That’s how most criminals on the run get caught, and get caught quickly. They try to take on the whole network. The FBI is not my enemy. The local authorities in every city across the country are not my enemies. Most of these people clock in and clock out. Go home to their families and pay a mortgage. Or they’re just trying to get laid on the regular.
They’re people. Doing a job.
Your enemy is a little harder to spot unless you know where to look.
He’s the one with an obsession.
He’s the one who won’t stop coming.
I stand and go to the bedroom area of the studio, where I store my map and collection hidden beneath the bed. Not the most secretive spot, but I only need to keep it out of view from a nosy landlord’s wife.
I tack the board to the wall and step back, letting my gaze follow the black string on the map. The string is anchored to points denoting my locations over the past six weeks. A second string—red—aligns with the black. The timeline off by only a couple of days. Then a third string—blue—sidles up next to the first two. Four days off on the timeline.
All three have one thing in common: the dates of appearance. Both men—denoted by the red and blue string—arrived prior t
o the discovery of the bodies.
Both of them were present before the murders happened.
Granted, I left a pretty obvious trail of crumbs for them to follow, but only one of us staged scenes to kill off two victims—and it wasn’t me.
The scenes themselves—the traps—should’ve tipped off investigators that the murders were done by someone trying to emulate my method. Again, most people do their job just good enough.
Only the perfectionists, the obsessed and the meticulous, care enough to get it right.
I cross my arms and stare at the emerging pattern. Stare at the map and strings and photos. I let it all blur together, becoming a collage. A labyrinth.
The FBI and police officials have all been asking the same questions, trying to make sense of it, trying to make the connection that will answer the why and, ultimately, the where—that will lead them to me.
Why did I let Dr. London Noble go?
Using a red pen, I circle the image of London. Over and over. She takes up residency in the middle of my board. For me, she’s the answer to every question. And to two fanatical men, she might just hold the key.
The circumstance surrounding my escape has spurred certain individuals to look more closely at her. Their interest in the good doctor is alarming, and dangerous.
London is insightful and clever. She might even be a better manipulator than I am. With intuition comes power. The power to do damn near anything we want. But because we were not born naturally to this world, we’re set apart, we’re other—that which gives us insight also serves as a weakness.
We’re a target for those trained in deception.
Enter Special Agent Randall Nelson of the FBI.
He rescued London, storming the blazing scene like a white knight. This agent has a real hard-on for me. It’s almost cliché, but then, everything’s been done before, hasn’t it? Every career criminal needs his counterpart. The white knight cop pursuing the chaotic-evil bad guy. The great cat and mouse chase.
Agent Nelson has declared himself the yin to my yang.
And he’s using London to get to me.
He can become an obstacle, or a means to an end.
Agent Nelson is only one phase of the elimination process, though. There’s a second element in the form of an obsessed detective who has sworn my demise by his own hands. We can’t leave out Detective Foster. He’s been on Nelson’s tail the whole way, always coming up in the rear. He just won’t go away.
Foster may be less of a threat, but he’s still another obstacle to hurdle. I made the mistake of underestimating him before. I learn from my mistakes.
I’ve been feeding them crumbs for weeks; they’ve got to be starved by now. Ready for a big, juicy meal. Larry should have them chewing for a while. I can’t give either of them the answers all at once. That would over stimulate them. Like children, they need to be fed little by little. Bite-sized answers they can swallow without choking.
We don’t want them to choke. Not yet.
London’s trap needs to be realized first.