“And we’re done. I knew it! Working with other departments is never worth the hassle!”
“I like her.”
George shot Andi a wounded look. “Et tu, Brutus?”
“It’s a snake pit out there.” Geena let go of Andi’s hand. The smile fled from her lips, leaving a serious expression. “Jokes aside, I’m looking forward to working with both of you. I also want to assure you that I couldn’t care less about who gets credit for the solve. All I want is to catch the sick asshole who did this to members of the military and innocent civilians. Also, I assume we’re not the only ones working on this case?”
“We’re with you on that one. A shining solving statistic is nice, I won’t deny that, but neither I nor Andi have problems sharing the fame. And no, we’re not alone. Working with us will be Detectives Sandra Mescew and Tobias Gentry, who are at the moment tidying up their current cases to hand them over to other detectives before joining us.” George waved in the general direction where Sandra and Tobias were sitting, who were too busy to even realize he was talking about them. Geena nodded, seemingly not offended by this superficial introduction. Then again, as an FBI agent she was probably used to the general madness accompanying serial killer cases and to a certain dose of hostility, even though this wasn’t George’s—or Sandra’s and Tobias’s—intention here. “We also have a pool of capable beat officers we can draw from anytime we need them. You’ve gotten all the CliffsNotes?”
Geena sighed deeply. “Yeah. Doesn’t look pretty.”
“It never does.” Andi sat back down behind his PC.
George gestured to his own chair. “We have this habit of writing down all the information on whiteboards. It’s a good way to get our thoughts lined up, especially in cases as big as this one.”
“Not a bad idea.” Geena sat down, watched as George picked up his red marker. “Let’s compare what we have so far.”
“After you.” George nodded at her.
“Fine. The last update I got was it’s twenty-six victims, found in a prepper bunker, in a hidden room. They were buried on top of each other, the latest victim being Staff Sergeant Marco Flores, killed approximately two weeks ago. We don’t know yet how long ago the other military members were killed, who we know of because of their dog tags. Staff Sergeant Kesha Raport was probably killed four years ago, when House Cusabo reported her missing. None of the non-military victims have been identified so far, and Dr. Melcourt hasn’t been able to match the bones to the dog tags yet.”
“Yes. That’s about it. Evangeline is working hard to get the identification underway, but it will take at least two more days, probably a week. We are pretty sure we can assume that the other victims are similar to the five from the Army. Homeless, with some kind of mental problems, not missed because there’s no family.”
“It certainly seems that way. A skilled predator with a predator-prey system that allows him to stay under the radar. Damn.” Geena hit her thigh with her fist. “Chances are, some of those victims can’t be identified at all.”
“Unfortunately true.” George was writing downPTSDandmentalproblems.
“We may have seven more from House Cusabo.” Andi looked up from his screen. “Shireen just sent me an email. Because of Kesha Raport, she checked if there were any other people reported missing from their facility. There were seven in the last ten years. House Cusabo was founded in the early sixties, and until 2013, they only had two other people from their facility going missing, one in the year House Cusabo opened, 1963, the other in 1982. Which means we’re probably looking at a time span of ten years in which the killer has been active in the Charleston area, assuming all missing persons from House Cusabo in the last ten years are among the victims.”
“Their names?” Geena turned on her chair to face Andi.
“Ten years ago, TJ Ross and Celia Murdoch went missing within a few months. They were both bipolar. Oh, this is interesting. Corporal Samuel Grand was a patient with them, too, treated for his PTSD. He went missing nine years ago, about six months after Celia Murdoch. Shireen didn’t find him at first because he wasn’t reported missing by House Cusabo. Officially, he was discharged at his own request, but she found his files in their database.”
“Which they granted her access to, didn’t they?” Geena sounded amused.
“Uh, yeah, of course. Granted access.” George shrugged.
“Don’t worry. We all have our hackers who help us along in times of need.”
“Yes. Times of need.” Andi shook his head. “Anyway, six years ago, a girl named Izzy Whitewall went missing, and four years ago Raport and a man named Lucas Mellen, who was also bipolar. Last year Lola Monarch vanished. She was treated for depression.” Andi looked at George and Geena. “So far, the only person who didn’t suffer from either PTSD, depression, or bipolarity is Izzy. She was admitted for ‘overactive imagination, most probably linked to puberty.’” Andi snorted.
George watched him closely. Izzy was the girl Tyler had told them about, the only one who didn’t appear to him as a child. Given that she’d obviously been a teenager when she died, it made sense. And the “overactive imagination”—George was willing to bet she had been like Tyler, a medium of some sort. Andi clearly thought along the same lines, the sadness in his gaze like a dagger to George’s heart. Being different was never fun. Being in touch with completely different forms of existence? A nightmare.
“What do you say? Are we going to pay House Cusabo a visit?” Geena was pinching her nose with her fingers.
It was a reasonable idea. The mental facility was their first lead, and until Evangeline was able to identify the other victims, it couldn’t hurt to have a look. George eyed Andi. He couldn’t detect any aversion to the suggestion. All they had to do was be careful around Geena.
“Let me call them.” George put on his jacket before he got his cell out. Andi read the number of House Cusabo to him, which no doubt Shireen had included in her report, then put on his own jacket, a thing of undetermined color and age, which George wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. He was still in the process of getting Andi an entire new wardrobe, a feat that required patience because strictly speaking, Andi didn’t own a single item of clothing a person with minimal requirements for looks would deem even remotely appropriate. Deciding what to buy him first was a mixture of opportunity—sales for high-quality clothes because Andi clung to his garments forever—and what he needed most. Jeans, T-shirts, socks, and underwear had made the top of the list, a new jacket more at the bottom because the one Andi had was still watertight and warm despite looking as if it had seen the turn of the last century.
Geena looked ready to go, followed them out of the precinct with a determined stride. The other detectives and police officers in the bullpen made room for them, some of them murmuring something encouraging. Sandra and Tobias just waved, still engrossed in their work. George knew their feud with the chief had never been a secret, and he was pleasantly surprised that their colleagues were obviously siding with them. Gelman hadn’t shown himself this morning, hopefully working on ways to get rid of Norris as soon as possible. At the car, there was an awkward moment of who should be sitting where. Technically, it would have been polite to offer Geena the passenger seat next to George. Technically. Practically, George liked to have Andi as close as possible to keep an eye on him, especially when under circumstances as stressful as this.
Luckily, Geena was not only empathetic but also laid-back, because she held up her hands while she stepped toward the back door. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to disturb your flow. I’m a big girl and can sit in the back without feeling belittled.”
George nodded at her in thanks. Andi was already in his seat, his supply of polite social interaction obviously drained by having shaken Geena’s hand. “Thank you. He’s already in the tunnel, and it’s best not to disturb him.”
She opened the door and sat down behind Andi, which allowed her to look at George while talking to him. “It’s fine. I’ve worked with somebody like him before. The important thing is to not feel offended by something he has no control over.”
“Iamhere, you know.” Andi muttered with amusement. “And you’re right. You can ask anybody, my social skills are abysmal. I think I can tolerate you, because you’re not an idiot like most other people. Doesn’t mean you get special treatment, though.”
