Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep308: Episode 308: Serial Killer Classics

Episode Date: January 15, 2026

Tonight’s terrifying tale of horror is the complete ''The Roadside Slayings'' the continuation of the epic ''My Ex-Husband Just Escaped from a Maximum-Security Prison, a wonderful original work by Luke Hemingway, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all. https://twitter.com/LukeHemingway11https://www.reddit.com/user/Pristine-Engine4388/

Here ye, hear ye, ye. Dragon fruit has returned to booster juice. Prepare thineself for the legendary alchemy of the Dragon Slayer smoothie. Pink Dragon Booster Mixer and Dragon Booster Ball. Sire? Dost dragon taste like chicken? Nay. Booster juice uses only delicious tropical dragon fruit.

No dragons are harmed. Get thee to booster juice before dragon fruit vanishes once more. Booster Juice, Canadian born, blending since 1999. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Ah, serial killers captivate us because they challenge our understanding of human nature and morality. They lurk in the shadows of our society, hidden behind ordinary facades, making us question how someone can seem so normal yet commit unimaginable horrors. Their motives, often complex, twisted and deeply personal,

reveal the dark potential lurking in all of us. We can't help but be drawn to the mystery. of how they operate, why they kill and what makes them tick. The fascination lies in the chilling realization that, despite their brutality, we are all a part of the same world, and their darkness might be closer to us than we'd ever want to admit, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. Now, as ever, before we begin, a word of caution, tonight's tales may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery.

If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's be. Begin, both side slings. Chapter 1. And so essentially, when we look at the psychology of sexual violence, the perpetrator isn't aroused because they find the victim sexually attractive. No, the act of sexual sadistic torture or rape is all about power. It's about elevating the perpetrator above his victim by degrading and dehumanizing them. Any questions at this time?

I looked out into the auditorium. waiting to see if any hands went up. A few did. I picked one at the back, always did. It was harder to hear the lectures on the back row. If you weren't paying 100% attention, then you were clueless. People in the front of the room could doodle, text and daydream and still take in 80% of what I said. Questions from the back were always good ones. I gave the young blonde student a cue to ask a question. So why does the perpetrator feel the need to dehumanize his victim? Why did they need to feel that power? She asked, curiously, emphasizing key words that I'd used.

Based on years of research, theoretical and practical, as well as some of my own personal findings then, it's because the perpetrator has likely suffered a period of severe abuse in their life, likely in between the latency and phallic stages of their childhood development. The feelings of helplessness and lack of control forced upon the person just as they end to the very raw beginning of their psychosexual development truly mold the perpetrator's psyche in ways that are a thousand times more savage and brutal than we can ever imagine the way they view sex women men control they're a different breed to us

that person who's felt helpless and lost all their life when they turn the tables and commit their first crime it's like they've just taken a drug a drug that gives you them back everything they never had as a child. Strength, power, confidence. They become addicted to that drug. And as you know, once you're an addict, addiction gets worse and worse, and you have to hit harder drugs to satisfy it.

This means the level of sadism and violence inflicted on the perpetrators' victims are of a much more serious nature. The student nodded and smiled at me, acknowledging my in-depth response and made notes of my answer for her future assignments. I smiled back at her, appreciating her enthusiasm, and turned my attention back to the rest of the students. I noticed one male student was very eager with his hand in the air.

I pointed at him and raised my brows. Is that what was wrong with Robert Cassidy? Is it true you interviewed him before he escaped? I heard you and some fair spoke to him in Florence and brought down those short-time killers in Wichita? The male student asked, sounding genuinely impressed. Me, on the other hand, I was beginning to feel something entirely different. Um, Rob Cassie, he was, I am, well, the thing about Robert Cassie, I couldn't even say his name. Before I knew it, I wasn't even in the room anymore.

At first it was my head that began to throb, then my heart. My hands began to shake, and sweat was pouring down my neck and back. The egg salad I had for my lunch was threatened to fly back up, and I wasn't sure if I could remember how to even draw breath. I began clutching at my chest as the roar of a blow-torch and intense screams filled my ears. I hit the hard surface of the stage, clawing at the low blue carpet, desperately trying to ground myself. It was no use, though.

I was drowning, faintly hearing the concerned yells for help mixed with some immature sneers and laughter. I could feel the vibration of urgent footsteps rushing up the stairs as I began to fade to black. Quincy's smile looking at me from his hospital bed, my hand on his leg. I look away, shy. A few seconds later, I look back up. Why did you help him get out? Quincy asked, a harsh tone to his voice, his face charred, eyeballs melted, teeth and tendons exposed. Oh, fuck! I shook myself back into the land of the land of the world.

the living. I had a glass of water in my hand, empty blister pack of my prescribed Xanax next to it. Sandy, the head of administration, was stood with her hand on my back, smoothly massaging my shoulder blades. Ruth, Ruth, oh my God, I thought we'd lost you there for a minute. Are you okay now? She asked, concerned. Yeah, sorry, it was just a funny turn. Won't happen again, I assured her. "'Really? Because that's what you said the first time, Ruth, and the second, and the third. "'This is the fourth episode you had since you came back to work. "'I really don't think you should be here. "'You need to deal with—I don't need to deal with anything.

"'I just need to get back on with my work and get on with my life. "'Please, Sandy, just leave me alone. I'm fine,' I said, dismissing her concern. "'Well, then, do it. Do your job. Stop blacking out every time someone says, his freaking name she snapped at me i didn't blame her she'd had more than her fill of my denial and my attitude i didn't want to face it though not yet i pinch my nose stay quiet and prayed that she'd just leave she did and i was just about to truly relax when she turned back to me and added oh by the way someone at the front desk waiting to see you i was going to fetch you when i found you on the floor surrounded by our students.

I'll tell her it's a bad time, her. She said with an edge to her tone. Yeah, do that, I replied sarcastically. Well, I'll make sure to tell supervisory special agent Rodriguez that his journey was a wasted one, she added. I took half a second for that name to ring that bell in the back of my mind, but when it did, I sat up in my chair a fraction. Sandy, I said, catching her attention just before she slammed the door.

She looked back at me with Ray's brows. I thought about the last two months of my life and decided it couldn't get any worse, could it? So I looked sandy in the eye and made up my mind. I sighed heavily in acceptance. Send him in. You're up to two. Agent Rodriguez looked younger than I imagined he would. The way Quinn and Boggins had spoken about him,

I imagined a more seasoned, much more seasoned FBI store watching yet. This man was either a rough 40 or an easy 50. But when he told me he was 53, you could have knocked me down with a feather. He chuckled, claiming it was the Latino pigments in his skin that gave him his youthful look, despite already clocking over half a century. So what brings you down here, agent? I'm sure it's not just to show off your coveted caramel skin, I said with a smart. As the agent observed my plethora of diplomas and certificates on my office wall,

puff of air spat from the agent's nose, as my comment caused him some humour. It was short-lived, however, as his matched smirk dropped back into a concerned blank stare. Noah, you're right. I am here to ask for your help, he said, now turning his attention from my accomplishments to me. No, I said immediately, swinging my bag to him in my office chair, affirming the negative response. Oh, come on, Ruth. I need someone with your expert. I said, fucking no.

I'm done with all that, I shouted, swinging back to face him. My eyes showing my pain, Rodrigo stared deep into them, and he began to gently nod. He'd seen the same look in his own eyes every day when he stared into a mirror. Yeah, I get it, Ruth. I really do. Because I feel it too. The guilt, the burden.

of it. He was more than a colleague to me. He was my best friend, you know. And whatever role you think you played in what happened, just remember, it was me who authorized his transfer. And even though everyone rightly says, the only person responsible for Robert Cassidy's actions is Robert Cassidy. I still have to live with my decision that day. But honestly, that isn't what haunts me. What does then? Because the way I see it, he knew if he could just get into a less secure part of the prison he could escape. And he played me like a fiddle in that interview room. He's out because I convinced Quince to take the deal, and that's why he...

Why, he did what he did. I managed to finish my sentence, struggling to say the actual words. Miss Bockens, we work well together. That's all it was, though, professional. But me and Quince, we were becoming... more than professional. The agent said with a hint of a smirk. I know, he told me.

Plus, it was painfully obvious in that hospital room, but, hey, listen, I understand your pain and regret. You were just doing your job that day, trying to save some more innocent families from the likes of Frank Adams and Jim Manor. Not only that, but doing so successfully, I might add. His pep talk was given with plenty of pride and enthusiasm. However, his expression,

turned to deep regret as he contemplated his next sentence. But try to imagine, if you were stupid enough, not to realize when you were being played, and actually were the one who gave the animal the address of a safe house that night. His confession was spoken with true shame and embarrassment. I could tell he'd really beaten himself up over it. I understand, too. We tell ourselves, if we didn't do this, say that, go there. Then it wouldn't have happened, but really.

We don't know that, do we? If you didn't get the location from you, he would have just found someone else and tortured them for it. But it's not that easy to let go of guilt, is it? Because it wasn't someone else. It was you, I replied, honestly. He nodded somberly and sighed in agreement with my statement. But that's why I'm here.

We can't do anything that'll bring Quinn some Budkins back. Cassidy is in the wind somewhere. over the border. But we can't help save some lives. You and me. What do you say? He asked passionately. He eyed me contently as I weighed up his request. Please, Ruth, I need this. I stand a better chance of doing it with your help, he added, trying to seal the deal. I looked into his pleading vulnerable eyes and wondered how much this decorated agent had tortured himself over the past ten weeks. He was right. He did need this.

And, he was being perfectly honest. So did I. Okay, agent, what is it that you need my help with? I asked, resting my chin on the tips of my index fingers. My eyes let Rodriguez know that I was all in.

He smiled at me. Let's go grab a coffee. Chapter 3. I stare down at the seven Polaroid photos in front of me. that had been spread out across the table. I switched my toffee-nut latte around in my mouth as I examined each individual photo. Seven victim was just last week.

That's his third in the past eight weeks. All the girls were driving along some remote highway or interstate, had car trouble and pulled over. They were then approached by an individual who then rapes, mutilates, and kills them. He then dumps the bodies in a separate location. Rodriguez commented, as I looked at the grisly photos of blood-stained white sheets in the dirt

on the side of some highway bankings. What are the bodies like? Is there a common cause of death? I asked, still gazing through the images, looking at the small details in each photograph. Bad. They're really bad, Ruth. This guy, he is messed up.

Cause of death ranges a little. Blood loss, circulatory shock, organ failure. It all stems from what he posts the victims through. My guess, he just likes making him scream, until they get to the point where they just stop screaming. Well, must have somewhere to do this. Bidiker and Norris had a made-up van called the Murder Mac. He can't do what this guy's doing right there on the side of the road.

He needs privacy in time, that's obvious. I began to voice my train of thought. What do you know about him? I added. "'Anseub is a Caucasian male, likely late-20s to early 30s, "'potentially drives some sort of pickup or tow-truck, "'making it easy to impersonate a mechanic. "'Let's see what else. "'Oh, yeah, his dark hair and brown eyes.'

"'Radriguez listed off the attributes of the offender, "'taking a good long thing to make sure he'd not missed anything. "'Dark hair and brown eyes. "'If you had a witness,' I asked, surprised. "'The agent shook his head in sorrow. Oh, I wish. We really need one, but no, the hair and eye color come from DNA. We typed him from semen and saliva. Agent Rodriguez informed me. Luckily he's on the younger end of your age scale. He's not had enough time to get a rap sheet.

That's why he doesn't care about leaving DNA. He knows he's not in the system. If he was closer to 40, then the chances would be much higher that he'd have at least served time for some of his violent or sexual crimes. A person with this sort of compulsive violent behavior Wouldn't be able to control it for that long, I assumed, confidently. Here, Rodriguez handed me a case file Once he replaced the Polaroid's back inside.

This is yours to keep for the next four days. I have to give a briefing to the local PDs on Friday in Kansas City Who this guy is. I'd really like your input. He said, not let go of the file until I said yes. Okay, you go. It, I confirmed. He released the file and I placed it in my handbag.

My now plain, generic black handbag. If I was being honest, it wasn't the only change I'd made to my appearance since meeting Robert Cassidy. I dyed my hair neutral brown. I was practically wearing flats. No makeup in sight and I'd stop wearing designer labels. I was as plain as Jane could be. Ever since I left that room in Florence, I was a shell of my flat. former self. I'll pick you up Friday morning 6 a.m. We'll fly to KCIA around 10 a.m.

She'll be at the police HQ for 12. Briefings at one. Good with you? Rodriguez asked, listing the plan for the day. Sounds good to me, Agent Rodriguez, I said, with a warm smile. He collected his belongings, finished his coffee and started to slide himself out of the booth. Oh, one more thing. "'Call me, James,' he said with an easy-going wink. "'Sure a thing. "'It's good to finally meet you, James. "'Quincey spoke really highly of you.

"'It's going to be an honour to work this case with you,' "'I replied, speaking with content. "'Medrigo scoffed in modesty. "'Fum funny, I was just about to say the exact same sentence to you,' "'he confessed, honestly, before smiling and leaving the diner. I simply sat in the diner for a few more minutes. I didn't look at the files or the photos. I simply sat there, finishing my beverage,

wondering if I could do this. I could barely get through a sexual violence seminar in front of a handful of students without passing out. Could I really help the FBI catch a sadistic serial killer? All lives were at stake, and I couldn't mess this up. I couldn't be having episodes in the middle of police briefings or crime scenes, I had to pull myself together. It had to be strong.

I had to be Ruth fucking Maddock. I stood up, left a tip for the waitress, left the diner with my belongings, and went home. It was time to get to work. Chapter four, I stared in the mirror, applying last-minute finishing touches to my war paint. I put the Christian Dior Rouge lipstick back in my prada handbag and told myself, you are Ruthmatic and you can do this six a m i chuckled to myself james was here to pick me up on the dot

quince had told me of his sharp punctuality and i can now tell he wasn't exaggerating i took a deep breath and went to the door when i opened my front door to greet him the agent had to do a double check i swear the poor guy thought he'd gone to the wrong house "'Morning, Ruth, you look different,' he stuttered, like a nervous schoolboy. "'Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment.'

"'You ready to do this?' I asked confidently. He smiled at my newfound swagger and nodded gently. "'Oh, you betcha. We were about 35 minutes outside of Kansas City. I was staring out of my window seat at the miles and miles of derelict highways and farmland. I couldn't help wonder if a new victim was lying cold and mangled somewhere, just waiting to be found by some traumatized motorist. James led over to me.

Hey, mind if I ask you a question. He asked softly. Why do I look like I do? I presumed his question. I could tell you've been dying at bringing up since I opened my front door this morning, I added with a smile. The agent chuckled gently at my perceptive skills. I can see why you have the reputation you do, Ruth, but no, actually, that wasn't the question I was going to ask you.

The agent revealed with a smirk on his face. I raised my eyebrows in curiosity. I was going to ask you why you looked like you did the other day, he asked. I took a moment to absorb his question and considered what he was asking me. I looked him in the eye. He knew the answer he just wanted me to open up. "'Come on, James, I'm sure you've read the interview transcripts. "'You heard what he said,' I said, trying to shrug off the conversation. "'I wasn't in the mood for another grilling. "'I needed my mind firmly on the task at hand.

"'Well, when we found out he was still alive, "'we went back over previous interviews, "'trying to find a clue of where he might be. "'Yours was obviously a key one, "'being in the last interview before his escape. Look, Robert Cassidy has a way of making assumptions about you when using them to asset his power over you, and then he... I cut him off. Well, he didn't assume, though.

He was right. Ever since I graduated, I made sure I always wore the highest heels, had the reddest hair, bought the most expensive clothes, it was all afront. You see, during the worst period of my life, I was geeky, shy, and most important. I was suddenly oppressed. When I got out of that life, my self-esteem was very damaged and fragile. I wanted to be far, far away from that person, so I completely reinvented myself. You were reborn? Rodriguez ventured.

Yeah, exactly. Ever since, I made sure to be the most intimidating and powerful woman in the room. It helped me forget. But when Cassidy brought it all back up, he took me back to that scared, abused, weak little girl. I remember sitting in that chair, just wanting just, well, to tear off the clothes, cut my hair and burn my bag and shoes. It felt stupid, like I was wearing something I shouldn't. I understand, the agent said, empathetically, before letting me continue. But then, when I held my ground and all eventually led to us getting the info that we needed on the short time murder as well,

I left that room, standing strong again, but then I hesitated, not knowing if I wanted to say the next bit out loud. It didn't matter, though. Agent Rodriguez knew what I was going to say. But when he escaped and killed Quince, those feelings of strength went away, Rodriguez asked. A strong, powerful woman, wouldn't be so stupid to help a sadistic psychopath escape and brutally murder a man she had strong feelings for. would she after the funeral i cut my hair cleaned out my clothes makeup and i denied it all my designer bags and shoes i didn't even realize your other funeral rodriguez exclaimed i shook my head i waited till the service was over i couldn't face his family and colleagues knowing the part i played i confessed Rodriguez didn't say another word about it.

I could tell he sympathized with my decision. But, um, looks like that strong, powerful, intimidating woman's back now, hey, he said, encouragingly. There are some other women out there who are vulnerable and at risk to this sicko. The old Ruthmatic is no use to them. They need this Ruthmatic. So that's what I'm going to give them. Maybe the only way I can make up for helping one killer escape is, well, by putting another one behind bars. Rodriguez couldn't help but smile.

Just as a tone alert went off above our heads, and the captain's voice began to ring through the aircraft. Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat bells as we're about to make our descent into Kansas City International Airport. The time is 12.4 p.m. We'd like to take this time to thank you for flying with Delta Air Force. Airlines. We hope to see you again soon. Agent Rodriguez plugged in his seatbelt and his words broke his smile. That's what I like to hear. Oh, hey, how's it going? Amazing. I just finished paying off all my debt with the help of the Credit Counseling Society. Whoa, seriously? I could really use their help. It was easy. I called and spoke with a credit counselor right away. They asked me about my debt, salary and regular expenses, gave me a few options and help me along the way. You had a ton of debt.

And you're saying credit counseling society helped with all of it? Yep, and now I can sleep better at night. When debts got you, you've got us. Give credit counseling society a call today. Visit no more debts.org. Chapter 5 Well, next up on the agenda, old Missing Burrison's case. We got this back on cold case review a few weeks ago.

The MPs are now 25-year-old Haley Stanheld, along with her partner, now 27-year-old Matt Bostar. I suppose they went on a backpacking vacation to Alaska five years ago. They weren't reported missing by their families until the three-months vacation time passed, and they still hadn't returned home. Mac picked Haley up from her parents' home in Lawrence at 5 a.m. on 7th November, 2013. They stopped to fuel their red 2012 Honda record at a fuel station just outside St. Joseph on Highway 29,

at around 6.17 a. Matt filled the car while Haley went to the restroom. Matt then paid the cashier, and they met back at the car, were back on the road by 6.35. That was the last known sighting of these two people. They weren't reported missing until 26th of March 2014, when both Haley's mom and Matt's brother, both claims they hadn't heard from either of the pair.

Naturally, we couldn't open the initial missing. in-person case until we'd confirm that they'd simply not just lost their mobile phones in the wilderness or whatever. But after we'd liaise with Alaska of State PD, and there were no previous or current confirmed sighting of rather Madra Haley in the state of Alaska, well, not only that, but ASPD have liaised with all the main national parks and trails that the pair talked about visiting. They've regularly searched at monthly intervals for any signs of the couple, but nothing has ever been turned up. No sightings or sign-ins at any of those parks, visitor senders either. We're now assuming that the pair never reached the destination, but we're not yet treating

as foul play, yet. We're going to send Detective Ryan and Officer Patrick up to the gas station, ask around, try and find out if they change their destination or plans. Any arguments between the two, or maybe with someone else? See what you can dig up. The police. The police. police chief instructed. Two men who I assumed were Detective Ryan and Officer Patrick, rose from their seats, grabbed their coats and straps, and left the room with a roll of their eyes. Clearly a case that was considered to be a dead end among the force and these two men had drawn the short straw of going over the same evidence and witnesses again, trying to magic up a resolution. Now, finally, come to our number one priority, the rolled side-slash-slash-slave.

or whatever the papers are calling them right now. This man has taken the lives of seven young girls, seven innocent, bubbly, youthful girls, brutally raped, sadistically tortured and savagely murdered in the worst possible way by a despicable, evil human being. Five of those girls were from the state of Kansas. Two of them were from Missouri.

Because the crimes across state lines, we have the privilege of having the Bureau's input on this case. Agent Rodriguez will be our FBI liaison on this case. We're now going to hear a 30-minute presentation on the killer's psychological profile by renowned criminal psychologist and homicide case consultant, Professor Rous Maddoch of the University of Denver. Ah, the floor's yours, professor. The captain waved me up, and I made my way to the podium.

I'll give it to the Kansas City PD offices. They seem to have evolved. since I last visited this date. I received applause this time, rather than whispers about the curve of my butt as well as the wolf whistles and sniggers. I felt confident, ready to deliver my speech, however, just as I was about to begin,

clacking my papers against the wood of the podium stands. I heard one of the officers whispered to his colleague. Hey, she was the one who got Robert Cassidy to spill. That's how Wichita caught Frank Adams and Jim Mower. Oh, I froze. It was happening again. My heart began to thump. My palms began to sweat, and my knees began to buckle.

All I could hear was the officer's voice in my head say, She got Cassidy to talk. She helped him escape. She killed Peter Quince. She did. She did it. She's to blame. She's a...

Oh, she's a fucking hero, bro. The officer replied to his colleague in a hushed toe. That wasn't my imagination or my anxiety. That was real, and all of a sudden, my nerves calmed. My knees strained, and my palms dried. That's why they applauded me. That's why they respected me. I looked into the crowd and looked at Agent Rodriguez.

He gave me a nod and a smile, as if to say, You got this. I smiled back at him because, you know what? He was right. I did. On the night of August 24th, 2018, the body of the first victim, Connie Matthews, was dumped outside Huntley Ridge apartments in Topeka, Kansas. Her body wasn't dumped during the middle of the night, when the streets would have been

quiet, no. Her body was dumped at 3.56 p.m. in broad daylight. It's only by sheer chance that there happened to be no witnesses to the event. Now, I think it's reasonable to assume this wasn't his plan. Likely he was on route to a dumping ground or lake or a wooded area or somewhere he could dispose of the body, when for whatever reason he dumps her in this busy area. Why?

I opened it up to the floor. Got spooked, one officer piped up. Correct, I said, but by whom? Once again left a pause. inviting someone to answer. One of the offices in the second row suddenly got a look of realization on his face. He shot his hand up right the class swat. I pointed to him with a smile on my face.

Holy shit. The victim, she was still alive. She made a run for it, he exclaimed. The cause of death, blunt forced trauma to the back of the skull, I said, addressing the whole room. Connie was lightly being transported in an open-top truck, potentially under some sort of tarp to conceal her from view. Maybe she passed out from pain or blood loss. The killer mistook that for death, and when she came around, she hopped out and began running. Now her autopsy report showed she'd had her tongue removed and her jaw was broken in three places.

Her capacity for screaming would have been gravely hindered. The unsub likely chased her a short distance, hid it away, with a blunt tool, and before he could get her back in the vehicle, he was spooked into making a getaway. The point is, we don't know what vehicle this guy drives, but if our victim escaped, then it likely isn't a van. We're looking for some old type of four-by-four, maybe worth checking cameras, four-by-four seeming driving away from that scene in a hurry, or even erratically, I suggested, in a worth a try type of manner. The officers have made their notes while the police captain and seemed impressed.

We'll get right on that. Wilson, can you roll those checks, yeah? Sure can, Captain, Wilson confirmed before running off to begin her work. I couldn't help but smile at how enthusiastic this department were to try and catch this guy. I noticed, however, a detective in the front row looking confused and troubled. I tried making eye contact with him. Everything okay? I asked. See, there's something I just don't understand.

understand, Professor. If this guy didn't mean to dump Connie in public and he was spooked, then, why is he dumped every other victim for us to find? It doesn't make any sense, quite frankly, he asked, a little bit of an edge and condescension to his tone. I could tell from his age in jacket that this guy was at least a 20-year-man, who likely had a wife who hadn't worked since she met him, and, most importantly, didn't appreciate it or tarted up,

classroom desk jockey telling a room of seasoned man how to do their job. I'm really glad you brought that up, detective. It's a great question. I'm sure one everyone else has on their mind too. I'm one that I'm happy to feel it, I answered confidently. This seemed to put him back in his box. The satisfied look on Agent Rodriguez's face caught my eye as I readdressed the entire room. I gave him a look that told him,

you're right, I've got this. I have a theory. I'm not saying, focus your thinking on this, I'm just saying don't rule it out as a possibility. We can't afford to have the blinkers on. The room perked up. I took a second to brace myself for the reaction. Cops didn't like psychology, they preferred forensics and evidence. I don't think Connie Matthews was the first victim.

I just think she was the first victim to try and escape. I read the room after my opening. statement. Right now I think the crowd was around 3070 in my favor. Allow me to elaborate. Let's say our unsub kills his first victim, likely someone he knows. He likes the feeling of murder, but believes the murder will land him in jail. All time goes by. Nothing comes of it. Starts to feel like he's got away with it. It's a rush. Murder's like a drug. It's an addiction. And sexually motivated homicides are like class A's to these people.

I check the room again. Probably 50-50 now. He continues to kill again until we get to Connie Matthews. Now we know from the pathologist's report that Connie was raped multiple times. She'd had her nipples, eyelids, and nails all torn off with pliers.

She had very sharp instruments forced inside her reproductive organs. My guess is she passed out from the pain and our unsubb assumed that she died from blood long. He's on the way to dispose of the body where he's disposed of the others when she comes to. She makes a run and, as we know, he chases her down, strikes her dead and leaves her in the street. 80-20 now.

They could see where I was heading with this. Same pattern as the first murder. He thinks that this is the one that'll get him caught. He's left a body in broad daylight. His semen, his hair fibres, his saliva all over her. Maybe there was a witness, too. Maybe someone saw him or his vehicle, but... No, there's no match on the system, no witnesses, and nothing to go on.

Once again, he gets away with it. In his head, this puts him above the law. He's invincible. He's a guard. That addiction just got the biggest hit it's ever had. Would you go back to disposing bodies in the dead of night? Ah, 100 to zero. I had them all. even my little heckler spoke up absolutely not you keep throwing bodies in the street crackheads don't all of a sudden start smoking caffeine

the whole room began to murmur in agreement and started to frantically take notes the detective seemed to look around in annoyance at his colleagues with just a hint of embarrassment he didn't argue with me The captain stood up. This is truly fascinating stuff, Professor, so where would you suggest we focus our efforts? If you have any points we can add to our profile? He asked in a highly supportive tone. Yes, as a matter of fact, I've gone through the case files, and using my years of experience dealing with sexual violence cases,

I've developed the following points for you to focus up. I began to pull out a number of prompt cards that I prepped during my research into the case. Well, we have a person here who, once he has hold of his victim, does things that an old person on this earth should ever experience. Violent rape, sadistic violation, and grueling torture all dragged out for days. This shows a cold, cruel, sociopathic personality that completely gets off on being the one in power and control.

These types of people tend to come from abusive childhoods, feelings of abandonment to critical ages tend to mold these individuals into people who've got an attachment issue and therefore lack empathy towards their human counterparts. I believe our unsubbb slightly calm from a foster home. We only have to look at the actions of serial killers like Roy Norris, Robert Cassidy, and Frank Adams. All these violent killers had feelings of rejection from their families. The man we are looking for is no different. We should consider this sort of background when chasing down leads. The officers took notes while I changed cards. I flipped my eyes up at the room. I noticed that the detective had gone from a look of annoyance to almost on edge. It was looking

around the room, watching all his friends taking notes of what I was saying. It was in this moment I realised this was the man of the depot, the one everyone looked up to. He didn't like that someone else had the room. I didn't think too much of it, though. It was a very much of it, though. It was a someone like that in every department. In addition, it's almost certain that during these sensitive years, our unsup will have suffered abuse, and no doubt he's been made to feel helpless, powerless and scared. He suffered physical, psychological, and sexual abuse by people who should have been protecting him.

He despised those people. He fantasized about the things he'd do to them, given the chance, and now he's living out those fantasies. I think we need to start asking around all foster homes for boys in the States of Kansas and Missouri. ask if there are any allegations of abuse made by anyone who fits our description. The notes continue to be taken, along with gentle nods of positive thinking. I couldn't help but admire the focus of these men, every single one of them hanging on my every word. I had never seen a room so dedicated to finding a killer.

Well, apart from that detective, of course. This is all broad strokes, however. You don't need me to tell you that we're dealing with a very damn. individual here so let's get a little more specific shall we when the audience seemed to perk up even more in cases similar to this one the perpetrator did what we call dry runs the toolbox killers John Wangasey Edmund Kemper they all did test runs they all picked up young girls hitchhikers students and prostitutes they drove them to secluded locations and timed how long it would take if it could be

done without being seen and most importantly if they could lure people into going with them in the first place i believe that out and sob prior to his first murder during what psychologists call the contemplation stage would have fantasized how he killed how we get away with it eventually he moves into the next phase the preparation stage this is where these types of killer begin their practical planning i.e buying the weapon stalking the target purchasing a kidnap vehicle, practicing their routines. This is where the dry rounds will be done. We need to engage in an appeal to the public,

asking for anyone if someone who matches our current profile or at any time approached them. Ask them if they needed a lift, wanted to go into a gas stage and knew anything. We can focus on the people who claim that they were driven to the direction of that of, well, Connie Matthews' body site. The police captain stood up. Well, speaking on behalf of everyone here, I just want to say thank you for your hard work and the time you put into this. Is there anything else, Miss Maddoch?

Well, he's clearly from an area somewhere east of Wichita and west of Sedalia, Missouri. Both his home and his dumping ground are in this area. I believe every victim will be complete strangers to him, well, except the first. Find his burial site and we'll catch him. I hope some of the points I've risen today help discover that location. In addition, I don't believe he's a family man, nor does he have a full-time job. He's killed too many people in a short space of time to have any sort of normal life to balance with his fantasy life, and, well, if I'm right, then it's only a matter of time before he kills again. Hey, you heard her. Let's get a work and catch this, sicko. One of the offices yelled. I imagined he was the jack of the lad of the office, the man they all respected, and was the life and soul of the team.

I was right. All the officers jumped up and began to discuss the points I had raised as they left the meeting room. I smiled in satisfaction and began to pack my things away. Then the police chief approached me. I'd heard a few whispers from my friends in Wichitao about your help on the short-time case. But I thought they were just blowing smoke up your ass. I can see now why you have the reputation you do, Miss Maddo. Hope this isn't the last time me and my department get to hear you.

your input on a case. Look, thank you for helping us. This case means a lot to our department. He said, wholeheartedly. Anytime, Chief, I must say, it's been one of the best rooms I've ever addressed. Well, by your detective over there, of course. I said, gesturing towards the heckler. Your department are really switched on.

I definitely planned to help out here again, I said, honestly. He gave me a warm smile and shook my hand firmly. as he stepped off the stage I noticed the heckling detective was stood behind him he approached me once he saw I'd noticed him he held out his hand for me to shake as a mark of respect

and I took it appreciatively Miss Maddock I apologize for my comments and tone earlier I was out of line I've had a lot of quacks and shrinks come here and try and tell us what's water over the years but everything you said made sense I think we'll catch him now

I have my doubts before now, but with your talk about his vehicle and where he lives, I know we'll get him. I'll make sure my guys focus their efforts on fighting in those points. It's honestly fine, detective. I completely understand I...

No, it's not... I was rude, arrogant, and disrespectful. It's just that everybody wants this guy after what he did to Juliet and the authors. The bodies keep piling up and everyone's looking to me. I'm stressed under pressure. I just lashed out at you. It was uncalled for, and unjust.

I really hope you can forgive me. I couldn't help but chuckle at his sincerity. I assured him all was well, and he went on his way to join the others. So, um, you agree that he's from a foster home? You're not going to focus your efforts on that, too? I asked, curiously. The detective turned to me. His sincere look turned to one of frustration.

I just don't think it matters. where this prick came from or who did what to him it's irrelevant look you guys may be obsessed with the why but we ain't we just find the what and the where and we take little things like evidence and DNA that's how we catch these pricks look now i respect you miss maddock but you come into my house you respect our ways okay he asked condescendingly i didn't dignify his attitude with a verbal response i simply smirked and nodded my head and the detective went on his way. I didn't think to ask at the time, but it wasn't lost on me why he was so specific about

Juliet Knight, the fourth victim. I couldn't dwell on it too much as Agent Rodriguez took his turn to approach me on stage. Ready to go, Professor, he said, using air quotes on the word Professor, mocking the detectives earlier heckle. I just apologised, Ashley, quite humble about it as a matter of fact, I said with a satisfied smirk as I bent down to grab my bag. Up to a pint anyway, I added, disappointing me. And so we should.

That was an awesome presentation. You nailed it. Okay, come on, let's go. Grab some dinner, my treat, he said, flicking his head in the direction of the exit. I won't say no to that, I said, accepting his offer graciously. We made our way out at the station, passing through the bullpen of desk workers.

I looked upon the pending case board and noticed almost ten unsolved missing persons cases in just the Kansas City area. Well, I couldn't help but wonder if any of those were the unknown victims of our unsolved. Chapter 6 Myself and Agent Rodriguez found a nice little diner on the edge of the city limits. He ordered a black coffee with a four-egg omelets, filled with spinach and mushrooms, while I went for my signature toffee nut latte and a chicken salad. We ate in silence, both enjoying our first proper meal of the day. We finished almost simultaneously, before we were relaxing back against the leather to finish our drinks.

Ah, beats the crap they serve on the airlines, doesn't it? Rodriguez quipped, and I chuckled in agreement. Do you think I did okay in there? Truly, I asked, mainly fishing for compliments. Rodriguez took a swig of coffee and responded with, Oh, you were terrible. I think those were pity applauds, and I think that Sergeant apologized you just so we could get a better look at your wreck.

His sarcastic banter made me laugh out loud for the first time in weeks. I playfully shook my head at his mischievousness. All seriousness, though, that was the best room I've addressed, and I mean universities and police. Honestly can't believe how committed and focused they were. It's so rare to have the whole room completely switched on, I said, still in awe. I took a swig of my beverage, just as Rodriguez finished his. He seemed to hurry the gulp so he could respond.

Yeah, well, that's because of office at night. Apparently he was extremely well-liked. The guy you have in every workplace who's never shired to pick up the tab. We'll do anything for anyone. Buy you a beer when you're having issues with the wife. Yeah, he's that guy. Well, he was. He said, shaking his head in a somber manner.

I must have gone quiet while I connected the dots and had a really disturbed look on my face. I was just recalling my talk with the sergeant when Agent Rodriguez stepped in. Oh, I didn't know, did you? Surprised given how much research he clearly did. Oh, no, not at the time. The detective who came to apologize to me specifically mentioned the name Juliet when he was speaking of the victims. Didn't understand why at the time, but it makes total sense now. one of the victims was one of their own skin.

No wonder they won this guy's blood. Oh God, how awful. So, what happened to him then? Did he leave the force? I asked, taking another swig of my coffee. Rodriguez looked disturbed. He's dead. He informed me, bluntly.

My startled expression was a silent cue for Rodriguez to elaborate on the situation. I don't know whether it was planned, coincidence, Faddo just downed horrible luck. But when the body was found and got called in, it was her father who picked up the call. Oh my God. No way. I was horrified.

I'd seen the autopsy report. This son of a bitch had put this girl through copious amounts of hell. She could barely have been described as a human by the time she'd been discarded on the side of Highway 70, just outside of Lawrence. I can't imagine how it must have felt when he got out of the car and saw his daughter lying there. mangled and butchered, a vacant, milky eyes staring right through him. His world devastated beyond repair. Yeah, I spoke with some of the desk guys while you were in the bathroom.

Apparently one morning, around a week after the murder, he just didn't come into work. Uniforms were sent to his home. They found him laying at the bottom of his stairs. He used around his neck and half of his brains on the corner of the step. I put my hand over my mouth and pinched my cheeks in a moment of deep sympathy. Wife died of cancer about a year back. Juliet was all he had. Poor bastard, tried to hang himself, and the anchor point gave way under the weight.

He smashed his skull against a stairwell on the way down. What an awful way to die, I commented, not really knowing what else to say. Oh, we survived the fall, actually. He rushed to hospital and placed into a coma to try to help him. I thought it was a lost cause, but after a few weeks, it was signs of hope. His vitals were good. Everyone in the local police was praying for his recovery. Doctors did their best and tried to bring him around,

but something was clearly wrong with his organs, and they couldn't support him fully. He died after a serious cardiac arrest shortly after. Oh, it was a blow to everyone, so, yeah, everyone in that station wants justice for the Knight family as well as the other victims. You know how cops are. You go after one of their own. Oh, yeah, I do indeed.

Well, I guess that explains why the preempties. presentation went so well. These people would have simply worshipped anyone who gave them even a sniff of a lead. Honestly, my newly regained front of confidence in Swagger did slip for a moment. I felt disheartened and couldn't hide it even if I tried. Agent Rodriguez sensed this and quickly intervened. Ruth, don't think like that, because, honestly speaking, you're phenomenal at this. You can really get into the mind of these types of criminals. Those police officers went from being born. blind and blinkered to being laser-focused and ultra-motivated. It's a rare talent to be able to connect with both psychopaths and non-psychopaths.

In my experience, people only tend to do the one. Rodriguez spoke with such awe, I honestly think I blushed. He saved my front. Well, it's not always a gift. These people, the way they think, it's savage, diabolical, and just plain wrong. You know, it's funny, really. I initially got into this job because I wanted to help people change their behavior patterns before they committed these acts.

I'd suffered five years with an abusive partner. What if someone had helped him work out his issues and became better? I wouldn't have had to go through everything that I have, but yet it's ended up here where I'm using my skills to hunt these people down after they've raped and murdered someone. For every sociopath that I helped put in jail, another three seemed to be born somewhere else. Sometimes I wish I didn't live in this world.

A world where evil will always be a factor in my day. Sometimes I wish I didn't live in this world. A world where evil will always be a factor in my day. Sometimes I wish I simply worked in a flower shop or dine alike here. Somewhere that I wouldn't even be half as aware of the number of awful people that there are in this world. What is it they say? Ignorance is bliss. The agent couldn't help but nod in agreement with my view.

I know the feeling, believe me. Ever since the night Robert Cassidy escaped, I haven't been the same. He confessed. I rearranged my seating position, letting him know I was here to listen to him now. After the swarm trial, my career skyrocketed. High-as-profile organized crime arrest in the FBI history, they called it. Shortly after, my mentor died, Bill Johnson, best agent in the history of the Bureau, hands down. With the people we've been chasing for years finally gone and then Bill 2, I was lost.

I did cases, I mean, well, nothing big. A few bank jobs, a couple of drug gangs, but then the bodies started to drop all over the U.S. Flesh-eaten, savage, sexual violence, brutal murders. Robert Cassidy was the next big thing. When I was assigned to the case, I had some purpose again. Chaste him for four years almost. His sentencing elevated my crates when you hide once again. It's funny how when you spoke about this unsub dumping the bodies for a thrill to satisfy his addiction,

I can help but identify with that. After Cassidy's escape, at night, was the most I'd felt alive for a long time. The chase, the seeking, the hunt. God, I felt like me again. And then, quince. The agent took a moment to hold back an outburst of unwise, I felt for him and I admired his honesty. You know they hung a fucking metal around my neck after that night gave me a goddamn promotion.

All the while that son of a bitch was laughing his way to Canada. My friends were lying in a goddamn bag. Well, that unwanted emotion, it was there now. My lip began to tremble as I completely empathized with his pain over Quince. Do you know what? I found out he was still alive a part of me, very small, sick part of me. Well, yeah, I was relieved, because with him alive, I have something to chase. He spoke his truth and waited for my judgment.

Is that why you took this case on? Because you want something to chase? I probed. Oh, slow disclosure, I'm actually on kind of administrative leave from the FBI. He said, scoffing at the bureau's decision, I almost spat my latte out. What? Why? I asked in shock.

I was meant to be working with the task force, running a surveillance up on a human trafficking gang in Texas. But I just say I was a little absent, in both the physical and emotional sense. I was too busy in my house, trying to work out where Robert Cassidy could be. The deputy director was concerned with my behaviour, and even commented on my drinking at one point. told me to take off a month or two. As far as everyone at the FBI was concerned, I'm taking a well-needed vacation. I'm actually supposed to be seeking professional help,

but I think the best thing I can be doing is getting another psychotic master off the streets. Jesus, James, I can't believe that you're only just mentioned this. Right. Just as I was beginning to go off on a tangent to the agent for keeping this from me, a noise cut me off,

a cell phone ringing. It was Agent Rodriguez's. He quickly held his index finger up to stop me tearing him a new one in front of the diner and answered the phone. Supervisor, Special Agent James Rodriguez. Who may I say is speaking? Uh, yeah? Holy shit. How is she?

Try to find out what you can before they put her in the ambulance. Hear me? Anything. Name, place his vehicle, anything. We'll meet you at the hospital. "'Takes me her ward and room info as soon as you know. "'You hear me? "'Okay.

"'See you soon.' "'Radriguez was speaking fast and frantic. "'A man who truly had some huge news. "'He locked his phone and placed it back "'in the inside pocket of his Hugo Bossy suit jacket. "'What is it?' I asked, eager to be in the know. "'Another body was dumped just outside of Manhattan. "'P police were called and, get this.

"'The caller said that the victim was still, breathing. They're taking her to A.V.C. now, he said, throwing enough money down to pay for our food and drinks bill, plus a nice 30% tip for the waitress. What the hell are we waiting for? I asked, confidently. James smiled at me and began to burst for the exit. I stopped him in his tracks with my fingertip pressing into his chest. But this conversation isn't over, I warned him. He softly nodded at me, acceptingly. I could tell he was reluctant. however. He pulled out his keys to which I immediately snatched them from him. He looked at me confused. I'll drive, I instructed. Yes, ma'am, he said, shamefully. He didn't even bother asking why.

Chapter 7. I do my best to keep up with a focused Agent Rodriguez in these heels as he stormed his way through the halls of AVC Hospital in the middle of Manhattan, Kansas, desperately looking for our star witness. A flustered receptionist managed to give some startled direction after the agent basically shook it out of her. I won't lie, I was concerned with his behaviour and his mental state, now knowing what I did. But this wasn't the time to delve into that. We had a killer to catch, and this was our biggest breakthrough yet. We turned the corner and as soon as Agent Rodriguez spotted the crowd of doctors and police uniforms, he made a beeline for the room. Has she said anything yet. Is she awake? I want to speak to her. He ranted, impatiently. But between one of the

officers and the two consulting doctors, they blocked his path and demanded he calm down. I'm sorry, agent, but I can't let you see her. Bethany is in a very critical stage right now. The next 24 hours are crucial. If she makes it through that, then maybe there's a slim chance she'd be able to speak, but I wouldn't be recommending it. The doctor told Rodriguez firmly, and Rodriguez could not hide his frustration. Listen, pal, I've got a job to do here, so I need... And so do I, the doctor snapped, cutting Rodriguez's balls off in front of everyone. Now please, special agents.

A bit of professionalism here while we try to save this innocent girl's life, hey? He added, sarcastically. Rodriguez didn't have any verbal response, but he gave a slight nod and a facial gesture which I think was his version of an apology. I've felt a shame for him, to be honest. and that was before what happened next. A middle-aged couple, who clearly been crying a great deal, approached him as he stared at the floor to avoid eye contact

with the crowd of law enforcement a few feet away. Hello, agent. My name's Sandy Matthews. This is my husband, Jeff. She began. There was a definite edge to her tone, I noticed. Look, Mrs. Matthews, I'm truly sorry about... Rodriguez began to slur before the woman cut him off,

mid-sentence with a firm slap to his right cheek. The sharp sound echoed throughout the hallway, causing everyone to look over. The agent's face was blarred, from the embarrassment of the impact itself. I honestly couldn't say. There's no hope for anyone, let alone my baby girl. If you're what the FBI sent to hell catch this piece of shit, grab a breathman and go sober up, supervisory special agent Rodriguez. She said in a very derogatory tone when she dropped his name.

The woman couldn't even contain her emotion anymore, broke down. Her and the girl's father walked over to the window that allowed them a view of their baby girl, mangled, devastated and full of tubes and wires. Agent Rodriguez was left to pick what was left of his pride up off of the floor, as I went over to control the situation. Go find us a motel for the next few days. Go get some sleep and I'll clean things up here. We'll talk about what's going on with you when I get back, okay?

I asked, but not really asking at the same time. He skulked off down the hallway, muttering under his breath, that he would text me the info. I started to think about all the coffee I'd seen the Asian drink today alone. No doubt he'd made those coffees very Irish. Well, I couldn't help chuckle. I empathise with him, based on our experiences of Rothera Cassidy. But here this guy is, giving me a pep talk on the plane about my appearance, when all along he's hiding a drinking problem.

Up until an hour ago, I wouldn't have known that man had any troubles at all. I started by apologizing to the parents and seeing what they could tell me. Hey, I'm really sorry about my colleague. Trust me when I say today was the worst version of him you could have seen. He's one of the top agents at the FBI, and he's good at catching these kinds of people. I'm sure you've heard of the swarm. Robert Cassidy? He helped put all of them in jail.

A few months back, Cassidy murdered his best friend with a blowtorch after he escaped from Floss. He's, um, he's still coming in terms of that, I explained to them gently. I didn't feel it was relevant to include my own internal suffering caused by that same event. Well, I'm sorry for his loss, but that's my baby girl in there. Look at her, go on, look, she demanded. Her husband, who hadn't said a word during this whole exchange, moved to his right in order to give me a view of the inside of the room. I looked inside. Doctor says she has around a 15% chance of survival.

And even if she does, she'll never be able to have children. She'll never even go to the fucking bathroom again. Skin grafts or breasts, face and back. Glass eye, brain damage. What sort of life does that sound like to you, Mrs. Uh, Maddock, I answered somberly. And no, it doesn't. I'm truly sorry for your daughter, Mrs. Matthews.

And I can assure you that myself, the police and Agent Rodriguez, will catch this man i added making a stern promise to her just leave us alone she demanded softly i think she wanted to thank me for my assurance but understandably just didn't have it in her headed over to the three police officers who were sipping their coffee a few feet away no doubt waiting to see if the girl lived and talked or someone showed up to finish the job before she did okay guys can we forego all the awkward questions about my colleague's stayed in mind and get down to business. Who was first on the scene? I asked sternly. Two of the officers turned and faced a young-looking officer who looked, quite frankly,

like he'd seen a ghost. It was... I was a... ma'am, the young officer managed to mumble out. Oh, the poor kid, I instantly felt a surge of sympathy for him. He'd clearly been traumatised. Hello, officer. "'I—'

"'Stevenson. "'Yeah, I'm sorry, ma'am. "'Yeah, it's Stevenson. "'He could barely string a sentence together. "'His nerves were shot to pieces. "'I gave him a warm smile "'at his failed attempt at courtesy. "'Hi, Officer Stevenson.

"'I'm the criminal psychologist consultant on the case. "'My name's Professor Maddock, but please call me, Ruth. "'Is there somewhere more private we can have a chat?' "'I asked in the gentlest tone I could muster. "'Yeah, cafeteria, lower floor,' he informed me. "'Ah, sounds perfect,' I confirmed, smiling still. "'We made our way to the elevator "'and left the other two offices outside the victim's room

"'as the cries and wails of the girls' parents suddenly rang out through the hallway. "'It wasn't good news.' "'Chapter eight. "'I arrived at my government-paid motel "'in Agent Johnson's car around 7 p.m. that evening. He'd been good enough to sort my room next door to his. The desk clerk informed me that my colleague had my room key and just to give him a knock when I got here. I smiled and thanked him for passing on the message.

I headed over to Room 9 of the Gables Motel and knocked on the door. I heard the TV background noise as I waited for the agent to open the door. I found myself fixing my hair as I waited with the sound of the chain being removed from the slider. A sense of shame and guilt washed over me. Thankfully, I didn't have much time to dwell on it as James opened the door. He looked like he'd been suffering from the same feelings, if I was being honest. I, uh, come in, please. His invite was a soft plea.

I nodded and followed him in. The TV was showing a middle of the breaking news report. A female victim, whose identity is reported to be that of Bethany Matthews, a 23-year-old waitress from Manhattan, has sadly passed away from her injuries tonight at the Ascension via Christian Hospital. While nothing is certain at this point, it's strongly believed that Ms. Matthews is now the eighth known

victim of the serial killer, known to the public as the roadside ripper, a violent and dangerous individual who has terrorized the highways of Kansas in Missouri for the past six months, abducting young women, subjecting them to grueling acts of torture and mutilation before dumping their bodies on the roadside,

without a care in the world. As Matthews is so far the only victim who has been found alive, it is unknown if she was able to identify her attacker before she died, but CNN News will follow this story deep into the night. I'm Donald Stevenson, reporting live from outside ABC Hospital. Agent Rodriguez pressed the button on the remote and shut the TV off. As he sat on the edge of his bed, his head fell into his hands in defeat. Oh, our star witness, gone.

I acted like a total asshole in front of her parents when she was alive, and now they have to grieve for her. Good God. His voice trailed off into a whisper as he struggled to comprehend how bad this day had gotten for all those involved. I took a seat next to him, allowed my bag to slide from my shoulder to the floor, and I waited for him to turn and look at me. How long's the drinking been going on? I asked, straight to the point, but with a hint of empathy. "'When do you think?' he asked rhetorically. "'You know when he came into my office and spoke about this case, "'and how'd helped that guilt I was feeling?

"'That ultimately wasn't mine to bear, "'and you were basically a therapist in an FBI uniform?' "'He nodded, shamefully. "'Well, that was all transference, wasn't it? "'You were trying to convince yourself of that stuff, weren't she? "'You think if you catch this guy, "'you'll stop those voices in your head that, you that you kill Quince, don't you? I demanded to know. Tears began to pierce the lens of his

eyes and streamed down his face. He looked utterly and completely vulnerable. I see him, you know. Every fucking night I see his face, burnt. I can smell it, the torch flesh. I hear him screaming and begging for mercy. I'm haunted. That's the only word to describe it. I know the drinking's wrong, but it silences the voices. I polish between half and a bottle of bourbon off every night, and I sneak into my office throughout the day. Can't go on like this, though. Maybe if I help get this guy, then I'll be back to normal again.

He confessed softly. Oh, James. I sighed softly, filled with sympathy. I came to you because you're brilliant of what you do, and I honestly didn't think I could do it on my own. own. He spoke with a raw honesty that a lot of people could have mistaken his self-pity. But I was looking into his eyes and they told me he believed what he was telling me. You could have killed me. Both of us. We've driven over 200 miles today. With you behind the wheel

tanked up on Irish coffee. This can't continue. If we're going to keep working together to catch this cycle, then you need to quit the booze. If you're hearing voices or whatever you want to call them and talk to me, okay? Deal? I laid the ultimatum at Rodriguez's feet and waited his reaction. His delay to respond and the torn look on his face, like I was asking him to choose between his two children or something, told me that this wasn't casual drinking. This was turning into an addiction for him.

Okay, he answered, heavy-hearted. I didn't judge. It's hard to face your feelings. James, I addressed him by first name to show I was being serious yet empathetic. I can tell you've already begun to gain a tolerance and with no alcohol in your system, I understand that may affect you physically. So, I'll help to wean you off of it. I'll drive us where we need to go.

I'll make sure you have enough liquor to keep you even. I worked as an addiction counsellor as part of my work experience in my sophomore year. I know what I'm doing. I once again waited for his reaction. He didn't say a word. He just broke down into my embrace for a few short moments. He soon pulled himself together and sat back up straight. Thank you, Ruth. You really are an incredible person. His tone, so genuine, I couldn't help smile.

And so are you, James. He's just battling some demons right now. We both are. You help me fight mine, so I'm going to return the favor. I promised him, sincerely. And he nodded. in approval. There was a silence as we shared a moment of mutual positivity. I do have a little bit of good news, I enlightened James, causing his demeanour to burke up. The girl, she managed to tell her something before the ambulance arrived, I added.

Oh my God, well, what did she say? James asked with excitement. Well, it's not what she said. Her scar was fractured. her tongue had been removed and her brain had a lot of swelling. Actually, she wrote something in her own blood in the dirt just before the ambulance arrived. What did she write? Rodriguez asked.

I took a moment before I was ready to answer. I wasn't sure what to make of it myself if I was honest. Pig, I answered eventually. Pig. P-I-G. Pig, Rodriguez asked, constantly checking he'd heard crows. I could tell he thought the same as me.

But you don't think... Hmm. Wouldn't be the first time that a serial killer in Kansas turned out to be wearing a badge. Who told you this? Young and Stevenson. He was really pale and withdrawn when I asked him about the girl. I honestly thought it was due to seeing the horrible sight, but no, he told me in the canteen that the girl was reported anonymously.

He gets the call from dispatch and turns up To find this girl on the side of the road Oh, total mess Mangled twitching and goggling blood He assumes she's trying to ask for help He assures her the ambulance is coming And everything's going to be okay, you know Ah, cop shit

This girl with her last answer strength Takes a stop from where one of her fingers was amputated and writes in the dirt He said she lost consciousness Almost just after she finished the G Jeez James didn't have any other words. I mean, maybe we're jumping to conclusions here.

I speculated. Maybe, let's just not rule anything else. Who else knows? He asked. Just you, me, and Stevenson. He said he didn't know what to do. He only told me because he knows I'm not even in law enforcement. He said he took a picture on his phone and covered the blood with more dirt.

I said, bringing him up to speed. "'Good, well, at least we can say Stevenson isn't a suspect. "'Makes no sense he'd tell us that if it were him. "'But I don't know. "'This, along with the fact one of the victims was a cop's daughter. "'I really don't know, Ruth. "'This is disturbing. "'I'm not going to lie.

"'James said, running a hand through his hair, "'as if trying to come to turns with the gravity of this new infidance. "'Get Stevenson to send you a copy of the photo. "'I want to see it. "'He requested it. I gave him a nod confirming his request. I think it's best we both get some rest. We both start tomorrow with a clear head and a rested mind.

We take into account what we know now, and look at this again. Sound good? And by both of us, I meant mainly him, and by clear head I meant not boozed up. He got that, though, I could tell. I'll be around at 8 a.m. We'll make a start on everything.

I laid out the plan while James nodded away. I got up, grabbed my bag, and made a move for the door. Oh, here, let me get that for you, James insisted, rushing to take the chain off the latch. I turned to him with my palm out. The bottle, I demanded. He conceded and pulled a one-liter bottle of scotch from his suitcase and placed it in her hand. And the other one, I demanded harder. He bit his lip, scott back to the suitcase.

and pulled out a half-empty bottle of bourbon. He walked over and handed it to me. I placed both bottles in my handbag. Then I turned back to him. And the rest, James. Final straw now. And this time James began to really solve. I've given you everything, that's it, he said.

A frustrated anger in his voice. Fine. I'll go book my flight back to Denver. Should be able to get a red eye. I said, walking away from him. Wait, he snapped. He rolled his eyes, dropped his gaze to the floor, and shook his head and defeat. A few short seconds passed before he sighed heavily and stormed over to his bedside table.

He pulled the drawer open and grabbed four small bottles of assorted spirits. He placed him in my hand like a spoiled child who'd had their game boy confiscated. Very good. Got there in the end, didn't we? I teased. "'Are you going to accuse me of holding out again?' "'He's dropped.' "'No. I know there's no more,' I said confidently.

"'Wait, but how?' "'The first two times you gave him up way too easy. "'I told you, James, I've worked with addicts long enough "'to know the reaction of someone who's just handed over the last drop.' "'I informed him, with a gloating grin on my face. "'He shook his head and frowned at my cockiness, "'but he couldn't help but hold back a grin either. "'Good night, Ruth. See you in the morning.'

"'Good night,' I replied, as I started to walk to my room. "'Just before I heard his door close, I turned and yelled back to him to get his attention. "'James?' "'He stopped and reopened the door, raising his eyebrows to show me he'd hurt. "'I'm proud of you.' "'There's an awfully long gap between knocking on Agent Rodriguez's door and him actually answering it. but when he did I saw why. Morning, James murmured with a weak voice.

He was pale, shaking, and the sweat was beating down his forehead. Jesus, James, I exclaimed as he essentially collapsed onto me. Oh, God, come on, come on, let's get you inside. I dragged James' half-dead form across the room and threw him onto the bed. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that you had to see this. James could barely apologize due to the tremors. I quickly began pulling the bourbon out of my bag and placing an empty glass on the table. Don't apologize.

There's a liquor store right down the street. You could have gone, but you didn't. This right here shows me that. Now, let's get you even, I said, as I began to pour around 35 centa-liter of neat alcohol into one of the motel's generic glasses. Here, come on, drink up. One now, then half this measurement in the evening. No more, no less.

we'll try to reduce each drink by five centa liters per day. You could be detoxed within the week. Look, I want sugar, it's going to take some will, James, but I know you can do it. I passed in the glass, which he grabbed with two hands and began to pour the medicine down his neck like it was the cure for cancer. Good, okay. Well, I'm going to head out and get her some breakfast. Just let that take its effect and we'll go to work. I waited for his response, but I didn't get one.

he just continued to lay in a ball on the bed, desperately trying to stop the shakes. I left him to heal and exited the room. I made my way back to the room, with four croissants, two flat whites and one criminal psychologist, raring to go. I put the key in and unlocked the door. As I entered, I kicked off my heels and let my bag slip from my shoulder onto the table, along with breakfast. I looked up and was gobsmacked. Pictures, profiles, maps, locations, post its crime scene and pathologist reports, all plastered on the main wall of the motel room. Every victim, where they were last seen, where the bodies were found, how they died, any leads, any witnesses.

I was astounded. The bathroom door swung open and there he stood, not vulnerable and withdrawing James, but special Agent Rodriguez. He was even, he wasn't slurring, he wasn't shouting. He was back and he was ready to fly. fight his demons. Wow, I'm honestly impressed. I've only been gone an hour. I thought it was the least I could do, given what you've done for me, he explained.

I'm just helping out a friend, I informed him. I could hint a bit of awkwardness after I said the F word. So then, what do we have so far? I asked, quickly changing the subject. I approached the board examining all the information that Rodriguez had put together. had put together. The picture that Officer Stevenson forwarded of the word pig was pinned next to the information on Bethany Matthews. It wasn't lost on me either that newspaper clippings of the Showtime Killers, aka Frank Adams, a freelance crime scene photographer, and Jim Mellar, a

Wichitae cop, were both pinned next to Juliette's profile. There was also a huge piece of green tape joining the two cases. It was clear that Rodriguez was looking at the police very closely. We spent the next few hours going through every case individually, piecing all the details and evidence together with a fresh set of thinking. Rodriguez might as well have had a drip of coffee inserted into his vein, given the amount he was going through. I imagine he was starting to dry up and once again feel the withdrawal symptoms. Fair play to him, though.

He just got on with it. So, um, our unsub stalks the highways. He might even say patrols, I ventured. like a cop James stated All the victims were drivers and their cars were all found abandoned Why else would they get out of their cars? Were they forced? I speculated

Maybe they were pulled over James added Shit, I sighed This was getting hard to rule out law enforcement I know The only thing that puzzles me though is If it was a police officer A job where you're strong

trained in first aid, CPR, stuff like that. Why leave the victim alive? Sure you'd know they could ID you. Huge risk, he wondered. Well, regardless if this is a police office or not, ultimately he's a serial killer first, and my analysis remains the same. He's addictive to murdering these girls. First he buried them, then. He dumped their corpses, and now he needs a new rush. Maybe this was him getting a bigger rush. Leaving Bethany Matthews with a hint of life in her, injected a new element of risk, I explained.

And if I was honest, I wasn't totally convinced we were dealing with a cop at this moment. Couldn't rule it out, though. But for now, I'd be team regular serial killer, whereas James had clearly made his mind up. I guess, he muttered.

Okay, let's say it is a cop. He's saying it's a lone wolf or a bad apple like Frank Adams or Jim Meller. using their status to aid their crimes. Are you thinking something more sinister? I probed. James took a pause and ran his hand through his hair, which was now becoming a common sign for him being overwhelmed with his inner demons. He walked over to the armchair in the corner of the room and flopped into its embrace.

He grabbed his coffee cup and prayed there was something left. I don't know. I honestly don't. But I just know one thing for certain. Each day thousands of people put on a badge and swear to protect and serve the public There's an alarming number of them who intend to do the exact opposite They protect and serve the highest bidder

He admitted, shamefully And you think that's what's going on here? A conspiracy? James took a minute to get his proverbial ducks in a row When I worked under Agent Johnson We got given these cold cases, some runaway types One was recently released from Juvie. a semi-homeless girl and also a sex worker.

Types of girls who no one would miss. No one did either. As he started with the beginnings of what would no doubt be a riveting trip down memory lane, I decided to make myself comfy off visit him on the corner of the bed. Also grab what was left of my coffee. I allowed him to continue. You see, Bill was very opinionated. I like that about him, though.

To be honest, not everyone else did. Anyway, half his part of his part. politics and the fact Bill refused to be any part of a clique ended up with him being given the shit, dead-end jobs, and then, by association, me too. I shook my head to show my contempt for such behavior, but also not interrupting him. So, we're on these cases. Three missing persons initially, but their bodies were found, eventually. Every one of them had been raped, butchered, and dumped.

It all been branded, too. This weird symbol scorched right into their skin. just above the ass. No one gave a shit at first, but then this girl gets snatched right from outside her freaking house in broad daylight. People think it's some sort of ransom deal

because this kid is the daughter of some big hedge fund owner. Then this little girl's body turns up too in the Chattahoochee. Same condition, same mark. Well, you can imagine people really started to give a shit now. Suddenly this case that was a punishment

has just become the biggest case in the last five years at the Bureau. We were getting strong pressure, from the DD to find some sex purve it on make us look good but Bill he wasn't convinced it was a killer he thought it was something more something sinister and well he was right by now I was hanging off his every word that symbol was a butterfly Rudy gets sad with intensity the swarm I exclaimed yep from that investigation you have no idea the shit we uncovered. Oh, shit, I'm not even supposed to tell you, but I will because I need to tell

someone. I'll ever told one of the person, he's dead now. Jeez, James, what? I asked. My adrenaline through the roof. Well, there was no secret that the ten high-ranking members of the Swarms' command network were made up of powerful people, senators, terrorists, CEOs, political figures, gang leaders and satanic cult leaders. But what was it withheld from the public were two things. One, over 150 police officers across five states, from uniformed rookies all the way to a few police chiefs, all in bed with these guys,

helping cover up murders, track down witnesses, and silence anyone who threatened to expose their bosses. Good God! I could barely believe my ears. What's the second? There weren't ten shop-cullers. There were eleven.

The eleventh figure was codenamed the queen. Hardly believed that she was the founding member, the one pulling the strings. She could have anyone in any organization, criminal or non-criminal. On this earth, snuffed out and never to be seen again, with nothing but a thumbs down. Oh, we were desperate to find her. If we could uncover the queen, then the rest of the swarm would fall.

And did you find her? I asked, eager to know. Him. We found him, yes. Took an undercover operation, which took around three years and ultimately cost the life of the UCA, but yep, we did it. It was Henry Gibson.

His words blew me apart. Fucking wait, the director of the FBI was the leader of the swarm. Ex-director of the FBI, but yeah. unbelievable, isn't it? The President and the Attorney General both ruled that to protect public faith and also to protect a potential asset. So, Henry Gibson gave up the rest of the command network, and in return we faked his death for him.

Even his family have no idea what he did. To them and the rest of the world, he died in a plane crash somewhere over Cuba. Or actually, he's in a secret facility off the coast of Costa Rica. It's a government's supermax facility. A black sight, so officially it doesn't exist. And he's definitely there under a new name. He stood out once a week to fish and swim. It was better than most people in there anyway.

He's set to be released in 2029 under a new alias and will be set up somewhere far from the USA. Couldn't barely wrap my head around the huge piece of knowledge I'd just received. This was honestly like finding out what happened to the Diatlov Pass or if Area 51 is a fucking real alien base. well I just muttered a few words that evidenced my shock such as shit and holy fuck so you see uh you might seem likely to you that cops did these girls but i have learned to keep a very open mind i bet i answered facetiously not really knowing what else to say oh and ruth

i know it goes without saying but i'll take that to my grave james i assured him I hope you do because I think anyone who threatens to reveal that secret will be expendable. He warned me. My facial expression assured him I knew the risks. He seemed satisfied that he could trust me. Okay. Agent Rodriguez broke the silence. What's our next move?

Chapter 10. Over the next few days, I continued to help James get his alcohol abuse in check. We started to revisit each and every person who we questioned in regards to every murder. We thought that if there was a police officer involved, then the investigation may have been deliberately misled. Going through the evidence, we noticed that the details in the police reports regarding the murders of Juliette, Maggie Darna and Jessica Price, were all quite brief in terms of detail compared to the other five victims. Knight, Dana and Price were the only victims who were discovered in Missouri. we decided to talk to the detective leading the investigation a detective hansom we called the kc police chief

and requested a meeting with the detective in regards to those murders an appointment was arranged for the next day we planned to talk to the families of darn and price we couldn't talk to the knight family they were all dead so bright and early we got our stuff together and headed towards the kcpd depot When I route to Lexington and Columbus, I turned to Agent Rodriguez, who looked a little on edge. Everything okay? I probed. He was resting his temples against his fingers and thumb, massaging them gently. My question caused him to stop and face me. Oh, um, yeah, he half answered.

You sure? I asked facetiously. Yeah, I'm just feeling a bit dragged out. I don't know if it's the withdrawal or whatever, but the nightmares were starting. it again. Quince? Yeah, he answered, lifting his head up momentarily to show he was listening. I'm honestly so proud of you. Keep this up and you should have detoxed in a day or two. I smiled at him, encouragingly, and he half smiled back.

We walked into Kansas City PD and requested to see the officer in charge of the night, Darner and Price murders, which, coincidentally, was the same person who'd heckled me at the briefing, Detective Mark Hanson. The desk sergeant told us to take a seat while he fetched Hansen. We sat down in the waiting room when something caught my eye, a jar half full with coins and dollar bills on the front desk. It had a note on the front that I couldn't quite see from my vantage points. So I stood up and made my way around to take a look.

The note read, for the family of Officer Stevenson. My eyes widened and my throat clenched when I realized the significance of the name. I had no time to react before James came up behind me. He's here, Ruth. Come on, he informed me gently over my shoulder. James? I prompted him with my eyes toward the jar in the nose. What?

James asked, taking his gaze from me to the jar. I saw him as he read the notes. His gaze went from curiosity to concern. We shared a look, just as a voice yelled at us from across the room. Can I help you guys or what? What? Detective Hansen yelled, impatiently. James ushered us over to the detective, and we went into his office. Hanson sat down behind his desk in a chair that I thought looked a little too expensive for a state detective, but I let it go.

Miss Maddock, nice to see you again. There was an almost sarcastic tone to his greeting. Though, what can I help you guys with? Hansen asked. Elbows rested on the arms of his chair, his fingers interlocked, a crabby expression plastered on his face. Clearly a busy man who didn't think much of us suited up federal servants. James, who had either shaken off his crippling withdrawals or he was hiding them extremely well, went forward in a confident manner. We were just hoping you could tell us why the case reports on the murders of Juliet night,

Maggie Darner, and Jessica Price don't have as much detail as the rest of the roadside slings. Three of the eight murder victims and all these cases were assigned. to you. Can you explain this to me? It's just I've gone through some of your other homicide casework in the past, and it's quite frankly excellence, no stone unturned, plethora of information, you might say. Hanson scoffed and gave James an intimidating glare. The case files had everything in them that needed to be, causes of death where other bodies were found, possible suspects, and so on. Well, you see, that's where I beg to differ. The report is the death. The report is a death. The on the other five victims.

There were other suspects on the list, abusive ex-boyfriends, Facebook stalkers, disgruntled clients, but, oh, in these three reports, the only suspect is the elusive unsub, the roadside ripper. Did you not think it was worth investigating any other avenues?

James quizzed further. Hanson chuckled at the implication he was either incompetent or corrupt. He lent four to match James' demeanour, showing he wouldn't be in. intimidated. Those three murders, bar Bethany Matthews, were the most recent victims. By this point, we know this killer's M.O.

Why waste time investigating other avenues when it's obviously the killer was expanding his territory? Coroner confirmed the methods of torture and death are the same as the other roadside victims. Violently tortured, reproductive organs mutilated, and then either died from blood loss or strangulation. Taxbook M.O. of our resident serial killer. Now, if that's all, I have a killer to catch. Hanson stood upright in a half, inviting us to leave by showing us the direction of the door. We both nodded and accepted the invite. So are we, detective.

We want to catch whoever's doing this. You just wanted all the information possible to make that happen. I understand why you have tunnel vision on this, but, well, it may be worth speaking to some of the victims' families. they could perhaps shed some light on if they knew who matches our profile. The last killer I investigated, I caught when he made the mistake of killing someone that he knew, I explained diplomatically. Hanson hung his head and nodded gently. Adams and Maller.

There will forever be stains on the badge. I understand now why feds us suspicious of cops, especially from around these parts. But believe me, Miss Maddock, we're not the enemy. Hanson stated. genuinely. I gave him a smile. I know. We're sorry for making you feel threatened. James added. Oh, I'm sorry for being defensive. It's been tough recently. We recently had a vet commit suicide because one of the victims was his daughter. Then two days ago, a rookie went the same way after Bethany Matthews basically died in his arms. Everyone's a little distracted. Hanson confessed.

Stevenson didn't look shaken by the Matthew murder. but I wouldn't have flagged him as a suicide risk. Oh, I'm sorry to hear. In that case, you focus on the Matthews case. We'll go chat to some of the families from the Price and Night Cases. We'll let you know if you find anything, I said, trying to sound supportive. Hanson stared at us for a few seconds, presumably trying to weigh up if we were being helpful or patronising. Dary you are, wait here. Help yourself to tea, coffee.

I'll go get a list of no one. associate to those victims, numbers, addresses. Call it a peace offering? He offered, holding his palms out and shrugging his shoulders. Oh, thank you, detective. That sounds great. James accepted. Hanson left the room, and me and James took him up on his offer of a hot beverage.

What do you think? I asked, wanting James' opinion on Hanson. Well, hard to tell. No cop likes having their work ethic or morals brought into. question, but if this killer is a cop, there's highly likely someone with a marked car, like a patrol officer, someone who can pull people over or approach them without concerning them. Detective doesn't make sense. That if it's even a cop, a pig could have meant anything. Why not write a cop? James let his train of thought run away with him for a little while. I guess we'll see what we find out from our inquiries with the...

And the office door swung open, cutting me off mid-sentence. So here's a list of the victim's home addresses, relatives, non-romantic connections. Hope this helps. Hey, keep me in the loop, yeah? Hanson said, handing the paper to James. James shook his hand and smiled in appreciation. I mimicked the gesture and assured him we'd be in touch. We left the station and climbed into our car and set off to the first address.

We headed over to the cancer. a city-state border into Missouri and made our way up to Lexington. It took us just under an hour to reach the family home of Maggie Donner. The area had quite a vibe to it. Nothing much happened in this quiet town, but the dumping of Maggie Dana's heavily mutilated body on the side of Highway 24 was clearly the worst thing to ever happen around these parts. We pull the car up outside the grey wooden townhouse,

climbed out, making sure we had her ID's handy. We walked up the garden, path which had a slight incline to the front porch. James tapped politely but firmly on the screen door and awaited an answer. We were just about to leave when a man who'd probably just passed the status of middle-aged answered the door. Can I help you? he asked tentatively, clearly weighing up if we were here for him. Oh, I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Darner. My name's Professor Ruth Maddock, and this is Special Agent Rodriguez. We're just here following up some inquiries into your the man scowled and held his hand up, cutting me off mid-sentence.

I was getting sick of that happening in all honesty. I think there's been some sort of clerical error. Donors haven't lived here for nearly a year now. We bought this place from them, as they were moving to Grandview, if I remember correctly. Something about father, new job. I can't remember the specific details. Terrible news about their daughter. Terrible.

The man said, arms folded, shaking his head, as he stared at the floor panels of his white porch. James and I shared a confused look. James then turned to the man. Yeah, sorry, our records department can sometimes forget to delete these old addresses, and then this happens. Can't get the staff, can you? James jokes. So, um, we don't know the forwarding address then. Oh, he did, but we got rid of the paperwork during the last spring clean. Anyway, after their daughter turned up just outside the town on 24, we assume they moved back, the man speculated.

We didn't know how to answer the man's theory. We were totally in the dark, so we simply nodded in agreement. Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Evans, Tony Evans. Well, Mr. Evans, please take my card. If you happen to come across anything regarding the darner family or their current whereabouts, James requested, handing the man his card. The man examined it and put it in his pockets. Oh, holy cow.

Not every day you get to meet a famous FBI agent, the man exclaimed, and James grimaced. Ah, it is you, isn't it? We saw you on that Netflix documentary that came out a couple of years ago. We loved it. Inside the hive. Hey, is it true that the undercover officer had his cover blown and he had his nuts cracked with a claw was that just for dramatized entertainment the man asked genuinely intrigued i said at james a little taken aback it's um true clayton was a good agent instrumental in gathering the evidence we needed did not deserve what happened

james said sheepishly the man made a religious gesture by tapping the four points of the cross on his body and head "'Defn't not. "'Don't forget the kid who saw that murder and had to go into protection. "'A.A. Is it true, you and your partner were moving him across the country until the trial? "'Cause these guys sent someone after him to shut him up.' "'The man fired another question, like an excited fan. "'Yeah, that's right,' James answered, bluntly. "'Why not put him in a safe house under FBI protection?

"'Why keep moving him?' "'That's what me and my wife wanted to know. "'Little unorthodox, and that's what I'm not. The man probed. The question made James uncomfortable. I could sense it, and I butted in. Sorry, Mr. Evans. We have other places to be.

Thanks for your time, I said politely. James nodded. It's actually quite common practice these days. Worry, didn't it? We got him to trial. Thanks for your time, Mr. Evans. James said, as he walked off the porch. Ah, good-bye, the man yelled.

Oh, oh. Oh, wait till Bernie hears about this. We heard the man celebrate to himself as he re-entered the house. We climbed in the car and set off towards the address we had for the price home. As we were driving, I turned to James. Netflix, huh? I asked him with a smirk, which James returned. Yeah, they were becoming loads of internet detectives on Reddit,

looking into the swarm in their command network, digging up info, trying to find out who the real top boss was, because we were hired in Henry Giverson's involvement, we needed a way to get in front of it. The Netflix documentary was made. The FBI were sort of a secret producer. We included the undercover operation, some of the witnesses,

the ten commanding entities in the swarm. Did you know that online theory is into the seven ivory murder was actually reduced by 73% after making a murderer was released? People see a comprehensive ten-part series on a case, and they think they've been given the truth. and that's the effect we want it. James informed me. Makes sense. Okay, um, one more thing. Go on.

Why did you lie to the guy and say it's normal to move witnesses continuously? Because as far as I'm aware, it isn't. I was genuinely intrigued, and it obviously wasn't in the documentary, even if I did have time to Netflix and chill, as the kids say these days. Our UCA relayed information about the command. It's the information that blew his cover, but with it we had more than enough to convict. It was a laptop with an encrypted dongle and chat room that the top ten in the swarm used to contact Gibson. He managed to get his hands on it and get it to us.

RIT guys took a week to decipher everything, but once we did, well, we had them. Just before Clayton was made, he relayed info that the swarm had someone in the federal government. This kid had witnessed the murder of an FBI acid. The surveillance operative and a little girl hostage. Him and his friend went to the local police. They killed his friend, and they were dirty too. The swarm's reach was clearly wide and vast. We managed to get to him before the swarms hitman did.

We kept him and his family safe and moving. Until we knew if we had the snake in our ranks, we couldn't risk putting him in a federal safe house. and we were right to Gibson or a long. Well, at least it's over now, I said, optimistically. James nodded but didn't say a word. We arrived in Holden again in just under an hour, very similar town to Lexington, quiet and rural.

Price's body was dumped around 20 minutes away, just outside Columbus on Highway 50, again brutally raped, tortured, and eventually mercifully killed. Another silent neighbourhood where a tumbleweed wouldn't have looked out of place. We approached the door. The garden looked unkempt, paint peeling, and the panel door was barely hanging on. James even knocked on the side of the house, afraid he'd finished the door off. No answer.

He tried again, this time louder, but nothing. Eventually I tried one more time, as loud as I could while screaming, "'Mr. or Mrs. Price, this is the FBI. It's about your daughter.' James gave me a confused look, questioning if that was necessary. I didn't want another wasted journey. However, it was looking like that was the way it was going, except just as we were retreating to the car, her voice began yelling at us from down the street. "'Hey, hey, wait, don't leave.' A young teen began yelling as she hurried towards us, pushing a pram in tow.

This girl was no older than 20 She'd have been Jessica's age or thereabouts Can we help you? I asked You're about Jessica, right? She asked The baby cooing in its bed from all the commotion She shushed him back to sleep As I confirmed who we were You found that little cunt who did it yet

She demanded to know A little taken back by her language and directness James needed a second to think of what he needed to say sorry who are you he asked mary white jessica's best friend you found the bastard that cut my girl then her southern twang was powerful um inquiries are still ongoing james said officially that means fucking no then don't it the girl said rolling her eyes i made hundreds of phone calls to your tip line telling about her new boyfriend but no one ever wanted to know she added me and james our eyes widened in unison. We both turned to the girl. Sorry, um, what boyfriend? James asked.

Ah, she said he was from the city. I never trusted him. He was nice looking in everything, but he just had something about him that I didn't trust. The girl confided. Was his guy at the funeral? James inquired. Hell, no, he weren't.

Now, what'd that tell you, huh? She asked, hands on hips. Oh, that is art. I confessed. What did this guy look like? James asked. Six foot. Mid to late twenties. Black, slick back hair.

Look like he had a bit of something else in him. Hispanic maybe. I don't know. Nice skin, deep brown eyes. Good teeth. Like I said, real good looking. The girl described literally the opposite of Detective Hanson. Okay, we'll look into it.

Here, take this. Call me if you ever see this guy again, but don't approach him. not until we can verify who he is. Did she say if this guy had a name? James asked, finishing his notes and handing the girl another card. Pablo, didn't say if he had a last name. A guy had money, though.

Always picked her up in a flash car. Asked me if I wanted to come with, but I had to watch this one, she explained, gesturing towards her baby. You know where Mr. Price is, or Mrs. Price? I asked, gesturing towards the house we just visited. "'Ah, Mrs. Price, yeah. Shortly after Jess was born, she got the cancer,' she informed us. "'And Mr. Price?' James asked.

"'He's dead, too.' "'What? How?' I probed. It was always into the needle, but he got clean around a year ago. "'This business must have set him off because cops found him OD in his bed, needle in his arm, enough heroin to kill a horse, apparently.' "'Oh, geez!' I exclaimed. Yeah, he did go a little crazy, though. I was always complaining that the police weren't doing their job, not following up leads on Pablo.

Guess the stress just got to him in the end. Mary speculated. Well, um, thank you. You've been really helpful, James concluded. Mary slipped the card in her bra, and she retreated with her baby. We climbed back in the car and set off back towards Kansas. Chapter 11. Why wasn't any of this in the file?

The downers move away. That could be an admin issue, easily explained. But the fact that Jessica Price's father and her friend made multiple inquiries about a mysterious boyfriend and there's nothing in here about it, oh, that's weird. Then, not to mention nothing about the father's death. Something doesn't make sense here, I exclaimed, and James murmured in agreement. But some. Well, Pablo is young, rich, mixed race and good-looking. and Hansen's middle-aged stressed and wider than rice.

I'm starting to think maybe this Pablo could be our guy and he's benefiting from police tunnel vision. James speculated. I didn't answer and stared off into the countryside. You don't agree? James quizzed. Just doesn't fit our profile, I stated. I don't know.

I bet there's not many young damsels in distress who wouldn't get into a flash car with a handsome stranger these days. "'Do you?' James probed. "'No, I guess not,' I conceded. "'Besides, his appearance fits the DNA profile. "'And you said he'd be young,' James added. "' Brief silence passed before I suddenly piped up with something on my mind. "'I just think it can't be coincidental

"'that the two victims we've inquired about today "'have a connection to Kansas City. "'Like, why did the killer dump Maggie Donna "'outside her old town when she just moved to the city? city. Our guy lives and hunts in the country, not the city. Something just isn't adding up. We're missing something, James. I know it. I assured myself as much as I did James. James began to nod gently. Well, let's get some answers, he said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing a number. He owed the phone to his ear, and he kept his eyes on the road.

"'Hi, he put me through to Detective Hanson. "'Tell him it's Agent Rodriguez,' he said in a stern voice. "'A few brief moments passed before someone picked up the phone again. "'Oh, hi, detective, listen, we chased up those leads she gave us, "'but they were dead ends, although we were told by a neighbour "'that the Dana family had moved to Kansas City. "'Could you make some calls and find an address for me? "'We'd really think it'll be worth speaking to them.'

A few more moments passed while James listened to the response from Hansen. He just simply nodded along to whatever he was saying. Don't worry about it. Thank you. I appreciate that. Look forward to it. I'll be in touch tomorrow when we've spoken to them. Yep, you too, he said, hanging up the call and then putting the phone back on its charging dock. So, what did he say? I asked. We apologize for wasting our time. Says he's been too busy to chase out the family.

He'll find a current address and text it to me later tonight. James informed me. You didn't mention Mary White or Pablo. You're not convinced about him, are you? I asked with a smirk. Ask me that again after tomorrow. We arrived back at our motel a few hours later. It was dark by then. Me and James were walking to our rooms when the text came in. Hanson sent us an address just outside Ottawa, Kansas. A little town called Homeward.

We'd head there tomorrow. As we reached our rooms, we lingered outside for a moment, to review the day, so to speak. James eyed me intensely. Ruth, do you believe in fate? He asked thoughtfully. I smirked at his sudden toe-dip into philosophy. Like a higher power, moving all the pieces around, moving towards a common end? No, I've seen too much violence and chaos in this world to know that there's no such thing.

we're all put here we just do the best we can with what's given I answered honestly James seemed to be struggling with something you could barely look me in the eye it looked like he had something to say or ask but it was buying time with pointless questions I didn't either

but I think things are put your way and then there well you need to look out for it I've been struggling with this for a few days but after seeing how quickly things could be snatched away from us I've decided to believe in fate. James left his words to hang in my ears before he did the unthinkable.

He kissed me. My eyes widened. I was shaken. For a split second, I swore I could see quince over James' shoulder, looking disappointed. I pushed James back. What are you doing? I demanded to know.

James could barely look at me. Oh God, I'm so sorry. I've just thought since the minute I met you that you're one of the most incredible, beautiful people I've ever met. You helped me sober up and became myself again. Well, I just thought. Well, you've thought wrong. God, you know how much I miss Quincy, and you've tried to take advantage.

I snapped. No, Ruth, that's not true. I just... James was lost. We're colleagues helping to solve a violent string of rapes and murders. nothing more or nothing less. But I think we should call it a night. We have a long day tomorrow,

I instructed harshly. I stormed away and into my room and left James to lick his wounds. When I woke up the next morning, I found myself in a moment of self-exploration as I made myself presentable for the day ahead. I did like James. He was a strong, intelligent, kind,

and integral man. It was easy to look at, too. I think I reacted the way I did because I felt guilty that it was only a few Once back, I had feelings for James' friend. And had he not been murdered by the psycho that I helped escape from prison, we'd potentially have a future. I was extremely harsh on James.

I decided to go speak to him. I left my room and my way down to the local coffee shop. I grabbed James' favourite latte and a croissant to go with it, a peace offering. I retrieved it at the motel and knocked on his door, optimistic about where this talk could go. I was smiling to myself, but that didn't last long. James wasn't answering the door. I began to get worried, so I went to the front desk and requested a spare key. Well, they were happy to oblige, given that they'd seen us together.

I went back to the room and inserted the key. I opened the door, and my heart sank at what I found. I drove towards Homeward, expecting to be there within an hour. traffic depending of course I was upset disappointed and most of all furious with James

but also myself I found James face down on the bed almost comatose with five large empty bottles of whiskey bourbon and vodka scattered around his room I tied it up

placed him in the recovery position so that you didn't choke in case he vomited again and I left a note telling him that when he wakes up to please resist the temptation to repeat his antics, and that I would speak to him later. I hated him for relapsing because I knew he was better and stronger than that, but I also hated myself because, well, I knew on some level I was to blame. I was around 35 minutes into my journey when Mike came across something that made my brow lower.

In the road there was a car, parked diagonally across both lanes. The hood of the car was facing in the direction that, I was travelling, and the hood was popped. It was hard to tell until I pulled up around 50 yards from the stationary vehicle that someone was under the hood attempting to fix the issue. I climbed out and began walking over to the car. I squinted my eyes through the gap between the car's hood and the windscreen, as well as where the hood was propped up. The man was wearing all black from what I could tell. There was something off, though. Why was the car across the two lanes? I could understand if the vehicle had been in a collision, but it looked pristine.

Hey, is everything okay? Do you need to me call someone? I yelled out to the man. Nothing. I began to feel extremely wary about the situation I was in. And then my suspicions were confirmed when I heard something behind me. An engine. I turned tentatively.

I saw that a dark transit van with blacked out windows was flying towards me. It broke sharply around seven. 75 yards from my car, and skidded into a stationary state, with the side doors of the van facing me. Well, I was frozen. I watched in terror as the van door stood open, and out jumped four large men. They were all wearing dark combat gear and bomber jackets. Their faces were covered by black balaclavas, and they were rushing towards me. The most alarming thing about them were the weapons they were carrying. Two had pistols with silences. One had a baseball bat, and the other was carrying a mallet. I instinctually turned and began to run towards the man with a broken-down car,

completely forgetting how weird he was in his own right. That's when I saw the man had now come out from behind the hood of the vehicle, and he was walking towards me. He was also wearing a balaclava, and he was carrying a claw hammer. My eyes widened, and not even my La Prairie skin cabriard. could hide how pale I went in that moment. My adrenaline surged into my veins, and my fight or flight response began to toy with which way to go.

As the man who was under the hood got close, my body finally made up its mind, and I flared back to the car, stumbling and tripping as I tried to sprint in my heels. I managed to get to the car before the men reached me. I got to the door and flung it open. I fumbled in my pockets, desperately trying to find the keys,

my only lifeline. When my pockets turned up nothing but a half pack of gum and a lipstick pen, my heart dropped. I turned to the group of mass assailants insidiously cantering towards me. I turned to the left and saw the lone man standing still. Through his mask I could see he was smiling,

almost chuckling. His gaze fell to the floor and he got down on one knee. He rose from the ground seconds later, holding in his hand. The keys to James' car. I was frozen again. The only movement from myself was my head snapping from left to right, watching as the men continued to close in from both sides.

When suddenly, I was hit with an intense sense of clarity. This was a federal agent's car. I quickly lunged under the seats and began to tap my hands around, searching for a weapon. James was on administrative leave and had to surrender his FBI-issued pistol. But I would bet my life, I mean, essentially I was, that he still carried an emergency gun.

And I was right, there, taped to the bottom of the passenger-side seat, was a glock. I ripped it from its adhesive holster and quickly pulled out the magazine. I wasn't sure how many bullets were in. I didn't have time to find out, but it felt heavy. There were enough to take some of these fuckers with me, and at the very least, I only need one bullet to not give them the satisfaction of putting me through

something horrible. The man who had the keys to the vehicle was just outside the window. He ripped open the door and lunged inside the car and grabbed me by the hair and started to drag me out of the car. Oh, I pulled so hard I was out of the vehicle in three forceful tugs on my blood-red coals. My back and head hit the tarmac so hard that as he stood over me with the hammer, he was merely a black blur and nothing more. He raised the hammer above his head, and was just about to bring it down on me, when I raised my arm and pulled the trigger.

His brains exploded, and the contents of his skull membrane, sprayed all over my face, clothes and the side of James' car. I dragged myself to my feet, still in a haze from my ordeal thus far. Then, without warning, the passenger's side window exploded outwards,

glass slicing my face as it came, into contact with my skin. I considered myself lucky, however, as it was a bullet that had caused it, probably that had missed me by no more than a couple of inches. I dropped down to the floor, taking cover from more bullets that burst the other window and begun to rain into the metal chassis of the car. I crawled and pushed my back up against the back tyre to provide more cover, and that's when I saw it. Underneath the rim of the tire, stuck to the underside of the car was a magnetic GPS tracker. I looked down at the last piece of the puzzle. I'd wondered how these men had found me. Hansen had put this on our car, no doubt, when he was putting those

addresses together for us. When we'd confronted him and requested, he'd give us an updated address for the darmins. Clearly, he knew we were getting too close to the truth. He gave us an address in the middle of nowhere, and the tracker allowed these men to see when we were getting close. "'Where's the other one?' "'I said there'd be a man, too. "'We need both,' one of the men said to the others, "'indicating they were just on the other side of the car.' "'Ah, don't bitch. Take her alive.

Use her to lure him out here. Easy save.' One of the men replied. "'Pablo said we can do what we want with her if we take her breathing. "'And I want some time with that,' one of the men whispered menacingly. "'Hey, you get in line.' another snap back under his breath. I needed to act fast.

Oh, miss, come out and put the gun down. There's nowhere to go now. No one's coming to help you, the first man instructed. I assumed he was the leader of this pack. I took a deep breath and prayed. I rolled around and fell on my side. I aimed the pistol under the car at one of the men's feet. I pulled the trigger and watched the flesh and by,

and his ankle burst into a puff of red mist and smoke. He screamed in agony and fell onto his back. I aimed once again and this time I put one right in his neck. The others began to fan out, not wanting their feet to be blown off too. I quickly reached through the open car door, the blood of the first man still dripping on the back of my neck as I reached in. I grabbed my bag that had my phone inside. I fired a couple of shots. at the men, causing them to duck behind what cover they could find, and I fled towards the car that originally blocked the road. James' car was useless now. It was shot to shit, and the tires on the other side were full of bullets. But I was hoping the first man had left the keys in the ignition,

perhaps wanting a quick getaway from the scene after I was dragged into the van by the others. I left my heels this time, running barefoot, the red hot tarmac scorching the soles of my feet was the least of my problems. I managed to reach the vehicle, just as an errant bullet struck the corner of the propped hood, no more than a centimetre from the back of my head. I jumped into cover and opened the passenger-side door. I looked inside, and the shred of hope that I had left my body. The men were now hiding behind James' car, taking cover.

I could see the top of their ski masks from my vantage point. One of them poked his head out to survey the situation. I took aim at him and pulled the draw. trigger. The gun clicked. I pulled the trigger again, and it clicked once more. The man must have been able to sense my horror by the look on my face, as I looked at the empty gun in pure dismay. I heard the man begin to snigger at my now obvious predicament. He informed the others it was safe to come out. And the men stood up. They were all smiling now, and they were heading this way. I quickly pulled out my phone and checked if I had a signal.

No such luck. And the men were getting ever closer. I held the phone in the air, desperately trying to find some sort of signal off the car's antenna. Just when the men were around 25 yards away from me, I got one bar. I quickly pulled up James and pressed call.

It went straight to voicemail. I didn't have time to redial 911, so just before the men grabbed me, I rambled out where I could. James, I'm on old Highway 50. I know who killed those girls. They're here, and they're about to take me. Before I could relay anything about Hanson,

one of the men ran around the car and knocked me to the ground. He stamped on the phone hard. I watched as the pieces of plastic shards and electric components exploded across the road. And I knew in that moment I was dead. My body gave an almost involuntary response of letting out a loud, piercing scream before I shot to my knees

and began running. I was quickly caught by two of the men. Oh, baby, where do you think you're going? The only place you're going is to take us to your partner. It's a long drive, so I think we can have some fun on the way. One of them snarled at me and let out a cackle. It began to drag me, kicking and screaming towards the van, whilst the other man ran ahead and jumped into the driver's side door.

They opened the van door and violently threw me inside. One of the men reached inside and grabbed a jerry can. He handed off to the other man and instructed him to torch the leftovers. The hulkish thug nodded his head and jogged over to James' car. With almost minimal effort, he threw the bodies of his fallen associates into the back seat of James' vehicle and doused it in gasoline. He postured up, attempting to strike a match from his pockets. As he did this, the drug was a drug. made a call.

Ah, we've got her. You can take down the roadblock now. We need to find the Fed. Now we'll meet you at the... His sentence was cut short by the sound of a rifle firing. We ordered to see where it had come from. We were greeted by the sight of the man with a jerry can, stood there, matches still in hand.

Except, his head was smashed like a watermelon. He hung for a few seconds before. crumbling into a heap. This allowed us to see that there was a man resting a rifle on the back end of the decoy vehicle. A few seconds passed, and another gunshot sound pierced the quiet country air. A hole blew in the side of the man guarding me,

and he bent over in pain. I didn't need another invite. I kicked the man in the back, knocking him to the ground in a prone position. I climbed out of the van and ran to the rifleman, who was frantically waving me over. The driver obviously didn't want to join the bullet club. He fired up the engine and tore off back the way it had come from originally.

When I reached the man, he quickly ushered me down the road, where we climbed into his red pickup truck and sped so fast out of the area that the tires spun in the dirt, causing a large dust cloud. I stared out of the back window, praying that when the dust settled, I wouldn't see that van chasing us. Instead, though, all I could see was the man who'd been guarding me, stood in the middle of the road, just watching us as we drove away. I stared at him, wide-eyed, as the man simply reached down to his belt, pulled his pistol

from his waist, put it to his temple, and pulled the trigger. Chapter 12. "'Geeze, you don't got yourself in a spot of trouble here. What was that all about?' He asked in an eager tone. The man was definitely a real country-dweller. His speech was that of someone who didn't interact with people much. I wasn't judging, though.

This man had just saved my life. I say, man, he couldn't have been any older than 22. I'm helping the FBI solve those highway murders. You heard of the roadside slayer? I stuttered, still overdosed on adrenaline. No, ma'am. I don't watch the news all that much, he said, sounding a little embarrassed. But again, I didn't judge.

At least spent his time on the firing range rather than binging TV shows, and for that I was forever thankful. Those men are responsible they have to be, they stuttered to myself. Yeah, I knew something wrong was that, because I saw the road was closed for fixing, and darn, go and never do any work out here. "'Seem fishing to me, so. "'Decided to check it out. "'Good job I did, huh?'

"'He sounded proud. "'I simply nodded frantically in agreement. "'I could barely string a sentence together. "'I need to call my partner. "'Do you have a phone?' "'I managed to ask, desperately trying to calm my nerves. "'The man shook his head again, "'and he looked down in shame.

"'No, mayor, I'm real sorry. "'I don't have one of those cellular phones. bones. His speech was impaired, seemingly suffering from some sort of learning difficulty. I don't live for a little. Just on my uncle's farm, they have a phone there. You could call someone. He's out right now, but he won't mind, I'm sure of it. He said, assuredly. I nodded in return and smiled warmly. Thank you, I gasped, emotionally as I began to tear up. He smiled back. Name's stuck. Ruth, I replied.

He nodded, acknowledging we were now on first-name terms. He turned back to the road, sped up the truck, and made his way to the farm. We arrived at the farm around 15 minutes later. A quiet desk looked structure. I wasn't sure what the boy's uncle farmed, but it didn't look to be very fruitful. As long as it had a phone, I didn't care. The farm was off the grid at the bottom of a 300-yard dirt path that was hidden by overgrown trees and shrubs.

If you didn't know it was there, you would never find it. The very physical definition of off the grid. We pulled up outside the barn and the boy jumped out. He opened up the barn door before getting back in the truck and driving it inside. He instructed me to jump out and exit the barn, which he closed behind him. Well, I got us to take care of a couple of things, but you're welcome to head on in and use the telephone, he offered. I nodded my head once again. Thank you, I will.

Where is it? I asked, more fluently this time. My nerves were almost settled now. Oh, it's just down the hall, opposite the third door on the left. Once you go in the front door, you'll see it, he informed me. I smiled once again and thanked him for everything you'd done for me today. Don't mention it, ma'am. And relax, those bad men can't hurt you now, Tucker assured me. He made his way around the back of the barn

whilst I headed to the front door of the ranch house which was just adjacent to the barn. I walked up the porch steps and pulled back the screen door protector. The springs needed a good oil job and the noise went right through me. I pushed through into the house and made my way down the hall as directed. The landline phone sat on a table opposite the third door on the left, just as he said. I found myself jogging over to it eagerly.

I didn't know James's number off by heart, so I simply dialed 911. The phone rang twice before the operator picked up. Hello? Do you require police fire or ambulance? Police, please, I replied. One moment, the operator said. A brief pause followed before the call was connected. Hello, Kansas State... The call cut off.

I tapped the receiver a few times, but it was useless. There was no dial tone. It was then I heard someone approaching the house. The fear was back. Shit, they'd found us. I frantically started to look around for somewhere to hide. I quickly scanned the house, not having time to run, as I could now see a masked figure in dark clothing.

I could see through the stained glass in the front door that he was approaching the house. I grabbed the first door-knob I could find, turned and flung it open. I dived inside and closed it behind me without seeing what I was entering. I crouched down and tried to stay quiet. It was pitch black, so I assumed it was a closet or a broom covered of some fashion. I stayed quiet, hearing the man enter the house. The Springs being a dead giveaway.

I was trying to control my breathing, but the horrible smell coming from behind me was revolting. I turned quietly and put my hands out and felt around, and I discovered that I wasn't in a closet. I was in a basement. Without warning, the door was ripped open. I snapped my head around and looked up at the man. What I saw was the most insidious thing I'd ever seen in my entire career as a criminal psychologist. Stood there was the boy, tuck. I recognised his black fleas jean.

jacket that he was wearing earlier, along with his ripped jeans and boots. But there was one change to his appearance. He was wearing the head of a pig. I don't know if it was my body screaming that I couldn't take any more adrenaline, or I just couldn't comprehend the horror in front of me. But I went lightheaded and fell backwards. I tumbled down a single flight of wooden stairs until I struck the cold concrete at the bottom. Tuck began to slowly and methodically walk down the steps.

Whilst I rolled around, groaning in my blunt agony, I saw what was causing the smell. In the middle of the basement sat a chair, a simple metal chair that was covered in bits of flesh, some fresh, some rotting, and the chair and the floor surrounding it was soaked in blood, wet and dried. Next to the chair there was another simple metal day,

desk. On it lay tools, pliers, bolt cutters, hacksaws, files, clamps, knives, hammers. There was also a collection of vile sex paraphernalia. These were also caked in red and brown. In the corner was a mattress. I don't need to repeat myself again in telling you what it was covered in, amongst other stains too. I began to cry as Tuck reached the bottom of the stairs. It was useless getting a weapon from the desk, that would almost certainly seal my deck. The biggest cause of women's stabbings in home invasions is them grabbing a knife from the kitchen. Men are significantly bigger and stronger than the average woman. Short-range weapons are usually easily disarmed from the woman and end up being used on them instead.

And the best thing to do is run or hide. The only problem was I could do neither. Tuck pulled back his fist and snobbed. It went black so fast. I didn't even feel it. Chapter 13. I awoke some time later. It only took me a few seconds to realize the consummate danger I was in.

I was nude and I was duct taped to the chair. I could feel the pieces of flesh from the poor women who sat in the chair previously, pressing into my back, my thighs and glutes. My wrists and ankles fastening in place, with my mouth, heavily wrapped too. Tuck was standing in front of me. The pig mask was on the desk next to the tools. He was bending his knees coming to eye level with me. He still had bits of blood and flesh on his forehead and cheeks from where he'd had the pig's head on. Up until this point, I assumed it was a very good mask. Turns out it was an actual pig's head that he'd hollered out.

I winced at how utterly fucked up that was. I looked at how utterly fucked up that was. I looked at into his dead brown eyes. I'd noticed he had black hair earlier, but I was too focused on the ambush. I didn't even register his eyes. If I had, I don't think it would have clicked at the time. His eyes dropped from my face to my breasts, and he kept going. He began to groan to himself.

Oh, ma'amah, Miss American Pie, to think I was just heading to dump the last bitch when I came across you and your pals. His voice was more fluent. Still country, but the earlier voice had been an act. He could sense I'd picked up on it. Takes a lot for people, especially women, to trust strangers these days. On any normal day, a woman like you wouldn't dream of getting into a truck with a guy like me,

not with all the evil in the world these days. But when I saw those men trying to get you in that van, there was no way I was letting them have all the fun. I mean, whee-h-look-ach-you. But after those guys jumping, you and I saved your fine ass. I figured you'd beware of anyone, so I acted like an idiot. I guess you'd think a dumb whit like me couldn't possibly be another one of them trying to fool you. And it worked. Here we are, he exclaimed gleefully.

So, what are you going to do to me? I asked. My eyes flicked towards the desk. I couldn't help it. So did tucks, and he grinned sinisterly. Whatever the fuck I want, you filthy bitch, he growled. He walked over to the desk and picked up a knife and skipped back over to me. Let's start nice and gentle. Bit of foreplay on. His eyes were wide and his pupils pinned. This is what evil looked like.

I was staring at pure depravity. He placed the blade on my chest and dragged it slowly down towards my stomach. The blade sliced into the top few layers of my flesh, and I led out a shriek of pain. Todd began to giggle as he became erect. He started to rub himself, siking himself up. Oh, let's just get to the fun stuff, he declared impatiently. He walked over to the desk, his fresh, warm blood began to run down my torso from the ten-inch slit in my upper chest. Tug picked up a large metal file and walked over to me slowly.

"'No prizes for guessing where I'm going to shove this,' he said. His eyes never relaxed. He never blinked. He was just wild inside and calm on the out. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the blinding agony to calm. He grabbed my shoulder with his left hand and reached back with the file in his right, aiming the point at its intended target. I tried to zone out. I wasn't sure how to do that, but it was all I could do to try.

Suddenly I heard a sound that I recognised, and a sound that Tuck did too. Springs, rusty, unoiled, noisy springs, followed by the sound of steady footsteps as the floorboards above us creaked. What the fuck? Tuck snapped. There were clearly multiple people upstairs trying to make as little noise as possible. The men, from the highway, they must have followed us here. You killed one of their men. Then? My heart was pounding so hard in my ears I could barely hear the words I just spoke. Tuck began to lick the inside of his mouth, and now retreating to the desk and switching the file for the largest knife on there, a machete from what I could tell. I killed one of them. I'll kill these fuckers too. Ain't nobody going to take this from me, he said, and scuttled across the room to a small flight of stairs that led up to a hatch that presumably opened to the side of the house on the outside. He never took his eyes off the small puffs of dust falling from the ceiling as the footsteps

approached the door in the hallway. Can I get the drop on the city, boys? Then I'll be fucking back to pick up where we left off. He said, coldly, I sat there not knowing who I wanted to win. Neither fate would be pleasant. With any luck, they'd all kill each other, and I'd die of dehydration. Much better. Tuck quietly opened up.

the hatch door and he sneaked out. I heard his boots on the dry sandy dirt as he jogged around the side of the ranch. I also heard the men upstairs trying the doorknob, and I began to whimper. Closing my eyes tight, I desperately tried to leave my own body. Start right there. Gazzas Day, please. Put your weapon down or will be forced to shoot you? An authoritative voice yelled. I looked up, hopefully, when suddenly light flooded the inside stairwell. Three KSP officers stormed down the stairs, weapons drawn. Holy shit, she's down here. Get a medic. One of them yelled. I looked at the men and just cried. I didn't know what else to do. Then, storming down the stairs, past the officers,

was James. He looked at me, his face, one of pure distress. Oh my, Ruth, he yelled. He ran back the stairs as quickly as possible, screaming for the medic to hurry up and to bring a blanket. He had enough respect for me to clear out the mail officers and allow the female paramedics to attend to me. As he was leaving the cellar, he said, You're safe now, Ruth. I'll be outside waiting for you. I didn't answer him.

I just continued to sob. Around an hour later, the medic brought me out. She cleaned my wound, which was completely superficial by all accounts. But she demanded I go to hospital to check her. for any infections, tests for HIV and hepatitis, and, most importantly, monitor my head injury. I had a rough day, and she didn't get any arguments from me. James was by the ambulance, pacing on hot coals, waiting for me to appear. When I dared, his face lit up. He was elated by the side of me walking, and also the fact I was smiling at him. Your friend is fine to ride in the

ambulance, she said with a cheeky smile. We had a deep conversation. about James and my feelings towards him while she stitched me up, mainly to take my mind off the pain. James thanked her, and he helped me inside. I laid back on the stretcher, while another EMT monitored my blood pressure and vitals. James held my hand and looked down at me.

He was holding back tears, I could tell. Well, you look like shit, I joked, attempting to lighten the mood. James chuckled. One day at a time, just like you said, he replied. and I smiled. Ruth, I'm so sorry.

I'll let you down. I should have been there. I should have... But I cut him off. If you were there, we'd both be dead. The only reason Tuck saved me is because he wanted me to himself. Hanson set us up.

He's... James cut me off now. I know. We found the car and the tracker. The fact Maggie Donner's parents live nowhere near Homewood and the tractor of the car, well, it was enough to convince the police chief that Hansen was dirty. They searched his office while he was out on a case.

They found a burner phone and a secret compartment in his desk drawer. It wasn't linked to anything, but it was enough to get a warrant to search his personal vehicle and his home. There they found money in his attic, over 12 burners, one of which made a call to a phone we found on one of the bodies that were in my car. He also found the GPS tracker on one of those men, too. He's in custody now of the station. So is Tuck. Real name, Thomas Danmore. James informed me. So what's the relation between Tuck and Hansen then? I asked, confused. There isn't one that we know of. My guess is Hansen's in bed with some bad people and he fixed it so their crimes look like another roadside slain. I guess you'll know more when KCPD speak with them, he presumed.

No, we should tell to them. I want to be. there. Look both them bastards in the eye, I said defiantly. My blood pressure is spiking. The EMT asked me to calm down. I complied. I'll see what I can do, but you have to promise me you'll stay in hospital until the dogs say you're fine to leave. Deal. James smiled. He turned and looked out of the window. James, one more thing. He looked down at me. Yeah. I grabbed his collar and pulled his face towards mine. We shared a kiss. I felt the warmth of his lips on mine,

the rough of his stubble against my contrasting soft skin, the chemistry bubbling over in our mouths. We parted. His eyes remained close for a few seconds, wondering where on earth that had come from. He opened them and eyed me curiously. Well, I'm sorry. I wanted to kiss the other night,

but I guess I was angry that I wanted to kiss the other night, but I guess I was angry that I wanted to. I still felt guilty about Quince. I took that out on you. If I hadn't, then you wouldn't have relapsed, I said, genuinely. James shook his head. You don't know that. You can't blame yourself.

I should have been stronger. Besides, like you said, it all worked out for the best. We'd be lightly rolled up in a rug somewhere if we were both there. James speculated. I took a moment to think. Last night you asked me if I believed in fate. I said no, but after today, I'm a believer. The chances of how today panned out well,

I'd like to see the bookmaker's odds on that. Oh, no, it's not even the craziest part. When I woke up, I read your note and charged my phone. First thing I saw was your voicemail. As soon as I heard that, I called a friend and got them to trace the call. They saw the call pinged off a cell tower around two miles from where we found the ambush site. As I was waiting for the police to pick me up, I got another call.

This was from an officer who was in that briefing you gave. They found a number of traffic cams where they saw a red four-by-four pickup leaving the scene of the Connie Matthew site. They tracked it traveling down Dwighty Eisenhower Highway, where the sighting stopped after the E-600 turnoff. That's the road that heads down to Clinton Lake. Divers have been searching that lake for the past few days. This morning they found three bodies. Two of them are male and a female, who'd be missing for nearly five years.

The other body they found was a highly decayed Jane Doe, but early DNA testing indicates the girl was between 19 and 21 when she died. She had a lot of injuries consistent with multiple acts of blunt force trauma, wrapped up in her top with a hammer. The DNA on the hammer matched the DNA of the Jane. However, that body was far too old to fit Danmore's timeline. but upon forensic examination in the other two bodies, well, those findings were heavily significant.

They were Haley Stanheld, along with her partner, Matt Bostock. James paused. Holy shit! The two who were going to Alaska right? Correct. Haley and Matt had been killed with a rifle, much like the one you said Danmore killed those men with. Both were in the trunk of their Honda accord at the bottom of the lake.

He went. went to great lengths to keep them hidden. James informed me. How old is Danmore? I queried. He's 18. You were right. Too young to have developed a record.

James revealed with a smirk. But that would mean he was between 13 and 14 when he committed a double murder. I surmised with a disturbed and confused tone to my voice. James simply shrugged. Yeah, it's fucked up, but not implausible. He knew her, after all. He knew her a car. Obviously, they were closely acquainted in some respects.

He could have found out her schedule, snuck out of the home, and followed her and her partner. After all, it was only a short drive from Clinton Lake to the home. Maybe he snuck into the back seat while they were out on a quiet road. In terms of the murder, he would have needed strength or power to kill the two adults, hence he used a rifle. Ballistics report showed the bodies were in the trunk when they were shot. So I bet Danmore forced the men at gunpoint. to make disposing of him much easier. All he had to do was shoot them, close the trunk, and push the car into the lake.

And as for his age of his age of 12. If these people are pushed earlier, then, well, they snap earlier. Just the way it is, unfortunately. James stated, with somber. Do you think Haley was the one who abused him? That's why he killed her? I asked. It makes sense, wouldn't it?

took a lot of premeditation and planning to execute the murder. Obviously needed a lot of hate for the motivation. I guess we'll find out when he talks. I nodded along at James' comments. So, who do I have to thank for me being alive? I asked. Officer Sarah Wilson. She found you fascinating, took notes of all your briefing. Especially where you said the unsub would have been adopted or abandoned.

Where the history of abuse. She said she started to look into Lawrence Home for Boys. She was practically threatened by Detective Hansen to stop wasting time and resources, looking into dead ends. Then upon the discovery of the bodies in Clinton Lake, she said Hanson took over the case almost immediately and forced her out. She knew something was up, so she kept digging. She found out that Haley worked before her disappearance,

the Lawrence Home for Boys. During her inquiries into the establishment, she was told off the record by a couple of staff members that it had numerous reports of sexual exploitation, but there'd never been any official investigation launched. Anyway, they checked the list of boys for someone matching our unsub's DNA profile description, and wouldn't you know, Thomas Danmore popped up on one of the matches.

She checked the vehicle registration of the 4-by-4 from the CCTV on the Connie Matthews murder, found it was listed under a Fred Mitchell. She dug deeper and found some records that showed, that Mr. Mitchell had passed away around a year ago of a stroke. Moore Diggins revealed that Fred Mitchell had a sister, Jane Danmore, and here was when it clicked. Danmore was granted early release from the home of the 16, as he was no longer considered homeless or dependent on the states. Because in that will, he was left the four-by-four pickup truck, and the deed to his uncle's pig farm. "'Pig!' I whispered out loud, remembering the word Bethany Matthews,

drew in the dirt. That's right. She wasn't accusing the police. She was either talking about what that sick fuck wore on his face, or she was trying to ride pig farm, but passed out before she could finish. James speculated. He continued. Then when we cross-reference the only known pig farm in that area, no more than a 60 to 90-minute drive to Kansas City, Manhattan, Topeka, Lawrence, Clinton Lake, well, it all made sense. When we were traveling down Highway 50, we arrived at the ambush site. Looking at the scene, finding the tracker in the bodies, we assumed you'd been taken, and we were too late. Then we got a report of a 911 call from a woman, calling from a number linked to a farm just outside Pornama, owned by Thomas Danmore. That's when we knew you were there.

James turned his palms up, as if to say, so there you have it. I don't believe it. Fate. I chuckled at how all the pieces suddenly fell into place. James chuckled too. Well, I can't fight fate. Her eyes met again and we shared another kiss, as the ambulance made its way to the hospital. Chapter 14. Three days had passed.

I'd been given a clean bill of health for the doctors and sent home with a few stitches and some kick-out pain killers. Myself and James were due to head back to Colorado and two. Texas, respectively, in one day. James had kept his promise to me, calling his friends in high places in the federal government to suggest it would be more appropriate for a third party to interview Hansen, given there's no way of knowing who else in the Kansas City PD may be dirty, in terms of Thomas Tug Dan Morrie would be highly beneficial for two highly trained criminal profilers

with experience interviewing dangerous psychopaths to have first crack at him. And we were due to interview both men today. We arrived at the Kansas City Police Headquarters, roughly just after 12.30 p.m. We walked through the entrance, pushing through the revolving door and made our way into reception. It was here. We were met with a thunderous applause. Desk workers, patrol cops, detectives and the chiefs, all of them were clapping with gratitude for my bravery in the face of death and my insights that had helped in catching one of the most dangerous men to ever roam the Kansas State highways. I couldn't help notice a few, however, weren't clapping.

They were either holding a cup of coffee or folding their arms, but they all had the same hateful scowl in common. I imagined these were the people who were in denial about Hansen's involvement with organized crime. I resented their stairs, but I respected their loyalty. On behalf of the people here and the law enforcement at the state of Kansas, we once again thank you for your assistance in bringing another vile offender into custody.

Not only did you give us the insights to crack the case, you showed the strength in the face of evil that makes every man in this room green with envy. Miss Ruth Maddock, everyone. The police chief then invited his colleagues to once again put their hands together in another show of gratitude towards me and James. Again, the majority complied,

but the others sulked off into the background to get on with their day. No, I was just doing my job. it should be me thanking all of you guys If you guys hadn't have done the work you did over the past few days Then Lord knows what would have happened to me

So honestly Thank you all My heartfulness must have been apparent Everyone smiled And some, mostly the women, shed a tear Right, back to it guys Thomas Danmore wasn't the first And he won't be the last

The police chief watched As his team turned and retreated to their desks in offices. He then turned back to me and James. So, Miss Maddock, which are these pricks do you want to to talk to first? The chief offered. I took a moment, but the truth is, I thought of nothing more than looking at that sadist fucker in the eye for days. Tuck, I need to confront him. Need to see him in the chair this time. It'll do me good, I told the chief. I noticed James gave me a concern look, As I caught him, he quickly addressed the chief. Ah, what's Hanson said?

Nothing much, but he does intend to plead guilty. Well, if what we have, a trial's a bad idea. His lawyer taught him the same, the chief said confidently. He won't do a day in prison, though. Not with what he knows. He's a goddamn goldmine, James suspected. And the police chief scoffed and nodded facetiously. "'There he is, except he's refused every deal he's been offered,' the chief revealed.

Well, James's eyes widened in shock, and so did mine, to be honest. But he's a cop facing prison. Not a good situation to be in. Why wouldn't he bargain for immunity?' I asked. The chief looked at the floor in deep thought and cocked his hat. Well, my guess is that the fear of informing on the people whose pocket he's in is much greater than the fear of going to prison, the chief speculated, a disturbing concept that had us all stood in silence.

He's due to be taken from our custody to the county jail in a couple of hours, so try to talk some sense from him to him, huh? The chief requested. We'll see what we can do, Chief, James promised. The Chief nodded with gratitude. He then turned and sighingled for an officer to come over. Hansen and Danmore in the interview rooms, the chief asked. The officer nodded and gestured for us to follow him. We were led down to a lower

floor under the police depot. A flight of steps led down to a single hallway. I couldn't help but get flashbacks to my visit with Robert Cassidy at the hole in Florence. This was nowhere near as intense, however, but the layout was eerily similar. The cells or cages, as I heard one of the officers call them, were on the left side of the corridor. The intercourse. The intercourse view rooms were on the right. We were led to the end of the hallway and the guard unlocked the last door. Give me a shout when you're done. I'll be right outside. Even any weapons, phones or anything sharp in this box, he told us. We thanked him, placed our phones, guns and pens into the box provided, and the guard opened the door. Thomas Danmore, aka Tuck, was sat minding his own business,

dipping a tea bag into his cup of hot water. His hands were chained to the desk. His waist shackled to the back of the chair. He looked quite content in all honesty. I walked in, strutting, he might say. I wanted him to see me how he did when I was in that chair, knowing now there was nothing he could do. But, honestly, it was taking everything inside me,

not just to cry on the spot. James pulled out a chair for me. Tuck's eyes flicked to him as he did this. I sat down and his eyes now fixated on me. He grinned. His cold eyes had glimps into the heartless, sadistic demon that lay beneath him. Well, Ruth, I almost didn't recognize you there for a second with your clothes on. His tone was snide in derogatory.

Funny, I didn't recognize you with all those chains on with no control over me. I snapped back, reminding him. who was on top now. His smirk weakened, ever so slightly. A small victory for me. How about we skip the formalities? You just tell me what the hell it is you both want. Because it ain't a confession you need,

I'm guessing you found all the evidence you needed in my house and truck. James nodded subtly, with a fair enough facial expression. Whilst James and me had been going through the evidence at the motel and chasing down Hanson's false leads over the past few days, another girl had gone missing. Twenty-one-year-old, Maisie Williams, was driving back from university to visit her parents in Overland Park.

Her car was found on the side of Highway 56, just outside Overbrook. The two front tires were burst. Forensics later determined it had been done by barbed wire. Forensics also found barbed wire in Tuck's barn with rubber fibres found on the metal, matching the tires of Massey's car.

I found her body, well, what was left of it anyway, wrapped up in a tarp in the back of the four-by-four. Post-arrest interview between Thomas Danmore, Special Agent James Rodriguez of the FBI and Professor Ruth Maddock from the University of Denmark. Interview commencing at 12.14 p.m., James said, after he pressed the record button on the machine. You're right. We're not here for the what or the when or the where. your farm-truck DNA in Clinton Lake is small enough to put you away until you're nothing but dust or worm food

no no Mr. Danmore what we're here for is the why why did you decide that one day you go on one of the most harrowing bloodthirsty killing sprees this state has ever seen hunting entrapping luring raping torturing

murdering all these beautiful young women in the prime of their life James's interrogation technique impress me, backing Tuck into a corner, letting him know that no matter what he said, his situation wouldn't change, right before requesting for his side of the story, a chance to explain himself or merely to brag about what he'd done. Why? Why?

Tuck scoffed. Because it didn't matter what I did, he added, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes. You know I heard the pathetic applause you got from down here. congratulations to the both of you. But listen, I may be off those lonely highways now, but there'll be someone else. After you catch them, another one will take over. I wasn't the first and I won't be the last, he declared.

So it sounds to me like you've encountered your own fair share of evil in this world, convincing you that you're either the prey or the hunter. Would that be fair? I asked. Tuck's head snapped to me. His gaze drilled into my soul for just a few seconds. Every question I asked was going to piss this guy off. A constant reminder that I got away and the tables had been turned. He had no control over me, as long as I didn't let him.

I met his gaze, and I stayed strong, like I knew I was. A few seconds later his eyes returned to a neutral stance between the two of us, aimed at the table. Yeah, you could say that, yeah, he muttered. the outstanding government-funded facility that helps unwanted children find a new loving home. The Lawrence home for boys, he added, a sarcastic tone to his voice. We prepared for this interview for the past two days, and the interview was heading precisely where we wanted it to. Tell me about Haley Stanheld.

Did she do something to you while she worked at the home? Did she abuse you? James probed. Talk shook his head and disgust and disapproval. "'Hell no. He was the man. The man came and they did what they wanted, to who they wanted,' Tuck revealed. James and I shared an intrigued glance. "'Sorry? What man? You mean the male staff?' I asked. "'A-uh,' Tuck grunted, shaking his head. "'Visitors. A lot of the staff were definitely

"'either turning a blind eye to it, or most likely they were fucking in on it.' "'Tuck kissed his teeth in resentment. "'They said they were special visitors. "'People who could just help us get jobs and whatnot when we left. "'But we had to do everything they asked. "'Everything.' "'Tuck cocked his head as he emphasized that last word. "'And who were these people?

"'Do you ever get any names?' James asked. "'Yeah, but it was always something real generic "'and made up like Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones. "'Ward, usually, middle-aged, all shapes, all sizes.' "'Did you ever tell anyone?' I asked, "'trying not to show a hint of sympathy in my voice. "'I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "'Not me, others did, though.

"'Told some of the staff, and they reported it to the governor.' "'And?' "'Well, those boys miraculously found love and families a few days later. "'Came to the home and said, "'We'll take him,' Tuck exclaimed. theatrically. I don't understand. Isn't that a good thing?

I asked, a little confused. Tuck scoffed. Let's just say the families who came to collect them weren't families. In fact, they were always men. Man who looked just as wrong on us all those special visitors who came to see us. Tuck's eyes were trying to guide us onto this train of fault. So, um, what happened to them, in your opinion? James asked.

I don't know. You tell me, you're the fancy federal agents. All I know is that the ones who got lucky, well, real families turned up for those kids. Dad weren't his nice Sunday best. Mom, the whole I cook pancakes for breakfast every day thing going on. They always had that Flanders vibe to them, you know. But the ones who try to speak up, they always went to the man, three or four of them usually. Thanks cold, hard faces. How to hint a sunshine between them? now I ain't stupid I learned real quick to keep my mouth shut unless Mr. Smith was telling me to open it nice and wide well we gulped James looked at me a while back I told him this job was depressing

because it showed me that evil creates evil which creates evil and the chain never stops what tuck was telling us right now only confirmed that oh haley was one of the good ones she used to look after us As she could, anyway. One day I came to her with an injury. Bad anal tear, wouldn't stop bleeding.

Told her what had happened, and she took pictures, for evidence and all that. Told me that she was going to the police. Went to this station and found a report, apparently. Nothing ever happened, though. No one ever wanted to talk to me. She left a few days later. Told us she was gone on vacation, but she never returned. We was all angry.

I was angry. She fucking lied to me. The police never did shit, neither did she. Tuck folded his arms and looked away in disgust. James's face began to contort, and mine followed suit. Something about what Tuck was saying didn't fit, and I shook away my puzzlement. So, hold on, is that why you killed her, because she lied to you? I asked, hoping he'd clarify things.

What happened next? Shocked us both. Tuck's face began to contort and actually matched ours. She's dead? Tuck gasped. Well, me and James were gobsmacked by his reaction. We'd planned this interview for days, and right now we had no idea where the hell to go with it.

James pulled himself together and broke the ice. Yeah, we found her at the bottom of Clinton Lake with her boyfriend. Both have been beaten and tortured, and then executed with a gunshot to the back of her head. stuffed in the back of her car and dumped in the lake. In fact, that's how we found you. Her employment in the home led us to you. We also found a couple of other bodies down there.

Remains looked too old to fit your timeline up. James laid out the findings, waiting for Tuck's input. And Tuck began to chuckle. There you go, you see. I was wondering why you two brought up Clinton Lake earlier, because I ain't never dumped shit in Clinton fucking Lake, he stated. The gravity of what he just told us shook us to our core. So if you didn't kill Haley,

and who was your first human kill? I asked. Ah, just some girl, broke down on Highway 68 just outside Ottawa. Student, she said. She flagged me down. I don't know what made me do it, but I thought she was pretty. Decided to make a move and make a pass at her. She slapped me, turned me down. I didn't like that.

I'd already been taking my anger out on my uncle's pit. pigs. Seeing what made them squeal the loudest. It made me happy for a change, but soon I ran out of pigs. I was heading to the cattle market one day when I came across her. Susie was her name. I just decided to find out what the real thing felt like. When from there, I guess. She's buried under the barn in case you didn't already know. A girl named Connie was a second. Came across her a broken-down jeep on Highway 70 near the gun club. Ah, she, oh, she, oh, she. She was a smart girl and a fighter too. Didn't fall for the whole,

I'll give you a ride to the nearest gas station routine. It made me chase her. Had to do her right there in the field. Luckily, I had my tools with me. It was early in the morning, so it was quiet. No one heard her scream. Thought she'd given up. Bringing her back to the farm to bury her and all,

when she made a run for it. I whacked her good with my wrench. I seemed to do the trick. I was dragging her back to the vehicle and I saw a few curtains twitching. Didn't have my mask, so I just had to split. After I left her, I didn't get caught, I started to like it. It made me feel invincible, you know.

Tuck explained, nonchalantly. But traffic cameras showed your vehicle traveling fast, heading in the direction of Clinton Lake, shortly after leaving Connie outside those flats. You turned on to the E-600, I counted. Hell yeah. Didn't know who called Watt in. Could have seen my truck.

Cops could be on their way. I needed to put some distance between me and whoever might be on my ass. I just thought cutting through Conwalka would be better and quieter. Less eyes than Lawrence. Besides, I have to avoid that place like the played even on a normal day, as I'm sure you can imagine. Come on, think about it. Why would I even go to Clinton Lake?

I didn't have the body anymore. We made a good point. Suddenly we didn't give two shits about Tuck's. anymore we really wanted to know the what or more accurately what not tell me something to the name's juliet night maggie darner and jessica price mean anything to you i asked and tuck looked at me and shook his head no who are they friends of yours he scoffed i didn't think so i muttered sweeping my hair back in a flustered manner James pressed on, though, getting Tuck's attention. Mr. Danmore, these men the ones who came to the home.

You must remember them. Details about their appearances. James pressed. The Tuck shrugged his shoulders before nodding. You don't forget people do the things to you that they did to me. No, you don't, he said, pretty sure of himself. Listen, I'm not going to sit here and spin you some pipe dream by saying you could avoid prison, Mr. Danmore.

It's clear you have to be off the streets. There's another case in the works, a series of incidents and deaths linked to a corrupt detective, as well as those men that attacked Miss Maddock on Highway 50. If Haley Stan Hell complained to Kansas State Police about a child prostitution ring at Lawrence, and the next thing she turns up dead, well, there's a huge chance you could be a witness

for the prosecution in the case of her murder. You could get a pretty decent deal out of this. maybe even a minimum security hospital, trial bases, of course. Does that sound like something you go for? There's a guy in the next room who's in just as much shit as you right now. You could both help us get the people behind this. James sold it well. Tuck seemed to nod along.

Okay, Mr. Fad, you talk to my lawyer. I'll give them what I know. I'll think about what I want out of this. Tuck lent back in his chair. A smug look on his face. Well, we nodded. We'll be in touch, we said, climbing out of our seats. The interview terminated at 12.35 p.m., James stated, before shutting off the tape.

Well, don't take too long. Holly my ass out to county today. I don't want to be sat in some 8 by 9 with some wet back named Pedro any longer than I need to be. Cushy hospital gig sounds real nice now you mention it. He smirked as James band on the room door. A seconds later, the guard let us out. We stood in the hallway, waiting for the guard to unlock Hanson's interview room. It's all starting to make sense now.

When I read the post-modern report on Haley, no signs of sexual assault, and shot in the back of the head. Not like a serial killer at all. He'd want to violate her and look her in the eyes when she died. No, they were executed. She knew too much. I hypothesized, and James nodded in agreement.

So, what do we have? An organized crime group dealing in sexual exploitation of women and children? Not to mention ambushes, attempted murder. Murder, conspiracy to commit rape. James reeled off the list. You think the gang behind Lawrence Hong for Boys and Haley Stan Hell's murder, and the same gang behind the ambush on us, and the murders of Juliet night, Maggie Donner, and Jessica Price?

I asked. "'Well, I guess there's one way to find out,' James said, as he entered the interview room with me right behind him. Chapter 15 Detective Hanson was the total opposite of Thomas Danmore. Neither man had requested the presence of a lawyer for these conversations, but Hansen still had a few favours here in the KCPD. He wasn't changed at the desk.

His coffee looked hotter, and there was a half-eaten bagel on the table too. He wasn't sat down minding his own business. He was pacing, crawling the walls. Clearly the idea of going to prison was getting to him, being a cop and everything. James pressed the red button on the tape recorder. Interview with Mark Hanson. Please, Mr. Hansen, take a seat. James said, gesturing towards the other side of the table.

That's Detective Hanson, he snapped back, demanding respect. It came across more like denial, though. I shook my head in disgust and squinted my eyes at his comment. Not anymore. You gave up that title when you colluded with organized criminals. To not only knowingly mislead our inquiry for weeks, but to conspire in murdering us both. You're so far from being a protecting and serving member of law enforcement right now. But you can be something else.

Something that helps you and your family. Well, my pitch was cut short by Hansen pounding his fists into the table. I am not ratting. His eyes were wild, full of fear. He had that look for a few seconds before, looking away in defeat. Not on these people, he muttered. You have a wife and two kids, detective. You're the sole breadwinner.

You think they can manage with you in jail. James attempted to reason. And Hansen scoffed and shook his head. I am thinking of my wife and kids, Special Agent Rodriguez. You don't know what I know. Tell us who they are, everything you know, and we could give you immunity and protection for your family, James assured him. Hanson shared a single tear.

It was obvious he wanted to stay out of prison, but the fear in him was palpable. When it comes to them, there's no such thing as protection. protection and immunity. He rode his eyes in defeat and sighed with a hint of acceptance to his situation. He hung his head and stared at the floor. James and I turned to look at each other. Neither of us had anything to add. James nodded in defeat. Okay, that concludes this interview. Sorry you feel this way, Mr. Hanson. County Transport will be here to take you into their custody shortly. James hit the stop button on the recorder and we started to get up.

Wait! Hansen's head lifted up to meet our gaze. James reached out to restart the recording, but Hansen grabbed his arm. No, leave it off, he demanded. Hansen then released his grip. He and James relaxed back into their chairs. I ain't going on record, he stated unequivocally. James held his hand up and nodded. I'm not a bad guy.

I just didn't have a choice, Hanson swore. I couldn't help but notice it was as a completely different person than the one I dealt with for the past two weeks. The arrogant stressed out front had gone. He was vulnerable now, completely congruent. We all have a choice, detective. James responded. I made one mistake, one.

and they've had me ever since. Hanson hung his head in shame. James and I shot him a confused look. Mistake. What mistake? I probed. Hanson looked up, tears running down his face. A long time ago, back on us just a uni. Me and my wife, we were having issues. Issues?

Yeah, she'd just given birth to the twins. I was working long hours, stressed about money, stressed at work, and then coming home too well, let's just say we lost the sanctity of our marriage pretty goddamn fast. Hansen explained. James gave a nod of empathy in response. So what did you do? There's some mistake that you're talking about. Hansen turned to look at me when I asked the question, but he made sure to avoid my gaze when he answered. I was just meant to be just one time. Just wanted to blow off some steam.

Satisfy my urges. Just one time. It's all it was meant to be. Hansen tailed off in a shameful sob. We didn't bother asking what. It was painfully clear. Her name was Cindy. She was beautiful.

It wasn't like the other prostitutes I'd met. She was nice. Got to a point where I just wanted to see you every night, but, well, prostitutes cost money, money I didn't have. Someone found out and blackmailed you with the affair, James presumed. Handsome bit his lip and shook his head. God, I wish that was the case, he sighed. We sat back and allowed him to continue.

One night, about five years ago, back when I was just an officer, we were raiding the house in Victory Hills. We had a tip of being suspected stash house, I mean a few other officers kicked the door and arrested five males and two females. Three of the officers had them pinned down. It was up to me and one other man to search the premises. He found around nine kilos of heroin and seven kilos of cocaine. Me? Well, I found a compartment in the bedroom.

And it was around $134,000, all in $50,000 bills. But if you check the evidence logs from that night, you'll find that only 120,000 was seized. Hansen let his confession sink in. Me and James rolled our eyes and shook our head in disappointment. 14,000 had to pay off a lot of bills, Hansen stated, justifying his actions. A lot more meetings with Cindy, James added, and Hansen nodded. Two months later, I took a drive into the city looking for Cindy.

I went to her usual spot, but she wasn't there. I asked around, but everyone said they hadn't seen her in days. Hanson was holding back his emotions, as he spoke. A few days later, I was at home. My day off and my wife, she'd taken the twins out for a walk. A knock at my door, I answered. An independent courier handed me a package. I found it strange because he didn't ask me to sign anything,

and I hadn't ordered anything. I opened the package, and inside there was an unregistered cell phone and a USB pen. The vacant and disturbed look on Hansen's face evidenced his trauma inflicted by this event. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. I plugged the pen into my laptop. There were four files on the stick. All but one were video files. I had no idea what they were, because all the video thumbnails were just black screens.

I double-clicked on the first one. Video began. The screen was black for a few seconds until someone who was covering the camera stepped a few feet forward and then stepped aside. Video showed a room. A warehouse or industrial building or something. I don't know where, but, well, there was a girl hanging from the ceiling by her wrists, chained up like a pinata. Her mouth was ticked, feet two. He swung his head, sucked in his own lips, trying to hold back more tin.

tears. It was Cindy. A four men stood around her watching her kicking and screaming. He added, the tears had broken through now. Who were these men? What do they look like? James asked. I don't know. wore balaclavas and ski masks. He was sobbing now, before continuing. They had bats and hammers, and they all took turns until she stopped moving. They were brutal. His speech was nothing more than a whimper at this point. I'm sorry, Detective, I said sincerely. I didn't agree with his decisions, but he clearly cared for this girl, even if he was just

a customer to her. Our video went on for a little longer, showing the man wrapping her up in a tarp, along with one of the hammers they used. I never knew what they did with her until those bodies turned up at Clinton Lake. So that's who the Jane Doys, James asked, why died? Yeah, Hanson answered softly. I gestured for him to carry on. The video ended as they were loading the top into the back of a van.

Played the next video. This began in a similar fashion, someone covering the lens until they took their finger away. The camera was a P-O-V, and whoever was making the video, it was in my backyard. I watched as they finagled their way into my garage, took a hammer from the toolbox. The video ended there. Went down to my garage and lo and behold, I was missing a hammer. Hansen was now frustrated rather than upset.

A third video again, lens covered, till a man leant back away from the lens. He was wearing a balaclava and he used a voice distora. I'll never forget those cold dark eyes. old dark eyes. He was in a room like a back office sort of place. Nothing identifying anyway. God, I'll remember his words till the day I die. He said, Officer Hansen, I hope you enjoyed our money that you stole from us. Now, as you stole from us, you now owe us. I'm sure you've watched our little movie. Your bi-weekly 60-minute bumps with little Cindy are over now. We've into that. In the box we've provided you with a burner. You'll receive a new one every week on

your day off when your wife leaves the house. Burn the old sim as soon as you receive the new one. You see, in how a line of work it pays to have people in blue tipping the scales right aside. If you play ball, not only will your life be very comfortable, but your career will grow as well. And if you don't, well, the police will receive an anonymous tip as to where to find Cindy's body. They'll find her face and body smashed to pieces, the hammer that was used to do it, and most importantly, your seaman inside her. Or not to mention the countless witnesses who've seen her get into your car and enter your motel room every Tuesday and Friday night for the past five months. Not only that, but you'll have motive, too, trying to hide a dirty

affair from your wife. Motif means opportunity, DNA. We're a cop, so I'm sure you know how cut and dry that investigation would be, don't you? And speaking of, I wonder what prison would be like for a cop. Can't be pleasant. And while you're inside, I'll make sure you're treated accordingly, and on the outside, I'll make sure my boy sneak into your house in the dead of night and treat your wife and baby twins in the very same way. Think it over. The decision is yours, Officer Hanson. The video ended there. The last line was a foreman. order icon. I double-clicked it. It opened the fire which was some sort of bespoke virus software because it just erased my hard drive and everything on the USB. So I have no proof that I'm being

blackmailed now either. Anyway, got my first phone call three days later. Hansen pinched his nose in exhaustion. He'd been carrying this for a long time. What did they ask you to do? James asked. Hansen shrugged and shook his head. Well, nothing much at first. I was only an officer at this point. They'd give me tips, rival gangs usually. Fronts for money laundering operations, moustache houses, brothels, you name it. I think they were expanding their territory.

Anyway, the man was right about my career. Round a year later, Detective Morrow, K.C. homicide. He went missing, left a note saying he was sick of the job, sick of his life. going to live out his days in Alaska. Or days after they announced he'd left the station, got a call on my burner. They told me to apply for the detective position. I complied, and, well, a week later, I was the new homicide detective for the Kansas City PD. It was like there was no competition.

Even though I knew five other guys who'd applied for that position, some way more qualified than me, too. Well, that's when they started asking for bigger things from me. So, um, hold on. Things you're saying here, detective. You're implying that there are others in positions of power and influence in the KCPD. Others like you. Hansen chuckled and scoffed at James's naivety. Politicians, councilmen, senators. Yep, cops. Come on, agent. What do you think was going to happen after you put the swarm away? They left a lot of real estate behind. Surely you didn't think someone. when it wouldn't just move in, did you? A lot of powerful and dangerous people's wallet started to get a little tight, so, yeah, Agent, I'm not no rotten apple.

It's the fucking tree that's a problem. Hanson stared at us intently. I think that's how they knew I took the money in the first place. So, you know, I can't rat. My family will be dead within the hour. He hung his head then in reluctant acceptance. I have a question, I stated. Hanson gestured for me to go ahead.

What do you know about the Lawrence home for boys? You were awful defensive about it back at my briefing. In fact, you made a point of directing me away from it as a line of inquiry. Not only that, but you also put considerable pressure on Officer Wilson to drop her investigation into the home. What's going on there, detective? My eyes widened, my tone gentle. I wanted him to tell me. Hansen was struggling.

He clearly felt disgusted by even being associated with this. Do you know how much money a large organization makes from drugs in a year? Around 1.2 billion, give or take. Do you know how much they make from guns? About 45 million. But the real niche, the one nobody wants to admit, is that the real money is in care. The people who want to indulge in their sick and twisted fetishes, with no chance they'll tell anyone,

or those people will pay a fucking shitload of money to do so. And the people who I work for, they are protected at all costs. I was honestly just trying to protect Sarah. And these people they... He hesitated. They are ruthless and callous. I had no choice but to do what they asked me. James and I remain quiet for a few seconds, allowing Hansen to collect himself, asked too.

What did they ask you to do, Detective? James asked, concerned. Got a call around four years back on the burner. Probably close to five years, actually. One of the first things they asked me to do as a detective. They told me that someone was talking about the home. They instructed me to go speak to her and find out what she knew. If it was too much, then I had to put it.

something on her car. The tracker? James ventured. Yeah. Went up to her house. Lyd and told her I was from Vice and a liaison for the CPS. Took a statement. I could barely look her in the eye when she told me names, dates, times, descriptions.

She even had a fucking photo of a young boy. And in that moment, I knew I had to do what I had to do. Just looking at that photo. I knew if I didn't do what they asked. I could be getting sent a photo. just like that of my twins. So I did it. Left the house, and I stuck the tracker

under the right wheel arch. The rest, well, had nothing to do with it. Next time I saw her was when I was hauling her car out of Clinton Lake four days ago. Hanson hung his head again in guilt. Under the right wheel arch,

just like you did with me. My turn was edgy and my eyes were narrowed in revulsion. You were getting too close. They wanted you out of the way. I was just thinking of my... Yeah, you're family. Yeah, you keep using that excuse, I snapped.

Hanson didn't argue back. He just avoided my gaze. What were we getting close to? Where do Maggie Darner and Jessica Price and Juliet and I fit into all this? But as we talked to Thomas Danmore, he says he's never heard of them, let alone murdered them. James asked. He took over the questioning, seeing how agitated I was getting at Hansen's self-pity over my kidnapping attempt.

Don't know. All I know is that they were murdered, and they told me they needed to be covered up. I was the lead detective on the roadside murders. I suggested we could tie them to those murders. Didn't know it would all lead back to Lawrence. They told me the girls would be full of DNA from multiple people, all of which my employers didn't want found. So, yeah, I advised them to...

He began to trail off, unable to finish the sentence. I told him to destroy her reproductive organs, make it hard to extract any DNA. Hanson was ashamed of himself. His whole body language made that abundantly clear. Well, James and I tried to remain professional. Thomas Danmore was a sick and depraved human being, but he was abandoned by people who were supposed to love us unconditionally.

before being systematically abused and raped by people who were meant to care for him. It didn't excuse what he did, but violence and hate was all he knew. He was compelled. But the people who were blackmailing Hansen did it all for power and money, and people like that are much, much worse. James' face flinched as something came to him. Who's Pablo? he asked, curiously. Hansen looked at him, puzzled.

I don't know. Go on, detective, this is off the record. Tell us, James Bushed. Hansen had a blank expression whilst he shook his head rapidly. I'm telling the truth, I honestly don't know, he pleaded. I slammed the tip of my finger on the desk to get the attention of Hansen. We spoke to Jessica Price's friend. She said just before her death that she met a man. They were in a relationship with some sort.

said he was young, attractive, charming and wealthy, and his name was Pablo. Apparently he used to take her into the city on dates and nights out. When she died, he didn't even come to the funeral. We think he may have had something to do with her death. Maybe Maggie Donna and Juliet night, too, I explained sternly. Hanson took a moment to himself, staring at nowhere in particular. He seemed to be mulling over what we told him. His eyes widened in a moment of a moment of really.

realization. He exiled in a sort of scoff. Pablo, isn't a person, he's an entity, Hansen stated with a confident nod to himself. An entity? Like a ghost? James asked. Hansen shook his head. Well, not in the way most people think of a ghost, but essentially, yeah, Pablo will be an alias for a pseudonym. I don't get to know the ins and outs of these people's business and how they work, I've seen enough, given the things I've had to do and clean up. Night, Price, and Darner, they're all young, attractive girls from damaged homes, easy to manipulate and let astray.

These Pablo's, likely target these girls, who are looking to escape their lives, and they woo them with money, cars, and booze. Them, before they know it, they're being sold to the highest bidder, or worse. Worse, James Proved. Come on, Agent. I saw that documentary on the swamp. You know how much revenue there is in human traffic in in the dark web. Torture, gang rape, murder.

Don't see why these people aren't capitalizing on that open market now. They were clear that the DNA in these victims could never see the lighter day. They were more threatening than usual. Passing them off as Dan Moore's victims seemed the easiest way. I'm guessing whichever sickos had their private parties with these three were very, very important people. What I don't understand is how the fact the mutilation occurred post-mortem wasn't picked up by the coroner. I quizzed. Hanson shot me a look.

Let's just say he got his own little package in the mail. I hung my head and shook it in dismay. But the bodies were found in three different counties. You saying they blackmailed them all? James asked, confused. Hanson shook his head. Just the one. Then people in high places made sure he was the one on call that night.

You have no idea the reach and power of these people. You're in over your heads, he warned us. Yeah, well, it's our job, unfortunately, so maybe you can fill in some other gaps for me. What happened to Officer Jim Knight? Apparently he died of a suicide because he couldn't handle what happened to his daughter. I'm inclined to think that wasn't the case now. James asked, suspiciously. His arms folded as he leant back in his chair.

Hanson could barely keep eye contact. He, um, I just wouldn't let go. He was with me when we officially found the body. Well, he was distraught, obviously. Being a grieving father is one thing, but being a father of your only daughter whose mother died, then you throw him being a cup, and you have a hungry dog with a big, juicy bone.

It was looking into Juliet's friends, her acquaintances, her movements before her disappearance. Well, now you mention it, he did come to me and talk of a man she was seeing. He said he'd picked her up from the house a few times, but none of her friends had ever met him. This was likely Pablo, too, or another one of his men. Oh, he just kept pushing, bringing me evidence to go over. He started telling me I wasn't doing my job properly, and he was going to go over my head. Well, I had to make the call.

To protect my... Oh, don't even say it. I cut Hansen off sharply. You had him fucking murdered. Blackmail or not, you had a fellow officer killed and made it look like suicide. Hanson began to cry. But my sympathy was gone for him. There was a point where we all thought he was going to make it.

Next minute he's having a cardiac arrest. It wouldn't surprise me if they sent someone to the hospital to finish the job, Hanson said thoughtfully. Is that what happened to Jessica Price's father? the other two. Guy had been clean for a year, then all of a sudden he injects himself with enough herring to kill a horse. Apparently, I demanded to know. Hanson shook his head. I have no idea. I swear to God, but if he was going around the city asking too many questions, and I have no doubt they would have fixed him. Hanson had a disturbed look on his face, once he'd finished talking, as if something had just come into his head.

"'What?' James asked him. "'You called the station, didn't you, requesting to talk to me about those murders?' "'Yeah, that's right. "'I got a package that night. "'There's another burner and another tracker.' "'The call came through in the morning. "'They said if you guys asked any questions about the girls or the families, then "'I had to put the tracker on your car so they could keep an eye on you.

"'They didn't tell me anything else, I swear. "'If they were so worried about you, told you, talking to people about the girls and their families, then, yeah, maybe they did have something to do with that after all. Jeez, I muttered, shaking my head. Did you tell anyone that we requested a meeting with you regarding the cases? James inquired. No, I had no idea until they called on the burner the next morning, Hansen assured us.

So, if anything, that simply further confirms that there are others in the KCPD or in bed with these people. James speculated, and Hansa nodded his head in disturbed agreement. Before you ask, I have no idea where the Dana family are. After you called me, when you'd been up in Lexington, I didn't know what to do, so I called the number back on the burner. Told me you were pressuring me for an updated address. They didn't say a word. They just hung up. Then a couple hours later, I got a text with the address in the homeward. They told me to send it to you. You have to believe me, they never told me what they were going to do. His eyes began to flow again as he reached across the table, his hands in a pleading prayer.

I lunged them away. I didn't want him to touch me. Don't give me this shit. Maggie Donna, Jessica Price, Juliet Knight, Jim Knight, Cindy, Alan Price, all these people dead because they asked too many questions. What the fuck did you think they were going to do? Don't play ignorant or innocent. It doesn't suit you. I yelled in his face. I completely lost it. Hansen recoiled in his chair in a fit of shame. His head fell into his hands and he began to sob. Sure, you don't want to go on the record, Detective Hanson? James asked one more time. Hansen just shook his head and through his hands in a muffled voice simply said, I can't. I'm sorry. Detective Hansen, if you you don't talk to us on the record, we can't protect you or your family.

We can't control what happens to you in prison, James reiterated. Hanson removed his hands from his face. His cheeks were red and flustered, his skin moist from the tears. No, I've done a lot for them. If I got to prison, then they'll know I didn't talk. They'll respect that, I know it, he said in an almost delusional stutter. I scoffed before shaking my head at him. wearing a baffled smirk.

A cup in prison. You aren't last a day. These people will know that. How long before they decide you're not worth gambling on, now that you're no longer any use of them? I tried to get through to him, but it was no use. He just put his head back in his hands and sobbed. Oh, good-bye, detective.

I hope you've made the right decision, James said, genuinely and professionally. We knocked on the door, and the guard let us out. Chapter 60. We made our way out of the basement floor and up to the main sector of the depot. As we were ascending in the elevator,

I saw James was looking at me, concerned. I'm okay, I assured him. Sure, because you got pretty heated in there. Even more heated than with the guy you had you tied to a chair about to impale you with a rusty stool. Why? James queried. I took a moment of self-exploration, considering James's question. Remember when I told you that sometimes I was tired of this job?

Because it just shows me how much violence is in the world. I do. Well, I think the most depressing thing is the fact that evil breeds evil. Robert Cassidy, he was beaten and raped by his father, who was likely abused by his own. Todd gets abused by the VIPs at Lawrence, goes on to kill seven people, that we know of.

I think the reason I got so upset with Hansen is because he's protecting the sort of people who aren't just part of that chain. They likely started it. They don't rape or kill out of compulsion or psychological drive. They do it to protect their wallets. I don't know, it's just...

That's worse somehow. I finished my explanation just as the elevator reached its destination. James didn't respond. He just placed a soft hand on my shoulder and smiled. We walked out into the main reception area. The chief spotted us and quickly rushed over. Hey, did he talk?

He asked desperately. I was just about to say, not on the record, when James cut me off after not. Not a word, chief. We sat in there for 30 minutes nearly, begging him to make a statement. But he wouldn't even let us leave the tape on. I didn't say anything.

I continued to let James. do all the talking. Ah, God damn, without his testimony, I have to take those three murders off the solve list. It's going to kill our stats for the quarter. The chief shook his head in disappointment. I had to stop myself doing the same. All these chiefs, all they care about is nothing except their image.

The county jail transport will be here soon, so I better make sure they get the paperwork done, the chief said, before walking off. I waited until he was out of earshot before I turned to James and asked him. You don't trust him, do you? James shrugged. I don't trust anyone in here anymore. They clearly had people on the force before Hansen,

so that's how they knew he took the money. Also, it takes people in high places to fast-track a promotion to detective. I'm just saying we have to be careful what we say to people. Agreed, I replied. The prison transport, Sport arrived around 30 minutes later. A blacked-out minibus rolled up outside the depot around 1.15pm. Four-armed men wearing body armour and donning dark helmets with blacked-out visors climbed

out. They were sporting semi-automatic rifles. Clearly no chances being taken. The entire department were out of their seats. Some were on the ground floor with me, James and the chief. Others looked down from the second floor balcony. When Dan Mo was being let out in chains, the entire department watched him loaded into the van with smirks on their faces.

Some couldn't back whistling the tune to, Hey, Hey, Hey, Goodbye. Dan Maud turned to me and James just before he was pushed into his chair and shouted, Don't leave me hanging now. Some of the officers gave us a few dirty looks. They judged us like, how dare we make a deal with this animal? However, when Hanson was being let out in the same manner, there was still the minority that didn't even stay to watch and instead had stormed off, muttering under their breath.

But the majority stayed, shaking their heads, some even going as far as to try to spit on him as he passed. He was aggressively loaded into his seat by one of the guards as another sign for the prisoners, officially taking them into their custody. Shortly after, all the men jumped in the van and headed to the county jail. The crowd dispersed and everyone went back. to their jobs. James began ushering me over to a desk in the corner of the floor. Here, I want you to meet the woman who saved your life. As I approached the desk, a uniformed

female stood up and gracefully shook my hand with enthusiasm. Oh, hi ma'am, my name's Sarah Wilson. Can I just say that I've admired your work ever since I heard about Frank Adams and Jim Miller. I want to be a detective one day so that I can investigate serial killers like you. Hey, maybe one day we could work a case together. Well, I smiled at her enthusiasm. I'd like that, I replied, honestly, with a friendly smile. I also told her that I admired her work on the case, given how it would save my life and everything.

We sat and talked about old cases, criminology and academic advancement. She was a lovely woman, and I'd definitely love to work a case with her in the future, and I hope that happens. moments later however the entire depot came to a stunned silence as another minibus turned up outside the depot and another guard walked into the front desk this man did not have the visored helmet none of them did the police captain the chief myself and james all rushed over to the front desk to ask what was going on the man said the following hey uh sorry we're late we were heading to the depot on interstate 71 when we were held up by a roll block "'Some asshole had broken down in the middle of the road.

"'I mean, how does that even happen? "'Anyway, we got out and helped him move his car out the way, "'but it held us up around fifteen minutes. "'Hey, hey, uh, the prisoners ready, then?' "'The guard looked at us, wanting an answer. "'But all he received was a silent group of confused and disturbed faces. "'Eppelock. Three weeks passed since that day. "'I returned to my permanent station at the university

and got on with my own life for a while. James stayed back in K.C. While his buddies from the FBI came down to investigate what had happened that day at the depot. I only had contact via a few texts from him until one night I got a call from James, telling me he was back from KC and he was in Denver and asked me if I wanted to meet him for dinner, his treat, of course. I agreed as I was excited to see him again. We had much to talk about.

Well, James looked good. as good as I'd ever seen him. This was the man Quince and Boggins used to talk about. He didn't even look this good on the Netflix documentary, which I just had to watch. His skin looked fresh,

his hair shaped, his palm steady. He'd kept his promise to me and stayed dry. I told him he looked well, and he replied with, You don't look so bad yourself, Miss Maddock. We linked arms as we headed into the restaurant. We had wine and food, we laughed, flirted, and just had a magical evening.

It was so nice to see what life can be about for a change. Instead of so much rape, torture and murder. James also seemed much more in control. I was a little against him sharing the wine with me, but he insisted. He had the one glass of red and didn't look like he was aching for more. He truly turned a corner, clearly. He told me that was down to me, and that made my night. We were halfway through our main course when I asked the burning question.

So, what's the situation in Kansas City? James finished the last mouthful of peppercorn sirloin that he was currently chewing. Well, they found the van just off East Truman Road on Blue Ridge Boulevard. It was in the middle of a field, 200 yards off the road, completely torched. Hanson and Dammo's remains were inside when we got there. Post-Morren revealed they had no fatal injuries. but they had injuries consistent with a beating. They were alive in the van when it was set alight, James explained professionally.

Oh, Jesus, I muttered. I know, but given the circumstances, it's clear they knew when the prison transport was coming. They knew that either Dan Moore was going to talk about the abuse at Lawrence, or he was just collateral damage for Hanson. Either way, it shows they had access to inside information. so I passed on what Hansen confessed off the record to the deputy director and the governors of Kansas and Missouri both been up for re-election next year and both of them are promising the public

that they are going to wage war on organized crime and corruption in public office an official yet covert investigation has been open in regards to our allegations the governor's requested to the director of the FBI himself that he helped them clean up their cities They've sanctioned a six-week task force. It's set to deploy in four weeks. The brief is to conduct a thorough investigation

of the Kansas City Police Depot and other public offices under suspicion in order to establish high-level links between corrupt officials and organized criminals. James explained. That's great. Something needs to be done, I agreed. Then a curiosity came over me.

Hey, um, why you were down there? Did you ever hear what happened to Officer Stevenson? I asked. It had planned on my mind since I saw that jar. Officially or, um, unofficially, James asked, his eyes somber. Officially, I asked for first. Well, officially he just decided to drive his car out in the middle of Independence, Missouri, and hang himself from a tree.

James said, a hint of sarcasm to his voice. What? Um, unofficially. Well, given the tree that they found in him was no more than 300 yards from where, we found the van with Hansen and Danmore inside. I'd say that's significant. I mean, it's quiet. Not a lot of cars drive past there.

Perfect place if you don't want any witnesses. Not only that, but his car had a shallow dent in the passenger side. Maybe from where he was run off the road. Maybe it was a lure to get him to exit the vehicle. Like to exchange insurance information. Well, anyway, because the family were taking some time, gathering the funds for a funeral, I was able to look at the body.

Let me tell you, I've seen enough murder victims in my time to notice some subtle defense wounds on the hands and knuckles when I see them. He took a final sip of his wine. But, hey, the coroner ruled it as suicide. But the more I think of it makes a lot of sense, because I really don't think it's a coincidence we found the body all within 40 miles of the other Missouri deaths. Plus, it's the same coroner who examined the Knight, Price and Donna murders. Thomas Campbell from Jackson County. James said, shaking his head. You're right.

That's why they dumped the bodies where they did, so they could use their influence and could control which coroner would examine the bodies and ultimately could doctor the reports to steer the attention away from them. It wasn't too odd that Dinah and Price were found where they were, as they both lived near where they were dumped, but Juliet night was always an anomaly to me. She was from Topeka and was last seen in that city. It made no sense for her to be dumped just outside of Wellington.

My adrenaline was flowing with this realization. Yeah, absolutely, and I'm confident that's the case. My guess is Hansen found the pig picture in Stevenson's phone or emails at the wrong end of the stick and had him killed. Or worse, and, unfortunately, the more likely. Stevenson passed the information of the chain, and so on past the order to silence him, back down. Either way, without Hansen to go on the record,

about the coroner being blackmailed, we can't make an official case against him. It's pure speculation, and the body's been cremated now, James said, shrugging his shoulders. I guess that'll be the task force's job now, though, huh? James didn't say anything, he just smirked. What? they asked playfully. Well, actually, given my time on the sworn case,

they placed me as head of the task force, so I'm officially off, administrative. leave. Apparently my assistance on the roadside murders, the investigation into the murders of Hanson and Danmore, and the fact my health is back in check has put me back in the Bureau's good books. Like I said, I owe that to you, Ruth. Thank you, James said, sincerely. That's fantastic, but it was a team effort. I mean, you deserve to be back on top, I responded. James smiled and nodded. Yeah, it was a team effort, wasn't it? Oh, well, On that note, I pulled in a few favours, James said, with a charm in his voice.

Favours for what? I was more curious now. There was a place for you on the Task Force route. James stated with excitement. What? I exclaimed, but I have very little experience with fraud, corruption, and organized crime, I added. James shrugged and shook his head, waving off my concerns. True, but euviliezed with our outfit for years.

helped to solve every case that you've been part of. You're a trained interviewer. You're practically a profiler, meaning you're a good judge of character, and you're already familiar with the task ahead. Listen, Ruth, it didn't take much persuading at all to get you on board. You'll make a great addition to the team. Oh, and that's not all, James said,

holding up a single finger as he reached back into his jacket pocket. I watched on with interest as James produced an ID badge from behind his back. He laid the plastic card on the table and slid it over to me. I looked down to see the words, Federal Bureau of Investigation was Ruth Maddock consultant. The valid from and two dates were the dates of the anti-corruption task force. You'll be an official employee of the Bureau. You'll receive two weeks of basic training and one week of firearms training.

You'll have a weapon, so the next time you get ambushed in the middle of nowhere by mass men, you will have your own weapon. because if it wasn't for me being so cautious. Paranoid, I corrected him humorously, and James chuckled. I prepared for the worst. He corrected back with equal banter. Then you wouldn't have had anything to defend yourself with,

and without that, they would have... I cut James off. Well, that was a lovely dinner, James, let's not ruin it with horrible what-ifs, I suggested. Oh, and one more thing, James said. his smile so contagiously wide I could barely contain my own. Go on, I invited.

Everyone is in agreement at the FBI that if those six weeks go well, then the next IAT badge you'll get will say special agent. You'll be an official profiler, Ruth, and you could work in the Behaviour Science Unit, do what you do best, or you could even join me.

I'm set to transfer to major violent crime after this task force is over. We go after the dirty, cops in Kansas City for the next six weeks. Then we go after the drug cartels, the human traffickers, the child of Bruce rings, and whoever else tries to get rich off pain, violence and force. We could make a real difference. What are you saying? Well, he took me by surprise, I'll give him that. I'd been a professor at Denver for as long as I could remember. Gave me a chance to study the types of people who destroy women like me. Gave me a sense of power that I felt my research was helping

catch them. Maybe it's the yawning teenagers through my lectures, or the fact I'm more likely to see someone checking their Twitter rather than putting their hand up, or, hell, maybe it's Cassidy, maybe it's Danmore, maybe it's Quince, maybe it's fucking everything, but for the past few years, I felt like I've done all I can to help the world from that post. I could do more, much, much more. In Kansas, seeing Tuck sat across from me in that interview room, in chains. It felt good knowing I'd put him there. I finally had a physical representation of the difference I was trying to make. He couldn't hurt anyone anymore, and I made that happen. Perhaps this is what I needed, to be the one who puts these men in chains, and not just be the person who tells other men how

they can do it. I say, let's change the world, I stated passionately. James raised his glass, and I joined him in a clash of our glasses. It's been three winks since that dinner. It's been three winks since that dinner. I was flown all expenses paid to Quantico, where I undertook a crash course in basic FBI field training. I wasn't allowed to conduct interviews or field work alone, but James was right. I received a bureau-issue glock and a week's firearms training to go with. Right now, I'm on a plane to San Antonio, Texas. James and I are meeting up for another meal, so he can brief me on the case files of Operation Appletree. Given he's already been present at Task Force team briefings

whilst I've been learning FBI 101's like checking in the corners of each room when entering guns drawn well before our plane leaves to Casey tomorrow afternoon I should be up to speed Operation Appletree the most robust and extensive FBI

investigation to public office corruption ever sanctioned those were the words of the director of the bureau during his team briefing of the task force members according to James I'm watching a news report on my last as the plane travels over the Kansas-Colorado border. It's the governor of Missouri, promising the people of the Sunflower State

he's cracking down hard on gangs, drugs and violence. He also promised to root out corruption in public office. He didn't tell the public, all the criminals, for that matter, how it was going to happen, as our task force is completely clandestine. But it did truly beg the question. Just how far would these criminals and dirty cops be willing to go? to protect what they have. 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.