CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Outside the holding cells in the 23rd Precinct, Ella leaned against a filing cabinet while Luca paced trenches in the floor. Three feet of concrete separated them from Ezra Crowley, and for the first time in days, Ella felt something close to relief.
Now, it was time to look at the evidence.
‘He fits.’ She ticked points off on her fingers. ‘Narcissistic personality disorder with messiah tendencies. High intelligence mixed with grandiose delusions. Technical aptitude for complex planning. Even his presentation screams control freak - did you see how his tattoos line up perfectly with his neck muscles?’
‘Plus the whole cult thing.’ Luca stopped pacing long enough to crack his knuckles. ‘Building a following, manipulating vulnerable people. Classic power dynamics.’
‘Exactly. Most serial killers are failed cult leaders. He just succeeded where they failed.’
The profile lined up like bullets in a clip. Crowley had the ego, the charisma, the need to dominate others. Even the way he dressed was theater. Everything about him was engineered to create an image and inspire devotion.
Luca said, ‘The symbols too. Aside from conveniently standing at one of the crime scenes, the symbols are our best shot at charging this guy. You think he recognized me?’
‘We’ll find out soon enough.’
‘It’s weird though. Last night at the meeting, he was all Lord of the Rings. Today he just seemed...’
‘Scared?’
‘Normal.’ Luca shrugged.
‘Psychos are the best actors. Ted Bundy taught at Sunday school. BTK was a church deacon. Nobody suspected they had summer homes in crazy town.’
Ella couldn’t deny the evidence staring her in the face. A part of her didn’t want to accept that Ezra was her unsub, perhaps for her ego’s sake because she’d overlooked him last night. But seeing him on that mountain, mere feet away from victim number three, the dice had rolled snake eyes .
'Yeah, but-'
The buzz of the holding cell door broke her chain of thought. Ross emerged looking like he'd just won the lottery.
'Got something.' He brandished a manila folder. 'Ezra Crowley's real name is not Ezra Crowley if you can believe it.'
‘What is it?’
Ross pulled out a DMV photo. ‘Real name is Todd Peterson. Born in Newark, moved to the city ten years ago. No priors except a parking ticket from 2019.’
Luca snorted. ‘What, Todd? Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘I can see why he changed it.’
Ross continued, ‘But it gets better. Guess where our friend Todd works when he’s not playing wannabe Charles Manson?’
‘Where?’ Ella asked.
‘Cloud Nine Aviation Services. He's their safety compliance officer.’
The air left Ella's lungs. ‘Cloud Nine? Tessa Webster's dispatch company?’
‘The same. He would have known her flight plan, her route, everything.’
A link. Finally a concrete connection between their suspect and a victim. Cloud Nine. The company that had been coordinating Tessa Webster's flight. The one she'd been in radio contact with right up until her big swan dive into oblivion.
And Todd Peterson worked there. The same Todd Peterson who moonlighted as Ezra Crowley, alchemical high priest and all-around nutjob. It wasn't a smoking gun, but it was a hell of a lot of gunpowder in one place.
The relief hit Ella like a shot of whiskey - smooth at first, then burning all the way down.
Luca whistled and said, ‘Slap my ass. We’ve got ourselves a genuine connection to a victim. With a link like that, we can probably get a warrant to toss his place and see what else he’s got squirreled away.’
But Ross wasn't done. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small evidence bag. Inside was a scrap of paper, folded and creased like it had been shoved into a pocket and forgotten.
‘There's more.’ Ross pulled out a sheet of notepaper. ‘Found this when we processed him. Stuffed in his wallet behind a punch card for the local juicery, if you can believe it. ’
Ella took it. The paper looked expensive - thick stock, deckled edges. Someone had written TESSA WEBSTER in flowing script, surrounded by five familiar symbols.
‘God dammit,’ Ella breathed.
Luca peered over. ‘The symbols. These were what he’d come to plant at the scene.’
She held the paper up to the light. There was no doubting it. They were identical. Triangles locked in circles. Spirals eating their own tails.
‘But why’s he got them on a piece of paper?’
‘A reminder of how to draw them, maybe? They’re pretty complex. I can barely remember how to draw a stickman.’
Ross said, ‘He claims it’s not what we think, but he didn’t elaborate.’
‘They all say that. What else did you find on him?’
‘Nothing much. Phone, wallet, keys. No weapons.’
‘Did he mention his cult’s meeting last night?’
'I alluded to it, but he denied everything.'
‘Yeah, about that.’ Luca scratched his neck. ‘The whole meeting's kind of fuzzy now. Maybe best not to mention it to him.’
She turned on her partner. ‘Seriously? You spent two hours breathing mercury fumes with the guy.’
‘Which might explain why it's fuzzy.’ He spread his hands. ‘Look, Ezra might be our unsub, and that’s great. But he’s also got seven lunatics who’d crawl through glass for him, and they’ve all got guns.’
‘You’ll be safe. You’re the FBI,’ Ross said.
‘Where I’m from, FBI still stands for Full Blooded Italian. If they can assassinate our old director, they can assassinate me.’
‘Fair point,’ Ella said. ‘Either way, I need to go speak with this guy. You want to come, Hawkins?’
‘Not really, but I will.’
She nodded. Two pairs of ears were better than one, especially when someone was trying to sell you a story. ‘Stay out of sight if you want. Just listen. See if our guy trips up.’
‘Roger that.’
‘Ross, let us through please.’
Time to find out who Todd Peterson really was. And whether Ezra Crowley was just a mask or something worse.
Either way, someone had killed three people in the name of ancient wisdom. Ella intended to know whether the creature in cell three had earned his place in federal housing.