James Swain - The King Tides

“My brother-in-law saved the day,” she said.

“Yes, he did,” he said. “Nicki was the killers’ next victim. They connected her to the Cassandra videos and decided to abduct her, knowing it would destroy you when the photos of her landed on your desk.”

“How can you know that for certain?”

“I know because of how hard they tried. The abduction at the Galleria mall failed, so they tried to grab her from home and escape in a boat. When that failed, they parked a van across the street and started watching the house. They were on a mission.”

“You may be right. So what’s your theory?”

“I’ll show you. Watch the video again. This time, focus on the people in the mall.”

Daniels watched the surveillance video a second time.

“None of them are paying attention,” she said. “Why do you think that is?”

“It’s the presence of the wheelchair,” he said. “From the time we’re little kids, our parents train us not to stare at people being pushed in wheelchairs, who are either handicapped or sick. It’s considered bad manners, so we avoid making eye contact when we see a person in a wheelchair. That’s our killers’ trick. They approach their victim from behind. One pushes a wheelchair, while the other holds a bottle of chloroform and a rag. They knock their victim out and strap her into the wheelchair, which they push through the crowd while people deliberately avoid looking at them. Outside in the parking lot, they put the victim in their vehicle, and load the wheelchair in the trunk.”

“You’re saying that there are witnesses, but they’re not paying attention.”

“Correct. There were plenty of people present when Nicki was nearly abducted at the Galleria mall, yet none of them helped your brother-in-law. That’s because they were looking the other way. Which leads me to my next theory.”

“Which is what?”

“You’ve been looking for a pair of cops. That makes sense, since the police from the nearby towns didn’t submit to DNA testing during the investigation of the Hanover killers. But what if this wasn’t a pair of cops? What if it was a pair of nurses or paramedics? They would have experience handling a wheelchair and also access to chloroform at the hospital where they worked.”

“Jesus. I never considered that,” Daniels said.

She fell silent. Her fist punched the dashboard.

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” he said. “People in the medical profession rarely commit crimes and hardly come up on law enforcement’s radar. But there are always exceptions. Did the employees at the hospitals in Hanover submit to DNA testing during the investigation?”

“I don’t know. There’s only one hospital near Hanover, and that’s the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center in Lebanon, which is three miles from the college.”

“How hard would it be to find out?”

“Not hard at all. I stay in contact with the FBI agent that handled that case. He’s retired now and lives in a community in central Florida called The Villages. Every time I get new information, I share it with him, hoping it might spark a memory.”

“You should call him. I’m willing to bet that the employees at Dartmouth-Hitchcock didn’t submit to DNA testing either.”

“You think our killers are male nurses,” she said.

“Yes, I do,” he said.

Daniels placed a call to the retired FBI agent who’d handled the Hanover killers case. His name was Mark Eberbach, and he confirmed to her that the male employees at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center had not submitted to DNA testing during the investigation. Daniels thanked Eberbach for his time and promised to stay in touch.

“I need to go to the FBI’s office in North Miami Beach and get on a computer and do some digging,” Daniels said. “Want to tag along?”

He’d finally gained her trust. He nodded, and she pulled out of the Starbucks parking lot and drove west toward I-95. The FBI had three facilities in South Florida: one in Miami, a newly opened office in Miramar, and an office in North Miami Beach. The NMB office was the closest, but that was a relative term when driving in South Florida, where a ten-mile journey could take between ten minutes and an hour.

Traffic was at a standstill a mile from the entrance ramp to I-95. He opened the traffic app on his phone and saw that I-95 was a parking lot. Daniels punched the wheel in frustration. Every wasted minute might lead to another young woman being lost.

“Why don’t you work out of my place,” he suggested. “I do consulting work with Team Adam, and have access to all the major databases on my computer.”

Daniels answered him by doing a U-turn and heading back to the beach. He gave her instructions as she drove. Daniels had a wire in the blood and was seeing things in a new light. It was how many investigations went. Months or years of tedious searching were rewarded by a sudden revelation that propelled the case forward.

“How long have you consulted for Team Adam?” she asked.

“Two years,” he said.

“What do you think of them?”

“They have a ninety-two percent success rate.”

“Wow. How does that work?”

“I asked myself the same question when I started with them. Why is Team Adam more effective at solving difficult cases than other law enforcement agencies? After working a few cases, I saw what it was. They never stop moving forward. If a team working an investigation hits a wall, a fresh pair of eyes is brought in to review the evidence and offer a different perspective.”

“Keep moving forward,” she said. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Three blocks from his condo, they hit another deterrent. The King Tides were unpredictable and often flooded roads without warning. A pair of metal detour signs had been placed in the middle of the road, forcing drivers to seek alternative routes.

“What’s with all the water? Have you had a lot of rain recently?” she asked.

“It hasn’t rained in weeks,” he said. “The flooding is a strange phenomenon called the King Tides. No one really knows what causes it.”

“I’m assuming there’s an alternative route,” she said.

“Of course. Back up, and I’ll get you there.”

She threw the rental into reverse. Turning in her seat, she looked over her shoulder, hit the gas, and expertly drove backward down the block until she reached the intersection, where she made a sharp turn, then hit the brakes, threw the rental into drive, and headed off in the direction that his finger was pointing. He’d been trained in defensive driving while in the SEALs, but this was a cut above.

“Where did you learn to drive like that?” he asked.

“Impressed?” she asked.

“You’re way good. I’m very impressed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from a former SEAL.”

“I trained in Southern California. We didn’t spend a lot of time learning to drive in reverse. Most of our missions were conducted on foot or using small boats. No cars.”

“I learned on a course at TEVOC at Quantico. That’s short for Tactical and Emergency Vehicle Operations Center. The FBI teaches its agents how to drive every vehicle you can imagine in an emergency situation. We’re required to go back every six months for a refresher.”

“Do they take outsiders?”

“Help me solve this, and I’ll put in a word for you.”

Soon they were at his condo. He brewed a fresh pot of coffee while Daniels sat at the desk in his study and spoke with the head of human resources at Dartmouth-Hitchcock, with whom she was on a first-name basis. The head of HR agreed to email Daniels the names of all male employees at the hospital during the time of the Hanover killings, and the call ended. He placed a steaming mug in front of her.