“No luck on that front yet,” Buxton said. “But the BPD did track down the delivery van he was driving. It was abandoned on a side street half a mile from the restaurant.”
“A rental?” Nina said.
“He got it from a car rental place by Logan Airport,” Buxton said after mutilating a corner of the packet with his teeth. “The Boston field office agents just sent a copy of the scanned rental agreement to the task force database.”
“I can access the file through our server,” Breck said, opening her laptop. She typed for a few seconds, then turned the screen toward them. “Looks like he rented the van under the name Guillermo Valdez. Used a Florida driver’s license.”
They all leaned forward to scrutinize a blown-up image of the license the unsub had used to rent the van.
Nina almost choked on a piece of sautéed onion. “That’s a photo of Julian Zarran. Didn’t the rental car people recognize him? He’s only been in every major action movie out in the past five years.”
“It’s a busy airport,” Kent said. “Rental places have a lot of business. They probably had a long line of angry, tired travelers and wanted to get through as quickly as possible.”
“It’s no accident the unsub chose to use Zarran’s image on the phony license,” Wade said. “He’s giving us the finger.”
Kent pursed his lips. “When word gets out—and it will—Zarran’s going to raise the bounty to a million.”
“Probably what the unsub wants,” Wade said. “More Scoobies. More chaos.” He swore under his breath. “Maybe we should call Zarran.”
Nina kept her focus on what they had to work with. “I take it the Miami residence on the license is also bogus?”
“We sent an official request from the task force for the Miami-Dade PD to swing by and check it out,” Buxton said. “Dead end. He probably chose the address at random.”
“He must have some way of getting quality fake IDs,” Kent said. “He’s resourceful.”
They all looked up as the cockpit door opened. “Call for you, sir.” The copilot handed Buxton a sat phone. “It’s the DNA Casework unit chief.”
Buxton put the device to his ear as the copilot retreated. “Stand by. I’m putting you on speaker.”
He laid the phone on the table and tapped one of the icons on the front. “I’m with the Quantico team. Go ahead.”
“This is Dom Fanning,” a gruff male voice said. “We’ve run the sample recovered from Agent Guerrera through the system.”
Nina held her breath as she waited to hear if the unsub would finally have a name or if he would remain a cipher.
“No matches,” Fanning said. “He’s not in any criminal database. We’ve already initiated a request to compare it with cooperating commercial genealogical DNA services. I explained the situation personally, and they agreed to rush it. We’ll know if there’s a familial match within forty-eight hours.”
Buxton released a frustrated groan. “At least we have his genetic profile now.”
“You have more than that,” Fanning said. “I received a call from the Trace Evidence Unit a few minutes ago. They’ve been coordinating with our Boston ERT and wanted to see if there was a nexus with the DNA we analyzed, because what they determined is . . . unexpected, to say the least.”
“What did they find?” Buxton asked.
“Emmeline Baker, the unit chief, is requesting an immediate call so she can explain it to you directly.”
Buxton thanked Fanning and disconnected. While he scrolled through his phone list and placed the call, Nina considered what Fanning had reported. There had been no DNA match, but apparently the Boston field office’s Evidence Recovery Team had located trace evidence that offered promise.
A clipped feminine voice carried over the sat phone’s speaker. “Emmeline Baker.”
Buxton announced himself and got straight to the point. “I understand you have something to report from the Boston case?”
“The findings are significant. I wanted to alert you as soon as possible.”
Everyone exchanged excited glances, well aware that the Trace Evidence Unit maintains a reference collection of human and animal hair, natural and man-made textile fibers and fabrics, as well as wood and other items for comparison with samples found at crime scenes. A significant lead could have come from anywhere at the Boston scene.
Buxton placed his hands on the table. “Did you get a trace evidence hit?”
Nina stared at the phone, desperate to hear of a break in the case.
“Agent Guerrera bit the unsub’s glove, tearing off a few fibers. Our evidence techs collected them from the pavement where she indicated she spat them out. Those fibers come from a manufactured fabric that is an exact match for an existing sample in our database, otherwise we wouldn’t have managed such a fast response.”
Buxton cleared his throat. “You’ve verified your results through redundant examinations?”
There was no hesitation when Baker responded. “Affirmative.”
“How many cases can we link?” Buxton asked.
Baker answered after a long moment. “A total of thirty-six murders.”
Chapter 24
Excitement morphed to shock as they all absorbed the information.
Nina was the first to speak. “Thirty-six murders?”
Wade narrowed his eyes. “Would the fabric in your database happen to be used by Red Zone Fight Gear?”
“Correct,” Baker said. “It’s a patented formula. No one else uses it. It’s like a fingerprint.”
“No way,” Kent said, looking at Wade. “Not possible.”
Nina glanced back and forth between them. Why were they both visibly upset about what should be good news?
Buxton’s full attention was on the phone. “The murders you connected, is the Megan Summers case one of them?”
Nina remembered the girl’s name from her days as a street cop before she joined the Bureau. Every law enforcement officer in the DC metro area had been on the hunt for the so-called Beltway Stalker. It had seemed as if the entire region breathed a collective sigh of relief when his reign of terror ended. She tried, and failed, to put the puzzle together with several pieces missing.
“Yes, it is.” Emmeline Baker’s voice carried through the phone’s speaker, cutting into her thoughts. “We’re going to review the cases in DC and San Francisco, resubmit every molecule of trace evidence through our processes. Now that we know exactly what needle to look for in those respective haystacks, we might find the same fiber. No promises, though, with so much cross contamination at both of those scenes.”
“And the Boston victim?” Buxton asked.
“She has microscopic matching fibers in the skin around her neck where she was strangled. He may not have had an opportunity to scrub the body before disposing of it this time.”
“Keep me posted,” Buxton said. “Send the complete report when it’s ready. Thanks for the heads up.” He disconnected and turned to the group. “What are the odds?”
“The odds of what?” Nina said, unable to stop herself.