James PATTERSON - The Big Bad Wolf

Zelras had a droning speaking voice that reminded me of a professor I’d had a long time ago at Hopkins. Both Zelras and my former professor gave everything equal weight, never seemed excited or disturbed about the material they were presenting. Zelras’s subject was the connection the Connelly abduction might have to several others in the past months, so it ought to have been spellbinding.

‘Gerrold Gottlieb,’ Monnie Donnelley whispered again. I smiled, almost laughed out loud. Gottlieb was a biology professor who used to drone on at Hopkins. Smart, nice man, but Jesus.

‘Upscale, attractive, white women’, Zelras was saying, ‘have been disappearing at a little over three times the statistical norm over the past year. This is true both here in the States, and in Eastern Europe. I’m going to pass around an actual catalogue showing women who were up for sale about three months ago. Unfortunately, we never traced the catalogue back to whoever manufactured it. There was a Miami link, but it never went anywhere.’

When the catalogue got to me I saw that it was black and white, the pages probably printed off the Internet. I quickly leafed through it. There were seventeen women shown, nude shots, along with details such as breast and waist sizes; ‘true’ color of hair, color of eyes. The women had unlikely nicknames like: Candy, Sable, Foxy, Madonna, Ripe. The prices ranged from $3,500 to $150,000. There was no further biographical information on any of the women, and nothing at all about their personalities.

‘We’ve been working closely with Interpol on what we suspect could be “white slave” trading. FYI, “white slave” refers to women specifically bought and sold for the purpose of prostitution. These days, the women are usually Asian, Mexican, South American, not white, except in Eastern Europe. You should also note that, at this time, slavery is more globalized and technologized than ever in history. Some countries in Asia look the other way as women, and children, are sold – especially into Japan and India.

‘In the past couple of years, a market has opened up for white women, particularly blondes. These women are sold for prices ranging from a few hundred up into the mid-five figures and possibly higher. As I said, a significant market is Japan. Another is the Middle East of course. The Saudis are the biggest buyers. Believe it or not, there’s even a market in Iraq and Iran. Questions at this point?’

There were several, mostly good ones, which showed me this was a savvy group that had been brought together.

I finally asked a question, though I was reluctant to as the FNG. ‘Why do we think Elizabeth Connelly is connected to the others?’ I gestured around the room. ‘I mean, this connected?’

Zelras answered quickly. ‘A team took her. Kidnapping gangs are very common in the slave trade, especially in Eastern Europe. They’re experienced and very efficient at the abductions, and they’re connected into a pipeline. There’s usually a buyer before they take a woman like Mrs Connelly. She would be high risk, but very high reward. What makes this kind of abduction attractive is that there’s no ransom exchange. The Connelly abduction fits our profile.’

Someone asked, ‘Could a buyer request a specific woman? Is that a possibility?’

Zelras nodded. ‘If the money is right, yes, absolutely. The price might go into the six figures. We’re working that angle.’

Most of the remainder of the long meeting was taken up with discussion about Mrs Connelly and whether we could find her quickly. The consensus was no . One detail was particularly perplexing: Why would the UNSUBS kidnap the victim in such a public place? Profit/ransom seemed the logical possibility, but there had been no ransom note. Or had somebody specifically asked for Mrs Elizabeth Connelly? If so – who? What was special about her? And why the mall? Surely, there were easier abduction locations.

As we talked about her, a photograph of Mrs Connelly and her three daughters remained on the screen at the front of the conference room. The four of them looked so close-knit and happy. It was scary, sad. I found myself thinking about being with Jannie on our front porch the night before.

Someone asked, ‘These women who’ve been abducted, have any of them been found?’

‘Not one,’ said Agent Zelras. ‘Our fear is that they’re dead. That the kidnappers – or whomever the kidnappers deliver them to – consider them disposable.’

I returned to my orientation classes that day after the lunch break, and just in time for another of SSA Horowitz’s awful jokes. He held up a clipboard for us to see his material. ‘The official list of David Koresh’s theme songs. “You Light Up My Life”, “I’m Burning Up”, “Great Balls of Fire”. My personal favorite, “Burning Down the House”. Love the Talking Heads.’ Dr Horowitz seemed to know that his jokes were bad, but black humor works with police officers and his deadpan delivery was decent. Plus, he knew who had recorded ‘Burning Down the House’.

We had an hour-long session on ‘Management of Integrated Cases’, followed by ‘Law Enforcement Communication’, then ‘Dynamics of the Pattern Killer’. In the last course we were told that serial killers ‘change’, that they are ‘dynamic’. In other words, they get smarter and better at killing. Only the ‘ritual characteristics’ remain the same. I didn’t bother to take notes.

The next class was outdoors. We were all dressed in sportjackets, but with black padded throat and face protectors for a ‘practical’ at Hogans Alley. The exercise involved three cars in hot pursuit of a fourth. Sirens blared and echoed. Loudspeakers barked commands: ‘Stop! Pull over! Come out of the car with your hands up.’ Our ammo, ‘simunition’, consisted of bullets with pink-paint-infused tips.

It was five o’clock by the time we finished the practice. I showered and dressed, and as I was leaving the training building to go over to the Jefferson dorm where I had a cubicle, I saw SSA Nooney. He motioned for me to come over. What if I don’t want to?

‘You headed back to D.C.?’ he asked.

I nodded and bit down on my tongue. ‘In a while. I have some reports to read first. The abduction in Atlanta.’

‘Big stuff. I’m impressed. The rest of your classmates spend their nights here. Some of them think it helps build camaraderie. I think so too. Are you an agent of change?’

I shook my head, but then I tried a smile on Nooney. Didn’t work.

‘I was told from the start that I could go home nights. That isn’t possible for most of the others.’

Then Nooney began to push hard, tried to stir up old anger.

‘I heard you had some problems with your Chief of Detectives too,’ Nooney said then.

‘Everybody had problems with Chief of Detectives Pittman,’ I said.

Nooney’s eyes appeared glazed. It was obvious he didn’t see it that way. ‘Just about everybody has problems with me too. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong about the importance of building a team here. I’m not wrong, Cross.’

I resisted saying anything more. Nooney was coming down on me again. Why? I had attended the classes I could make; I still had work to do on White Girl. Like it or not, I was a part of the case. And this wasn’t another practical – it was real. It was important.

‘I have to get my work done,’ I finally said. Then I walked away from Nooney. I was pretty sure I’d made my first enemy in the FBI. An important one, too. No sense starting small.

Maybe it was guilt churned up by my confrontation with Gordon Nooney that made me work late in my cube on the lower level of the Dining Hall building where Behavioral Science has its offices. The low ceilings, bad fluorescent lighting and cinder-block walls kind of made me feel as if I were back at my precinct. But the depth of the back files and research available to FBI agents was astonishing. The Bureau’s resources were better than anything I’d ever seen in the D.C. police department.