time.”
“And really the only way he could do it,” Lucas said slowly. “We’re here investigating his last abduction, so if he wanted us on the scene before his next one, he’d pretty much have to plan it here, while we were here.”
Jaylene looked at the clutter of files and photographs on the table. “So . . . if he got us here before the fact, and it’s part of his game, then it’s at least possible that he has left us a . . . clue, for want of a better word. Something that offers Luke at least a fighting chance against him. Otherwise, the game’s winner is predetermined. And there’s no contest.”
Metcalf scowled. “I hate to admit that Zarina had a point, but that comment about broken minds makes a certain amount of sense. I mean, can we reasonably expect this guy to play by any kind of rules?”
“He’ll play by his rules,” Lucas said slowly. “He has to. Being careful and meticulous has been a point of honor for him, so this will be too. The game has rules. And he will abide by those rules. The trick for us . . . is figuring out what they are.”
Jaylene said, “Which goes back to my point. He can’t reasonably expect you to play his game unless and until the rules are clear. So at some point they have to be. Maybe at this point. And since he didn’t send us a printed list, they have to be here.” She gestured to the paperwork spread out on the table. “Somewhere.”
Metcalf said, “You can’t be serious? It’s the proverbial needle in a haystack.”
“Not much of a haystack,” Lucas reminded him. “Even after eighteen months, we have very little in the way of evidence. We have cause of death; we have crime-scene reports but only from locations where the bodies were found, never where the vics were killed; we have the statement from the single surviving victim, which tells us only that he spoke to her, sounded intelligent and, in her words, ‘scary as hell’; we have statements from friends, family members, and coworkers of the vics; we have some minor trace evidence, hair and fibers that may or may not be connected to the kidnapper; we have ransom notes printed on a very common brand of ink-jet printer—and that’s about it.”
“Lotta paper,” Lindsay said. “But not a very helpful haystack.”
“Yeah, but it has to be,” Jaylene pointed out. “Doesn’t it? He’s here, we’re here. After following him around for a year and a half, we’ve apparently reached the next stage of the game.”
“If Zarina’s right about that,” Metcalf reminded them.
“Her name,” Lucas said, “is Samantha.”
“That’s not what the posters say.”
“Wyatt,” Lindsay murmured.
“Well, it isn’t. She goes by Zarina, right?”
“Only when she’s working,” Lucas said. “Wyatt, please. The problem with assuming about Sam’s prediction—either way—is that we have to wait. We won’t know if the kidnapper is still in this area unless and until he abducts another victim. Now, we can assume he’s already gone and wait for a kidnapping report somewhere in the East, or we can assume he’s still here and about to snatch his next vic—and wait for that to happen.”
“Our part of the game plan sucks,” Metcalf noted.
“Or,” Lucas continued, “we can expect him to grab someone by tomorrow evening or Thursday morning—Carrie Vaughn, if Sam’s right—and we can spend that time looking for his goddamned game rules and watching the potential target very, very closely.”
“We already know one of his rules,” Lindsay said. “When he takes the victims. Sometime between noon on Wednesday and noon on Thursday. Right?”
Jaylene nodded. “Right. Every single victim was snatched during that twenty-four-hour period.”
“Rule number one,” Lucas said. He reached out to draw a file folder close. “Let’s start looking for rule number two.”
Wednesday, September 26
Metcalf came into the conference room, saying briefly, “Carrie Vaughn has a detective in her
“And really the only way he could do it,” Lucas said slowly. “We’re here investigating his last abduction, so if he wanted us on the scene before his next one, he’d pretty much have to plan it here, while we were here.”
Jaylene looked at the clutter of files and photographs on the table. “So . . . if he got us here before the fact, and it’s part of his game, then it’s at least possible that he has left us a . . . clue, for want of a better word. Something that offers Luke at least a fighting chance against him. Otherwise, the game’s winner is predetermined. And there’s no contest.”
Metcalf scowled. “I hate to admit that Zarina had a point, but that comment about broken minds makes a certain amount of sense. I mean, can we reasonably expect this guy to play by any kind of rules?”
“He’ll play by his rules,” Lucas said slowly. “He has to. Being careful and meticulous has been a point of honor for him, so this will be too. The game has rules. And he will abide by those rules. The trick for us . . . is figuring out what they are.”
Jaylene said, “Which goes back to my point. He can’t reasonably expect you to play his game unless and until the rules are clear. So at some point they have to be. Maybe at this point. And since he didn’t send us a printed list, they have to be here.” She gestured to the paperwork spread out on the table. “Somewhere.”
Metcalf said, “You can’t be serious? It’s the proverbial needle in a haystack.”
“Not much of a haystack,” Lucas reminded him. “Even after eighteen months, we have very little in the way of evidence. We have cause of death; we have crime-scene reports but only from locations where the bodies were found, never where the vics were killed; we have the statement from the single surviving victim, which tells us only that he spoke to her, sounded intelligent and, in her words, ‘scary as hell’; we have statements from friends, family members, and coworkers of the vics; we have some minor trace evidence, hair and fibers that may or may not be connected to the kidnapper; we have ransom notes printed on a very common brand of ink-jet printer—and that’s about it.”
“Lotta paper,” Lindsay said. “But not a very helpful haystack.”
“Yeah, but it has to be,” Jaylene pointed out. “Doesn’t it? He’s here, we’re here. After following him around for a year and a half, we’ve apparently reached the next stage of the game.”
“If Zarina’s right about that,” Metcalf reminded them.
“Her name,” Lucas said, “is Samantha.”
“That’s not what the posters say.”
“Wyatt,” Lindsay murmured.
“Well, it isn’t. She goes by Zarina, right?”
“Only when she’s working,” Lucas said. “Wyatt, please. The problem with assuming about Sam’s prediction—either way—is that we have to wait. We won’t know if the kidnapper is still in this area unless and until he abducts another victim. Now, we can assume he’s already gone and wait for a kidnapping report somewhere in the East, or we can assume he’s still here and about to snatch his next vic—and wait for that to happen.”
“Our part of the game plan sucks,” Metcalf noted.
“Or,” Lucas continued, “we can expect him to grab someone by tomorrow evening or Thursday morning—Carrie Vaughn, if Sam’s right—and we can spend that time looking for his goddamned game rules and watching the potential target very, very closely.”
“We already know one of his rules,” Lindsay said. “When he takes the victims. Sometime between noon on Wednesday and noon on Thursday. Right?”
Jaylene nodded. “Right. Every single victim was snatched during that twenty-four-hour period.”
“Rule number one,” Lucas said. He reached out to draw a file folder close. “Let’s start looking for rule number two.”
Wednesday, September 26
Metcalf came into the conference room, saying briefly, “Carrie Vaughn has a detective in her
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