Profile of Terror (22 page)

"Then we'll have to take Ryder with us to find the exact location of the body," Isley said.

"You're joking, right?  You can't be suggesting taking Ryder anywhere outside this secured location," said Brody incredulously.

"You seem to be forgetting who's in charge of this project, Sheriff," Isley's face heated with anger.  "We go early next week."

<><><> 

Destiny regained consciousness, blinking to focus her eyes. The room was a drugged haze and she struggled to clear her mind.  Why did she feel so dazed?  Where was she?  After she attempted to sit up but couldn't, she looked at her wrists and legs. They were secured to the bed with silver duct tape.  She tried to scream, but the sound that came from her was muffled by the duct tape over her mouth, until there was little sound at all.  How had this happened to her?  It was then she remembered the young caterer and how he'd lured her to the back of the van.  She'd seen the stun gun just a second before he forced it to her neck.  Destiny recalled another man, who bound her with duct tape before he placed a needle in her vein.

Destiny took in her surroundings.  Her wrists were taped to a wrought iron headboard, her ankles to the footboard of the bed.  A couple of folding chairs were at the end of the bed, and rows of plastic bins, stacked high, were to her right.  On the other side of the bed were smaller bins.

Turning back to her right to get a better look, Destiny saw that each of the stacked bins was labeled.  On each white label appeared a name.  Darla Green was listed on one bin, another had the name Sharon Maud.  She read the labels from left to right until she came to the name Abby Reece.  Why did that name sound so familiar?  Searching her mind, she remembered.  Abby Reece was the Purdue student who disappeared and was found murdered.  She visualized Abby's photo from a poster she'd seen on campus. 

Oh, God.  Had she been abducted by Abby Reece's killers?  Did the names on the plastic bins' labels represent others who had died at their hands?  No, that couldn't happen to her.  Not now.  Not when she and Justin were so close to realizing their dreams.  Justin would find her.  She knew he would.  He was with the State Police, and he'd have the entire department out looking for her. 

<><><> 

Tension tightening the rugged features of his face, Brody disconnected the call and slipped his cell phone in his pocket.  Racing into the house from his SUV, he saw Carly and Cameron waiting for him at the dining room table.

"We have to go.  Just got a call from Justin Andrews."

"The state trooper?" asked Cameron.

Brody blew out a breath and nodded.  "He reported his fiancée, Destiny Cooke, missing!"

The siren blared as Brody sped through Morel to the opposite side of town.  Cameron alerted Bryan Pittman to send a couple of his crime scene technicians to the First Baptist Church.  Deputy Danny Wilson was on patrol and was closest to the church, so Cameron tasked him with securing the scene and keeping the rehearsal dinner guests inside the church.

"If she is, indeed, missing, this may be the work of the Gamers."  Carly commented from the passenger seat.

"Or it may be a soon-to-be bride with cold feet," returned Brody.

"I know Destiny and Justin.  They've been together since high school.  I don't think this is a case of cold feet," said Cameron from the back seat.  "They're one of the closest couples I've ever met.  I planned on attending their wedding Saturday. "

"Justin said he'd gotten to the church before Destiny arrived, going straight there from work.  Who the hell in his right mind abducts a woman from a parking lot where a state trooper's vehicle is parked?"  Brody shook his head with frustration.

"That's the thing about thrill killers," said Carly.  "The more danger and risk, the better the high.  Could abducting the fiancée of a state trooper be any riskier?"

Reaching the church, they parked alongside the road and walked to the parking lot in back of the church. Three county sheriff patrol cars secured the perimeter. A patrolman was waving on bystanders, as well as the media.  Deputy Wilson had already strung crime scene tape to secure the scene, and Justin Andrews stood talking animatedly on his cell phone.  Disconnecting his call as soon as he saw the sheriff, Carly and Cameron walking toward him, he said, "I need your help to find Destiny before the worst case scenario in my mind comes true."

"Why do you think she's been abducted?" asked Brody.

"Follow me over here."  They'd moved closer to a row of vehicles.  "This new Honda Civic is Destiny's car.  Notice the disturbance in gravel several feet away to the left?"

"They look like drag marks to me," offered Cameron.  "That's a decent tire print in the bare dirt over there, too.  If the crime scene techs can get a good mold, we have a chance of identifying the tire, and possibly even the vehicle."

"When was the last time you talked to Destiny?" Brody asked Justin.

"She called me around three this afternoon.  I have a habit of running late from work, and she wanted to make sure I got to the rehearsal on time.  I got here early to please her."  His face clouded, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.  "Destiny is my world.  This cannot be happening.  We have to find her."

"Justin, I have to ask you the standard questions."  Brody said, as Cameron spoke with Deputy Wilson, and Carly went inside to talk to the guests.

"Hurry up and do it.  We're wasting time."

"Was Destiny having problems with anyone?  Any conflicts?"

"No.  Everyone loves Destiny.  She has a way with people.  Always did."

"Where was she prior to driving to the church?"

"She was at the community center.  Destiny meets with a group of troubled teenage girls every Thursday after school."

"Would any of them want to harm her?"

Justin paused to consider the question. "I doubt it.  Most of the girls have no role model or parent who is interested in what happens to them.  They know Destiny cares.  She may be the one person in their lives who does."

Hating his next question, Brody ran his fingers through his hair. "Justin, have you and Destiny been getting along?"

"Yes.  Ask anyone.  We're very happy and I can't wait to marry her on Saturday.  We have to find her."

"Where were you during the time she disappeared?"

"I was with Reverend Powell in his office.  He wants me to lead a youth basketball team for the church."

"Did anyone see anything during that time?"

"I don't think so.  When I realized her car was parked in the lot, I looked everywhere for her, inside the church and out.  Everyone was looking.  Surely if someone had seen something, he or she would have spoken up."

Inside the church, Carly sat with the bride's parents, Anthony and Bobbie Cooke.  She engaged them in preliminary conversation in an effort to calm them down, and then asked, "How were Destiny and Justin getting along?"

Anthony answered, "Those two kids grew up together.  They've been in love for a long time.  Sure, they had their spats, but nothing serious."

"Do you think if Destiny decided she didn't want to get married that Justin would hurt her?"

"For one thing, Destiny has wanted to marry Justin since high school.  She's never wavered in that," her father claimed, nervously clutching his wife's hand.

"Even if she had backed out, I don't think Justin would hurt her.  He might do some heavy-duty begging to get her to change her mind.  But he wouldn't hurt her." Bobbie Cooke dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

"Has anything odd happened today or this evening?  Think carefully.  Has anything out of the ordinary happened besides Destiny's disappearance?"  Carly asked.

"Nothing I can think of—" said Anthony.

"Now wait a minute," Bobbie interrupted.  "The caterers never arrived.  They were supposed to be here at five o'clock to set up the rehearsal dinner, but they're still not here."

"What is the name of the caterer?"

"Just a second."  Bobbie searched her purse.  She pulled out a small slip of paper and handed it to Carly.  "Grand Events Catering is their name.  They called me and said they were a new business, and that Reverend Powell recommended them.  Well, that was enough for me.  I hired them."

"And this is the phone number they gave you?" 

"Yes, right there on the bottom of my notes."

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Cooke.  You've been very helpful."

Carly left through the front entrance of the church and dialed the caterer's phone number as soon as she was outside.  She let it ring and ring, hoping to get a voice mail.  After too many rings to count, she called the operator and asked for the business number of Grand Events Catering.  After a few moments, the operator said, "I'm sorry, but I am not finding that name in our business
or
residential section."

Carly disconnected the call.  She'd bet anything the 'business' number was linked to a burner cell, which was probably tossed out a vehicle window or thrown in a dumpster after the catering details were settled.  She hurried to tell Brody the news and her theory.

"What kind of uniforms do caterers wear?" asked Brody, once he'd heard her out.

"I guess it varies.  They could wear just a simple bib kitchen apron, or some type of traditional chef or baker coat.  Why are you asking?  No one saw them because they never arrived."

"Remember the white van in Wayne Griffin's truck stop surveillance tape?  The clerk said the passengers were wearing black hoodies over baker's uniforms.  Then Wayne later discovered the magnetic baker sign on the van was stolen."

"Exactly.  I still think the killers of the Indy prostitutes are the Gamers, who then killed Abby Reece, and have now abducted Destiny Cooke."

<><><> 

In the weeks to follow, the search for Destiny Cooke pulled an entire county together as missing flyers were posted around town, and searches were organized by residents.  Brody's deputies combed the area with search dogs and helicopters.  Pleas were made by her tearful parents on local news television stations, and social media was aflame with news of her disappearance.

Chapter Eight
        
 

Deputy Gail Sawyer couldn't sleep, so she decided to treat herself to the breakfast smorgasbord at the historic Morel Hotel. Besides having great food, like her favorite blueberry pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, and pumpkin muffins, the hotel's restaurant was the only one in town that opened before six in the morning. 

New owners were renovating the hotel, and a van filled with house painters pulled in next to her, prompting her to leap out of her squad car and race around the building to the front door.  If there was one thing Gail couldn't tolerate, it was a long line. 

As she approached the hotel's veranda, Gail had that funny feeling in her stomach that something was off, not as it should be.  Taking a closer look, she noticed someone seated in the last of six rocking chairs.  The rocking chair at the end was turned at a 90-degree angle compared to the rest.  The back of the chair was facing her, and whoever sat in the chair was not rocking, and in fact, was not moving at all.

Letting the painters pass her, she waited until they were inside the hotel before climbing the steps and advancing toward the last rocking chair.  Gail's intuition kicked in and there was no other choice but to check on that person in the chair.

"Good morning," Gail called out.  She got no response.

Reaching the chair, Gail slid into position against the porch railing to stand directly in front of the person to take a closer look.
Oh, God, no
.  Feeling light-headed as the blood drained from her face, she fought the nausea that crept up her throat and braced herself.  Seated in the rocking chair was a young African-American woman in her twenties, completely nude except for an old-fashioned locket on a gold chain around her neck.  On her head was a plastic bag, secured with duct tape that wrapped tightly around her neck, just above the necklace.  Someone had intertwined the tape through the slats in the rocking chair to keep her body upright. 

Gail's hand trembled as she pulled out her cell phone to call Detective Cameron Chase, who arrived at the scene twenty minutes later.

<><><> 

The shrill ring of the kitchen landline phone jerked Gabe to attention as he helped himself to another serving of sausage and biscuits.  He picked up the receiver.

"Gabe, another body has been found!" Cameron shouted.  "Open your email. Did you get another one from the Gamers?"

Shocked, Gabe dropped the coffee mug he was holding and it shattered into a million pieces, spraying coffee on his pants and floor.

"Tell me this is a bad joke."

"Gabe, I wouldn't play with you about something like this.  She's naked and posed, just like Abby Reece.  Check your email."

He raced upstairs.  Once Gabe reached his room, he opened his laptop to look at his incoming email.  There it was — an email from 'Destiny Cooke, and he didn't know anyone by that name.  Opening the message, he soon realized it was the one Cameron was asking about.

"Found it."

"Read it to me, Gabe."

Hello, Little Sheriff Bro.

We've got another surprise for you.  Making 'history' this time.  You'll find her at the
historic
Morel Hotel.

Like last time, this email goes to you and the media.

Act fast to catch us — if you can.  But of course, you can't.

—Gamers 

P.S.  Have to hand it to you. Give credit where credit's due and all that shit.  You've got extremely good taste in women, Little Sheriff Bro. The sister is smoking hot.  Could she be next?

"Those sick, perverted bastards!"  Cameron swore. "Trace the email.  Where did it come from?  Call me right back."

Gabe traced the email back to its origin, which was the address of a home owned by a Justin Andrews.  Plugging his name into one of the law enforcement databases to which he had access, he discovered that Justin Andrews worked as an Indiana State Trooper.  Using Destiny's name as a search term, he quickly discovered her Facebook page, which was bursting with photos and news about her upcoming wedding when she would marry Justin Andrews.

He called Cameron and told him the email had come from Destiny Cooke's email account. 

"Goddamn it all to hell," Cameron said sadly.  "I thought this was Destiny's body.  I just didn't want to believe it."

"Sorry, Cam."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry — for her parents and fiancé, Justin Andrews.  I hate having to tell them that we found Destiny, and she's never coming home. It will rip their worlds apart."

Cameron said he was sending a couple of deputies to Justin's home to see if the Gamers were still there, and Gabe ended the call.

His heart froze as he re-read the note's postscript. "The sister is smoking hot.  Could she be next?
"

The Gamers were referring to Abby's sister, Kaitlyn!  She was the next woman on their list to kill.

Throwing on his clothes, he raced to his truck. Glancing at the Honeymoon Cottage, he saw that both Brody and Carly had already left for work. He had to get to Kaitlyn.  He thrust the gear to drive and catapulted out of the main house's long lane to the road.  Once he reached town, he had to slow down to get through Morel traffic on route to the rural road that led to the house Kaitlyn was leasing. It was Morel's version of a traffic jam, and it seemed every vehicle in the entire county was on the road, residents going to work, kids on busses heading to school, farmers on tractors heading toward their fields, and semi-trucks loaded with grain.  Gritting his teeth and clenching the steering wheel, frustration danced in his stomach as he maneuvered through town.

What if he was too late?  What if the killers had already abducted Kaitlyn?  Leaving city limits, he floored the accelerator and passed slower moving vehicles until he reached the road that led to Kaitlyn's house.  Skidding to a stop in her gravel driveway, he slammed the gear to park, and jumped out of the car.  Pounding frantically on her front door, he got no response, so he raced to the garage and saw that her car was gone.  Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself.  Did the Gamers already have Kaitlyn? Was he too late?

Calling her on her cell phone, he got no answer.  Then it hit him.  Kaitlyn was a teacher.  It was after eight o'clock by that point, so maybe she was in class.  She had to be. He got back into his truck and headed back to town.  Once he reached Morel Elementary, he drove to the teacher's parking area and spotted her VW in the third row.  Thank God. 

A wave of gratitude washed over him as he pulled out his cell phone.  Sending a text to Kaitlyn, he told her he needed to talk to her.  Seconds later, she returned his text with: "In class now. Meet me at my house this evening with a large veggie pizza with extra cheese, and we can talk all you want." 

When was the last time he felt so close to a female in such a short time, and so terrified he might lose her?  Never. 

<><><> 

Gabe's truck was immediately stopped by a young deputy as he pulled up to the Morel Hotel.

"I'm sorry, sir.  I'm going to have to ask you to turn your vehicle around and leave. This is a crime scene," said the deputy in as stern a voice as he could muster.

"I'm Gabe Chase—"

"I don't care who you are," he interrupted.  "Turn your truck around."

Gabe reached into his back pocket and pulled out a badge that he flashed before the deputy's eyes.  It was a replica of his mother's badge.  Years before at her funeral, the new county sheriff gave one to each of her sons.  Brody and Cameron wore theirs on their belt buckles.  Gabe always had his mom's badge in his back pocket.  Luckily, the deputy hadn't taken a closer look.

"Sorry, sir.  Park your truck over there.  The crime scene is on the veranda."

As Gabe approached the building, he spotted Brody and Cameron at the far end of the veranda with Deputy Gail Sawyer.  Joining them, he bent down to examine the body under a small blanket and wondered how a human being could get a thrill out of destroying another.  Beneath a plastic bag, Destiny Cooke's eyes bulged, her mouth formed a silent scream, and her facial features were frozen in terror.  A dark rage bubbled through his veins.  Like Abby, Destiny's life was just beginning when monsters smothered her, leaving nothing behind but pain for her loved ones.  He felt a hand pull at his arm and looked up to see Brody.

"C'mon, Gabe.  You shouldn't be here."

Taking a cleansing breath to calm himself, Gabe said, "Did Cam tell you about the email?  Kaitlyn is next on their list, and I have to move her to a safe place."

"All of the safe houses are full.  Why don't you move her into our main house?  In addition to the ones you and Cam have, there are four more suites."

"You're right.  I just hope I can convince her to leave her house."

Brody frowned thoughtfully and said, "You do realize, if she is their next target, they're stalking her."

"I know.  That's what I'm afraid of."

"She's a teacher at Morel Elementary, right?"

"Yes, and if she insists on working, I'll take her to and from school."

"The killers can probably recognize both your cars. Take one of the drug-seized vehicles parked in the helicopter hangar.  There are a couple with tinted windows."

"Thanks, Brody."

"Talk to Carly.  She's worked undercover and may have some ideas on how to disguise Kaitlyn.  Carly can make it as difficult as possible for the Gamers to identify her."

Their attention was diverted to the coroner's van, which had just driven through the yard and parked close to where they were standing.

Bryan Pittman and a couple of crime scene techs bounded from the vehicle and joined Cameron and Deputy Sawyer on the veranda.  They'd moved closer to the victim near Brody and Gabe.

"Who the fuck covered the body with a blanket?"  Bryan bellowed the second he saw the victim.  Instantly angry, a small vein near his left eye bulged as his face grew red.

"I did, sir." Deputy Sawyer admitted, a little stunned by his rage.

"No, shit?" Bryan said, and then added, "I could have sworn you were at the training session I gave for deputies and firemen a couple of months ago."

"Yes, sir.  I was there."

"Then you must have forgotten my first rule of what
not
to do at a crime scene!"

Glancing at Brody and Cameron, Gail said, "I was just preserving the dignity of this young lady.  No one deserves to be staged naked in a public place."

"She's dead, Deputy.  Dignity is not her most important issue now," Bryan said. "Do you remember the part of the training when I discussed how covering bodies transfers material, contaminants, and other forensic evidence from one part of the crime scene to another?"