Conduit (5 page)

“This case is getting bigger than BTK,” Lionel said, referring
to Wichita’s infamous serial killer. “I know both of you are professional, but
I still need to say that everything I tell you must stay with you.”

“Of course,” Emily said. “The news has been overactive with
reports and I’m sure there have already been leaks that you didn’t want.”

“Some leaks here and there, but there has been a lot we’ve
kept out of the news to help weed out false confessions and quirky tips.”

“Why do you need our help?” Cassie asked. “Isn’t there a
task force set up?”

“I’m heading up the task force. The FBI profile is here, and
the feds are sending in a team a week from Monday to help on the case.”

“You mean take it away from you,” Cassie said.

“If you want to look at it that way,” Lionel said, “but FBI
agents aren’t always the bad guys.”

“Why is it taking them so long to come and help?” Emily
asked.

Lionel ticked off events on his left hand as he spoke. “Wisconsin
has a serial killer case that has been around longer than ours. Somewhere in
Florida, there’s a longtime serial rapist who just escalated and killed three victims
within a couple weeks. Don’t forget the bombing in Washington, D.C. last week,
just outside of the FBI headquarters.”

“I guess all of that would keep them very busy,” Cassie said.

“We’re in constant communication with the FBI, but outside
of that, we have to wait for them to show up in nine days.” Lionel paused, as
if mulling over his next words. “Truthfully, we don’t have much of anything to
go on at this point, so feds stealing the case away or not, the help is needed.
That’s why I’m coming to you.” Lionel shifted his eyes to Emily. “I think we could
use the kind of help that only your firm can provide.”

Emily read the meaning of his words hidden in his strong amber
eyes and allowed a brief smile. “We’ll help however you think we can.”

“Cassie, your background in profiling will probably do me
lot of good. I don’t understand a lot of the psychology behind this behavioral
stuff, so maybe you can explain it to an old-timer.”

“Let’s start with victimology. What type of victims is he
targeting?” Cassie asked.

“That’s the thing.” Lionel let go of the case file and
leaned across the conference table. “There is no set pattern with this one. The
victimology is all over the map. One is a brunette, another is blonde. We have
a stay-at-home mom and a professional go-getter. One works out rigorously,
while another carries extra pounds. The victim from this morning is Asian, but the
others are Caucasian.”

“They’re all women,” Emily said.

“That seems to be the only thing they have in common. The
killer is clean, too. Not a shred of evidence for us to work with. It’s like he
took a page out of a forensic handbook.”

“No wonder with all these crime dramas on television haphazardly
educating criminals,” Cassie said.

“Could it be a cop who is familiar with forensics?” Emily
asked.

Lionel shrugged. “Feds think maybe and I suppose it’s
possible, but I’m not sure how much I buy into that theory.”

“Forensic information is all over the Internet.” Cassie leaned
back in her chair. “Anyone with an Internet connection and a will to learn can
teach themselves.”

“True,” Lionel said. “The other problem is we don’t know what
method he’s using to pick these women up. He’s taking them at all different
sorts of locations. We can’t properly educate the public and potential victims on
how to stay safe, outside of telling them to be aware of surroundings and not
talk to strangers. It’s our biggest nightmare.”

“I don’t know, Uncle Leo,” Cassie said. “Our fees can also be
pretty nightmarish on big cases. Can the department afford us on this one?”

Lionel held Emily’s eyes without answering Cassie, and Emily
sensed the meaning behind his glance. “I believe he wants us to do this one pro
bono,” Emily said.

“Pro bono?” Cassie asked.

“I’ll buy you dinner.” Lionel offered a weak smile. “Unofficially,
of course.”

“I don’t recall that our firm does pro bono,” Cassie said.

“We do now,” Emily said.

“Of course we do. Pro bono pays my mortgage.” Cassie sighed
and sipped her coffee. “I can tell you that your killer didn’t start here.”

Emily tilted her head. “How can you tell that?”

“Six murders in ten weeks,” Cassie said. “That’s quick with
no apparent sense of hesitation. Serial killers usually start out slow, as if
they’re nursing a new desire to life. I bet the first one was just as pristine
and methodical as the other five.”

“Besides the victimology and maybe a few other minor
details, they were pretty well identical,” Lionel said.

“That’s why I think he’s killed before now,” Cassie said. “The
first time they are usually hesitant. They’re learning how to kill. That’s
where mistakes are made and MOs are realized. You may not even recognize the
first kill as part of the pattern.

“After the first time, they become more secure in their killing.
They’ve honed their craft, but the time between the murders grows shorter
because they have a need to do it over and over. It’s like an addiction and
when they need a fix, they find a victim.”

“The profile the feds sent said he may have started somewhere
else or started with smaller crimes that we wouldn’t necessarily connect to him,”
Lionel said. “We found no similar crimes in ViCAP, so your theory, while a very
good one, may be a dead end.”

Emily raised her eyebrows. “ViCAP?”

“Violent Criminal Apprehension Program,” Cassie said. “It’s
a federal database where details about crimes are stored.” She turned to
Lionel. “I’m surprised you didn’t find anything that matched, even a small
detail unique to these crimes.”

“The feds were surprised as well,” Lionel said. “Our other problem
is that with the lack of any kind of evidence, we don’t have much to compare
this guy to even if he does have a record.”

“Is it possible he just hasn’t killed anyone before?” Emily
asked. “Maybe he’s only committed minor assaults and when he makes a mistake,
you’ll find his DNA or prints in your computers.”

“Anything’s possible,” Cassie said. “But if he’s this astute
and he’s never killed before, then he’s either really lucky or a new breed of
criminal. Like with superpowers.”

“We ruled out Lex Luthor early on in the investigation,”
Lionel said.

“Ah, but Lex Luthor doesn’t have superpowers, so maybe you
were looking at the wrong villain,” Cassie said. “Some killers contact the
media or police. BTK contacted the media many times before he was finally
caught. I know it’s late in the game, but it is possible your guy could try to
make contact if he wants more attention.”

Lionel’s ruffled expression responded to Cassie’s
observation without words, Emily noted. With the slight change in his upright
posture, his mind flickered with horrific memories. The images in his mind were
too quick to grab onto, and though Emily didn’t want to see what Lionel had
stored in his memory with regards to these murders, she managed to catch a
stray thought.

“He’s already contacted you,” Emily said.

“Not directly. He’s...” Lionel scrunched up his face.

“What is it?” Cassie asked.

He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Girls,
these victims were tortured before they died. Severely tortured over the course
of many hours. The bodies have made seasoned officers and homicide detectives
walk away disturbed. I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in homicide
case studies. On the inner left thigh of each victim, he carved a letter into
their skin before they died. We believe it’s some sort of message for us.”

Emily gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “He did that to
them before they died?”

“Yes, except for this last one, but we don’t know why he
changed his routine to do it postmortem. With the sixth body today we’ve confirmed
the message, although right now it doesn’t mean much.”

“What’s the message?” Cassie asked.

“Hear me.”

The words came to life as they left Lionel’s mouth and found
their way to Emily’s ears, where they crawled over her skin with a sadistic
touch.

“Like I said,” Lionel continued, “it doesn’t mean much right
now. I’m hoping something will break soon and we’ll understand what he wants us
to hear.”

His voice faded behind Emily’s thoughts. She wished he had
never called that morning, had never stopped by the office to offer them the
case of a lifetime. A man had killed six women in a swift ten weeks. No, Emily
thought, not killed them. Tortured them to death. Before they died, he carved
letters into their bodies, spelling out a message not meant for the police.

She knew she shouldn’t assume the message was for her, but
Lionel’s presence told her someone wanted her involved in this case. Someone
she didn’t want to meet.

Emily shuddered.

“Unfortunately, other than the message, we have nothing,”
Lionel said.

“You said that for some reason he carved the letter on the
victim postmortem this time,” Cassie said. “Maybe the autopsy will reveal
something new and give you a clue you need.”

Emily perked up. “When is the autopsy?”

“Slated for seven tomorrow morning. If Perry doesn’t jump
the gun and start early, that is.”

With the autopsy scheduled for tomorrow morning, a funeral would
soon follow. “Do you know when the funeral is?” Emily asked.

“We got lucky with a possible quick identification from
missing persons. The father is coming by to identify the victim this afternoon.
Even if it’s a successful ID, the medical examiner won’t release the body immediately
after the autopsy, not with her being the sixth one.”

“What about the previous victims?”

“The fifth victim’s parents just identified her a few days
ago. Her body’s not been released yet, but there is a memorial service for her.
Let’s see,” Lionel said, securing his reading glasses on his nose. He flipped
open his notebook and consulted his notes. “It’s tomorrow afternoon at four at Holy
Spirit Catholic Church on Rock Road.”

“Good thinking, Em,” Cassie said. “If we’re at that memorial
service, we can talk to family and friends. Sometimes they open up easier to
investigators versus cops. No offense, Uncle Leo.”

“None taken. I know how it is out there. I’ve talked to so
many family members in the past couple months without anything new coming up, but
you are more than welcome to try anything. Unofficially, that is.”

“Thanks,” Emily said. Though the victim’s family and friends
might not tell her a lot verbally, she could pick up on other things from
shaking hands and being in close proximity to a person, especially in the
emotionally charged environment of a memorial service. As time passed, the pain
of their loss would lessen, so the sooner she talked to friends and family, the
more chances she had to learn something by latching onto their pain. If someone
who loved the victim had something to tell her about the girl’s killer, they
would do it now.

“I don’t have much time to look at this case file today, but
I will come by the station on Monday morning,” Cassie said. “Is there anything
else we should know in the meantime?”

“If I think of something, I’ll give you a call,” Lionel said.
“Just be careful, girls. I know I tell you that a lot, but be more careful than
normal. Be aware of your surroundings at all times, know if anything is out of
place, and don’t go out at night alone, not even to walk to your car.”

“Of course,” Cassie said.

Emily could only nod in agreement. Retreating into her
thoughts while Cassie and Lionel made small talk, she focused on the message
the killer had carved into his victims, along with the automatic writings and
the voice that called her name. Uncle Leo’s visit brought the unnerving
realization that while she heard a woman’s voice, the writing belonged to a
man. Not just any man, Emily thought. A serial killer.

An intimidating twenty-story black glass
building in the heart of downtown Wichita housed the corporate offices of Wolk,
Trotter & Wolk. Terrence Wolk began the firm in the same manner that many others
pursued the American dream: fresh out of law school with nothing more than an
overabundance of drive and even more hope.

While there were many myths and legends about the case that
made him a star, everyone agreed that the natural defense attorney had sharp
wit, extreme talent, and a killer smile that opened the right doors. His firm had
become a staple in criminal defense and family law, cementing him a respected
place in the halls of justice.

After Wolk’s death, his children and grandchildren were left
to run the firm. The addition of former hardcore prosecutor and courtroom brawler
James Trotter to the firm twenty years ago brought Wolk, Trotter & Wolk to
the tip of the legal world’s tongue. Not only did they have partner lawyers all
over the country to defend clients at a moment’s notice, in the past four
decades they had opened successful sister offices in every major city across
the country, all the while keeping their headquarters in Wichita to stay true
to their Midwest roots.

The Wolk firm had its own private investigators on staff,
and it would take a miracle or two for Emily and Cassie to land a single case
for the firm. Yet every year at the annual party, they were able to acquire cases
from other attorneys. As Cassie reminded Emily when she protested going to the gathering,
one new client was worth a thousand parties.

Cassie’s method of targeting new clients consisted of wearing
a low-cut red dress, zeroing in on an attorney who wasn’t married, and flirting
like crazy. She floated around the packed room now with her date, seeking out
potential targets for some clandestine flirting under her date’s unsuspecting
nose.

Emily opted for a less scandalous approach. She vetted
potential clients, not with her psychic abilities, but by the old fashioned
method of talking with them, listening to their needs, and bringing it around full
circle as to why their firm needed Monroe & Reid Investigators. During the
last two parties, Cassie had by far won the race in signing on new clients, but
Emily stuck to her modest ways.

Tonight, Emily wasn’t so much interested in signing on new
clients as in hurrying through the party and niceties so she could go home,
tear off the uncomfortable heels and earrings, and enjoy a glass of an
inexpensive Riesling while soaking in a warm milk bath.

Even if she indulged in that luxury, she wouldn’t necessarily
enjoy it. The automatic writing and voices pulled on her mind. While only a scary
story on the ten o’clock news yesterday, the unimaginable suffering of those six
women seemed much closer to her than she liked, with the carved letters on the
victims’ thighs spelling out the message in the automatic writings.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” a male voice said
behind her. Emily didn’t have to see the source of the voice to recognize the
low throttle tone. Nathan Wolk, the eldest grandson of Terrance Wolk, had a
voice that made women salivate. Emily had heard that same gravelly voice whispering
to her in a dark bedroom throughout their seventeen-month dating escapade.

“And what would that be for, Nate?” Emily asked without
turning around.

Nathan moved around her body until he faced her. He had not
changed much since their first meeting at the Wolk, Trotter & Wolk annual party
two years ago. Nathan always looked out of place in full dress uniform, and
tonight was no exception. In a sea of standard black tuxedo garb, he sported a black
suit and a bright orange, silk tie with subtle stripes.

A rebellious teenager at heart, Emily recognized his attire
as a jab at his father. His tousled sandy hair revealed that he fought getting dressed
for tonight’s event as much as she had. Much more comfortable in a worn-out
pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt, Nathan preferred roaming the world on a wild
adventure in an obscure location over toiling away in his stuffy office. Emily
once enjoyed that aspect of him, with valid concerns that she could never
experience those journeys with him. Despite his full life, Nathan had a deep
void inside, one he filled with Emily by his side. No matter how hard he tried,
he never could fill Emily’s own void.

In the end, that same well-traveled, vastly admired man had cried
and begged her not to leave. Had it been anyone else she might have found it a
pitiful display, but Nathan’s sincerity trumped his damp cheeks while he
promised her the world in exchange for marriage. Even now in his comforting,
familiar presence, she wondered if she had been too hasty in her decision to
leave him, a wine-induced thought she entertained on the occasional lonely
night.

He laid his hand on her arm with a hint of sadness in his
eyes. It wasn’t a wasted attempt to get her to notice him and remember the
nights they shared, but Emily did not want her face to reveal that he had the
slightest effect on her.

“Heartland Insurance. Exclusive contract.” Nathan flashed a perfectly
shaped smile and arched an eyebrow over a clear, hazel eye. “Big money.”

“The contract isn’t final yet,” Emily said.

“Sure it is. Keith called me this afternoon after he spoke
with Cassie.” He leaned in a little too close. “He said he’d found the perfect
women for him.”

Emily burst into laughter. “He did not.”

“In so many words.”

“You talk a good game, Nate.”

He caught her eyes. “Just never could close the deal.”

Emily looked down and allowed a small smile. Nathan wasn’t exaggerating
that last statement. He had worked hard to escalate their relationship, as hard
as he worked any case. Within five months of their first date, he coaxed her to
move in with him. Simple hints such as buying her an extra toothbrush to keep
at his place turned into late night discussions of how to merge her modest
furniture into his immodest, large home. She took the extra key, left a few
articles of clothing in his closet, and spent most weekends in his bed, but
never made her move into his home official.

She decided to alter the course of their conversation. “Have
you made partner yet?”

Nathan tightened his jaw. “Negative.”

“I thought after the Waschevski case you would have made
partner in a second.”

“Dad didn’t think my closing argument was ‘partner material.’
I’m beginning to wonder if he ever will.”

“You pretty much got Waschevski off on double murder charges
when all the evidence pointed at him. A confession made it to the jurors’ ears
before it was excluded from evidence. Yet the jury found him not guilty by
reason of insanity. If that’s not partner material—”

“Waschevski’s institutionalized at Meadowbrook.”

“Uncle Leo is still angry about that one.” Emily swirled the
bitter red wine around the bottom of her glass. “He wanted Waschevski on death
row.”

He laughed. “I could always tell when I did a decent job. I’d
piss off the great Detective Edwards.”

Emily ignored his playful jab at Lionel. “So why not make partner?
A mental institution isn’t bad considering he could have, and should have,
gotten the needle.”

“Dad thinks I could have gotten an acquittal instead of
going for the NGRI defense.”

“Could you have?”

Nathan looked around their immediate area for any snoops. He
lowered his voice. “Since it will be leaked to the press tonight for tomorrow’s
headlines, Waschevski has emphysema. Heavy smoker since his teenage years. With
any luck, he’ll be gone long before his first two years are up. Could I have
gotten him acquitted? Who knows? But maybe I didn’t want to take a chance the
bastard would survive too long out there in the real world. You should tell
Uncle Leo that not all defense attorneys are bad ones,” Nathan said with a
wink.

“You always had a bigger heart than your dad.”

“Which is why I’ll someday own this place, but never make
partner while Dad is still kicking,” Nathan said. His eyes traveled down Emily’s
form-fitting black dress and back up to her face. The tone of his voice
transitioned from that of professional banter to the low bass that he used to
woo and charm. “You know you’ve never looked as beautiful as you do tonight.
Maybe in a little bit we can ditch this party and—”

“How’s Trisha doing?” Emily asked. “I haven’t seen her yet
tonight.”

“She’s a distraction, Em. Nothing more.” His hushed tone quickly
extinguished any lightheartedness in their discussion.

Emily hesitated before responding. Nathan still had his mind
set on her, and he reminded her of that every time their paths crossed. His flighty
romance with Trisha Mathers was well known within their circles as a farce. The
only one who didn’t seem to know it was Trisha, or more likely, she feigned
ignorance to stay in Nathan’s good graces. He had a lot more going for him than
his looks and killer charm. Some women would put up with anything to marry a
man with that much money.

“I’m sorry, Em,” Nathan said. “I know I shouldn’t say things
like that. Trisha is a good girl who deserves better, and you’ve made your
choices clear. Sometimes, I just can’t help myself around you, but I suppose
you already know that.”

Emily smiled and extended her hand toward him. “Friends?”

A smile crawled across his face. Instead of accepting her
hand, he wrapped his arms around her. “Friends don’t shake hands,” he whispered.

“Well, isn’t this a cozy reunion?”

Emily broke away from Nathan and frowned at Cassie, who
chuckled at her own words. Cassie pushed her way in front of Nathan and enveloped
him in a large hug, leaving the man who accompanied her standing next to Emily.

“Cassie,” Nathan said. After releasing her from his arms, he
pecked her cheek. “Still as ornery and gorgeous as ever.”

“I always did like you, Nate,” Cassie said, with a wistful
smile. “You have excellent taste in women.”

“I wish you would tell that to Emily,” Nathan said.

“Now, now,” Cassie said. “Don’t put me in the middle of your
little lover’s spat.”

Emily glared at her and stopped her leg from kicking Cassie
to get her to shut up.

Cassie’s date reached his hand out to Emily, inadvertently
stopping her from assaulting Cassie in a roomful of witnesses. “I’m Stephen
Gaines,” he said.

Emily accepted his firm handshake. “Emily Monroe,” she said.
Emily examined Stephen while he turned to Nathan and shook his hand as well. Dressed
in a black tuxedo, like every other man in the room besides Nathan, Stephen
appeared to be a typical date of Cassie’s. Tall, blond, with the same chiseled
features that adorned hundreds of cheap romance novels, but in his handshake, she
picked up on something Cassie had yet to discover.

She swallowed the last of her wine and turned to Cassie. “I
met a potential client you might be interested in hearing about.” She smiled at
Nathan and Stephen. “You boys don’t mind if we talk shop for a few minutes, do
you?”

Nathan and Stephen both shook their heads. “We’ll be right
here when you’re done,” Nathan said.

Cassie turned on her heels and matched Emily’s brisk pace toward
the bar. When they reached the bar, she asked, “So what do you think of my new
man? Handsome, isn’t he? He’s the most successful chiropractor in his office
and he drives a Porsche—”

“And his wife thinks he’s playing poker with friends
tonight,” Emily said.

Cassie whirled around to face Emily. “Did you say wife?”

Emily placed her empty wine glass on the bar. “I’m sorry. I
picked up on it when I shook his hand. He’s worried Jim might call his house
because his wife thinks they’re together.”

“Jim’s his best friend.” Cassie shook her head in defeat. “I
guess that means I’m not going home with him tonight. I really need to start
checking court records on these guys before the first date.”

“I’m sorry, Cass. Four dates with the same guy is a major accomplishment
for you.”

“That’s just plain mean.”

“But you were practically married to this one! If you really
like him you could always start a polygamist colony.”

“Hey, he might have proposed tonight if you hadn’t ruined it,”
Cassie said. She sighed and looked in Stephen’s direction. “I guess I’ll finish
out the night and tell him off when he takes me home. No need to raise a stink
in the midst of this company.”

Emily smiled. “Good girl.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You could do worse for yourself than Nate,” Cassie said in
a quiet tone. “Poor sap’s drooling all over you. I’m sure the gossip mill will
be churning first thing tomorrow morning. Good thing Trisha isn’t here to see
it.”

“According to him, Trisha is a distraction.”

“Everyone knows that,” Cassie said. “Including you.”

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Someone
watched her, but it was more than a feeling of eyes crawling over her. An
invisible person stood right next to her, invading her personal space and
snooping around her mind. Emily rubbed her arms, which had chilled in just a
few seconds.

Cassie touched Emily’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Emily ignored her question and looked around the room. She
took inventory of all the people she could see, but no one seemed out of place
among the small groups of overdressed legal moguls discussing business and
touting victories. Studying the faces in her immediate vicinity, she recognized
quite a few of the people, and those she did not know appeared harmless.

“Emily?”

The invisible entity still by her side, Emily’s airway constricted
and her breathing shallowed. The walls pulsated and closed in on her mind,
though the person posed no danger. Their warm presence comforted her, but the
close confines in which they held her also alarmed her, throwing her into panic
mode. She needed to find the source of the disturbance and end it.