Briggs and Sterling arrived back at the house late that night. None of us were asleep. We’d gathered in the kitchen, first to eat and then to
wait. Around midnight, Judd had come in to chase us all to bed, but he’d ended up putting on a pot of coffee instead. By the time Agents Briggs and Sterling pushed open the door to the kitchen to see us crowded around the table, Sloane was just starting to wind down. The rest of us were silent—and had been for most of the night.
“Contents of Trina Simms’s pockets.” Briggs threw a clear plastic bag lightly down onto the table in front of us. Inside the bag was a single playing card—the king of spades.
“I wanted to be wrong.” That was all Dean said at first. He slid the evidence bag to the edge of the table, but didn’t pick it up. “I should have been wrong.”
“What put the idea in your head?” Agent Sterling sounded hoarse. I wondered if she and Briggs had spent the evening yelling orders at people, or if finding out that the man who had kidnapped and tortured her now had a partner on the outside had taken a toll.
“I was profiling our UNSUB.” Dean wasn’t hoarse. He spoke in slow, even tones, his fingers playing with the edge of the card through the plastic. “I thought our guy might have targeted Trina Simms because if my father weren’t in prison, he would have killed her himself. It made sense, the
UNSUB’s believing that killing Trina was a step toward becoming my father. But then”—Dean pulled his hand back from the card—”I thought about the fact that we’d gone to see her, Cassie and Michael and me.”
I wasn’t sure why that made a difference, why our visit had taken Dean from thinking that this was a copycat to thinking his father was involved, but he spelled it out for us, in brutal, uncompromising terms.
“I met her. I didn’t like her. She died.”
Like Gloria, the woman that Daniel Redding had introduced to his young son. I told him I didn’t want a new mother. And he looked at Gloria and said, “That’s a shame.”
“I wanted that to be a coincidence,” Dean continued. His hands folded themselves into fists in his lap, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. “But then I thought about the fact that when I was in the interrogation room with my father, he knew where to look for the professor.” Dean shrugged. “That made sense. The professor had interviewed him multiple times. He was writing a book. Of course he might have mentioned his writing cabin.” Dean turned to address the next words to Agent Briggs. “We should have known.”
Lia picked up Dean’s train of thought. “He told you the truth about the professor’s location, but not the whole truth. That’s what he does. He deals in technicalities and half-truths and seemingly white lies.”
Dean didn’t turn to look at Lia, but underneath the table, I saw his hand find its way briefly to hers. She grabbed hold of his and squeezed, hard enough that I wasn’t sure she’d ever let go.
“I always knew that he was messing with our minds,” Dean said. “I knew that he was manipulating us, but I should have at least considered the possibility that he was pulling our UNSUB’s strings as well. People are just puppets to him, players on his stage.”
“You told Briggs to look in the victim’s pocket.” I tried to get Dean to focus on specifics. Talking about concrete details was the only thing I could think of to help him keep the big picture at bay. “How did you know there would be something there?”
“I didn’t.” Dean lifted his eyes to mine. “But I did know that if my father was involved, if Trina died because I went to see her, he’d want me to know.”
He’d want to send a message. That Dean was his. That Dean had always been his. He wasn’t his mother’s. He didn’t belong to the FBI. He didn’t even belong to himself. That was the message that Daniel Redding had sent his son, all with one little card.
“It’s not just for you, Dean.” Agent Sterling had been remarkably quiet this whole time. “It’s for us, too—Briggs and me. He wants us to know that we’re playing his game.” Her lips pulled back, halfway between a grimace and a hard-edged smile. “He wants us to know that he’s winning.”
She pressed her lips together, then bared her teeth. “We should have seen it.” The words that Agent Sterling had been holding back this entire conversation burst out of her mouth. “I should have seen it. The first murder showed all the hallmarks of an organized killer—the planning, the lack of physical evidence, the supplies the UNSUB brought to the scene. But there were things that didn’t fit. The use of the car antenna to strangle the girl. The fact that the UNSUB attacked from behind. Dumping the body in a public location. That’s impulsiveness, deviation from a set plan, and signs of self- confidence issues.” Sterling blew out a long breath, willing her temper to dispel. “Organized. Disorganized. When a crime scene has the hallmarks of both, you’re either dealing with an inexperienced UNSUB who’s refining his technique—or you’re dealing with two UNSUBs.”
Dean let out a breath of his own. “A dominant, who makes the plans, and a subordinate, who helps carry it out.”
Agent Sterling had put the UNSUB’s age between twenty-three and twenty-eight, but she’d worked those numbers out based on the assumption that the UNSUB was acting alone. Factoring Redding into the equation changed things. It was still a safe bet that our UNSUB idolized Redding, that he longed for power and authority and control. The lack of a father figure in the UNSUB’s adolescent years was still probably right on target. But if that was the role Redding was playing for the UNSUB, what was Dean’s father looking to get out of it?
The same thing Locke wanted from me.
Suddenly, I was back at the safe house. Dean was lying unconscious on the floor. Michael had been shot. And Locke wanted—desperately, madly— for me to take the knife. She’d wanted me to be like her. She’d wanted me to be hers. At least she’d seen me as a person. To Daniel Redding, Dean was a thing. A marvelous creation, purely his, body and soul.
Maybe Redding was looking to re-create that with our UNSUB. Or maybe this whole case had just been a way to remind his wayward son who was in charge, to force Dean to come and see him, face-to-face.
“We should adjust the lower end of the age range for our UNSUB.” I sounded calm, the way I always did when this part of my brain took over, converting even the most horrifying and personal situations into a puzzle to be solved. “To seventeen.”
I didn’t explain my reasoning, but I saw the second that the meaning behind those words registered to Dean. He was seventeen.
Briggs stared at me for a few seconds. “What are you thinking?”
He could have told me that this wasn’t our UNSUB. He hadn’t. I waited for Agent Sterling to object. She didn’t.
This was the heat of the battle. We weren’t dealing with a copycat. We were dealing with the man who had held Agent Sterling captive, tortured her. Redding was playing mind games with her from behind bars.
He was playing with Dean.
I didn’t dwell on it, or think about how Agent Sterling would feel about all this a day from now, or a week, or a month. I turned back to Agent Briggs and answered his question.
“Our UNSUB and Redding aren’t partners,” I said. “Men like Daniel Redding don’t have partners. They don’t think they have equals.” I searched for the right word. “The person we’re looking for isn’t a partner,” I said finally. “It’s an apprentice.”
