name is Lisa Graysmith.”
The name was familiar, but Dark couldn’t place it. She must have caught him trying, because she quickly added: “You knew my younger sister.”
It took Dark another few moments, but then he got it. Graysmith—Julie. Sixteen years old. Captured, tortured, and eventually left to die by a monster Special Circs called “Body Double.” This killer’s modus operandi was to impersonate someone in the victim’s life, temporarily lulling the victim into a false sense of security. A friend, maybe a family member. His disguises were never perfect. They relied too much on broad strokes—a hair style, a mannerism. The victims—usually teenagers, sometimes children—never believed the ruse for more than a few seconds. But that was all Body Double—aka Brian Russell Day—needed.
Julie Graysmith had been his final victim. Dark and the Special Circs team caught him soon after, trying to slip into a crowd at Union Station in D.C. They forced him to reveal Julie’s location. But the team was unable to reach her in time.
“I never met her,” Dark said.
“I think you knew her more intimately than anybody,” Graysmith said, descending the steps. “You tried to save her—and more importantly, you caught her killer. I wanted the chance to thank you.”
Dark considered this for a moment. If this woman really was the sister of a victim, she didn’t deserve a brush-off. Sometimes the best thing you could do for a grieving family member was simply listen. But grieving relatives sometimes wanted answers you couldn’t give. Or they wanted to drag you into some kind of legal action.
Then again, Dark wasn’t with Special Circs anymore. There was only so far this woman could drag him.
“There’s a place nearby,” he said.
Graysmith offered to drive. Dark agreed. It would give him the opportunity to look at her car, which turned out to be a spotless BMW. A high-end rental—he saw the telltale bar code in the windshield, which the agency used to check vehicles in and out of the lot. Once inside the brewpub, the woman claiming to be “Lisa Graysmith” ordered an iced tea. Dark asked for a draft beer. A row of flat-screen TVs displayed sports-highlights shows.
“Thank you for the beer.”
Graysmith said, “You left Special Circs in June.”
Dark looked at her. Not many people knew about Special Circs, let alone the comings and goings of its agents. The press covered Brian Russell Day’s arrest, but never mentioned his nickname nor Special Circs’s involvement. Officially, it was the FBI who caught him. Day was awaiting execution in Washington.
Dark sipped his beer, saying nothing.
“You don’t have to be coy with me, Agent Dark,” Graysmith said. “After that son of a bitch was arrested, I wanted to learn everything I could about the man who caught him. I asked around about you.”
“Who did you ask?”
“Let’s put it this way. We’ve probably passed each other in the hall a few times in the last five years.”
Was Graysmith trying to tell him she worked for the Defense Department? That she knew about Wycoff, and his secret control of Special Circs?
She leaned forward, placed her fingertips on Dark’s hand. “I also know about Wycoff ’s little eight-pound indiscretion.”
Dark took his hand away, picked up his beer, had another swallow. Now she was showing off. Almost nobody knew about Wycoff’s illegitimate child. Or its connection to the Sqweegel murders.
“You’re giving me peeks at your hand,” Dark said, “but I don’t even know what game we’re playing. If you want something, go ahead and ask. If you’re trying to draw something out of me, just ask. Other than that, we can finish our drinks and then we can go.”
“You caught Day. You’ve caught many monsters over the years. You’re the best at what you do, and you’ve stopped. I don’t know why, but I think it’s a mistake.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Dark said.
“That’s not
The name was familiar, but Dark couldn’t place it. She must have caught him trying, because she quickly added: “You knew my younger sister.”
It took Dark another few moments, but then he got it. Graysmith—Julie. Sixteen years old. Captured, tortured, and eventually left to die by a monster Special Circs called “Body Double.” This killer’s modus operandi was to impersonate someone in the victim’s life, temporarily lulling the victim into a false sense of security. A friend, maybe a family member. His disguises were never perfect. They relied too much on broad strokes—a hair style, a mannerism. The victims—usually teenagers, sometimes children—never believed the ruse for more than a few seconds. But that was all Body Double—aka Brian Russell Day—needed.
Julie Graysmith had been his final victim. Dark and the Special Circs team caught him soon after, trying to slip into a crowd at Union Station in D.C. They forced him to reveal Julie’s location. But the team was unable to reach her in time.
“I never met her,” Dark said.
“I think you knew her more intimately than anybody,” Graysmith said, descending the steps. “You tried to save her—and more importantly, you caught her killer. I wanted the chance to thank you.”
Dark considered this for a moment. If this woman really was the sister of a victim, she didn’t deserve a brush-off. Sometimes the best thing you could do for a grieving family member was simply listen. But grieving relatives sometimes wanted answers you couldn’t give. Or they wanted to drag you into some kind of legal action.
Then again, Dark wasn’t with Special Circs anymore. There was only so far this woman could drag him.
“There’s a place nearby,” he said.
Graysmith offered to drive. Dark agreed. It would give him the opportunity to look at her car, which turned out to be a spotless BMW. A high-end rental—he saw the telltale bar code in the windshield, which the agency used to check vehicles in and out of the lot. Once inside the brewpub, the woman claiming to be “Lisa Graysmith” ordered an iced tea. Dark asked for a draft beer. A row of flat-screen TVs displayed sports-highlights shows.
“Thank you for the beer.”
Graysmith said, “You left Special Circs in June.”
Dark looked at her. Not many people knew about Special Circs, let alone the comings and goings of its agents. The press covered Brian Russell Day’s arrest, but never mentioned his nickname nor Special Circs’s involvement. Officially, it was the FBI who caught him. Day was awaiting execution in Washington.
Dark sipped his beer, saying nothing.
“You don’t have to be coy with me, Agent Dark,” Graysmith said. “After that son of a bitch was arrested, I wanted to learn everything I could about the man who caught him. I asked around about you.”
“Who did you ask?”
“Let’s put it this way. We’ve probably passed each other in the hall a few times in the last five years.”
Was Graysmith trying to tell him she worked for the Defense Department? That she knew about Wycoff, and his secret control of Special Circs?
She leaned forward, placed her fingertips on Dark’s hand. “I also know about Wycoff ’s little eight-pound indiscretion.”
Dark took his hand away, picked up his beer, had another swallow. Now she was showing off. Almost nobody knew about Wycoff’s illegitimate child. Or its connection to the Sqweegel murders.
“You’re giving me peeks at your hand,” Dark said, “but I don’t even know what game we’re playing. If you want something, go ahead and ask. If you’re trying to draw something out of me, just ask. Other than that, we can finish our drinks and then we can go.”
“You caught Day. You’ve caught many monsters over the years. You’re the best at what you do, and you’ve stopped. I don’t know why, but I think it’s a mistake.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Dark said.
“That’s not
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