Doubt (Chapter 9 - Creep)
Title:Doubt
Author:glasheen25
Pairing/Characters:Nancy/Ned, Nancy/Frank
Series:post-files
Word Count:3421
Rating:R
Summary:In the first instance Ned misses his flight, missing Nancy's birthday in the process. In the second instance Ned makes his flight, arriving on time. How a seemingly inconsequential event could lead Nancy's life in two completely different directions.
Spoilers:None
Warnings:None
Bundled up in her warm woolen jacket, Nancy wrapped a soft grey scarf securely around her neck before pulling on her gloves, careful to take every protection she could against the elements outside. Though the snow had lightened to a gentle flurry it was painfully cold, Nancy’s breath frozen and hanging in the air, the silvery threads stark against the murky dark of the sky. Shivering furiously, Nancy slid her key into the ignition of her Mustang, the car spluttering in protest at being started under such arctic conditions before shuddering noisily to life. The roads were treacherous, a dangerous combination of ice freezing over the melting snow and Nancy negotiated the short distance to the FBI headquarters carefully, a newscaster on the radio station she seemed permanently tuned into reiterating the same tired warning to avoid all unnecessary travel.
Goose pimples prickled uncomfortably at Nancy as she flashed her badge at the security guard stationed at the door before pushing through the double doors that led into the FBI building. The place was almost deserted, the roaming security personnel shuffling wearily along the corridors the only sign of life, and the effect on Nancy was palpable. Her work as an FBI agent usually evoked a sense of anticipative excitement in Nancy but this case was different. The killer was brutal, his methods sickening and cruel, and Nancy wasn’t sure she could stomach further scenes of violence tonight. Already at twelve, the body count was rapidly rising, and Nancy knew the chances of the killer curbing his murderous activities were very slim indeed. Nodding her head in acknowledgement at a passing guard, Nancy tapped in the four digit code needed to gain access to her department before slipping silently into the room, the harsh glare from the overhead florescent lighting indicating that Agent Derek Johnson was already there.
In comparison to the freezing temperatures outside, the heat of the office was positively suffocating and Nancy was impatiently unwinding her scarf from around her neck when the older agent stuck his head around the door of his office and beckoned urgently for her to come inside.
“Agent Drew, I would like you to meet someone,” Derek barked, gesturing brusquely at a middle-aged woman who was perched uncomfortably on the edge of a worn leather chair that was pulled up beside Agent Johnson’s desk. “This is Eleanor Rush,” he continued, motioning at Nancy to sit down before taking a seat himself behind his neatly arranged desk. “She seems to have some interesting information for us on the Riverside killer.”
“Okay, Ms. Rush, what can you tell us?” Nancy asked coolly, not holding out much hope as she mentally evaluated the ash-blonde woman sitting before her. Expensively dressed and with perfectly manicured nails, the woman disappointedly brought to mind the band of ‘desperate housewives,’ as Nancy had disparagingly referred to them. The women, mostly residents of Riverside, had plagued the FBI with their whispering gossip as to the supposed identification of the Riverside killer.
“I saw someone tonight when we were driving home from the airport,” the woman began hesitantly, making eye contact with Nancy as she twisted a diamond encrusted wedding band nervously around her finger. “We live on Mulholland Drive and we were almost at our house when I spotted him."
Mulholland Drive was located in Riverside, Nancy realized excitedly, though she said nothing, her weary blue eyes gazing expectantly at the evidently older woman.
“Who did you see?” Nancy demanded coaxingly, sensing the woman’s hesitance at revealing further information.
“A boy, well, man now, I suppose,” the woman amended hurriedly, shifting uncomfortably in her chair as she met Nancy’s expectant gaze. “Anthony Cusack, his name was. He went to school with my daughter about twelve years ago.”
“And I’m guessing Anthony wasn’t the model pupil,” Derek prompted her, his eyes narrowed curiously as he eagerly digested the information.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Eleanor Rush sighed, shaking her head despairingly as she met Agent Johnson’s gaze. “The boy was a nightmare. He stalked my daughter Hailey for months, made her life hell. In the end we were forced to get the authorities involved and when even that didn’t work, she ended up having to move in with my sister and attend another school upstate.”
“My God, that sounds terrible,” Nancy sympathized, trying to imagine how things could have gotten so bad for Hailey, that she had felt forced to leave her friends and family behind. This was evidently no simple case of a typical teenage crush. “How did the stalking begin? Nancy prompted the woman gently as she exchanged a glance with Agent Johnson. He too looked interested, looking eager to learn more about this Anthony Cusack, as though sensing this information might prove central to the case.
“At the start, we just thought it was a harmless schoolboy crush,” the older woman shrugged, a glimmer of a smile playing on her lips as she turned her attention to Nancy. “It was just the usual stuff, you know, love letters and Valentines cards and deliveries of flowers. We teased Hailey about it all the time and initially she seemed flattered. To a teenager I suppose, it all seemed terribly romantic.”
“And what changed?” Nancy asked curiously, sitting forward in her chair as she eagerly awaited the woman to continue.
“Deliveries of flowers soon turned into late night phone calls, where he’d call the house at all times of the night, hanging up as soon as we’d answer. He took videos of her, photographs too, and he used to post them in the door. By this point, Hailey was understandably terrified and refusing to go to school and when we brought the matter to the school authorities, they told us there was nothing they could do,” she shrugged resignedly, sighing deeply as she worked the sparkling ring around her finger again.
“You said you went to the police,” Agent Johnson cut in, his expression harried as he ran his fingers through the sparse remains of his thinning hair.
“I did,” she murmured in agreement, gazing in frustration at the FBI agent. “But they gave me the same story about lack of evidence and said to come back if I had anything more concrete to offer them. It was hopeless. Hailey eventually went back to school and the school must have spoke with Anthony because he left her alone, at least for a little while.”
“A little while,” Nancy echoed dully, seeing the anxiety on the Eleanor Rush’s face as the woman swallowed heavily, taking a minute to compose herself before continuing.
“We arrived home from a family party one evening and we sensed that something was not quite right. Some photographs were disturbed, the pictures removed from the frames, and the furniture in the living room had been rearranged, as though someone had been there.”
A shiver ran up Nancy’s spine as she imagined the nightmarish scene the family had stumbled in upon.
“That wasn’t the worst of it though,” she added shakily, the words coming slowly and hesitantly from her mouth, her voice almost a whisper. “Hailey had a pet springer spaniel called Holly. We’d had her since she was a puppy and to us, Holly was almost like another member of the family.” Her voice broke then and Nancy flashed a look of horror at Derek, already dreading what she knew the woman was going to say next.
“We found her on Hailey’s bed. The head was almost completely severed. There was blood everywhere,” her words trailed away and Nancy could tell she was trying the grisly images from her head. “Well, that was the last straw. Hailey was sent to my sister’s house the next day and started school in Arlington the following Monday. We just couldn’t take the chance that it would be Hailey next time.”
“Did you file a report of the incident with the police,” Agent Johnson questioned her curiously looking up from his notebook where he had been scribbling a few notes.
“Yes, with a Detective Gordon, I think,” she replied uncertainly. “My husband would have a better memory than I have and anyway, I’m sure we have a copy of the report filed away somewhere. I’ll have a look.”
“Thanks,” Agent Johnson replied abruptly, his expression turning curious as he aimed a questioning glance at the middle-aged woman. “Ms. Rush, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you wait so long to bring this information to the authorities?”
“My husband and I’ve been staying in our villa in Tuscany for the past few weeks so we’ve been a bit out of touch with what’s been going on at home. I almost got sick when I read the reports in the newspaper while we were waiting for our connecting flight in JFK and then when I saw him, skulking around outside our house, something just didn’t feel right.”
“Do you think he saw you?” Nancy cut in curiously, excitement bubbling up inside of her, knowing they were after making their first important break in the case.
“No,” she replied with absolute certainty. “It was dark and I told my husband to keep on driving past the house when I spotted him. We have a completely different car now so I don’t think there was any way he could have recognized us. Why do you want to know that?” she asked nervously after a minute as though she suddenly realized the significance of Nancy’s questioning.
Because he’s in your house, Nancy wanted to say, but didn’t. Eleanor Rush was rattled enough and the knowledge that her daughter’s former stalker was back and using the protective environment of her home as his shelter from the authorities and base for his murderous activities could be enough to finish her off completely.
--
“It might not be him, you know,” Derek pointed out warningly as they sat into the standard issue black SUV, the keys jangling noisily from his hand. “Teenage boys can be freaks, Nancy. I was one, remember?” he interjected slyly with a teasing wink. “They get it in their head that they want a particular girl and there’s no stopping them.”
“He practically cut off a dog’s head, Derek, and left it in her bed,” Nancy retorted disbelievingly, hating the arrogant manner in which he questioned her judgement and made her feel like an empty-headed little girl.
“Did he?” Derek replied in an annoyingly self-important tone as he turned to risk a look at Nancy. “Show me the report that says that.”
“You just heard what Eleanor Rush told us,” Nancy insisted, frustration burning in her stomach at his seeming disinterest in pursuing Anthony Cusack.
“Eleanor Rush may have filed a report,” Derek murmured in agreement, carefully looking to his left and right as he drove through an intersection. “But Anthony Cusack was never charged in relation to the crime. Therefore in the eyes of the law he’s innocent. This is the way things operate in the FBI, Nancy,” he shrugged, his smugness infuriating Nancy though a small part of her knew he was right. “Assumptions are based on fact and not on some harebrained notion of what some doting mother tells us. Understand?”
“Yes,” Nancy echoed dully, only her respect for the more senior agent stopping her from arguing the point again.
“But despite that fact,” Derek continued, his eyes sparkling as he turned to face Nancy. “I was also very convinced by Eleanor Rush’s story. Cusack sounds like a maniac and his stalking tendencies and history of animal abuse very much fit in with the profile of our killer. I’ve requested police back-up and Agents Philips and Reid are on their way.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Nancy demanded, nervous tension bubbling under her skin at the thought of what the next few hours would bring.
“We wait,” Derek replied decisively, his indicator flashing orange as he steered the car onto a quiet tree-lined road. The further they edged their way through the immaculate neighborhood, the bigger and the more salubrious the houses grew, and Nancy knew they were verging on Riverside and Mulholland Drive, where the Rush family lived. “We wait until the other agents show and back up is in place and then we go in and catch the bastard.”
“Cusack might not even be there,” Nancy pointed out reasonably, pulling her hair into a tight bun and running her fingers over the reassuring outline of her gun in preparation for the events of the night ahead.
“He might not be,” Agent Johnson considered for a moment, his forehead furrowed in concentration as he carefully monitored the movements of a red sports car that slowly turned down into Mulholland Drive before driving leisurely away. “But the guy’s killed twelve people in as many days and he’s bound to need a rest at sometime. I guess, I’m just hoping that sometime is now and we can stop him before he gets the chance to kill anybody else.”
--
Passing through the grand wrought-iron gate, Nancy felt prickled by sudden fear, the towering gate their last protection against a possible murderer inside. The temperature had plummeted to well below freezing but Nancy hardly felt it, sheer anticipation of what was to come more than adequate insulation against the harsh cold. Members of the SWAT team had already surrounded the house, their dark uniforms blending in seamlessly with the surrounding inky blackness.
“Ready?” Derek commanded, his voice an urgent whisper as he motioned her to follow him to the door.
The key to a successful operation generally lay in the timing. Give the unsub too early an warning and you run the risk of a counter attack, which could ultimately put lives in danger. But caught off-guard, without the security of their guns and weapons, the unsubs unusually surrendered relatively willingly. There were exceptions, of course, but as Derek had earlier advised her, decision making in the FBI always came back to facts and figures, and the figures seemed to weigh heavily in favor of catching Cusack unprepared.
Nodding in reply, Nancy’s gun was angled reassuringly by her side as Derek noiselessly slid the key into the lock, wincing slightly at the soft creak when the door was pushed carefully open. Creeping in over the threshold of the front door, Nancy was immediately struck by the undisturbed nature of the scene. As would be expected, weeks of mail lay heaped in a careful pile under the letterbox and dry cleaning, probably hastily collected on the day they travelled to Italy, still hung on the bottom of the stairs waiting to be replaced in the wardrobe by Eleanor Rush. The floor appeared immaculate, the polished cream tiles unmarred by the footprints one would expect from the unseasonably bad weather Chicago had been experiencing.
Her gun gripped tightly in her hand, Nancy edged her way into the kitchen, again puzzled by the state of the room. The kitchen was gleaming, which was no easy feat considering the glossy surfaces of the ice white doors were highly susceptible to dirty fingermarks. The garbage can stood empty and a quick inspection of the fridge revealed it to be devoid of all food apart from a few standard staples.
Maybe she was wrong, Nancy considered as she shut the refrigerator door thoughtfully before proceeding on her routine investigation of the house. The house displayed no evidence whatsoever of being occupied. Maybe Derek was right earlier when he suggested that she was perhaps too quick to jump to conclusions in her desperation to solve the case.
In the hall, Derek looked similarly unimpressed with his findings, his body language demonstrating his frustration as he stalked out of what appeared to be the formal dining room, the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling casting a vast swarth of shadows onto the wall.
“Find anything?” he grunted, the agent having seemingly resigned himself to having met yet another dead end in the investigation.
“Nothing,” Nancy shrugged in answer, gritting her teeth in frustration at Derek’s typically defeatist attitude. “The kitchen is spotless and there’s not a scrap of food in the fridge. There’s no way Cusack’s been using it,” she concluded matter-of-factly.
“The living rooms are the same,” Agent Johnson informed her with an irritable expression, the FBI agent clearly exasperated with their lack of progress on the case. “They haven’t been stepped in since the cleaner finished up. I know Eleanor Rush’s story was compelling but this is not what we are looking for. Our guy’s not a ghost, Nancy. He’s human and human beings leave behind traces of their existence whether they like it or not. If he was here, we’d know it, Drew, we’d see it. But we don’t. So what does that tell you?”
“But the Riverside murderer has never left much evidence behind at any scene,” Nancy argued, determined to get her point across.
“Nancy, we’re both tired,” Derek replied dismissively, brushing past her. “Let’s finish up the search and get some sleep. God only knows what will be facing us tomorrow. You take upstairs and I’ll do the basement and hopefully then, we’ll manage at least a few hours' sleep tonight.”
Only able to agree, Nancy traipsed wearily towards the grand staircase that dominated much of the hall, secretly relieved to have been relinquished of the duty of searching the basement.
Her gun poised for action and the faint glow from her flashlight guiding the way, Nancy crept up the sweeping staircase, grateful for the carpeted surface that swallowed her footsteps. The walls were lined with photographs of the family, the faces happy and smiling, and Nancy recognized the blonde, blue-eyed teen as Hailey from the photos supplied to them by her mother.
Though Derek’s dismissiveness had succeeded in marginally diminishing her fears, nervous tension still tingled uncomfortably on her skin as Nancy ventured along the dimly lit landing. The doors were closed and that was disconcerting, Nancy’s mind conjuring up all sorts of hellish images of what lay behind the thick oak.
Her gun aimed threateningly, Nancy placed her hand determinedly on the shining chrome doorknob, only her palm, slick with sweat, betraying her internal terror. Opening the door, Nancy’s heart beat wildly, her trepidation put temporarily to rest as the sight of the room with the neatly made bed and the lavender flecked wallpaper met her. The conspicuous lack of clutter and personal possessions led Nancy to believe it was a guest room and a quick inspection of the modest space didn’t reveal anything untoward.
Her shoes padding through the deep pile of the luxurious cream carpet, Nancy edged towards the next room with more confidence, though her gun remained steadfastly trained in front of her. Though the walls weren’t the typical pinks and purples of a teenage girl’s room, Nancy realized from the photographs stuck on the mirror and the vast arrangement of beauty products arranged on the dressing table that it was Hailey Rush’s former bedroom she was standing in. A cream comforter was neatly draped across the queen-sized bed, the bed-linen again arranged in perfect order, clearly the efforts of Eleanor’s obviously efficient cleaning staff.
Thoughts of her bed and snuggling up with Frank were inviting and after a quick once-over of the adjoining en-suite bathroom, Nancy was already contemplating wearing the pale-blue negligee she knew her boyfriend liked and surprising him with some risque wake-up sex before he would have to rush out the door to work.
“Your partner is a fucking idiot,” a voice from behind her jeered, before the cold butt of a gun was pushed against her temple.
Breathless with fear, Nancy’s whole body froze as she took in the vague form of a shadow looming behind her.
“Scream and you are dead, bitch. Do you understand me?” he sneered viscously, jerking the gun out of her hand with a violent tug.
Nodding wordlessly, Nancy silently pleaded with Derek to come upstairs and find her. Her breath was catching painfully in her throat and she knew she was fucked.
The blast of the gun was the last thing Nancy heard before she collapsed in a bloody heap on the ground.
Author:glasheen25
Pairing/Characters:Nancy/Ned, Nancy/Frank
Series:post-files
Word Count:3421
Rating:R
Summary:In the first instance Ned misses his flight, missing Nancy's birthday in the process. In the second instance Ned makes his flight, arriving on time. How a seemingly inconsequential event could lead Nancy's life in two completely different directions.
Spoilers:None
Warnings:None
Bundled up in her warm woolen jacket, Nancy wrapped a soft grey scarf securely around her neck before pulling on her gloves, careful to take every protection she could against the elements outside. Though the snow had lightened to a gentle flurry it was painfully cold, Nancy’s breath frozen and hanging in the air, the silvery threads stark against the murky dark of the sky. Shivering furiously, Nancy slid her key into the ignition of her Mustang, the car spluttering in protest at being started under such arctic conditions before shuddering noisily to life. The roads were treacherous, a dangerous combination of ice freezing over the melting snow and Nancy negotiated the short distance to the FBI headquarters carefully, a newscaster on the radio station she seemed permanently tuned into reiterating the same tired warning to avoid all unnecessary travel.
Goose pimples prickled uncomfortably at Nancy as she flashed her badge at the security guard stationed at the door before pushing through the double doors that led into the FBI building. The place was almost deserted, the roaming security personnel shuffling wearily along the corridors the only sign of life, and the effect on Nancy was palpable. Her work as an FBI agent usually evoked a sense of anticipative excitement in Nancy but this case was different. The killer was brutal, his methods sickening and cruel, and Nancy wasn’t sure she could stomach further scenes of violence tonight. Already at twelve, the body count was rapidly rising, and Nancy knew the chances of the killer curbing his murderous activities were very slim indeed. Nodding her head in acknowledgement at a passing guard, Nancy tapped in the four digit code needed to gain access to her department before slipping silently into the room, the harsh glare from the overhead florescent lighting indicating that Agent Derek Johnson was already there.
In comparison to the freezing temperatures outside, the heat of the office was positively suffocating and Nancy was impatiently unwinding her scarf from around her neck when the older agent stuck his head around the door of his office and beckoned urgently for her to come inside.
“Agent Drew, I would like you to meet someone,” Derek barked, gesturing brusquely at a middle-aged woman who was perched uncomfortably on the edge of a worn leather chair that was pulled up beside Agent Johnson’s desk. “This is Eleanor Rush,” he continued, motioning at Nancy to sit down before taking a seat himself behind his neatly arranged desk. “She seems to have some interesting information for us on the Riverside killer.”
“Okay, Ms. Rush, what can you tell us?” Nancy asked coolly, not holding out much hope as she mentally evaluated the ash-blonde woman sitting before her. Expensively dressed and with perfectly manicured nails, the woman disappointedly brought to mind the band of ‘desperate housewives,’ as Nancy had disparagingly referred to them. The women, mostly residents of Riverside, had plagued the FBI with their whispering gossip as to the supposed identification of the Riverside killer.
“I saw someone tonight when we were driving home from the airport,” the woman began hesitantly, making eye contact with Nancy as she twisted a diamond encrusted wedding band nervously around her finger. “We live on Mulholland Drive and we were almost at our house when I spotted him."
Mulholland Drive was located in Riverside, Nancy realized excitedly, though she said nothing, her weary blue eyes gazing expectantly at the evidently older woman.
“Who did you see?” Nancy demanded coaxingly, sensing the woman’s hesitance at revealing further information.
“A boy, well, man now, I suppose,” the woman amended hurriedly, shifting uncomfortably in her chair as she met Nancy’s expectant gaze. “Anthony Cusack, his name was. He went to school with my daughter about twelve years ago.”
“And I’m guessing Anthony wasn’t the model pupil,” Derek prompted her, his eyes narrowed curiously as he eagerly digested the information.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Eleanor Rush sighed, shaking her head despairingly as she met Agent Johnson’s gaze. “The boy was a nightmare. He stalked my daughter Hailey for months, made her life hell. In the end we were forced to get the authorities involved and when even that didn’t work, she ended up having to move in with my sister and attend another school upstate.”
“My God, that sounds terrible,” Nancy sympathized, trying to imagine how things could have gotten so bad for Hailey, that she had felt forced to leave her friends and family behind. This was evidently no simple case of a typical teenage crush. “How did the stalking begin? Nancy prompted the woman gently as she exchanged a glance with Agent Johnson. He too looked interested, looking eager to learn more about this Anthony Cusack, as though sensing this information might prove central to the case.
“At the start, we just thought it was a harmless schoolboy crush,” the older woman shrugged, a glimmer of a smile playing on her lips as she turned her attention to Nancy. “It was just the usual stuff, you know, love letters and Valentines cards and deliveries of flowers. We teased Hailey about it all the time and initially she seemed flattered. To a teenager I suppose, it all seemed terribly romantic.”
“And what changed?” Nancy asked curiously, sitting forward in her chair as she eagerly awaited the woman to continue.
“Deliveries of flowers soon turned into late night phone calls, where he’d call the house at all times of the night, hanging up as soon as we’d answer. He took videos of her, photographs too, and he used to post them in the door. By this point, Hailey was understandably terrified and refusing to go to school and when we brought the matter to the school authorities, they told us there was nothing they could do,” she shrugged resignedly, sighing deeply as she worked the sparkling ring around her finger again.
“You said you went to the police,” Agent Johnson cut in, his expression harried as he ran his fingers through the sparse remains of his thinning hair.
“I did,” she murmured in agreement, gazing in frustration at the FBI agent. “But they gave me the same story about lack of evidence and said to come back if I had anything more concrete to offer them. It was hopeless. Hailey eventually went back to school and the school must have spoke with Anthony because he left her alone, at least for a little while.”
“A little while,” Nancy echoed dully, seeing the anxiety on the Eleanor Rush’s face as the woman swallowed heavily, taking a minute to compose herself before continuing.
“We arrived home from a family party one evening and we sensed that something was not quite right. Some photographs were disturbed, the pictures removed from the frames, and the furniture in the living room had been rearranged, as though someone had been there.”
A shiver ran up Nancy’s spine as she imagined the nightmarish scene the family had stumbled in upon.
“That wasn’t the worst of it though,” she added shakily, the words coming slowly and hesitantly from her mouth, her voice almost a whisper. “Hailey had a pet springer spaniel called Holly. We’d had her since she was a puppy and to us, Holly was almost like another member of the family.” Her voice broke then and Nancy flashed a look of horror at Derek, already dreading what she knew the woman was going to say next.
“We found her on Hailey’s bed. The head was almost completely severed. There was blood everywhere,” her words trailed away and Nancy could tell she was trying the grisly images from her head. “Well, that was the last straw. Hailey was sent to my sister’s house the next day and started school in Arlington the following Monday. We just couldn’t take the chance that it would be Hailey next time.”
“Did you file a report of the incident with the police,” Agent Johnson questioned her curiously looking up from his notebook where he had been scribbling a few notes.
“Yes, with a Detective Gordon, I think,” she replied uncertainly. “My husband would have a better memory than I have and anyway, I’m sure we have a copy of the report filed away somewhere. I’ll have a look.”
“Thanks,” Agent Johnson replied abruptly, his expression turning curious as he aimed a questioning glance at the middle-aged woman. “Ms. Rush, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you wait so long to bring this information to the authorities?”
“My husband and I’ve been staying in our villa in Tuscany for the past few weeks so we’ve been a bit out of touch with what’s been going on at home. I almost got sick when I read the reports in the newspaper while we were waiting for our connecting flight in JFK and then when I saw him, skulking around outside our house, something just didn’t feel right.”
“Do you think he saw you?” Nancy cut in curiously, excitement bubbling up inside of her, knowing they were after making their first important break in the case.
“No,” she replied with absolute certainty. “It was dark and I told my husband to keep on driving past the house when I spotted him. We have a completely different car now so I don’t think there was any way he could have recognized us. Why do you want to know that?” she asked nervously after a minute as though she suddenly realized the significance of Nancy’s questioning.
Because he’s in your house, Nancy wanted to say, but didn’t. Eleanor Rush was rattled enough and the knowledge that her daughter’s former stalker was back and using the protective environment of her home as his shelter from the authorities and base for his murderous activities could be enough to finish her off completely.
--
“It might not be him, you know,” Derek pointed out warningly as they sat into the standard issue black SUV, the keys jangling noisily from his hand. “Teenage boys can be freaks, Nancy. I was one, remember?” he interjected slyly with a teasing wink. “They get it in their head that they want a particular girl and there’s no stopping them.”
“He practically cut off a dog’s head, Derek, and left it in her bed,” Nancy retorted disbelievingly, hating the arrogant manner in which he questioned her judgement and made her feel like an empty-headed little girl.
“Did he?” Derek replied in an annoyingly self-important tone as he turned to risk a look at Nancy. “Show me the report that says that.”
“You just heard what Eleanor Rush told us,” Nancy insisted, frustration burning in her stomach at his seeming disinterest in pursuing Anthony Cusack.
“Eleanor Rush may have filed a report,” Derek murmured in agreement, carefully looking to his left and right as he drove through an intersection. “But Anthony Cusack was never charged in relation to the crime. Therefore in the eyes of the law he’s innocent. This is the way things operate in the FBI, Nancy,” he shrugged, his smugness infuriating Nancy though a small part of her knew he was right. “Assumptions are based on fact and not on some harebrained notion of what some doting mother tells us. Understand?”
“Yes,” Nancy echoed dully, only her respect for the more senior agent stopping her from arguing the point again.
“But despite that fact,” Derek continued, his eyes sparkling as he turned to face Nancy. “I was also very convinced by Eleanor Rush’s story. Cusack sounds like a maniac and his stalking tendencies and history of animal abuse very much fit in with the profile of our killer. I’ve requested police back-up and Agents Philips and Reid are on their way.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Nancy demanded, nervous tension bubbling under her skin at the thought of what the next few hours would bring.
“We wait,” Derek replied decisively, his indicator flashing orange as he steered the car onto a quiet tree-lined road. The further they edged their way through the immaculate neighborhood, the bigger and the more salubrious the houses grew, and Nancy knew they were verging on Riverside and Mulholland Drive, where the Rush family lived. “We wait until the other agents show and back up is in place and then we go in and catch the bastard.”
“Cusack might not even be there,” Nancy pointed out reasonably, pulling her hair into a tight bun and running her fingers over the reassuring outline of her gun in preparation for the events of the night ahead.
“He might not be,” Agent Johnson considered for a moment, his forehead furrowed in concentration as he carefully monitored the movements of a red sports car that slowly turned down into Mulholland Drive before driving leisurely away. “But the guy’s killed twelve people in as many days and he’s bound to need a rest at sometime. I guess, I’m just hoping that sometime is now and we can stop him before he gets the chance to kill anybody else.”
--
Passing through the grand wrought-iron gate, Nancy felt prickled by sudden fear, the towering gate their last protection against a possible murderer inside. The temperature had plummeted to well below freezing but Nancy hardly felt it, sheer anticipation of what was to come more than adequate insulation against the harsh cold. Members of the SWAT team had already surrounded the house, their dark uniforms blending in seamlessly with the surrounding inky blackness.
“Ready?” Derek commanded, his voice an urgent whisper as he motioned her to follow him to the door.
The key to a successful operation generally lay in the timing. Give the unsub too early an warning and you run the risk of a counter attack, which could ultimately put lives in danger. But caught off-guard, without the security of their guns and weapons, the unsubs unusually surrendered relatively willingly. There were exceptions, of course, but as Derek had earlier advised her, decision making in the FBI always came back to facts and figures, and the figures seemed to weigh heavily in favor of catching Cusack unprepared.
Nodding in reply, Nancy’s gun was angled reassuringly by her side as Derek noiselessly slid the key into the lock, wincing slightly at the soft creak when the door was pushed carefully open. Creeping in over the threshold of the front door, Nancy was immediately struck by the undisturbed nature of the scene. As would be expected, weeks of mail lay heaped in a careful pile under the letterbox and dry cleaning, probably hastily collected on the day they travelled to Italy, still hung on the bottom of the stairs waiting to be replaced in the wardrobe by Eleanor Rush. The floor appeared immaculate, the polished cream tiles unmarred by the footprints one would expect from the unseasonably bad weather Chicago had been experiencing.
Her gun gripped tightly in her hand, Nancy edged her way into the kitchen, again puzzled by the state of the room. The kitchen was gleaming, which was no easy feat considering the glossy surfaces of the ice white doors were highly susceptible to dirty fingermarks. The garbage can stood empty and a quick inspection of the fridge revealed it to be devoid of all food apart from a few standard staples.
Maybe she was wrong, Nancy considered as she shut the refrigerator door thoughtfully before proceeding on her routine investigation of the house. The house displayed no evidence whatsoever of being occupied. Maybe Derek was right earlier when he suggested that she was perhaps too quick to jump to conclusions in her desperation to solve the case.
In the hall, Derek looked similarly unimpressed with his findings, his body language demonstrating his frustration as he stalked out of what appeared to be the formal dining room, the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling casting a vast swarth of shadows onto the wall.
“Find anything?” he grunted, the agent having seemingly resigned himself to having met yet another dead end in the investigation.
“Nothing,” Nancy shrugged in answer, gritting her teeth in frustration at Derek’s typically defeatist attitude. “The kitchen is spotless and there’s not a scrap of food in the fridge. There’s no way Cusack’s been using it,” she concluded matter-of-factly.
“The living rooms are the same,” Agent Johnson informed her with an irritable expression, the FBI agent clearly exasperated with their lack of progress on the case. “They haven’t been stepped in since the cleaner finished up. I know Eleanor Rush’s story was compelling but this is not what we are looking for. Our guy’s not a ghost, Nancy. He’s human and human beings leave behind traces of their existence whether they like it or not. If he was here, we’d know it, Drew, we’d see it. But we don’t. So what does that tell you?”
“But the Riverside murderer has never left much evidence behind at any scene,” Nancy argued, determined to get her point across.
“Nancy, we’re both tired,” Derek replied dismissively, brushing past her. “Let’s finish up the search and get some sleep. God only knows what will be facing us tomorrow. You take upstairs and I’ll do the basement and hopefully then, we’ll manage at least a few hours' sleep tonight.”
Only able to agree, Nancy traipsed wearily towards the grand staircase that dominated much of the hall, secretly relieved to have been relinquished of the duty of searching the basement.
Her gun poised for action and the faint glow from her flashlight guiding the way, Nancy crept up the sweeping staircase, grateful for the carpeted surface that swallowed her footsteps. The walls were lined with photographs of the family, the faces happy and smiling, and Nancy recognized the blonde, blue-eyed teen as Hailey from the photos supplied to them by her mother.
Though Derek’s dismissiveness had succeeded in marginally diminishing her fears, nervous tension still tingled uncomfortably on her skin as Nancy ventured along the dimly lit landing. The doors were closed and that was disconcerting, Nancy’s mind conjuring up all sorts of hellish images of what lay behind the thick oak.
Her gun aimed threateningly, Nancy placed her hand determinedly on the shining chrome doorknob, only her palm, slick with sweat, betraying her internal terror. Opening the door, Nancy’s heart beat wildly, her trepidation put temporarily to rest as the sight of the room with the neatly made bed and the lavender flecked wallpaper met her. The conspicuous lack of clutter and personal possessions led Nancy to believe it was a guest room and a quick inspection of the modest space didn’t reveal anything untoward.
Her shoes padding through the deep pile of the luxurious cream carpet, Nancy edged towards the next room with more confidence, though her gun remained steadfastly trained in front of her. Though the walls weren’t the typical pinks and purples of a teenage girl’s room, Nancy realized from the photographs stuck on the mirror and the vast arrangement of beauty products arranged on the dressing table that it was Hailey Rush’s former bedroom she was standing in. A cream comforter was neatly draped across the queen-sized bed, the bed-linen again arranged in perfect order, clearly the efforts of Eleanor’s obviously efficient cleaning staff.
Thoughts of her bed and snuggling up with Frank were inviting and after a quick once-over of the adjoining en-suite bathroom, Nancy was already contemplating wearing the pale-blue negligee she knew her boyfriend liked and surprising him with some risque wake-up sex before he would have to rush out the door to work.
“Your partner is a fucking idiot,” a voice from behind her jeered, before the cold butt of a gun was pushed against her temple.
Breathless with fear, Nancy’s whole body froze as she took in the vague form of a shadow looming behind her.
“Scream and you are dead, bitch. Do you understand me?” he sneered viscously, jerking the gun out of her hand with a violent tug.
Nodding wordlessly, Nancy silently pleaded with Derek to come upstairs and find her. Her breath was catching painfully in her throat and she knew she was fucked.
The blast of the gun was the last thing Nancy heard before she collapsed in a bloody heap on the ground.