I needed that hot coffee, and the warmth of the cup between my hands felt good. I sat in the office of the gas station as J.T. made the update call to Agent Spelling. We needed to know what he wanted us to do. At the moment, we were stuck. A generic BOLO had been issued for a gray Buick LaCrosse, but we didn’t have a plate number to go with it, and we had no idea what direction the killer was headed.
“Yes, boss, we’re still in Thomasboro, and I’m putting you on speakerphone. According to the forensics team—which, I might add, is spreading themselves pretty thin—there’s plenty of biological evidence in the sleeper area of the semi. Jane Weeks was last seen leaving the truck stop south of Champaign with our assailant, and now she’s unaccounted for. The truck, a dead police officer, and a dead civilian were found on the outskirts of Thomasboro. Both locations are in Champaign County, though. Their ME and forensics department are going to be putting in long hours unless they can call in favors.”
I heard Spelling sigh through the speakers. “Yeah, we definitely need more agents on this case. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m glad you said that because I’ve just sent the name of the man, his description, and vehicle type to you. Somebody else will have to take over that task. We’re pretty swamped here, and we have no idea what happened to Jane. The dash cam on the officer’s car only showed our killer and the cop, no girl anywhere, but we’re working on it.”
“Hang on a second, J.T. An alert just came in on the tip line.”
Silence filled the air, and I assumed Spelling put J.T. on hold as he listened to the recorded message.
He returned to the call moments later. “I’ll be damned.”
J.T. wrinkled his brows. “What’s going on, boss?”
“Did you guys add Jane Weeks to the missing persons database?”
I responded for both of us. “I did that last night. Why?”
“I think we might have information on her. A badly injured girl was nearly hit by a car this morning as she exited a remote wooded area onto a back road. The tip line message says she was found in Danforth, Illinois. The driver called 9-1-1 right away, and apparently she’s still hanging on. She’s been admitted to Iroquois Memorial Hospital in Watseka.”
“Jade, see how far Watseka Memorial Hospital is from here.”
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and searched the distance between Thomasboro and Watseka. “It’s an hour drive northeast. Humph.”
“Hang on, boss. Something is rolling around in Jade’s head.” J.T. gave me a frown. “What are you thinking?”
“We just assumed that Jane was dumped south of Thomasboro because we didn’t see her at the truck and her body wasn’t located near there. If the woman that was found in Danforth is actually Jane, that means the killer took her there after he murdered Todd Johnson, hid him behind the dumpster, and stole his car. That’s why the ME said Todd had been dead several hours longer than the officer. For whatever reason, the killer returned to the truck after dumping Jane, and that’s when he killed the cop.”
“You’re absolutely right,” J.T. said.
Spelling added, “Great catch, Monroe. So the killer must have had an important reason to return to the truck.”
“Right, and the dash cam showed him kill the cop then step up and open the truck door. He reached in for a few seconds, grabbed something, and disappeared off the screen.”
“Have the police department look at that dash cam again. They may have to pull the hard drive to identify what the killer grabbed. It could be a lead. For now, I want you to head to the hospital and check on that woman. I’ll take care of finding out where Todd Johnson came from. I also want to touch base with law enforcement in Arkansas, Missouri, and Effingham, Illinois, to see if they have any additional information since the killings. I’ll make sure all of the family members of the deceased individuals have been spoken with too. Update me as soon as you find out this young lady’s condition and if she actually is Jane Weeks.”
J.T. clicked off, and I gave the gas station manager my card and wrote Spelling’s contact number on the back. We walked out, had a few words with the ME and the forensics team, gave them our cards too, and left. By the time we reached cruising speed on Highway 57 going north, it was after eleven o’clock.
“Stay on 57 for about twenty-five minutes. We’ll exit on Highway 9 going east, and then I’ll direct you as we get closer.”
“Thanks, Jade. I wish we could talk to somebody about her condition, but there’s no way the hospital would release that information to us over the phone. Hopefully, the girl made it.”
I gave J.T. a raised brow. “And hopefully, she’s Jane.”
We reached the hospital parking lot just after noon and passed through the heavy glass sliding doors at the emergency entrance. At the counter, we showed our badges and asked to speak to the doctor in charge of the injured Jane Doe that was admitted earlier that day.
“Certainly, agents, give me one moment.” With a few clicks of the computer mouse, she announced that the attending emergency room physician that morning was Dr. Bruce Adams.
“Is Dr. Adams available? We need to know the condition of that young lady,” I said.
“Have a seat, agents.” She pointed at the emergency room waiting area, where a TV played and people paced. “I’ll page him to the counter.”
J.T. nodded a thank-you, and we joined in with the group pacing. Minutes later, I jabbed J.T. in the side when I noticed a middle-aged man speaking with the receptionist. He wore a white lab coat and had an ID badge clipped to his breast pocket, so I assumed he was a doctor. He turned and looked toward us.
“We’re up. That has to be him,” I said.
The man headed in our direction and shook our hands when he reached us. He leaned in and spoke in a quiet tone. “Agents, I’m Dr. Adams. Why don’t you join me in the doctors’ lounge where we can talk freely?”
I thanked him, and we followed along. We walked down a quiet hallway where everything glistened in a sterile white palette. The second door on the right was the doctors’ lounge. We entered and saw several comfortable looking couches, two recliners, a TV, a table that seated six, and a counter filled with the makings for coffee and tea. A microwave sat next to the coffeepot, and a full-sized refrigerator stood at the end of the counter.
“Wow, you could actually live here.”
He chuckled. “When we’re pulling all-nighters, that’s exactly what we do. Now, agents, what would you like to know?” He pointed at the couch, where we took our seats.
J.T. pulled out the copy he made of Jane’s work ID. “We need to know if the young woman admitted earlier is this girl.” He handed the photocopy to the doctor, who studied it carefully and shook his head.
“To be honest, I can’t tell. Do you know of any other identifying features like tattoos or birthmarks?”
“Sorry, but we don’t. Are you saying her appearance is so bad you can’t make a positive identification?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Candidly speaking, I’m surprised she pulled through. Her injuries are extensive, and she’s lost a lot of blood. I stitched her up the best I could when she was admitted. I was afraid she would bleed out, go into cardiac arrest, and die right on the table.”
“I’m sorry to sound morbid, but can you describe her injuries? It’s part of an ongoing investigation, that’s if she is indeed the young woman we’re looking for.”
“Certainly, but let me pour us some coffee first, Agent Monroe. Like I said, her injuries are extensive.”
Once a cup of coffee was in front of each of us, the doctor went into detail about the young woman’s injuries.
“The first thing that stood out when she was brought in was the amount of slashes she had suffered across most of her body. They weren’t deep enough to damage nerves, muscles, or organs, but they did cause her to lose a great deal of blood. There was a hole in her right temple that I originally thought was a wound from a BB gun. After reviewing the X-rays of her skull and finding no foreign objects embedded, we concluded the long, rod like shape of the wound we saw on the films was from an ice pick.”
“Good God, she’s lucky to be alive.”
“That’s true, Agent Harper, and luckily for her, the wound came in at a downward direction and completely missed her brain. The pick entered her temple, but because the trajectory was off, it slid in behind her eye socket and hit her nasal bone. It was her worst day and her best day, if that makes sense. Her face is so swollen, she’s unrecognizable, but she’s stitched up and under heavy sleep medication in our ICU wing. There’s one more thing, agents. According to the EMTs that brought her in, she was bound and gagged when she was found.”
I shook my head with thoughts of the sheer horror she must have endured. “What law enforcement agency is involved?”
“I believe the call came in from a police sergeant in Gilman. Alice, at the ICU nurses’ station, spoke to him. She can help you with that.”
“Is there a chance of seeing the girl? She won’t know we’re present if she’s under sedation, anyway.”
He shrugged. “I suppose, but I’ll need both of you to wear surgical masks. Her condition is iffy, and I don’t want her exposed to germs of any kind.”
I put away my notepad and stood. “Whatever you say, Dr. Adams, and we appreciate your time.”
“Right this way, agents. I’ll take you upstairs.”
We followed another white-walled hallway to the elevators. The ICU wing was located on the second floor, where the doctor left us in the capable hands of the head nurse, Alice, at the nurses’ station.
I introduced myself to her when the doctor left to do his rounds. “Alice, I’m Special Agent Jade Monroe, and this is Special Agent J.T. Harper. We’re from the FBI, and we have reason to believe the young lady in ICU is part of an ongoing case we’re investigating. Dr. Adams said you spoke with someone from law enforcement earlier.”
“Yes, I did. I have his name written down.” She flipped to the second page of a notebook on the shelf behind the counter. “It’s right here. His name is Sergeant Lewis from the Gilman Police Department. He wanted to make sure we kept her clothing and the items the EMTs gave us”—she looked around and lowered her voice to a whisper—“the bindings and gag. He said somebody from the police department would stop by later to get them.”
“So nobody has picked them up yet?”
“Not so far.”
“May we see those items? We’ll put on gloves.”
A worried expression crossed her face as she looked down each corridor.
“Alice, we are the FBI. We’re kind of sitting in the king seat, if you know what I mean.”
“Okay, come with me.” She tipped her head to the right. “I put the items in a bag back here.”
We rounded the counter and followed Alice into a small data storage room behind the nurses’ station. She pointed at a bag on a shelf. “Please”—she handed each of us a pair of latex gloves from a dispenser—“put these on. I don’t want to get into trouble with anyone.”
J.T. nodded. “Understood. Is there a place we can spread these items out to take a better look at them?”
“I guess you can lay everything out on the floor. It’s plenty clean. I’ll make sure nobody comes in while you’re back here.”
“Thanks, Alice.”
She gave us a dubious look and closed the door at her back.
I stretched the gloves over my fingers, and J.T. did the same. I dumped the contents of the bag onto the floor and spread them out.
“J.T., it’s definitely her.” I scraped the breast pocket of the red shirt with my gloved fingernail. As blood stained and shredded as the polo shirt was, I could still make out the words Petro Fuel and Food under the dried blood. I remembered Doug telling us that all of the employees wore the same red polo shirts. “Remember, we saw her on the surveillance tape? She had on this very shirt.”
“Yeah, I agree. The clothing confirms it. Let’s check out the rest of the stuff.”
Her khaki pants were torn and stained with blood. Several lengths of duct tape, some with strands of torn hair, lay among the items. A pair of shoes, socks, and underwear, all covered with dried blood, lay there too.
“There’s an extra sock, and it isn’t hers.” I held it up and studied it. “It’s his, and I bet that bastard jammed it down her throat.”
J.T. grimaced. “You know, the rest of his victims went through the same nightmare or worse. She just happens to be the only one we know of that has lived through his torture.”
“I need to take a few pictures of these items, then I want to get Alice’s best estimate of when she thinks Jane will wake up and if there’s any chance we’ll be able to talk to her.”