The Killing League

17.

Mack

When Mack built his home in Florida, he took special care in the location of his office. The main goal was to make it separate from any living area that he and Janice would share. He also made sure his office door had a lock. He didn’t need Janice to see photos of murder victims plastered along the wall.

Ultimately he chose to put the study on the other side of his bedroom with a door that was kept locked. Only he and Adelia had a key.

Now, he sat in the study, staring at the walls covered with maps and photographs, each representing a serial killer he knew was active at this very moment.

He hadn’t shared everything with the students at Quantico, but just about everything. He’d left out a few key details.

Of all of them, he felt closest to catching the I-75 killer. He just needed the reports from the Trucking Commission. Once he had those, he knew he’d be close. He felt a momentary flash of anger and frustration that he had not yet received the information. It always amazed him at the callousness of bureaucracies. People became so immersed in the mundane daily task of paperwork and menial jobs that they forgot how important small things could be. In this case, a request from an FBI agent was met with silence. How many more lives would be lost because some clerk at a trucking organization hated his job?

Mack made a mental note to send a second request for the records, this one with some vaguely threatening language that would be sure to get the ball rolling.

He looked at the map and the other cases. The blonde girls in suburban Chicago. He felt very good about his profile on that one. Mack was sure the perp lived in the area. Probably a man, mid to late thirties, middle-class, in a position of authority within the community. Most likely married with a family of his own, but unhappy with his life.

The profile was as thorough as he could make it. But so far, no one had officially requested his thoughts on the case. Local law enforcement had to request help from the FBI, and if they had, Whidby had prevented the request from filtering down to Mack.

He also felt good about his profile in the series of missing prostitutes in Boston. Several eyewitnesses had reported a luxury sedan, either a Mercedes or a BMW, in the vicinity when the girls were said to have gone missing.

This one was a highly organized killer, Mack knew. To snatch prostitutes, most likely kill them, and keep the bodies hidden required some careful planning. If in fact the perp drove an expensive car, it meant he was most likely a white male, above average intelligence, narcissistic and concerned wholly with satisfying his own pleasures.

The profile reminded him of Jeffrey Kostner. Kostner had raped, tortured and killed six women before finally meeting his match in Nicole Candela. Mack thought briefly of Nicole Candela. Wondered how she was doing.

But most of all, he wondered if she ever thought about him.

There was a knock on the office door.

“I’m ready!” Janice called out.

Mack shut down his computer, stepped out of the office, closing and locking the door behind him.

Janice had on shorts, a tank top and her walking shoes.

“I want to see some birds!” she said.

Mack smiled. “Me, too.”

He put on his running shoes, closed up the house, set the alarm and walked outside with Janice.

There was a nature preserve at the end of their street. It was Janice’s favorite place in the world. There were at least six different trails. One took walkers along a narrow river, another deep into the marsh, and another often treated hikers to a sight of wild pigs crashing through the underbrush.

“Let’s do the water one,” Janice said. Mack knew she meant the river trail.

“That sounds good,” he said.

“That’s where the man was watching me,” Janice said. She pointed toward the side of the house where her bedroom was located.

Mack walked over and looked at the grass. He saw no signs of foot traffic, but the grass was the Florida variety, thick and almost plastic-like.

He looked up at the house. There was motion lights at the front and rear of the house, but not on this side. However, the alarm system was state-of-the-art. And Janice’s windows were always locked shut, for various reasons.

“Come on, let’s go!” Janice sang out. Mack loved these walks with his sister. He couldn’t help but be reminded of when she was a little girl, all happy and smiles and laughter.

They walked down the long drive toward the street. She slipped her hand inside his.

Mack smiled.

Janice swung her arms and began to skip down the driveway.

“What the heck,” Mack said.

And he started skipping with his sister.