Chapter 9 #2
Ryan’s interest slid across the table to Grace.
The silver top she wore beneath that black jacket sported a scooped neck that almost gave a hint of cleavage.
When she’d unbuttoned her jacket and taken a seat across the table from him, he had been pleasantly surprised.
Her hair was restrained in a shiny silver clasp that held it ponytail-style at the nape of her slender neck.
Maybe the lady really wasn’t the ice princess he had first labeled her.
Or maybe he’d succeeded in setting her thermostat to thaw.
“Davis, where are we on that list of names?” Worth asked.
Ryan’s focus snapped back to the head of the table.
This was the first he had heard about a list of names.
He shouldn’t be surprised. What the hell had he expected?
He wasn’t going to be treated like an equal.
There wasn’t anyone in this room who wanted him here. His participation was a necessary evil.
Davis shuffled the pages in front of him. “We’ve come up with more than five thousand hits.”
Worth rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you brief everyone about this list and we’ll do a little brainstorming to see if we can come up with some criteria for narrowing it down.”
Davis glanced at Ryan as if he dreaded explaining himself.
“SAC had me come in at five this morning and start pulling together a list of names in the Bureau’s incoming mail database.
” Davis tugged at his collar as if he needed to make room for spitting out what came next.
“Letters and emails either addressed to McBride or with a subject line that related to him or one of his cases.”
Grace leaned forward to look past Aldridge. “And there were over five thousand?”
Guess the lady didn’t fully comprehend just how popular Ryan once was.
Davis nodded. “And I only got it down to five thousand after I narrowed the search parameters to work-related emails. There were a lot more asking for dates and . . . offering marriage.” Davis tapped the stack of pages and smirked.
“You had yourself a regular fan club, McBride. Just like a rock star.”
That explanation didn’t appear to sit too well with Grace. She leaned back in her chair, her face impassive, as if she couldn’t care less. “Shall we differentiate the sexes?” she suggested to Worth, not sparing Ryan a glance. “Are we operating under the assumption that our unsub is male or female?”
“Considering the rats,” Ryan said, waiting for her to meet his gaze. She refused. “I’d lean toward male, but that’s just me. Maybe I prefer to believe my female fans wouldn’t be quite so hardcore.”
She looked at him then, her dark eyes flashing with disdain. “I’ve met one of your female fans, McBride. I wouldn’t rule out that possibility.”
Obviously she was still ticked off about the shoe comment. He angled his head in a gesture of touché, and she redirected her attention to the SAC.
“It just so happens,” Davis piped up, “that I did that. Eighty percent are female.” He looked at Ryan now with something that resembled admiration.
Clearly not impressed and certainly not in awe of Ryan, Worth asked him, “Any other parameters you’d recommend for narrowing down the list?”
“Go backward,” Ryan suggested.
Worth looked skeptical. “Backward?”
To Davis, Ryan explained, “Look for repeat offenders. Whoever Devoted Fan is, male or female, this unsub has followed my career for some time, not just one case.”
“And how do you know that?” Worth challenged. “Other than that one line where he referred to you as his ‘old friend,’ what else is there?”
“Forty-one,” Grace said, with an I-got-this-one look at Ryan. “That’s the number of high-profile cases you solved during your career.”
There had been a lot more than forty-one cases, but she was right, there was exactly that number that had captured the media’s as well as the nation’s attention, spanning from year one all the way until the curtain call.
Tragedy TV. There were those who couldn’t resist watching .
. . like passing a car wreck . . . the horrors.
“I thought it was strange,” Ryan said, his gaze lingering on her then looking from her to Worth, “that the unsub would select forty-one hours as the allotment of time for rescuing Alyssa Byrne. Most of these scumbags are rather anal. They work with nice round numbers, like twenty-four or forty-eight. Forty-one was a clue. We just didn’t see it right away.
” By “we” he meant Worth, but no need to piss the guy off this early in the day.
“Secondly,” he continued, addressing Davis with this part, “look for mail with northern Alabama, southern Tennessee, eastern Mississippi zip codes. Our unsub isn’t far away.”
“That may be a waste of time,” Grace countered, “if the unsub has moved in the past three years.”
“True,” Ryan agreed, “but it’s a usable parameter that could be advantageous.”
“What about relatives or close friends?” Aldridge spoke up. “Is there anyone you can think of who would want some sort of revenge for the Bureau’s decision three years ago?”
One corner of Ryan’s mouth twitched. “You mean, besides me?”
Aldridge exchanged a look with Worth.
“I’m aware that you’re going to consider me a suspect until you have someone else to blame,” Ryan said, letting both men off the hook. “Just don’t let that aspect of your investigative work keep you from looking for the real suspect.”
“We know how to conduct an investigation,” Worth said. “We’ve got folks at Quantico reviewing your old cases, checking on any possible family connections to perps you’ve eliminated or put behind bars who might bear a grudge. You made a few enemies in your time, McBride.”
He couldn’t deny that charge. Ryan was just glad to hear that at least some effort was being directed toward any theory at all that didn’t include him as a suspect.
“Excuse me, sir.” Agent Schaffer strode into the room.
Ryan had wondered where she’d gotten off to. Today she wore shiny red cowboy boots. The lady did like her boots.
Worth looked up as Schaffer approached his end of the conference table. “Yes, Agent Schaffer?”
She glanced at Ryan, then said, “We have a new communication from Devoted Fan.”
Everyone in the room prepared to move into action, but Ryan was the one to go to the computer to view the newest communication. He felt Grace move up behind him as he clicked the necessary keys to open the document.
Good morning, McBride,
I trust you slept well in your grand accommodations.
“He knows where you’re staying,” Grace said, her voice thin.
McBride cleared his mind of both distractions, Grace and the idea that this scumbag knew where he’d stayed last night, and read the rest of the email.
Here is your next challenge:
This city was built on blood, sweat, and determination.
Even now, mightiest to weakest, hard work is what makes it thrive . . . is what forged the path from atop Red Mountain.
A Jones is a hard worker, but there was a time when she was oblivious. She is remorseful of that mistake and its consequences. But remorse is not always enough and is inevitably too late.
Her life is in danger, McBride, you must find her before she drowns in her regret. Death can be so cold; she need not die to find her atonement. Her preservation is in plain sight.
You have twenty-four hours . . . don’t be late.
I remain . . .
Your Devoted Fan
Ryan reread the last two lines. Only twenty-four hours this time. The wording and details given were much more obscure . . . not as definitive as before. Uncertainty snaked around his chest and squeezed. First, he should . . . His mind scrambled for the proper protocol.
“Who is A. Jones?” Grace called out to the others. “We need to know the answer to that question ASAP!”
“I’m on it,” Pratt tossed back.
Okay. Ryan knew how to do this. No fear. No self-doubt. Focus.
He printed a copy of the email and pushed away from the computer.
What next? “Davis . . . you . . . you stay on narrowing down those fan mail lists. Aldridge, you and Schaffer work on what Devoted Fan has given us this time. See if you get any matches on possible locations in the city using this verbiage.”
“The first thing that comes to mind is steel,” Grace said as she retrieved the hard copy of the email from the printer. “This city was built by the steel magnates.” She studied the email. “He uses the word forged.”
“Iron Man,” Schaffer suggested, taking Grace’s theory and running with it.
“Atop Red Mountain,” Grace concurred. “Schaffer’s right.
Vulcan Park, home to the Iron Man atop Red Mountain.
And he’s definitely in plain sight.” Grace looked to Ryan.
“That would be a good place to start, maybe even before we identify the victim. We could get a search team over there to have a look around. Park security could assist.”
“See if Birmingham PD will authorize a small search team to get started,” Ryan agreed.
“Any head start is better than none.” The A before Jones worried him.
Was the A an initial, or an article referring to Jones?
That one missing piece of punctuation would cost them precious time . . . but then that was likely the point.
Worth held up his hands and moved them back and forth as if erasing the suggestion Grace had made and Ryan had approved. “We don’t even have a line on the victim yet. What she looks like, how old she is, nothing. We need to know who we’re looking for prior to launching a search.”
“But there is a victim,” Ryan argued. “We just don’t know the specifics beyond that she’s female.”
As valid as Worth’s point was, this wasn’t about him. It wasn’t even about the victim.
This was about Ryan’s ability to meet the challenge. And he had only twenty-four hours.