I Can Kill: An FBI Thriller (The O'Reilly Files Book 1) Page 19

  “I see,” Shaun said. “And it was erased shortly after you received the text?”

  Jordan nodded.

  “Please say all answers out loud.”

  “Yes,” Jordan replied tautly.

  “Can anyone confirm you received the text message?”

  “My cameraman. Kent Ory.”

  “And what did the message say?”

  Jordan sighed. “Something about me needing to report the real news again.” He scoffed. “At least someone recognizes my talent.”

  “What else did he say?”

  Jordan rolled his eyes. “He told me his most recent victim had escaped, but it won’t stop him from finding someone else.”

  “And you have no proof of this text?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, and you’ve received messages from the offender before, is that correct?”

  “What, am I on trial now?”

  “Answer the question, please.”

  Jordan frowned. “Yes. A few months ago, I received a birthday card and then a text. He said he wanted me to let the public know he’d returned.”

  “That message also disappeared, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Jordan seemed to be getting bored now.

  “Have you ever met a man named Ron Heady?”

  “I haven’t,” Jordan replied. He blew out a breath and began drumming his fingers on the table.

  Aidan turned to Monroe. “Has Shaun ever had the desire to punch someone that was annoying?”

  “Not that I know of,” she replied as Shaun spoke again.

  “He rented the house owned by your uncle, Thomas Blake,” Shaun told the reporter.

  “So?” Jordan asked. “My uncle doesn’t tell me who he rents his house to. I mean, I heard The Carnations Killer used his house to kill those women, but I don’t know anything else. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Well,” Aidan said to Monroe, still thinking of the answer she’d given him, “that’s an annoying quality.”

  Aidan watched as Shaun rose and began to pace the room. He stood in front of the two-way glass. Aidan could see him, but knew Shaun could only see his own reflection. To Aidan, he was looking right above his head.

  “See, here’s the thing I don’t get, Jordan,” Shaun continued. He turned on his heels to face the reporter. “You were on the scene at Maya Gibson’s murder, then you claimed to have received a text from the offender saying he’s returned.” He paced around the table so he’d be at Jordan’s back. “You were also at Jane Ridgeway’s crime scene while we were processing it, and it turns out the offender used your uncle’s home as his home base. Now you know his last victim managed to escape. Something no one else knows.”

  He paused and leaned over to speak in the reporter’s ear.

  “Get it yet, Blake? We don’t need too much to try and convict you.” He straightened and stepped over to his chair across from Jordan and lowered himself to the seat. Shaun put one leg over the other knee, folding his hands on the table. “We don’t even need to inform the jury that you lied about knowing the victim and that you reported on other murders committed by the offender. We already have enough to charge you. More than likely enough to convict you.”

  Shaun opened the manila folder, which rested on the table and began to spread the crime scene photos.

  Aidan could tell Jordan was trying to remain cool.

  The reporter closed his eyes and looked away.

  Shaun passed him several sheets of paper.

  “These are autopsy reports. In 2001, Hillary Barnett was his second victim. When she was found, her kneecaps were busted, her ribs broken. In 2005, Valerie Davis’ injuries were so bad, she’d died before he was through with her. In 2009—”

  “Stop. Please.”

  Jordan’s face seemed to turn green. He turned his head away from the photos.

  “Look, Jordan. I don’t think you could hurt a fly, much less these women. Okay? Don't you want to help give their families justice? Help me help you,” Shaun said, keeping his tone compassionate.

  This had always been Aidan's favorite part in breaking a suspect.

  “How?” Jordan said after a long pause. His voice was low and hoarse.

  “I want you to get on the air.”

  Aidan watched Jordan carefully. After hesitating, he slowly turned his head to gape at Shaun.

  “You want me to what?”

  “I want you to get on the air, and I want you to tell the public The Carnations Killer’s latest victim, Carol Rider is alive, and although she can’t do much talking, we expect her to make a full recovery. And say she will remain at Georgia Regents Medical Center until the end of next week.”

  Narrowing his eyes curiously, Jordan said, “Why would you want me to do that? He would only go after her and finish killing her.”

  “Exactly.” Shaun slapped a large hand on the table with enthusiasm.

  Jordan’s eyes grew round. “You want to try and draw him out.”

  “See? You aren’t as dumb as you act. So? What do you say?”

  “And you won’t arrest me?”

  “If you help us, then we’ll forget everything you lied about. You can go your way, we’ll go ours.”

  Jordan took the chance to look at the photos of the women on the table. He frowned and asked, “You’ll protect Carol, right?”

  “Nothing will happen to her.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

  59

  THEY TOLD JORDAN to go on the air at six o’clock that night. Before he left the office, Shaun and Aidan told him what they wanted him to say to the camera.

  Aidan sent up a prayer that the reporter wouldn’t manage to screw up. It was their one good chance to catching the offender. Shaun had thought of it, and at first, Aidan dismissed the idea. He wasn’t sure he wanted to chance Carol’s life. However, Aidan decided it could be their best chance at getting him.

  There was a reason the offender wanted the public to know Carol was alive. They believed the offender was hoping Jordan Blake would be his nosy, self-righteous self and do the work for him.

  In telling Jordan to announce the news on air, they hoped the offender would go after Carol in an attempt to finish the job.

  Well.

  If their plan in drawing out the offender worked, it’d be a very good plan.

  If it worked.

  Undercover men were stationed nearby the room, inside, and by the elevators, as well as the stairway. The sentries knew who was authorized to enter Carol’s room and who wasn't.

  Aidan stopped off at Laura’s house to have supper with Cheyenne and watch Jordan report his story.

  Then in the morning, Shaun and Aidan planned to meet at the hospital to see how things were going with Carol’s recovery. Aidan had informed Cheyenne he may be sleeping in the hospital for the remainder of the week.

  “Aidan, honey,” Cheyenne called from the living room. “It’s on.”

  Grabbing two beers from the fridge, he made a beeline for the living room and sat next to Cheyenne on the couch. Aidan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

  “Earlier today,” Jordan reported, standing in front of a blue backdrop, “I gave a report that The Carnations Killer had abducted a woman, but according to a text I recently received from him, she managed to escape. Being naturally curious, I wanted to gather further information. Well, here you are, folks. The latest Carnations Killer victim is Carol Rider. She is being held at Georgia Regents Medical Center until the end of the week. According to the doctors, her eyes have extensive damage, and her voice is injured due to the amount of torture she received. However, she’s expected to make a full recovery, in which case the FBI hopes she can identify her abductor. You heard it here first. This is Jordan Blake reporting live at WJFX News.”

  It went to commercial, so Aidan pressed the mute button on the remote.

  “I have to hand it to him,” Aidan said. “He put o
n a show that was convincing enough, if I didn’t already know it was staged, I’d have him in handcuffs.”

  “You think he’ll fall for it?” Cheyenne asked.

  “I don’t know,” Aidan said between sips of his beer. “I sure hope so. We’re out of options.”

  She sat upright and cupped her hand under his chin.

  “I know I don’t say this enough, Agent O’Reilly,” she began, “But I’m proud of you. Everything you are, everything you do. I’m lucky to be yours.”

  She kissed him.

  “I’m the one who's lucky,” Aidan said earnestly. “After all, you’ve put up with me for five years. All you know is my obsession with this investigation.”

  “He murdered someone you cared about,” Cheyenne replied. She frowned. “I think you deserve a little leeway as far obsessions go. You haven’t let it beat you. I mean, it’s come close, but you’re still standing. That’s something to be proud of. And you’re so much more than this investigation. I know that.”

  She leaned in to kiss his cheek before rising.

  “I’m going to go take a bath.”

  As she left, Aidan received a text from Shaun telling him Jordan did a compelling job on his report. Aidan replied that he agreed, and then called his sister.

  He hadn’t spoken to her since they had the argument earlier, and he wanted to clear the air.

  60

  JORDAN HOPED his segment of the news tonight was satisfactory. Earlier in the day when the agent held him in the interview room, it suddenly hit him that his head really had been stuck in the clouds.

  His uncle was right all along.

  It was the photos of the women that finally did him in.

  There were so many.

  Agent Henderson didn't even show all of them. But he showed him more than enough.

  He saw the crime scene photos and even saw Maya Gibson. While all of them were in bad shape, some were beyond recognizable.

  Jordan couldn’t stop picturing their broken faces. He had a sick feeling rising in his stomach. It made him want to lose his lunch. Why would anyone want to do that to a woman? To anyone for that matter? What kind of monster hated people so much, they’d destroy their lives and not care?

  Did something happen in this guy’s childhood that broke him?

  Or was he born evil?

  He took a sip of his Michelob.

  Jordan had asked the agents why they thought The Carnations Killer wanted to contact him. Agent O’Reilly guessed it was because the killer knew he’d do whatever it took to get the story.

  It kind of made sense, didn’t it?

  If Jordan wanted to make sure his bad deeds were being noticed, he’d probably want to find some overconfident imbecile to shout it out.

  And if he wanted to remain unknown, then a young reporter yearning to make it in the field was the perfect target.

  And the perfect fall guy.

  Now everything he’d gone through regarding The Carnations Killer made sense.

  The question remained: who was The Carnations Killer?

  Would he take the bait the FBI set in place?

  Would he finally be caught after all these years?

  His cell phone interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID, reading unavailable. Frowning, Jordan answered.

  “Nice try, Jordan. But you don’t fool me.”

  His heart beat against his ribcage as the garbled voice spoke to him on the other end of the line.

  “Who is this?”

  “You don’t know?”

  The voice sounded relaxed.

  Carefree.

  He laughed. “You do know. Tell me who I am.”

  Jordan swallowed, but he wasn't able to wet his throat. “You’re the one who murdered all those women. The Carnations Killer.”

  More laughter. “See? You’ve got my number. Now. The reason I'm calling you: I have a message for you to give Agent O’Reilly.”

  “No,” Jordan told him. “I’m done being your messenger boy.”

  “Come on, Jordan ol’ pal. We’re just having fun, right? Please?”

  Jordan remained silent. He wanted to protest, but he couldn’t find the words. He clutched the armrest and stared at the muted television.

  “I thought so,” the killer said. “What I want you to tell Agent O’Reilly is very simple. Are you listening? It’s very important he knows I’ll be taking a vacation soon. But my last kill will be the biggest thrill of all. I want him to prepare to say goodbye. Oh! I almost forgot. I left you a present out back. Something to remind you of our time together.”

  “Wh-what what are you talking about?”

  When there was no answer, the reporter glanced at his phone screen. The call had been lost.

  He sat in silence for a few minutes before jumping out of his chair.

  Putting his hand on the doorknob, he drew in a deep breath before he turned. Another breath, he pulled the door open.

  He gripped the edge of the door when he saw it.

  Slumped in his overgrown grass was his dog.

  “Duke!”

  The phone slipped from his hand and he rushed outside, but he knew nothing could be done.

  A bouquet of white carnations rested on the bloodied golden fur.

  Falling to his knees, Jordan rested his head against the dog’s still body.

  61

  “OKAY, JORDAN,” AIDAN said into the phone. “I’m coming right now. You didn’t touch anything, did you?”

  “No.”

  Aidan could hear the strain in the reporter’s voice. For the first time since they met, he felt bad for him.

  “Good. Keep everything the way it is. We’re going to be treating this like any other scene.” Aidan paused. “I’m very sorry about your dog.”

  “Yeah,” he said dryly. “Me too.”

  Aidan ended the call and searched for Shaun’s number. Cheyenne lay on her side, staring up at him. He stroked her head as a silent gesture that everything would be okay.

  “Yeah?” Shaun answered on the third ring, Aidan could tell Shaun had been woken from a deep sleep.

  “I just got off the phone with Jordan Blake,” Aidan informed him.

  After he relayed what the reporter said, Shaun released a tired curse.

  “Man, he killed the dog?”

  “Yeah. Somehow, it seems he knows we were trying to bait him. But I’m going to keep our people on Carol, just in case. We’ll need to figure out another way to get him.”

  “Does Jordan know who the offender is?” Shaun asked. He heard the sound of sliding drawers in the background.

  “No. The caller had disguised his voice. I'm going to call in a trace, but—”

  “Yeah,” Shaun muttered. “I know.”

  The words that haunted Aidan echoed in his mind.

  I can kill, and you can’t catch me.

  Closing his eyes, Aidan tried to steady his breath.

  “We’re going to get him, Shaun,” he said, his eyes still closed. He had to tell him that as much as himself. But it seemed The Carnations Killer was still ten steps ahead.

  “I’m going to head over to Blake’s. Take a look.”

  “I’ll meet you there.” It sounded as though he was trying to keep from yawning.

  “All right,” Aidan agreed.

  When he ended the call, Aidan set the phone on the bedside table.

  “That’s so awful,” Cheyenne said, her eyes focused on the blank television. “I can’t imagine what that poor man must be going through.”

  “Me either,” Aidan replied. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. “I have to go. I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of hours.”

  Cheyenne nodded as he slipped on a Bon Jovi concert tee and a pair of dark jeans. He wasn’t worried about dress code since it was so late at night.

  It was nearing ten thirty when he slipped into the garage. Aidan pressed the button on the wall. The garage door rumbled open, the sudden, loud noise startling him. />
  Climbing into the car, Aidan pulled out of the drive and stopped at the undercover officers still stationed outside Laura’s house, keeping watch over Cheyenne. The one in the driver’s seat held a large cup of coffee.

  “I’ve got to run out for a bit,” he informed them.

  “Don’t worry, Agent O’Reilly,” the officer behind the wheel said. He motioned to his coffee. “Double espresso with a shot of Red Bull. My eyes are bulging from my sockets, but I’m wide awake. The little lady will be just fine.”

  His partner leaned over with a smile on her face. “I only need my Diet Coke and I’m ready to run up the walls.”

  Aidan snickered. “I hear you. Well, thanks, guys. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  As Aidan drove, he called in a request for someone from the crime scene unit to meet him at Jordan’s. After the call was finished, Aidan pressed the button for the motorized window to open, letting the crisp cool air rouse him from sleepiness. He smelled the fresh scent of rain lingering. When he stopped at a traffic light, Aidan leaned over the wheel to gaze at the sky. With lights from the street lamps, it was hard to see, however; he didn’t notice the moon or the stars.

  He hoped the rain would hold off until they finished going through Jordan’s yard.

  When the light turned green, he pressed his foot on the gas to resume his course.

  62

  HE WATCHED AS the car pulled away before going to work at jimmying the window open. It didn’t take much for him to break in.

  Quietly and efficiently, he set his supplies inside the house and stepped through the living room window. To be sure noise he made didn’t raise an alert, he stood still, listening to the soundless house.

  Well, almost soundless.

  He could hear the hum of snoring upstairs.

  Taking his time, he looked around the living room.

  The walls were a muted green, blending with the pastel colors of the couch against the wall. The coffee table held a National Geographic. The big leather chairs sat on either side of the table, and a large flat screen television hung on the wall, facing the couch.

  There were various cat figurines lining the shelves.