Deep Dark (14 page)

“Can you predict when the next one will happen?” Reed asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

“It's not an exact science,” Mark said, refusing to be baited.

“I'm pulling together a list.” Laney opened her file. “We've done research here at the lab, basically linking certain online behaviors to future violent attacks.”

“We want to pinpoint which online behaviors pose a nuisance or are simply bizarre,” Mark said, “and which can be correlated with future criminal acts in real life.”

Laney's phone chimed, and she pulled it from her pocket to check the number. “Sorry.” She looked at her boss. “I need to take this.”

She stepped out, and Reed looked at Mark. He'd got
ten more than he'd expected, but it still felt too theoretical. He still didn't have anything that actually put him on to a particular suspect.

“You look pensive, detective.”

“It's pretty depressing,” Reed said.

“What is?”

“This whole topic. Makes me glad I don't have kids.”

“I know what you mean. Some people blame technology, like it somehow creates aberrant behavior. I happen to believe it's there naturally—a dark side to human ­nature—and the Internet provides an ideal environment for it to flourish. Degradation, abuse, ­violence—these things have been around forever. But now we have a whole new setting in which predators can find and victimize people.”

Reed looked at the man, and he knew he must see a lot of ugliness on a day-to-day basis. Laney had to see it, too.

“Well, that about covers it,” Mark said. “I should be able to flesh out the profile when I get more info, such as the autopsy report in the Bella Marshall case.”

“I'll have that by tomorrow.” Reed checked his watch and stood up.

“One more thing.” The profiler stood, too. “You seem reluctant to involve Laney.”

He'd picked up on that. Maybe there was something to this profiling thing after all.

“She's obviously young,” Mark said, “but she's very talented, one of the best we have.”

“I like to keep my team lean. For a lot of reasons.”

“I understand. But if you're worried about leaks, don't be. Laney's very professional. She won't talk to the media.”

“Good to know.”

Reed stepped into the hallway as Laney slipped her phone into the pocket of her ripped jeans.

“You're leaving?” she asked.

“I have to drop something off at the DNA lab first. I hear it's on this floor.”

“I'll show you.” Laney led him down the corridor. “What'd you think of the profile?”

“It's interesting.”

“Wow. Damned by faint praise.”

“It could be useful. Or it could be a dead end. I'm always partial to physical evidence.” He cut a glance at her.

“What?”

“This work you do, it can get bleak, especially the child stuff. And the Internet's full of these dirtbags.” He paused. “I'd think you'd burn out. Why do you keep doing it?”

“Same reason you keep taking rapists and murderers off the street. It's my job. For better or for worse, it's what I chose.”

“You could shift into something else. White-collar crime. There's plenty of identity theft to go around.”

“I'm good at this.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I know the ecosystem. I can navigate it easily, and not many people can, so I guess I feel obligated.”

Would she always feel that way, that she had to devote the best years of her life to tracking down scum?

Reed looked at her. So young and idealistic. And so damn smart. Why couldn't she have chosen something easier, like designing apps or video games?

She stopped in front of a door labeled
DNA AND SEROLOGY
. Through a large glass window, Reed saw people in white lab coats hunched over microscopes.

“What do you have there?” She nodded at his evidence envelope.

“Duct tape.”

Her eyebrows tipped up.

“From the autopsy this morning.”

“He uses—”

“Twice before,” Reed said. “I spoke with one of your DNA tracers on the phone, Mia Voss. She agreed to take a look at it, see if she could recover something.”

Laney's mouth opened, but she didn't say anything. She looked pale suddenly.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Fine.”

But he could tell she was lying.

CHAPTER 13

Reed lived in a '60s-style ranch house in north Austin, and his gray pickup was in the driveway when Laney pulled up. The flicker of the television in the window told her Reed was still awake. Whether he was alone or not, she had no idea.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she walked up to his door. The lawn was green but needed mowing. She wondered if he hired someone or if he did the work himself. She glanced at the garden hose coiled at the corner of the house.

Himself, she decided. He seemed like the type.

He answered the door, and Laney's breath caught. He'd shed his crisp white button-down and now wore a plain white T-shirt that clung to a very impressive chest. Same business slacks and shoes as before.

She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

He looked her over with those flinty blue eyes. “Cops are unlisted. You know that, right?”

“Can I come in?”

He pulled the door back, and she stepped inside. Without a word, he led her into a kitchen that was dark except for a light glowing over the sink.

She glanced around, absorbing details about his house. It had the sparse look of a bachelor pad, right down to the black leather sofa and glass coffee table.
His kitchen wasn't fancy—Formica and linoleum with black appliances. His breakfast table was stacked with unopened mail, just like hers.

“I finished the online indicators,” she said.

“Indicators?”

“A component of the profile Mark was telling you about. The online behaviors.”

He leaned back against the counter, watching her. His eyes were cool, and he seemed guarded.

“This is based on studies we've done. Correlating various types of criminal behavior with other online activities.” She cleared her throat. “I believe we're going to find that he has a number of online identities that he changes frequently. He uses code names and pseu­donyms, and they likely have meaning to him.”

“Do you know any of these pseudonyms?”

“No, but I will. I also believe he trolls people, particularly women, and has probably been banned from sites for harassment.”

Reed seemed to be listening now, probably because she was getting out of the realm of conjecture and into the realm of actual criminal activities that investigators could track.

“It's also likely he has a history of impersonating others, stealing their identities, and communicating publicly. It would be something he does for the thrill of it. I think he's into gamesmanship.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You think he's a gamer?”

“Not necessarily. Although he could be,” she said. “What I'm saying is he considers this a game. Outsmarting people. The voyeurism is part of that. He gets an intense thrill from entering a woman's living room or bedroom without her permission and watching her
private moments. It helps him build the fantasy. A lot of online predators are into voyeurism. What makes this guy unique, like Mark said, is that he takes it into the physical world. His fantasy isn't complete until he's made that physical contact. Everything culminates with extreme violence.”

He was watching her closely, but she couldn't read his expression.

“So those are the indicators I've come up with. They're based on studies of hundreds of predators. And they're useful, because they help us pick up his trail. I'm already following up on various pseudonyms. I hope to have a lead for you soon.”

Reed didn't say anything.

“What's wrong?” she asked. “I thought you'd be happy.”

“Happy?” He shook his head.

“Okay, encouraged. We're getting a picture of who we're looking for.” She stepped closer, watching his reaction. “It's like a jigsaw puzzle, and we're filling in the pieces.” She paused. “What's the problem?”

He folded his arms over his chest, creating a barrier between them. “I've been doing some research of my own, Laney.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So you want to tell me about your record with Austin PD?”

CHAPTER 14

“I don't have a record.”

“Okay, your history with us,” he said. “The incident at your home several years ago.”

Everything changed in her face. One second she was open and talkative, and the next her expression was shuttered. Her gaze darted to the door. She wanted to leave, but she wasn't going anywhere until he got some answers.

He eased closer. “Why didn't you tell me up front that you'd been the victim of a similar attack?”

The word
victim
made her flinch, but he didn't let up.

“Did you think I wouldn't find out?”

“No, I thought . . .” She looked flustered. “I thought it's none of your business.”

He stared at her, gritting his teeth with frustration.

“It isn't something I talk about with people.” She sounded defensive now. “And I didn't think it was relevant, not until recently.”

He didn't respond.

“You don't believe me?”

“When you first texted me that link, did you or did you not know that April's case bears a striking resemblance to what happened to you three years ago?”

“I didn't know.”

“Don't lie to me, Laney. I'll find out.”

“I'm not lying! And where do you get off interrogating me like I'm some kind of criminal? Keeping something private is not the same as lying. Why the hell am I explaining myself to you?” She pushed off the counter and turned away, but he caught her arm.

“Wait—”

“Screw you. I don't need this.” She yanked her arm, but he wouldn't let her go.

“Would you wait a minute?”

She glared up at him, then glanced down at his hand clenched around her arm.

He released his grip and stepped back. “Sorry.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I'm being . . .”

“A dick?”

He looked at her.

And he knew she was right.
Interrogated
. It was the word Erika always used.

Frustration bubbled inside him. He was going about this conversation all wrong. Laney had been attacked in her own home in the middle of the night. He'd read her police report thoroughly. Twice. He'd memorized every detail, including the part about her being assaulted on her living-room floor before she'd managed to escape. Had she been raped, too? People didn't always give law enforcement the full story, and the investigating officer had been a rookie. He'd basically chalked her case up to a burglary gone wrong.

Laney was watching him with simmering eyes now. She'd calmed down some, but she was clearly still pissed.

This was his fault. He'd involved her in the investigation without checking her background. And now
she might actually become a witness in the case, which would create all kinds of problems.

Shit.

Reed stepped over and reached for the cabinet behind her. She ducked out of the way, and he watched her as he took down a pair of glasses.

“You want a drink?” He opened the liquor cabinet and got out a bottle of Jack Daniel's.

“Sure.”

“Ice?”

“No.”

He poured two generous shots and handed her a glass. She eyed him over the rim as she took a sip. She wrinkled her nose at the taste, and Reed almost laughed.

This was so fucked up. He was in his kitchen drinking whiskey with a girl who would probably get carded if he took her to a real bar.

She was beautiful. She was smart and manipulative, and that mouth of hers set him on fire.

And he wanted her. Still. Even with all the complications.

“What's that look?” She stepped closer. “What are you thinking?”

“You don't want to know.”

“You're thinking of pulling me off the case, aren't you? I can tell.”

He didn't answer.

“I hate to break it to you, but women get assaulted all the time, Reed. It happens. And what happened to me might not be related to this. I'm extremely careful about my online security, and I've never used a dating site. And it's entirely possible that what happened to
me
three years ago
has nothing to do with what's going on now.”

She gazed up at him, and he wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. He hated the fear he saw in her eyes. God
damn
it, why hadn't she told him? He never would have let her get involved.

“I read the report filed by the responding officer.” Reed watched her face carefully. “Did you tell him everything?”

“Yes.”

“Were you sexually assaulted?”

“No.”

He watched her eyes, trying to gauge whether she was telling the truth. He wanted to believe she'd tell him, that she trusted him enough. “You said you didn't see your attacker well. That he was wearing a ski mask.”

She nodded. “Also, he'd taken out the back light, so it was pitch dark.”

“But you got a feel for his size. You told the officer—”

“He was bigger than me. But that's about all I know. It's not enough for a forensic sketch or anything.”

And no evidence had been collected. No blood or saliva or semen. The responding officer had treated it like a burglary, basically dusting the door for prints and that was it. It should have been handled differently because of the assault, but it hadn't been. And it was too late now. What was done was done.

Reed sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm sorry.” He looked up at her. “It should have been handled better at the time. We let you down.”

“Forget it, it's over. And anyway, it's not your fault.” She lifted her chin. “You still want to pull me?”

“Laney—”

“Don't.” She got up in his face. “Don't you dare.
I'm
the one who managed to uncover evidence that these women were targeted online. That's the best lead you have, and I can help you follow it. You'd be stupid not to use me.”

“That's tactful.”

“It's true. I know their system inside out. Do you? Does Paul? That guy couldn't penetrate a Gmail account.”

Reed stared down at her, his heart still pounding way too hard. He knew what he should do. He should tell her to stay the hell away from the case and from him. And he didn't want to do either of those things.

“Well?”

“I'm sorry, Laney. You're off.”

Her breath
whooshed
out. “But you can't do that!”

“I'm the lead detective. It's my call.”

“But—”

“It's for the best. It's for your own safety.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “My safety?”

“Yes.”

“What is that, some sexist crap, Reed? You can't work with a female investigator who's ever been assaulted before?”

“I'm not sexist. And I don't believe it was some random assault.”

“How would you know?”

“Look at the circumstances! The method of entry, the duct tape, the lightbulb—it all adds up to a connection.” He was yelling again, but he couldn't help it. “Do you realize you could be the only woman who's been targeted by this guy and lived to tell about it? You could end up being a witness.”

“Reed—”

“I don't want you involved.”

“But my work is in the background.”

“Not even in the background! Off the case means
off
. Stay away from it.”

Silence settled over the room. And he saw defiance in her eyes. It didn't matter what he said, she was going to do what she damn well pleased.

His phone buzzed across the room. He sidestepped her and grabbed the call.

“Hey, sorry to call so late,” Jay said.

“What is it?”

“I'm down at the station. You need to come see this.”

•   •   •

Reed stood at Veronica's microscope, and everything about his body language was tense. Maybe he'd had a crappy day. Or maybe he hadn't appreciated being called away from whatever he'd been doing at nine o'clock this evening.

Veronica was going with the second option. Reed Novak was known to be a workaholic, but he also struck her as a man who had plenty of female companionship.

“What am I looking at here?” he asked impatiently.

Jay edged closer. “You don't see it?”

“No.”

Veronica nudged him aside and checked the viewfinder. She adjusted the focus. The lightbulb she'd collected from Isabella Marshall's apartment was secured to the stage with a few dabs of putty.

“Upper right quadrant. You don't see that?” She moved aside so he could look again.

“I see dirt. Or maybe rust.”

“It's blood,” Veronica said.

Reed glanced at her. “You sure?”

She rolled her eyes. “Jeez. What is it with you guys? I've been doing this ten years. I think I know blood when I see it.”

Reed shot a look at Jay. He'd been skeptical, too, when she first showed him, but now he was convinced, not only that she'd found blood but of what it could mean for the case.

“Walk me through it.” Reed's gaze settled on her, and she couldn't help but feel intimidated. “Our UNSUB left no prints behind at her apartment, right?”

“Right. Not at Isabella's or April's.”

“And no prints on either of the lightbulbs he unscrewed, either.”

“Right,” she said.

“But you're saying he left this smudge of blood here?”

“That's what I think.” She nodded. “It fits with everything we know. We know from the blood-spatter patterns that he takes his weapon away from the scene with him. The hammer or whatever.”

“A body hammer,” Reed said.

“Exactly. And we know he brings a lockpick, duct tape, condoms—everything he needs. He's obviously got a murder kit. Maybe he's got a favorite pair of gloves in there, too. Not disposable gloves but maybe work gloves or something. Let's assume he uses those same gloves when he scopes out the crime scene ahead of time, unscrewing lightbulbs and whatever.”

Reed looked at her, seeming to consider it. “You're saying he left this blood on the lightbulb
before
he
committed the murder, in which case it comes from one of his previous victims.”

“Exactly. Or if we're really lucky, it could be his blood. Maybe he cut himself in a struggle with someone, got blood on the glove, but didn't notice it and ended up depositing it on the lightbulb.”

“We won't get that lucky,” Jay said.

“But even if we don't, it's someone's blood. And I think the killer left it there, so it's bound to tell us something useful.”

“Now you just have to analyze it,” Reed said. “Run the DNA.”

“And that's the tricky part.” Veronica sighed. “I can't do it here. The sample is much too small, and I don't want to use it all. I'd rather send it somewhere where they have better equipment.” She glanced at Jay and caught him looking at her cleavage. “Somewhere like Quantico.”

“You can forget it,” Jay said. “Hall won't want the FBI anywhere near this thing.”

“The Delphi Center could do it, and probably fast, too,” she said. “Problem is, they're expensive.”

Reed looked at her for a long moment, and she could see his wheels turning. It was a very tiny amount of material, hardly visible to the naked eye. But it could be a critical break in the case. He stepped up to the microscope again and took another look.

Veronica huffed out a sigh. “It's blood, all right?”

“You hope.” He glanced up at her.

“Don't be so damn skeptical. I
know
.”