CHAPTER ONE
She put the truck in park and herself into bitch mode. The lights of the emergency vehicles surrounding the small inlet of Diamond Lake, looked more like a nightclub than a crime scene.
Gathering her auburn curls she began twisting and turning until she captured them in a tight ponytail. It was the first luxury she allowed herself when she left the Marines, long hair and longer bubble baths. She hated her short haircut but it was necessary for her unit and with her natural curl she’d looked more like Shirley Temple than a marine.
The memories of her unit and their missions began flashing before her like a strobe light as she continued watching the scene outside from the safety of her truck. She remembered another water front – this one in the jungles of South Africa and another somewhere in Brazil, and another...and another. Sarah-Jane took a deep breath and shook her head. Her unit had done their duty; the last time she’d seen them they were scrambling to help Rebecca into a waiting Black Hawk helicopter – the smell of blood, moss and sulfur hung in the air like fog. The jungles around them ablaze from the explosives they’d set. In and out – that had been the plan, but somewhere in those jungles she’d left a good friend. An enemy sniper found their locale and opened fire.
She missed her team and the comradeship they shared. It was a shame orders prohibited contact and communication the moment missions were completed. She understood it; it would be far too dangerous for any of them to be found let alone for all of them to be in the same place.
How many of the Special Operations Recon and Recovery unit were left? The team of elite soldiers was now code seven - so named because some high Pentagon official thought it sounded close to heaven and for a SORR unit home was as close to heaven as any of them would ever get.
At some point she blinked and twenty-two years had gone by.
She watched as uniform police officers, scurried around like ants. The detectives in their suits were trying desperately to assure the stream of press arriving matters were well in hand and her fellow ABI agents huddling at the water’s edge were making sure whatever evidence could be save was.
The good-old-boys were out in full force, Alabama’s finest and the place for now was code seven for Sarah-Jane Gipson.
She had to admit she loved it here. It was a welcome relief from the life she’d once lived. There was something unique about living this far south - a genteel nature surrounded the residents here.
She heard all the redneck jokes, and seen all the cleverly crafted photo’s regarding backwoods southerners and like most she could laugh at the puns. Still, when General Jacobs had offered her a choice of “retirement” options she hadn’t hesitated – she came home.
Alabama had its share of faults like any other place but it had a charm and warmth that was unique and rare. It was heartwarming to live among people so committed to a way of life that only existed elsewhere in the black and white world of TV reruns.
Sarah-Jane had seen too many atrocities to ever take this lifestyle for granted again.
She opened the glove compartment of her Ford F150 and pulled a pair of latex gloves from the box she kept there. She hated the monster size of the truck, but it reeked of masculinity and she’d realized long ago the only way she would make it in a man’s world and especially this far south was to shed her femininity fast.
She grabbed her worn Marine Corps cap. The red, blue and gold emblem served as a reminder to the boys in the ABI of her qualification to be here besides having the added advantage of hiding more of her auburn curls.
She braced herself, and opened the door. The rain that had been such a welcome relief for this parrt of Alabama was going to play hell on her crime scene and carrying an umbrella would have made her the butt end of jokes at the coffee pot tomorrow morning.
Working in fields dominated by men, crude and outspoken had become a way of life. Most of the officers she worked with were still operating under the archaic notion there were only two places a woman should “work” - in the kitchen and in the bedroom.
Having been a minority in the Marines Sarah-Jane learned early survival depended on her ability to laugh at obscene jokes and smile when she heard an indecent proposal all the while massaging egos and maintaining a healthy distance romantically.
Except once.
Once she’d given in and the cost of the indiscretion had been almost more than she could bear.
She gave a curt nod to passing officers even though most only stared as she approached the yellow tape fluttering in the breeze. Acknowledging her twenty-two years of service would never become more than a mere tolerance from most of the Bureau and its agents, and that was okay. She didn’t expect or want a welcome into their boys club; but every now and then it would have been a pleasant surprise if at least one of them recognized her service to the Alabama Bureau of Investigation.
She found Joe Cook and Mike Paget at the edge of the lake, a white sheet at their feet.
“Sarah-Jane,” Joe said flipping up the lapel of his coat in an attempt to ward off as much of the downpour as possible.
Sarah-Jane looked at her friend. Twenty-two years and he still hadn’t forgiven her. If he could only accept she had no heart to give him; perhaps he could find someone to share his life with.
She bent and lifted the sheet.
“What do we have?”
Mike had been Joe’s partner for the past three years and stepped up behind her. More than once he extinguished the spark from the powder keg existing between Joe and herself. She could feel the tension bouncing between them, which meant only one thing - something was up.
“He gutted her like a fish,” Mike offered. He had a way with stating the obvious as Sarah-Jane continued her examination.
Sarah-Jane liked Mike immediately upon his arrival at the ABI. His quick wit and sharp eye made him a credit to his job. In the three years he’d been with the bureau she couldn’t say she knew a lot about him, but she always went with her gut, and her gut said he was a stand-up guy.
“Sarah-Jane, there’s more.”
Joe shifted his weight from one leg to another as Sarah-Jane continued her examination of the victim; any evidence was quickly washing back into Diamond Lake. She could have been a rookie on the scene and she’d have known something was off.
She lifted the sheet a little higher, and her heart plummeted to her stomach.
The body of the young woman had been in the water long enough for several of the lakes inhabitants to take advantage of such a large meal. Sarah-Jane lifted the sheet higher. The victim’s hair had been chopped off like a four year old with scissors might when giving a sibling a haircut.
Except this was no childish mishap – this one also split his victims open from the neck to the pelvis and ripped her heart out. It was a unique signature Sarah-Jane had only seen once before.
She carefully placed the sheet over the body, and looked up at Joe.
“Sarah-Jane let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Hell, we don’t even know if it’s the same guy.”
Sarah-Jane stood and removed her gloves. Not again, there was no way in hell she was going to go through this again. Her brain went into warp drive. There were procedures and channels to go through when contacting a SORR officer.
She looked at the sheet.
Somehow she always knew this day would come. Her grandmother had told her “Your past has a way of catching up with you”, and Sarah-Jane learned early how true that was. Life had an eerie way of coming full circle.
Her past, her lifestyle, the choices she made and the secrets she kept were necessary but even that knowledge did little to heal the hurts she’d been forced to live with. There were things in her life she needed to come to terms with sooner or later.
Sarah-Jane looked at the rain soaked sheet. She would prefer later, but there was no way in hell she was going to face this monster again without help.
“At least wait until…”
Until what, Joe? Wait until he cuts open another woman?”
Mike jumped between them, “No Sarah-Jane, just wait and let the coroner give us a report,” Mike looked down at the sheet, “it has been twenty-two years.”
Sarah-Jane stood her ground and watched as Joe made a pass at his five-o’clock shadow.
She lowered her voice, “Joe, I’m not going through this again.”
“Is this,” he pointed to the rain soaked sheet, “the only reason you’re contacting him?”
Sarah-Jane shot him a look that would peel plaster.
“Joe, can you honestly tell me you’re willing to let this bastard get away with this again?” Sarah-Jane adjusted her cap; she half expected to look out over the lake and see a ship go by with animals paired two-by-two on it.
She watched Joe’s face grow solemn. “Look, I don’t want him here anymore than you do, but if this is the Butcher…hell Joe. Do we have any more to go on now than we did twenty years ago?”
Joe shoved his hands in his pockets, “Well at least you won’t have far to go to find him.”
Sarah-Jane felt her nerve-endings explode from a surge of adrenaline. “What do you mean?”
Joe gave a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a sadistic laugh. “You mean you don’t know?”
Sarah-Jane stepped aside as the EMT’s began to move the corpse and place it in the cadaver bag. Ever since the first time she’d seen the thick bags she’d never been able to look at an ordinary trash bag the same way. She watched as the victims hand was moved next to her torso, her eyes falling on the tiny black-widow spider tattoo emblazed between the webbing of the thumb and forefinger.
Damn it, this was turning into one hell of a night.
Her heart began pounding out a deafening rhythm in her ears. God it had been so long since she felt this kind of adrenaline rush.
“Joe, I don’t have time for games.” She said calmly.
Joe stepped back and gave her one of those looks. The kind men give women when they are trying to determine if they’re being told the truth or not.
Sarah-Jane didn’t blink; she knew how to play this game too well. She couldn’t show weakness – not even to Joe.
“He’s here.”
She looked at Mike and back at Joe, “What?”
“He’s at the University Sarah-Jane.” Mike offered, eyeing Joe.
Sarah-Jane wiped the rain from her eyes. Her heart began to slow and return to its normal rhythm, she no longer registered the commotion around her and she was unable to move.
She didn’t have to ask what the FBI profiler and her ex-husband was doing there. He was among the most requested agent the Bureau sent to recruit amid college kids. No, she didn’t have to ask but she did.
“Why is he here?” And more importantly does he know I need him?
David Gipson had made quite a name for himself, and if the rumors were true quite a fortune in doing so. He’d joined the FBI’s now infamous Behavioral Analysis Unit after leaving the ABI; his name synonymous with some of the most notorious serial killers ever known.
The biggest question and the one most asked by flirtatious television talk show hostesses, was why after retiring and becoming a bestselling novelist had he returned to the BAU.
Mike’s excitement mounted as the opportunity to talk about his idol was evident even as he continued to tentatively eye
his partner. David Gibson was the one subject even Mike didn’t discuss around Joe.
“He’s promoting another book and the University asked him to stop and give a lecture.”
Sarah-Jane grabbed a crime scene guy’s arm as he passed by her, “I want photo’s on my desk first thing in the morning.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Well I’m sure he’s too busy…” she stopped as her cell phone buzzed against her hip. She looked at the bluish screen and frowned.
Sarah-Jane stood tall and took a deep breath.
Joe glared.
She had seen Joe occasionally, nothing she would call a date, just a causal get together over drinks when she was still a detective. Then she met David Gipson, the ABI’s shining star...she flipped open the phone...hell even after all these years she’d kept her married name. “Agent Gipson,” she answered feeling the dread wash over her.
Sarah-Jane slowly exhaled, “Yes, sir.” She listened as the voice on the other end went through the crime scene detail by detail. It was a joke among the local officers that the brass in Alabama’s law enforcement had a crystal ball hidden somewhere they used to throw investigators off their game. Sarah-Jane knew better. Whoever was sent to do an area study of crime scenes was a closely guarded secret to be sure, but there was no crystal ball in gathering intelligence.
Joe shifted his weight from one leg to the other, a nervous tic he had whenever he was faced with an uneasy situation.
She watched him now, moving so fast he might as well have been dancing.
The crime scene unit began to scatter as if they could possibly recognize the importance of the call, “Yes sir, I’m told he’s at the University lecturing…but sir wouldn’t it be better…, yes sir. I’m on my way.” She snapped the phone shut.
“So, let me guess Director Baker wants him in for a consult?”
Sarah-Jane looked out over the rippling waters and nodded.
“And just like that the prodigal son comes home; gone all this time and suddenly he’s back home.” Joe turned
mumbling a string of profanities as he headed back towards the emergency vehicles.
Sarah-Jane felt a ripple of fear wash over her. Yeah he was coming home – God help her, the one loose end in her life was suddenly coming home. The question was – would he stay this time?
She watched as the reporters swarmed around the yellow tape like starters at a race, by tomorrow their numbers would be doubled and by the end of the week they’d be a pain in her ass. David Gipson rarely went anywhere the press didn’t follow.
“You’re going to get him?” Mike’s voice shook with excitement.
“Looks that way,” Sarah-Jane zipped her jacket up, as the goose bumps rose to meet the rain.
Yeah, that was it; her body was responding to the environment and had nothing to do with seeing her ex-husband again, or seeing that damned tattoo.
Apprehension began to rise in her stomach like weeds in a garden.
Hell, twenty-two years was supposed to be a long time; twenty-two years was supposed to heal a lot of hurts but in twenty-two years some things never changed.
Could she do this? Could she work with the man who whether he cared or not, still held her heart in his hands?
Did she have a choice?
She could feel an invisible noose tightening around her neck.
“I suppose it would be a good idea to have another agent with me.” Sarah-Jane offered.
Mike grinned.
Well, at least someone was happy tonight.
