Jan Burke - Nine

“We’ve hit a couple of snags there,” Ciara said. “But we’ve confirmed that he’s been running a conference this past week, and it’s unlikely that he’s managed to do that and hunt these two fugitives down, kill them, and hoist them up in his own house.”

“Hmm. You have any other leads?”

Alex said, “The rope appears to be of a kind used by climbers, so we’ll be looking at sources for that as well.”

He saw the looks on the faces of the others in the room and knew what they were thinking. That he didn’t have shit to go on.

A man from the crime lab asked, “Do you think number ten-or whoever the killer is ranking as number ten-on the list is out there rotting upside down over a tub full of blood somewhere?”

“Could be. But for all we know, these three are the only ones that we’ll find here. We have no way of knowing unless we locate the other seven fugitives.”

“Or their bodies,” Ciara said.

The comment irritated Alex. Not once in his years with J.D. had he ever found himself wishing his partner would just shut the hell up. He had always watched J.D., taken his cues from the more experienced detective. He wondered if what really rankled was that Ciara didn’t defer to him as he had to J.D.

“Do we have anyone working up a psychological profile of the type of individual who might commit these murders?” Nelson asked.

“Not yet, sir,” Hogan answered. “But we’re going to try to get Shay Wilder to take a look.”

“Wilder?” one of the others asked. “Isn’t he retired?”

“Yes,” the captain said. “But Lieutenant Hogan is right-he’s the best person we could turn to for help with this. Let’s hope he’ll give us a hand.” He paused, then added, “Hard to figure out what’s going on with this one, other than who his targets are.”

“Detective Brandon,” the man from the lab said, “one of our techs said you know of a similar set of cases?”

Alex felt his spine stiffen. He glanced at Ciara, who quickly said, “That’s not exactly true. Your tech was eavesdropping on a conversation between my partner and me. The tech jumped to a conclusion-”

But the captain interrupted. “Not exactly?” he asked Alex.

“The tech apparently didn’t hear me say that the man who committed those murders is dead.” Seeing that wasn’t going to be enough, he told them about Jerome Naughton. “Eight victims that we know of. With the exception of Serenity Logan-his wife-none of them were from the Los Angeles area.”

“And you’re sure he acted alone?”

“Fairly sure, at least as far as the killings went. His stepson-Kit Logan-was undoubtedly traveling with Naughton during that time. From what he told us-and the evidence supported this-Naughton would find a victim, hang her upside down over a bathtub, and torture and kill her. Getting sprayed by arterial blood was apparently a turn-on for him. At various points in the process, he posed the boy with the victim, or had the boy photograph him posing with her.” Alex hesitated, then decided to leave it at that.

The room was tense, quiet. Nelson broke the silence by saying, “How old was the boy?”

“When he killed Naughton?”

“No. When this started.”

“About eleven.”

“God almighty,” Marquez said.

“He was able to tell us where the victims had been killed, and knew the exact locations of their burials,” Alex said. “Prosecutors in each of the cases didn’t believe there was any reason to suspect the boy was anything other than a captive himself. He was fourteen at the time he killed his stepfather. As far as I know, that’s the only murder he ever committed.”

“How did he kill Naughton?”

“Bashed his head in with a shovel. And undoubtedly saved a ninth victim’s life. She was tied up, starting to go through the same treatment.”

“Is that why he killed Naughton?” Ciara asked. “To rescue her?”

Alex hesitated, then said, “No.”

The others waited.

“He left her tied up in the house. We didn’t talk to Kit immediately after he killed Naughton, but he claimed that Naughton had kicked his dog, and that was what had set him off.”

A ripple of laughter went through the room. Ciara frowned. Alex had seen this sort of disapproval from her before.

“Go on,” Nelson said.

“He killed Naughton, took the dog, and ran away. He got to a pay phone and called his grandmother collect. His grandmother was Elizabeth Logan, and she had lawyers on the way before anyone in law enforcement talked to him. She claimed he was nearly incoherent when he called her, but she did get the information about the ninth victim from him, and she called authorities.”

“Ninth, right?” Marquez said. “That was the number on the mirror-nine.”

Alex shrugged. “Maybe there’s a connection, but why now?”

“Maybe somebody else kicked his dog,” one of the others said, and again there was laughter.

“Any idea where he is?” the captain asked.

“No, sir. I plan to try to find out, but-”

“But all hell has been breaking loose. I understand.” He paused, then said, “I’m forming a task force for these cases as of now. Detective Brandon will be in charge of this task force, and if-God forbid-any other cases bearing any resemblance to these three come in, they are to be referred to him immediately. Is that understood?”

Heads nodded all around.

“Whether or not the victims are on the FBI list,” Captain Nelson said, “similar crime scenes or staging should be reported to him at once. And any murder of a fugitive on that list, even if in a different manner, will be referred to him. Let me know what resources we can put at your disposal, Alex, and you’ll have them.”

Alex thanked him, although he wasn’t sure he was grateful. Nelson didn’t seem to hear him anyway-Alex realized that the captain was watching the reactions of Ciara Morton and Dan Hogan. Neither of them looked happy.

“Alex,” Nelson said, turning back to him, “I’ve arranged for a meeting with Sheriff Dwyer. He’d like to have us brief him before a press conference he’s scheduled, so we should head over there now.”

An apartment in Frankfurt, Germany

Monday, May 19, 5:04 P.M.

“Guten Abend.”

Everett smiled sleepily and returned the greeting to Cameron Burgess, wishing him a good evening. They would speak only in German while in this country. This was not a burden to either of them. In addition to their native English, Everett’s closest associates in Project Nine were required to speak French, German, Italian, and Spanish fluently, and to be conversant in at least one other language.

In high school, as he had considered plans to make life at Sedgewick more interesting, he had studied books on the training of Special Forces units. He had no desire to serve in the military, but he found certain aspects of the model useful for developing his own elite unit. The language training appealed to him. They would be an international force to be reckoned with.

At Sedgewick, among his fellow students, he looked for recruits. They must be boys who were not simply unhappy at home, but truly disconnected from their parents. They must be boys who were physically fit and intelligent, but whose intelligence was seldom recognized by others. It was essential that they lacked self-confidence. Any sense of worth, they would receive from him alone.

He began to learn what would draw such young men closer to him, what would give him increasing levels of influence over them, and acted accordingly. He envisioned using that influence to create an ultimate, unstoppable force, a team that could be put into action to achieve any purpose of his choosing, to settle any grievance on his behalf, to demonstrate its power in any way he asked.