All Fall Down

One of the SBI guys inquired about Connor’s reasoning; he responded with the same theory he’d presented to Melanie at the scene a week ago—Joli Andersen had been both beautiful and rich and since it appeared she had gone with this UNSUB willingly, he would have had to meet certain requirements.

Melanie spoke up. “He’s right about that. From interviews with her friends and co-workers, I learned that although Joli was an outrageous flirt, she was picky about who she dated. She had real high standards. He had to be good-looking. And he had to be well off.”

“Exactly,” Connor murmured, then continued. “His neighbors would describe him as nice. Quiet, maybe even shy. He lives or works near the crime scene, he picked the Sweet Dreams Motel for that reason.”

“How near?” Chief Lyons asked. “Three or four miles is my guess. But no more than ten.”

That caused a ripple of interest at the table, but Connor ignored it and moved on. “As evidenced by the whore/madonna aspects of his ritual and the fact that he didn’t penetrate the victim naturally, he had a strained but obsessive relationship with his mother. He has a history of broken relationships with women. If married, the union is an unhappy one.”

“What about priors?” Bobby Taggerty asked.

“Good question. If there’s anything, it’s nothing serious. No convictions. He frequents prostitutes, you may find a charge for soliciting.” Connor fell silent a moment. “This UNSUB hasn’t killed before, but he will again.”

A buzz moved around the conference table. Harrison spoke up first. “You sure about that, Parks?”

“Positive. He’s been nurturing his fantasy for a long time. With Joli the fantasy got out of control, because unlike the hookers he’d experimented with, Joli stopped behaving as he wanted her to. In an effort to control her, he killed her. Killing her provided him with a powerful sexual jolt. He’s going to want that again. He’s going to crave it.”

“We could check out the hospitals,” Harrison murmured, “the doctors’ and lawyers’ offices in that area, start putting together a list of names of guys who fit this description.”

“Do the same with the health clubs, cross-reference the lists, see how many matches we have,” Stemmons added.

Connor nodded his agreement. “I also suggest questioning the area prostitutes. Like I said, our UNSUB’s been working out the details of this fantasy for some time. He’s practiced it on hookers. There are girls out there who know this guy by his ritual.”

The man with Connor stood and introduced himself as Steve Rice, the Special Agent in Charge, or SAC, of the Charlotte field office of the FBI. “We should stake out the cemetery where Joli’s buried,” he said. “Set up video cameras. This kind of killer routinely visits his victim’s grave as a way of reliving his fantasy. It’s so stimulating for them, we often catch them masturbating.”

“Jesus,” Braxton muttered, looking as sickened as he sounded.

“If the stakeout yields nothing,” Rice continued, “try flushing him out by engineering a big story about Joli in the Charlotte Observer, a human-interest piece. Get them to run a couple good pictures. Get him stirred up, excited. And keep those cameras trained on her grave. Trust me, it works.”

For several minutes various other investigative avenues were discussed. When the discussion died down, Mayor Pinkston stepped in once more. “I’m encouraged by what we’ve done here today,” he began, the consummate politician easing into his shtick.

While he pontificated, Melanie’s thoughts drifted to her own problems. Problem, she corrected. Just one. Stan’s intention to gain custody of Casey.

Melanie brought a hand to the back of her neck and massaged the knotted muscles. She had waited several days before calling Stan back. She had used the time to compose herself and prepare her case. She had been ready to calmly reason with him, to argue elegantly, to beg if forced to. Instead, she’d lost her temper and ended up shouting at him.

What was wrong with her? Why did she allow him to push her buttons that way? She swallowed a sigh. It had been the same during their marriage. She had been fire, he ice. She had argued with passion, he with coolheaded logic. Whenever they had argued, which had been often, the more passionate she had become, the more coolly rational he—in a never-ending, escalating cycle. By the end she’d realized that he had used his ability to disassociate from his emotions as a way to manipulate her. And as a way to constantly prove his superiority.

It had worked. After arguing, she’d always felt like a shrewish, raving lunatic.

She had promised herself she would never again allow him to get to her that way. She had fallen right into his trap anyway.

“—a few more administrative details we need to discuss. The first is the two-force involvement in this investigation.”

At that, Melanie looked up. She glanced at Bobby. She saw by his expression that he knew what was coming, too, and her stomach sank.

“We’ve decided to make a change. We feel strongly that by dividing the investigation between the two forces, we’re watering it down. As of now, the CMPD is officially the force of record in the Andersen murder. They’ll be aided, of course, by the FBI and SBI, but they’ll bear the major responsibility for the investigation.”

“That’s bullshit!” Melanie said before she could stop herself. She got to her feet, face hot. “Pardon my outburst, Mr. Mayor, but the murder occurred in Whistlestop. We are prepared and eager to do whatever necessary to see that Joli Andersen’s killer is brought to justice.”

“I’m sure you are, Officer May. And believe me, your chief made a convincing argument in favor of awarding the WPD the case. However, we feel we must go with the experience on this one.”

“But—”

“The decision’s been made, Officer May,” he said, working to look sympathetic but achieving an irritated expression instead. “But we have an important assignment for the WPD, one I’ll let Mr. Braxton share with the group. Bob?”

The lawyer stood. “Mr. Andersen has decided to offer a reward for any information leading to the arrest of his daughter’s killer. Chief Greer’s team from Whistlestop will be overseeing the phone bank.”

“What!”

This came from Melanie and Bobby, in unison. Melanie heard the CMPD guys snickering and the blood rushed to her head. An angry retort on the tip of her tongue, she swung toward Harrison and Stemmons, but Bobby had heard them, too, and anticipating her response, kicked her under the table.

Steve Rice stood. “With all due respect and sympathy to Mr. Andersen and his family, I have to warn you that these types of rewards rarely lead to anything but headaches for us and the PDs working the case. By tomorrow at noon, we’ll be so busy following up on false leads, we won’t have time to follow up on the real ones. I urge you to ask the Andersen family to reconsider.”

“But couldn’t it prompt a recalcitrant witness to come forward?” the attorney countered. “The promise of one hundred thousand dollars is a powerful motivator.”

Melanie groaned. Chaos erupted at the table. That kind of reward would bring out not only every money-grubbing liar in the county, but every nutcase as well. It was a singularly bad idea. That she and Bobby had been assigned the phone banks was humiliating.

The rest of the meeting passed in an angry blur for Melanie. The only bright spot being that Andersen’s attorney agreed to try to convince the businessman to lower the reward substantially.

The moment they adjourned, Melanie caught her chief in the hallway. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked him, so furious her voice shook. “You let them sucker punch us. I feel like an idiot.”

“I only just found out myself.” Melanie heard the anger in his voice. “They cornered me minutes before the meeting.”

“So, that’s where was our illustrious mayor was this morning,” Melanie said through gritted teeth. “Hiding under his slimy rock.”

“Asshole politicians,” Bobby muttered.

The chief sighed. “Don’t be too hard on him, he couldn’t win this one. The pressure came from high up.”

“This is Andersen’s doing, I’ll bet,” Bobby said, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “Who’d the man get to, the governor?”

Their chief didn’t deny it. “Same old song and dance,” Melanie said bitterly. “They’re in and we’re out.”

“No,” Bobby corrected, his normally placid features pinched with anger, “we’re on the phone, taking down every reward-hungry nut’s tip to nowhere.” He stubbed his toe into the worn carpet. “Asshole politicians,” he said again.

“I know you’re disappointed. I am, too.” The chief looked from one to the other of them. “But I did get us a couple consolations. First, though not actively participating in the investigation, we’re still involved. Searches, lineups, interrogations—anything goes down, we’re included. Second, I got us a handful of CMPD grunts to help with the phones.” He smiled wickedly. “Poor bastards.”

Bobby perked up slightly at that, but Melanie couldn’t. This case had been her big chance, her way out of the WPD. Now it was gone.

Sometimes, she decided, life really sucked.

“Look on the bright side, Mel,” Bobby said moments later as they crossed the parking lot to her Jeep. “Now that we’re out, we can’t get blamed for tanking the investigation if this thing goes south.”

“What ‘if? It’s already gone south.” Melanie made a sound of frustration. “The bright side was working the investigation. Damn.”

“I know, partner. I’m pissed, too.”

When she only looked at him, he laughed and bumped her with his shoulder. “Okay, maybe not as pissed as you. But hell, it’s a matter of pride. The phone banks? Give me a break.”