by Sutter, C M
A light breakfast of coffee, one over-medium fried egg, and an English muffin was sufficient, and I thanked Amber for making it. She was the cook in the family and a great one at that. The work she and Kate did to keep our home clean and filled with food was appreciated more than they knew.
After eating, I showered, dressed, and grabbed my “go bag.” The go bag was as important as our IDs and sidearms, and I needed it ready in case we had to pick up and go at a second’s notice. With hugs for confidence, Amber and Kate wished me luck, and I was on my way.
The drive would take just under an hour, and that was without adding traffic in the mix. Research told me that the height of the morning traffic commute and backups was usually between seven thirty and eight o’clock. Hopefully, I would be past the logjam before that happened.
The Milwaukee FBI headquarters was located on the shores of Lake Michigan. The building had recently been erected on Lake Drive in St. Francis, a southern suburb of Milwaukee with a population of just under ten thousand. With Mitchell International Airport only five miles from our bureau, I imagined heading out of state on a case was more than convenient.
I pulled up to the guardhouse at the fence-wrapped facility, stated my name, and showed my badge. I was sure that within a few days, the guard would come to recognize me, and we’d be on a first-name basis. With my credentials verified, I thanked him, continued on after the gate was opened, and followed the signs to the employee parking lot. The building was large and architecturally beautiful—a four-story structure with a tan façade and attractive blue windows. Sitting on the banks of Lake Michigan with sweeping vistas, the building was a monolith in the middle of nowhere.
I hoped to get an office with windows that faced the lake—or at least where I would have such a view from the cafeteria when time permitted. After parking, I crossed the lot, swiped my badge, and stood in front of the retina-based identification screen. After it scanned my eye, the green light flashed, and the door unlocked. Beyond that, there was one more door I had to pass through, but first, I had to enter my own personal four-digit PIN on the keypad. With that done, I put the lanyard holding my ID badge over my neck and took the elevator to the third floor, where I was to meet with my new boss, Supervisory Special Agent Maureen Taft. I’d never reported to a woman before, so it was a new yet exciting experience. From our introductory conversation last week, I’d learned that she was fifty-seven, divorced, and had two children who were on their own. She lived in the Third Ward in a warehouse loft and had worked her way up the ranks over the years, not unlike what I intended to do.
If only Dad were still alive. He’d be so proud.
After reaching the floor I’d be working on, I continued down three hallways and arrived at my boss’s office. I sucked in a calming breath, smoothed my pantsuit, and gave the door two raps.
“Come in.”
I turned the knob, entered, and waited to be acknowledged.
“Jade, good morning! Excited about your first day?”
“I absolutely am and can’t wait to get started.”
SSA Taft pushed back her chair and came around the desk. “You’ve already met Lorenzo, haven’t you?”
“I did briefly last week.”
“Ah, that’s right. Well, first, let’s do a quick tour. Everything we use, other than the gym, is on this floor. We have our own lunchroom, locker area, and offices. Let’s put away your go bag, refresh your memory as to where the lunchroom is, and then meet up with the team.”
“Sounds good.” We continued down another hallway of white walls filled with large portraits of FBI directors over the last forty years. An even larger portrait of J. Edgar Hoover, the very first FBI director, hung on the wall at the end of an intersecting hallway. Maureen pushed open a swinging door to a room where things looked more casual. A seating area with a large-screen TV, several table games, and a bookcase filled the left half of the room. The right side opened up into the cafeteria, where at least ten vending machines lined the wall, and several dozen tables with four chairs surrounding each one filled the center of the room.
“Wow, this area is huge.”
Maureen nodded. “Yep, and we hold meetings in here, too, at times.” She pointed at another door. “In there are the lockers and the restrooms that have showers. There are five restrooms scattered throughout several hallways on this floor, but this is the only one with showers and lockers.”
“Got it.”
“Okay, let’s secure your bag, and then I’ll show you to the office you’ll be sharing with Lorenzo. Oh, and by the way, you have a nice view of the lake from there.”
I wanted to fist pump the air, but instead, I smiled and thanked her. Beyond the cafeteria, we entered the area with the wall placard that read Ladies. Inside was a wall of lockers, and beyond that were toilet stalls and showers.
“Grab any available locker. They lock with a personal four-digit code, so pick out any four numbers. The keys never worked, they always got lost, so we had them swapped out with the keypad system.”
“Makes sense.” Knowing better than to enter my birth month and year, I entered four random numbers—0591, and that was my locker code. I put my go bag inside and locked the door, and we continued on.
Maureen led the way to the office I’d be sharing with Lorenzo. “The conference room for our team is only two doors down from your office—super convenient.”
“That’s great.” I knew we’d reached the right office when, through the glass wall, I saw Lorenzo sitting at a desk where he looked to be enjoying a cup of coffee and a morning sweet roll. He noticed us, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and waved us in.
“Ready for the big leagues?” he joked.
“I’m more than ready and raring to get started.”
He laughed. “There’s a lot of research and tedious paperwork that goes along with this killer view.”
I let out a deliberate sigh. “Yeah, I bet it’s tough.”
Maureen turned her wrist and checked the time. “Okay, I’m going to grab a coffee. Conference room at eight thirty sharp.”
Lorenzo bit off a piece of sweet roll. “You got it, Boss.”
Maureen closed the door at her back. I watched as she walked down the hallway, then I took a seat at my new desk. I felt a twinge of sadness and unfamiliarity. I didn’t realize Lorenzo was watching me.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“What?”
“The new-kid-on-the-block syndrome.”
I chuckled. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yep, but it’ll go away quickly. We’ve all experienced it, and it isn’t like you’re a newbie. You’re just a transferee with a more distinguished title.”
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s your title, Lorenzo?”
“Same as yours, kiddo, but with more years under my belt.”
I liked Lorenzo. He was ten years my senior, I was told. He had glossy black hair with a little graying at the temples, perfectly straight white teeth, and dimples to die for. He had an average build, but I could tell he worked out. He didn’t have that twenty-year-in-the-force belly expansion going on yet. He said he was married to his job, meaning he was single, never had kids, and didn’t have a pet—totally free to come and go at a moment’s notice, a definite requirement in our line of work.
I opened my desk drawers and saw that they were fully stocked with file folders, pens, a stapler, paper clips, and other supplies. I looked at my new partner. “So what do you go by?”
“As in a name?”
“Yeah.”
“Lorenzo DeLeon.”
I laughed since it was apparent he didn’t use a nickname. “All righty, then. Should we head out?”
“Yep, don’t want to keep the boss waiting. She has introductions to make.”
Chapter 4
Robby set up a folding camp chair within a few feet of the tree that the barfly was tied to. She was starting to come around. It was early, but Robby always celebrated his hunt with a drink. With a can of che
ap beer sitting in the cup holder built into the armrest, the stock of his deer rifle pressed into the dirt, and his hand wrapped around the barrel, he waited to see her expression when she realized she was absolutely and without a doubt royally screwed.
“Open your eyes, baby girl.”
Her head flopped and rolled as if it was barely attached. Her long blond hair was matted with twigs, leaves, and dirt. She moaned, most likely from a mix of pain and confusion. Robby was never gentle with his victims. The girl’s knees and elbows were bloodied from being dragged through the brush. The tiny skirt she wore to show off her assets was torn, and the heels had broken off her hooker-style boots.
“See what happens when you leave the bar with a stranger? I buy you a half dozen shots and then you’re ready to climb into bed with me. Didn’t your mama teach you any better than that?” He shook his head as she squinted toward him. “Sluts don’t deserve to live, so today, you’re going to meet Jesus.”
Her eyes opened wide, and his words must have forced her to focus. She jerked left and right and tried to scream, but the ropes securing her arms to the tree and the tape over her mouth prevented her from moving or uttering a sound beyond a moan. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in air.
He nonchalantly pulled her ID card from his pocket. “Let’s see here. Your driver’s license shows your name is Carla Moline, you’re twenty-two, and you live right in Houma.” When he noticed she was doing her best to free herself, he snapped his fingers. “Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you. You aren’t going anywhere, so save your energy. Meat is tough when an animal becomes stressed, and I’m a hunter, so I know those things.”
Her eyes bulged again, causing Robby to laugh. He stood and walked to the edge of the bank where the swamp took over the solid ground. Only fifteen feet of land separated her from alligator territory. Robby carried the rifle with him in case of a gator ambush.
“There are a lot of alligators in this area, Carla. They have voracious appetites, but me and my critters need to eat too. I’m not a rich man, so I have to live a frugal life. A small gator or a wild pig holds me over for a while, but buying ammo is a luxury I can’t often afford, and at times, a man just needs something a little sweeter to eat.” He scanned the water and locked on the set of eyes that broke the surface. “Yep, there’s a gator ten feet out. Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Gator, since you’ll live to see another day.”
Robby pulled the flipper knife from his pocket and pressed the tab. The blade shot open. He ran his thumb along the razor-sharp edge as he walked to Carla’s side. He stood within inches of her and breathed his hot stench into her face then ripped the tape from her mouth.
“Remember what I said about stress. Now, do you have anything to say?”
Her bloodcurdling scream echoed off the bald cypress trees that grew in the bayou. In a flash, Robby used his right hand to flick the knife across her throat and sever her carotid artery.
“Wrong answer. Now you might as well relax and let nature take its course. You’ll be dead in a few minutes.”
Robby walked to the cooler then returned to his chair and took a seat. He needed to watch for approaching gators since he was sure they would smell that warm fresh blood. If he had to take a shot to scare one off, he would, but he’d rather save his bullets for emergencies.
It would take a few hours for the water to get to the boiling point in the trough he’d placed over the fire. Meanwhile, he intended to relax, watch Carla fade, and enjoy another beer.
Chapter 5
I had met every person that I’d be directly or indirectly working with. Depending on the need, either two or four agents would assist other divisions. If we were working a case of our own, typically four agents would go out into the field. We had our own computer geek who set up our travel arrangements, forwarded emails and news, and kept us updated on all things relevant to the cases we were currently working on. Maureen’s job was to keep the wheels turning at the home base and communicate with the traveling agents each day. Everyone else would assist our St. Francis headquarters or work other cases.
Besides my own partner, Senior Special Agent Lorenzo DeLeon, and our boss, Supervisory Special Agent Maureen Taft, there was Senior Special Agent Tommy Pappas, Senior Special Agent Kyle Moore, Special Agent Charlotte Emery, Special Agent Fay Geddes, Special Agent Mike Flannery, and Special Agent Carl Himes. Every agent had between five and twenty years of experience inside the FBI. We were a group of eight field agents, and I was honored to be with them. I was sure we would become fast friends just as I had with the agents at the Glendale satellite office.
Our computer specialist was Tory Collins, and she’d recently transferred from the Deep South to Milwaukee. I was curious about why since people usually left the northern states to go south for the warmer weather. I’d learned that Tory moved to Wisconsin simply because her fiancé had accepted a new job at Mitchell International as an air traffic controller.
I gave the group a brief look into my personal life and the experiences I’d had in law enforcement—it was a family thing. My father had been a captain at the San Bernardino, California, sheriff’s office until his horrific murder three years back. I had been a sergeant at the North Bend Sheriff’s Office until I decided to spread my wings and join the FBI. Before his death, my dad used his connections to help me get into the training program immediately. My last three years, I worked as a special agent in Glendale until I was offered the transfer and promotion to the St. Francis position. I told them that my sister, Amber, had started out as a deputy in North Bend but had since been promoted to detective status. Finally, I admitted to being married briefly to my college sweetheart, Lance Keller, and said that I’d remained single since the divorce and we had never had children.
With the introductions complete, Maureen went on to give the daily updates, which consisted of cases still in the works as well as a list of the most dangerous predators nationwide who had been captured during the last twenty-four hours.
After the updates, we filed out of the conference room. Lorenzo bought me a coffee, and we returned to our office, where he promised to share his workload with me.
“How do you get anything done in here with a view like that?” I took my seat and pointed at the sailboat passing by.
“Two ways. The first is by being jacked up by Maureen for not completing assignments when she wants them.”
I grinned. “And the other?”
“Like everything else, you get used to the view in time.”
I shook my head. “You can get used to this?”
“Yep, but I’ve had my rear planted in this chair since 2016 when the building opened.”
“Ah, I guess that makes sense. So what do you want me to take care of?”
When his desk phone rang, Lorenzo held up his finger, indicating to give him a second. While he spoke on the phone, I set my briefcase on the desk and added a few items from it to my already well-stocked drawers.
“Yep, we’re on our way.” Lorenzo hung up and stood.
I took that to mean our plans to take care of paperwork had changed.
“Grab your stuff and meet me in Taft’s office in five minutes.”
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a pen and notepad.
Lorenzo shook his head. “Not that kind of stuff. Get your go bag. We’re heading to Louisiana.”
“Oh, shit.” I tossed my phone back into my purse, made sure my FBI badge was on my belt and my sidearm in my holster, then I bolted out of the office. Lorenzo was already long gone. I rushed down the hallway to the cafeteria and through the second set of doors. At my locker, I entered 0591 on the keypad then pulled open the door. I slung my go bag over my shoulder, closed the door, and headed to our boss’s office. Lorenzo was already inside, his go bag next to him on the floor, and getting briefed by Maureen. I caught my breath as I entered. “I’m ready whenever you are, partner.” I looked around. “Just you and me?”
“Yep, just you and me, and I’ll explain what we
know in the car. Let’s go.”
“You bet.”
Chapter 6
As Lorenzo drove to the FBI’s hangar at the airport, I fired off a text to Amber saying that I was on my way to Louisiana, didn’t know the details yet, but would fill her in later that night. I silenced my phone so I wouldn’t be disturbed as Lorenzo shared what Maureen had learned from law enforcement officials in that area.
“Apparently, human bones have been found around Terrebonne Parish of southern Louisiana this morning. What was passed on to Taft from the Manassas team—who, by the way, won’t be joining us—is that they were contacted by the local sheriff’s office about bones and pieces of shredded skin found near Houma that looked relatively fresh. It wasn’t until those bones were found that a red flag was raised.”
I frowned. “I’m confused. Why did you emphasize the word those?”
“There were others, but the disposal of bodies is sometimes handled differently in that neck of the woods.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, in some remote areas, when a person dies, the family takes things into their own hands and buries the deceased on their property. Of course, over time, the critters find their way to said corpse, dig it up, and gnaw off what remains of the remains.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“It might be to us, but it’s somewhat common down in those mostly poor and uninhabited areas.”
“So the red flag was because they found more bones today?”
“Sort of.”
I sighed. “Okay, what does that mean?”
