Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep241: Episode 241: The Story Of Specıal Agent Rodrıguez: Hunting a Killer

Episode Date: May 6, 2025

Tonight’s terrifying serial killer horror collection is the Agent Rodriguez / Robert Cassidy series, a wonderful original series of works by Luke Hemingway, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all.  https://twitter.com/LukeHemingway11 https://www.reddit.com/user/Pristine-Engine4388/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. We're drawn to stories about serial killers and the special agents who pursue them because they offer a dark window into the extremes of human behavior, both evil and justice. These tales tap into our fascination with the forbidden, letting us explore the minds of killers from a safe distance while rooting for the brilliance and determination of the investigators.

The cat and mouse tension, psychological complexity, and moral ambiguity keep us hooked. offering both fear and catharsis as order fights to overcome chaos, as we shall see in tonight's feature-length classic. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin.

The White Van Man, Part 1. Before we begin, I need to declare that I'm not using any real names in this story, I don't want to give away my new identity and break my witness protection, WITSEC agreement. Anonymity is definitely preferred in my particular situation. I'll also not be referencing the year or particular area this took place. I'm writing this out as I think it would be therapeutic for me to process this traumatic event by putting it down on paper in words. Initially I never intended to post this on the internet,

but I'm hoping it helps in any small way to shine a light on some of the disappearances in my air. Oh, I am bound by the law to keep my mouth shut on this subject as the investigation is ongoing and highly classified due to its sensitivity, whatever that means. Oh, and don't be a wise ass and try and find anything in the media on this. It's all been suppressed to protect vulnerable parties. And again, I don't know what our handler meant by that. But anyway, I'm speaking out because I've had enough. I'm done living my cozy new life while other people are still at risk. still in danger.

The people who live in the country where I grew up need to be aware and vigilant of this ongoing problem. But at this moment, its specifics are kept tightly under wraps by the FBI. Remember, to keep your kids and loved ones close and in clear sight. Oh, anyway, rant over. Here's my story.

I'm going to call myself Olivia Matthews. At the time of these events, I was 12 years old and two weeks for my 13th birthday. I'd always felt mature for my age, but even so, everyone says, looks wise, I didn't look a day over nine. It was Thursday, the 27th of June,

and I'd just finish school for the day. There wasn't anything different about the day itself. There were no feelings of being watched, no overwhelming sense of dread or impending sense of doom, no warning signs whatsoever. I thought I was just a normal kid with a normal life. Now, on a side note, I think everyone's giving. guilty of hearing horrible things on the news that have happened to regular people all over the world,

such as abductions and murders, we have at no point ever truly thinking it would happen to you. Perhaps we become slightly more vigilant when walking home and make sure to check our door locks for a few nights afterwards, until the novelty wears off and the complacency once again sets in. Right, back to the story. So, on this particular day, I just got within 150 yards of my house and was just turning in the corner to enter my street. when a man fell in step with me from behind. He literally seemed to come from nowhere, and I certainly didn't hear his footsteps while he was approaching me.

Well, hello there, he said with a smile. It wasn't a sinister smile, but not a friendly one either. It was a type of smile you'd do if you were showing someone what a smile was. They lacked emotion behind it. It seemed completely put on. It was a mask to hide the real face that lurked beneath. I... Hi, I murmured back after a brief scan of my mind to figure whether or not I actually knew this man.

I looked him up and down as if doing a full body scan would help me to try and put a name to the grinning face, glaring into my soul, and I noticed that he was dressed in all dark clothing. Dark jeans, dark long-sleeved shirt, black thick shoes. He looked around mid to late 30s, medium-length greasy slick back hair. His superficial smile branded a single row of off-color white teeth with a gold pre-molar tooth on the left side, which seemed to sparkle in the mid-afternoon sun, almost matching his charming act. He continued to make eye contact. He didn't have what you call an intimidating physique, but he was just under six foot and had a rugged look to his face and hands. I couldn't take him in a fight, let's put it that way.

At first his presence wasn't a threatening one, at least not to me at the time anyway. But I figured then, and I definitely know now, that this wasn't normal. I'd racked my mind over and over, and was now confident I didn't know this man. I'd started to realize he'd waited until I'd walked far enough to no longer be surrounded by other people from the bus, and I'd just turned the corner onto my cul-de-sac and was within 70 yards of my house. My empty house, with no one home to rescue me. I tried not to panic initially. I told myself that he'd only said hi and we were in broad daylight.

But then things took a turn towards a sinister and he started asking questions that got more and more alarming. At first it was just, it's a lovely day to day, isn't it? And how's school treating you? Stuff like that. I just answered, yes, fine, avoiding eye contact, hoping that you get the hint as I had no interest in talking to this stranger. But then his approach changed.

I like your pigtails. They make you look real cute. He said this in a deep voice, and his breathing had increased. And then he added, So, do you live in one of these houses? This honestly made my toes curl in my little white dolly shoes. And this is when things started to turn south. I should mention on my cul-de-sac there are only five houses,

so I couldn't lie to him as why else would I be walking there? His question seemed completely rhetorical. He'd obviously followed me and watched where I walked before he approached me. Is your mama your daddy home? Yes, I lied, but in my panic I hadn't realized I'd already pulled my keys out of my pocket in case I needed to get in my door quick. And I could tell his predatory instincts had sensed this already. I could almost feel a hunger inside him grow as he realized he'd caught me out.

and also he'd noticed me staring at my own front door out of anxiety. Damn, I'd messed up. Coupled with the fact he'd already guessed I had the keys to open the door, he knew there wasn't anyone there to let me in. He knew I'd be alone in that house. His voice seemed to tremble now with a poorly restrained excitement that made my blood run cold. His questions became more alarming by the second.

My car's broken down and, I need to call a cab. He seemed to emphasize the word need. May I come to your house and use your phone? I started to sweat. I knew this was a lie. Why would the only person you asked to help be a defenceless 11-year-old girl? I felt my body start to pump adrenaline.

I was in real danger. My body knew it before I did. Thinking back, there were so many red flags about this man. I should have realized sooner. I don't think the man blink once during the whole exchange, and every time he finished a sentence, his face would reset to that same put-on smile. His eyes had nothing to them. He would look at me and have that look in his eye like a wolf looks at a wounded deer right before it drags its screaming carcass into the woods and tears it to pieces. I remember feeling like prey that day every time that man looked at me.

I was desperate. I needed to think of something. so I pathetically attempted the stranger line and told him my mom doesn't like me talking to strangers he scoffed and answered with fluency that his name was Dave and they asked me my name I said Gina yes I lied again the way he grinned and said well then Gina now we're introduced we're no longer strangers two things haunted me about how he reacted The fluency of his comeback Almost suggested he'd been confronted with this line before

And the way he said Gina As if he knew I was lying and was humouring me Or maybe he just didn't care As soon I would become just a statistic I tried to think on my feet again To try to get him to leave me alone Or at least think I wasn't as easy pickings As he clearly thought

I needed to think of something That would make him believe that someone was home Or maybe my brother's up he works nice but he gets up around now so you can borrow his mobile or maybe you'll get your car going i attempted i genuinely thought this was brilliant and explained why the door might be locked but still gave the impression that someone was home but this didn't rattle him his facial expression changed almost immediately not in a good way he pulled a pair of black leather gloves from his back pocket and began sliding them on with a sadistic excitement that told me he was calling

my bluff. Brilliant. Well then, let's go see your brother. I looked up helplessly, lost for a response at the man who now knew he had me. He could smell it a mile away that I was lying. I stared up, dumbfounded at an experienced predator who knew how to corner his prey. A tear started to escape from my eye as I froze in terror at the realization I was done. He put his now gloved hand on the top of my back and ushered me towards my house. My entire frame was trembling. My blood was pumping around my body at a rate I didn't know possible. I was trying my hardest to hold back a flood of tears.

At this point, I know what you're thinking. What kind of parents leave their 12-year-old child alone for hours and ends? But we live in a seriously good neighbourhood. The sort of place where kids half my age play in the streets for hours while their parents share a glass of gin in the backyard, gossiping and bitching about the rest of the neighbourhood, and where the men all go to the same local bar and go bowling together. But I think this entire event, and the events that lead on from it, changed our little suburban utopia forever.

So, there I was, in the hands of a pure predator, a man who'd actually manipulated me and got me to invite him into my own home. And now he was going to do whatever he wanted to me, between now and when my mum arrived home, four hours. I desperately scanned my street for assistance. The neighbours on my left were out of town and the ones on the right wall. Their cars were missing, not a good sign. The other houses were too far behind me now for me to try and run, and the man had me walking straight forward. The man sensed this, and he gave me a pst. He met my gaze and made me follow his to the obscenely sized knife he had concealed in his sleeve. I knew if I screamed, I was dead.

I knew if I stayed quiet, I was dead. So I closed my eyes, held my breath and tried to go to a happy place. But it was useless. All I could picture was the horrific things this man would do to me and what would happen when my family came home to find my mutilated corpse. Or worst of all, not find me at all. I would belong to this man forever. All of a sudden, we stopped.

I assumed we were at my front door. I started to sob, reluctant to pass over the keys. But after a few seconds, I didn't feel the man take them, so I opened my eyes to see what was happening, praying to see a cop or a neighbor confronting the man. We weren't at my door. We'd reached the foot of my driveway and stopped dead in our tracks. But there was no one there. We were still alone. No one had come to save me from the man.

And that broke my spirit that little bit more. To think you have hope and then have it snatched away is a soul-destroying moment. I closed my eyes as I awaited the man's instruction. But then I felt his hand slip and he let out a, no, no, no. His voice had slipped from this superficial charm and fluency to murmuring, and his voice took on a panic tone. I opened my eyes again. I looked at Dave's face.

The violent, malicious smile and the excited immediacy to his posture had now totally vanished. He looked as scared as I'd been ten seconds ago. His hand that had been ushering me inside was now on his head with a tight grip on his greasy hair, whilst he now stared in what seemed like disbelief into the section of pavement at the bottom of my driveway. He started to exhale, faster and faster. He also studied Adda's vision at random places all around the surrounding area. For the first time the man started to actually look like he was scared of being caught. He backed away from me and started to make a hasty retreat off my street.

He started walking backwards at first or snapping his head side to side as if looking for something. His pace started to pick up and he booked it around the corner. By this time I'd snucked out of my days from the last two minutes and dashed over to my front door. I ran my keys into the lock and after around ten attempts and I had me. panic attack, my key finally slid in the hole, and a few seconds later I was throwing the door shut behind me and locking it up tight. It was only after the second deadbolt was in place, and the chain was on that I actually started to feel safe. I quickly ran to the living room window to make sure my parents hadn't left it on nightlock, meaning that Dave could come back later on

and pry it open with his big knife. I ran upstairs to call the police. This was when I saw the man run around the corner to the left of my cul-de-sac. Now, I should mention at this point, the corner houses have pretty huge hedges that restrict the view of the adjoining main road. But from my vantage point in my bedroom, I'd just make out the top of a white transit van, around 50 yards from the entrance to my cul-de-sac. As the man turned the corner, he left my vision, and I presumed he would make a swift exit down the street. But something caught my eye. I could see the top 30 centimetres of the van

and its side door slid open around the time the man would have been making his way past the stationary vehicle and then the door slammed shut and a few seconds later the van drove away I desperately tried to get the license number of the van but couldn't get a clear view from my line of vision I remember thinking about the lie the man had told me

about his car being broken down and wishing I'd noticed the van before I had punished myself on missing it maybe if I caught him out on it then perhaps he would have gotten cold feet and just left me alone this had really shaken me i was scared and i just wanted the police to come and arrest this man so i could sleep at night after the adrenaline wore off i was now sure david had left and wasn't coming back i decided it was pointless to call the police i mean i only had what i assumed was a fake name and a vague description of a mass-produced vehicle with no license plate they would likely just

tell me to call back if he showed up again, to make sure all my doors and windows were locked, which they were. And the main issue is they would tell my mom, maybe even get her in some sort of trouble for me being alone, who knows? It didn't seem worth the risk, as I was safe now. I would likely never be allowed to walk home from school alone or have the house to myself ever again, and I like doing those things. They made me feel grown up. So I decided Dave wasn't coming back, mainly because of the way he'd reacted when he saw whatever he saw at the bottom of my driveway. Whatever it was had really spooked him, and he booked it out of there pretty goddamn fast. My train of thought connected with my eyes, and they pointed themselves at my driveway.

And that's when I saw it. At the foot of my drive, on the pavement. A yellow drawing in what looked like chalk or paint. I went down to investigate, and made my way to what I made my way to what? I can only describe as some sort of symbol on the ground. At first, I really didn't know what I was looking at. Some sort of crude drawing of a moth, butterfly, with simple shapes inside of a quickly drawn circle.

No detail, just the very brief outline of the aforementioned insect, inside a circle that had been done similar to how you draw the at sign. I didn't know what to make of it. I was looking back in my mind trying to think if I'd noticed something there prior to these events. But you know how it is. kids on my street play with chalk all the time drawing pictures writing their names and mapping out a hot scotch course stuff like that so i never would have given this a second thought anyway but whatever this meant it had saved my life it had put the fear of god into a frenzied pedophile who was moments away from having a 12-year-old girl at his mercy well a few questions ran through my mind until my mom came home what was that symbol what did it mean

Why did it cause Dave to have a mini heart attack and flee to his van? How did I not notice the van before? Did Dave have a friend nearby? That was his getaway or worse? Is he coming to join in? Why had he suddenly decided to follow me? And had he just seen me alone and turning on to my streets? Or again worse?

Had he been watching me and learning my schedule and who'd be in my house at certain times? Oh, I was creeping myself out now. so I stopped tormenting myself and put some hilarious Archaeo out of nowhere videos on YouTube to lighten my mood and tried my best to just forget about the whole thing still when my mom eventually came home I gave her the biggest hug and told her that I loved her she immediately thought I'd done something wrong typical

I laughed about it and soon Dave and the white van and the butterfly symbol mystery was slipping from my mind days went past since my close encounter and before I knew it was Friday the 5th of July and I'd finished the final day of my school term for the summer. It had been just over a week since my run-in with the man who called himself Dave and I'd slowly started to get over what had happened. Over the first few days since the incidents,

I could have sworn I kept seeing that white van roaming around my area. But it wasn't in an obvious way. I kind of keep catching glimpses of a white transit van either parked around corners nearby or passing by in the side streets near my house and school. Either way, it always seemed to just come out of nowhere, like it did on that day. I'd always close my eyes tight and rub my eyelids as if to try and wait myself up. And it worked, every time I opened my eyes, the van would be gone. In the end, I just chalked it up to a lack of sleep over the event,

and tried to convince myself I wasn't being rational. Even so, I found myself subconsciously not wearing head full. when walking, being more vigilant when walking past objects that people could hide behind, parked up vehicles and concealed walkways, just in case Dave was hiding somewhere waiting to jump out, grabbed me and finish what he'd started last week. And for a few days after, I made sure I always locked the front door and the windows when I got home to my empty house. I wasn't sleeping great either, constantly looking at my window on a night, making sure there wasn't a white van at the end of my street.

Part two. Ultimately, by the time the end of my last day of my school year rolled around eight days later, I'd pretty much begun to move on with my life, and the whole thing was becoming a creepy tale that maybe I could share one day as an anecdote among friends, while sitting around a campfire or a table in a bar. On this particular day, my mum was still on a 12-12 shift at the hospital, and my dad was working away again out of town. Again, I'm sure a lot of people may read,

this and be picturing me as some poor neglected kid with two parents more concerned about their careers and after-work drinks with colleagues, well, that couldn't be further from the truth. My parents taught me to be independent from an early age, and I was always trusted to look after myself. This allowed my parents to go do what they needed to do to make sure I had everything I needed. Up until this event, the insane rollercoaster that followed, I always felt I had a great upbringing, and I'm so grateful for both my parents. And as it was a Friday, and the holidays had begun, Mom said my friends, we will call Jessica, could stay over.

Jessica and I had left school that day after saying goodbye to our classmates for six whole weeks. We didn't take the usual route home, however. You see, one of our other friends was being picked up by a mum, being the kind of woman she was, she offered us a ride. They lived on the street behind our house, and there happened to be a small, convenient footpath through the trees in between the adjoining gardens that we could easily cut across to my backyard. It was raining and we didn't fancy waiting for the pretty unreliable school bus in the cold.

This meant also me, Jess and our friend Daisy could also finalise our plans for us through meeting up over the summer holidays in a comfortable and warm Audi Q5. We obviously snatched the offer up. We entered my house through the back porch via my sliding patio doors and started the usual girly sleepover stuff you did at that age. We rated the cupboards for crisps and sweets to take up to my room for a movie-man. marathon of mean girls, Angus Dongs, John Tugamus Die. I remember every detail from that night, for better or worse. The hours flew by and I was honestly enjoying our time together. Watching movies whilst talking to our crushes on MSN and leaving sassy comments on our crushes MySpace, we were living the pre-teen dream. It had gotten to around 10pm and the

sun was now down on our quiet suburban community and settled under a warm, dark blanket of summer night. We look down to find our snack balls are empty When I said I'd go get some more cheesy Doritos And sweet and salty popcorn Being a good host and all However Jessica being the bubbly sprite that she was Said she'd go get them She needed to use the bathroom anyway

She insisted Now I should note that our upstairs toilet Had a tendency to stab you in the back When it came to flushing I don't imagine she wanted to risk the embarrassment And the mix of sugar-rich fizzy drinks And processed salty snacks had clearly taken its toll in her stomach.

I didn't want to make things weird for her, so I gladly handed her my bowl. She hopped off the bed and walked to the doorway, and turned sharply to the right and made her way down the hall. However, just before, she stuck out of sight behind where the bedroom door hinge is fixed to the landing wall, she could pause for a second to look back at me. She gave me a smile. I'm not entirely sure what the motivation behind it was, but it was a warm one, and I reciprocated.

I think we were just sharing a strong bond of closeness, and we were both feeling the euphoria at the fact that school holidays had begun. Two thirty-year-olds with a house to themselves with six weeks of school-free summertime ahead. Everything going for us and everything to look forward to. We wouldn't want to crack a smile, eh? We weren't the most popular kids by any stretch, but that didn't matter, not to us. We had each other and a few other close friends. Our circle was certainly small, but that was more than enough for us.

We and Jessica in particular were especially close. She was more like a sister to me. We've been friends since I can remember my first memory. She was loyal to the core and I was to her. We were inseparable and people also often mistook us with each other. We'd always looked alike and, due to being so close, we tended to wear similar clothes and have her hair done the same way, almost like twins.

In fact, I think it was only a few weeks before this event took place. I started doing my hair in pigtails. to at least try and stand out from Jessica, but it was useless. Other than her being a little bigger than me, we were pretty much identical. Jessica's warm smile remained on her face until she moved out of sight and proceeded to make her way downstairs. Once she left my sight, I convinced myself to scooch down to the bottom of my bed from the comfy position I was in, or relaxed in the nest we'd made for ourselves from my pillows, duvet, and the corner of my room where my wall met my headport. I guess pausing the film seemed the least I could do for Jessica since she was grabbing the snacks and everything.

The remote was sat on my bedroom window cell, which was situated upside the space between the foot of my bed and the TV in the corner of my room. My vision locked onto the item as I shimmied on my butt down the bed. I grabbed the remote, pause the movie, turned to replace it, as I lifted my head and broke eye lock with the remote for the first time. well that's when I saw it. The top 30 centimetres of a white Ford transit van. Discrete and innocuous, yet all the while unmistakable and nefarious. I once again attempted my previous trick and began closing my eyes tightly and rubbing them with my fingers in the desperate attempt to wait myself up from what now seemed like a recurring nightmare.

I put everything into the process, including a little prayer that I was dreaming for good measure. Hoping that this yielded the same results as it had done earlier in the week, but this time no matter how many times I repeated this, it never worked. Every time I unclenched my eyes, I could still just make out the top of that Ford Transit white van from just over my neighbour's garden hedge. This was getting real, and I felt my breathing increase. I whimpered in disbelief.

I was frozen in a state of denial and rationalisation, trying to fight off the surge of pure terror that was through, threatened to erupt from within me. I realisation hit me in the face like a bat, that if in fact this was the van, the same van from last week, then Dave would not be far away. I tried desperately to convince myself this was just another van,

desperately looking for differences in size, colour or shape. But I couldn't. It was the same. The same make, the same model, and I knew, just knew by the way it was parked, exactly how it was that day Dave had jumped inside it to make his getaway, part just around the left

corner to the entrance of my cul-de-sac. What was hitting me now was an unwanted case of deja vu. I was looking on in shock when the van, as if sensing I'd noticed it, suddenly burst alive. The engine fired and began to tick over and its headlights unleashed their rays like a sleeping animal being awoken. And then, to my horror, it began to creep slowly around. the corner and made its way onto my street my eyes wouldn't look away I watched it pull up directly in the middle of my cul-de-sac side door aimed at the front of my house lined up almost perfectly with a symbol at the bottom of the drive red flag number one I looked for the license plate there wasn't one red flag number two the side door of

the van snapped out of the closed position and the door slid backwards approximately approximately ten inches, revealing a preview of the dark abyss from within the vehicle. And then, from that very abyss, I noticed the third and final red flag. A black-gloved hand protruded from the darkness to place its palm on the edge of the door and began to carefully, as if not wanted to make too much noise, slide it open further. This made me snap out of my days for the first time when my senses came back to me. I needed to get down and make sure the doors were locked, as I couldn't remember if me and Jessica had locked the patio doors behind us when we'd come in.

Jeez, we've been so busy laughing and giggling about school and other stuff that maybe we'd forgotten. I needed to get her upstairs, barricade my room and call my mom. I was just inhaling enough air into my already pulsating lungs so I could shout out her name loud enough for her to hear me when I heard a noise. I honestly couldn't tell you what it was, specifically, a simple, loud, sharp bang followed by a series of slightly quiet, a dull sounds. My blood had turned to pure ice. I couldn't comprehend the fear and terror that I was feeling right then. I spent the last eight days suppressing that horrific feeling when the man

I knew as Dave showed me his knife, but now it was back, worse than ever. I knew this wasn't good. I crept down the hallway to the beginning of my landing where the stairs meet the upstairs hallway and the wall opposite my bedroom turns to a wooden banister. This allowed me to peek at a section of my downstairs area. I held my breath long enough so I could concentrate on trying to hear. There were no more noises, no loud bangs, just silence. Horrible, deafening silence. The only noise I could hear was a sound of my heartbeat pounding away in my eardrops.

Jessica, I managed to whisper, taking another two baby's steps forward to increase my vantage point. This revealed my front door, a jar with a chain hanging free, a jagged piece of the doorframe swung on from its limp hand. Yes, my voice now broke in a desperate prayer for her to answer me back. Nothing was coming back to me now. That's where I saw the soiled boot prints heading into the kitchen leading to a half bowl of cheesy Dorito spread all over the floor. Most of them crushed as if they'd been trampled on. The bootprints led in from the front door into the kitchen where the mess could be seen and they retreated back out of the house. I looked around and the scene began to register in my mind and play out like a Crime Watch

reconstruction video. I pictured the door being kicked open, the chain breaking. I then saw a man with fresh marred from our garden make his way into our house, leaving the footprints as he entered and left. I imagined Jessica dropping the bowl of chips after being startled by the door being burst open, the dritos spilling on the kitchen floor. Finally, it was the image of the man grabbing Jessica and placing his gloved hand over a mouth and dragging her out to my front door that made me realise there and then that my best friend was gone. I was frozen, trying once again, pathetically, to wake myself up. This couldn't be real. Things like this don't happen to people like me. I'm just a normal kid. These were the thoughts flying through my brain. Glitchay, I know, but when an event like

this happens, I can tell you now, it really is something that your head can't get around. It seems like hours have passed, but it was probably only really 90 seconds before I eventually accepted that what had happened and told myself I had to act fast. I ran back to my room to get my phone, toes slipping off the end of every other step as I practically tried to get to a place of safety. As I was trying to dar my mom's number, fighting the uncontrollable shakes in my nerves and trying to ride the overwhelming surge of adrenaline, I looked out of my window. The van is now gone. I sat in my room with the door shut and my chest of drawers pulled down alongside my wall to act as a deadlock on the door

and sat with my back against it, feet against my bed for leverage. Nothing was coming in while I had anything to do with it. my mom had instructed me to stay put and keep safe while she'd call people who needed to be called she promised me she'd be there soon and everything was going to be okay I couldn't tell over the phone if she really believed that my dad the police and jessica's parents were all notified by my mom as I sat hyperventilating in the middle of my room eyes locked on the barricaded door jessica's mom knew all about my mom's working hours and knew that me and her would be

home alone that night. She was fine with it as both our moms knew how mature we were for our ages. But even so, I don't know how my mom managed to break the news that a man had come in the middle of the night and taken her only child. The police arrived first, through my bedroom door. An officer addressed himself. Olivia Matthews, my name's Detective Paul McKinley, I'm from the police department. We've had a call from your mom about your friend. Can you come out, please? I didn't trust him right away. I asked him to prove who he was. He gladly obliged and responded by telling me my mum's name

and what she did for a living. He also advised me to take a look outside my window. I'd pull my wardrobe across my window frame for extra security so I didn't notice the flashing blue lights of the police response team right outside my house. I took this as validation that he was in fact a policeman and not the man coming back for me and conning his way into my bedroom.

I spent the next 15 minutes being comforted by Detective McKinley downstairs on the couch until my mom and Jessica's parents got there. They arrived at almost the same time with my dad arriving 30 minutes later. He'd abruptly left his work site as soon as he'd heard from my mom. Jessica's mom, oh, geez, she looked broken. She'd always been a very bubbly person, just like her daughter, and she was kind of like one of the girls in a lot of the ways. I'd always enjoyed her company anyway. I imagined if this night had never happened, would have been the type of mum who would have taken us both for brunch to talk about men and gossip when we reached our later teens, but I knew from the minute she walked through my front door

on that night that the woman would never be the same again. The sheer agony on her face from her panic and a threat over her daughter's fate was enough to make me want to vomit. I honestly didn't recognise her. The detective wanted my mom to be present before I gave my statement. I guessed it was a combination of protocol and wanting to keep me calm to give an act. account of the night's events. My mom was sat with her arm around me, telling me it was okay and to tell them what happened, encouraging me that anything I could remember at all would be useful. I really didn't know where to begin. So I took a moment, took a deep breath, and told the detective, I know who did this. I know who's got Jessica. This made Jessica's

mom snap out of her pale, shaking days and made her eyes explode open. She made a beeline towards me. What? Who has her? She demanded to know. The rest of the parents and please stared at me with gazes that matched her words. So I composed myself once more and thought back in my mind as best I could. It started with the day I'd gotten off the bus and encountered the man who caught himself Dave. I told them everything I could remember, starting with a description of Dave. How he tried to force his way into my home, how he made me feel. The symbol, the van, everything. Jessica went to get snacks, and I saw his van drive onto my street.

I knew he was back, so I went to warn her that she needed to get upstairs, but it was too late. I started to cry then. He was already in the house, and he dragged her outside and into his van. Please, I've told you everything I know about him. Please go and arrest him. Detective McKinley assured me that my description has already been forwarded to the station

for a desk team to go through the database and look for suspects that matched my description of the unsub which they were calling the white van man at this time McKinley and a few of the uniformed officers went to go door to door to see if there were any witnesses of the abduction a couple of family liaison officers came by to sit with us and try to comfort Jessica's parents They were both really nice.

A man and a woman, respectively. A man was a really young, soft-spoken individual who clearly had a lot of experience with traumatised children. He walked me and my parents through the process of this criminal investigation and what would likely follow tonight's initial inquiries. The other stayed with Jessica's parents. I imagine going over similar things. What happened next?

I don't think anyone in the room expected, especially Detective McKinley. He'd come back after an hour of canvassing the surrounding neighbourhoods for witnesses with a disappointed look on his face. No one in the area had seen anything and the station had encountered some technical issues while trying to get back to him

with an ID on the white van man. Time was of the essence in these cases. His calming, confident detective routine had slipped and he'd now begun to grill me more like a man who was desperate for a win in a dwindling career. He had a frustrated and impridden, patient tone to his questions now, and the wanting me calm approach was long gone.

I could smell the booze on his breath when he yelled, too. I started to feel uncomfortable around him, and my mum felt it too. Things were about to get heated when they arrived. Two sharply redress men followed by a team in matching polo shirts carrying technical equipment. They addressed themselves as the FBI. One of the agents, who was called Johnson, told McKinney at this case, was under the jurisdiction of the major violent crimes department of the FBI. And the other agent, Rodriguez, who was obviously second in command,

told him that his officers were to debrief their team immediately and hand over all statements and progress reports and make their way back to the office for reassignment. McKinley was outraged. I didn't get why at the time. I just thought, hey, what's your problem, dude? You go home and chill in front of the TV. What are you moaning about?

But I've seen enough police stations now. to know this guy needed to prove his use and likely his drinking had him on thin ice with his superiors. I learned later on that he was being forced into early retirement after this assignment and he wasn't being reassigned. I imagine he believed cracking a high-profile case like an abduction and the rescue of a white upper-class family's only child may have saved his job, but I don't imagine he would have attended many AA meetings after this setback. He was a, this job is all I got type of cop. Well, that's the impression. I got. After McKinley and his team had left, the FBI tech team set up a glistening and recording

device on our landline phone while the agents in charge studied my statement in grave detail before they both went out to the street to study the symbol at the foot of the drive. I managed to catch a glimpse. They had a look not that different from Dave's when he'd seen it, that blank, empty stare as if wishing it was literally anything but what they were actually looking at. I saw them instruct a few guys to take snaps at the drawing with a simple whistle and point whilst they came back inside. They informed us that it was possible the kidnappers would make contact, and they were right. Around 12.30 a.m., our landline rang. The agent's signal for my mum to answer the phone. My mum looked confused and asked why her, seeing as Jessica was the

kidnapped victim, so likely her mum would be more susceptible to paying the round. Mansom. Agent Johnson dismissed her question and told her it would be for her. At this point, I could tell my dad and Jessica's parents knew the agents knew something we didn't. The FBI were definitely keeping something from us. The tech activated the tape recorder and placed on a big set of headphones over his ears before nodding at Agent Rodriguez, who then gave my mom a similar cue to answer the phone. She picked up. Hello?

my mom managed. At this stage we couldn't hear the man on the other end of the phone, but I could just imagine Dave and his confident glip tone. Yes, this is she. How do you know my name? She let the man talk for a minute or so. And her breathing started to increase rapidly as the man talked to her before she erupted. You can go to hell, you psychopathic piece of shit. There's no way you're having my daughter. I had no idea what the man was saying, but it caused my mum to look Jessica's parents' way with a torn look on her face. You monster, you won't get away with this. There's no way I'm handing my daughter over to you.

Her voice rose from a quiver to a loud, angry crescendo. She slammed the receiver down and ran her hand through her hair and massaged her neck in one smooth, continuous motion. Now the phone call was over. She started to avoid eye contact with Jessica. Jessica's parents. Agent Johnson was asking the tech to try and run a trace on the call, whilst my mom got her bearings together. When she calmed down, she broke the news to Jessica's parents and my father about the contents of the call. I was right. Jessica was not the target of the kidnapping. I was. This person had been watching me for weeks and had tried to abduct me tonight, knowing my mom wasn't at home. The only hiccup was they mistook Jessica for me.

They were asking my mum to bring me to a designated location and have me traded for Jessica. We had two hours to bring me or there would be consequences for Jessica and our families. As if sensing the eruption of a motion to come, Greg, the aforementioned male FLO, took me out of the room and asked me to show in my bedroom so we could make sure it was safe. I knew this was some sort of bullshit excuse to get me out of the room, so I didn't hear mine and Jessica's parents literally screaming at each other. arguing about whether my mom should be handing me over to those monsters. My mom told me days after that Jessica's mom had gone a little crazy,

saying, if it should have been me, then I should do the right thing and go. Let Jessica come home and then my mom would be wondering what those animals are doing to her little girl. Apparently my mom slapped her and they got into it. Took a few agents to pull them apart by all accounts. I started to get upset the more I thought about the situation. Greg? Yes. Why me?

I asked. Greg looked torn by my question and responded with, I'm sorry, Olivia. I can't see, unfortunately, but I have a feeling the agents will let everyone know what's going on real soon. Why not? I countered. Well, this is a very complicated situation,

and let's just say the law can be tricky at times, but I can't say any more on it. I'm just here to make sure you and your parents are okay. His response is generated more questions and answers in all honesty, but I could tell I was backing him into a corner. I let him be, and we spent the next hour putting my room back together, whilst making sure there wasn't a boogeyman in my closet, proverbial or actual. We waited for the animosity downstairs to calm down.

The other FLO called us down after an hour, and I walked down my stairs to mine and Jessica's parents all sat on my couch, with Agent Johnson stood up in front of them, like a teacher in front of his students. I took his seat in between my parents and they both looked down at me with a reassuring smile as if to tell me I wasn't going anywhere. I knew I'd likely heard the outburst from upstairs. Not that I ever thought my mum would agree to trade me. Nevertheless, I still appreciated it.

Agent Johnson spoke. Okay, guys, what I'm about to tell you is strictly confidential. You are now part of one of the largest, ongoing criminal investigations in North America. As he was talking, Agent Rodriguez handed out some documents. I'm going to need each of you to read and sign the bottom before I go any further. We all dared without hesitation, but not without noticing the section that stated if we breathed a word about this to anyone outside the FBI, that we would be prosecuted

to the full extent of the law. We didn't care, though. We just wanted to know what was going on. So, who took Jessica? Was it the man who grabbed me last week? Was it Dave? I asked boldly. Agent Johnson didn't say a word.

Instead, he continued looking at Agent Rodriguez, waiting for confirmation that we'd all signed the non-disclosure agreement. Rodriguez continued to review the paperwork, or my dad blurted out a question. The police were here before. Their desk team or whatever, Well, they were looking for someone. Have you had a lead? Rodriguez remained flicking through papers, and Johnson continued watching him.

My mom backed up my dad's question with. Yeah, they were. White van man? Who is he? You know, don't you? Finally, Rodriguez held the stack of papers in both hands and knocked them back into an even pile by firmly tapping the bottom of the NDA forms against his thighs three times, before sliding them back into a briefcase and locking it tight. He turned and nodded at Agent Johnson, who turned back to face us. White van, men, plural,

the agent said bluntly. He let what he'd said sink in and used our stunned silence as an opportunity to continue his explanation. The people who we believe have Jessica are a large group of dangerous individuals that we've been chasing for a long time now. Part 3. I wasn't sure if what he'd said had really gotten through to my traumatized mind, so I jumped in and interrupted.

Man, people, I questioned, not letting him get a response in before going off on a tangent. No, it's not a group. It's just one guy. He said his name was Dave. He tried to tame me last week, and now he came back to finish the job, but he took Jess instead, and it's all my fault. Please, you have to find him and get her back. Please. I started to get frustrated. Time was running out and we didn't have time to spare. In all honesty, I felt like I was responsible for not letting my parents know about Dave in the first place, so I was desperate to get Jess home safe.

Agent Johnson held his hand up dismissively to calm my outburst and made sure I was listening before he continued. The man you described, he sighed in what felt like a bit of shame. His name isn't Dave. his name is Damien, Damien Ramsey. He took another pause and sighed again as if trying to find the words whilst his gaze was aimed at the floor. He is a criminal informant of the Bureau. Our eyes all widened.

This was getting more and more bizarre. My mom went ballistic, as you can imagine, saying that this man tried to force his way into our home last week to do God only knows what to me, and now we find out he works for the FBI. She was appalled and outraged, but my father managed to settle her down. He, as well as everyone else, wanted to know more. The agent waited for the room to settle again before he continued.

He's a real piece of work, no doubt. He was originally a part of the gang were investigating. They're known as the Swarm. I couldn't help but think back to the butterfly symbol when he said their name, and a knot tightened in my gut. They are a ruthless, clandestine network of human traffickers. who were responsible for a large percentage of violent crime all over the southeastern portion of the country. Kidnappings, child abductions, murders, online torture, extortion, blackmail, you name it.

He sighed once again and took on a more defeated look the more he delved in on the subject. They've kidnapped over 700 people, some as young as 18 months. That's just what we know of. The victims are mainly traded for large amounts of money to some of the sickest people on the planet. The others who aren't sold off are often sent to the worst red rooms on the dark web. In some of the more high-profile cases, they've slaughtered entire families just acquiring their target. I, along with everyone else, listened with pure disgust. I really thought it was bad Jessica being taken by this Ramsey character, but, oh, my God, this was becoming so much worse.

The agent spoke again. these monsters don't stop there. Not everyone who gets taken is made into torture or snuff videos or traded to grooming gangs or satanic cults. We've had some instances where rich kids have been kidnapped and horrific videos and images have been sent to the family with the sole purpose of extorting money. Jessica's mom gasped and a little more of her soul left of her body as her imagination tortured her already fragile mind.

So what was this Ramsey character doing trying to assault my daughter if he's a government asset. My mom blurted out in a range. Well, Ramsey was what we call a spotter for the swarm. He would identify and stalk potential targets that seemed lucrative. You know the types. Homealowners, tearaways, runaways. He's a clever, sadistic psychopath. He knew the area well and he sold information on targets to these bastards. These people would be trafficked and he also knew of people who scout for rich families to extort and blackmail by threatening their loved ones. Ramsey himself was not a fully-fledged member of the swarm, but he knew how they worked, so he could tell us the gang would scout kids that they could potentially snatch before obtaining

photographs, so to advertise the target on the secret online forums the group use. If these adverts are met by a buyer's specific tastes, then the buyer would then offer to pay an obscene amount of money to the gang for delivery of the target. The way he said that word, made the parents in the room recoil with nausea. And believe me, it gets worse. With Ramsey's information, we've discovered that these buyers aren't what or who you'd think they'd be. He bit his bottom lip and clasped his hands together as if anticipating the impact of what he was going to say next. They aren't mentally disturbed sex offenders.

The buyers are goddamn CEOs, judges, senators, politicians. Geez, we even have some circumstantial evidence, some high-ranking cops were involved. We believe this organized group have direct links to some of the country's most rich and powerful elite. This is why this investigation is top secret and any links to it at all have to be kept internal. We have assets in the field who we need to keep safe. We couldn't believe how dark this was all turning. I could tell everyone was having a hard time grasping the reality of it all.

Most of the members of the group tend to be extremely violent and all of the high-ranking ones have a lot of sociopathic tendencies but ultimately together they are well-organized units with a strong hierarchy in place and I'll do anything to further their interests however Ramsey well he was different he didn't care about the money or the power that sick bastard had a taste for the young ones himself it didn't always just have to be it was different he didn't always just have to be money or the power that sick bastard had a taste for the young ones himself He didn't always just hand over the information, and he often used his line of work to satisfy his own twisted needs. His arrogance eventually got him in some personal trouble with the law. He was arrested on suspicion of the rape and murder of a five-year-old boy in Atlanta a few years back. Oh boy, we had DNA evidence, damning CCTV footage.

We had that bastard dead to rights, literally. And Georgia has the death penalty. He said this like a soccer player who'd just missed a last movie. minute penalty. Agent Johnson's contempt for the man started to show as he continued with the story. We were literally about to charge him when he got this smug look on his face. That stupid face of his. He turned and says to me with this real superficial arrogance that made me want to snap his neck right then and there. I knew the tone of voice he was talking about. So assured, like he was invincible.

Now Agent Johnson did his best to replicate Ramsey's broad Georgia accents. You just wear the cut and picking many there, agents. What if I could give you the biggest winner your pathetic career? Who cares about one little toddler, who, let's face it, was begging for what he got anyway. I could make you the biggest cat in the alley, Agent Johnson. So, we agreed to drop the charges in regards to the child, in return for his cooperation. information that aided our ongoing investigation into this organized crime syndicate. When Johnson finished, he almost took on the look of Jessica's mum. He looked defeated.

He'd sold out this little boy who'd suffered horribly at the hands of this animal for nothing, but a few cheap wins. A few bad apples had faced charges, but the tree, so to speak, was still standing. The swarm was still out there, ruining people's lives. In our defense, he gave a lot of information on the gang's methods, sites they used on the deep web, places they would trade their livestock, as he called them, high-profile buyers and so on. We were a lot more aware of their presence than we were three years ago. We were able to solve a lot of cold cases thanks to his insights. He knew dates, places, people, numbers, sites, accomplices. He was a goddamn gold mine and a hundred percent untouchable, and the son of a bitch knew it. He never told us everything at

once. He always held stuff back as insurance for him against future convictions. His gaze met mine when he said that last sentence. I now understood why he was so bold with me that day. He never once looked as if being caught bothered him. Ramsey went on to secure a Wittsack agreement, and we moved him to this area, safe house, immunity, new identity, the works. But we've come to learn one thing tonight. when it comes to the people who were dealing with here, there ain't no such thing as immunity. At that time, I wasn't sure what that last comment meant,

but the agent continued before I could ask what he was talking about. You've had multiple reports of his behaviour since he became a CI, just minor stuff until today, public indecency, assault, drug charges. However, any police reports or inquiries on him automatically set off a federal tripwire and the files became immediately encrypted to anyone except the bureau. This is to protect the identity and our investigation. Agent Rodriguez piped up for the first time, rising from his seat at our dining room table with a blue folder in his hand,

stamped classified in contrasting blood-red ink. We first became aware of tonight's events earlier today, a police report that was filed by a neighbor on the adjacent street eight days ago. He reported a man matching Ramsey's description being dragged into the side door of a white-fold, transit earlier today by two men dressed in all black, with what he described as creepy ass east of bunny masks. Agent Rodriguez backed up the FBI's theory by pulling out a photo from the blue file to show the adults in the room. Greg, after receiving a non-verbal cue from Johnson, distracted me when this was happening by asking me to help him with his iPhone. I knew it was some other bullshit made-up

issue again, but I helped him anyway. I knew now that whatever was being shown was bad. The image whatever it was, made Jessica's mum gasp, burying her face into her husband's embrace. She broke once again into a sobbing shriek. After placing the photo away and closing the folder, he continued giving the account of the neighbour's police report on Ramsey's kidnapping.

He said the van had been lingering in the area, with the engine running, and the neighbour thought it looked suspicious as he'd noticed the van had kept showing up in the area over the past week, but no one ever got in or out, and there was no road words going on in the area. At the time, time to explain his presence. We believe karma

and the swarm, finally caught up with Ramsey. We're not sure if they came here to find Ramsey and found Olivia, or if they came to take Olivia and caught Ramsey in the act. Either way, he belongs to them now. I'd have sympathy for the guy,

but maybe now that kid in Atlanta finally has some justice. Rodriguez immediately realized that last comet likely wouldn't go down well with Jessica's parents, and I noticed he was deliberately maintaining eye contact with Agent Johnson and Agent Johnson alone.

He realized he'd just planted a pretty nasty seed in their already fractured minds about the fate of people who are taken by these animals. Oh, and in case you are wondering, I asked my mum about the photograph. Mom told me a few days after this event that the photo was a screenshot from a video found on a memory stick that was delivered to a wealthy family's home two years ago. It had been taken into evidence during a high-profile kidnapping of two. two young kids and the image sounded horrifying. She had two terrified six-year-olds sat on a couch with black tape across their mouths. In between the two kids had a man in all black clothes with his arms around the two boys

in a non-threatening way. She said it would have been just like my father would put his arms around me and mom in our family photos. But this man wore a mask, a pink Easter bunny mask. The ears pointed straight up. and flopped over just before the top totally regular but it was the eyes they were pure evil they were the type of eyes that drain all sense of safety away from you when you look into them a threatening horrifying glare that my mom said she still sees from the shadows of a bedroom at night

in front of the couch was a table on the table there was an array of tools screwdrivers drills scalples pliers bolt cutters my mom continued to go into gut-wrenching detail about the wounds the kids had before I asked her to stop, and she gladfully obliged. Once again, we hugged and said we loved each other. We seem to do that a lot these days. Agent Johnson continued his story, but I noticed Rodriguez received a call that he'd clearly been eagerly waiting for. He answered it with haste and left the room to speak. I had a question. When, I mean Ramsey, when Ramsey was trying to get into my house, he got spooked by a drawing an hour drive.

I saw you two looking at it earlier. What is it? I asked. Agent Johnson closed his eyes and nodded his head as if to signal he was just about to explain that before I interrupted him. The symbol at the bottom of your drive is the gang's brand. The symbol is a butterfly. You see in the world of child sex trading, it symbolizes that a buyer is.

into very young girls. With this being the gang's niche, we can only assume that this is the origin of the symbol, hence the name, the swarm. We tend to find this symbol branded onto the victim's bodies a lot. Branded, like with a hot iron, Jessica's dad piped up, and he immediately wished he hadn't

because Agent Johnson reluctantly nodded, and Jessica's mum's spirit broke again. A working hypothesis is that the gang came to town, for business or to look for Ramsey whilst here maybe Olivia caught someone's eye walks home alone to an empty house she looks young for her age or the stuff that makes these sickos see dollar signs they would have obtained a photo or video and advertised it on a bios forum on the hidden web or black market this gang use they'll have received an offer from a buyer so then they'll have begun to arrange the snatch they'll have been watching the Matthews House

a few days after, to figure out your work schedules and your neighbor's schedules and so on, find it the best time to strike. When everything is set up and a dated set, this is when they spray the symbol on the drive of the house. This is to signal to the snatchers which is the house of the target. They use the yellow so it can be easily seen in the dark. In rare cases, it's also to claim the target too, worn off other interested parties and avoid conflicts of ownership with a rival outfit. I'll be frank, though, not many guys like to piss off the swan.

I didn't doubt that for one second. We believe the snatchers were here to take Olivia the day when Ramsey was trying to get into your house. They must have spotted him with you and waited for him to take you inside where they could have nailed two birds with one stone. But he noticed the symbol and then fled the scene

after realizing the gang could be watching. That stupid son of a bitch walked right into their grasp. Agent Johnson, despite knowing his best source of information into the gang was now likely being branded with 256 degree hot metal and being mutilated with sharp tools by a bunch of psychotic Easter bunnies couldn't help but replicate the expression of satisfaction Rodriguez had displayed earlier when they thought of the horrific things Ramsey was having done to him for betraying the swarm. I could tell he really felt better for the boy Ramsey had killed in Atlanta.

his current situation now gave him a bit of peace what goes around truly does come back around Agent Rodriguez re-entered the room and blurted we're on I'm heading down now I'll check in soon with a status update looks like we don't need Ramsey after all we could get these bastards tonight he gave this information with a slight head nod full of positivity I couldn't help feel my hopes of seeing Jessica alive again flutter upwards for the first time all night I looked to the clock. We had around 15 minutes before the deadline to trade me for Jess was up. So, what happens now? What are you going to do to get my Jess badge? Jessica's mom erupted after pulling herself together.

Well, we've been trying to trace the cell number the gang called on to try and locate Jessica, but it's taken a little longer than anticipated. However, our surveillance team have been in position at the warehouse where the caller told us the switch would go down. Two minutes ago, a white van, imagine the description of your statement, pulled up. We're just waiting for the golden approval from our strategic firearms commander to move in and take down the men at the drop. We need the order in case we need to use lethal force. Rodriguez is on his way down now, so if they brought Jessica to the meet, we'll have her back

home soon. I promise you guys. I could tell he was trying to convince himself as much as he was anyone else, but something really didn't feel right to me. When me and my mum taught this over, a few days later, she told me she'd had exactly the same worry. This gang have evaded capture for years and sounded as if they have the local police networks potentially in their pockets. There was no way arresting them and getting Jessica back was going to be as simple as they made out. The silence and tension in the room

was killing me, so I asked Agent Johnson a question in private that I really wished I'd kept to myself. What's so special about me, Agent? Me and Jessica are always being mistook for the other, and people say we're like twins. Why are they so desperate to trade me for for her? What's the difference? I knew it was a selfish question on the bare face of it, but I was genuinely curious at this point. I looked at my mom for approval to answer honestly. She nodded. Yes, the fact you and Jessica look-alike meant they grabbed her instead of you in the dog by mistake. They wouldn't have known she was in the house as you entered through the bad garden today, according to your initial statement, and the van always watched the front. On the recording,

the man said that they presented the buyer with a video of Jess after the mix-up, but he said she looked too old and was too much on the bigger side. He wanted you because you looked ripe, and wore pigtails well. It had to be you or no deal. That made me feel sick. My mom showed a look at Agent Johnson to scold him for being a little too honest with the wording of things. Agent Johnson did his best to pull back his error in judgment by adding that, likely if I was the one to go downstairs and they'd try to take me then maybe they could have killed

Jess to make sure there were no loose ends he added that if I was the one who'd been taken I'd be being traded as we speak and there'd be no opportunities to save me like we have with Jessica right now I could tell he wasn't the best when dealing with younger people so I humoured him and acted as if actually seeing the bright side of the situation I could tell he felt better and we smiled at each other I could tell he felt as though he'd done a good job with the way he gave me and my mum a friendly wink. I think, well, I still think to this day that Agent Johnson was a good man. A brief lighthearted moment was blown apart by Agent Johnson's radio handset crackling to life. Agents down. I repeat, agents are down. Status zero. They're dead. They're all

dead. I repeat, status zero. Everyone in the house just dropped what they were doing and focused on the harrowing dialogue coming through the device in Agent Johnson's tremors. I could tell he was trying to remain calm for our benefit. Rodriguez, what's happening? Where are the targets? Where is the go? The five seconds of silence felt like hours as we all crowded around waiting the news. It's a goddamn massacre, Johnson. The van was a goddamn diversion.

There's four bodies here, two in the front seat of the surveillance van and the vehicle is on fire. God, he's blown to shit. He took a moment to cough the smoke out of his lungs before he finished the update. The other two were laying face down in the dirt by Vantyr Marks. Oh my God, their throats have been slit wide open. Jeez, it's a goddamn bloodbath, Bill. Jesus Christ, come on Jack. Damn, no pulse.

Judging by Agent Johnson's facial expressions, he'd come to a horrific realization. Four bodies. I know it was a team of five. Where's the fifth man? Oh, God damn. Daniels. Agent Daniels. If you hear, make yourself known. Agent, that's an order. Both agent's tones were panicky, desperate and short of breath. For the first time tonight, I feel the two men truly empathized with what Jessica's parents were feeling. Now I'm older. I have my own theory about what happened to the surveillance team that night outside the warehouse.

I imagine the gang had no intentions of making a trade and Jess was never with them. They wanted to lure me to the site under the false sense of security being under FBI escort. They likely had a unit already in place to take out anyone at the meet, and they were planning to take me by force, whilst tie up a lot of loose ends at the same time. Agent Johnson did in fact say it would be their sort of M-O. I believe the gang had seen the surveillance team arrive and park up. They then waited. When the time was right, they drove the van into the middle of the dirt road outside the warehouse as a diversion.

A group of men armed with weapons lay in wait inside the vehicle. Once the FBI got the golden approval from the SFC, three armed agents got out of the FBI vehicle and approached the van with guns drawn. At this time, another group of swarm members attacked the vehicle with a Molotov cocktail or grenade. The hot explosion and the sound of their colleagues screaming and agony, pulling at their burning skin and clothes, caused the men approaching the van to turn their back on it. This gave the group in the van a chance to jump out and kill two of the three federal agents and kidnap the other. I guess we'll never know what truly happened, but after five years of going over it in my head, that's the most plausible scenario I can think of.

There was maybe an hour or so that passed by since the incident, mainly filled by Jessica's mum screaming at the agents, wailing and shrieking, asking where a little girl was and what they were doing to get her back. Agent Johnson Superior then called him to lose his shit and asked him what an earth had possessed two decorated agents to send a team of just five people to take down the most dangerous organized crime group in North America. Johnson attempted to justify his actions

by saying too many agents may have got them detected by the gang and cost them their chance of taking them down and saving Jessica. I would have felt bad for the guy if not trying to pull my head out of oblivion. The realization I was never going to see my best friend again was a blow I wasn't ready for When people asked me

What the darkest time of my life was It was this hour The uncertainty The waiting The time between learning Our last hope to get my friend back Was gone And awaiting to hear what had become

Of the hardworking agent Who was doing his job And of course my best friend Who had never done anything Other than be nice to everyone she'd ever met The anxiety and dread pulled my insides into knots that I never thought could be undone. And then, our landline phone rang. The same process as before with the tech guys setting up the recording and listening devices

whilst once again attempting to trace the call. Only this time Agent Johnson picked up the phone, and he wasn't in the mood for games. Whereas my agent, you hand them both over now, we can talk about a deal. You heard either one of them and I promise I will pursue you to the full extent of my ability with the entire backing of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The only headset was being worn by one of the FBI's profilers. So Agent Rodriguez hit the speaker button so we could hear the man's words and what he was saying about the missing agent. I look back now and wished he hadn't done that.

What I heard over the next seven minutes is forever burned into my head. A drawn-out virginian accent came over the speaker. Now, come on, agent. You've been doing that for three years now. You're still seen as a failure in your department. We're still going strong. Not even that little rat you had working for you could help you. You give me back my agent and the girl, you sick bastards.

Johnson snapped. A clown-like cackle burst from the speaker. Well, ain't that cute. you allowed a child being raped and murdered to go unpunished just so you could further your investigations and you call us the masters typical lawman I couldn't help but sympathize as I could tell

this struck Agent Johnson's nose in a sense the man was right it was hard to defend the hypocrisy of the justice system at times Johnson had traded the life of the boy Ramsey killed for a tick in the wing column in his investigation I knew Agent Johnson had been haunted by what he did for a long time. He barely had a comeback. And besides, we wait past making deals.

We gave you a chance to make a deal. Girl for the girl and you tried to trap us. So now you're going to feel the consequences of your actions. The man took a pause and said something that made all our hearts wrench. And then we're going to come get the one we want. whatever means necessary. We're dumb pussy-footing around and we got a lot riding on that little girl you got there.

She's just what our guy wants. My mum and dad help me as if to give me some sort of feeling of being safe. Jessica's mom looked at us and I swear I saw her look for Jessica to give her the same reassuring hug. And when she grabbed nothing but air, for the 10th time today I saw her spirit break that little bit more.

another pause and a few inaudible noises before we heard the agonized screams of a man the agent but there was something about his groans of pain he was off daniels daniels it's johnson shout out anything you can to help us locate you what do you see give me something oh he won't be able to do that unfortunately you see we thought you might try something like that being a crafty fed and everything. So we ripped out his tongue. He said that with a coldness that had a lot of us taken back.

He could see that broke, Agent Johnson. Knowing his judgment and decisions had this man in this situation. A family man with two kids who should be home right now watching the Lakers take on the Raptors in the playoffs with a cold beer, right before he tucks the boys in good night

after a day of fighting the bad guys of the world. Instead, he's been held against his will, beaten, tortured, and mutilated. Don't worry, though, Agent. Things will stop being cut and ripped off, this gentleman. If he just writes down on this paper what we want to know, we all looked to Agent Johnson before my dad asked, What is he talking about? That is goddamn classified.

He snapped. Well, of course, you know, Bill. The use of Agent Johnson's first name visibly startled him. The man continued, "'Of course, you could put your man out of a lot of misery and suffering, if you just give me the name that I want. "'You have my word, Lawman. "'I'll put a bullet in him right now.

"'No more games. "'But if you don't, "'he took a deliberate pause to allow the gravity of his innuendo "'to hit the agent's imagination. "'Well, let's just say he's got ten toes and five. fingers he doesn't need in order to write a name on a little piece of paper and if needs must there's two rows of pearly whites he had to play with i am not handing over another innocent for you psychos just a butcher agent johnson exploded his eyes now glazed over with tears of torment there was another horrific five-second

pause before the man took a deep inhale through his nose fair do's bill fair do's have it your way the dull, drawn-out shrieks of Agent Daniel's tongueless mouth screeched through our landline as he was dragged off out of audio range of the call. It was hard to tell with no pronunciation, but we were all pretty sure he was screaming in the words, please, no, we all could tell he was sobbing, too. I didn't think this night could get any worse. Then the speaker projected the man's voice again. Now then, but Jessica's mom on the first.

phone, please. We all gasped. Our eyes widened and I felt my pupils dilating. There was no way this was going to be good. Jessica's mom took the receiver from Agent Johnson. She's already fighting back tears. These people didn't seem to care, though. She dived right in. Hello, please, please just give me my little girl back. She's a sweet little girl who hasn't done anything. Mommy, Mommy! Mommy! Jessica's voice interrupted her mother's feeble attempt at appealing to the kidnapper's better nature. These people didn't have one. Oh my God, baby. Yes, I'm here.

Everything's going to be okay. I'm here and we're going to get you home, I promise. The man came back on the phone. Hello, Mrs. Adams. I need you to know that this isn't anything personal. It's just business. Scrap what I said earlier. This right. here. This was the worst

moment of my life. This was when we all knew. This isn't the way I wanted it to go down, honestly. You almost sounded sincere. The FBI have stepped on our toes one too many times and they've made us very angry. A message needs to be sent.

I hope you understand. Oh, please tell the Matthews family that we'll see them very soon. That debt is still owed and we will collect. Jessica's mom knew at this point what was to come All she could do was to find the strength To try and comfort her little girl And be there for her

In what was no doubt, unimaginable hell for her The image of her shaken frame and tears bursting from her eyes Will forever stay with me To her credit, she did her best to remain strong Telling Jessica everything would be okay She started to sing her the lullaby down the phone From when Jess was five years old and under the way The song always made her feel better.

Every kid has that one song their mum sings to them when they need comfort and warmth. I hope it gave Jess some sense of her mother's presence in those last moments. I think I have a lot more issues than I do now, had Agent Rodriguez not acted as quickly as he did. He dived over the dining room table to switch off the speakerphone just as a sound of an electric drill revved to life and Jessica began to scream in abject terror. We all watched Jessica's mom attempt to hold herself together, tears leaking from her eye sockets. Jessica's father embraced her mother in a state I'd never seen him in before. We all watched the last of her soul shatter as she sang, hushed little baby, into the phone as Jessica screamed in pure agony for her mom and dad to come save her from the bad man.

She stayed with Jessica until the very end. We never heard another voice on the line after the screaming stopped. The phone went dead almost immediately afterwards. Jessica's mom collapsed when the caller hung up. A unit arrived shortly after the call went dead. It was from the US Federal Witness Protection Program. They gave my family all new identities and relocated us out of the country. Apparently that was also part of the document we'd signed earlier.

We weren't safe anymore and needed to disappear. Well, I can't give much more detail on this for obvious reasons. reasons. It was just that our family had to go missing. The FBI concluded it was unlikely the swarm would come for Jessica's parents. Their debt was paid, and they'd hurt them enough. We said our emotion packed goodbyes and offered what fortuitous condolences we could muster. We packed our essential items in the ten minutes we had before a black sedan came to collect us with a SWAT team escort sandwiching our ride. And I watched my home for the last 13 years,

fade away into the distance as me and my parents embarked on our new life away from this nightmare. Apparently, while we were being removed from the country, the FBI finally traced the call made to our landline.

It led to a remote location way off the grid just outside of our state. The FBI in evidence response team followed up to some old abandoned storage facility. There, they found the remains of three bodies. Daniels.

Ramsey and Jess We were told one was totally dismembered One was hanging by their neck from barbed wire attached to the roof support beams And the other had been drowned in boiling hot oil They didn't tell us which was which But when Jessica's mom went to identify her body That was the final straw

She committed suicide the next day By overdosing on her prescription diasam Her father is reportedly still alive but by all accounts he's turned to a life of alcohol and antidepressants. Our handler says she doubts you'll see out the year at the radio's going. It always hurts to hear the lasting damage of this horrendous event. I hope they all find each other again someday. We're me and my family have settled now in our new home.

We're making a go at a normal life, but we will all forever be moulded by the events of that one night. I won't walk anywhere alone. I have severe separation anxiety and it's affected a lot of my romantic relationships. I can't keep a boyfriend for longer than a month as I can't talk to any of my boyfriends about my issues and where they stem from as it's against my Witsack agreement. Our case handler says we're the luckiest people she's ever met and we need to embrace this gift that we've been given. We're the only family to have ever been targeted by the swarm and make it out alive. All the other families out there like me and my parents weren't as fortunate.

Well, I doubt I'd use the words lucky and fortunate. Our handler wasn't there that night listening to those people die in some dark, dingy old building screaming for mercy. But at the same time, I do get where she's coming from. I always read the online news articles for my old town and surrounding states to keep an eye on the alarming number of rising and missing person cases. It's horrifying, mainly young girls. too, who just vanish from their homes and neighbourhoods without a trace. The swarm is responsible.

I know it. Well, even though I'm told I'm safe now, and getting on with the rest of my life, I always find myself coming back to three things from that night. One, the look of Jessica's mum's heart-breaking as she sung her baby to sleep for the final time. A moment that haunts me on dark nights. Two, the last moment me and Jessica shared together before she was taken. That lingering warm smile we gave each other as she stood in my bedroom doorway. A treasure I truly hold dearly on those same dark nights.

And three, the common Agent Johnson quoted about Damon Ramsey in regards to his own Witsick agreement, protecting him from the swarm. When he comes to these people that we're dealing with, there's no such thing as immunity. Genesis Origins of a Serial Killer Part 1 I crouched down and shone my torch into the victim's wounds Large amounts of her hair strands were found around the body in the bed suggesting the victim's hair had been pulled violently

Most likely when she was sexually assaulted Her hands and feet were tied together As she laid in what we call the hog gross position The only thing missing was an apple in her mouth A forensic investigator who freelances as a photographer took a polaroid of each notable finding as I was around the room. The next thing I noticed was the blood seeping from Mrs. DeVille's ear, most likely from an internal skull fracture.

She had a nasty bump and cut on the back of her head, and this was likely how the killer had kept her sedated. Mrs. DeVille had suffered a serious sexual assault, pre-Anne posed morton. The left top bedpost had been snapped, off and used to sodomize her. This occurred post-mortem and likely was just to cause a shock when the bodies were found. The cause of death was a stab wound to the neck, just under the ear.

She, just like all the other victims, had chunks of flesh torn from her back, breast and neck, and they'd been removed with teeth, and these occurred after the victim was dead. Mrs. DeVille's husband, Nate, and their two children, Ryan and Sasha, were all found bound and gagged with duct tape. They all died of a single knife room to their throats, sat up against the wall of the master bedroom. The medical examiner clocked their deaths around the same time or slightly after Mrs. DeVille's.

Whoever killed this family had lined them up in the bedroom so they could watch their mother and wife being raped and murdered. My name is Special Agent Peter Quince. The other agents call me Quincy. I've been caught into the homicide after this home. invasion murder in Lincoln, Nebraska, have been the third in a suspected link between two other similar mass homicides. The others being the Scott family in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, and the Clayton's in Austin, Texas. All the murders took place over the course of the last six

months and were suspected to be by the same person. A man the newspapers were dubbing the Showtime killer, or STK. According to the crime scene walkthrough experts, in each case the killer broke into the home during the night through an open window. He'd enter the kids' room first, easily subduing the younger and weaker tenants. Then, from what we can tell, he lures the husband out of the room with a noise or a light. He ambushes the husband, subduing him as well. Then finally he assaults the female, who are clearly the main targets, with some sort of blunt instrument. He proceeds to line up the husband and kids in a line facing the bed, while he does his thing with his main victim. Once Downey kills the whole family and flees into the night.

The Bureau was assigned in on this case to assist Austin, O.C., and Lincoln PDs to help create a profile for the killer and breathe the local law enforcers, just in case his sicker was still in each of the areas, potentially plotting more victims. It wasn't long ago I had worked on a similar case, under the wing of a long-time friend Special Agent James Rodriguez, who was deputy team leader in behavior syrenses. Together we helped build a profile for a serial killer known as the

cross-line cannibal. This profile along with a police sketch was broadcasted the world at every opportunity over the course of around a year. Eventually, the correct pair of eyes saw it, the killer's wife. She reported him to the bureau

and it turns out the killer was a man named Robert Cassidy. Cassidy's wife, Amy Edmonds, knowing her husband's ways and our advice on sociopathic behavior, managed to outsmart him and get a confession on tape. Cassidy was arrested and taken into custody with Dallas PD as San Antonio didn't have space in their county jail. Here, it was reported by Cassidy, but he was violently assaulted in a holding cell by two officers. The officers denied it, saying Cassidy had the wounds when he came into custody.

Cassidy, who acted as his own attorney during his defense, then tried to use this at his trial in a way of creating reasonable doubt with the jury, saying the confession was made under duress as he was beaten into saying it. Well, the confession was almost thrown out, if not for one of the officers owning up to the beating with his colleague. The officers were both disciplined and charged with perverting the course of justice, but they were led off with a caution.

The officer who came forward was able to save his job, and to this day I believe he still works there. If memory serves me correctly, his name is. was Officer Mills. When the confession was entered into evidence, Cassidy approached the prosecution and offered to trade his death for his life. In return, he would give the location

of a burial site in Atlanta where police would find a number of missing persons. Ten victims were found at this site, back from when Cassidy was younger and first developed a taste for murder. In the whole, they found bones and ashes of what turned out to be an old girlfriend, and the boy she cheated on Cassidy with,

as well as, more significantly, a boarding school teacher and a local drug dealer. The others were prostitutes on the missing persons list. Cassidy was sentenced to 23 consecutive life terms in a maximum security prison. As of this moment, he's currently 20 months into serving his sentence at Florence Prison in Colorado. Given his experience, I decided to consult with Agent Rodriguez on helping with a profile on the home invasion. being dubbed the Showtime Killer. Oh, well, in case you're wondering why they call him this, it's because he loves an audience.

The next day I caught a flight from Lincoln to Houston, and made my way to the basement floor of the Texas Field Office. I made my way into the back office, where Spational Agent Rodriguez was situated. I tentatively knocked on the door, just in case he was in the middle of a meeting or phone call. No one answered, however, so I tried to peer through his window. Well, this didn't go unnoticed, and the head of BSU, Dan Ackerman, came up behind me and tapped me on my shoulder.

I turned around, slightly startled. He's not here, I'm afraid, Ackerman said, a slimy edge to his toe. For context, I didn't like Ackerman, he didn't like me. I don't think there's many that have ranked below him that liked him, to be quite honest. He was the sort to throw his weight around in a passive-aggressive sort of way, and no one could tell him he was wrong. because he never was. But he usually was.

You with me? He had suppressed our profile on Robert Cassidy for a while. He was certain that the person we were looking for was a drifter, a homeless man who killed his victims to take their money and then moves on to a new state. Our profile, on the other hand, was based on historical interview tapes of Ted Bundy, another serial killer who abducted women to rape and kill them

before dumping their bodies in a nearby wooded area. Bundy was respectable and to most women a decent-looking young man. He dressed as policemen, professors, tennis players and often painted himself as disabled or at least injured. He painted himself as someone the public could trust and someone that women wouldn't see as a physical threat. We believed our man was someone who did similar things, was someone who was well-groomed and likely somewhat attractive based on the age of the women. They were all young, attractive and appealing. Not the sort of people who had risked being alone with a homeless drifter who could very well be aggressive.

So when it came to the theft of the victim's money, credit cards and the keys to their homes, well, we profiled this behaviour as someone who needed the money, perhaps to disguise a lack of income. We also looked at John Wayne Gacy and Dennis Rader. Serial murderers used their jobs to hide their crimes. as well as using their jobs to find potential victims. Raider in particular was also a killer who had a family hiding his crimes from them for years. Our final profile consisted of seven main bullet points.

One, very high sense of self-work. Two, poorly or unexplained long absences away from home. Three, attractive or well-presented white male, likely between 30 and 40. 4. A job that involves travelling the United States with seemingly varying amounts of pay. 5. Spends a lot of money on different clothes and odd items such as fancy dress outfits or disability equipment. 6. Cell phone is switched off for long periods of time during the night whilst away from home. And 7. Unwillingness to elaborate on early life or other absences. We had this profile ready to send out to the news outlets, hoping a wife or girlfriend would notice the odd behaviour and phone it in.

However, as mentioned, Dan Ackerman told us it was a drifter and that was that. It was his way or the highway. Pompous asshole. Six more women had to die before we got lucky. After Cassidy ran into trouble whilst trying to dispose of one of his victims, Julie Deverell. He, instead of dumping her in a remote wooded area, dumped her body in a city alleyway. He was spotted leaving the scene by a pedestrian who got a pretty decent look at him. When they described a well-groom man with slick back hair with a square, well-shaven jaw,

Ackerman couldn't deny our profile any longer, although it wasn't without trying. Once the profile was out there, it was just waiting until it found the right set of eyes, and on one fateful day, it did. Robert Cassidy's wife, Amy Edmonds, who saw the sketch on a breaking news bulletin, and then upon looking into the case further, found the profile on the FBI websites. She called in her suspicions, and as soon as we heard about Robert Cassidy, we knew we had our man. Yeah, so, I see, um, she happened to know where he is, I asked, trying to hold back my contempt for the man.

Oh, haven't you heard? We've both been asked to assist organised crime with the swarms remaining traffic gangs, given our expertise in the area, it's hardly surprising. So I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to babysit you on your little assignment. His tone was as condescending as it was patronising. He knows some agents see him as the man who cost an extra six women in their lives due to his sheer pig-headedness. The thing is, Agent Rodriguez was the guy who helped bring down the swarm

and created the profile that caught the most vicious serial killer the USA has ever seen. He was Superman to the bureau, so unfortunately it was just me to take the stick from this giant asshole. Triple mass homicide a little assignment now, I asked sarcastically, before adding, just want to make sure we have an accurate profile of the killer. Don't want anything holding back the investigation and costing more lives, do I now? I tried to suppress my smirk as acumen's fell into a hardened scowl. He was a little lost for words. Oh, I wish I could bottle this moment.

Then, what are you skulking around in here for? Get out there and find them, he said, storming into his office. I decided to leave the building and simply give Agent Rodriguez a call on his cell phone. After a few rings, the call was picked up. Quincy, what's up? what can I do for you? Rodriguez said loudly, speaking over what sounded like a busy task force office.

I just need some advice. Sounds pretty busy there. Want me to call you back? I replied. Oh, absolutely not. These guys can manage for a few minutes without me. We're just setting up a surveillance stop on the border, hoping to identify who's trying to take over the Swarm's patch.

What do you need advice on? Rodriguez asked. James was older. than me. He came to Quantico the same time I did, except he worked for Albuquerque PD as a homicide detective for over ten years before he arrived at the Bureau. I came

straight from Oregon State University after completing my master's in criminology. Despite me having no practical experience in the field of violent crime, he's never treated me like he knows better than me, despite the fact he does. He's treated me like an older brother.

On some days, I'd go as far as saying like a father. Let me guess. the home invasion murders. You've been asked to help create a profile for the authorities of this showtime killer. James asked. I smiled at his perception. Yep, got it in one. I don't know where to begin.

It's so different out in the field than what it is in the classroom. You were the brains behind Cassidy, not me. I'm out of my death, James. I said in an honest tone. James chuckled. You're too hard on yourself. You came up with your own ideas on the profile. You're a good profile of Peter.

Just got to trust your instincts and remember your studies. I mean, I don't have the time to help you, but I don't know. This sentence trowed off in thoughts. No, go ahead. What are you thinking? I asked, intrigued. Well, um, when we did the profile for the CL Cannibal, what do we do? to look to other killers like Bundy, Gacy, and Raider.

Is your guys a home invader? I'd revisit Raider, maybe look at Richard Ramirez, too. Both were home invaders and sexual deviance. But there's one more avenue you could go down. I think it could be an untapped resource. Well, I'm all ears, I said, opened his idea. I've seen the reports. Extreme sexual sadism, sodomized after death.

size of cannibalism. Maybe there's a more potent source you can look for information. What about Cassidy himself? James threw the idea on the table. You think he'll even speak to me? I asked, taking it back. Oh, one way to find out, I guess.

Just play into his vanity and intellectual ego and I doubt you'll go far wrong. Let me know how it goes, Quince. I've got to get back to these lot, but good luck. and I have faith in you, James said, wishing me well. I thanked him for the advice and decided to call Florence Prison and request a VO. Cassidy had been already charged and sentenced,

so if he didn't want to talk to me, then he didn't have to. While I waited to hear back from the prison with Cassidy's decision, decided to go look at one of the previous crime scenes while I was in Texas. I drove up to Austin, back to the scene of the first murder. I pulled up outside 423 Caroline Street at around 9.23 p.m. What looked like a beautiful, suburban, humble abode six months ago, well, now the aura of a haunted house attraction. The street was dark and very quiet, I mean, extremely quiet.

A lot of cold houses on here now, and a lot of for-sale signs had gone up, and a lot of bars had been installed on windows, too. The bars also look quite new. I couldn't help feel a shade depressed. I armed myself with a torch and the memo recorded on my phone. I took the keys given to me by Austin PD and stood them into the lot. The door swung open with a slight creek,

letting the Nebraska moonlight radiate into the dark hallway. I entered the house and immediately felt uneasy. The empathy I had for the family was coursing through me. The terror they felt that night when a stranger was in their house, with malign intentions. I made my way to the master bedroom and flicked on the light. Dry blood was splattered on the walls in a pattern consistent with a slashing motion. There was an obscenely large brown stain on the mattress.

I walked over to the window and looked into the back garden. A large oak tree with sturdy branches sits around 30 metres from the master bedroom window. A great vantage point to stalk his victims. Is that what you did, huh? You sick fuck. Did you sit right there and watch Mrs. Claydon Andres? I was watching simply not enough for you anymore. Couldn't you control your urges any longer?

I said into the recording. I walked back into the hallway and noticed a picture was missing from the wall outside the children's room. The picture's missing from outside the children's room. Crime scene reports that there were shards of broken glass and a large indentation in the wall's foundation. Did one of the kids try to alert the parents? He rushed to catch them. did the farther in the assailant struggle for a weapon and they forced each other into this area. I said, adding another memo to my phone.

I then headed into the children's room. I walked over to the window. I pressed record once again. The door was locked when the police arrived the next day. No sign of forced entry in any of the doors or windows. However, the children's window was a fire escape window, installed recently to comply with the building safety regulations. The Gladens were planning on selling up and moving to Canada.

It was a hot night that evening. Did the children leave the window open for fresh air? It would be the only window that could open far enough for a grown man to fit through. All of a sudden a sharp noise cracked the silence of the night. I startled heavily, hitting stop on the record in a panic. I got my breathing under control, drew my weapon and peered back into the hall. The front door had slammed shut in the wind. I didn't even seem that gusty, to be honest, but nevertheless I shook my head at myself in disappointment from being such a scaredy cat.

I decided it was getting late. I couldn't shake the horrible dread that the family must have felt that night, and my head wasn't where it needed to be. They exited the house, locked up, and drove the keys back to the police department. Once I was sat in the departure land at the airport, I went through the case files of all three homicides and noticed a pattern. I made sure no one was in earshot and made another recording. At the Scott House, there were no signs of a burglary. No money or anything of financial value was taken. However, Marilyn Scott's sister said that there was a family photo missing from the living room.

The only reason she knew is because the photo was from when she bought them a professional home shoot as a Christmas present. She'd loved it as they all look so happy in it. So, why did the killer take it? Also, with the Deville House, there was a nail in the wall above the fireplace. The wall looked bare as if something was missing, presumably a painting or photo. Were these his trophies? Did he potentially hate the appearance of a happy home? I pulled down the seat flap and began making up a base for my profile.

Questions that needed answering and such. You see psychology in violent crimes such as dealing with an armed hostage-taker and so on, well, it's important to find out who you're dealing with, so you can understand what has caused this situation to occur. And thus we can then try to use that to help diffuse the situation. When it comes to profiling for a violent crime such as a homicide or rape, or even both, we flip the process. We ask ourselves what has caused this situation,

why has this situation happened in this way? And then that can give us a base on who we're dealing with. The main questions I needed answering were, why does he kill the entire family? Or more so, why does he make them watch for mother? Why does he take the photos? What do they mean to him? And, most importantly, how is he choosing the victims?

I knew the quicker I figured out the answers, the more lives I'd say. Part two. It wasn't more than a week later that the prison contacted me. It was a Tuesday morning, if I remember correctly. My cell rang and the number was a Denver area code. I answered it with eagerness, yet a shade of apprehension, just in case it was a no. Ah, special agent, Quince.

How do you do? This is Warden Milner from Florence ADX. I have a visitor request here for yourself to see Mr. Robert Maxwell Cassidy. The man set in an Ivy League type of tone, a well-educated, stern and controlling person, I assumed. Well, good morning, Mr. Milner. I'm very well, thank you. Yes, that's right. I know you guys have strict protocols,

but I really think a behavioral science interview with Cassidy will aid in creating a... That I was cut off. I'm afraid I'm not overly excited about granting the VO. You see, Special Agent Quince, I have a fortress here. A fortress full of drug barons, bank robbers, terrorists, even the leader of the AB, but Robert Cassidy is probably the most dangerous of them all, believe it or not. It doesn't need to have ten white supremacist thugs shiv you in the laundry room,

or have his al-Qaeda buddies fly a plane into your building to get his point across. He informed me, and I scoffed. I'm well aware of how dangerous he is, Mr. Milner. I've been to his crime scenes. I've seen what he does to young vulnerable women. As I'm sure you're aware, we have a case that needs his urgent... He cut me off again. He could kill half my staff with just a ballpoint pen given the chance, Mr. Quince.

In fact, he's been with us just under two years now, and in that time, he's been involved in a number of violent incidents with his fellow inmates. But not just the inmates. There have been other incidents, some which have cost the taxpayers of this country millions in staff compensation payouts. Someone like you coming in means I have to take him out of the hole, and I think seeing one of the men who helped put him in, him in there, well, I may somewhat agitate Mr. Cassidy. Once again, I scoffed. Agitated. How would it agitate you, Mr. Milner, if a psychopath slipped through your children's window tonight, tied them up and made them watch while he raped your wife with a bedpost and castrated you alive? As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted the world to swallow me up. Those are paused

before Mr. Milner simply said, I'm not married. I couldn't hold back my amused smile. My point is, there's a person who's done this three times and he'll do it again. While Cassidy wasn't a home invader, one of the bodies we found in a burial site contained a male victim, a head teacher from a boarding school in Atlanta. A man had had his genitals removed with a bowing knife, similar ammo used by our home invader in his last murder. An interview into why he did this may give us an idea of who we're looking for.

I'm asking you to try and save some lives here, Mr. Milner. How can you say no to that? I asked, sincerely. There's another long pause while he mulled over my question. A quiet sigh before he simply said, Okay, tomorrow, 10 a.m. bring ID, no firearms. Good day, special agent quince. The phone then went dead.

Asshole, I said to no one in particular. I was on a plane that night to Colorado Myself and the new kid, Agent Boggins, arrived at the Supermax facility around 9.30 a.m. I'd heard of Florence being the Alcatraz of the Rockies, but I'll be honest, it was truly daunting. A modern-day fortress, housing the real-life monsters that war this earth.

We pressed forward, through the guard station, signing in our vehicle. Been expecting you. Lieutenant Perkins is in the visitor's centre of, for you. The guard informed. I thanked him and parted the car in the allocated bay. As we entered the building, well-built, military-looking officers saluted and approached us. Special Agent Quince and Agent Balkans, I'm CEO, Lieutenant Perkins. I'll be escorting you both today and supervising the interview, he told me sternly.

Yes, good morning, lieutenants. I was hoping that our interview would be just the three of us. or my sentence wasn't even half finished before he began shaking his head in robotic disagreement no candle rubber cassidy is in the hole he needs to be kept under 24-hour supervision and have at least two firearms aimed at him when he's not in his sound he said whilst i looked over his shoulder to another CO wearing sunglasses rifle at the ready it sounds a little OTT, don't you think? Said Agent Boggins with hints of naivety to his scoff. Even though a small part of me agreed,

I knew it wouldn't come across well. I gave him a look over my shoulder, scolding him. No, I do not. He said purposely. He took a moment in his mind before saying, perhaps I should show you something, he said, curiously, and led us into a nearby office. No, the office wasn't large,

it didn't need to be, I guess. Just contained file cabinets, a desk, a kitchen area, and a television set. He opened a file cabinet drawer, and, after sifting through the individual dividers, found what he was looking for. He brought out a DVD, slotted it into the player, and turned on the television. What are we watching here, Lieutenant? I asked impatiently. Security footage for a few months back, he replied, concentrating on rewinding the tape to a specific point.

Boggins and I decided not to ask any more questions and instead made ourselves comfortable on the edge of the desk and faced the screen. An image soon began playing. It depicted a hallway around roughly four people were mulling around in there, one of whom was Robert Cassidy, throwing a cleaner's uniform that indicated that he was a prisoner and not a member of staff. It was mopping a floor, back turned to the security gate, the camera pointing down at his face.

What are we watching here, Luke? I began to ask before I was shed and told to keep watching. After a few seconds, the image shows a guard come to the gate, unlocks it, opens it, and walks away. The three men in the hallway with Cassidy see this and immediately make a swift exit out of the gate. Cassidy stays where he is. Soon four large men with short haircuts and swastika tattoos

rush into the hallway. The last man closes the gate behind him and continues to rush Cassidy with the others. Cassidy turns to them and begins to crack his neck, as if warming up for a workout. One of the men lashes out at him, punching him to the ground. And the man suddenly like hyenas, diving at a wounded gazelle and picking at its carcass.

Kicking, stomping and punching. They were really laying into him. However, after around eight to ten seconds, one of the men suddenly hunches over in pain and stumbles across the hall with a toothbrush sticking out of his groin. Soon Cassidy bursts through the gap left by the man. He's armed with the mop. He swings it at one of the men, breaking it around his head.

With the remaining half of the mop handle left in his hands, he places it around the back of one of their necks and uses the leverage to deliver an extremely vicious headbuts. What I assume is blood flies everywhere. The remaining thug jumps on Cassidy's back, trying to apply a rear naked choke. Cassidy throws his weight forward, flipping the man over him and onto his back.

Cassidy, within all his might, then drives the jagged end of the handle into the eye of the fourth man. The man twitches uncontrollably on the floor. Cassidy goes into the pockets of the unconscious man that he hit with a mop and finds another shiv. He stands up, wipes the blood from his nose and mouth,

up through his hair, slicking it back, as if using it as some sort of hair gel. He then saunteres over to one of the men on the floor who already has a shiv stuck in them. They'd let go of their wound so they can hold their hands up in a plea for mercy. But Cassidy doesn't let up. In a total frenzy, he puts at least 13 holes in this guy

before the guard opens the door and a group of C.O. storm into the hallway and pin him to the floor. The lieutenant pauses the video and turns to see our reactions, which, to be fair, I was somewhat astounded. Someone cut in line ahead of Cassidy, so he bit his ear off,

then proceeded to eat his hair in front of the whole wing. Savage, right? Well, turns out the victim's cousin was an Aryan shock caller, put out a word to have Cassidy beat into a pope, then have his balls cut off and hung from the canteen ceiling. He ordered four of the toughest neos to do it, even paid off the guard to facilitate it. It was meant to erase the footage after it happened, but, seen as Cassidy turned the tables,

the alarm was raised and the guard was apprehended before it could be covered up. Two of those men are dead. The other was in a coma for a week. Only one of them is alive and well. If having 17 stitches in your face and a metal-plated nose is clasped as well, he quipped before beginning to press fast forward for a few seconds. He was in sight A when this occurred. his safety was in breach at this point so we decided to house him in side B while he recovered from the attack while side B is less secure that's where we house payroll ease detox inmates good behavior and vulnerable prisoners he hit play

it showed what looked like a ward of a hospital before I clocked on that it was the prison infirmary cassidy lay in the far bed in the corner a nurse came to apply what may have been jelly from an ultrasound suddenly Cassidy shut up and grabbed both sides of the nurse's face and began to gore at it. He then slammed her head against his bed frame, knocking her out cold. He then climbed out of the bed, smashed the window, and pulled himself out of it. Perkins hit stop, turned to us and said, Jenny Pratt, sweet girl, didn't deserve that. Oh, she lived, but she'll never look the same again. Consolation was he didn't get far at all.

He was shot with five rubber bullets before he got within 200 feet of the fence. After that, Warden Milner ordered him to be put inside C, aka the hole. The hole was a place we built underneath side A. It's where we put the people who don't deserve to ever see daylight again. Cassidy's been down there for six months now. I'm responsible for his, shall we say, will-being. Birkin said with a hint of sadism in his smile. So you can understand why we're all apprehend.

about any relaxation or complacency when it comes to Cassidy's security. If we let him in that room, no cuffs and no weapons on him, he'll likely ask for a pen to sign your waiver. When you give it, he'll kill you and you'll partner with it and make another break for it. I scoffed at this extreme catastrophizing. We're FBI, Lieutenant. We're not idiots. The prisoner will not be given anything sharp, blunt or heavy. He doesn't need to be unchanged.

You can have weapons at the ready, but outside the room. We need Cassidy to speak unobjectively and unadulterated, or for his incites to be useful in our case. Now, yes, Robert Cassidy is potentially dangerous to me and Agent Boggins while we're in that room. We have a man who's breaking into homes, tying up kids, and making them watch while their mummy is raped and their daddy is murdered. So, I don't have too much time to be worried about myself. I have lives to say.

I said in a passionate voice or Perkins smiled over my words Milner told me to throw this out try to put you off but my mother lives in Omaha she's terrified of that home invader killer you really think Cassidy can help you get him he asked genuinely curious

he's a serial killer who targeted a young yet stable women beat them, raped them, tortured them diverged in acts of postmodern mutilation. If he tells us about why he did those things, then, yes, we can hopefully use those insights to create a profile of who is doing the home invasion murders. I answered confidently. Perkins stood up, turned off the TV, and began to open the office door. Then, let's go, part three.

We made our way over to Site A on a glorified golf cartons. Site A was daunting to look at, even more so seeing the increase in guard numbers, more barbed wire, more lights, more towers. Once in size, the cells seemed to look more like vaults than they did rooms, eight by nine safety deposit boxes containing the most dangerous man on her. Perkins led us over to one of the cell doors that looked different to the rest. He entered a code, covering the pad with his body like he was entering his banking pin. Once he entered the code, two card readers lit up from red to green on either side of the door. Perkins signalled to one of the other guards to come down.

Once the guard got to the door, they both took out a key card on red lanyards from under their vests. They both aimed their cards into the slots, eyed each other as they counted down from three, then simultaneously swipe the cards downward. The door beeped. Some mechanics did their thing, and the pneumatics pushed. the door open to reveal a modified lift shaft. Perkins pressed the intercom and spoke to a voice. Prepare prisoner H-456-35 for federal post-sentence interview.

Jane's remain on. Interview room three, the one with the glass divider. I'm in the elevator with agents quince and bargains right now, requesting dissent. He said this as I looked into the camera in the top corner of the elevator. The voice responded. Descension approved. Please hold the rail. The cell began to move downward in a diagonal fashion.

Once at the bottom two guards repeated the procedure of opening the door and let myself Balkans and Perkins out into an all-white hallway, lit up with large ceiling lights. The hallway was several feet wide with a built-in divider that designated a one-way system. On the right-hand side of the hallway, there were around six. six rooms. Four were for interviews. One was the medical room. One was an admin cell or a search room. The remaining room was slightly a staff room if I had to take a guess. Opposite to the six rooms on the other side were six cells. These cells looked like bank vaults for the world's most prized possessions. Nothing was getting out of them. At the end of the corridor

was a cylinder guard station where a guard sat facing us through a barred window. Behind him was a large space. The hole had an eye look to it from a bird's eye view. In the guard station I could see CCTV screens, intercoms, automatic rifles and pistols. Inside the station were around six guards. Gentlemen, welcome to the hole, Perkins said theatrically. How many people do you got down here?

Bodkins asked, peering around at the cells. Just three. The 93 Trade Center bomber Tyler Bingham, leader of the AB, and Robert Cassidy, the cross-line cannibal. Normally they'd be upstairs, however, we bring them down here if we believe they're a detrimental risk to the staff, the public, the prisoners are themselves. Perkins informed us, as we made our way past the cells and towards the guard station. Surely the rest of them deserve to be down here, too, Bogkin suggested, and Perkins smirked.

I couldn't agree more, kid, but we saved this place. for those who pose a current ongoing known and credible threat to the people around them. The bomb was found using covert communications that were linked with a planned attack in Kenya. Bingham had two prisoners in Stockton shift and Cassidy was going to be the third. Well, down here, there's no chance of having any communication with the person in the next cell, let alone the outside world. Okay, if you want to make your way in here, he said, opening up into view room three. inside there were two chairs facing a desk unit built into a solid steel wall the room's interior was mirrored on the other side of a two by one and a half window bulletproof glass i assumed the only difference was there was a singular chair on the other side

take a seat i'll go get him perkins informed us we obliged and took a seat as advised and began to set up a mini tripod area we then sat there for around twenty-one 25 minutes, spreading our time equally between twiddling our thumbs and sighing. Before, finally, on the other side of the glass, in the left-hand corner, her door buzzed and began to slowly open. Perkins entered the room, holding what can only be described as a chain leash. As he poured the chain into the room, what was attached to the chain also entered the room. A black hooded man in a contrasting white straitjacket jacket came. and waddling into the room, wrapped up in a mountain of steel and shackles. Perkins took the end of the chain he was holding,

almost like taking a dog for a walk, and fastened it to an anchor point on the desk. He guided the man to the chair and forcibly drove him into the seat by pressing down on his shoulders. He removed the hood, revealing Robert Cassidy's pale, unkempt face. A harrowing lack of sunlight and shaving cream will do that to you, I guess. I noticed Cassidy had a fading black eye and a split lip. The incident with the Aryan attack was over eight months ago.

These were from something else. Can we not remove some of these chains? I feel like I'm interviewing Houdini, I asked. Birkin shook his head and scound. It's this, or I have two guards in here with loaded weapons pointing at him for the course of the interview. I know you may think what we do here is overkill, Agent Quince, but you didn't see my cousin. Perkins caught himself. That nurse's face. We take no chances here, he informed us. He made his way out of the room, and before he shut the door behind him, he said, there's a red

button under the desk on both sides. If either party wanted to end the interview, press that. He then shut the door, and we heard the mechanisms click, and the pneumatics pump away. Good morning, agents, Cassidy said with a superficial plightless. Lovely weather we're having, aren't we? He quipped sarcastically. Never last, though, does it? Boggins chuckled, as both Cassidy and I eyed him in disbelief, wondering how the joke went over his head.

Do you mind if we videotape this, Robert? Can I call you, Robert? I asked. I live in a six by eight vault, 150 feet underground, hugged by canvas and chains. I don't really think I have much of a say in anything. You videotape and call me what you please, agent. Makes no odds to me, he said nonchalantly. Okay, so we're conducting this post-sentence interview as part of our behavior science survey with men such as yourself.

who've been convicted of multiple cases of extremely violent crime. Anything you'd tell us in this interview cannot be used against you in any future charges or your applications for payroll. Well, I read out from the legal contracts. Cassidy couldn't hold back his laughter. Does it look like a place that offers parole? He juggled.

Look, I was convicted of 22 murders, of 22 young and privileged white women agent. I'll never let me out of here while I take a breath. So there's really no need for all this fine print nonsense. This is the only time in eight months that I've seen another room, other than the one I sleep, shit in Eden, of course. So please, get to the fucking point. Well, um, okay, there are some things we need help with,

things that only someone like yourself may know. I eased into him and Cassidy grin like a Cheshire cat and began to chuckle as he looked at the floor. He raised his head and flashed his pearly yellows at us. You've got some other naughty boy out there right now, haven't you?

What's wrong, agent? Is he not making it easy for you? So you want to create one of those psycho-momombo jumble profiles for him? Waste of time. He dismissed. Walk in, suddenly grew a backbone from nowhere.

I worked with you, didn't it? Cassidy's smile turned to a blank expression bordering on menace. I was only caught because I was betrayed, not because some backroom boy made some assumptions about my childhood. People like me can't be summed up in a few bullet points, Agent Baldwin. Barkkins, he snapped, confirming his name. Ah, sorry. Cassidy said, clearly not sorry at all.

Not to mention that she totally outsmarted you. The double wire trap trick was all her idea, you know. Our only input was advising her that you're just like every other violent sociopath out there and you'd love to brag about the things you've done. Make you feel special, even when you're not. Oh, Boggins was really going in on him. Cassidy's glare was horrifying. I decided to intervene.

Look, Robert, what I think Boggins is trying to say here is that whatever your opinions are on the work we do in behavioral science, we at the Bureau really think that a background of your life and your emotional state before during and after your crimes would really give us some aid in our investigation into these home invasion murders. As we have over 30 years of research proving that there are links between people who murder compulsively. I felt my diplomatic approach had soothed the situation, but his face still looked unhappy. I needed to repair the relationship.

Um, where did you get that? I asked, nodding my head toward the injuries on Cassidy's face. Well, he finally grinned. Fell, totally by accident. In my six by eight cell, all by myself, he scoffed. Well, at least that's what Perkins. as a report says, Cassidy added facetiously. Are you saying, that's not what happened? I asked. Cassidy smiled at the naivety of my question and rode his pupils back into the top corners of his eyes,

guiding my vision to the CCTV camera in the corner of the ceiling. Oh, absolutely not, agent. Whatever Lieutenant Perkins said happened is the guards on his troop, he said dramatically. Look, I could potentially speak with a warden, maybe even the Department of Justice, get them to agree a transfer, trial period of course. You'll have to stay in Florence as part of your sentence, but maybe I could get you back to side A. Maximum security would still apply, but you'd at least be able to see daylight every day. Daily exercise, three meals a day, maybe even a TV. Cassidy's laugh to cut me short.

Yeah, I've been missing Ellen. to be honest. Cassidy joked. I could see that you're away from Lieutenant Perkins and maybe then there'll be no more false, I added. Cassidy's humid expression faded and he eyed me seriously. You can really make that happen? His question put every inch of me on edge. His eyes bored into my central nervous system searching for any hint of deceit. I tried to hold my nerve. There's no way I'd be able to pull any of those strings. Cassidy was one of the top ten most wanted. Yes, if the insights you divulge help us create a comprehensive psychological profile of the short-time killer,

and that profile leads to his arrest, then maybe the DOJ. Showtime. Sounds like an interesting name. Why do they call him that? Cassidy asked, intrigued. Well, it's pretty dark, but... Aren't they all? Cassidy asked with a smile.

Well, they call him Showtime because he likes to perform for an audience. Oh, he sounds incredible. All the best ones are. I imagine he'll keep you both busy chasing your little tails around. So, of course, you can understand my hesitance to enter into an agreement with so many ifs, buts and maybes. Oh, I could pour my heart out, and I'd still be down here for years while you two idiots figured out what to do with it. Cassidy sat back, letting his insult sink in. Well, however, should you commit any violent acts against another prisoner, nurse guard or yourself,

should you try and escape, then any offer ordeal goes away, and you come straight back here? Or you can just not speak to us, go back to your vault and wait for your next fall. We sat back in our chairs now and folded our arms, waiting for his response. Cassidy mulled over. Hmm, okay. Well, then, what would you like to know? He relaxed back into his chair. Arms folded, not that he had much choice in that matter, though.

I opened up a file I had with me and held it against the glass, so Cassidy could read it. The file showed the entire crime scene photo of the DeVille family members. murder. Cassidy eyed it intensely. I swear I saw a glint in his eye. Hmm, who's this then? Cassidy asked, cocking his head at the photo. Glare Deville. She's the third victim, I informed. Cassidy went from scanning the document to his vision snapping towards me once again, his mouth slightly ajar, his brows raised. Were the others like this? Cassidy went.

he asked, his sick interest peaked. I nodded. This was the only murder where the victim was found with a bedpost forced into her anus. The husband also had his genitals removed. Both these actions occurred post-mortem. Well, she's technically the 10th victim. Thirteen altogether because he kills the rest of the family too. After he makes them watch first. The females are the targets. The rest are just a means to an end, Cassidy said, bluntly. Can you explain what you mean? Agent Bodkins asked, drawing down the odd keyword on his notepad. Oh, um, he wanted to humiliate them, I thought out loud.

Cassidy smiled at me. Very good, Asian Quince. Almost, but not quite. He wanted to dehumanize her. He wanted her to feel helpless. All her love. ones watching the desire to rescue her etched all over their faces but they were unable to help cassidy lectured why though what makes you say that is that the goal with your victims

boggins asked cassidy gave him a stern look are you here from my help or are you here to pick apart what i did just trust what i say cassidy snapped while i intervened and refraised boggkin I think what Asian Balkans is asking is, can you give us some sort of theory behind your hypothesis? Cassidy grinned as I jumped through one of his hoops. Well, maybe this person that you're looking for. Maybe he grew up in a household that's his daddy or his stepdaddy who wasn't so nice to him. Maybe he expected his mom to rescue him or stand up for him at least. but instead she just stood there and watched i thought out loud once again cassidy smiled and gave me a round of applause now you're getting it he said approvingly is that why you killed these women did your daddy beat you

while your mommy was too busy with her career is that why you targeted successful and distinguished women well boggins's question was full of malice cassidy looked at him, puzzled by his hostility. Well, so was I, quite frankly. Then it suddenly clicked in Cassidy's mind, and he flashed a sinister smile at Boggins. Ah, now it makes sense. What's wrong, Agent Bogdan? Till I kill someone you knew?

Cassidy probed. Boggins looked at the floor, trying to hide his contempt. He shook his head and muttered the word. Borkins. Oh, I dear, didn't I? Which one was it? Was it the one I sodomized with her own bicycle seats? Or was it the one whose head I nearly squeezed off with barbed? Gassad he probed. And I saw something in Bogkin's snap. You know what? I just think it's bullshit. All this blaming your twisted actions on some traumatic event. You're not special, just average. You're the same as all the You think you're a pioneer, but really...

You're just fucking textbook. Okay, um... I think we just need to take... I tried to calm the issue, but it was too late. Cassidy rose from his feet in anger. His pupils were dilated, and they were laser-focused on Agent Bonkins. I really don't think you'd have the gusto to speak those words to me

if we weren't separated by this wall. And, agent, believe me... Should the day ever come where you ameer on the same side of the wall, I'll make you regret those words. This interview is over. Cassidy snapped, forcing his knee into the red button under his desk. The alarm sounded and the guards burst into his side of the room and retrieved him back to his cell. I looked at Boggins with bafflement and a shed of anger. He looked away in his embarrassment at not being able to control his emotions.

I shook my head and pulled myself together and we packed up and left the prison didn't say a word to each other whilst we were in the walls of Florence but the minute my car door closed sealing us inside I lost my head what the fuck was that I screamed my head falling into my hands after sorry quince

I just I just you just what cost us our best source of psychological insight into the man who slaughtered 13 people in six months while my question was raged and rhetorical boggins aimed his gaze at the floor i grabbed the wheel and extended my arms driving my back against the chair tensing my body for a few seconds then letting the tension flow out of me while i relaxed boggins sensed the ease in my demeanour and used this opportunity to explain himself

Cassidy's fifth victim. Kim Bailey, Bogkin said bluntly. I scanned my brain hard. Kim Bailey was a successful 25-year-old college graduate. She was ready to study law at Harvard. She'd recently moved to the area and was out at a student bar when she met Robert Cassidy. Her body was found a couple of days after her disappearance, in Coulter Park Reservation. She'd had a knife taken to her reproductive organs.

And this wasn't done post-mortem. Well, this was horrifying enough, but when I realized that she was originally from Iowa, Boggins's hometown, I cringed. What was she to you? I asked softly, facing forward, mainly to avoid looking at Boggins, as I could hear his somber mood bordering into sobs.

She was in my class during my senior year. We were kind of a thing. thing, he confessed. A thing, I probed. We were together for four years and she was my first. First, first, oh my God, are you fucking kidding me? I snapped. I checked my anger, though, and considered his grief.

I sighed out my anger. What I mean to say is, do you not think that this is something you should have told before you went in there i asked diplomatically walkins pinched the bridge of his nose catching the tears on his fingertips i gave him a few seconds to give his answer i just wanted to see him meet this so-called criminal mastermind the guy who was on tv representing himself of the trial taking apart the witnesses on the stand so suave so intelligent so charismatic i heard all about those young female groupies who were outside the court, forming some kind of sick fan club. I didn't know what to expect, but he seemed too...

Too... He couldn't think of the word. No, I ventured. I don't know if that's the word, but it'll do. Bogkin settled. Serial murderers rarely look at the monsters we imagine them to be. I just wanted to see you took my high school sweetheart. I don't know what I really expected, but...

Just to hear him blame the whole thing on his upbringing, it's just so... Textbook, I quote it. Boggins perked up and nodded. Look, I understand your grief and your reaction. But I think it's best you don't take part in these interviews. If we have another interview, that is. I advised. Yeah, me too.

Boggins accept it. You can help to create the profile and relate to the low. but as far as collecting the data, I really don't think you should ever meet Robert Cassidy again. Agreed. Okay, so now, I just need a replacement. I need someone who's smart, objective, understands the criminal mind and has experience in dealing with psychopaths. I began to think hard. Bucking's perked up and snapped his fingers.

Oh, I have just a person, he exclaimed. I looked at him curiously. He began to press buttons on the GPS. I turned my curiosity to the small screen on the dashboard. He pressed the calculate route button and soon the machine was directing us towards the University of Denver. Part 4. We arrived at the university roughly two hours and 15 minutes later. We exited the car and made our way into the building.

Like taking a well-earned nap in the car journey up to Denver, it had already been a long day and it was only 1pm. We made small talk as we walked down the halls of the 155-year-old building. I opened up first. So who is this person? How do you know her? I asked curiously. Honestly surprised where Boggins was pulling this from.

Boggins was a good agent. So I'd legwork as a former homicide detective for Iowa PD before he came to the bureau. But still he didn't strike me as the university type. Professor Ruth Maddoch, PhD in both psychopathy and criminology, specializes in sexual violence crimes. She teaches seminars here to the upcoming academics. Meanwhile, conducts research on the criminal mind. I met her when I was dealing with a serial rapist known as the Davenport Ripper a number of years back.

Well, I was out of my depth, quince. I was used to drug deals gone wrong and wives who got sick of their cheating husbands. I didn't know how to approach these crime scenes. Someone in the state crime lab recommended her telling me that a few detectives from nearby states like Wyoming, Kansas, South Dakota well, they consult with her on similar cases. Sounds like quite a woman, I confessed. She is.

We got together with the case files. She informed me that the ferociousness of the rape was not exclusively an indicator that the perp knew the victim personally. She hypothesized that the unsub was likely a married man, chastised and cuckolded by a promiscuous wife the victims were his fantasy of what he'd like to do to his wife but didn't have the balls to do due to the hold she had over him did you catch him i was actually really intrigued yep two more bodies dropped we saw that the women were all white similar ages blonde hair they all had some type of cosmetic surgery to enhance their beauty fake breasts botox tummy tucks and so on Anyway, she deduced that the unsub was slightly a small, weak-looking man. Otherwise, his violence would be aimed towards the men who slept with his wife.

She also told me that most sexually motivated criminals tend to return to the scene of their crimes. If the unsub was unable to have normal sexual releases due to his toxic marriage, his impotency and feelings of sexual inadequacy, and finding it difficult to lure another victim, well, then he may return to the scene of a kill to relive the power of control he felt. and the elation of the release. I didn't say anything, but my eager face told Bogkin's side was hooked. Well, he killed six by this point. It took a lot of manpower, but we staked out those sights

after the timeline between the murders suggested he was struggling to find a new victim, probably due to everyone being on high alert. One night, we parked up at Rock Island National Cemetery. It was 3.23 a.m. Me and my partner dozing off, when we realized there's someone in the trees. We catch the guy masturbating, holding the third victim's necklace. You're kidding? I asked. I'm slightly amused.

Nope. So, this is why I think if there's anyone that we should bring in to help us with the Showtime killer, it should be Professor Maddock. She'll be able to interpret Cassidy's insights better than I ever could anyway, Woking said modestly. You're a good agent, Dave. You just had a wobble, that's all, and an understandable wobble. too, I assured him, easing his pride. And his smile told me he appreciated that as we came close to the lecture hall where the receptionist told us we'd find the professor. A criminology seminar on child psychopathy. Besides, I added, causing Boggins to pause for a brief second to heed what I had to say.

He raised his eyebrows to indicate he was all ears. The young and professionally successful white woman, well, she's just Cassidy's time. I said with a cheeky wink as I pushed the door. We entered the room. Ruth Maddock was as strikingly beautiful as she was clearly smart. I imagine when it came to those student-teacher fantasies, a huge percent of her male students, and hell probably some of the female students too,

were indulging right this second. She wore her glasses seductively halfway down her nose. Her blood-red hair with natural brown tints flowed into her bubble and poured down her back like a silky waterfall. And with each tap of her black five-inch heels on the stage, each mesmerized student's heart skipped a beat. Their eyes glared at the black leather straps hugging her beautiful, smooth legs,

and each of them felt an intense spout of jealousy over her own footwear. Her pencil skirt embraced her figure tight, whilst her blazer equally caressed her fitted red shirts. The collar of her blouse was burdened up just enough to look classy among her collar. colleagues, but unbuttoned just enough to make some heads turn, and stay turned until she was out of view. She was just finishing her lecture when we entered the room.

On the large screen behind her on stage was a slide that appeared to be a philosophical question, made or born. So, guys, what we've deduced today is that these sorts of perpetrators start their compulsions very young. The question, though, are these types of compulsions? compulsions brought on by the child's negative experience, or are they already present and the experiences are simply what determine what type of compulsion the perp has? That's what I'd like your papers to be on. For reading material, I'd recommend Adrian Raine's violence and psychopathy, the mask of sanity, and the current trends of criminal psychopathy. Thank you. You may leave. Have a great weekend, guys.

She began to turn off the slideshow as the students rose from their seats and made their way past her stop the aisle. Bogkins and her made eye contact, and they waved pleasantries at each other as we made our way down to her. As I walked down, a student barged into me, causing her to drop her textbooks. I was ashamed to say I was too busy trying to keep my tongue from rolling out of my mouth to watch where I was going. The impact and noise of hard-backed books hitting auditorium steps was enough to snap me out of my love. dusting daydream. I apologized in an obligatory manner and began to pick up the textbooks, praying Professor Maddoch hadn't seen that. Oh my God, Agent Quince, the female student exclaimed. I looked up, wondering how on earth this person knew who I was. Oh my lord, I

exclaimed, bursting into a chuckle at how amazingly small the world could be at times. Ashley Benning, what are you? I decided. after everything that happened. I wanted to do what you guys do. I'm studying criminal psychology, forensic, psychiatry and criminology. Maybe one day I'll be calling you boss, she chuckled. Well, you'd make a phenomenal agent. If you're anything like your mom, you'll do really well. My comic made her face change from happy-go-lucky to sulky team. She brought that psycho into our lives in the first place. Had a freaking baby with him and everything. drove my dad away just because she had him arrested doesn't make her anything special her arms were now folded

and she turned away from me to scowl i couldn't help but smile touchy subject her didn't realize you two didn't get on no i partly came out here to get away from her we haven't spoken much ever since she threw my dad out well she said some horrible things about him in the courtroom said he was a terrible man who abused her but Yet, well, then she shacks up with Michael Myers. My dad was right, and she is deluded. I could tell Ashley's father had turned her against Amy. Well, the thing is, I'd met both Jeff and Amy, and I knew who I believed. I didn't entertain the drama, though.

Well, look, neither of my parents are with me anymore, Ash. Don't spend your life hating one of them. Cassidy could have easily killed your mother that day. The way she looked at the floor and flexed her eyebrows showed me there was a part of her that knew I was right. So, um, what are you doing here anyway? What's possibly here in color... Oh, um... You've been to see him, she said, an edge to her tone. I nodded. Well, I'm fairly new to the BSU. Until I met you, I worked to organise crime amongst other things.

I don't have much field experience, especially not on my own, and Rodriguez, is working on a special task force right now so it's just me and barkings i said with a shrug of modesty so what's robert had to say for himself that she asked with suspicion i leaned in close so no one could hear um sure you've heard of the showtime killer i asked speculatively and she nodded the home invader yeah it's got a lot of people shaken up three murders all different states could strike anywhere next. There's nothing scarier than the thought of someone creeping into your house at night with sick intentions. In fact, a lot of the other students here are that obsessed at doing their thesis on it.

She confessed. Yeah, well, he's very good, very good. He's not leaving any DNA, so we need to build a psychological profile of the killer. We're trying to get Robert Cassidy to tell us things that no one seems to know about his past. Now, I can't go into specifics, as you know, but... We're hoping with that info we can speed up the process. We're hoping your professor will help out too. I said, looking at Ruth Maddock once again.

I wasn't able to look away. Ashley smiled at me as she noticed. Yep, she's a fox, she said, smirking at me. I snapped out of it and I smirked back. Look, I shall have you know I'm here in a totally professional capacity. I said facetiously. We shared a look and a grin. It's been really good to see you, Ash.

I'm going to be in Denver frequently over the next few weeks. Here, it'll be nice to have a coffee and catch up. See how you're really doing, I said, handing her my card. Absolutely. Hey, you best get down there. Looks like your partner won't let Professor Maddo get a word in, she said, looking down at the stage as Bogkin spat pure fire at Ruth Maddock, as she simply nodded along.

He already scared off the most dangerous. serial killer on the planet today with his big mouth. If I hang up here any longer, he'll scare her off as well. We shared a chuckle, said our goodbyes, and I jogged down the now empty steps towards Bogkins and matters. So anyway, stood up, pointed at him and told him, you're not special, you're nothing, and he just loses it, starts crying like a little bitch and storms out of the interview. You see people like Cassidy think they're tough and dangerous, but really they just need a man to stand up to them I'll give it to Boggins

He really sold his serial killer spanking story well Puffed his chest out like Superman and everything So yeah that's why we're here We think it's wise that Agent Boggins doesn't sit in the next interview Because Robert Cassidy is absolutely freaking terrified of him I joked And Ruth Maddox chuckle at my humor Honestly made my knees melt

Boggins's face turned to fury, but it is best to check himself and chuckle along with us to save face. You must be Special Agent Quince? I've read about your arrest of Robert Cassidy. That was quite the achievement. I must say, it's an honor to meet you. Ruth Maddock held out her hand, and I shook it gently. I smiled and modestly waved off her compliment. To be honest, Professor Maddoch, I was second in command on that case.

The hero behind that one is James Rodriguez. He's the one who put the profile together. I just helped. He's been reassigned to a more high-profile task force for the time being. And I won't lie. I feel a little out of my depth at the minute. So that's why we're here now to ask if you'll help us. I said, honestly.

Help with what? She asked. The Showtime Ripper or Killer, depending on which paper you read. I said bluntly. The professor seemed intrigued. I must say, despite the awful nature of the crimes, they have fascinated me. I've been following the cases in the media. She confessed.

There's a lot of stuff we've kept out of the media. If you agreed to be an official consultant with the FBIBSU, you'd have access to all of the case files. You could also help me interview Robert Cassidy, Well, now that Barkins is tagged out. I'd have to rearrange my schedule with the university, but I'd love to. It would really aid with my research on child psychopathy and sadistic sexual fantasies and minors. Although, I must ask, what has Robert Cassidy got to do with this case? She asked, curiously.

Well, we left out a lot of details from the news. Just in case the unsub got in touch. we could verify his identity. There were signs of cannibalism. As you know, we haven't had a serial killer indulging this sort of behavior since Dharma. Not one in custody anyway. Can't you just type him from dental?

She asked. Well, we tried, but there's no matches on the database. When we catch him, though, we can use it to crucify him in court, I explained. So you want to know why. Then maybe you'll know why STK does it. Mattercast. I mean, I'm on board regardless. Robert Cassidy, he's the new Bundy. Girls don't know whether they should fear him or fuck him. I mean, I know girls like a bad boy, but I think he's a little extreme for my taste, each to their own, I guess. But scientists have wanted to know about Cassidy's past and childhood ever since he was captured. No one knows who he was before the event. There's no record of him even being alive prior to 1994. when he was sent to a boarding school in Atlanta.

Robert Cassidy was just the name he gave to Georgia Child's services when they found him walking the streets. Any insight into his background before this time would be a publisher's wet dream. Question is, do you think he'll talk to me? Maddochast. Oh, yeah, mainly because he'll want to eat you, I quit. She didn't know whether to smile or wince.

Shall we head to my office? You can get me up to speed on the case. By our means, I'll call the AD Aquatico, make it official. Boggins declared as we all headed to Ruth Maddoch's office. Boggins and I sat patiently at one side of the desk, while Ruth Maddoch went through each of the case files individually and scrupulously. I did my absolute best not to spend the awkward silence fantasizing about myself and Ruth. It wasn't easy, though.

My partner of eight years had left me after I started on the Cassidy's, task force. The late nights, the staring at photos of sexually mutilated girls all day, the stress and the paranoia, it all took its toll. Well, now I do the same job, but there's no one to go home to unload to. I couldn't help but admire how the professor could stare at the images and see it as simply a jigsaw that needed to be sold. I began to picture us getting married, becoming some sort of power couple who sold violent crimes through the day and made passionate love through the night, when suddenly her analysis caught me off guard. I have a theory, but that's all it is right now.

She confessed. We went forward to shower our attentiveness. Any history of abuse allegations or any involvement from social services? Ruth asked. Barkin shook his head, confused by the question. In the families? He asked. Ruth nodded. Yep, in all three. I chipped in after scanning my mind.

No, if anything, quite the opposite. Mother and father, stable marriage, kids did well at school. All of them went to church. Why do you ask? I thought so. I believe the unsub is targeting families that dispute his belief of what a family should be. The way he singles out the mother with particular hatred suggests he has some sort of strained relationship. with his own mother.

Perhaps his mother was abusive towards him, or maybe even abandoned him. Seeing a loving mother with her perfect children could really rile him up. The photos of the families he takes will act as souvenirs. He can see them happy and embracing with love. Then he could relive what he did to them.

It's something we've seen other similar killers do. Dennis Rader, the BTK killer, would steal his victim, drivers, licenses, and jewelry, so he could exfixiate himself and relive the sexual gratification at a later point. Well, the interview with Cassidy didn't last long at all, but he did mention something about wanting the mother to feel helpless. Balkans interjected. Yeah, um, dehumanized was the word he used. I added. Really? Gosh, that is an interesting choice of vocabulary. You know, most people who suffer from ASPD, Their detachment from empathy starts from a distant relationship with the mother.

Our mothers are meant to sing us lullabies when we can't sleep and kiss our scraped knees when we fall down. They show us care and compassion. Someone who spends their childhood being deprived of that has much more risk of developing a detachment from human emotion and values. Ruth began to venture. So our unsup didn't get enough hugs. and kisses. It seems a bit of an extreme reaction, to be honest. Boggins jeered. I'm sure there's more to it.

This is something we'll have to press Cassidy about, I said, taking a note in my jotting pad. I agree. We need to find out what happened in his past that caused him to hate attractive and successful women so much that he wanted to destroy their bodies to such an extreme extent. It could help us see what makes our unsubb choose his victims. I'll contact Perkins at Florence. See if Cassidy is willing to talk again. Well, fingers crossed, we didn't exactly end on good terms. I dwelt.

Ruth Maddock flashed a mischievous grin and chuckled. Tell him that I will be coming. Make a point of my credentials and position. He won't be able to resist. He'll want to fantasize about what sadistic things he'd do to me, and he can't do that unless he's tease me. Trust me. It'll work. She said confidently. If you say so, I'll give you a call when I hear something. I said, reaching across the desk to shake hands with Miss Maddoch. Look forward to it.

She said with that smile that melted my insides. She didn't make a point of doing it. It just felt so genuine, not obligatory, almost like she couldn't help it. I don't know whether it was how she smiled at everyone, but he just felt like I had some depth to it. Old Balkans went green with envy and barged in to break it up. Yeah, always lovely to see you, Ruth. So glad we're going to be working together again. He held out his hand and offered an embrace. She shook his hand for a brief second and barely made eye contact.

I caught a smile that was slipping out. I look forward to working with you both. Thank you for thinking of me, David. Ruth said genuinely. we welcomed her and left the university the rest of the day was spent getting a motel for myself from boggins in denver mokin's liaised with perkins from florence and ruth was right perkins told cassidy an attractive and successful criminologist wanted to visit to interview him

and he was intrigued to say the least the interview was set for eleven a m in two days time boggins and i were going through the case files when the phone rang I answered it It was Deputy Director Ray Even sir What can I do I was cut off almost instantly How quickly can you be in Wichita

He asked intensely Two, three hours Why sir My question was met with a brief pause of silence Followed by a sigh He struck again Peter About five Thankfully I arrived in Park City

Rather quickly the time I got to Denver International, there was a plane just about to take off. I hopped on and a hundred or so minutes later, I was firing up my rental car and heading to the address in South Wichita. Bogkin stayed in Denver, transcribing the Cassidy interview, going through the evidence files and liaising with Ruth Maddock and so on, all the while waiting for me to trust him with something more important and make amends for his actions yesterday. I poured up across the street from 231 Charleston Drive. There were already emergency services on the scene.

Wichita, ambulances, Kansas State Coroner's Office, and now me, the sole representative of the FBI. I approached the officer in charge, which was Deputy Officer Jim Meller. I flashed my badge and introduced myself. Special Agent Peter Quince, behavioral science unit. I'm heading up the task force assigned to profiling the unsub responsible for the home invasions. Jim Mella looked too young to be heading up something this high profile His pasty face and scrawny frame looked like he had much more growing to do But he had to be at least 22

I simply guessed it was down to poor staff numbers at Wichita Good evening agent glad to have you on the scene Do you have any idea of who we should be looking for The deputy asked I didn't feel like telling him that I had absolutely jack shit Well, I've just been assigned. It's early days, but we're looking for a white male, 25 to 35, someone with a history of sexual abuse. He's lightly strong from bodybuilding or perhaps trained in combat sports.

Maybe he's served in some sort of military or emergency service. Doesn't mind breaking into a house with another adult male in it. All the men were mid-30s, no more than 175 pounds, average height. He's slightly taller and heavier than the men, but not so much he'd be in. intimidating. He's potentially worked near the houses before because he's got a good idea of how to get in without making too much noise. I gave him pretty broad strokes. This was basic stuff. I had no idea who we were looking for. So, um, who were the deceased? I asked. The Bansans lived here for years. No history of domestic or sexual abuse with child services. Didn't even

drink. The father, Joseph, 38, was tortured before he died from severe blood loss, after his genitals were removed. The three kids, Beverly 16, Ashley 12, Michael 8, all died from strangulation. And then the mom, Wendy. The deputy took a minute to gather himself. He almost winced, but caught himself and apologized for not remaining professional. It's fine, deputy. You're doing great. Are you local? I asked, empathetically. He nodded in spite of his emotions. Oh, yes, sir. Benjamin Hills, born and bred, he said, proud of his hometown heritage. He added, sorry, it's just we don't usually get things like this. Some of the vets at the station, they say they ain't seen a home invasion this disturbing since the Oteros all the way back in 74.

Well, that was way before my time, so well. So this is your first time with this sort of thing. I, once again, asked, empathetically. He nodded, shamefully. I put a friendly hand on his shoulder, I didn't him know it was okay to be bothered by something like this. He picked up his chin, stiffened up his lip, and dusted himself off. Shall we go inside?

Maybe it's best I just show you, the deputy suggested. I gestured for him to lead the way. We began to make our way into the crime scene. There's always something about knowing a horrific thing has happened in the house that just makes the place feel darker, like some sort of abyss into the depths of the underworld as formed in its very hallways. Any sign of forced entry, I asked, as we made our way through the corridors. Mellon nodded cautiously.

We think he'd got the window open in the kids' room. Why? You think they knew the killer? he asked. I didn't answer his question because I didn't know what to tell him yet. Instead, I peered into the children's bedroom and saw what I was expecting to see. That's how he got in, I asked, gesturing towards the open window. We've had that in every house.

Our theory is he finds a family, stalks a house, waged for the night when the children's window is open, sneaks in and does his thing. "'Stalk's a house,' the deputy probed. "'Yep, there was a large tree with sturdy branches "'that overlooked the garden at the first and third houses. "'Then there was a treehouse at the second. "'All the houses were single-story,

"'much easier to climb into and not make any noise "'when you don't need a ladder.' "'So you don't think he knows the victims personally?' "'Deeputy Meller again asked, "'as we made our way to the master bedroom. "'If I have had a house, had to answer at this point then i don't think so was as a victim's all different states hard to see how he'd know each set of victims at this moment we believe he moves to different areas maybe for an occupation

where they catch his eye somehow and then the stalking begins then the attack and then he moves on i answered as honestly as i could the deputy seemed satisfied with the answer we arrived at the master bedroom door which was slightly ajar. Inside the flashing and snapping of a polar-eyed camera was going on. This is Frank Adams. He's a freelance crime scene photographer. One of the best in the business. Frank, this is his special agent Peter Quinn's from the bureau.

The deputy said, doing his utmost not to look at the horrific scene on the bed. Frank, however, a seasoned professional, rose to his feet and shook my hand firmly. Pleasure to meet you, agent. Well, I think we've already met, he said with a smile. Same to you, Mr. Adams. Really? Have we? I returned, slightly shocked.

Yeah, I photographed all the murder scene so far. You came to the Deville House last week. I guess us forensic workers all look the same, huh? He joked. Oh, my God, I'm so sorry. I feel so rude. Nothing like a hacked-up family to make you lose your manners, eh? I apologize genuinely.

I didn't like the stuck-up federal agent reputation that some law enforcers stuck us with. That's fine. You'll know for next time, won't you? He said, slapping a friendly hand on my shoulder. Or anyway, almost finished. Then I'll be out of your hair. You just need to photograph Mrs. Benson.

He added, getting back into position with his camera. Oh, go right ahead. I invite it. Frank Adams smiled and snapped four photos. of the victim, put the Polaroid photos into an evidence back and began to leave the room. I caught him. Before you leave them, could you give me a rundown in the crime seat? I asked. He put his equipment down on the dressing table and gestured for me to follow him. I, in my opinion, the unsub entered here, through the window, attacked the children

in their beds and subdued him. As he spoke, I made notes. We found this on one of the boys. He said, showing a polaroid depicting a nasty-looking flesh wound on the oldest Charles ribs. If I had to guess, I'd say a pair of pliers. Use them to make the child groan in pain. Unsup hid behind the door, waited for Mr. Benson to enter in haste. Judging by the external bruising on Mr. Benson's neck, I'd guess a rear chokehold. Mrs. Benson was then, at his mercy.

He said, holding back a wince. He led us back to the master bedroom As you can see the children were lined up against the east side wall Watching as the unsub raped tortured and mutilated the victim Antimortem and post-mortem Once the deed was over He killed the children by asphyxiation them Father was also tortured and murdered

As soon as Frank had finished his walkthrough Something caught my ear Wait, the husband was tortured I asked scanning my mind back to the other cases. Frank looked caught off guard by my question. Yeah, not what you're expecting, he asked. Well, um, last three adult male victims showed signs of blunt force trauma to the head,

likely to subdue them. Then they all died in the same manner as the children, knife wound to the throat. Generals were removed on the last victim, but that was done post-mortem, I informed. Frank looked at me curiously. but in this case the husband was tortured just as much as the wife and the castration occurred antimortem. Loss of blood being the cause of death, I added. Hmm, you think he's changing his M.O.

Frank smiled as if to say, Great minds think alike, as his question was phrased as more of a statement. Maybe. Part of me thinks this wasn't even the same killer, I said, extravagantly with a bit of a chuckle. Mellar and Adams sighed me curiously. I gestured that I would provide a reason behind my fairy. I has a lot more blood on the sheets than the previous three victims, indicating that the victim was tortured more ante-mortem than post-mortem. The victim is missing parts of her flesh.

It's been done with blades and pliers. The other victims were bitten. Look at the signs of extreme violence inflicted. It's a complete next level to the other victims. The others were about control and power. This was about hate and anger. It's a similar scene, but the MO is totally different. I analysed this as I scanned the rest of the house.

The deputy and the photographer followed me eagerly. Anything missing from the home? I asked. The deputy looked at me and the photographer with a confused look on his face and asked. No, like what? Like a family photo? there was a photo taken from the home in all previous cases the deputy pouted and began to shake his head but looked at frank adams for confirmation

the photographer backed him up no nothing like that you see um we're operating on the assumption he takes a photo of the family as a trophy nothing been taken from the scene so hmm what is he using as a souvenir i was asking anyone who could muster and ask Frank Adams seemed curious about the criminal mind. It was like the star pupil who always put up his hand in class.

What's the purpose of the trophies? Why are they important to the unsub? Adams asked. Violent sexually motivated criminals commit their acts to feel the sexual gratification that can't achieve in their normal lives. It's not easy planning a kill. A lot of work goes into it. It can be a lengthy process, so to give them a release in the meantime,

they relive what they've done by revisiting the scene of their crimes. If they can't do that, though, then the trophies can tide them over. So they are extremely important. I'm really surprised that nothing's missing. My speech began to become more of a thinking pattern that was being spoken. Frank Adams took this opportunity to make his exit. Right, anyway, I'd best get these photos into evidence. I'll make sure to get you a copy of my report, Agent Quince.

pleasure to meet you he shook my hand firmly once again don't worry we'll get them he said with a wink i smiled back yeah i hope so frank adams left and i was left with the green as grass deputy miller he didn't seem to be able to stomach much more of the scene i let him go back to door duty where i rewalked the scene a few more times Once I'd made notes, recordings and took photos, I decided to make my way back to Denver. Nothing much else I could do here. I've got everything I need, Deputy. I met him back to Denver. Maybe we'll meet again, I said. Really?

You think you'll be back? He replied, still clearly shaken by it all. Hopefully, we have a project going on right now where we are researching similar offenders to Ransub. Once we're happy with the findings, we'll present a profile to local law enforcement to aim their efforts. So at Wichita, could be one of those departments, I informed him. Jim Mellar smiled. Well, I hope so. We get a lot of feds coming down here, acting like their shit don't stick.

You've been really understanding to my inexperience. It's been a pleasure meeting you, he said, genuinely. He shook my hand, much less firm. than the photographer. I put that down to his age, personality and experience. I'm pretty new to this stuff too, I confessed. Thankfully, I shouted one of the best agents in the bureau when we worked on the Cassidy case.

I've got a degree, but if I'm honest, I learned everything I know from that, I added. My point is, my training wheels haven't been off as long as you'd think, so I know exactly how you feel. But going to 20 crime scenes of violence and rape does make you a little desensitized to it and you'll get used to it, I assured him. He scoffed.

Not sure I ever want to become a person who's used to shit like that, he confided it. I nodded gently in reply, knowing exactly what he meant. I managed to just about catch the red eye back to Colorado. A few hours of flying and tedious driving later I was carefully trying to open my motel room door quietly, to my utmost not to wait Boggins.

I crawled into the other twin bed and curled up facing the wall, drifting off into a shallow four-hour sleep, all the while dreaming of home invaders and violent rapists. What a life. I barely seemed to have my eyes shut for more than 20 seconds before Boggins was shaking me awake. I set up groggy as he passed me an instant coffee that he prepared himself.

Thanks, I musted. Get that down your neck. We'll grab some breakfast and you can tell me everything. Bogkins exclaimed. Throwing back the drapes and allowing the Colorado sun to beam into my face. I squinted purposely, signaling to Boggins that a bit of warning would have been preferred. I was a nice little diner just down the road from my motel. Full buffet and bottomless coffee for $599 seemed an absolute.

steel. We parted up in the booth at the back of the establishment, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. So, is it him? Boggins asked, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth. Ah, not sure, I answered, as I stared vacantly into my breakfast, pushing a piece of bacon into the egg yolk. Bogkin stopped chewing long enough to cock his head in puzzlement. But D.D. Race said That... It was very similar. Unsup came through the window. Subjured the kids, lured the husband into an attack,

made them watch the mother's ordeal, and killed the witnesses. I laid it out, fit. So, what are the differences then? He asked, intrigued. The main victim wasn't left in the same hog gross position. It was just laid on her back. The wounds were all inflicted with instruments rather than teeth.

She had all sorts of wounds to her skin and flesh. All the sodomy and destruction of her reproductive organs occurred when she was alive. I don't even think she'd been raped. I've requested an autopsy to confirm. Additionally, the husband had also been tortured, arguably just as much as the wife. He'd been sodomized as well with one of the children's toys. Oh, and the children. Throats weren't slit.

They'd been asphyxied. Well, the scene is the same, but the details are so different. Oh, there were no photos taken. I decided to leave it there, as I could see Boggins was struggling to keep up. Yeah, sorry, it's been a long night, I added. Or maybe he's just changing his M.O. Wouldn't be the first time a killer did that to throw off the investigators, would it? Boggins pondered.

Well, I guess not, but... I sighed with hesitancy. That's using a knife instead of a gun or dumping a body in the woods instead of the lake, but this was different. The level of violence inflicted was to cause serious agony. It wasn't to humiliate or dehumanize. This was out of serious hate. I don't know. It's all mixed up in my head, I said, taking a huge gulp of coffee.

Maybe just take the morning. Relax your mind. Way for the reposts to come through from Wichita. RPD. It'll make more sense. Bogkin said, sounding like the occupational therapist at Quantico. Maybe you're right, I said with a sigh of acceptance. Anyway, Ruth wanted us to head up to the university again today. Make up a questionnaire for the Cassidy interview. Well, she's intrigued to hear about the Benson's. Okay, let's finish our food and get our files and we'll head up. I told Boggins,

finishing the last of my coffee. And we shoveled the rest of the bacon in our mouths, got a refill for the road, and made our way back to the hotel. Hopkins played the good soldier and took the scenic route to the university, allowing me to have a much-needed power nap in the passenger seat. I couldn't help but feel conscious about my appearance

as we made our way to Ruth Maddox office. I was hoping I didn't look too tired before scolding myself for thinking like a 15-year-old schoolboy. When we entered the office, Ruth was just finishing marking her student's papers. Ah, good morning, gentlemen. How are we? She asked, her bubbliness, that of a person who had at least eight hours' sleep. I envied her.

Ready to get into it, Boggins exclaimed. Ready to get into bed, I confessed. Ruth chuckled. Yeah, I can see. You just get back from Wichita? Ah, 5 a.m., I said, causing her to wince for me. I smiled in return, appreciating her, making me feel at ease. I could see Boggins going green with envy out of the corner of my eye,

as we shared the moment, and I grinned even more. So we can add the Bensons to the list of victims of the Showtime killer? She asked, objectively, looking through the files I'd placed on her desk. Quincy's not sure. Boggins chirped up. Ruth shot her head out to look at me with surprise. Really? She asked.

Wichita thinks he's just changed his M.O. to stay ahead of the police. But there's just something that doesn't sit with me. I mean, go ahead and look at my notes and give me your opinion, I invited, waving my palm out towards the files. Ruth's expression told me she was accepting the invitation, and we then waited patiently for her expert opinion. Around 20 minutes later, she closed the file, knocked the papers back into a neat pile against her desk and bluntly said, I agree, this isn't him.

Boggins and I both looked up in surprise. Well, Boggins was more confused, whereas I was more relieved. I knew I wasn't reading too much into it. You really think so? I asked, fishing for confirmation. Absolutely. It'll be interesting to see that hot hot. autopsy report. I'll lay you good odds that she wasn't raped. She sounded confident. I was intrigued. I gave Bogkins a, I told you so, grin. What makes you say that? Boggins probed. I pulled my chair forward to show my interest.

The first three victims were beaten, raped, and stabbed. The bites to the flesh, stab wounds, and the insertion of foreign objects into the anus. and vagina was all done post-mortem. Whereas here, our unsubb not only doesn't take the trophy, but he tortures Mrs. Benson sadistically. He tears her flesh with the pliers, cuts her, stabs her, burns her, violates, penetrates, and sodomizes her with the bedpost. All this is done anti-mortem. He does the same with Mr. Benson, too, destroys his flesh with the hardware, then castrates him and sodomizes him with a children's toy as he lays bleeding to death. Then the children have been asphyxiated, not lacerated.

Look at the bruising on the tip of the noses. She pointed at the photo which depicted a close-up of the children's faces. Boggins and I looked in closely, remaining professional and hiding our contempt for whatever monster had done this. Well, say what you want about Robert Cassidy, but he never harmed a child. I read the reports on the first three victims. The children had their throats sliced,

but the pathologist reports indicate the unsub was right-handed, and the wounds were inflicted from left to right. But here, that bruising indicates the killer used a bag and applied the pressure from behind, meaning... I didn't want to look at him, they answered out loud, following Ruth's thought pattern.

Exactly. The first three victims were all made to look into their killer's eyes when he slit their throats. Ruth explained, not exactly the behavior of the showtime killer, the killer who loves an audience, Bogkin said, finally starting to get on board. I think this was someone with a grudge

and dressed it up to make it look like the work of a high-profile murderer. This is below our radar, you ask me. If STK is out there, then he's planning another murder soon. The hot nights are coming to an end soon, less people leaving their windows open. He'll have to make a move soon. Ruth speculated, just as my phone pinged, signifying I had an email. Well, um, you were right. Pathologist's report just came through. No signs of conventional rape, I informed her. Could you forward the reports from Wichita to my email? I'd like to go over them in my own time if that's okay.

Ruth asked. I gestured I was happy to do it and sent on the documents. Is anything on why none of the victims managed to call the police? Ruth questioned. Well, the first three houses, all the phone lines were cut, so they couldn't use the landlines. However, it's 2017. Why wouldn't they use their mobiles right?

Well, I did a bit of digging into complaints to cell phone companies on the nights of the murders in the surrounding area. There's a spike in complaints to each of the top providers around the times of the murders from the neighbouring streets. I think he uses a signal blocker. I hypothesized. Fair assumption. Ruth admitted, giving me a look of awe and admiration. I couldn't help perk up in my seat. So, what are we doing about Cassidy?

Boggins asked. his jealous side desperately trying to change the subject. Well, I've made up a first draft questionnaire that I want both your inputs on. Ruth informed, pulling a piece of paper out of her desk. She began to go through the bullet points and what she wanted to obtain from Cassidy. Meanwhile, I started to daydream and stare at the map of the USA on the office wall. Third murder, Nebraska. Second murder, Oklahoma.

First murder, Texas. I began to speak out loud, waiting for someone to catch on to my train of thoughts. Fourth murder, Wichita. They make a line, but they're not in order, I continued. Do you not think that's a little strange? I asked. Ruth began to see what I was talking about. I really don't think it's an accident that all these states are neighboring. Imagine you were a serial killer.

You know if your name turns up on Flay. records to other states in patterns around a murder timeline, you know it's going to lead them to you sooner or later. So you drive to a neighboring city, commit your crime, then move on to the next. Ruth speculated. When Cassidy killed his victims, he never killed anywhere in Texas while he lived there, I added. So maybe he left out Kansas because it's a little too close to home? Boggins joined in. Or maybe It is his home, I thought out loud again. But then why go back and do the murder there anyway?

Ruth proposed. Well, I thought we were assuming this wasn't our guy, I challenged. This made Boggins and Ruth meet my gaze, and you could hear everyone's gears in their head begin to turn. It's important we don't get tunnel vision here. This pattern could be purely coincidental. Ruth reminded us. I'll request a background check on the Benson's.

Maybe it'll give us the information we need, I said, pulling out my phone and making a call to WichitaP. The phone rang a few times before a female voice answered. Good morning, Wichita Police Department. Des Sergeant Rosie Conwell speaking, a friendly voice said. Good morning, Sergeant Conwell. It's special agent Peter Quince from the Behavioral Science Unit. at the FBI.

I consulted on one of your crime scenes last night and... The Benson's? She asked, bluntly, cutting me off. Yes, that's correct. I'd like to request a background check on the deceased, if I may. I politely request it.

I'll consult the office around the scene, then I'll put it together and forward it onto you, she told me. Ah yes, Deputy Mella. I've met him, nice guy. I informed her. She took my email and told me, I'd have the report within the next 24 hours.

I thanked her and hung up. We should know more by tomorrow morning at latest. I informed the group. Okay, then. Let's get back to Mr. Cassidy. Ruth said, clicking her pen and gesturing back towards the questionnaire, preparing for what would no doubt be a taxing interview tomorrow.

Bart 6. Ruth Maddoch, despite her years studying violent sex offenders, and likely taking part in multiple prisons. her research projects, well, you could tell she was extremely unsettled and daunted by the procedures at Florence and, especially, our descent into the hole. You just know whoever's down here is the worst of the worst. I imagine this is what descending into the underworld would feel like. Perkins led us to the same interview room as before, gave his hand setting up the recording equipment before leaving the room to fetch the prisoner. You okay? he asked Ruth softly.

Her demeanor was the most vulnerable that I'd seen in the brief time I'd known. It was a strange sight. Yeah, fine. She said, shrugging it off. I knew what was bothering her, though. It just keeps your questionnaire. Don't let him get you talking about you or your personal life. Any questions relating to investigations, Howell Field.

It's going to be intense, but you'll do fine. I know it. I assured her. She gave me another gorgeous smile, and we shared a stare, honestly made me forget that we were there. And then, the door buzzed, and just like the lock on the door, we were snapped out of our moments.

We turned to face the glass. Robert Cassidy was forced down into his seat and had the sack removed from his head. His chains were fastened to the table once again, and the guards gave a thumbs up to the camera in the corner of the room, signaling to Perkins that he wasn't going anywhere. Cassidy gave me a forced and sarcastic smile.

Good morning, agent. Nice to see you again. He turned his smarmy grin to Ruth. I saw his eyes light up and his pupils pinned. His grin became more of a sinister and hungry smile. I swear he bit his lip. Must be the renowned and brilliant Professor Ruth Maddoch. Cassidy said, mouth moving, everything else remained frozen in place. It was truly unnerving, but Ruth, Ruth, being the strong, professional woman she is, handled it well. Yes, very nice to meet you, Mr. Cassidy. How are you today? She asked calmly. He didn't flinch. His eyes just bored holes into her soul.

A few tense moments passed before suddenly he blinked a few times, relaxed his features, and calmly replied with, Ah, the pleasure's all mine, Professor. Can't complain too much for a man who hasn't seen much daylight in over eight months anyway. Well, who knows? The offer I may still stands.

If you give us what we need, then maybe I can get you move back into Site A. You'll still be on 23-hour lockdown, but you'll get yard time and social interaction. And I'll push for extra privileges like TV and Jim. I laid all the cards on the table for Cassidy. Well, then, let's get to it. Not a busy day ahead. He said facetiously. Ruth cleared her throat.

Thank you, Mr. Cassidy. Please, call me Robert. Cassidy instructed Ruth. She composed herself once again and restarted. Thank you, Robert. I, along with Special Agent Quince, are grateful for your cooperation in this process. Your answers, responses, and insights will be used in conjunction with current and future FBI assignments. In addition to this, the transcripts,

will be available to academic and research purposes in the field of criminology, forensic psychology, and psychopathy. None of your answers, responses, or insights can be used against you in any applications or appeals for parole. As Ruth read from the document, Cassidy raised his eyebrows. Spoken like a true bureaucrat. Cassidy quips. Ruth ignored his comment. I'd like to start with some questions into your child. childhood. So what I would... Her approach was quickly shut down by Cassidy, tutting and shaking his head.

When I was told a brilliant, amazing, well-renowned female professor who makes every man she meets quiver like a little schoolboy, well, I expected more. His pupils drop for a millisecond to Ruth's hands before flashing back up into position, back boring into her soul. Oh, no ring I see. What's the matter, Ruth? On the surface you look like every man's dream. What's underneath, though?

Paranoia? Insecurities. You come in here hiding under your Versace blazer, strutting in your $700 heels, so you can barely walk in, armed with your prouder handbag like every other sad stereotype, desperately trying to prove to everyone she's something she's not. Even your questions are predictable. Was your degree awarded from some rural community college in the middle of Inbredville, Georgia?

You want my advice? You had some fucking originality and stopped wasting my fucking time with your tedious and generic examination. Cassidy had some venom behind his words, but he looked like his steady pulse never even flickered. I expected Ruth to be rattled. Cassidy had a skill of smelling out your insecurities and putting them on show, all for you to feel that your mother. most vulnerable. I felt awkward for her, to be honest. But as I turned my head to give her a look of reassurance, I saw she was smiling. Wow, your reputation precedes you, Robert. You really are the monster you're made out to be. She said, like a zoologist, admiring the last of an endangered

species. She placed the questionnaire back in her bag and clasped her hands together. Work likes everything procedural. I don't. She said, pulling the tie from her hair and letting her blonde red locks flow onto her shoulders. Cassidy's mouth opened ever so slyly and his cheeks tensed even more subtly in the beginnings of a devilish grin. Oh, now you're talking, he said intensely. Ruth flashed her pearly whites in response. Well, I just sat there, you know, quite frankly.

I sensed a real disdain a moment there when you were giving your opinion on me. care to explain those feelings in a more contextual manner? She asked, clearly and confidently. Do you have children, Ruth? Cassidy asked, ignoring her question with a question. No. Her answer, honest and calm. Why not? He probed.

I don't think with my schedule at the university and everything else that I'd have time to raise a family. Cassidy didn't seem impressed with her. her answer. He shook his head in disapproval. You know what your appearance says to me. Tells me that you've been with the wrong man at one point in your life. The fiery red head. Telling the men you meet that you have passion. You can handle yourself. A war paint, if you will. The overpriced clothes. Trying to intimidate your potential partners. The Ivy League strut. Telling any white trash wife beaters that you're smarter than they are. I watched you from myself when you came through.

The way you stumble every five steps in those six-inch heels tells me you haven't had years or experience wearing them. Yet you've been a professor for clearly over ten years. You didn't always dress like this. Something changed you. There's a man, wasn't it? What did he do to you, Ruth? I was so bad that you went from little geeky science lover Ruthie all the way to sexy intellectual professor murder. adultery, alcohol, abuse. You really don't need to answer. But my concern was cut short by Ruth

answering defiantly. Yes, you're right. He used to beat me. She snapped. Cassidy smiled. His demeanor changed, however. He seemed less hostile towards her now. Honesty, it's a good trade in a woman, but not something I see often. Cassidy said with a shake of his head in a slight time. Oh, please continue, Ruth. My first long-term boyfriend was violent toward me. I just began to study my master's in criminal psychology at Princeton and was living in New Jersey at the time. He was from Asbury Park and we'd met at a bar. I was a young, inexperienced, education-obsessed geek. The fact this attractive and mysterious bad boy was trying to seduce me, it really brought out the 14-year-old girl in me who never had a boy even want to kiss me. I fell for every line

he threw my way. She confessed. Cassidy playing the role of a therapist, nodding his head. What did he do? Must have been pretty bad, Ruthie. He broke. Started out by stealing money from my student loans to pay for his drug, debts. He brought trouble to our door. He'd spend all hours of the night up to God knows what. I was struggling with working to pay for the house, balancing two jobs with my studies. He'd refused to work or repay any of the money he took from me. Something worse happened, though, didn't it? Ruth nodded. I once again expressed my misgivings about opening up any further, but her gestures insisted that she was fine.

I became pregnant at 20. I didn't tell him at first, but eventually I did, hoping it would be the kick up the ass he needed to grow up. Then what, Ruthie? Then what? Cassidy probed again. I was five months pregnant. He came home from a three-day bender. Over $2,000 was taken from my savings, and I screamed at him, telling him he was a waste of space.

Oh, and how dare you? way, Cassidy asked, provocatively. He knocked me to the ground and began kicking my stomach like a sandbag until there was nothing left inside. Then he moved on to my face. A tiny tear escaped from Ruth's eye, as in that moment she was clearly back on that kitchen floor. Cassidy reveled for a few seconds in the torment he caused before getting to his points. But you did the right thing, didn't you? You didn't stick around, how did you?

He probed. Ruth shook her head. Doctors told me I'd suffered severe hemorrhaging and I'd miscarried. I told them what happened. The police were involved and he spent three years in prison for aggravated assault. By the point he was released, I'd moved to Denver to take part in the university's research and teaching projects. Her admission was met with approval by Cassidy. and his hands not being shackled to his torso, I think you would have actually applauded her.

I respect that, truly I do. Hence while I always have respect for my wife, Amy, he admitted. Ex-wife, I corrected, earning a death stare from Cassidy. Hence while I'll always respect my ex-wife. She found out what I was and she acted. She did what she had to do to protect her children. Like you did, Ruthie. You didn't stick around and bring a child into that toxic relationship.

I mean, who knows what would have happened if you didn't. Maybe it would have been your own flesh and blood hacking up families in the Midwest. Cassidy speculated with a shrug and a pound. Pardon me, Robert, but I'd like to explore that if I may. Cassidy gestured that the floor was hers. You hinted there that you believe a child being brought into an abuse. abusive home would be a large indicator he'd go on to commit heinous acts of violence. Is that what happened to you, Robert?

Ruth probed. Cassidy examined her for a moment. I think he appreciated her honesty and she'd earned some of his respect. He decided to answer. I think there was always something not quite right there with me, to be perfectly honest. From the minute I could form memories, I remember feeling pain every day. I never understood why until I realized it was being inflicted by the man I called father. Cigarette burns, bare fists, tight radiators while they were turned on.

I just thought it was playtime like everyone else. I mean, my father certainly seemed to enjoy it. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe you just light herding me, who knows. Either way, that was mine and my father's bonding time. It was like he was teaching me to fish, all right, a bike, he said, a touch of dark humor. We allowed him to continue. Meanwhile, on the other hand, I never bonded with my mother. She tried to breastfeed me and it ended up biting her, more often than not drawing blood. I can't explain why. It just felt good having my turn

inflicting the pain for a change. Cassidy's answer was very self-observant. He'd be the ideal therapy's client. Sigmund Freud believed there were five stages of psychosexual development. Trauma, known or not, in the early years, can lead to an oral fixation when it comes to self-soothe

and pleasure. Most people become smokers or bite their nails, but in extreme cases, that may, amongst other factors, explain your fixation with eating flesh. Freud. Very original.

He's golf. Whether he's too mainstream for your liking or not, it's irrelevant. He's that for a reason, because his theories are wild and out there, but they have substance. Can you tell me about how life at home as a child developed for you as you matured? Ruth probed further. As I aged and started school, I started to realize I wasn't like other children. I'll be asked about scars, bruises, and cuts by teachers. Guess will pick on me for the way I looked and smelled.

You know the story. Anyway, I remember this one time I came into school. One of the bullies knocks my books on the floor. I bend to pick it up, and as I extend my arm, my sleeve rides up. The teacher sees the ligature marks on my wrist. Cigarette burns on my forearms. She gasps. My mother gets a visit from child welfare.

and by this point I knew my father was a bad person. I was expecting her to tell them what he was doing to me. I thought she'd get them to make him stop, but she didn't. She didn't, I asked, almost sympathetically. No, Agent Quince, she did not. In fact, she told them it was me, who was the bad one. Told him I like to play rough with other kids in the neighborhoods. But I ignore her warnings and run near the stairs,

and sometimes I'd trick. She also told them I was a problem child, and showed them the bite marks on her skin. We have to remember this was a time where children could be struck at school and it was okay. Ah, what a performance. They fucking aided up. That night, father returned home and gave me the hazing of a lifetime. All the while, mother just watched and said nothing.

I'm on the floor bleeding, aching. Oh, father, started taking his belt off and began to up. unfastened his trousers. I looked up at my mother and begged her to make him stop. begged him not to do what I guessed he was going to do. She didn't move a muscle as he pulled my trousers down and pushed me face into the mattress. Do you know what she said? We both shook our heads. Oh, I've got to get to work. Have fun guys. Cassidy said, impersonating a happy housewife voice. She was a secretary for an accountant downtown. Boss made her work all sorts of hours. All she could do to bring some money home for food, rent and father's addictions.

All the while I was dehumanized by father every night without fail till I was old enough to make him starve. Dehumanized. That's the word you used in our first interview, I pointed out. Yes, it is, isn't it? Cassidy said, rhetorically, with a purposeful smile. Please, Agent Quince, if I may, I'd like to continue with Robert's childhood. We will revisit key points in a short while, okay? Ruth requested. I nodded and gestured for her to go ahead.

How did it make you feel when your father abused you? And how did it make you feel when your mother turned a blind eye? She asked. Cassidy sat back, staring vacantly through the glass. into Ruth's size. I didn't feel anything. Not emotionally anyway. I just felt like I was being abandoned,

disrespectful. Strange feelings for a child. Ruth pointed out. I was a strange child. I just knew her father was not meant to be and rape his son, and I knew mothers are meant to protect their young at all costs.

So it angered me she didn't. She knew the damage father was doing, but she was too fucking weak to do anything about it. She'd concentrate on her career, bury her head in the sand. All the while I was getting brutalized and sodomized like clockwork. But hey, at least she's making money right. He added sarcastically.

Is that why you targeted woman of childbearing ages who were successful from a professional or academic point of view? Because they reminded you of your mother gallivanting around while you were at home being raped? She asked. Cassidy decided not to answer that, but his shrug told us everything we needed to know. Okay, moving on, you alluded that you made your father stop once you were old enough. Care to elaborate on that?

Ruth probed. People look at me like I'm a monster, but I imagine anyone who was treated the way I was would be somewhat emotionally distant. I always knew I wasn't the sort of person who'd get easily attached, so we say. Maybe with all parents, that had been what you academics call a successful psychopath. You know, like a banker or a politician or something. But no, I knew I was going to be something else, because if there's one thing father taught me well, it was how to be a fucking monster.

You both sat quiet and let Cassidy continue. Around the age of 12, I started to realize when he came to sexual fantasies, I was into women or girl, should I say. However, I was a typical smelly, bruised, scruffy child who could barely walk in a straight line from being raped daily, so it was fair to say I couldn't approach any girl that took my eye. So how did this affect you? Ruth probed.

I did what any other prebescent child would. I turned to pornography. Started off with the usual stuff, but I started to soon realize that I liked the videos where the woman was being completely ravished, the man totally in control. I like to see her hair nearly pulled from the roof, her back arched from the force. I liked it when they cried. I liked it when they bled. The videos I saw it out began to become much more extreme. Leg spread of shackles, ball gags. The screams more from pain than pleasure. So then your tastes, they escalated,

Didn't they? Even further? Ruth pushed. Oh yes, the videos I liked to watch became extremely violent. Women beaten, tied up, raped, violated, sodomized against their will. Someone even killed after. Those were my favorites. The way their eyes bulged and the veins and their neck pulsated as they screamed in sheer agony. And they started to shape my views on women and sets.

So what became of your mother and father? Ruth asked. The man I knew his father spent so much of his evening raping, drinking and using that when it came to the daytime, he just wanted to sleep. Conveniently, he was a smoker. I was quite bright from my age.

I just took a few of those fire safety commercials warning people not to smoke in bed or when he had tired on the couch before the idea formulated it in my head. Bottle of whiskey still in his hands, needle hanging from the arm. the prig made it so easy even when the flames

caught to his skin he didn't wake up a bit of a disappointment to be honest but by the time the fire department arrived and the house was caving in on him I heard his whimper turned into a grove that made me happy I remember smiling at that

because it was enough for me to know he could feel it and what about your mother Ruth asked she returned to find her done what she was too fucking weak to do. I got rid of him. Did I get a thank you though? No.

She just showed me that I was right about them both. After the fire, we moved out of state. She'd leave me at home alone. No food in the cupboards. No water coming through the pipes. Nothing to wipe my fucking ass with. Without father, mother turned to the old bottle herself. Except her sexual drive from the booze didn't affect.

me directly. She spent her nights out at bars picking up anyone who give her a sniff of attention. My disdain for her grew and grew. It was the point where I wanted to do something about her too. Well, don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed killing father, but it was via proxy. The flames did the work, and I just facilitate it. So what did you do? Ruth probed. The tension of the conversation rising. I decided I was going to feel this one. Age 15, she came home one night alone. She climbed into bed and began to drift off. I followed her in creeping quietly.

In my hand, the barbed wire I'd extracted from a farmer's fence earlier that day. Ruth and I just looked on in horror as Cassidy began smiling, like he was reminiscing about a fun family vacation. Oh, it's strange, isn't it? You mention Freud, and I do believe he hypothesized that sons secretly fantasize about being sexual with her own mothers. But they start through fear of the father finding out. That was him, wasn't it? Cassidy asked.

Ruth nodded. The Oedipus complex, yes. She confirmed. Cassidy grinned. Well, there was no father around to scare me off anymore. He said coldly. Neither of us wanted to ask what came next. Unfortunately, we didn't have to,

as Cassidy was more than happy to tell us. I wanted her to know what it was like. To be hurt, brutalized, to be fucking raped by your own flesh and blood. And no, no one is going to fucking help you. Cassidy's cold calmness was now building to an incensed rage. His mouth was beginning to froth. Okay, this is clearly a raw subject for you.

Maybe we should... Ruth's attempt to easing the tension was interrupted by Cassidy. He wasn't finished. The way she looked into my eyes. Most victims look at their attacker with pleading eyes, don't they? Why are you doing this? Why me? She didn't, though.

No, she knew exactly why I was doing this. Instead, her eyes for the first time in her fucking life said, Sorry. After that, I ran away. Far, far away. Where did you go? Ruth asked. Atlanta.

Stored the last of my mother's petty cash. The only time her career came in handy to me. Got myself cleaned up and headed to the bus stop. Grabbed the first bus out of town. The bus driver was called Roberts. There was a kid next to me reading a Spider-Man comic. In the issue, the villain was called Cletus Cassidy. It was a serial killer.

Seemed fitting. What happened in Atlanta, then, under your new name? I asked. Things didn't go as smoothly as I expected. It wasn't long before I was spotted by some do-gooders and reported at child services. Before I knew it, I was taken into the foster care system. At the start I was passed from pillar to post For a few months trying to find somewhere long term

No one ever wanted to keep me though I think people knew I was never gonna be normal I had a caseworker who persevered with me however Nice guy I've been acing the SATs and the IQ test at the local high school I was in the 99th percentile for anything they gave me Maths science English you name it

He put in a referral for sending me to a young boy's boarding school. He felt it would help me with the next step in my education, social interaction, and independence. And did it help? I asked nonchalantly. Oh yes, but as you know, Agent Quince, the statistical possibility of a sexual predator working in a home for boys is greater than 82%. And who better to pray on than a boy who came from the streets, with no parents to check on them. his welfare, already emotionally distant. I don't think I was there for even a week before I was being called to Mr. Rowland's office, the head teacher. Cassidy admitted a slight tuckle in tow. And what did he want? Ruth asked naively, blow jobs mainly. At first, I got things in return,

sweets, money, stuff like that. And as I aged, pills, coke, booze. "'What, you didn't resist?' I asked, surprised. "'What was the point?' "'He knew I had no one to complain to. "'I was getting things in return as well,' he answered, matter-of-factly. "'So why did you kill him?' I asked, remembering the contents of one of Cassidy's burial sites. His mouth curved into a sinister grin.

"'Because I wanted to,' he said, very cold. A cold case investigation into the headteacher's murder unveiled circumstantial evidence that the head teacher had suspicions of Cassidy's past and was close to finding out his real identity. The investigator on that case didn't know what the dirt was, but after speaking to Cassidy today, it all makes sense now. So, um, had nothing to do with the fact he was digging into your past, I asked. One night he came into my dorm, middle of the night it was. was took me out and down to the boiler room tied me up and raped me i could smell the booze on him i didn't resist again i didn't see the point i just decided at that point i'd kill him so i did the digging into my business came later went to his office asking for at least some sort of payment for the midnight

sodomy he told me to get to fuck in his broad scottish accent and threatened me that if i told me that if i told anyone, he would wear me like a fucking glove. I must admit even I laughed at that. But essentially, the detective who was looking into the death of my mother was coming around the boys' homes, homeless shelters, and juvenile detention centers in the surrounding states to try and find me. He showed my picture to the head teacher and asked if he'd seen me. Well, thankfully, he didn't want to be outed as a paedophile that day, so he told the detective that he hadn't seen me. Cassidy's told his story with such a whimsical tone.

It was hard to remember he was talking about child abuse. We let him continue. There was no Google back then, so he couldn't just run my name or whatever it is people do these days. But I think a few months later, there was some missing posters flying around our area. I wasn't suspected of killing my mother. I was actually suspected of being abducted by the person who did, you see.

I once Roland saw that It didn't take a genius To be quite honest The cold eyes The mysterious background The vacant stares As he forced himself inside me I think he had his suspicions

About me anyway Once he had it figured He came to me and taught me He knew what I'd done And that he owned me from now on No rewards No quid pro quo Nothing

I'll be raped every night And there'd be nothing in it for me and nothing I could do about it. And well, when there's nothing in it for me, I decide things needed to come to an end, he said bluntly. So this would be when you murdered him? Ruth asked, coming back into the conversation. I let him do his thing every night, never resisting,

waiting for the night that he got complacent and dropped his guard. The night he felt he didn't need the cups. One day I found a knife in his office when I was cleaning it I slipped it into my pants and took it down to the boiler room and hit it I guess he was into hunting or something I don't know It wasn't like we spoke about hobbies or anything so I'm just assuming Anyway on this fateful night I waited until he had me on my knees The dirty old fuck closed his eyes and tilted his head back in his usual expecting fashion

I slipped the knife out of its hiding place very carefully, so quietly, not wanting him to notice. Cassidy was getting giddy as he got more into detail. Ruth and I just sat in silence. I aim for the strip of flesh, right between his balls and his anus, and I fucking drilled it in. Oh my God, I ripped that sucker open. He should have seen his face.

Priceless. I tore the blade up and down and up and down. like I was ringing a fucking church bell. Pulled that fucking thing clean off and let him bleed out. Grabbing at the fleshy hall where his meat and veg used to be. Cassidy admitted his teeth gleaming as he smiled. Thankfully, there was a furnace in the boiler room. I didn't even let him finish dying before I stuffed him in and turned it on.

Hey, here's one for your research. Head teacher Roland was the first tongue that I ripped out with my teeth. Did you know that? Cassidy asked in an upbeat manner. No, we didn't. Ruth confirmed. Well, I wanted him to feel the pain, but not to be able to scream. I stomped on his neck and faced a few times.

So much easier to get a grip on the tongue once the jaw's been broken and some of the teeth had been removed. Anyway, it worked because, well, he was in the furnace. He moaned and groaned, but there was no volume. So I could just sit there and watch his eyes pop in his skull from the heat. Then I watched his skin begin to blister and bubble. I just sat back and watched. Well, maybe washed is the wrong word. Admired. I admired the flames.

I remember feeling aroused with the power and control as I sat there. Oh, it completely made off a missing father's demise. You were aroused by watching a man burn alive, I asked, struggling to hide my disgust and disdain. Oh yes, Agent. I truly hope one day that I'll get to experience the thrill of watching the beautiful heat, watching the withering skin of a writhing victim, Cassidy said, almost orgasmic as the fantasy formed in his mind. I scoffed his comment, and his eyes squinted.

Something funny, agent, he quizzed. Your days of hunting innocent people are over, Cassidy, so your little sick fantasies can remain simply that, I scorned him. Cassidy's eyes became dead, and they branded holes into me where I sat. Really think you shouldn't underestimate me. You can't keep what I am down forever.

I cut Cassidy off at the knees. Keep what down? You really are a fucking deluded knocking, You're a narcissist, aren't you? You think you're this never-before-seen malevolent force that nothing mortal can stop, but really, Robert. You're just a man, just like me. You seek out women who intimidate you with their success, and you destroy them and their lives and their families. There's nothing special about that.

You're just like every other serial murder in this prison, and every other prison across the entire planet. You know what? I've had enough this shit for one day. I've got another one of you sick fucks out there to catch. I scolded as I stood up and began to leave. Cassidy remained calm despite my assassination of his personality, and he simply grinned. It's always nice chatting, Agent Quince. Perhaps next time we'll be a little more up-close and personal.

If it's okay, I would like to stay and continue the interview. Ruth requested. Knock yourself out. Here's a copy of the case. file, I said, handing her a copy of Wichita PD's crime scene report on the Benson family massacre. Gave me something useful, please, I requested. She gave me a wink and said, I'll see what I can do. Call me when you're finished and I'll come pick you up. Have fun, I told her as I hit the button on the door, letting the guards know I wanted to leave. Oh, um, we will, agent. We will. Cassidy said,

smiley. I looked him through his cold eyes and sinister grin as the door locked buzzed, snapped open and the guard escorted me out. As I drove away from Flores Prison, I began to curse myself for letting that psychotic asshole get under my skin. I'd remove Boggins from the interviews for the same reason, and there I was getting irate over something much less. I was hypocrisy on legs. Well, the thing is, Cassidy just had a way of making you sick and losing your shit. They say James Rodriguez had a similar episode just after we arrested Cassidy. He spoke about the rape and murder of each of the victims in horrific detail without

even a hint of remorse. The way he spoke about it was like he was some sort of artist refining his work. It just made you want to put a bullet in his head right there and then. I'd interviewed Cassidy before in regards to the incident in Kansas where he was spotted by a witness. Well, he answered his question simply to brag about the awful things he'd done and throw a few taunts at the FBI too. I end up losing my call there as well, saying something similar to him. I brought up at a highway diner and went inside to grab a coffee in a donut.

Stereotype, I know. Anyway, I found out the case files and began to look at the case details, hoping an image of the man we were looking for would come to mind. It took a while, but a patterned. soon emerged that seemed worth further study. Each family had attended church, yet there was no evidence of a religious motive to the crimes. Well, usually in crimes of such nature, the unsub will tend to leave Bibles at the scene, write the numbers of a verse on the wall in blood and so on. I began to assess the geographical pattern of the murders. First murder, Texas, second murder Oklahoma. Third murder, Nebraska. Fourth murder, Kansas.

The next logical place to look would be South Dakota. Each murder had taken place in the capital city. These couldn't be coincidences, surely. I started to get excited, but then suddenly deflated, realizing that there was only a pattern if we could count the Bensens. There's so much evidence this was another killer to our answer, but I decided it was looking into, though, regardless. I picked up my cell and called Agent Bokin's.

I waited for him to answer as I stared at the images of the murdered family. I was also at this point, I realized I hadn't even received the background check on the Bensensens. useless. Hey, Grenzzi, how you doing? You finished with Dr. Lecter yet? He asked facetiously, with a chuckle. Oh, I have to apologize to you. Cassidy was talking about burning some paedophile teacher alive when he was a kid.

He started saying he wants to do it again. couldn't help remind him where the fuck he is i stormed out i said with an embarrassed scoff now let me guess he blamed his crimes on this teacher copying a feel of his private area typical buggins presumed actually um no he said he knew there was always something wrong with him hence why the only thing he felt when his father raped him on his daily basis was disrespect I'm not condoning his actions, Dave, but my lord, his upbringing was anything less than stable. How are we meant to stop evil when it keeps breeding it? No idea, Quince, no idea.

Anyway, I'm sure you haven't called to mope about the twisted world of criminal psychology so on. What do you want me to do? He asked positively. I smiled at his support and loyalty. Well, seen as I'm a total hypocrite, I have an important assignment for you. I informed him, eating humble pie. I'm all he is.

So, um, let's assume that the murder in Wichita was actually the short-time killer. Let's assume you're right and he did just change up his M-O. Maybe he mixed up the state simply to throw us off. And with those assumptions, he will next target Pierre in South Dakota. The three murders that we categorically know were SDK. All the families went to their local church. Maybe that's part of his victim selection Get yourself down there

And start going around all the churches And see what you can find I instructed What am I looking for when I get there Well ask the reverence If they've noticed any new parishioners In the last two weeks White male in his 30s

Strong build or signs of weight And combat training Someone who's seemingly Trying to converse Or interact with families With two to three children Sorry I really don't have much else to go on

I confessed. Cassidy and I gave you anything worthwhile. Bogkin's inquired. Not yet. I'm Ruth's still with him. Maybe you should have something when I pick her up. I'll be in touch. Keep me posted.

I need to call Wichita. Shaw, thank you went, I'll head to the airport now. Bogkin said, before he hung up. I pulled up the contact number for Deputy Meller. I called the number then. After a long time it passed, The call was eventually picked up, and Jim Mellor's youthful, 23-year-old Virgin Salton, greeted me.

Oh, howdy there, Agent Quince? Nice to speak to you again. How's a profile going? Any idea who the person is? He asked, the nervous ramblings of a green man who wasn't used to dealing with federal agents. Not yet. Like I said before, we're just conducting some research on similar offenders, and hopefully that can shed some light on him.

Right now I've got an agent heading to Pierre, to make some inquiries. Maybe that'll bring something up, hopefully. Anyway, Jim, I'm calling because I requested the background check on the Bensensons. Your desk sergeant said she'd get on with it, but never reached me. Oh, um, yeah, sorry. That's really not like her. Honestly, I did put it together for you, but I'm not sure why she wouldn't have sent it. I'll chase it up for you. Sorry, but what's the investigation got to do with Pierre? Okay, that's fine, but Was there anything significant to report, I asked. The deputy scanned his mind.

No, just usual. Good family. No history of abuse or violence. Sorry, he admitted. I still want me to send it? He asked. I sighed. Not sure what the point would be.

However, sometimes the devil is in the detail, and that's what being a special agent is all about. You know what? Send it anyway. Who knows what might jump out? I instructed the deputy. Sure thing, I'll chase it up tomorrow, he said. So, um, go on, you were saying something about Pierre, he asked, intrigued.

Yeah, I've sent my partner to ask around the church is there. I think you should apply the same idea to your investigation. All the confirmed showtime victims attended church. We think this could be where they catch his eye. So yeah, try and find out whether Benson went. a family in the last month and maybe something will show up, I advised. Yeah, I mean, I get that. I just don't see what Pierre has to do with it, he said, confused. Well, each murder took place in the capital city of its respective state.

First one in Austin, Texas. Second one in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Third one in Lincoln, Nebraska. So if we travel up in a straight line, then next up is Pierre, South Dakota. All victims were devout Christians, so our criminologist is certain this is a key part of the victim selection, but it's not a component of the murders themselves. I felt I described the best I could to the deputy, but he didn't seem to take it in. But the other murder was in Wichita, not Lincoln. So that breaks open your pattern, doesn't it? I'll be honest, Jim. The more I look into it, the more I'm convinced it's a completely different killer.

Why makes you say that? The level of violence inflicted on the victim's prior to death. The way it just... Well, it just doesn't fit the pattern. No souvenirs taken. Different method on the children. I just don't see it, I confessed. But this guy wasn't the showtime killer, then.

That destroys your pattern, so maybe Pierre's a waste of time. I couldn't help but see his point. But still, a possibility that had occurred to me earlier, I kept popping into my head. and then suddenly it hit me. Shit, I exclaimed. What's wrong? The deputy asked.

Let's say you're right. If you were a killer, you were targeting different people in different states. Why would you miss out of state or, more specifically, a town? I said, waiting for an answer. I didn't get one. So I answered for him. Maybe it's a little too close to home. The detective remained quiet while I went through.

the motions of my realization. Or maybe he did do the Bensons, except they weren't strangers to him. He fucking knew them, and they fucking knew him. What? I don't... The deputy couldn't keep up.

Listen, I'm gonna get on a flight to Kansas tonight. I need to come back to the house. I can collect that report myself and we can follow up on some leads. Can you meet me at the airport tonight? Yeah, I'm sure. or give me a call when your flight's leaving, and I'll be there with the car,

slightly caught off guard. Yeah, sorry to throw this all on you, but I think we could crack this deputy. I'll send my guy to Pierre and me and you all ask around Wichita. Not only could we prevent another murder, but we could find out who he is. Oh, my God. Amazing. Okay, I'll see you tonight then.

The phone hung up, and immediately it rung again. It was Ruth, I answered. Hey, Ruth, you ready to go? I asked. No, it's not that, but I think I may have something here, Quincy. I've built a decent rapport with Cassidy, and in return he's given me some solid information. I showed him the police report on the Bensons, and as he flicked through, his eyes lit up.

And what, I don't know, but he immediately clammed up and told me that unless I got him out of, of the hole, then he would take what he knew to his grave. I was wondering if you could call the warden and pull the Fed card. She said with a nervous chuckle. Ruth, Cassidy, he's a seriously dangerous man. I think he's where he belongs. I was just bluffing him with my office to make sure he cooperated. I really don't think he has anything concrete. I mean, how could he? So was the showtime killer. Imagine if back when Cassidy had only killed three people, someone told you they knew who he was, or they had a solid lead. Wouldn't you snatch that chance? He'll still be in a max security

prison under 23-hour lockdown. The person we are after is walking free, Quince. We need this. He's not going to make a mistake. He is going to get better and better. I think he may already have made one. I confessed. What? Ruth asked. Shocked. I think he did the Benson's Ruth. And I think he did them because he knew them.

I think he did them out of rage and anger rather than compulsion because they knew who he is. The background report brought up nothing, though. Well, I'm heading to Wichita tonight to chase other report on their background because I haven't actually seen it yet and I'll see what shakes loose. I'm meeting the deputy from the Wichita PD tonight

we're going to go and do another scan on the house. I've sent Balkans to Pierre, keeping with the potential geographical pattern, asking him to go visit the churches. We've got leads, Ruth, so maybe we don't need Cassidy's info. That's great. I think we're on the right lines,

but how long will those inquiries take? What if in that time another family dies? I saw the glint in his eyes. He's seen something in those pages, truly. He didn't bargain for yard-tenths. time or petty privileges. He went straight for a ticket out of the hole. He has a royal flush. I know it, Quince. She pleaded for my approval. I'll admit, it's hard to say no to someone who looks like she does, but regardless, she had a point. I didn't want any more bodies. I'll give James

a call. He's the guy who called Cassidy. He's on good turns with the DOJ. I'll explain things to him, and we can liaise with you then, okay? Brilliant. Listen, I'll get a colleague from the university to pick me up. Don't worry. You just get yourself to Kansas. Let's bring this home. She said excitedly. He said her goodbyes and I immediately called James. It took a while to get hold of him. Not easy when you're planning one of the biggest surveillance operations this century. Eventually he got five minutes to himself and he answered. I told him as efficiently as I could about the developments in the case or should I say the lack of development.

elements. I told him I needed a deal for Cassidy in return for his information. Well, James wasn't too bothered, to the best of his knowledge, Cassidy was on the wing he was bartering for anyway. He gave me a motivational speech and told me to go get my target. He'd take care of Cassidy and Ruth and commanded me to get to Wichita as he agreed STK was slightly from the area. I told him it was good to speak to him again and he returned the sentiment. Well, the next call I made was to the desk of Wichita. p.D. This time a man answered the phone. I didn't recognize

the voice, so I asked who I was speaking with. This is Deputy Desirende, Evan Baston. How may I help you? He said. Ah, I see. Sorry, I spoke to Rosie Conwell yesterday, and I would... I was cut off.

She's not here, the man said bluntly. Well, any idea where she is? I asked. Trying to hide my annoyance. No, but she's AWOL right now. AWOL? But I was kind of hoping she'd have a document for me.

What document? Background report on the Benson family. Is it not on her desk? No, nothing here. I can chase it up when she's back in. He asked in a patronizing manner. No, it's fine. I have someone else on that for me.

I said before putting the phone down. Oh, pretty. I said to no one in particular. I called the airport, booked a flight and headed to the airport. On the plane I mulled over everything I knew so far, and began to put the profile together in my hands. Cassidy murdered women who reminded him of his neglectful mother. It pushed his buttons, and that's what drove his compulsion.

Almost every serial killer in history, amongst other factors, suffered from some form of abuse, so perhaps the unsub came from a family like Cassidy's, where he was systematically abused, so he targets families that are perfect because they remind him of what he didn't have. Where better to find perfect families than the local churches? Must be a big strong man with some sort of training in combat or jiu-jitsu based on the way he subduced the men. There's no issue breaking into a house with a grown adult male presence with the intention of defending his family's lives. And he finds his family, potentially at the same.

the church and he stalks them, watches the house from the garden or the tree, finds a way into the house like an open window or something. Assults the children, luring the husband into the bedroom, subdues him and then attacks the wife. He uses the children, husband, as his audience to humiliate the wife as he rates and then kills her. As he's leaving, he sees a happy family photo of them and takes it so we can look at them later. We're living in the destruction he's caused. Well, I could imagine how the crimes had played out, but he just has no

face, and that was frustrating. But maybe that was about to change. As the missing piece of the puzzle is the report on the Bensons, I just know it. There's something about that family that will crack this case wide open. I really don't think it's a

coincidence that whatever it is is being buried deep. I just needed to find out what it was. Maybe Cassidy's insight would shine a light on it. If not, maybe some detail in the report would point me in the right direction. The plane touched down in Dwight D. around 8pm that evening. The weather was hot and the air was thick and muggy. I couldn't help but wince at the thought of all those children going to sleep with their windows open to night. As I made my way into the arrivals lounge, I looked around for

Deputy Mello, or at least a sign with my name on it. Nothing, though. I rolled my eyes once again at the police department in Wichita and left to the airport. I was walking through the parking lot and towards the enterprise across the freeway when a police cruiser suddenly ranged up beside me and the driver's side window came down. It was Deputy Meller, and he looked flustered and erratic. Agent Quince, I'm so sorry I'm late. It's been a crazy few hours. Body's just turned up in Columbine Park.

Half the forces there. It was hard to get away, and then I hit the traffic and every red light. going and you know the deal he said apologetically it's fine honestly i assured him as i climbed into the passenger side he waited until i had my seatbelt fastened before he checked his mirror flick the indicator and pulled out onto the freeway why do you want to go first he asked the benson place i instructed mella made a fair enough type of gesture with his head and mouth and simply said said, on our way. Part 7.

I took out my cell phone and turned it back on, hoping to have missed a call from either roof or boggings, but alas, nothing. Although I think the lack of phone signal was likely to blame for that, so I put their phone back in my pocket and took out the file on the Benson murder. I went over it for the hundredth time as we slowly approached the house. The police radio crackled to life, and the dispatcher relayed the following message. Our units 10-6-7.

We need urgent eyes on. Deputy Mella turned off the radio and breathed an annoyed sigh. It's honestly been non-stop tonight. This body turning up has got all units focused in that area. They'll be radioing me to pick up the slack soon, no doubt. And I'll be honest, this little assignment with you is going to be such a relief. I know I can learn a lot from you, and you speak to me with more respect than any other in my department. So, let's give the Benson's everything we have, eh?

He said, looking over at me, smiling. I returned the sentiment. He did look like a man carrying the weight of the world in his shoulders, to be honest. I looked at the photos of the crime scene. The three photos of Mrs. Benson lying on the bed caused a hint of deeper thought, swearing that four had been snapped. Or maybe just one came out 40, which then made me think about Frank Adams and the fact that it may be better to have another

set of eyes with us with this new line of thinking. Is Frank Adams available? I asked. I think it's best we have an experienced crime scene photographer there, especially one who's attended all four SDK motorcycles. We can all redo the walkthrough under the new thinking, I added. I mean, I can try and get in touch with him, but he's not from around here. He works in a lot of the neighbor estate doing freelance photography and police highway insurance. So the chance I could get him up here and short notice is slim. I'll try though, he promised. Go ahead, give him a call, but if not, I'm sure we'll cope, I said with a nod and a reassuring smile. Deputy Mellis seemed to appreciate my faith in his abilities. I could tell the feeling wasn't universal

when it came to his colleagues. I will do. When I get some goddamn signal, he said, frustrated, looking at the bars on his phone. Is it normally like that around here, so close to an airport, I asked, surprised. He nodded with half a grin. You're in Kansas, agent. Nothing works here. He quipped with a smile. We pulled up outside the Benson home around 9pm.

I couldn't help but notice the exact same dark and dull setting of what's now the infamous murder house of the local area. The DeVille House was the same, and the Scott House and the Clayton House. I held back a shiver. We climbed out the vehicle and both armed ourselves with two flashlights. We made our way into the house and we both felt the eerie atmosphere. I imagined Deputy Mella was experienced this for the first time.

I, however, had felt this in spades that night when I visited the Clayton House. I led us into the children's bedroom and immediately went to the window. I looked out into the yard. Look, I knew it, I exclaimed, pointing into the garden. What? Mellar asked. No trees, nine-foot fence, no signs of death. damage or climbing marks to the fence, but yet he knew how to get in. Maybe he didn't even come through the window. Maybe he came through the front fucking door. They knew who he was. I'm certain

now. That's why they're dead. I survised. Why so much violence? If they knew who he was, why don't just kill them in their sleep? Quick and quiet, Mella asked. I held back a chuckle at his inexperience. I really don't. think they specifically knew he was the showtime killer but he had a grievance with them i'm sure of it so there was really nothing in that background report no school reports on the kids with bruising no history of alcohol or drugs nothing that could help us i asked genuinely surprised oh you mean you never got that report mella asked confused no why should i have i asked equally confused yeah i chased it up with rosy earlier today

and she said she gets straight on it. Mella relayed. I speculatively called the office not long after I spoke to you. Some of the officer answered the phone called D.S. Evan Baston. Said she was AWOL. I told him. Mella looked baffled. I'll make some calls. It's honestly being crazy tonight. Maybe she's just out on the job. Out on the job?

A desk sergeant? I asked. Chuckling facetiously. Well, I don't know, do I? It's just not like her, that's all, Mela said, throwing his hands up. Gonna see if I can find her, and I'll get hold of Frank too. I need to find some goddamn signal first, though. You're okay for five minutes? Mella asked, pointing to his cell phone in his hand and rolling his eyes.

I gave him a nod and a thumbs up. He smiled and left the house. While Mello was gone, I checked my own phone. Still no bars, typical. Put it back in my pocket. and decided to give myself a tour of the house. I sauntered through the aging haws of the tiny single-floor townhouse. I walked past a pantry and I did what made me do it, but I decided to take a look inside.

I shone my torch and, after squinting my eyes, I could tell there was a gap in the seam of the wall. I dug my fingers in and pulled it back. It was at this point I realized this pantry was actually a basement. I was a little taken aback, to be honest. Did they just miss it? I had it already been searched. No photos taken, or even a mention of this in the crime scene report from Wichitap. I aimed my torch down into the abyss and began to walk carefully down the steps into the darkness.

Once at the bottom, I shone the light around, desperately looking for a light switch or cause. Nothing came across my path, though. You remember how I've mentioned the feeling I get when I walk into a house for a house for a a murder took place. The darkness, the eerie feel of knowing something terrible once happened there. Well, this basement had it in spades. Terrible things that happened down here, I could feel it. As I walked through the pitch black, the only thing visible being the small space on the floor that the torch illuminated, I felt a deep unease. I walked as far as I could go, and before I knew it, I came to another door. My heart sank when I realized that there was a deep,

deadbolt on the outside. I slid it back carefully and let the door swing open, which in the process led out a horrific creek that went straight through me and the rest of the house. Around five or six steps from this door led me down into another small room, no more than an eight-foot square space, if that. The first thing that my torch lit up was a mattress, and my heart began to pound a little quicker. The mattress was filthy, was full, and the mattress was signs of dry blood all over it. The next thing that lit up was a tripod. There was no camera, but if there was, it would have been aimed at the mattress. My heart was now seriously pounding. I was just about to turn around and run back up to fetch Jim when something caught my eye.

In the corner, there were some markings on the wall. Some words had been carved into a section of the wall by the door. I got down onto my knees and took down to my knees and took a closer look. This was when I realized they weren't words. They were names. Alan, Thomas, Frank, Robert, Evan, Tim, Riley, Rosie, Martin, David, Alicia, Beverly, Ashley, Michael. The cogs were moving once again, trying to process this huge piece of new information.

When suddenly something pulled me out of my trance. It was my phone. I put it out of my pocket and looked at the screen. It was Ruth. I was a bit baffled as to why I didn't have a signal anywhere else but the basement, but I didn't give it too much thought. I answered it. Hello, Quincy, where are you?

I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours. Ruth said, flustered. Yeah, sorry, a bad reception, I mustered, a little vacant, not totally with her. The deal with Cassidy went through. The warden approved his transfer with a few conditions, but ultimately he told me what he knows. You really need to hear this. She exclaimed, which perked me up a little. Hit me.

During my interview with Cassidy after you left, he told me about his life after the boy's home. He said that after the disappearance of the head teacher, the school was. was shut down and the students were all relocated or returned to foster care. Cassidy was sent to a foster family and get this in Wichita. As Ruth spoke, I turned and looked at the word Robert amongst the 14 names carved into the wall. Let me guess. It was the Benson's, I asked, presumptuously. Got it in one and listened to this. He told me they were just as sick as his parents. He said, parents and the head teacher, maybe even a little sicker, to be honest. He told me that on his first night in their care, the pair of them took him down to the secret basement to show him his place.

Mr. Benson beat him, raped him, and left him down there in his own waist for nearly two days with nothing to eat but scraps. He told me the wife videotaped the whole thing. He said this happens to every child in their care, and he said he'd bet his life that the showtime killer is one of the other foster children that was in their care. Now, the thing I want to know is, we could have known all this without Cassidy, had we just had the background report on the family. So where did it go?

Ruth, I think I know who the killer is. Mella told me the report was due to be sent to me by Rosie Conwell, the death sergeant. I called her earlier today, and a man calling himself Evan Baston told me she's gone AWOL. Jim knew nothing about it and said it's not like her. I need you to call Wichitae and tell them about Evan Baston and have him arrested. I'm in the Benson's basement now, and there's about 15 names carved into this wall. One of them is Cassidy's, and one of them is Evan.

It's right next to Cassidy's. They must have been here around the same time. Cassidy said there was a young boy who arrived shortly after he did. He said they went extra hard on this kid because he was weaker. They beat him harder, raped it multiple times a day. fed him his own waist and locked him in that basement for days on end when they told the school he had a stomach bug. That sounds the sort of person who just might have an axe to grind. It makes perfect sense, too, why he killed the children with a bag from behind. He was ashamed to kill them because they went

through the same thing as him, so he couldn't look at them while he did it. But ultimately, they were loose ends and he needed to do it. He allowed them to see the Benson's between. He allowed them to see the Bensensens be tortured, raped, and murdered. Then he killed them in the most humane way possible. Ruth, we can go through the psychology of it all later. Right now, we have a killer to catch. I quirked, but still very serious. I'll call Wichita now and find out about Evan B... The call cut dead as Ruth spoke. I look back at the screen to see once again no signal. I roll my eyes, turned, and jog carefully back out of the basement. As I got back into the main part of the house, I held my phone up into the air, desperately looking for a signal.

As I ran around frantically, I hit a stiff form and I stumbled back. Jeez, what are you doing? Jim Meller yelled as he tried to regain his balance. I apologize profusely. I'm sorry, I just need to get some signal desperately. I need to borrow your phone, I rambled. I have no signal either. I tried everywhere and nothing, he informed me.

Then your radio. So I know Rosie Connell is either dead or in danger. The Showtime killer is the Deputy Death Sergeant, I proclaimed. Evan Baston. Are you kidding? Jim asked. Shocked to his call. Yes, I shouted.

Jim gestured for me to calm down slightly. I'll go radio in now. Wait here, he instructed, running back out of the house to his car. I tried pacing around, searching for the signal, all the while trying to lower my blood pressure. All of a sudden, my phone found two bars from nowhere. Before I could even act on it, I received a notification that I had a voicemail. It was from Ruth. I went to call her back, but the signal disappeared just as quickly.

Instead, held the phone up to my ear and press play. Quincy? Oh my God. Please answer your phone. I just got off the phone with a contact of mine at WPD. I asked them about Evan Baston. They've never heard of him. I got them to run a background check on the name, and Evan Baston changed his name at the age of 18 to James Mallor. You're with the Showtime Killer now.

Don't let him know you know. I need you to hold on. There are units on the way to the Bensons. It's going to take a little longer, though, because they found Rosie Conwell gutted in Columbine Park. All the force are there searching the... area, but they are on their way now. Just hold on, please. The voicemail cut off. Just as the bud of Jim Mellor's pistol cracked the back of my head.

I felt my knees, I felt the blood begin to force its way out of the growing split in my skull and skin. I turned to look him in the eye. I wanted him to see my defiance before he finished me. I wanted to tell him he wouldn't get away with this, knowing it was true. I pivoted on my knees and fell backwards onto my backside and looked up at the infamous showtime killer. My eyes widened, despite the searing pain in the back of my skull. I couldn't help it, though. Frank Adams stared down at me with cold and hellish eyes. His face turned to anger and he suddenly turned, his mouth foaming to look at Jim Miller.

Did you fucking hear that? They're on their fucking way. I told you what you did would fuck us, but you just couldn't do as you're fucking told, could you? He yelled at him. You know they deserved it. You don't know what they did to me. Jim yelled back through stroppy tears at Frank.

Frank simply raised his arm and pulled the trigger. Jim Mella's brains popped out of the back of his head all over the Benson's living room wall. His body, almost like the World Trade Center, hung in suspension for a brief moment before it crumbled into a smoking heap. The suppressor meant that only Frank and I knew what had just gone down.

Fucking morrow, Frank said coldly. I'd all made so much sense now. They didn't need to be an intimidating man with serious combat experience. They didn't mind breaking into a house with a grown adult male. Because there was two of them. at the risk of sounding like a total cliche.

Why, Frank? I asked, desperately trying to get him talking, buying time for the police to arrive. Frank scoffed. Why not? He dropped a duffel bag on the floor, and the clang of metal told me it was full of tools. Don't go anywhere, he said playfully, and gave a wink for good measure. He stormed out of the house,

and moments later I heard Van Dora open up and then close. Frank Adams came stumbling back through the door, dragging a form behind him. My heart sank when I saw it was Boggins. He threw his body down next to mine and I immediately crawled over to him to check his pulse. I breathed a sigh of relief when I felt one, a shallow one, but it was there. Don't worry, he's not dead. I actually need both of you alive for what comes next, he said coldly. opening up his duffel bag and pulling out a collection of tools

pliers, blades and a hammer what comes next then? I asked again trying to stall for time this is what happens when you have to adapt because your fucking partner is a loose fucking cannon who doesn't know his freaking place I uh... take your killing the Benson's wasn't your idea then I probed

no as much as they fucking deserve everything they got. I held off because I knew their deaths would lead right back to me and James. I really don't think you know what it's like, Agent, which have been told you're not good enough, you're real parents, to them be abandoned into this ruthless world of child welfare, because I assure you, there really is no bigger lottery than foster care. Let me tell you the fucking score. My numbers did not come up with the Bensons. Those animals beat me, starved me.

invited their sick friends over while they all took turns raping me in their secret room. All the while the others watched and Mrs. Benson filmed it. She used to watch what they did to me. Then tape me upstairs, cover my bruises with makeup for when I went to school. Told me if I told anyone, it forced things into my anus and leave them in there. I was fucking 12. What was I going to do? I had six years of this shit. Then around six months before I was old enough to.

to walk out of that door, two new boys came into the house. One of them was a kid called Robert Cassidy. I think we all know how that turned out, don't we? The other one was Evan Bastian. He said, pointing to the floor where the bloody heap of Jim Miller and his brain matter lay motionless. You took them under your wing, I speculated. No, Robert was already very clearly damaged when he came to the Bensensons. I don't think he screamed or cried once. They were weary of him, but ultimately, he was no fun for them. Heaven, on the other hand, he cried like a baby after the first slam. They had him in that basement more times than I can remember.

First night in there, he screamed the fucking house down. Neighbors might have actually heard something, if Mr. Benson hadn't already had the room soundproof. Oh, sick fucker. Don't play the victim. I'm, you two are just as fucking sick in my eyes. I spat the insult at him defiantly. He ignored my comment and continued his explanation. My time wasn't all abuse and degradation, though.

When they got Evan, their new plaything, they left me alone in terms of raping. They actually let me work the camera while they had their fun. This way Mrs. Benson could have her turn too, you know. Not only gave me a break, but I became a very skilled cameraman. ended up for him in my career in more ways than one I guess. Frank explained as he began to walk over to Bogkins with a knife. I raised my voice and stumbled to my feet in order to get his attention. So why kill the other three families?

What do they do wrong? My question made Frank turn his head and got his attention away from slicing open Bogkin's flesh. He placed down the knife on the floor and quickly pivoted around and stabbed me with the soul of his boots. driving me back down to the floor. He pulled some zip ties from the duffel bag and fastened my wrists behind my back. He then grabbed me by my Adam's apple and viciously pulled my face close to his. Well, they were what I should have had, what we all should have had. I see to supplement my income, I offer to take affordable yet professional family photos.

I leave flyers around the local churches, grocery stores, community centers. They had all sorts of families asking to hire me. Mainly of those families who pretend they're perfect. But you can tell there are cracks under the surface. The husband with the wandering eye. The mother who loves the wine more than the baby. The hormonal teens running riot. You know the kind.

There was the odd family that just didn't have anything to fault. Those devout Christian families with a faithful husband, trophy wife, obedient kids. Saying grace at dinner. games night annual vacations to grandma's ranch in Minnesota the works whenever I was around them in their home speaking to them I'd feel my blood boil and my thoughts get more and more savage why couldn't my mom and dad love me like this or why couldn't I have this family

the thing about photography especially home shoots is that you have free run of the house maybe we should take pictures in here where the lighting is better Such an easy way to find the best entry point for when you need to sneak in, Frank said with a sinister grin. So where does Jim, or should I say, Evan, come into this? I asked. Praying the police were nearby. It was obvious what he was going to do. Murder me and Boggins in the same manner as the Bensons, thereby framing Jim for the whole thing and portray himself as the hero. Turning up just too late to save the feds, but able to shoot dead the villain. and the only people who knew who he really was were right in this room right now. After I left the Benson house, I kept in touch with Evan.

I was much older, so I looked out for him, took him for ice cream, bought him his first beer. I didn't cry on my shoulder, you know. When the eight rapes a day were getting a little too much for his gentle soul. Anyway, this one night he comes knocking on my door in the middle of the pouring rain. He tells him he's run away and the Benson's around looking for him. I took him in and hid him away from the Bensons and the authorities, and as soon as he turned 18, I told him to change his name and get a fresh start. Best thing for him, you see.

I encouraged him to apply to the Police Academy to become a deputy as soon as he was old enough, because by this point, I was already a respected freelance photographer who was hired by a number of police departments, so I was a perfect character reference for him. So you manipulated him into helping you? I asked. Well, at first. The night this all started was when I was living in Texas. Mrs. Clayton contacted me and asked me to come around to the family house

as they wanted a family photo. While I was taking photos, I spotted the fire escape window in the children's room. As part of the tree overlooking the master bedroom, I began to get those nasty thoughts again. Telling myself maybe it was time to act on those thoughts. Anyway, I did the shoot for her and her gorgeous family. He said, a clearly sadistic envy in his tone.

I brought the photo over when it was finished and she paid me in cash. No paper trail, you see. Next thing you know, it's a few nights later. I'm sat on the tree. I see the children open the window to let in some cool air. I just think, fuck it, I'm going to do it. My savage thoughts were no longer just thoughts. I'd already had a signal blocker set up in the garden.

Originally in case I was spotted stalking the house by a neighbor, they wanted to call the police. As my thoughts escalated, I realized it would also stop the Clayton's calling for help. I snuck through the window and ended up slipping. One of the kids woke up and started to cry and scream, so I just hit him with this rock I'd taken in with me. Then I hit the other one, too. The father came in just as I was coming down the hall, and me and him got into a brawl. I'm not a fighter, but I'm a bluebell in jujitsu, and he was a little bit. a large man and so eventually I was able to subdue him.

Luckily for me, Mrs. Clayton, instead of running for help, tried to pull me off her husband. She was such a tiny thing. It was easy to subdue her as well. Before I knew it, a bit of furnished rearrangement, and a moment's later, I had an audience all lined up watching. Well, I took my time and my frustrations out on Mrs. Clayton. His explanation was cold and empty.

yet all the while self-exploring. What were you thinking when you were raping Mrs. Clayton in front of her family? Did it excite you? By this point I'd already guessed that Frank Adams was the psychopath of the two and that Jim was simply a follower. Frank Adams had the compulsion to kill innocent people to satisfy his rage. Jim simply took his rage out on those that had wronged him. Frank hadn't killed since the DeVilles. His rage must have been building and I...

hoped he saw my questions as a chance for him to relive the experiences. Well, it was working. He was enjoying talking about it, but I just needed to keep him talking. I felt for once I was the one doing the humiliating, and I was the one ripping something innocent and perfect to pieces while others watched on and did nothing. The groans, the stifled screeches of pain, the muffled pleas from the husband for me to stop defiling his wife. I'd never felt power like it. I went from a helpless rape victim who couldn't even look a woman in the eyes to someone who strutted around like they were fucking gawked. All thanks to that one night in Austin. Hey, I always helped that I was hired by the state to be the crime scene photographer

on scene, so I could easily point the investigation in the wrong way, he said with a crafty smile. I looked over at Jim's dead body, Frank saw it. After that first murder, I realized I made too many mistakes. Slipping, getting in a fight with a dad. Only by sheer luck that the mother tried to attack me rather than running for her life. I decided I needed a like-minded individual to help me carry out the next one. I needed someone who owed me and who could easily be manipulated. Well, even if Robert Cassidy hadn't been outed as the cross-lying cannibal, I wouldn't have approached him. I didn't know where he was in the world at the time and he just struck me as someone who couldn't be controlled, you know.

But Evan, on the other hand, he was perfect. He was hesitant at first. He didn't lie the thought of killing innocence, especially kids. But when I told him how it would make him feel, and I promised him I'd make sure we never got caught. He agreed to help me. So that's why you took the pictures. Not because they were souvenirs,

but because they would have shown a commonality between the victims. It also explains why the next two murders were much cleaner, because you had help. I asked. Well, both, to be honest. I also kept one photo that I took of the crime scenes, too. It was fucking great to be able to look at them happy, and then look at them broken. Like before and after, sort of thing. His sinister grin flashed at me as he began to walk over to Boggins. When I had Evan helping me, everything was so much easier. Once we had a target, I'd hide in the garden. He'd knock on the door in his uniform and keep the husband busy.

asking if he'd seen anything suspicious tonight. They'd been reports for a prowler in the area. Meanwhile, I'd sneak in, subdue the kids and wife quietly, and they'd make a noise on purpose. The husband will get spooked and invite Evan inside to assist him at well. Two on one. Much, much easier, Frank said, making a shrugging gesture with his arms.

His six-mile making me queasy. So, what happened here, then? I probed. I guess at least 25 minutes had passed since the voicemail. The police had to be here soon. They had to be. Jim loved the feeling he had when he got to see the women be destroyed in front of him, as he'd held them down for me.

For the first time in his life, it wasn't him. He loved it. Well, maybe it's my fault, to be honest. At the Scots' house, on just his first try, I let him sodomize her with the bedpost after she was dead. He really liked that and always wanted to be the one to do. it. He started begging me to let him rape the next one. Began to really get obsessed with doing it, begging me to let him take charge with the next one. Let him be the one to rape them. That's all he

spoke about. He wanted to do all those things to them before they died and a little more other stuff as well. He taught me he was ready to be the one in charge, but when the time came at the devils, I tried to let him rape her, but the fucking pussy couldn't even get it up. She'd get begging him not to hurt her and he just melted so i finished her then after she was dead he managed it fine but he just couldn't hack it when they were still breathing with this in mind i told him he wasn't ready and in fact he had much more to learn before he got to take charge did he listen though no he fucking didn't frank was furious and he fired another silent bullet into the torso of jim melon i don't know what set him off but he just decided one night to

come here, knocking the door, and informed them he was arresting them for allegations of abuse. Once he had him in cuffs, though, he went fucking crazy. He tore their genitals apart while they were alive. He tortured the shit out of them and hacked them up big time. Still couldn't get it up, though. Had to use a fucking action man to rape Mr. Benson. You believe that shit? He let the children watch and actually had no intention of killing them. Couldn't make this shit up, could you? Anyway, after he'd finished, he called me bragging about what he'd done, thinking I'd be proud of him. I came down and went fucking apeshit. The trail, witnesses, he'd fucked us both.

So I decided then that this mad dog needed to be put down. I told him what he'd done here tonight would end us, unless he did everything that I asked of him. He started crying and begging me to help him and telling me he'd do whatever needs to be done. so I made him snuff out the kids right there and then So I fucking even look him in the eye while he did it Frank said with a disapproving shake of the head So I fixed the scene I marked the body of one of the kids

So it looked like he snuck into the house through the window And used the kid to lure the husband in Told him to bury the background check on the Benson's I stood all the police away from the basement I had to slash their wrists so you couldn't see the bruising from the cops I did everything I could, but I knew it was too late. Too many roads leading back to us now. So this was the only way out for me.

I'm truly sorry, Agent, but I need to carve you up like he did the Bensons. I'll tell him I came back to help you with your investigation, walking in on Evan hacking you both up. I managed to put a bullet in him before he got to me, but I got here just a fraction too late to serve you both. The last bit, he exclaimed dramatically, as if reading the last line of a tense fiction story. He flicked his pupils over to Bogkin's limp body

and bit his lip with a true sadistic excitement. Don't worry, Agent Quince. I like an audience. So sit there and get ready. Because it's fucking show time. His horrifying tone was cut short when he reached to pick up the knife and grab nothing but carpet. His pupils flit to the side and spotted the new location.

of the knife. It was wrapped up tight in Bogkin's right fist. Boggins with whatever ounce of strength he had left, pushed himself upright and drove the knife into the calf of Frank Adams, and he flopped back down into his supite position. Adam screamed with all his might and fell back onto his backside. And I took this opportunity to act. I desperately flung myself onto the body of Frank, kicking my boots into his face. His fists were free, though. They weren't tied behind his back like mine, so he gave me a few stiff cracks to my already tender skull. I fell back, stunned, dizzy, brains absolutely scrambled. I shook off the pain as much as I could and looked up to see Frank about to cock his gun.

With my last ounce of energy and desperation, I threw myself forward and kicked the knife's handle to the right as it still protruded from his leg. Frank bellowed out in pain as the heat boiled over in his leg to the point that he erupted in sheer agony. He stumbled back towards the door, but it wasn't enough. His wound wasn't life-threatening, he didn't drop the gun, and most importantly, he was still standing. His expression was now pure anger and seething rage. As I crawled over to Bogkins, desperately trying to wake him in vain, Frank growled and he violently cocked back the slide of the gun. I held Boggins upright in my arms as Frank raised his arm, pointing the gun at both of us and aimed. The sound of gunfire, blood splattering and bone-shattering filled the air.

My eyes remained tightly closed as I waited for the next bullet to shatter my head like it had done Boggins. I breathed in and awaited my fate. Then I wondered, why did I hear a bang, as Frank's gun had a suppressor? Jesus, we need medics in here. I've got two men down, two injured. A Wichitae, PD sheriff stood in the doorway. gun aimed at the space where Frank Adams had previously stood. Except now he wasn't there.

I looked down to see Frank's vacant stare through glazy eyes looking at me. A nine-millimeter exit wound sat just above his left eye. It all got a bit much at that point, as the adrenaline wore off, allow me to feel the pain. And I must have passed out. The next few hours were a bit of a blur as I recovered from my injuries.

I woke up two days later in St. Joseph Hospital, to find Ruth and James at my bedside. I forced a smile through the horrific agony in my head. Hey guys, I managed. And suddenly, a horrifying thought. Oh, shit, bargains, I asked, concerned, beginning to stir and sit up, the pain getting worse. Whoa, come on, rest.

That's an order, James said, pushing me back into my bed. He's fine. He's in an interesting. induced coma, but the doctors are really positive. They'd stop the bleed on his brain and fix the hemorrhaging on his stomach. Just needs time to rest. He'll be awake in a few days. Ruth assured me as she stroked my arm. Well, that felt better than the morphine, quite frankly. What happened to him? I asked. The blood falls trauma to the head and body, they believe. Frank Adams must have already been in Pierre, South Dakota, waiting for his next victim. You,

not knowing Mellar's involvement at the time, informed him about Boggins and his assignments. Looks like he called Frank and tipped him off. I made a few calls to South Dakota State Police and they made inquiries with their own. Boggins was asking all around the churches and was close to finding the flyers, but he must have been ambushed by Adams before he did. He was violently assaulted, abducted, and brought to Kansas. He likely learned that you and Mellor would be together tonight. He told him to bring you to the house.

He will have told about Rosie Conwell having the background check on the Bensons and ordered Mellar to kill her. Jim dumped Rosie's body in Columbine Park, then call it in, just before he picked you up from the airport. Hence why a lot of the police were focused in that area. It was the death of one of their own, so we had them all worked up and focused in that one area. That's why it took longer for them to get to you, but honestly, Quince, you kept your nerve so well. He kept him talking and bought yourself time. You should be extremely proud of yourself. You saved Barkin's life and your own.

The pride in James' voice was incredibly exponential. I smiled. I'm just glad you're okay. Ruth said with a warm smile. I get well soon, Quince. I've got to get back to the office. You'll be receiving a medal for your help in this investigation. I've seen to it with Deputy Director Ray.

James informed me with a wink. I'll come back to see you tomorrow. Ruth assured me. She waited until James's back was turned and then kissed my forehead. Well, I immediately felt like a million dollars and felt so much better watching her leave. Well, one month has passed. And in this time, Boggins and I were both given the all-clear and discharged from the hospital. We returned to active duty after a two-week compulsory vacation period

and a thorough physical and psychological assessment by an occupational health therapist. It turns out that the bites were made by Frank Adams, except he wore false dentures when committing the murders. He wore gloves, condoms, hairnets, the lot. Well, being an experienced CSI photographer, he was an expert in cleaning up DNA. It wasn't for me, Ruth, Boggins and the murder of the Bensens. He probably would have never been called.

We were also both awarded a medal for valor whilst in the line of duty, and we've finally given the recognition we deserve from the higher-ups at Quantico. Ruth also told me the next time I was in Denver to, Give her a call and we'd get a coffee. Life was honestly going really great, up until literally last night. Around 9pm last night, James contacted me in Boggins, telling me to get settled up and catch a flight to Texas.

I was a little confused as to why you needed us down there. He told me he'd explained when he got there, so we both raced to the airport and jumped on the first flight to San Antonio. We assumed we were being called in to assist on the Laredo traffic in surveillance operation, but as soon as we arrived and James gave us the address to meet him at, my heart sank into my stomach. It was the home address of Amy Edmonds, Robert Cassidy's ex-wife. There's no way this could be good. He was waiting for us at the door as he pulled up in our rental car. He filled us in on what had occurred over the last 24 hours. Cassidy had murdered

a young guard who just started at the prison and stolen his uniform. He'd also ruthlessly ambushed Lieutenant Perkins in the staff toilets and killed him. He stabbed him 27 times, bit off half of his face and stolen his key passes and radio. He caused a riot by raising a force alarm in one of the other wings with Perkins' radio. Then he'd stolen a nurse's car and left the area undetected. They found the car dumped near the Oklahoma State line and assumed he was heading to Texas to gain his revenge on Amy for her turning him in. and that brings us to where I am right now

currently Boggins and I have taken Sadie Edmonds Cassidy's biological daughter to Amy and brought her to a safe house in Fort Worth James is currently with Amy as I type this out they're heading over to Denver to collect Ashley the oldest daughter of Amy and her first husband Jeff James called me a couple of hours ago with an update informing me that they believe that that's where Cassidy is heading

due to the fact that they've just found the tortured corpse of Jeff Benny, Ashley's father. Right now, Boggins and I are sat, keeping ourselves entertained when we wait for the backup from Dallas PD to arrive. In this time, I've decided to type out this story from my memoirs, as the Showtime murders were really what made my career. Hopefully it was just the start of what would be along and distinguished career with the FBI. Oh, I hope you've enjoyed this story, guys. But sorry, I have to wrap this up, because it sounds like finally the Dallas cops are here. My ex-husband just escaped from a maximum security prison.

I was dead, vacantly, wide-eyed at nothing in particular. My ears rang. The only sound penetrating my fugue state was the sound of my thumping harp or sating the blood around my trembling body. The droning monotones of the federal agent's voices droned in my head, like someone was screaming at me as I sank below the skin of a pool. of water. Amy, are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance? Special Agent Rodriguez asked, concerned. I turned to him, trying to tune back into the land of the living. I just managed

to shape my head in disagreement. No, I just need a minute, I murmured. I know this is a lot to take in, but I need you to give me the green light to get you and your children under federal witness protection. Agent Quince and Agent Boggins here will take you. We'll take you. you, Ashley and Sadie to a safe house until we have him under arrest and back in prison where he belongs. The agent's tone was sincere. How did he escape? I thought he was in a maximum security. You told me he was in Florence. You told me he'd never see the light of day again. You told me this nightmare was over. I began to lose it, going off on a tangent. Special Agent Rodriguez held his palms up to me, as if apologizing for his promise coming back to horn.

but also to try and get me to calm down. The agent poised himself. And around 2 a.m. this morning, your ex-husband Robert Cassidy murdered two Florence prison guards, viciously assaulted a nurse and stole their uniforms and key passes in the process. It seems that Cassidy had collected various items over a period of time such as Vinny, baking soda, and a couple of man-made shoes. He also did his homework.

He learned the guard's schedules, the prison's protocols and procedures, and so on. and so on. He even waited until the fewest and least experienced guards were on duty that night. Everything was planned to the letter. Around 1 a.m., he hazard he faked a seizure using the vinegar and soda mixture. There's a young garden duty, who, once seeing a prisoner spasming on the floor, fuming from the mouth, simply opened his cell and ran in to apply first aid. I don't know whether it was greenness, poor training, or just the panic of the situation, but the kid didn't raise the medical alarm or called for assistance first. And Cassidy anticipated this.

The staff found the guard under the bed sheets to create the appearance of someone sleeping. He was wearing Cassidy's prison attire. He was found to have a shiv wound to his abdomen, his neck was badly broken. Once he had his disguise, he made his way off the wing using the key passes. Once he was getting towards the staff and visitors area of the prison, Cassidy waited in the staff bath. room. Here he ambushed another guard. Cassidy threatened him with his shiv, ordering him to put out a message that an inmate had escaped from a wing on the opposite side of the prison. The staff member agreed to comply, but once he sent out the message, Cassidy killed him. I'm not sure if Cassidy had a grudge against this man, or he was just in a killing frenzy from being locked off for 30 months, but they found that guard in one of the cubicles, with 27 stab wounds to his neck and face. left ear and right cheek were bitten off and his skull was badly fractured. It was a mess by all accounts.

Anyway, the false announcement did what Cassidy wanted it to do. With all the commotion happening, the main body of the guards were concentrated towards the opposite side of the prison. While this was happening, Cassidy defrauded his way into the staff medical room of the prison, using his now acquired blood-soaked uniform as a way of conning the nurse to let him inside for medical care. She told us in a statement that Cassidy claimed the escaped prisoners that stabbed him and he needed urgent medical assistance. Well, the nurse obviously didn't recognize him. I mean, why would she? She said, once inside, he assaulted her. He didn't kill her, obviously, but staff found her savagely beaten, bound and gagged with tape, locked in the utility cupboard.

Cassidy stole her car keys, ID pass, and her nurse's uniform. He smashed the fire alarm glass and used her uniform and pass to make his way out of the prison with the staff were evacuating to a place of safety. We found the nurse's car earlier this evening. It was wrecked in a ditch on Route 85. So he's been in the wild for 20 hours now. He could literally be anywhere. There's a huge possibility he could be coming for you or the girls.

I sighed heavily in disbelief. You told me if I helped you, it would be over. Now you're telling me me and the girls have to go on the run because the animal has managed to escape the most. secure prison in the United States. The agent sighed in defeat. Yes, I know Amy. Texas has the death penalty, so we thought he'd have the needle by now.

That crafty bastard hit over ten girls' bodies, traded the locations to the DA for life in prison. He was locked up in Florence for two and a half years until last night. He's been planning his escape ever since we had him locked up. Now, he's out. He's out for blood, so I need to know. Where is Ashley right now? She's at university in Denver. She's in Colorado.

The agent looked horrified. He pulled his radio from his belt and began organizing his agents outside, ordering them to get a convoy prepared to head to Denver, ASAP. I jumped up. Please, let me go with you. If Robert is still in Colorado, then Ashley's in danger. So please send Sadie with your team and get her out of San Antonio. Get her somewhere safe.

And then, when I have Ashley back with me, safe in my arms, then we can meet up with Sadie at the safe house until this is over. I beg the agent. Honestly, Amy, I don't think it's wise. I think you should stay with our agents and... No, I'm not going to sit in some safe house, surrounded by armed federal agents while my baby girl is out there, unprotected, unaware of her,

psychopath of her stepfather's on the loose. Take Sadie. Your team can keep her safe. Well, me and you go and get Ashley. I bartered. Amy, I really don't think. The agent began to deny me before I cut him off again. Look, I did what I did for you.

Now you're going to do this for me. I demanded, and my position was final. The agent nodded in defeat. Okay, he breathed. Is there any chance Cassidy could know where Ashley is now? I thought hard, but eventually shook my head with confidence. No, Ashley left for college one year after Robert's sentence. There's no way you should know.

Good, then let's get going, the agent said, a touch of haste to his exit. I left my house, and with it, my youngest daughter in the arms of eight highly trained federal agents. Sadie, being only five years old, was young enough for me to have her believe that she was Ashley's full sister. I'd always told her that her father was the same as her older sisters. My first husband wasn't perfect, but at least he wasn't a murdering psychopath. However, nevertheless, if Robert was going to be coming for anyone, it would be her. As I tried to call Ashley's mobile, unsuccessfully, by the way, I laughed at the irony of the fact that when I'm with that Ashley, she's constantly on her device, yet when I need to give her some urgent news, she's conveniently

unavailable. However, I couldn't help but reminisce about my life up until this point. I met Robert Cassidy when I was 35. I'd recently just got divorced from my first husband, Ashley's father, Jeff Benny. Jeff was always a bit of a control freak. He was very old-fashioned, expecting me to cook, clean and keep my mouth shut when he was watching the game. As our relationship soured over the years, he'd given me the odd smack around, picked at my aging and sagging body as well as gotten drunk and slept with other women behind my back. We divorced six years ago, after I finally got up the courage and strength to walk away from him.

Ashley was only eleven years old when me and Jeff went our separate ways. He tried to manipulate her into going with him. Ashley was very much a daddy's girl. It was quite successful in turning her against me. Thankfully I was able to obtain proof of his violent drunk behaviour, as well as evidence of his infidelity. I took him for full custody of our child and half of his financials during the proceedings. I used that money to get away from Phoenix and set up a new life in San Antonio.

After a few months of sulking and feeling sorry for myself, and my new single life, I decided it was time to get my glad rags on and get back on the dating scene. I'd seen a post to advertising a single speed dating evening at the local bar. I thought, what the hell to it, and that night I got dressed up, put makeup on for the first time in three years, and made myself presentable for the Bachelors of South Texas. I sat in that bar, nursing a lukewarm bottle of Coors lights, all the while listening to every 40-year-old version talk about their comic book collection, every mama's boy spending more time on the phone telling me how there's room,

in his mother's basement for us both, every self-obsessed attention seeker who only wants to talk about themselves and the painfully obvious lies about their lives. But it didn't matter, because when I did manage to come across a man who actually bordered on normal, no matter how interested they seemed, once I had told them about how I was a single mother with a preteen, I'd lost them. I was about to give up on the night, when all of a sudden my final speed date of the evening dropped himself in the seat opposite me. well he was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen his face was perfectly formed his square jawline

which was cleanly shaven yet took nothing away from his masculine appearance his jet black hair was gel in traditional 1960s slick back hairstyle he had a highly athletic build he imagined he was a swimmer or a boxer in his spare time he wore his muscle fitted black shirt as well as he wore his aura of self-assurance his musky scent had my knees trembling. I didn't stand a chance. Well, I guess the saying's true. If something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. I sometimes chuckle at how true that statement applied to Robert Cassidy.

Well, our relationship blossomed almost immediately. It was everything I needed at that point in my life. He was kind, charming and passionate. He told me I was beautiful and sexy. He told me my ex-husband was a moron for not appreciating what he had. He made me feel like I was 19 again. I don't know whether it was a fact I was vulnerable, naive, stupid, or a combination of all three. But he was living with me and Ashley within a matter of weeks.

He gave me some sob story about it. We'd just moved to San Antonio after his own messy divorce. His ex-wife had taken him for everything, so he didn't have a fixed address and was between motels. Robert was extremely vague about his past and his previous marriage. I never questioned it. I was simply too giddy with that handsome and charming man how he wanted me. Within six months I fell pregnant to him with Sadie.

This was when the alarm bells began to ring. He refused to undertake in anything that involved his background being examined or his picture being taken for social media. I told myself he was just looking for a fresh start. and I could understand that. However, as I lay at home, getting bigger and bigger, was Robert tending to my every need? Was he telling me that no matter how much my body was changing,

he would always love me? No, and no. In fact, his time spent with me became very sparing. When I was about seven months pregnant with Sadie, Robert claimed he was going to finally get a job in order to help with a financial strain that the baby would put on us. I used my divorce settlement to buy him a car so we could take up couriering work.

I thought he was finally trying to pitch in after me supporting him for the past year. However, this was just another one of his lives. He'd be gone for days, even weeks at a time. He'd come back after such periods of time with a bit of money in his pocket and a smile on his face. All the money rarely found my hand or one of our bills. He'd invest in new clothes, fresh jewelry or something else that he refused. to disclose. It got to a point in our relationship where asking too many questions made Robert's superficial mask of charm and sanity slip. Just for a split second, he showed me the monster that lay

underneath. When he didn't attend the birth of Sadie because he was too busy on another work trip in Kansas, I knew that this was going to be the pattern of our relationship from now on. Unexplained absences, missing backstory, brief displays of vile hate and anger at being dared to questioned by a pathetic little bitch such as myself. It wasn't all bad, though. Robert gave me the odd glimpse of the early days, just enough so I wouldn't think this horrible version of him wasn't permanent. In retrospect, it was just his way of keeping me around.

Plus, when Jeff eventually moved to Texas, mainly to keep tabs on me and the girls, he'd come around, mainly demanding to see Ashley, and he'd regularly speak to me in a derogatory manner, which point Robert would step in, He could crush Jeff like an ant with a simple icy glare. Jeff would never say it out loud, but Robert scared the hell out of him. And I'm not ashamed to say I got some pleasure out of that at the time,

but it did make one thing abundantly clear. Jeff, despite being a bully, an abuser, a fallen asshole, even he could see that Robert Cassidy was pure evil. Agent Rodriguez and I climbed into a blacked-out SUV, along with two other agents and took off towards Denver. I sat in the back of the vehicle, desperately trying to contact Ashley. I assume she must have left her phone in her dorm room while her college buddies went to a bar. I'd hope that that was a case anyway, but, to be perfectly honest, she rarely had time for me.

As the car tore towards the New Mexico border, Agent Rodriguez's phone began to shine to life. The agent answered, putting the call on speaker. The voice was that of a detective from the Dallas Police Department. Agent Rodriguez. His detective Dan Hepworth here, Dallas PD. I think you'll have dealt with one of my colleagues, Detective Earnshaw. Yeah, that's right. Where is he?

The agent asked, slightly confused. Oh, he's been reassigned, so I've taken over his case load. You asked me to send an officer to Jeff Benning's home. In order to keep a check on him? The detective explained with fluency. Yes, I did. If you managed to get someone else, there the agent asked yes I did I'm sorry agent but well he's dead the detective said

bluntly the agent winced what happened he asked sounding tentative a little on edge about the potential response well I don't know how to say this well but the officer I sent just radioed in he said he thought he saw someone lurking around the back of the property on his arrival so He went to investigate. He found the back door ajar, and inside he found Mr. Benning dead. The detective sounded empty. I, meanwhile, crumbled.

Well, that hated Jeff for what he'd become, how he'd treated me, and the things he did and what he said to me. But there was a time when I'd loved him. We were married. We had a child together. I brought Robert Cassidy into our lives. I was to blame. Agent, uh, you shit no. Benning showed signs of extreme torture. There's a lot of damage here. Benning clearly didn't give him what he wanted straight away. He obviously wanted information and

now he's got it. Fair play to the guy. Benning put up with good fights. His car's gone too. He's got what he wanted. Information and a vehicle. He's on the move. Oh shit. Special Agent Rodriguez punched the steering wheel in anger before exhaling his stress. Okay, thanks, detective. Keep me updated. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, agent. Please, are there any other people that need protect him from this animal? I'd be happy to send an officer or two out to help.

He told him where Ashley is. I chipped him, looking Agent Rodriguez square in the eye via the rearview mirror. The agent's eyes widened, oh so slightly, and he stomped the gas pedal hard as he bowed all. is down the phone. Yes, detective, I'm currently en route to Denver to retrieve Ashley Benning. We believe that's where Robert Cassidy is heading. I'll be redirecting a lot of my team from the safe house guarding Sadie Benning in order to apprehend him. Me and Mrs. Edmonds would feel a lot better if you could send an officer or two to assist the two agents of the safe house.

Absolutely, special agent Rodriguez. Send me the safe house location and I'll get someone right over. Detective Hepworth sounded like a man with all the enthusiasm you want to hear from a police officer. He really wanted to help. Sending it now, Detective, oh, and Dan sent your best. Robert Cassidy is one of the most dangerous men on the planet. He's ruthless, vicious, but most of all, he's highly intelligent. He calmed his way out of the most secure prison in the United States, with some vinegar in a prison uniform. I sure will, Agent. Good luck in Denver.

The detective offered his best wishes before hanging out the phone. Agent Rodriguez three dialed another number as I began to notice we were turning around. A voice answered. Yeah, this is Special Agent Rodriguez. Robert Cassidy has been cited in Dallas, Texas. He's murdered Ashley Benning's father, Jeff. Tortured him before he killed him. Most likely for Ashley's location.

He's taken a car so we believe he's. He's heading for Denver. I need you to send five agents to meet me at San Antonio International Airport. I have a helicopter arranged. Well, he won't risk flying. We can get there hours before him and we'll be ready for him. You and Barkin stay with Sadie. I've got a few Dallas PD officers coming to assist you soon.

Call me if anything comes up. The agent hung up the phone and sighed with relief. It obviously felt good to finally have a pin down on Robert's movements and have his response planned accordingly. I sat out of the window, wondering how on earth my life would come to this. Part two, it seemed like only yesterday that I first began to realize just who Robert Cassidy was. Around two years into our relationship, not long after Sadie's first birthday actually, Robert continued to be absent for periods of time, usually claiming he was on work trips couriery. He'd miss key events like anniversaries, birthday,

Thanksgiving, Christmas, you name it. At first I thought he was cheating on me. I mean, why wouldn't he? Jeff did, and Robert was the most gorgeous man that I'd ever met. When he returned from one of his trips, I waited until he'd left the house. I began going through his things, expecting to find some used condoms,

hairs from another woman, shirt smelling of perfume. Well, you get the point. I never found anything, though. However, what I did find was puzzling. His clothes were clean, unsented, unmarked. It was like they were new. But eventually, that's when I realised, it's because they were. On this particular occasion of me inspecting the suitcase, I noticed

that Robert had forgotten to remove the price tag off of one of the shirts. So I went digging, in his pockets, in his coats, and then in the car. That's where I found something finally. It was a receipt for a clothing store in Birmingham, Alabama. Robert had purchased around five shirts and three pairs of pants, the precise amount of clothes that he'd left with. I gently confronted him about the receipts, telling him that I innocently found it whilst cleaning the car. He didn't rattle. He began to smoothly explain that he'd simply had a bad nosebeat and that it had ruined his clothes. I would have accepted this explanation, but one thing played on my mind, so I counted and asked him why he needed to replace every shirt. And that's

when the mass slipped for the first time. Robert's surface of suave, charm and charisma cracked before my very eyes. His brows lowered, his smile dropped, and his pupils dilated. Have you been looking through my things, Amy? His menacing tone paralyzed me. He started to advance on me,

backing me right up against the bedroom wall. His eyes bored holes into my soul. He grabbed my wrist and squeezed hearts. It began to hurt as the blood started to cut off from my hand and began to throb. It was as if you were trying to detect any lies by feeling my pulse. Well, I quivered. No, I'm sorry, Robert. I'm sorry, I wasn't snooping, I promise.

Please, you're hurting me. I begged him to stop. I could see by Robert's face that he enjoyed my fear. It pleased him. It excited him. No, you were questioning me. You were calling me a liar. There was a venom behind his restraint.

No, I promise, I wasn't. I was just trying to do something nice. I tidy the car for you. Put your things away. I was just being a good wife. Please, stop. He eventually let go. I dropped to my knees and cradle my swollen hand.

I looked up at Robert as he stood over me, looking down at his pathetic wife. I waited for him to strike me as I coward, but instead his menacing, Emotionless glare transformed back to the superficial, charming smile that my friends and family had come to know and love. I appreciate the gesture. There was no need, my love. In fact, I have another bit of work, you see, all the way in Atlanta.

So I'm going to head out, maybe hit the casino. Meanwhile, you're going to put all those clothes back in that case and have it packed and ready for when I get back. Understand. I nodded, tears bursting through my clenched eyelids. Robert's fake smile made my blood run cold, as I imagined the monster underneath. Then, just like that, he was gone, leaving me wondering who or what Robert Cassidy really was. I began to search online for people who appeared to be friendly and charming on the surface, but underneath they seem not all there. The recurring word that kept coming up was psychopath.

I thought psychopaths were crazy people who were locked up in mental hospitals and head-budded walls. It turns out there's something far more sinister. They are wolves dressed as sheep. I read an article written by Dr. Hare at the University of British Columbia, in which he talked about a test or a checklist he'd developed in order to identify if someone was a psychopath or had psychopathic tendencies. I went down the list and assessed Robert's behaviour. Superficial charm.

Check. Inflated sense of self-worth. Check. Pathological lies. Check. When I told him to get a job that didn't involve so much travelling, he'd say that I was controlling him, making him give up a job that made him happy.

He made me feel like I was the controlling burden. Manipulative behaviour. Check. On one of the rare occasions that Robert was home, which were very rare indeed, I might add, well, the one incident that really sticks in my mind was when we were sat in the living room watching a news report about a couple who were attempting to raise money for a terminally ill child in order to give him a trip to Disneyland. I felt heartbroken watching this mother, just wanting enough money to take a dying baby boy

on one last family vacation before she lost him forever. Robert sat watching in these people, totally emotionless. The only time he spoke was when he accused the couple of faking, crying on TV, simply because they wanted a free holiday. He then added it was pointless giving money to someone who'd be dead soon. Well, his lack of compassion chilled me. The fact I'd just given birth to this man's child, that he had a baby just like these people,

and yet he didn't see the point of giving just a few dollars to a couple of complete strangers. so they could give their little boy one last shred of happiness before he passes. Lack of empathy. Check. Robert Cassidy. My husband was a psychopath. Well, I read that psychopaths make up about 1% of the population. Interestingly, most of them actually live normal lives.

Now, don't get me wrong, they're pretty much assholes, thieves. Con men womanize us, but most of them aren't violent. they never physically hurt anyone. At this point I honestly convinced myself that Robert was in that category. That was until two weeks later when the news report aired covering the brutal rape and murder of Violet Walsh.

Violet Walsh was a 20-year-old student who went missing in Montgomery, Alabama. Her mutilated body was found three days after her disappearance in Oak Mountain State Park, just outside Birmingham. She was last seen leaving her college dorm around 9 p.m.

She told her roommate that she was going to see her boyfriend and informed her that she'd be back in the morning. Violet never returned home that morning, causing her roommate to become concerned. When questioned, the boyfriend claimed she'd never arrived that evening, and he just assumed she'd blown him off for the night. The news reported informed the audience that they couldn't go into too much detail

regarding the specifics of this horrifying and brutal murder, but they did say the killer had abducted Violet, taken her to a remote location in the past, and committed the heinous acts of violence over the course of a few hours. As the broadcast went on, my heart began to pound harder and harder as each piece of significant information was like a nail being hammered into my chest.

They said the nature of the crime and the sadistic methods of torture and mutilation matched the ammo of around 20 other violent murders involving young women throughout a number of locations in the United States. The locations they listed were all locations that Robert had worked since he got his job. The news reporter went on to inform the audience that the FBI were looking for a man in connection with the offences, who they dubbed the cross-lines cannibal.

The pseudonym was based on the fact his crimes, cross-state lines, as well as the violent nature of the murders themselves. I sat there, convincing myself that this was purely circumstantial. This could have all just been a string of haunting coincidences. but then they brought up the suspect sketch Art fell into my stomach as soon as I saw that drawing It was Robert His slick back hair

His square jaw, his piercing green eyes His perfectly moulded nose I pulled out the laptop and Google searched the drawing The drawing was actually done by Kansas State PD Around 14 months before the Violet Walsh murder The sketch had been drawn with another girl Julia Devereon was found dumped in an alley

in Park City, Kansas. Her body butchered and mutilated in a similar fashion to the other victims. A man was seen leaving the vicinity shortly after the murder was thought to have taken place. A witness told KSPD

that he'd seen a man leaving the area with blood splattered around his mouth, neck and chest. The witness asked him if he was okay or if he needed an ambulance. The man reportedly replied, yes I'm fine it's just a nosebleed before making a hasty retreat from the area and when I read that line I collapsed I was astounded and horrified by the revelation that my husband my actual husband was the most wanted serial killer in North America

I continued to Google myself into a frenzy learning the horrible details of all the brutal and unspeakable things that Robert had done over the course of the last decade From the official FBI website, I learned that the cross-lying cannibal was suspected to have been responsible for over 23 murders across 17 different states. They provided a phone number for anyone with information and offered a hundred thousand dollar reward for anyone who had information leading to his arrest. It took a few weeks to overcome the denial, but eventually I picked up the phone. Rodriguez broke the silence. I'm sorry about Jeff.

A horrible way for a man to go. I wiped a tear that had broken from my iris. It's okay. He wasn't very nice to me, but, you know, there was a time when he was. He was the father to one of my kids. I didn't like Jeff very much, but in a strange way, I think there's a small part of me that will always love him. And for him to go like that.

I winced, unable to finish my thought pattern. nor my sentence. The agent noticed my self-pity. He saw me becoming frustrated with myself for letting Robert Cassidy into my head, allowing him to affect me in such a way. I don't know if I can do this again. I brought this man into our lives. It's got my ex-husband killed and now my daughters are at risk. I just can't face him again. I just can't. I began to cry. Let me tell you something that I've never told anyone. The agent offered me a break from thinking about Jeff and what Robert did to him, and I took it. Go on, I invited.

When we were looking for the cross-line cannibal, I just thought he was like every other serial killer out there. Fines one, rapes one, kills one, all in their own special little way. Or to get the world talking and make them feel special. You know, once you've seen one serial killer, you've kind of seen them all, but, well, if we're going to be truly honest here. The day we raided at your house to arrest Cassidy and take him into custody, I knew the minute I read him right, that he was something else entirely. When we took him to Florence and me and Quincy got him in that interrogation room,

I didn't see a man who'd done bad things, or a classroom textbook serial killer. No, I saw a very bad man who loved to do even worse things. He spoke about the strength and technique needed to sodomize someone with him. the tree branch. He talked about the taste of his living victim's flesh like he was duff fucking goldman talking about a sponge cake. At one point he even joked about how chewy the fat ones can be. He also demonstrated how he choked one girl with barbed wire as he curled her like a barbell, describing in detail how his mouth tore back to her earlobes. He talked about every sick and twisted

thing he did to his victims, and he did it like he was talking about how he fastens his fucking shoelaces. Now, I've had all types of criminals in that room. Psychopaths, sadists, cannibals, rapists, murderers, narcissists. And yet never in my life have I met one that I could say combine them all. For the first time in my life, the man across from me terrified me. I think that's because I wasn't even sure if he was a man. We had to interview that man for nearly seven hours, while he teased the district attorney into dropping the death penalty.

In return, he'd give us the locations of a number of burial sites. Here we'd find the mutilated bodies of ten missing girls. Anyway, Amy, my point is that for every minute of every one of those seven hours, I was scared. Didn't matter that he was chained to a desk and had two armed officers aiming pistols at him. He made me shiver. His coldness, his maniacal chuckle, the way he licked his lip every time he spoke about. tearing flesh from women's necks with his bare teeth. When the DA gave him life instead of death,

I'm not ashamed to say I whimpered, because I know while ever that man is alive, he's a risk to everyone he meets. The agent said, staring vacantly forward. I know, I added. But yet, when we told you that all we had was circumstantial evidence, we said we needed a confession to catch him. We asked if you'd wear a wire.

You remember what you sold me? Um, not really. You said, agent, I brought this man into my children's lives. I'm their mother and I'll do anything to get him back out again. I'll do anything I need to. You weren't scared. You weren't deterred. You were focused.

So please, Amy, don't let him get in your head. You took him down once and you can do it again. He is the strongest and bravest woman I know. Much braver than me, but together we can't stop him. So, let's go do it. The agent said, smiling at the end. I appreciated his kind words. I appreciated the pep talk.

It was definitely needed. Oh, and Amy, the agent began to add. I looked up at him. He's murdered three people and assaulted another that we know of. we catch him and this time there'll be no deals no trades no excuses he will be sentenced to death we shared a tense stare both willing each other to focus if we got to ashley before roberts we could catch him and all this would be finally over part three the plane landed at denver international airport at nine p m as soon as i turned my mobile on i attempted to contact ashley but i her phone was still going to voicemail. I began to imagine the ways I had killed her when I eventually saw her. Special Agent Rodriguez began calling around as our vehicle tore at high speeds towards the university. He arranged for the Denver Police Department to send offices to the university and get Ashley into

protective custody and search for any sign of Robert Cassidy. No one spoke, as we were all mentally preparing for the showdown which was about to happen. Agent Rodriguez is, ringtone suddenly broke the silence, making all the agents and myself gently startle in our seats. Rodriguez answered the phone. Hey, special age. God, an officer, Dave Miles here. Says he's been sent to assist us.

Says he's been sent by Detective Dan Hepworth. Says you knew all about it. Agent Quince questioned. Yeah, that's fine. Is he on his own? Rodriguez asked. There was some indistinct conversation that was inaudible to us, before Quince replies.

Yeah, just him. Says Hepworth is sending some more, though. They're on their way. Okay, that's fine. Just make sure you check IDs upon entry and stay vigilant. We'll be in touch once we're set up at the university. Agent Rodriguez instructed, before saying his official goodbyes and hanging up.

I ask for assistance in guarding a defenseless child from the most sadistic serial killer since John Gase. And what do they do? One fucking officer they send. One. The agent shook his head and discussed. Ah, budges must be stretched again, I assume. Be quipped.

The other agents chuckled in agreement. How long to work at the university? I asked. Rodriguez checked the sat now. Fifteen minutes. Don't worry, Amy. I just got word that the police are at the campus right now. They've set up checkpoints at the campus, clocking everyone who enters and exits the site.

The other officers are looking for Ashley as a reality. speak. There's no way he's got there before us. So unless he's driving the millennium freaking Falcon, then we got at least two hours on him. Best get your foot down then, I instructed, not in the mood for jokes. We poured up at the university campus at 9.35 p.m., where we were greeted by a large collection of Denver police. There must have been over 30 officers swarming around the campus. Some were checking vehicles and students as they passed through the checkpoints while others were patrolling and interviewing with people passing by. We got out of the vehicle and headed over to what I assumed was the commanding officer.

Agent Rodriguez approached him. Special Agent David Rodriguez, Quantigo. Are you in charge? He said as he held out his badge. Welcome special agent. Lieutenant Stanley Watkins, Denver PD. We spoke on the phone, he replied. Oh, of course. Well, I gotta say, I'm really impressed by your precinct's response. Other departments' response to this has been a little lackluster. I asked for some Dallas officers to attend an at-risk person at their home. I sent one guy and he got there two legs. The subject was murdered by Cassidy, and then when I asked for some more officers to assist my agents at a safe house in Fort Worth, again, they only sent one officer. I can't get the staff some days, can you? Disgraceful, truly. I followed the two men as they made their way into the

building. They continue conversing. Any sightens of either Ashley or Cassidy? The agent asked. Negative on both fronts. No sign of Cassidy. Well, in regards to the girl, her room's empty. No sign of Miss Benning or her roommates. We're going around the whole campus and asking for any witnesses who know of their whereabouts. The officer answered. Well, what does that mean? Was there any sign of a break in or a struggle? Where's my baby go? I intervened, slightly losing it. All my outbursts combined with the agent and the officer, both trying to settle me, was interrupted by a mouthy and dinky young woman with jet-black hair and soft Gothic makeup. She was marching towards her, stomping her feet, shouting the odds. "'Oye, what's the Fivo doing trash in my room? I ain't done nothing.'

She was really fuming. "'You're Ashley Benning's roommate,' the agent asked. "'Eh, what's this about? Is it about Ashley? What's she done now? God, I'll kill her. My things are everywhere. She roared at the agent. She's not done anything. There's someone dangerous on the loose that may not only have Ashley's location, but also a reason to harm her. You know where she is. It's really important we get her into protection. Where's my daughter? You must know where she is. She isn't answering you the phone. The girl looked to me and her anger washed away once she saw my expression and realized the gravity of the

situation. Um, yeah, she went on a date. Told me not to wait up, she said with a reserved tone. With who? I asked, with my heart in my mouth. Um, I don't know. She was talking to him on Tinder today. He invited her to meet tonight. She said his name was Roman. That's all I know. Is she in danger? She began to sound as worried as I did. We all looked at each other. Think so. The agent responded honestly. We ran as fast as we could back to the SUV. The lieutenant agreed he'd get their department to gain access to Ashley's cell records and try and find the last number she called.

As soon as he had a location, he'd be in touch. We hopped in the vehicle and began to make our way to the beltway, ready to head in any direction we needed. Well, the call came through quicker than I'd expected. Agent Rodriguez's phone once again lit up and jingled, and the agent hit the green button without haste. Yes, Lieutenant, what do you have for us? Calls from a burner. It's unregistered.

We don't know who it belongs to, but the cell phone is on, and the last tower we got a signal off was that, or 70th Avenue, Adam City. Before that, it pinged off a tower near Sang Creek landfill. The lieutenant went quiet, as he accessed his knowledge of the city of Denver. Yeah, it looks like he's potentially heading to the Rocky. Mountain Refuge Park.

Lieutenant's tone didn't sound like he was guessing. He sounded confident but trailed off as he realized the gravity of his words. Ever since he was seen that night in Park City, every Cassidy victim was found in a remote woodland area. The agents tried their best not to look me in the eye as I winced in my seats, wondering what horrific state we might find Ashley in, if we didn't get there fast enough. A convoy consisting of the air.

FBI's SUV sandwiched by two Denver PD cars, hit the blue lights and tore down the 25 at breakneck speed. I could see the agents, checking and loading their weapons. I had no weapon and I had no lieutenants to liaise with. I was simply alone, alone with my thoughts and my doubts. As we pulled up to the parking lot on 96th Avenue, the convoy swarmed into the park, looking for any sign of Robert or Ashley. Immediately we noticed a single vehicle in the lots. The feds and the cops made their way over,

guns drawn. The vehicle was gently tilting and rocking. Someone was inside. Visit the FBI. If anyone's there, please make it known as we are armed. Rodriguez warned. The vehicle began to move more vigorously now. We all approach cautiously.

One of the officers carefully made his way around the side of the vehicle, again weapon at the ready. He looked through the window, and my heart was in my mouth. Get off the girl. The officer had seen something that alarmed him. He pointed the weapon into the back seat, and I, along with the agents and other officers, ran over to assist. I could see that there was a figure in the back seat mounting someone else, and I could hear a deep male voice powering over a muffled wine of a female. Get out of the vehicle with your hands up, another officer ordered, and the rocking of the vehicle continued, and the two voices began to get louder.

Enough was enough, with two federal agents covering them with weapons up, one of the officers ripped open the car door and pulled the man by the scruff of his collar, backwards out of the car and onto the dirt. The man who was exposing himself, scuttled on the ground desperately trained, to get to his feet with his trousers around his knees. As he got to his feet, dressed himself and looked up, he found that he had around seven pistols aimed at him. On your knees now, now, one of the officers kicked the back of his knees, causing his legs to fold and therefore complying with the order. He looked around, embarrassed, shocked and scared. He was also young,

blonde and pale. It wasn't Robert. "'Hey, what the hell's going on?' A half-dressed tart came stumbling out of the car, realigning her skirt. "'Get off him!' she added. I snapped sharply. Well, that tart was my daughter. "'Oh, my God! Mom! What the hell are you doing here?' she asked, mortified.

Despite my anger at her behavior, I ran to her and hugged her. I had tears in my eyes. I was just happy to know she was okay. Mom, what on earth are you doing here? What's going on? Why are you with the FBI? Ashley didn't know which question to ask first. I closed my eyes for a second as I gulped

before staring her dead in the eye. It's Robert, I said. Her eyes widened and she turned her head slightly as if bracing for what I was about to say next. He's escaped. As soon as the last syllable left my lips, Ashley broke. After 15 minutes consisting of calming Ashley down and her introducing me to her friend, Roman Manning, and the police releasing him from gunpoint, Roman left in his car and Ashley jumped in the back of the SUV with me and Agent Rodriguez.

Your sister's in a safe house in Fort Worth. That's where we're going now. We're going to stay there until they catch him, I informed her. "'That's right. "'I'm going to escort you and your mother back to Texas, "'and my team is going to stay here and wait for Cassidy to expose himself. "'We strongly believe he is here,' "'Agent Rodriguez informed Ashley as he started the car and pulled onto the highway. "'Okay, I don't understand, though. "'Why would you think he'd come for me?

"'He wouldn't know I was in Denver.' "'Her question caught me off guard. "'I wasn't ready to give her the answer and she sensed it. me and the agent shared a concerned look he nodded to me as if to tell me honesty was the best policy and ashley sensed that too mom what's happened she asked concerned what followed was the hardest conversation i've ever had to have the sound of my little girl's wail that rang throughout that denver night sky will haunt my mind forever i didn't go into the detail about the horrible things Robert had done to Jeff, but for all his faults, Ashley knew her father wouldn't have

given up her location easily. Her imagination was her own worst enemy. We arrived at the airport and boarded the plane back to Texas. It took the entire two-hour flight for Ashley to stop crying and fall asleep. I cradled her in my arms the whole flight. It felt like a double-edged blade. As much as I could tell, she was in pain over the fate of her father. It was nice to find. It was nice to finally feel like I had my baby girl back. The plane landed and Agent Rodriguez escorted us off the plane and to the Fort Worth Airport parking lot where another SUV with two agents inside was waiting. As we unlocked the vehicle and began to climb in, Rodriguez switched his cell phone on now that he was off the plane. He looked at his notifications and began to look

a little confused. Is everything okay? I asked. Um, yeah, I think so. Sorry. Just one minute. The agent sounded flustered, and he held a finger up, signaling for me to give him a minute to collect his thoughts. He began to dial a number. Come on, come on, what the hell? The agent said as his phone call wasn't answered. He sighed in frustration. What's going on, agent?

I asked intently. Quince and Barkin's not answering. Protocol states they should call and check in every hour to let me know everything's all If the phone's off, they should text. I don't understand. He started to sound really concerned. What about the officer or the detective you spoke with? Hepward, was it?

I asked, unsure of the name. Hepworth, I mean, I've got five missed calls from a Dallas number. Maybe that's the number of the officer he sent to the safe house. The agent said, as he pressed redial on the missed call. At the point we were in the vehicle, the Bluetooth caused the phone to come through the safe house. the speakers. The phone rang a few times before it was finally answered. Captain Reginald Porter, Dallas PD. Hi, um, apologies for my delayed response. I've been on a

flight. My name is Special Agent Rodriguez from the FBI, and I think you... Yes, of course, Agent. I've been trying to get in touch with you all night. We believe you're in touch with one of our detectives earlier tonight. Regarding protection for a Jeff Benning, the captain asked. Oh, yeah, I was. I was just trying to get in touch with Dan Hepworth, actually. I was wondering if you knew... No, no, Detective Richard Earnshaw. The captain interrupted.

Oh, yeah, yeah. He was one of the first guys I contacted. Apparently he was reassigned and Dan Hepworth took over. What? What's happened? Rodriguez waited curiously as there was a silence. He's dead. We found him a couple of... hours ago in Jeff Benning's garage, along with another officer who he attended the property with,

Officer Mills. Agent Rodriguez was stunned, as was I. We were speechless, so the captain continues. We found them both stuffed in the trunk of Jeff Benning's car. They'd been ambushed because neither of them got around off them. Both of their necks were broken. Sorry to change the subject suddenly, but you mentioned to Dan Hepwood? What's going on, Captain? Who's Dan Hepworth. How does he have a dead man's phone? Agent Rodriguez demanded to know. Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but we don't have any detectives here by that name. Art four. It was back. That ringing tone. Hard to describe it really. Imagine you've just stood next to a grenade that's detonated. Your ear is ringing, your mind blank. Shell shocked is

probably the word people use. The implications of what we'd just learned had everyone's mind scrambled. We'd driven fast all evening, don't get me wrong, but nothing compared to how we were rapidly weaving in and out of traffic right now, desperately trying to get to the safe house. It was pointless, though. Agent Rodriguez got the call from Quince when we landed in Denver, meaning Robert had arrived at the safe house at around 9.40pm. That clever bastard sent us on a wild goose chase to Denver

while he went after his real target right here in Texas. Our best hope of Sadie being alive was that Robert wanted her that way. I was trying to tell myself he wouldn't kill her just to hurt me, but I knew that wasn't true. We pulled up at the safe house at 3.15 a.m. The collection of blue lights, yellow tape and men in white oversuits were not a good sign. I stared in horror out of the tinted window and up at the property's garden path, watching as a pair of stretches carrying black body bags were wheeled out of the front door of the small townhouse.

I, along with Ashley, burst from the car. We ran to the nearest stretcher and screamed at the paramedic to get out of the way. The medical officials protested out tugging at the zips, frantically trying to open the bag. However, once Special Agent Rodriguez gave them a signal to stand down, they complied and he joined in our checking the idea of the bodies. As the agent pulled the zip down, I was praying I was not about to be greeted by Sadie's face. Thankfully, I wasn't. But what looked up at me had me taken aback.

A man, his face was badly disfigured, his nose and top lip looked like they'd been violently bitten off. Both eyes were swallowed up, and I didn't dare look at what other injuries Robert had inflicted. on this poor man. Agent Rodriguez grabbed his head with both hands and began to shake it in grief. Oh God, Borkins, oh no, fuck. He was furious, but his anger soon turned to horror and anticipation as he looked at the other stretcher. The size was similar to the one containing the body of Agent Boggins. I think at this point I knew Sadie wasn't in there, as did Agent Rodriguez. Ashley and I stood in sympathy as Rodriguez marched over to the other body back. Whoa, so, I really don't think you want to see. The paramedic tried to warn the agent, but he'd already

ushered him out of the way and he opened the bag. Rodriguez looked down at Agent Quincy's face and fell to his knees. His pain-filled whales, as he looked down at the brutality that had been bestowed on his best friend and colleague of 15 years, filled the night air. his reaction gave me deja vu of early this evening when Ashley learned of her father As Agent Rodriguez mourn the death of his two fallen comrades I made my way into the safe house A police officer on the doorstep attempted to stop my entry Excuse me man but this is a crime scene and you can't

Well I didn't let him finish his sentence before I pushed him aside and informed him it was my daughter they were supposed to be protecting I also said that if there was anyone who could find a clue to her where about it'd be me oh i'm so sorry ma'am i didn't realize who you were he said sincerely as he leant in close he began to whisper oh the two cops he killed were good guys both had families and kids he kissed his teeth in anger and he continued i've got you in sight so you don't disturb any potential evidence but but if you can in any way help us catch that bastard then you're welcome to come inside. This way, ma'am. He ushered me into the building. For this on, don't touch anything and sign this, he said, as he handed me a forensic oversuit and a clipboard. I complied

and entered the house. The hallway didn't seem too disturbed. I noticed the garage door was ajar, but other than that, nothing to note. However, once we made our way down the hall, a smell filled my nostrils, a mixture of metallic odour and burning flesh. I prepared myself as I went through the living room door. I winced, unspeakable things had happened in this room. The furniture was all pushed back against the walls to make a large space in the centre of the room. Two desk chairs were in the middle of the room, roughly two metres apart. They were torn pieces of duct tape still stuck on the armrests of each chair, as well as the chair legs. A high, high, The concentration of blood spatter was on the floor and wall by the first chair, with seven amputated fingers and around five to six teeth laying strewn around in the space surrounding the chair.

A claw hammer, some pliers and a pair of bulk cutters also lay nearby. Again, all covered in bloods. The other chair had areas where the plastic was melted and the fabric was badly singed. A blowtorch lay close by. I held my mouth as I tried not to vomit. but also trying to stop the flow of horrible nasal indicators of what had occurred here. I walked out of the room and made my way upstairs, following the landing round to the end bedroom. The door was ajar. I opened it fully.

The room was pristine, no signs of violence or struggling here, thankfully. The bed she was sleeping in. The sheets had been carefully pulled back, and Sadie had been carefully lifted out of it. Robert's antics downstairs were clearly carried out while Sadie was sleeping. She was a deep sleeper, fair enough, but Robert surely must have gagged these men. There's no way they didn't scream. I picked up the pillow, pressed it against my face, inhaled deeply the smell of my beautiful baby girl. I began to sob as I wondered how on earth I could have failed my children so badly.

But then I felt it. Inside the pillowcase was a faint, crinkly, outline of a sheet of paper. I dug my hand into the pillowcase and fished it out. I tried to hold it still, but my hands were shaking. Finally, I composed myself and flicked the paper outwards so its message became clear. Dear Amy, Sadie is safe for now. You have my word. I've had more than enough fun since I left Florence, as I'm sure you're aware of. But believe me, I have one more in me. You or Sadie, the decision is yours. Come to the old office space on Worth Heights.

I'll give you till 5 a.m. If you don't show or I see a pig or a fed, I will tear her to pieces. You know I will. Yours sincerely, Robert, my heart began to pound, half out of panic, half from anger. That vile bastard. I screwed up the paper and threw it in the small bin,

in the corner of the bedroom. I made my way outside. The police officer on the door signed me out and requested me to hand in my suit. He asked if I'd found anything and I said, well, I lied to him saying I hadn't. Mom, is Sadie okay?

Is she in there? Ashley asked in a panic. I grabbed her shoulders and shook my head. No, baby, she isn't. He's taken her. I informed her. Her face began to, to deform in horror, to which I calmed her down by saying,

That's a good thing, honey. Everything else left behind is not in a good way. He clearly wants her alive. Agent Rodriguez came running across the garden. We know where he is, he said as he waved me over to his car, and I gasped inside. Where? I asked tentatively. He's at the airport. He took Quince's car.

What he doesn't know is that the car has a track, I've alerted the airport to be on the lookout for him and Sadie. He's trapped. Dallas PD and Fort Worth PD are already swarming the building. Let's go get him. He then opened the rear door for me to jump in, and I thought on my feet. I'm not coming, I said bluntly, and neither is Ashley, I added. Both Rodriguez and Ashley looked at me as if I'd just peeled my face off.

What? They both exclaimed. If I'm there when you arrest him and he knows the game is up, you could kill Sadie just to get one last dagger in. Please, go get my baby, I'll stay here with Ashley, I said, trying to sound convincing. Ashley wasn't happy. Rodriguez, on the other hand, I could tell he got my point. He promised me he would call once they had Cassidy in Cuffs and Sadie safe.

He made his way over to the car and began to climb in when all of a sudden Ashley followed suit. You can sit her all you want, but I'm going to go get my sister, she said, that stroppy teen charm shining through. I did my best to sound against the idea, but this was ideal. I protested, but I knew Ashley wouldn't back down, and she didn't disappoint. Agent Rodriguez promised me he'd keep her safe, and I believed him. Even if I didn't know he was going to arrest, Cassidy, I would believe him. As soon as they left, I checked my watch. for 38 a.m.

I quickly went over to the cop on the door who signed me in earlier. I started to shiver the best I could. I'm sorry to bother you. I don't know if it's a shock or the cold, but I'm really shaking. Do you mind if I sit in your car? I asked, giving my eyelashes a flutter for good measure. He smiled and dug his hand in his pockets, pulling out a set of keys. Just turn the ignition to the first point.

That'll activate the heating, he said, with a friendly nod. I thanked him and made my way over to his Fort Worth police cruiser. I let myself into the driver's seat, making sure he wasn't looking as I did so. And before anyone knew anything, I'd turned the key and went. Part 5, I pulled into the lot that surrounded the MIG constructed tower block. I'd read about this on the news. The five-story building had been commissioned a year ago for around 25 student flats to be built the students of the Fort Worth University.

It was in the middle of its construction, so it was around 60 foot of wood flooring, scaffolding, and plastic sheeting. I exited the car and had a look around. I saw a pair of tire marks leading to a space in front of the main entrance, but no other vehicle was in sight. I assumed Robert had driven to the airport and got a taxi from there to here, knowing full well the vehicle had a tracker. I don't doubt the two agents told him everything he needed to know. know with the things he did to them. I made my way up the tower block. Each floor was based with a thick sheeting of plywood sitting on the steel frame of the building. There was a small hatch

with ladders in the centre of each floor which permitted users to climb the tower. I began the climb, carefully making my way up each set. As I got to the foot of the final ladder, I heard a small child whimper. The deep, assertive voice followed, telling the child, shh, I think you might. I Mommy's here now. The adrenaline was at its peak as it pumped through my body. Had it been any other situation, I would have fled for my life. However, he had my child, so I climbed to fight. I peeked my head up through the hatch.

I scanned the area. Mommy! A soft voice cried from the corner of the building, and I immediately looked over. There she was, my baby girl, safe and sound. but there restraining her blade to her neck was Robert. I assured Sadie it would be okay and let her know that Mommy was here to save her. Well, reunited at last, baby girl. Robert said in his usual, charming voice,

I hope you appreciate the amount of people I had to kill to arrange this little rendezvous. I hope you realize how much I love you, Amy. He actually sounded believable. You're a monster. You don't know what love is. I'll let my baby go, go. I tried to be assertive. No, I loved you, Amy.

I mean, look at you and look at me. You were beat up, wrong side of 35, saggy and lumpy in all the wrong places. I could have any woman I wanted, but I chose you. That's love, Amy. You betrayed me. His mask was off now. His darkness exuded towards me.

You killed all those girls. And yet, I didn't kill you. Despite you always snooping in my things and spying on me like the paranoid freak you are. How can you say I don't love you? You're sick, I said bluntly, causing Robert to chuckle. I'm not sick. Sick people don't escape from the most secure facility in the US. Sick people don't manipulate the FBI into going on some wild goose chase all.

night you're a sick bastard what you did to Jeff to those officers to the agents I began to reel off the list of bodies that had piled up in the last 24 hours huh those officers they beat me in my custody cell when I first got arrested those agents you should have seen how they belittle me in my interviews and Jeff do not hold a candle to that coward he's not worth your grief. He said, grinning at me as he slapped a piece of tape over Sadie's mouth. What do you mean? I asked.

Carefully eyeing the sledgehammer resting against the wall by Robert. I tried to carefully make my way over to it. Well, you see, I needed to torture him so badly that you guys would assume he told me where Ashley was.

That son of a bitch gave up her location after the very first cut. Barely put up a fight. Even I didn't expect that. I needed him to look so bad that I carried on anyway. As he began hammering pins up his toenails, he screamed like a little bitch. He even begged me to stop and let him call her. He said he'd invite her over, pay for her flight and everything. That sack of shit was willing to hand his daughter over to me, simply to save his own skin. I did you and Ashley a favor, believe me. His vacant look, he was willing to. He was a little. He was

look as he discussed the torture of Jeff chilled me to the court. He continued. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'd have just killed these two feds for the same way I killed the two police. Quick, simple, snuffed out with a firm snap of the neck. Attack my body, if you will. I can forgive that, but don't detect my legacy. That's a very different story. During my interviews, those agents call me stupid for underestimating you. They called me text-partum. They called me text-part look in ordinary for being like every other serial killer. They call me simple for being called. Those words have rung in my head for two and a half years.

Who's stupid now? They welcome me and board the kennel. Ask me if I wanted cream and sugar. A look on that quince his face when he came in to find his friend with half of his face missing. Priceless. Although it was nothing compared to the look on his face when I lit the blowtorch. His face honestly resembled that of someone reminiscing of happy times. Meanwhile, I stood there feeling nauseous,

partially from the adrenaline spike and partially from the vile details provided by Robert. I'd moved to within three metres of the sledgehammer, disguising it as me approaching Sadie. He hadn't noticed, I didn't think. So then, Robert, all this violence and skimming? What's the end game? Why are we here? I asked, now just two meters away from the hammer. Oh, I'm not built for prison, Amy. I don't do well in captivity.

Having kids who were bullied in school now taking their insecurities out of people in chains. Knuckle dragging the arms with a baton and a stung gun telling you when to wake, when to sleep, when to eat and when to shit. No, if I don't get to be free and hunt, then I'm not long for this world. so I want to go out with a bang. I want to live on in people's memory. I guarantee every police officer in Texas will remember my name. I guarantee Agent Rodriguez will think of me every year when it's his best friend's birthday.

And I guarantee either Sadia you will think of the other after tonight. Depending on how you want to play this, he said, pulling a blade out of his belt. I was one meter from the sledgehammer. this was my chance. I dived for the hammer. I was inches away when a hard, stiff blow struck my face. I hit the floor hard, ears ringing,

eyes shaking, a stream of blood poured down my face and ears. Robert was standing over me, brick in hand. My God, he was quick. I tried to crawl to the hammer. It was my only chance. Robert stamped down hard on my hand,

causing me to scream in pain. My hand was on fire. I was sure it was broken in every possible place. I cradled it and looked up at Robert in pain, as he smiled at me. I've made my choice. Me. Kill me and leave Sadie alone.

I begged in agony, pleading to any shred of decency that Robert had. So be it. He grabbed his blade and advanced on me. Get off my mother. "'M!' Sadie screamed. "'She'd freed herself on a piece of glass "'and was charging towards Roberts.

"'I didn't know whether to call her clever or stupid. "'Robbert stood up and grabbed her by the throat "'and forced her back onto the ground. "'Sadie Winston pain and began to sob. "'You're a bad man. "'You killed my daddy,' she said through her tears. "'And Robert smiled with pleasure. "'Wow, Amy, you must really hate me,

telling her that that sniffling coward of a man is her father and not the truth he said loving every second of it no you're right sadie i didn't kill your father he said about to reveal who he really was i took this chance to crawl to the hammer i turned over and dragged myself towards it i didn't kill your father because robert continued as i looked up for the hammer it was gone. I was confused. Oh no, he was going to use it on Sadie. I flipped over and looked up. No, he didn't kill your father. I did, Ashley screamed as she swung the sledgehammer hard into Robert's jaw. The impact forced him back, stumbling towards the edge of the structure.

As soon as his heels went over, myself, Sadie, Ashley and Agent Rodriguez watched him spiral a hundred and eighty degrees and go over the edge, face first. A few seconds later we heard a sheet of glass shatter, tin split and a loud thought. "'Mau, are you okay?' Ashley and Sadie ran over and cradled me. Agent Rodriguez pulled out his radio. He informed control that he had the positive location of Robert Cassidy and Sadie Benny. He requested backup, a paramedic and a coroner. He then came over to me to rent a to first age. How did you know I was here?

I said. My head throbbing. Agent Rodriguez smiles. You honestly didn't think Officer Wise wouldn't report his car being stolen by a mad woman, did you? And the FBI vehicles aren't the only ones with trackers in them.

Be informed. Me and Ashley came to check on you. Saw the car, came up the tower and heard you two going at it. Believe me, it wasn't my idea for Triple H over here to go running at. but I'm happy she did. He added, looking at Ashley with a wink.

Around 20 minutes later, the cavalry turned up. Agents came up the structure along with the medical professionals. The medics began treating my head injury as the agents asked where Robert was. He went over the edge. Amy was defending herself. He was trying to force his weapon on her and she kicked him off with her legs and he fell. No doubt about it, self-defense. "'Bedriguez explained,

"'clearly wanting to keep Ashley away from anything "'that could potentially come back on her. "'He continued. "'Cassad he fell three floors. "'Look like he went through that glass structure "'on the second floor. "'His body crashed through the roof of the workers' porter-cannon. "' Took a nasty fall.

"'You'll find his body in there,' he informed them, "'ordering the agents to go with a coroner to retrieve the body. "'As me and my girls were escorted out of the structure, the coroner's brought out Robert's body in one of those familiar black body bags on a stretcher. Budriguez asked the coroner, so he's dead then. To which the coroner chuckled. Oh yeah, nasty fall. Barely had a face left after all that.

Neck was broken, as was his jaw. Ashley and I shared a look. She almost looked pleased. I mean, fair play to her. She did catch him a beauty. After a few weeks, Me and my girls were back in San Antonio, trying to get on with our lives. I sat Sadie down and told her the truth about who her father was.

She took it well. She's a strong girl. I decided not to tell Ashley what Robert had told me about Jeff. I told her that Robert was impressed with how much she'd had to hurt him in order to get him to disclose the information. I'd rather her have a good lasting impression of her father. I'd rather not give Robert his dying wish of tormenting people's memory. race. One morning I went to collect the mail. As usual there was a mountain of bills. Agent Rodriguez, however, had promised the reward for his arrest would be processed to us, given our assistance in the case,

this time and previously. One letter stood out, however. It was a unique envelope. The address was handwritten and the stamp was Canadian. I tossed the letter on the counter, deciding to read it later with a glass of wine. The phone stuffed in my pocket began to vibrate, causing me to drop whatever I was doing. I pulled it out of my tight jeans after some difficulty.

It was Agent Rodriguez. I answered quickly before the call rung off. Well, hello there, supervisory special agent Rodriguez. I said, emphasizing Rodriguez's new title. He'd been given a well-deserved promotion after recent events. Amy, where are you?

Where are the girls? He sounded panicked. I wasn't prepared for this. They're at school and I'm at home. Why? What's going on? My voice was rushed and trembling. The morning after Cassidy's death,

a local taxi firm reported one of their drivers missing. They said he never returned to base that morning. Fort Worth PD finally got around to investigating it. They found his car abandoned on some rail tracks near where Cassidy fell. They tracked the vehicle's movements using the GPS. The last journey was from Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, heading to the Worth Heights office park.

That's how Robbins got there after dumping Quincy's car. We decided to carry out a forensic search of the taxi driver's car. We harvested plenty of DNA, which is likely to be the driver of the vehicle. We compared that to the body found in the porter cabin after Cassidy's fall. It's a match. he said as I faded out. There it was again, the deaf tone of my ears,

the blood pumping far too hard. I was drowning once again. I could hear Rodriguez in the background shouting through the phone, but it wasn't registering with me. Faintly I could hear, Amy, are you okay? And I was sending a car for you and the girls. Stay on the phone.

I dropped the phone as the panic set in. I stumbled over to the counter. I placed both hands on it to get my balance and prevent myself from falling to the ground. I looked down at the tile surface and the out-of-place letter stared right back up at me. I composed myself and began tearing at the envelope and poured out a single sheet of A4 paper. It read, Dear Amy, I guess this letter won't come as a shock, as I assume by now you're aware the man who they carried out of that cabin wasn't me.

He was a nice fellow. I didn't want to tear his face off honestly, but I needed a backup. Tell Ashley that she has quite the swing on her. Kudos. I have no current plans to come for you. I can assure you of that, you have my word. I'm having far too much fun here in the Great White North, though. There will be a time, however, that my plans change.

But until then, I wish you the best. Thinking of you always. you ask truly Robert Manhunt The next chapter in Robert Cassidy's reign of terror I stood in the FBI briefing room

facing my subordinates I read from my prepared presentation notes as I hit the button on my Bluetooth control which was connected to the screen on front wall of the room the screen revealed a photo of a burly Mexican man with a Mike Tyson-style tattoo on his left eye Teardrops on the right. Next to the photo was Intel on the suspect.

Okay guys, Omar Quintero. You may remember this guy from our six-year investigation into the swarm. Now, obviously, thanks to our cybercrime, undercover and surveillance operations back then, the swarm's commanding units were discovered and arrested. However, some of the smaller fish, so to speak, slipped out of the net before we managed to reel them in. Mr. Quintero was one of them. I pressed the button for a second time, this time showing a photo of ten individuals, each with a name and sentence they were currently serving.

You'll remember all these men. These ten men orchestrated one of the most sinister clandestine networks of organized criminals the FBI has ever investigated. Four of them were killed in the raids. Six are serving triple-figure sentences in maximum security prisons. When the swarm was disbanded, some of the hired muscles splinted off into their own smaller criminal groups. I said, clicking the button once more.

This time the screen showed a crime scene photograph. The photo showed the remains of a black transit van outside a warehouse. The vehicle was torched and next to it lay four black body bags. This photo was taken just outside Jackson, Mississippi in 2008, as I'm sure a lot of the rookies will have been told about this night. During an investigation into a kidnapping, strongly inling to the swarm, a surveillance team of fellow FBI agents were ambushed while staking out at potential contact points. Two killed with serious gunshot wounds to the chest and head.

The van then torched with a makeshift Molotov cocktail. The third and fourth agents were killed with serious knife wounds to the throat. I pressed the button once more, now revealing two more photos of FBI agents. Both had deceased, stamped. on the photo. Now, the fifth agent, Agent Richard Daniels, when he was abducted, later to be brutally tortured in hope of the gang obtaining information relating to an undercover agent we'd embedded in the swarm at the time. The man on the right, Agent John Clayton. I said, heavy-hearted, thinking back to another case where I lost a trusted friend. Agent John Clayton died in the line

of duty in late 2012, after his identity was discovered, but not before he submitted extremely strong evidence against the unit he was embedded in. I pressed the button, changing the picture to show surveillance images taken in a recent stakeout. They showed a large Mexican crew transporting large haulage trucks over the border. Now, thanks to information relayed by Agent Clayton before his death in 2012, we now know that the crew contracted to kill him. those agents and deliver Agent Daniels to the swarm that night was led by Omar Quintero. Since the swarm was taken down, his crew have taken over the drugs and human trafficking racket on the Texan-Mexican border.

I informed the team. I pressed the button one more time to show satellite images of a storage facility just outside of Lareda. Surveillance teams have tracked the organization, as well as Quintero himself, to this stronghold. sources say it's right there now, so we're just going to wait for the federal warrant to come through from Judge Atkins, then we're going in. These guys will not come quietly. They are most likely armed, volatile and extremely dangerous. Lethal force in the interest of protection of the public has been authorized. I looked at the team intensely. Ready? I asked.

Yes, sir. They answered enthusiastically. I smiled and nodded. I smiled and nodded. then let's go get our man as the team stood up out of their chairs and began to get prepped for this morning's operation I couldn't help but be bothered by the talk of fallen comrades two years had passed since the escape from lawful custody of Robert Cassidy a.k.a. A. cross-line cannibal he went on a 48-hour killing spree which culminated in him rudely murdering my best friend Peter Quince almost five years ago after a long and drawn-out investigation that spanned a decade, we finally put this sadistic bastard behind bars. His wife, Amy Edmonds, had contacted us and told us that she suspected her husband was

potentially involved in the murders. She provided us with receipts for disguises and new clothes, or placing him in the area at the time of each specific murder. She told us about his worrying behavior and how we fit the profile of a dangerous person. We looked at what she'd given us, along with his photo to compare against the suspect sketch. We knew we had our map. Unfortunately, the DA wanted something cast iron before we arrested Cassidy. We had no DNA, no CCTV. Everything we had could be passed off as circumstantial.

So we needed a confession. I'll always respect, Amy. She was a woman who'd had a tough life. Her father had died when she was young. Her first husband was an emotional abuser and an adult. alter her. Then, as if things couldn't get much worse, she married the most sadistic serial killer the Bureau was ever captured. Amy showed her resilience, though. She didn't need much persuading to wear a wire for us and began questioning Robert on some strange findings, like wigs, outfits and

hairnets. To cut a long story short, she managed to outsmart him, one of the only people who ever has. She asked us for two sets of recording devices. She wore one under her. She wore one under her. She was a her t-shirt and placed the other under the bed. She asked questions that made it obvious she was wearing a wire. You know the sort. Why don't you just admit what you did and at least have the decency to say it out loud? Stuff like that. Robert pulled up her top and threw it across the room, smashing it against the wall.

Little did he know that was the dummy. Whamie said she'd read a lot about psychopathy and serial killers and how they like to brag about their crimes so they can relive them. Once he thought the recording was no longer taping him, Robert began to taunt her. He came out with things like, I flayed Jessica Adams alive. Is that what you want to know? And I raped Vicky Pierce whilst I choked her with Bardwire? He went on and on for 28 horrendous minutes. Just as he began to threaten Amy, informing her if she ever told anyone that he'd eat her children alive, we burst into the house.

The craziest thing about arresting Robert Cassidy was that he didn't resist at all. He simply looked at Amy and began to clap. He almost had a look of approval on his face. I think deep down, hundred all, he did love her, just in his own sick and twisted way. She's the only woman to have ever survived his company for so long, after all. Apparently during his custody handover, the San Anandum. Antonio PD had roughed up Cassidy. The official report says he tripped in his cell.

If that was true, it was a really bad fall. Cassidy told us in his interviews, he would one day even the score on that front, and in 2018 he killed a Dallas PD detective and a patrol officer. It was all part of his master plan that evening, but I knew he saw this as the debt paid. He tortured and killed Amy Ebens' first husband.

Jeff Benny, here causing myself and others to wrongly assume he was targeting their eldest daughter, Ashley. While we were chasing our tail in Denver, he assumed the identity of one of the deceased Dallas PD officers, and, after calling me from the deceased detective's phone to obtain the location of Sadie Benning, he made his way to Fort Worth. He was here he gained entrance to the safe house and ambushed my two best agents. This sadistic fuck brutally tortured them both. or for the simple reason they taunted him in the interviews that Amy had outsmarted him. Cassidy fits the profile of a malignant narcissist, but my God, his response was another level of sadism.

Hours later, during an intense standoff between Cassidy and Amy on the third floor of the Fort Worth Tower Block, Ashley Benning managed to get her hands on a nearby sledgehammer, and she swung it with all her might. The blow itself wasn't enough to knock Cassidy out. let alone kill him, however it was enough to knock him off balance to the point he stumbled over the edge. Cassidy took a fall that would have killed most men, but if there's one thing I've learned about Robert Cassidy, he isn't like most men. Cassidy had murdered a taxi driver who transported

him to the tower block earlier that night. His body was stashed in the porter cabin that Cassidy fell into and while I called in back up and attended to Amy's injuries, Cassidy swapped clothes and left the scene. The taxi driver's face was badly mutilated, along with a broken jaw and teeth knocked out. Well, these injuries plus a backlog of post-mortems from that night, delayed the identifying of the body. It wasn't until a few days later, when the taxi firm reported their driver missing that they put two and two together. By this point, Cassidy was in the wind. Eight days later, a 62-year-old woman by the name of Joyce Patrick was reported missing by her neighbor. She was reportedly heading to New Mexico for a five-day vacation.

When she didn't return, the neighbor became concerned. It's highly likely that she found Cassidy stumbling along some lone highway, injured from his fall, and pulled over to assist. Killers like Ted Bundy used to lure his victims to his car by claiming he was injured or disabled. We worked on the assumption Cassidy had told me. Mrs. Patrick that he'd been mugged. Her body was discovered just outside of Oklahoma City. Her skull was fractured and she'd been dumped in a patch of marshland along the side of Route 35. Bishone because this was so far away from her intended destination that she drove there under

duress. The car itself was later found, ditched, just outside Minneapolis. It's unknown where Cassidy went up to this point, or even how he got there but the best idea we is Canada. A letter which was later sent to Amy Edmonds, claiming to be from Robert Cassidy, played into this theory. She submitted it to the Bureau, where handwriting analysis was carried out. It proved it was, in fact, from him, and forensics traced the envelope to a sorting office in Winnipeg, Manitoba. I've worked on some troubling cases. In 1997, I assisted the GBI in creating a profile for a violent child murderer, dubbed the Cherokee.

County Candyman. I believe they caught the guy in 2002 after he was shot by the father of an intended victim. His name was Matthew Brooke and the guy was responsible for the brutal rape, torture and murder of 10 children aged 8 to 11. Oh, I will never forget the vast range of sados sexual instruments of violence in a warehouse basement that he called his playroom. In 2008, during my investigation into a violent trafficking gang, I'd to listen to a little girl be taken apart alive with power tools. All the while her mum sang her the mockingbird lullaby to try and give her some sort of comfort.

And that will stay with me forever. Then in 2013, when we found the body of Vicky Pierce, Cassidy's fifth victim, I knew we were dealing with a real piece of work. We found her body with the barbed wire still lodged in her face. the corners of her mouth torn all the way back to her ears four vertebrae in her back crushed from the force with which she'd been arched a tree branch forced into her from behind chunks of flesh torn from her back neck and breast

but despite a career of such heinous deaths none have hit me more since Quincy's murder I worked under the wing of a good man supervisory special agent Bill Johnson We fought tooth and nail To bring down the swarm in 2012 Over the course of the six-year investigation We heavily bonded

He contracted lung cancer in 2010 And was given six months to live He hid it from the bureau Knowing they'd pension him off I helped him balance the investigation With chemo and appointments That tough son of a bitch Made it another 18 months

He died on July 3rd 2012, the day after the last swam member was put in prison. His death hit me hard, real hard. I don't think I would have pulled through had it not been for Peter Quince. Soon he became to me what I was to build. We became partners, friends, and brothers. And that asshole took him away from me in the worst way imaginable. It didn't matter how many high-profile targets I went after,

or how many violent gangs we stopped. While I knew Robert Cassidy was out there somewhere, I couldn't think about anything else. As the team loaded up into the convoy to make the 170-mile journey to Laredo, the deputy director approached me. Agent Rodriguez, everything's set up for this up?

He asked, a little concern. Everyone at the Bureau, including the chiefs and commanders, knew I hadn't been the same ever since Quincy's murder. All set, I answered. The confidence of my answer was half-masked by an exhausted sigh. I was tired of people looking at me differently. I know you've had a tough few years, James. I do. But ever since Waco, the Texan people have never had much faith with the Bureau. You throw in the fact that we let Cassidy flee to Canada whilst having a dead cab driver on the slab, well, you can imagine the sort of shit we get on Twitter.

Hmm, I answered, treating his question. as a rhetorical one. Public faith is one of the biggest issues the Bureau is facing. This operation goes smoothly today, i.e. no civilian casualties. Then, I think, bringing down the last piece of the swarm puzzle will go a long way to restoring some of that last fate. The deputy director's turn was suggestive and assertive. And if this operation goes well, I want permission to go after Cassidy. I counted. Oh, for... The D.D. caught himself.

And sighed. James, you've got to let it go. He's R.C.MP's problem now. I need you focused on nailing the scum who are trying to take over from the swamp. Those fuckers control the cartels, the biker gangs, the mules. With them gone, the battle is on for supremacy.

We need you here with your head in the game. Do I make myself clear? I looked away and disappointed. disappointment, but not in my head nonetheless. Then go get him, the D.D. said, with a wink. I turned and joked over to the confi, where one of my team was holding the door open for me. James, the D.D. shouted for my attention. Yes, sir, I turned my head.

The D.D. thought for a second and decided to throw me a bone. That psycho steps one foot onto American soil, and he's all yours. You have my word. I grinned and nodded in approval. I closed the SUV door behind me and the convoy headed out of the San Antonio HQ heading towards Lareda. The atmosphere was tense as we passed Encin.

Knowing we were no more than 40 minutes from what could be an extremely violent confrontation. Quintero had been responsible for the murder of four federal agents and the abduction of a fifth. Bringing him in alive would have endless possibilities when it came for Intel on other potential gang members trying to take over the swarm's patches.

However, everyone in this convoy had a magazine with Quintero's name on it. I could see it in their eyes. Lethal force was authorized for this operation, but any civilian casualties would be a big no-no. I pulled out a map and began to remind the agents of the plan. Surveillance teams in place confirmed Quintero was still at the stronghold. He's surrounded by his four generals. Now bringing this guy in alive will be great for leads on other O-CG investigations, but the likelihood that these guys will come quietly is next to zero, so weapons are the ready.

Remember your training, watch your corners, and if you need to shoot, don't hesitate. The convoy, having met up with local law enforcement from both sides of the border to assist in the arrest, rolled up to the compound gates. The doors of the vehicles opened, and everyone was. and everyone hopped out, using the doors for cover. Omar Quintero, along with around 10 to 12 armed men, turned to face the gate. They raised their weapons and pointed them at our vehicles.

I held up a megaphone and spoke into the mic. Omar Quintero, this is the FBI. We have a federal warrant for your immediate surrender into federal custody on charges of the exploitation of children and the distribution of narcotics. Now we would much prefer it if there's no bloodshed here, but if my sentence was cut short by Omar Quintero turned into one of the sheds and whistling hard with his fingers. Out stepped three huge men all with guns pointed at three eight-year-old children. They all looked terrified.

And my megaphone shattered to pieces as a bullet struck the plastic and penetrated my right shoulder. In my earpiece, a voice said, Lethal shadow available on Quintero. In my head, I heard the voice of the DD saying, No, civilian casualties. I looked at the faces of those terrified children and held my hands up to Quintaro, indicating that we were backing off.

He lowered his gun an inch, as I turned to signal to the federal agents and local police that the bust was off. However, someone on my team clearly had another agenda. Quintero's skull popped like a water balloon as the bullet cracked him in the forehead. His limp corpse fell back on the ground, leaving a mist of blood and brain lingering in the air, and as soon as his body hit the floor, all hell broke loose. Bullets flew from the compound, and bullets returned into it. I looked around frantically, totally caught off guard by this

mellick when a bullet threw right through a gap in my cover and burst through where my upper chest met my deltoids i fell to the ground in pain the pulsating throb of agony set my arm and shoulder on fire my ears rang like a church bell from the noise of the bullet impacting the metal of the car i slumped down blood pouring out of my arm i tried to put pressure on the wound but the blood was pushing through the space in between my fingers began to to feel dizzy and light-headed, all the while the sound of gunfire, tear gas and screams of pain penetrating my damaged senses. But everything quickly went black. I woke up in the back of an ambulance. The gunshot wound was being treated by a medic. An oxygen mask was helping me breathe.

I sat up slightly and looked over the top of the mask and out of the ambulance doors. Ten body bags lay on the ground, just outside the compound gates. I didn't know whether they were ours or quinteros. I squinted my eyes and focused my blurry vision with the morphine completely kicking my ass. That's when I saw that three of the body bags were child's size. I slumped back on the stretcher and shed a tear to myself. A few days later I was sat outside the deputy director's office.

The door opened and he caught me in. His face was one of regret and reluctancy. This wasn't going to be good. Even though the gunshot wound had healed, it was still incredibly painful, and I winced as I rose from my seat. Take a seat, James. Deputy Director Ray offered, and I complied. As I sat down, the DD did too. He spun in his office chair and looked out of his huge 12th floor window across the San Antonio Skyline. He sighed.

19 dead, three bureau, eight gang members, Quintero and his generals, three hostages, all kids, he said remorsefully. I thought I was quite clear about no bloodshed, he continued. Sir, with all due respect, I tried to call it off. As soon as I saw those kids, I called it off. Someone ignored me. They shut and killed the target. His men fired back, one of them hit me, and I lost consciousness shortly after. I had no control of what happened after that. I counted. He shook his head and sighed heavily as he spun back around in his chair.

The agent whose bullet we pulled from Quintero says he told you via earpiece that he was going to shoot him. He says you didn't disagree. I didn't authorize him either, I snapped. Then sighed, checking my tone and added. I was busy waving it off to Quintaro, getting him to lower their weapons, I informed him. Had there been no civilian casualties, then we'd look like a heroic outfit. Sacrificing our own men for the greater good and the protection of the Texan people. After Waco, we needed a better result than kids being shut down in crossfire that we'd started.

Right now, we look like we can't apprehend a shoplifter without shooting the cashier. and uh someone needs to be held to account his gaze told me everything i needed to know and that's me isn't it i couldn't help but let my temper slip you've not been right since quincy james you were the commanding officer you authorized lethal force to your men and when one of them said he had a shot you didn't respond i think the time's right for you to call time on your career before we have any more incidents like this I don't want you tarnishing what, up until recently, has been one of the most distinguished careers in the Bureau, said the D.D. This is bullshit, I replied, shaking my head. You'll release an official statement regarding the loss of life whilst under your command, and you'll step down from the FBI.

In return for this help in restoring public image, you'll retire on full pension and benefits. You'll also receive a lump sum payment to your salary up until your 60s. 62nd birthday to compensate for your early retirement. He began to slide a contract over the desk to me. Sir, I took a bullet in the line of duty. I've given my life to the Bureau. I have so much more to do here. What?

You mean like Robert Cassidy? He asked, cocking his head. Let's face it, James. Ever since Quince was killed, you've not been the same. He worked you way up the ranks under the wing of Agent Johnson. Now you two were instrumental in bringing down the most violent gang this outfit has ever investigated. There's no denying that. But you saw how obsessed Bill was with the swarm.

Alienated himself from his family, his friends, his colleagues. You're the only one that he told about the cancer. Well, Robert Cassidy is your swarm. Words hit hard with the truth. I gritted my teeth, unable to argue. Look, James, I won't lie. You won't come off great in the press, but here in these holes, no one will ever breathe a bad word about you. You're one of the most respected agents to ever serve here.

I mean that. Come on, seven years pay. Imagine what you could do with a million dollars before tax. You'd get away from here, far away. Start a fresh. Well, the deputy director really sold the idea. I'll give him that. The Bureau was all I'd ever known, however.

Ever since I left the Academy in Quantico in 1993, I'd given my life to catching serial killers, rapists, drug lords, traffickers, bag robbers. And now I'm just meant to walk away because the top brass wants to look good on social media. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I knew I didn't have much choice. I sighed heavily. Where do I sign? The papers were pushed under my chin, and I was. I reluctantly pulled out a pen.

Oh, and James, the deputy director, fished around in his desk drawer. I looked up from signing my career away. The deedy slipped a small business card over to me. It said, Inspector Francis Holloway, RCMP. I looked up at the deputy director, slightly confused. He smiled. Look, what you do with your life is now your choice, James.

If you want to spend your retirement chasing ghosts instead of your dreams, then be my guest. But there, that's the officer in charge of the Cassidy case. I've already taken the liberty of calling him. He's happy for you to assist on the investigation as a consultant if that's what you really want. I looked at it intently. I looked up with the deputy director. I thanked him and shook his hand hard. I'd entered that room.

supervisory special agent Rodriguez. I left that room simply as James. Around a month later, the check had come through from the bureau, $697,667 after tax and annual leave. I wasted no time in spending the money. I booked a plane to Canada and arranged a rental car for when I got there, and within a day or so I packed up a month's worth of stuff, and I was on a flight to Winnipeg, Manitoba. Once I arrived in Canada, I got myself set up in a pretty nice hotel for the duration of my stay. After all, I could have fought it these days. I made my way to the Starbucks near Sargent Park. Despite the fact that I was technically unemployed and in a country where I didn't know a soul, I can't explain it. For the first time in years, I actually felt like it was right where I

should be. A slightly overweight and receding man sat at the back of the cafe, nursing a cough. Nursing a coffee in his own private booth. Had it not been for the RCMP uniform sticking out like a sore thumb, I'd have written him off as just another middle-aged man broken by life. As I made my way over to him, I fixed my tie and cleared my throat. Special Agent Rodriguez, the man said as he began to rise from his seat. A signal for him to stay seated, and I slid into the booth. Um, it's retired Special Agent now.

You must be Inspector Holloway. we spoke on the phone i said shaking the man's hand firmly i don't think you ever really retire from this sort of work i mean you're freezing your cock off in winnipeg and steady toasting your balls in florida am i right inspector holloway came across like canada's answer to matt damon in the departed thankfully i love that movie i smiled right indeed i answered a little cornered by how true his statement was. Hey, I read the papers, you know. I saw your retirement wasn't the most honorable. That shit were those gangbangers at the border. A messy business man. Yeah, well, it was a complex

operation that had many risk factors and I, he cut me off, waving his hands with a mouthful of toast. He washed it down with some more coffee. Come on, agent, I didn't float up Lake Winnipeg on a bubble. I know a scapegoat when I see one. Takes one to no one, believe me. That level of betrayal can mess people up. Besides, I knew you was taking the bullet for the bureau the minute that your director called me last week, informing me that you may be coming up north

in regards to Robert Cassidy. Holloway's smile gave me the impression that at least the DD had some good words about me. What did he say? A prod, fishing for the compliments. Said you're a stubborn bastard with a Robert Cassidy-sized stick up your ass, Holloway answered, taking a swig of his coffee. Hmm, my mustard. Inspector Holloway couldn't keep a straight face any longer, and he smirled.

He placed his cup down and put on the most serious demeanor I'd seen of him, well, since we'd met. He also said that you'd given your life to the FBI. He said you were one, if not the, most dogged investigators he'd ever seen. He said you're part of the operation that brought down the most ruthless criminal organization in the history of North America. He also said that you know more about Robert Cassidy than probably Robert Cassidy does. He also mentioned that Cassidy. He said that Cassidy tortured my best agent with a blow torch until he died from circulatory shock. I finished his sentence for him. His eyes widened and he looked lost for words. Look, I was going to say murder it, but yeah, boss said it was bad.

It was, and I do know a lot about Cassidy. Enough to know that when he fell from that building, I should have ordered a fast-tracked post-mortem. I don't know if he was seeing the melted eyeballs and blisted facial tendons of a man had known for five years, or if it was just plain stupidity and complacency. But I saw him get hit with a hammer, fall off a ledge, go through glass and steel

before crashing into the ground. I just wanted to believe he was dead so badly. Justice was far from my mind at that point. I again kissed my teeth in anger. Come on, agent. I've read the file. A pound sledgehammer to the jaw. 20 foot fall, plain of glass, steel roof, concrete floor. 99 out of 100 agents would assume he's dead.

I appreciated him trying to justify my mistake, but it didn't help. Well, I should have been the one. My upbursts caused every other coffee drinker in the Starbucks to turn and look at us. Once I became aware of that, I dialed it down. I knew him better than anyone. The man has an IQ of 158. The man doesn't just have a plan B. He has plan Bs all the way to freaking Plan Z.

Then, take into account it was a teenager girl who hid him with a hammer. When professional wrestlers like Mick Foley make a career out of falling 20 feet and not dying. What else? Single plane of glass. Steel of the roof was heavily rusted. Still, you're right. We'll kill most men. That's the thing. Robert Cassidy isn't like most men. I don't really think there's a word for what he is.

My sentence faded out as I lost myself in thought. Look, I'm no social worker enough. I don't think either of us want to be sitting here dwelling on what we wish we'd done differently. It's about what we do now, right? I agreed to meet you today because I was assigned to this case when the letter to Robert Cassidy's ex-wife, Amy Edmonds, was traced back to here. And before that letter, we had an unsolved murder of a young male in the Fort White area. We really didn't know what to make of it first.

We assumed it was part of a conspiracy to rob a bank which went sideways. In the end, we had a lot of dots and... nothing in the way to connect them. That was until we received the intel on Cassidy. Now it looks like this might be his first murder here. The inspector began to pull out some fires from his back. Believe me, we need all the help we can get. Curiously, I asked.

First, Inspector, how many bodies were turned up in Canada since the night Cassidy escaped from Florence? The inspector threw a stack of folders onto the table. He let me look in awe at the pile documenting the spree of violence Cassidy had left in his wake. Dan victims, that we know of. We obviously read that he buried a percentage of his victims in the first spree, so they could be used as insurance in bargaining for life instead of death. So, like I say, ten that we know of.

The inspector's turn was of a man who was, clearly grateful for my help. As you can see, it's his M.O. Signs of ligatomarks on the wrists and ankles, suggesting some form of kidnap. Violent sexual assault. Victims usually sodomized with a foreign object.

Lacerations are frenzied in random, but always round the face, neck and back. Sadistic torture methods vary, but as you can see, every victim has the chunks of flesh torn from the back, neck, chest, and face. Everybody dumped in an nearby part, or Woodland in the Winnipeg area. We've no idea where or how he's living. His pictures on all the relevant websites and social media pages for the Winnipeg area, but so far we've heard from

no one who spotted him. Inspector Holloway's mouth shrugged with bafflement, and he shook his head and defeats. Yeah, well, that doesn't surprise me. God knows how badly he was disfigured in the fall. We found blood and skin cells on the glass and the cabin. I guess that's why the idea of the body wasn't priority. Either way, you may want to add the fact that we have facial lacerations or scars to your poses. Hyde also add that he wears disguises, especially to lure his victims. Amy Edmund said she found a card transaction on her statement for a fancy dress store in Michigan. She called the store and asked what the purchase was.

The store informed her it was a police uniform. Amy said in any other circumstances she'd assume it was. some sort of role play fantasy for an extramarital lover, but she knew something was really off about Cassidy. I replied, giving my opinion. To his credit, the inspector was taking a lot of notes now. This is good. It's really good. Thank you. Listen, these files are my copies. My superintendent, having spoken with your former COs, has authorized your clearance to assist on this case. Please take those files with you back to your hotel. get familiarised with the case and attend this briefing tomorrow morning at these offices.

He said, invitingly, sliding the files over to me along with a business card. It read RCMP, 1091 Portage Avenue, Winnipeg, Mb, R3C, 3K2, and written over the top in Blue Barrow, Inc, was 9.35 a.m. The double whammy of exclamation marks indicated to me that the superintendent was a.m., stickler for punctuality. That night, I looked over the case files. Each folder stacked with three inches of paper documenting the heinous actions of Cassidy since entering the country. It was clear to me that Robert, despite being in exile, was as frenzied as ever. If anything, he was becoming more and more vicious. I attended the department briefing the next morning,

and I was brought up to speed on everything the RCMP knew about Cassidy, and I shared my extensive and personal knowledge of Robert Cassidy. I informed the RCMP that Amy Edmonds had confided in me that during their intent standoff at the Fort Worth Tower, Cassidy had claimed that his spell inside a maximum security prison had caused certain realizations. He'd revealed that he either wanted to kill or be killed. Nothing in between.

In the event of arrest, he would not come quietly. From the briefing, I'd learned of all. eight women and two men that Cassidy had murdered on this side of the border. His so-called Canadian kill count to date took his grand total to 43 people, again that we know of. As I expected, and as Holloway had said, the women were all kidnapped, brutally raped, mutilated and eventually killed. Each body found with an alarming number of blade entry wounds, teeth marks with chunks of flesh torn mainly from the back and neck. Skulls fractured from blunt force trauma, various items forced into the anus, vagina and mouth. The corpses were always dumped in a woodland

area, close to the sight of the original abduction. More gore, more torture, more brutality. I'd seen this before in serial killers, or Cassidy's bloodlust was at its peak. The too many killed were much more straightforward. One of them was a bank clerk, killed in his own home. He'd been beaten with a claw hammer that was taken from his garage. The investigation into his murder led Holloway to some CCTV footage from that day in the bank, showing that the clerk had met with a man known as Roger Curtis. Now, this is where it becomes interesting because, you see, Roger Curtis was the second male victim.

He went missing shortly after Cassidy's escape from custody. Curtis was an extremely well-eastern. wealthy, homosexual socialite, who was known for his extravagant personality, wild parties and chronic drug abuse. It's likely he met Cassidy in a bar and they went back to Curtis's residence for sex or drugs for both. On the day of the bank clerk's death, Curtis returned from his hiatus, suspected to have traveled to Miami or Los Angeles for around 12 weeks to visit friends and clubs, but he had returned when his money began to try out. The bank clerk, whose name was Adam Griffiths, served Roger Curtis at the bank, as he requested to take out a substantial amount of his trust fund. However, unbeknown to Cassidy, Griffiths, who was also a party-loving homosexual man, had met Roger Curtis before, through similar haunts and overlapping friendship circles. The CCTV tapes at the bank had no audio, but the RCMP had a lip reader analysed the footage.

From what the lip reader could tell, the transaction went pretty smoothly. Curtis provided all the correct documentation and answered all security questions. The clerk, though, was clearly struggling with his identity. He'd obviously not met Roger Curtis enough to definitely know it wasn't him, but he clearly met him just enough times to have doubt. At one point in the transaction he asks, Sorry, but I'm sure we've met. Yeah, remember, and Mooney's.

to which Curtis responds with, Moone's. Griffith smiles and nods. It was a question to try and catch this man out. Curtis stares at Griffiths for a few awkward seconds before simply replying with, there isn't a bar called Moone's. Griffith then chuckles awkwardly and says, isn't there?

Oh, that must be thinking of somewhere else. The rest of the transaction seemed rushed, and while Curtis got his money, claiming he was going abroad, Griffiths kept taking a second glance at this Curtis. Meanwhile, he never took his eyes off Griffiths. There was no reason for anyone in RCMP to believe this man was Robert Cassidy. In fact, his hair, clothes and even posture matched that of Roger Curtis. But I just knew it was him.

Call it a sixth sense. It's unclear what occurred after. Clearly though, Cassidy had realised Griffiths could cause him problems. whether Griffiths would have raised concerns to anyone or not. It was irrelevant. Cassidy would not take that chance. He likely followed Griffith's home, gained access to his house by false pretenses,

and proceeded to murder him. The deaths of both these men came to light after Adam Griffiths made his way into work one day and, using his staff passcards, entered the vault, stole over 12,000 from a number of safety deposit boxes, and simply walked out of the building. The bank reported the theft to Winnipeg PD after seeing the act on CCTV,

raided the home of Adam Griffiths to arrest him for robbery. Here they found his body face down on the living room floor, arms outstretched towards his landline telephone. His skull caved in like a watermelon, the claw hammer still lodged inside. His work clothes and work passes were missing. No money was recovered from his house. Inquiries led Holloway to Robert Curtis,

and after the strange altercation between them the previous day, decided to arrest him for questioning. However, when his house was raided, they also found him dead, except he was dismembered and stuffed in a suitcase in his attic. A post-mortem highlighted signs of torture prior to death, most likely to obtain his bank details. Cassidy was out there somewhere with plenty of cash to fund his activities. Over the course of the next week,

I transformed my hotel room into Robert Cassidy Ground Zero. You know how detectives have the crazy wall loaded with theories, motives, pitches and timelines in their evidence rooms. Yeah, well, this was like a crazy room. I couldn't even tell you the colour of the wallpaper in my hotel. As for my own case files and the copies given to me by Expector Holloway, I'd cover the walls in timelines of CCTV, witness statements, murders and so on. profiling Cassidy's whereabouts over the past two years. Since arriving at the hotel, I'd befriended a nice housekeeper named Ramos.

I informed him that my room contained top secret information, and he was to simply leave any fresh towels and sheets outside my door, and I'd tend to them. The kid agreed to my wishes and never deviated from this once. In fact, he tended to go one better and hand them to me himself. I lied Ramos, and I tipped him well. From what I deduced myself, as well as information obtained at the department briefings at RCMPHQ, Cassidy had bedded down in the Manitoba area for the most part. The letter he'd sent to Amy Edmonds was posted from Winnipeg,

and his first Canadian victim, Roger Curtis, lived in Winnipeg. He'd killed Curtis at some point in his first few days in the country. Then, when his cash had dried up, he attempted to con some more money from the bank, where the Adam Griffith's incident occurred. CCTV from train stations tracked his movements out of Winnipeg, shortly after the bodies of Curtis and Griffiths had been discovered. However, over the course of the next two years, eight more victims, all-female, turned up in the Winnipeg area.

When Cassidy was active in the US, he never killed anyone in Texas while living in San Antonio with Amy. He fabricated a fake couriering job to explain him leaving the area on a regular basis. Once arriving in a specific location, he'd hold up in a motel, head out on a night into a busy city where he'd use all sorts of different methods to lure unsuspecting females to their death. He would fake being mugged, heart attacks, ask for directions, offer lifts to extremely drunk girls, and so on. He would always rent a car, and cash of course, use this vehicle to abduct women and take them to a place where he could carry out his heinous action.

He'd then dump the bodies, clean the cars and return them to the renter. He'd burn his clothes and buy fresh ones. He'd rob all his victims of the cash on them, and then he'd also let himself into their homes with their keys and take what cash and valuables they had in the house. He then returned home to Amy, claiming the money was his wage. Cassidy would have had around $28,000 from Curtis's trust fund and his robbery of the HSBC Bank in Winnipeg,

enough to find him accommodation in some out-of-the-way town in Manitoba anyway. Enough to rent cars and get them cleaned, I thought to myself out loud. I made a vocal note to advise Inspector Holloway to monitor all rental cars purchased with cash in the Winnipeg area from the time of the last murder. Also made a memo about potentially staking out car washes in the Winnipeg area, hoping to catch him in the act after the next murder. The timeline of the murder suggested that his bloodlust was, at an all-time high, meaning the next death was lightly imminent.

And I couldn't have comprehended just how right I was. On what would kick off the most insane 24 hours of my life, I left the hotel bar. I stumbled to the liquor store across the street and purchased a bottle of something to help me stay numb. As I got to my floor, I saw that young Ramos was waiting outside my room with my fresh towels and sheets.

He was also ready with his master key. I made a bad habit of losing my room key, so I gave him a smile and a friendly nod. Rough night, Mr. James, Ramos asked, eyeing the bottle. A sighed. Rough life, Ramos. Rough life. Thank you for the towels.

I'll try to look after my key much better, I promised. The embarrassment simmering. It's usually two dollars after the first replacement, but I won't tell him on. Mr. James, I'll always help you out, he said, smiling at me. He wasn't fishing for a tip either. He was just genuinely a nice kid. Earlier in the week, Ramos had confided in me that he and his family had left Mexico when he was just a little boy to get away from the cartel war zone over their back fence. However, they'd moved to L.A. and West Adams wasn't much of an improvement.

They moved to Winnipeg last year, after his father had died. He told me his mother also worked in another nearby hotel. They both worked a hundred hour weeks to pay their bills. He described it as getting by. So I gave him a $30 tip for having the audacity of using the words rough life to a boy with his upbringing. He set his card into the lock and opened the door for me. I thanked him and said good night. I entered the pitch black room and flicked on the lights. I was greeted by the graphic images of Robert Cassidy and his crimes against women and males alike. I sat on the bed, poured myself some more hard liquor, and got to work blocking out the stuff I wanted to forget.

I walked across the grass. The night was dark. The air was cold and I was all by myself. The black body bag sat ominously on the still gurney. In the backdrop was a safe house. The door was open leading into a swallowing abyss. I walked up to the body bag. There was something in it.

I pinched the zip, close my eyes tight, and pulled it open. My breathing exiled in a tremble. I opened my eyes. The phone of my hotel rang loud, piercing my whiskey-soaked hangover, forcing me to grow and within. Until that night in Fort Worth, I never drunk alone. Well, I barely even drunk. How times change, I guess. I flipped on my lamp so I could find the receiver.

As I picked up the phone, the bright light from the bulb caused me to squint heavily. 4.43 a.m. Geez, not even four hours sleep. I saw it was Inspector Holloway. This caused me to come around from my days a little quicker. I pull myself together and answer the phone. Hello? I murmured.

We got another, he said, bluntly. I sat up straight, very alert now. A body, I asked. Yeah, it's bad, James, real bad. It's a whole new ballgame, let's put it that way, he said. I pondered what he meant, so I asked. Listen, just get yourself to Little Mountain Park. I'll explain when you get here, he instructed.

I didn't even bother to acknowledge him. I simply hung up the phone and threw on some clothes, rushed down the elevator, dove into my car and prayed I didn't get pulled over. The light of the sun was still tucked neatly under the horizon when I rocked up to the park. Winnipeg PD RCMP. Forensic investigators, ambulance service, Winnipeg Medical Examiner. The teams were all out in force. I showed my clearance pass to the uniformed officers at the checkpoint.

They told me Inspector Holloway was waiting for me at the tent. I nodded grimly and proceeded to duck under the yellow tape. Holloway was briefing a couple of detectives on the murder. I was confused as I wasn't aware of any other detectives working the Cassidy murders other than Holloway and myself. Their conversation was just finishing as I rocked up. Ah, James, I'm glad you're here. This is Detective Michaels and Detective Walsh, organized crime division. Jens, this is Supervisory Special Agent Rodriguez of the FBI.

He's consulting on the Cassidy murders and he's one of the best profilers to ever grace Quantico's halls. Holloway introduced me as the detective shook my hand when I chuckled awkwardly with modesty. Ex-special agent, I've actually retired from the bureau. I'm just consoling on this case due to my personal experience. Sorry, I don't really see what this has got to do with organized crime. I tried to ask, without sounding like I thought I was their superintendent. We're just exploring the possibility that this was gang-related, possible here at a retaliation, maybe.

The detectives informed me. From my vantage point, I could just see the body. No bullet wounds from what I could see. She was naked. No gang tats from what I could see either. I could also tell from my angle that she'd been viciously raped. The signature teeth marks were visible too. Hardly gang behaviour.

Any season to take. could see this was the work of a sados sexual serial killer. So why on earth would OCD believe this was gang-related? We'll let you know about the developments on our end, Inspector. We'll be in touch. The two detectives informed me as they made their way back to the parking lot. Shall we? Holloway invited.

I nodded and we made our way into the tent. Well, I mind if I make some recordings from my notes, I asked, pulling out my dicta phone. "'Nuck yourself out, James.' "'Victims are white female, approximately 26 years of age. "'I began to dictate before I was interrupted by Holloway. "'She's on 24, actually,' he said, matter of fatly. "'I looked up and hit the stop button. "'You know who she is?

"'Someone ID her already,' I asked, partially surprised. "'Holloy scoffed. "'Well, that's what I was talking about on the phone. "'That's why organized crime was here. RCMP are creating a joint task force between us and them. Why? I asked, puzzled. You're looking at the body of Jessica Price. You see, she is, or, or should I say was, the daughter of Morgan Price.

That name ring about? The inspector asked. I shook my head unable to find any significance. Well, let me give you the lowdown on Mr. Price. On the surface, he's the CEO of Manitoba Construction Limited, but that's just his front. Garns, drugs, girls, you name it, he runs it. He's got dirty and corrupt officials on his payroll, judges, senators,

and he personally holds major sway over the Winnipeg Hells Angels. There are also huge rumours in RCMP that he has corrupt officials in his pockets. He's been suspected of everything, but nothing ever sticks. Essentially he runs the largest and most ruthless criminal network in northwest Canada. By all accounts, a total psycho, but nevertheless, a psycho with some serious, serious clout. So that's why organized crime think this is gang-related. It was my turn to cut him off. This wasn't gang-related, I said bluntly.

I flexed the corners of my mouth and decided to elaborate. While it's not uncommon for certain gang members to have committed or commit rape or murder, it is however highly unlikely that a gang would rape a young female in such a sadistic manner. They also wouldn't eat her flesh or stabber in such a frenzied manner, especially if this was some sort of organized effort like a hit. No, this, this was the work of a sadist, and it's Cassidy's M.O. to a T. And you're certain about that? Holloway probed. Yeah, trust me.

I was second in command on the investigation as the O-CG and codename of the swarm, remember. Now, believe me, they were the worst of the worst. They once dismembered a nine-year-old girl alive while her mother and I listened. But despite that, they never raped her. They didn't bite chunks out of her. They were never out of control. It was simply to send a message, not because their bloodlust had boiled over. You see, regular OCGs use your more typical execution style.

gunshots, throat slits, and so on. Quick to the point, so they can reduce the chance of being seen or caught. This is different. This took time. This was the work of someone who enjoyed every second of it. And I have seen enough Robert Cassidy murder victims to know this was him. I made sure my tone was confident, which was easy because I was. Yeah, shit.

I was afraid of that. definitely a whole new ballgame. Do you think he knew who she was? Holloway asked. I don't know, but whether or did he not, looks like it's not just going to be me and you looking for him anymore. Part two. Is this really a good idea?

I asked Holloway as we pulled into the car park of Manitoba Construction Limited. I think he's going to realize his daughter's dead whether we tell him or not. Holloway gripped. Well, he knew damn. well what I meant them. I mean, maybe we should just tell him she's been murdered, not by who. We don't want the Price crime syndicate

joining our Robert Cassidy Manheart. With their manpower and resources, they'll likely find him first, and when they do, they'll just kill him, I said, as we entered the building. Will that really be the worst thing? The world would be better without him, and believe me, Price would make him feel everything

and more that he did to Jessica. Holloway proposed. Sine our names at the the desk. As the elevator door closed, I added, he needs to face justice. That is justice, Holloway interrupted. That's not justice, that's vengeance, I said, shaking my head. What's a difference? Holloway shrugged. Justice and vengeance are what separate us from the monsters of the world like Cassidy. Vengeance is driven by hate, pain, grief, loss. Justice is driven by passion and the will to give closure to the loss of our loved ones.

I looked up at Holloway and stared him dead in the eye. Oh, it was victims to give them justice. It didn't break eye contact until the elevator pinged and the doors opened. Holloway inspected me careful. Fine, I'll make sure Robert Cassidy's name isn't mentioned. If he finds out we knew, though, and we hid it from him, well, let's just hope we catch him before that happens. Holloway warned.

I thanked him for granting my request and we made our way into the head office. Morgan Price was on the phone, swinging around in his chair, much like a Bond villain would. He was discussing some order and the time it would be delivered, failing to mention what item it was, well, I could only imagine the illicit content he was actually discussing. As he held up a finger indicating he'd be free shortly, I scanned him up and down, leader of a multifaceted criminal gang or not, he was an intimidating looking man regardless. Six foot two, well built for a man of his age,

shaved head and stubble, gave him a real villainous look. His dark menacing eyes were fit for a man who'd done his share of nasty things to get where he is today. I imagined he's very desensitized to violence and torture. I was sure nothing could prepare him

for what we had to tell him. Oh, sorry about that, detectives. What can I do for you today? Is that a warrant in your hand? He asked humorously, looking at our case file. Our faces didn't know where to look because he put the phone down. I imagined we weren't the first investigators to visit this place, and we certainly wouldn't be the last.

As technically I wasn't our CMP, I let Holloway take the lead. Mr. Price, I'm sorry but I'm not here tonight regarding anything involving yourself. I'm here about Jessica. He began. Mr. Price's expression went from taunting smile to straight mouth and dead eye. I'm not going to sugarcoat this, Mr. Price. Jessica was found murdered in the early hours of this morning at Little Mountain Park. We aren't treating this as an organized attack at this time. We believe it to be an isolated incident by an un-eastern.

identified subjects. I'm so sorry, I really am. Holloway rushed the end of the sentence as if ripping off a bandit. The next hour or so was exactly what you'd imagine. Words were said, objects were thrown, threats were made. The situation being as intense as it was, I couldn't honestly recall how the entire conversation went, so I won't try, but essentially after Mr. Price went through all five stages of grief within the hour, he wanted to know.

everything we did. How would she kill? Any suspects? She was raped and murdered, Mr. Price. We don't believe this to be linked to any one of your possible business deals that may have gone wrong, although we aren't ruling out anything at this point. However, a working hypothesis right now is that this was the work of an opportunistic psychopath. As soon as I chipped in, I knew I'd made a mistake. Price looked at me carefully. Not from around here, are you, Inspector? His question caught me off guard. If I gave my real name, it could lead a trail to Cassidy.

Ramos, Inspector Ramos. Well, I simply thought of the last person I'd met outside of the investigation. Holloway could sense the tension in the room and dove in to save me. Inspector Ramos here used to work for Dallas PD, but he was recruited for RCP earlier this year. It's one of the best criminologists I know. He'll find who did this to her and bring about justice, Mr. Price. You have our words.

That true, Inspector Ramos? His question was taunting and probing. His eyes still teary. Well, I won't rest until he's caught. Yes, that is true. I sat with confidence. The statement was as true as they come. I just made sure to leave out anything about what I already knew about who he was.

Holloway handed over a card to Mr. Price. Please, if you have any questions or feel there's something we should know that could aid our efforts, and please don't hesitate. And Mr. Price, we are sorry for your loss. I'm sure you are, Inspector Holloway and Inspector Rammels. Please see yourselves out. He said, sarcastic. Spilling back in his chair and looking out across his city,

well, as likely he was thinking which were those insignificant, insects out there had the bottle to take his daughter from him, imagining the brutal things that he'd do to them as he found out. Holloway and I didn't speak much on the way down. It was never easy delivering that sort of means, regardless of what they did for a living. When it comes down to it, family is simply everything to some people. Just before we got back to the car, I snapped out of myself, pity. Oh God, I almost forgot to mention. Cassidy, when he moaned, when he moaned, he was to mention, murdered those women in the States, there was a pattern to his behavior.

When he was in prison, he agreed to take part in a behavior science interview to help us with another case. He confessed that he'd use rental cars when he was out to hunt. After abducting the woman and dumping her, he'd change into some spare clothes. They'd go back to his hideout, motel usually. Here he would shower, wipe down the room, change into some brand new clothes that he'd purchased the day before. He disposed of the contaminated clothes via a burn barrel, and then he'd take the rental car to a cash-only car wash. David Valade, and return it a day later to the renter. He'd then return to Texas in his own vehicle, so his wife.

I reeled off everything that could have been of use. So, okay, what? We call around every cash wash in Manitoba, asked them to call us when they get a man matching his description, requesting a full valet on a rental car. Good idea, James, but the manpower required. He would be... Not Manitoba. Winnipeg. He'll have traveled here.

Rended the car here. He'll valet it here. It'll fit with all the other murders in the States. He doesn't shit where he eats. He'll hold up outside of Winnipeg, but he comes here to kill as it's the most populated city in Manitoba. Look, it's 5.40 a.m. now. which means we have.

I held my wrist up to my face and check my watch. Around four hours to notify all the car washes. Cassidy always turned up in the mid-afternoon. Never first thing or last thing at night. Too significant to potential witnesses. He'll want to blend in to all the other faces. Aren't it, James? Don't want this to sound the wrong way, but you look like shit.

Go back to your room, get some sleep, and I'll call you when there's a development. Holloway instructed, making sure not to leave out a friendly grin, thus taking the edge off his comment. He said this as he climbed into his car. I promised him, I'd try, and we both drove away. I arrived back at the hotel around 7 a.m. Ramos was just doing the bed changes for my floor. I greeted him warmly, asked him how his day had gone so far, to which he replied,

Steady away, Mr. James, working a double. shift today, though. I need the money. He looked as tired as I did, but the world hadn't broken his spirit yet. I smiled. Couldn't help it. I admired the boy. I decided not to tell him I'd use his name to Canada's answer to Al Capone. As I dug my hand into my pocket, I cursed myself, as once again I'd not gotten a replacement card for the desk. Ramos, though, was quickly on hand to let me in with his master key once again. He said he'd have me another one made up and slide it under my door in the morning.

I thanked him and tipped him ten bucks. I would have given more, but it was all I had on me. I entered my room and got to work straight away. I needed to come up with a plan B. I don't know about Holloway, but I couldn't sleep at all, but I was far too busy going through my notes, finding out ways to locate him. The only option, aside from the car wash,

was going Providence-wide with an AP. be to all residents, hoping his landlord or neighbor could turn him in. I have my reservations about that approach, though. Not only could Cassidy charm the spots off a leopard, but he's also a master of disguise, and also, well, public safety. If he even caught a sniff of suspicion from anyone, they'd be dead already before they could even pick up the farm. So essentially, if this failed, we'd need to wait for another body to drop before we had another chance of catching him in Winnipeg. Thankfully, it didn't come to that, because at 2.34pm, the RCMP got the call they

were waiting for. A white male, mid-40s, athletic build, requesting a full valet on a rental car. The call came from Midtown Car Wash, reporting that the suspect was still there. RCMP advised the worker to take extra time with the car, keep the subject present and that officers were on the way. I ran out of the room, tripping over my shoes, getting to the car. I pulled out of the parking lot of the hotel and floored it. When I got to the car wash 20 minutes later, Holloway and his team were already there.

They'd arrived only a moment prior, but I immediately knew by the looks on his face and his body language as he spoke to the car wash clerk that it wasn't good news. He just took off. I did everything you guys asked me to, but something smooked him. He just demanded the keys back, said I was doing a poor job, and jumped in the car and left. The worker explained, as Holloway and I shook our heads, hands on our hips in defeat. The officer who was here first, he took off after him. You might have him by now if you'd arrived at the same time as him. Don't yell at me.

It's not my fault you guys have a slow response time. The worker said hands up in the air as if distancing himself from the failure. Holloway and I looked at each other, puzzled. one officer me and my team all arrived at the same time and agent rodrigo's arrived shortly after sorry um what was his officer's name holloway asked um you know he didn't say just said he was with the task force investigating a stream of murders says his team had called earlier to be on the lookout for a man matching the description he asked for i just assumed he was with you guys the worker now began to look concerned "'Oh, um, best show us your CCTV,' I piped up, nodding presumptuously towards the office. The worker agreed, and we made our way into the cramped and disorganized office. And that was, putting it mildly, how these guys could even keep track of their tax returns was beyond me. The worker sat down at the desk, swiping his forearm across it,

pushing a bunch of used fast food wrappers into the nearby trash can before apologising about the mess in an obligatory manner. "'Radio, then, so, if I just bring up the time from my call to your office, to 29 p.m., he said, checking his phone. "'And there!' he exclaimed, pausing the CCTV footage of an image. "'Posing the CCTV footage on an image of a man handing over cash to the car-wash worker. "'That him?' Holloway asked, as he squinted at the image. "'The figure was wearing a cap and shades, so it was. It would have been impossible to tell if it was Robert Cassidy to the average Joe. Thankfully, I wasn't an average Joe.

I'd stared at thousands of crime scene photos, mugshots and CCTV stills over the past decade to know Robert Cassidy when I saw it. Yep, that's him all right, I said, as I had begun to jot down the vehicle license plates. Hit play for me again, I instructed the work. The video continued for a few more minutes. Cassidy paid the clerk and he took a seat across the forecourt. He pulled out a newspaper and began to read it,

but to be honest, it looked more like he was just hiding his face. The clerk, after pulling the car into the valething bay, made his way into the office. The timestamp coincided with his call to the tip-off line. I noticed while the clerk was in the office, waiting for RCMP offices to arrive, and a man entered the car watch. He began approaching a man.

member of staff and conversing with them for a brief moment, before the member of staff pointed to the office where the clerk was. As soon as the man entered the office, this was when Cassidy began demanding the keys from the worker who was working on his car. He left the parking lot in his vehicle shortly after. Just after the car left, the unidentified man and the clerk exited the office and began looking around for him frantically. Shortly after, the unidentified man began to walk out of the parking-locks. When he got close to the camera, Holloway slammed his finger down hard on the pause button and stared intensely at the unsub's face for around five seconds.

Oh, shit, he said bluntly. What, I asked, reluctantly. That's Marlowe Kane, he informed me. What the hell's he doing here? He asked out loud. I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He turned to me looking extremely pissed off, but he rose above his anger to fill me in. In layman's terms, he's Morgan Price is hitman.

There's no way Price should know it was Cassidy unless... He has some nice payroll in my department. The hurt caused by this betrayal was evident in the venom behind his words. Not only does he know it was Cassidy, and he knew where he'd be this afternoon. Or unless not forget to mention that we both lied to him, Holloway added it. Shit, we both said in defeated unison. So, did you see if this officer managed to apprehend the suspect on that thing? Holloway asked to anyone who could answer.

I was too busy making a note of Cassidy's license plate and the direction he left him to answer Holloway's question. But the clerk informed him that there's nothing on the CCTV that shows such an altercation. In fact, he couldn't even see the vehicle Marlow Cain was in, let alone the license plate, or if he managed to catch up to Cassidy. We left a card with the clerk and urged him to contact us directly if either of these men visited the car wash again, and he promised he would. As we exited the car wash, Hollway walked intently towards his car.

Come on, we're going to go see a friend of mine, he said, purposefully. Who? I asked. if anyone knows something that can help us locate Cassidy it'll be this guy Jimmy Burns was a real weasel To call his apartment a smack den would be described as fairly planks The yellow stains under his fingernails and gums As well as the scabs forming around his facial skin

told me Jimmy was a serious drug user Jimmy was a conniving, methed-out thief Who would probably had Robb an old lady's purse at knife point just to get his fix of Class A dog. He was a lot of things, but he had what we needed information. He was pure scum, but the bastard made it his business to know everything on the street. Holloway and a few other detectives threw Jimmy a few dollars to put towards his next rock, and in return, Jimmy would spill the beans on whoever he needed to.

Jimmy, I was wondering if you'd heard anything about Morgan Price and his daughter being murdered last night. Holloway inquired. Jimmy took a long, hard drag on his cigarettes. Maybe, what's it worth you? He asked, frantically scratching at his cheek, knocking the top off one of his many scabs. Oh, depends on what you know, Holloway countered. Well, why do you want to know? Cut the shit, I jumped in.

Time was running out. Has it been any word about a hit on a man called Robert Cassidy, for the murderer Jessica Price. I asked, pulling out my wallet and showing him a hundred Canadian dollar bill. He snatched it from my hand and stuffed it into his shirt pockets. Sorry, by as ain't heard nothing about an old Cassidy fella. But the word was put out that whoever had information on the bastard did those awful things to that poor girl. Well, they'd be heavily compensated for such information.

He finished his sentence with a wink that stuck with me. It wasn't him just being slimy. It was like he couldn't help himself. Compensated, Holloway asked. Ah, three million for the delivery of the man, alive of course. You know, so they can torture him and whatnot. Jimmy said, once again pulling hard on his cigarette in a cocky manner. That explains Kane of the car wash.

Someone who knew about the operation tipped off price, hoping to get the payout when they grabbed him. God damn greedy bastards. Hallway stood up and tried his hardest not to kick something. I, meanwhile, studied Jimmy's body language. Something about him told me he just wasn't telling us the whole story. So you have no idea who Robert Cassidy is, I decided to ask. Jimmy scouted me and took another long pull on his cigarettes.

No, should I? He answered, a little offended by my question. No, you shouldn't. He's an extremely dangerous man, Mr. Burr. once known as the cross-line cannibal he's killed over 30 people in America women men tall short gay straight fat thin he does not care the only man to ever break out of Florence prison murdered the face of a federal agent for simply calling him average whilst he's been in Canada he's suspected of killing another ten people he's highly

intelligent deceivingly strong and he's one of the most sadistic sociopaths that I've ever met. I let my words sink in while Jimmy took another long pull on his cigarettes. Good job. I've never met him then, he said in a slimy manner after he'd blown the smoke in my face. I tried my hardest not to break his nose. Instead, I pulled out my card and placed it in between a CD case and a crack pipe on his coffee table. If you ever do see Robert Cassidy or hear of his known location, please do not approach him. Don't contact Mr. Price or his. associates. You call me, do you understand? I'll make it worth you a while as best I can. I demanded. So where is this Mr. Cassidy now? Jimmy asked, just as we opened the door.

Last siding was Midtown Car Wash, an individual link with the victim's father turned up and went off in pursuit. We've been unable to locate either individual since, Holloway informed him. So if you hear anything, Jimmy, on either person, I'd appreciate it. I'd appreciate it. the heads up, he added. Jimmy bit his lip in some sort of deranged excitement. His grin showed us all six of his yellowing teeth. Sure thing, Holloway. He closed the door behind us and made our way back to our cars.

You'll have that hundred turned into a pretty big rock by the time you get back to your hotel, Holloway joked. I have no doubt about that, I chuckled, unlocking the car door. If you hang around for five minutes You'll see him scrambling out of his front door And legging it down to Crystal Heights His words had a humorous tone But he was telling the truth

I wasn't local enough to know what Crystal Heights was But I just assumed it was a block Where the meth dealers were plentiful Listen, I'm gonna love you and leave you Right now I'm heading back to the office I'm gonna find out which of my men is in Morgan Price's pocket And when I do I'll paint the walls with him So I'll call you when there's a lot

the development. Holloway added, looking rather psyched up. Cassidy had his first close call today, without being able to find a previous time where his post-murder process was interrupted, well, who knows what he'll do now? We've potentially missed our window, I claimed, furiously. Hey, come on, James. No, this is all a bit fucked up right now, but we'll get it back on track. Flesh out the mole, rework our profile, and wait for another body to drop. I finished his sentence for him. I sighed heavily. He's killed enough people. Now he knows we're close to catching him. He can be like a cornered animal. He'll be more dangerous than ever.

Exactly. He just said it. We're close to catching him. He's not thinking clearly and he's lashing out. He'll make a mistake. You're the best of the best, James. You go and do what you do best and figure out what that mistake will be. Holloway ordered. Slapping his hand on my shirt. shoulder in an act of emotional support. I nodded, and thanked him for his faith in me. That night I stayed up, plying myself with extra strength coffee in ProPlus. I went through every case file, every post-charge interview, every witness statement, looking for something that would just give me a hint as to where he would be.

The only time Cassidy came close to being found out was an incident in Wichita, Kansas, where he was spotted leaving the scene of a murder. Julie Devereaux was the only victim not to be found in a woodland area. She was abducted from Park City and later found dumped in the alleyway, five miles from her last known whereabouts. Cassidy was seen leaving the area by a pedestrian, and he questioned him on the blood around his face and on his clothes. Cassidy gave an explanation, blaming a severe nosebleed for the mess.

Cassidy reportedly made a hasty, to retreat from the area on foot. I listened to the tape from Cassidy's interviews after his arrest, and during a behaviorist science interview, he was asked by Agent Quince what he didn't dump her in a wooded area. Dumping Miss Devereaux's body in a publicly walked street almost got you caught. Why at a risk? Did you get bored?

No way, Agent. Did you see, Miss Devereaux? Did I look like I was bored? I had all kinds of fun No, I didn't have much choice in that matter, you see The tank was running on fumes I couldn't risk driving all the way out to Swanson Bar If I broke down and I'd be stuck on the road with a dead girl in the trunk

Not the sort of position you'd want to be in Okay, so what happened then? I just decided to park up across the street from this alley It didn't look to be any CCTV or anything. The plan was to throw her in the dumpster, cover her up under some black bags, and hope City Hall would do the job for me. It was nothing like that, though, so I did the best with what I had, and I just dumped her in the corner and covered her up with a top and some cardboard.

I was heading back to the car when I got spooked by the students. I must have still had that bitchy's blood all over me, because he got all nervous. I just gave him some line about my nose opening up and I tailed it. I didn't expect him to buy it, but I just needed to give him something to think about while I split. So you left the car at the scene? Hell no, with my DNA prints and everything in there. No, I needed the car cleaned and back to the rental place before 5pm the next day. It's when the coast was clear.

I went back to get it, and I drove it to a nearby motel. I always used to stay at sketchy places, you know, like where they run drugs or halls. Rooms can be a little, you know, roachy, but less chance of an upstanding citizen reporting a suspicious-looking vehicle to the authorities. Well, anyway, next day I wiped the car down best I could and took it to be valeted. I've expected that night to burn me, but nope. Another 18 months before you boys got lucky. Lucky?

Oh, you mean when your wife outsmarted you? What's wrong, Cassidy? Got got your tongue? Maybe you're just realizing that you aren't as smart as you think you are. Careful, ancient quince. It's not wise to aggravate me with attempts of attacking my intellectual vanity. I click the stop button. That's it.

Cassidy could potentially be holding up at a sketchy motel in the Winnipeg area somewhere his behaviour is much less likely to be questioned he'll be waiting for the dust to settle assessing his options the tape suggested when he's thrown off schedule he can make rash decisions based on poor assumptions I pulled out the laptop and speculatively typed in low-star motels on Google specifically in the Winnipeg area when I did a news report caught my eye. Farther of three shot in parking lot of notorious

Crystal Heights Motel after meeting sex worker. Something was happening within me. A small part of me was connecting the dots, but the rest of me hadn't got the memo yet. As my deep subconscious was hard at work battling against the raging hangover, that part of me on Caffeine Riddle autopilot continue to read the article about the shooting.

A supposedly happily married man, had been meeting a sex worker for regular intercourse at the Royal Palisades Motel. Upon leaving one of his secret rendezvous, he was mugged and ultimately shot twice in the stomach after he attempted to wrestle the weapon from the attacker. He's currently in the ICU, but he's expected to make a good recovery. I read the last few paragraphs of the article, which tended to go slightly off-topic,

and speak about the resulting crime rate or some background context of the event. The article wrote, This is just another in the long and exhausting string of violent offences to occur at the now condemned Royal Palisades Motel. Motel was once a well-respected establishment, where tourists and even some diplomatic types would use the motel's services due to its handy location in the heart of the city of Winnipeg. However, over the last three years, organized crime was poisoned the motel's once great aesthetic. The motel is now a hotspot for both male and female prostitution. as well as the distribution of methamphetamine, earning the location the now unfortunate pseudonym of Crystal Heights.

Then, as if by magic, as if by fate, just as the pieces were slotting into their respective places, my cell phone ran. Sorry if I woke you, James, but I have an update. I don't know whether this is good news or not. I share my concerns about the leak with the super, and he asked everyone who acknowledged of the car wash operation, to surrender their devices.

Not one shred of evidence any of them leaked information to Price or his O-C-G. I mean, obviously I'm glad I don't have a rat in my unit, but I really don't know where to go from here. I have no idea how Price found out. James, you there? I do, I said bluntly. I'll meet you, the Royal Palisades Motel.

The Royal Palisades Motel lived up to its reputation. The two-story L-shaped building had approximately 14 rooms with a check-in desk location on the corner of the L. As I pulled into the car park, I spotted three separate males being led into rooms by half-naked women. The group of four young thugs were lingering at the edge of the car park. As I pulled into the car park, one of the thugs approached my window. I lowered the glass a few inches. The thug flicked his chin up in a type of street greeting. Oh, pussy or a bum, he asked.

I flashed my RCMP badge and he quickly turned around and retreated to his friends. Holloway arrived at the motel around 1027 p.m. Pretty much at the same time, just slightly after. I jumped out of my car and began loading up my concealed carry. Holloway jumped out of his car, walked over to me, and stood staring wide-eyed at my focused preparation of the weapon and waited for an explanation. When he didn't get one, he pressed the issue. Jesus, James, you want to explain to me what we're doing here?

Why are you going all silent hitman on me? Jimmy Burns. Yeah, probably here. But he's already told us what he knows, and I don't think a gun will change that. Not here for information. I'm here to try and save his life. What? What are you talking about?

He's the league hallway. I snapped as I sprinted towards the office. And if Cassidy is alive, then Jimmy Burns is in real shit. We burst into the motel office and flashed our badges at the desk club. I need to know if there had been any reservations made of this hotel in the last week by this man, I said, holding up a picture of Robert Cassidy. The clerk squinted. He may have worn a disguise. I then held up pictures of Cassidy and other people's attire,

such as the CCTV from the bank and the car wash. They seemed to strike a tone with the clerk. Yeah, that man there, the one from that car wash. He chaited in earlier this week, a few nights ago. He paid in cash, and to be honest, he looked at the floor the whole time. I thought that was kind of shady, but then again, that's alcohol. clientele. The Clark quipped. Okay, great. What room is he in? I asked. Eyes darting from desks to the window, making sure I couldn't see him myself. Checked out about two hours ago.

But if that, the clerk informed. I cursed and kicked the counter. Holloway interjected whilst I had my mini episode. What about Jimmy Burns? He'd been here tonight. He didn't need a photo. everyone at Crystal Heights knew who Jimmy was. Yeah, checked in the night before your mystery man. He's still here, room number six. Next door to your man, actually. He was in room seven. I'm going to need to get into both those rooms,

Holloway said, badge on show. Now, he added, loudly, when the clerk wasn't quite going as quick as he wanted. When we got to room six, the desk clerk began to insert the master key into the lock. The thing that struck me, as he in Holloway concentrated on the door, was the window. The entire pane of glass was dripping wet in condensation. As soon as the door opened, steam came pouring out of the room and into the chilly Canadian air.

Guns drawn, we made our way into room six, our paws opening for the sheer density of the steam that filled the room. We realized it was coming from the bathroom, and from what we could hear, there was water running. There was a stench in the air. Not something I'd ever smelt before, but it was very distinct. It reminded me of a seafood restaurant. I wasn't sure why,

but when Holloway pushed the bathroom door open with his foot, as we held our guns out in front of us, quickly I found out what that smell was, and why it reminded me of seafood. Lobsters. There in the bathtub was jibble. Jimmy Burns. His eyes were bulging out of his skull nearly. He was naked with what looked like too badly broken legs. His hands were restrained around his back and he was literally,

and I don't have any other word for this. Cooking in the bath. The water was on, overflowing onto the bathroom floor. There was a kettle on the toilet seat. The hot tap was turned to its Max. The water and the air was piping hot. Jimmy's skin looked redder than a stoplight. It had scaled and blistered to a point that made us all nearly vomit. His lips were crusted and inflamed. I didn't even know if he was able to scream. The worst part was, he was alive. He wasn't responding, but he was alive. We called in EMTs and the RT. Even the paramedics were puzzled on how to approach the situation. They tried their utmost to get him out of the water unscathed, but it was damn near impossible. They gave him morphine

for the pain in his legs and skin, but as soon as they grabbed a hold of his body, his skin just came away in their grip. The water turned a crimson red as Jimmy was hoisted out onto a gurney, and he was wheeled into the back of an ambulance. At least 70% of his skin was left in the top. The EMTs rushed him to Winnipeg General, but he died on the way there. We were told by the medical examiners that his tongue had been bitten out before he was boiled a line. The desk clerk, as well as both me and Holloway, was horrified. I got the impression he and Jimmy were on good terms.

He was kind enough to make us both a stiff drink. We all needed one. I noticed a number of cameras around the motel, but in all honesty, I expected the clerk to inform us the CCTV was just for show, given the nature of what goes on here. However, the clerk, when we were all alone,

said that the official line when cops came calling is that it's a deterrent, but criminal interests who run their product through here wanted there to be some sort of footage recorded, should a rival gang make a move on their patch. And so the motel had installed a private hard drive that recorded the motel for just one week at a time. The clerk said he could be beaten up

or most likely a lot worse for just showing us this. But he said he'd like Jimmy. Everyone did. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't a bad person in the grand scheme of things. He didn't deserve that anyway. The clerk wanted to help us in any way he could. It took us into the basement where the hard drive was hidden and we sat at the monitor the three of us with our drinks

and we began to rewind the footage. We reviewed the footage from the last few days and we saw Jimmy arrive and check in with a known sex worker three nights ago. They went into room six and a number of hours later she left. Jimmy stayed. This repeated later that day with the sex worker leaving the next morning and that night Cassidy arrived in the rental car He goes and checks in and he's entering his room.

Jimmy comes back from scoring some more meth. He converses with Cassidy for around ten minutes. After they finish, they give each other a friendly goodbye, and they both go inside. Later that night, Cassidy leaves in the rental car. This was the night that Jessica Price was raped and murdered. Jimmy stays around the motel, scoring meth, entering and exiting his room with various females. Around 10 a.m. the next morning, a man turns up at the motel. He looks completely out of place in relation to the rest of the people there.

He's well-dressed. He turns up in a blacked-out SUV, and he doesn't look like he's fiending for class A's. He goes up and speaks to a few people who appear to be regulars at the motel. At one point, he turns towards the camera, and suddenly everything falls into place. It's Marlowe Kane. He walks right up to Jimmy Burns, tells him something and hands him a car. The man then gets in his SUV and drives away. Without audio, it's damn near impossible to be certain this is how it went,

but I'm pretty confident. Cassidy arrived at the motel, knowing he was less likely to be reported for acting suspicious than he would at a more respectable establishment. Here he met Jimmy Burns. Who would have likely had suspicions about Cassidy himself. Cassidy, not a drug user nor was he there with any woman and most importantly he turned up in a rental car. Our tourists do not stay at Crystal Heights. However, his suspicions

were not confirmed until Morgan Price learned of his daughter's rape and murder. Cassidy's M.O. was always to rob his victims after the murder. He'd use the cash to fund his activities such as paying for the room or car valley. I believe Price, having learned his daughter's possessions were taken, assumed the attacker was a tweaker, a sex-addicted, meth-head, brutalizing his baby girl, and all for the contents of her purse. Jessica Price was, ironically, training to be a lawyer,

promised a retainer representing her father's criminal associates, no doubt. She would have likely had plenty of cash on her person, Her father would automatically assume that someone would take the cash straight to Crystal Heights for an evening of bump and grind, given that the motel was run by a rival organisation, it would be the best bet for someone who committed a crime against Morgan Price to spend the proceeds at a rival's patch. He sent Marlow Cain to the motel to scope it out, spreading the word that anyone with information on the perp would be heavily compensated. Knowing Jimmy Burns knew everything about everything about everything,

everyone in that neighbourhood, he would have been one of the people Marlowe intended to speak to. Cassidy arrived back at the motel later that day at around 12pm. You can see him on camera being approached by Jimmy Burns almost immediately. Jimmy seems to be asking questions about the rental car. Again, with no audio, it's hard to tell what was actually said, but Cassidy seemingly offers an explanation. The two converse a little more before Jimmy nods and starts to point out to the road. He seems to be giving directions. We worked it out that he was pointing in the direction

of the car wash. Cassidy enters his room, lightly washing off the violence from last night. Around 2pm, Cassidy leaves his room in fresh clothes, gets in the rental car and leaves the premises, heading towards the car wash. Almost immediately as he leaves the parking lot, Jimmy Burns pulls out the card in his cell and dialed a number. Shortly after Jimmy leaves his room and gets into a cab This is likely when he went home to meet us Later this evening Marlow Cain's SUV Pulls back up into the parking lot again

He makes a beeline for Room 7 He finegled the door lock with some sort of device And let himself in Shortly after Cain leaves the room And starts to peer through Jimmy's window When he doesn't see him He takes out his cell and makes a call Presumably to Jimmy

but then he turns and faces toward the camera we all gasped it wasn't kane it was cassidy in kane's car and wearing his clothes our mouths were as wide as our eyes i dropped my whiskey all over the floor in shock holloway shook his head in disbelief he honestly looked horrified kane was apparently the baddest of the bad and we really don't think he handed over his ride and threads willingly. Holloway then jumped up and made a call to Detective Walsh and Detective Michaels, requesting them to be on the lookout for Marlowe Kane's SUV. We were able to give them the license plate now, with it being on this tape. We reviewed the tapes some more, and, as expected, Jimmy Burns arrived back at the motel around 6pm.

When he does, Cassidy is waiting in the SUV. The SUV flashes its lights and Jimmy immediately walks up to the Range Rover with that same deranged excitement and climbs into the passenger side. A few tense moments

pass before Cassidy emerges from the driver's side. He makes his way around to the other side takes a quick look around to make sure no one's looking, opens the door and drags an unconscious Jimmy the short distance from the vehicle to room number six.

He doesn't come out for another two hours. When he does, he gets back into the vehicle and drives away. Two and a half hours later, me and Holloway drive into the parking lot. We thanked the clerk, who eventually told us his name was Andy. We thanked Andy for his cooperation and showing us this footage. He told us we were welcome, but in return he begged us not to sequester the footage for evidence. Holloway assured him he didn't have to worry about that and that we wouldn't drop him minute with the CCTV's owner. We shook hands and he urged us to get the bastard who murdered Jimmy

Burns and Jessica Price. I promised him we do our best and we left. I couldn't help but feel bad for Andy as Holloway just lied to his face. If we caught Cassidy, that CCTV is evidence that he killed two people. It would most certainly be sequestered, although that was a mighty big if. we walked out into the parking lot and reconvened at our vehicles Holloway inhaled a sharp hit of cold, brisk midnight air into his lungs through his nose and sided out heavily through his mouth God it seems like for every step forward we get knocked too back I complained pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finger

well I've suffered from migraines all my life nothing new there but there's a special type of migraine that hits me once in a while. A real humdinger that knows my senses and makes me want to tear my eyes from their sockets. I've only ever had four of them in my life. The first was the night the swarm kidnapped, tortured and killed a federal witness, a surveillance operative and an innocent 10-year-old girl. The second was the night Bill Johnson died of cancer. The third was the night Robert Cassidy escaped from Florence Prison.

and this was the fourth. Hey, come on. It's not fall apart here, James. Now, let's look at the bright side. We know the vehicle he's driving. We know he's on the move. At least now we know that Marlowe Kane isn't on the trail too, he said with a wink and a slight giggle.

I couldn't help but smiled his twisted sense of humour. Holloway was definitely an optimist. I could tell why he was so well-liked by the people he worked with. my department has the plate we set up multiple checkpoints leaving the city he's trap man we just need to wait for the call and then we can move in so i think you should go back to my room and get some rest i interrupted with a sarcastic grin yeah but what i mean rest i mean like actual sleep you know like a normal person he suggested in a bantering manner i scoffed through my smile i can't remember what i mean what normal feels like, but I'll try, I promise, I assured him. Well, I got some things I need to put in place to make sure Cassidy doesn't get too far. So if there's any developments, I will call you.

He said in a high school girlfriend mocking tone. Couldn't help, laugh. First time in years. We were opening our car doors and climbing in when I had an epiphany. I whistled and got Holloway's attention. He looked over at me, Raising his eyebrows, signalling that he was all ears. Hey, I don't meet many people in our line of work that I truly respect.

I think I've only met two in my 24 years as a federal agent. But now I know three. I confessed, genuinely. Holloway smiled. It meant a lot to him to know that. He began to ask what on earth brought this on, so I interrupted him. The agent, the...

one who Cassidy killed. I told you he was my best agent and a long-term colleague. What I didn't tell you was that he was also my best friend. We came up through Quantico together but went our separate ways for a number of years. Eventually

we both joined the Cassidy Task Force in behavioral sciences. We brought him down together including a few others. He's the best agent the bureau could want and he was the best partner I could need. I sighed heavily.

I just wished, well, I just wish I told him that before he. I looked at the floor, desperately trying to suppress the flashbacks of that night at the safe house. I'm sure he knew, James, he answers. I'll call you when I know something. I smiled. Just before I got into the car,

I realized this confessional had been entirely once. sided that made me feel vulnerable. Hey, um, Holloway, I chirped. His eyebrows and ears perked up. You once hinted, you know what it felt like to be scapegolded, like I was with Quintero. I left the sentence open-ended. Rather than outright asking him, well, he began to speak before he caught himself. He bit his lip hard and sighed. Maybe another time, James. another time, he suggested. Appointed at him and told him I wouldn't hold him to that. He agreed, and we both got into our vehicles.

He drove back to RCMPHQ to take on a few things. Meanwhile, after a detour to the liquor store, I drove back to my motel. I intended to keep my promise and get some sleep. After I'd seen tonight, however, I needed something to counter out the adrenaline. Part 3. The hotel was especially quiet this evening. I walked up to the front desk and the godsend I now knew was Ramos.

It kept his promise and left me a new key at the reception. I made my way up in the elevator. I pulled the change from the liquor store out of my pocket and had it ready to tip him. It was around $25. I know that some psychiatrist may say I'm trying to get rid of my guilt about what happened to quince by being charitable to some poor and unfortunate Mexican teenager. and his family, but it's either that or more booze. I'm more than comfortable with my choice.

The door's opened, but Ramos wasn't there tonight. I assumed that's why he'd left the key for me. I slid the card in and waited for the lock to snap. I pushed open the door and walked into the darkness I've become accustomed to. I flicked on the light, waiting for the flint in the bulb to illuminate the room. I anticipated the gory images of Robert. Cassidy and his victims covering my walls, the dead milky eyes staring vacantly at me, asking me why I'd failed them. Except that wasn't what greeted me. It wasn't the image of Robert

Cassidy. It was Robert Cassidy. Good evening Special Agent Rodriguez. It's been a while, hasn't it? Or should I call you ex-special agent? It's Inspector, whatever the fuck it is you do these days. Cassidy sat, his legs crossed, in the armchair in the corner of the room. He had scars, faint around the eyes, nose and mouth all from that night in Texas. He had some new wounds too, though.

Marlowe Kane hadn't gone down quietly by the looks of it. He fiddled the point of his knife into the gaps of his teeth, as if using it as a toothpick. Jimmy Burns was a big talker Fat tongues tend to get stuck in between the canines He informed me Didn't know if he was being serious or joking I'm not sure I wanted to either

Began to slide my hands towards my pocket to reach my phone Oh come on agents And have you opened up before you could even dial the first number He meant it as well It's always hard to tell due to his eerie calmness and nonchomers on attitude when talking about extreme violence but it was clear to me at this point he meant every word cassidy was astoundingly quick as well i doubt i'd even have been able to get my hand in the pocket before he got to me okay well you could have hidden in my bathroom waited till i came in snuck up behind me

and slipped my throat but here you are sat like a barn villain waiting for me to enter so let's just cut the shit Cassidy. You go ahead and tell me what the fuck you want. I tried to be firm, I didn't want him to know that I was terrified. I could tell he knew, though. Hell, he could probably smell it a mile away. He began to smirk and then gently chuckled. Now, where on earth would be the fun in that?

Let's be clear, if I need to kill your agent, and I will. But I don't want to. you're the only one who really appreciates me. All these other gumshoes just see me as a page and a textbook. A statistic, a serial killer. But you, you, Agent Rodriguez, you see me for what I really am. He lent forwards. His smile almost genuine.

What's that then? I asked in a sardonic tone. The guard. His ardor and his words were undeniable. I scoffed at his narcissism. One in three people don't even believe in God, but everyone believes in the bogeyman. More people have dropped to the knees and clasped their hands

preared at my feet than you can ever imagine. I decide if someone lives or dies. You all thought I was getting zipped up in a bag, but here I am, risen from the grave, just like our Lord Jesus Christ himself. He bellowed that, in a biblical tone. You can't seriously deny this.

I've seen and appreciate the awe you've given me, agent. And that's why you're alive right now. My world is so much more fun with you in it. Cassidy had stood up at this point. He began to saunter around the bed towards me. I didn't feel threatened. He could have killed me at any point up until right now, and he hadn't. I didn't really buy his yin and yang story.

He needed me for something. I just didn't know what. Cassidy walked right up to me. His face made inches from mine. His eyes never flickered. They simply stared directly into mine. He blinked a couple of times before simply saying, phone, and holding out his palm.

Like a teacher asking a student for his chewing gum. And he grinned as I began to comply. there's a good boy he said in his patronizing tone he took the phone placed it on the table and slammed the point of his knife through its centre three times for good measure i gave him a look of contempt he scowd and replied with you can get a new one on ebay agents dry your eyes so what do you need from me cassidy well uh my activities in winnipeg have led to somewhat of shall we say a complication, he said for lack of a better word. Jessica Price, I scoffed. Yeah, you missed your due diligence there, didn't you? I couldn't help but grin. Cassidy tried to hide his anger. He couldn't, though. He put his face close to mine once more. His eyes dead, his mouth level, his pupils dilated. I couldn't help but grow weary.

James, I do not seek out my victims. Trying to find the right fit, they seek me out. The right ones are drawn to me. Do you think I creep around under interstates and in alleyways, waiting for some meth-fueled hooker to flash her scabby tits of me? Right before I slid her from shin to chin, twist her up in some horrifying way, make her scream so loud that the children the state took from her hear her cries.

Absolutely not. All my victims are special to me. The way they walk, the way they dress, the way they talk, the way they carry themselves. I could walk past 99 women in a day and feel nothing. Not a thing, but then, if that special one, 100th woman I see, well, if she catches my attention like Jessica Price did, oh, so elegant, so cultivated, so deliciously aesthetic, and there's really no alternative.

His gaze never left me. His eyes became intense and wild as he went through the list of attributes of Jessica Price. I could tell he was reliving the event. But now, her father knows it was you. He's got his moles out looking. Not that he needed reminding of this. Yes, moles. You mean like the refined Mr. James Burns. I bet he was almost ready when you found him, was he not? Cassidy's mouth flared into a sinister grin as the pride of his actions rose to the surface. I looked at Cassidy. The confusion obviously on my face from wondering how he knew, as he grinned once more. He did that a lot. I saw you and that other gumshoe arrive. I saw you all run into the steam. I couldn't help but wonder what he was like when you found him.

Please tell me, I'd love to know. He wasn't really asking. I could see his knuckles whitened around the handle of his blade. His skin came off in the sheets. It smelled like boiled shellfish. He died in the ambulance after a cardiac arrest. Happy now? Cassidy smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

Who can say, really? Am I happy he's dead? Of course. Do I regret him being a factor in the first place? Of course, but hey-ho, what will be will be. How about Marlowe Kane? Where is he? Dead? I asked sharply. What do you think, Agent? Cassidy asked, provocatively.

I shook my head and disgust. Oh, come on, Agent, don't give me that. That one was straight up self-defense, although it did work massively in my favor, I must say. With his phone, clothes and car, it was all too easy to get hold of Jimmy and tell him to meet me for the pale. Cassidy said, gleefully. Despite all this fun, my time in Canada has reached his end, I think. Too much hazel here with the Mickey Mouse Mafia after me, as well as the old Mounties, so I've decided to ditch the car rather than return it.

Marlowe, luckily, had a spare Jerrycan in his SUV. Imagine that. I needed to get rid of Marlowe as well, so... So two birds with one stone sort of situation. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say... It's all too easy. See, agent, I mostly have the divine powers I speak of, because I said there shall be no car and there'll be no Marlowe.

Then I said there'll be light, and there was light. I looked up on the light, and all the light was good. Cassidy's biblical tone was back. He always sounded like Moses himself. I couldn't help but think this was a strange way to confess that you'd burned a man alive. You won't get away. Between the authorities and the mob, you will get caught.

I hope to God that it's by the side that will bring you to real justice. But to be honest, Cassidy, I'm past the point of caring. I just want you where you can't hurt any more people, I said. Cassidy chuckled and shook his head in disagreement. I don't think you really believe that. You see, Agent Rodriguez, I confess to you that I need you in my life. Someone who knows the vast magnitude of my prowess and mastery, someone to pursue me with everything they have, regardless of office politics.

No matter how many budget cuts or department numbers get in your way, you will always chase me down. Someone who sees my work and examines it, documents it, immortalizes it. His voice was building into a crescendo. Before he added, You ever heard the story of the lion and the gazelle? I shook my head. The lion chases the gazelle because he has to.

Because he needs to eat. He's hungry. He knows if he doesn't eat, then he's nothing. Now the gazelle, he runs from the lion. He needs to keep his game up. He needs to be sharp. Because the lion, he's coming. What's your point?

I asked impatiently. You know the lion? I'm the gazelle, and I'm the gazelle. He said, proudly, You know what happens to a gazelle if the lion stops chasing him? Nothing. Doesn't run anymore, because he's nothing pushing him or driving him,

forcing him to be better, he said, passionately, fist pounding his chest. The thing is, should the lion ever catch the gazelle, then maybe he feels good for that day, while he feasts, gauze on the tasty flesh of his prey. But the next day, there ain't an old gazelle to chase, and the lion gets hungry, and the lion dies. Cassidy shrugged his shoulders, waiting for the moral of the story to resonate with me. Plenty of other gazelles in the jungle, I counted. He grinned.

Not like me, though. No one that caused you so much distress. He winked. You dream about me, don't you, Agent Rodriguez? Bet you see the faces of all the people I've killed over the years, don't you? Do you see your insecurities and self-doubts in their dead eyes? Do you see the horrible remains of your best friend in your dreams? No, no other gazelle has made you feel those things. While you seek me out and chase me relentlessly, you're scared of what you'll become once you catch me.

His words cut deep. I didn't know whether it was a fact I simply buried my head in the sand, or the fact that I'd been so obsessed with this case, but I hadn't even thought of what I'd do after it was over. Cassidy could see the contemplation going on inside me. It began a long, dragged out laugh. I'm right, aren't I? You know, I read all about your mentor, the incorruptible Bill Johnson. The man who saw through the Bureau's one-dimensional views on a string of seemingly unrelated and violent sex crimes.

only to unveil the largest human trafficking network ever put together. Chase the shock calls of the swan for, what was it, six years? Tell me what happened the day after the last member was sentenced in federal court. Cassidy already knew the answer, so once again he was grinning from ear to ear. He died from cancer. He'd been ill for some time. Well, I don't really see your... But he didn't die.

not while he had his gazelle to keep hunting. So as soon as he caught it, his life had no meaning, no purpose, nothing to fight the disease for. Don't you see, agents? You need me alive and free. Otherwise, what do you have? No family, no friends, no job. Face it, all we have is each other. Cassidy extended his arms, sarcastically inviting and embrace.

You're wrong. make me sick. I want you in prison running away for the things you've done to people I knew and the people I didn't. So why don't you just get to the fucking point and tell me why you're here? I asked, getting sick of his psychological warfare bullshit. Then, for what felt like the thousandth time tonight, Cassidy's sadistic grin rose to the surface and he sauntered over to the sliding doors that led out of my fourth floor balcony. He grabbed the cord. He grabbed the cordial. He grabbed the and turned to me. In his best game show voice, he said,

Oh, let's see what's behind door number one. And pulled down hard. The curtains split down the middle, and both sides slid apart, revealing my balcony. There sat duct tape to the garden chair, badly beaten, barely conscious, was Ramos. I jotted towards Cassidy in a rage. He poured out a lighter and wagged his finger. at me like I was a naughty school kid. He poured the sliding door a few inches open

and let the unmistakable aroma of gasoline creep its way into the room. I had a little leftover from Marlowe, so I... Cassidy began to speak before I cut him off. I don't care what it is. I'll do it. Just please don't hurt him.

Besides, you like that and every vehicle with a blue light will descend on this hotel. You'll never get away. whenever you came here for I'll do it but only if you spare his life please I'm begging you

I pleaded with Cassidy something I thought I'd never do oh you are no fun I thought I'd least get to set him a little on fire to make you play a ball but fine let's roll Cassidy said in a spoit child's voice

okay so you'll agree that I'm one of if not the most wanted man in Canada. I've got a car outside, but it's useless while I drive it. At the border, they'll likely have my picture, and it will all end nasty for both parties. However, if a decorated federal agent who's been assisting the RCMP rocks up to the border, claiming he's heading back to the States,

well, that's much less likely to arouse suspicion. Cassidy held up a pair of keys, jiggling them with his fingertips theatrically. In that moment, I desperately tried to think if there was any way Cassidy knew we had the license plate or the fact Marlow Cain was dead. No one including Cassidy was aware of the secret CCTV recordings at the motel. There was no way he knew it. It would be a gamble, but it would be only a matter of time before the vehicle was spotted. Okay, let's go.

You make a call from a payphone en route to the border saying you can smell burning coming from room four. to one. That way I know this room will be entered by the staff and Ramos will get the medical attention he needs. I laid my demands at Cassidy. No, he said bluntly. When we're in Minnesota and only when we've crossed that border shall I make the call. No hold-ups. We could be in the States in a couple of hours. You'll live, don't worry. But wanted him dead, he would be. So stop bargaining in for petty requests and stop wasting my time agent he demanded handing me the keys oh and uh you think of trying anything smart like say alerting any unarmed hotel workers i'll gut them where they stand just to fucking spite you they'll be on your hands agent rodrigan's his eyes widened as if asking me if i

understood his threats i nodded to confirm that i got the message cassidy He dragged the chair in from the balcony, and Ramos is deadweight causing the chair to leave heavy drag marks in the carpet as Cassidy hauled him into the bathroom and closed the door. Shall we? He invited, signaling with his head for me to get walking. We headed down the hall, making sure we weren't seen. Cassidy opened the fire escape by pushing his backside against the bar.

One hand on my shoulder, one hand on his knife, resting the sharp tip against my liver. As he put pressure on, forcing me forward down the fire escape, the blade began to pierce the skin, and I winced in pain. I said I'd drive, didn't I? You can put the knife away. My request came across like a sulky team. I've already trusted one wrong man today.

I do a lot of cleaning up because of it. I mean, don't get me wrong. I had some fun doing it, but still, not making the same mistake. twice. Cars only 50 yards away. Once we're in, I'll give you a bit of trust. Cassidy informed me, pressing the knife against my back. He was letting me know if I made one wrong move, he'd have my organs on a sheesh. We arrived at Marlowe Cain's Black Rangerover Sports. I immediately noticed the dried dirt on the wheels and the underside of the vehicle. Lightly from whatever off-road

sight Cassidy got the drop on Marlop. I didn't know, Mr. Kane, but I hoped to God he was already dead when Cassidy torched the car with him inside. I didn't hold out much hope of that, though. Climmed into the driver's seats, Cassidy in the passenger. The blacked-out windows meant he didn't need to hide in the trunk. Right, towards Highway 59. When we get five minutes from the border, I'll get out and lay in the trunk.

Now, you're probably thinking, I'll just give the border agents a little signal and they'll arrest silly old Mr. Cassidy while he's snuggled up in a ball. Turns out Mr. Kane carries a fair number of toys in his vehicle and this one's going to come in very much in handy. He said, opening the glove box and reaching inside. He pulled out a live grenade and held it in his hand. Well, so to speak, he quipped. I looked at it in horror as my plan just came crashing down around me. I get one hint that we ain't going through that border, Agent Rodriguez, and I'll blow us all to fuck in Tijuana.

Me, you, whichever innocent family man decide to stick their noses in the vehicle. So it's in your best interest that we get through. He said, seriously. He placed the grenade carefully back in the glove box and closed it. He pointed to the road with his knife. I complied and began to drive to wall. the interstate. Panic had set in. I tried not to show it but I couldn't help but catastrophes about what would happen if my plan worked. If I said of RCMP or Winnipeg PD offices pulled over our car,

if I couldn't stop him before he reached inside that glove box, then more innocent people would die. But still, I told myself there was a chance I could. He may gut me as promised, but I wasn't sure if I cared. As long as I knew it was his last kill as a free man and it would be totally worth it. As long as we didn't make it to the border, I had a chance. However, as Cassidy and I began to make our way out of Winnipeg, I noticed he was directing me a slightly longer route. I'll be following the satellite navigation instructions only for him to tell me to take the left or right and reroute back to the shortest way. I had a really sinking feeling of what he was doing. Can we just stick to the route? I want you over that line so Ramos can get the

help he needs. I fish for an explanation of the diversions, but his reply broke my spirit. Just do as I say, I want to avoid the traffic cameras. For all I know, the police are trying to track down Marlowe Kane after he showed up at that car wash, impersonating a police officer. For all I know, Morgan Price has reported him missing. Cassidy pouted a frown as he brainstormed. I looked at him. My disbelief was clearly apparent as Cassidy couldn't help but grin. Oh, that hurts.

It really does. I thought you of all people would know I'd have everything thought through, just in case I needed to leave town quietly. I mean, did I think I'd have Tony fucking soprano gunning for me? Hell no. But life is funny like that, I guess. He smiled off into the distance. clearly amused at the irony.

You're just being paranoid, I claimed, trying to hide my distress. Last we saw Marlowe Kane, he was alive. Nobody turned up. If anything, RCP, think you're in the rental car, trying to get it cleaned and head back to wherever you've been hauled up for the past six months. I'd know.

That's the profile I gave them. Trust me, this car is the last place they think you'll be. I said confidently. I stared forward. watching the road. I had a sudden realisation, but Holloway had asked Detective Walsh and Michaels to set up checkpoints on the city limits. I began to prepare myself to snatch the grenade when we got to it, but at the same time trying to keep the look of a man not plodding away in his mind. However, it quickly became clear. We'd now left Winnipeg and were out in the empty

countryland of Providence Trucking Highway 59, just outside Eil Descaine. We encountered no checkpoints and had avoided all the traffic cameras, nothing to stop the vehicle and nothing to flag the license plate and alert Holloway's team to our whereabouts. I groaned internally and tried desperately to think of a plan B. It was at this point I noticed time had gone by and Cassidy hadn't said a word. This wasn't normal, so I turned.

You're staring right at me. He wasn't grinning, he wasn't smiling. he was scowling his eyes were squinted I could tell he was weighing me up Amy Edmonds confessed to me that Cassidy would often give her these stare-downs when he suspected she was up to something something you want to tell me agent he asked intensely like what I asked trying not to stutter mumble or any obvious sign of lying we were probably another 15 and 20 extra minutes if that Your little Mexican friend got a bit of a pasting, but you a decorated federal agent for 30 years.

Surely knew his injuries weren't life-threatening. Yet here you are. Desperate for this vehicle to pass a traffic camera. Volunteering all sorts of information about profiles and RCMP's investigations. That's not like you. His eyes became more and more hard as he became more and more convinced that I was deceiving him. I looked her out. We were in the middle of nowhere.

There was no way out. I sighed heavily. The Royal Palisades Motel. The criminal gang who run their drugs and women there, they put in a CCTV system that records. If the cops come knocking, the clock tells them the cameras are just for show. But there's a private hard drive in a back room. They have it so if any rival gang members give any of the dealers or pimps trouble

and they can ID them. They can also keep an eye on their own too. Cassidy slammed his fist on the dashboard firmly. I don't give a fuck why some meth-pedaling bikers want to play a big brother. What was on that film? Cassidy said, and his eyes told me he was furious. Everything. We knew you checked in there, the night you killed Jessica Price.

We knew you told Jimmy Burns about the car wash. We knew you killed Marlowe Kane. We knew you painted yourself as Marlowe Kane so you could lure and kill Jimmy Burns. They know you're in this SUV, I said, in the most calm and honest tone I could. You lied to me, you deceive me. I cut Cassidy off as he seethed as I came to a realization.

Oh, come on, Cassidy. That hurts. I thought you of all people would know I'd at least exhaust every chance to get you arrested before I helped you alone. Anyway, what are you going to do, kill me? You'll never get out of the country without me. You avoided all the cameras, so let's just worry about where we're going to go to at that border. I said in the most diplomatic tone I could muster.

Trouch, agent, trushé, but you pull any more tricks like that, and I'll go bin Laden on those coyote catches. He smiled. A little impressed with my response. His joke was distasteful, but he was deadly serious nonetheless, and I had no reason to doubt him. To pass the time, maybe you can fill me in on something. Cassidy inquired.

Sure. What do you want to know? I replied. I wanted to keep him talking. The more he was distracted, the more I could try and think of a way out of this. No one gets a drop on me. No one. especially not a twitching method like Jimmy Burns.

So I've been dying to know. Just how did he follow me to that car watch? As far as I could tell, he had no vehicle. No one of cabs on hand either. It's really been puzzling on me. So what did the footage show him doing there? Cassidy's tone was one of genuine puzzlement, sounding borderline impressed.

Well, his question threw me, though. I was so distracted I didn't even. notice the pair of headlights in the distance rapidly approaching our rear. Sorry, we really don't know. We assumed you saw Jimmy as a dodgy character, who would know a cash-only car wash that wouldn't ask too many questions. When you left, he made a phone call. Next thing we know, Marlow Cain is at the car wash tracking you down.

No, he pointed out where some hotspons were for nightlife, and that's it. I was just doing my clueless tourist routine. Cassidy was once again staring at me. This time he looked more puzzled and concerned rather than seething with anger. I sat vacantly staring forward, mouth slightly open, the cogs within turning. What? Cassidy probed after seeing my horrified reaction. Jimmy Burns may have told them about the car, but he never knew where you were that afternoon. Didn't leave the motel until an hour after the car wash incident.

They found that out from someone else. I was thinking out loud, digging back through my exhausted and hung over mine trying to piece it together. Till we learned about Jimmy, we thought the leak was internal, but Holloway said there was no... My sentence was cut short by a flashing blue and red light, a loud siren and firm clash of bumpers. Cassidy was peering through the tinted windows to see what we were dealing with.

This was my chance. I leant over and ripped open the glove box, throwing my hand on the grenade. Cassidy's head snapped back to me, his anger present. He drove his blade right into my quad, and I screamed in pain, but in one last act of defiance I forced the grenade into my left-side pockets, making it much harder for him to retrieve it from the passenger side. Cassidy twisted the blade in my leg, causing the white-hot agony to radiate throughout my entire leg.

I swung the wheel to the left as violently as I could. The SUV dragged off the road and plowed nose first into a shallow ditch off the side of the highway. The front left corner of the vehicle's chassis hit the opposite side of the banking, causing the car to halt violently. Cassidy hit his head on the dashboard firmly, not enough to knock him out, but he was certainly wobbled. I was busy trying to remember, through the adrenaline and pain, whether or not I should pull this knife out of my leg. before I knew what was going on the driver's side door was being ripped open and Detective Walsh pointed a gun in my face

and ordered me to show him my hands I turned into the beam of the flashlight Walsh's face screwed up in puzzlement Rodriguez I threw my head down to reveal Robert Cassidy trying to pick the passenger side door open the glass of the window shattered outwards onto the road and the heavily damaged door swung open

freeze walsh commanded but cassidy ignored him and began to climb out of the car Walsh fired a shot which clipped Cassidy's shoulder blowing a hole in his flesh he screamed a curse before falling forward out of the vehicle and onto a pile of dirt blood and broken glass shots Walsh put down his firearm just stay here yeah back-ups on its way

made his way around to the other side of the vehicle I looked over my shoulder I threw the back of the vehicle Another car was rapidly approaching Everything started to make sense now Stay right where you are We got you you, son of a bitch Detective Michael's claim

Both detectives had their firearms aimed at Cassidy as he lay on the ground As I climbed out of the driver's side And limped around the car I decided to open up the rear door And find something to aid my position on the floor was a pistol a glock i assumed this was marlowe's before cassidy got to him i let the magazine slide out into my horror it was empty although i guess walsh and michael's didn't know that with a knife still handled deep in my thigh i limped around until i could peer around the bumper of the car the two agents still had cassidy pinned down ready to fire at him if you should try anything i heard one of them say to the other one he's nearly here

I looked up the road and saw the vehicle from earlier it was no more than half a mile away Morgan Price and his thugs would be here soon not only would they murder Cassidy they'd murder me too for being a loose hand

the SUV was trashed and clearly had some sort of tracking device in it but Michael's and Walsh's squad car on the other hand that looked just fine the engine was still running too butch your fucking guns down, I shouted, protruding from my cover and aiming my unloaded weapon at the two offices.

Agent Rodriguez, what are you doing? Did you hit your head? Walsh asked, half concerned, half furious. Put that firearm down and go and wait in the back of the car, Michael's added. You corrupt assholes. I'm not going anywhere with you. You two are not handing him over to Morgan Price for the bail, I ordered, slowly but surely making my way around. the vehicle. I backed up towards Cassidy and whispered. Can you run? To which he smirked and replied, run where? Their fucking car, I responded, not taking my eyes off the two detectives in front of me. They were making their way towards me, holding their guns slightly off aim and their hands up as if to try and calm the situation. I, meanwhile, continue to point my gun at whoever

move closest. If we got to their car, you'd just tell me my only option is to hand myself in. I can see why you want to run, and I'll take my chances here. Cassidy said, now sat upright, his hand covering the bloody wound in his shoulder. Besides, you ain't going far with that thing stuck in you, he said, referring to the knife still agonizing every fiber of my right leg. I hated to admit it, when the son of it was. a bitch was right.

The car that had been approaching now pulled up to around 20 yards behind the detectives, and the door opened. What the hell do you mean corrupt? You're the one protecting that animal. Now, I don't know where this is coming from, Agent, but I need you to... Well, I cut off Walsh with my own ramp. The leak about the car wash could only have come from the RCMP, and we avoided all the traffic cameras,

so you only knew where this vehicle was going if it had. had a tracker and whoever at RCMP's in Morgan Price's pocket would have had to have had that information so don't lie to me my words were full of venom i couldn't stand how these two detectives who were from the organized crime department could be in the pocket of organized crime then again who better i guess the two detectives reaction caught me off guard their faces were extreme puzzlement their arms relaxed and the guns lowered considerably. We were told to come here because this vehicle was spotted on a traffic camera, heading towards the Minnesota border.

Detective Michaels answered, perplexed. Who told you that? Well, it was in... Detective Walsh's sentence was cut horribly short by a loud crack of noise and a flash of light from behind him. The front of his face exploded outward, and his blood and blood, brain matter decorated the surrounding area. Detective Michaels, stunned, spun around and another loud snap of noise and light flashed from the same area. Michael's facial skin and skull shattered

inward and a medium-sized hole burst open through the back of his head. A spray of red and smoke evaporated from the wound and into the air. The two bodies remain limp, but standing, for a few brief seconds before they collapsed to the ground in their respective heaps. Revealing to me, Inspector Holloway. Arms extended, gloved hands, unregistered firearms still smoking at the barrel. Cassidy began to laugh, hard to tell whether it was at me for being so stupid or how much my jaw had hit the floor. Holloway walked right up to him and stomped his boot into his face hard, knocking him into semi-consciousness. Shut up, he instructed.

Oh, you son of a bitch, I screamed. I poured the trigger in a moment of blind rage. The firing pin clicked when it didn't hit the butt of the bullet, and in that moment he knew I was bluffing. I closed my eyes in anger at myself. He grabbed the knife in my leg and yanked it at the side. I screamed in pain. dropped the empty gun and fell to the ground alongside Cassidy.

He kicked the gun away and poured out a roll of duct tape. He secured my hands and feet together, and the same went for Cassidy. Not before wiping the gun used to kill Michaels and Walsh and placing it into Cassidy's hands. He then threw it to the side of the road. Hollery pulled out a burner phone from his sock and dialed a number. Hey, it's me. Yeah, I've tracked them down. I also got those two detectives that have been prying into your business.

No, you don't have to worry about that. RCP will think Cassidy tried to kill them when they pulled over. Just follow the GPS on Marlowe's SUV out to Highway 59. I've got Cassidy here alive and kicking. Three million? Yep, we had a deal right. Transport out of the country like we agreed. Thank you, Mr. Price.

I'll see you when you get here. He put the phone down, removed the SIM cards, dropped it on the road and stamped on the device hard. I'm sorry things had to go this way, James. Holloway said, igniting the SIM card on fire with his lighter and watching it melts. His gaze met mine. He spotted my scowl and took that to mean I didn't believe him. Honestly, I mean that. This was just too much of a good opportunity to leave to someone else.

I really didn't know Cassidy had taken you. You were meant to be a part of this, James. But now, you're a loose end. And come on, two dead RCMP agents, one dead X-FBI. There's no way I could spend that $3 million here in Canada, not without looking over my shoulder every day for the rest of my life. The only way is to make it look like Cassidy killed the four of us and got away. That way the manhunt is on him, not me.

so I'm just going to wrap this situation up and I'm out of here Morgan Price has me on a private jet Case full of money living it up in Cancun for the rest of my days Holloway informed us as he rearranged the bodies Making the scene look the way he wanted it to What's the plan then Holloway Cassidy asked Coming round from the blow

Well after we got ahead on the ANPR camera We devised that you were making a run for the border we simply didn't anticipate that you had some firepower and you killed both Detective Walsh and Michaels. You then kidnapped me and James, so you had leverage or assistance in leaving the country. James and I will be presumed dead. Well, they'll be right about James, but I'll be free to live out the rest of my days under my new name. Marcus Brimidge, he said, waving his hand across the sky, as if picturing his name in lights. Cassidy scoffed

Wow Sounds like a real asshole to be honest He said humorously Holloway scowled Grabed Cassidy by his shirt collar And laid six solid right crosses To his nose and mouth All while saying

I said shut the fuck up Cassidy chuckled through his blood oozing gums He broke into full laughter As the red liquid seeped its way out of his nose and teeth, making its way to his chin and dripping onto his shirt and trousers. How long have he been in Morgan Price's pocket then?

At Proop Holloway, as he eyed a convoy of vehicles around four miles up the highway heading for us. The way he rubbed his hands together, like a greedy cartoon villain, how I could tell it was Price and his man. The day Korean Mohammed and his six-year-old son were shot and killed, he answered.

I looked up at him, waiting for him to a little. elaborates. He didn't, so I probed again. Is that when you were scapegoated? I asked. February 23rd, 2012. I was leader of counterterrorism, real high flyer, believe it or not. I wasn't some cold case rapist chaser like I am now. I had a wife, kids that I saw, kids that respected me. The powers of beat decided to throw an op together without adequate prep. They gave a shoot to kill order on the target. The intel told us that in apartment 56 of the Sergeant Park apartment block, a terrorist known as Allah Akbar, was building an IED, capable of wiping out its entire intended target,

the Air Canada Center. The operation was rushed, so I presented my misgivings. They were ignored, of course, because the top brass wanted to look tough on terrorism. Anyway, the team stormed the flats. The occupant turned around wearing a suicide van. vest. Three armed officers blew six holes in him and his vest, except two things. One of the screws on the door number had come loose, causing it to swing upside down. Those idiots in their haste broke into a apartment 59, not 56. And that suicide vest was a chestling containing his baby boy.

Holloway began to cry, reliving the trauma. I couldn't help but empathize. The chief super or the gunmen or freaking both. None of them wanted to admit they'd killed an innocent man. So guess who's made the scapegoat? This question was clearly rhetorical. I was demoted. I began to drink, lash out.

My wife divorced me. The kids saw me as a bitter old drunk. Moved to Montreal eventually with my wife's new husband. Transferred away from Ontario for a fresh start. I got stuck on cold cases. Dick Pay, zero respect. I had to work my way back up the ladder.

And one day I'm investigating an old unsolved ganglang execution. My new evidence trail leads to Morgan Price. Could have taken him down, but instead he offered me another option. Buried the evidence. He paid me 30 grand. He took it, why not, huh? Anyway, since then, I've done my best to keep him and his associates out of jail in return for various substantial payoffs.

But I don't want to do this for the rest. my life. Stress, the hours. I want an endgame. This is what it is, so really sorry, James. Didn't want you to be a part of this, but there's no going back now. I do wish things were different. Dare I say, Holloway actually sounded genuine. Well, there wasn't much time to go into any more detail about Holloway's emotional breakdown into career corruption, because the convoy had now arrived. Two jet black range rovers sandwiched a white transit van. I noticed the car stayed back around a mile, presumably to make sure any innocent rubberneckers turned their nosy asses around and went another way. Nothing to see here. Eight men, two in each rover, four in the van. The four men

in the van were big, burly men, wearing dark combat gear with black balacarvers. The two men in the rear rover also in similar gear. They both branded saw. off shotguns, named them at me and Cassidy. Meanwhile, the front rover's passenger door opened and outstepped Morgan Price, suited and booted to the knives, black leather gloves protruding from the sleeves of his 7,000 black wool overcoat. He approached me and a man who butched his daughter. He got within mere inches of our faces. He squatted right down and his hard, steely blue eyes bored holes into our souls. Well, well, well. Well, Inspector Ramos, or should I say, ex-special agent James Rodriguez.

The man who botched a manhunt that led this man, Robert Cassidy, right here to Canada, he said coldly. Mr. Price, if I could just have a... My sentence was cut short by his rock-solid forehead slamming into the bridge of my unprotected nose. The bone shattered and the blood exploded onto my mouth and chin. Price's breathing was heavy with rage. I could tell I was in as much shit as Cassidy. Crazy logic, really, but grief does things to people. And Morgan Price wasn't exactly stable to begin with.

As I nursed my wound, the driver of Price's SUV was already out of the vehicle and opening up the rear left-side passenger door. Took out a large duffel bag and a brown envelope. He walked up to Holloway, who had an anxious look on his face. as he stared at Morgan Price's intimidating physique hunching over my bloody body. He wanted out of here as quick as he could. He didn't want to see what they'd do to me and he wanted to forget about all the terrible things he'd done here tonight.

Well, $3 million would certainly go a long way to helping with that. Price's driver was an extremely distinguished and well-postered individual. He spoke in a very posh English accent. Inside the duffel bag, you were full. find 50 million Mexican pesos, roughly equating to 3,071,000 Canadian. Consider the surplus payment for the collateral damage, the man said, looking around at the two dead detectives. You'll also find in your envelope your boarding pass for tonight's flight with Mr. Price's private airline. You'll find a new passport, visa papers, birth certificate and other relevant papers. All of which

under your new name of Marcus Brimidge. We trust you should be able to provide your own transport and accommodation once in Cancun. He added. Absolutely. Holloway said in pure awe, peering his eye into the bag of money. He couldn't help himself. Well, the flight is 1am. Fast air jet center, hang a lane.

Ask for a man named Mason. He is expecting Marcus Brimmage. He knows all about your arrangement. He added. "'Understood,' Holloway said, shaking the driver's hand firmly. Marcus,' Cassidy piped up through a blood-filled mouth. Holloway looked across at him curiously. "'I don't think Marcus Brummage will get to spend a penny of that money.'

Holloway smirked and shook his head as he made his way over to his vehicle and placed the bag and envelope into his trunk. As he slammed the trunk down and made his way around to the driver's side door, He called out. Oh, yeah? Why is that, then? Because I'm going to make sure of it. Maybe I'll flay you alive.

Perhaps hammer sewing pins up your fingernails. I'll make you scream and suffer in some other truly unimaginable way. Well, unimaginable to someone like you anyway. I personally tend to have a great imagination for that sort of thing. Especially when I have a lot of contempt for that particular person. Cassidy said, completely dead eyes. Price, Holloway and the Balaclava men all chuckled at Cassidy's blind denial of his current situation. Cassidy's expression remained the same, until he simply turned

to face Price and looked him straight into his eyes. I'll make you suffer and scream just like I did to Marlowe and Jessica. His dead face turned to the most sinister smile he could muster. Morgan Price's humoured expression turned to stone. The veins in his temples began to bulge, and Cassidy knew he'd struck a nerve. Price fought hard for his rage, so as to just stop himself shooting Cassidy here and now. He simply stood up, dusted himself off, and forced a grin. Let's get these boys to the unit. Let's see how mouthing you are when you get on the table saw.

Price then turned to the balaclava men and flicked his head in our direction. The large-mast men approached us. I'll leave it to you then, Holloway said, almost phrasing it like a request. Morgan Price walked over to Holloway, passing the group of masked men in the middle of the road as they came towards me and Cassidy. He shook his hand hard. I never thought I'd see the day where I let my inside man go, but after Jessica, I'd have traded anything to get her back, which can't happen. So the next best thing is to know the person responsible has been dealt with accordingly. you've made that possible

I can't thank you enough Francis but hopefully the money and the fresh start will be enough Morgan Price grabbed the back of Holloway's neck and pulled him close while he thanked him for murdering two innocent men and conspiring to murder another Holloway turned

opened his car door and climbed in I then watched him turn and face me the look of guilt was well hidden but I could tell it was there deep down he was just firing up his engine when four of Price's thugs began to assault Cassidy, knees, kicks, punches, a brief but harsh melee, before carrying him to the transit van and launching him into it like a lawn dart. The two men who approached me weren't much gentler, to be honest, but they didn't rough me up as much due to the knife in my thigh.

One of them grabbed the handle and tried to yank it out. Hey, you pull that out and he'll bleed to death before we get him to the yard. This lion piece of shit fed deserves a little more of a drawn-out process. Price commanded. His men then grabbed my arms and drag my legs behind me. The searing agony set my legs on fire. They had the grace to throw me on my back into the van, however, thank God. The pain made me black out. The only thing I can remember was the noise of the van door sliding and slamming shut. The engine fired to life, and I felt the vehicle began to move. The sound of my beating heart got harder and harder, faster and faster.

The cold and empty safe house towered over the unkempt front yard. The night was black and full of despair. The gurney laid there, body bag on top. I approached, looking down at the form of a body inside. The beat got faster and harder, even more so as I reached down and grabbed the zip. I pulled it back. My heart stopped. The van went womp as we hit a speed bump.

Maybe it was a pothole, who knows. I couldn't even say how much time we'd gone by when I came around. I couldn't say if we'd gone north, south, east or west. I didn't even know if we were still in Canada. I just knew we were still moving. I came around to see Cassidy sat up right in the corner of the van, staring at me. I looked at him giving him a questioning look he squinted slightly

he was grinning too hard to tell though his face was a mess looks like I'm not the only one with a few scars from that night Cassidy said provocatively don't know what you mean I said shrugging off his psychological bullshit you dream about him don't you your friend the one I killed

wincy was it He said dramatically, thinking and searching his memory. Quincy, I snapped. Ah, that's it. Sorry. I called him wincy because how he squirmed in that chair. I came out of my days quickly. I began to rive and throw myself at Cassidy in an attempt to attack him.

It was too hard, though, between the large bowing knife in my thigh and the crack ribs from the thugs. Cassidy just chuckled and smiled through his crimson mask. That'll do, he said, seemingly pleased with my reaction. Nearly showtime, he added. I lay there considering the meaning of his words, when suddenly the vehicles came to a steady halt. The side door slid open. The masked men swarmed inside and dragged both of us out violently.

We were way off the grid, somewhere with no witnesses, somewhere no one would hear a scream. We were at an unmarked warehouse. likely a storage facility for Manitoba Construction Limited. Contract, steel, lumber, drugs, guns, people, and so on. We were forced inside and into the main hangar. Two metal chairs sat ominously in the center of the room.

Around ten feet from the chairs was a table saw, a pretty large one, definitely big enough to fit a grown man on it. As we stood in the room, one of the masked men entered, one of the rooms and brought out a metal porter trolley. It was filled with tools of obscene torture. Scalples, drills, pliers, bolt cutters, you name it. Meanwhile, one of the other masked men set up a camera tripod and gave a thumbs up to price, signaling everything was good to go.

Cassidy turned to me and with a smile he winked. He began saying to no one in particular. So I guess those are the tools you're going to use to inflate horrifying pain on me in the fair. price was beginning to get agitated at cassidy and him not showing an inch of fear price was clearly a man used to having men tremble at his feet yes first we will kill the fed his negligence may have led you to canada and he also tried to protect you by lying to my face but he did not rape and murder my baby girl so while his death shall be brutal it shall be nothing compared to what my boys have in store for you they'll batter her maimans and sever every inch of you from head to toe. Remove all your toes and fingernails, your eyelids, and then your teeth. Then they'll give you a syringeful of epinephrine to make sure you don't pass out from the pain. Oh, I want you to feel it when they strap you to that table and saw you in half.

Balls first. Saliva spewed into the air as price, growled his words at Cassidy's face. Not bad. Very well thought out. honestly bravo especially the adrenaline idea oh i wish i'd had that on hand when i killed agent rodriguez's partner i melted his face with a blow torch you see ah the soft touch only went and died from the pain yeah i looked it up afterwards circulatory shock they call it honestly you learn something you every shut up you evil son of a bitch my rage had taken over I'd had enough of this sociopathic brush-off of my best friend and his death being spoken about like it was a DIY experiment. I launched at Cassidy with no regard for the situation or my condition.

I hid him with my shoulder and we went to the ground. My hands were still tired but our feet had been cut loose to help them move us around. I wrapped my legs around his torso and began to headbut the back of his head. In my feet of anger I completely lost my mind, blocking out the agony in my thigh. before going all Mike Tyson and sinking my teeth into his ear. The group of men were chuckling at our tussle on the floor. Probably did look amusing with no hands involved. I didn't think so at the time.

I just really wanted to hurt him. Price snapped at his men and told them to split us up. The men raced over, pulled us apart, and dragged us over to the chairs. This had us down, arms behind our backs, feet taped to the chair legs. Price walked up to the camera. tripod, looked down its lens and simply said, Jessica, I'm sorry I can protect you from this man, but I promise I will make him suffer. This is for you, baby girl.

He then turned to us both and said, As much as I'd love to be the one to mutilate you and destroy you both for your parts in this, I'm a target for law enforcement. And should anything ever come back to me, well, I have motive. I need to make sure I am far, far away from this. I need a watertight alibi should anything come back to bite me. Or no one should ever find your bodies. A man like me didn't get where he is today by taking pointless chances.

This recording, though, means that any time I think of Jessica, I can watch this. Give me some real comfort, at least, knowing you got what you deserve. Price's words had some real venom behind them. As he was talking, though, I glanced over at Cassidy trying to see if Price had succeeded and getting a fearsome reaction from him. He just sat there grinning, twitching and tensing his upper body and manipulating his joints in a strange, rhythmical manner.

At first I thought he was having some sort of convulsion until I saw it. The bullet wound in his shoulder was now bleeding extremely badly. It wasn't that bad before, a mere flesh wound. I didn't understand why the wound now looked so fresh and open, but then I peered down at his hand. it was contorted so his palm was facing up. In it had just landed a small but a very sharp piece of glass.

I had a mini flashback of Cassidy rolling around in the glass and dirt on the side of the highway, him sitting up his hand firmly covering the wound, applying plenty of pressure. Oh, I have to agree, Morgan, Cassidy chirped. Price eyed him with malice, the rage once again building. I wish I'd used a camera, especially with your Jessica, because the fun I had with her, I'd love to see that again, and again, and again. Morgan Price flipped out. He stormed towards Cassidy, got right into his face, and began choking him hard with his bare hands.

His intimidating and towering physique completely engulfing him, he was shaking him hard, frothing at the mouth. You sick fucking monster. How about I kill you right fucking now? Cassidy, through a constricted larynx, managed to reply. You will? Well, you little fucking bitches will. Believe me, it's much more fun to do as yourself.

Morgan Price's grip relaxed, and it was at this point that I realized he'd broken him. Bryce turned to the men and screamed, Bring him to the freaking table saw. I'm going to do it my fucking self. He seized with wild eyes. The masked men knew not to question, and they rushed over to Cassidy. Morgan Price's large figure stepped back from him.

He cracked his knuckles and the muscles in his neck and began to walk over towards a table near the table saw. A pair of protective gloves and goggles lay there, and he started to put them on. I had no idea what on earth Cassidy's intentions were. I was desperately trying to figure it out, so I knew how to react. I struggled against the tape, causing my knife wound to pulse in anguish and torment. But then, that's when I realized, the grenade was no longer in my pocket. Morgan Price had already fired up the table saw and was just about getting his goggles on, where large burst of light, fire and smoke came erupting violently from his trouser pockets.

The obscenely loud crack was deafening and the powerful explosions stunned everyone in the room. A large and jagged circle of black and red decorated the floor where Morgan Price took his last breath. The various parts of the once great gang leader of Manitoba were projected to the various far areas of the room. With all the masked men on their backs, stunned and dazed, Cassidy had already cut his hands free. He burst up from his seat just in time to meet the first thug and he slammed the shot of glass deep into his left. eyeball. The man screamed in abject agony and fell to his hands and knees. Two of the other men came at Cassidy. He turned to me and without a hint of warning yanked the blade from my leg.

I groaned in my own lady's bout of suffering. However, suffering soon turned to dread when I saw the blood begin to flow out in spirits. Cassidy ducked and weaved under the thugs punch and before the man could even retract his arm, his throat was opened wide. He fell to the ground and Cassidy turned to the next man. He lunged at him, trying to overpower him, and he received a knife in the groin for his effort. The blade was retracted and then plunged into the gut. As the thug groaned in pain, with the blood in his mouth causing him to choke, Cassidy pulled off his mask. The man's form rested against Cassidy's chest.

He was begging for mercy, he was bleeding for him to spare him. he might even say he was praying. Cassidy responded, though, not with words, but by plunging his teeth into the man's upper lip and nasal area and ravaging him for a few seconds before yanking his head back. A horrible noise of tearing flesh and snapping tendons poisoned my senses. Cassidy spat the man's face on the floor and let him fall to the ground, the blood pooling around his twitching body.

One of the thugs who'd been close to him. Mr. Price was already killed in the blast. His body was set up against the saw machine, the back of his head oozing brain matter against the sharp edge of the table. Cassidy noticed this was one of the men who was carrying a firearm. He sauntered over, almost like a giddy child wandering to play on the swings or the slide next. He yanked the shotgun from the man's limp hand. One of the remaining two thugs came stumbling through the pale smoke in an extremely jaded state. Cassidy cocked. the shotgun and blew the man's hair clean apart.

All it remained was a charred and mangled lump of flesh just above the thugs collarbone. I'd seen enough brain mattered by this point to last me a lifetime. Cassidy was cocking the gun and now eyeing the man he blinded with the glass. He was desperately writhing for the exit. Cassidy slowly sauntered over like a lion stalking the wounded buffalo and with no warning stamped down hard on the man's elbow. The arm hyper-extended and the bone came bursting through the other side. The man screamed even louder.

I didn't think that was possible. Cassidy then raised the knife and drove it down hard through the back of the man's kneecap. Again, the man really surprised me with a volume of his cry. Cassidy, with his back to me, began to pull the man's mask off. In my woozy state, I managed to do a bit of mass. Four men in the van, two in the car. Six men, oh shit, one left. I began to panic and look around.

I noticed behind me a dark pile of a man on the floor, beginning to rise, using the shotgun as a crutch. The man began to stumble towards Cassidy, waved away the smoke to clear his view for a shot. Cassidy was too busy asking the man on the floor questions to notice he was now in this man's sight. maybe he got in my head and I did need him to feel like I had a purpose or maybe I just believe in the justice system and wanted Cassidy to serve time for his crimes

but either way I decided that this wasn't how I wanted it to go I lunged to my right with what might I had left in me and forced the chair to fall to its side the loud sound of clattering metal on concrete as well as what verbal warning I could muster was just enough to register with Cassidy over the noise of the table saw, and he turned to see the man who had just knocked off balance. Cassidy's shotgun was already cocked and loaded, so he was favourite to win this duel, and he didn't disappoint. A loud pop, and a flash of light exploded from the barrel. The man flew back around a foot or two, hitting the floor hard. The smoke rose off his chest,

that now looked like Oscar Pistorius' his bathroom door. Cassidy turned his attention. Cassidy turned his attention back to the man he crippled and blinded it. Oh, where were we? Oh, yes, where are we? Can you tell me that? Without a zip code or anything. If I tell you, will you please let me go? The man cried, not knowing which wound to nurse with his one good arm.

Of course, Cassidy answered flatly. West Cildonian Industrial Park Unit 45 Please Please The man screamed Begging with his one good arm Held up in surrender

Yeah Not so tough without your buddies And your scary masks He sighed in disappointment Amateurs He dug in the man's pocket And pulled out a burner phone He pressed a few keys on it

Before holding it to his ear Yes I'd I'd like to report an explosion and gunfire up at Unit 45 on West Kildonian Industrial Park. Thank you. He said politely before he dropped the phone and stamped on it hard. The operator didn't even have time to respond. He turned back to the man who was sobbing and whimpering on the floor. Cassidy looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist and said whimsically,

Police will be here soon. I'm not Google Earth or anything, but judging by where we are, I guess I've got around 15 minutes to spare, give or take. Best not put it away, stay. And with that, he violently grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him up and over to the table saw. He pinned him face down whilst reaching down to the control panel. He hit a few buttons until finally he found the correct one, which now caused the saw to start to make its way down the middle of the tabletop,

right towards the man's face. "'But you said!' he screamed in shock. "'I lied, you idiot,' Cassidy replied. "'Actually baffled that this man didn't see this coming.' Cassidy yanked the man's hair back slightly, causing the circular blade to connect with his face, head on. The sound of flesh-goring, bone-splintering and crunching made me feel weak with nausea, even without the huge blood loss.

Finally, the sound of brain and blood spluttering through the spluttering through the splintering, in his skull and spraying around the room was a cue for Cassidy to hit the emergency stop button. He walked away, leaving the man with his head still caught up in the blade, holding him in place. Cassidy now began to approach me with a knife. I gave him the most defiant look I could. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of my fear when he did whatever he was going to do. I was surprised, though, when he grabbed the chair next to me and stood it back up. He placed my feet on the chair and simply said, don't move and it should buy you enough time. He then walked over to the camera and pulled out the SD cards. He looked at it with admiration as he slid it into his pockets

and made his way out of the building, just as I began to lose consciousness. I woke up around early morning the next day in Winnipeg General. A nurse was standing over me with two RCMP officials. I could see by his badge that he was the superintendent. I'm answering some questions, Mr. Rodriguez. I nodded, but the nurse reminded them that I just had a major blood transfusion and surgery, so to keep it brief. I told the agents everything. I left nothing out.

I told them about Holloway's corruption and how he manipulated the investigation, then murdered those two detectives. I told them about the ransom on Cassidy. I gave a detailed account of what happened at the warehouse. Everything. The RCMP informed me that they also found Morgan Price's driver with his neck snapped in the parking lot. The SUV was missing, so they're waiting for any hits on the ANPR, as that was likely what Cassidy left the area in. They asked me if I had any idea where he'd go next. But I have no idea where Cassidy is.

Truly, I don't. But he knows how to avoid such cameras. The last time he escaped a situation like this, he murdered. someone for their car and drove to Canada, so we really could be anywhere by now. As for Inspector Holloway, I know he had a flight book to Cancun with a private airline owned by Morgan Price. I informed them. The inspectors thanked me for the information and quickly made a call requesting someone to get a warrant for the private airline's records. They told me to get some rest and they checked back in with me later. I complied with the

nurse and rested. The next day the same two RCMP officials came to visit me. How are you feeling, James? Much better, sir, thank you, I replied. It's not good news, I'm afraid. We sequestered the flight history for fast air jet center. A man by the name of Marcus Brimidge did in fact board that plane, he said, disheartened. Yeah, I thought as much. I shook my head. We send pictures to the Mexican authorities of Inspector Holloway. If he spotted, then hopefully they'll extradite him back to us for prosecution. I don't hold out too much hope, though. There aren't many people you can't bribe in Mexico with 50 million pesos.

As far as Cassidy goes, we're checking all missing persons reports over the last 12 hours, looking for anyone whose car he may have killed to obtain. May give us an idea where he's heading, the detective told me. Yeah, I'd... say that's a smart plan for now, I replied. The atmosphere was gloomy. Morgan Price may have been going to kill us, but the man had lost his daughter.

The rage caused by his grief was somewhat understandable. However, Holloway was someone who was simply angry at a career setback, although a big one, and used other people's rage and pain as well as manipulating people who trusted him into a big payday. He, as well as Cassidy, a sadistic psychopath who will go on

and on murdering at will. If someone didn't put him behind bars or with a bullet, or both of them are out there, living their lives, and it truly made us all sick. The detectives wished me a full recovery and left me in peace. With everyone either dead or missing, there was no case to answer right now, and certainly no trial to stand.

I was free to return to America or stay in Canada. I decided I'd rest for now and think about the next step when I'd been discharged. One morning I awoke to a lanky Mexican teenager with stitches and faded bruising, staring down at me with a smile plastered on his face. "'Mr. James, how are you? I was told you were here. I saw them bring you in,' Ramos exclaimed.

I sat up to give him an embrace, only to discover he'd brought his mother along too. She wanted to meet the man who'd saved her son's life. They stayed for a while and asked what my plans were when I was discharging. I said I'd lightly return to America to start a PI business, but I wasn't sure yet. The mother, whose name was Anna, wrote their address down and told me if I was ever to return to Canada, I'd have a bad and warm meal any time I needed it. I thanked them for their kindness, and they thanked me for caring like no one else has. I left Winnipeg General after five days.

I checked out of the hotel officially, although I was given a pretty decent discount for saving one of their staff. from being burned alive and an account of the fact I'd been in hospital for the most part. I packed up my stuff and my files and was on the next flight back to Texas. As the plane ascended into the sky and the vast land of North America became very, very small, I couldn't help but wonder where on that patch of green Robert Cassidy was hiding. After a few weeks, I'd settled in back home. Nothing was in the pipeline workwise, so I decided to get a dog to keep. me company and busy. She's an eight-year-old Saddleback German Shepherd from the local rescue center.

Her name's Elsa, and she's given me something to get up for in the morning, literally. One morning we were arriving back from our 7 a.m. hike. I entered my front gate to see a FedEx employee with a large box at my door. He was peering through the glass on my door to see if I was in. My whistle to get his attention. Oh, sorry. Thank God you here. This is huge and it needs signing for. The young man babbled to me. Out of curiosity I signed. I wasn't really expecting anything, but sure I'll take it, I said, as I commanded Elsa to run inside.

The box was big, but wasn't at all heavy. I carried it inside, placed it on my coffee table and sat down to open it. Inside the box was a slightly smaller box. I opened this smaller box only to find another slightly smaller box. I opened that one too, and again I was greeted with another smaller box. I was puzzled by this point, but I could feel that this next box had something in it. I opened the last box and shot up off my seat with a hit of adrenaline. Inside this box were stacks and stacks of Mexican pesos.

On top of the money lay a large Mexican postcard. On the cover, a picture of a family soaking up the sun on the beach with the words, wish you were here printed across the corner in a fancy font. I flipped it over and read the following. Dear James, sorry it's taken so long to write, but I didn't have your home address. That's amazing what you can find out though when you have 50 million pesos. Trust your healing well. I'm glad. I know my life will be much more fun knowing you're out there somewhere handing me down.

included in this package is a gift 15 million pesos I hope you use this money to fund your search for me I truly do life has become boring for the gazelle without his old friend the lion chasing him down however I imagine this will be forwarded to your little Mexican friend in an attempt at cleansing your soul

do you still see old wincy when you close your eyes at night or is it me that you see when you wake up alone in the dark. I hope it's not so long until we meet again. Perhaps you can answer that in person. Tag, you're it. From your old friend, Marcus, Rimmett.

And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you, Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.