Edge of Midnight. Leslie Tentler

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СКАЧАТЬ Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office was a combined city and county agency that handled law enforcement in both Jacksonville and the greater Duval County. Eric sat in the JSO conference room on East Bay Street with Cameron and the two detectives who had initially been assigned to the missing-person cases. Detective Boyet was heavyset and balding, while his partner, Detective Scofield, was a blonde, athletic-looking woman in her mid-forties.

       “There was more than one blood type in the Acura,” Eric noted as he scanned the forensics report on the car Mia Hale had crashed.

       Boyet nodded, his chair squeaking as he shifted his weight. “The blood type on the steering wheel and air bag are a match to Ms. Hale, as are the fingerprints found inside the vehicle. But the larger smears on the front seat are the same blood type as Cissy Cox, our second missing person. Although DNA testing isn’t completed yet, Ms. Cox is O negative. That’s a rare blood type—only about five percent of the population. Its presence makes it likely she was also in the car at some point.”

       “Or, the smears were a transfer from Ms. Hale’s hands.” Seeing the detective’s puzzled expression, Eric explained further. “She could’ve come into contact with the second abductee’s blood at the location where she was held. It’s possible she had it on her when she escaped and wiped her hands on the seat before driving away.”

       Cameron rose from the table, and he leaned his tall, athletic frame against the wall near a plate-glass window overlooking a line of palm trees. “Speaking of, how did she drive away? The car was stolen—were the keys inside it?”

       “It was hot-wired,” Boyet supplied. “Whether she did it herself or the perp did it, Ms. Hale knew at least enough to twist the wires together properly to get the ignition started. I’d say that’s an interesting skill for a journalist. Especially one blitzed out on roofies.”

       “Any other prints inside the car?” Eric asked.

       “Just hers.”

       Detective Scofield spoke. “We’ve had a few dealings with Ms. Hale as a reporter, including the recent disappearances. She’s young, but she’s smart. She was pretty shook up when we spoke to her at the hospital, which is to be expected. It will be interesting to see how she handles all this.”

       Photos of the first two missing women, as well as several Polaroids of Mia Hale that were taken during the E.R. examination, lay on the table. Eric studied the closest one, which focused on her face and revealed a faint bruise on her right jaw. She was pretty, he noticed, with a pale olive complexion, dark hair and doelike brown eyes that in the snapshot were glazed with a combination of drugs, confusion and fear. He felt a hard tug of sympathy. His gaze moved to the two other E.R. photos, which displayed the injuries to her abdomen and hand. The interconnecting loops of the number eight were visible on her flat, tanned stomach.

       “What kind of twisted bastard does something like that?” Boyet indicated the third Polaroid. Open, raw wounds existed where two of her fingernails should have been. “The E.R. doc said her nails were probably pulled out using pliers or some other tool.”

       “Her injuries are consistent with the signature,” Eric said.

       Scofield gave a shiver of revulsion. “She’s probably glad she doesn’t have any memory of what happened to her. I know I’d be.”

       Eric tried not to think of Rebecca, what she’d gone through. “Are there any similarities or connections between the abducted women? The same socioeconomic status, or maybe they had similar jobs, took the same yoga class or shopped at the same grocery store?”

       Cameron pushed off from the wall and began pacing the room. “From a victimology perspective, we haven’t been able to find anything so far. Cissy Cox works at a retail job at the River City Marketplace. Pauline Berger is a stay-at-home mom with a McMansion in Ponte Vedra Beach and a country club membership. Mia Hale lives in the artsy San Marco community, and as you know, works for the Courier. Those are pretty diverse locations and lifestyles.”

       “Not to mention, the victims are all over the map, physically.” Scofield pointed to photos of all three women, tapping each with the tip of her ballpoint pen. “A curvy redhead, a tall, Nordic-looking blonde and a petite brunette who’s possibly of mixed Latino or Spanish descent. If you really think this could be a serial killer at work, don’t they have a preferred type?”

       “Some do,” Eric acknowledged. “But if this is a resurgence of a past unsub, as I suspect, his tastes are diverse, intentionally so.”

       She tilted her head. “I’m not sure I follow.”

       “He’s indicated that he likes taking a variety of women. He refers to them as his ‘collection.’”

       Scofield blinked. “You’ve spoken to him?”

       “He sent digital recordings to the VCU during the previous investigation, although it was likely his voice was altered.” Eric recalled the audios that had been delivered one by one after each woman had gone missing. Even though he didn’t look at Cameron, he felt the weight of his gaze. “The recordings were of his victims being tortured and killed.”

       “The VCU deals with some pretty sick shit.” Boyet picked up another of the photos. “What’s the story with the carving?”

       “He numbered his victims. There were five women abducted and killed in Maryland before he vanished three years ago. If this is the same guy, your two missing women could be numbers six and seven—”

       “Making Mia Hale victim number eight,” Scofield uttered in realization. “Or that was the plan before she got away.”

       “Technically, this is still a missing-persons case until a body turns up.” Boyet’s expression was grim. “But if you’re right about the abductor’s identity, Agent Macfarlane, it’s not good. We’re heading into the beach tourist season—Jacksonville doesn’t need a serial killer on the loose.”

       “What were you getting at with the second blood type in the car being a transfer?” Cameron asked as he and Eric traveled through the busy JSO lobby a short time later. Although it was still April, heat hit them in a muggy wave as they pushed through glass doors that led to the building’s plaza, then headed west toward the multilevel garage where they had both parked.

       “During the Maryland investigation we were able to pick up sounds of two women at once on the recordings.” Eric loosened his tie as he walked. “The first woman—the one being intentionally recorded—was in the foreground. But the AV techs also isolated the sound of a second female in the background on each audio, although the voice was muffled, probably due to a gag.”

       Cameron stopped, halting Eric, as well. “Meaning what, exactly?”

       He looked out across the water. Jacksonville was known as The River City, and an expanse of the St. Johns that ran through the heart of the downtown was visible from where they stood. He worked to lay out the theory as impassively as possible. “It’s believed the unsub kept two women captive at once. He’d make the newer abductee watch as he killed the woman he’d taken earlier, as a show of power. Then when he brought another woman in, it would be that abductee’s turn to die.”

       “Like a revolving door,” Cameron said bleakly. “So you think both women are already dead—that Cissy Cox watched Pauline Berger die, and in turn Mia Hale witnessed Cissy Cox’s execution before she escaped? That’s why she had Ms. Cox’s blood on her?”

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