Profile of Terror (21 page)

The two became engaged their junior year at college.  By then, her parents had come around and rejoiced as much as she did.  In three short days, she and Justin would be married, just like she'd dreamed every day since she met him.  He'd just finished his probationary period for the State Police, and she'd accepted a job at Purdue University where she would graduate.  Everything was working out so perfectly.

Destiny had gotten out of her car, locked it, and was walking toward the church when a white van pulled into the parking lot.  A young man in a baker's uniform called out his window, "Hey, are you Destiny Cooke?"

She eyed him warily until she spotted the "Grand Events Catering" magnetic sign on the side of the van.  "Yes, I'm Destiny."

"Well, congratulations, Ms. Cooke," he said as he hopped out of the van.  "We're the caterers for your rehearsal dinner tonight.  And may I say we've cooked and baked up quite a feast.  I think you will agree."

"I'm sure everything will be wonderful." Destiny turned to head to the church.

"Ms. Cooke, if I could have just a minute of your time, there's something very special I need to show you before you go inside."

"Couldn't it wait?  I don't want to be late for the rehearsal."

"It's really important or I wouldn't ask.  My boss says he'll fire me if I don't get your signed approval on this special cake we baked for tonight."  When she hesitated, he added, "Please, Ms. Cooke.  I need my job."

"Well, okay.  As long as it doesn't take much time."

He crossed his heart with his index finger.  "Cross my heart. I promise.  Just a second.  That's all."

Leading Destiny around the van to the back, he grasped her arm as he opened the double door.  Another man, wearing a baker's uniform, jumped out.  A hypodermic needle was in his hand. 

Jerking her arm away from the first man, she made a break for the church, but only got as far as the front of the van when she was grabbed from behind.  Stomping on his instep as hard as she could, she broke away from him as he bent, howling with pain.  Destiny had gotten close to the church and to help when the second man reached her, slamming his stun gun against her neck until she collapsed.

Devan picked up Destiny's limp body, shoved her into the back of the van, and then raced to the driver's seat, while Evan, retrieved the syringe of Rohypnol.

<><><> 

At her second interview with him, Carly pushed the map of Shawnee, along with surrounding counties, across the table to Ryder, who glanced at it and said, "This looks just like the map Sheriff Shitface tried to show me the other day."

"You will refer to him with respect and call him Sheriff Chase.  And yes, this is the same map."

"I am not surprised Sheriff
Chase
shared his map with you.  He's sharing a lot of things with you these days, isn't he?  Like his bedroom, his bed."

"Stop it."

"What's the matter? Don't your fellow agents who are watching and listening to this interview via closed-circuit television know that Special Agent Stone is living with Sheriff Chase, and shares his bed on a nightly basis?"

Furious, Carly pushed her chair back and headed for the door.  She had her hand on the door knob when she heard Ryder whisper something.

Stopping at the door, she looked back and asked, "What did you say?"

"Gamers.  Is that name familiar to you?"

Returning to the table, she sat down.  "Let's get back to the map.  Let's talk about additional victims and where you buried them."

"I'm bored with those questions.  Let's talk about the Gamers," he said with a smirk.  "You need me more than I need you, so I'm changing the subject to the case you're working."

"What case?"

"You know I'm talking about that Purdue coed murder. What was her name?  Abby something. Perhaps I can help with that."

"Let's make something very clear.  This is not
Silence of the Lambs
.  You are
not
Hannibal Lecter, and I am
not
Clarice Starling.  We definitely don't need your help to solve a murder case."

"What would you say if I told you I received a note from the Gamers?"

"I'd say that you were lying.  Agents turned your cell upside down and there was no note."

"But there
was
a note.  I used to be a cop.  Do you really think I didn't know my cell would be searched?"

"If the note exists, where is it?"

"I ate it, and it wasn't all that tasty."

"No more games, Ryder," Carly seethed.  "Additional victims?  Where are they buried?"

"They attended my trial."

"Who?"

"The Gamers. Well, at least one of them did. According to the note, I'm one of their heroes, and they intend to take up where I left off.  What better way to impress me than a murder the good sheriff and team are chasing their tails trying to solve?"

"You're a sick, vile excuse of a human being, Ryder."

The now-familiar knock at the door signaled the end of the interview.

Ryder's grin was decidedly nasty. "And that is why I am so interesting to you."

Carly entered the observation room where Special Agent in Charge Sam Isley, Dr. Anderson, Susan Black, and Brody sat around the conference table.

"Before you ask, yes, he is telling the truth about whoever he is referring to as the Gamers," Susan Black said to Carly.

"I'm confused," said Sam Isley.  "Who are the Gamers, and what the hell is Ryder talking about?"

Brody spoke up.  "Recently a Purdue University coed was murdered.  Her body was found naked and posed in an alley beside a seedy bar in Morel.  The Gamers — whoever they are —   took credit for the killing and promised more."

"Do you think they really contacted Ryder?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it," said Susan Brown.

"If I have profiled them correctly, they are the type of men who crave recognition, possibly even from someone like Ryder.  Heaven help us if Ryder is their role model," Carly stated, her expression troubled.

"There's another thing of which I'm sure," Susan Brown began. "You should go back in there and show Ryder the victims' photos.  Get him to tell us where they're buried."

Sam and Dr. Anderson nodded in agreement, so Carly returned to the interview room.

"You're back again, and so soon." Ryder sneered at her.

Laying a folder on the table, Carly eased herself down and met Ryder's eyes head-on.  "I'm going to show you some photos of girls who have disappeared.  Each of them communicated with you online.  I want you to tell me their names, and where you buried them."

Ryder smirked.  "I'd be more interested in some photos of you, preferably without clothes."

Ignoring his remark, Carly pulled a stack of 5" by 7" photos from the folder.  She held up the first one. "What is her name?"

"I don't know."

"I think you
do
know her.  You and she communicated on Teen Chat for six months before she agreed to join you in Morel."

"Like that's a good clue.  Are you kidding me?"

"She's from Battle Lake, Minnesota.  We have a copy of her bus ticket to Morel.  She arrived in December, three years ago.  Ring a bell?"

"Oh, yeah, that's Leeann something?  Can't remember her last name."

"Leeann Stetler was her name."  Unfolding the Shawnee County map, she pushed it across the table to him.  "Where did you bury her?"

"I might have buried her in my back yard."

"Hear that sound, Ryder?  That's my  bullshit alarm going off.  Don't make the mistake of lying to me.  I was there the day the Shawnee County deputies excavated your yard, front and back.  No bodies were found."

Shifting in his seat, he stared at the map. "We'll have to come back to that one. I recall having a damn good time with her, but I can't remember where I put her.  Doesn't mean I won't remember.  I just don't right now.  Give me time to think about it."

Carly pushed Leeann's photo into the folder, then picked up another from the stack.  "Who's this girl?"

Squinting as he considered the girl in the photo, Ryder said, "That one really looks familiar.  Let me think."

"Here's a couple of hints.  She was only fourteen when this school photo was taken —"

"Wait!"  Ryder held up his hand.  "That's Delores Fulton.  She called herself 'Dee.'  I remember her because Erin got sick and couldn't meet her at the bus station.  I had to go instead.  I was scared shitless that someone would recognize me and ask me what I was doing there.  Luckily, it was before any surveillance cameras were installed.  Her bus was ninety minutes late, and then she made a fuss about not getting in my truck because she didn't know me.  I finally persuaded her that I was Anthony's father and that he was meeting us at the house."

"Where is she?"

"I don't think I buried her in Shawnee County.  In fact, I didn't bury her at all.  I dumped her in Tippecanoe County in a corn field near Shadeland.  I kept waiting for the farmer to find her and report it.  But no one did."

"We'll check it out." Carly withdrew another photo, which she gave to Ryder.

Scrutinizing the photo of the girl, a slow, evil smile spread over his face.  "Joy Marshall," Ryder said.  "That little bitch would be hard to forget.  She bit me and left scratches so deep on my arms, I had to wear long sleeves in the heat of summer that year."

Carly pointed to the map. "Show me where you dumped or buried her."

After several minutes of moving his index finger across different areas of the map, Ryder stopped.  "It's here.  I think I buried her in this area. "

Carly looked at the area he was pinpointing. "Can't you narrow it down?"

"No, I can't.  At least not with a map.  I'd have to take you there."

A knock on the door notified Carly to stop the interview.  "That's enough for now.  I'll get one of the guards to come in so you can take a break."

"Always good to see you, Special Agent Stone."

In the observation room, Carly spread out the map so that Brody could identify the area Ryder indicated.  "I know where this is," he began.  "It's located off State Road 341, just east of Hillsboro.  The area is miles and miles of flat land, with equal parts of farmland and forest.  There aren't many houses in this part of the county.  It might be a good place to dump or bury a body, but it's a terrible place to find one."