Chapter 42
“Could you answer it?” Steele asked.
“I’d have to tweak the bets enough to make letters. That might take more money than I have.”
“Well, it sounds like it’s going to take more time than we have,” Steele said, glancing at Chen.
The team profiler nodded at him and turned. “We’ve been asked to take over the Jersey Devil killings,” she announced.
“What?” Red asked, incredulous.
“That case is old, isn’t it?” Cassie questioned.
“Two years of investigations with no results,” Agent Steele answered. “The FBI has never been called in before, but suddenly the governor of New Jersey has requested the Bureau’s aid, and this unit in particular.”
“Oh?” Red asked. “Convenient.”
“Yes; our thoughts exactly,” Steele said. “Cramer was a big contributor to Governor Duback’s campaign.”
“I don’t know much about it,” Cassie admitted.
“Nine bodies found dumped in the Jersey Pine Barrens so far,” Red said. “All young women, all sex workers. No suspects.”
“The state police have led the investigation, but numerous errors were made and the head of the state forensics lab lost his job,” Chen said.
“And they think we can just solve it?” Cassie asked, looking uncertain.
“That’s the public expectation, but it’s likely a chance to get you out in the open.”
“And we’re headed there when?” she asked.
“Next hour,” Steele said. “Director’s orders.”
“Awesome,” she said. “So, no pressure. Just solve a poorly investigated case that’s two years old.”
“Exactly,” Chen said with a bright smile.
Rose arrived, holding both her go bag and Cassie’s. “Got your stuff, Cas,” she said. “Are we staying somewhere nice?” she asked Steele.
“Funny you should ask,” he replied. “The great state of New Jersey, via the governor’s office, wants to put us up in a motel near Hammonton.”
“And are we doing that?” Rose asked.
“No. We have picked an inn a bit further from that is smaller, easy to secure, and we will have the entire facility to ourselves,” Steele said with a hard smile.
“The NJSP are delivering copies of the investigation records to our Trenton office and the agent in charge will transport those to our inn with digital copies coming to you, Red.”
“Already have them,” the computer expert said, looking at her monitor.
“Then get ready to board the Blackhawks, as we’re leaving in fifty-three minutes,” Steele said.
With her go bag already in hand, Cassie got to sit near the entrance and begin reading the case files for the murders while the rest of the team gathered necessary gear and investigation supplies.
She flicked the screen of the tablet repeatedly and steadily until she had exhausted the entire file, then sat back, closed her eyes, and began digesting what she had seen.
“Come on, Cas,” Rose said a bit later and led her to the Blackhawk, her eyes open but brain still processing. She got buckled in and reclosed her eyes, diving back into the material.
Eyes closed the whole way, she didn’t see a single bit of the trip, instead seeing witness statements, police forensic reports, and a very small number of video recordings.
The girls had all disappeared from the greater New York City area, and all of them had been working girls that no one missed right away.
There was very little to go on and the one or two persons of initial interest had all been cleared very quickly.
Her eyes popped open as the helicopter landed just behind the lead aircraft, which was disgorging the HRT security element. The inn was a huge, elegant Victorian building just off the road, situated on a small rise that looked out over fields that led up to the edge of the famous pine barrens.
The driveway to the inn was already blocked off by a mix of state police vehicles and black federal SUVs. Just beyond it was a cluster of news vans with aerial antennas extended as high as they could go for broadcast connection.
“Red, can you pull together all the network broadcast videos of the story so far?” Cassie asked as they were hustled toward the inn.
“Of course. What are you looking for?”
“A red or maroon Ford sedan that shows up in more than one broadcast.”
“What are you working on?” Steele asked.
“There were two eyewitness statements that indicated several of the victims were last seen getting into sedans. Both accounts stated reddish hue and American styling. Long shot, but as our profiler is fond of saying, serial killers often want to watch their own investigations firsthand.”
The inn’s entrance and portico were filled with more NJSP and federal vehicles.
“Agent Steele, Steve Ozerjack, Trenton field office,” a fit-looking agent in black said as they made it inside. Mid-thirties, Black, and very athletic, Agent Ozerjack’s attention was locked on Steele like a hound with a scent.
“Thanks for beating us here,” Steele said, shaking the other agent’s hand. “Where are we set up?”
“The inn has a library with multiple tables, so I took the liberty of commandeering it,” Ozerjack said. He finally glanced at the rest of team, his gaze taking everyone in, pausing on Rose for a moment, skimming over the youngest member and then coming back to her.
“We’ll get introductions out of the way in a moment. Right now, our data specialist needs to get a media search underway,” Steele said, moving into the library.
Rose noticed her young charge’s attention had focused on a large, middle-aged, crew-cut man in a suit who had the look of a lead detective.
Rex Pressman’s name and signature was all over the pages of the case files and the team was already aware that his initial efforts in the case had been notable for their lack of energy, initiative, or thoroughness.
“What else?” Red asked Cassie as she set her armor-cased laptop down on an open table and began to plug in power cords. “The search is running but I can see by your expression you want something else.”
Red, Rose, and Cassie were mostly being ignored as the bigwigs came in to meet with Steele, Chen, and Kessler for the obligatory corner-pissing contests.
“I want to know about Rex Pressman’s background,” she said without looking at the man who had moved into the room with the other senior people.
“Okay, on it. Here is a montage of the initial coverage when the bodies were first found,” Red said, handing her a tablet.
She pressed play and let it run, head down to watch, ignoring the sounds of important people telling everyone how important they were.
She got through the first batch, then read the summary Red had whipped up on Pressman, then started the second batch of media broadcasts before the room’s attention shifted their way.
“And this is our data specialist, Agent Redmyer, along with one of our investigators, Agent Carmine, and then our consultant, Miss Blake,” Agent Steele said, causing her to lift her head.
Ozerjack was on one side and an NJSP captain was on his other side, along with a man in a black suit who looked political, and then just behind them, Rex Pressman stood with another detective, both wearing sour expressions.
“The whiz kid herself?” the police captain noted, his nametag reading K. Taggert.
“Barely out of training bras,” Pressman said to his companion, his voice just loud enough to hear. The whole team turned to stare at him with hostile intent.
“Whoa, easy there,” Pressman said in a thick Jersey accent. “Just saying, she looks a bit on the young side.”
Cassie snorted but just glanced back down, using her fingers to zoom the image.
“Does she talk?” Taggert asked.
“New York plate, whiskey, mike, papa, seven, seven, four,” she said to Red, who instantly typed it into her laptop.
“It was in two separate clips,” she murmured to Red, who shook her head, red curls swinging.
“It was in more like five… no seven… so far,” she said, lifting her head from her laptop to look at the young woman, eyes wide.
“Cassie?” Steele asked in a quiet voice.
“Two separate NYPD missing person cases that ended up in the Barrens mentioned a specific kind of car,” she said.
“Dr. Chen tells us that some killers are fascinated with the investigations into their own crimes. We found a plate that matches the kind of car, and it shows up a bunch of times when the Jersey police were processing remains.”
“Maroon Ford Crown Victoria, 2010, ex-police car, currently registered in the name of one Steven Oakland, age forty-one, hydrological engineer with his own consulting business. Primary customer is the city of New York but also the municipalities of Newark and Trenton, among others.”
“Deep dive please,” Agent Steele ordered, looking at Carmen, Kessler, Rao, and Chen. Red was already digging.
“No fucking way,” Pressman said, incredulous and offended at the same time.
“You have input, Detective?” Steele asked.
“You gotta be kidding me with this crap. You land and the cheerleader has a lead before she’s in the door?” Pressman complained.
“The governor asked for our help. This is what it looks like,” Steele said. “Unless you have information you haven’t shared yet?”
Pressman gaped at him.
“Can someone get the whiteboard…?” Red started to ask, but Rao was already unfolding the portable crime board.
He barely got it plugged into an outlet and it started to populate with pictures and data on one Steven Oakland.
Addresses, both home and office, education, certifications, social media, chatroom discussions, and then maps showing patterns of movement.
“He has E-ZPass,” Red noted to no one in particular, her fingers blurring as she continued to track their new prey. The others continued to set up equipment and computers with the ease of long familiarity.
“You want to find our room, Cas?” Rose Carmen asked, eyes on her screen as she signed in.
“Yeah, I’ll get our stuff settled,” she said, moving out of the library and into the foyer, sliding past a staring Detective Pressman and catching looks from the other cops and political types that were still crowding around Agent Steele.
“Hi, are you the owners?” Cassie asked the civilians standing at the office desk, looking more than a little shell-shocked by the invasion of law enforcement.
“Ah, yes,” the tall, slender woman said, her eyes flicking over Cassie’s neutral clothing.
Cassie was dressed in olive green tactical pants and a dark blue FBI t-shirt, with hiking boots on her feet.
The owner’s attention was mostly on the cluster of state police near the library door and the heavily armed HRT guys on either side of the front entrance.
“I wondered if I could get the room keys for Agent Carmen and Cassie Blake?”
She automatically looked down at the computer in front of her, and then the name hit her. She blinked a few times and looked back up at the young woman in front of her, recognition now flooding her face.
“Ah, you are her… Miss Blake,” she said, more statement than question.
“Yes, and I should be rooming with Agent Carmen.”
“Ah, yes. I have them right here,” she said.
“Great. I just want to drop our bags off.”
“You’re, ah, not, ah, needed in there?” she asked, nodding at the library.
“To work the case? No, I am still working; it’s just I don’t need the files or anything to keep reviewing evidence,” she said, tapping the side of her head.
“Oh,” she said, absently handing out two keys as she tried to understand. “You’re on the second floor, right in the middle of the hall.”
“Thanks,” Cassie said, glancing back to see if her current pair of HRT folks were paying attention.
Agents Willamina Johnson and Carl Boyton were locked on the youngest member of the team like missile radar and when she moved toward the big front stairway, Williamina moved ahead of her and Carl came along behind, HK rifles slung and ready.
They found the room. Cassie unlocked the door and stepped back as Agent Johnson cleared the room, then popped inside to leave the two go bags.
“Christy and I will be across the hall,” Williamina said. “Carl and Agent Peterson on your right.”
“Thank you.” The highly trained, heavily armed security detail had been surprised at how easily and closely Cassie had followed their instructions and lead. But Cassie knew that the worst thing in the world for a security detail was an uncooperative principal.
“Already on the trail?” Carl asked.
“On a trail. Not sure if it’s the trail, but it’s something.”
They walked back downstairs and as they passed the desk, Cassie noticed the television playing local news—from outside—at the driveway entrance to the inn, which was blocked and manned.
The feed shifted as a news drone flitted over the growing crowd of reporters, family members of the girls who had died, and curious busybodies.
She made it three steps past the television before her brain alerted her to what it had seen. She immediately stepped into the library.
“Please tell me it has twin beds,” Rose said as she caught sight of Cassie.
“Yes, twins. Hey, Kessler… did you bring that new drone?”
“Of course. Why?”
“There’s a growing crowd down by the road. I think I saw Oakland’s car, but the shot didn’t include the license plate. What are the odds he’s down on the road watching the circus?”
The whole team focused on her for a second, then Kessler bolted for the stack of heavy plastic equipment cases in the corner.
Five minutes later, they were watching the drone’s feed as it shot across the inn’s lawn and started to scan the line of cars parked along the road.
“Shit, there it is,” Rose said. A maroon Crown Vic with the whiskey mike license plates was parked on the side of the road, nestled between a Hyundai SUV and a Toyota Prius.
“Scan the crowd,” Steele said unnecessarily because Kessler was already doing it.
“There,” Dr. Chen said, and the picture zoomed in as the drone took direction from Red’s facial recognition software.
“No shit,” Rao said.
“Who wants to pop out and collect Mr. Oakland?” Steele asked.
“Me,” Kessler said.
“And me,” Rose added.
“Go,” Steele directed.