The Bride Collector

15
THE METHOD AND execution of a taking were equal parts God and equal parts Quinton Gauld, being the messenger from God empowered to carry out his bidding on earth. What so few humans knew was just how thrilling being God’s proxy could be. Some knew, in the haze of a trance brought on by some hallucinogenic tea in the Amazon, or swaying to heavy music at the altar in church, but even these poor souls could not travel fluidly from human to divine as Quinton could.
Indeed, his hallucinogenic capacity was built in. What the medical community erroneously called illness was actually a fantastic gifting. He could as easily drift into what they called delusion as they could breathe.
It wasn’t really delusion, as he’d once been led to believe. When the doctors had captured him and shot him full of drugs, then yes, he’d believed their lies. But now, having lived so long without the drugs, he’d learned to embrace his connection to God for the true gift it was.
And now there was a devil hunting the messenger, a witch doctor bent on stealing the bride of Christ before Quinton could take her and deliver her to God. It was eerily similar to the movie Men in Black, in which monsters were out to stop highly gifted agents working for truth. Only in this case, the agent Rain Man was the monster, and he, Quinton Gauld, dressed in gray, was the gifted agent of God protecting his own.
His bride.
For his mission today, Quinton had taken the black Chrysler 300M. His abduction would occur during the day, and the FBI likely knew that he was driving a truck, based on the tire marks left in the soil at the scene of each killing. The 300M would glide along the highway without being noticed.
Quinton followed the police cruiser south on I-25, headed toward Castle Rock, careful to keep at least one, usually two cars between his own and the target. She wasn’t alone, which added a complication, but this didn’t mean he wasn’t up to the task. God was testing him. Seeing just how good he was before he walked the true and most beautiful bride down the aisle. The rest were a kind of prenuptial ceremony, preparing the way. A bride price offered to Father.
It was uncommon to find such a beautiful woman as this in law enforcement. He’d taken such a range of women, the last being a flight attendant, showing that he could snatch them from the sky as well as the ground. And now from the authorities, from right under their noses.
Quinton had long ago selected another woman who lived in Boulder, a college student in her twenties named Christine. But the Rain Man had inserted himself into the equation, and God had changed his mind. It was important that people learn their place in the pecking order. Rain Man was near the bottom of the pile, far below the favorites he was trying to save. Certainly far below the sunshine, being the rain.
A drizzly little pretty man.
Quinton whistled the old “You Are My Sunshine” tune, but he only got seven or eight notes in when the police car’s turn signal began to blink, indicating their intention to turn off the highway into the rest stop ahead. He held the tune and spun through his options. All of them. So many he couldn’t count them, but only a couple interested him much.
Of those that did, one rose as a solid possibility. They were making an unscheduled stop, likely to relieve a bladder or two. He needed only thirty seconds of quiet time with Theresa and her partner. Depending on how many other cars were in the rest stop, this might be the perfect thirty.
The cruiser broke right and angled up the ramp into the tall pine trees. Cover, plenty of it. Quinton’s pulse built steadily. The two cars between his and the cop car drove on, and he clicked on his right turn signal.
The silenced Browning nine-millimeter semiautomatic lay on the passenger seat, and he placed a gloved hand over the steel. He disliked guns because they were blunt, impersonal tools that were used to kill, and he wasn’t a killer. But they were sometimes useful as tools of motivation.
The 300M’s steel-belted radials glided over the asphalt up the ramp, like a blade on ice. Generally speaking the Americans made junk vehicles, but the 300M suited Quinton well. The tinted windows prevented passersby from seeing the occupant, and any person looking directly through the front windshield would see a dark-haired man wearing aviator sunglasses and black leather gloves, but beyond imagining Tommy Lee Jones from Men in Black, they would think nothing of it. Yet another common man trying to look suave was far less noticeable than a big farmer-boy type hauling around a meat cleaver.
The police cruiser pulled between two parking lines next to the restrooms. Quinton scanned the rest area and saw that they were two of only three cars and one eighteen-wheeler that looked bedded down. He let his pulse surge. He could not pass up this opportunity. God had sent him a gift.
Both doors on the cruiser opened. Quinton slowed his approach. Theresa got out first, a woman with a small bladder. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, easy to tuck up under her hat when she wore it. She looked stunning in her uniform. Casting a glance backward, she headed to the restrooms, followed immediately by her uniformed partner, name yet unknown to Quinton.
He pulled the 300M into a parking spot two down from the eighteen-wheeler and waited. His only prayer now was that their bladders would empty as quickly as they’d filled. The conditions were good at the moment, but that didn’t mean they would remain optimal.
Theresa, being the first to head in, was the first to head out. Working as smoothly as Tommy Lee Jones now, Quinton slipped out, shoved the pistol behind his belt, retrieved his case from the backseat, and locked the doors. Bleep.
After one last look up and down the driveway to be sure no one was pulling in, he headed toward the police cruiser. Theresa, being a cop, watched him. Watched her enemy approaching head-on, powerless to stop him. She likely assumed he was a salesman headed into the facilities.
Her partner, a bullish-looking man with red hair, came out, walking fast, eager to catch up with her. He probably had a thing for her and didn’t want to miss an opportunity to offer a witty come-on. Perhaps he wanted to take her back for a quickie.
Both saw him. Both watched him. But he acted nothing like anyone who’d want to harm a flea, much less them. And he didn’t have to act, because he really didn’t want to harm them any more than he’d wanted to slap Joshie in the restroom at Elway’s restaurant.
Quinton timed his approach, allowing them both to slide into their seats before he pulled the silenced weapon from behind his back and stepped up to the passenger door.
He shoved the barrel in Theresa’s face. “Get out, please.”
BRAD RAINES STOOD back and watched Roudy make quick work of the photographs, pinning each on a large map of Colorado he’d insisted they hang against the wall. Each time he pushed in a pin, he uttered a soft, “There we go. There we go.” Each of the five victims was already affixed to the map, surrounded by a dozen photos from each crime scene. The pictures formed a large symmetrical shape, but Brad had no clue what that shape could mean.
Next to the files of each crime sat half a dozen artifacts from the scene. The group had already spent twenty minutes poking and prodding, asking endless questions. But thus far, nothing of interest had presented itself to any of them. Getting all the photos up on the wall was Roudy’s inspiration, and he’d tackled the task with an animal-like frenzy. “There we go, there we go.”
Having satisfied some threshold in his mind, he sprang back. “Tell me the first thing that comes to mind. What do you see?”
Andrea and Paradise looked at Brad. Neither had been too talkative, evidently preferring to give Roudy his time in the sun.
“A butterfly?” Brad offered.
“Uh-ha. And now?”
He hadn’t changed a thing.
Brad humored him. “A… flower.”
“Interesting.”
“I don’t see what the point is, Roudy,” Andrea said.
“Understanding Agent Raines’s baseline helps me judge his methodology for perception,” Roudy said in a dismissive tone. “Please, no comments that don’t help the process.” He went back to studying the wall.
At the moment, Roudy’s methodology struck Brad as absurd. Certainly neither brilliant nor particularly insightful. But then, Brad didn’t think the way Roudy did. Either way, he hadn’t come for Sherlock’s insight.
He was here for Paradise.
She’d greeted him cordially enough but remained distant, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. Brad smelled the scent of shampoo when she passed. For the most part she stood by the window, watching Roudy and Andrea.
Andrea seemed more interested in Brad than in the case. In fact, the only one really engaged in the case was Roudy, who leaped about the evidence like a tiger dressed in gray corduroy pants and black bow tie. His hair was a rat’s nest, and his goatee had been twisted and bent in all directions by nervous fingers.
Brad’s conversation with Allison several hours earlier had come as a surprise to him. Rather than scold him for requesting a return to CWI, she paused only a second before agreeing. “And Nikki just might be right,” she’d said. “I say so for ulterior reasons, naturally. I care about your case, don’t get me wrong. But I’m more interested in seeing Paradise break out of her shell. What you’re suggesting will challenge her, but I think she could use a good head-to-head confrontation with a man.”
“I’m sorry, I think you’re misunderstanding me,” he’d said. “Nobody’s suggesting a head-to-head confrontation. I would only try to encourage her to trust me so that—”
“Oh, I realize what you’re doing, Mr. Raines. And I’m saying it will lead to conflict with someone like Paradise. But that may be good for her.” Then, after a pause: “Win her confidence, sir. Sweep her off her feet if you can. You have my full blessing.”
Brad had called Nikki at eight fifteen, right after he hung up with Allison, and informed her that the director had agreed. He was heading out to the center with the files as soon as he could get it all together. Nikki was headed to her mother’s for the day, but said she’d be available by phone and would check in the minute she got back in the afternoon. Maybe she could join them then.
Her reaction to finding the note on Brad’s window the previous night had surprised him. He found it interesting that Nikki, whom he’d always considered such a secure woman, had expressed some jealousy over Paradise. How could she have interpreted his care for her as anything more than concern?
Was there something in his voice or eyes that had drawn a question mark in her mind? Had she picked up on something that not even he consciously considered? Thinking about it now, in the same room as Paradise, made him feel self-conscious. The notion that Nikki had picked up on something distracted him from Roudy’s antics. If he looked at Paradise, would she see what Nikki had seen in his eyes? Would she get the wrong impression?
Then again, wasn’t he here to win her trust? He was, yes, but he felt awkward stepping in that direction. The whole idea of leading her on so that she might lower her guard and cough up the images trapped in her mind was offensive to him.
He glanced in her direction and saw that she was staring at him. To avoid any embarrassment, he shifted his eyes to Andrea. But she, too, was watching him. The blond beauty smiled, then looked at Paradise, who still hadn’t broken her stare.
Brad offered Paradise a gentle smile. “So, you’ve been quiet.”
“She’s had a couple of hard days,” Andrea said.
“I’m sorry to hear that. You okay?”
“Well, I’m not sure, Mr. Raines,” Paradise said. “They say I’m mentally ill, but even in my state of insanity I can see that you’re not getting what you came for.” Her arms were crossed and she held his gaze. From the corner of his eyes Brad could see that Andrea was glancing back and forth between them, surely picking up on this strange chemistry. Was this what Nikki had sensed? But it wasn’t anything to be jealous about. He and Paradise simply had an understanding. A connection that bypassed normal pretense. She was bone-deep honest, and he was attracted to people who exchanged society’s shell of propriety for such stark truth telling.
Then again, she wasn’t transparent, was she? Truth hid behind her eyes, in her mind. And if Nikki was right, she might be complicit in that hiding.
Paradise finally averted her eyes, lowered her arms, and walked toward the evidence spread all over the desk and wall. “So, let’s see if we can’t help him out a little. What do you say, Roudy? Right, Andrea?”
Roudy looked over his shoulder. “What do you think we’re doing? We’ve made tremendous headway already. I’m working as fast as humanly possible and then some.”
“Remember what you said,” Andrea said in a soft but firm tone. It sounded like a warning.
“I know what I said, Andrea, but I’ve changed my mind.”
Whatever had been said didn’t sit right between these two.
Paradise faced him, eyes bright now. “So, maybe it would be helpful if I summarized what we have here. Would that be helpful? Get us back on track?”
“Okay. Yes, that would be good.”
Roudy turned and lifted a finger. “The first question I’m considering is, Why? The why before the who. And on that front, I do have some thoughts.”
“If you don’t mind, Roudy,” Brad said, “I would like to hear what Paradise has to say.” The man looked shocked. “Before you offer your full analysis.” That calmed him.
Paradise caught his eye, and for the first time she hinted at a smile, as if to say, That was nice of you, thinking of me without dismissing Roudy.
“Should I give you thoughts on why, then?”
“Yes. Roudy?”
“Yes. Yes, by all means.”
“I have some thoughts, too,” Andrea said, stepping closer to Brad. “They don’t call me Brains for nothing. But I’m good with more than just my mind, as you can probably see.”
Paradise shot her a stern warning. “Andrea!”
“I have to take a shower, Paradise.” Andrea’s face wrinkled in pain. “I feel dirty.”
“Then you’ll have to go on your own.” Her tone softened. “Our guest is depending on us to help him.”
This was like playing a game with children. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was some kind of rivalry brewing here. Surely not over him…
“Paradise?”
“Thank you.” She looked up at the three notes pinned to the right of the map. “It’s painfully clear that the Bride Collector is psychotic. He sees himself as God’s messenger, thwarting a terrible evil. It’s the most common kind of delusion suffered by even the most intelligent psychotics. Thoughts of grand plots to upset the war between good and evil invade his every waking moment.”
“This is more the who,” Roudy said.
“No, this is the why,” she returned. “Let me finish.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry,” Andrea said. “Sorry, sorry.”
“As I was saying, the Bride Collector is doing the right thing in his eyes. He knows he’s evil, and thinks of himself as a demon who is enslaved and tasked to find the bride of Christ. This is why, Roudy. He is taking these women because God has chosen them, through him. If he decides, it’s God’s decision.”
Her theory was similar to Nikki’s, but somehow more complete and certain. And with only a few minutes’ exposure to the evidence.
“What else?” Brad asked, fascinated by her insight.
Paradise stared at the victims spread like angels on the wall of each crime scene. A tear from her right eye ran down her cheek. She walked up to the wall and traced the picture of the latest victim, whom she’d seen in person two days earlier.
“In his mind, taking their lives is a necessary act. He does it for their sakes as much as for God’s purpose. There’s no anger. No revenge. He wouldn’t take someone because he’s angry with them.”
“So he wouldn’t kill a victim out of, say, spite.”
“No,” Roudy said. “If you don’t mind me interjecting.”
“Go ahead, Roudy.” Brad walked up behind Paradise. The scent of her shampoo lingered in the air. She glanced up as he came close, then quickly looked at the wall again.
“The question is, Who’s next?” Roudy said. “We must fixate on that question. Who, who, who, not just the why. And I do have a theory.”
The man seemed to be contradicting himself. “Do you mind if Paradise finishes?” Brad said, looking down on her dark hair. It was parted in the middle and ran in long strands down either side of her head, recently combed but unevenly cut and with split ends.
“Don’t delay me much longer, Agent Raines. I have some light to shed here!”
“Of course. But I think Paradise has hit on something crucial.” He was deferring to her in part to show her a preference that would earn her trust, but it wasn’t all posturing on his part. Her analysis really was quite amazing.
“Don’t forget about me,” Andrea said, stepping up on Brad’s other side. He ignored her for the moment, at a loss.
“Please continue, Paradise.”
She looked up into his eyes, and again they shared a moment of connection. “Thank you,” she said.
Then, frowning at the wall of pictures: “No, I don’t think the Bride Collector would kill someone just to hurt that person. I don’t think he’s wired that way.”
“Be quiet!” Andrea whispered, looked at the corner. “I will.” Beat. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry.”
They ignored her.
“But he would see you differently, Mr. Raines. You’re not a woman. In his mind, you’re the one trying to stop him from doing God’s will. If he’s evil, you are even worse. And he will try to stop you.”
“How?”
“He’ll try to kill you.”
The room went silent. A hand gently touched his right palm. Andrea slipped her fingers into his hand. He felt frozen, standing with Paradise on his left engrossed in the case, and Andrea on his right obeying the voices that had told her to win his affection. It couldn’t be…
But one glance into Andrea’s big blue seductive eyes, and he knew it was. He’d never been hit on so blatantly by such a stunning woman, any woman for that matter. She clearly didn’t have the social sensitivities that kept most men and women at arm’s length. Brad tried to pull his hand free and had to tug to accomplish separation. Her face fell, then twisted in pain. “I need to take a shower, Paradise! I need to take a shower right now!”
“No, it’s okay, Andrea,” Brad said. Then he said something he was sure he’d regret later, but saying it felt right. “I need to… stay with Paradise, okay? Maybe Casanova can help you out.”
She stepped back, horrified. “Cass? Cass is a dirty old man!” she cried. “Is that what you have in mind? Are you going to rape Paradise? Is that it, FBI, are you going to take advantage of her when no one is looking?”
“That is totally inappropriate!” Paradise said, brushing past Brad. “Totally. Stop listening to Betty or whoever is whispering that nonsense into your ear. I know you are used to being the center of attention with all the men, but it’s not always all about you. So stop this.” Then she added, as if to make sure she wasn’t misunderstood, “We have a woman to save here. And Brad’s life might be in danger. He’s the victim here, not the criminal.”
“My, my, my, this won’t do,” Roudy said, massaging his scalp. “They’re waiting for my report!”
Paradise quickly pulled Andrea back in, speaking with the skill of a seasoned counselor. “We need you, Andrea. None of us can read the tea leaves the way you can. There’s a pattern here. Roudy is right about that. There’s a jack in the whole and you may be the one to help us find it, so please, please don’t listen to Betty.”
A jack in the whole? “What jack in the whole?”
“A pattern,” Roudy said. “That’s my point. He left us with a jack in the whole.”