Waking Nightmare (2 page)
“Where’s she at now?” This was from Isaac Holmes, the most seasoned detective on the case. With his droopy jowls and long narrow face, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the old hound seen on reruns of
The Beverly Hillbillies
. But he had an enviable cleared case percentage, a factor that had weighed heavily when Ryne had requested him for the task force.
The Beverly Hillbillies
. But he had an enviable cleared case percentage, a factor that had weighed heavily when Ryne had requested him for the task force.
“She was treated and released from St. Joseph/Candler. She’s staying with her mother. The address is in the file.”
“Where the hell is that other investigator Dixon promised?”
McElroy’s truculent question struck a chord with Ryne. He made sure it didn’t show. “Commander Dixon has assured me that he’s carefully looking at possible candidates to assign to the task force.” He ignored the muttered responses in the room. If another member weren’t assigned to the group by the end of the day, he would have it out with Dixon himself. Again.
“We need to process the primary scene and interview the victim. Cantrell, I want you and . . .” His words stopped as the door opened, and a slight young woman with short dark hair entered. Despite the double whammy of Savannah’s heat and humidity, she wore a long-sleeved white shirt over her black pants. He hadn’t seen her around before, but given the photo ID badge clipped to the pocket of her shirt and the thick folder she carried, he figured her for a clerical temp. And if that file contained copies of the complete Marine Patrol report, it was about damn time.
“I’m looking for Detective Robel.” She scanned the occupants in the room before shifting her focus to him.
“You found him.” He gestured to a table near the door. “Just set the folder there and close the door on your way out.”
Her attention snapped back to him, a hint of amusement showing in her expression. “I’m Abbie Phillips, your newest task force member.”
“Does the department get a cut rate on pocket-sized police officers?” There was an answering ripple of laughter in the room, quickly muffled. Ryne shot a warning look at McElroy, who shrugged and ran a hand through his already disheveled brown hair. “C’mon, Robel, what is she, all of fourteen?”
“Welcome to the team, Phillips.” Ryne kept his voice neutral. “We can use a woman to help us interview the victims. We’ve been borrowing female officers from other units.”
“I hope to give you more assistance than that.” She handed him the file folder. “A summary of my background.”
The folder was too thick for a rookie, but it also wasn’t a SCMPD personnel file. He flicked a gaze over her again. No shield. No weapon. Tension knotted his gut as he took the folder she offered. He gestured to the primaries in the room in turn. “Detectives Cantrell, McElroy, and Holmes. We had another rape reported last night and I was just catching everyone up.” To the group he said, “I’ll need all detectives and uniforms to the scene. Holmes, until I get there, you oversee the canvass. I’ll meet you later.”
There was a scraping of chairs as the officers rose and made their way to the door. Abbie turned, as if to follow them. His voice halted her. “Phillips, I’d like to talk to you first.”
She looked up at him. At her height, she’d look up to most men. She couldn’t be much more than five foot two. And her smoky gray eyes were as guileless as a ten-year-old’s.
“We could talk in the car. I’m anxious to get a look at the scene.”
“Later.” He went to the projector and shut it off. Pulling out two chairs beside it, he gestured toward one.
She came over, sat down. He sank into the other seat, set her file on the table in front of him, and flipped it open. He read only a few moments before disbelief flared, followed closely by anger.
“You’re not a cop.”
Abbie’s gaze was steady. “Independent consultant. Our agency contracts with law enforcement on problematic cases. If you’re worried about my qualifications, the file lists my experience. Commander Dixon seemed satisfied.”
Dixon. That backstabbing SOB. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Ryne delivered the understatement in a steady tone. “What our task force needs, what I requested from Commander Dixon, was another investigator. Preferably two. What we definitely do not need is a shrink.”
There was a flicker in those calm gray eyes that might have been temper. “I have a doctorate in forensic psychology—”
“We need a
doctor
even less.”
doctor
even less.”
She ignored his interruption. “And since joining Raiker Forensics, I’ve been involved in nearly three dozen high-profile cases.”
“Shit.” He was capable of more finesse, but at the moment diplomacy eluded him. “Do you realize what kind of case we’re working here? I’ve got a serial rapist on the loose, and with this latest victim, the media is going to be crawling up my ass. I need another experienced investigator, not someone who’ll shrink the skell’s mind once we get him.”
She never flinched. “You’ll have to catch him first, won’t you? And I can help with that. I consulted on the Romeo rapist case last year in Houston. The perp is currently doing a twenty-five-year stretch at Allred. Of the cases I’ve worked, well over half involved serial rapists. I’m exactly what you need on this case, Detective Robel. You just don’t realize it yet.”
The mention of the Houston case rang a bell, but he didn’t bother to pursue the memory. “If we have need of a psych consult, we can always get one from a department psychologist.”
“And how many of them—how many of your department’s
investigators
—have been trained by Adam Raiker?”
investigators
—have been trained by Adam Raiker?”
Ryne paused, studying her through narrowed eyes. He had no trouble recalling that name; few in law enforcement circles would. The former FBI profiler had achieved near legendary status until he’d disappeared from the radar several years earlier. “Raiker? I thought he was—”
“Dead?”
Maybe. “Retired.”
Her smile was enigmatic. “He’d object to either term.”
He was wasting his time. The one he needed to be leveling these objections against was upstairs, where the administrative offices were housed, playing political handball. His chair scraped the floor as he rose. “Wait here.” He left the room and strode through the squad room. But halfway up the stairs leading to the administrative offices, he met the man he was seeking, followed by his usual entourage.
He shouldered his way through the throng surrounding Dixon. Raising his voice over the din, he said, “Commander, could I have a word with you?”
Dixon held up a hand that could have meant anything. In this case, it apparently meant to wait until he’d finished the joke he was telling to a couple suits that seemed engrossed in his every word.
Derek Dixon had barely changed in the nearly dozen years since Ryne had first met him. The observation wasn’t a compliment. He had pretty boy blond looks and the manner of a chameleon. Jovial and charming one moment. Sober and businesslike the next. He was the ultimate public relations tool, because he was damn good at being all things to all people. Ryne happened to know that his habit of trying to be
one
thing to all women had nearly destroyed his marriage.
one
thing to all women had nearly destroyed his marriage.
But being a womanizing narcissistic prick hadn’t slowed the rise of his career. In Boston he’d been the department’s special attaché to the mayor. He’d come to Savannah three years ago as commander of the Investigative Division. The fact that his wife was the chief’s niece might have had something to do with his procuring the job, but Ryne was hardly in a position to judge. When he’d accepted Dixon’s surprising offer of a job here a year ago, he’d hitched his career to the other man’s.
It was a troubling memory, but not the one that kept him awake nights.
There was a loud burst of laughter as the suits expressed their appreciation of Dixon’s humor, which, Ryne had reason to know, could be politically incorrect and crudely clever.
“Excuse me for a moment.” Dixon clapped the two closest men on the shoulders. “I need to speak to one of my detectives.” The crowd on the stairwell parted for him like a sea before a prophet.
“Detective Robel.” He flashed his pearly caps. “Here to thank me?”
“I appreciate the extra person assigned to the task force.” Whatever their past, whatever had gone between them, Ryne always maintained a scrupulously professional relationship with the man in public. “But I’m not sure bringing in an outsider is going to be as much use to us as another department investigator would be.”
Annoyance flickered in the man’s eyes. “Didn’t you read her qualifications? Phillips has background unmatched by anyone on the force. You’ve heard of Raiker Forensics, haven’t you? They’re better known as The Mindhunters, because of Adam Raiker’s years in the fed’s behavioral science unit. The training in his agency is top-notch. With the addition of Phillips, we’re getting a profiler and an investigator, for the price of one.”
“Price.” They descended the stairs in tandem. “Resources are limited, the last interdepartment memo said. Seems odd to spend them on an outside ‘consultant’ when we have cops already on the payroll who could do the same work at no additional cost.”
Although he’d tried to maintain a neutral tone, Dixon’s expression warned him that he hadn’t been entirely successful. The man glanced around as if to see who was within hearing distance and lowered his voice, all the while keeping a genial smile pasted on his face. “You don’t have to worry about the finances of this department, Detective, that’s my job. Yours is to track down and nail this scumbag raping women in our city. If you’d accomplished that by now, I wouldn’t have had to bring someone else in, would I?”
The barb found its mark. “We’ve made steady progress . . .”
“Don’t forget that my ass is on the line right along with yours. Mayor Richards has had me on speed dial since the second rape.”
Already knowing it was futile, Ryne said, “Okay, how about adding another person to the task force in addition to Phillips? Marlowe out of the fourth precinct would be a good man, and he’s got fifteen years experience.”
They came to the base of the steps and stopped. The suits were standing a little ways off and, judging by the looks they kept throwing them, were growing impatient.
Dixon’s words reflected the same emotion. “You wanted another person assigned; you got her. Work with the task force you’ve got, Detective. I need results to report to the chief. Get me something to take to him.” His gaze moved to the men waiting for him. “Have you verified the connection between this latest assault and the others?” Ryne had updated Dixon and Captain Brown before the briefing this morning.
“I’ve got CSU at the scene. My men are on their way over.”
“Good.” It was clear he’d lost Dixon’s attention. “Let me know when you get something solid.”
Ryne made sure none of the anger churning in his gut showed on his face as the commander walked away. Keeping the mayor happy would have been the driving motivation behind Dixon’s hiring an outside consultant. The second victim had been the mayor’s granddaughter, a college student snatched on her way to work and driven to her grandparents’ beach home where the attack had taken place. The man had an understandable thirst for results, and Dixon’s hiring of Phillips was only the latest offering. Assigning another department investigator to the case wasn’t as dazzling as putting a profiler to work on it, especially one affiliated with Adam Raiker, a man practically martyred for the Bureau some years back.
At least he hoped he’d read Dixon’s intentions correctly. Ryne turned and headed back to the conference room. He sincerely hoped the man was just playing his usual style of suck-up politics and not engaged in a cover-your-ass strategy, designed to leave his image untarnished if this case went bad.
Because if that were the situation, Ryne knew exactly who’d be left twisting in the wind.
When Detective Robel reentered the room, Abbie could tell that his mood had taken a turn for the worse. It wasn’t evident from his expression. But temper had his spine straight, his movements taut with tension. “Let’s go,” he said abruptly.
Without a word, she got up and followed him out the door. He made no effort to check the length of his strides. She almost had to run to keep up with him, a fact that didn’t endear him to her. He stopped at one cubicle and dropped the folder containing her personnel information on the desk, then picked up a fat accordion file sitting on its corner.
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