Her voice dropped. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You need a partner and backup until Nevada can get there.” He sighed. “This isn’t the time to be a cowboy, Kate.”
“Right.”
When she ended the call she rubbed the side of her neck. Sweat had soaked through her blouse, making it cling to her skin.
Mazur answered his phone, and his mouth hardened into a grim line. He looked toward her, the phone to his ear as no doubt someone above his pay grade told him to work with her. Like it or not, they were in this together.
She approached him after he hung up, seeing no reason to delay the inevitable.
“Looks like we’re joined at the hip,” she said.
“Right. There’s not much more we can do here. The forensic team is collecting data, and the medical examiner will be here soon to collect the body.”
“What about witnesses and security cameras between here and the interstate?”
“Got it covered. I’ve uniforms searching local businesses. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Maybe.”
He walked her back to his car, and when he opened the door, heat washed out. As they slid into the front seat, he switched on the air conditioning, which felt good for the first few minutes. Soon it chilled her skin.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “Stay put.”
“Sure.”
He left her and crossed to Palmer. They spoke, their heads ducked slightly toward each other, and a couple of times the two glanced back toward her. Palmer shook her head and rubbed the toe of her boot into the dirt.
Mazur returned to the car. A grim expression deepened the lines around his mouth and eyes.
“We should go through my cases,” she said.
“A parade of freaks and demons. Can’t wait.”
At the office Mazur hustled Kate toward the conference room. He wondered how she contained all her emotions as she pulled out her laptop from her backpack and set it up at the head of the table.
Her expression was determined, but she didn’t look the least bit tough. Sweat from the heat had flattened her hair, and her mascara now cast faint shadows under her eyes. Her skin was pink from the sun. She slid off her shapeless navy blazer to reveal a cotton blouse that now clung to her skin and nicely rounded breasts. Absently she wiped a bead of sweat from her chest.
He cleared his throat. “I need to see the chief. Don’t leave this room.”
“Has Palmer called Bastrop?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Right.” He left her and ordered several sandwiches to go, knowing Palmer would be starving soon. He went to his chief’s office.
“I don’t like getting calls from the FBI,” the chief said without looking up from a stack of papers. “It has a way of aggravating my ulcer and fucking with my day.”
“I’m not fond of it either.”
“What the hell is going on? Ballistics matched the Sanchez murder and the Samaritan cases?”
“That’s correct.”
“And that murder victim you have resembles another of Agent Hayden’s cases?”
“It does.”
The chief muttered several curses as he looked up. “Figure this out fast, Mazur. The press is already up my ass about the Sanchez shooting, and they’re going to double down when they hear about this latest murder.”
“I will.”
“I gave you a shot in this department because you saved my boy’s ass in Iraq. And, if push comes to shove, I’ll ride the ship down with you. But I’d rather not go down with my ship.”
“You won’t, sir.”
“Dr. Hayden really suspects this Bauldry guy?”
“We know this latest victim, Rebecca Kendrick, purchased her car from Sanchez Motors, where Bauldry worked after his release from prison. We also know Gloria Sanchez’s mother worked for the Bauldry family.”
He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “Holy shit. Where’s Bauldry?”
“Right now, he’s MIA. He’s not been at any of his last known addresses, and his brother hasn’t seen him. I’ve a BOLO out on him.”
“His family is very well connected,” the chief said. “Father died last year, but the brother is just as powerful.”
“The family has cut him loose. He’s on his own.”
The chief studied him. “I’d be doing you a favor by tossing this hot potato of a case to someone else.”
“No. I want this. There’re others in the department who know the players better than I do, but I caught more homicides in Chicago in the last five years than half these guys caught in their career. Cultural differences or family history is not going to stop me from solving this case.”
The chief’s jaw worked as if he were chewing leather. “I refuse to retire with a loss like this.”
“You won’t.” Promises meant little. Only results mattered. “The autopsy for Rebecca Kendrick is going to be tomorrow.”
“I want a report from you right after that autopsy. Until this case is solved, I don’t want you taking a piss without me knowing it.”
“You’re in the loop.”
He knew it would be a long day and returned to the conference room. Kate was hunched forward studying her laptop and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad. She straightened and slid on dark-rimmed glasses that framed her face in a nice way. “I called the warden at Bastrop. He’s away from his desk but will call me back.”
He glanced at the legal pad. She’d already made a list of twelve names with three circled. “That’s some list.”
The door opened to Palmer, who glanced toward Kate. “Something tells me none of us are going home for a while.” She nodded toward the legal pad. “That your list of greatest hits?”
“It’s the cases I’ve worked in the last five years. I circled the cases that put me in the eye of the media.”
“Like the Samaritan and the Soothsayer,” Palmer said.
“What’s the deal with the eyes?” Mazur asked as he pulled out a sandwich and set it in front of Kate.
Kate recapped Michael Carter’s biography. “And as Carter’s paranoia grew, he believed that he was under constant surveillance from certain women who he thought were soothsayers. In Carter’s mind, soothsayers could steal your soul.”
“Did these women reject him in some way?” Palmer unwrapped a sandwich and slurped on a chocolate milkshake.
Kate nodded. “As far as he was concerned, yes. He had prior contact with all of the women, who were prostitutes. From what other sex workers told me, Carter’s initial encounters weren’t violent. But then he kidnapped each from their place of work and took them to a secluded area, where he stabbed them to death and mutilated their eyes so that the world would know their blind souls could not roam the world tempting man.”
“And the wound patterns on Rebecca Kendrick’s body matched the Soothsayer’s work?” Mazur asked.
“I’ll know better after the autopsy, but from what I’ve seen, they’re almost identical,” Kate said. “The eye extraction detail was kept from the press. I’ve no reason to believe it was leaked.”
Mazur rolled up his sleeves as he nodded to her laptop. “Have you ever lost sight of that computer? I imagine it’s full of all kinds of case details.”
“I have not,” Kate said. “It has several encryption levels, and when it’s not with me it’s locked in my hotel room safe.”
“Nothing is impregnable,” he challenged.
“I’m aware, that’s why every measure is taken.”
“Is there a leak in your unit?” Palmer asked as she plucked a potato chip from the bag.
“We’re a tight-knit team,” Kate said. “I trust everyone.”
“What about someone who’s close to the team and might have access to files?”
“Not possible. We’re all very careful.”
“That reporter, Taylor North, keeps close tabs on you,” Mazur said. “What’s the deal with him? Did he cover
the Soothsayer case?”
“He didn’t approach me during the investigation, though that doesn’t mean he wasn’t following the case. I assumed he was simply driven and hungry for a headline. Now, I don’t know. I should talk to him. I’d like to know where he’s been.”
“Agreed.” Mazur glanced toward the legal pad and noted one case was circled multiple times. “What other cases do you have?”
“There’re a few that come to mind. I really hope if there’s a copycat, he doesn’t attempt one of these.”
She clicked her computer, and three images appeared on the screen. These women were tied to a stake and burned. “They were doused with gasoline and set on fire. Their killer thought they were witches.” Another image showed the bodies of five prostitutes who’d been strangled and their corpses mutilated with a knife. Those killings happened in Denver.
As she ran through the slides, Mazur was struck by the utter horror that filled her life. Every cop had to find a way to decompress, but he wondered what the hell she could ever do to cope with this.
“This last case is the most recent. I just came from Salt Lake City, where I was interviewing the victim.”
“Is this the nut that puts women in boxes?” Palmer asked.
“Yes. Sara Fletcher was his fifth victim,” Kate said.
“Jesus, I hope this creep is caught before he can recreate any of your other house of horrors victims,” Palmer said. “How the hell do you sleep?”
“Not well,” Kate said.
Mazur glanced at the picture of Sara Fletcher and then to another picture of the wooden box that had been her prison. A primal rage made it hard for him to sit still. “This guy is headed south and was last spotted in southern New Mexico.”
“At this time, Drexler is not relevant to this case.”
“Assuming the Sanchez and Kendrick killings are connected,” Mazur said, “what theories do you have about this killer?”
“Male. Late twenties to midthirties. Educated. And he wants the world to know he’s smart enough to obtain classified details, but he also wants the world to know he’s his own man.”
“That description fits Bauldry,” Mazur commented.
“I know.”