The Face of Evil Read online

  It was time for a new game.

  Jess steeled against a shudder.

  “I shouldn’t have taken you off the case.” Gant shook his head.

  Jess wasn’t sure whether to jump for joy or to scream at the man. She had studied the Player since the Bureau first became aware of his existence. But five months ago her boss, likely prompted by the lack of movement on the investigation, had assigned the case to Agents Taylor and Bedford.

  Burnout happened. A profiler worked closely with the agents and local law enforcement personnel involved with a case. As angry as she had been about Gant’s decision, deep down she had understood that new insights might make a difference. Taylor had been a profiler a year longer than her and Bedford had moved to BAU only two years ago, but they were both good. She’d pretended to understand.

  Like local law enforcement, the Bureau was taking a beating in the news. Any time that happened something had to change—whether it did any good or not.

  Jess reached for the file that would contain an overview of any updates on the case as well as the lengthy reports she had provided. The actual case file would be much larger. Not that she needed to see any of it. The details were etched into her brain. The only case she’d ever been assigned that she hadn’t helped solve. Yet.

  She placed the file on her desk. “I have maybe another two hours work on my current case and then I’ll start on this one again. If Taylor’s available, maybe we can talk tomorrow morning.”

  “I know you two are a little on the competitive side,” Gant said, “but you should know, he admitted you’re the one who should be working this case.”

  She appreciated Gant saying so, but she had her doubts as to whether Taylor would ever admit any such thing unless it was because he saw failure coming and decided to bail. No one wanted to be the profiler or the field agent assigned to a case when the death toll was about to rise. “Thank him for the vote of confidence.”

  Gant pushed to his feet. “You might want to keep that part to yourself. I’m reasonably sure he didn’t mean for me to pass along the comment.”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  When Gant was gone, Jess took a deep breath and opened the file. She shook her head as she considered that it was time for his cycle to begin again and they had nothing.

  He was too good at protecting his identity. Too careful in his every step.

  “Not your garden variety sociopath, that’s for sure,” she muttered as she closed the folder.

  Just another monster that had gotten away with his evil deeds for far too long.

  Present day...

  Birmingham

  Gina shut off the recorder. “You look like you need a break.”

  With effort, Jess dismissed the memories. She cleared her throat. “I could use a Pepsi.”

  What time was it? She glanced at her cell. Just past noon. Had it only been half an hour since she and Gina started the interview? Felt like a lot longer.

  Where was that pizza? Maybe a few M&Ms would get her through. She reached for the drawer where she kept her backup chocolate stash.

  Gina stood. “I’ll check with Lieutenant Hayes and get an ETA on that pizza.”

  Jess decided she must look like hell if Gina was worried about her. Pretty soon folks would recognize that something was off.

  How much longer could she keep the pregnancy a secret?

  3

  June 20, Two months earlier...

  Richmond, Virginia

  “She was a good girl,” Mona Clark said of her twenty-year-old daughter. “She made the Dean’s list every semester at the college.”

  Jess kept her smile in place. She wished there were comforting words she could say to the woman, but there were none. As usual, the Player had chosen his victims, one every seven to twelve days until he had taken a total of six, and as with the other victims in each of the games over the past five years, none had survived.

  Frieda Clark had been the final victim in this latest game. She was also the youngest ever taken by the Player.

  Following his typical pattern, he left no evidence. Nothing.

  Now, the Bureau and all other law enforcement agencies involved had about ten and a half months to find him before the next game started. The Player called his annual ritual a game. Each victim was abducted, tortured for approximately seven days before being given a chance to escape that was doomed to failure, and then she was murdered. How twisted was that? Just when the victim was almost defeated, he gave her hope, and then extinguished it as well as her life. Tracing the last hours of their lives was as simple as reading a map—the map of cruelty drawn on their bodies.

  There was little deviation in his MO and the only thing the victims had in common was physical appearance. The Player preferred tall, brunette and beautiful women. Intelligence appeared to be a factor as well.

  “According to your statement, Mrs. Clark,” Jess said, hoping to draw the poor woman from her painful thoughts, “Frieda hadn’t mentioned any new friends. You said she wasn’t dating anyone special.”

  Mona shook her head. “She always told me about her friends.” Her shoulders sagged. “She wanted a boyfriend but she hadn’t met anyone who lived up to her high standards.” A smile trembled across her lips. “My daughter was a little picky. I raised her that way. I wanted her to have a good husband. The kind of husband she deserved.”

  Jess understood. “When it comes to men, picky is good.” Then again, being too picky carried a cost of its own. Funny, she had never considered herself lonely until the last couple of years. What was it about turning forty that changed so much? She found herself questioning every decision she’d ever made. Even her career had come under scrutiny lately, and her career was the one part of her life where she’d always felt completely confident. Work defined her. No one had worked harder than Jess. She had a near perfect record. If she worked a case, the bad guy always got his.

  Except one.

  The Player. The single blemish on her record.

  Mona gazed at Jess hopefully. “Do you think you’ll be able to stop him this time?” She batted back the tears shining in her eyes. “If you do, at least my sweet Frieda won’t have died in vain.”

  Jess forced away the doubt nagging at her. “We’re doing all we can, Mrs. Clark. You have my word on that. We are going to stop him.” She refused to admit defeat on this case. She would identify the Player and he would be stopped.

  If it was the last thing she did, she would find him.

  The older woman’s lips trembled as she visibly struggled with her emotions. “I hope so.”

  By the time Jess was in her car, she was mad as hell. Six more dead women. She closed her eyes and braced her forehead against the steering wheel. And not one speck of evidence that would lead them to the serial killer who was probably laughing at them right now. She straightened and stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Let him laugh. She was not done yet.

  Her cell clanged with that old-fashioned ring tone. She hated the sound but it made recognizing hers from everyone else’s in a crowd easy. She dug the phone from her bag and checked the screen. Richmond telephone number.

  One of the local cops working the case, maybe. “Harris.”

  “Agent Harris, this,” the female caller cleared her throat, “this is Naomi Proctor.”

  Jess’s heart thumped. “Naomi, hi. Did you think of something else that might help with our investigation?”

  Naomi Proctor was the best friend of Sierra Timmons, victim four in the latest Player murders. Naomi had spoken to Sierra just minutes before her abduction. Her statements so far had provided nothing to advance the investigation. Par for the course. Not once in five years had a friend or family member been able to provide useful information. The Player was too smart for that.

  Jess hoped his luck was about to change.

  “There was this older guy,” Naomi said. Her voice quavered. “Like forty or forty-one. His name was Eric Spears. He came to the restaurant a couple
of times. Sierra said he gave her the creeps but he was a really big tipper. Like a hundred dollars each time.”

  Jess’s hopes drooped. It wasn’t unusual for older men to hit on younger women. A college student, Sierra had worked as a waitress on weekends. Tips had helped keep a roof over her head. Being attractive had ensured good tips. “Was there something in particular about this man that bothered Sierra?”

  “He told her she was the kind of woman he liked, and that he was going to play a game with her.”

  Jess sat up a little straighter. “You’re certain those were his exact words?” That thumping in her chest grew harder.

  “That’s what she told me.”

  Laughter in the background—the canned kind from a television program—punctuated her statement. A frown furrowed Jess’s brow. She found it more than a little strange that Naomi would be watching some sort of comedy program while mulling over her friend’s murder. Even stranger was the fact that nothing about this older man was in her previous statement. “Is there a reason you didn’t mention this man before?”

  “I... I just remembered. I guess I was in shock until... now.”

  That vacant sound in the woman’s voice grew more distant with each word she uttered. “Why don’t we talk about this in person?” Jess suggested. “Are you home, Naomi?”

  “Yeah.” A big, shaky breath vibrated over the line. “Okay. Sure.”

  The words were hesitant, chock full of trepidation. “Stay right there, Naomi.” Jess started her car. “I’m on my way now.”

  Jess tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and drove like a bat out of hell. Still it took her half an hour to get to Naomi’s home. Whatever was going on, the young woman sounded under duress. Emptiness and anxiety had resonated in her every word.

  After skidding into the first available parking slot, Jess jumped out of her Audi and raced toward the row of two-story townhouses. Maybe she was over reacting, but her instincts warned that something was very, very wrong.

  With a deep breath to slow her pounding heart, Jess rapped on the door of Naomi’s townhome. The silence inside ratcheted up Jess’s tension. When they’d spoken on the phone, she had heard the television playing in the background.

  Had Naomi changed her mind and left to prevent talking to Jess? A quick survey of the parking lot answered that question. Naomi’s blue Fiat with its Life is Good plate on the front sat in a spot a few doors down. Had she decided in the last half hour that she didn’t want to talk after all?

  Why had she sounded so upset? Did she know more than she was telling? It wasn’t impossible that she’d only just remembered the information, but it was highly unlikely. Either way, Jess needed to speak to her in person. Body language told far more than the words alone.

  Jess rapped again, harder this time. The door opened a few inches as if the latch hadn’t been engaged.

  “Naomi?” Jess reached for her Glock as she took a position next to the door. “Naomi, I’m here if you still want to talk?” She gave the door a push with her free hand. It swung inward.

  It was so quiet Jess could hear the blood surging through her veins.

  She leaned around the doorframe and had a look. Her breath jammed in her lungs.

  Naomi hung from the banister on the second floor landing.

  Jess moved across the threshold, weapon ready and braced for anyone who might be inside. She hesitated, couldn’t see a way to get the young woman down without a ladder and something to cut the rope. Didn’t matter at this point, she realized. Naomi Proctor was dead. After calling for backup, Jess moved cautiously through the rest of the home.

  Back downstairs, the sirens wailed. Jess started for the door, but something on the floor in the corner next to the staircase stopped her. A piece of paper lay on the white carpet. Jess tugged out a glove and snapped it into place. Picking the paper up by one corner, she read the words scrawled across the page.

  I wasn’t supposed to tell.

  Jess shivered with the abrupt sensation that someone was watching. She wheeled around. Two uniformed officers were barreling up the sidewalk.

  He’d won again.

  But this time the Player had taken a victim who wasn’t a part of his usual game. This one he’d taken just to show everyone who was boss. The move was a deviation from his usual MO. Jess hoped the unexpected departure from his usual pattern would lead them to something besides another woman’s body.

  Present day...

  Birmingham

  “That’s when you knew it was him?” Gina asked, her eyes wide with the excitement. “You knew Eric Spears was the Player?”

  Jess reached for the bottle of water on her desk. The pizza wasn’t sitting well. Or maybe it was the topic of conversation. Spears had ruled her life for so long the very thought of his name made her ill.

  Would she never be rid of him?

  Not until he’s dead.

  That was the one thing she now understood with complete certainty.

  “No,” she said in answer to Gina’s question. “I didn’t know Eric Spears was the Player then. But I know now that was the day...” A moment was required before Jess could finish her statement. “That was the day it began.”

  Gina frowned. “It?”

  “His obsession with me.”

  4

  June 25, Two months earlier...

  Quantico

  “You don’t have enough evidence.”

  Jess wanted to tear out her hair! Gant wasn’t listening! “Naomi Proctor is dead,” she reminded her boss. “I believe she’s dead because she gave me his name.”

  Gant wagged his head from side to side in the most infuriating manner. “The autopsy showed no conclusive evidence that she’d been forced to hang herself, Harris. She put that rope around her neck and climbed over the banister. Those are the only two facts we can prove.”

  He just wouldn’t see it. Jess pointed to the case board she had created on the wall in her office. “Not one of her friends or family members saw this coming. Not a single one. No history of depression or any other mental illness. Proctor was at work the day before and no one noticed anything out of the norm.”

  “It happens,” Gant argued.

  Jess shook her head. She was not letting this go. “No, it doesn’t.” She propped her hands on her hips and stood her ground. “There are always warnings when something like this happens. Always. People see what they want to see, or maybe they’re afraid or feel guilty and won’t admit what they noticed, but there are warnings. Always,” she repeated just in case he didn’t get it the two other times.

  He shrugged. “So no one noticed or no one wants to admit what they saw. Either way, Naomi Proctor committed suicide and we have no evidence Eric Spears was at the restaurant where victim four worked.”

  “Sierra Timmons,” Jess corrected.

  Gant frowned. He was annoyed at her insistence on following this lead. “What?”

  “Victim four’s name was Sierra Timmons.”

  Gant glanced at her case board then heaved a big breath. “No one wants to solve this case more than me, Harris. But what you have on Spears is nothing. You don’t have a witness who can place him at the restaurant during one of Proctor’s shifts even if that would prove anything. Your job is to help identify and anticipate the movements of the unsub in the Player case, not track down potential suspects. We have agents in the field for that. You’ve already stepped on too many toes with the locals in Richmond. The lead detective is more than a little pissed at you.”

  Jess didn’t care. No one was listening! She had two employees at the restaurant who kind of, sort of remembered Spears. But, unfortunately, Gant was correct. No one could corroborate Naomi’s story. And Jess was way outside her jurisdiction on this case. Still she argued. “Spears owns businesses in all five of the cities where the previous murders occurred.”

  “SpearNet is global, Harris. What city doesn’t he have assets in?” Gant challenged.

  Eric Spears was one of those “garage entr
epreneurs” who’d created a Fortune 500 company from nothing that had propelled him to the top of the top one percent.

  “He fits the profile.” There were a number of traits that identified a sociopathic serial killer. More than enough of those applied to Spears. Jess collapsed into her chair. She refused to give up on this lead. She was onto something. Dammit.

  “But he has no record. Nothing about his past screams serial killer.”

  Jess was the one heaving a big sigh now. “Just because no one ever caught him killing a puppy when he was a kid doesn’t mean he didn’t.”

  She had never met the man but she’d read the one interview he’d granted to GQ. Spears was a recluse for the most part. He’d created his international corporation, and now he gave his instructions from wherever in the world he decided to land for the day. He owned his own jet, among other things. Most who’d met him personally called him an arrogant genius. Spears had never been married and had no friends that Jess could find. Not that she could mention that particular fact since certain things she’d been doing weren’t technically in her job description.

  Not that being friendless outside of work made him a serial killer. If that were the case, most in the Behavioral Analysis Unit would fit the profile. Who had time for friends?

  “I warned you about this before, Harris.” Gant leaned across her desk and tapped the photos of Spears. “Your obsession with this case makes your assessments unreliable. This is why I took you off the case last year.”

  When she would have contended otherwise, he held up a hand to stop her. “You’re the best.” He glanced at the closed door. “Not that you have permission to tell that around, but it’s true. Be that as it may, this case has gotten under your skin and you’re operating on emotion. We all hit a brick wall on a case eventually, Harris. No one can find the killer every time. Not even you.”