“No. I was on vacation and saw it on the news. I’m glad I wasn’t here. Sometimes I prefer to watch the wrath of God from afar.”
“Wrath of God, huh? Think it’s that bad out there?”
She gave him a sidelong glance, trying to decide if he was mocking her. She had the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about the storm.
But Baldwin sat calmly, legs drawn up and hands dangling loosely in between.
“You never know,” she said lightly. “How are we going to find the boyfriend?”
“The moment we’re cleared to get out of here, we drive to Vanderbilt and take the place apart. Someone knows who these girls were seeing. From all you’ve told me, Shelby Kincaid didn’t necessarily confide in her parents. She could easily have been seeing someone as well. Three girls seeing the same man? If we’re right, now we have a suspect and a possible motive.”
“You mentioned cults earlier when we talked about the aconite. Do you think the girls were aware of each other, that the relationship with this man was open, so to speak? Or done in a group? You know how kids love to experiment. If they had a charismatic leader pushing them into a group situation...”
“It’s entirely possible. It all depends on our suspect. But I’m inclined to say no, simply because of the timing. It feels like he’s snatching and dumping, going through some sort of ritual sacrifice. But I’ve been wrong before.”
“I want to talk to Shelby’s mother again. I did get the sense there were things left unsaid during the interview.”
“You have good instincts. Follow them.”
“So do you,” she said, surprised how pleased she was by the compliment. “The problem is, we’re three steps behind this creep. I have the worst feeling, like he’s out there on the storm’s winds, doing something right now. Silly, I know.”
“It’s not silly at all. It’s how I always feel when I’m working a serial. Completely out of control, and every step I make could be the wrong one and cost a life. It’s the chance we take, working these cases, knowing no matter what we do, we might be too late.”
He said it without artifice, and she realized, for all the seriousness of the conversation, she enjoyed talking to him. You’re out of your mind, Jackson.
“Something else is bothering me,” she said. “They’re all so different. I mean, Jordan Blake was supposedly trouble on a stick, and her parents are quite absent. Shelby Kincaid was the extreme opposite, with overprotective parents and a reticent personality, super focused on her studies. Jill Gates is in between, and her parents certainly sound like they’re attentive, at the very least. Would one man be drawn to three wildly different personalities? I thought serials went for the same type.”
“The different personalities are interesting to me as well, but they all have similar physical characteristics. I think what makes them alike in looks attracted this man, not what made them different. What’s bothering me is the mixed presentation. Leaving semen and fingerprints tells me this is a disorganized killer. Multiple victims in a short time frame, staged scenes, the herbs, all point to a very organized offender. In other words, these could be his first crimes and he doesn’t know any better, doesn’t know how to clean up after himself. Or he could be very much in control, is building up to something bigger and splashier, thinks he’s smarter than us and will get away with it, or doesn’t care if he’s caught. Because he’s exhibiting hallmarks of both, that tells me he’s decompensating. He’s making mistakes now. I’m inclined to think he’s a disorganized offender, and there’s something else going on.”
“How do you do this? Profile, I mean. Quantico is on everyone’s radar right now. What y’all do up there is fascinating. Everything you just told me makes perfect sense, but how does it help us catch him?”
He tensed, and she mentally kicked herself. When he answered, his voice wasn’t as easy. “There’s a science to it, no doubt, but for most of us, it’s the ability to trust our gut. We rely on experience and instinct. Years and years of instinct. If you’re a good investigator, it rarely leads you wrong, until...” The unspoken words hung in the air. Until it does.
He was no longer relaxed, stood and started to pace. Taylor sighed to herself. And you were doing so well. Good job upsetting him. Another thought hit her, this one more immediate.
“Hey, Price? Do you think the generators came on in the jail?”
She could barely see the alarm on her boss’s face; the batteries were running down in their only flashlight, and the light was fading quickly.
“We’d better hope so. All of those locks are electronic—the doors would have swung open if the power was off for more than five minutes. Last thing we need, a bunch of half-cocked prisoners wandering the streets. How long have we been in here anyway?”
A small light glowed on Fitz’s wrist.
“’Bout a half hour, Cap. Think it’s cool to get out of here yet? I’m getting a little claustrophobic.”
“I think we’re good. Let’s go see what’s happened.”