“Exactly.”
“Does he have a physical preference?” she asked.
He searched in his file for a one-page compilation of a series of photos that was of all the victims’ faces taken within one to two years before their deaths. Some were high school yearbook pictures, others were DMV, and a few were grainy snapshots.
Agent Shepard’s gaze moved from face to face, methodically scanning the images. “Dark hair, olive skin, brown eyes.”
“You fit his profile perfectly,” Ramsey said.
“He didn’t choose me at random?”
“No.”
“Lucky me.”
“If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else.”
“The two missing girls that Sarah Beckett has been searching for look like these women,” Jackson commented.
“Do you think the van driver is connected to the two missing women?” Ramsey asked.
“Since I’m not a fan of coincidence, I’d say yes,” Jackson said.
“If that’s true, we’ve got a much bigger problem than I originally thought,” Shepard said.
“Reverend Beckett does serve women he targets,” Ramsey said.
“How long did it take to find the bodies of the other victims?” Jackson’s frown had deepened.
“Anywhere between one week to nine months,” Ramsey said. “He’s not interested in credit or being noticed. He dumps them in secluded locations and moves on with his life.”
“He wants to keep doing what he’s doing,” Jackson said.
“Correct,” Ramsey said. “Which makes him even more dangerous and harder to catch.”
“And now he’s in Nashville,” Jackson said.
“He was seven days ago,” Ramsey said. “Agent Shepard, you’re the first person we know of who has survived direct contact with him and has seen how he operates.”
She sifted slowly through all the images one more time. If she were worried about her near-fatal mistake, her cool expression gave no hint of it. “What can we do for you?”
“Have there been any sightings of his van?” Ramsey asked.
“We put out a BOLO as soon as Agent Shepard called in her attack,” Jackson said. “We also went through all the street cameras in the area in the days after the attack. There was no sign of the van.”
“No one has seen it. We are assuming he ditched it somewhere close to the Mission.”
“I’ve spoken to Reverend Beckett several times in the last few days,” Shepard said. “She hasn’t heard anything about him appearing again, and all the working girls are on notice.”
Jackson closed the file of images. “We’ll assist in any way we can.”
“I’d like to work with Agent Shepard and interview the women who were working that night, along with Reverend Beckett.”
“What do you think the chances are that he’s still in the area?” Agent Shepard asked.
“I’m not sure he is. But this is as close as I’ve gotten.”
“How long have you been chasing this guy?” Agent Shepard asked.
“Seven years. I picked up the case when we crossed paths in Wilmington, North Carolina. He killed three prostitutes there.”
“He’s not worried about leaving DNA on his victims,” Agent Shepard said. “But he’s obsessed with leaving none in his van. Thus, the bleach.”
“Control is important to him, especially in the van, which is his workshop and domain,” Ramsey said. “He spends a lot of time in it. Agent Shepard, you noted that the side door opened with astonishing speed.”
“Correct,” she said.
“He’s spent time modifying it to reduce the abduction window to an acceptable risk.”
“And he doesn’t want his kills to be attached to it,” Jackson said.
“Not to the van,” Ramsey said.
“But he wants his DNA to link the victims,” Agent Shepard said. “Like an artist signs his work.”
Ramsey was impressed by her insight. “Agreed.”
“He must be certain he’s not in any databases,” Jackson said.
“So far, he’s not,” Ramsey said.
“He’s a clean slate and likes his van the same way,” Agent Shepard said, more to herself.
“Exactly,” Ramsey said.
“I looked at dozens of van pictures this last week,” she said. “I’d say this one is at least ten years old.”
“I’d like to drive to the corner where your attack occurred, Agent Shepard,” Ramsey said.
“What if I return to the corner tonight? If he’s out there, he could see that I’ve gotten back to work.”
“No,” Jackson said.
“It might eventually come to that,” Ramsey said. “For now, I just want to see the area.”
“I can take you now. We can also pay a visit to Reverend Beckett.”
“Good,” Ramsey said.
Agent Shepard tapped her fingertips on the open file. “If this killer ditched the van, he’ll be back for it. He has to have stowed it close to the Mission. I could go through surveillance footage of the area. It has to be on a private security camera somewhere.”
“I’ve had officers doing exactly that for the last three days,” Jackson said.
“And?” she asked.
Jackson’s phone rang. He glanced at the number, his face tight with annoyance. “I have to take this.”
“Sure,” Ramsey said.
Jackson nodded as he listened to the person on the phone, his scowl softening as he ended the call. “We might have gotten lucky. Officers located the white van in a warehouse twenty minutes ago.”
“Where?” Ramsey asked.
“Five blocks from where Agent Shepard encountered him.”
“I want to see it before it’s moved or disturbed,” Ramsey said.
“Be my guest. Agent Shepard will drive you.”
A glimmer of excitement caught in her brown gaze. “Yes, sir.”
Jackson left them and Ramsey followed Shepard to her office. The walls were bare, which he thought odd since he knew she had been in this office for two years. If not for the neat piles of papers along the wall behind her desk and the dust covering the shelves crammed with used investigative books and the odd certificate of merit, he would have assumed she had just moved in. She had not bothered with formalities like diplomas or the standard grip-and-grin photos taken with dignitaries at award ceremonies. He had read her jacket and knew she had been awarded two commendations, which were nowhere in sight. He was not sure yet if she saw them as an unnecessary bother or if she was making a statement. He guessed the latter.
“Why were you out there alone?” Ramsey asked.
“I wasn’t alone until the last couple of seconds.”
“I don’t consider an Episcopal priest proper backup.”
“You haven’t met Sarah.”
“Does she have law enforcement experience that I’m not aware of?”
“No. But she runs a halfway house in the Bottom. That’s not for the faint of heart.”
He had read her report multiple times and had almost memorized it. “Why didn’t you leave with the other two women?”
She raised her chin. “Sarah was very concerned about the missing women. I was on the street hoping to get a lead from one of the pimps or the girls. If I couldn’t find out where they were, I wanted to identify any individual that might have seemed off to them. I thought I’d give it just a few more minutes. And then your Key Killer rolled out of the shadows.”
“Key Killer?”
“Not the best name, as far as violent killers go, but the name seems to fit.” She grabbed her backpack and walked past him. He noted the slight limp. The rolled ankle must still hurt.
“I can drive,” she said.
“I’d rather take my vehicle. It’s my mobile office.”
“Like the Key Killer.”
He liked his creature comforts and he missed his own vehicle. “We’ll take my car.”
“Whatever works for you.”
They crossed the lobby and went out the main door to a black SUV.
“I bet it’s identical to the car you drive in Virginia,” she said.
“If you want to play the profiling game, I have a few assessments of you I can share.”
She met his gaze. “In due time, Agent Ramsey.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday, August 24, Noon
The last thing Melina needed was Ramsey rooting around in her brain. She sensed he already had several accurate observations to share. Looking in a mirror was not top of her priority list.
Still, curiosity had her stealing a quick glance into the back seat of his rented vehicle. There was a black roller bag, small enough to carry on. He would not have checked it because his files were too important to risk with baggage handlers. She imagined it contained a second set of socks, a few clean shirts still in their dry cleaner bags, and workout gear. He did not want to be here long, but he was prepared to stay as long as he was effective.
He was not wearing a wedding band, but a lot of cops did not. The less the bad guys knew about them the better. His suit was top quality and the stitching appeared custom. The gold watch on his wrist was a Rolex, expensive but old. Ramsey did not flaunt what he had, and she decided he had grown up with money. One did not measure success by material things if one always had them. She would bet a paycheck he could trace his lineage back generations.