Free The Chessman by Jeffrey B. Burton Page B

ages, and home addresses of the victims. Meagan Wright, the pick-up at the meat market in Virginia Beach, was the oldest. She was twenty-three. Jenny Granger, the youngest at age sixteen, was likely picked up off Highway 81 near Scranton, Pennsylvania. You can see how the Zalentines put miles on their cars so the disappearances wouldn’t all occur in a concentrated area.”
    Agent Preston looked at the assistant director. “So when we catch the Chessman, do we arrest him or give him a gold medal?”
    “I’ll make damn sure he gets two desserts before his injection,” Jund told Preston and turned to Cady. “How exactly does the Chessman intersect with these Zalentine thrill killings?”
    “Agents have been interviewing the families of the six victims. At this point there is no evidence that the Chessman was involved with the Zalentine thrill-kills. Boaters at the marina never saw any males on
The She-Killer
besides the twins. Fingerprints on the souvenir purses are heavy on Alain and Adrien with smeared prints from the various victims.”
    “Do the fingerprints tell us anything else?”
    “Agents interviewing the victims’ families have been meticulous in lifting prints off old yearbooks or photo albums or CDs to help us eliminate the fingerprints on the purses and various IDs, credit cards, and keys inside the Zalentines’ trophy safe. After eliminating the victims’ prints, there are the periodic prints here and there, consistent with a gas station clerk or cashier swiping a debit card. However, Alain and Adrien’s fingerprints are everywhere. The two must have taken these purses out frequently to look at the wallets, driver’s licenses, cosmetic cases, you name it.”
    The room sat in silence, which Jund eventually broke.
    “I know we’ve named him the Chessman—a singular individual—based on the surveillance recording at the Sanfield killing, but the twins…this homicide double-header indicates meticulous planning. Any thoughts on the Chessman being more than one person?”
    “Two things, sir. First, Adrien was dead within two hours of taking his boat out that morning. By 10:00 a.m. There’d be no difficulty for a single shooter to be back at Dorchester Towers to tail Alain by noon. Second,” Cady continued, “it had been five weeks since Sanfield’s death. A lot of time to shadow the twins, memorize their routines, set them up. Whereas if you’ve got a team of killers, why not hit both condos at night? Stormtrooper it. Hell of a lot easier.”
    “With the precision and intricate plotting involved in these three murders,” Bryce Drommerhausen spoke for the first time, “as well as having—forgive me, Elizabeth—the
cojones
to pull it off, I would suggest that the UNSUB has a military background. Ex-Special Forces, ex-Navy SEAL, you know, that type.”
    “An interesting point, Bryce,” the AD said. “Something to keep in the back of our minds as the investigation proceeds.”
    Heads nodded around the conference table.
    “Another thing, we need to bang on the Chessman’s M.O. like a drum. Find out how Sanfield intersects with the Zalentines.”
    “Interestingly, something of a connection exists,” Cady said. “Sanfield & Fine represented Alain Zalentine on a couple of speeding tickets. Rainmaker Sanfield brought Alain into the firm, but handed him off to Stephen Fine to make the tickets go bye-bye. By the way, Stephen Fine is suffering anxiety attacks and heading to an undisclosed spot in Bermuda for an extended stay.”
    Detective Sears began laughing and rubbed a knuckle against the corner of his eye. “I apologize for being inappropriate, but I just remembered that my wife’s wedding ring is a Zalentine. I think they’re going to have to change their tagline.”
    “Zalentine,” Agent Kurtz piped in from the speakerphone, “It Rhymes with Frankenstein.”
    Detective Sears struggled to keep from laughing. “Next quarter’s earnings may be a bit in the red.”
    “Thanks for the