Twisted (18 page)

“Anything jump out?”

“Yeah, something did.” She set the timer on her oven and then leaned back against the counter, crossing her feet at the ankles. “Although it’s going to sound weird now that I’m actually saying it. I’m not a profiler.”

“You profile people every day.”

“Uh, no, that would be you.”

“A profile is basically just a guess about who someone is and what they’re likely to do,” he said. “You do it all the time. Every time you maneuver through rush-hour traffic, you make a thousand tiny predictions about the people around you. Your brain picks up cues from all different sources and makes judgment calls about whether to tap the brakes or change lanes or speed up.”

“That’s not really profiling.”

“Sure it is. And you’re a cop, too, which gives you a
whole other layer of experience to draw on. When you worked patrol, you profiled people every time you made a traffic stop. You looked at all sorts of factors—their car, their driving ability, the time of day, the day of the week—to determine whether the person behind the wheel might present a danger to you.”

“All cops do that.”

“That’s my point. They’re good profilers, whether they realize it or not. Waitresses, too. And teachers. All those groups make better-than-average predictions about human behavior because they’ve honed their instincts for it. I wish more people would listen to their instincts.”

She stared at him, and he realized he was getting carried away again.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. This is a hot-button issue for me.”

“Clearly.” She put her hand on her hip. “You said something about this when we were out at the crime scene. So go ahead, enlighten me.”

He paused. She was mocking him now, but still he wanted to talk about it.

“People—the most highly intelligent creatures on the planet—so often ignore their instincts. I don’t know how many times I’ve sat down to interview a crime victim, and the first words out of her mouth are about how she got this weird feeling about the guy, but she told herself she was being paranoid. Do you think an animal in the wild gets a signal of danger and stops to wonder whether it’s being paranoid? Hell, no. It acts on its most important instinct: to protect itself.”

“I never thought of it that way.” She looked at him for a long moment, and he saw respect in her eyes.

Shit, he needed to shut up now. He hadn’t come here to lecture her. He wasn’t sure why he’d come, but it hadn’t been to get on some soapbox in her kitchen.

“Tell me what you noticed about the case files,” he said. “I’m interested in your take.”

“Well, it struck me that all the victims are so different.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, really different. In almost every way. We’ve got a mom. Several professionals. A few wage earners. Their jobs are all over the map. Their ages, too. Their physical appearance, religions, hobbies. But there is this one thing . . . I notice the career women were working for pretty unpopular companies.”

Mark went back through the files mentally. “Okay.”

“Dara Langford was the one who made me notice it. I found a news article, about a month before her death, in which she was quoted at a press conference. She was a PR flack for some timber company. And Jordan Wheatley was in the PR office at her firm, too. I think she mainly worked behind the scenes, but still.”

“Jordan Wheatley worked for GreenWinds. She quit right after her attack.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t they an alternative-energy company? How is that unpopular?”

“All right,
controversial
is probably a better word. At least in some political circles. And both women dealt with the media, the public. And then there’s Jillian Webb. She volunteered at a women’s shelter and was quoted in a newspaper article about one of their fund-raisers.”

“Okay.” He looked at her, holding the idea up against the other victim information he had filed in his head. “I
like that line of thought, but I’m not sure how far it goes. Sheryl was a stay-at-home mom, Stephanie Snow was at an engineering firm. The first victim worked in retail.”

“Yeah, but what about before that? Has anyone checked her previous job? And what did Sheryl Fanning do before she had kids? Anyone check that?”

He nodded. “We should.”

“And the engineering company Stephanie worked for has been in the news lately over some dam they’re building. I’ve got a message in to talk to her supervisor about what all she did there. Her father told me her job was pretty varied because she was an intern, but her college transcript listed a minor in communications. I wonder if maybe they had her writing press releases or something where she might have been interfacing with the public.”

Mark watched her, impressed. It was a thin connection, but a connection nonetheless. And it had taken someone new on the case to see it, someone able to connect dots between a victim from the past and the present. Maybe she was onto something.

“You do that blank expression thing very well, by the way,” she said. “It’s impossible to read your reaction half the time.”

“I think we should check into it.”

A cell phone chimed, and Allison crossed the room to get it. She kept her back to him as she took the call.

“Okay, I’m on my way in.” She hung up and turned off the stove. “We’ve got a problem at the park.”

“I thought you were off tonight.”

She reached for her keys. “I’m on for this.”

Allison strode into the bullpen and found Jonah leaning against the doorway of what had come to be called the war room. She heard Ric’s and Sean’s voices inside. She walked up and joined the group, ignoring the looks of interest when they saw that she was accompanied by Mark.

“Where is she?” Allison asked.

Jonah glanced from her to Mark and back to her again. “Interview Two,” he said. “I talked to her already, but see what you get.”

She was familiar with the assignment. She frequently got called in to talk to female witnesses. Women tended to be more forthcoming when interviewed by Allison than, say, a man the size of a refrigerator.

She left Mark to fend for himself and headed for Interview Two, which sounded very official but was simply a ten-by-ten room equipped with a table and chairs. That was it. No phone, no computer, no windows, no sharp objects.

The woman beside the table looked young and unhappy to be there. She wore a trendy black tracksuit with
Nike sneakers and had a pink fleece scarf around her neck. Allison immediately noticed her long blond ponytail and that her green eyes were swollen from crying.

“Lauren Reichs?” She reached across the table and offered a handshake, forcing the woman to put down her cell phone. “Detective Allison Doyle. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too. Do you know if I can go now?”

“Something the matter?”

“I’ve been here an hour. I’ve got a paper due tomorrow, and I’m
so
behind.”

Allison slid into a chair. “You’re a student?”

“Yes.” She blew out a breath. “No offense, but I already told them this already. I told them everything. I don’t get what’s going on. Why is this such a big deal?”

Allison glanced up as the camera in the corner of the room shifted. Someone—probably Jonah—had activated the closed-circuit TV and was now watching the interview from another room.

“I understand.” Allison smiled. “There are a few last details we’d like to clear up before you leave.”

“Am I in trouble or something? Because my dad’s a lawyer.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Allison said. “We’re just trying to understand what you saw tonight.”

“This is about that girl, isn’t it?” Her eyes filled with tears. “You think it was him, don’t you? That guy who killed her?”

“Let’s just go over what you saw, all right, Lauren? Could be it was nothing important.”

“I knew I should have gone to Fairfield instead.” She shook her head. “My roommate
told
me I was stupid to go to Stony Creek after what happened. But, I mean, I
had my dog with me. Sadie’s very protective. I figured I was fine.”

“Where is Sadie now?”

“Downstairs. They wouldn’t let me bring her up here.” A tear spilled out and Lauren brushed it away. “She’s probably terrified. She gets nervous around strangers.”

“Excuse me one minute, okay?” Allison stood up and opened the door to the interview room. She spotted Mark across the bullpen, already headed for the stairs. He waved, and she knew he’d read her mind.

She returned to the table and smiled. “So, you’re a senior here at the university?”

“I graduate in May.”

“And what’s your major?”

She took a deep breath and seemed to be bracing herself for a litany of questions. “Art history.”

“Cool. I took some art in college. You know what you want to do when you graduate?”

She gave a watery chuckle. “No idea. But I know I’m
not
moving in with my parents. I’ll wait tables if I have to.”

“Do you have a job now?”

“Not since the summer. I’m trying to keep my grades up.”

“And what did you do in the summer?”

“I worked at the bookstore. You know, on campus? It was part of my work-study.”

The door opened and a yellow Labrador darted into the room, going straight for Lauren.

“Oh!” She gathered the dog against her legs. “Thank you!” She smiled gratefully at Mark as he handed over the leash.

“No problem. You two need anything?”

Lauren didn’t even hear him—she was too busy fussing over her dog.

“We’re good now, thanks.” Allison shot him a look, and he slipped out.

“So, about this evening,” Allison said. “You were coming
back
from your jog when you saw the van? Or just setting out?”

“Coming back. Sadie,
sit.
” Lauren pointed at the floor beside her chair, and Sadie put her rump down, tail thumping. Lauren looked at Allison. “I only did two miles today. Usually, I do four, but like I said, I have a paper due, so . . .”

“I understand. And where exactly was the van parked?”

“On the far end of the lot. It faced out, like he’d backed into the space. It was white. I pointed out a picture from one of those car books here, but I couldn’t be sure. It was either a Dodge or a Ford.” Another apologetic look. “I didn’t get the license number or anything—they already asked me.”

“It’s okay.” Allison smiled reassuringly. “And the driver. Did you get a good look at him?”

“It was dark. I don’t usually go after dark, but I had Sadie, so I figured no big deal, right? Anyway, it was still light out when I started. Sunset. But when I finished, it was dark, so I didn’t really see him.”

“Didn’t see him at all?”

“Just, you know, the side of his face. There was a light in the parking lot, but it wasn’t all that bright.”

“And you only saw one side? A profile?”

“I was across the lot, off to the right. He had a beard, though. I’m pretty sure I saw that.”

Allison nodded. “And he stayed in the van the whole time?” She already had this detail from the phone conversation she’d had with Jonah on the way over, but she needed to confirm.

“That’s right.”

“Did he gesture at you or try to communicate in any way?”

“No. He just . . . I don’t know.” She paused. “This is going to sound weird, but . . . he just looked at me.”

Allison leaned closer. “Looked at you?”

“Yeah. I told the officer. Mr. Macon.”

“How did you feel when he looked at you?”

“That was the creepy part. That’s why I called 911. He just
watched
me, you know?” She gave Allison an imploring look, as if hoping she’d understand.

“Did it feel sexual?”

“
Yes.
I mean, this is totally gross, but I got the feeling he was . . . you know . . . jerking off or something there in the van.
While
he watched me. Don’t ask me why I think that, but I do.” She shuddered. “Trust me, it was disgusting. I jumped in my car and hauled butt out of there.”

By the time they rehashed everything and left the station house, it was nearly eleven. The pasta sitting in Allison’s kitchen was well past its prime, and there wasn’t even talk of trying to salvage dinner. She convinced Mark to grab a drink with her instead.

It took some strong-arming. He had a definite reluctance to being seen in public with her, and she wasn’t sure what that was about. When they walked through the door to El Patio, she got a better idea.

“Yo, Doyle.” Sean waved her over. “Come have a brew with us.”

Several guys she knew had staked out a big table near the patio doors. She glanced at Mark. His carefully blank expression told her what he thought of hanging out with cops tonight.

“You go over.” He sounded resigned. “You want a beer?”

“Bourbon and Coke.”

He headed for the bar, and Allison joined Sean, Ric, and a detective she’d never liked much named Vincent.

“So, what’s your take on the girl?” Sean wasted no time asking as Allison sat down.

“I think we shouldn’t let her out of our sight.”