She signaled Lieutenant Spangler. “Could you take us back to the wharf? I’d like to see the . . .” She stopped herself before saying body. Every victim deserved to be called by name. “Do we have an ID yet?”
“The girl was nude,” he said. “No ID. A few families of missing teens came forward to see if it was their daughter, but so far, no luck. Some of the guys who work the area think she might be homeless.” He motioned toward the downtown area. “We get a lot of that here. They’re called ‘urban campers.’”
She glanced at Wade. “Anything else?”
“The geographical profiling on this guy just got a hell of a lot harder.”
They climbed aboard the SFPD watercraft tied to the thick wooden pylon and sat on the white vinyl cushions in back. Within five minutes, they were on the wharf, where an FBI agent from the San Francisco field office stood next to an SFPD sergeant, impatient expressions on their faces.
Wade reached them first. “What’s up?”
The agent gestured toward the patrol sergeant, who held up a plastic evidence bag.
“One of my officers working the perimeter recovered this from a couple of people in the crowd,” the sergeant said. “We’ve got them in two separate squad cars, ready for interview.”
Bright blue ink caught Nina’s eye, and she motioned for the bag from the sergeant. Turning it over, she saw an envelope with the words WARRIOR GIRL printed in the center.
A hot, prickly sensation crawled up her spine. “Where did this come from?”
“The people who found it said it was taped to a dumpster. They already opened it. Said there was a message written in some sort of code.” He shrugged. “They couldn’t understand it.”
She and Wade exchanged glances. Another body. Another dumpster. Another coded message.
For her.
Chapter 14
Laramie Municipal Park
Sweetwater County, Wyoming
The Cipher plopped the fast food burger on the dashboard, rolled down the window, and spat a chunk of gristle onto the ground. Disgusting.
He wiped the grease from his fingers and rotated the mobile phone in the bracket attached to the car’s vent, turning it sideways. Much wider picture. He googled clue found in trash and tapped the first link that came up. The YouTube video began with a shot of a crowd at Fisherman’s Wharf. He smiled. This would be fun. Worth pulling off the freeway to enjoy the scene he’d heard about on the radio. At least he had XM, so he didn’t have to fumble through news channels as he drove from one state to the next, making his way back east.
His pulse quickened when he saw the black Suburban pull into the frame. He licked a spot of ketchup from the corner of his mouth and leaned forward to increase the volume.
“I don’t get why they still won’t let us near the pier.” A shrill female voice spoke in the background as the scene played out. She seemed to be narrating as she shot the footage, as opposed to speaking to a companion. “They took the body away hours ago,” she continued.
He detected anger and fear in her voice. His smile widened.
“Oh, wait. The FBI’s here,” she said in the background.
A bit of jostling, as if she had elbowed her way through the throng to get a better view. “Hey, there’s the agent from that video. Nina something . . . the Warrior Girl.”
He’d already spotted her, the oversize FBI raid jacket swallowing her petite frame. Her dark sunglasses hid much of her reaction. Damn. He’d wanted to watch those big brown eyes fill with dread. Instead, he caught her body momentarily stiffening. In that moment, he was certain she was thinking of him. They were connected.
Arousal strained his jeans, making him shift in his seat as he recalled his time with her. He’d suppressed his darkest impulses throughout his adolescence and young adulthood, denying himself. All of that changed the moment he laid eyes on Nina for the first time. She was the one.
He’d gathered the equipment and set up the shed that very night, but by the time he was ready, Nina had disappeared. He spent three days hunting her. He had been furious with her at the time, but the chase had added to the thrill. And given him a reason to punish her. He had bestowed one mark upon her for each day she made him wait. Then he had taken her three times, completing the triangle of retribution.
He would have her again. And he would punish her so much more for escaping. He would take everything she had, including her life. As his excitement mounted, he was grateful he’d pulled into a deserted community park. A lone man sitting in his car at a busy rest stop off the freeway could have attracted unwanted attention.
He willed his heated blood to cool as the unseen narrator in the video continued her commentary. “I hope she catches that Cipher guy.”
He liked his new name. The Cipher. He was an enigma. He would continue to leave clues and invite the world to play his game. Under his rules. In his arena.
The picture wobbled. “Quit pushing!”
The Cipher dragged a finger across the bottom of the video, fast forwarding to the crucial part.
“. . . says Warrior Girl on the envelope,” the female voice was saying. “This has got to be for that FBI lady.”
The view screen angled down as a nicotine-stained female hand pulled the envelope from the side of the dumpster, taking the thick silver duct tape off with it.
He fast forwarded again as the woman fumbled with the seal, taking a maddening amount of time to open it one-handed for the camera. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her when she slid the index card out and held it up.
She read the message out loud. “Not understanding will make you sob. You have forty-eight hours to solve this.” She was jostled again and stopped reading but kept the card in front of her phone.
He studied the series of numbers on the card: 75, 73, 3, 9, 101, 8, 75.
Let the MIT eggheads chew on that.
As the video continued, someone seemed to have finally noticed what the woman was doing. A tall skinny guy who looked to be in his twenties elbowed her. “Hey, what you got there?”
“It was taped to the side of that trash bin.” She pulled the note away, possessive. “I think it’s a clue from the Cipher.”
“Yeah, right.” The man’s tone was pure derision. “Does it say Professor Plum did it in the study with a lead pipe?”
“Listen, asshole, it looks just like the other message he left.”
“Let me see.” The guy’s hand shot out toward her.
“I found it.” She yanked the card away. “It’s mine.”
“Give it here.” He moved in close, red T-shirt momentarily blocking the screen.
A lot of jostling, swearing, and grunting followed.
“Score.” The man stepped back, waving the tattered card.
“I’m telling the police.” The woman followed this pronouncement with a string of expletives that questioned his intelligence, his manhood, and his parentage.
“If this is a legit clue, the FBI will be looking at you for messing with it anyway.”
“And what about you, Einstein? Now your prints are all over it too.”
The man straightened. “I was just making sure it got turned over to the proper authorities.”
“What’s going on over here?” A cop came into view.