Deadly Sommer: Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One

by Nicholas Harvey

  Whittaker took a deep breath. “Okay, what did we learn?” he said, turning to the FBI agents.

  “He’s not a violent man,” Beth started. “This has to have a connection to his wife’s death. Something catastrophic has pushed him into what he’s doing. He truly believes a serious wrong has to be set right. I don’t know if he could bring himself to kill the girl – you just saw how traumatised he was harming her.”

  “He just mutilated her! Maybe he’s getting a taste for it,” Kowalczyk retorted. “My partner’s comments are not an official Federal Bureau of Investigation analysis, detective, and shouldn’t be taken as such.”

  Beth glared at Kowalczyk, and Whittaker sighed. “That’s not helpful. While you two bicker about official FBI lines, we still have a kidnapper to find. I don’t care about whatever grievance you two have. What I care about is useful, actionable input.” He turned and looked directly at Kowalczyk. “Got any? What’s the official party statement?”

  “Listen Whittaker,” Kowalczyk growled, gritting his teeth, “we’re here to advise, and…”

  “Then advise,” Whittaker snapped. “Or get back on your plane and go home. We’ll ship you your citizen’s body parts once we collect them all up.”

  AJ and Casey both looked at each other in shock. They’d both known the detective for years, and had never heard him lose his cool. The two IT techs sank lower in their seats and waited for whatever was coming next.

  Kowalczyk’s shoulders dropped. “Look, he’s laid out his threats, and he just carried out the first one as promised. We have to proceed based on him being willing to go the next step.”

  “I agree,” Beth said, and both men turned to her in surprise. “Before I was interrupted, the point I was trying to make is I don’t think he could kill her in the same close proximity he just experienced. Whatever he has arranged for the fourth challenge, he’ll have a plan to carry out her death remotely in some way.”

  “You think he’ll run and leave her to die by some means?” Whittaker asked.

  “That’s my guess,” Beth confirmed. “Something clean and tidy, not messy or bloody. Possibly even humane. A lethal sedative in a drink would be the closest I could see him getting to her death. He’ll want a layer of separation from the act. He’ll put it in motion, but he won’t want to see her die, or be there when it happens.”

  “That’s a lot of assumptions about a guy who just cut the finger off an innocent young woman,” Kowalczyk commented, with slightly less challenge in his tone.

  “It’s a psychological profile from the evidence the man’s presented and what we know of his history,” Beth retorted, looking at Whittaker and ignoring her partner.

  “Ricci likes making assumptions,” Kowalczyk bit back.

  Whittaker held up his hands. “I’ll take useful assumptions over pointing out the obvious, agent. Any other observations?”

  “Look back at the video of your constable,” Kowalczyk said, pointing to the nearest IT tech. “There was one wider view of her, where the back of the room could be seen.”

  They walked over behind the constable who rewound through their recorded footage of the feed until Kowalczyk said stop.

  “There, play this view, it’s brief.”

  They all watched as the camera angle from the corner of the small room showed Nora at the whiteboard. The view looked from her left side across the back of the room.

  “The drape is pulled back,” Beth noted.

  “Yup, can you do anything with that shot?” Kowalczyk asked.

  The tech zoomed in and played with contrast and brightness controls. The picture improved slightly, enough for the lighter wood to be clear, and a seam between two boards became evident.

  “Looks like a wooden structure,” Whittaker said, staring intently at the image.

  The tech pointed to the seam with a pen. “See da fine line of lighter colour, right der? I’d say dat’s light shining through.”

  “So that’s an outside wall, and he’s gone to some trouble to cover it over,” Kowalczyk agreed. “He was just sloppy with that one drape.”

  “He’s not been sloppy about anything,” Beth remarked. “I’d say Nora did that, so we’d see it.”

  “Hanging those drapes would be faster than painting, panelling or sealing in any other way,” Whittaker said thoughtfully. “He may have constructed this building himself. It would explain why we don’t know about another building in Barkers.”

  He turned to Jacob, who’d just returned to the tent. “Get to work on the building supply store, Jacob, see if Massey purchased anything in the past three weeks.”

  “You know it’s Sunday, sir?” Jacob replied timidly.

  “I don’t care if it’s Easter, Christmas and New Year all in one, Jacob, get hold of Thompson and have him look. I’ll text you his number.”

  Whittaker quickly found the contact on his mobile and texted it to his constable.

  “I’ll check with our office and see if his credit card records have been received yet,” Kowalczyk said. “We may be able to see from his purchases.”

  Whittaker nodded, and the agent stepped away to make the call.

  “This means he could still be in Barkers as you thought, detective,” Beth pointed out. “But I guess the bad news is he could have built this anywhere in those woods.”

  The digital radio sitting on the table crackled to life. “Dis is Unit 2. We’ve found signs of recent activity by one of da canals. Over.”

  The detective swooped up the radio. “This is Whittaker, Unit 2, give me a description and exact location.”

  “West of da building we found, North Sound side of da roadway, sir,” came the reply. Whittaker recognised Williams’s voice. “Hard to tell how many people, but several footprints and slide marks. Da bank is steep here.”

  “Could someone hide a small boat in the canal that would be hidden from the road?” Whittaker asked.

  “I think we’d see a boat, sir, especially from da height of a vehicle,” the officer replied, “but der’s a culvert under da roadway dat keeps the canals either side at da same water level. You could hide a kayak-sized vessel inside der.”

  “Good work,” Whittaker replied. “Follow the canal and look for exit tracks.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The radio went quiet, and the detective went back to the IT tech. “Bring up the FBI’s high-definition satellite image of Barkers, please.”

  He and Beth both leaned in for a closer look.

  The tech had highlighted the building, and Whittaker tapped on the screen in the general area the footmarks had been reported. “Here, put an arrow in this spot. Now, let’s figure out where that canal leads without having to exit the water.”

  They traced the canal east, where it led to the tip of the park and ended. The more likely direction was west, where it continued alongside the road, running parallel to the shoreline until it met the edge of the park at the border with The Shores. The road ended, but the canal continued, connecting to the inland-side canal and running along the edge of the park to the south-west corner. Four side roads with similar canals led away from the main waterway. The tech highlighted each one, and the large scope of the area to be searched became clear.

  “Send a screenshot of this map with the highlighted areas to the field teams, please,” Whittaker asked. “They’re looking for any recent signs of activity. Have them focus on the highlighted areas.”

  “Whittaker,” Kowalczyk said, tucking his mobile away in his jacket as he walked over. “Massey spent $4,100 at a place called A. L. Thompson Building Supplies Ltd, ten days ago. Two more purchases from the same store for lesser amounts in the past week.”

  “That’s our main building supplier,” the detective confirmed. “Jacob should be able to verify the details of those transactions shortly. But I think we can safely assume they’ll contain materials to build a small structure.”

  Whittaker looked at the highlighted canals on the screen and allowed himself a moment of optimis
m. “We still have a large area to cover and very little time, but I think we’re closing in on Mr Massey.”

  “Your young constable has done a remarkable job leaving us clues, detective,” Beth pointed out. “It’s hard to believe she’s only been on the force a few weeks.”

  Whittaker nodded. He thought about his protege and his intention of offering her a distraction from the misery she’d suffered. It wasn’t working out in the way he’d hoped.

  “She’s a tough kid,” he remarked, “but right now I wish I hadn’t…” He stopped himself. Wishing and wasting time on past events that couldn’t be undone were not his style, and he wouldn’t allow himself to be dragged down that path. “Yes, remarkable indeed.”

  26

  Star Witness

  Agents Brandt and Graham were resigned to their Sunday being spent running around the Tampa/St Pete area, knocking on doors that wouldn’t be answered. Brandt knocked again and pushed the doorbell three times. No response.

  Mariner South Condominiums were located near Emery Riddle Aeronautical University on the west shoreline of Tampa. They were graced with a superb view of Old Tampa Bay and St Pete across the water, and Faith guessed they were too pricey for the average student. Myra Shah’s unit was on the third floor of the eight-storey building.

  The two agents walked back to the lift, Brandt hit the button, and the doors opened. They rode the lift down and stepped into the stifling heat of the car park on the ground floor. Her partner walked ahead towards the guest parking and their SUV, but Faith paused a moment.

  “Can you get me a licence plate for Shah’s vehicle?” she said into the mic on her lapel.

  Brandt stopped and, realising what his partner was up to, walked back and joined her in looking at the parking space numbers.

  “Here,” Beth said, finding the spot corresponding to Myra Shah’s condo number.

  A Kia Soul filled the spot. The car looked to be a few years old, with a couple of light scratches around the hatchback door. A rainbow-coloured peace sign sticker adorned the lower left corner of the back window. The licence plate surround suggested Myra had attended the University of Texas in Austin. Brandt peeked in the back window of the Kia.

  “Dog,” he said, pointing to a blanket on the back seat, liberally covered in pale hair.

  Faith looked out through the open sides of the car park. “Maybe she’s walking the dog.”

  A voice came over their earpieces and read off the licence plate number associated with Myra Shah. Faith verified they’d found the right vehicle.

  “Let’s go back up,” Brandt said, and Faith followed him to the lift.

  The two agents had worked together for the past 18 months, since Faith had been assigned to Tampa. They were good together in her mind, and she was confident he felt the same way. He had more experience than her, but Brandt had always been respectful, and after a year and a half working closely together, they often knew each other’s thoughts.

  Brandt banged on the condominium door once again, and waited. After the same lack of response, Faith put her ear to the door.

  “There’s music playing. Check the neighbour,” she said, nodding towards the adjacent unit.

  Brandt listened at the door of the next unit and shook his head. Faith did the same at the unit in the other direction.

  “It’s not very loud, but it’s coming from her condo,” she confirmed.

  Brandt gave Shah’s door a listen and nodded in agreement.

  “Hey, I hear a dog,” he said, holding up a finger. “Sounds like it’s whining.”

  Faith keyed her lapel mic. “Permission to force entry. We have music and a possible dog inside, but no response at the door.”

  She paused and looked at the lock and then at her partner. He nodded.

  “We can make a non-destructive entry,” she added over the radio.

  “Proceed with entry,” came the reply from the operations van down the street.

  Brandt took a small lock-picking kit from his pocket and crouched down. Selecting the right tool, he fiddled with the key slot for less than 15 seconds before the mechanism released and he turned the handle.

  “FBI! We’re entering the residence,” Faith announced loudly, with the radio keyed.

  A door across the hall opened and an older woman stared at the two agents wide eyed. Faith flashed her badge with her free hand, her Glock 19M already drawn.

  “FBI. Go back inside ma’am and keep the door closed.”

  The woman stood still, her face a mixture of shock and panic.

  “Everything’s fine ma’am, no cause for alarm, go back inside,” Faith repeated.

  The old lady started to say something without moving.

  “Now!” Faith growled, and the woman snapped her door closed.

  Brandt pushed the door open and scanned the room, his weapon drawn, pointed at the ground in the low ready position. Soft music played from another part of the condo, and the muffled sound of a dog yipping greeted the two agents as they entered the room. To their right was a kitchen, open to a living space, with a small dining table and two sofas facing a glass door with a view of the bay. A small dog ran back and forth on the balcony, barking behind the double-glazed hurricane-proof glass.

  Faith nodded towards a closed door to their right, and Brandt moved that way while she checked around the living room furniture.

  “Clear,” she said quietly, and joined her partner by the bedroom door.

  The music was coming from the room beyond, and Brandt placed his hand on the doorknob. Faith nodded, and Brandt swung the door open. She stepped inside and scanned the room, pausing just inside the doorway, facing the window.

  “One victim, no movement,” she said methodically, and moved in the opposite direction towards the bathroom.

  Brandt followed her into the room and, after scanning the room himself, waited while his partner cleared the bathroom.

  Faith holstered her weapon and keyed her mic. “One victim, female, signs of strangulation,” she said, observing the red marks around the woman’s neck.

  Brandt checked for a pulse and shook his head.

  “Victim unresponsive. No pulse,” Faith added over the radio.

  Myra Shah lay slumped in an office chair near the bed, fully clothed in black leggings and a cotton top. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. From her name and smooth, pale brown skin, Faith guessed the woman was of Indian descent. They knew she was 34 years old. Faith noticed a framed photograph on the bedside table. Myra was smiling at the camera with a blonde woman kissing her cheek.

  Beyond the victim in the office chair, by the window overlooking the water, was a simple wooden desk. Underneath, on the right side, was a file cabinet with the top drawer partially open. On the desk sat a printer surrounded by various cables connected to nothing. A mouse remained on a pad to the side, but the computer was gone. Brandt used a pen to probe inside a satchel-style computer bag next to the desk. No laptop.

  “No sign of forced entry. Victim was killed right here, with the perp strangling her from behind while she was seated at the desk. Sometime today by the body temp. Maybe even this afternoon,” Brandt commented. “She’s still warm.”

  “Knew them, or was willing to let them into her home at least,” Faith concurred.

  “Computer taken,” Brandt added, and peeked inside the open file drawer. “Looks like paperwork too.”

  Faith keyed her mic. “We need to contact the security company. I noticed cameras in the under-building parking, including one facing the elevator.”

  “Roger that. We have crime scene on their way, and local police to secure the property and help with canvassing. Any evidence this is tied to the case?”

  “Computer and paperwork appear to be missing, and we haven’t found a phone yet,” Faith responded. “Can’t say it’s connected to the case that brought us here, but initial evidence suggests it has something to do with her work.”

  B
randt returned to the living area and looked around. The dog had stopped pacing and was now staring forlornly at him. The agent wondered how long it had been out on the balcony in the sweltering Florida heat. He wanted to let it back in the house, but they couldn’t risk the contamination of evidence. It would mean using the handle on the sliding door, and the killer was probably the last to do so. By the pictures pinned to the fridge, Myra was a dog lover, and Brandt doubted she would’ve locked her dog outside. He moved on through the room.

  “The nosy neighbour,” Faith said, following her partner from the bedroom. “I’ll go.”

  Brandt nodded his agreement, and Faith went out the front door into the hallway. She knocked on the lady’s door, on the opposite side, and didn’t have long to wait.

  “Show me your badge,” she heard the old lady demand from inside.

  Faith held her badge up to the peephole, and the door opened a crack, stopping against its safety chain.

  “Let me see it properly, I can’t make out anything through that damn hole in the door,” the old lady complained, and squinted at the badge held up to the opening.

  She grumbled something and pushed the door to. Faith heard the chain being removed, and the door opened halfway.

  “What’s going on over there?”

  “Ma’am, did you happen to notice anything unusual across the hall earlier today?” Faith asked. “Anyone coming or going?”

  “Apart from you two breaking in, you mean?” the old lady replied, giving Faith a hard stare. “She keeps herself to herself, that one,” she continued, “But I happened to notice a visitor a few hours ago.”

  “Could you describe the person you saw, ma’am?” Faith asked. “Had you seen them before?”

  The old lady shook her head. “I’ve never noticed him before,” she replied, “but of course, I don’t see everyone.”

  Faith doubted that.

  “He wasn’t like her, though,” the lady added.

  “How do you mean?” Faith asked, noting the visitor was male.

  “Well, he was younger than her, not like these university types that are all around this part of town. But not much older than that.”