Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [95]
“And there is a third motive we should also contemplate. That this killer’s game is not targeted at either the Marines or the FBI, but rather, at Special Agent McCormack specifically.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Kaplan grumbled.
Quincy gave the man his cool, hard stare. “Assume for a moment that the anonymous caller is the UNSUB. Through his comments, he brought Special Agent McCormack to Virginia. It stands to reason, then, that the UNSUB already had a plan of attack in mind for this area. And furthermore, as part of this plan, he knew of Special Agent McCormack’s whereabouts and thus made sure to start the game here. The ad in the Quantico Sentry would fit this pattern. As of Friday, the paper would be distributed all over the base. Surely McCormack would get the hint.”
Rainie appeared troubled. “That’s getting out there,” she said quietly.
“True. Killers rarely target a specific member of law enforcement. But stranger things have happened, and as the lead officer, McCormack was the most visible member of the Georgia task force. If the UNSUB were going to identify with a specific target, McCormack would be the logical one.”
“So we have two options,” Rainie murmured. “A garden-variety psychopath trying to mess with McCormack’s head. Or a more troubled, guilt-stricken nut who’s still murdering girls, but showing signs of remorse. Why doesn’t either one of these theories help me sleep better at night?”
“Because either way, the man is deadly.” Quincy turned toward Kaplan. “I assume you sent out the ad to the Quantico Sentry to be analyzed?”
“Tried,” Kaplan said. “Not much to work with. Stamp and envelope are both self-adhesive, so no saliva. Latent found no prints on the paper, and the ad was typeset, so no handwriting.”
“What about form of payment?”
“Cash. You’re not supposed to send it through the mail, but apparently our killer is a trusting soul.”
“Postmark?”
“Stafford.”
“The town next door?”
“Yeah, sent yesterday. Local job all the way. Guy’s in the area to murder a woman, might as well send his note, too.”
Quincy raised a brow. “He’s smart. Done his homework. Well, stationery is a good place to start. Dr. Ennunzio said that Georgia had sent him one original letter to the editor. I’d like you to turn over this ad to him as well. Perhaps that gives him two data points to consider.”
Kaplan had to think about it. “He can have it for a week,” he conceded at last. “Then I want it back at my lab.”
“Your cooperation is duly noted,” Quincy assured him.
There was a knock on the door. Quincy thinned his lips, frustrated by the intrusion when they were finally getting somewhere, but Kaplan was already climbing to his feet. “Probably one of my agents,” he said by way of explanation. “I told him I’d be around here.”
He opened the classroom door, and sure enough, a younger buzz-cut man entered the room. The agent was holding a piece of paper and his body practically thrummed with excitement.
“I thought you’d want to see this right away,” the younger officer said immediately.
Kaplan took the paper, glanced at it, then looked up sharply. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, sir. Got it confirmed fifteen minutes ago.”
“What?” Rainie was asking. Even Watson strained in his chair. Kaplan turned back to them slowly.
“We got an ID on the girl,” he said, and his gaze went to Quincy. “It’s not just like Georgia after all. Sweet Jesus, this is much, much worse.”
“Water break.”
“Soon.”
“Kimberly, water break.”
“I want to see what’s around the next corner—”
“Honey, stop and drink some water, or I will tackle you.