Tainted Mind (20 page)

“Most of the women on the board are about that age. Give or take five or so years,” Wyatt pointed out.

Carly shook her head. “No, most of the women would have been thirty-three or thirty-four
this
year. All of the women were born within a year of each other.”

Vivienne stood and went to the board, scanning each of the profiles. Nick got up and followed. By watching the two, Ian knew Carly had stumbled onto something.

“Well, shit,” Nick said when he reached the end.

“You can say that again,” Vivienne uttered.

“Guys?” Ian prompted.

“Carly is right, and I can't believe we missed it,” Vivienne shook her head, still studying the board.

“What does it mean?” Ian pressed.

“It could mean our killer is what Vivienne likes to call a relational killer,” Nick supplied. Everyone turned to her for an explanation, including Nick.

“A relational killer is a term I use,” Vivienne said. “It's not official. But what it means is that the victims have a relational resemblance to the killer. An example might be something like a killer whose victims are all single fathers whose children are the same age as the killer. Which means that, as the killer ages, so do the fathers, or victims. The profile of the victim changes because it's related to something external.”

“And in this case?” Ian asked.

“I would wager that it's about the age of the killer, so, as he ages, the victims age. Which would explain why the latest victim is thirty-four, but this victim,” Vivienne said, pointing to another photo of a woman who was reported missing five years ago, “is only twenty-nine. It's not a variation in his victim profile, it's a central part of it.”

The news hit Ian with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

“So you're saying to me that the age parameters we put in when conducting our database searches are completely irrelevant?” Ian asked, overwhelmed by the possibilities.

“No, age is very relevant,” she answered, “Just not in the way we were originally thinking about it. We were using age to define the boundaries, assuming his victims, like the ones we think we've found, are between the ages of approximately twenty-eight to thirty-five. But now we can use age to show us the path he's taken. The good news is this can give us a lot more information about him, specific information. The bad news is, because we don't know his age or the age he started killing, we need to go back far enough to the extent that it would have been impossible for him to commit the murders.”

“How far back?” Ian demanded.

“To be on the safe side, thirty-four years. Something about that date triggered something in the killer. He might have started then,” Vivienne answered.

“Thirty-four years,” Ian repeated, stunned at the potential enormity of it.

“But we only need to look for women born in these two years,” Vivienne said, writing them on the board. “It will eliminate a lot of women. And I'd recommend starting the year this woman was killed,” she said, pointing again to their twenty-nine year old. “And go back year by year, looking for women of the right age. I doubt he's been killing for thirty-four years, and my guess is we'll find fewer and fewer victims as the women get younger and younger.”

“Why?” Wyatt asked.

“Because of the sexual nature of the crimes,” Vivienne answered. “I don't think this is a parent/child thing, not with the kind of rape we saw with Rebecca. I think he has some sort of identification with the victims as
women
. And he's probably an adult around the same age, give or take ten years.”

Ian took in the information and forced himself to be open, to listen to Vivienne, to her experience. But it was overwhelming. How in the world was he, with his small-town force, supposed to solve this kind of case? Then again, there was always the FBI. He could call them in, and with Vivienne as his backup, he knew they would respond.

By unspoken agreement, everyone in the room moved to implement this new plan, looking through over three decades of missing persons reports for women born during those two years. But Vivienne came toward Ian and met his gaze.

As if she'd read his mind, she spoke. “We can call in the FBI, Ian, and they'll send people. Good people. But they'll probably hire me anyway. I'm not saying don't do it, because I think at some point, we're going to need to. But I am saying don't discount yourself and your team. You have me, and Nick, too. Use us to get us as far as we can go and then we can call for help. It's not as though we don't have the resources. We do.”

“What if someone else dies while we're spinning our wheels?” His biggest fear. What if pride kept him from calling in the big guns and another woman died? There was enough death on his hands; he didn't want any more.

“We're not spinning our wheels, Ian. If I thought my colleagues in Quantico could do this better or faster than we can, I wouldn't
hesitate to call them in. But I'm not convinced they can. I know what their case load is, Ian.”

He ran a hand over his face and through his hair then crossed his arms over his chest. “I can't take that chance, Vivienne.”

He could feel her studying him, debating what to do next. He knew she wanted him to believe he could lead his team through this. But he just wasn't there; in his mind, the risk was too high.

“How about this? Tomorrow morning we'll call my colleague in the FBI behavioral science group. We can run through everything with him and see what he has to say. He's a good guy and will give you his honest opinion.”

Ian looked down at her, searching her face. He wanted to feel good about the fact that she believed in him. But this was big; these were the lives of unknown numbers of women. If someone could do the job better than he could, they should.

“Why are you pushing?” he asked.

Vivienne pursed her lips and looked away for a moment. Her gaze landed on the window but he got the sense that she wasn't seeing what was out there. Finally, she looked back.

“Just trust me. All I'm asking is for you not to call the FBI in tonight. To wait to talk to John tomorrow. And after you talk to John, then you can decide whether you want to bring them in.”

“Won't it be too late at that point? I mean, if I talk to him, we'll be discussing not just a serial killer, but one we are pretty sure has crossed state lines. Won't he
have
to come in at that point?”

“Just talk to him tomorrow.”

Again, Ian searched her eyes for some answer. But all he saw there was a question: would he trust her for this little bit of time? He glanced at the clock and noticed how late it was. Even if he called them tonight, the likelihood of them doing anything before tomorrow wasn't high. He looked back at Vivienne, whose gaze hadn't left his face. He sighed. Tonight, tomorrow, it wouldn't make a difference. He nodded his agreement.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft. He wasn't sure what she was saying thanks for, but he nodded again.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“And a little tired, and I could use a shower.”

He smiled at the image. “Why don't you head back to my house? I'll finish things up here and then meet you there. I'm scheduled for patrol tonight, though, so I'll be out from eleven to seven.”

She nodded then turned to say her goodbyes to the team. Daniel and Nick opted to leave with her. Within five minutes, the three were gone. Ian stood at the window and, for a long time after they'd disappeared from sight, he watched the streets and the growing shadows.

*   *   *

Vivi pulled up alongside Ian's house and saw a dog bound out of the woods. She paused before opening her door, watching as the pup danced and spun toward the car wearing a goofy dog grin. He had a thick, gray coat and when he approached her window she noticed his yellow wolf-like eyes. If it hadn't been for his huge ears that stuck straight out at right angles, the lock of wayward fur on his head, and the grin, she might have been worried.

But when he finally settled, the dog sat beside her car door with his tail slapping against the ground. He stood as she opened her door and climbed out of the car, his enormous tail wagging his body. Vivi gave him a friendly scratch, wondering whose pet he was, then headed for her trunk to grab her bag.

She had just slipped the bag's strap over her shoulder when she heard Ian's Jeep approaching. Surprised he was home so soon, she waited. Obviously curious himself, the dog plopped himself at her feet, or rather, on her feet and waited with her, his tail making an occasional sweep of the ground.

As soon as Ian climbed out of his car, the pup jumped up and barreled toward him.

“Hey, Rooster,” Ian said, bending down to give the dog a good rub. “How's my boy?”

“Is he yours?”

Ian looked up. “Yeah. My folks watch him when I have long days, but he's mine. Rooster, meet Vivienne. Vivienne, this is Rooster.” He stood and walked toward her.

“Rooster?”

“He hardly ever barks now, but when I first got him, when he was a puppy, he used to howl every morning when the sun came up.”

Vivi smiled. Given the thick fur that stuck up on his head, the name was fitting in more ways than one. “How old?”

“He's not quite eight months old.”

“He's going to be a big boy,” she said.

Ian inclined his head. “So, my mom is here,” he added.

Vivi blinked. Her bag dropped back into the trunk. “Your mom is here?” she repeated, looking around for a car she might have missed.

“Yeah, she called and said she was going to walk over and drop off some food for me.”

“I see.” Vaguely, Vivi noted that Rooster's head was bobbing between them as they spoke.

“You don't want to meet my mom,” Ian said.

She didn't. Not because she thought the woman was going to be mean or scary, but because it all seemed too sudden.

“It's not that exactly,” she hedged.

Seeing him standing across from her, arms crossed, feet apart, Vivi knew he was trying to figure her out.

“If last night hadn't happened, would you still be hesitant to meet her?” he asked.

Vivi shook her head. “No, but last night did happen, and, well…” her voice trailed off.

“She's not scary, Vivienne. She's actually pretty nice.”

“I'm sure she's lovely.”

“Then?”

She sighed. “Look, what it comes down to is, if there isn't a dead body involved when I meet someone, I'm socially awkward.” And she was. She never knew what to do at parties or bars, so she rarely, if ever, went to them. She was good with colleagues and family, with them she was comfortable. With others, well, that was another story.

“You're perfectly social.” As if to support his owner's statement, Rooster stood and nudged Vivi's hand, his tail showing his excitement.

“I'd like to point out that we met over a dead body,” she countered, absently rubbing Rooster's head fluff.

Ian sighed. “Come on, let's go.” He grabbed for her bag with one hand and reached for her hand with the other. She let him take her hand, but snatched her bag strap back.

“If you're going to make me meet your mother, I am
not
going to meet her carrying an overnight bag into your house.”

Vivi knew women who could waltz in like they owned the place, but that kind of behavior wasn't part of her makeup. Her parents—her very Catholic parents—and family had always drilled in respect for elders, and while they weren't blind to the shenanigans all the kids got into, there was a firm divide between the things you shared with your parents and elders and those you did not. Sex lives fell firmly into the latter. And walking into Ian's house with an overnight bag was just as good as walking in and telling the woman to her face that she was sleeping with her son.

Ian gave her a look before shutting her trunk, sans bag, and dragging her into his house, Rooster trailing in their wake. Again, Vivi had a fleeting thought that she should know how to handle this better. But the truth of the matter was, there were too many unknowns, about her life, about Ian's, and about their place in each other's lives. With a start, Vivi realized she wasn't too unlike Ian and his ever-present plans. She didn't call them plans, but evidently, she preferred things in black and white.

When they entered the kitchen through the back door off the laundry room, all Vivi could see was an open refrigerator. Ian anchored her by his side and spoke.

“Hi, mom.”

“Oh hi, honey,” came a surprised but pleasant voice from behind the door. “I brought you some chili and a few other things. Oh, hello.” A form appeared as the door shut. Vivi didn't miss how Ian's mother's eyes went from Ian to her and then back again.

“Mom, this is Dr. Vivienne DeMarco. Vivienne, this is my mom, Ann MacAllister.”

“Dr. DeMarco. It's nice to meet you. Please call me Ann.”

“Mrs. MacAllister. It's nice to meet you, please, it's Vivi.” They both spoke at the same time, then smiled. Vivi stepped forward and the two women shook hands.

“So, you're leading the charge to solve these horrible deaths?” Ann asked.

“I'm helping Ian in every way I can,” Vivi corrected. Ian's mom had the same soft green eyes as her son, and they darted between Ian and Vivi, landing on their intertwined hands more than once. His mother's hair, though now mostly white, held shades of brown and red, like Ian's, and had the same thick curl to it. Ann was shorter than Vivi, rounded with age, and, like her son, carried an air of practicality about her. And not that Vivi had any doubts about Ann's character, but it was nice to see that she also loved dogs, which was obvious when Rooster headed to her side and she gave him a good, long scratch behind his ears with a familiar gesture.

Ann gave a small smile. “Well, I'm glad he has the help. It's such an awful thing. Nothing like this has ever happened here before.”

The cynic in Vivi suspected more had happened in this area than people knew or admitted, but she nodded in agreement.

“Anyway,” Ann said on a breath, “there is food in the fridge. I can take Rooster again if you like. And don't forget Brianna and Chris will be here tomorrow night. They'll both want to see you if you can spare the time?”

Ian wagged his head and looked at Vivi. “Brianna is my sister and Chris is my nephew. They live in New York City and are visiting for a few days,” he explained. Turning back to his mom, he answered. “You can leave Rooster here. I may drop him off tomorrow, though. And I'll make time for Chris. Brianna, we'll see,” he added with good-natured affection. Ann rolled her eyes.