“As far as hirin’ goes, I’d be willin’ to bet at the end of the personal trainer interview process, the boss just asks, ‘Hey, what size T-shirt do you wear? Medium? Yeah, that’s what I thought.’ Then he hands him an extra small and tells him to head out there and just be condescendin’,” Rex said.
We all laughed.
“I’d like to know how they ever sell a Stairmaster when you can just climb stairs for free?” Alain asked.
“By telling them it’s a set of stairs that never ends,” I said, unable to wipe the grin from my face.
“How about a stationary bike?” Rex asked.
“If it’s in West Hollywood, they probably said, ‘Hey, buy this stationary bike so yer customers never have to leave a gym full of sweaty guys.’ Besides, fresh air and nice scenery by a lake are overrated.” I added.
Everyone was laughing when someone whistled sharply. We all turned to look. Candy stood at the door with two fingers in his mouth beside a dripping Napoleon. He dropped his hand and gestured for all of us to come over.
“Whoopsie, looks like we’ve got a job to do,” Alain drawled from beside me as he stopped the treadmill. I did the same, grabbing my water bottle and towel.
“What’s cookin’, boss?” I asked as we all gathered around him.
“Get showers and meet us in the briefing room. Lincoln Snow needs the team for an Op later this afternoon.”
I groaned. As much as I loved my job, a late afternoon Op meant I wouldn’t be getting home to Wes until well after teatonight. I’d told him I’d be bringing home a meal for both of us from my favorite Indian place that had the best butter chicken, vegetable samosas, and chicken tikka masala in Los Angeles. Their homemade yoghurt and cucumber raita went perfectly with garlic naan. And since we’d both be eating the garlic, the snogging I’d planned for dessert, wouldn’t be a bother at all.
I hit the showers along with the rest of the guys and by the time we were in the briefing room, the rest of the missing team members were waiting with the exception of Raven and Miguel. Lincoln Snow and the rest of his team had arrived too. Max Prince, Dr. Leo Reeves, Beth Michaels, Kindness Rayburn, Mac McCallahan, Carter Perez, and Noah Burgess were all seated with our team. Burgess was the only member I hadn’t met before making the jump from Houston to L.A.
The young, black man was their team’s computer genius, a former Marine like Perez, Prince, and Rayburn. He’d been injured in Afghanistan, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down and wheelchair dependent. He worked in the office, often with Raven and Judy behind screens where all three were most comfortable. We exchanged brief greetings with the group as we took seats. It was packed in there.
“Let’s get started,” Candy said. “I’m going to turn the briefing over to Lincoln Snow who’ll tell you why he wants our team involved.” Snow as always looked sharp. A handsome, black man smartly dressed in a black suit and tie, he looked every bit an FBI Special Agent. “Go ahead, Snow.”
“Thanks. I’ll be as concise as possible,’ he said, standing at the front where he could address the entire room. “We’ve been chasing a serial killer for the last two months after LAPD detectives asked for our help. His victims are prostitutes who work the red-light district around Figueroa Boulevard and Ninety-Sixth Street in South L.A. If you’re familiar with the area,it’s between Gramercy Park and Avalon Gardens.” He pointed to a map taped to a whiteboard at the front of the room.
“If you’re not familiar with the area, let’s just say it’s a rough part of town and not the place you want to be at night if you don’t know where you’re going,” Candy said.
We all nodded.
“In any case, we currently have six victims. All female, age seventeen to twenty-one, and white. Each had a chunk of their naturally blonde hair cut. We believe the killer takes the hair as a trophy,” Lincoln continued, pointing to the photos on the whiteboard. All the scenes were bloody. The women looked like they’d been brutally beaten with evidence of severe facial trauma, and all of them had some kind of ligature wrapped around their necks, though none of them were the same. The photos were as gruesome as could be. No wonder the FBI had been asked to help the LAPD catch a vicious serial killer.
I pointed to the board. “Does he strangle them?”
“Yes, after practically beating them to death,” Snow replied. “He uses many different types of ligatures…rope, electrical cords, bungee cords. All of these are available for sale at every hardware, big box, drug, and grocery store in America. Because of the variety, we’ve come to the conclusion that they may be secondhand items that were previously used and discarded. As you can imagine that would make getting a solid DNA profile from the killer monumental, if not impossible. Collection and processing of any and all DNA is ongoing but it’s an immense task. Until now, we haven’t found similar DNA on any of the victims or ligatures. We believe he uses gloves.”
“So, he doesn’t rape them?” Mickey questioned.
“No. He beats them, strangles them, and leaves them dead in an alley. He never uses the same alley, but the victims haveall been identified as prostitutes operating in this four-block area.” Lincoln pointed to a satellite map with six arrows marking the location where the bodies were found. “This is his hunting ground.” He traced an outline of several square blocks with his finger.
“So far, we’ve been unsuccessful in tracking this killer down. We have a theory as to where he’s hiding, though, and that’s where you come in. There will be more about that at the end of the briefing but first, let’s get back to the killer. Like I said, he’s been active for months, and though we’ve had Special Agent Michaels—who closely resembles the victims—walking the boulevard as an undercover for several weeks, she’s so far been unsuccessful in getting this guy’s attention.”
He nodded in SA Michael’s direction. Beth was tall for a woman, and blonde like the victims. I’d heard that her specialty in the FBI was working with victims of sexual assault and crimes against children. She’d been recruited by Lincoln Snow, handpicked to join his team like all his agents.
“Are you sure the killer is male?” Napoleon asked. “Couldn’t it be a woman committing the murders?”
“We considered that, especially since there’ve been no rapes, but we believe a woman wouldn’t be able to overpower the victims, or lure them, much less drag them into an alley to kill them,” Snow said. “I’m going to have Dr. Reeves give you the profile he’s developed and then explain how we need you.” He turned and looked at the doctor. “Leo, come on up here.”
Dr. Reeves got up from the chair where he sat beside his husband, SA Max Prince, and walked to the front of the room. Snow’s team had successfully solved a cold case dating back over twenty years. The Sweetwater Slaughterer had been executed by the State of Florida many years ago, but his illegitimate son hadcontinued in his father’s footsteps. Dr. Reeves, it turned out, was the son of the Slaughterer and half-brother to the most recent serial killer.
Their team had put an end to the serial killer but not before he’d almost taken Leo’s life in a revenge plot. I couldn’t imagine being in Dr. Reeves shoes, growing up knowing not only that his father was a psychopath and mass murderer, but then having to face the past when his half-brother started killing as well. Imagine it. What a bloody awful shambles.
“Thank you, Lincoln.” Dr. Reeves faced us. “This is the profile I’ve developed.” He paused and looked around the room, probably to make sure everyone was paying attention. “The killer is a sexual sadist, he’s disorganized, most likely male, approximately eighteen to thirty-five, and solidly built.”
Mickey held up his hand. “Sorry, Doc…you said he’s a sexual sadist, but he doesn’t rape them, so how does that make the crime sexual anything?”
