“Egg donation?” Buxton said.
“To get this outcome, there would have to be both egg and sperm donation, which means—”
“A fertility clinic,” Buxton finished for him.
“That would be my guess,” Fanning said. “At least you should be able to track down the biological parents through the clinic’s implantation records and learn the identity of their offspring. I recommend starting with the full sister.”
“We’ll get right on it,” Buxton said.
“I have something else for your team as well.” The eagerness in Fanning’s voice promised another juicy lead.
“Which is?” Buxton prompted, allowing the DCU chief his moment.
“While we were waiting on the results, we used DNA phenotyping to generate a composite image of the unsub. I’ll email it to you with the rest of our report.”
This kept getting better. Nina knew the phenotyping process didn’t create a perfect picture of the person in question, but she had seen it come close in several cases. Special software could analyze a person’s DNA to predict characteristics such as hair color, eye color, facial shape, skin tone, freckling, and stature, among other things. At last, they would have an idea of what the Cipher really looked like.
Buxton thanked him and disconnected. For the first time in days, he smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, we finally have a break in this investigation.”
Chapter 32
“Do you need help with your bag, sir?” the cabbie asked.
The Cipher was always surprised at how accommodating people were to the elderly. A useful human failing. He leaned heavily on his cane. “Thank you, sonny.”
The heavyset man hoisted the duffel into the taxi’s roomy trunk. “Where you headed?”
“Downtown.” The Cipher slowed his movements, getting awkwardly into the back of the yellow sedan.
The driver stood next to the open door as the Cipher fumbled with the seat belt. “Which hotel, sir?”
He considered how to capitalize on this opportunity. “Is there a homeless shelter downtown?”
The driver eyed him with overt wariness. “You need a place to stay?”
“No, no. Not for me.” He dismissed the idea with a nonchalant wave. “I donate to homeless shelters.”
The cabbie looked relieved. His fare money was not in jeopardy after all. “There’s a few shelters. Some food banks and soup kitchens too.” He sighed. “Seems like there’s always people who need a hand.”
“Especially women and children,” the Cipher said. “Any shelters just for homeless women and girls?”
“Sure, there’s one right in the heart of the city.”
“Then take me to the hotel closest to that, please.”
The cabbie closed the door and trotted around to wedge his pudgy frame into the driver’s seat. He glanced at his passenger in the rearview mirror. “You one of those folks who gives money to causes and stuff?”
“A philanthropist,” the Cipher said, deliberately rasping his voice. “Yes, that’s what I am.”
“That’s real nice. You’re a good man.”
The Cipher smiled. People believed what they wanted to believe. Saw what they wanted to see.
As the taxi pulled away from the busy airport terminal, he sat in the back seat, going over his plans. There was another piece of information he needed, but he wasn’t sure if he should risk asking the cabbie. He did not want to be memorable in any way. On the other hand, the man was a font of information. “Have you lived here a long time?” he asked, deciding to chance it.
“Born and raised.”
Perfect. He cleared his throat. “I might decide to stay here awhile,” he said. “Is there a part of the city that still has open spaces?”
“Everything close to downtown is packed in. If you want space, you should look on the north or south side.”
“Thank you, sonny.”
He had no intention of checking into any hotel. After the cabbie dropped him off, he would take the bus to the nearest hardware store to buy supplies. Then he would rent an RV and drive it to the outskirts of town to prepare it for his needs. The old man getting off the plane at the airport would morph into someone else, and he would come back into the city tonight to start hunting.
His pulse quickened at the thought. Everyone in the country was looking for him. He’d given them the perfect distraction. As he’d done so often in his cage fights, he feinted left and jabbed right.
And no one would see his next punch coming.
Chapter 33
One of the cryptanalysts bumped Nina as he scurried past, jolting her coffee from its Styrofoam cup onto Kent’s sleeve.
She used the tiny napkin from under her cup to dab at his forearm and gave him a sheepish grin. “Everyone’s running around like crazy in here.”
“No worries,” Kent said, flashing her a smile. “I’m just pleased we all have something to work with for a change. A little chaos is a price I don’t mind paying.”
The moment Buxton ended the meeting, every team had rushed to separate areas in the task force room to chase down various aspects of the fresh leads they’d just received. The cavernous workspace had been sectioned into areas of specialty. Agents and analysts clustered around tables, charts, and computers as they delved into their respective investigative assignments. The FBI’s substantial resources were being brought to bear on each of the individuals named in the document Fanning had sent them. By the end of the day, they would know everything about each of their backgrounds, down to the names of their kindergarten teachers, their SAT scores, and every place they’d ever lived or held a job.
In a station set up in a corner of the room, the cryptanalysts were poring over the Cipher’s poem, determined to solve its meaning before he posted it for one of the Scoobies to figure out and snatch the clue before they could. Nina had read the rhyme several times but couldn’t make any headway. Finally, she decided she’d rather spend her time proactively hunting the Cipher instead of playing his games. She walked toward the opposite corner, where a group of agents were running through Breck’s chart with the names of MMA fighters from Sorrentino’s list. Wade and Kent stood with them, using their profiling skills to help whittle the list down to a manageable number for follow-up.
Of course, once they interviewed the Cipher’s siblings and learned the name of the fertility clinic where they had been conceived, none of this would be necessary. Everything would be in the clinic’s database.
Breck motioned Nina over to her table. “Come look at this.” She pointed at her monitor. “I took the image we got from Fanning and tweaked it to include some of the facial data points we got from surveillance footage.”
Nina stepped closer, anxious to finally put a face to the monster from her past. Breck had insisted Nina wait until she fiddled with it, wanting her first impression to be as accurate as possible.
“Most of his face was covered in every still shot we were able to grab,” Breck said. “I did manage to capture a bit of his jawline in one frame and an idea of cheekbone height in another. Put it all together with the predicted characteristics, and voilà.” She clicked her mouse with a flourish, and a close-up of a man’s face materialized.