Chasing Ghosts

Harlow couldn’t decipher Cole’s expression. He had an incredible poker face. “This isn’t my brother.” Denial flowed from his mouth.

“I can’t imagine what you are going through,” she started.

“Don’t…” His stormy eyes flashed anger. “I wrote the book on these tactics, Harlow.”

She swallowed before squaring her shoulders. “It’s Justin.” She slid her chair closer to him. “We need your patient files.”

“My patients are protected, you know that, and many of those patients are cops!”

“A serial killer is picking off your family.” She forced her voice to remain calm. “The answer is one of your patients.”

He hung his head, whole body slumping. “Do you think it’s Justin?” His voice caught on a sob.

“We have to wait for DNA.” The party line. She blew out a breath and put a comforting hand on his leg. “I do.”

“Zoey.” He sighed, shaking his head. “What am I going to tell her? The kids? My mother? They can’t go through this again.” Pain filled him. She looked away, moving the chair back, as she did, she pulled her phone and quickly text Callie letting her know she was getting nowhere.

“I’ve assigned protective detail to Jake, and I have someone parked in front of your mother’s and Zoey’s 24/7 until we catch this guy.” She put her cell back in her pocket.

“And what about you?” Cole asked.

“Me?” Her brows climbed high on her forehead. “I’m trained for this.”

His fingers combed through his scruffy brown hair. No longer clipped, his usual five o’clock shadow, overgrown, covering his chin, and almost all his mouth unless he opened it to talk. Ruggedly handsome Harlow would describe him as now. “You were shot, and this bastard tracked you down to your home and dumped my brother’s dead body… No one is trained for this.”

She shrugged. “No one in your world.” She averted his gaze. She’d never opened up to Cole about herself. Not really.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he offered.

No, I can't. “You have enough on your plate.” She said as the task force doors whooshed open.

Brock strolled in, the rest of the team behind him. Harlow stood up. Callie’s high heels clicked against the floor, her red pencil skirt outfit perfectly outlining her model-like figure. No one could mistake her for anything other than a bureaucrat.

She pulled a chair right up to Cole and sat down in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Cole.” She grabbed his hands in her manicured ones. Friends. Colleagues. Her gaze flicked across to Harlow for just a second. “We need those files, and we’ll bring you in officially to get them. Justice for your sister…for your brother?”

Cole snatched his hands away. “You don’t think I want justice?”

Callie, open-mouthed. “Of course I do.”

“I stay awake at night thinking about what Lilly would’ve gone through. The life she doesn’t get to live. And now my brother.” His voice rose. “His children have to grow up without a father, murdered, their aunty murdered, for what? Because their uncle pissed some psychopath off on his endless quest to find sociopaths!” He hung his head, sighing. Everyone held their breaths. One beat. Two...“The best I can do is provide the files of those who might fit the profile.”

“That’s all we can ask for.” Callie gave him a small apologetic smile. “But you need to be okay working this case.”

Cole blew out a breath. Harlow could see he’d already considered this after Lilly was killed. It probably plagued him. Followed his thoughts, into his dreams. As a forensic psychologist, someone who had worked on many of her criminal cases, not providing insight into his sister’s murder, especially a serial such as this one would have been torturing him.

“I can do it.” He nodded.

Brock handed Harlow a coffee, breaking into her line of sight. Her cheeks heated. Her stomach flipped. She looked around at everyone in the room. Cole, Callie, Marnie, Tate, and Hetty. No one noticed anything even though she felt like they were all watching, as if they all knew something was going on between them. She mumbled, “thank you.” Putting the mug to her lips, sipping the hot liquid. She fished her tablets from her pocket. The pain around her wound throbbed, radiating into her ribs.

She rubbed her face and forgot about emotions, forgot about everything else except the killer. “Go back at least fifteen years.” She told Cole “Three of these victims were just trial runs for Lilly.” She placed the mug on the glass. “Jed was a mistake and Justin was a message.”

“It’ll take me a few days,” he said. “I’ve seen hundreds of patients.”

“You should get started.” She said sitting her arse on the table, picking her mug back up.

“You want me out of the room, right?” Cole looked at her.

Harlow shook her head. “You don’t need to be here for the next part of the discussion.”

Cole blinked. “I’m a profiler, Harlow. I can help.”

Annoyance bubbled. “Working on the case is one thing, seeing your brother and sister’s crime scene photos is another,” she said. “If this was a patient wanting to do this, what would you tell them?”

“I’d tell them they wouldn’t find the closure they were after; they’d probably just find more pain. But I’m not a normal patient. I know why I’m doing this. It’s not for closure. It’s to catch a killer before he kills again.”

Harlow stared at Cole’s empty expression. She hated when he did it. An expression so void of emotion she wondered if he knew what emotion was. “Okay,” she relented. “As soon as I see you struggle, you’re out of this portion of the investigation. There’ll be no negotiation.”

“Okay," he agreed.

He flashed anger. Two years being around him had at least taught her a little about people. Thing was, Cole never got angry with her. He got annoyed, got a bit testy when they argued. But, never angry. This newly developed anger over her authority was new. Something she’d watch. From his hair to his beard, Cole had changed. Grief did that to a person, sure. She couldn’t afford grief in this investigation. And she couldn’t afford an angry ex-boyfriend either, particularly one trained to pick up on body language.

“Okay, Marnie.” She said with a sigh. “Put up the crime scene photos of my bedroom.”

Harlow felt the moment Brock sat close. Her whole body stiffened, she swallowed, her stomach fluttered. “Are you looking for something specific?” His voice hummed inside her, smooth, her brain flashed back to their kiss. She closed her eyes… It all happened in seconds.

She licked her lips. “How did he get there?” She looked around. Again, no one appeared to notice how her heart raced. How her pulse jumped in her throat.

Tate sat forward in his chair, a Red Bull in front of him. “Damn you’re right.” He looked at Harlow with admiration.

Brock caught on. “How did he drag a 200-pound dead man onto your bed?”

She nodded. “There’s no evidence of a struggle. No blood trails going into my room. Which means Justin willingly walked into my house, my room even, before he was killed.” She turned her attention to Marnie. “Have we had any luck finding Justin’s cell phone?”

“It’s turned off.” Marnie’s fingers flew across the keyboard until a large map of Logan dominated the screen. “I tracked the day we believe he disappeared. That’s the last street he was on before it goes dark.”

“Fifth street.” Harlow took another sip of coffee. “That’s right around the corner to my place. What about messages, emails, phone calls?”

Marnie hesitated just a moment. “Nothing suspicious.”

“But something stood out?” Harlow asked.

“You. A message from you.” Marnie’s cheeks flamed. She felt severely uncomfortable blurting out that information in front of everyone especially involving someone she looked up to.

Mouth open, eyes wide, brows raised. “I was in the hospital.”

“Right,” Marnie responded. “And you and Justin didn’t like each other so why would you be texting him? It makes zero sense. That’s what I think anyway. Not that anyone asked what I think.” Marnie stopped. “Never mind.” She shook her head, even more embarrassed.

“Could someone hack my phone to send a message?” Harlow asked.

Marnie thought about it. “They’d have to be close enough to clone your phone at some point or-”

She felt sick. “-Or the killer was at the hospital in my room and used my phone to lure Justin to my house, right?”

Marnie frowned. “Yes.”

“The note he left for Cole. Everything is calculating, it doesn’t mean he’s intelligent.” Harlow said. "He's made a mistake somewhere."

Cole disagreed. “He’s killed six people undetected, Harlow.” He flipped through the case file so far. “The profile is calculated, highly intelligent, holding down an important job where people hold him in high regard, he’ll probably have a girlfriend or a history of girlfriends, married even. People won’t suspect him. This killer is the kind of killer no one thinks about until it’s too late. Ted Bundy. Paul John Knowles. Vera Renczi. Charismatic.” He paused. “Think about it, all of this has been a calculated plan from the beginning. Maybe there’s some truth to prior Lilly’s being a trial for my little sister. But Lilly Evans?” Cole held up Jed’s original death report. Murder, not suicide. “He needed Jed, every moment since his murder has been a domino effect, expertly played.”

Harlow considered his words. “So, we probably won’t find him on hospital security footage?”

He shook his head. “Your computer analyst can give it a try.”

“I was shot so this bastard could dump Justin in my bedroom, that’s what you’re saying too, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Cole kept on switching his gaze – Harlow, Brock and the small space in between. He noticed the imperceptible signs Harlow displayed even if she didn’t realize it. Brock mirrored her movements. Harlow’s breathing increased slightly every time he shifted. Cole shrugged it off. As good of a profiler he was, he didn’t think Harlow would ever cross a professional line like that. Falling for her partner? Cole eyed them again. Harlow looked back, no longer the spark of love there once was. He had to admit, he missed her… he missed her a lot.

“The focus is still on Lilly,” Harlow noticed.

Marnie put up their crime scene side by side. Both their faces showed blunt force trauma. Harlow stared at each picture as if she hadn’t looked at them individually over and over. Side by side, though, she could see something she didn’t think she would have picked up otherwise. “The rage is still all for Lilly. It was as if Justin was out of necessity.” Harlow turned to Brock. “Do you see it?”

Brock nodded. But it was Hetty who spoke. “COD for Lilly was strangulation like all the others but some of the cranial blunt force trauma was inflicted perimortem.”

“So, he beat her before strangling her.” Harlow deliberately kept her eyes away from Cole. “And then beat her again?” Hetty just nodded her response. “What about Justin?”

“I’ve run every test allowed.” Hetty sat forward “There’s evidence of right-angle fracture margin, squared and sharp edges to the bone surface. He caused massive fragmentation of dry bone. Justin was already dead when that happened to him.” Hetty pointed at the whiteboard. “I can’t find Cause of Death…yet”

Harlow leaned her elbows on her knees. Hetty not finding COD was like Einstein not knowing basic timetables – it just wasn’t possible… unless the COD wasn’t in the scope of Hetty’s testing ability.

“He came to the hospital to get access to my phone, but what if that’s not all he got his hands on?” Harlow mused. “I wonder if he stole some hospital drugs, something you might not have screened for initially.”

Tate continued her train of thought. “What if it was just opportunity and not drugs? He coulda swiped a hypodermic. How closely did you check for natural causes, Hetty?”

“Not close enough.” Hetty sighed. “You’re thinking stroke or cardiac arrest caused by an air embolism?” She shook her head. “Normally, that would take a significant amount of air.”

“What else?” Harlow asked.

Hetty thought about it, tapping her French nails against the glass. She clicked her fingers. “Suxamethonium Chloride.” She banged her hand on the table. “That’s it! The human body breaks it down quickly. It wouldn’t show up on a routine tox screen.”

“Any way to look for it now?” Harlow asked her.

“You bet.”

Harlow turned to Tate. “Go to the hospital, see if they have any missing Suxamethonium and then coordinate with Marnie to mark out all the blind spots.” Then to Marnie. “Go through all hospital security footage, pull surrounding ATM footage, every shop window that has security cameras over a half-mile radius.”

Marnie shifted her eyes, biting the edge of her lip.

“Say what’s on your mind, Marnie.” Harlow tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice as she felt Brock’s elbow dig slightly into her ribs.

“Umm… Half mile radius is just a lot to cover that’s all. I’m not sure what I’m looking for.” She started to pick her fingers.

Cole cleared his throat. “Someone who might show up more than once on different cameras. You probably won’t get anything on the hospital footage.”

Marnie nodded. “But I still look, right?”

“Of course,” Cole said. “You might get something you can identify… Height, build, and then again out on the street. It’s the small things that can catch these guys.”

“Like Ted Bundy and his infamous driving violations.” Brock rubbed a hand over his shaved head.

Marnie gave him a blank stare.

“You don’t know who Ted Bundy is?” Brock, at that moment, felt old. He wasn’t, he knew that. As a sniper, he could still make a 2000-yard shot, 20-20 vision. In his thirties, he was just as fit now than when he was a Seal. Still, the fresh ignorance of youth in Marnie was refreshing and infuriating.

“I came into this task force as a computer analyst, working serial… anything is new to me.”

Harlow noticed how Marnie relaxed with everyone but her. “Ted Bundy tried to get away from a routine stop by switching off his headlights and speeding through a couple of stop signs.” Marnie started picking her fingers again. Nerves. Harlow softened her voice. Tried for a friendlier approach. “When Uni’s did catch up to him, his murder kit was found in his Volkswagen – handcuffs, an ice pick, crowbar and pantyhose with eyes cut out.”

“How many people did he kill?” Marnie asked.

“Officially?” Harlow shrugged. “Around 30, but like many of these monsters, there could be up to 100.”

“Do you think the Logan Lilly-” Marnie winced. “Sorry. That’s the name-”

Harlow cut her off “-it’s okay Marnie.” She even gave her a small smile.

Marnie finished. “Do you think this killer has more victims we don’t know about?”

Harlow considered it. “That’s a good question.” She looked at Brock.

Brock realized where Harlow was going with this. “More victims. More chances for fresh evidence.”

Harlow finished. “More chances he was sloppy.”

“Earlier victims maybe.”

“Ted Bundy’s first victim was eight years old when he was fourteen. How many meticulous fourteen-year-olds do you know?” Harlow asked.

“You think he started killing early too?” Brock asked.

“Many serial killers do.” Harlow got off the table, her stomach giving her trouble. They all noticed. Brock frowned slightly. But no one said anything. Pointing out Harlow’s weaknesses just wasn’t done. “Harvey Robinson started killing at 17. Craig Price, 13. Caytano Santos Godino from Argentina started killing when he was seven years old.”

“Does anyone else feel like this is wine conversation and not coffee?” Callie asked the room. “Jesus seven?”

“He killed six kids all together, three of them before he turned sixteen,” Harlow said. “This isn’t wine conversation either. Gin & Tonic more like.”

“Scotch neat for me,” Brock added.

“Bourbon on the rocks.” Tate put his hand up. “Or mixed with Coke.”

“Apple martini, shaken.” Hetty put in.

Cole shook his head. “I’m taking a break from drinking.” No one judged.

“Marnie?” Harlow looked at the analyst hoping the more she interacted with her the faster she could set her at ease.

Marnie blushed… again. “Oh, I don’t drink. Migraines.” She shrugged. “I’ve never really had the taste buds for it either. I have to like what I’m drinking. Besides, I don’t get out much. Actually, I don’t get out at all. Work, home, work…” she trailed off, picking at her fingers again.

Harlow wanted to know her story, this young brilliant mind with dreadlocks, piercings, and tattoos but no social life and enough nervous energy to light up New York City. Harlow smiled at her. “We might just have to break you from that habit.”

Callie laughed. “Oh, bullshit. You’re the biggest work-a-holic in this room!”

Marnie chuckled and so did everyone else. The success of any task force was how well they worked together. Harlow felt the morale climb.

Harlow rolled her eyes. “Alright, everyone knows what they need to be doing.”

Callie stood up. “What about me?”

“Make sure we don’t run into hospital administration bullshit.” Harlow opened a laptop. “Call in a favor with your FBI friend, ask him to query his databases for children twenty years ago found strangled, maybe blunt force trauma to their face post-mortem.”

Callie nodded. “And you two?” She pointed between Harlow and Brock.

“We’re going back to every neighborhood, every crime scene, and re-canvassing. This guy’s not a ghost. He’s been moving in and out of our lives, there’s going to be overlap. We just need to find it.”

“There’s a scary thought,” Callie said as everyone started preparing to get to work.

“You have no idea,” Harlow said.