Noah finished off his supper while looking at crime-scene photos. Not the best way to aid digestion. He picked up his empty carryout box and took it over to the trash can. As she pored through files of past cases, Kaely picked at her meal. She ate like a bird. Noah felt an urge to persuade her to eat, like she was a child and he needed to take care of her. He recognized the impulse was one that could get him into trouble and decided to ignore it.
Kaely Quinn didn’t need a babysitter, even though that was what he was originally worried about. She was smart, competent, and tough. He had to treat her like an equal. Show her respect and try not to see himself as her protector, even though the instinct was there. They were partners. Being certain of his role in her life would keep him from having to transfer to another city—like Alex Cartwright.
As he was walking back toward his chair, the door swung open and Solomon came in, looking upset.
“What’s wrong?” Kaely asked as soon as she saw him.
Solomon rubbed his face with his hand. “Nothing. Just tired. Why are you two still here?”
Noah slipped back into his chair. “We’re just now getting a chance to look at the evidence.” He glanced quickly at Kaely. “I’d like both of us to stay and work for a while, if it’s okay with Kaely.”
“I’m good,” Kaely said. “I’m looking through past cases, trying to see if our UNSUB might be connected somehow. I think I recognize the killing in the park, but I want to be certain.” She pulled a large stack of files toward her. “This might take a couple of days. We need to get a jump on it.”
“That’s fine,” Solomon said. “You find anything yet?”
She shook her head. “Not really. We need to figure out how I’m connected to our UNSUB. I’ve obviously done something that’s angered him. We have to find out what it was. He seems to have knowledge about me. About my work.”
Solomon grunted. “Acosta. He wrote about several cases you were associated with. It would be easy for friends or family to read his articles and blame you for putting their loved one behind bars.”
“That’s true, but we have to remember that his news stories might not have anything to do with our killer at all. We’re flying blind here. That’s why we need to go through everything. Carefully.”
“Okay,” Solomon said, “but tell me about Acosta. What specific cases did he talk about in his articles?”
“There were six of them. Four of them simply wouldn’t fit this scenario. Two serial killers in other states without any family support or friends. No one who is upset they’re behind bars. A bomber who hid out for years. Again, no family or friends. And a guy with ties to terrorism who shot himself not long before he was captured. His ‘friends’ are overseas—and they couldn’t care less about me. They have a larger agenda.”
“And the other two?” Solomon asked.
“A serial rapist in Virginia, and that guy I profiled here. You know, the male nurse who was killing people in a local hospital?”
Solomon nodded. “Michael Edmonds. He murdered four people before he was arrested. You gave the police a profile that helped them to nail him.”
“Same thing happened in Virginia.”
“Why do you think these cases are possibilities?” Noah asked.
“Because in both cases, there are family members or friends who insist we got it wrong, that their loved ones weren’t capable of what they were charged with. The rapist in Virginia came from a nice family. Parents and a brother who insist he’s innocent. They’re still fighting for him.” Kaely rolled her eyes. “He’s guilty, by the way. And Michael Edmonds has a girlfriend who insists Michael didn’t kill anyone and claims some other nurse was behind the murders.”
“And is he guilty too?”
Kaely frowned at him. “I have no idea. I only worked the profile in that case. The police took it from there. But the way Acosta wrote the story, you’d think I single-handedly tracked down and arrested the guy. It was ridiculous.”
“It was a profile we didn’t have to do, by the way,” Solomon said. “Chief Harper asked us to look at it, so we did.”
“So, now we delve into the cases I mentioned, along with all the rest I’ve had anything to do with. We don’t have a choice.” She exhaled softly. “But as far as the cases Acosta wrote about, I have my doubts.”
“Why?” Solomon asked.
“Well, the family of the rapist—” she pulled a file near her and opened it—“Archie Mason . . . They’re just not the kind of people to do something like this. They’re solid citizens. The truth is, they simply can’t accept that they raised a son who became a serial rapist.”
“And the nurse?”
“I don’t see it. Edmonds convinced himself he was helping people. An ‘angel of mercy’ thing. Seeking revenge toward me just doesn’t fit.”
“Well, check them all out anyway,” Solomon said. “Whatever it takes to go through all of this. Don’t worry about food. I’ll send it in. Just do your best.”
Kaely studied Solomon for a moment. “Okay, what’s going on? Something’s obviously bothering you.”
“You mean besides stopping a potential serial killer?”
“Yeah.”
Noah watched the struggle on Solomon’s face. He didn’t need Kaely’s talents to see their boss was conflicted. What now?
“Reinhardt’s in town,” Solomon said quickly, as if he were pulling off a Band-Aid and wanted to get past the pain.
Kaely blinked several times and leaned back in her chair. “What does he want?”
“Donald Reinhardt?” Noah asked. “From Quantico?”
Solomon nodded.
“He’d just become unit chief when I left.”
“Reinhardt helped train me,” Kaely said. “He also made sure I was kicked out of Quantico.”
Noah frowned. “He was behind that?”
She nodded. “The reputation of the Bureau comes first.”
Although he didn’t say anything, Noah was struck by how unfair it was that Kaely was judged for something her father did. Something she had no control over.
“Well, he’s concerned about the case,” Solomon said, rubbing his hands together. “He’s offering their assistance.”
“That’s good,” Kaely said. “We could use the help. We’re going to need them.”
“With Reinhardt here, things could get . . . complicated.”
“I know that, but we need to find this guy, Solomon. Using every tool we have is the right thing to do. This isn’t about Reinhardt . . . or me.”
“I told him the police may solve this on their own. But if they don’t, or there’s another killing . . .”
“I say we bring them in now,” Kaely said matter-of-factly. She shifted her gaze to Noah. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “This is your call. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You’re not,” Noah said. “I agree with you. Whatever we can get from NCAVC should bring us closer to the truth.” He knew that input from the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime at Quantico could bring them closer to their quarry, and he was relieved that Kaely didn’t have a problem using the FBI as a resource, even after the way she’d been treated.
“At some point, you’ll need to set up a command post,” Solomon said. “Invite the local PD to join us. I’ll have our liaison contact Crisis Management and ask them to find and set up a location.”
“What about Reinhardt?” Noah asked. “He won’t hijack our investigation, will he?”
“He can’t remove you. If he oversteps his authority, I’ll take care of it. I’m still in charge here.”
“Then we need to get busy,” Kaely said. Her voice had taken on a hard edge. Noah could see she was determined to get some traction on this case.
He nodded at Solomon. “We’ll do our best.”
“Never occurred to me you wouldn’t.” He hesitated a moment.
“Something else?” Kaely said.
“The Journal might be printing the poem in tomorrow’s paper. We argued, but I doubt we won. Just wanted you to be prepared.”
“But we need some time to work on this before it goes public,” Noah said.
“I realize that, but Acosta and his boss don’t care,” Solomon said, weariness in his voice. “They’re only concerned with selling newspapers.”
Noah and Kaely were silent. What was there to say? They’d just have to find a way to deal with it.
“Good night.” With that, Solomon shoved the door open and walked quickly down the hall.
Kaely pushed the file they’d gotten from the police toward Noah. He could almost feel a wave of intensity emanating from her.
“So what do we have?” he asked her.
She cradled her head in her hands and stared down at the table for a moment. Finally, she said, “What we have is George Anderson.”
He blinked several times, trying to comprehend what she was saying. “I . . . I don’t understand. George Anderson? The serial killer from Georgia?”
She turned her incredible eyes toward him. “Yes. Do you remember the case?”
“Anderson killed thirteen men. Men he felt had things in life he didn’t. Men he decided didn’t deserve what they had.”
“Do you recall any other details?”
“Just that you caught him.”
Kaely’s eyes widened, and she took a quick intake of air. “No, Noah. I didn’t catch him. Just like I didn’t catch Michael Edmonds. Profilers help to point the way to those investigating a crime or crimes, but we never, ever catch them. Facts and evidence catch criminals. And that’s it. I never take credit for a capture. All of that goes to the people who do the real work. The hard work.”
“I realize that. Sorry.” He smiled at her. She obviously had no desire for celebrity. “I think your attitude’s admirable.”
“Not admirable, Special Agent Hunter,” she fired back in sharp staccato. “The truth.”
“Okay,” he said. “Am I to understand that when you call me Special Agent Hunter, I’m in trouble? Like when my mother called me Noah Robert Hunter, I knew I was about to get grounded?”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “Yeah, I guess that’s what it means.”
“Okay. Point taken.” He pulled a file toward him and opened it. “So you’re saying this guy was killed in the same manner Anderson handled his victims?”
“No, not in the same manner. Exactly like Anderson.” She got up. “Let me get something from my filing cabinet. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried from the room while Noah looked through the file of the day’s crime scene. He pulled out one of the photos and stared at it. Although he’d seen the picture at the scene, he could make out more detail now. The victim looked to be around thirty. Brown hair. A face that wouldn’t be noticed in a crowd. Average height. Average weight. Blue suit. Expensive watch. His feet were clad in black socks. Blood on the side of his head where he’d been hit.
Noah carefully perused the photos of the area where the body had been found. Not far from the museum, near a grove of trees. Posed on a bench. His hands were folded across his chest as if he were sleeping. His ankles were crossed. If it hadn’t been for the discoloration on the side of his face, and the blood, Noah would have thought the guy was taking a nap. Of course, most of the people who sleep in the park don’t wear thousand-dollar suits.
The door suddenly opened, and Kaely dumped a large file on the table. “My personal file from the Anderson case.”
“Wow. Don’t you use your computer for anything?”
“I like paper files. Real pictures. Some of this came from digital documents I copied.” She looked down at the materials. “I keep information from all my cases—and others that interest me.”
Noah stood up. “You’re a strange person, Kaely Quinn. So let’s see what you’ve got.”
“First I want you to look at this.”
She began shuffling through the file’s contents. Finally, she pulled out a manila envelope labeled Photos. She opened it and flicked through the stack of glossy eight-by-tens until she found the one she wanted. She walked over and slapped it down on the table next to the original picture. “What do you see?” she asked.
He moved over so he could view the photos. As he leaned down, his face near her hair, he could smell a faint hint of strawberries. At that moment, she reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. For the first time, he noticed a long, light-colored scar that ran down the side of her face, right next to her hairline. Even though the scar was faint, it had obviously been a serious injury. He wondered what had happened but didn’t feel they were close enough yet for him to ask her about it. He forced himself to concentrate on the picture she wanted him to see. When he realized what he was looking at, his mouth dropped open.
“They’re the same,” he said. “Exactly the same.”
The photo from the Anderson file showed a man lying on a bench, near a row of trees, dressed in a suit. He had brown hair, an expensive watch, and he was wearing a blue suit. And like their vic from this morning, no shoes. His arms were folded across his chest, and his ankles were crossed. Blood had crusted on the side of his head. Noah couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Why did Anderson dress his victims like this?”
“You tell me,” Kaely said.
Noah stared at the picture for a moment. “Anderson dressed them in expensive suits and killed them with golf clubs because he saw these things as something connected to the kind of men he hated. Rich men.”
“Yes. He wanted to send a message that even with their wealth, they weren’t safe from him. They couldn’t save themselves. He wanted them to be victims so he wouldn’t feel like one.”
Noah frowned. “Why did he take their shoes?”
“You tell me,” she said again.
He scowled at her. “I take it this is going to be a habit? Answering my questions with a question?”
Kaely almost smiled. “I’m trying to show you that you know more than you think you do. Can’t you tell me why he took their shoes?”
Noah sighed loudly. Finally, he said, “Well, this is out of left field, but you asked for it. Shoes are for walking. Going somewhere. If he takes their shoes, not only does he have a trophy, but he’s saying their journey is over. They’re not going anywhere else.”
“And you would be absolutely right,” Kaely said.
“Okay. Why a left-handed putter? And don’t ask me to tell you why. I have no earthly idea.”
Kaely shrugged. “Anderson was left-handed. Police found the putter in his home with traces of blood from the victims on it.”
“You set me up.”
“I think you did that on your own.”
Noah laughed. Maybe Kaely Quinn was different, but she had a sense of humor. Maybe working with her wasn’t going to be that bad after all.
“You understand the body,” Kaely said softly. “Now look at his surroundings.”
“It’s like it was taken in the same spot. There’s a row of trees behind him. What’s that building?” He pointed at a large structure not far from the body.
“That’s the High Museum of Art in Atlanta. It’s different than our museum—very modern. But the killer doesn’t care about that. He’s only concerned that it’s a museum and that the body was found on a bench next to a row of trees.”
Noah leaned over the table, staring down at the back of Kaely’s head. “I don’t get it.”
When Kaely straightened up and turned, she was just inches from Noah’s face. “I’m convinced the weapon used to kill the man in the park was a left-handed putter. Just like this murder.” She jabbed the photo with her finger. “We have a potential serial killer who may be imitating other killers. Someone who thinks this is a game. Someone wearing a mask. We’re not seeing him directly, we’re glimpsing him through the eyes of other serials.”
“How could the UNSUB know this many details of the crime scene?”
“It wouldn’t be that difficult. The case got a lot of publicity. Besides the media, there’s the trial. Anyone attending would have picked up the particulars. Of course, LEOs would be able to access the facts of the case too.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Kaely said. “But at this point, there’s no way to narrow it down.”
“Great,” he said with a long, drawn-out sigh. “I was going to contact Quantico, ask them to run this crime scene through ViCAP, but if our UNSUB is copying this crime . . .”
“Do it anyway,” Kaely said, interrupting him. “And have them run the poem too. We need to make sure we’ve covered all our bases, even if we don’t think we’ll learn anything new.”
He nodded. “So now what?”
She grabbed their copy of the poem. “The first killing follows the pattern. Seven little elephants walking in the forest. One hit his head and fell down dead. Six little elephants called it a day. They packed up their trunks and they all ran away.” She pointed to the paper. “Now we have to prepare for the UNSUB’s next move.”
“Read it,” Noah said.
“Six little elephants swimming in the lake. One was slaughtered and went underwater. Five little elephants called it a day. They packed up their trunks and they all ran away.”
“Well, the forest turned out to be Forest Park—so it wasn’t just a forest. That means we can’t take the clue literally.”
“Maybe . . .” she said slowly. “We also can’t send agents out to every lake in Missouri.” Kaely took a drink of water and then licked her lips. “We need to be on top of this. Ahead of him. Watching for something that doesn’t seem right.”
“What do you mean?” Noah asked.
“Anyone overly interested in this case. Media. Police officers. This guy’s watching us, I’m sure of it.”
“Doesn’t that bring us back to Jerry Acosta?”
“He was at the crime scene this morning.” Kaely stared closely at one of the pictures. “But I don’t think he was at Forest Park at the time of the murder. I suspect he was here, talking to Solomon, when our victim was killed.”
“He could be working with someone. Could he get access to Anderson’s files?” Noah asked.
“Not the files, but, as I said, most of this came out at trial. It would be fairly easy for a reporter to get details of the case.”
Noah’s forehead crinkled at her comment. “I think we need to keep him on our list of possible suspects. I don’t trust him.”
Kaely nodded. “Okay.”
“I wonder how long the Journal will wait to print this poem.”
“They’ll definitely publish it,” Kaely said. “I hope they wait a while, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
“When it comes out . . .”
“People will go crazy. It will be a mess.”
“Maybe someone will recognize the poem.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Kaely said. “I think our UNSUB is too smart for that.” She pushed back a strand of unruly hair that had escaped her bun. “I’m truly afraid more people will die before we catch this guy, Noah.”