The Fifth to Die: A gripping, page-turner of a crime thriller. J.D. Barker

on the board was of a girl Porter knew well, the only one he actually met, the only one not to die. Emory Connors, fifteen years old, taken in November of last year. Although she lost an ear and spent days in captivity, Bishop didn’t kill her. Most likely he would have, if Porter hadn’t found him first. At least, that was how the papers printed it. Porter knew damn well Bishop let her live. He also knew that Bishop had let Porter find him. He wanted the chance to explain himself, explain his purpose, his manifesto, before killing Arthur Talbot and disappearing.

      Talbot, who turned out to be Emory’s father, was the worst criminal of the lot. And although Bishop had kidnapped Emory, he ultimately punished Talbot by mutilating the man before pushing him down an elevator shaft — he killed him and spared Emory.

      Emory went on to inherit her father’s billions, his untimely death triggering a clause in his will, a condition left by her mother years prior.

      Emory lived, and Bishop eluded capture.

      Six eyeballs.

      Porter stared up at the photos of 4MK’s victims.

      Seven deaths, one girl freed.

      Anson Bishop had managed to integrate himself into Porter’s task force when he posed as a CSI photographer back in November. During his first briefing with the team, they reviewed each of 4MK’s past victims, tried to bring him up to speed while searching for Emory. He listened to them with attentive ears, soaking in what they knew, pretending all this was new to him. Porter often looked back on that moment, searching for anything that should have given away his true identity, but there was none. Bishop no doubt stared up at this board with a feeling of great accomplishment while portraying just the right amount of horror on the outside, just the right amount of interest. He asked the right questions and refrained from embellishing on the information provided. Porter imagined this was extremely difficult for him. During that last confrontation at Belmont, Bishop bubbled over with the need to share what he knew, to explain himself. That urge must have been overwhelming as he stood looking at these boards, as he heard what they knew about each victim.

      Bishop made several points, though, latched on to a few details.

      Porter closed his eyes and thought back on that day, on his words.

      He recalled Bishop pointing out information access — find out who had access to information on all these crimes, and work back from there. That had been a moot point, though, because ultimately they discovered that it was Talbot himself who knew of all these crimes, and Bishop had pilfered the information from him. He mentioned the dates, pointed out 4MK was escalating. This was true, but if a reason existed, they never determined what it was. They believed 4MK was dead at that point. Only finding Emory mattered.

      Then there was the hair color.

      Porter recalled how Bishop fixated on the photo of Barbara McInley, the only blonde. An anomaly, he called her. The only blonde among a group of attractive brunettes. He went on to ask if any of the girls had been sexually assaulted — they had not. He also asked if 4MK had any male victims. Specifically, he asked if any of the girls had brothers, then said something like, “If we assume half these families had at least one son and he grabbed their children at random, one or two male victims should have presented. That didn’t happen. There was a reason he took the daughters over the sons — we just don’t know it.” Porter believed 4MK took female victims simply because they were easier to control, less likely to fight back.

      Six eyeballs.

      Seven dead girls.

      Porter returned to the photo of Barbara McInley. Punished because her sister killed someone in a hit-and-run. McInley was the only girl to really hold Bishop’s interest during their briefing, the only one he had honed in on. Porter could still picture him, tapping on her photo, the wheels of his mind racing.

      Porter glanced over at the door, listening for anyone in the hallway, but heard no one.

      A table stood against the wall on his left, stacked high with file boxes — everything they’d collected on 4MK. The third box from the left had the word Victims written on the front with red marker, Porter’s own handwriting. He crossed the room, removed the lid, and shuffled through the contents until he located Barbara McInley’s file, the name also written in his handwriting.

      These were his files. His team’s files. They did not belong to the FBI.

      “Fuck it.”

      Porter wrapped the file in his coat, then replaced the lid on the file box and crossed the room to the door. When he was certain the hallway was still deserted, he slipped out of the room and pulled the door quietly shut behind him.

      He ducked into the war room at the end of the hall and flicked on the overhead fluorescents.

      “I was beginning to think you took the morning off,” Special Agent Stewart Diener said. He was sitting at Nash’s desk, his feet up, poking away at the tiny screen of his phone.

      Porter hoped an indoor breeze would catch the man’s delicate comb-over. No such luck.

       9

       Porter

       Day 2 • 7:59 a.m.

      Porter stared at Diener. “We caught a body and a second missing girl. I’ve been up all night. What do you want?”

       Has he been in here the entire time?

      “Yeah, great job keeping a lid on that.” Diener tossed a folded copy of the Chicago Tribune over to Porter’s desk.

      Porter glanced down at the headline:

       4MK BACK AND TAKING OUR DAUGHTERS?

      This was followed by a photo of Emory Connors walking on the sidewalk, head down. Both the story and photo were above the fold — main headline. Below the fold were two other shots — a telephoto lens capturing the scene at the Jackson Park Lagoon and another of the Davieses’ house.

      Diener stood and walked around to the side of Porter’s desk, pointed at the paper. “They name both Ella Reynolds and Lili Davies in here.”

      “How is that possible? We haven’t released anything. I just met with Lili Davies’s parents a few hours ago.”

      Diener shrugged. “One of your crack team of investigators has loose lips.”

      “That’s ridiculous,” Porter muttered, skimming the text.

      The story mentioned the body found at Jackson Park Lagoon and speculated that she was most likely missing teen Ella Reynolds. The reporter also revealed that quick on the heels of this discovery, another girl vanished. Lili Davies was last seen leaving for school yesterday, but she never got to class. The remainder of the story detailed 4MK’s past victims and implied that Anson Bishop was forced to change his MO after his botched arrest.

      “What’s that nut sack doing in here?” Nash said from the doorway.

      Porter held up the paper. “Delivering the news.”

      Nash walked over and dropped his coat onto the chair Diener had vacated. He brushed a piece of lint from the man’s shoulder. “Nice to see you exploring your career options. If you behave, maybe after school today we can go down to Walmart and pick you out a nice bike so you can expand your route.”

      Porter dropped the paper onto Nash’s desk and pointed at the photos of the lagoon and the Davieses’ home. “This isn’t Bishop. It’s completely irresponsible for them to go out on a limb and say that it is. They’re just trying to sell more papers.”

      Diener said, “How can you be so sure? Maybe Bishop decided to change things up, just like they say.”

      “Serial killers don’t