Mike Omer - In the Darkness

She gazed at nothing, lost in trepidation. Her desk lacked any pictures or accessories. She had tried to bring in a potted plant two times, but the first had died within two days. The second, a cactus, had managed to survive nearly a month before succumbing. She was pretty sure the problem was the lack of water and sunlight, though Tatum, her coworker and friend, theorized that she’d scared the plants to death with her stare. Now, instead of plants, she personalized her desk with mess, and there was plenty of it.

The sound of familiar brisk footsteps tapped outside her door, and Zoe lunged from her seat and hurried to the corridor, catching up to the unit chief, Christine Mancuso.

“Chief, can I have a word?”

Mancuso barely glanced at her, her strides fast and purposeful. “Make it quick, Zoe. This week barely started, and I already have six different places I need to be.” Her dark hair was pulled back, her suit crisp and clean. Everything, down to the beauty spot by her lips, spoke of authority and efficiency.

“I want to start working with Agent Caldwell on the Glover case.” Like Zoe, Dan Caldwell worked in the BAU profiling serial criminals. Zoe had been furious when he was assigned to the case instead of her, but Mancuso had refused to reconsider.

“We’ve discussed this. No.”

“I think my firsthand knowledge can be a valuable asset in building this offender’s profile. We should work with everything we have, especially since there are indications that it’s only a matter of time before he strikes again.”

Mancuso paused by a large printer that spewed pages and glanced at the topmost page, then grunted in frustration. She turned to look at Zoe. “Which is why Agent Caldwell has spent two days interviewing you, working over everything you know and remember from your acquaintance with Glover.”

“I don’t think . . . I believe I can be objective in my—”

“You can’t.” Mancuso’s tone was final.

“Then I need a vacation.”

“So you can go after the man like some sort of bounty hunter? I don’t think so. I need you here.”

“Why?” Zoe’s voice came out almost shouting. “I’m working on cases that are ten or fifteen years old. Why is that so urgent?”

Mancuso pursed her lips. “You’re forgetting yourself, Bentley.” She turned back to the printer and thumbed through the printout, grabbed a few pages, and began marching back, not bothering to check whether Zoe was following.

Zoe hurried after her, almost running to keep pace. “Christine . . . I can’t concentrate with that man threatening my sister. I can’t do my job. Please give me a few days. That’s all I need. A few days and an analyst.”

Mancuso slowed down. Zoe had used the one weapon she’d held ever since she’d started working at Quantico. She’d never called Mancuso by her first name. Never alluded to their past familiarity, working together in the field office in Boston. This was not something she’d be able to use again anytime soon.

“Tell you what,” Mancuso said. “There’s another case I need you to look into. Once you’re done with it, I’ll give you five days, as long as you work directly with Agent Caldwell.”

“Okay.” Zoe nodded quickly, not believing her luck. “What’s the case?”

Mancuso paused by one of the office doors. “I’ll forward it to you. There’s no case file yet. It only arrived this morning.”

“No police file?” Zoe asked, surprised. “Then what do we have?”

“A link to a video. Of someone burying a woman alive.”

“I don’t understand. If this is a serial killer, we should have other cases of—”

“It’s the first one.”

Zoe blinked. “But we deal in serial killers.”

“I believe there are going to be more.”

“Why?”

Mancuso gripped the doorknob. “Because the title of the video is ‘Experiment Number One.’”

Christine Mancuso opened the door of Tatum Gray’s office and slid inside, shutting it forcefully behind her before Zoe had time to follow her. Though Christine cherished Zoe, the woman was slowly driving her insane. For the past month, Christine had borne an endless assault of emails, phone calls, and visits from Zoe, all concerning the same damn serial killer. She needed a few Bentley-free days.

Tatum raised his head, surprised to see her in his office. “Good morning, Chief. How was the weekend?”

“Short.” Christine sat down in front of him.

He had an open case file on his desk and had been reading it when she’d interrupted him. Gray had joined the BAU recently and still lacked most of the knowledge and experience that Christine expected from her profilers. But she had to grudgingly admit to herself that he compensated, at least partly, with sharp instincts. Even better, he possessed an almost-unheard-of ability to actually listen to what other people had to say.

Tatum had already proven himself a month before, working on the Chicago murders case with Zoe. Though Christine had some reservations about the way the investigation had been conducted, there was no ignoring the fact that they’d prevented the massacre of an entire family.

She was glad to see that his usual grin was missing. Though she was sure that some people found his grin charming, she personally thought it made him look smug and adolescent. Right now, his expression was focused on her with interest.

“What can you tell me about Glenn Wells?” she asked.

Tatum blinked in confusion and leaned back, his wide shoulders tense. After a moment, he said, “Wells was a pedophile I investigated in LA. He targeted young girls on their way to school. He’d grab them, rape them, and threaten them to keep silent about it. He also took pictures. We found photos of over thirty young girls in his laptop. One of the girls tried to kill herself.”

She watched her agent as he spoke. He radiated a calm demeanor, but his lip curved, and his right fist clenched.

“It was hard to get solid proof. It was all circumstantial. We had him followed for a long time and finally had him when he grabbed a thirteen-year-old girl in the street. He was dragging her away, and we closed in to arrest him.”

“What happened?”

“He bolted. I chased Wells into the alley. He stopped halfway inside, turned around. I aimed the gun at him, told him to put his hands over his head. Instead, he shoved his hand quickly into his shoulder bag. I shot him. Three shots.”

“And what did he have in his shoulder bag?”

“Just a camera. We think he wanted to delete the photos on it before we grabbed him.”

“And he died.”

“There was an investigation. They cleared me.”

“It might be reopened,” Christine said softly.

Tatum’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“Apparently there’s a new witness. Someone saw the shooting and came forward.”

“Why did he wait until now?”

Christine shrugged. “Why does anyone do anything? I got a phone call this morning from a special agent in the IIS. A guy named Larson. Do you know him?” The IIS was the FBI’s Internal Investigations Section. Christine could have done without that damn phone call.

“Yeah, I know him.” Tatum clenched his jaw.

“I think he dislikes you. I really don’t know how you manage to piss so many people off.”

“Perseverance,” Tatum suggested.

“Well, he was positively gleeful when he told me about it. He wanted to alert me that you were about to be summoned for an interview.”

“Did he tell you when?”

“We didn’t get that far. I told him that you were investigating a time-sensitive case and that you needed a few days.”

“I’m not working on any investigation right now.”