All In, page 3
"A woman named Moira Gray," the chief said. "She went missing from a movie theater in Ohio. I guess a guy left the movie theater to have a cigarette, and there was evidence of blood on the sidewalk and then the chocolates and note. He called the police, and it made its way back to us. Hence, why I'm calling you."
Nicky's stomach fell. "So this Moira could be another Casanova victim, like Brianna," Nicky said.
"That's right. And if you can find Moira, you might be able to find Brianna."
Nicky's mind raced; she couldn't believe they were getting so close to the Casanova Kidnapper. She had to act fast—Brianna's life could be at stake.
"Where do we start?" Ken asked, his voice steady.
"Good question," the chief said. "We don't have any leads on where Moira could be. The blood found on the sidewalk was a match for her, but there's no sign of her or her abductor."
Nicky thought for a moment. "What about the movie theater? Did they have security footage?"
"Not that we've received, but if you two can make it out there, then you can dig up all the information you need," the chief said.
Nicky nodded. "We're on it, Chief. We'll head to Ohio immediately."
"Good," Chief Franco said. "And Lyons, keep in mind what I said earlier. This task force is of the utmost importance. We can't afford any distractions."
"I understand, Chief," Nicky said, feeling a pang of guilt for wanting to focus on finding Rosie instead of the missing girls on the task force's list.
"Good. I'll forward you all the other details we have."
With that, the call ended. It almost didn't feel real. Finding Casanova was a top priority, but Nicky couldn't help her disappointment. They'd just arrived in West Virginia to look into Rosie, and now they had to leave.
"Hey," Ken said, and Nicky looked over at him. He smiled, then gently wrapped his arm around her. "Ohio's not that far. We'll catch this Casanova guy, then come right back."
Nicky leaned into Ken's embrace, grateful for his comfort. She knew he was right; they had to focus on the task at hand. Brianna and Moira's lives were at stake, and Nicky couldn't let her personal feelings get in the way.
"Let's get moving then," Nicky said, pulling away from Ken's embrace. "We've got work to do."
***
Nicky glanced outside of the plane's window as it flew over the afternoon clouds, heading toward Ohio. A four-hour drive would've let her have more control over the trip, but she wanted to get in and out as soon as possible, not only for Moira and Brianna's sake but also for Rosie's.
The sooner Nicky solved this case, the sooner she could get back on track.
Ken was beside her, scrolling through case files on his laptop. Nicky scrolled through hers as well, reviewing all the documents that Franco had sent over.
She decided to look into the previous victims first. Of course, there was Brianna Wilcox, the daughter of the movie star, twenty-one years old. She had wanted to live a quiet life, but that chance had been stolen from her a year ago when she became the Casanova Kidnapper's fourth victim. The three women before her had varied in ages; Amy Bishop, twenty-eight. Corrine Fontaine, nineteen. Franny Chen, thirty.
Now Moira Gray, twenty-five.
On top of that, the girls ranged in ethnicity and appearance. Moira had dark red hair, dyed from blonde, and was Caucasian. Brianna Wilcox had naturally brown hair and was mixed race, half-Caucasian and half-African American. The girls came from different socioeconomic backgrounds, too; Brianna's family was rich, with her mother being a movie star, while Moira came from a single-family home and had been working and living on her own since she was eighteen. The range persisted through the other victims too, and Nicky could see no clear connection between them other than that they were women.
Nicky leaned back in her seat, feeling overwhelmed. This Casanova Kidnapper seemed to be targeting women at random, leaving behind his sick romantic obsessions for each victim. It was almost like he was living out some twisted fantasy. She wondered what kind of man would do something like this. What was he getting out of taking these women? Was he just a deranged stalker obsessed with the idea of being in love with them? Or was there something even more sinister at play? The whole thing reminded her of what had happened to her and Rosie when they were teenagers. The twisted man who had stolen them and forced them into that lake house. She never did understand his motives; was it to keep them as pets? During the days Nicky and Rosie were locked in the house, the man barely interacted with them, although when he first took them, he did nearly drown them in the lake, only to save them as some sort of twisted power play.
Nicky suspected they were dealing with someone similar now. Someone who was living some sick and twisted fantasy at the expense of real people's lives. It all made her sick. And it all made her want to hurry back to West Virginia as soon as this was over, so she could finally save Rosie or at least find out what happened to her. She was so close she could taste it...
Ken looked up from his laptop and caught Nicky's eye. "You okay?"
Nicky nodded, trying to shake off the unease settling in her stomach. "Just thinking about the case," she said.
Ken closed his laptop and turned to face Nicky. "Listen, Nicky. I know you're still thinking about Rosie, and I get that. But we have to focus on this case. We can't let our personal feelings get in the way of our duty."
Nicky nodded again. He could read her like a book. "You're right, Ken. We have to find Brianna and Moira. That's our job. I promise I won't be distracted."
Ken gave Nicky a small smile and reached out to grab her hand. "I know. You don't need me to tell you any of this, it's just a reminder. We'll get them back, Nicky. We will."
She smiled back, relieved to hear his words.
As the plane descended into Ohio, Nicky felt a renewed sense of determination. She was going to find Brianna and Moira, and she was going to catch the Casanova Kidnapper. No matter what it took.
She turned back to the files, taking note of the location Moira had been taken from. The movie theater. There had been blood at the scene too, and Nicky noted that not all the crime scenes for previous victims had blood at them. But some did, including Brianna's. This was the only forensic evidence they had to show that the girls had been hurt in any way.
"We should head to the movie theater first," Nicky said, "see if we can recover any footage. There has to be something."
Ken nodded and closed his laptop for takeoff. "I'll get in touch with the local police department and see if they've found anything yet. We should coordinate with them."
"Good idea," Nicky said, feeling grateful for Ken's quick thinking. They were a good team, she thought, as the plane made its final approach. They could do this.
They landed in Ohio just as the sun was setting, and the two agents immediately headed out of the airport to pick up the rental car. Nicky could feel herself getting anxious as they walked into the lobby, realizing the gravity of the situation.
Brianna and Moira were still out there somewhere. The longer they took to find this guy, the less likely it was to find them alive.
CHAPTER THREE
Moira couldn't see.
Everything around her was dark—pure, endless blackness. The last thing she remembered was being in the truck, and now she was here. Her breaths came out ragged, and she struggled to feel in her body, too aware of the fact that her sight—her precious sight—was gone. Had he blinded her?Carved out her eyes? No...There were just no lights. She could hear something, like the dripping of water. And the smell... it was awful. Stagnant, like mildew and concrete.
Moira tried to move her arms, but they were bound behind her back, and her legs felt heavy like they were weighed down. Panic set in, and she began to hyperventilate. She needed to calm down and figure out where she was and how she got there. Taking a deep breath, Moira listened for any sign of life. All she could hear was the dripping water, but then she heard footsteps. They were faint, but they were there. Someone was nearby.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing off the walls. "Is anyone there?"
No response.
Her legs were free, so she willed herself to keep upright so she could at least walk forward. But as soon as she did, her foot caught on something, and she tripped and fell. Pain reverberated through her body, and she remembered that the madman had hit her with his truck before he'd taken her.
Moira tried to suppress the pain and dragged herself forward, her hands leading her way. The ground was damp, and she could feel it seeping through her clothes. The footsteps grew louder, and she could hear them coming closer. She tried to stand up, but her legs gave out beneath her, and she fell to her knees.
Moira crawled forward, using her hands to feel her way. Her palms hit something slimy, and she recoiled, gagging. It was hard to tell what was around her, but as she inched forward, she began to make out shapes in the darkness. The walls were slick with moisture, and the floor was covered in a layer of grime and filth. She could feel something moving beneath her fingertips, skittering away as she touched it.
The footsteps grew louder, and Moira's heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't see who was coming, but she knew it wasn't going to be good. She tried to stand up, but her legs were still too weak, so she remained crouched on the ground. She held her breath, trying not to make a peep. The footsteps passed… And she was alone again.
"H–help," she croaked out, so lost and confused, but no one answered.
Moira was left to her own devices; her mind raced with thoughts of how she could escape. She had to find a way out before it was too late. She crawled forward, her hands feeling along the walls for any sign of a door or a window. Her fingers brushed against something cold and metal, and her heart leaped with hope. It was a doorknob. Moira tried to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. Frustration struck her, and she pounded her fist again and again.
"Help!" she called out. "Somebody, please, help me!” She screamed until her throat was raw.But no one answered her call. No one was coming to save her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nicky pulled the rental car up the street of the movie theater, passing by the flashing lights of police cars and media trucks camped outside. The whole area was caution taped off, and even from afar, Nicky could see the blood on the concrete outside of the theater.
Ken let out a low whistle. "This got more media attention than I thought it would," he said.
Nicky grumbled as she found a spot to park her car up the street. "Yeah, well, five women have gone missing from this city in three years, all by the same guy, it seems," Nicky said. "I'd be pretty concerned too."
They got out of the car and made their way over to the police officers congregating outside the perimeter. Flashing their FBI badges, a uniformed officer nodded and held up the tape, letting them through. Nicky slowly approached the front of the theater, where evidence of this crime was clear: blood was splattered on the concrete outside. Then, the box of chocolates, heart-shaped, and a note taped to it.
"We're lucky the witness called it in without touching anything," a voice said, and Nicky turned to see a tall man. He had a broad chest and a stern look on his face. He wore a dark blue police uniform with gold trim and buttons and a black handlebar moustache curled up from his upper lip. His piercing blue eyes seemed to take in everything around him, and his strong jaw was clenched tightly. He had an air of confidence and strength that made it clear he was in charge. He nodded at Nicky and offered a hand. "Chief Brandon Jones," he said.
Nicky shook his hand firmly and introduced herself and Ken. "We're with the FBI, here to assist in any way we can," she said.
Chief Jones nodded. "Glad to have you on board. We've been working on this case for months now, and we're no closer to finding the guy than when we started. When we heard the FBI was getting involved, I have to admit, I expected to see more of you sooner."
Nicky's chest panged with guilt. "We hadn't meant to neglect the case, sir, we were working on others."
The chief waved his hand. "I get it. It wasn't like there was anything new to report. The last feds who came down here looked into everything and couldn't find anything more than we did. Hate to admit it, but we needed another victim to hopefully help jumpstart the investigation again."
Nicky frowned. "What do you know about the victims? Any connections between them?"
Jones shook his head. "None, other than the fact that they're all women. Different ages, backgrounds, ethnicities. The only thing we have is that the crime scenes have all included a note or some sort of token left by the suspect. He seems to be fixated on the idea of love."
Nicky nodded, feeling a sense of unease wash over her. It was clear this guy was dangerously unhinged. The chief's analysis lined up with hers; there really was no connection between the victims.
"Have you found any leads on this suspect?" Ken asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the group.
Jones shook his head again. "Nothing, but we've been waiting for you two to arrive. I trust you can take it from here."
"Good," Nicky said, taking out a latex glove and snapping it on her hand. She slowly approached the chocolates and note, then plucked the note up, reading the poem:
Love is dangerous.
Love is brutal.
Love is beautiful.
But it also hurts you.
It reminded Nicky of the other poems, all with a focus on love but with a slightly dark tone or twist.
She knew that this guy had some serious issues with relationships, and it was going to be hard to catch him if he was always one step ahead of them.
Nicky looked at the box of chocolates, examining it closely for any trace evidence. It was heart-shaped but covered in plastic, giving a window to the candies inside. She noticed that the chocolate was still intact and fresh and seemed to be brandless. They looked artisanal, and expensive.
It lined up with the previous crime scenes too. No one had been able to determine where the chocolates had come from.
She signaled to Ken and showed him the box.
"We should get this to the lab right away," she said. "See if there are any prints or DNA on it."
Ken nodded and took the box from her, then handed it off to one of the forensic techs.
She turned to the chief. "And there's no surveillance?"
"Not from the theater," he said. "There could be some somewhere else."
Nicky looked across the street at a store called THRIFTY GOODS. And there, at the front of the store, Nicky caught the gleam of a security camera pointed toward the street.
"That's our best bet," she said, pointing at the camera. Ken saw it too, then nodded at Nicky.
"Let's check it out."
***
Nicky quickly made her way inside the store with Ken behind her, her heart racing with anticipation. That security camera looked as though it could have captured the moment Moira was taken.
The thrift store was cluttered and disorganized, with shelves full of items ranging from clothes to furniture to toys. Stacks of books, vintage lamps, odd knick-knacks, and even old typewriters filled the cramped aisles. Everywhere you looked, something new and interesting seemed to be waiting to be discovered. The smell of musty fabrics and dust wafted throughout the store. There were also gentle hints of soap and polish from some of the more recently acquired items.
Nicky could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she approached the cashier, an older man with graying hair who was reading a magazine behind the counter. He looked up at her and Ken curiously.
"Excuse me, sir," Nicky said, flashing her badge. "I need to see your surveillance footage from last night."
The cashier looked up at her, a look of confusion on his face. "What's going on? Is this about the commotion across the street?"
"I'm with the FBI," Nicky said, her voice firm. "This is for a missing persons case. Five women have disappeared in this area. It's urgent."
"Oh, my," he said, "is that what happened? The police have been sniffing around over there all day. I was worried someone was killed."
"If we're lucky, she's still alive," Ken said. "Please, if you can show us your security footage, it would be a huge help."
The cashier hesitated, then nodded and led her to a small room at the back of the store. Nicky watched as he pulled up the footage on a computer screen. It was grainy and hard to see, but she could make out the street just in front of the movie theater, but not far enough in to see where Moira was attacked and then taken.
"You don't have another angle?" Nicky asked.
"I'm afraid not," the man said. "The camera is only meant to watch the street outside my store. We can catch a bit of the road, but that's about it."
Nicky's heart sank. She had hoped that the store's security footage would give them a good lead on the suspect's next move. But maybe it caught something.
"Can you play us back the footage from last night?" Nicky asked. At the very least, maybe they could catch a glimpse of something--maybe a car or a license plate, something to show who took Moira.
The cashier fiddled with the computer for a moment before the footage from the night before began to play. Nicky and Ken leaned in, watching carefully. They saw a few people walking by, but nothing out of the ordinary. But then, the street began to clear as the timestamp continued into the night. A white pickup truck drove by. And then drove back.
They fast-forwarded and saw it drive by multiple times before it slowed to a halt, seemingly right across the street--outside of the theater.
Nicky held her breath. Could this be the moment?
She watched in horror as the truck drove up the street, only to speed back moments later, heading straight for the movie theater. Or maybe a person standing out front.
The footage lost sight of it for several moments, in which a palpable silence filled the room. Then, as though nothing had happened, the truck was seen driving away.
Nicky and Ken exchanged a look. That was it. That was the lead they had been looking for. Nicky quickly jotted down the make and model; they couldn't see the plate, but the truck had a truck cap on it and chipped white paint, making it fairly significant. There were surely a lot of cars in the city that matched that description, but the truck cap also had a crack in its back window, giving them at least one additional identifier to look out for.
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