CHAPTER THREE
1263 Words
CHAPTER THREE
Ilse hurried up the stairs to the four-story Seattle field office. Her fingers tapped against her pocket where her phone sat—the same phone where she'd received the text message. Apparently, they'd been trying to reach her for a half-hour.
She winced. Dumb phones didn't allow her to put someone on hold. Work had tried to call, and she'd kept the line busy waiting for that stupid prison official.
The thought of Supervising Agent Rawley's look of disapproval hastened her steps up the stairs, leaving the metal detectors and security checkpoints behind.
A case. A new case; that's what the text had said.
She reached the top of the stairs and faced a room like any old office complex. Many cubicles, computers, gray foam dividers with black metal trim. Beyond the room and the clacking of keyboards or mutter of phone calls, Ilse spotted a lanky figure slinking through glass doors on the opposite side of the room.
She brightened. Agent Tom Sawyer had been called in as well.
She hastened around the edge of the room, feeling her anxiety rising. To keep it at bay, she muttered her memory trick, “Brown hair. Brown eyes. Forty-two. Thirty victims. Forty-six. November twenty-fourth.” It didn't quite calm her, but it did help keep the unease in check.
As she drew nearer to the glass-walled office, she noted Sawyer facing Agent Rawley. The two men eyed each other like sniffing hounds, eyes alert and attentive for any threat. The men didn't much like each other, but they worked together well enough.
Rawley was the consummate professional, plus a bit of a health nut. Even now, he stood behind his standing desk, wearing his neat, perfectly maintained suit. His hair was combed, not a single strand out of place.
Sawyer, on the other hand, wore jeans, a flannel shirt, and a baseball cap.
Ilse brushed her hair past her ear and entered the office, the glass door swinging shut behind her without a sound.
“Glad you could make it,” Rawley called over his desk, his piercing blue-gray eyes fixating on her.
Ilse winced, holding up an apologetic hand. Rawley turned to Sawyer. “You took your time getting here.”
“Wasn't home,” Sawyer said with a grunt.
Rawley hesitated. “Where were you?”
For anyone else this might have seemed like a prying question. But Ilse knew Sawyer like Rawley did. The man was married to his job. His last actual marriage was currently in the middle of a divorce-filing. For him to be out and about doing anything separate from work was cause for some concern.
Sawyer just shrugged. “Bird-watching.”
“Oh,” Rawley brightened. “I didn't know you were a birdwatcher. What's your favorite outlook? Have you seen the one at the arboretum?”
Sawyer scratched his chin, let out a weary sigh then said, “So... we have a case?”
Rawley straightened, clearing his throat and nodding. “Yes—yes of course.” He reached out with a perfectly manicured, but unpainted hand, and flipped his computer screen on the standing desk. Two photos displayed on the screen.
“Two victims,” Rawley said, “In the same area, found in two separate scrapyards.”
“Scrapyards?” Sawyer said.
“Yes,” Rawley replied. “And before you ask, no—someone wasn't trying to hide the bodies. That's why we're in—the bodies were meant to be found.”
He clicked his mouse and the images changed to crime scene photos. Ilse winced, her fingers going suddenly still where they'd been tapping against her phone. Sawyer frowned, leaning in.
“Is that an old hydraulic press?” Sawyer asked, studying the first picture.
Rawley sniffed. “Possibly. That shape caught under it is our first victim.”
Sawyer pointed at the screen. “Why are his hands over his head like that?”
“He was posed that way. The killer fancies himself a craftsman of sorts. Both victims were posed with wires and spikes.”
Ilse regarded the second photo and felt her stomach sink. At first glance, the figure looked like he was driving a car, but on closer inspection she spotted the spike through the back of the headrest and the wire around the wrists, securing the hands to the steering wheel.
She looked away, feeling her stomach turn. Sawyer was far better at this part of the job. Ilse was still new to this sort of thing. She preferred dealing with survivors, not studying the pictures of victims. She let out a long breath and said, “Were they killed on site?”
Rawley began to answer, but Sawyer cut in. “No. Not enough blood,” he said. “They were killed elsewhere then posed there.”
Ilse wrinkled her nose. “Posed in junkyards? Why... not exactly the most foot traffic if you're trying to display something.”
“Might be the point,” Sawyer said with a grunt.
Rawley's eyes bounced between them both and he gave an approving nod, rotating his computer once more. “The first crime scene has been cleared. The body is gone from the second, but everything else has been left untouched. Thank you, agents.” He let out a faint sigh, and in a more personable tone, he said. “Places like this are often outside of town. They're poorly watched, and many don't have security systems...”
Tom nodded slowly.
Ilse finished the thought. “If our killer is exhibiting a pattern, he can strike as many times as he wants without getting caught.”
“That's where you come in,” Rawley said. “Besides, seeing as this one is in our backyard, I'm counting on you two. Seattle has a bit of a reputation where serial killers are concerned, doesn't it?” He glanced towards Sawyer, and said, without an ounce of emotion to his voice. “Might be a good idea for you to do well on this one, Tom.” He didn't blink, didn't emote. But there was clearly something in his eyes. A threat? Sawyer was known for being a bit of a hothead on the job. He'd even punched Rawley once before. Ilse felt a flicker of concern as she glanced between the two men.
“What do you mean?” Ilse asked, trying to keep her tone even. “Is—is something going on?”
Rawley glanced at her, shaking his head once. “I,” he said slowly, “am slated to move on from this branch. They're looking for a replacement, actually.”
“Oh... well, congrats,” Ilse said, still uneasy.
He smiled, nodding once. “I also am expected to give a report of current employees.”
Ilse's face fell. “Oh...”
Rawley looked Sawyer dead in the eyes. “Do your best on this one, Tom. Your closure rate is what you've got going for you. I believe in you. Good day, agents.”
Sawyer was already turning, hands jammed in his jeans pockets as he marched out the door. Ilse shot an uncomfortable look back at the computer screen, grateful the images were turned away now. This added pressure wasn't going to help her nerves. The idea of Sawyer being removed as her partner was absolutely unacceptable. She supposed Rawley was right. Tom's closure rate made up for some of his failings in playing nice with others.
She let out a faint sigh, then hastened after Sawyer.
- Writer
