by BIBA PEARCE
He got out of the car and looked around. Opposite the warehouse was the massive container yard. Giant Lego bricks extended into the distance as far as the eye could see. It would be difficult to mount the camera there.
Diagonally across the road was a prefab style building with a sign that said Calvin Exports on the front. It didn’t look like it was in use. The windows were filthy and there was an unkempt feel about the place. That would do.
He walked around the back and looked for a place to climb onto the roof. A pipe ran up the wall next to the window. Grunting, he put his foot on the ledge and hoisted himself up, holding onto the pipe for support.
Using the top frame of the window as a foothold, he pulled himself up so that his head was level with the roof. Gripping the pipe, he swung his legs up and rolled over. He was up.
He leopard-crawled across the flat surface until he had a bird’s-eye view of the warehouse yard. The camera had fresh batteries and would last a couple of days before he’d have to come back and change them.
He set it up, angling it towards the warehouse. Then he checked the image on his phone. The front of the building was visible, as was the side door where he’d broken in. He couldn’t see the far side where Torres had parked his car, but he figured the entrance was more important. Besides, he’d see the car when it drove in.
He pocketed his phone and slid back down the pipe.
Ortega had been desperate for Torres’s whereabouts. Reid could have put him out of his misery and told him about the warehouse, but then they’d descend on this place, guns blazing, and Torres would disappear again.
Reid wanted the Morales foreman right where he could see him. A drug charge was too good for that bastard. He was going to pay for what he’d done to Bianca. Reid would make sure of it.
29
When Reid got back to the station, it was buzzing with activity. Jonny, Jared, and Chris were all talking at the same time, phones glued to their ears.
“What’s happened?” he asked Ryan, whose fingers were flying over her keyboard.
“We got a break in the case.” She stopped typing and glanced up. “It’s a big one.”
“What is it?”
Pérez came striding over. “Garrett, it looks like you might have been right all along.”
He frowned. “About?”
“The Montague girl,” he said. “She’s involved, no doubt about it.”
“Bella?” Now he was really confused. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Bella Montague’s car was picked up on a traffic camera going south towards the Glades the night of Natalia’s murder,” supplied Ryan.
He stared at her. “Bella’s car?”
“Yeah.”
He remembered Dave saying how drunk she was. That he’d dropped her off at her apartment and she’d gone straight to bed.
“Are you sure?”
“Clear as day,” said Pérez.
Ryan handed him a photograph. It was black and white, and the quality wasn’t great, but he could clearly see Bella driving her Honda Civic. She had both hands on the steering wheel, her eyes focused straight ahead. She didn’t look drunk. Not even slightly inebriated.
“That’s her alright,” he muttered. Then his gaze flickered to the person sitting beside her. “Who’s that?”
“That is what we need to find out,” growled Pérez.
“His face is dark.”
Ryan looked up. “We’ve sent it to the tech team to see if they can enhance it, but at the moment, all we have is that shadowy figure.”
“It’s a man.” Reid studied it. Height-wise, he was taller than Bella, his head nearly touching the roof of the car. He had an angular chin, but not much else was recognizable. It was impossible to tell whether he was broad or skinny, blond or dark, or what color his skin tone was.
Dave? He strained his eyes. No, he didn’t think so, although if he was turning to the side, maybe.
Snake? Again, impossible to tell. It could be someone else entirely.
“She could be connected to the Swamp Strangler.” Ryan’s eyes gleamed.
“Given the link with the fourth victim, that’s a distinct possibility,” agreed Pérez.
Jonny rushed over. “We’re bringing her in,” he said. “I’ve sent a squad car to pick her up. We’re going to question her in connection with Natalia Cruz’s murder, and maybe she’ll let something slip about the others.”
Reid went back to his desk. There was a heaviness in his chest, the kind that comes when you know you’ve been duped. Bella had lied to him. She hadn’t been drunk at the launch party. It had all been a farce. Her spat with Natalia, was that for show too? Is that how she’d slipped whatever it was into Natalia’s drink?
And if that was all an elaborate performance, then was her relationship with Dave real?
Reid got the distinct feeling that Dave was being played for a fool. Unless he was her accomplice, but he couldn't see it somehow. Dave was a standup guy. He rescued damsels in distress off burning balconies. He didn’t dump their bodies in the Glades.
No, the guy in the photograph must be someone else.
The timestamp on the photograph had said 2:11am. The timing fit. He thought through the possible sequence of events.
Natalia had retired to her room at eleven. Bella, or her accomplice, must have broken into the hotel suite, attacked Natalia, and carried her out via the patio entrance. They stuck her in Bella’s car and drove her out to the Glades to dump her body.
The question was, did they do it to make it look like the Swamp Strangler’s victim, or was Bella in cahoots with the Swamp Strangler himself?
He was betting on the former. Serial killers didn’t team up with bitter ex-girlfriends. It just didn’t happen. Still, the task force was convinced they were all related, thanks to the school connection. That reminded him, he needed to check on the list of teachers and students.
But he didn’t have time, because at that moment, Bella walked in, escorted by two policemen.
“This is outrageous!” She flung her head back in a fiery display of pique. “I want my lawyer.”
“You’ll get a lawyer,” said Jonny, who’d read Bella her rights. He turned to Jared. “Put her in interrogation room one.”
Pérez came out of his office and watched Jared lead the suspect away. “Hard to believe that beautiful creature is a cold-blooded killer.”
“We don't know she is yet,” cautioned Reid.
Pérez raised an eyebrow. “The camera doesn’t lie.”
“It’s circumstantial,” reminded Reid. “Sure, it doesn’t look good, but it doesn’t mean she murdered anyone.”
“That road only leads to one place,” Pérez said. “The swamp.”
That was true. It was the road he took to get home every day. It curved past his cabin, past the Gator Inn and Smiley’s Bar and to the dirt loop road that wound deep into the swamp. One way in, one way out. Unless you had a boat.
“All I’m saying is a jury will argue that’s not concrete evidence,” he said.
Pérez scowled. “Yeah, I know. Let’s see what we can get out of her.”
Reid watched on the screen outside the interrogation room as Jonny sat down opposite Bella Montague and her attorney. Bella had composed herself and was now calm and relaxed. Her pale skin shimmered under the harsh lighting, her blue eyes wide and innocent.
Reid thought back to 12 hours ago, when she’d been gyrating on the beach to DJ Snake’s particular blend of chaos. He’d been almost convinced she had nothing to do with her ex-friend’s murder.
Her lawyer was an eager man with spectacles, who arched forward in his chair, as if he were leaning into his clothes.
“Shall we get started?” said Jonny.
The attorney nodded.
“This interview is being recorded,” Jonny said. Reid knew another officer was standing just inside the door in case of trouble, although Bella looked like she was about to step onto a runway, not face a police
interrogation. There wouldn’t be any trouble—not that kind, anyway.
“Miss Montague, can you explain what your vehicle was doing on Highway Forty-One at eleven minutes past two on the morning of the July sixteenth?” He slid the CCTV photograph across the table towards her.
She glanced down, but her expression didn’t change. “I was giving a friend a ride home.”
“Into the Glades?”
“Yes, that's where he said he lived.”
“He? I thought he was a friend. Didn’t you know where he lived?”
“No, he was a recent friend.”
“How recent?” asked Jonny.
“I met him a few nights before that picture was taken.” She nodded at the image.
“Does this friend have a name?”
“Yes, of course. He said his name was Julian.”
“Julian.”
She nodded.
“Julian Who?”
A shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Not such a good friend, then.”
She sighed. “Look, I met him at a bar. We hooked up. That’s all there is to it.”
“What about this night?” Jonny tapped the photo.
“I’d just gotten home from the launch party. I was tired and upset. I was about to go to bed when Julian knocked on my door. He’d been out and thought he could invite himself around for a late-night booty call.” She scoffed. “Obviously I said no, but he was pretty drunk, so I offered to take him home.”
“That was nice of you, going out of your way like that. Most women would have closed the door in his face.”
“I’m a nice girl.”
She was smooth, he'd give her that.
Jonny glanced at the file he’d brought in with him. “Earlier that evening, you’d been at a launch party at the Sand Club, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And at that party, you had an altercation with Natalia Cruz.”
Her face hardened. “It was no secret she and I didn’t get along, Detective.”
“In fact, you got so drunk that night, you had to be taken home by your date.”
“Who said I was drunk?”
She’d looked drunk on the security footage they’d seen of the party that night. He remembered her stumbling around the swimming pool, dangerously close to falling in. That must have been an act.
Jonny glanced down at his notes. He frowned. “Your date, Dave said you were—and I quote—pretty out of it. He took you home early.”
“Yes, that’s right. He took me home early, but not because I was drunk. I was upset by what had happened with Natalia. She used to be my best friend. Did you know she stole my boyfriend out from under me?”
Jonny cleared his throat. “I heard, yes.”
“Well, then you know how upsetting it was for me to see them together. I’m afraid I lost my temper, and we had words. Then I asked Dave to take me home.”
“That’s not the first time that’s happened, is it?” Jonny asked.
Reid was impressed. His colleague had come a long way since he’d been a rookie on Reid’s team. He was a senior detective now and doing a good job of it.
Ryan was also watching the recording, transfixed.
Bella glared at Jonny, her chin jutting out. Beside her, her attorney tensed. “How is that relevant, Detective?”
“It’s relevant because your client has a history of altercations with the murder victim. There was an incident at Ms. Cruz’s engagement party, too. You had to be forcibly removed from the premises,” Jonny reminded her.
“Like I said, we had our issues.”
“And here you are driving your car to the swamp where Natalia Cruz’s body was dumped the night she disappeared.”
Bella didn’t look quite so relaxed now.
“My client has already explained what she was doing there,” the lawyer said.
“Oh yes, the friend without a surname. Where did you drop him off?” Jonny asked.
“Outside the Gator Inn,” she said.
“That should be easy enough to check,” murmured Ryan.
Reid grunted. “The only people who stay there are the kind who don’t give their real names and always pay in cash.”
Ryan flushed. “Oh, shoot.”
“Yeah.”
The interview continued. “What time did you get back after dropping your friend off?”
“I don’t know. It was late.”
“Do you have a number for this Julian?”
“No, I told you. I picked him up in a bar.”
“Except he knew where you lived?”
“Yes, we went back to my place the first time we met.”
Reid sighed and walked away. That interrogation was going nowhere. They had nothing on Bella. Nothing that would stand up in court. Her explanation, although doubtful, couldn’t be disproved.
“Ryan,” he called, turning around.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have a list of staff and students at Natalia Cruz and Bella Montague’s school when they were there?”
“Yes, I’ll get it for you.”
He pulled up the background reports on the first two victims, Sarah Randall and Miranda Hoberman. He’d read them many times but couldn’t remember the names of the schools. Getting the details, he called the principals at both and requested a similar list.
They took a couple of hours to come through, but by the time Bella was released, he had a definitive list with which to cross-reference. He hit print and waited for the industrial-sized machine to spit them out. He wanted to tick them off, one by one.
“We can’t fucking charge her.” Jonny, who never swore, stormed out of the interview room.
Pérez patted him on the back. “You tried. She’s tough, and she played us like a fiddle. Had an answer for everything.”
“I know she’s involved.” Jonny clenched his hands into fists. “I feel it in my gut.”
Reid glanced up. Yep, he was getting that same feeling, too.
“Where are we with the lab results for Mimi Silverton?” he inquired. “Wasn’t there DNA underneath her fingernails?”
“Couldn’t find a match,” said Ryan. She sounded as deflated as her partner looked. The printer spluttered to life and began churning out Reid’s list. Pérez, standing with his legs apart like a cowboy about to draw, glared at everybody.
Reid couldn’t blame them. After the high of spotting Bella Montague on the CCTV camera, it was an anticlimax to have her walk out of the precinct without a scratch.
“Did you take DNA from Bella?” asked Reid.
“Yeah, we were in our rights to do that.” Jonny managed a small smile. “It’s a stretch, but we’re hoping it’s hers.”
“I’ll put a rush on it.” Pérez spun on his heel and went back to his office.
Reid spent the rest of the afternoon cross-checking the names on his lists. Nothing. No one who’d worked at Radcliffe High had worked or studied at any of the other schools.
“Any luck?” Ryan came over. She had her backpack on and was about to leave for the day.
“Nope. It’s another dead end.”
She sighed. “Is it always like this?”
“Like what?”
“This frustrating.” She waved her arms in the air. “I feel like we almost got her and then she walked out of here. Even though it was obvious she was lying, we couldn’t prove it.”
Reid pursed his lips. “Yeah, I guess it can be. That’s what it boils down to, really. What you can prove in court.”
“It sucks.”
He could relate. There were plenty of times when they had to let the bad guy go due to lack of evidence. You just had to come back stronger next time.
“We’ll just have to dig deeper,” he said. “If she’s guilty, we need to find a way to prove it.”
A flicker reignited in her eyes. A small one, but it was there. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Maybe the DNA will give us something.” He tr
ied to sound upbeat.
“Maybe.”
Reid was packing up when his phone rang. It was Kenzie.
“Hey, how’s the patient?” he asked.
“Good, they’re letting me go home.”
“Already?” He’d thought they’d keep her in for observation overnight. She had been unconscious for a while.
“Yeah, they say I'm good to go. Just thought I’d let you know. No need to come over unless you want to. I’m fine.”
“It’s not your concussion I’m worried about,” he said. “I’m leaving soon. I’ll meet you at your place.”
“Okay, and Reid?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
30
Kenzie opened the door to find Reid standing there, a sports bag over his shoulder. He suddenly seemed bigger than she remembered, his broad shoulders blocking the porch light.
“Come in.”
He gave her a concerned once-over as he walked past. “You sure you should be out of the hospital so soon?”
“Doc gave me the all-clear.” She shrugged. “I feel fine, just got a bit of a headache.”
“I can imagine.” He dropped his bag beside the sofa.
“Do you really think he’ll try again?” she asked. For all her bravado earlier, she was feeling a little fragile now. It was a relief having Reid here.
“I don’t know, but I’d rather not take any chances. We don’t know who hit you yet. It could have been Fernández, his henchman, or someone from the party. Until we’re sure, it’s best to take precautions.”
She knew he was right.
“Can I get you anything? A beer?”
“I’ll get it. I’m not here to make more work for you.”
She smiled and sank back down into the armchair she’d been curled up in, watching TV. The sound was down low so as not to make her headache any worse.
Reid returned with a beer. “I’d get you one, but I don’t think it’s wise.”
She shook her head. “I’m on painkillers, anyway.”
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
She looked sheepish. Truth be told, she’d gotten back and collapsed, and hadn’t given a thought to cooking or what she’d have for dinner. The fridge was embarrassingly empty.
