Shirlee McCoy - Night Stalker

It was also when Wren had informed him that he wouldn’t be part of the FBI team traveling to Maine. She planned to keep him in the loop but felt that it would be better for him and for Charlotte if he kept his distance.

He’d argued.

She’d insisted, so he’d taken personal leave and headed to Whisper Lake against her wishes.

Because he couldn’t not be there.

It didn’t matter that he and Charlotte were divorced. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t seen each other for five years. He wouldn’t let her lie in a hospital bed without family to advocate for her. He’d known that with her grandparents gone, she’d have no one.

Now she had him.

“I take it you’re not going to answer?” Wren said, taking a sip from a carryout cup of coffee.

“She may have seen his face,” he responded, sidestepping the question.

“I suppose this would be a good time to remind you that you’re on leave.”

“You’ve reminded me every hour on the hour since we arrived.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” she said with a half smile.

“Not much of one.”

“You know this guy’s MO better than anyone. You should be lead on this case,” she responded. No judgment. Just a statement of the facts as she saw them.

“Charlotte has no family. She needs someone in her corner.”

“She has our team. We’re not going to let anything happen to her. And not just because she’s a possible witness.”

“She needs someone she’s familiar with. Someone who knows her.”

“I could argue that she has people she’s familiar with and who know her. This is a small town. If we let news of her injury leak out, she’ll have plenty of friends standing in her corner.”

“If her identity leaks out—” he began.

“You don’t have to explain, Adam. We’re all aware of how dangerous that could be.”

Law enforcement had kept Charlotte’s identity quiet. Aside from her neighbor, Bubbles, only medical personnel knew she was the person who’d intervened in the attempted abduction. The less information available to the public, the less information available to the Night Stalker and the easier it would be to ensure Charlotte’s safety.

“Just so you know,” he said, “I’m not planning to leave Whisper Lake until she’s recovered enough to know what’s going on and what her options are.”

“Which options are we talking about? Because the way I see things, the only option she has is to cooperate with the investigation.”

“You gave Bethany Andrews the choice of staying in town with police protection or going into witness protection until the Night Stalker is apprehended.” The young nurse had chosen to enter witness protection. She’d been terrified that the man who’d abducted her after her shift at Whisper Lake Medical Center would come after her again.

“She and her fiancé are entering the program together. Currently, Bethany is in a secure location while she waits for medical clearance to travel. She did sustain a concussion and some memory loss from the attack. Charlotte’s situation is different.”

“How so?”

“She was never the Night Stalker’s intended victim.”

“She was the person who stopped him from getting what he wanted,” he pointed out.

Wren nodded her agreement. “True, and if she saw the shooter, we may be able to close this case quickly.”

“Quickly? We’ve put a lot of time and manpower into stopping the Night Stalker.” Five years. Four states. Nine victims. All emergency room nurses who had been abducted after late-night shifts. All killed by single gunshot wounds to their heads, their bodies discovered weeks to months after they’d disappeared. Ballistic testing had proved that the weapon used had been the same with each victim. A savvy Boston police detective had noticed the link. He’d contacted the FBI to help the investigation into what was obviously a serial killer. The case had been handed over to the Special Crimes Unit, and Wren had chosen Adam to put together the Night Stalker’s profile—white male working in a sales field, a loner in his mid to late twenties who lived somewhere in New England. Someone without connections who could come and go without suspicion.

The criminal profile had been circulated to every law enforcement agency in the northeast, but the Night Stalker remained at large. Bethany would have been his tenth victim. She fit the profile of his victims perfectly—emergency room nurse with dark hair and blue eyes, slight build, outgoing personality.

There was a difference, though.

Unlike the Night Stalker’s other victims, Bethany worked at a small-town hospital. The other nurses had worked in city hospitals—Massachusetts General, Rhode Island Hospital, Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Yale New Haven Hospital.

Whisper Lake Medical Center was a tiny hospital sitting on the outskirts of a tiny town. Its only claim to fame was the level-four trauma center that had been opened several years ago. Something about that bothered Adam, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something important.

“Even with the trauma center, it’s still a small hospital in a small town,” he murmured, reaching for a disposable cup and pouring coffee from the carafe a nurse had brought in hours ago. “I wonder why he changed his MO.”

“You’re not on the case,” Wren reminded him.

“Just thinking out loud.” He took a sip of the cold brew and grimaced.

“Why don’t you go get us some hot coffee?” Wren suggested.

“I’ve already had too much of the stuff.”

“You can’t stay here forever, Adam.”

“I can stay here until she wakes up.”

“Then I hope River gets back from Boston soon. I hate cold coffee.” She set her cup down.

“I thought River and Sam were on protection duty here at the hospital.”

“They are. I sent River back to Boston this morning to double-check the ballistic results on the bullet they took from Charlotte.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s as much an expert as anyone working in the lab.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it. Why did you feel the need to have the ballistic results checked?”

“Because I’m wondering the same thing you are. Why the Night Stalker suddenly changed his MO. Why he chose a victim who worked in a small town at a small hospital. Before we pour more resources into this case, I want to make sure we’re not dealing with a copycat—someone who had a bone to pick with Bethany and thought mimicking the Night Stalker would help him get away with murder.”

“That’s a stretch, Wren. Especially since the initial ballistics results are a match.”

“River is going to give his own expert advice. And not just because I don’t want to waste resources. Nine women are dead. When we catch their murderer, I want to make sure we have every i dotted and every t crossed. I don’t want any doubts, any reason for a jury to hesitate.”

Wren leaned forward, her suit jacket swinging open to reveal her holster. “It’s not just about the case to me. I hope you know that, Adam. It’s about seeing the victims get the justice they deserve. It’s about seeing the survivors heal and move on.”

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it from her pocket, read a text message and then tucked it away again.

“River is back,” she announced, standing and stretching her nearly six-foot frame. She was model-slender, her build belying the strength Adam had seen her use during self-defense training.

“And?”

“You’re not on the case, so I shouldn’t tell you.”

“But you’re going to,” he guessed, and she nodded.

“The bullet taken from Charlotte matches the ones taken from the Night Stalker’s victims. This is a go.” She was suddenly all business, her dark eyes flashing with barely banked energy. “River is on the way up to the room. He’ll be out in the hall. I have a meeting scheduled with Sam and some local and state law enforcement. Call me if she wakes up.”