Drained by E.H. Reinhard Read Free Book Online

indoors.
    “Have you been in here before?” I asked.
    “Yeah, it’s a neat place,” Beth said. “Cool architecture.”
    “New?” I asked.
    “Maybe like ten years old or so.” She pointed toward a set of doors to our right. “We’re headed over there.”
    We entered the building’s lobby. A number of people rummaged about, all looking hurried. A large FBI insignia was inlaid into the blue marble floor in the center of the room. I followed Beth to the desk at the back.
    A man looking the part of a security guard glanced up at us from behind the counter.
    “Agents Harper and Rawlings to see an Agent Andrews in serial crimes,” Beth said.
    “One moment,” he said.
    The man got on the phone, said that Agent Andrews had a pair of guests, gave our names, and hung up.
    “You’ll want to use the elevators there”—he pointed to the corner of the lobby—“and head up to the eighth floor. Make a left out of the elevators and head down the hall to the serial crimes unit. Agent Andrews will be expecting you.”
    “Thank you,” I said.
    Beth and I walked to the bank of elevators, and I thumbed the button to take us up.
    The elevator doors spread and took us inside. We rode up in silence. The elevator doors opened and let us into a hallway. A sign on the wall showed that the serial crimes unit was to our left, just as the guard downstairs had said. We walked down the hall and entered a large cubicle-filled area that looked strikingly similar to ours in Manassas.
    A man in a suit walked toward us. He was six foot and thin and looked to be in his midforties. His hair was short and blond, his face shaved clean. He wore a blue jacket over a light-gray shirt and darker-gray tie. The jacket had FBI embroidered in yellow across the front pocket. He greeted us immediately. “Are you my two from Virginia?” he asked.
    “That would be us. Agents Beth Harper and Hank Rawlings,” Beth said.
    “Agent Alan Andrews,” he said.
    Beth reached out and shook his hand. I shook the agent’s hand next.
    “Follow me,” he said.
    Beth and I followed him around the room of cubicles to an office near the back. He opened the door and motioned for us to sit. We took seats as he closed the door. Agent Andrews rounded his desk and sat. He had a file open on his desk, and though it was upside down, I recognized the photos of one of the victims. “Did you guys get everything we sent over?” he asked.
    Beth removed her copy of the file from her bag, so I unzipped my laptop bag and removed mine.
    “Here is everything we were given,” Beth said. “Have a look and see if we are matching up on everything.”
    Agent Andrews compared his file against the one Beth had handed him. “Hmm,” he said. “Everything you have we have except we never got a few of these crime-scene photos from the first victim that we had. Mind if I make a few copies quick?”
    “By all means,” Beth said. “After we’re contacted for an investigation, our guys pull files from everywhere individually. Those may have come from the PD directly.”
    He nodded and slipped the four pages into the copy machine at the back of his office.
    “We also have this if you’d like to make a copy.” Beth slipped out the profile of our suspect, which had been drawn up some eight years before. I had looked it over, but I’d never put a lot of stock in profiles. They all read basically the same—single, possibly divorced thirty-or forty-something-year-old with a checkered past. I’m sure the bureau’s behavior analysis unit would disagree with me on the topic, but I’d been around enough homicides over the years to be entitled to my own opinion.
    “Well, the victims were in the Chicago vicinity here. Let’s hope our perp still is. You guys have the full force of this office for whatever you need locally,” Andrews said.
    “Thank you,” Beth said.
    “Will you be needing an office?” he asked.
    Beth shook her head. “No. We’ll work from our hotel and coordinate