Page 37 of Closer Than You Know

Their food arrived, and though it smelled wonderful, she wasn’t sure she would be able to eat a bite.

“The FBI determined that Solomon had been actively killing for ten years ... which,” Vera said, thinking back, “I found a bit unusual since he was sixty at the time. Most serial killers begin well before that, as Alcott no doubt knew. Hell, the whole team did. But there was no evidence to support the theory in his past beyond that ten-year mark. He was careful. One victim per year, unless he used a different MO or we just didn’t find them. Considering how he loved to show off, I don’t believe that’s possible.”

“He would have had eleven if not for you,” Bent said before taking a bite of spicy rice and cheese.

Vera forced herself to lift her fork and taste her own rice. A bed of it was covered with cheese. There was chicken in there somewhere, too, but she wasn’t sure she could manage to eat any meat just now.

When she’d swallowed, she continued with the story. “He’d been watching Gloria Anderson for months. When he was ready to make his move, he gave her the usual caution. A message warning that he was coming. For Gloria, he had put it in her email. He’d used a computer at a library and a Gmail account listed to M. Messenger to send her an email. He’d gone into her office and opened her email so that when she started work that morning, it would be the first thing she saw when she touched her keypad.”

He’d proven to be such a smooth, highly intelligent operator. He’d known how to get in and out and how to stay just under the radar. Some killers were that way ... cunning, clever ... elusive.

When her lapse into silence persisted, Bent said, “The messages were all very similar.”

“Yes.I’m coming for you. You’re next.That sort of thing. But only one. Always, only one message before he struck.” She picked at the rice with her fork. “Until I came into the picture. He sent me three. First wasI see you, thenI’m intrigued by you, but the last was something different.” Her gut tied itself into a dozen knots.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Bent said.

Vera resisted the feeling that went with that memory. “The first was on the mirror in my bathroom. Since it was February and cold as hell, the second one was on the windshield of my car.”

“But not the last one,” Bent said, his face reflecting the worry twisting inside him. “It was carved into the woman you found before he could finish his game with her.”

She nodded, forced a forkful of rice into her mouth. The fact that he took the poor woman that second time just to send Vera a message still tortured her dreams.

“His victims were always women,” Bent said. “He appeared to love torture.”

“The worst kind of monster,” Vera confirmed. “A torture-murderer.” Inside, where Bent couldn’t see, she shuddered. The things the Messenger did to his victims were merciless. He carved them up, inducing incredible pain, but never deeply enough to cause a quick death. His process ensured death was slow and intentional. She forced the memories away. “And, yes, his intended victims were always women. Anyone else was just someone who got in the way.”

“How did you find him?” Bent abandoned his fork, half his rice and cheese and chicken gone.

Vera had barely taken two bites. “I’ll be completely honest with you, Bent. I think he let me find him. Maybe it was some subconscious way to stop himself. I don’t know, but he left me several clues. He never left evidence. Ever. Maybe he just wanted to see if I would follow them without involving the rest of the task force.”

“And you did,” Bent said pointedly. “You risked your life.”

“But I saved Gloria Anderson’s life.” Vera exiled the thought. Going back to that place was not something she wanted to do just now. Not with Bent. At least not until she had no other choice.

“I need you to promise me, Vee,” Bent said, leaning toward her, “that you will not do that if this happens again—with any perp.”

She smiled, shook her head slowly. “I can’t make a promise like that, Bent. You know it as well as I do. Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.”

He drew back, anger tightening his features. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be involved with police work anymore.”

“Maybe not.” If he’d meant to hit her where it hurt, he’d done so. But his wasn’t the only law enforcement department around who called on her for assistance. She was a civilian consultant. Over the past several months she had worked for a number of different southern Tennessee law enforcement groups. As long as there was crime, she would always have work.

He held up his hands, his expression repentant. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“I can promise you this,” she said, in hopes of smoothing things over.

“I’m listening.”

“Unlike twelve years ago, I will never put myself in a position that I know up front I cannot handle. I will be careful and smart, Bent. I’m not that naive newbie with something to prove anymore.” This was exactly why there were things Bent never needed to know about the Messenger case—about all that happened at the end ... with her and Eric. Eric had gotten in the way and ended up being the bastard’s first known male victim, and that was her fault.

“Fair enough.” He glanced at her plate. “Now eat. We have work to do.”

On some level Vera hoped Elizabeth Baker and maybe her husband and her son had set up this whole Time Thief thing. That would meanthere was no crazed alien-obsessed wacko running around out there abducting people. That would also mean that Nolan was most likely safe and would be released soon.

Tonight, if the usual MO played out.

That said, if it was Elizabeth or her husband, the two were really, really award-winning actors. They had already done two television interviews begging for the release of their son. The fear and anguish had looked real. Certainly there were those who relished putting on a good show. As much as Vera didn’t like Elizabeth, the woman truly loved her son. Would she really be able to fake that level of concern if she was responsible for his abduction?

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