Thirst for sin touch of.., p.12
Thirst for Sin (Touch of Evil Book 1), page 12
She breathed a sigh of relief at the photos of the three women who were new to the facility. Only one male individual had been brought onto the staff, and he was a sixty-eight-year-old volunteer. She verified his photograph before moving the mouse to close down her email.
Brook hesitated when she caught sight of Graham Elliott’s name. The subject line was still in bold. A part of her wanted to ignore the message; make him wait a little bit longer for the notification that would be sent once she opened the email. To validate her procrastination, she also reasoned that she had a long night ahead of her on the current investigation.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see what value that he’d come up with for her to exchange the one vehicle that enabled her to locate her brother. He’d basically promised the same, but she highly doubted that he would be able to provide the same contacts and technology that the agency had at their disposal.
Besides, she already had a lead on Jacob.
Brook debated for another few minutes, even going so far as to make herself a cup of coffee in the cheap machine that the hotel had positioned on a small counter right outside the bathroom. She took the paper cup back to the small desk and proceeded to open the message.
The first thing that her gaze landed on was the annual salary that Elliot had typed in the first line of the first paragraph.
She almost dropped her cup.
If her fixation on Jacob hadn’t been the main issue keeping her from leaving the Bureau, she would have seriously considered the proposal. On the other hand, there was no explanation as to how a retired senior officer from the Marine Corps could run an operation such as this. The bulk of the email went into great depths of how he would like her to run a consulting firm based on her experience with the FBI. The only caveat was that the first case had to be the one attached, though she didn’t have time to go through the files. There were too many attached, and apparently from many different police departments around the country.
“You have piqued my interest, Mr. Elliot,” Brook murmured to herself, placing her lips on the sensitive skin that was between her index finger and thumb. The hot beverage had all but scalded her hand, and she would have a red mark for a day or two. “Who exactly are you?”
Wanting answers to that question before she spoke with him again, Brook made her way back to the nightstand where she’d left her phone on the charger. She used her left hand to send a message to someone in operations who owed her a favor, requesting information on one Graham Elliott. She figured she had time before he attempted to contact her again. He would see that she’d opened his message, read the contents, and give her time to come to a decision, though she already knew what her response would be to his proposition.
Right as she sent the text, the shrilling of the hotel phone reverberated around the small room.
“Sloane,” she answered before finally taking a tentative sip of her coffee. There was only one person who knew that she was staying at this motel, besides those at the local FBI office. “Please tell me that there is a good coffee place in this town that’s open before seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
She grimaced at the acidic taste, but she managed to swallow the bitter coffee.
“Ms. Sloane, don’t hang up. Please.”
“Who is this?” Brook asked cautiously, setting down her coffee before she ended up causing more damage to her hand.
“This is Matt Henley.”
Brook stilled her movements as she collected her thoughts and emotions. She sure as hell wouldn’t lose her composure over the phone to a crime vlogger who would more than likely publicize her reaction. Hell, he was almost certainly recording this call for good measure.
Several questions mulled through her mind, though.
First and foremost, how did he know that she had left D.C.?
And just as important, how did he know where she was staying when she hadn’t even known herself?
She already had the answer to that inquiry based on the profile that she’d generated of the unsub. Nothing escaped the residents of a small town, and that meant Matt Henley was in the area.
“Mr. Henley,” Brook began as professionally as she could while palming her firearm that she’d set on the nightstand. She’d taken the holster off her waistband so that she would be more comfortable on the bed. “How did you get this number?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I really need to speak with you.”
Brook slowly crossed the short distance to the door and peered out the small hole. Considering this was a motel, she’d been able to park her vehicle directly in front of her room. She scanned the view that was available to her, with no success in locating the so-called reporter.
“You know more than most that the FBI has a protocol for any type of statements regarding ongoing investigations, so I suggest you use them.”
Brook continued to monitor the parking lot.
“Please, just hear me out,” Matt practically pleaded in what could only be considered panic. She held off disconnecting the call and remained quiet to see if he would continue. A silhouette finally disconnected with the dark shadows on the far side of the parking lot. “You’re going to want to talk to me tomorrow, regardless. I’m just hoping to get in front of this.”
“In front of what?”
Brook debated on swinging the door open to catch Henley off guard, but she decided against it. She’d rather that he possess the impression of having the upper hand in this situation. The panic in his tone was rather profound, and it was only a matter of time before he confessed to whatever had him wound up.
“I graduated from the same high school as Vicki Anderson, two years after her murder.”
Brook once again remained silent.
Matt technically fit the profile, as well as his job. He was also always reporting on current events across the nation. He traveled, reported to no one, and such a career would impress the women…for a short while.
Still, the unsub wouldn’t offer himself up on a silver platter to the FBI. Her profile stated that the unsub wasn’t even remotely ready for his search for a princess to come to an end.
“Stay where you are. Hands where I can see them.”
Brook disconnected the call, monitoring his movements for a solid minute before she finally left her place by the door. She took her time collecting her holster and attaching it to the waistband of her jeans. Once her weapon was secure, she then grabbed her blazer off the hanger. She even made sure that the key to her room was tucked into the back pocket of her jeans before verifying that Henley was still standing in the same spot that she’d last seen him.
With his hands still half raised in the air, Brook slowly opened the door and shut it behind her before she closed the distance between them. The cold air was brisk enough that she could see his breath was uneven with every exhalation.
Matt Henley was nervous.
Brook waited to speak until she was about ten feet away from him, having already scanned the parking lot. There were only three vehicles to be found, along with a white van that she’d already taken time to memorize the license plate number, along with the company’s name.
“I didn’t kill Vicki Anderson,” Matt replied, keeping his hands somewhat raised and away from his body.
He paused and waited for her to respond, but she didn’t feel the need to in this situation.
He was a reporter.
Therefore, it stood to reason that he was recording this conversation.
“Listen, I got a call last night from an old friend. He said that an agent was coming to town with questions that might be related to the Princess Killer case. I tried calling you at the office, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. So, I drove down here first thing this morning. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the FBI is interested in Vicki Anderson’s murder, but then I realized how it was going to look when my name and picture showed up in the yearbook.”
It certainly wouldn’t look good, but she refrained from agreeing with him. The longer she remained silent, the more he seemed inclined to talk.
“Imagine my surprise when I found out that you’re here instead of one of the agent’s assigned to the case. This has to do with the profile, right?” Matt’s arms slowly lowered, though not to the point that such an action made her nervous. “I can help you. I know these people. You tell me who you want to speak to, and I’ll make it happen. John Taylor? Luke Harris? Sam Baker? They were at the bonfire, and they all still live around here.”
All three names were listed in the report, and all three boys had given their statements back then. Brook had made a list of those who she’d like to re-question. She wouldn’t go through Matt Henley to do it, though. Still, she appreciated his ability to be forthcoming about his involvement, however little it might have been.
“I appreciate your offer, Mr. Henley. As I am sure you already know, I’ve already been in contact with Sheriff O’Sullivan.” Brook didn’t miss Henley’s slight upturned lip upon hearing Joe’s title. She let it slide for now. “I would like to know if you were at the bonfire that night.”
“No. I was busy at home that night writing about the football team’s first win of the season for the school’s newspaper.” Henley didn’t disappoint her by following up on his contempt for the town’s sheriff. “I can help you, Agent Sloane. Joe O’Sullivan might have been older, but he was friends with most of those guys back then. He won’t tell you the truth.”
The faint sounds of tractor trailers driving down the highway traveled through the night air. Other than the slight humming of their large tires against the asphalt, there were no other sounds to be heard. No crickets, no frogs, and no nocturnal birds overhead looking for food.
It was as if the wildlife in the area sensed another predator was in their territory.
“And what truth is that?” Brook asked quietly, not bothering to correct Henley on her title. He was rubbing his hands together to keep warm, and such a gesture indicated that he was becoming more comfortable as the conversation wore on. “This is a small town, Mr. Henley. Everyone knows everyone else. That isn’t anything new.”
“You don’t know, do you?”
Brook didn’t take offense to the question. She’d already made a connection that she fully intended to follow up on in the morning, but it was to her advantage to come across as if she was still in the dark. If Henley happened to mention something else that she could use in the investigation, so be it.
“Joey covered for Benjamin Morgan, Jr.—Benny Morgan’s son. He was seen with Vicki that day,” Matt pointed out, clearly hoping that the intimate details got him an inside track into the investigation. “I bet those details wasn’t in the initial report. Am I right?”
The fact that Henley didn’t currently have the public reports on Vicki Anderson’s murder told her that he’d never made the connection between his hometown and the investigation. It had only been when he had received a call regarding an agent’s inquiry into the case that he eventually connected the dots.
“I can help you, Agent Sloane.”
“For a price,” Brook predicted, finally receiving his nod of confirmation. She looked off into the darkened distance, never one to turn away a source without reason. “What are your terms, Mr. Henley?”
He shifted his weight under her scrutiny, but that didn’t stop him from forging ahead in an attempt to make a deal. He would be significantly disappointed when she didn’t take him up on his initial offer, but she’d see to it that she had bargaining room if the time ever came that she needed information.
“I help you in exchange for an exclusive interview as the profiler on the case.” Matt held out his hand as if a mere handshake would solidify their arrangement. “Agreed?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Unsub
November 2021
Thursday—11:34 pm
Fear threatened to drown him, but he’d managed to hold onto his composure until he walked through his own front door. Once alone, he screamed in anguish until he landed onto the hardwood floor of his living room mentally exhausted. His knees hit first, followed immediately by his clenched fists.
Where had he gone wrong?
What thread had led her here?
What tiny detail had directed Brook Sloane’s attention to such a small town in Pennsylvania? All of his carefully constructed plans had started to unravel once he saw on national news that the FBI had been called in to assist the local law enforcement officials with his version of Snow White.
He’d been so careful.
The profiler’s arrival was all anyone in town could talk about, and her presence had him remembering his earlier version of Hansel and Gretel. She’d been laid to rest, though. He’d already shown everyone that she hadn’t been deserving of her own story. She’d deceived him, and he’d had to rewrite the ending to suit her punishment.
Just like he had with all the others…
He’d been so meticulous and painstakingly patient in searching for a woman deserving of his love. Most of their names escaped him, because they’d been nothing but imposters. They were no longer important in the grand scheme of his eternal story.
His fairytale was simply waiting to be written.
He leaned back on his heels when he was steady enough, and then he used the back of his hand to wipe away the moisture underneath his nose. No one was going to stop him from finding his princess—not the twisted and dishonest media, not the evil stepmother, and certainly not the simpleminded Brook Sloane.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brooklyn Sloane
November 2021
Friday—7:44 am
The rain hadn’t let up since Brook and Joe had gotten out of his forest green F-150 truck a half mile back. The overcast sky was a mixture of lighter and darker grey clouds, and there didn’t seem to be hope for even a single sliver of sunshine anytime soon. While she slowly walked around the site of where Vicki Anderson’s body had been found, she understood the unsub’s reasoning for choosing such a remote area.
The isolated place was far enough away from civilization that no one would have heard his victim’s agonizing screams. Most of the region was covered in tall dead overgrown grass and wilted weeds waist high that hadn’t been cut back in decades. Most of the red maples in the area had lost their leaves this fall, and there was a row of pine trees off in the distance that had been damaged from decades of raging storms. The scent of wet dirt hung heavy in the air, while the only sound that could be heard in the distance was the faint sound of spitting rain onto the roof of an abandoned structure maybe sixty feet away from where they stood.
Joe had been good on his word and met her at the station at seven o’clock sharp. Surprisingly, he’d even brought her a cup of coffee from the local diner. She hadn’t mentioned the activities of her evening, and he hadn’t bothered to ask. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t said more than five words since they’d gotten into his truck.
Brook had been up since before five thirty, having fallen asleep sometime after one o’clock. She wasn’t bothered by his silence, but she figured it wouldn’t be long before he began to ask her questions regarding the file that she’d given him to review yesterday.
As for Matt Henley, he had left without his handshake, though she had given her word that she would take time to think over his proposition. A quick search had revealed both of his parents were still together and owned a farm on the outskirts of town. She’d submitted for a more in-depth background check, but she was relatively certain that he wasn’t her unsub.
She had sent electronic requests for background checks on Benjamin Morgan, Jr., as well as John Taylor, Luke Harris, and Sam Baker. She’d also included one on Sheriff Joe O’Sullivan for good measure, though he didn’t fit the profile, either—both of his parents were still married to this day, he had an older brother by one year, and his job required that he be in town on a continuous basis. She still wanted to confirm that nothing stood out to raise a red flag.
“Have you seen enough?”
Joe clearly wasn’t a morning person, but Brook didn’t let that bother her. She’d found exactly what she’d expected, which fed further into her theory that Vicki Anderson had been the unsub’s first victim.
One of the puzzles that she couldn’t solve was where the vast number of sweets had come from. The victim’s body had been covered in pink, blue, and green hardtack candy. Such an odd detail meant the murder had been premeditated.
The unsub must have fantasized about such acts from a very young age. He may have even started masturbating, once reaching puberty, to thoughts of posing the bodies of his victims.
Where had he gotten his hands on so many boxes of hardtack candy without being questioned about his purchase or seen around town buying the telltale item? The age range of her profile meant that the unsub would have been of driving age. He most likely would have had access to a vehicle, which meant other towns that had carried such candies would have been an option. She’d have Frank check into it when he could, given his current caseload.
According to the criminal report, Joe had followed up with the local shops back then to see if someone had either bought or stolen the specific square hardtack candy that had used to place on nearly every inch of her skin. None of the local owners had been out of stock, nor had they remembered anyone buying it in bulk.
“Look over there,” Brook instructed, though she’d kept her tone as light as she could under the circumstances. There was no reason to get his defenses up quite yet. “Tell me what you see.”
“I know where you’re going with this.” Joe took out the gloves that he’d shoved into the pocket of his coat earlier. He wasn’t even glancing in the direction of the falling down structure styled in early Pennsylvania Dutch. “I can see how the landscape could be compared to Hansel and Gretel.”
“And the file that I gave you last night? Did you notice anything of significance?”
