The Last Move (Criminal Profiler 1)

Kate pulled out of the lot, accepting that Mazur or one of his cops would be with her while she was in San Antonio. Oddly, she didn’t mind. As she drove toward her mother’s house, she’d barely reached the end of the block when her phone rang. She recognized the number. It belonged to Taylor North.

She raised the phone to her ear. “Mr. North.”

“I want to talk.”

“You’re in luck. So do I.”

Kate distanced herself from strong emotions. It wasn’t that she didn’t have them—she simply steered clear of them. They only created confusion and were a distraction. But when it came to Taylor North, she had a hard time remaining civil. He was a bottom-feeder. He was willing to exploit people, and even the truth, for personal gain. She’d heard from her boss that there was talk of a book, and this murder was simply another notch on his belt regardless of whom he hurt.

She parked in front of a small café and stared at the blue neon “Open” sign. As she got out of the car, she noticed the marked police car and walked over to the vehicle.

The officer rolled down the window. “Agent Hayden.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“Mazur’s orders are to shadow you until you reach your mother’s.”

“Fine, thank you.”

Kate entered the shop and spotted North sitting in the corner. A stoneware mug in front of him, he leaned over a legal pad.

As she approached his table he glanced up, made an anemic move to stand, but she waved him back down. She pulled her chair around and sat with her back to the wall. “Mr. North.”

“Agent Hayden.”

He’d been covering the Samaritan case more than any other reporter and knew the details better than most of the cops. This killer was getting his information from someone. “So what questions would you like to ask me?”

“Did you arrest the right man? Is Dr. Richardson guilty?”

“He’s guilty. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“So he has an accomplice?”

“Still working on that one.”

“The Gloria Sanchez murder stinks of the Samaritan killings. Whoever did this must have been working with Richardson,” he countered.

“Why do you say that?”

North shook his head as he leaned forward. “We’re jumping the gun. My hope was that we’d use this meeting to get to know each other. To learn a little about trust.”

A dark intensity shadowed his gaze. She leaned forward. “You’ve gathered a great deal of information on this case.”

“I’m a very good reporter.”

She shook her head as she traced a small nick on the table. “You’ve done a hell of a job of researching this killer. You have an inside track on details only the cops would know. In fact, you could have pulled off a good imitation of his murders.”

A frown wrinkled his brow. “I’m one hell of a reporter, not a killer.”

“Maybe too good.” She let the word hang. “It’s almost as if you know the killer.”

He pulled off his glasses and let them dangle between his fingers. “Do you think I’m the killer?”

“I’ve read your articles. Your ability to climb into his mind is astonishing.”

He sat back. “How am I supposed to react to a statement like that?”

“Take it however you like. Denial. Outrage. I would be upset if someone thought I was involved.”

Entertained, he sipped his coffee. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“You interviewed Richardson several times in prison. Did he whisper sweet secrets in your ear?”

“No. He was quite evasive. He was using me to get his message of innocence out.”

She shook her head. “I think he gave you key details so you could stage this whole show. It’s the why that I can’t figure out.”

“You’re running down the wrong rabbit hole, Agent Hayden.” He smiled. “Can I call you Kate?”

“No.”

“Keep it formal. Maybe for the better. I reported the facts, and yes, I dug deep into a lot of facts on the Samaritan. Maybe I danced close to the line a couple of times as far as revealing too much information, but if I don’t sell my articles, then I don’t eat.”

“That sounds dramatic.”

“I live and die by the numbers.”

His demeanor suggested confidence that bordered on arrogance. He gladly took shortcuts, believing the ends justified the means. One cop had said Taylor would push his own mother off a cliff for a solid lead on a story.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“We’ve reached the end of this journey. You have nothing for me, and I’ve nothing for you.”

He looked disappointed. “Just like that? I don’t see you as the type that gives up so easily.”

“I don’t. I haven’t. I’m just finished with this conversation.”

Eyes narrowed, he shifted topics. “Gloria Sanchez doesn’t fit the profile of the first victims.”

“Really?”

“She’s a business success and well known. Not the random low-income woman that no one would miss right away.”

Kate didn’t respond.

“Have you tested ballistics? Did the same gun kill Gloria and the others? You can tell me. This is strictly off the record.”

She smiled. “No such thing as off the record. Didn’t you learn that in PR 101?”

He drew circles on his notepad. “The killer must have crossed paths with Richardson.”

She studied him, knowing he was fishing. “What other cases like the Samaritan have you covered?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Humor me.”

“At least a half dozen.”

“List ’em.”

He drew in an impatient breath. “I’ve written about several cases in the last few years. The Dollmaker. The Hangman. The San Francisco Strangler. The Soothsayer.”

The Soothsayer. Her mind grew very still even as her heart skipped a beat. “Which of the cases did you find the most fascinating?”

“All of ’em. They’re all unique in so many ways.”

“Arrests were made in each of the cases.”

“What are you getting at?” he asked.

Serial killers were addicted not just to the murder but also to recreating it over and over in their memories. Who better to share information with than a reporter?

“Just trying to figure out how much you know. You would tell me if this killer contacted you, correct?”

“Are you asking if we should work together?”

She wondered how many people he’d drawn in with that boy-next-door tone. “I work alone, Mr. North. I just want to make sure you aren’t withholding important information.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Really?”

“You’re working closely with Detective Mazur.”

North’s not-so-subtle deflection told her he was paying close attention to her. “He’s law enforcement. You’re not.”

Instead of being annoyed or put off, he grinned. “Help me and I’ll help you.”

This was a game to him. The victims were inconsequential. Simply pieces to be moved about as he saw fit.

She nodded to his cell. “Record this.”