The Informant Read Free

thought about it. “I guess I didn’t think it mattered.”
    She shrugged. “Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. I just want you to know I can play both roles. Besides,” she said with a disarming smile, “I’d really love the chance to slit your throat.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said with a smirk.
    One of the event coordinators emerged from behind the stage curtain. “Agent Santos?” she said. “You have a phone call. They said it’s important.”
    Victoria felt sudden apprehension. For the past four months, she’d been the FBI’s task force coordinator in 11
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    the multistate search for a geographically transient serial killer. By far, it was her most important assignment since transferring from hostage negotiation to the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit in Quantico, Virginia. Too often, an “important” message meant very bad news.
    “You can take it in the office,” the assistant said. Victoria followed her behind the stage. They meandered through a dark path of pulleys, ropes and props until they reached the office near the rest rooms. It was a windowless room no bigger than a closet, with books and papers stacked high in every available space. The desk was so cluttered it might have been impossible to find the phone had it not been for the red blinking hold button. Victoria closed the door for privacy and picked up the receiver.
    “Santos,” she answered.
    “Pete Weston here. Sorry to bother you in the middle of your road show, but you told me to call as soon as I had anything.”
    She rubbed the last bit of red dye from her eyebrows, then blinked hard, switching completely out of her training mode. Dr. Weston was a DNA expert in the FBI laboratory at headquarters, one of hundreds of experts she relied on for support.
    “Don’t apologize,” she said. “Thanks for working a Saturday. Got my results?”
    “Yes, but you won’t be happy.”
    She sighed, but showed no surprise. “What did you find?”
    “Well, I looked at the specimens from the Eugene, Oregon, scene first. You remember we had some drops 12
    James Grippando
    of blood in the bathroom, around the sink and tub, well away from the body. Unfortunately, I’m afraid you can rule out your theory that the killer cut himself and left behind a trail of his own blood.”
    “How do you know?”
    “On a hunch I compared the unidentified blood from Oregon to the blood of the other four victims—Cleveland, New York, Arkansas, Miami. I got a match with Miami.
    He must have taken it with him from the Miami victim, or maybe it had just collected on his knife or soaked into his clothing. He could have frozen it to preserve it, then brought it with him to Oregon and sprinkled it at the scene.”
    “He’s collecting blood now?” she said warily.
    “In a way, yes. But it doesn’t mean you have a vampire on your hands. If you did, you’d probably have me examining blood from blenders and coffee cups by now.”
    Victoria said nothing, though she tended to agree. From the psychological profile she’d helped construct, she already knew the killer was no raving lunatic spewing his own blood, hair and fibers for the police to gather in their evidence bags—the so-called disorganized sociopath.
    Beyond that, though, no one was sure what they were after. The mixed signals were what made the case so baffling, and the thought of yet another dead end brought a knot to her stomach. “How sure are you about the match with Miami?”
    “Virtually certain.”
    “That’s certain enough for me,” she said. “Given the case history, I guess it was pretty unrealistic to 13
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    hope for a break that big. Thanks anyway, Doc. You do good work.”
    She hung up, then pushed aside a stack of books to sit on the edge of the desk. After a minute of thought, she dug in her purse for her Dictaphone.
    “Saturday, January eleventh,” she began. “Lab results suggest further modification of profile. Savagery of attacks, level