When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(11)

I need a better plan.

I need to act.

Soon.

People are coming.





CHAPTER 5





KIMBERLY





SSA KIMBERLY QUINCY HAD TRACKED killers, taken down art forgers, and tackled government corruption. Her father, Pierce Quincy, had been one of the Bureau’s most legendary profilers, meaning she had both pedigree and reputation on her side. Still, leading a multijurisdictional taskforce was its own kind of challenge. Like herding a pride of lions.

She had fellow agents in the room, plus a county sheriff. And now, adding to the party, a Boston cop, a kidnapping survivor, and a true-crime enthusiast/computer analyst. The agent in Kimberly was slightly annoyed; the investigator in her was genuinely impressed.

Kimberly had been the agent who’d finally identified Jacob Ness as a serial predator, and led the raid on the motel room where he was holed up with Flora Dane. In a career full of memorable moments, Kimberly would never forget that day. The way Jacob Ness, eyes and nose streaming from the tear gas, had tended to Flora first, wrapping her face in a wet towel. Tenderly. Right before he handed her his gun. And Flora used that gun to blow out his brains.

Flora had then turned and stared at the incoming SWAT team with the blankest face Kimberly had ever seen. There was reading about the effects of long-term trauma, and there was seeing it up close and personal. It had been nearly an hour before Kimberly had gotten Flora to respond to her own name. That hour had been one of the longest of Kimberly’s life, when she’d feared they hadn’t rescued a woman after all, but only a shell of one.

The Flora who stalked into the room now, assessing the law enforcement occupants with an upward tilt of her chin and a defiant glare in her eyes? That woman was a far cry from the blood-spattered ghost Kimberly had pulled from the motel room. But Kimberly knew that while the girl might be stronger, she was still PTSD personified. As Kimberly had discussed with Boston sergeant D. D. Warren earlier by phone, she wasn’t sure if including Flora in this investigation was a good idea or not.

Then again, Flora hadn’t just survived Jacob Ness, she’d studied him, adapted to him, and even, in a matter of speaking, befriended him. She was his legacy, and in the days ahead, the entire taskforce would most likely need her insights to get the job done.

D.D. now ushered Flora and Keith to two seats. She took the third at the end of the table, closest to Kimberly. The trio had arrived in Atlanta shortly after midnight, though none looked worse for the wear. Fortunately, the recently built FBI field office was within miles of a Marriott, making for a short morning commute.

Kimberly cleared her throat, then started handing out the binders she’d been up all night preparing. Introductions were made, including for Flora and Keith. Whatever the other law enforcement officers thought about having two civilians in their midst, they were professional enough to keep it to themselves.

Kimberly got down to business.

“As many of you are aware, most serial predators have two lists: their official victim list and their so-called asterisk list—victims law enforcement believe predators may have killed but have never been able to substantiate, often because we lack human remains. Hence statistics such as Ted Bundy murdered at least thirty women, but maybe killed as many as a hundred. Why the discrepancy? Because we can’t prove the rest.

“In the case of Jacob Ness, whom you all know operated in this area and was ultimately ambushed in an FBI raid in a motel room outside of Atlanta, we’ve definitely tied him to multiple rape and murder cases. But following his death, he’s remained a person of interest in the cases of six missing women. All fit his victimology and timeline of operations. But none of these bodies have ever been recovered, leaving us with open cases and plenty of questions.

“Which brings us to ten weeks ago, when skeletal remains were found off a hiking trail in the small mountain town of Niche, Georgia. The forensic anthropologist positively identified the body as Lilah Abenito, one of the women believed—but never proven—to be a victim of Jacob Ness. I think we all understand the importance to her parents of having answers once and for all. To have their child be more than a name on some infamous predator’s asterisk list.”

Kimberly waited a beat.

“What we do know: Lilah was a seventeen-year-old Hispanic female first reported missing from Alabama fifteen years ago. The actual circumstances of Lilah’s disappearance aren’t well documented. Her parents were both illegals and waited several days before contacting authorities. Her father worked at a local diner as a dishwasher; her mother took in laundry. According to them, Lilah wasn’t one to get into trouble. Serious student, no known boyfriend. She was supposed to walk straight from school to her job at a local nail salon. She never made it. Forty-eight hours later, her parents filed a report. Local police conducted a rudimentary investigation without results.”

Kimberly glanced around the room at her makeshift taskforce, most of whom were rapidly flipping through the reports she’d photocopied last night. The initial investigation’s findings were part of the binder. It was neither the best nor the worst inquiry Kimberly had ever read. Clearly, the police had been inclined toward labeling Lilah a runaway, though her parents had denied it vehemently, and follow-up with her classmates had not revealed any signs of trouble on the home front. From an FBI point of view, with knowledge of a serial predator operating in the vicinity, the investigation was cursory at best. For the knowledge the local LEOs had at the time . . .