“We also don’t know his motivation,” Sloane murmured.
“Or his trigger,” Bill added. “Something incited him to act at this particular time, something emotionally impacting. But until we know more about him, it’s impossible to guess what that might be. Again, once Larry gets there, we’ll start filling in the blanks.”
“Well, here’s another blank we can fill in,” Derek announced, leaning over his laptop to read an e-mail that had just arrived in his in-box. “It’s no great shocker, but it is an important piece of information. The DNA results from the sweat stains and strands of hair found on that custodial uniform at the hospital just came in. They match the unknown blood splatter found at Tina Carroll’s crime scene. And the drops of blood found on the custodial uniform belong to the murdered nurse. So we can add a few more crimes to our Unsub’s résumé—homicide and drug theft. He ripped off morphine, Nembutal, fentanyl, and OxyContin plus a bunch of syringes.”
“The morphine must be for his pain,” Bill mused. “Nembutal is a pretty strong, fast-acting barbiturate, probably what he’s injecting into the women he grabs to knock them out.”
“Bill…five o’clock meeting.” Somewhere in the background at the BAU, Bill was being summoned.
“Listen, we’ve got more than enough to get started with.” Derek brought the conversation to a close. “We really appreciate both your time and what you’re doing to help us. Larry, I’ll get you everything we’ve got on the case. See you soon.”
“I’ll start reading as soon as I get your case file. I look forward to meeting you, Derek. And, as always, to seeing you, Sloane,” Larry replied.
They hung up, and Sloane turned to Derek. “That went well. I wish we could do more now, but at least I feel as if we’re finally making some headway.”
“We are. And that e-mail I just got confirms it.”
“I never got the chance to ask you—what translations did your language analyst come up with?”
Derek grimaced. “She verified the phrases we already knew. As for the other two, chao ji bei is, shall we say, a degrading Fukienese term used for certain types of women. It translates into ‘stinky bitch.’ But let’s just say that ji bei is a crude reference to a female reproductive organ, and leave it at that.”
“Lovely.” Sloane’s tone was dry. “And nothing on tai kee?”
“Just on close-sounding substitutes. She verified the phrase you came up with that means ‘birthmark’ in Mandarin. The only phrase that came closer was tai chee, which means ‘too late’ in Cantonese.”
“I guess ‘too late’ can be ominous. Maybe he meant it was too late for Tina.” Sloane frowned. “Although the context is off. Tina said he used it like a proper noun.”
“There’s no point in beating our heads against the wall,” Derek concluded. “If there’s something to find, Yan Dié will find it.” He stood up and stretched. “It’s almost five o’clock. I want to check in with Joe, see if he found anything on that video footage. After that, I’m going to head back to the city, get the case file to Larry, and see if I can start on those preliminary searches.”
“Don’t you have to be in Atlantic City?”
“Not if I’m running down a lead in the Truman case that requires my being in New York. I need to get one of my former NYPD detectives who’s now part of the C-6 task force to get me into Puzzle Palace so I can access RTCC.” He glanced at his watch. “Why don’t you make photocopies of your notes on the case, so I can include them in the material I send Larry. Also write down any specifics you want included in my database searches. I’ll combine your specs with mine, and compile a list of criteria to run against the databases. Right now I want to call Joe. I got the sense he has something for me. His last e-mail came in twenty minutes ago, and it sounded optimistic.”
“Then call him,” Sloane urged. “I’ll photocopy my notes and make that list. You get Joe’s update, and head back to the city to get started.”
“You do know that a relief security detail is on its way to your house,” Derek reminded her. “Manny Gomez. He’s a great guy. Went from retired NYPD sergeant, to semiretired and going crazy, to running a small security company. He’s got a top-notch team working for him. You’ll be in good hands. He’s due here at six. I’ll wait till he gets here, introduce you, and then hit the road. Manny will drive you over to Elsa’s house when you’re ready to go.”
“Okay.” Somehow, Sloane didn’t feel like arguing. In fact, she welcomed the knowledge that a detective would be keeping an eye on her. Until her trigger finger was up to par, she wasn’t in a position to shoot down an armed killer, no matter how good her reflexes were. She was fast, but a bullet was faster.
She went to get her file, and Derek went to the phone.
“Joe,” she heard him say. “Did you isolate that red flash you spotted?” A pause. “Sure I’ll wait a minute—if you send me something worthwhile.” A long silence. “Yeah, I’m at my laptop. Fire away.”
A minute later, the bing of the incoming e-mail sounded. The click-click Sloane heard was Derek, opening the jpeg attachment.
“Damn, you’re good,” were his next words. “Let me get Sloane in here to see if she can identify the woman.”
“Here I am.” Sloane dashed back into the room, leaning over to study the screen. It was a woman, dressed in red, standing behind a tree and sipping a bottle of water. The picture wasn’t crisp or full face, but Sloane could clearly make out the profile.
The years melted away, and the knot in her stomach tightened. “That’s Penny,” she confirmed without hesitation.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay, we have confirmation of the victim’s identity. Now let’s see what else we’ve got.” Derek opened the next jpeg.
In this photo, Penny had put away her water and was about to take a step toward the path. At the same time, her head was angled slightly toward the camera, and she looked puzzled, as if someone in the woods had called her name.
Sloane must have made a pained sound, because Derek looked up at her. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Ready for the last one?”
“No. But open it anyway.” Sloane clenched her teeth as Derek complied.
The third photo appeared on his screen.
A dark, hooded figure had his right arm across Penny’s throat, and his left hand over her mouth. Their faces were angled away from the camera, and the lighting in that area was poor—no surprise, given that he was restraining her in a thick cluster of trees—so it was hard to make out the details. But from the seclusion of the spot he’d picked, it was no wonder none of the students strolling along the lake path had noticed anything or were even glancing their way. The two of them were practically invisible.
Sloane strained to make out what was happening. The man was behind Penny, but there was no missing the silver glint of the weapon protruding across the left side of Penny’s throat.
It was a long, Bowie-type combat knife.
Bile rose in Sloane’s throat. Suspecting what had happened to her childhood friend, and seeing it unfold before her very eyes, were two different things.
“You okay?” Derek asked quietly.
Sloane gave a tight nod. “We’re going to get this son of a bitch,” she said in a hard, no-bullshit tone. “And when we do, he’s going to wish he was never born.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
DATE: 10 April
TIME: 1600 hours
I wasn’t going to make the same mistake as last time. This time I’d use my tranquilizer gun. No direct contact. No threats at knifepoint. I’d render her unconscious from a distance, firing one simple tranq dart. Then I’d drag her body into the woods, tie her up, and bind each leg to a tree. I’d wait until she came to, then make her feel the pain of her betrayal.
I raised my weapon—and stopped.
She was stretching before she got started on her usual jog around Lake Ceva. Two solidly
built guys arrived simultaneously, one settling himself at the far end of the lake with a textbook, the other strolling the perimeter, drinking in the fresh air. Then a third guy showed up in shorts and a T-shirt. He joined Tyche in her run, keeping a comfortable pace beside her.
Their disguises were pathetic. Even a moron could tell they were cops.
So I went away, returning now, with my tranquilizer gun, when classes are over and she’s back in her dorm.
Biao zhi.
Campus police pretending to be college students, sitting in the archway outside each building entrance.
I watch the real students exiting the building, complaining as they walk. Having campus security posted outside Tyche’s door, 24/7, is screwing up their social lives. Their parties are all on hold. No one wants to risk sneaking alcohol past the cops. So they’ve been going to other dorms to party. And it’s really starting to piss them off.
I almost laugh aloud at the absurdity of their concerns.
I’m surprised by my own reaction. I should be enraged over wasting my time, and furiously planning how to outwit the cops and get into her room.
But I’m not.
She’s simply not worth it. My knowledge is greater now, my understanding deeper.
It isn’t true evil that courses through Tyche’s blood. It’s ignorance and unworthiness. She isn’t the same kind of filth as the ji nv I eliminated the other night. She’s just a stupid biao zhi, who will never know what she just sacrificed.
The loss is hers. Let her remain in this ugly world, full of diseased and soulless people. While I and the true goddesses soar to Mount Olympus.
That’s the greatest punishment I can impose upon her, after all.
FBI New York Field Office
26 Federal Plaza, New York City
5:15 P.M.
Jeff rounded the corner and strode into Derek’s cubicle, ignoring the fact that his partner was hunched over the keyboard.
“I just got a call from the Fifth Precinct,” he announced. “Another prostitute’s been murdered. Butchered, from what they said. Details are sketchy right now. But it sounds like the same MO. Naked, tied up, throat slashed, coin placed right beside the body. The M.E. put the time of death on Tuesday, sometime between two and five in the afternoon. The body was in a tenement on Eldridge—not a warehouse this time, a resting house. The NYPD got an anonymous tip about the body. The caller was female and could barely speak English.”
“One of the victim’s friends, coworkers, or roommates,” Derek said grimly. “And if the cops found her in a resting house on Eldridge, you know she’s one of Xiao Long’s girls.” He threw down his pen in frustration. “Shit. This is the last thing we need. Xiao Long was on the verge of having his gang declare all-out warfare on the Black Tigers. Last time, we narrowly avoided a war. This time, we’re going to have to do major damage control. And I mean major.”
“I know.” Jeff gave a sober nod. “The M.E. said he’d move as quickly as possible on the autopsy. They’re doing a drug screen to see if she’s got ketamine in her system, like the others. And they’ll check to see if the Unsub abused her sexually—and, if so, if it was as vicious as the slashing. Because, like I said, this one was really brutal.”
“Our psycho’s had too much time between prostitutes,” Derek said in a dark, sardonic tone. “He stored up his hatred and his swimmers.” A disgusted sound. “These days all I do is deal with psychos. And I’m not getting any closer to tracking them down.” He glanced at the database he’d been accessing, then logged out, mentally putting the Truman case on hold. “This is going to be an all-weekend deal,” he informed Jeff.
“I expected as much. When I spoke to the Fifth, I asked for their help. Until we can convince the Red Dragons and the Black Tigers that neither of their gangs is involved in these murders, we’re going to have to turn Chinatown into a police state.”
“And deal with the fallout from that, too.” Derek reached for the phone. “I’d better call Sloane and tell her that I won’t be seeing the light of day—or her—this weekend.”
“Yeah. I’d better make a similar call.” Jeff headed off. “I’ll be back in ten.”
“Mm-hmm.” Derek was already punching in Sloane’s speed-dial number.
He frowned when her phone went directly to voice mail. Then he remembered she had an appointment with Connie before meeting Larry at John Jay. “Hey, it’s me,” he said after the beep. “Listen, I’m going to have to cancel our weekend plans. A Bureau emergency just landed in my lap. I’ll be stuck in the office all day tomorrow and the entire weekend as well taking care of it. I’ll give you a call as soon as I can.”
Hospital for Special Surgery
New York Weill Cornell Medical Center
East Seventieth Street, New York City
5:30 P.M.
“Thanks for taking me so late, Connie.” Sloane slid into the padded chair across from Connie at her physical-therapy table. “I’m meeting a colleague at John Jay around eight o’clock. The hounds are troupers, but do have their limits, and my neighbor who usually watches them is ill. So I combined all my Manhattan appointments into the latter part of the business day.”
“Actually, it worked out well for me, too.” Connie sat down on her stool, moved the sensory reeducation tools off to the side, and checked Sloane’s palm. Before they began any aggressive steps, she wanted to make sure it was healing on schedule, with no internal complications. “I’m meeting my date at a restaurant in midtown at seven-thirty. So the timing’s ideal. You and I can have an hour together, and I’ll still have an hour to make myself gorgeous and catch a cab to the restaurant.”
“A hot date, huh? Ken the lawyer?” Sloane’s eyes twinkled.
“Yes.” Connie grinned. “He’s turning out to be a keeper—at least for now. Let’s see how he handles the probation period.”
“You’re tough.”
“And you’re sleeping with Derek again.” Connie propped her elbow on the table and studied Sloane intently. “It’s written all over your glowing face. Wow. That happened even faster than I thought.”
“You and me both.” Sloane didn’t even bother trying to deny Connie’s shrewd assessment. “Our chemistry—it’s like something you read in a novel and say, ‘Yeah, right, like that could ever happen in real life.’ But there it is, and neither one of us can fight it.”
“Why would you?” Connie tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “It sounds like sexual heaven. Have you talked?”
“Every day,” Sloane replied, with a casual shrug. “We’re working on a case together.”
“Who cares? Have you discussed the breakup? Who said what, felt what, did what, and why? It’s the only way you’re going to get past this.”
“I told him the details of the knife attack. We exchanged a few angry words about feelings we’ve been harboring. It was more than enough. I don’t want to delve too deeply into this. Frankly, what we have now is wonderfully uncomplicated. If we start dredging up the past, it’s going to get messy, angry, and accusatory—all of which will destroy a great thing.”
“So your new relationship is just sex?”
“Not just sex,” Sloane assured her. “Amazing, addictive sex.” A quizzical look. “Since when has that offended you?”
“It doesn’t offend me. I’m all for amazing, addictive sex. But in this case, it won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re in love with the guy.” Connie flattened her palms on the table, looked Sloane straight in the eye. “You’ve been in love with him since Cleveland. And no matter how pissed off you feel, no matter how much of a grudge you hold, you’re not going to be able to bury those feelings or make them go away.”
Sloane’s jaw tightened. “Maybe not. But I can damn well try. I never intend to be that vulnerable to another human being again. The fallout is too much for me to handle.”
“What fallout?” Connie demanded. “This is the part I don’t get. I know he disagreed with y
our decision to leave the Bureau. I know his reaction hurt you deeply. But he didn’t break your trust. He didn’t desert you when you were in the hospital practically bleeding to death from the wounds to your hand. He didn’t ask you to ignore his phone calls. And he didn’t ask you to pack and leave without saying good-bye. So where is this sea of resentment coming from?”
“My job at the Bureau meant the world to me,” Sloane replied in curt, clipped tones. “I wanted to be a special agent for as long as I can remember. Derek knew that. He respected it—or at least I thought he did. The fact that he expected—and still does, for that matter—me to accept being placed on medical mandate, turn over my weapon, and become a Bureau pencil pusher—stunned me. And the more I explained, the less he understood. He effectively labeled me a coward and a quitter. My pain, my emotional meltdown, none of it got through that thick skull of his.”
“Maybe he just needed time to—”
“Maybe nothing. Underneath that charismatic exterior is an Army Ranger, a soldier to the core. You know the motto—‘Rangers lead the way.’”
“DNA. That’s hard to overcome when your whole family are West Point grads,” Connie reminded her.
“Actually, it should be easier. Yes, Derek’s father and siblings all went the West Point route. But Derek didn’t. He went the ROTC route. He wanted to have other options. And he’s been the black sheep of the family ever since. His father still hasn’t forgiven him, not really. I know that, on some level, that bothers Derek, even after all these years. He made a choice, one his father didn’t understand or agree with. But he still should have supported it. That’s what love is about. Given his own experience, Derek should have been the first one to accept my choice and support me. But somehow, when it came to my decision to leave the Bureau, all that support went right out the window. He couldn’t or wouldn’t put himself in my shoes. He was an obstinate, unfeeling SOB. So yes, I walked away. Or, to be more precise, he drove me away.”