Lindsey leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, her face cool and composed. “I didn’t know Hudson was known in Nevada.”
Mark didn’t care how they knew about the case. “What’s the point?”
John interjected, “His point is that we did some digging. There are similarities in the victim profiles of Hudson, your new client, and our perp. We are all about solving this case, but we also want to know who we’re dealing with and what their motives are.”
Kevin made a face. “A connection is unlikely. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t trying to make one. Hudson was convicted with DNA evidence. Are you trying to save your name here, Lindsey, or catch a perp?”
Mark felt the heat of anger, quick and hard. He kept his tone low, but it reeked of his frustrations. “That’s out of line. We’re trying to save lives here. Are you going to help us or not?”
“I care about saving lives, not my name,” Lindsey said, as if Mark hadn’t spoken. “And just in case you don’t get how the legal world works—I won my case, and that makes me look damn good. What the guy did or didn’t do after doesn’t impact that job.” Kevin stared at her, his face flushed with the heat of anger. Lindsey continued, determination in her voice. No way was anyone speaking until she was done. “And that’s exactly why I joined the FBI.” She paused and let the words sink in. “I’m here to catch a murderer, plain and simple. If you want to do the same, then let’s get down to business. If not, let’s stop wasting each other’s time.”
Kevin’s temper had noticeable declined. “I’m just trying to make sure we all have the same agenda. Nobody wants this guy more than me. I saw the bodies with my own eyes. I know what he’s like, what he does to his victims.”
Lindsey’s eyes filled with shadows. “You’re wrong. I want more.” Something about the way she said the words silenced the table. For long moments, no one so much as blinked.
Kevin broke the silence, shifting in his chair as if he couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re pretty certain they’re all connected, aren’t you? That your Hudson guy is innocent?”
Lindsey met his gaze with a direct stare. “As you said, there’s DNA evidence against Hudson. That’s hard to beat.” She paused, and then added, “Unless it was planted.”
Mark looked at her with surprise. This was the first time he’d heard this theory, though he thought it made damn good sense. John sat his cup down, leaning forward as if he had already considered her theory. “It could have been planted. I was thinking that on the way over here. I had a case last year . . .” He waved off the words. “Bottom line, it could be a plant. What was the DNA source?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and exchanged a knowing look with Mark, as if she wanted his silent approval.
“There’s no way you could,” Mark reminded her.
She nodded. “I know.” She refocused on the other two men, explaining, “I dropped out after Hudson was charged with the final attack. I never saw the DNA evidence.”
John reached for his cup. “Find out if it was hair, because it’s damn easy to plant. If it is, then it’s a whole new ballgame as far as I’m concerned.” He took a drink. “Okay, let’s backtrack. If the cases are connected, then our perp is now in Manhattan, or at least was recently, right?”
Mark nodded. “Yes, but if it’s the same guy, he’s smart. Williams was picked up, and he dropped out of sight.”
Lindsey cleared her throat. “I did a calendar tracking of all of the attacks yesterday. The timelines support one attacker.”
“That’s all the more reason why we need to play connect-the-dots with you guys,” Mark said deliberately, pleased with Lindsey’s sharp actions.
John turned his attention towards Mark. “I know who you are too. You’ve gotten a lot of creeps put back on the street.”
“Not this again,” Lindsey said. “I though we established we are all on the same team here?”
Her eyes met Mark’s and he could see her apprehension. But she didn’t have anything to worry about. He didn’t let guys like these get to him. Mark shrugged. “You know the saying—don’t throw stones if you live in a glass house.” He paused for effect. “I inherited a lot of bad field work and I’m obligated to do my job.” Mark’s meaning sliced through the air, though his tone was nonthreatening. He was reminding them that police errors set a lot of bad guys free. “I hate what we have to do for the system sometimes as much as anyone else, but I respect what the principles are built on. Just as I am sure you do.”
Lindsey looked at Mark, appreciation in her eyes, before she switched her attention to the entire table. “I believe we can help each other, but we need to be on the same team. Is that possible?”
A waitress appeared and started filling cups. Kevin took a drink of his, and then said, “We all want the same things.”
Mark could tell from Lindsey’s face she wasn’t happy with his response. After a long pause, Lindsey asked, “All of your victims went to the University of Las Vegas, right?”
Kevin nodded. “Right.”
“Any common classes or professors?” Mark asked.
“No, none,” Kevin said, setting his cup on the table.
“What time of day were the bodies found?” Lindsey asked.
“All late night, early morning,” Kevin said.
“Alcohol in their blood?” Mark asked.
“Yes.” Kevin frowned. “Explain that question.”
“Just wondering if a bar could be the connection,” Lindsey explained. “We think it might be in New York.”
Kevin’s brows sunk as if he was afraid they had missed something. “We never found that kind of connection.”
“What about boyfriends?” Mark asked.
“Nope,” Kevin responded. “No steady ones, at least.”
Lindsey had pulled out a notepad and was going down a list. “Evidence on the bodies?”
John spoke up. “Yes, same pattern on all. Rope burns on the arms, a few other similarities between victims.”
Lindsey stared at the tablecloth in deep thought. All eyes were on her strained face. Mark sensed some transition in her mood. She was bothered by something. He decided to save her a response. He cleared his throat, and responded for her. “That sounds like our guy’s pattern.”
“Got pictures?” Kevin asked.
“Yes, we do,” Mark commented, but didn’t reach for them. “What I don’t understand is why the Williams cases weren’t linked through the national system.”
Kevin and John eyed each other. Mark noted the exchange with interest. They knew something. After a pause Kevin said, “We think the same thing. Look, why don’t we finish up our coffee and go back to the station? We can compare notes.”
Mark and Lindsey looked at one another and then nodded their agreement.
They rode to the station with the detectives, which left Mark with no feasible opportunity to pry into Lindsey’s head and figure out what she was fretting about. Once there, they were taken to a room holding a couple of folding tables and a wall of whiteboards.
As soon as they were alone, Mark exhaled, relieved to finally get a minute with Lindsey. He walked to her, his hands going to her arms. “What’s up, sweetheart?”
She glanced at him, eyes guarded. “What do you mean?”
Mark winced inwardly. She had already shut him out again. What in the hell was it going to take to get by her walls? “You know what I mean,” he said deliberately. “You clammed up at the restaurant and have stayed that way ever since. What’s bothering you?”
She shrugged her shoulders, diverting her eyes to the floor. “Nothing.”
“That’s crap and we both know it, Lindsey,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t shut me out.”
The door opened, effectively silencing their conversation. “Here we go.” Kevin held up a stack of pictures and then walked to the whiteboard and began taping them up. Lindsey opened her files and pulled out two stacks of pictures, and without a word stood and started to tape them up as well. She put the Hudson pictures on one row—even though only one of his victims was dead—and the Williams pictures on another.