“Please have a seat.” Nikki waved a hand toward the rectangular table in the center of the room. It was made of smoked glass and steel with five chairs arranged around it. Nikki moved to sit at the head of the table where there was a file folder, along with a pad and pen already neatly arranged.
Griff instinctively pulled out a chair for Carmen next to Nikki. She moved to sit down, her gaze briefly skimming over the room.
There was a flag on a stand in one corner, and a whiteboard on the wall next to the door. On the opposite wall there was a framed map of the United States.
It was all very austere, she decided.
Waiting until Griff was settled next to Carmen, Nikki folded her arms on top of the table.
“Now tell me what happened,” she said, her gaze locked on Griff.
In clipped tones he told Nikki about stopping at the icy bridge and then the SUV ramming them from behind. Nikki grabbed her pen, making quick notes.
“So you didn’t see who was driving or get a license number.”
“No,” Griff said.
“Do you know someone who might want you to be at the bottom of an icy river?” Nikki asked.
Griff hesitated before heaving a rough sigh. “I have a few guesses. But no proof.”
“I’ll see if I can get any video from the area that might have caught the SUV so I can pull a plate,” she told Griff. “I assume you’ll be checking out the rental agencies?”
Griff nodded. “And the local auto shops,” he added. “The driver will need to get the damage to his vehicle repaired before he can drive it on the highway.”
Nikki abruptly lifted her hand. “Don’t tell me how you get your intel.”
Griff shrugged, and Carmen’s gaze once again darted around the room. This time she realized they were being monitored by at least one camera. Maybe more.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her.
“Once we have proof of who is responsible we’ll contact the police,” Nikki said, her attention shifting to Carmen. “Until then, I’d like you to tell me everything you can about the pictures that were sent to you.”
Carmen clenched her hands in her lap, trying to match the other woman’s cool composure.
“Why?”
“I promise to explain my interest, but first I’d like to hear about the pictures.” Nikki offered a smile. It was as perfect as the rest of her. Straight white teeth, and just the right amount of professional charm.
She probably practiced in front of the mirror, Carmen thought. Then she heaved a small sigh. She was being a bitch because she felt grubby and tired and scared out of her mind.
This woman was an FBI agent. Exactly the person she’d desperately wanted to get involved in the investigation.
She wasn’t going to waste this opportunity because she was jealous.
Trying to match Griff ’s ability to share the pertinent points without getting bogged down with unnecessary detail, she told the woman about the package left on her porch, and the fact that it had been sent to her PR firm under a false name. She also made sure to point out the cops had refused to believe that the pictures were anything more than a publicity stunt, so she’d asked Griff to help her.
“A smart choice,” Nikki murmured, scribbling notes on her pad.
“Not so smart,” Griff disagreed. “I managed to trace the freight in the back of the freezer truck, but I let Carmen travel to Kansas City alone.”
Nikki lifted her head. “Did something happen?”
“I was cut on the arm,” she admitted.
“By who?” Nikki demanded.
“I’m not sure.” Carmen reached up to touch the wound, which remained tender. “The man was bundled in winter clothing and I didn’t notice I’d been hurt until I was in my room.”
Nikki stared at her as if trying to process why anyone would randomly slash a woman’s arm, before giving a slow shake of her head.
“Strange,” she murmured. “What about the flowers?”
Carmen blinked at the abrupt question, but then she remembered that Griff had sent photos of the roses to this woman.
“They were waiting when I returned to my hotel room. I didn’t see or speak with the deliveryman.”
Nikki’s gaze flickered toward Griff before returning to Carmen. “Sounds like a gift from a lover.”
Carmen shook her head. “They were from the same person who sent me the Polaroids.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they were a clear warning that the killer was going to Baltimore.”
Nikki set down her pen, laying her palms flat on the table as she leaned toward Carmen.
“Why Baltimore?”
“That’s where the second serial killer in my book hunted his prey,” Carmen said. “He was called the Professor.”
Nikki once again grabbed her pen. “I haven’t had the opportunity to read your book. Why don’t you give me a quick overview of the killers you profiled?”
Carmen hid a wry smile. The fact that this woman hadn’t read the book was probably a good thing. Carmen had spent an entire chapter detailing the FBI failures that allowed two of the killers in her book to remain on the streets.
“There are five of them,” she said.
“Why five?” Nikki asked.
Carmen shrugged. “They were the only ones who would agree to be interviewed.”
“And that’s the only reason you chose them?”
Carmen frowned in confusion. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“You didn’t have a personal connection to them?”
Personal connection? Carmen’s brows snapped together. What was the agent implying? That Carmen’s past was littered with friends who just happened to be serial killers?
“No,” she snapped. “I hadn’t met any of them until the actual interviews.”
Nikki held her gaze, almost as if she was judging whether Carmen was lying. Then she gave a small nod and scribbled something on her pad.
“Did any try to stay in contact after you were done with the interviews?”
Griff reached to lay his hand over Carmen’s fists, which were clenched in her lap. His touch was warm, soothing. Reminding her that Nikki wasn’t the enemy.
Carmen forced her stiff muscles to ease.
“Not that I know of,” she said. “I didn’t give any of them my personal contact information.” The original interviews had been set up while she was still in college, so she’d had all the original correspondence sent to her professor’s office.
Indifferent to Carmen’s attempt to remain reasonable, Nikki tapped her pen on the pad.
“Tell me about the killers,” she said. The words were a command, not a request.
Griff gave her fingers another squeeze, but this time Carmen was prepared for Nikki’s brusque style.
Instead of bristling, Carmen settled back in her seat and focused her mind on the men who’d become woven into the fabric of her life.
“The first was Neal Scott,” she told Nikki. “He was called the Trucker by the reporters for the obvious reason he drove a semitruck with a freezer trailer. He chose his victims from prostitutes who worked the truck stops along I-70. He would rape and kill them with a crowbar. Then he would keep the last victim hidden in his truck until he could find a new one.”
Nikki made several notes before she returned her gaze to Carmen.
“Number two?”
“The Professor,” Carmen said without hesitation. The sooner she finished with Nikki’s questions, the sooner she could learn why they’d been summoned to Chicago. She had to assume the FBI agent had a damned good reason for demanding they drive three hours to meet with her. “His real name was Dr. Franklin Hammel. He was an out-of-work English teacher in Baltimore who was obsessed with Edgar Allan Poe.”
Nikki glanced toward Griff. “You mentioned him when you sent me the pictures of the flowers in Carmen’s hotel room.”
Griff nodded. “His name was used on the credit card.”
A shudder shook through Carmen. All the men she’d interviewed had been monsters. But Franklin had truly terrified her. He had no remorse. No regret. As far as he was concerned, he was a creative genius who had the right to do whatever he wanted. And if he ever escaped from jail he wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
“He would snatch girls from the local campuses and use them as his muse,” she said.
Nikki sent her a quick glance. “Muse?”
“He raped and beat them for inspiration.”