To hell with sleep. When he got back to the hotel, he was going to check into the guy’s history. “What’s his full name?”
“Jack Bullock,” Evelyn answered. Then she seemed to realize why he’d asked, and added, “I think it’s just this case. He was on it eighteen years ago and couldn’t solve it then. It’s probably haunted him ever since.”
Like it had haunted her.
She didn’t have to say it; the words were written all over her face.
But considering why she was here, she was handling it a lot better than he’d expected. Maybe she was still too numb from learning that her best friend’s abductor was back to really take in what was happening, or maybe she was just burying it all.
Either way, the calm wasn’t likely to last long.
* * *
Evelyn sat on the edge of her bed in her hotel room, a police file on her lap. She needed to remove her dirty, torn clothes and take a shower. She needed some ice for her forehead. But she couldn’t think about any of it until she looked in the file.
Inside was the original FBI profile of the Nursery Rhyme Killer.
She hadn’t reviewed it when she wrote her own, because that could have subconsciously influenced her analysis. Now that she’d given her independent profile, it was time to look at everything else—from the original suspects to the original profile.
Since she’d profiled the abductor as being the same man from all those years ago and not a copycat, now was the moment of truth.
Did her profile match the one prepared eighteen years ago?
Back then, when Cassie had gone missing, an FBI profiler had come to Rose Bay. Evelyn had seen him at the police station once, confident and a head taller than most of the cops. She’d been leaving after another round of questioning from Jack Bullock. She’d seen the agent studying the volunteers as she’d walked at the rear of the search parties with her grandparents. When she’d spotted him leaving the Byerses’ house, she’d run over and demanded to know who he was and when he was going to find Cassie.
He’d leaned down to her level and actually shook her hand. He’d been aware of who she was, of course, but back then she hadn’t known why. Then he’d told her his name and explained what he did for the FBI.
And that conversation had changed the entire direction of her life.
She’d never seen Philip Havok again. But she could still remember the exact shade of his sharp blue eyes, the dark gray of his suit, the quiet confidence in his voice. He was the picture she’d had in her head all the years since, the idea of what she wanted to be. A profiler. Someone who could bring girls like Cassie back home.
She’d looked him up when she’d been accepted to the Academy, wondering if he was still in profiling, and discovered he’d retired the year before. He’d spent nearly twenty-five years in the Bureau—meaning, he’d been granted an exception to the FBI’s mandatory retirement. More than half of that time had been spent profiling serial predators. Now it was her turn.
Evelyn opened the file. The basic description was right at the top: “white male, between the ages of twenty and thirty, works a job with flexible hours.” Add eighteen years and that matched what she’d profiled.
She kept reading. “Unclear whether he is single, but if married, the relationship is controlling. Could have his own child, and if so, likely to be the same age as the victims.”
Evelyn paused, realizing she hadn’t considered every angle about kids. She’d thought about them as a reason the perp could have started the abductions—because he’d lost a child that age. And she’d thought of them as a reason he could have stopped the abductions—because he had an easy victim at home who had reached the age he wanted. But she hadn’t considered the other possibility. That he might be abducting other children so he’d stay away from his own.
Evelyn closed her eyes, feeling gingerly around the tender skin on her forehead where she’d bumped it. An image of Cassie filled her mind, vibrant, laughing and full of life. What had happened to her after he’d ripped Cassie away?
Evelyn pushed back the sleeves on her suit, opened her eyes and kept reading. When she finished, she closed the file and stared blankly at the bare hotel walls.
Philip had come to the same conclusions she had. Possible molester, possible delusions of being a “savior.”
But how the hell did she figure out which one? And how the hell was she going to catch him before Brittany ran out of time?
* * *
There was just one man from the original list of suspects who hadn’t been cleared or moved out of state in the past eighteen years. And he didn’t match the profile in a very key way.
Still, with Walter Wiggins not talking, he was the best lead Evelyn had. She’d checked with Carly and discovered he was on their list for follow-up, but it hadn’t happened yet, because he wasn’t a high priority. Then she’d checked with Tomas and learned that the only officer not running down other leads was his head detective, Jack Bullock.
So, the two of them were driving to the nearby town of Treighton. They’d been on the road for fifteen minutes, but Jack had kept up a steady stream of questions that gave no sign of ending.
“If you think Darnell Conway is worth investigating, does that mean we should just disregard your entire profile?” Jack kept his tone casual, his hands loose on the wheel of his police vehicle. But the question fairly screamed his resentment.
Evelyn didn’t even glance his way. “You read the Charlotte Novak file, right? You know why I want to talk to him.”
“So, the profile...”
“Can have details that are off. The thing is to focus on the profile as a whole, not fixate on a particular point.”
“That’s a pretty huge point.”
Evelyn shifted in her seat to face him. “The murder of his girlfriend’s daughter was never solved. But after the investigation went cold, Darnell and his girlfriend left the state and came here. Do you know how old Charlotte would’ve been eighteen years ago, at the time of the first abduction, if she’d lived?”
Jack’s mocking expression slipped off. “You’re kidding.”
“She would’ve been twelve that summer. Same as the Nursery Rhyme Killer’s original three victims.”
“So, then why the hell aren’t those other FBI agents—the ones who specialize in this—chasing this guy down with everything they’ve got?”
Evelyn shrugged. “He was never arrested for that crime. He was a suspect, but obviously the cops didn’t have enough on him to make a case. It’s possible he didn’t do it. He’s got no other criminal history. And that case is the only reason he showed up on the list of suspects eighteen years ago. Which was probably a lucky fluke, since he was never charged.”
“That’s some fluke. How did they find out?”
“He was part of the search parties back then. The profiler had a weird feeling about him and did some digging. And I trust the profiler’s gut on this. I just want to feel Darnell out, see how he responds to my questions.”
“What if he’s the perp? You said not to get too close to Wiggins so we wouldn’t scare him into killing Brittany if he’s got her. Isn’t the same true here?”
Evelyn leaned her head back against the headrest, still tired from the mob scene that afternoon. She glanced at her watch, realizing it had now been a full twenty-four hours since Brittany was grabbed.
She closed her eyes, trying not to dwell on something she couldn’t change, but she could hear it in her voice when she told Jack, “If Darnell did kill his girlfriend’s daughter, it was within a few hours. Walter