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CHAPTER THREE
Amber hurried intothe offices of Agent Palliser’s department of the FBI, not caring that it waslate, or that whatever had made her boss call her in must be serious to haveher do it without waiting till morning.
If anything, shewas grateful that Palliser’s call had come, heading off a potential argumentwith Joseph. It meant that she could focus on her job, rather than on herboyfriend’s insistence that it was too dangerous.
When she arrivedat the office, Agent Phelps was already there, waiting for her. He lookedtense, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a dark suit, cut in sucha way that it didn’t do much to disguise his broad-shouldered, athletic frame.He was sandy-haired and blue-eyed, with his square jaw and muscles making himlook like he must have been the quarterback on his high school team when he wasyounger.
“Simon, it’s goodto see you,” Amber said. It was always good to see him. There was somethingabout her partner’s presence that radiated a sense of calm and control.
Simon smiledbriefly. “You too, Amber. We should go in. Palliser is waiting for us.”
He gestured to aconference room and Amber headed there. Agent Palliser was there: a woman inher fifties, tall and pale, her dark hair shot through with a single silverstreak. There was almost never any give in her expression.
The room aroundher had enough space for twenty people, with a large table dominating the centerof the floor. Right now, the three of them were the only people in the room,making it feel far too large.
“Agents,” Pallisersaid as they entered. “Thank you for coming in at such short notice.”
“What’s thesituation, ma’am?” Amber asked, taking a seat at the table. “You said it was aserial killer?”
Palliser nodded. “We’vehad a call from the town of Westford, over in Oregon. They’ve had two murdersrecently, which share a distinctive MO, making them appear to be the work of aserial killer. They’ve asked for the FBI’s help.”
Palliser went overto a screen, pulling up a file on it for Amber and Simon to look at.
“The first victimwas a businessman named Thomas Jackson, an executive of the Westford-Myer MotorCompany. He went missing from his home around two weeks ago. The local PDinitially assumed that it was some kind of kidnapping. They received a messageleading them through to a website with a word puzzle.”
That aspect of themurder caught Amber’s attention, and helped to explain her and Simon’sinvolvement in the case. The cases Amber had worked before had all involvedpuzzles, and her skills in solving them had helped to catch a number of killers.
“What kind ofpuzzle?” Amber asked.
Palliser broughtthe puzzle up on the screen. It looked like a simple game of hangman, thepuzzle spelling out what appeared to be a street address. Amber frowned.
“Hangman? But thatinvolves guessing letters. How does that work with this?”
Palliser seemedbriefly pleased that Amber was asking the right questions about the case. Thenthe seriousness of the situation seemed to reassert itself and her expressionhardened again.
“As I said, themessage links through to a website, and it’s possible to input the lettersthere,” Palliser said. She brought up another image.
This was a crimescene photograph of a man hanging from a metal cable, winched into the air by acomplex pulley system.
Amber’s stomachturned at the sight of him hanging there like that. She had seen plenty ofgruesome photos in her new line of work, but each one was still a harshreminder of the evil that existed in the world. Maybe it was good that shereacted like that, because Amber didn’t ever want to reach the point where the factthat someone had been murdered didn’t touch her anymore.
“What the local PDdidn’t know was that every time they put in a letter, the mechanism tightenedslightly,” Palliser said. “And every time they got a guess wrong, it tightenedeven quicker.”
“Dear God,” Simonmuttered, looking away from the screen.
“So they werebetter off not guessing at all?” Amber said. It seemed less like a real puzzleand more like a trap now, inviting the police to kill the murderer’s victimsfor him.
“No,” Pallisersaid. “Because there was also a timer on the mechanism, meaning that if thelocal PD left it too long, the victim would be strangled anyway.”
Meaning that theonly hope was to guess the location in as few letters as possible, as quicklyas possible. It left the police in a vile situation, where if they got anythingwrong, if they took too long or made wrong guesses, someone was going to die.
“That’s horrible,”Amber said.
Palliser nodded.She didn’t hold back from what came next, though.
“The second victimwas found in a similar condition,” Palliser continued, bringing up anotherimage. “A woman named Emily Chen, a marketing consultant. She’d been missingfor a couple of days. Her body was found hanging in the same way as ThomasJackson’s, in an abandoned warehouse.”
Amber stared atthe image, her heart sinking. This was the reality of their job. This was whatshe had signed up for. To catch the monsters who did this kind of thing toinnocent people.
