.”
Spense shrugged a what-can-we-do at Herrera. Gretchen hitched her chin toward the top of the embankment. “Oh, it’s perverse all right. But if this is what you think you need to do, you’ve earned the right. I have to warn you, however, that once you see something like this, Catlin, you can never unsee it.”
“Then I’ll add that to the list.” There were plenty of things she wished she could unsee. Whatever fate had befallen this poor girl, Caitlin intended to see it with her own eyes.
She pulled in a deep breath and immediately started to cough. The wind had changed course, carrying a strong smell of blood and excrement to her. Spense pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and she wasn’t too proud to accept it. When she finally crested the hill, she couldn’t see the body. Crime-scene tape stretched between the trees, and most of the team stood behind it, barking into their radios or scribbling in their notepads.
Someone handed her a pair of booties, and in a macabre way it seemed humorous, but maybe that was just her defenses kicking in. She thought of all the times she’d watched a female television detective trudge all over a crime scene in Louboutins. Fortunately, these booties would fit easily over her New Balance runners. They all pulled on gloves. It wasn’t too different from scrubbing in for the OR. Then the CSIs stopped snapping photos and moved to the side, and that’s when Caitlin saw her.
A young woman, probably nineteen or twenty. Long red hair fanned out around her, framing what was left of a face that looked to have been smashed repeatedly with something sharp and heavy. Likely that bloody rock lying at her side. Her nude body was caked with dirt and mud, but Caitlin could see the gashes crisscrossing her breasts and stomach. Her throat gaped open, and coagulated blood pooled around her shoulders like a scarf. Her legs, bent at the knees, had been parted and staked with tent spikes. Her genitals hung open, and from the appearance of her wounds, Caitlin surmised she’d been raped with a knife.
Judging from the carefully tied feet, the stakes that had been driven into the hard ground, the sheer number of wounds on the body, the killer had spent a great deal of time with his victim. And she could only guess at how much additional energy had been spent carving up the victim’s skull. She tilted her head, studying the scene, and her vision began to blur, her knees felt rubbery, then Spense was at her side, gripping her elbow.
She covered her mouth with her hand.
The brain was such an odd, protective organ, and denial was its first line of defense.
It had taken her all this time to see. The signature was new, but the MO was exactly the same. Not the same as Sally Cartwright or Darlene Dillinger.
The same as Gail Falconer.
Her eyes closed, and her legs buckled, but Spense held her up. She uncovered her mouth and dragged her palm over her face.
Open your eyes, Caity. What do you see?
The whirring of a camera sounded, and a CSI moved in, stooping low for a close shot of the abdomen. Caitlin steadied herself and stepped up to the body. What was he shooting? She squatted beside him and saw sunlight flashing from the umbilicus. At first she thought the girl must have a belly ring, but she was wrong. At least it wasn’t a piercing. It was an actual ring, stuffed in the umbilical recess.
She looked to Spense, unsure if she could touch the evidence.
“Okay if I take a look at that ring before you bag and tag?” He asked a uniform, reminding Caitlin this crime scene “belonged” to the Tempe Police Department.
The uniform nodded. “I think we’ve got all we need. Help yourself.”
Spense crouched next to the girl and carefully retrieved the ring. He muttered something unintelligible, something angry, under his breath. He brought Caitlin the ring, holding it out to her in his palm. “You want to look at the inscription, or should I?” His voice was strangled and hoarse, like he was barely keeping a lid on it.
The ring was a pink sapphire encircled by diamonds. As she held it, her heartbeat stopped, she could feel its absence, the emptiness in her chest. She took the delicate ring between her thumb and index fingers and twirled it until she could see the letters etched inside. Then slowly, her heart resumed its rhythm. Spense fixed her with his gaze, and she nodded at him. “The inscription reads GF.”
Gail Falconer.
The world tilted, and when she opened her eyes, Spense and Baskin had her under the arms, one man on each side. The look on Herrera’s face was some weird combination of worried and pissed. “I fainted?” Lord, she hoped she hadn’t fallen and disturbed the scene. Straightening, she took inventory. No dirt on her hands or clothes. Herrera was holding an evidence bag, presumably containing the ring that was no longer in Caitlin’s hand.
“Didn’t hit the dirt, so I can’t give you credit for a full faint,” Baskin said, in smooth-it-over tone.
“Take her down to the car, will you, Detective?” Herrera asked, but it was clear it wasn’t really a request. She fixed Spense with a glare, one that said she wanted to speak with him alone.
“It’d be my pleasure to escort Dr. Cassidy to a more . . . comfortable . . . spot.”
Pressure built in her head, and her hands were trembling as she shoved away from Baskin and Spense. Guilt washed over her. She was drawing the attention away from the girl and from the killer, all the important things, and onto herself. But it wasn’t the gore that had gotten to her, if that’s what Herrera thought. It was the ring, and all the implications of finding it here today. That ring appeared to be Gail Falconer’s engagement ring. The one she hadn’t taken off her finger since the night Randy Cantrell had given it to her. The one that had been removed from her body the night she was murdered.
The killer’s trophy.
Whoever had taken the ring off Gail that night, whoever had murdered Gail, must’ve left it on this poor girl today as some sort of sick message. And it certainly couldn’t have been Caitlin’s father. Thomas Cassidy did not murder Gail Falconer, and this ring was hard evidence that might clear his name. Yes, she’d been overcome with the realization. Yes, she’d fainted. If Herrera thought less of her for that, then fuck her. Her chin jerked up, her eyes stung with dry pressure. “Let’s go, Detective.”
Herrera grimaced at her, and she felt a pang of regret for her harsh thoughts. Gretchen was only doing her job. As she started down the hill with Baskin hovering beside her, Spense took a step forward, but she shot him a look she knew he’d understand: I’m okay. Stay here and find out everything you can.
By the time they made it to the parking lot, her legs felt strong and steady again, and her heart was not only beating, it pounded with energy. Adrenaline gushed through her system, pumping up her muscles, heating her skin, heightening her senses. A few yards from the car, the radio on Baskin’s shoulder crackled. A distorted male voice ordered, The chief wants you back here now.
Caitlin stopped and turned to him, “Thanks, Detective, I owe you one. Now get back up there and solve this case.”
Their gazes searched the area. Nothing but open space between her and the Rodeo. Uniforms within shouting distance on all sides. “I can take you the rest of the way. Let the chief wait,” Baskin said.
Reaching out, she squeezed his shoulder. “No way. I’m fine, and I don’t want to be known as the weak link in the task force. If you don’t get back now, they may never let me show my face at a scene again. I’m pretty sure I can walk ten yards on my own. You saw me truck down that hill, didn’t you?”
“Sure did.” A look of admiration filled his eyes, which made no sense to her. She’d fainted and created a distraction at a time when all attention should be focused on the crime. Still, a flush of warmth and appreciation toward Baskin made her smile as she watched him sprint back the way they’d come.
She took her time getting to the car. Now that no one was watching, she took it easy, gave herself the chance to catch her breath. The pounding in her head had increased to the point of pain, and she guessed her blood pressure must be through the roof. Which was good, because it meant she wasn’t going to faint again. Her every thought was on her father as she slipped into the car in the shotgun seat, his stoic face as they’d taken him from her family that night.
Mind coming down to the station? We’ve got a few questions for you, Mr. Cassidy.
How could he have known what was coming next? The intimidation, the lies, the threats, all designed to force a confession from him.
Her throated spasmed until she could hardly swallow. She leaned across the front seat, to hit the door locks and felt the hairs tingling on the back of her neck. Reflexively, she pushed her hands out, just as a thick muscular arm closed around her neck in a chokehold. A scream built in her chest and pushed and pushed its way up, but only a gurgle came out of her mouth. She caught a glimpse of a dark sleeve. A uniform. A gloved hand holding a serrated blade lowered before her eyes, and she knew he intended to slash her throat.
No!
In her head, she screamed, kicking with all her might and jabbing her elbow backward into some soft part of the man’s body. He grunted. Then his arm slipped just enough for her to draw a gasping breath before he clamped down again. She’d hurt him.
Good!
A buzzing in her ears drowned out all sound, and a dark veil fell across her vision. Still she kept flailing and kicking, her body growing fiercer as her mind fell into one circling thought.
It’s him.
Suddenly, a jolt of pure rage hit her. She slammed her head and elbow back at the same moment, hearing the harsh grunt of her attacker in her ear. She kicked one leg up, managing to somehow get her foot onto the steering wheel. Then she concentrated on that foot, willing it to move. Willing it to press hard until at last she heard it—the blare of the car horn.
The pressure on her neck let up, and she felt the knife draw across the flesh of her arm. She watched blood bubble up from her skin as the car door opened, and the uniform disappeared into the surrounding woods.
It’s him.