Say Goodbye

FORTY-THREE

“Social spiders work together in construction teams to build enormous spider cities. [They] also feed in groups so that they can catch and share a larger prey.”

FROM Freaky Facts About Spiders,

BY CHRISTINE MORLEY, 2007

“YOU WERE STANDING NEXT TO HAROLD WHEN THE first shot was fired,” Quincy was saying to Sal. “If Harold hadn’t jumped to his feet, the bullet would’ve hit you, not him.”

Sal was sitting in the back of an ambulance, holding up the hem of his shirt as he grudgingly received treatment from an EMT. He’d already refused a ride to the hospital. Quincy, Rainie, Kimberly, and Mac remained with him, awaiting the EMT’s official verdict as the young man inspected the damage.

Sal scowled at the man probing his side with a pair of tweezers. “Ow!”

“Told ya you should go to the hospital,” the EMT said mildly and went back to work, tweezing fibers from the wound.

“Gi

“Missing persons…it’s my hobby. I already…said that.”

Kimberly’s turn to frown at the GBI special agent. “Dinchara targeted you because of your ‘hobby’? Now who’s being stubborn?”

“Makes about as much sense as leaving his trophies on the windshield of my car. Come on, guy really wants to bait me, there are easier ways to get things done.”

“Expediency isn’t what drives serial killers,” Quincy said firmly. “Their rituals are based on emotional need and are often quite elaborate. In this case, we have a man who in his everyday life feels powerless. His fantasy life, therefore, is all about being in control. He thrives on secrecy and manipulation. He is the spider, weaving a web to catch a prey. An approach like this-inciting your involvement by baiting a trap-would fill his emotional need, his image of himself as a superpredator, even if it is impractical at other levels. If you can understand the emotional drive, then you can catch the killer.”

“You must kill the one you love,” Kimberly murmured. She looked at Sal. “Maybe, all these years later, he still loves you. And maybe, all these years later, he wants to graduate.”

Sal had finally stilled in the back of the ambulance. “My brother is dead!” he said harshly, but they could tell from his voice that he was no longer sure.

With night blanketing the mountain, Rachel declared the crime scene off limits. They would not approach the summit again until a tactical unit had secured the area and placed snipers for ongoing protection. The team should rest. Rachel was off to the hospital; she’d phone the moment she had news on Harold.

Quincy and Rainie retired to the hotel for another night. Mac and Kimberly offered Sal a ride as he was obviously in no shape to drive. Sal climbed into the back behind Kimberly. He sat in silence, his side covered in white gauze, his bloody shirt untucked at his waist.

Every law enforcement agent in the country had now been notified with the few vital statistics they knew about Dinchara. His actions had earned him immediate placement in the FBI’s top ten most wanted list, and even now the powers that be were preparing a press release for the major news networks.

By morning, Dahlonega and the surrounding area would be swarming with every state officer and National Guard unit available. If today had been a horror movie, then tomorrow would be a circus. Times like this, Kimberly simply hoped no one would get hurt.

Personally, Kimberly doubted Dinchara would try to flee the country. She pictured him more as an Eric Rudolph sort-the Olympic Park bomber who had holed up for five years in the Great Smoky Mountains, living on a diet of wild game and acorns. By all accounts, Dinchara had the same outdoor expertise and loner instincts.

Plus, there was still Gi

Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen, registered the local number, flipped it open. “Special Agent Quincy.”

“Deputy Roy here. We spoke earlier regarding the Jones girl.”

“Oh yes. The Jones girl your department managed to release even after she was an accessory in the attempted murder of a federal agent. I remember.”

Roy chuckled. “Thought you would. Now, technically speaking, it’s the judge you should yell at-”

“I mean to get to that the first moment I’m back in town.”

“I’m sure you will. Listen, Rick and I feel real bad about how that all worked out, especially given what happened on Blood Mountain.”

“Especially.”

“So we did some thinking, and it occurred to Rick that he saw Gi

“Yes?”

“And sure enough, the man walks away, but you can see Gi

Kimberly grabbed a pen, frantically writing down the information. “Nice work, Officers!”

“’Course we’re issuing an APB, as well. But thought you’d like to hear the news directly. We do more than eat fried okra and shoot possums round here, you know.”

“You shoot possums?”

“Never mind.”

“Thank you. I mean that, Officer. Thank you very much.”

Kimberly hung up the phone. She regarded Mac, then Sal in the rearview mirror.

“Hey,” she said. “I have an idea.”

“We’ve been operating under the assumption that the younger child didn’t accompany Dinchara and Aaron on the hikes, correct?” Kimberly was explaining excitedly, as she directed Mac to Dinchara’s old neighborhood. “Based mostly on the waitress from the Smith House saying that she only ever saw Dinchara with a teenager. Also, a young boy would slow them down when packing supplies up a trail that steep.”

“Okay,” Mac agreed, though it was his first time hearing any of this.

“Well, what if he didn’t leave the boy alone? What if Dinchara had a babysitter to watch the kid? Someone he trusted to ensure the kid didn’t run away?”

“Like Gi

“Exactly! And maybe that’s why he was willing to spend ten grand springing Gi

“I can follow that logic right up to the moment we turn into his old neighborhood,” Mac murmured, following the direction of Kimberly’s pointing finger onto the rolling rural road of said neighborhood.

“All the way up at the top of the hill,” she instructed him. “’Bout three miles in, last home on the right.”

“Or look for the big pile of smoking rubble,” Mac filled in drily. “Which would be my point: You said the home burned to the ground. So the kid can’t be there.”

“No, but according to the neighbors, neither was Gi

“But she works in Sandy Springs,” Sal protested. “We saw her apartment.”

“A cheap one-bedroom,” Kimberly granted, “convenient for the nights she works as a prostitute. But remember what Gi