“It took law enforcement far too long to put the pieces together and realize that the unsub’s itch was the type of victim he chose and the need to torment and denigrate them. Wade blames himself. Says he should have figured it out sooner.”
“How did the fibers lead to a suspect?”
“The Trace Evidence Unit processed all of the fibers collected from the various crime labs where there were samples. They tracked the chemicals used in the manufacture to a textile mill in Philadelphia. An agent from the Philly field office went to the mill and interviewed the owner, who told them the process had been developed by request from a clothing manufacturer in DC. The manufacturer had specifications for flexibility, color, and durability. He was creating a line of specialty clothing and gear for MMA fighters. He called it Red Zone Fight Gear. His uncle owned a venue in the District called Steel Cage Central Fight Club, so he figured he could market there to get his new business going.”
She recalled that the Beltway Stalker had been fairly well known in the MMA community. There had been a brief uproar about such bouts causing extreme aggression in participants. The objections had died down over time when scientists and researchers were unable to conclusively link combative sports and violence.
Kent continued with his recitation. “Wade and the lead case agent went out to interview the manufacturer. He told them his products never caught on. He couldn’t compete with the stuff made overseas at a fraction of the cost, and his overhead was too high. He went out of business more than ten years earlier. Said his uncle offered to buy his leftover stock—paid him pennies on the dollar.”
“So that’s how you traced it back to that specific fight club,” Nina said.
“I went with Wade and the case agent to interview the uncle at the club. I still remember the guy. Name’s Sorrentino. Turned out he sold most of the stock he bought off his nephew to the fighters at his club . . . at full retail.”
“Nice guy.”
“A real piece of work. Anyway, he claims he never kept any sales records or receipts and had no memory of who bought stuff from him.”
“He couldn’t even provide one name?”
“We threatened him with an audit from our friends at the IRS, and he almost wet himself. He’d been selling the stuff for years. Every sale was a cash deal, and he never paid any taxes on his profits. He also paid cash for the gear he bought from his nephew, so there was no money trail. I’m sure that was part of his scheme. He told us he sold various items to more than a hundred people over more than a decade.”
Nina rolled her eyes. “No help at all.”
“Worse than that,” Kent said. “Chandra Brown was murdered right after our visit. I’m convinced Sorrentino mentioned we were asking around, or the Beltway Stalker saw us there, and he knew we were closing in. He decided to have one last kill before he ended it on his terms. At least, that’s what his note said.”
She’d always been curious about the contents of the note, which had never been released. “What else did it say?”
She held her breath as Kent eyed her warily. He might think she planned to second-guess his investigation. And he would be correct.
He blew out a sigh. “I never liked the fact that it was typed, but he confessed to all thirty-six murders and gave details only the killer would know, stuff we kept out of the media. We had physical evidence tying everything together, a confession, and most importantly, the deaths stopped.” He folded his arms. “Case closed. Why would we look any further?”
“You wouldn’t,” Nina said. She could see the pain in his expression as the inevitable self-recrimination set in.
“I did the usual after-action behavioral analysis for our profiling database,” Kent said. “He had a lot of issues with aggression. Had a few arrests for violence against women. Seemed to dislike authority. It fit well enough.”
“But like you said, there weren’t any more deaths after Chandra Brown, right?”
Kent heaved a sigh. “At this point, I’d have to say she was the last known case.”
“It all makes sense now.” Wade had quietly padded back down the aisle to rejoin them. “He’s a chameleon. He changes his appearance, his vehicles, his patterns.” He clenched his hands into tight fists. “And he fed us a scapegoat two years ago.”
Wade’s haggard face bore the desperate look of a sinner seeking absolution. He spoke as if compelled to explain his mistakes. “Most serial killers are driven by the kind of compulsion that makes them repeat behaviors. That’s what forms their pattern.” He raised his voice. “If anything, the Beltway Stalker’s pattern seemed to be that he changed constantly. If it weren’t for forensics, we would never have linked the murders. They’re that different from one another.”
“If the Beltway Stalker and the Cipher are the same person, he’s changed his pattern again,” Kent said. “He’s gone from flying under the radar to attracting as much attention as possible.”
“I’m still not ready to concede that we’re dealing with the same killer,” Buxton said. “As Agent Guerrera noted, they could have been partners and now the surviving cohort is working on his own. That would explain the change from total secrecy to maximum public engagement. We need more data before we can draw a solid conclusion.”
The cabin fell silent. Nina noticed Wade studying Buxton.
Wade narrowed his eyes at his supervisor. “You’re going to pull me from the case.” He made it a statement.
Buxton regarded Wade a moment before he responded. “I would rather have this conversation in private, Agent Wade.”
“I don’t give a damn who hears,” Wade said. “I need to work this case. I need to find him.”
“It’s not about what you need,” Buxton said. “It’s about what serves the investigation.”
As the two men stared each other down, Nina considered the situation. Buxton was ready to yank Wade because he had been compromised. At some point, Buxton might decide that no one was more compromised than she was. If he saw Wade as a liability, he might see her that way as well.
Her eyes traced Wade’s profile. Years of studying madmen and the horrific things they did had clearly taken their toll. Etched in the deep lines of his face was the pain of knowing he could not save everyone. That some might escape justice. That for Wade, the Cipher was the one.
The one that got away.
The thought reminded her of the note the Cipher had written to her and put in Sofia Garcia-Figueroa’s mouth. Suddenly, she knew Dr. Jeffrey Wade had to stay on this case. And so did she.
She faced Buxton. “Wade studied this unsub for years. He understands him better than anyone else in the Bureau.” She flicked a glance at Kent. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Kent said.
She turned back to Buxton. “Now that we understand what we’re up against, Wade can go back through his notes and update the profile.”
Buxton raised a skeptical brow. “We need a completely new profile. From scratch. Which Agent Kent could do.”
Aware she was overstepping, she pressed on. “We can all work together to create a complete picture.” She tapped her chest. “I’m his only surviving victim.” She moved her hand to point at Wade. “He did the initial profile.” She ended with Kent. “And he did the postmortem.”