Free Relatively Rainey by R. E. Bradshaw Page B

the victims were just barely teenagers. He’s all over the map.”
    “He did some sick shit, man. Look at those pictures. Jesus.”
    “I don’t care how good this guy is at hiding his tracks, he’ll be caught and all this time we spent on profiling mumbo-jumbo will have meant diddly-squat.”
    “Maybe these crimes aren’t related at all. Maybe it’s two guys, could be three.”
    Rainey paused at the front row and leaned against the wall, as Sheila moved toward the podium.
    A male voice to her right said, “What’s her name? That profiler? Cloudy? Stormy? Something like that, anyway, I heard she has a good looking wi— uh, girlfri, uh—the woman she lives with is smokin’ hot.”
    A female voice chastised him. “You can say wife, Jack. Join us in the twenty-first century.”
    A hushed and deeper male voice commented, “She ain’t so bad herself. She’s standing right behind you.”
    Equipped with a body-mic for her coming presentation, Rainey fought the urge to comment. Pretending unawareness she kept her eyes focused on Sheila. Seated behind the podium, a semicircle of brass-ornamented chests waited. Giving a respectful nod to all the officers outranking her, Sheila stepped up to the microphone.
    “Good afternoon, everyone.”
    The greeting silenced the murmuring room.
    “Thank you for coming. I am Detective Sheila Robertson with the Durham County Sheriff’s Office Criminal Investigation Division. I will be serving as the spokesperson for the task force today. Behind me are…”
    Rainey stopped listening to the obligatory salutes to the brass. She didn’t care which dignitaries were in the room. The man they were looking for was not among them, or she didn’t think he was, but anything was possible with an offender like this. Her eyes trailed over the task force evidence boards. Crowded with pictures and maps, they represented the sum of the known facts concerning the UNSUB or “Triangle Terror.”
    The media came up with the nickname, as they usually did, much to Rainey’s displeasure and she supposed to the unknown subject or UNSUB’s delight. They initially tossed around names like “The Bodice Bandit,” “The Bustier Booster,” and the “Corset Creeper,” when women’s undergarments began disappearing in the fall of 2013. The more intimidating nature of the current media designation for the UNSUB accompanied his escalation from fetish burglaries to rape and finally a burgeoning serial murder.
    “…consulting behavioral analyst, Rainey Bell.”
    It took a second for the introduction to register, prompting Rainey to turn her attention from the evidence boards and back to the podium.
    She apologized, “I’m sorry,” before moving to take her place at the front of the room.
    Sheila prevented Rainey's need of an explanation for her inattention, saying, “Forgive her. She has three-year-old triplets at home with a stomach virus—for how many days now?”
    Rainey answered, “Ten, ten long days. And nights, don’t forget the very long nights. They appear to be on the mend, thank goodness.”
    A ripple of chuckles from knowing parents circled the room.
    “After we hear from Rainey, we have some proactive initiatives and responsibility designations to discuss. We have a woman missing for twelve days, two unsolved murders, three sexual assaults, and countless fetish burglaries. We need to get this guy off the street and locate Kaitlyn Whitaker. Please give your attention now to the UNSUB’s profile.”
    “Thank you, Detective Robertson. Good afternoon, everyone,” Rainey said to the room. “Once again, it is a privilege to work with the departments and investigators involved in this case. The attention to detail in both documenting the known crime scenes and the collection of evidence has been exemplary.”
    She indicated the evidence boards with a sweep of a hand.
    “The task force requested I give you a brief behavioral analysis of the unknown subject who committed these crimes. My