Richard Batterson, Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal for the District of Missouri’s U.S. Marshals’ Office, stared at his deputy Marshal for a full minute without saying anything. Tony DeLuca was one of his best deputies. The district attorney needed to talk to Kate O’Brien, one of their witnesses. A subpoena lay on the desk in front of him. The DNA evidence that had pointed to Alan Gerard as the man who attacked Kate and killed her sister six years ago had been thrown out. Gerard’s conviction had been overturned by the appellate court, and he was out of prison.
Batterson was furious. An investigation by a group dedicated to freeing innocent prisoners had proven that the seal on the vial of Gerard’s blood was broken. An evidence clerk admitted that she noticed it not long after Gerard was arrested. She reported it to the M.E., and he resealed it after telling her not to notify anyone about the breach. Afraid of losing her job, she’d kept quiet about it, even though the detail had bothered her.
Now a retired crime-scene tech had come forward and admitted he had opened the vial and taken some blood, placing it at the crime scene. At the time, he’d believed strongly that Gerard was the Blue-Eyed Killer. The tech wanted Gerard stopped before another woman died. The fact that his own daughters had long hair and blue eyes had ignited his decision to betray his department’s code of ethics.
Although everyone knew Gerard had killed at least fifteen women, he was suspected of many more. But right now, all they had was Kate O’Brien’s eyewitness testimony in the death of her sister. Without the forensic evidence, she was the only hope they had to send Gerard back to prison.
The knowledge that he was free horrified Batterson. More women would die before he was arrested again. That was a given.
Originally, the subpoena had been delivered to the Marshals’ office in the area where Kate currently lived, but she’d refused to cooperate. Although initially she’d turned down the offer to go into the WITSEC program, after the second trial she’d changed her mind. Now that she was settled, she had no desire to uproot her life again. Who could blame her? The D.A. was insisting that the St. Louis office handle the situation. They knew DeLuca had been close to Kate. Batterson wanted to say no, but he couldn’t. Besides, the look on his deputy’s face made it clear he was determined to go. The question was, could he afford to be without DeLuca at a time like this?
Although his office, in league with the local police, had recently shut down a major cartel, there were more bloodthirsty cartels waiting in the wings to take its place. In addition to dealing with that dangerous threat, neighborhood gangs were spreading death throughout their communities. Police weren’t getting much help from those in government. Several local politicians were more concerned about staying in office than stopping the bloodshed. Rogue judges were tossing dangerous criminals out on the streets rather than putting them away. Law enforcement and the public paid the price for their carelessness. The Marshals backed up the police on cases involving federal fugitives and criminals who crossed state lines, and they were currently engaged in a violent war for control of their city.
Batterson stared at the old coffee rings on his desk before speaking. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Go there. Talk her into coming back. Touch base with the local Marshals when you arrive. They’ve already arranged to have a special deputy accompany you back to St. Louis.” It was standard procedure for two Marshals to accompany a witness, at least one of them being female if the witness was a woman. “After that . . .”
“After that she’s the D.A.’s problem,” DeLuca finished for him.
Batterson watched as DeLuca’s shoulders visibly relaxed. What was it about Kate O’Brien that made his deputy so tense? He looked down at the case file again. Then he slowly pushed it toward DeLuca. “Here’s her information. It goes without saying that you can’t share this with anyone else, right?” A bad experience the year before had made Batterson paranoid about files and privacy.
DeLuca nodded. “Of course, Chief.”
Generally, only Washington knew the location of witnesses in protection, but Batterson was confident DeLuca would protect the witness with his life—if it called for that.
“Weird case,” Batterson said. “Never saw anything like it before. The first time O’Brien testified she almost died.”
“The guard was manipulated by Gerard,” DeLuca said. “He was in the middle of a messy divorce, and his wife had threatened to take his kids. Ruin him financially. The guy was on the brink, and Gerard pushed him over the edge. Convinced him that Kate was just like his wife. A liar trying to send an innocent man to prison for something he didn’t do. In the guard’s mind, killing Kate was striking back at his wife. Stone-cold crazy. Too bad Gerard couldn’t be charged with his death as well as Matthew Gibbons’s. He might just as well have pulled the trigger.”
“Lucky for Kate O’Brien you were in the courtroom. Anyone else might not have reacted quickly enough to save her.”
DeLuca shook his head. “But not fast enough to save Gibbons. I regret that.”
“Don’t. No one could have anticipated what happened.”
“Maybe not. I was there because some of Gerard’s fans had threatened Kate. I was already watching the gallery, but I never expected the threat to come from . . .”
“Someone who was supposed to be protecting her?” Batterson finished.
“Yeah.”
Batterson cleared his throat. “Quite a few people think another one of Gerard’s minions is behind the mess-up with the DNA evidence. I know some crime tech took responsibility, but I have to wonder if Gerard had something to do with it.”
“I don’t know. That group . . . the one that got Gerard’s conviction overturned? What are they called?”
“The Freedom Project.”
“Right. They uncovered several other inconsistencies with evidence in different cases. I know Gerard has a group of bloodthirsty groupies who revere him, but I don’t think any of them are smart or sophisticated enough to break into a guarded evidence room and tamper with a blood sample. Makes more sense that the crime tech told the truth. That he wanted Gerard stopped and did what he could to bring that about. He may have actually saved a few lives.”
“It’s entirely possible . . .” Batterson said slowly. “Whatever happened to the guy who ran that website? What was it? BEKlives.com? So far no one’s been able to find him. Or discover who he was. He may have been nuts, but he wasn’t stupid.”
“Still can’t believe the FBI never tracked him down.”
“They might have, but a month or so after Gerard went to prison, the site disappeared. Never heard from him again.” For some reason, Batterson couldn’t get the guy out of his head. His postings were nothing more than Bible verses, most of them taken out of context. Batterson still remembered the first one. The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance: he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked. Although the guy who ran the website was obviously a worshipper of the Blue-Eyed Killer, sometimes it was almost as if he had been the maestro behind the evil orchestra of death played out by Gerard. Some of those who followed serial killers seemed more entranced by the website than by the person the site publicized.
“There was a scripture before every disappearance,” DeLuca said. “Verses full of vengeance and judgment. As if B.E.K. was God’s hand of revenge.”
Batterson nodded. “I was just remembering that. Every time there was a new post, law enforcement braced for another murder.”
“Yeah. The website would disappear sometimes, but it always came back. Different IP address and impossible to trace.”
Batterson grunted. “Whoever ran the site was a computer genius. Still not sure how it’s related to B.E.K., though. Never thought Gerard was smart enough to pull off something like that.”
“Yeah. The FBI decided it was someone else. A wacky fan.”
“But how would he know B.E.K. was getting ready to kill again?”
Tony shrugged. “I have no idea. The scriptures were released randomly. In between times, most of the postings were just wild stories about B.E.K. or some other serial killer. A lot of boasting about how the police couldn’t find the Blue-Eyed Killer. Until Gerard was caught, that is. There were some weird poems, too. Crazy, rambling writings that talked about revenge and justice. They didn’t make much sense. The FBI couldn’t get anything from them that pointed to the identity of the killer. And they tried.”
“If the murders matched the verses, there should be around twenty victims,” Batterson said. “Toward the end, before the website shut down, there were verses posted but no new murders that followed. That we know of, anyway. Maybe he didn’t take credit for all of them.”
“It’s possible.”
Batterson sighed. “When Gerard was captured, it was like some kind of victory. As if revealing his identity was the ultimate goal. Unfortunately, putting a name and a face to the list of terrible crimes the Blue-Eyed Killer committed turned him into a legend. The website stayed up through the trial with postings about what was happening. But when Gerard went to prison it disappeared for good. Good riddance as far as I’m concerned.” Batterson pushed the thoughts about the website guy out of his head. He didn’t have time to worry about one insane man who would most probably never be heard from again.
“So I guess the people from the Freedom Project believe Gerard is innocent?” DeLuca said. “How do they explain Kate’s testimony?”
Batterson shrugged. “Gerard worked as a maintenance man at the college. They say she saw him there and somehow substituted his face for the killer’s. They have some head shrinker who backs them up. They believe Gerard took credit for the killing because he was insecure and wanted attention.”
DeLuca snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Why would she pick the janitor? Had she been to McDonald’s recently? Maybe she saw Ronald McDonald kill her sister.”
Batterson was silent for a moment. “I asked Dr. Abbot about it. You know, the gal we use when you guys go squirrely?”
Tony smiled. “Yeah, I know who you mean. And what was her opinion?”
“She says trauma can definitely cause false memories. In other words, after the event, Kate can’t remember the attacker’s face so she replaces it with another one. In this case, Alan Gerard. She convinces herself he’s the killer because she desperately needs to bring closure to her situation.”
“And you believe that?”
Batterson frowned at his deputy. “I’m not sure. I like Dr. Abbot. She seems to know what she’s talking about, and I certainly don’t understand what makes some people tick. If she can help us, I’m open to listening. That’s why she’s on the payroll.”
“I guess . . .”
“Anyway, now we’re looking at a new trial.” He pushed back the thick black glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. Then he leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak. His administrative assistant was always trying to oil the old chair, but he wouldn’t allow it. For some reason, he found the sound comforting. “Trust me, the D.A. is just as unhappy about this as we are. I was surprised O’Brien was willing to sit through a second trial. Now they’re asking her to testify a third time. Doesn’t seem right. I don’t blame her for saying no.”
“She never hesitated when it came to the second trial. She wanted Gerard behind bars. No matter what. She’ll come through this time, too.”
Batterson chewed on his bottom lip, a bad habit he’d tried to break over the years. However, stress kept bringing it back. DeLuca seemed to think this woman was superhuman, but she wasn’t. She was a person who’d been through an ordeal most people couldn’t imagine. “I can understand why she wouldn’t be willing to tear her life to shreds again.”
DeLuca didn’t say anything at first, but he sniffed. Batterson almost smiled. Whenever DeLuca didn’t agree with something, he’d sniff as if smelling something putrid. Batterson found it amusing. Tony’s sniff was his only tell. Batterson always knew when DeLuca was upset about an assignment—or when he thought his boss was full of baloney.
“Now that the DNA evidence has been thrown out, Kate knows she’s the only person who can I.D. the killer,” DeLuca said. “She won’t allow him to walk away. The local Marshals must have handled her wrong. I won’t have any problems.”
“I hope you’re right.” Batterson sighed. “This affects all of us. We’re going to be revisiting the past for a while. The Freedom Project brought six more cases into the spotlight. Unfortunately, any case where DNA nailed the suspect probably won’t be tried again if the tech who messed up the Gerard case was anywhere near it. Some of them involved violent criminals. These people will probably hit the streets—and put the public at risk. The only thing that can keep Gerard behind bars is Kate O’Brien.” He reached for the file he’d given DeLuca and flipped it open. “Excuse me, Emily Lockhart. Hmm. She doesn’t look like an Emily to me.” Batterson studied his deputy. “You sure you can handle this in a professional manner? If you can’t, we’ll go another direction.”
DeLuca nodded. “Of course. You know me better than that, Chief. The job comes first.”
Batterson didn’t argue. It was true. DeLuca always put his duties before anything else. In fact, Batterson wasn’t even sure if DeLuca had a personal life. He would occasionally join Batterson and some of his other deputy Marshals when they went out to a local pub on Friday nights, but he didn’t stay long—and he didn’t drink much. One beer and no more. Of course, DeLuca’s lack of a social life meant any time Batterson needed him, he was available. Batterson felt a little guilty about relying on DeLuca so much, but the deputy didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he appeared to thrive on work.
DeLuca never talked about a girlfriend, although plenty of women around the office had shown interest in him. His shaggy dark blond hair and deep green eyes seemed to appeal to women. But Batterson had never seen any feminine pursuit end in success. DeLuca’s love was his job, and there didn’t seem to be time for much else.
When he was younger, Batterson had felt the same way. But the past couple of years he’d been rethinking his priorities. All he really wanted was the kind of relationship his folks had, but he’d begun to doubt that he’d ever have that. Was it fair to bring this kind of evil into a marriage? Besides, these days spouses were disposable, and commitment only lasted as long as both partners were entertained. Even though Batterson had never experienced the deep and lasting kind of relationship he dreamed of, he felt the urge to keep looking. Keep hoping. Even after three failed marriages.
Batterson shoved the file back toward DeLuca. “When will you leave?” he asked.
“Tomorrow morning. I have some work to finish up today. I’ll pack tonight and head out at first light.” He flipped open the file. “Where is she located?”
“A small town in Arkansas. Not far from Hot Springs. It’s a fishing resort.”
DeLuca’s eyebrows shot up. “A fishing resort? Really?”
Batterson smiled. “Yeah. When I say resort, I mean a few cabins for really dedicated fishermen. Guys who don’t mind roughing it. I guess O’Brien runs a diner there.”
“A diner?”
“Yeah. I was surprised, too. She had a choice between this place and a larger metropolitan city. Still small compared to St. Louis, but with more options. More excitement. She chose the hole-in-the-wall.” Batterson shrugged. “Anyway, get on the road, and keep in touch. O’Brien needs to understand that the D.A. can force her to testify if necessary. This isn’t actually a choice.”
DeLuca let out a quick breath of air. “Seems like it should be.”
“It’s the law,” Batterson said matter-of-factly. “We have to support it.”
DeLuca grabbed the file and stood. “I understand.” He stared down at Batterson. “Any new threats? Anything to be worried about?”
“Not yet, but we need to act as if there will be. Make sure she’s safe, and get her to court. We’ll protect her while she’s here and get her back to her life as soon as possible. You’ll have to be very careful. This thing will be all over the news. We need to keep her new identity under wraps the best we can. Moving her again is to be avoided at all costs. The trouble and expense is extreme.”
“Got it, Chief.”
DeLuca left the office, closing the door behind him. Batterson still had some concerns about sending him to Shelter Cove, but he knew he’d have a battle on his hands if he tried to send someone else. Tony DeLuca wasn’t the kind of man to back down. He was tough when he needed to be, and gentle when it was necessary. Batterson recalled a raid on a drug house that had happened the year before. The local Marshals joined the police to find and bring down a major supplier. When they hit the house, the dealer was gone, leaving behind his victims—two parents who were so out of it they didn’t realize their baby was near death. The drug dealer had left the parents and the baby behind because he knew the police were on to him. His actions were especially heinous because the woman was his sister and the dying child his niece. But family didn’t mean much when drugs were involved.
DeLuca had gently cradled the child in his arms all the way to the hospital, talking softly to her. Encouraging her to live. And he’d visited every day until she was released. Thankfully, little Keisha was now living in a wonderful home with a loving family. DeLuca still dropped by from time to time to check on the little girl. Batterson figured the same compassion he’d shown to Keisha was what drove him now. He cared about Kate O’Brien and wanted to be there for her. Maybe Batterson was giving in to DeLuca’s gentler side, but in the end it was DeLuca’s commitment to the Marshals that decided it for Batterson. If he had any agent who deserved the benefit of the doubt, it was Tony DeLuca. If DeLuca was convinced he needed to do this, he probably did.
Batterson rubbed his temples with his fingertips. He could feel the beginnings of a tension headache. His headaches were a portent. Always had been. He had a bad feeling that this situation was going to get a lot worse before it got better.