Waking Nightmare by Kylie Brant Page B

look. He picked up a sheaf of papers he’d brought in and walked over to Cantrell, handed it to him. “We’ve run vehicle registrations for older-model Broncos. Also have the stolen vehicle reports for the last two weeks. Wayne, you and McElroy can go through these and see what you come up with. Isaac, I want you to work the dog kennel angle. Check out the manufacturer, who sells that type around here, how many, do they keep records . . . you know the drill.”
    Holmes’s expression managed to look even more hang-dog. “Needle in a haystack,” he muttered.
    “Yep. But this is the haystack we’re shaking today.”
    “What about Tinkerbell?” McElroy shot Abbie a pointed look. “What’s she gonna be doing? She sure as hell doesn’t fetch coffee.”
    Ryne’s face went expressionless. “Ms. Phillips will be working on establishing a profile of the rapist.”
    The air in the room went abruptly charged. Isaac Holmes looked at her. “What precinct you say you’re from, Phillips?”
    Abbie opened her mouth to answer, but Robel beat her to it.
    “She’s an independent consultant. Commander Dixon made the decision to contract with an outside agency, Raiker Forensics. Maybe you’ve heard of it.” There wasn’t a hint of emotion in Robel’s voice. To Abbie’s ears, his dispassionate tone was as damning as a shout.
    “Un-fucking-believable.” McElroy glared at Ryne. “She’s not even a cop?”
    “You want a profile, you should have just asked.” Cantrell’s smile was chilly. “White male, between twenty and forty. Marginally employed. History of abuse toward women. Isn’t that what you guys always come up with?”
    “Depends on the evidence,” she answered evenly. “And the pattern. But it’s too soon for me to reach any conclusions. At this point, it hasn’t even been determined that the rapist is male.”
    McElroy guffawed and Ryne glared at him. “I think what Ms. Phillips is saying . . .” he started.
    “What I’m saying is it’s too soon to narrow our focus. It probably is a man. Better than ninety-nine percent of rapists are. But this one incapacitates the victims and never undresses. Given the haziness of the victims’ memories, I’m not ready to rule anyone out yet.”
    “So I guess we know what Robel’s doing today,” McElroy said in a loud aside to Cantrell. “Tracking down those dangerous female rapists we got running all over Georgia. Lucky bastard.”
    With effort, Abbie kept a smile on her face as the detectives laughed. “I’ve worked more than a dozen serial rapist cases in the last five years. Female perpetrators are rare, but I don’t rule out anything until the evidence warrants it. Generalizations are dangerous because they blind us to other possibilities.”
    “Okay, let’s get to work.” At Ryne’s order, everyone rose, including Captain Brown. “If you run across something that sounds promising, I want to hear about it.”
    The detectives filed out of the room.
    “Ms. Phillips.” Brown paused before her and extended his hand. “Captain Dennis Brown. I want to welcome you to Savannah and the team.” His grip was firm, his faded blue gaze searching. “I’m sure Ryne will get you everything you need, but if there’s anything I can do, my office is upstairs.”
    “Thank you. I look forward to getting started.”
    He inclined his head and followed the others out the door. Abbie eyed his retreating figure speculatively. It was always telling to analyze the dynamics of the groups she worked with. And in those brief moments she’d gotten the distinct feeling that Brown was no happier about her being here than Robel was.
    “I had another desk moved in, next to mine.” The detective gathered up his files quickly then straightened. “That will be your space for the duration.”
    Next to his. Great. “Thanks.”
    “You don’t believe that, do you?” He fell into step beside her, his voice openly skeptical. “All that you were saying about women raping