Page 18 of No Quarter

Valerie felt her pulse begin to race. She wondered about using FBI resources to find her father. She wondered if herincreasing internal turmoil had led her to do something she wasn’t even aware of.

“What have I done?” She waited nervously for the answer.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Jackson said. “But when we were able to get you access to certain sensitive police reports regarding the Clawstitch Killer … well, unbeknownst to me, that set off a chain of events. And now I’m being investigated for overreaching my purview.”

Valerie felt a tremendous amount of guilt build up inside.

The Clawstitch Killer was her one great failure in her FBI career. A serial killer who had gotten away, due, in no small part, to a mistake Valerie had made.

That mistake had haunted her.

But she had regained the trust of many at the FBI through her detective skills as a member of the Criminal Psychopathy Unit.

She had hoped that was enough to one day get her another bite at that case.

While the killer seemed to have gone inactive for a while, Jackson had managed to pull some strings to let Valerie be unofficially part of the investigating team again. To have access to all the files, and, if time permitted away from the Criminal Psychopathy Unit, to even try to catch him should he start to kill again.

“Do you want me to explain to them that you were just trying to help me?” Valerie offered earnestly.

“It won’t do any good,” Jackson said. “Besides, Heinlein has had it in for me for years. He’s just been looking for an excuse to put my neck on the chopping block.”

He looked around at Valerie, Charlie, and Will.

“This is why it’s more important than ever that we stick to the book, and we keep making this unit a success. The last thing we need is for the higher ups to replace me with someone whodoesn’t believe in our mission statement. Believe me, with all the bureaucracy and red tape there is out there, that can happen. Sometimes new department heads are brought in just to find an excuse to shut said department down.”

“That’s preposterous!” Will interjected. “We have a long list of successful cases. We have saved countless lives through profiling and detective procedures. Surely, they can see that?”

“Perhaps,” Jackson said. “But it wouldn’t be the first time that the FBI made a silly mistake. They’ve shut down other successful departments before, all in the name of politics or cost-cutting. The point is, we can’t give them an easy excuse to do it to us. Let’s make it as difficult as possible for them to justify closing us down.”

Jackson stepped over to a desk and lifted a file from it regarding the current case. He then handed it to Valerie.

“I’ll let you know how this meeting goes with Heinlein and the others,” he said. “But try not to worry about it. And don’t worry about me. Focus on the job, Agent Law. Get your team together. Catch this sick murderer. Save lives. That’s all that matters.”

Valerie nodded, not sure what to say. Jackson simply turned and exited the room.

“What do we do now?” Charlie said, his voice uncharacteristically worried.

Valerie opened the file in her hands. She saw the two photographs of the murdered women, their faces blue and lifeless.

“Jackson said the victims aren’t far from here. Let’s go to this Buford Town, visit the psychiatric retreat, and see if we can catch this killer. The quicker we do that, the better chance we give Jackson to stay with us.”

“I hope we don’t need any back up,” Will said, mournfully.

“Why?” asked Valerie.

“Because with Jackson here fighting for his job and our unit,” Will said, his voice grave. “His hands will be tied when it comes to allocating resources until the matter is settled. However dangerous this killer is, I believe we will be facing him on our own.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Valerie watched the world pass by like a blur beyond the glass of the passenger seat. Her mind was troubled. They were heading into a sleepy town, one which had been awoken from its slumber by a violent killer.

She was surprised how quickly the miles had passed. The drive to Buford had only taken about forty-five minutes. The town itself was a pleasant one: filled with white picket fences, immaculate lawns, and the sweet smell of autumn breezing through its streets from the surrounding forests.

But something dark had come to Buford. Something malevolent and wicked.

“Here we are,” Charlie said.

But he didn’t need to say anything. Valerie saw the grounds of the psychiatric retreat nearing them up ahead. The walls were made of bright sandstone, and the gates were open, with no security guard to watch them.

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