“That’s another problem I’m having with this case.” Wade dragged a hand through his coarse gray hair. “The ones who engage in this way have killed before, but the physical evidence—or lack thereof—says he’s only had one prior unsuccessful attempt.”
The room fell silent again.
“Hope is dead,” Nina said, mulling over the first coded message. “What the hell does that mean?”
“If the victim was a substitute for you, that means he ritually killed you,” Wade said without inflection.
“Then why did you say someone else will die?” Breck said to Wade.
“Good question,” Buxton cut in. “In fact, can you update your assessment of this unsub based on what we’ve just heard, Agent Wade?”
“The surest path inside the mind of a killer is his behavior, particularly at the scenes of his crimes, when he’s acting out,” Wade began. “Between Guerrera’s case and this new one in DC, he’s established a definite pattern in both victimology and methodology. The fact that he wore gloves, avoided committing the crime on camera, altered his appearance, and obtained a delivery uniform tells me he’s organized and disciplined. The stunt with the media indicates that he craves attention and further underscores his need for control. He wants to show the world that he’s in charge of the investigation, not the FBI.” He cut his eyes to Nina. “And he has a fascination with you.”
Nina felt the spotlight shift to her. Like they all thought she was withholding some critical piece of information that would lead them to his door. “I have no idea why,” she said, trying to keep any sign of defensiveness from her response.
Wade kept his gaze on her. “In the instance of a repeat offender, the most important cases to scrutinize are the earliest, which will be near the perpetrator’s place of residence and reveal more about what prompted the crimes.” He paused, apparently weighing his words. “If you were—as his note says—the one who got away, that could indicate you were also his very first victim. He hadn’t perfected his skills, so you might have critical information about him. Things you may not even realize you know.”
“You believe he’s a serial killer?” She crossed her arms. “We don’t have three victims.”
Like all other agents, she had studied different types of murderers in the academy. Serial killers were defined as having at least three victims, with a chronological or psychological separation between each event. Mass murderers were characterized as killing at least four individuals in one incident. Finally, spree killers had two or more victims in different locations with no de-escalation period between.
Wade lifted a shoulder. “I’m not saying he’s a serial killer, but he’s definitely a repeat offender. It’s possible that something about you sparked him initially, caused a reaction. When you escaped, that set him back, perhaps shook his confidence. He may have repressed his violent urges until he saw you in the video.”
Kent nodded slowly. “And now the unsub’s out to prove to the world, and to himself, that he can have her.”
“It would be essential to him,” Wade said.
Buxton dug a finger into his shirt collar and drew in a deep breath. “We need actionable intelligence to ID this guy. We’re going to have to go over the incident involving Agent Guerrera.” He hesitated, then added, “In detail.”
His grim expression told her he was giving her a chance to back out gracefully. If she weren’t in this room, part of this team, Wade would interview her privately and report his findings to the others. Everything would be filtered, protecting her from the scrutiny and judgment of her colleagues. If she remained here, she’d have to recount her story and answer questions as they arose. Basic training had taught her that firsthand interviews were always the best source of information. And she was the most valuable source they had right now.
This was her moment. The time had come for her to talk about what had happened and everything that led up to it. To speak about the most intimate, most humiliating hours of her life. She would either deal with it or she would sit on the sidelines while other agents worked the case.
As Nina looked around the table at her colleagues, she remembered recounting her story for investigators and counselors when she was only sixteen. If it would help catch the monster, she could do it again now as a grown woman.
Wade spoke out of the corner of his mouth in a voice only she could hear. “You don’t have to do this.”
What Wade didn’t understand was that this was exactly what she had to do. She squared her shoulders and directed her gaze at Buxton. “What do you want to know?”
Buxton exchanged a covert glance with Wade. They must have planned for this ahead of time, designating Dr. Jeffrey Wade, forensic psychologist, to take her through the account. Buxton clearly knew Wade had already gone over the incident with her during her applicant process. He must have decided it would be easier for her to open up to him again.
As if.
Wade swiveled his chair to face her. “Nina, why don’t you start with what you remember about the abduction?”
He had never used her first name before. He also referred to “the abduction,” distancing her from the attack. She had used the same interview tactics with crime victims.
“It was late at night,” she began. “I had run away from the group home and was crashing with some women camped out behind a strip mall in Alexandria.”
He nodded, encouraging her to go on.
“The first time I saw the van, it passed by slowly, then came back a second time and stopped across the parking lot from us. One of the women got up to see if he wanted to do some business.”
She remembered the woman as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, her stilted shuffle making her greasy blonde hair swing as she affected a streetwalker strut.
“I just hung out with the others,” Nina said. “Didn’t have a habit to feed, so I wasn’t in the trade.” She found herself focusing on Wade’s cool gray eyes as she poured out her story. “The woman came back to us. Said he was interested in me, not her.”
She could still hear the woman’s bark of laughter, her blackened teeth and swollen gums making a cavernous void contrasting with pale skin in the moonlight.
“Without warning, the man threw open the driver’s-side door, jumped out, and ran straight toward me.” Nina steadied herself as the stark terror of that night washed through her, bringing memories of pain and anguish in its wake. “He wore a black ski mask and bright blue latex gloves. It was kind of chilly, but not cold enough for a ski mask. Once I saw his face was covered, I tried to get away, but he was already sprinting. He caught up to me in a few strides, grabbed my ponytail, and yanked me to him.” She absently touched her cropped hair. “He wrapped one of his big hands around my throat and squeezed.”
“What did the others do?” Wade said.
“Took off.”
She had been certain they would rush to help her. They were five adult women. Together they could have fought him off. Instead, they had watched her being dragged away and had done nothing about it. Like so many others in her life, they had abandoned her. This was the moment when she had truly accepted she was alone. That she could only count on herself.