Page 9 of Dark Angel
The images of young girls smiling pinned beside graphic crime scene photographs caught her by surprise. Styles hadn’t spoken of any cases. His chatter over lunch and dinner had been about himself or the virtues of Rattlesnake Creek. She walked along the whiteboard, but half of the images didn’t correspond to the victims. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she looked closer, taking in the details. As she stared at each of the fifteen images, the door to the office slid open and Styles walked in surrounded by a cloud of cologne. She turned to look at him. “Morning.”
“You’re early.” Styles grinned at her. “I’m usually here by eight-thirty. First person in makes the coffee.” He held out a takeout box from the bakery. “I’ll supply the food.” He dropped the box on the counter and slid a carton of cream into the small refrigerator set into the kitchenette.
Beth walked over and peered into the overflowing box. “I’ll walk to the deli for lunch. I get hyper on too much sugar.” She chuckled, imagining running through the streets with a carving knife after indulging in a box of donuts. “It’s not a good look.”
“In the bag there are sandwiches, bagels, and muffins.” Styles shrugged. “I’ll eat whatever you won’t. Maybe you should work out?”
Beth nodded. “I usually do but I’ll need to find a gym that opens around six. I went for a run this morning, but the cold is murder on the lungs.”
“No need.” He placed the sandwiches in the refrigerator. “The gym is the door before my apartment. When they renovated this building for the FBI, as we are expected to live here, it was included. It has everything you need to keep fit. I even have a baseball pitching machine in a batting cage I can use to let off steam. If nothing works for you, there’s the option of sparring with me.” He chuckled as if it were a remote possibility. “And there’s a hot tub. Great for warming up on cold winter nights.”
Rolling her eyes at the wall, Beth filled the coffee machine with water. “I use weights and a punching bag most times.” She flicked him a glance over one shoulder. “Sparring would be good but I don’t want to hurt you.” She chuckled. “Although after the show you gave me last night, you’d be a worthy opponent.”
“You’re on.” Styles took down the tin of coffee beans and lifted down a grinder. “I’ve read your file You excel in all schools of hand-to-hand combat but you won’t hurt me.”
Laughing, Beth raised both eyebrows. “Don’t be too sure. I might be average in size, but I’ve taken down my fair share of perps.”
“Yeah, but in this town you need to be street smart. The miners gangs are just louts, most carry hunting knives but rarely firearms. The rest of the population, men and women, if you draw down on them, it will be a gunfight, so try to avoid that at all costs.” Styles shrugged. “As you witnessed last night, there are no rules. When they come at you—and they will—they’ll use every dirty trick in the book.” His eyes rested on her face as if waiting for her to contradict him. “This office covers many remote towns, mountain areas with unknown threats. You’ll need to be ready for anything. Are you ready to face the unknown, Beth?”
“Oh yeah, I am but that’s why I carry a weapon. I’m not planning on being beaten down by a group of thugs. Did they tell you I’m a marksman too? Or should that be marksperson?” Not wanting to divulge the extent of her skills, which included being an herbalist of the deadliest kind and a knowledge of drugs and their effects that would rival a specialist, Beth met his gaze. “The problem is, by taking the law into your own hands, you risk prosecution. Have you had many complaints made against you?”
“The miners work in camps, so they’re always in gangs.” Styles scratched his chin and dropped his gaze. “Do you figure they’d like everyone in town knowing I beat them in a fight? The local townsfolks are grateful I’m here to assist the sheriff.” He sighed and lifted his gaze. “This is the way I roll, Beth. I hope you’re not gonna be a problem?”
A problem? Not at all, Beth admired the maverick trait in him. She shook her head. “Me? Now you’re making me sound like a spoiled brat.” She snorted and, hiding a smile, pressed her fists into her hips. “What I saw was five or six bullies beating down on a pizza delivery guy. You called them out and they attacked you.” She raised one eyebrow. “You handled it. End of story.”
“That’s good to know.” Styles smiled at her. “I’ll sleep easier knowing you’re not here to keep tabs on me.”
That goes both ways, I hope.Beth turned away and indicated to the whiteboard to change the subject. “Is that our case?”
“Yeah, well it’s out there for everyone. The first two murders are in the cold case files now. The others are live but now we know he’s still out there. There was a break of two years and then we found another, same MO, less than a month ago. She died and her best friend is missing. He hasn’t stopped killing. This one happened just last week. There’s no autopsy report, just a local MD’s report. The body is on ice until someone figures who to call.” His gaze narrowed. “Seven murders and seven missing girls. He’s taking them in twos, killing one and, we assume, taking the other to places unknown.”
Beth walked up and down the whiteboard and examined each photograph with care. “These are familiar. There was a psychopathic killer with a similar MO working out of Idaho.” She moved from image to image, pointing at a pile of neatly folded clothes set beside each body. “What does this behavior say to you?”
“The guy was a neat freak.” Styles looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Most animals that rape and murder girls are in kind of a hurry.”
He was missing a crucial point. Beth blew out a breath in frustration and then poked a finger at the images one by one. “I’m seeing an organized psychopath living out a fantasy. Everything he does is part of the vision in his mind. He’s reliving his first kill over and over. It’s not unusual. Serial killers often do this. Can’t you see the bodies were laid out post-mortem? He wasn’t in a hurry. He took his time and enjoyed himself. The clothes folded neatly beside the victims is a signature. It’s his calling card.” She turned to look at him. “Did they find any evidence at the crime scene relating to any of the other missing girls?”
“As far as I recall, they found one shoe alongside the highway.” Styles shrugged. “Apart from that, nothing.” He poured coffee into two tall cups and looked at her. “I’d like to know how he does it.” His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed. “How he separates the girls and keeps them quiet long enough to murder one of them.” He sipped his coffee. “Both girls should be screaming or trying to escape, but no one ever hears a sound.”
Allowing the old case to filter through her mind, Beth added cream to her coffee and took a sip. She regarded Styles over the rim. “The Idaho killer had a similar MO. They called him the Pied Piper, like the old story about the kids from a village disappearing never to be seen again. The Idaho killer only took one girl at a time and the murders stopped some time ago. Did the bodies of the girls this new guy abducted ever show?”
“Nope.” Styles rubbed the back of his neck. “We never found a trace of them. No bodies. Nothing.”
Everything was so familiar. Everything she understood about serial killers told her the Pied Piper had found a new comfort zone. He was out of control and would make a mistake soon enough. The hairs on the back of Beth’s neck prickled and she looked away. She’d once seen her reflection when her dark side was out for vengeance, and seeing the brutal fate of so many innocent lives had set off a chain reaction. Fighting to gain control, she stared at the whiteboard. Her throat tightened as she scanned close-up images of the victims. “Do we have the autopsy reports? Anything more on the crime scene?”
“Yeah, we do.” Styles pulled a cookie from a jar on the counter. “It’s harrowing reading.”
Gathering her wits, Beth snorted. “Harrowing is an understatement. What kind of guy does that much damage to a child and then hangs around to fold up their clothes? We need to take down this guy. This isn’t someone who can be rehabilitated. This is an animal.” She stared at him. “Don’t you agree?”
“It just happens that I do. I figure we have as good a chance as anyone to catch him.” He gave her a searching look. “From what I hear, you never give up.” He sighed. “As much as I’d like ten minutes alone with this animal, when we catch him we’ll let the courts decide his fate.”
Beth smiled. “That’s why we’re carrying the badges.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He stared at the whiteboard and shook his head slowly in dismay. “All we can do is hunt down leads and hope we find a trail that leads to him.”
Beth smiled. “Oh, there’s always a trail. We’ll just have to look harder.”
“Talking about animals.” He gave Beth a long look. “Do you like dogs?”
