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Twenty-One

The face from the restaurant video was haunting me, even with the fresh download of Dominick Banks’s crime scene. I knew that face from somewhere, and not knowing where was going to drive me mad. It was sort of like when you tried to remember the name of a movie or an actor and it wouldn’t come to you. Or even worse, when it’s just the glimpse of an image or the trace of a thought and you couldn’t even come up with the right words for Google to find the answer for you. Until I figured out why he looked familiar—whether he made me think of someone I’d seen in my life or someone who came up within the confines of the case—it was going to eat away at me.

The four of us, plus Marsh, were in the conference room back at the station. She was standing in front of a map of Miami that was attached to a whiteboard with black magnets in the corners. Small, colored magnetic pins were scattered on the map. Marsh was prepared to school us on geography.

Jack and I had briefed everyone on how we’d made out with Banks’s neighbors, which hadn’t been great. In fact, they hadn’t produced any leads. No one saw or heard anything. It was like the unsub we were after was a ghost.

“I’ve read the GPS report from Checker Limousine. It shows the car going to Magical Bar & Grill at nine thirty, like we figured it would, but it didn’t leave until eleven when it went to Bridges’s, where the car showed at around eleven thirty. From there it goes dead, just as they told us at Checker,” Zach said.

“Banks was killed in the bar’s parking lot,” I said.

“Looks like,” Zach replied.

“So our unsub obviously dropped off Banks’s body after he’d disabled the tracker and before he returned the car. It was sometime during the wee hours, as we thought. That’s probably why none of the neighbors saw anything,” I reasoned. “They’d be asleep.”

“Okay, the call log gave us a little more than we’d expected,” Paige said. “There were a few pickups on Bridges’s account, starting with a pickup at Kelter’s house at eleven thirty yesterday morning.” Paige glanced at Zach and Marsh. “There was also a pickup at a movie theater at three forty-five yesterday afternoon.”

“So Kelter did go to the movies,” Zach said.

Paige nodded. “It would seem so. She got to Bridges’s at four fifteen. Next call charged to Bridges’s account was a pickup at her house at eight thirty.”

“About the time Bridges said that Kelter got restless and went ahead to the bar,” Marsh chimed in.

“Yes.” Paige pointed her finger at Marsh and smiled. “Then the pickup for Bridges at the hospital and the drop-off at nine thirty at the bar.”

“Good,” Jack said. “And how did Crime Scene make out?”

“They were still working over the vehicle when we left to come back here,” Zach replied. “The lead CSI said they’d be at it for a while. They might even bring the vehicle in to examine in more depth.”

Jack turned to Marsh. “All right. Tell us what you have.”

Marsh pointed to a red pin on the map. “That’s La Casa de Jose.” She pointed to another pin. “Miami-Dade County Courthouse, where West’s head was left.” Another pin. “Hanover & Smith, LLP, where Sullivan’s head was delivered.”

“All in the downtown area,” I said. “Within nine city blocks.”

“It would indicate he is comfortable in the area, possibly lives or work around there.” Paige reached for the water pitcher and filled her glass. She took a quick sip and added, “Hanover & Smith represented Sullivan specifically, but both trials were heard at Miami-Dade County Courthouse. I’m sure Kelter’s was, too.”

Marsh nodded.

“Could there be something to that? Maybe our unsub has a past connection to the courthouse?” Paige wondered aloud, glancing at Marsh.

“Likely a broad sweep,” Marsh said. “All DUI offenses for the area would be tried there.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Paige blew out a breath that had her bangs flying up.

There was something to Paige’s statement. “He liked the courthouse for his first platform,” I said, “but didn’t return there with Sullivan’s head. As we know, her head was delivered directly to her lawyer. He took a more brazen approach. He wasn’t content to just drop her head off, he wanted it hand-delivered. I think he wanted to make more of a splash, an impact, with his second victim.”

“Having the entire city see the report about the head on the courthouse steps wasn’t enough to satisfy him?” Marsh argued, testing my patience.

I was about to rebut when Zach said, “I think Brandon might be right. The courthouse steps weren’t intimate enough, personal enough.”

Bathed in validation and loving the feeling, I went on. “By delivering Sullivan’s head to the lawyer’s office, was it also meant as a threat to the lawyer? We know that Kelter had received hate mail and so had West, so who’s to say that the lawyers didn’t get any directed at them?” I leveled my gaze on Marsh, curious if she’d ever looked into the matter.

“I think we’re getting off topic here. Let’s stay focused.” With that, Jack brought any warm and gooey feelings I had to an end. He got up and traced the nine-block perimeter with a finger. “So we can see our unsub gravitates to this area, but where do the victims live?”

Marsh pointed out three blue pins and rattled off the surnames as she went along. “All three are outside of the activity radius.”

“Where’s Bridges’s place on the map?” I asked.

“Here.” Marsh put a fingertip to a green pin. It was outside the activity radius, too.

Jack got to his feet and paced. “Where were West’s and Sullivan’s accidents?”

“West’s was at the corner of Northeast First Avenue and Northeast Second Street.” Marsh pointed to a yellow pin on the board. “That’s only two blocks from West’s campus.”

“It’s also to the west of Northeast First Street,” Zach said. “Whereas Kelter’s church is to the east.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Marsh said. “West and his friends had been drinking at Club One on Northwest First Street and Northeast Second Avenue.” This time a purple pin.

Marsh was nothing if not a slave to color coding. Red for disposal sites and the restaurant where our presumed unsub had been. Blue pins for victims’ homes. Green for Bridges’s residence. Yellow for accident sites. Purple for the victims’ drinking spots.

Speaking of…

“Both West and Kelter were drinking in the downtown area,” I noted.

“Yes. Even Sullivan had drinks at Rendezvous, here.” Marsh indicated the intersection of West Flagler Street and North Miami Avenue. “And her accident was here.” A yellow pin marked West Flagler and Northwest First Avenue.

“Near the courthouse,” I observed.

“Yes. Kitty-corner,” Marsh confirmed.

I focused on the map, willing myself to come up with something brilliant. My gaze went to the green pin for Bridges’s home and the yellow pin for Kelter’s accident. They were a fair distance apart. “I thought Kelter had dropped Bridges off the night of the accident.”

Marsh traced out a route on the map that went from the bar to Bridges’s to the accident site. “Everything related to the accidents happened within this radius.” Marsh moved her finger around the map, circling everything from the college campus in the north to Southwest First Street in the south and Northeast Second Avenue in the east and Northwest First Avenue in the west, extending out to include the victims’ and Bridges’s homes.

“So we’re just looking at a bit of a larger activity radius,” I said.

“About thirty-three square blocks,” Zach said, having counted everything that quickly.

My gaze was fixed on the map, and my mind was on the locations of the accidents. “They were close enough that maybe—”

Jack raised his brows. “What were close enough?”

I could have just said the accidents were close enough and went on to share my point. But with everyone staring at me, I had swallowed the word accidents as a jagged lump. “I have a hard time calling them accidents.” The back of my neck stiffened, prepared for a debate.

“What else would they be?” Paige narrowed her eyes. “Do you think they were intentional?”

“I think they could have been prevented.”

Paige groaned. “You can’t relate to drinking and getting behind the wheel or even thinking about doing so? Maybe a friend has stopped you from doing it in the past?”

I glanced at Jack and the others. None of them were about to jump in. Jack must have had a reason for letting Paige and me talk this out.

“So?” Paige’s eyes challenged me.

She didn’t know I’d driven under the influence briefly when I was younger or how it had changed my perspective on drinking and driving. But with her steady eye contact, another memory surfaced. It had been my first case with the BAU, and it had taken us to Florida, as well. I’d gone out with Paige, and we’d met up with an old friend of mine. We’d had some wings and beers, and she’d had to reinforce that I wasn’t fit to drive.

Jack took a seat, leaned back, and clasped his hands. It was apparent he wasn’t going to stop us anytime soon.

I felt my cheeks heat. “There’s a difference between thinking about it and actually doing it.”

“And what’s that difference?” Paige paused, jutting out her chin. “A good friend who is there to help you realize that you shouldn’t drive? What if a friend like that isn’t around? What if everyone you are with is tipsy? There wouldn’t be any sound judgment in the bunch of you. Is it plausible, then, that you’d get behind the wheel?”

Now I knew how defendants felt on the stand. “It’s plausible, but I don’t see myself doing it.”

“But it’s plausible. So let’s say the person has a little less resolve than you do or they really don’t think they’re feeling it. They get behind the wheel—” Paige walked her fingers across the table “—and off they go.” She swept her hand across the surface. “Then they get into an accident. Do you consider them a horrible person? A monster? Or do you extend some mercy and see them as a fallible human being who made an error in judgment?” Paige’s cheeks were red and her jaw tight.

“I view them as making a horrible choice.”

“Ah.” Paige pointed a finger at me. “But is it really a choice? Are they even thinking about whether or not they should drive?”

“They sure as hell should be,” I shot back, my temper fully ignited.

“If they were sober enough, aware enough to make a choice, then yes, if they get into an accident and kill someone, that’s a different story. But with most people who get behind the wheel intoxicated, it’s not premeditated.”

“If they know they’re going to drink, they should make transportation arrangements ahead of time.” I bit back saying that that’s what designated drivers were for. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“You’re missing the point,” Paige said with a groan.

“All right. That’s enough,” Jack barked. “You both feel strongly on the matter, and I’ve let you get it out.”

I was having a hard time getting a satisfying breath despite heaving for air. My nostrils were flaring. My core was overheating. A pulse was throbbing in my cheek. And my gaze was locked on Paige.

“But it doesn’t matter how either of you feel.” Jack shot to his feet. “What matters is how our killer views drunk drivers.” Jack glanced at me. “I’d say he probably views them the way you do, Brandon.”

For some reason, hearing that made me feel somewhat victorious. Though what did I win? I was right, and Paige was wrong?

Jack turned to me. “So why do you feel so strongly?”

I detected judgment and responded quickly. “Because it’s wrong.”

“No personal experience with the matter?” Jack pressed.

I certainly wasn’t about to share my personal history, even if it proved helpful. And I didn’t see how it would. Saying it had happened to a friend wouldn’t fly in this room, either. “No. It’s just something wired into me, I guess.”

“Well, I doubt it’s as simple as that for our unsub,” Jack said. “Something in his life triggered him to take things as far as he does.” He took a few steps.

“I’d say that’s a good assumption,” Marsh replied, cutting through the tension in the room.

Paige and I kept looking at each other but we’d both glance away to hide it. Why was she so opinionated on the matter? Was the matter personal to her or was she protecting someone?

“It probably wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look at the families affected by the people West and Sullivan killed to see if we find this guy,” Jack stated. “We have a picture now, so maybe they’ll recognize him?”

I know I certainly did, but I still couldn’t pinpoint why. I looked at the printout of the still from the restaurant security video. I got up and walked to the board.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“I recognize him.”

Paige snickered, and I cut her a glare.

She held up her hands and smiled. “What? We all do.”

If we were alone, I’d call her a smart-ass. “I meant from somewhere other than the restaurant.”

“Close your eyes,” Zach directed me.

“I don’t want to—”

“Do it.”

I closed them.

“Now answer my questions quickly,” he instructed. “Does his face look familiar to you?”

“Yes.”

“Does it have to do with La Casa de Jose?”

“Yes.”

“Because of anything else?”

My eyes sprung open. “I’ve got it. You’re a genius, Zach.”

“So I’ve been told.” Zach smiled.

I brought up the video from Magical Bar & Grill and fast-forwarded to where the man had come up to Kelter at the bar. I pointed proudly to the screen. “That’s him.”

“The man who was trying to pick up Kelter,” Jack said, looking deflated that he hadn’t pieced it together. “I didn’t—”

“We were focused on Stella Bridges,” I assured him. My gaze drifted to the black-and-white photo on the whiteboard of the person in the hoodie. I kept my focus on the image while my mind pulled up mental replays of the videos from Magical Bar & Grill and the one that captured the drop-off on the courthouse steps. My heart sped up as I made a conclusion. “I think our unsub delivered West’s head himself.”