any mention of WR8TH on the Internet; quite the opposite. It turned out to be an incredibly common username online. There are hundreds of variations of it in online gaming alone.”
Jenn went on to the FBI’s speculative and relatively generic profile of Suzanne’s abductor. Speculative because, apart from the fragments of chat recovered from Suzanne’s computer, they had nothing to go on other than the circumstances of the crime.
“The assumption was, and still is, that the perp was highly organized and probably between thirty and fifty. He was too smooth, confident, and thorough to be a novice. Young offenders are impulsive and stupid. This one was patient and cunning. Most likely, he was an experienced predator with a long history—Suzanne would not have been his first.”
“How did they reach that conclusion?”
“The perp was able to pass himself off convincingly as a teenage boy, which suggested he was extremely empathetic and skilled in social situations. It’s not easy to fool a teenager. The FBI doubted he had ever been arrested because pedophiles rarely vary their methods once they find one that works. Just to be sure, they scoured cold cases for his MO—nothing.
“WR8TH also knew his way around computers and how to avoid leaving a trail for law enforcement. His home, likely a freestanding house, afforded him some privacy, which also suggested he had a job and was able to function normally in public without drawing suspicion to himself.
“When the investigation went cold two years later, the prevailing theory was that the perp hadn’t known who Suzanne Lombard really was. There was nothing to indicate that she had revealed her identity to him online, and it was the FBI’s belief that the perp had panicked when he realized who he had abducted. There is a high probability that he killed her, dumped the body, and moved on to less dangerous quarry.”
Vaughn was staring at her. Those green eyes burning right through her.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, standing and leaving before anyone could answer. The conference room door swung closed behind him.
“Smooth, Charles,” Hendricks said and dropped his pen on the table for effect.
“Fuck you, Dan. I didn’t know he was going to be such a girl about it.”
Rilling got busy typing something on his computer. George cleared his throat, and they both fell silent. Hendricks laughed. She looked at him, expecting to be reprimanded. Instead, her boss was smiling at her.
“He cares about Suzanne. Even more than I’d hoped. That’s good.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But how about we go easy on it from here on out.”
Vaughn came back but not all the way into the room. He stood in the doorway, one foot in, one foot out. He’d splashed water on his face sloppily and the front of his shirt looked wet.
“Look, George,” he said. “I appreciate the job offer, but if you expected me to see something and tell you who WR8TH is, I’m sorry. I hadn’t seen Suzanne in a while. I wish I could help. Believe me. But I’m not going to see anything the FBI missed. I’m sorry,” he said again, and looked it. “You can have your money back. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
Abe smiled. “No, Gibson. We don’t expect anything of the kind.”
“Then what?”
“Jenn?” Abe said.
Vaughn’s eyes leapt to her.
“WR8TH has made contact,” she said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fred Tinsley slowly spun his scotch glass on the bar and cast a malevolent eye toward his cell phone. He was waiting for a call. He didn’t know when it would come or who would be calling, but none of that concerned him. Whether the call came now or four hours from now made no difference. He wasn’t sure anymore that there was a difference.
His wristwatch claimed he had been waiting at the bar for three hours and twenty-seven minutes. Tinsley took it on faith that was the case. It was an expensive watch, purchased precisely for its world-renowned accuracy. And he relied on it, because
Jenn went on to the FBI’s speculative and relatively generic profile of Suzanne’s abductor. Speculative because, apart from the fragments of chat recovered from Suzanne’s computer, they had nothing to go on other than the circumstances of the crime.
“The assumption was, and still is, that the perp was highly organized and probably between thirty and fifty. He was too smooth, confident, and thorough to be a novice. Young offenders are impulsive and stupid. This one was patient and cunning. Most likely, he was an experienced predator with a long history—Suzanne would not have been his first.”
“How did they reach that conclusion?”
“The perp was able to pass himself off convincingly as a teenage boy, which suggested he was extremely empathetic and skilled in social situations. It’s not easy to fool a teenager. The FBI doubted he had ever been arrested because pedophiles rarely vary their methods once they find one that works. Just to be sure, they scoured cold cases for his MO—nothing.
“WR8TH also knew his way around computers and how to avoid leaving a trail for law enforcement. His home, likely a freestanding house, afforded him some privacy, which also suggested he had a job and was able to function normally in public without drawing suspicion to himself.
“When the investigation went cold two years later, the prevailing theory was that the perp hadn’t known who Suzanne Lombard really was. There was nothing to indicate that she had revealed her identity to him online, and it was the FBI’s belief that the perp had panicked when he realized who he had abducted. There is a high probability that he killed her, dumped the body, and moved on to less dangerous quarry.”
Vaughn was staring at her. Those green eyes burning right through her.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, standing and leaving before anyone could answer. The conference room door swung closed behind him.
“Smooth, Charles,” Hendricks said and dropped his pen on the table for effect.
“Fuck you, Dan. I didn’t know he was going to be such a girl about it.”
Rilling got busy typing something on his computer. George cleared his throat, and they both fell silent. Hendricks laughed. She looked at him, expecting to be reprimanded. Instead, her boss was smiling at her.
“He cares about Suzanne. Even more than I’d hoped. That’s good.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But how about we go easy on it from here on out.”
Vaughn came back but not all the way into the room. He stood in the doorway, one foot in, one foot out. He’d splashed water on his face sloppily and the front of his shirt looked wet.
“Look, George,” he said. “I appreciate the job offer, but if you expected me to see something and tell you who WR8TH is, I’m sorry. I hadn’t seen Suzanne in a while. I wish I could help. Believe me. But I’m not going to see anything the FBI missed. I’m sorry,” he said again, and looked it. “You can have your money back. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
Abe smiled. “No, Gibson. We don’t expect anything of the kind.”
“Then what?”
“Jenn?” Abe said.
Vaughn’s eyes leapt to her.
“WR8TH has made contact,” she said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fred Tinsley slowly spun his scotch glass on the bar and cast a malevolent eye toward his cell phone. He was waiting for a call. He didn’t know when it would come or who would be calling, but none of that concerned him. Whether the call came now or four hours from now made no difference. He wasn’t sure anymore that there was a difference.
His wristwatch claimed he had been waiting at the bar for three hours and twenty-seven minutes. Tinsley took it on faith that was the case. It was an expensive watch, purchased precisely for its world-renowned accuracy. And he relied on it, because
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