The Scarecrow

“It’s a small competitor to FedEx and the others. G-O with an exclamation mark. Stands for Guaranteed Overnight. It’s airport-to-airport shipping. A growing business now that airlines limit luggage and charge for it. You can download shipping forms off the Internet, and someone did just that on your computer. It was for a package sent first overnight to yourself. It was held for pickup at the cargo facility at McCarran International. No signature required. Just show your copy of the shipping form. You can drop packages off at LAX as late as eleven o’clock.”

I could only shake my head.

“This is how we think he did it,” Rachel said. “He baits Angela and then goes to work on the shipment. Angela shows up and he does his thing with her. He leaves her-whether she is dead or not at this point we don’t know. He then goes to the airport and drops the package with the gun. They don’t X-ray domestic packages at GO! He then either drives to Vegas or flies, quite possibly even on the same plane as you. Either way, once he’s there, he picks up the package and has the gun. He then follows you to Ely to complete the plan.”

“It seems so tight. Are you sure he could have pulled this off?”

“It is tight and we’re not sure, but the scenario works.”

“What about Schifino?”

“He’s been briefed but doesn’t feel he’s in danger now, if he ever was. He declined protection but we’re watching him anyway.”

I wondered if the Las Vegas lawyer would ever realize how close he may have been to being the worst kind of victim. Rachel continued.

“I take it you would have called me by now if there had been any further contact from the Unsub.”

“No, no contact. Besides, you have the phone. Has he tried calling it again?”

“No.”

“What happened with the trace?”

“We traced his call to you to a cell tower at McCarran. The US Airways terminal. Within two hours of the call to you, there were flights from that terminal to twenty-four different American cities. He could have been going just about anywhere with connections from those twenty-four.”

“What about Seattle?”

“It wasn’t a direct flight but he could have flown to a connection city and gone from there. We are executing a search warrant today that will give us the passenger manifests from all the flights. We’ll run the names through the computer and see what we get. This is our guy’s first mistake and, hopefully, we’ll make him pay for it.”

“A mistake? How so?”

“He should never have called you. He should never have made contact. He gave us information and a location. It’s very unlike what we’ve seen before from him.”

“But you were the one who wanted to bet me that he would make contact. Why is it so shocking? You were right.”

“Yes, but I said that before I knew all I know now. I think, based on what we now have in the profile of this man, that it was out of character for him to call you.”

I thought about all of that for a few moments before asking the next question.

“What else is the bureau doing?”

“Well, we’re profiling Babbit and Oglevy. We know they fit into his program and we need to figure out where they intersect and where he came across them. We’re also still looking for his signature.”

I sat up and wrote signature down in the notebook and then underlined it.

“The signature is different from his program.”

“Yes, Jack. The program is what he does with the victim. The signature is something he leaves behind to mark his turf. It’s the difference between a painting and the artist’s signature marking it as his work. You can tell a van Gogh just by looking at it. But he also signed his work. Only with these killers the signature is not so obvious. Most times we don’t see it until after. But if we could decipher the signature now, it might help lead us to him.”

“Is that what they have you doing? Working on that?”

“Yes.”

But she had hesitated before answering.

“Using your notes off my files?”

“That’s right.”

Now I hesitated, but not too long.

“That’s a lie, Rachel. What is going on?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Because I have your notes right here, Rachel. When they finally cut me loose Thursday, I demanded that they give me all of my files and notes back. They gave me your notes, thinking they were mine. On your legal pad. I have them, Rachel, so why are you lying to me?”

“Jack, I am not lying. So what if you have my notes, you think I can’t-”

“Where are you? Right now. Where exactly are you? Tell me the truth.”

She hesitated.

“I’m in Washington.”

“Shit, you’re zeroing in on See Jane Run, right? I’m coming up there.”

“Not that Washington, Jack.”

This totally puzzled me and then my internal computer spit out a new scenario. Rachel had parlayed uncovering the Unsub into a return to the job she wanted and was best suited for.

“Are you working for Behavioral?”

“I wish. I’m at Washington Headquarters for an OPR hearing Monday morning.”

I knew that the OPR was the Office of Professional Responsibility, the bureau’s version of Internal Affairs.

“You told them about us? They’re going after you for it?”