Authors: Cheryl Kaye Tardif
Rage engulfed me. "You're useless!"
Recalling my own personal humiliation, I mercilessly hammered at his head. The skull shifted and cracked beneath the pressure. I had no idea how many times I hit him. I never count.
Finally, I stood over his motionless body. Blood pooled beneath his head and spattered his face. Panting heavily, I grabbed the gas can and completely doused his barely conscious body. Then I set the can between his legs.
"No evidence," I muttered.
I gazed at the Ottawa River. In the distance, tiny lights blinked like sleepy stars on the water's surface. I had no fear of the boat lights. They were too far out to see anything.
I glanced at the boat tied to the dock. It was too dark to make out anything except a shadowy hulk.
"I wish it hadn't come to this," I said, my voice laced with regret.
I lit a long match and tossed it on Sampson's chest. Flames immediately slithered over his body. Staring into his glazed eyes, I saw him blink furiously.
The bastard was still alive.
I grinned.
Fire licked at his clothing, turning them to feathery ash within seconds. I saw his skin pucker and blister, and the air was filled with the scent of burning flesh and gasoline.
"No hard feelings, mate."
As I made my way to the boat, a waft of thick smoke hit me. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I breathed in the acrid air and gasped.
Jasi drew in a choked breath and was instantly jolted back to the present. Between bouts of coughing, she gagged as if she'd fed a cannibalistic desire and partaken of Porter Sampson's flesh. She could still smell his burning corpse.
She inhaled deeply from the Oxyblast canister, then leaned over, grasping both knees to keep her balance.
"I know who the victim is."
"Who?" Natassia asked.
Before Jasi could answer, Ben said, "Porter Sampson."
Her head jerked up. "How did you―?"
He held out a hand. Something small glistened in his palm. "Sampson had a gold cap on one of his molars."
She told them everything she'd seen.
Natassia gasped. "That's awful."
Jasi bagged the gold tooth. Her eyes flicked toward the fire pit. Porter Sampson had been cremated alive. That was something that would haunt Lorraine Sampson for the rest of her life.
"There's more," she said.
"What?"
"Sampson willingly met his killer. On a boat."
Jasi crouched over the cairn. After a crime scene photographer did his thing, she disassembled the cairn stone by stone, hoping the killer had left a clue.
He hadn't.
"I've arranged for a press conference," Matthew told her an hour later via data-com. "Live feed, on the six o'clock news."
She checked her watch. It was almost 4:30.
"I thought we were keeping quiet on this," she said.
"We have to control what the media releases," Matthew said. "I don't want there to be any unexpected leaks, so we'll feed them the information we want them to have."
"I understand. I'll let Ben know."
"Ben's not going to do it. You are."
Jasi was stunned. Matthew's policy had always been that the team leader was responsible for correspondence with media.
She swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"
There was a brief pause.
"Jasmine, you are more than qualified to lead a team. Just remember what you've been taught. Secure―"
"The scene," she finished. "Interview the witnesses and spin the story to the press in a way that doesn't reveal everything we know."
"You got it."
She could tell he was smiling.
"I can do it, sir."
After she hung up, she called the RCMP.
When a receptionist answered, Jasi said, "I need to speak with Constable O'Malley."
The call was transferred.
"O'Malley."
His voice had the rasp of a heavy smoker.
"This is Agent McLellan. We need to arrange a press conference for the six o'clock news."
"What do you need?"
"I was hoping you'd help coordinate the key players. You know your local media contacts better than I do."
"Fine. Leave it up to me."
O'Malley cleared his throat. "Do you have an ID yet?"
"We're pretty sure it's Porter Sampson."
The constable cursed. "So we
do
have a serial killer on the loose."
"It looks that way."
"Well, let's hope he's gotten whatever he's after."
"I have a feeling he's only just begun."
She disconnected the call, then made her way toward Ben and Natassia.
"They're removing the remains now," Natassia told her. "And I've bagged any evidence I could find near the scene."
"Find anything interesting?"
"A receipt for a case of beer, a used condom, a wad of gum―probably from one of the kids―and a piece of fiber that I found in the bushes. This is a popular place. Apparently most of the teen population hangs out around the river. It's kind of a Lover's Lane."
"Maybe the X-Disk found something."
"Ops is processing the data now," Ben said. "But that'll take a while."
Someone called Jasi's name.
Next to the fire pit, a woman in a heavy white jacket stood slowly, using a broken tree branch for support.
Jasi recognized her immediately. Faith Copeland.
"I wanted to show you something," Copeland said, limping around the edge of the pit.
"Are you all right?" Jasi asked.
"It's nothing. I twisted my ankle in the grass." Copeland leaned over and retrieved the skull. It was charred and there were bits of fried flesh and brain matter clinging to it. With a gloved finger, the pathologist traced the circular impressions in the scalp. "See anything familiar, Agent McLellan?"
"Same wounds as Winkler."
"Same wounds, same weapon."
Jasi sucked in a deep breath.
Same killer.
Copeland wasn't finished. "There are at least eighteen indentations this time, Agent McLellan. They're embedded much deeper than the last victim's wounds. You know what that means."
"The killer's rage is escalating."
Copeland nodded. "This victim didn't stand a chance. If we could only figure out what weapon leaves this kind of mark." Frustrated, she tamped the ground with the stick.
Jasi stared at the small impression in the earth.
Something about Paul Cahill's actions in the yacht club bar had triggered a glimmer, a thought that had never fully surfaced. Until now.
"Dr. Copeland, do you think the end of a pool cue could make these impressions?"
"It's possible, I suppose."
Jasi reached for her data-com. "Excuse me for a moment." She called Matthew.
"What do you have?" he asked.
"When I was at the yacht club talking to the Cahills, the son, Paul Cahill, was pissed at his old man. He stamped his pool cue into the carpet. I didn't think of it at first, but a cue has a round end and could be about an inch and a half in diameter. Can you get his cue and a sample of the carpet?"
"I'll get the warrants and send an evidence team out to the bar right away. Good work, Jasmine."
She thanked him and hung up.
Paul Cahill definitely exhibited signs of rage toward his father. But was this spoiled kid capable of such brutality?
Immediately, she pictured Winkler's crushed skull.
Was Monty Winkler clubbed with a pool cue?
As Faith Copeland sealed the skull in a large plastic bag, Jasi said, "We have reason to believe this victim is Porter Sampson."
Copeland was startled. "The man found unconscious in the park?"
"I'm guessing he somehow got away from his captor."
The pathologist's gaze was intense. "Why do you think it's him?"
"My partner found a gold tooth in the ashes."
It was certainly easier to suggest they'd made a possible ID from the tooth than to try to explain how Jasi had stepped into the mind of the killer and witnessed the murder firsthand.
"I see. I take it Mr. Sampson had a gold tooth, then."
"It's already bagged. I'll have Agent Prushenko turn it over to you."
She called Ben and Natassia over and introduced them to the pathologist.
Natassia gave Copeland the tooth.
"I should have a positive ID for you in a few hours," Copeland said, placing the bag in an evidence cooler. "I'll have a COD in about an hour."
"He died of smoke inhalation," Jasi blurted.
Copeland stared at her. "How do you know?"
"Just a wild guess."
The pathologist gave her a strange look, then hurried off.
Jasi turned to her partners. "The skull has the same wound pattern as Winkler's. Made by the same weapon. I'm thinking maybe Paul Cahill's pool cue."
Ben looked surprised. "What led you to that thought?"
Making her way toward the SUV, she told them about her conversation with Matthew. Then she said, "We have to get back to the hotel. O'Malley is scheduling a press conference for six. I need some time to prepare."
"Whose head is on the chopping block?" Ben asked.
"Mine."
"You?" He chuckled. "You're doing the conference?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He held up a hand and took a step back. "Hey, don't get defensive. I'm just surprised Matthew gave you the job of spokesperson. He usually saves that for your first official case as team leader."
"I can do this," she insisted.
"Of course you can," Natassia said. "Why are you giving her such a hard time, Ben?"
"Last time she tried to speak in front of a crowd, she froze up. When she finally said something, her voice came out in a mangled squeak." He grinned.
"That must have been awful for her. And here I thought she couldn't possibly be afraid of anything."
"If there's one thing you'll learn about Jasi, she'd rather be buried alive than speak to a mob of hungry reporters."
Jasi moved to the side of the SUV. "I can hear you two, you know."
"I'm not saying you won't do a good job," Ben said.
He let out a shrill sound that made her cringe. Then he broke into a laughing fit.
The bastard was mimicking her.
She climbed into the back seat and slammed the door in frustration. There was a brief delay before her partners climbed in front. When they did, their expressions were calm and composed. On the surface. But inside, she knew they were having a laugh fest.
"So…" Ben drawled, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror. "I take it you
don't
want to sit up here with me."
Jasi's eyes narrowed. "Oh, bite me!"
26
M
edia personnel from every local TV and radio
station, plus the major newspapers, gathered outside the Parliament buildings. As soon as Jasi stepped behind the microphone, the crowd began to buzz. And so did her nerves. Her heart hammered so hard in her chest she was sure everyone could hear it.
Rifling the papers in her hands, she took a few deep breaths. "Thank―" She flinched as her voice cracked. She began again. "Thank you, everyone. I'm agent Jasmine McLellan. I'm with the CFBI, and I'd like to assure you that we're doing our best to solve the two recent murders in your city."