up, was a tradition she’d love to forsake. But September 1 was never going to be just another day for her.
“Good,” she said. “Then let’s get started.”
“You don’t have access to the case file, do you?” Ella asked.
Maggie snorted. “No.” She knew more details than the average victim, because the task force had asked her questions over the years. But they’d never let her officially investigate. She suppressed a shudder at just the idea. Even if it could help, the thought of looking through all the other victim files—and her own—made the coffee churn in her stomach.
“It probably wouldn’t tell us a lot more than we already know, anyway.”
She didn’t have to say why. The news gave them enough details about where the Fishhook Rapist had been, and it was no secret he’d stuck to a pattern. Victimology and the crime itself hadn’t changed.
He always struck once a year, on the same date. And he always chose the same type of woman: someone in her late teens or early twenties, with a slender build and long, dark hair.
Maggie touched the hair she’d cut into a bob years ago, after the second Fishhook Rapist victim had surfaced, looking too much like her. She’d worked hard on her physique, too. No longer was she thin and willowy, but lean and muscular.
She turned her back on Scott and Ella, in the pretense of heading for the chair in the corner, but really to give herself a second without being scrutinized to get her game face on. The face she used when she went into a SWAT call and needed a perp who weighed more than twice as much as she did to recognize her as a viable threat. She could do this. She could talk about what had happened to her, with the two people closest to her in the world.
Her bruised back protested as she sat. When she raised her eyes to theirs, she could tell Ella and Scott weren’t fooled. In some ways, this would be easier with total strangers.
Clutching the arms of her chair too hard, she asked Ella, “Why now? Why isn’t this year the same as every other one? Do you think he plans to target a new victim, too? Or just come back for me? And what—” She choked on the rest of the sentence, but she could tell Ella knew what she was going to ask.
What did he plan to do to her this time?
Ella settled onto the couch across from her, her face scrunched up, and Maggie knew what was coming. A detailed profiler’s analysis.
Ella looked pensive as she started, “It was a sophisticated crime. He didn’t leave us any forensic evidence, not even the first time. He was probably in his late twenties a decade ago. Young enough to fit in around a college town, but old enough to be self-sufficient, with his own vehicle and the ability to leave town permanently afterward without attracting attention.”
Scott was nodding from his perch next to the couch as Ella continued, “He’s closing in on forty now, and he’s still grabbing women in college or just out of it. It’s not as easy for him to blend in anymore. He’s starting to realize he needs to think about changing his approach. He’s starting to realize his pattern for the past decade has to change, at least in some ways. It’s made him reminisce. And ten years is a significant number, in terms of standard anniversaries.”
Intense lines appeared on Ella’s smooth olive skin, and even her tone changed as she got into what Maggie recognized as her profiler groove. “To this perp, September 1 is more important than any standard anniversary. He’s not married, never has been, and for him, this crime dominates his life.”
She looked apologetic as she continued, “You’re important to him because that day was the start for him. It probably wasn’t his first offense, but it was the first time he used the brand.” Her voice caught as she said, “And that’s his signature. As he’s been planning his next attack, he can’t stop thinking about how it all started. He’s looking for that same thrill, the way it was the first time he decided to act—the fear and excitement and—”
Ella closed her eyes again, and Maggie realized this was as hard for Ella to profile as it was for Maggie to hear. Ella had been there that day, when Maggie had stumbled back to their dorm room, drugged and only able to remember fragments of what had happened. Fragments were all she had today, and in some ways, she was grateful for that.
Scott was standing beside the couch, his jaw locked, his nostrils practically flaring, as he listened silently.
Maggie got up and walked woodenly to the couch, sitting beside Ella, who’d befriended her and Scott when she’d moved down the street from them when she and Maggie were in kindergarten. “It’s okay. Keep going.”
Maggie could hear determination, sorrow and anger in Ella’s voice as she said, “It’s hard for me to profile him objectively, Maggie. But I don’t think he’s planning to go after a new victim this year. I think he means what he says in that letter. I think he’s coming back here just for you, to re-create what’s in his mind from a decade ago.”
* * *
“THE DATE OF the attacks has to mean something,” Grant announced Monday morning.
He’d been saying it for two days now, and he was certain he was right. The problem was, he didn’t know what it meant.
“Maybe.” Kammy Ming, the SSA of the VCMO squad where Grant was on loan, still looked skeptical.
They were the only ones in the room now, but in an hour, it would fill up with the rest of the case agents. Kammy was already here because, as far as he could tell, she didn’t sleep. He was here extra early because he needed to figure this out, for Maggie.
“Or maybe it’s just the day he went after what he wanted,” Kammy said. “Maybe it’s important because it’s the date of the attacks. Because it’s when he abducted Maggie, so then it became his day for every future attack.”
“Yeah, I know that’s the prevailing theory,” Grant said, rolling his shoulders, which were tight from spending the weekend sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a WFO conference room. “But you wanted me here because of my experience with the Manhattan Strangler case, right?”
Kammy nodded, but she was frowning, looking exhausted after a weekend without much progress. “There are some compelling similarities we can’t ignore. But this isn’t the same guy...”
“No,” Grant agreed. “But in that case, the killer specifically waited for the anniversary of his mother’s death to make a kill. Four years, and he was in control enough to wait a whole year in between attacks. With someone who has this sort of compulsion, a year is a long wait.”
“Keep talking,” Kammy said, tying her graying hair up in a bun as she stared expectantly at him.
She was as much of a workaholic as James. Was that going to be him in ten years? No balance, just the job all the time?
An image of Maggie immediately filled his brain. There was a heck of a lot more than work that he wanted to fill his days. And there was a heck of a lot more than just work involved when it came to solving this case.
“It’s the same with this guy,” Grant pressed. “He’s systematic with the abductions, the branding, every single year. But he can control the urge until September 1 comes along. There must be a reason.”
Kammy raised her eyebrows, sinking
