Critical Instinct(40)

“You got anything, Alex?”

“Nothing here. Guy is a neat freak. Closet is pretty standard. Bathroom is the same.”

They both knew that didn’t mean anything. Rarely did a serial killer keep vials of blood on their bathroom shelves just in case cops came by looking for proof to arrest them.

But it ended up Anderson did the next best thing.

“I’ve got it, Alex.”

Alex came rushing in. Brett began pulling files from the filing cabinet.

“Nike. Boeing. Matthews High School.”

There was a file for the company of every victim. And inside each file was the “before” picture of each woman, obviously taken by Anderson with his own camera. If Brett hadn’t known the women were dead, he would’ve just taken it as contact info from a thorough salesman.

Alex blew out a whistle though his teeth. “Holy shit. These candid photos are exact replicas of Paige’s drawings of each woman.”

Brett nodded. “Or, more accurately, vice versa.” Paige had drawn every woman just like Anderson had taken their picture. “She’s connected to his mind in some way, Alex. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I just know it’s true.”

“It’s damn spooky.”

“Evidently her sister has worked for the FBI as a profiler. She gets some sort of reading off objects a criminal has touched.”

“They both have non-traditional abilities?” Alex’s eyebrow raised.

“I’ve seen some of the Bureau case files. Like you said, damn spooky, but undeniable. Third sister has some type of mental talent too, but I’m not sure what. They’re triplets.”

“Born under a full moon, I’m sure.”

Brett chuckled. “No doubt.”

Alex took it in stride. “Let’s get this stuff back to the station. We need to get an APB out on Boyd Anderson and a warning to any other places he has on his route. See what info we have about his ex-wife, also.”





Back at the station they were met by Captain Ameling’s glare of death. Alex took the lead with him and Brett let him, knowing anything he said to the older man was just going to make the situation worse.

Once they showed him Boyd Anderson’s files, the pictures of the dead women found in his house and the dates he’d been in each city, Ameling not only backed down, he gave them free rein of any resources they needed. He even stopped glowering at Brett.

Information about Anderson’s ex-wife came in. Alex called her as Brett recreated the timeline they’d created with Paige two days ago. This time they didn’t have to use her drawings as their only clues. They had Anderson’s pictures.

“Kimberly Anderson lives in Atlanta,” Alex told Brett as he got off the phone. “They were married two years and have been divorced for five. Ugly divorce —said Anderson is quote ‘beyond obsessive compulsive’— but there’s no history of abuse. She hasn’t seen him in at least three years. She wasn’t very forthcoming about answering questions about alimony.”

Brett nodded. “I’ll see what I can dig up about the divorce settlement.”

Alex reached over to print a picture of Kimberly that she’d sent.

Thirty-five, overweight, brown hair in a short, pixie cut.

Brett grimaced. “Not what I was expecting.”

“Me either. But look at this.”

He printed another picture, a wedding photo. In this one, Kimberly was younger, thinner, and her hair was longer, reaching just past her shoulders.

Just like all of Anderson’s victims.

Brett whistled through his teeth. “Now that is more what I was expecting.”

“So let’s assume they divorced, Boyd got the shaft. Now every time payday comes around he’s reminded of his ex and how she screwed him.”

Alex nodded, leaning back in his chair. “And he’s smart enough to know that he couldn’t hurt or kill her because he’d be a prime suspect.”

“So he finds women who look vaguely like her. Same build, hair. Maybe that’s close enough for him. Provides the sense of power he lost in the divorce settlement.”

Brett scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve known of motives that made less sense than that.”

“APB is out for his arrest in Oregon, California and Washington.”

A text came through on Brett’s phone from Tom, Paige’s head of security.

Double checking that you will have Paige for the rest of the evening.

Paige was coming here? Why? He called Tom.

“Tom? It’s Brett. I didn’t understand your text. Are you bringing Paige here?” That wasn’t necessarily a good plan, but maybe she had taken a turn for the worse after he’d talked to her on the phone.

There was a short silence from the other man. “I dropped her off at the station ten minutes ago.”

Brett stood. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve met her at the door.” Brett began walking towards the reception area. The officer there wouldn’t have just let her back unaccompanied. “Is she okay? Why did she want to come here rather than stay at home?”

“We came here because she got a call from you asking her to come.” Brett’s shoulders grew tense at the man’s words.

“What?”

“Not you, but an associate from the station. She was told you had arrested the man you believed responsible for these attacks and you needed her at the station for her opinion of the guy.”

Brett began to run. “We haven’t arrested him, Tom. I didn’t have anyone make a call.”

“The person said to drop her off by the back entrance where you were the other night so that it wouldn’t draw a lot of attention to her presence.”

Brett made a sharp turn towards the back of the building but didn’t stop running.

Tom’s tone was full of tension. “I dropped her off and watched until she made it to the door, then had to leave because there was no parking.”

As Brett reached the back doorway into the station, he looked up and down the hall. No one was there. He yanked the door open and looked around, fear sinking into him, sick and slimy.

Paige was nowhere to be seen.





Chapter Thirty-One





The blackness was back. Even worse than before. Not only could Paige not make her mind move this time, she couldn’t make her body move either.

She looked around her for a hint of color —Brett’s colors— how they’d drawn her back last time, but she couldn’t see anything.

Couldn’t feel anything but coldness.

Fear crawled all over her body and she couldn’t get rid of it. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She struggled to concentrate. What had triggered this? Last time the darkness had been caused by seeing the drawing of her dead self. But that hadn’t been what happened this time.

She’d gotten the call from the station. Brett needed her to come down. Had arrested Boyd Anderson and needed her opinion about something. Tom had driven her. Dropped her off.

The blackness had encroached as she approached the building. She’d thought it had been because of Anderson’s presence inside. By the time she’d reached the rear door she’d been dizzy, the darkness swamping her.

By then it had been too late to make her way back to Tom. She’d just hoped someone would get her to Brett.

Then Paige remembered the voice.

Let me help you, Miss Jeffries. I’ve been waiting a long time.

She’d felt the sting in her neck, some sort of injection, before the blackness had claimed her.

The darkness wasn’t just in her mind. She’d been given some sort of tranquilizer. It reassured her for a moment until she realized there was only one reason she could think of that someone would sedate her.

Boyd Anderson had come back to finish the job.

A different sort of fear assailed her. But at least the darkness wasn’t inside her mind. She needed to wake up.

Her eyelids fluttered and she tried to move, but this time felt the restraints around her hands. She couldn’t free herself, but at least she had control of her body.

“Finally waking up, Miss Jeffries?”

Paige opened her eyes, but still couldn’t see. But knew this black. Anderson’s aura. So ugly and opaque. She’d painted it just a few days ago.

But if she didn’t look straight at him, the dark didn’t overwhelm her. She glanced down at the ground where she was lying. Rough, wooden floors. She looked to the sides and realized Anderson had brought her back to the same rundown warehouse where he’d tried to kill her before.

He dropped a piece of paper on the ground in front of her.

“What is this?”

It was the drawing of herself. She’d brought it with her to the station when Brett had called.

“It’s a drawing of me.”

He reached out and grabbed her hair by the roots, forcing her face closer to it. “It’s a drawing of you in this building wearing the same clothes you are now. And you’re dead in the picture.”

Paige winced at the pain. What was she supposed to say?

Fortunately Anderson didn’t seem to want an actual answer.

“You destroyed my pattern, you know. You ruined everything when you got away.”

Out of the corner of her eye Paige saw his booted foot reach back to kick her. She turned quickly to the side so he hit her shoulder rather than her ribs. Agony still burst through her but at least she wasn’t dealing with broken ribs.