Profile of Terror (5 page)

"How can you tell which item belongs to which victim?"  Michael asked, clearly confused.

Cameron interjected, "The victim's DNA and fingerprints were found on each item, as were Ryder's."

"Do you mean that there's evidence that Ryder handled each item?"

"Absolutely," said Gabe. He pulled out a photo of the basement area where a tall stack of boxes were found, and handed the picture to Michael. "He may have just handled the items as he stored them in the cardboard boxes where we found them in the basement.  Whatever the case, his fingerprints and DNA are on each item, along with the whip he used to beat them."

"Excellent!"  Michael did a high-five with Gabe, as Cameron smiled with pride. 

"Did you forensically examine each of the laptops?" asked Michael. "If so, tell me what you found."

"After subpoenaing each Internet Service Provider or ISP, I got copies of each victim's email that was downloaded on the ISP's server.  I discovered all seven girls frequently communicated on Teen Chat, as did Jim Ryder.  After we served a subpoena to Teen Chat, they provided transcripts of each conversation between Ryder and the victims."

"Yes!"  Michael did a fist pump. "What else do we have?"

"Ryder's sperm and DNA were discovered on Jasmine Norris during her autopsy.  His fingerprints and DNA are on the dog collar found on her neck, on the leather restraints hanging from the ceiling, and in both of the dog crates."

"Anything else?"  The prosecutor asked, as he wrote down the information.

A smile creased Cameron's face. "We're saving the best for last, counselor."

Puzzled, Michael looked at him.

"There was a plastic bin in Ryder's basement filled with DVDs.  The bastard filmed his torture of the girls so he could relive the sick thrill later.  There is a DVD for each victim, including his vicious attack on Jasmine Norris and the rape of Alison Brown."

"There is no way Ryder's defense attorney will want these DVDs admitted to evidence, and he'll fight it.  It will be in the judge's hands to allow them or not," said Michael.  "But if I can show the jury even one of these DVDs, we've got Ryder.  There's no way a jury won't convict him."

"What about cell phone records?" Michael inquired.

Gabe tapped on a stuffed folder.  "We got a court order for each cell phone carrier and they all cooperated, providing records that tell us each time a victim and Ryder communicated on the cell phone."

"That's helpful.  What about GPS information that puts Ryder and the victims in the same location?"

"Sorry, that info, I don't have.  We think Ryder instructed the girls to turn off their cell phones or take out the batteries prior to reaching Shawnee County."

"He was a deputy sheriff. Unfortunately, one of ours," said Cameron with disgust.  "He knew this was one way to keep law enforcement from finding the girls once they went missing."

"Do we know how he lured the victims to Morel?"

"Yes. Carly was right in the profile she wrote before we had any idea Jim Ryder was our killer.  Ryder targeted preteen girls who were having problems at school or at home.  The guy knew exactly what to say to these girls to earn their trust.  He was patient enough to build the relationships to the point he could persuade them to meet him in person in Shawnee County."

"I've seen Ryder.  He's nothing to look at.  How did he attract these young girls in the first place?"

"He didn't use his own photo," Gabe said angrily.  "He used a photo of me that was taken when I was in high school.  I found out the night I walked into Alison Brown's hospital room.  She screamed and called me 'Anthony,' which was the online name Ryder was using."

"He's a devious bastard. That's for sure." Michael quickly jotted down the information.  "He thought of everything he needed to do to bait and trap his victims."

Brody and Carly entered the room and returned to their seats at the table.

Brody scrubbed his hands tiredly over his face.  "Sorry to interrupt, but I have some news."

"I can tell it isn't good," said Michael. "Let's hear it."

"Ryder, or someone he's hired, threatened to kill Alison Brown last night if she testifies."

"You have got to be kidding me."  Michael shook his head in disbelief.

"Wish I was."

"I thought you had him in solitary.  How could he hire anyone to do this?"

"We're kidding ourselves if we think that inmates don't talk to each other.  Hell, they smuggle in cell phones all the time.  They also pass notes.  I don't know how Ryder did it, but he managed to terrify both Alison and her mother."

"Can't you move them to a safe house until after the trial?"

"That's what I'm trying to do, but Alison and her mother are pushing back.  Mrs. Brown has a new job and Alison just started school.  They both moved into their new house two weeks ago.  They don't want their new lives disrupted."

"I get that," Michael replied.  "But Alison is my only witness.  I'm not sure I can get a conviction without her. In addition, we can't keep them safe if they don't cooperate."

"I agree.  Let's give them the night to think about it, and I'll try again tomorrow."

Carly leaned toward Brody. "Let me try tomorrow.  I have a good relationship with Alison and her mom.  Maybe I can persuade them both."

Chapter Three
      
 

"Devan, wake up!" Evan punched his brother on the arm.  "She's on the move."  He slipped the key in the ignition of the van to turn on the motor.

"On the move?  You've been watching too many cop shows,"

"Whatever."  Evan gazed at the silhouette of Abby Reece, who was sitting in her car, her cell phone pressed against her ear, the interior illuminated by the garage light that spilled across the parking area.  He and Devan had been following Abby since September, after school and on the weekends, and Evan was tired of all the stalking.  He wanted some action and hoped tonight was the night they grabbed her.

"What time is it?" asked Devan.

"Eight-forty-five."

"Think she might be meeting someone at nine?"

"Let's find out."

Hanging back a couple of cars so she wouldn't notice them, they followed Abby to the Hoosier Sports Bar and Grill.  Since the place was brimming with the Friday night crowd, Evan had to circle the lot twice before finding a parking place. As was his habit, Devan pulled down the cosmetic mirror to primp and comb his hair.  Though they were identical twins, Evan had always thought Devan was more pretty than handsome, with cropped blonde hair, chiseled jaw bones, and startling light blue eyes under a shield of thick lashes. The girls at school thought he was hot and vied for his attention, making Devan egotistical and vain.  Evan pitied any female who developed feelings for Devan, for they would never be returned.  The only time Devan felt anything for a female was when he was choking the life out of her.  Satisfied with his look, Devan handed the comb to his brother.

Once inside, they eased up to the bar, ordered a couple of beers with fake driver's licenses, and then casually scanned the room, searching for their target.

Abby Reece wasn't hard to find.  She was gyrating on the dance floor with a group of people, wearing a body-hugging cherry-red wrap dress that threatened to unwrap itself as she danced.  With her arms up high, she wiggled and flipped her hair as she sought the attention of the men on the dance floor. 

Devan and Evan moved to a table, ordered more drinks and appetizers, and watched the impromptu show on the dance floor, starring Abby Reece.  They joined her, dancing until a little after one o'clock, when Abby appeared to be winding down. They took the opportunity to pay their bill and depart.  After waiting in their van for thirty minutes for Abby to leave the bar, they decided it might be smarter to wait at her apartment.

At Abby's apartment building, Devan backed the van under a large oak tree, while Evan used a baseball bat to break a flood light mounted on the garage.  With the exception of a sliver of moonlight, the area was quite dark, the way they wanted it.

In the back of the van, Devan covered the floor with a thick sheet of plastic.  He planned to abduct her, not kill her, at least not yet, but wanted to be prepared for the unexpected.  He'd learned that lesson the hard way when a prostitute they'd kidnapped pulled a small knife out of her purse and stabbed Evan in the arm before Devan could snap her neck.  It was a superficial cut, but blood spattered everywhere, and it took forever for them to scrub the van with bleach. 

Evan pulled out a duffle bag that held duct tape, two syringes, a box of surgical gloves, two ski masks, handcuffs, trash bags, a coil of rope, two stun guns, a couple of knives, and a roll of paper towels.  Tucking one of the stun guns into his back pocket, he handed the other to Devan.  Using a stun gun was the most effective way to subdue their target.  It instantly disabled a victim's muscles so she could not run away or fight back.

The crunch of gravel under tires and the appearance of headlights caught their attention.  Abby had returned.

Devan turned off the internal lights of their vehicle, and both men climbed out.  By the time they reached Abby, she was leaning into her car, reaching for her purse on the passenger seat.  When she straightened and closed the door, Evan jabbed her in the neck with his stun gun, and she crumpled to the ground as if her muscles had melted.  Devan flung her over his shoulder and carried her fireman-style to the van, laying her limp body on the sheet of plastic in the back. 

Evan quickly bound her wrists and legs with duct tape, then covered her mouth with more tape.  Closing the van doors, he stayed in the back of the vehicle with Abby, while Devan drove quickly through the quiet neighborhood into the night.  The game had begun.

Abby Reece lay motionless next to Evan.  The effects of the stun gun would wear off soon, and her muscles would slowly come to life.  Evan lightly brushed her blonde hair out of the way so he could better see her face.  With porcelain skin and delicate, high cheek bones, she was exquisite, with long, dark eyelashes that slightly fluttered now.  Abby Reece was prettier than any of the girls at his school.  Evan yearned to stroke her skin but alarm tensed his body.

His eyes flew to the rearview mirror in the front of the vehicle to see if Devan was watching the road or him.  Abby was a target for the game. Touching a target was not allowed, and he would suffer serious consequences from Devan if he even suspected Evan's attraction to her.  Thankfully, Devan's eyes were on the road.  They were almost out of the city limits.

"Did you remember the roofies?" asked Devan, as he glanced back at Evan through the rear view mirror.

"Don't I always?  I'm not the village idiot you seem to think I am."

Devan's face flushed as he glared at him through the mirror.  Finally he said, "Don't get testy, and just answer the fucking question, Evan."

"Yes, I remembered the Rohypnol.  I filled a couple of syringes with it and put them in the duffle bag.  I'll give her one in a few minutes to keep her quiet."

Satisfied with that answer, Devan returned his attention to the road, and Evan turned his to Abby.  Her delicate features reminded him of one of the sleeping princesses in a fairy tale one of their nannies used to read to them. 

Abby groaned as she tried to move her bound legs and wrists.  Why did she feel so exhausted?  It was such an effort to even try to move her arms and legs.  Why couldn't she move?

Her eyes flew open with alarm, and she scanned her surroundings and recognized the interior of a van.  Where in the hell was she?  Was this real?  Was this a nightmare?  Wasn't this one of the guys she danced with at the bar, hovering over her, his face inches from her own?  Panic like she'd never known welled in her throat.

<><><> 

His laptop secured under his arm, Gabe pushed up the Shawnee County Courthouse stairs to the second floor, where Jim Ryder's trial would finally reconvene at one o'clock in courtroom number four.  Ryder's defense attorney had successfully pushed back his trial date to October 10 from October 1, and Gabe was impatient for it to get started.  It was his first time to testify as an expert witness, and butterflies were dancing in his stomach.  At the same time, a fierce determination drove him to make sure the jury understood how each piece of incriminating evidence he'd uncovered pointed to Ryder's guilt.

After meeting with Michael the previous day, he'd spent the night going over his evidence, imagining how he'd present it to the jury, and wondering which piece of evidence would inspire Ryder's defense attorney to voice an objection.  As far as Gabe was concerned, he could object all he wanted.  The evidence was a solid demonstration of Ryder's involvement with the victims.

Cameron had testified in the morning regarding the bullet casings, restraints and dog collars, as well as anything else they found in the basement, except for the laptops and cell phones, which Gabe would present.  After Cameron, Dr. Bryan Pittman testified, explaining in the simplest terms the DNA, as well as the results of the autopsies.

Both men said the jurors listened intently, occasionally stealing glances at Jim Ryder, who sat stoically next to his attorney, drawing on a legal pad.

Someone slammed into Gabe, shoving him against the stair railing and knocking his laptop out of his grip.  It tumbled down the stairs with a metallic thud on each step.

"What the hell?"  Gabe cursed aloud, as he watched a light-haired teenager wearing a Morel High School athletic jacket race down the rest of the steps.  Picking up the laptop, he prayed his hard drive was intact.

"So sorry, Mr. Chase."  The kid said without looking back, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Gabe bolted down the stairs to catch him, but couldn't spot him in the crowd entering the courthouse.  Cursing to himself, he was convinced the teen bumped into him on purpose. Why?  Who was he?  How did he know his name?

Reaching the top of the staircase, Gabe waded through the overcrowded hallway outside courtroom four.  He'd heard on the news that the entire state of Indiana, as well as the surrounding states, wanted a seat in the courtroom to witness the trial.  So many people were vying for seats that a lottery system had to be set up.

He spotted Alison Brown waiting on a bench outside the courtroom, flanked by her mother on one side and Carly Stone on the other.  Alison and her mother had finally agreed to move into the safe house, and a deputy assigned to them stood nearby.  Gabe quietly settled down next to Carly.  So he didn't appear to be eavesdropping on their conversation, he opened his laptop to assess it for damage.  Luckily, some scrapes on the case were the only things he found.  The content on his hard drive appeared to be intact.

Periodically, he scanned the hallway for signs of the jerk who slammed into him on the staircase.  Still angry, Gabe wanted to kick his ass, and then ask some relevant questions, starting with 'how did he know his name?'

<><><> 

"Are you okay?" her mother asked, as she smoothed Alison's hair and kissed her cheek.

"Mom, please don't fuss."

To Carly, Mrs. Brown said, "I hate that she has to go through this.  Hasn't she been through enough?  Why does she have to relive the way that monster caged her in his basement and tortured her?"

"I understand how you feel.  But she has to testify.  She's the only living witness — the only one who can stop Jim Ryder's reign of terror."

"Stop it, Mom," Alison interjected.  "We discussed this.  No matter how scary it is to face him in the courtroom, I have to do it for Jasmine and the other girls he killed."

Carly turned to the young girl.  "Do you feel prepared, Alison?  Did Mr. Brandt and I help at all in easing your fear of testifying?"

"Do I have to look at him?" Alison asked fearfully.

"No, you don't have to look at him.  Because he wore the ski mask, you were only able to identify his voice, so neither of the attorneys will ask you to point him out in court."

"Then why am I testifying at all?  The jury may not believe anything I say because I can't identify his face."

"Alison, remember we talked about this.  Mr. Brandt is going to show the jury a short excerpt from the DVD Ryder made when he beat you.  That will eliminate any doubt in their minds of your connection to Jim Ryder."

"He's not going to show the one of him raping me, is he?  He promised me that he wouldn't show them that DVD."

"No, he won't.  Mr. Brandt keeps his promises.  Don't worry about that."  Carly squeezed Alison's hand.  "Just concentrate on answering Mr. Brandt's questions to the best of your ability."