Chapter Five
Rule Number Three
Silas
T he phone on my desk rings, pulling my attention from the case file I'm currently reading. I answer, my eyes still scanning the open page.
"Voss."
"Detective Voss, an Agent Blake Sterling is here to see you. He said that you were expecting him." Brandi from reception sounds annoyingly chipper today.
"Thanks, Brandi. I'll be right out." I end the call and take one last look at the report in my hand. I close the file, pushing it aside on the table in front of me and make my way towards the lobby.
Rounding the corner, I spot a man standing tall by the receptionist's desk.
You can tell he is alert and aware of his surroundings.
His hands are held on his hip, never far from his holster.
He looks to be around my age, somewhere in his early thirties.
His copper-colored hair is neatly styled, and he's wearing a slim, black suit, fitted tightly over his athletic build. The entire vibe he’s giving off screams FBI.
From his smug expression to the way he stands there with an air of entitlement and self-importance.
Our eyes meet as I approach, he extends his hand and introduces himself. "You must be Voss. Blake Sterling. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"That's me. Silas Voss." I return his handshake with a firm grip, my eyes narrowing slightly as I take in his overly confident demeanor.
"The pleasure is all mine, Sterling. We could use some fresh perspective on this case.
Glad to have you on board. I assume Brandi took good care of you?
" I nod towards the receptionist, who is grinning widely, clearly smitten with our guest.
"Yes, of course. She was very helpful.”
I watch him as he assesses me, taking in my face, my badge, and then the tattoos peeking out from under my sleeve.
A slight smirk plays at the corners of my mouth.
A new player has entered the game. I’ll need to proceed with caution until I get a read on Sterling and see what he's about.
This could be an interesting game of cat and mouse we are entering into.
He thinks he's the hunter. Little does he know, in this game, I'm the fucking hunter.
“Right this way, Sterling." I gesture for him to follow me.
Leading him down the hallway, I offer a brief tour, pointing out the various rooms and giving him a sense of the station's layout as we walk.
We end up in the conference room that has been dubbed the war room.
It's a space we typically reserve for high-priority cases like this one.
It's not as extravagant as what the FBI might have, but it serves us well.
"I appreciate you showing me around Voss. I'm ready to dig into this case."
I step into the room and nod at the stack of case files on top of the long wooden table sitting in the middle.
"Well, you're in luck. We've got a stack of case files right here, ready for us to get started.
" I pat the stack of manila folders on the table.
“You up for diving right into these? Or do you want to get settled first? "
Sterling rubs a hand over his face, and I can tell he's been running on fumes. "To be honest, I'm starving. I've been on flights since the crack of dawn, and then I drove straight here from the airport. Is there a vending machine somewhere in the station? Some food would hit the spot. ”
I glance at my watch. Almost 2:30. Perfect timing, school lets out soon.
"Actually, I can do you one better. There's a little diner across town.
We can grab something to eat there. It's nothing fancy, the food is decent, and it's not usually busy.
So we can sit in the back and have some privacy while we go over the cases.
" I gesture towards the door. “My treat.” I’m already moving to grab my jacket.
"That sounds great.” His gratitude for a possible meal is obvious. “I could use a good meal.”
I clap him on the shoulder on our way out of the war room. “Don’t get too excited Sterling. I said decent food, not good food. But it should hold you over until we can scrounge up something better for you.”
He laughs. “At this point, I’ll take decent.”
We head out of the station, I can sense his eyes on me as we walk to my truck.
He’s studying me, taking in every detail.
I know he's sizing me up, just as I'm doing the same to him.
It's two professionals feeling each other out, looking for any weakness or advantage.
In law enforcement, working with someone new is stressful.
You have to know if you can trust the man working beside you with your life.
I hit the unlock button on my key fob, and the lights flash on my shiny black 4x4 pickup. "Hop in," I say, pointing to the passenger side.
"You're buying me lunch and you're driving?" Sterling asks skeptically, looking at the truck then giving me a smirk. "If you try to start opening doors for me, I'm going to have to draw the line.”
I raise an eyebrow in surprise at his witty remark. Mr. FBI has a sense of humor. Maybe he isn’t as strait-laced as I first assumed. Banter I can do.
"First of all, Sterling, I'm only buying you lunch to keep your blood sugar up. I can’t sit on my ass and make you do all the work if you pass out.
Second, you're not from around here and you don't know where you're going.
So yeah, I'm driving. And third, you're not that fucking pretty. You can open your own goddamn doors with a face like that. Starting with that one.” I nod at the door, waiting for him to get in.
"Well, damn, Voss. You might actually be fun to work with. I didn’t take you for a joker.
" He laughs as he opens the passenger door of my truck and climbs in.
I follow suit, walking around and sliding in behind the wheel.
I toss my jacket into the back seat before I start my truck and pull out of the station parking lot, heading towards the diner.
"So, I have to ask. This truck—is it one of the standard issue redneck, small-town cop trucks, or do you just enjoy playing into the stereotype?" Sterling teases, gesturing to my truck.
"Little bit of column A, a little bit of column B.
" I chuckle, keeping my eyes on the road.
"It gets the job done. The truck is definitely more practical for off-roading and getting through the snow we get in the winter versus your standard issue cop car. I’m not a big fan of sedans.
Plus, it comes in handy when I need to haul things around. "
Shoving a body into the trunk of a car is a hell of a lot more difficult than tossing it into the back seat of a full-size truck or into the bed of one.
Sterling nods. "Fair enough. I can respect that." We come to a stop at a red light, and his eyes flick to the case files resting on the seat between us. "So, give me the rundown, Voss. How many victims so far? Any leads? Are we dealing with a lone wolf, or is there a bigger network at play?"
I know he's eager to dive into the details of this case, and I don't blame him. It’s a once in a lifetime case for most guys wearing a badge. I should know that better than anyone. I’ve put a hell of a lot of work into it on both sides of the law.
"We're looking at three victims so far, each one vanishing without a trace.
We are certain they are all connected to the same perpetrator.
We suspect that Jeremy Pearson, our most recent missing person case, will be victim number four.
But we haven't found his body yet. Our biggest problem so far in the investigation, as far as leads or evidence goes, is that we have a whole lot of jack shit.
At this point, it's a challenge to even determine if we're dealing with a lone wolf or if there's more than one perp in play, because we have nothing to go on. "
I pause, studying Sterling's reaction. He's attentive, taking in every word, but doesn’t give much away to what he’s thinking so I continue.
"The MO is consistent across all three victims. Every victim was taken under the cover of night, no signs of struggle or forced entry.
The abductions were carefully planned, suggesting whoever is behind this, is methodical and highly intelligent.
Each abduction is followed by a slow and painful death.
The killer takes his time, making sure the victims suffer.
We've got our work cut out for us; that's for sure. "
"What makes you believe those three victims were all killed by the same perp?" Blake asks.
"The calling card, for one. But more importantly, it's the fucked-up ways the victims were all killed. This guy is a real creative son of a bitch, I'll give him that."
Sterling turns to face me, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean? They weren't all killed the same way?"
"Not even fucking close. He's using forms of torture and execution that haven't been seen for centuries.
It's pretty gruesome shit to say the least. He does his research, and then the execution is flawless, leaving behind little to no physical evidence that would tie him to the case. The guy is a fucking ghost."
"Then what makes you think this is the work of a serial killer if the victims were all killed in different ways?" Sterling asks, clearly confused.
"The calling card. It's the one thing that ties these murders together. A single white rose, carefully placed on the remains of his victims. Same staging at all three crime scenes where the bodies were recovered. It's his signature. "
It's my way of letting my mom know I've kept my promise to her. They will all pay.
"Interesting... Any known connections between the victims besides the calling card left at the scene?" Sterling leans forward, his interest piqued.