Chapter 32 Chapter 32: The Partner
The Brooklyn FBI safe house was any other middle-class house on a green street, save for the agents who quietly parked in unmarked cars. Dr. Williams had insisted we stay there as the investigation progressed, and knowing about the victims' personal relationships, I could not argue against her caution.
"Tell me about Harrison's behavior when in custody," Dr. Williams directed as we went around the kitchen table reading files. "Did he ever mention that he worked with anyone else?"
I searched my memory for those final interviews prior to Harrison's death. "He was smug, thinking that he was better than everyone else. He talked about his 'work' like it was art, but never mentioned a word about a partner."
"And what about when he was actually stalking?" Alex asked. "Any sign that he had someone helping him?"
"The logistics always flummoxed me," I replied. "Harrison worked full-time as a hospital orderly, but he seemed to have known the victims' patterns, their daily routines. We thought he was stalking them, but maybe someone else was casing them out."
Detective Martinez had come to the evening briefing with new information from the NYPD analysis.
"We've been looking at the timing of the initial murders in relation to Harrison's schedule at work," she replied. "There are three instances where he was logged at the hospital where another person was following the victims on tape surveillance."
"So definitely someone else," Alex replied.
"It looks that way. The question is who and why they've waited three years to resurface."
Dr. Williams generated another document. "I've been examining Harrison's history, looking for links that may have fallen through. Raised in the foster system, moved from one set of parents to the next, time in jail for juveniles."
"Any of his foster siblings or detention center friends still in the area?"
"That's the thrilling part. Ninety percent of the records are sealed, but I did manage to find one link." She slid a photo down the table. "Marcus Webb, two years older than Harrison, same foster care home for eighteen months when Harrison was fifteen."
I took a look at the photo. Marcus Webb was unremarkable, the sort of chap you'd pass on the street without even acknowledging him. Brown hair, average build, plain face. "Where is he now?"
"That's the problem. Marcus Webb disappeared from public records eight years ago. No current address, no employment history, no social media footprint."
"Veteran felons are masters at staying under the radar," Detective Martinez said. "If Webb was Harrison's partner, he may have spent the past three years planning his return."
"But why now? Why wait so long to resume killing?"
"Maybe he needed time to get used to the killing of Harrison," Dr. Williams said. "Or maybe he was investigating the men who took down his partner, learning about them, learning how to strike back at them."
My phone buzzed with a text message from Tommy Chen: "Just saw the news about the murders. You okay? Do you need something?"
I showed the message to the others. "The veteran community has seen I'm working on this case. If Webb is acting against people who are associated with what I'm doing, they may be at risk too."
"We're going to have to extend protection," said Detective Martinez. "Not just for you and Alex, but for the main players in your veteran programs."
"That's a score of people in two dozen cities," I protested. "The FBI can't protect every individual who's ever had a professional connection with me."
"Then we must arrest Webb before he acquires a bigger list of targets," Dr. Williams replied firmly.
I stayed awake that night. I couldn't help but think of Harrison in that interrogation room, smiling as he'd talked about his victims. Had he thought of Webb the whole time? Had they discussed what would happen if one of them got caught?
I went to the kitchen and got out of bed, where Alex sat at the table with a laptop and a cup of coffee.
"Can't sleep either?" he asked.
"Too much to handle. Alex, my mind keeps going back to the timing. Webb emerges right when the veteran programs become a national model, right when we're receiving accolades for the policy work."
"You think he's envious of the good publicity we've been getting?"
"I think he's upset that we've moved on. That we've done something positive out of the horror of stalking Harrison." I sat down across from him. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to trace connections between the new victims and the first case. Jennifer Walsh, Sarah Walsh's cousin—she would have known things about Sarah's murder that weren't leaked to the media. She might have been Webb's source for copying Harrison's signature."
"So what about the others?"
"Maria Santos worked for a jewelry store that Gunny Santos mentioned in her Congressional testimony. Lisa Chen lived in the same apartment building that Alex's sister used to live before she was murdered."
I shivered. "Webb has been tracking us for years. Learning what we do, whom we love, what we are friends with."
"That means he knows about the veteran programs, about your transition to policy work, perhaps about our relationship."
"Alec, suppose the killings aren't really the actual plan. Suppose they're only meant to draw us back into case work so we won't do the work that matters."
"You mean Webb would like to kill all our efforts by sending us back into stalking killers instead of ending veteran suicides?"
"It's possible. Think about it—we've made it possible to create software that saves lives, informs policy, changes the way this country treats trauma survivors. What greater revenge than to destroy that by compelling us to relinquish it?"
Alex leaned back in his chair. "A lot of psychological acuity to attribute to someone we don't know much about."
"Harrison was psychologically astute too. And if Webb learned from him for years, he might have reached the same level of sophistication."
My phone had just called. Detective Martinez.
"Rachel, we have a problem. There's another murder, but this one is different."
"Different how?"
"The victim is somebody you know. Dr. Reynolds of the Chicago peer support program. She was found two hours ago, same modus operandi, but there was a message left behind."
I had the world stop. Dr. Reynolds was the state-licensed therapist who worked as the supervisor of Tommy's program. She'd trained peer counselors, developed safety procedures, and grown close to hundreds of veterans in recovery.
"What did the note say?"
"'The doctor couldn't save them. Neither can you.'"
I shot a look over at Alex, who had caught enough of the conversation to understand. Webb wasn't after people involved in the original case. He was after the veteran support network that we'd created.
"Detective, we need to offer protection to all of the mental health professionals working with the veteran programs. Not just in Chicago—all of them."
"Rachel, that's a few hundred people in dozens of cities. We can't offer it."
"Then we must cut this off before he kills someone else."
I hung up the phone and sat with Alex silently for a couple of minutes. The kitchen was no longer a refuge, but an ambush.
"Alec, I think we need to stop responding and start acting. Webb is controlling the entire situation, choosing targets, controlling the tempo, forcing us to respond on his timeline."
"What do you suggest?"
"We go public. Total media attention, press releases, documentaries. Make it impossible for him to sneak around in the dark."
"That could put more people at risk."
"Or perhaps it'll make him screw up. Now he's got all the things working for him—surprise, stealth, the element of choosing when and where to strike. If we saturate the zone with attention, we change the dynamic."
Alex sat in front of his laptop and started typing. "I can have something up on the Tribune site in an hour. National pickup by morning."
"What's the hook?"
"The truth. Sidekick to serial killer targets people who thwarted his accomplice, threatens veterans' programs spun out of the original investigation."
"That gets both our names out there."
"We're already in the first row, Rachel. The question is whether we're going to be passive victims or active agents in stopping it."
I thought of Dr. Reynolds, the veterans of Chicago who would be heartbroken at her death, of Tommy and the other peer counselors who would possibly blame themselves for not protecting her.
"Write the story," I instructed him. "But Alex—this time, we're not investigating. We're hunting."
As he was typing up the story that would make our careers, I realized that the case that had brought us together three years ago was demanding more than we'd ever delivered in the past. Snuggling up was no longer sufficient to capture the killer any longer. We had to protect everything we'd built from someone who wanted to destroy everything.
The game was changing, and this time we wouldn't just be trying to figure out murders. We'd be fighting for the viability of work that had saved hundreds of lives.