Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Definitely taxing his per diem.
He handed off some bills to the bellman who’d hung his garment bag and rolled his suitcase into the closet in the bedroom before he discreetly closed the door to the suite behind him.
And Rus was left in a suite that had a living room, a bar with sink, microwave, refrigerator and two stools on the outside, a romantic fireplace and a balcony with two lounge chairs that had a view of another mountain/hill across the way, and at the bottom of the hill the hotel was on, a large lake shrouded in a heavy coat of mist.
In other words, the view was outstanding.
The bedroom also had a fireplace, an armchair and ottoman, and a king bed with white sheets, a fluffy duvet, a red plaid blanket spread along the bottom, and two blue toss pillows with red moose on the front propped up against an abundance of pillows that would cater to the head support needs of any living human being.
Sabrina would scream with glee at the bathroom.
He was just happy to see a clean shower.
He pulled off his clothes, got a change that was more comfortable, but didn’t unpack seeing as he’d be relocating somewhere else after tonight, since the cheapest room here was probably out of budget.
He took a quick shower, dressed and decided to live it up, hitting the mini bar for a beer.
By this time, McGill was texting to ask his room number.
He gave it, and while McGill was on his way up, Moran texted that he was on his way, and Bohannan was en route too.
Before the locals arrived, Rus had time to debrief with his agent, getting a detailed verbal report of the investigation of the scene, the motel and its surroundings, spreading pictures across the round table by a window, the easier to enjoy room service with a view.
It was too soon to get into anything meaty. Tests would take time to run, prints would take time to process.
They had something bigger to discuss when Moran and Bohannan joined them.
And that was not only sharing ideas about why someone used a serial killer’s MO to murder a local woman, but also how to strategize the FBI’s continued involvement, namely Rus’s.
Because Moran could request FBI assistance, but that assistance would be from the Seattle division, as it would be in what was not a federal crime, it was a local one.
SEVEN
Your Wins
McGill had a beer, a boot to the edge of the coffee table that was covered in a mess of pictures and reports, and had turned on the fire, because, like Rus, he knew this was the only chance he’d get, so he was going to live it up, and it wasn’t even his room.
“The copycat thing, the AD is going to be cool with you being here,” McGill said.
“I need you,” Moran said. “And I don’t mind making a call to share that.”
“The Bureau Chief isn’t going to want anyone here but you,” Bohannan said. “It’s not going to be an issue. What’s going to be an issue is containment. The local media is already sniffing around. They know we have a body. And Misted Pines is on radar, so they’re hungry. You were right. Your guy can’t know anyone is using his MO.”
“What’s this?” McGill asked.
Rus looked to McGill.
“He’s made threats, credible ones, that he can remotely detonate something, somewhere, he hasn’t said where for obvious reasons,” Rus told him. “But wherever it is, it’s going to cause damage, in property and human lives, if we get too close or do anything he doesn’t like.”
McGill wasn’t enjoying a taste of the good life anymore, he was staring at Rus.
“He’s communicating with you?”
“He leaves me notes with the bodies.”
“Jesus, fuck,” McGill bit off, taking his boot from the coffee table and sitting up.
“This is why I knew it was a copycat,” Rus explained. “Details have gotten out. Too many. That’s the one we’ve kept to ourselves. Everything in Misted Pines was done by the book. But they didn’t know that, so they couldn’t include it.”
“How do you know the threats are credible?” Moran asked.
“I tested it after body seven, saying something coded that only he’d get during a press conference,” Rus shared “He got it. I wasn’t done with the presser when a small bomb went off in a park in Alabama. It was a risk I didn’t like taking, orders from on high told me to go for it. They were convinced he was bluffing.”
Everyone in the room wore understanding expressions.
Sometimes, they didn’t get it right, and with the stakes they played, getting it wrong had terrible consequences.
“Fortunately, only a dog was injured. The little guy didn’t make it. His owner was hit with some shrapnel but was fine. When all was said and done, the locals blamed it on a faulty gas line. But we knew it was him because, at the time of the explosion, the FBI switchboard got a call from a landline in a house in Maine. The man who called asked, ‘See?’ and hung up. When local agents stormed the house, there was no sign of him. We found out later the owners were in Europe on vacation. And as usual, he left no trace.”