Free Black Widow by Victor Methos Page B

said, “Stanton’s point on this. Who else wants in?”
     
     
    As the team made the preparations for the takedown, Stanton pulled up a photo of Heidi Rousseau. She was lovely in a way that he knew had been exploited since she was young. Marilyn Monroe’s beauty was recognized at nine years old, the same age she was raped for the first time. The world of men had a way of smelling out innocent beauty like blood, and destroying it.
    Heidi’s hair was platinum blonde but had been dyed from its natural color of black. Stanton couldn’t help but see the pain in her eyes. She wasn’t smiling in any picture he saw.
    “Shit’s getting real,” Jones said, coming up behind him. “That her?”
    “Yup.”
    “Holy shit. She like a model or something?”
    “I don’t think so.” He thought a moment. “Let’s go see her,” he said, rising.
    “What? Now?”
    “Yes.”
    “But the team’s setting everything up still.”
    “We’re not going to take her down. Just watch her. Come on.”
     
     
    Queen’s Medical was a modern hospital with a flair for island décor. Lined with palm trees and torches, the sky above it blue and cloudless, it had the look of a middle-class resort rather than a hospital.
    Stanton parked in visitor parking. Jones looked to him.
    “You sure about this?” Jones asked.
    “I want to see her.”
    “They’ll be ready to move on her tomorrow morning, man. We just gotta get the arrest warrant.”
    Stanton thought about how to phrase his next words for the young detective. “Connor, every person has an aura. And I don’t mean some metaphysical cloud that surrounds them. They have a way of thinking that determines what their life is like. Their thoughts make actions, which make their choices, which make up their life. All those things are in line. If you watch the person, you can almost see it. See their aura, what makes them who they are. I want to see her so I can observe what’s there.”
    He grimaced. “You sure as hell talk silly for someone with a PhD.”
    Stanton grinned. “You ready?”
    Jones shook his head and hopped out of the jeep.

19
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Stanton walked to the help desk and smiled. The woman seated across from him, a volunteer he guessed, looked up at him through thick glasses.
    “Yes?”
    “I’d like to know if Dr. Heidi Rousseau is in today, please.”
    “Okay, hang on.”
    She pulled something up on a computer and took a solid three minutes reading through it. Stanton looked around at the patients. He noticed a man walking through the automatic doors with a cane. His sweatpants were pulled up to the knees and he wore a gray, dirty sleeveless shirt. A baseball cap was pushed back onto his head. They exchanged glances, both of them recognizing the other. Stanton couldn’t place him, though.
    “She will be here at eleven,” the volunteer said.
    Stanton checked the clock on his phone. It was five minutes ’til. “Thanks.”
    Stanton turned away from her and went to a semi-circle of couches and chairs in the lobby. A coffee and pastry cart was near. Jones bought a cinnamon Danish and a coffee, and sat next to him.
    “I have other cases, you know,” Jones said.
    “You’re free to leave. But I think you want to stay.”
    He nodded, taking a bite of the Danish. “Hell yes, I do. I’ve… I’ve never dealt with a serial before. All the killings we get are gangland or domestic violence.”
    “They’re interesting cases,” Stanton said.
    “That’s it? That’s the advice you got for me? It’s interesting ?”
    Stanton glanced back to see if the man with the cane was still there, but he was gone. “They involve the most work. Most murders, the killers either still hang around or a bunch of witnesses saw who did it. Serial murder isn’t like that. You have to take what evidence is there and extrapolate. Not everyone can do it.”
    Jones sipped at his coffee. “How do you know if you can do it?”
    “You just have to jump in and