Or maybe the result of systematic torture.
Tension shooting up his spine, Mark headed toward the kitchen, hyper aware that a bloodless killer followed a step behind him. With new eyes, he observed the locks on all the cupboard doors and drawers. Not to protect a woman in the grips of Alzheimer’s, but to protect Sims from any weapons she might get her hands on. A ball of hot fury lodged in Mark’s chest, and it took every ounce of effort he possessed to not turn and grab the man by the throat. He drew in a silent breath. Released it slowly. And prepared to play the role of his lifetime.
“We found Kelsey Willard’s body last weekend,” he started conversationally. “The TMK case was sort of your baby while you were at the agency. I thought you’d like to know.”
“Kelsey Willard. After all this time. Did you find the remains in Wayne Forest?” Interest threading his voice, the man took a seat at the table. Mark followed suit.
“No, believe it or not.” He unzipped his coat partway as if at ease, but his muscles were spiked with knots. “She was found just outside West Bend city limits in the basement of an empty home. Which brings me to another reason for stopping.” He manufactured an abashed grin. “Wouldn’t mind picking your brain about what this means. I’ve gone through the files. He’s never changed dump sites before.”
“No, never.” Sims pulled at his bottom lip as he considered. “First thing that comes to mind is questioning whether she was a victim of the TMK or a copycat. But I assume you’ve verified that.”
“With every test possible.” For a homicidal maniac, the man was a masterful actor. But he’d already proven that with the bullshit story about the picture of ballerinas that had calmed his nightmares about the victims. Did the print represent the source of Sims’s motivation, or the result of his crimes? Either way, it was yet another reminder that this man had fooled trained agents for years while he’d consulted on the case. Mark just hoped he could match the man’s acting abilities. Everything depended on it. “It’s the same killer.”
Sims frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. “It’d be tempting to say that the TMK has switched his location. We had speculated before that his familiarity with the forest could mean that he lived around that area, or had at one time. Or that he was an outdoors enthusiast. His use of the remote area there told us that the offender didn’t want the bodies found, or he was attempting to slow the process of discovery. But West Bend doesn’t have a similarly isolated area where he could hope to discard his future victims, so in the end, this body dump represents more than just a change in MO. I think, for whatever reason, he wanted this body found.”
“That was our conclusion, too,” Mark said with feigned relief. Cunning bastard, he thought. All this time offering his insights for his own amusement. A sliver of truth here, a red herring there to massage the focus of the investigation. “So is it a onetime thing, or is this what we can expect from him in the future?”
“You mean with the latest victim?”
Mark nodded. “The agency’s profiler seems to think that the killer’s affection for Willard led to him wanting her discovered.”
“That’s a plausible theory and might explain why the offender took additional risks this time. By not leaving the body where it was exposed to the elements for years, there was an increased possibility of him leaving prints or DNA.”
Mark shook his head. “Unfortunately, the forensic tests came up zero on that end. But we do have a strong person of interest in custody at the moment. He’d been questioned before in Kelsey Willard’s case.” He paused deliberately. Noted the man’s shift in weight to lean forward in anticipation. “Herb Newman, the school custodian. He was found trespassing on the premises where Willard was found. It’s only a matter of time until we cement the case against him.”
If he hadn’t been observing so closely, Mark would have missed the slight tightening of lips. The flicker of disdain in the man’s gaze. “That’s quick work. Congratulations. I assume there are more tests to be completed. I recall just how long that process can take.”
“No.” A small thud sounded nearby. Both of them looked in the direction of the front door.
“Elizabeth must have dropped something. Her arthritis makes gripping things difficult. You were saying the lab would be running more tests.”
Planting a subliminal suggestion there, Luther? “No, I’m pretty sure they ran everything we submitted. We’re confident we’ve arrested the right guy.”
A tinkle of crashing glass had them both jumping. Sims got up abruptly. “I’m sorry, but I must go help my wife. She’s probably tried to get out of bed by herself. Thank you for coming, Agent Foster. I hope you’ll continue to keep me apprised of further developments.” The man was already up, striding rapidly down the hallway. “If you wouldn’t mind showing yourself out?”
“Not a problem.” Mark waited until the man had disappeared into the bedroom, partially closing the door behind him before getting up to snap off the light switches. He headed swiftly toward the three doors at the end of the room. One was a bathroom. Empty. Another would lead to the attached garage. But the third bore the same lock as the kitchen drawers and cupboards. Mark tried the knob. It wouldn’t turn.
Retracing his steps, he strode silently to the front door. A sliver of light showed between the bedroom door and the jamb. Reaching for his cell, he used the camera app to zoom in for a picture of the young Elizabeth Sims before replacing the phone and moving toward the door, one hand inside his half-opened coat resting on the butt of his weapon.
Two more steps to the entrance. One.
Then the wedge of light at the bedroom door widened to show the shadow of a long, narrow barrel. Gun.
Mark reacted instinctively, throwing himself to the ground. Rolling into the family room. The rifle shot took a chunk out of the Sheetrock on the wall beside him, spraying him with tiny splinters and dust. Sims had the advantage. Mark was exposed in the light while the other man remained hidden. He fired twice in quick succession, taking out the lamp in the room and then the overhead fixture in the hallway. Now there was only the backdrop of light coming from the bedroom, which was quickly doused.
“You’re a clever man, Agent Foster.”
Mark pressed his body against the wall of the family room that bordered the hall, crawling until he had a clean view of the bedroom door.
“But I have too much faith in the scientists in our state crime lab to believe they didn’t find DNA evidence with Kelsey’s body. I took such great pains planting it.”