Buried Read online

  “We could ask around, but I’ve never heard of it. It’s not particularly remote, but it is well hidden.”

  “That makes it seem more likely that our bones and our recent bodies are related. If that cave isn’t common knowledge, what are the chances that two different killers decided to dump bodies in the same place?” Sayer shifted on the cold concrete. “But I guess we can’t really answer that until we ID our victims and determine cause of death.”

  “Sounds to me like we’re on hold until we get more data.”

  “Too many questions, not enough answers,” Sayer agreed. She hated this point in an investigation. It always felt like the quiet before the storm.

  “Well, when I hit walls like that, I usually eat. It’s dinnertime. Would you care to join me?” Max flourished a box of granola bars from his bag. Sayer half smiled.

  “I’d love to, but I’ve actually got to report in with Holt up at Quantico tonight, then head home to interview a psychopath.”

  “Wow, guess I can’t compete with the assistant director of the FBI and a psychopath,” he said with mock offense.

  Sayer couldn’t even force another partial smile, feeling no humor in the moment.

  As night began to fall, she rode northeast beneath the weeping sky.

  FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA

  Sayer arrived at Quantico after a miserable two-hour ride. The downpour stopped just as she pulled into the parking lot.

  “Really?” She looked up at the last streaks of dusk on the horizon. “The rain stops now?”

  Across the training field, Assistant Director Janice Holt stood under an overhang outside the headquarters of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

  Holt raised a hand in a gruff greeting. “Let’s walk and talk. I need some fresh air while there’s a break in the rain.” Her voice carried on the wind.

  Sayer fell in beside Holt and the two women strolled in silence around the grounds of Quantico. FBI trainees jogged by in small groups. Staccato bursts of automatic gunfire in the distance competed with the rhythmic clacking of Holt’s heels. At the FBI Academy, up-and-coming agents didn’t let a little bad weather or the late hour get in the way of their training.

  “You ready to be back in the field?” Holt finally asked.

  “You know I am.”

  Holt nodded, stress lines pulling at the corners of her mouth.

  “You want to tell me why we’re not having this conversation in your office?” Sayer asked. Holt wasn’t exactly the stroll-around-outside-on-a-blustery-evening type.

  Holt let out a sharp laugh. She always seemed a little surprised by Sayer’s bluntness. “First you tell me what the hell Agent Cho found us. Some kind of cannibalistic serial-killer dump site?”

  “We’re not sure. Dana doesn’t actually think there are any signs of cannibalism.” Sayer pulled her sodden leather jacket around her shoulders.

  “Well, that’s good news. I was not looking forward to the media circus on that one. So, you’ve got a cave full of old bones and two new bodies.”

  “Along with some kind of sword-type thing. And someone wrote HELP US on the most recent body.”

  Holt stopped walking and looked at Sayer. “Wrote on the body?”

  “With saliva, we think. I’m about to head over to the lab to drop off a bunch of samples from the bodies and a few DNA swabs from the sword. We’ll know more by tomorrow.”

  Holt resumed walking, so Sayer kept talking.

  “I let the surrounding police departments know what we found, see if they have any missing people we should know about. We’ve got one lead on a girl gone missing seventeen years ago, but no concrete link to anyone yet. The park rangers have offered to let us use their station house, so Dana is doing the autopsies and bone analysis there,” Sayer said.

  “She can do that without a lab?”

  “She’s got all her mobile lab equipment from the UN. She’s going to do the autopsies first and then move on to the bones. I’ve already asked Ezra to get on the DNA up here. We’ll hit the ground running first thing tomorrow.”

  Sayer and Holt walked in silence for a few moments.

  “You want a partner for this case?” Holt finally asked.

  Since she spent so much time on her neuroscience research, Sayer wasn’t assigned a regular partner.

  “Is Vik free?” Sayer hadn’t seen Vik Devereaux, her previous partner and dear friend, in a few days. While she’d been recovering, he had been a constant presence, always showing up with good food and good company.

  “Sorry, I know you two work well together, but he just left this morning to head up a task force chasing down a child-trafficking ring out in L.A. You want me to send Andy Wagner down to help?”

  “No!” Sayer definitely did not want to work with the profiler she had recently accused of murder. Falsely. “I mean, no, thanks.” She tried to sound casual.

  Holt chuckled. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Andy is actually working with Vik in L.A. What about Max Cho? I think his supervisor was going to pull him off the case once you’re settled in but we could have him assigned to you for the duration. He seems competent and he’s from there. Could be an asset.”

  Sayer grunted agreement. She didn’t have the energy to explain all the drama between Max and Kyle. Plus, despite her reservations about Max, he did know the lay of the land.

  “Call my cell tomorrow with updates,” Holt said. “I’ve been testifying all day and I’ll be up in D.C. for the rest of the week.” Her mood quickly shifted from vague bemusement to Valkyrie death stare.

  Sayer stopped walking and looked intently at Holt. “More congressional hearings? Oh my god, you’re worried they’ve bugged your office! That’s why we’re out here.”

  As residing head of Quantico, Assistant Director Holt was caught up in the fallout surrounding the murderous FBI agent. Sayer was convinced that Holt was going to end up being the ultimate scapegoat, despite being a loyal agent for over thirty years.

  Holt pressed her lips together. “It would seem that’s how the political cookie crumbles.”

  “But you’ve dedicated your life to this place.” Sayer had always hated politics, but this was beyond comprehension. Holt had spent her entire career building up Quantico.

  Holt waved her hand. “Politics will always matter more than things like that. Anyway, all this scandal happened on my watch. As goes Quantico, so go I.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m just glad your new case is far away enough that you’ll be out of the office for the next few weeks. Definitely stay down there, because I promise you do not want to be anywhere near this clusterfuck.”

  SAYER’S TOWN HOUSE, ALEXANDRIA, VA

  Sayer sped from Quantico to her town house in the oppressive dark, determined to make it home by nine-thirty to conduct her latest interview with a noncriminal psychopath. Balancing research with a field investigation was always a juggling act, but she would have to make it work.

  She leaped from her motorcycle and sprinted upstairs, waving at Adi, who was once again reading on the futon. “Can’t talk. I’ve got an interview!”

  Sayer plopped down at the desk next to her mattress on the floor.

  While the computer whirred to life, she checked the mirror and realized that she looked half feral. Between the cave fire, endless rain, and the long motorcycle ride, the first day of this case had taken its toll. She threw on a clean button-up shirt and smoothed back her hair before opening the video-chat app.

  Almost immediately her computer pinged an incoming call. Subject 037’s scheduled evaluation session.

  She quickly ushered Vesper out into the living room so he wouldn’t jump on-camera, then clicked answer.

  A shadowy face appeared. Sayer could just make out a masculine silhouette in an otherwise dark room.

  This was her thirty-seventh interview in less than a month and many of her previous subjects seemed unconcerned with showing her their faces. They actually seemed happy to video-chat with Sayer without obscuring their identity at all. A
fact that surprised her until she remembered that psychopaths are nothing if not overconfident narcissists.

  Hell, when she’d sent out the e-mails and put up flyers asking people who suspected they were psychopaths to contact her for an anonymous study of psychopaths without criminal records, she half expected no one to respond. But it turned out that Washington, D.C., was full of ambitious psychopaths wanting to brag about their exploits.

  But Subject 037 was different. He clearly wanted to remain anonymous, a right she granted all her interview subjects. Even though she was interviewing psychopaths who claimed to have no criminal record, she knew that didn’t necessarily mean they hadn’t committed any crimes.

  “Good evening.” She read off her script. “Thank you for taking the time to participate in this research project. You have already read the information pamphlet explaining my research. Today I’m going to administer a series of diagnostic tests for psychopathy. These tests will take approximately two hours and the results will remain confidential. Do you consent to these evaluations?”

  “I do, Agent Altair,” the shadowy face said with a low voice.

  “I would like to record these proceedings. Do you consent to being recorded?”

  “I do.”

  “Great.” Sayer checked the box on the form in front of her and then clicked record. “I’m now recording. In addition to this evaluation, I would like to conduct at least one follow-up interview, as well as ask you to participate in a series of noninvasive brain scans. I personally guarantee your anonymity during this process and you would be welcome to obscure your face at any stage. Do you understand and consent to this as well?”

  “I do, Agent Altair. Goodness, with all these I do’s it’s almost like we’re getting married.” He chuckled. “You know, maybe once this interview is over we could get to know each other in person.”

  Sayer looked down at her list of evaluation questions. The first question was, Does the subject exhibit glib and superficial charm? She stopped herself from smiling. His response was a textbook example of superficial charm, which told her that he would most likely score high on the Psychopathy Checklist she was about to administer.

  “I’m afraid it would be unethical to develop a personal relationship with a study subject,” Sayer said calmly. “Now, let’s begin.”

  * * *

  After questioning Subject 037 about his suburban childhood, where he had multiple brushes with the law and extensive experience torturing animals, she moved on to his current life. He was quickly shaping up to be one of the highest-scoring psychopaths she had ever interviewed, criminal or not.

  “So, can you tell me what you do for a living now? Feel free to leave out potentially identifying information. Do you hold down a stable job?”

  “I’m someone of substantial power in Washington. I think that’s all I’ll say at the moment.”

  “A psychopath in Washington, D.C., is not unusual.”

  “True, we’re all power-hungry and self-centered, aren’t we? You know what the most fun part of my job is? I can justify anything I do as somehow good for the American public.” He laughed the same low chuckle. “But you know all that already. You grew up here.”

  “You did your research about me,” Sayer said with a casual smile. She knew this comment was an attempt to shift the power dynamic of the interview.

  “No need for research. Before he passed away, I knew your grandfather, Senator McDuff, rather well. I also know your grandmother. Sophia is still a force to be reckoned with in this city.”

  Sayer felt slightly sick. If he was telling the truth, this man really was a Washington insider. Someone high up the food chain. Fortunately, psychopaths were consummate liars and often exaggerated their own importance.

  “I even knew your mother.” He paused. “Before she died, of course.…”

  The mention of her mother blindsided Sayer. A ball of anger tinged with sorrow rose into her throat. She swallowed it back down, keeping her face neutral. He was trying to get an emotional reaction from her, and her family history wasn’t exactly secret.

  “Never met your father, though,” Subject 037 continued. “He was from Senegal, right? I wonder how it was for you growing up here, a little biracial girl raised by her conservative white grandparents after Mommy and Daddy were killed in a car accident. How old were you when they died? Nine?”

  Sayer said calmly, “Clearly you know the answer to that question.”

  “Now you’re wondering who I am,” he said. “If I’m telling the truth about knowing them.”

  “Maybe.” Sayer shrugged as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “But I agreed not to identify any of my interview subjects. I still want to scan your brain at some point and would never violate your anonymity.”

  “Of course you can scan my brain, Agent Altair.” He said it in a way that implied something far more than brain scans.

  Ignoring the comment, Sayer said, “Let’s get back to the interview questions. So you hold a steady job. What do you think is the difference between you and a criminal psychopath?”

  “I know exactly where the line is.”

  “Which line?”

  “The line I can’t cross without destroying everything I’ve worked for.”

  “And that’s why you don’t cross it? It’s a risk assessment?” This was exactly the kind of information Sayer was seeking. Researchers believe that, for every psychopath caught by police, there are twenty thousand, maybe even thirty thousand psychopaths outside prison. She wanted to understand why some psychopaths become criminals and murderers while others manage to channel their psychopathy into productive careers.

  “Exactly right,” Subject 037 said slowly. “I have the same … dark urges as everyone, but I don’t act on them because I have larger goals that are more important.”

  Sayer scrawled in her notes that perhaps the parts of his brain that allowed for impulse control were more intact than a typical serial killer. Most criminal psychopaths felt the need for instant gratification. Subject 037’s ability to delay gratification was unusual. She couldn’t wait to take a look inside his skull.

  “So, you can purposefully inhibit criminal behavior?”

  “Exactly. I might fantasize about sneaking into your place in Alexandria and trapping you in bed, then slowly sliding my knife across your throat just for the thrill of it all. Or better yet, your young ward, what’s her name, Adi? Or your nana? Or your charming neighbor, Tino? But I wouldn’t bother to do that.”

  Sayer swallowed. She had spent a lot of time and effort setting up safeguards to protect her private information, yet this man clearly knew where she lived, knew her nicknames for her family and friends. Perhaps he hadn’t been lying about who he was. Intellectually she recognized that this was a typical power play of a psychopath. He was showing her that he had knowledge about her that would frighten her. He would feed off her fear.

  She smiled casually and waited for him to continue.

  “What, no, You leave Adi alone! or demands that I stay away from your family?” he asked.

  Sayer smiled, baring her teeth just a little more than necessary. “No. I understand what you’re trying to do and I’m not so easy to manipulate.”

  Subject 037 leaned forward, and in the screen light, Sayer could just make out his sneering grin. “Ah, how wonderful! That makes it much more fun.” He paused and let out a long, satisfied sigh. “To answer your question, I wouldn’t kill you because I have much more exciting things to do. Killing you would be fun but isn’t worth the risk.”

  “So, the only reason you aren’t a murderer is because you have other things you’d rather do.”

  “That’s about right. Though I never said I wasn’t a murderer.”

  “So, are you telling me that you have murdered before?” Sayer tried to sound casual, but her stomach twisted in a knot. Something about this man was way off. She’d heard researchers talk about a skin-crawling sensation when talking to a psychopath, but this was the firs
t time she’d truly experienced it herself.

  He chuckled. “Well, I can’t tell you that. Let me just say that I wield more power than you can imagine. With a word, I could make you disappear from the earth as if you never even existed.”

  The confidence in his voice sent a chill along Sayer’s spine.

  “Do you believe me?” he asked softly, almost seductively.

  “I certainly believe you believe what you’re saying.” Sayer flattened her tone, draining it of any emotion.

  He let out another laugh, this time lower. Something about the sound made every hair on her body stand up, goose bumps rising along her arms, her deeply instinctual alarms sounding a warning.

  He leaned forward with another smile. Had he noticed that he’d gotten to her?

  “The serial killers you study are so plebeian. Why would I waste my time killing a single woman? I shape the course of history. I declare wars and then get to look into the eyes of the widows I’ve created. I hold the lives of millions of people in my hands. I have entire armies and world leaders acting out my will. I wonder, where do you think the line is between murder and war?”

  “And you can do that now? Start wars?” Sayer asked through her tight throat. “Not many people have that kind of power.”

  There was a long silence. “I’m going to decline to respond to that comment.”

  Sayer looked at the clock and realized that she had gone way over the two hours she had set aside.

  “You know,” she said as lightly as possible, “I’m afraid the time I allotted for this interview has run out. Thank you for participating. Let’s talk briefly tomorrow night for a follow-up. I’ll send details via the chat feature.”

  Without waiting for him to acknowledge her comment, Sayer disconnected the call.

  Her entire body sagged and she realized that her hands were shaking.

  She quickly tallied up Subject 037’s score on the checklist and she stared down at the number.