Chapter 7: Caught in the Headlights
Jefferson's Coffee House, Washington D.C.
Wednesday, 9 June
6:30 am
The Coffee Club had been on hiatus for about three months, since Elizabeth had a series of seminars that clashed repeatedly with the FBI ladies' schedules. But this morning they were back in session, and Elizabeth was ready for some serious girl talk to put her life back on track completely.
While Lucy and Tara were getting the coffee, Sue and Elizabeth were perusing various sections of the morning paper. Most prevalent was the front page headline: BLACK ROSE VICTIMS STAND AT 8. A map was inset against the latest photo, showing the locations of the eight victims.
"Looks like a road map of my life," Elizabeth murmured as she glanced up at the paper in front of Sue.
Sue's face was angled just enough that she caught the movement of Elizabeth's lips. "What was that?" she asked.
The psychologist started a little. Sorry, she signed. Thinking out loud. She indicated the newspaper article. I said, this looks like a road map of my life.
Tara and Lucy returned to the table with coffee just in time to see Sue frown. "What's up?" Tara asked.
"Liz, tell them what you just told me."
Elizabeth looked puzzled. "Why? It was just an offhand comment."
Sue nodded. "I know. Just humor me for a minute."
"Ok." Elizabeth pulled the paper over in front of her and pointed to the map in the article. "I was telling Sue that this looks like a road map of my life." Her finger tracked down the page as she explained. "I was born in Cambridge, went to college at Princeton, did an internship with the Baltimore court system, and now I live and work here in D.C."
Lucy piped in. "But it's not like anyone would ever want to hurt you, I wouldn't think."
Sue was still frowning. "The court system?"
The psychologist nodded. "It was while I was getting my masters' degree, eight years ago or thereabouts. I did a handful of fitness interviews— you know, the defendant wants to plead not guilty by reason of insanity, or just seeing if they're fit to stand trial."
Tara was starting to frown now, too. "Any of the people you interviewed particularly unhappy with the outcome?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "Not that I recall." She looked at her watch. "Oops— gotta run ladies. I have an early patient, and I'm putting lunch together for all of you. I'll bring it over around noon."
"Wow!" Lucy grinned. "What did we do to deserve that?"
"Just figured you could all use a break from the takeout scene," Elizabeth replied with a smile. "I'll see you later." She picked up her coffee and left.
Tara looked over at Sue. "I think I don't like that look. What are you thinking?"
Sue frowned again. "I'm thinking there's something I want to check out and completely exhaust before I dare to give up on it. Because I'd hate to have to explain it to Myles if we didn't check it out and it turned out to be right."
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Bullpen, FBI Building
Wednesday, 11 am
"Myles," Lucy said as he walked back in, after checking with a couple of his snitches to no avail. "Sue's been waiting to talk to you. She's in Conference 1."
Myles looked suspicious. "What about?"
Lucy shrugged. "She didn't say. Just that it had to do with the Black Rose case. She and Tara have been holed up in there since we broke up the recap at 7:30, and Sue poked her head in here ten minutes ago and asked me to flag you down when you came in."
"Mm-hmm." He was still trying to determine if a practical joke was in the works, she could tell. "Okay. Let me get a coffee, and we'll see what's up."
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"We need your opinion on something."
"My opinion? Not Jack's?" From anyone else, it would have been teasing. From Myles, it came out surprised.
Sue sighed and nodded. "I probably should wait until we have more than a theory, since you're the case agent. But we need that ultra-skeptical streak of yours right now, because I pray we're wrong. Not that this is even a theory – just a hunch." She paused. "And if we're right…well, you'll see."
"Okay." He sat down. "What have you got?"
She took a breath, and pushed her bangs out of her face. "An offhand comment Tara and I heard this morning got us thinking, and we may have found another pattern in the Black Rose's victims."
Tara picked up the conversation. "All we've seen to this point is that he kills two victims in each city, early on a Sunday morning, all professional women. Doesn't narrow our search much, right?"
At Myles' nod, Sue motioned to the nearby white board, where the information they had in the Bullpen was duplicated exactly, but on paper strips instead of written:
Cambridge, MA :
1) Ellen Nichols
2) Nancy Davis
Princeton Campus:
1) Esther Johnson
2) Leslie Dentin
Baltimore, MD:
1) Elaine Foster
2) Amanda Dearborn
Washington, DC:
1) Eve Harcourt
2) Rachel DeLacy
"Do you see a pattern in the names?"
He looked at her, then at the board, his eyes narrowing. "Hmmm…I don't see it."
She stepped over to it. "Wait…what if I do this?" She rearranged the paper strips.
Cambridge, MA : 1) Ellen Nichols 2) Nancy Davis
Princeton Campus: 1) Esther Johnson 2) Leslie Dentin
Baltimore, MD: 1) Elaine Foster 2) Amanda Dearborn
Washington, DC: 1) Eve Harcourt 2) Rachel DeLacy
He sat forward in the chair. "The first victim in each city…they all have the same first initial. And the second victims all have the same last initial." He shook his head. "That can't be a coincidence. So, E and D. Where are you going with this?"
Tara spoke up. "Myles, Liz made a comment to us this morning at the coffee shop. She was looking at the paper – specifically, the article on the serial killer. She said the map of the cities where the Black Rose has struck looked like a road map of her life."
He looked over at her, startled. "What?"
Sue held up a hand. "Wait, Myles. Let me finish. And crank up that skepticism." She picked up a folder. "Liz also told us she did an internship in Baltimore while she was getting her masters' degree – with the District Attorney's office."
Myles nodded. "Yes. She did a handful of psychiatric evaluations for them over that summer, on defendants who either were pleading insanity or in whom there was some question of their fitness to stand trial."
"Sue asked me to pull up the records on the people Liz evaluated," Tara said. "Of the nine she did, five of them were deemed unfit to stand trial, two of them are still in jail, and one died last year. The ninth one, however, served eight years for second-degree murder and was paroled just two months ago."
He looked at Sue. "This is about the longest shot you've ever taken," he said dryly. "Including Brian Guthrie."
She sighed. "I know, Myles. This is totally a hunch— I admit that. It just seemed prudent for us to at least check it out. I didn't want to leave it alone until I knew I'd never have to tell you 'oh, yeah, we'd thought about that, but it didn't seem credible at the time'."
"You've got to admit, Myles," Tara added softly, "considering what we've got here, and the fact that Rachel lived right across the street and didn't exactly fit the profile of the other victims, it's possible."
The two ladies watched his eyes widen. The reaction was subtle, but they could tell the skepticism was starting to waver in the face of what this could imply. Myles shook his head, as if to clear it. Then he said, "Hold that thought," and ducked out of the room.
They heard him down the hall. "D? Got a minute?" The two men were back a moment later. "Sue, Tara, recap for D what you just told me."
Sue looked at him, surprised. "You sure? This isn't really anything remotely solid. It was just a hunch."
"I know," was the reply. "Do it anyway. We need an objective insight, because mine…just do it."
"Okay."
When she finished, Myles arched a brow at Dimitrius, who nodded gravely. "It's a possibility. One that's looking too real to ignore."
Myles nodded. "Go on, Sue."
"Well, I just got looking at it. Liz was born in Cambridge, did all her college at Princeton, the internship in Baltimore, and now the clinic in DC. It almost looks as if…"
Myles finished her thought, his voice lowering. "…as if he's carving her initials into each city. E.D.—Elizabeth Dillingham. I knew there was something familiar here, but I couldn't place it. And the last victim was right across the street from her house."
Dimitrius nodded. "It could still be a coincidence, but…who is this guy that got paroled, anyway? Can't hurt to check him out."
Tara pulled up a file on her laptop. "His name is Evan Graham. He was a chronic wife-beater who got a little carried away one night. Came home with a dozen roses for his wife, something set him off, he beat her up pretty good, then slit her throat. They found the roses tossed on top of her body. He tried the insanity plea, but the fitness evaluation nixed that. It was the one time Liz actually had to testify in court, instead of just doing the evaluation. He was convicted of second-degree murder and was sentenced to fifteen years. He served eight, and was paroled in April."
"Eight years…eight victims," Sue mused. Then she brightened a little. "But wait – he'd have to check in with his parole officer once a week, right? So how could he be all over the place?" She sighed in relief. "I guess I was wrong. Sorry for all this, Myles."
But Myles and D didn't look particularly relieved. They exchanged a glance, and D asked Tara to find the name of Graham's parole officer. Then he made a call from the phone there in the conference room. When he hung up, his face wasn't any happier.
"Graham is supposed to report in every Wednesday. He's been like clockwork."
Myles leaned against the table. "Doesn't mean he's stayed in Baltimore the rest of the week. If he's our killer, he picked early Sunday morning because it gives him the most time between meetings with his PO." He sighed heavily and looked at Sue. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so blasted intuitive, you know that? But if you're right…I'm glad you are."
"You think it's worth pursuing, then?"
"I think it's the only even remote lead we have right now. But keep praying that you're wrong – and you'll have backup on that now."
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Wednesday, 11:30 am
Elizabeth finished packing up a lasagna, garlic bread, salad and brownies, then filled her arms and stepped out her front door. She was looking down to keep everything balanced, fortunately, or she might have tripped over the long box on her doorstep.
It was white, obviously from a florist shop. What a sweet guy I'm dating, she thought. She didn't take time to open it there, because her arms were full and she wanted to get lunch to the Bullpen on time. So she packed the food in her car, then went back and grabbed the box. She'd open it at the office, in front of Myles.
Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out of the elevator, arms full again, and walked into the Bullpen. Tara, closest to the door, immediately jumped up to help. "Ooh— something smells wonderful." Heads popped up all around the room, and soon there was a crowd gathered at one end of the extra table, the case files having been piled up on the other.
Myles stepped over to give Elizabeth a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're too much, you know that?" She smiled, and he continued quietly. "Hey, I forgot to tell you. Sam called Monday morning. Apparently he got a fair dose of my nightmare, and it freaked him out a little. Only he didn't see exactly what I did."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He sighed. "I know I didn't tell you all the details Sunday night, but at the point where I woke up, you had just died. You were the woman on the bench. But Sam said he saw Tara instead— is that normal?"
Elizabeth thought for a moment. "It's possible that, because of the emotions involved, his subconscious chose an image that more readily fit the emotion in the dream. I mean, he might be upset if something happened to me, but Tara…"
"He'd react to Tara exactly the same way I'd react if I ever lost you," Myles responded softly. "That makes sense. Thank you for lunch, by the way."
"Just making sure you all don't forget what home cooking tastes like. And thank you in return. You always know just how to brighten my day." She hugged him tightly.
He looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
She smiled at him. "Oh, come on, you can admit it now. I brought them with me." She led him over to Tara's desk, where she'd laid the florist box. She looked up at him and was surprised to see that he wasn't grinning. "You didn't send this?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Then who did? Maybe Connor, for helping with Rachel's funeral?" She lifted the lid off the box, pulled back the tissue and gasped.
The box was filled with black roses.