Linc could just imagine how the arrest had affected Dean’s professional relationship with Frank. The two had basically been partners for years. The damage done recently wasn’t something that could be overlooked, not that Dean could have done anything more to prevent the downward spiral of the case.
“The victim’s daughter is being looked after by an EMT in the kitchen,” Dean said, getting back down to business. “She’s in shock, of course.”
“Were you able to talk to her? Did she touch the body or anything else when she arrived at the scene?”
Linc began to walk slowly around the living room, being mindful not to disturb anything. It was evident from the blood in the carpet that the victim had been stabbed in front of the recliner. He noticed there were crumpled and used tissues next to a box, empty cough-drop wrappers, and a punched foil cold capsule blister package on the side table.
“I spoke with her,” Dean replied, writing something else in the small notepad that he always had with him. He began to jot down some notes while filling Linc in on the details. “The victim had been sick for a week after contracting the flu from the granddaughter around Christmastime. Pamala Griffith hasn’t left the residence since then, although she had been keeping in touch with her family and friends through calls and texts. The last contact was yesterday with her daughter at nineteen hundred hours, confirmed through the victim’s phone that is now in evidence. The house has already been photographed and initially processed by crime scene technicians, but I know you wanted to see the body and the room as is before the deceased was transferred to the coroner’s office or the forensic evidence bagged.”
“Any sign of forced entry?” Linc asked, transferring his focus to the various framed photographs hanging on the wall. The majority of the pictures had a man standing beside the victim, but his presence was missing in those photos with a little pigtailed girl and her toothless grin. “Doors? Windows?”
“No.”
“The unsub had an entire week to strike then. Why wait until yesterday?” Linc was talking to himself more than he was asking Dean literal questions while perusing the pictures. The unsub had told Quinn that he was still needed, but what had caused him to wait to so long when it was clear that Pamala Griffith had been housebound for over a week? “You should know that the unsub reached out to Quinn Simmons again. She’ll be by the station later today.”
Dean was prevented from following up with what was bound to be repeated warnings that they should have tried harder to limit Quinn’s involvement with the case, but that would have been impossible. The unsub had set his sights on her, and Linc was now confident that it wasn’t just due to her access with the public through her career. He’d chosen her due to her past and being able to manipulate her into telling his story.
“Mrs. Sanato has called her husband. She initially had trouble operating her cell phone, so that should give you some idea of her state of mind,” Sheriff Charles Hopkins announced, walking into the living room from what Linc assumed was the kitchen. He was followed by two medics who kept to the left side of the room as they made their way out the front door. The first on-scene deputies had established lanes of travel through the crime scene so as to mitigate the possible damage to forensic evidence that could have been left by the suspect. “I have Deputy Chen keeping her company until the husband arrives.”
Chaz wasn’t the typical sheriff, but instead very hands on and appreciative of the federal government’s assistance. He and his staff had been exceptional to work with during the last month or so. Dean had specifically chosen two deputies from the local sheriff’s office to work solely on the investigation, along with several state police detectives used in the chain of evidence logs. For the most part, the roles handed out had been filled and executed accurately.
“Chaz, were you born and raised here?” Linc asked, having gotten everything he needed from viewing the crime scene. Nothing stood out as overtly unusual, with the exception of the timeframe. What had prevented the unsub from striking sooner? Had it been the victim’s health condition? Was their unsub a germaphobe? “Did you attend high school in Winter Heights?”
“Actually, no.” Chaz stepped to the side when Dean motioned to the two coroner’s employees that they could begin the process of bagging the hands and feet before transporting the victim to the vehicle. “My wife grew up here. She wanted to be near her parents after we had kids of our own. Why do you ask?”
Chaz had to be around ten years or so older than Quinn, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t known her family. He’d never indicated that he was familiar with her on a personal level. She was basically a household name in the area due to her career. The background check that Dean had initiated revealed that she had lost her mother eight years ago to cancer. Her father had never been in the picture, and she had no siblings. She had left town right after high school to attend Penn State, but she’d returned right after her mother’s death.
“No reason in particular,” Linc replied, purposefully pushing the conversation to a later date. He’d wait to see what he discovered from a more thorough background check into Quinn’s past before explaining his theory to the others. “I’ll let these folks do their job. I’m heading back to the station. Thanks for holding the scene.”
A technician from forensics stepped forward covered from head to toe with the proper personal protective equipment while carrying a large plastic evidence bag, having waited for Linc to view the crime scene in person before they removed the pink rose from the victim’s hand. There was nothing palpable that he couldn’t have seen in photographs, but there was always a chance something might be missed by the angle of the camera lens. They had previously used a number of high-speed cameras and a laser mapping system to reduce every inch of the crime scene to billions of pixels, but the eye of an experienced investigator was invaluable.
“Sheriff?” A deputy had entered the house, mindful to stay in the doorway. “I thought you’d want to know—Oliver Stevens just called into Quinn Simmons’ podcast.”
It was times like these that Linc was grateful for his role at the Bureau. Dean would spend the rest of the day putting out fires that were being fanned by the media, the governor, and others from within their own agency. The psychology of high-profile cases was unpredictable, and that was without interference. With the interest of the media, other law enforcement agencies, and social media…well, the scenario tended to be volatile and mercenary.
Linc would never know if Quinn would have kept her promise, but he’d like to think she was a woman of her word. Granted, she’d spun the story several times against the advice of the sheriff and the lead federal agent. The end result, though, was that she’d never overstepped her bounds when promising otherwise. He thought back to when he asked her if she’d ever been married, and though he’d caught the whitening of her knuckles, he’d also seen a flash of pain in those light brown eyes of hers.
The unsub was aware of her secret.
For Quinn to think otherwise meant the killer she’d personally dubbed The Widow Taker could very well be someone close to her. If she wasn’t careful, she might very well end up one of his victims.
Chapter Five
Quinn figured it was only a matter of time before one of the deputies coming and going from the police station’s parking lot took notice of her and walked over to her vehicle. She’d left her car running for the last fifteen minutes, spending the time trying to spin the truth so that she didn’t appear untrustworthy. She’d had every intention of keeping the news about Oliver Stevens’ release under wraps, but he’d unexpectedly called into her live podcast. It wasn’t like she could hang up on the man without hearing what he had to say on the subject of his arrest and subsequent release.
Regardless of her best intentions, there was no getting that cat back into the bag.
The winter temperatures had nothing to do with the cold dampness that had set up residence in her bones. She’d been finding it very hard to keep warm lately. She even had the
heater on full blast while wearing a thicker coat than the one she’d been wearing earlier, but the icy tentacles still seemed to weave its way through the thick fabric. What she really needed was some serious sauna time and an extended stay at an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean, but that wasn’t going to happen.
She’d believed it was impossible for her past to dig its way out of the grave, yet it seemed to have clawed up through the dirt anyway. The research that she’d been able to do had revealed nothing, leaving her with limited alternatives.
Did she open herself up to a criminal investigation and possibly ruin the lives of two very good people?
Would doing so help stop The Widow Taker?
There was a very good chance that he was bluffing. In which case, her coming forward would do nothing but destroy two lives and the reputation of a third.
“Shit,” Quinn muttered, leaning forward and turning the key in the ignition.
The sudden silence after the engine shut off left a ringing in her ears, but it was enough to prompt her to vacate her car. There was no reason to grab her backpack from the passenger seat. She wouldn’t need it for what she needed to do. She’d learned the hard way not to make any spontaneous decisions, and she always tried to learn from her mistakes.
“In and out, Quinn,” she told herself. “Don’t do anything rash.”
Quinn shoved her hands inside the pockets of her coat, her right index finger brushing against the USB drive that she’d brought with her. From her understanding, the feds were still awaiting DNA results from the first four crime scenes. The one from today could take another six to eight weeks, provided everything was done properly through the chain of command.
There might be a very good chance that she would not have to reveal her past should the DNA come in within the next couple of days. It would be nice for something to turn in her favor for once.
She didn’t give herself time to think as she walked right up to the bullet-proof glass window, having already caught the deputy’s attention. Deputy Lance Jordan stood at the window with his perpetual frown in place. He wasn’t media’s biggest fan at the moment, but he shouldn’t have spoken out of turn while the cameras had been rolling outside of Meghan Vance’s resident. He’d been the one to let it slip that the victim had been none other than the governor’s niece. The police hadn’t wanted that information released before they had time to manage the tragedy with the family through official channels.
Deputy Jordan was lucky that he hadn’t been summarily relieved of his shield after that fiasco.
“I’d like to speak with Agent Malone. He’s expecting me,” Quinn said in a professional tone, not bothering to raise her voice. Deputy Jordan could hear her just fine through the two-way speaker system. “I have something for him.”
“Agent Malone isn’t here,” Deputy Jordan replied, his narrow lips still inadvertently flattened in annoyance. He only had himself to blame for whatever reprimand he’d received from the sheriff, but it appeared that he still shifted the blame elsewhere. “You can leave whatever you have with me, and I’ll make sure that he gets it.”
Quinn had no reason not to trust Deputy Jordan, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that she would hand over evidence to anyone other than a federal agent. She was about to move down the deputy’s list of media enemies.
“Please let him know that I stopped by,” Quinn replied with a tight smile, hearing the heavy glass door open up behind. “Have a good night, Deputy Jordan.”
Quinn turned, expecting a civilian or another deputy to be walking into the station. She’d noticed that Agent Roche’s salt-covered rental car hadn’t been in the parking lot when she’d pulled in, which was fine by her. He probably would have accused her of not keeping the promise that she’d made to him this afternoon, anyway. It didn’t help that there was something about him that made her want to confide in him, but not even someone in his position could help keep her secrets from the stark, cold light of day.
Luck certainly hadn’t been on her side recently.
Agent Lincoln Roche stood in front of her with a bag of Chinese take-out in one hand. She could easily recognize the restaurant’s logo, considering she had the same place on speed dial. She ordered from them virtually every other night.
“I kept my promise. Oliver Stevens took me by surprise when he called into my podcast. I wasn’t the one who reached out to him. It was the other way around.”
Quinn wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain herself to Agent Roche. She came across as defensive, and she hated that Agent Roche might consider that some kind of weakness.
“I know.”
Agent Roche surprised her by saying nothing more and even going so far as to step around her to advance toward the steel grey door, waiting on the telltale buzzer. The reinforced security entrance led into the bullpen of the station.
Was he really not going to ask her any questions about Oliver Stevens’ call into her podcast?
“Agent Roche,” Quinn called out, turning to find that he was halfway through the door after hearing the door buzzer release. He caught it before it closed, leaning a shoulder against the steel to keep it open so that he could hear what she had to say. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say in regard to Oliver Steven’s call. “I have that USB drive for Agent Malone. Apparently, he’s not in the station at the moment. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving it with anyone else.”
Quinn didn’t need to look in Deputy Jordan’s direction to know that he took offense to her statement. As for Agent Roche, she was pretty sure that she saw a slight lift to the right side of his mouth.
He’d played her.
“Come on back to the conference room, Quinn.”
It took a moment for her to realize that he’d used her first name rather than addressing her in the more formal fashion he’d done since their first meeting. Granted, she had all but told him to call her Quinn earlier today, but it was a bit odd to actually hear him say it aloud.
She weighed her odds of being caught in a conversation that she might have trouble talking her way out of, but she decided to take that chance. For some reason she had yet to figure out, it was important to her that he know she hadn’t gone back on her word, regardless that he had already stated he believed her claim.
She nodded her acceptance of his invitation and walked across the white tiled floor that was in need of a good scrubbing. Seeing as the foot traffic through the lobby was probably quite extensive, she figured it was hard to keep up with the janitorial services during the day.
She’d been inside the bullpen twice in the last month, but the odor of stale coffee and shoe polish made for a rather unpleasant odor. A lot of the offices were empty, as well as the numerous desks positioned throughout the open area. Agent Roche pretty much kept a straight line toward his destination, passing by Deputy Jordan without a word.
“Have a seat,” Agent Roche offered once he’d led her to a conference room. She’d known from her previous visits to the station that the closed-off area had all but been confiscated by the federal agents. She had to wonder if being taken into such a private area was another test for her. “Quinn, this is Deputy Hudson Dwight.”
Deputy Dwight appeared a bit taken aback by her presence. She held out her hand, displaying a level of confidence that she seemed to be losing rapidly. Things and situations were getting away from her, and she was in territory that she hadn’t been in since high school. The only silver lining was that he was younger than her, most likely only knowing her as a local journalist.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Agent Roche’s smile at the deputy’s designation had her wondering if he’d read her thoughts. He certainly had an uncanny ability to bait and hook her when she normally kept her composure intact.
“You, as well.”
Quinn averted her gaze from the numerous files on the table, though that was a much harder task to accomplish when the whiteboard was front and center. Names had been added, cros
sed out, edited, and various other details inserted in very neat columns. Her being in the close vicinity of such information was definitely another test.
“Dwight, would you mind giving us a moment alone?” Agent Roche requested of the younger deputy.
“I can do you one better,” Deputy Dwight responded, closing his laptop and standing up from the rolling chair. Quinn guessed that he had been in the military at some point. He still maintained his high and tight haircut, and the uniform he was sporting was starched to perfection. “I’m going to call it a night. You two enjoy your evening.”
Agent Roche and the deputy discussed a few matters in vague terms, which was odd considering she was surrounded by highly sensitive information. It wasn’t long until Dwight walked out of the conference room and closed the door quietly behind him. She didn’t miss the way Deputy Jordan had practically jumped on his colleague with questions. He was probably wondering the same thing as Quinn—what had Agent Roche been thinking by bringing her into the station, let alone the one room that held classified details about the case?
Quinn fiddled with the USB in her pocket, pondering if she should just set it on the table and leave. That would probably be the smartest idea out of the many that were bouncing around inside her head. Instead, she found herself watching him remove the various boxes of take-out from the bags and line them up on a clear space in front of his computer.
Did he think that he could entice her with food?
“Have a seat,” Agent Roche directed for a second time, tossing a few chopsticks down next to the containers. “There’s enough here for the entire station. I’ll get you a plate.”
“Why am I here?” Quinn was coming across as bitchy, but she was just being skeptical. “Is this another test, Agent Roche?”
He didn’t immediately answer her clipped inquiry. He even took his time removing his jacket and laying it across one of the other chairs. He was still dressed in the same steel grey sweater and dark denim jeans he’d been sporting earlier, which was in complete contrast to Agent Malone’s sense of style. He retrieved two heavy paper plates from a spot next to some other disposable products.
The Isolated Widow (The Widow Taker Book 2) Page 4
