35. Or, Alternatively…Alive

THIRTY-FIVE

Or, Alternatively…Alive

“Ican’t believe I didn’t fucking see it,” Rus gritted.

It was the next day.

The media were losing their goddamned minds, so Moran, Dickerson, McGill and Bohannan were in Rus’s room at Pinetop, mostly so Moran and Dickerson could escape the commotion and have some quiet to meet and think.

Moran had made a statement early that morning, standing just outside the doors to the sheriff’s office.

It had been short and carefully crafted by Moran, Megan Nichols, Rus, Bohannan, McGill and an FBI communications officer.

He’d said, “Last evening, the body of a woman was discovered in a rental cabin. The victim was a suspect in the Brittanie Iverson murder. We’re still gathering evidence, and the investigation is in its infancy. The victim’s family have not been reached, and we won’t identify her publicly until that’s taken place. When there are details the public needs to know about this case, we’ll share them through statements to the press and our department’s social media. Until that time, we have work to do.”

Questions were shouted, including if this was a revenge killing and if the people of Fret County, especially the women, should worry.

Moran had turned to go into the building, but he turned back and answered, “We have no reason to believe the citizens in this county are under any threat. I would say to them now what I’d say to them two weeks ago and two months from now. Be smart. Be safe. Be aware of your surroundings. But don’t panic. I cannot stress enough, there’s no reason to panic.”

With that, the presser ended as he turned and walked into the building.

He’d gone out alone, no cadre of officers or men in suits or hangers-on to share the limelight or make this seem like a bigger deal, even if it was.

Moran was a man who didn’t need to be propped up by a posse, and it came off that way, at least in Rus’s opinion.

It was agreed by all, the less said, the stronger it was communicated, the better.

If they wanted to fill in the blanks, they could print their retractions or deal with their canceled subscriptions later.

Rus had already talked to his Section Chief.

He’d also made certain they passed on what they knew to Turner and his crew.

And last, he hadn’t slept at all, not only because of the state CK left Carrie Molnar in, but also because he’d sat in on the interview of the couple who’d rented the cabin.

They’d had a long day’s drive up from Nevada to enjoy a long weekend in the Washington State wilderness. They’d hit town, the grocery store, then found their rental, only to discover Carrie Molnar’s dead body in the bed in which they’d intended to sleep away the daily grind of stress. At least for a while.

They were traumatized.

“It’s a blind spot,” Rus declared.

“There are a lot of things narcissists and control freaks do, Rus,” Bohannan said. “They’re all not cops.”

“It’s a viable theory,” Rus returned.

“I agree with you,” Bohannan replied. “With this new development, if this person didn’t have advanced investigative skills, I’d be surprised. I’m not convinced he’s a cop, but I agree that’s the working theory we need to go with.”

“What else would he be?”

“PI. Military police.”

“A cop,” Rus stated flatly.

Bohannan sighed.

Then he said, “You didn’t miss anything, Rus. With all you had before, I’d say cop was a leap. For one, cops don’t move around that much. Not unless he has a problem on the job. And this guy won’t have a problem on the job. He’ll close cases. He’ll be on the softball team. He’s not gonna dick up at work and have a messy record following him around. He’s going to be proud of his work and do it well. He’s going to be liked, at least by colleagues. They may feel close to him, but when he’s found out, the thing about him they can’t put their finger on that makes the hair stand up on their necks will make them not surprised he is who he is.”

Like usual with Bohannan, this made sense.

One thing Rus had learned, you never really knew anybody.

Sometimes, not even yourself.

“If that’s the case,” Bohannan kept at it, “how does he have the opportunity to scope out victims and locations that far apart with the time he takes to murder them? Is he doing it on vacation? With his very specific MO, that’s a stretch.”

Rus couldn’t argue the point either.

“Two,” Bohannan continued, “my bead on a cop, especially a malignant narcissist, especially if he kept getting away with it, would be that he’d do it more often. He’d get cocky. He’d start taking risks. You get someone in an authority position with a growing god complex, a real one, not just an asshole who thinks his shit doesn’t stink, a cop, judge, doctor, it doesn’t take long for them to start doing crazy shit because they think they’re invincible. You make that person a serial killer, you’d be finding dead women all over the place.”

Rus couldn’t argue that either.

“With what you had, I would not leap to cop,” Bohannan finished.

“Well, now the working theory is, we have a cop, or someone who did a like job, and to answer your question as to how he gets around, he’s retired. Brad said he was older than me. He had gray in his hair. He has a gut, but he’s built. All the profilers said he’d be vain. He’d take care of himself. If he does, he could look younger than he is.”

Bohannan nodded his agreement.

But he said, “He’s following you. He knows how to do it so you don’t spot a tail. He knows how to blend. Maybe that’s work, say he was undercover at some point. Mostly, it’s his illness. You can’t scope out victims if you don’t learn how to blend. He’s connecting dots because who you’re talking to and what you’re doing is feeding him leads. Don’t get it in your head he’s superhuman. He’s doing what he’d be furious if you did. He’s stepping into your space.”

“Is this going to be an issue?” McGill asked a great question.

“I worry,” Bohannan admitted, and Rus’s gut clenched. “I think he’d be all about professional courtesy. Especially if he’s a brother, as much as that word is hard for me to say, it’s true in this context. Molnar was double trouble. She was a gift to Rus, having horned in on their relationship, and Rus was forced to investigate her. Someone our guy doesn’t think is worth Rus’s time. Complicating this, he killed her. He may have gotten her story before he did, but him doing that took away Rus’s ability to learn why she did what she did. Cops know that’s important. We wanna know the whys and hows. I think he’s going to have concerns Rus is not going to think she’s a gift, but not in the same ways we, as normal, functioning adults, would have those concerns.”

Fantastic.

This was not good news.

“He’s also pissed she impersonated his work,” Bohannan kept at it. “If you asked me which of those was bigger for him, considering the state of her, the rage he left behind, I’d say the latter. I think he’s on a tear, and he’s looking for Ezra, but he’s conflicted. He’s doing Rus’s job. And that doesn’t fit in their relationship.”

“Okay, now, is that going to be a problem?” Rus asked. “Remember, he could have random bombs set up anywhere.”

Bohannan leveled his gaze on Rus.

“It’s tough to make this statement in case I’m wrong, and that’s one of the reasons why I haven’t made it yet.”

That was an interesting opening.

And not very promising.

Bohannan got into it.

“But I don’t think the bombs are a thing with this guy. It doesn’t fit. I’ve been going over it since I got the file, trying to make it fit. It just doesn’t. He can’t be everything. A master of disguises. A master of the con to lure these girls to a hotel room. An expert in crystals. Finding the perfect victim and taking her to the perfect place and getting away with the perfect murder in seven different states, leaving no trace, which means pretty intense scouting trips. All of this without being seen or noticed by anybody. Then add being an expert in remote-detonated bomb making too?”

Bohannan shook his head.

And kept going.

“It’s easy to buy a hammer. It’s a lot harder to buy shit to make bombs without the FBI knowing you’re doing it. So he’d have to be a master at that as well. Now we also know he can spend an entire week in a town where LEOs are a heavy presence, investigating a murder and looking directly for this guy at the same time, and he’s been seen by only one person, because he wanted to be seen.”

Rus wasn’t feeling awesome about this, because if that wasn’t CK, then they had a bomb go off that they didn’t fully investigate.

“And he has to feed himself,” Bohannan said. “He has to make a living. He probably has a wife. Kids. Those things take your time and attention. Your presence. We can’t fall into a trap of thinking this guy is omnipotent. He thinks he is, but he’s not. I don’t know how to explain the vague threats in his notes to you and what happened in Alabama with that timing and that follow-up call. I can see those dots connected, it’s a mad coincidence if it isn’t him. I still don’t think that was the correct call. I’ll just say, right now, even if that was him, he’s not thinking about it. He’s placed himself in this position. He’s here not because you forced him to be, but because he’s made the decision to be here. And things are getting out of his control.”

Bohannan paused, probably so Rus could brace, so he did.

Then Bohannan finished it.

“This might be a boon. He’s going to get more erratic. Erratic will mean he’ll fuck up. But it’s also a concern. Because he’s going to get more erratic, and he’s proved with what he did to Molnar, that could mean anything.”

Shit.

Not great, but they couldn’t get mired in it.

They had keep moving.

“Talk to us about Corbin and Molnar,” Rus demanded.

Bohannan again delivered.

“Corbin is a piece of shit who couldn’t brush his own teeth if he didn’t have someone handing him the toothpaste. That’s why he married a woman who could make the money. That’s why he’s a submissive. His hatred for himself and his weakness is why he gets sexual release by being told what to do, and that’s hurting someone else. He doesn’t even have the strength to take the pain and punishment himself.”

Rus nodded he got that because it all fit.

Bohannan carried on.

“But he was her sub. It’s rare, especially with violent murders where there’s no emotional component to it, say attacking your abuser, for a woman to kill in that way. She’s off, I don’t know how she was off, but it was her. Ezra didn’t lie. He probably had no idea they were going there to kill Brittanie. Rape, yes. Non-consensual rape, all the better in his fucked-up head. But he didn’t wield the hammer. He’s the kind of man to be told to shut up and go along with it, and he will. He’s also the kind of man, if you assure him you have it covered and it’s all gonna be okay, he’ll believe you, because women from his mother to his wife to Molnar have made it okay for him since he came out crying.”

“And now?” Moran asked.

“Now, we need to find Ezra, because CK made it clear he’s next,” Bohannan answered. “And Rus has to be visible, out there, working it, frustrated, pushing CK, who feels affinity with Rus and will commiserate with these emotions, to act. And we need eyes, so if he’s following, we can catch him. I want Jace and Jess working with that crew from LA.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Rus said, pulling out his phone.

“Rus?” Bohannan called.

Rus looked to him.

“This ends here.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean, he’s done. He might not know it consciously, he still knows it. It’s just the scenario playing out as to how he goes down. In a blaze of glory or simply walking into Moran’s shop.”

“Are you serious?” McGill was incredulous.

But Bohannan didn’t take his gaze from Rus.

“His work has been desecrated. His relationship with you has been jeopardized, to him, to the point it can’t be resurrected. It will never be the same. I don’t know how he’s going to do it. I don’t know if he knows yet this is his trajectory. But the Crystal Killer isn’t leaving Misted Pines a free man…or, alternatively…alive.”