CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

All eyes turned to Faith. "Where?" Hilary demanded.

She sighed. "I don't know exactly where, but it will have to do with fire."

"Fire? Like a firehouse?"

"No. Like something associated with the element of fire." She briefly explained the elements that each murder location represented so far and her belief that this final murder would take place somewhere associated with fire. "Firehouses are places that actively fight fire, so it wouldn't be there."

"Where though? A gas main?"

Faith shook her head. "I don't know."

Hilary sighed. "Damn it, agent, when you said you knew where he took her, I thought you knew where he took her."

"Maybe a place that burnt down?" Michael suggested. "If there's nowhere that's actively connected to fire, maybe a place that's been damaged or destroyed by fire."

"That could be it," Faith said. "Are there any abandoned or lightly trafficked buildings in Chicago that have been damaged by fire?"

"You're aware that there was a Great Fire of Chicago, right?" Hilary asked irritably.

"There's no need to be sarcastic," Michael said, coming to Faith's defense. "Let's make a list. The most likely places will be abandoned and burnt recently. We can order them in descending order from most recent to oldest fire and most empty and remote to least empty."

"Not necessarily remote," Faith clarified. "I think he's desperate."

"What makes you say that?"

"He rushed this one," Faith said. "And he kidnapped her instead of looking for an opportunity near the scene of the murder. That's why he was caught on camera when he's never been caught on camera before."

"You're sure he just didn't get unlucky?" Hilary asked.

"I'm sure. At Samantha Reynard's apartment, he nearly walked into the hallway but stopped when he remembered the cameras. Tonight, he stood in full view of a camera for several seconds waiting for the elevator."

"He was wearing his mask, though," Hilary said. "He wasn't afraid of being recognized."

"The kidnapping thing, though," Michael interjected. "Faith's right. He's never taken a live victim before. He's always killed them as quickly as possible. This is different."

"He's desperate," Faith insisted. "I think he's terminally ill. Michael and I discussed this earlier before we went to Nina Verbeck's house. He's sick, and he's trying to complete the Magnum Opus before his disease kills him. That's why he's moving quickly with each murder. I think something happened after Lorraine Hayes was killed. Either his symptoms escalated, or he had a medical episode or something, but he thinks he's running out of time. He's scared, and it's making him sloppy."

"So he might not be far away is the point," Hilary said.

"Yes. In fact, he's probably close to the building where he picked the victim up."

"Okay. I'll say a five-mile radius," Hilary said.

He typed some commands into his computer. A moment later, dozens of tags popped up on the screen.

Faith's heart sank. "Please don't tell me those are all the buildings that could fit our profile."

Hilary sighed. "I'm afraid they are. Damn it."

"Jesus Christ," Michael said, turning around and lacing his hands behind his head. "And that's just what's within five miles. If our guy's willing to drive freeways, there could be hundreds more."

"Fires happen," Hilary said, almost defensively. "There are probably fewer buildings that haven't suffered fire damage at some point or another."

"Let's narrow it down," Faith said. "Get rid of those that have suffered minor damage. Leave behind buildings that have been condemned or abandoned because of a fire."

That erased about twenty results but still left dozens behind. Faith swore. "Damn it. How many results is that?"

"Forty-five."

She dropped her head, then lifted it and steeled herself for the nearly impossible task ahead. "Okay. Then we need eyes on all forty-five locations. How soon can we get officers there?"

"Are you serious? That's at least ninety officers. The precinct only has half that number. We can cover the top half of the locations, but not all of them. It'll take at least a half hour to borrow from the other precincts."

"God damn it," she swore. "Okay, let's get the ball rolling then."

"That'll be too late for the victim," Michael said.

"Well, it's better than doing nothing," Faith snapped. "Give me the top two locations. Turk and I will take one, and Michael can take one of your officers with him. Get the other pairs out to the other locations as fast as you can."

"I don't want you going alone," Michael interjected.

"I'm not alone," Faith said. "I'm with Turk, and I'm not going to entertain arguments right now. You're right, it'll take too long to coordinate the police response, so we need to get to everywhere we can."

Michael sighed. "All right."

"Top location is a theater," Hilary said, "Like a stage theater, not a movie theater. The Walter Calloway Theater on Baker and Mulberry."

"Text me the address," Faith said, rushing from the bullpen with Turk at her side.

Her heart pounded. She could hear West's taunting laughter in her head.

"You fear that he'll beat you, that he'll complete the Magnum Opus and leave you with nothing more than the chance to clean up his mess."

"Go to Hell, West," she said through gritted teeth.

"I'll only show up again with a new face and a new name."

"Well, this name is going to be stopped before he kills that girl."

Faith and Turk jumped into the cruiser. Faith started the car and put the address into the navigation software. The theater was nine minutes away. Faith switched on the lights and siren and peeled out of the parking lot. She'd make the theater in five.

Her mind echoed with Trammell's lilting tenor, West's taunting laughter, Kenneth Langeveldt's crazed grin. The rage and sickness of dozens of killers ran through her mind, but each taunt only fueled her determination.

She would rescue that woman before the Magnum Opus was complete.

Or she would die trying.

***

Lana stirred. Her head felt thick, and her tongue moved furrily in her mouth. She moaned and tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't. Or maybe she could, and the swirling lights were all she could see.

Was she blind now? She'd heard that if you hit the back of your head hard enough, you could be blinded temporarily or even permanently. Something to do with how the nerves in your eyes connected to the back of your brain.

A voice cut through the swirling lights. "Not now. Not now. Not now , damn it!"

This was followed by the sound of something smacking something else. It sounded like a fist hitting flesh. Was he hitting her? Was he saying not now, as in don't wake up now?

No, she couldn't feel anything. Even if she didn't feel pain, she would feel the impact.

What did she feel?

She concentrated on that sense. She felt something soft underneath the right side of her body, like a cushion. She could feel movement too when the cushion tilted slightly.

A car seat? That would make sense. She had been knocked out and dragged from the building.

So she was in someone's car, and he was taking her away for…

Nothing good. She was an adult. She knew what men did when they kidnapped attractive young women.

Then she remembered the murders. They were all over the news. Girls stripped naked and posed in weird shapes with powder sprinkled over their bodies.

That brought her all the way to wakefulness. She opened her eyes and realized that she was indeed in a car. She was belted into her seat, but she wasn't bound.

She looked ahead and saw her kidnapper. He looked to be about fifteen to twenty years older than her, with receding gray hair and liver spots on the exposed scalp. He was slamming his right hand into his chest—that was the noise she heard—and weeping. Through his tears, he was saying, "Not now. Not now."

If she was careful and slow, she could get to him before he saw her. She could fight him and crash the car. Then…

Then he would be seat belted, and she would be thrown through the window.

He spun around, and any secrecy she might have had was a non-issue. His eyes flew open, and he pointed at her. "You stay still! You move, and I'll fucking kill you!"

His voice cracked with desperation. Lana's mind raced. He was going to kill her. That was obvious.

But he needed to take her somewhere first. Somewhere, he could pose her in whatever weird shape he wanted this time.

So he needed her to be calm until then. Damn it, if only she could think of a way to get out of here without killing herself.

When the car stops , she thought. When the car stops, I'll make a run for it.

In the meantime, maybe she could get him to relax and drop his guard a little bit. "What's your name?" she asked.

He glanced at her briefly and didn't reply. She was about to ask again when he finally said, "Edgar."

"Edgar," she repeated. "I'm Lana."

"I don't care."

What a lovely person , she thought drily.

Well, duh. He was a murderer.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

"I'm going to complete rubedo ," he said. "I'm going to live forever."

She had no idea what ruby dough had to do with living forever, but the guy was clearly crazy. "Are you sick?"

As though on cue, Edgar grimaced. He hunched over the steering wheel, the veins in his neck building. A hissing sound escaped his lips, and after a moment erupted into a hoarse cry. His right hand came to his chest, trembling. "Please," he whispered. "Please, not now. I'm so close. Please."

Maybe I'll get lucky, and he'll die before he can kill me.

"You should see a doctor," she said. "They can help you."

Edgar barked laughter. He grimaced again, then after a second, he sighed with relief. His hand trembled again as he pulled it away from his chest and put it on the wheel. "No, they can't," he said, his voice thick with exhaustion. "They've tried. It's too late. My heart function is at forty-five percent. Or it was five weeks ago. They told me I need a heart transplant soon because it's going to decline further, and when it dips below thirty percent, I'm at high risk for heart failure."

He looked at her. "Congestive heart failure. Can you believe that? I've eaten well and exercised my whole life. I've watched my weight, gotten good sleep… the whole kiboodle. But I have congestive heart failure because I have some stupid genetic issue that makes it so my body can't digest certain kinds of fat. Instead, it decides to linger in my pericardium and my arteries. Would've loved to know that years ago, but what are you going to do?"

"And you think killing me is going to save you?"

He slumped slightly. "I'm sorry. I really am. I just have to complete the Magnum Opus. I need a sacrifice for rubedo , and you were the closest person to me when I stopped."

How lovely. Lana was going to die because she needed to work late to program a damned start menu for a stupid mobile game that was probably going to sell a thousand copies before users got fed up with it. "Listen, I wouldn't be a good sacrifice," she said. She thought desperately for a reason and said, "I… I've had sex. I'm not a virgin. Gee, nice going, Lana.

As expected, Edgar was unfazed. "I don't care. You don't need to be a virgin. You need to be unsoiled. That means I can't get blood on you."

Lana got an idea. She lifted her finger to her mouth. If she could bite down hard enough to draw blood, then—

"No! Don't you dare!"

Edgar reached behind, grabbed the back of her head and slammed her forward. Her head hit the center console, and the world exploded into darkness again.