Conduit, Page 5

  Lionel ticked off events on his left hand as he spoke. “Wisconsin has a serial killer case that has been around longer than ours. Somewhere in Florida, there’s a longtime serial rapist who just escalated and killed three victims within a couple weeks. Don’t forget the bombing in Washington, D.C. last week, just outside of the FBI headquarters.”

  “I guess all of that would keep them very busy,” Cassie said.

  “We’re in constant communication with the FBI, but outside of that, we have to wait for them to show up in nine days.” Lionel paused, as if mulling over his next words. “Truthfully, we don’t have much of anything to go on at this point, so feds stealing the case away or not, the help is needed. That’s why I’m coming to you.” Lionel shifted his eyes to Emily. “I think we could use the kind of help that only your firm can provide.”

  Emily read the meaning of his words hidden in his strong amber eyes and allowed a brief smile. “We’ll help however you think we can.”

  “Cassie, your background in profiling will probably do me lot of good. I don’t understand a lot of the psychology behind this behavioral stuff, so maybe you can explain it to an old-timer.”

  “Let’s start with victimology. What type of victims is he targeting?” Cassie asked.

  “That’s the thing.” Lionel let go of the case file and leaned across the conference table. “There is no set pattern with this one. The victimology is all over the map. One is a brunette, another is blonde. We have a stay-at-home mom and a professional go-getter. One works out rigorously, while another carries extra pounds. The victim from this morning is Asian, but the others are Caucasian.”

  “They’re all women,” Emily said.

  “That seems to be the only thing they have in common. The killer is clean, too. Not a shred of evidence for us to work with. It’s like he took a page out of a forensic handbook.”

  “No wonder with all these crime dramas on television haphazardly educating criminals,” Cassie said.

  “Could it be a cop who is familiar with forensics?” Emily asked.

  Lionel shrugged. “Feds think maybe and I suppose it’s possible, but I’m not sure how much I buy into that theory.”

  “Forensic information is all over the Internet.” Cassie leaned back in her chair. “Anyone with an Internet connection and a will to learn can teach themselves.”

  “True,” Lionel said. “The other problem is we don’t know what method he’s using to pick these women up. He’s taking them at all different sorts of locations. We can’t properly educate the public and potential victims on how to stay safe, outside of telling them to be aware of surroundings and not talk to strangers. It’s our biggest nightmare.”

  “I don’t know, Uncle Leo,” Cassie said. “Our fees can also be pretty nightmarish on big cases. Can the department afford us on this one?”

  Lionel held Emily’s eyes without answering Cassie, and Emily sensed the meaning behind his glance. “I believe he wants us to do this one pro bono,” Emily said.

  “Pro bono?” Cassie asked.

  “I’ll buy you dinner.” Lionel offered a weak smile. “Unofficially, of course.”

  “I don’t recall that our firm does pro bono,” Cassie said.

  “We do now,” Emily said.

  “Of course we do. Pro bono pays my mortgage.” Cassie sighed and sipped her coffee. “I can tell you that your killer didn’t start here.”

  Emily tilted her head. “How can you tell that?”

  “Six murders in ten weeks,” Cassie said. “That’s quick with no apparent sense of hesitation. Serial killers usually start out slow, as if they’re nursing a new desire to life. I bet the first one was just as pristine and methodical as the other five.”

  “Besides the victimology and maybe a few other minor details, they were pretty well identical,” Lionel said.

  “That’s why I think he’s killed before now,” Cassie said. “The first time they are usually hesitant. They’re learning how to kill. That’s where mistakes are made and MOs are realized. You may not even recognize the first kill as part of the pattern.

  “After the first time, they become more secure in their killing. They’ve honed their craft, but the time between the murders grows shorter because they have a need to do it over and over. It’s like an addiction and when they need a fix, they find a victim.”

  “The profile the feds sent said he may have started somewhere else or started with smaller crimes that we wouldn’t necessarily connect to him,” Lionel said. “We found no similar crimes in ViCAP, so your theory, while a very good one, may be a dead end.”

  Emily raised her eyebrows. “ViCAP?”

  “Violent Criminal Apprehension Program,” Cassie said. “It’s a federal database where details about crimes are stored.” She turned to Lionel. “I’m surprised you didn’t find anything that matched, even a small detail unique to these crimes.”

  “The feds were surprised as well,” Lionel said. “Our other problem is that with the lack of any kind of evidence, we don’t have much to compare this guy to even if he does have a record.”

  “Is it possible he just hasn’t killed anyone before?” Emily asked. “Maybe he’s only committed minor assaults and when he makes a mistake, you’ll find his DNA or prints in your computers.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Cassie said. “But if he’s this astute and he’s never killed before, then he’s either really lucky or a new breed of criminal. Like with superpowers.”

  “We ruled out Lex Luthor early on in the investigation,” Lionel said.

  “Ah, but Lex Luthor doesn’t have superpowers, so maybe you were looking at the wrong villain,” Cassie said. “Some killers contact the media or police. BTK contacted the media many times before he was finally caught. I know it’s late in the game, but it is possible your guy could try to make contact if he wants more attention.”

  Lionel’s ruffled expression responded to Cassie’s observation without words, Emily noted. With the slight change in his upright posture, his mind flickered with horrific memories. The images in his mind were too quick to grab onto, and though Emily didn’t want to see what Lionel had stored in his memory with regards to these murders, she managed to catch a stray thought.

  “He’s already contacted you,” Emily said.

  “Not directly. He’s...” Lionel scrunched up his face.

  “What is it?” Cassie asked.

  He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Girls, these victims were tortured before they died. Severely tortured over the course of many hours. The bodies have made seasoned officers and homicide detectives walk away disturbed. I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in homicide case studies. On the inner left thigh of each victim, he carved a letter into their skin before they died. We believe it’s some sort of message for us.”

  Emily gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “He did that to them before they died?”

  “Yes, except for this last one, but we don’t know why he changed his routine to do it postmortem. With the sixth body today we’ve confirmed the message, although right now it doesn’t mean much.”

  “What’s the message?” Cassie asked.

  “Hear me.”

  The words came to life as they left Lionel’s mouth and found their way to Emily’s ears, where they crawled over her skin with a sadistic touch.

  “Like I said,” Lionel continued, “it doesn’t mean much right now. I’m hoping something will break soon and we’ll understand what he wants us to hear.”

  His voice faded behind Emily’s thoughts. She wished he had never called that morning, had never stopped by the office to offer them the case of a lifetime. A man had killed six women in a swift ten weeks. No, Emily thought, not killed them. Tortured them to death. Before they died, he carved letters into their bodies, spelling out a message not meant for the police.

  She knew she shouldn’t assume the message was for her, but Lionel’s presence told her someone wanted her involved in this case. Someone s
he didn’t want to meet.

  Emily shuddered.

  “Unfortunately, other than the message, we have nothing,” Lionel said.

  “You said that for some reason he carved the letter on the victim postmortem this time,” Cassie said. “Maybe the autopsy will reveal something new and give you a clue you need.”

  Emily perked up. “When is the autopsy?”

  “Slated for seven tomorrow morning. If Perry doesn’t jump the gun and start early, that is.”

  With the autopsy scheduled for tomorrow morning, a funeral would soon follow. “Do you know when the funeral is?” Emily asked.

  “We got lucky with a possible quick identification from missing persons. The father is coming by to identify the victim this afternoon. Even if it’s a successful ID, the medical examiner won’t release the body immediately after the autopsy, not with her being the sixth one.”

  “What about the previous victims?”

  “The fifth victim’s parents just identified her a few days ago. Her body’s not been released yet, but there is a memorial service for her. Let’s see,” Lionel said, securing his reading glasses on his nose. He flipped open his notebook and consulted his notes. “It’s tomorrow afternoon at four at Holy Spirit Catholic Church on Rock Road.”

  “Good thinking, Em,” Cassie said. “If we’re at that memorial service, we can talk to family and friends. Sometimes they open up easier to investigators versus cops. No offense, Uncle Leo.”

  “None taken. I know how it is out there. I’ve talked to so many family members in the past couple months without anything new coming up, but you are more than welcome to try anything. Unofficially, that is.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said. Though the victim’s family and friends might not tell her a lot verbally, she could pick up on other things from shaking hands and being in close proximity to a person, especially in the emotionally charged environment of a memorial service. As time passed, the pain of their loss would lessen, so the sooner she talked to friends and family, the more chances she had to learn something by latching onto their pain. If someone who loved the victim had something to tell her about the girl’s killer, they would do it now.

  “I don’t have much time to look at this case file today, but I will come by the station on Monday morning,” Cassie said. “Is there anything else we should know in the meantime?”

  “If I think of something, I’ll give you a call,” Lionel said. “Just be careful, girls. I know I tell you that a lot, but be more careful than normal. Be aware of your surroundings at all times, know if anything is out of place, and don’t go out at night alone, not even to walk to your car.”

  “Of course,” Cassie said.

  Emily could only nod in agreement. Retreating into her thoughts while Cassie and Lionel made small talk, she focused on the message the killer had carved into his victims, along with the automatic writings and the voice that called her name. Uncle Leo’s visit brought the unnerving realization that while she heard a woman’s voice, the writing belonged to a man. Not just any man, Emily thought. A serial killer.

  Chapter Five

  An intimidating twenty-story black glass building in the heart of downtown Wichita housed the corporate offices of Wolk, Trotter & Wolk. Terrence Wolk began the firm in the same manner that many others pursued the American dream: fresh out of law school with nothing more than an overabundance of drive and even more hope.

  While there were many myths and legends about the case that made him a star, everyone agreed that the natural defense attorney had sharp wit, extreme talent, and a killer smile that opened the right doors. His firm had become a staple in criminal defense and family law, cementing him a respected place in the halls of justice.

  After Wolk’s death, his children and grandchildren were left to run the firm. The addition of former hardcore prosecutor and courtroom brawler James Trotter to the firm twenty years ago brought Wolk, Trotter & Wolk to the tip of the legal world’s tongue. Not only did they have partner lawyers all over the country to defend clients at a moment’s notice, in the past four decades they had opened successful sister offices in every major city across the country, all the while keeping their headquarters in Wichita to stay true to their Midwest roots.

  The Wolk firm had its own private investigators on staff, and it would take a miracle or two for Emily and Cassie to land a single case for the firm. Yet every year at the annual party, they were able to acquire cases from other attorneys. As Cassie reminded Emily when she protested going to the gathering, one new client was worth a thousand parties.

  Cassie’s method of targeting new clients consisted of wearing a low-cut red dress, zeroing in on an attorney who wasn’t married, and flirting like crazy. She floated around the packed room now with her date, seeking out potential targets for some clandestine flirting under her date’s unsuspecting nose.

  Emily opted for a less scandalous approach. She vetted potential clients, not with her psychic abilities, but by the old fashioned method of talking with them, listening to their needs, and bringing it around full circle as to why their firm needed Monroe & Reid Investigators. During the last two parties, Cassie had by far won the race in signing on new clients, but Emily stuck to her modest ways.

  Tonight, Emily wasn’t so much interested in signing on new clients as in hurrying through the party and niceties so she could go home, tear off the uncomfortable heels and earrings, and enjoy a glass of an inexpensive Riesling while soaking in a warm milk bath.

  Even if she indulged in that luxury, she wouldn’t necessarily enjoy it. The automatic writing and voices pulled on her mind. While only a scary story on the ten o’clock news yesterday, the unimaginable suffering of those six women seemed much closer to her than she liked, with the carved letters on the victims’ thighs spelling out the message in the automatic writings.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” a male voice said behind her. Emily didn’t have to see the source of the voice to recognize the low throttle tone. Nathan Wolk, the eldest grandson of Terrance Wolk, had a voice that made women salivate. Emily had heard that same gravelly voice whispering to her in a dark bedroom throughout their seventeen-month dating escapade.

  “And what would that be for, Nate?” Emily asked without turning around.

  Nathan moved around her body until he faced her. He had not changed much since their first meeting at the Wolk, Trotter & Wolk annual party two years ago. Nathan always looked out of place in full dress uniform, and tonight was no exception. In a sea of standard black tuxedo garb, he sported a black suit and a bright orange, silk tie with subtle stripes.

  A rebellious teenager at heart, Emily recognized his attire as a jab at his father. His tousled sandy hair revealed that he fought getting dressed for tonight’s event as much as she had. Much more comfortable in a worn-out pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt, Nathan preferred roaming the world on a wild adventure in an obscure location over toiling away in his stuffy office. Emily once enjoyed that aspect of him, with valid concerns that she could never experience those journeys with him. Despite his full life, Nathan had a deep void inside, one he filled with Emily by his side. No matter how hard he tried, he never could fill Emily’s own void.

  In the end, that same well-traveled, vastly admired man had cried and begged her not to leave. Had it been anyone else she might have found it a pitiful display, but Nathan’s sincerity trumped his damp cheeks while he promised her the world in exchange for marriage. Even now in his comforting, familiar presence, she wondered if she had been too hasty in her decision to leave him, a wine-induced thought she entertained on the occasional lonely night.

  He laid his hand on her arm with a hint of sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t a wasted attempt to get her to notice him and remember the nights they shared, but Emily did not want her face to reveal that he had the slightest effect on her.

  “Heartland Insurance. Exclusive contract.” Nathan flashed a perfectly shaped smile and arched an eyebrow over a clear, hazel eye. “Big money.”


  “The contract isn’t final yet,” Emily said.

  “Sure it is. Keith called me this afternoon after he spoke with Cassie.” He leaned in a little too close. “He said he’d found the perfect women for him.”

  Emily burst into laughter. “He did not.”

  “In so many words.”

  “You talk a good game, Nate.”

  He caught her eyes. “Just never could close the deal.”

  Emily looked down and allowed a small smile. Nathan wasn’t exaggerating that last statement. He had worked hard to escalate their relationship, as hard as he worked any case. Within five months of their first date, he coaxed her to move in with him. Simple hints such as buying her an extra toothbrush to keep at his place turned into late night discussions of how to merge her modest furniture into his immodest, large home. She took the extra key, left a few articles of clothing in his closet, and spent most weekends in his bed, but never made her move into his home official.

  She decided to alter the course of their conversation. “Have you made partner yet?”

  Nathan tightened his jaw. “Negative.”

  “I thought after the Waschevski case you would have made partner in a second.”

  “Dad didn’t think my closing argument was ‘partner material.’ I’m beginning to wonder if he ever will.”

  “You pretty much got Waschevski off on double murder charges when all the evidence pointed at him. A confession made it to the jurors’ ears before it was excluded from evidence. Yet the jury found him not guilty by reason of insanity. If that’s not partner material—”

  “Waschevski’s institutionalized at Meadowbrook.”

  “Uncle Leo is still angry about that one.” Emily swirled the bitter red wine around the bottom of her glass. “He wanted Waschevski on death row.”

  He laughed. “I could always tell when I did a decent job. I’d piss off the great Detective Edwards.”

  Emily ignored his playful jab at Lionel. “So why not make partner? A mental institution isn’t bad considering he could have, and should have, gotten the needle.”