Harlan would describe it all in his report. But a picture of what had happened was already forming in Trent’s mind.
Like with the others, Dryden had kidnapped her, tied her hands, stripped her naked, and maybe started the torture. Fish hooks were a new twist, but eventually, as with the others, he’d let her loose in a remote forest. Her bare feet would have grown sore as she ran over the forest floor. Branches and brambles would have ripped at her hair and torn at her unprotected skin. Dryden would have given her a head start, only a minute or two, and then he would have set out after her, hunting her, terrorizing her, until he finally either caught up with her or shot her to slow her down.
Harlan found no bullet wounds, so either he had outpaced her, outsmarted her, or she returned to him, unwilling to believe he would do something so horrible. However it had played out, Dryden enjoyed the hunt because it allowed him to feel his victim’s fear and pain. And catching her, however he managed it, proved his superiority.
It wasn’t a unique signature. Most killers of his type found some way to cause their victims fear and pain. There had even been an infamous killer in Alaska who had kidnapped prostitutes and flown them into the wilderness to hunt them. Trent had suspected that was where Dryden had gotten the idea.
The bastard was cruel, but he didn’t have a lot of imagination.
After the quarry was under control, Dryden’s signature got more personal. This was the portion Trent believed that gave the psychopath the most satisfaction.
Ed Dryden had grown up in a deer hunting family, common in this part of Wisconsin. What was less common was the severe abuse and humiliation he’d suffered at the hands of his drunken wreck of a father. But from the time Ed Dryden was small, he’d been charged with removing the deer’s organs and preparing the venison. It was something he was good at, the only time he truly felt capable and confident.
So that’s what he did to the women. He would hunt them down, sink the knife, and slice from sternum to pubic bone. As the last of life drained from his victims, he would clean out their organs, every one, and hang them from a tree.
In Farrentina’s case, he’d transported her body to Rees’s porch and displayed her for the police to find. An attempt to humiliate, dominate, and control. Not just Farrentina, but Risa, too.
But the question wasn’t only about what the monster had done and why. The most urgent question in this case was where.
Dryden needed a secluded place to stage his hunt. Farrentina owned a vast estate, but if he had hunted her down on her own property, the deputies outside her house surely would have heard her screams. And since he and Rees had seen Farrentina mere hours before she died, Dryden’s secluded spot couldn’t be too far from either Farrentina’s house or Risa’s.
And Trent had a feeling that if they found that secluded location, they’d find Dryden.
Trent moved to the bottom of the gurney and examined the debris sticking to the blood on her feet, hands, and knees. To the naked eye it looked like it could have come from any forest in southern Wisconsin. But detailed analysis just might narrow down the area. That, along with what they knew about the time frame in which the murder occurred, could give them a location.
“Can we get a rush on the analysis of this debris?” Trent asked Subera.
“I’ll push for it.”
Doc’s assistant began collecting the debris while Doc continued his prodding. Once he’d put every last bit in an evidence bag, he left for the lab.
Dan Cassidy strode into the room in the assistant’s wake, still pulling his protective clothing on over a wrinkled white shirt. “Sorry to leave you here alone with the famous-but-incompetent, Doc.”
Trent focused on the detective, taking in the lines of tension ringing his mouth, the shadows creasing the skin under his eyes. “We need to talk, Cassidy.”
Cassidy’s gaze shot to meet Trent’s. An unmistakable shift of wariness crossed his sharp features. “What’s up?”
“You tell me.” Trent skewered Cassidy with a glare. “Why didn’t you tell Special Agent Subera or me that Farrentina Hamilton was bribing prison guards on Dryden’s behalf?”
“What’s wrong? You feebs couldn’t figure it out on your own?”
“You could have saved us time. We’re supposed to work together.”
“Work together, my ass.” He scoffed. “You exaggerated a sighting you knew was bogus so you could take over.”
Trent eyed Cassidy. He’d known from the beginning the detective wasn’t happy to lose control of the manhunt. Could the detective’s secretiveness merely be resentment of the FBI? He had to admit it was possible. He’d seen it before. “Care to explain how you stumbled upon the bribery in the first place, Detective?”
“Ever hear of police work? You should try it sometime.”
“Cut the crap, Cassidy,” Subera said. “We have a serial killer out there.”
“One of the other guards tipped me off a few weeks ago. Complained that Dryden was getting preferential treatment. Apparently he reported it to the warden, but he didn’t get results. He thought Hanson might be sharing in some of the green flying around. I was investigating before Dryden escaped.”
Trent nodded. Cassidy’s explanation sounded plausible. And it would be easy to check.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Burnell. You’re trying to keep your little professor from putting herself on a hook. Well, don’t bother looking at me. I’ve done my job. I’ve turned the lives of those three guards upside down and haven’t found a damn thing beyond them trading TV time for a little cash.”
“You’d damn well better get me copies of those reports, Detective,” Subera said.
“Turned ’em over to one of your men on my way here.”
The guards weren’t the only ones in position to help Dryden escape. There was still Warden Hanson.
As if reading his thoughts, Cassidy grinned. “If you’re betting on the warden giving you some answers, don’t. I’ve been through his financial records. His wife’s aunt died recently and gave him an infusion of cash. Other than that, the man lives within his means. Besides, we’ve had officers watching him and his wife since you alerted us last night. So far he’s gone to work, and she shopped for handbags. Not exactly suspicious activities.”
“A few hours of working and shopping doesn’t mean anything.” Trent filled Cassidy in on Warden Hanson’s thwarted Supermax ambition.
“Who hasn’t been informing who?”
Trent narrowed his eyes on the detective. “You obviously dislike Risa Madsen. And her sister. Why?”
“What does it matter? I’ve done my job.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“What the hell don’t I have against them, that’s what you should be asking.” He shook his head, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Do you want to know what I think about women like them? Do you really want to know?”
Trent said nothing, just waited for him to continue.
“Women who find toying with that kind of danger fun? Whether they are marrying him or studying him, it’s all the same. Either way, if he got the chance, he’d string ’em up and kill them in a minute.”
“It’s not the same.”
“How? None of them want to see what a monster he really is. They think he’s fascinating, exciting, even a victim of big bad law enforcement. They blame us and glorify him. It makes me sick.”
Though what Cassidy was saying rubbed Trent the wrong way, he could understand the detective’s frustration. He’d felt it himself more than once. Trent could probably cross Cassidy off the Dryden-helper list.