“So McGinnis already knew him?”
“We think he recruited him. You know, it always used to be an amazing thing when two like-minded killers would hook up. You would think, What are the chances? But the Internet is a whole new ball game. It’s the great intersection, for things good and bad. With chat rooms and websites devoted to any fetish and paraphilia imaginable, we have people with similar interests hooking up every minute of the day. We are going to see more and more of this, Jack. Where they take it out of fantasy and cyberspace and into the real world. Meeting people with shared beliefs helps justify those beliefs. It emboldens. Sometimes it’s a call to action.”
“Did the name Freddy Stone belong to somebody else?”
“No, it looks like it was fabricated.”
“Any history of violence or sex offenses back in Chicago?”
“When he was arrested three years ago in Chicago, his computer was seized and they found a lot of porn. I am told it included a few Bangkok torture films but he wasn’t charged with anything. It’s too hard to make a case because the films carry disclaimers that they’re all actors and nothing is real, even though it most likely is real torture and pain.”
“What about stuff with leg braces, that sort of thing?”
“Nothing like that on the record but we’ll look into all of that, believe me. If the link between Courier and McGinnis is abasiophilia, we will find it. If they met in an iron maiden chat room we will find it.”
“How’d you make Courier’s ID?”
“The handprint stored on the biometric reader on the entrance to the server farm.”
I finished writing and checked my notes, looking for my next question.
“Will I be able to get a mug shot of Courier?”
“Check your e-mail. I sent one before I left. I want you to see if he looks familiar.”
I pulled my laptop across the bed and logged on to my e-mail. Her message was on top of the pile. I opened the photo and stared at a mug shot of Marc Courier from his arrest three years before. He had long dark hair and a scraggly goatee and mustache. He looked like he would fit in seamlessly with Kurt and Mizzou in the bunker at Western Data.
“Could it be the man from the hotel in Ely?” Rachel asked.
I studied the photo without answering.
“Jack?”
“I don’t know. It could be. I wish I had seen his eyes.”
I studied the photo for a few more seconds and then moved on.
“So you said you had good and bad news. What’s the bad news?”
“Before he split, Courier planted replicating viruses in his own computer in the lab at Western Data and in the company archives. It chewed through almost everything by the time it was discovered tonight. The camera archives are gone. So is a lot of the company data.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means we’re not going to be able to track his movements as easily as we had hoped. You know, when he was there, when he wasn’t, any sort of connections or meetings with McGinnis, that sort of thing. E-mails back and forth. It would have been good to have.”
“How did that go unnoticed by Carver and all the safeguards they supposedly have in place there?”
“The easiest thing in the world to pull off is an inside job. Courier knew the defense systems. He built a virus that navigated around them.”
“What about McGinnis and his computer?”
“Better luck there, I am told. But they started on that late tonight, so I won’t know more until tomorrow when I go in. A search team was at his house all night as well. He lives alone, no family. I heard they found some interesting stuff but the search is ongoing.”
“How interesting?”
“Well, I don’t know if you want to hear this, Jack, but they found a copy of your book on the Poet on his bookshelf. I told you we’d find it.”
I didn’t reply. I felt a sudden heat on my face and neck and was silent while I considered the idea that I had written a book that might have in some way been a primer for another killer. It was by no means a how-to book but it certainly outlined how profiling and serial killer investigations were carried out by the FBI.
I needed to change the subject.
“What else did they find?”
“I haven’t seen this yet but I am told they found a complete set of ankle-to-thigh leg braces designed for a woman. There was also pornography dealing with the subject.”
“Man, this is one sick son of a bitch.”
I wrote a few notes about the findings, then flipped back through the pages to see if anything prompted another question. Between what I knew and had seen and what Rachel was telling me, I would have a hell of a story for the next day.
“So Western Data is completely closed down, right?”
“Pretty much. I mean, the websites that are hosted at the company are still operating. We froze the colocation center, though. No data is going in or out until the EER team completes its assessment.”
“Some of the clients, like the big law firms, are going to go ape shit when they find out the FBI has custody of their stored files, aren’t they?”
“Probably, but we’re not opening any stored files. At least not yet. We are just maintaining the system as is for the time being. Nothing in or out. We worked with Carver on a message that went out to all clients to keep them informed. It said that the situation is temporary and that Carver, as a representative of the company, was observing the FBI investigation and ensuring the integrity of the files, yada, yada, yada. That’s the best we can do. If they go ape shit, then I guess they go ape shit.”
“What about Carver? You checked him out, right?”
“Yes, he’s clean, all the way back to MIT. We need to trust somebody inside and I guess it’s him.”
I was silent as I wrote a few final notes. I had more than enough to write the story the next day. Even if I couldn’t get through to Rachel, I was sure my story would lead the paper and draw national attention. Two serial killers for the price of one.
“Jack, you there?”
“Yeah, I’m just writing. Anything else?”
“That’s about it.”
“You’re being careful?”
“Of course. My gun and badge are being overnighted to me. I’ll be locked and loaded tomorrow morning.”
“Then you’ll be all set.”
“I will. Can we finally talk about us now?”
I was suddenly speared through the chest with anxiety. She wanted to get the work-related discussion out of the way so she could get to what she really wanted to say about our relationship. After all the unanswered phone calls, I didn’t think it was going to be good news.
“Uh, sure,” I said. “What about us?”
I got up off the bed, ready to take the news standing up. I walked over to the bottle of wine and picked it up. I was staring at it when she spoke.
“Well, you know, I didn’t want this to be all business.”
I felt a little better. I put the bottle down again and started to loosen the spear.
“Me, too.”
“In fact, I was thinking… I know this is going to sound crazy.”
“What is?”
“Well, when they offered me my job back today, I felt so… I don’t know, elated, I guess. Vindicated in some way. But then when I got back here by myself tonight, I started thinking about that thing you said when you were joking around.”
I couldn’t remember what she meant so I played along.
“And?”
She sort of laughed before answering.
“And, well, I think it really could be kind of fun if we tried it.”
I was racking my brain, wondering if this had something to do with the single-bullet theory. What was it I had said?
“You really think so?”
“Well, I don’t know anything about business or how we would get clients, but I think I’d like working with you on investigations. It would be fun. It’s already been fun.”
&
nbsp; Now I remembered. Walling and McEvoy, Discreet Investigations. I smiled. I pulled the spear out of my chest and slammed it point-first into the hard ground, staking a claim like that astronaut who put the flag on the moon.
“Yeah, Rachel, it’s been nice,” I said, hoping my cool bravado masked my inner relief. “But I don’t know. You were pretty upset when you were facing life without a badge.”
“I know. Maybe I’m kidding myself. We’d probably end up doing divorce work and that’s gotta kill the soul over time.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s something to think about.”
“Hey, I’ve got nothing lined up. So you won’t hear me objecting. I just want to make sure you don’t make a mistake. I mean, is everything suddenly forgiven there with the bureau? They just gave you your job back and that’s that?”
“Probably not. They’ll lie in wait for me. They always do.”
I heard the knock on her door and the muffled voice of someone calling out, “Room service.”
“My dinner’s here,” Rachel said. “I gotta go.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later, Rachel.”
“Okay, Jack. Good night.”
I smiled as I disconnected the call. Later would be sooner than she thought.
After brushing my teeth and checking myself in the mirror, I grabbed the bottle of Grand Embrace and slipped the folding corkscrew that room service had provided into my pocket. I made sure I had my key card and left the room.
The stairwell was right outside my door, and Rachel was only one floor up and a few doors down, so I decided not to waste any time. I hit the door and started up the concrete stairs two at a time, taking a quick look over the railing and down the center shaft to the ground. I got a quick dose of vertigo and pulled back and continued up. I made the turn on the middle landing, thinking about what her first words were going to be when she answered her door and saw me. I was smiling when I crested the next flight. And that’s when I saw a man lying flat on his back next to the door to the seventh-floor hallway. He was wearing black pants and a white shirt with a bow tie.
All in a moment I realized he was the room service waiter who had earlier brought me my dinner and the bottle of wine I was now holding. As I got to the top step, I saw blood on the concrete, leaking from beneath him. I dropped to my knees next to him and put the bottle down.
“Hey!”
I pushed his shoulder to see if I could get a response. There was nothing and I thought he was dead. I saw the ID tag clipped to his belt, confirming my recognition. EDWARD HOOVER, KITCHEN STAFF.
I made another quick leap.
Rachel!
I jumped up and yanked the door open. As I entered the seventh-floor hallway, I pulled my phone and punched in 911. The hotel was designed in a wide U pattern and I was on the upper right branch. I started moving down the hallway, checking the numbers on the doors. 722, 721, 720… I got to Rachel’s room and saw the door was ajar. I pushed through without knocking.
“Rachel?”
The room was empty but there were obvious signs of a struggle. Plates, silverware and French fries from a room service table were strewn across the floor. The bed covers were gone and there was a pillow smeared with blood on the floor.
I realized I was holding my phone down at my side and there was a tinny voice calling to me. I headed back out into the hall as I raised the phone.
“Hello?”
“ Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
I started running down the hall, panic engulfing me as I yelled into the phone.
“I need help! Mesa Verde Inn, seventh floor! Now!”
I made the turn into the central hallway and caught a split-second glimpse of a man with bleached-blond hair and wearing a red waiter’s jacket. He was pushing a large laundry cart through a pair of double doors on the far side of the guest elevators. Though it had been only a quick view, the picture didn’t add up.
“Hey!”
I increased my speed, covered the ground quickly and hit the double doors just seconds after I saw them close. I came into a small housekeeping vestibule and saw the door of a service elevator closing. I lunged for the door, reaching my hand out, but I was too late. It was gone. I backed away and looked up. There were no numbers or arrows above the door that would tell me which way he was going. I smashed back through the double doors and ran to the guest elevators. The stairwells, at either end of the hallway, were too far to consider.
I quickly pushed the down button, thinking it was the obvious choice to make. It led to the exit. It led to escape. I thought about the laundry cart and the forward-leaning angle of the man who was pushing it. There was something heavier than laundry in it, I was sure. He had Rachel.
There were four guest elevators and I got lucky. As soon as I hit the button the door chimed and an elevator opened. I leaped through the opening door and saw that the lobby button was already lit. I machine-gunned the close-door button and waited interminably long as the door slowly, gently closed.
“Easy, buddy. We’ll get there.”
I turned and saw there was a man already on the elevator. He was wearing a conventioneer’s name tag with a blue ribbon hanging from it. I was about to tell him it was an emergency, when I remembered the phone in my hand.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
There was static on the line but I still had a connection. I could feel the elevator start to drop quickly.
“Yes, sir. I’ve dispatched the police. Can you tell me—”
“Listen to me, there’s a guy dressed like a waiter and he’s trying to abduct a federal agent. Call the FBI. Send every—Hello? Are you there?”
Nothing. I’d lost the call. I felt the elevator come to a hard stop as we reached the lobby. The conventioneer pushed back into the corner and tried to disappear. I stepped up to the doors and moved through them before they had barely opened.
I stepped into an alcove off the lobby. Adjusting my bearings in relation to where the service elevator would be located, I took a left and then another left through a door marked employees only and entered a rear hallway. I heard kitchen noises and smelled food. There were stainless-steel shelves lined with commercial-size cans of food and other products. I saw the service elevator but no sign of the man in the red jacket or the laundry cart.
Had I beaten the service elevator down? Or had he gone up?
I pushed the elevator call button.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be back here.”
I turned quickly to see a man in kitchen whites and a dirty apron walking toward me in the hall.
“Did you see a guy pushing a laundry cart?” I asked quickly.
“Not in the kitchen, I didn’t.”
“Is there a basement?”
The man took an unlit cigarette out of his mouth to answer.
“There ain’t no basement.”
He gestured with the hand holding the cigarette. I realized he was going outside for a smoke break. There was an exit somewhere close.
“Is there a way out from here to the parking garage?”
He pointed past me.
“The loading dock is—Hey, look out!”
I started to turn back to the elevator just as the laundry cart came crashing into me. It hit me thigh high and my upper body pivoted over the edge. I put my hands out to break my fall into the pile of linens and the bedspread in it. I could feel something soft but solid under the covers and knew it was Rachel. I pushed my weight backward and slid back onto my feet.
I looked up and saw the elevator closing again as the man in the red jacket held his hand on the door-close button. I looked at his face and recognized it from the mug shot I had seen earlier that night. He was cleaned up and blond now, but I was sure it was Marc Courier. I looked back at the elevator control panel and saw a floor light glowing from the top. Courier was going back up.
I reached into the cart and yanked back the bedspread. There was Rachel. She was still wearing the clothes she’
d had on earlier in the day. She was facedown with her arms and legs hog-tied behind her back. A terry cloth belt from a hotel room bathrobe had been tied as a gag across her mouth. Her nose and mouth were bleeding profusely. Her eyes were glassy and distant.
“Rachel!”
I reached down and pulled the gag down off her mouth.
“Rachel? Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond. The kitchen man stepped over and looked down into the cart.
“What the hell is going on?”
She was bound with plastic cable ties. I pulled the folding corkscrew out of my pocket and used the small blade designed for cap cutting to slice through the plastic.
“Help me get her out!”
We carefully lifted her out of the cart and put her on the floor. I dropped down next to her and made sure the blood had not closed off her airways. Her nostrils were caked with it but her mouth was clear. She had been beaten and her face was beginning to swell.
I looked up at the kitchen man.
“Go call security. And nine-one-one. Now! GO!”
He started running down the hall for a phone. I looked back down at Rachel and saw she was becoming alert.
“Jack?”
“It’s all right, Rachel. You’re safe.”
Her eyes looked scared and hurt. I felt a rage building inside me.
From down the hallway I heard the kitchen man yell.
“They’re coming! Paramedics and po-lice!”
I didn’t look up at him. I kept my eyes on Rachel.
“There, you hear that? Help is on the way.”
She nodded and I saw more life returning to her eyes. She coughed and tried to sit up. I helped her and then pulled her into a hug. I rubbed the back of her neck.
She whispered something I couldn’t hear and I pulled back to look at her and asked her to say it again.
“I thought you were in L.A.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“I was too paranoid about going away from the story. And from you. I was going to surprise you with a good bottle of wine. That’s when I saw him. It was Courier.”
She made a slight nodding motion.
“You saved me, Jack. I didn’t recognize him through the peephole. When I opened the door, it was too late. He hit me. I tried to fight but he had a knife.”