herself to interact instead of just recording information.
“I want you on the computer getting me the name of every violent offender whose prison term fits the time frame for when our perp was missing in action. The conviction doesn’t have to be rape. Look for physical assaults, armed robberies.”
“Specifically, crimes against women,” Dr. Kilpatrick clarified. “This guy is all about power. Either he’s punishing his victims for some perceived wrong done to him by a woman, or he’s compensating for a real or self-perceived weakness—and women are easier for him to control. He feels stronger, more masculine, by putting someone else down.”
“He could just be some sexual deviant nut job,” Fensom groused.
“Possibly,” the doctor conceded. “As I recall, there’s no real pattern to his victim type. He’s assaulted a Black woman, an Asian, blondes, brunettes. There has to be something that ties these women together—that makes them his type.”
Okay, support. Tech support. Maggie wasn’t the best-trained person when it came to researching through the KCPD database, but she was a fast learner. “I can do that. Look for men recently released from prison convicted of crimes against women.”
She could already name at least one suspect who fit the description without typing in a single keystroke. And she’d tossed his gift into the trash.
Annie Hermann had a different idea. “You know, some sickos can suppress their urges for a while. Or maybe the crimes just haven’t been reported.”
Despite the subtle tension between Annie and Detective Fensom, the chief thought her idea had merit. “It’s possible he took his game to some other town and now he’s back.”
Maggie raised her gaze to the chief’s and put forth an idea of her own. “I’ll access the FBI’s database and run a nationwide scan for any reports that match our perp’s M.O.”
“Better make that international,” Spencer Montgomery suggested. “Our guy could have been way off the grid.”
Maggie opened up a note pad on her screen and jotted down the task. She scooted the case file with the haunting photos around the table while she typed.
Chief Taylor pulled back the front of his suit jacket and propped his hands at his waist. “I know all the scenarios to explain why he’s back in KC, doing this sick stuff to women. I want to know how we stop him.”
“Is this …” Annie set down her drink and pulled an 8 x 10 of the latest victim from the file.
“Bailey Austin.” Spencer Montgomery plucked the photo from her hand, perhaps looking at it a little longer than necessary for simple identification before picking up the folder and sliding it back inside. But he was a hard man to read, and maybe Maggie had only imagined the hesitation regarding the victim’s picture. “It doesn’t help that his first victim out of the block is the stepdaughter of one of the wealthiest men in Kansas City. Her stepdaddy, Jackson Mayweather, will do whatever it takes to protect his family. That could generate a lot of press we don’t want.”
“And makes us look bad that he’s still on the street,” his partner added. “That has to feed this perp’s power trip.”
Chief Taylor nodded. “I’ve already gotten a call this morning from Mr. Mayweather, after he talked to the commissioner. He’s agreed to use discretion and defer to us, at least until we get our investigation under way.”
“Is Miss Austin okay?” Montgomery asked.
“Look at the pictures,” Annie said. “She was brutalized.”
“I’m asking, did she survive? Is she alive? Coherent?” Maybe Maggie had only imagined an emotional reaction from Detective Montgomery because he cleared his throat and his tone became every bit as clipped and clinical as a scientist discussing his research. “I’d like to question her—as soon as Dr. Kilpatrick here thinks she can handle it. If we can’t talk to a suspect, the next best thing is talking with the vic. If we could get a grasp on what she was thinking and doing that made her pop up as a target for this bastard, that might give us a lead to track him down.”
Dr. Kilpatrick held the detective’s gaze across the table. “I’d suggest sending an interrogator with a little more tact and compassion than you, Spencer.”
“I get the job done,” he argued.
The police psychologist was unfazed by the chill in his tone. “Whoever interviews the women who were attacked needs to understand their victimology. Rape victims require an intuition, an empathy, even, to get them to communicate. You may be dealing with anger, extreme distrust, fear of reprisals. They could be shut down and unreachable. Research indicates that some women even feel they deserved the attack, and won’t cooperate with police to catch their rapist.”
Nick Fensom swore beneath his breath. “Nobody deserves what happened to her.”
Kate Kilpatrick nodded. “Unless you’ve been through that, though, it’s difficult to understand the victimology.”
The letter k repeated in row after row on the computer screen as Maggie’s fingers stilled on her keyboard. Chief Taylor hadn’t asked her into the meeting just to take notes after all. She was certain of it.
Detectives, a police psychologist, a crime lab liaison and a security expert. Their presence on the task force made sense. Now she understood that her presence here made sense, too.
Maggie knew what it was like to be a rape victim better than anyone else sitting at this table, as far as she was aware. She’d long ago locked down that part of her life and moved on the best she could to raise her son and provide a healthy, normal existence for them both. But if she could help Bailey Austin recover from her attack—if she could get the other victims to talk or offer some unique insight that could prevent the Rose Red Rapist from striking again … then maybe it was time to for her to unlock that terrible expertise.
Her attacker had been a free man for precisely forty-three days now. And even though a court order legally prevented Maggie from ever having to deal with her ex-husband again, she’d awakened every morning and fallen asleep each night for the past forty-three days, wondering if this was the day Danny Wheeler would return and finish what he’d started ten years earlier. The tulip this morning told her she’d been right to worry. She knew how frightened Bailey Austin was feeling right now—how wary and exposed and unable to trust she’d be until the bastard who’d raped her was put behind bars.
Maggie Wheeler understood victimology. Chief Taylor was a smarter man than he sometimes let on. He’d known exactly what he was doing when he’d asked her to join this meeting. Some favor.
“I’ll let you all work out the details.” He was wrapping up the meeting. “Montgomery’s running this show, but I want a daily report. Anything you need, don’t wait and go through channels if there’s any kind of delay. You need a warrant, you need to talk to another division, you need access to sealed records—whatever it might be—you come to me and I’ll expedite the request. As of now, this investigation is priority one.” Maggie deleted all the extra letters and saved her notes, working up the courage to raise her hand and interrupt. “I have a wife and a daughter. I want this bastard off the streets.”
The answering chorus of “Yes, sirs” told her the meeting had ended. People were breaking into smaller discussions. Pike Taylor urged his dog to its feet. The chief
