Say Goodbye

“Boy!” he said immediately. He placed his hand back, palm flat against her side.

“I would guess boy as well,” Rainie was saying. “Girls are supposed to steal their mother’s beauty; you still look plenty beautiful to me.”

Kimberly nearly blushed. “All right, all right. Give the beautiful mother some air. And a glass of water.”

She headed for the kitchen, fetching a glass of water for herself, a second for Rainie. Quincy was a dedicated coffee drinker, so even though it was three in the morning, she brewed him a pot. They all moved to the kitchen table, a touching family scene except that not one of them had thought to turn on the overhead light. That alone said something about their chosen professions.

“Mac say anything before he bolted?” Kimberly quizzed now.

“Not to wait up.”

Kimberly grunted, chewed on her lower lip, trying to think what might be going on. She didn’t know what Mac was working on these days. They’d talked about her cases, but not his.

“And your night?” her father asked.

“Stakeout,” she supplied. “Guy didn’t magically confess, but he did beat the shit out of our informant, which seems to indicate we’re on the right track.”

Quincy raised a brow in interest. “What kind of case?”

“Serial murder. Prostitutes have been disappearing, including six girls whose driver’s licenses were left on the windshield of a special agent’s car. We think this guy might be good for it.” Kimberly chewed her lower lip again. “Problem is, we haven’t turned up any of the remains. Given the lifestyle, the defense can assert the girls simply moved on. Makes for a very messy case. Though, you know, if we could get the tape admissible, that might work.”

“The tape?” Rainie spoke up.

“Audio recording of one of the missing women being killed. Or at least, it sure as hell sounds like she’s being murdered. Get this-the subject makes each victim choose the next victim. In this case, the woman, Veronica Jones, gave up the name of her daughter, Gi

Rainie stated the obvious. “But he didn’t kill Gi

“According to her, she talked him out of it. The subject has a thing for spiders. So does Gi

“He remains in control,” Quincy said.

“Exactly. This dude has a thing for control.”

“Can I hear the tape?” Quincy asked.

“It’s at the office. I can get it tomorrow.”

“How did he ask the woman to choose the next victim?”

“Torture. He said he would end it when she gave him the name of someone she loved.”

Quincy had that look. “Did the victim comply immediately?”

“Actually, she tried to give him a fake name. But when he pressed her, why that name, how did that person matter, she fell apart. You can hear her stress, her disorientation from the pain. It’s difficult to think under those circumstances, let alone lie.”

“So she gave up her own daughter. That would seem to imply all the victims share some kind of co

“We’re working on it. Actually, a GBI special agent is working on it. Sal already knows three of the prostitutes were roommates; they disappeared one by one. But certainly, we lack major pieces of the puzzle. There are probably some girls on our list of missing persons who did move to Texas, and others who have also disappeared but we haven’t heard about yet.”

“All from one concentrated geographic area?” Rainie spoke up. “What’s the prostitution scene like in Georgia?”

“Vast and varied. There’s the streetwalkers in the red light districts such as Fulton Industrial Boulevard-mostly African American, mostly into drugs. Then you got the massage parlors in places like Sandy Springs-mostly Asian, mostly sex slaves. Then there’s the club scene, which has a bit of everything, white, Hispanic, black, Asian, drugs, nondrugs. And finally, we got the usual sort of activity around the Air Force base in Marietta-local girls offering a few extra services while tending tables.

“Georgia’s a big state; lots of geographic and socioeconomic diversity. If our subject is hopscotching his way through the underground scene, it’ll take a lot of conversations with various agencies to co

“What else do you know of the UNSUB?” Quincy again.

“Well, having seen him for the first time tonight…Mid thirties.”

“Seasoned. Capable of moving about, taking his time, stalking his target.”

“To judge by the tape, I’d say Veronica Jones was not his first victim. He’s had time to refine his methods. Physically, he’s white, five nine or five ten, maybe hundred and seventy pounds. Not big, but lean, wiry. And outdoorsy-hiking boots, jeans, the SUV.”

“Hunter?”

“In this state, a strong possibility.”

“Loner.”

“Interestingly enough, we don’t think so. The GBI special agent involved has received two envelopes on the windshield of his car. Both contained driver’s licenses from missing hookers. Given that no note or further means of communication were attempted, Sal thinks the packages may have come from someone close to the killer, and not from the killer himself.”

Quincy arched a brow, considering the matter. “Fair enough. Most killers, if they’re going to make contact, will engage in some petty taunting while they’re at it.”

“Exactly. Unfortunately, the envelopes yielded no physical evidence. So we still need to identify and track the killer on our own. Once we know who he is, however, we may be able to identify a spouse or family member who can be of some help to us.”

“Socioeconomics?” Quincy moved along.

“Can’t figure him out. Talks white trash, but can also sound very crisp when he wants. And the SUV is nice-a Limited Edition Toyota FourRu

“He’s upwardly mobile. Likes material possessions,” Rainie filled in.

“I think so.”

“It’s going to come down to the money.” Rainie was looking at Quincy. “A seasoned killer like that, ten-plus victims. The amount of time and energy he’s putting into it now. Preparing the kill kit, trolling for victims, covering his tracks, hiding the bodies. It’s a full-time job, especially if he stalks them for a while, too.”

“Has to,” Quincy spoke up. “If he’s letting Victim A choose Victim B, then he’ll have to do a lot of reco

“So he’s busy,” Rainie continued. “Working hard at this. Which means he’s probably not gainfully employed anymore and having to turn to other means to fund his lifestyle.”

“Such as pimping prostitutes,” Kimberly murmured drily.

“Yes. Or fraud, burglary, drugs. There was this case a while back of a guy who was arrested by the Treasury Department for forging checks. When they went through the man’s storage unit, they found boxes and boxes of photos of bound and gagged women being sexually assaulted. Turned out, the guy was a classic sexual-sadist predator who’d operated for years up and down the eastern seaboard, abducting, raping, and killing women. Forging checks was simply how he covered his costs.

“Have you heard of an organization called NecroSearch International?” Quincy asked.

Kimberly shook her head.

“They’re often referred to as the Pig People. It’s a nonprofit organization, comprised mostly of retired scientists and cops. I’ve been thinking about joining.”

“Oh boy,” Rainie said drolly.

But Kimberly was regarding her father with interest. “What do they do?”

“Find bodies. They’re most famous for burying pigs in order to research techniques for locating clandestine graves. They’re also the ones who located Michele Wallace’s body in Colorado, nearly twenty years after she first disappeared.”