Allison Brennan - Silenced

Before Noah could speak, Stein said, “Attempted.”

“There’s no evidence of an attempted rape,” Noah said.

“Her pants were pulled down and he wrote on her ass,” Stein snapped.

“Respect for the dead, Agent Stein,” Hans snapped.

Stein mumbled an apology, then continued. “My guess is that Crowley hired a lowlife to kill her. If she attempted to blackmail him, that gives him motive. The killer got his hands on her and got horny, wanted to rape her, but lost his nerve.”

“If someone like Crowley hired a professional hit man, James would either never be found, or her death would be made to look like an accident,” Hans said.

“Or,” Stein pushed, “a random crime.”

Hans conceded that point. “Possibly.”

“We have no other directions to go in.”

Slater leaned back in his chair. “Nothing on the security cams, nothing useful on her computer-yet. Several potential suspects to interview based on room seven-ten. She may have been juggling more than one guy.”

“Multiple affairs,” Hans said. “Have you identified any of the other men, other than Bristow?”

“Bristow is single, no big scandal for him to be sleeping around,” Slater said. “No one has come forward, and she didn’t keep records.”

“That’s another odd thing,” Noah said. “We couldn’t find a calendar in her apartment or on her computer.”

“Hmm.” Hans looked again at the photo. “We definitely need more information. If there was blackmail involved. If there were other men. If there was a financial or other motive.”

“Financial is easy to track,” Stein said.

“If not financial, then what? If not for money, why blackmail a congressman?”

“Votes!” Stein slapped his palm on the table. “I’m on it.”

“It’s right up your alley,” Slater said.

“Can I go?”

“I think we’re done here.”

“Agreed,” Hans said. “But I can tell you two things about the killer. First, this isn’t the first time he’s killed. And second, this is not a sexual crime.”

“You’re sure?” Stein asked as he stood at the door, rolling on the balls of his feet. Noah cringed. Hans Vigo was one of the sharpest, most experienced forensic profilers in the FBI. While Hans appreciated thoughtful analysis and disagreement, Stein’s flip comment was inappropriate and disrespectful.

“Yes, Agent Stein, I’m certain,” Hans said.

Stein was properly repentant. “Thank you, Dr. Vigo.” He quickly walked out.

Miriam and Henry followed, both seeming eager to put in another couple of hours even though it was already past dinnertime.

Hans said to Slater, “Why was Lucy Kincaid pulled from the James homicide? She probably could have told you exactly what I just did.”

Noah was about to speak when Slater said, “She doesn’t have the experience to work this case. We can’t have internal bickering over how we deal with witnesses, or worse, having the press call into question anything we do. It’s better that she steers clear. I know she’s a friend of yours, Hans, and I’m sorry, but right or wrong, Josh nixed her and this is his case.”

“I’m not questioning your decisions. I came here to provide a psychological profile of the killer, which I did. I’d also suggest something you already know-if this is blackmail, there’s more than one person involved. There’s nothing in Wendy James’s background that suggests she had the technical skills necessary to create an elaborate system as what you suspect was in apartment seven-ten.”

“We’re already on that angle, Hans. Thank you.”

“Anytime. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Actually,” Noah said, “if you have a minute, I’ll give you a rundown on the prostitute Nicole Bellows. It’s the case Lucy is working on. She sent me a report.”

“You assigned her to DC?”

“It’s the best way to keep her involved without crossing paths with Stein,” Noah said. He walked over to the printer and pulled the report.

While Hans read it, Slater rose from his chair and stretched. “I’m outta here. I’m already late for the Nationals game, but I should get there by the fourth inning.”

“Good to see you, as always, Matt,” Hans said, shaking his hand, then going back to the report.

“There was a number written on the victim’s hand?” Hans asked. “To where?”

“It was a virtual number. You buy a virtual number from a company to give to people who you don’t want to have your real number. Like an answering service, only when the person dials the number, it gets transferred to whatever phone you want. Popular with doctors, lawyers, CEOs, and not surprisingly, criminals.”

“It would make sense for a prostitute to use such a service,” Hans concurred. “A way for her regular clients to contact her.”

“But the number was written on the victim’s hand, so likely someone gave her the number. DC is working on getting warrants for the phone records to find out who bought the number and where it’s forwarded, but Detective Reid doesn’t expect to have anything until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Do you have a picture of the message the killer left?”

Noah slid a printout over to the psychologist.

Hans studied the message for a long minute. The silence in the room would have been unnerving to most, but Noah found peace in this process. Like his years in the Air Force, his success was based on gathering information, analyzing, and acting.

“Do you know if he brought the rat with him?” Hans asked.

“We have no evidence either way, but DC sent the rat to our lab for dissection. Our people think they can analyze the stomach and tissue samples and determine what area of the city it came from.”

Hans nodded. “I think we can assume the rat was found in the motel room or on the premises. It was certainly killed there, and unless the killer was carrying the rodent in a cage-which would have brought undue attention-he probably acted spontaneously. The question to me is did he intend to leave a message before he saw the rat? Or was the message a last-minute idea?”

Hans continued with his theory. “I suspect the message was spontaneous, but accurate. He is planning on killing six women. He certainly has killed before. You don’t slit someone’s throat that deep, with no hesitation, without some experience in murder. He went in with purpose.” Hans frowned as he flipped through the pages of the report.

“See something?” Noah asked.

“Lucy wrote that the victim had lived in the neighborhood until nine months ago. Where has she lived since? Why did she come back?”

Noah said, “Detective Reid is following up on the prostitution angle. It’s a violent business. Not just the sex trade, but drug use and distribution, money laundering, you name it.”

“Don’t be surprised if another prostitute ends up dead in the near term. The killer is a sociopath-cold, calculating, remorseless, no empathy with his victims-but he’s not a psychopath. He has a purpose and isn’t killing for emotional release. This, however,” Hans tapped on the photo of the rat, “is his own personal game. He doesn’t care if the cops see it. He’s of above-average intelligence, but thinks he’s smarter than he is, and smarter than everyone else. Truly, one of the most dangerous types of killers I’ve encountered. He’ll kill again before anyone catches him, but it’ll be his own arrogance that will bring him down.”

Noah thanked Hans for his analysis and walked him to the front of the building. He’d always admired the assistant director for his ability to see things no one else saw. Noah preferred facts and physical evidence, while Hans-a lot like Lucy-saw what was just beneath the surface.

“How is Lucy?” Hans asked when they were alone.