Profile of Terror (26 page)

Grasping Carly's hand, Kaitlyn squeezed it and said, "I'm glad you told me about it, Carly.  Thanks for trusting me."

Chapter Nine
          
 

Carly stood with Dr. Anderson and Brody outside the arched steel building where the FBI was holding Jim Ryder.  SAC Sam Isley and two agents were inside fetching Ryder, to guide them to the spot where he buried victim Joy Marshall.

Only thirteen-years-old when she died, Joy was the apple of her father's eye, the only girl with four brothers.  Her parents, farmers from Anderson, spent their life savings searching for Joy, hiring a private investigator when her case became cold, and their area law enforcement officers moved on to other cases.  Their faith never wavered, even after five years had passed.  They still believed they'd find their only daughter alive and well.

"I think that taking Ryder along is the worst mistake we could make." Brody crossed his arms over his chest.

"I agree," said Carly. "Unfortunately, it wasn't our decision to make. If Sam wants him along, then he goes."

"Do you believe he's telling the truth about where Joy Marshall is buried?" 

Dr. Anderson interrupted, "If Agent Black believes Ryder is telling the truth, then he is.  She's a gifted interrogation analyst and hasn't let the Bureau down yet."  He returned to his small office inside the building.  Dr. Anderson had no interest in digging for one of Ryder's victims.

"There's always a first," Brody mumbled softly as he leaned toward Carly.

Soon one of the agents guarding the facility opened the heavy door and Sam Isley walked out, holding one of Jim Ryder's arms, while Sean Mahoney held the other.   Agent Jon Finnelly took up the rear.  All three agents, along with Carly, wore the standard-issue navy all-weather jackets with white FBI letters on the back.  Ryder wore a bright orange cotton jumpsuit with a gray hooded sweatshirt.

Carly liked Sean, who was a young agent from one of the Chicago field offices.  Over coffee, he'd shared he was a newlywed whose wife had recently discovered she was pregnant.  He missed her terribly and spent every available moment on his cell phone talking with her.

They led Ryder, who was shackled, to the huge white Suburban Brody was leaning against.  "Isley, do you think you could get a vehicle more conspicuous than this battleship?  Why didn't you just have FBI painted in big black letters on its side?"

Isley shot him a don't-screw-with-me glare. "Would you prefer a caravan of multiple law enforcement vehicles with lights and sirens?  That wouldn't attract attention, would it?"

Ryder laughed out loud at the bickering.  "Nothing like a good pissing contest between law enforcement officers."

"Shut the hell up, Ryder, and get in," Brody growled as he opened the side door.  "You're sitting in the second row.  I'll be sitting right behind you, so please, try something.  Like Clint Eastwood said in the old
Dirty Harry
movie, 'Make my day.'"

Both of the young agents helped Jim Ryder into the vehicle, letting him sit by the window, while Agent Jon Finnelly from the Minneapolis office sat down beside him.  Finnelly was a beefy, humorless man in his early thirties, and Carly thought he must have drawn the shorter straw to have to share a seat with Ryder, who was not slender himself.  Carly and Brody settled down in the last seat, while Sam Isley got in the driver position and Sean Mahoney claimed the passenger seat. 

Ryder twisted his neck to look back at Carly and said, "Hope you two lovebirds can control yourself in the back seat."

"Turn around and keep your perverse thoughts to yourself," Carly hissed. 

SAC Isley turned the ignition to start the vehicle, then drove the Suburban down the long country lane to the road.  As soon as he could, he caught U.S. 136, heading east toward Hillsboro.  Twenty-five minutes later, he turned the vehicle onto State Road 341, just outside of Hillsboro.  The two-lane highway led them through miles of flat farmland, with periodic thickets of trees and wooded areas.  Isley slowed the Suburban as they passed an area dense with towering white pines, hickory, and oak trees.

"Is this where you buried her, Ryder?"

"No, sir," said Ryder.  "Go a bit further.  This area looks familiar, so we can't be far.  Go slow."

Keeping the speed around twenty-five miles per hour, Isley rolled forward.  They soon came to an ancient graveyard. Most of the tombstones were so faded, one couldn't read the letters, or were knocked over from the elements or vandals.

Ryder shouted, "Stop!  This is it."

"You buried her in a graveyard?"  Brody asked.  "That's original."

"Back up and turn onto the dirt road that winds around the cemetery.  See the wooded area in the back?  We enter the woods where there are three black cherry trees standing together."

Isley backed the vehicle up until he could turn onto the dirt road.  He stopped and the two agents prepared to get Ryder out.  Isley rounded the Suburban and threw the keys to Sean.  "You can drive back."

Carly gazed out her window at the small graveyard. There was only half of a metal fence left to guard the place, and it was crooked and dotted with rust. There were simple faded markers, cracked urns, damaged older headstones along with ornate statues. Many of the ancient gravestones leaned together like old stones.  Leaves, vines, overgrown grass, moss, and debris blanketed the cemetery.  No one had visited or cared for this place in a very long time.

Like a small insect, a chill crawled up Carly's spine, and a shiver of panic raced through her veins.  Something didn't feel right.  In her line of work, she relied on her gut instinct or intuition to stay alive.  Right now it was sending her a warning, loud and clear.  Becoming increasingly uneasy, she grabbed Brody's arm.  "Don't get out.  Something's very wrong.  I feel it."

"Carly, what could go wrong?  The only one of us not armed to his teeth is Ryder.  C'mon, let's get this over with."

Carly hesitated for a second, but then let Brody help her out of the vehicle. 

Ryder was arguing with the agents.  "Take these shackles off.  How am I supposed to lead you through the woods and show you where I buried her with these on?  I can barely walk."

Isley gave the okay to remove his prisoner's shackles. "But his handcuffs stay on."

Finding the three black cherry trees, the group entered the woods. Ryder was in front with Sean Mahoney.  Sam Isley and Jon Finnelly were in back of them, with Brody and Carly taking up the rear. Agent Finnelly carried a shovel and wore a backpack filled with smaller digging tools and a digital camera.

The branches of the taller trees created a canopy that faded the light and created new shadows and dark patches.  The path was not  well-traveled, and they found themselves tripping over vines and weeds crossing the trail. 

"How do you think Ryder found this place?" Carly asked Brody.

"We're still in Shawnee County, so no doubt he found it while he was a deputy on patrol," Brody replied.  "Who knows?  The sick bastard may have buried the girl while on duty.  The thought makes me want to rip his head off."  His words were sudden, raw, and very angry.

The wind picked up, making Carly wish she'd worn something warmer than her FBI windbreaker.  Climbing over a dead tree that had fallen over the path, she picked up the sweet, rancid odor of death. It was a smell she'd never get used to, and it still made her want to retch.  If Ryder was telling the truth, and she still had her doubts, he buried Joy out here around five years ago. The odor of death would have ridden the wind until it faded away long ago.  Soon she spotted a dead raccoon surrounded by vultures, and quickly looked the other way.

"Are we almost there?" Carly asked Ryder impatiently.

"Just a bit further.  There's an old sycamore tree, the tallest I've ever seen, near the spot."

Ryder had relaxed and seemed to be enjoying the outing, much like a high school kid on a field trip.  He turned her stomach.  She'd rather be anywhere than here with a sociopathic serial killer, proudly showing off where he buried the body of a thirteen-year-old girl.

"Is that it?"  Brody called out, pointing at a huge tree with mottled bark standing near a creek.

"Yes, just over the creek a ways."

Using large rocks as a bridge, they crossed the creek and soon came upon a clearing, where Ryder stopped the group.  "This is it," he said.  "I'm sure of it." 

He pointed to a spot and Agent Finnelly started digging. Once he'd dug about four feet across and down, he wiped the sweat from his brow and asked Ryder, "This isn't the spot, is it?"

Looking upset, Ryder asked for the shovel, which Finnelly refused to give to him, so he used his hands to dig a bit more.  Finally, he stopped and said, "No, this isn't the spot.  Try over there by that bramble patch."

"Oh, do you mean that bramble patch covered with fucking poison ivy?"  Finnelly barked.

"I said it was
by
the patch, not on it," Ryder said, as Finnelly jabbed the shovel into the hard ground near the bramble patch, breaking up the dirt so it would be easier to shovel. 

When Finnelly stopped to rest, Sean Mahoney took the shovel from him and dug deeper.  He, too, stopped digging when the hole was close to four feet deep.

Sean eyed Ryder.  "There's nothing here.  Is she even buried in these woods?"

"No, she's here. I know this is the spot."  Ryder fell to his knees and dug frantically with his hands.

"Isley, make him stop," said Brody, his hand resting on his gun.

"No, let him dig.  He knows this place better than we do. Let him find her body."

Ryder clawed the earth for several minutes as the bored officers scanned their surroundings.  Carly heard a sound like the grinding of metal against metal. Ryder leapt to his feet holding a handgun, dropping a metal box to the ground.  "Slowly hand me your gun, and then unlock my handcuffs," he demanded, pointing his gun at Sean Mahoney's chest.

Once his handcuffs were removed, and the agent's gun was shoved in his pocket, Ryder wrapped his arm around Sean's neck in a choke-hold, pressing the gun to his temple.  Breathing hard from the digging, Sean started to tremble as he realized his life was in the hands of a mad man. 

"Freeze!" Ryder shouted to the others.  "Slowly take out your weapons and put them on the ground.  Kick them toward me."  Pulling a dirty duffle bag from the hole, he shoved it at Sean.  "Get their guns.  If anyone makes a move, Sean here gets a bullet.  Got it?"

A war of emotion raged inside Carly's mind as she watched the other agents drop their weapons to the ground.  A mix of fear and anger did a wild tangle inside her as she fought off the panic that threatened to emerge.  He'd kill them.  Ryder would kill all of them.  In his mind, he had no choice; they stood in the way of his freedom.  Which meant
she
had no choice but to fight back.

Pulling her handgun from her holster at her waist, Carly noticed Ryder's attention was fixed on Sam, Jon and Brody, who stood beside her.  Slowly and deliberately, she bent to one knee to lay her weapon on the ground, and then slipped her hand up her boot to reach the small Smith & Wesson handgun in her ankle holster.  Before she could pull it out, shots rang out.  Ryder, now holding Sean's gun, shot both Sam and Jon and they collapsed to the ground. Their blood sprayed onto her like she had been standing next to an exploding red paint can.  She wiped her eyes so she could see.  Protectively pushing in front of her, Brody was shot and flew backward on top of her, knocking the air out of her lungs and her handgun out of reach.  Even with the adrenaline surging through her, she couldn't move Brody's dead weight off her body.  Please, God, she prayed.  Let Brody be alive.  Please.  Closing her eyes, she pretended to be dead.