Page 90 of Say Yes to the Death

Jack was still talking. “He doesn’t know what we know or what we don’t know. When you speak to him, I recommend you suggest that we know more than we actually do.”

He paused mid-pace and gestured at the word on the board. “Deception may be our best tactic here. When you speak to him, you want to deceive him. Trick him into giving something away. He doesn’t know that you’re aware of the group’s existence. He won’t know for sure that we sent you. My suggestion is that you come right out and tell him you already know about his group because someone from it has already implicated him on a larger scale in exchange for immunity. Get him to turn on them.”

Her head was already spinning. She scribbled down another note. Her stomach had twisted into one of those metal brain teaser puzzles Jack had left behind when he’d abandoned the family. Barney had evaded capture for so long. The FBI couldn’t crack him in person. Would he really be undone simply by a bit of deceit from one of his victims?

“And here’s what we know about this group so far,” Jack said, erasing his first word and scribbling more down.

“We know that this particular group targets women.” He wrote WOMEN on the board and underlined it. “All the known victims with this mark have been women. All different ages, different stages of life. Several were powerful executives or business owners, stockbrokers or lawmakers,” Jack said, ticking them off on his fingers. “This suggests some kind of?—”

“Fear of powerful women? Of women in control?” Claire interrupted.

“Yes, exactly. We can’t be sure, of course. Some of the marked victims, like Ariel, were waitresses or retail employees. We suspect the outliers are victims of personal vendettas, potentially unrelated to the group’s mission.”

“When he—that night.” She still couldn’t say the words. “He did make it seem like it was purely a personal vendetta. All because I shot him down in college. Same with the other girls.”

“You took the control from him,” Jack suggested and wrote CONTROL on the board. “And you bruised his ego, which is probably worse to him.”

Claire exhaled deeply and buried one hand in her hair. This was such a bullshit reason to end someone’s life. If she killed everyone she couldn’t control, Wendy and Jason’s corpses would be sprawled on the sidewalk outside her apartment right now. Luke’s too.

Jack capped the marker and returned to the table. He leaned toward her, both elbows on the table.

“I know what you’re thinking. This is bullshit. And it is.” He tapped his thumb against the stainless-steel table. “Control is a huge motivating factor in many serial killer cases.”

“Fabulous,” she said flatly. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the group?”

“We—well, I, technically, believe that we’re dealing with some sort of cult. The geographic disparity, the symbol, the similarity in victims all point toward a wide-scale organization with a disciplined rule set and mission. Ordinary people with ordinary troubles who are fed up and swept up in hating the world that hated them. There must be a leader, and they must have some way to communicate.”

“So, what do you need me to find out?” She flipped to a fresh page in her notebook, pen poised at the ready. What she wouldn’t give to be writing out a list of décor for that escape room proposal. Every time she thought her detective days were over, some homicidal maniac decided to ruin everything.

“We don’t know what he’ll give you, or if he’ll give you anything at all. But we want to know the name of the organization, who is the leader, what is their end goal, how many members there are, whether this is a domestic or international organization, how they find and recruit members, how they select their victims. Everything.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were international,” Claire said as she scribbled away. “They managed to send me flowers in Paris on my second day.”

Jack pursed his lips. He tugged at his collar but didn’t comment.

She exhaled again, trying to stay calm. Footage of police dramas she had watched flooded her mind. “How do you think I should approach this? Should I act large-and-in-charge like the type of woman he hates and wants to destroy to set him off? Or should I act the victim, meek and mild, to fool him into a sense of security?”

Jack looked pleasantly surprised, almost pleased, at the question. “That’s a great question. Ultimately, that choice is up to you and what you feel you’re able to handle that day. If you act confident, you may provoke anger and encourage him to give something up. If you show him how little his attempt affected your life, that would really set him off. Or, if you act like a victim, you may lull him into a monologue where he’ll reveal more information. Either way, he said he will only speak to you. He barely even speaks to his lawyer—whom I have heard you already know.”

“Of course he doesn’t. She’s a powerful woman.” A contemptible crone, too, but powerful woman nonetheless. “Why would he want a woman arguing for his fate?”

He nodded deeply and leaned forward. “I suspect he knows your connection to her and did it to get under your skin. It’s the only thing he can control from prison. Unless, that is, he still has some pull with the group. Additionally, you may want to aim for a few personal questions to get him talking. Serial killers typically have troubled childhoods, bed wetting behavior, aggression toward animals, and profound hatred for either their mother or father.”

“Well, he already confessed to murdering his dad, so that should be easy enough.” Claire added a bulleted list to her notes. “Why aren’t you guys concerned about that case? Surely that should be easier to prove than a national serial killer ring.”

“It’s on the To Do list. Do you have any other questions for me?” he asked, closing his notebook and sliding it into his briefcase.

“Why didn’t you ever call? Or write? Why did you never come back?” Claire blurted out. She hadn’t even intended to bring up her family history, but the questions poured out of her.

He froze. “Claire, this isn’t really the time to talk about it.” He crossed the room and nudged the door closed.

“When will be the time, Jack? In case you forgot, I’m being targeted by a network of serial killers.” She yanked a copy of the latest note from her murder binder and slapped it down on the table. “I could be abducted and stuffed in a trunk tomorrow. Again.”

“I would never let that happen.”

“Really? Because you didn’t do anything about it the first time. You only bothered to contact me, to come into my life at all, because you saw this,” she said, gesturing to her scar. “You only wanted to talk to me when I could do something for you. You’re just as bad as they are.”

Her temper flared like a match striking a rock. Every thought she’d had for the last twenty years was threatening to pour out.

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