Filed to story: The Mindf*ck Series Read Online Free
“Yes… Why?”
I look past her to where Donny is.
“Donny, look up art galleries in the area of the robberies/murders.”
He looks perplexed, but starts typing.
“Hadley, I need you to get on all the art sites you can find and see if anyone is selling bronze sculptures of faces. Narrow them down to the ones who started in the past four months, when the killings started,” I go on, walking toward Donny’s desk.
I turn to see her still standing there, confused.
“Now!” I urge her, and she scrambles to her desk.
Donny is typing furiously when I come up behind him. “Four in the area. None are selling bronze sculptures of faces,” he says, frowning. “Or was I supposed to be looking for something different than Hadley?”
“Call each one and ask if anyone tried to sell them the bronze sculptures. It’ll be faces only.”
He picks up his phone to do as I ask, and I go back to my computer, pulling up the program I need. I place all the victims’ pictures in the spots, and after a few keystrokes, my suspicions are confirmed.
“Symmetry,” I say on a long breath.
“What?” Craig asks, coming to look over my shoulder.
“He’s choosing them because of the symmetry of their faces. Perfect symmetry, which is supposed to be very rare, if not impossible. He’s choosing them because they have it, and he’s using their faces to mold art. He’s probably trying to sell it, and he’s fixated on anyone who has a symmetrical face. Women in particular. He may have a da Vinci fixation as well.”
My eyes scan the room, and I spot Lisa clipping her fingernails.
“Lisa, look at anyone in the comfort zone who might have ordered a lot of Leonardo da Vinci prints, or books on da Vinci. Focus primarily on anything revolving around the Vitruvian Man. The unsub would most likely be obsessed with that work.”
“And you think this because?” Craig asks, confused.
“Call it a gut feeling. We’ve solved a lot of cases with my gut.”
“Yeah, that’s why you keep getting promoted. But how the hell do you fit da Vinci in with clay, robberies, and shaved heads with bleach poured on them?”
“The bleach is a forensic countermeasure, just as shaving and removing all the hair then bleaching the head. He’s removing all traces of the clay from the body. The hair is probably being saved for the sculpture too. Not all artists can paint or draw.”
“I’m lost,” Craig goes on.
“Da Vinci wasn’t just famous for his intellect or paintings. There were large sculptures he created that have historians buzzing too. He drew it first, then he molded it from clay or beeswax-depends on which version of the story you hear. From there, he cast it in bronze to create another masterpiece. A man who is fixated on him and symmetry, but can’t draw or create art from nothing? That’s who we’re looking for.”
“Nothing,” Hadley says, looking frustrated. “Several molds are made from numerous things, but no bronze. Does it have to be bronze?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, convinced this is the right lead to chase. “It explains the robberies. He’d sell the valuables he stole to buy the amount of bronze he needs. It’s not cheap.”
“We’ve scoured pawn shops and internet sites looking for anyone selling that stuff though,” Donny interjects.
“The right shady pawn dealer wouldn’t give a damn if we were asking about it, and would lie to keep from turning it over and losing that profit. If this guy is using forensic counter measures, then he’s done his homework on where to sell.”
Donny resumes his phone calls, and I do something that probably won’t help. I pull up the buy, sell, and trade site that Lana runs. She mentioned last night that she leaves things up for a month after they sell with a SOLD sign on it to keep people from asking what happened to it.
I scroll through the jewelry section, since that’s what was mostly stolen. But nothing is on there. Maybe I was just looking for an excuse to speak to her. Because I’ve got it bad and it’s pathetic.
“Got something!” Donny says, drawing all of our attention as he returns to the conversation he’s having on the phone. “Yes. Did he leave a number or an address to reach him?”
He scribbles something down as we all stand. I put my jacket on and holster my gun. Looks like I’m going to need my go-bag again. Fortunately it has several pairs of clothes.
He hangs up and holds up the paper.
“They’ve got a guy who has come into two of the four places trying to sell them a ‘growing’ set of bronze heads.”
“Looks like we’re flying to New York,” Craig says, eyeing me like I’m a weird fucking unicorn. “And I guess we’re getting the damn chopper since the department jet is already out on call. Why can’t we get our own private jet like they have in the movies and stuff?”
Hadely snorts, and they all talk amongst themselves as I pull out my phone and make a call that actually sucks.
“Yes, I’m still wearing the boxers. And eating ice cream,” Lana says, sounding bright and fucking giddy.
I hate my timing now. Usually I’m a hell of a lot more excited about a break in a case than this.
“I wish I could be there to see it,” I say on a long breath as I grab my vest and other necessities, shoving them into my bag.
“You have to cancel,” she says simply, her voice devoid of any emotion for me to read.
“I’m sorry.” I have a feeling I’ll get used to saying those two words if she sticks around long enough to hear them time after time. “We got a break in the case today. At least I hope so. I’m on my way out of town right now.”
“Don’t be sorry, Logan. You have a job-an important one. I admire you and what you do. You put monsters away, and I believe you’re actually looking for the right man instead of just another merit on your resume.”
That’s a weird thing to say.
“I definitely look for the right man. What do you mean by that?”
“It’s just that…I studied a lot of old cases when I went to college. I took criminology classes. It seemed like a lot of arrests were rushed just to close a case and add another gold star to a stellar reputation. If the killings would stop, people would assume the killers were locked up. If the killings reoccurred, they’d call it a copycat instead of owning the possibility they closed the case with the wrong suspect behind bars.”
I’m not sure what cases she studied. They don’t tarnish the reputation of the FBI in those classes. If anything, they sing praises to our guys.
“So you took criminology? But you didn’t join law enforcement?”
“Decided I didn’t have the stomach for it,” she says dryly. “Blood and guts churn it.”
I definitely don’t picture her as someone who could handle the shit I’ve seen if she has a weak stomach.
“Will you be able to text or call when you’re gone?” she asks hopefully.
“Definitely. I’ll probably text you from the chopper to apologize again.”
“Seriously, don’t apologize. Ever. You make a difference. I’d have to be a selfish bitch to expect you to be at my side when someone needs saving. Go be awesome and text when you can.”
I stop and lean against the wall of the stairwell, smiling at nothing.
“Have I told you lately that you’re perfect?”
She laughs then coughs to smother the laugh. “Trust me when I say I’m on the opposite end of the spectrum from perfection.”
“Oh? Will I see these flaws of yours one day?”
She grows quiet for so long that I check to make sure the line hasn’t gone dead. Finally, she answers.
“I pray that day never comes,” she says quietly. “Now go catch a bad guy. Is it safe to tell me the town so I can watch the news for you? I know you said you were sometimes on the news. If it’s against the rules, then don’t tell me, because I’d never ask you-“
“I’ll be in New York. I’m sure it’ll be on all the major channels if this pans out. It’s rare to get a break this big, but it could all be wrong. I’m going on a profile that I built myself just a few moments ago. For the record, I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”
“Then why did you tell me?” she scolds.
“Because I want you to be someone one day.”
I don’t tell her that I’ve thoroughly checked her out to make sure she wasn’t any type of lawbreaking heathen or anything. Best if this trust thing starts now.
“Well, someday, I hope I am someone. Until then, don’t tell me things you’re not supposed to.”
“Why?” I ask, amused that she’s so angry about this.
“Because I respect you. And I never want you to think I expect more than I should. This is about us. Not your job. Please. Promise me you won’t ever tell me things you’re not supposed to.”
Yeah… Told you she’s fucking perfect.
“Deal, pretty girl. Keep my boxers warm. I’ll text you or call you later.”
“Logan?”