Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [97]
“We got a break with this last murder,” Wainwright told them as he motioned for Karla to turn off the overhead lights. “The surveillance cameras at the Rough Diamond Club in Atlanta caught our guy on tape.”
“Are you saying we know what the Midnight Killer looks like?” Lieutenant Jon Yacup from Arizona asked.
“Yes and no,” Wainwright replied. “We’re ninety-nine percent sure the man is wearing a disguise, probably a fake nose and chin as well as theatrical makeup. But we can pretty much guess his weight and height from the video. And it’s obvious that he’s Caucasian.”
Wainwright picked up the TV/video/DVD combo remote, hit a couple of buttons, and began playing the black-and-white surveillance tape. Mike watched closely as their killer appeared on screen, a medium-sized guy, with a prominent nose and a sharp chin. The dark-eyed, dark-haired man could be anywhere between twenty and fifty years old. The hair could have been dyed or was a wig, the mustache no doubt fake, and contacts could easily change very light eyes to very dark in a matter of seconds. And on black-and-white film, it was impossible to distinguish dark blue from dark brown.
After they watched the tape, Special Agent Armstrong said, “We admit that it’s not a lot, but it’s more than we had before, and piece by piece, we’re gathering evidence. All we need are a few more lucky breaks and—”
“Let’s hope no one else has to die before we get those lucky breaks,” Sergeant Carter Fulton from the Knoxville PD said.
Everyone in the room agreed with Fulton.
A couple of hours later, Mike went out for lunch with Wainwright while Special Agent Ross drove Yacup and Fulton to the airport. After devouring barbequed ribs and finishing the meal with bourbon pecan pie, Wainwright wiped his hands on the disposable wet-wipe provided with his rack of ribs and then turned his attention to Mike.
“How’s Ms. Hammonds doing?”
“She’s okay, all things considered,” Mike said.
“I spoke to Nicole Powell this morning. I guess you know she used to be a federal agent and still has friends at the Bureau.” When Mike nodded, Wainwright continued. “Unofficially, we’re utilizing the Powell Agency’s investigation. Officially, we have no connection to the agency. Understand?”
“If you’re saying that the Powell Agency is sharing their info with the task force, but y’all are not sharing with them, then yes, I understand.”
“I’d never publicly admit this, but Powell’s has a better record of catching the bad guys than we do. And at least part of the reason for that is their ability to occasionally sidestep the law. We know Griffin Powell uses his wealth and power however he sees fit. But we can’t prove he’s ever done anything illegal.”
“I’ll take your word for that,” Mike said. “I don’t know Mr. Powell. I met him briefly a few weeks ago when he and his wife attended my deputy Jackson Perdue’s wedding.”
“I’ve met him only a couple of times myself. Nic—Mrs. Powell—is handling the communication between Powell’s and our task force. And if it’ll make you feel any better about Ms. Hammonds’s safety, Mrs. Powell mentioned that Shelley Gilbert is one of their best bodyguards.”
“I’m sure she is. But I figure that Tony Johnson believed the man he had guarding Shontee Thomas was one of his best.”
“You’re right. We’re dealing with an intelligent, motivated killer who is enjoying outsmarting his victims, their protectors, and the law,” Wainwright said. “With each murder, a new batch of letters have gone out. Ms. Hammonds and the others will probably receive another death threat via U.S. mail sometime in the next few days. As soon as she receives the letter, I want you to notify us. Her letter is our best chance of immediately getting our hands on a copy.”
“I’ll inform Deputy Perdue to contact you if and when Lorie receives another letter.”
Wainwright cocked his