by Jenifer Ruff
Chapter Six
Victoria and Rivera walked toward their boss’s office. The Butler case constituted years of work and it was almost over, or so Victoria had thought. Figuring out how to keep it from going under with one less witness would become one of her boss’s priorities. Victoria wasn’t looking forward to briefing him.
“Don’t you two make the perfect couple.” A fellow agent smiled at them.
“Yeah, well, I called him this morning to see what we should wear.” Victoria laughed, but inside she was doing her best to be tolerant. Her colleagues’ attentions sometimes bordered on immature. Maybe that’s what stress did to them.
The only door with an embossed plaque—Larry Murphy, Special Agent in Charge—jerked open. Head down, wearing cowboy boots under his jeans, Murphy and his military posture marched into the shared space in the middle of the building, carrying his ever-present Georgia Bulldogs insulated thermos. Victoria wasn’t sure if the thermos ever got washed but attempts to replace it at Christmas with a newer model had not fared well. Murphy claimed his conviction rate went up to ninety-five percent after he got it. He wasn’t messing with that sort of luck.
“I don’t need this right now.” Murphy pushed his rolled shirtsleeves up over muscled arms as he paced around the other agents’ desks, speaking to no one in particular. A former drill sergeant, he liked to think out loud and he wasn’t particularly considerate of others’ space or concentration. He spotted Heslin and Rivera. “Agents, in my office, please.” He slapped Rivera on the shoulder and corralled them forward.
Rivera and Heslin entered his office and stood on one side of his large desk. “Tell me Todd Meiser isn’t really dead. Because that’s what I want to hear. I want you to tell me that he’s in the ICU right now and pretty soon he’s going to be able to think and speak even if we have to wheel him into the courtroom on life support.”
Rivera shook his head. “Isn’t it still a crime to lie to FBI personnel?”
Murphy chewed on his lip. “Too many people are already breathing down my neck about this.” He ran a hand over his buzz cut like he was pressing his scalp into place. “We’ve got too many other things going on for this case to implode after years of putting it together. It’s not going to happen.” He stared at each agent. “We’re going to make damn sure it doesn’t.”
Every time Murphy opened his mouth, Victoria caught a distracting glimpse of dark green on one of his front teeth. Lettuce? That meant he was eating greens, even if it was just a few leaves on top of his hamburger, and something she didn’t want to discourage. Not that he wasn’t fit, he kept himself in great shape, but he was known to ignore the fruit and vegetable food groups. She wouldn’t mention it. Somehow, it would disappear on its own. When Murphy paused to breathe, she seized the opportunity to get a few words in. “Meiser’s death didn’t seem like a professional hit. There were a few things that didn’t feel right about it. It was careless, for one. He had the word ‘liar’ and the number two written on his forehead and—"
Murphy interrupted her mid-sentence. “The Butler case goes to trial in three days. Three days. Of course it’s a hit. Writing ‘liar’ on his head—the Butlers are sending a clear message that Meiser’s testimony is fabricated. Which is BS.” Murphy wrung his hands, his eyes roaming from the pile of papers on his desk to the agents.
Rivera opened his mouth, but Murphy cut him off, too.
“So, do we want to know exactly who pulled the trigger on Meiser?” He pushed some papers aside and snatched one.
“Yes—”
“Of course we do. But is it more important than making sure the rest of the witnesses are safe?”
“No—”
“Of course it’s not. I’ve already put protection on them. That’s the first thing I did when I got the call on Meiser. Would have had it on them all along if the damn budget had allowed. Believe me, I asked.”
“So—”
“But the rest of them, we’re not going to let any of them even take a crap alone. I want eyes on all of them. Local PD is going to lend us a few bodies.” He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “We’ll see if they actually do.” He pointed his finger from Rivera to Heslin. “And the two of you will split up and do a shift tonight. I already made a schedule.” Murphy narrowed his eyes at the paper in his hand.
Victoria rushed to share her thoughts. “The reason I think Meiser was—"
She wasn’t fast enough. Murphy went on as if she’d never spoken. “For now, go inform Meiser’s family. That brother. The only one who seems to have his head on straight. Get a sense of how angry he might be, see if he blames us. See if he knows anything we should know—about anything. Threats, that sort of thing. I want evidence to add this murder to the charges against Butler.”
Victoria nodded. They would need more proof before speaking to Murphy again about something he didn’t want to hear. He was definitely stressed out. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to have law enforcement watching the other witnesses.
On her way back to the parking garage with Rivera, she reviewed her mental notes. Sometimes, with hits for hire, the victim’s body disappeared, never to be seen again. Other times, the body was left on display, arranged as a brutal message of what happened to those who fell out of favor or displeased the wrong person. Professional hits were often executed with precision and grace, a testament to the killer’s skills, because practice made perfect. Todd Meiser’s murder was devoid of skill and caution. Yet . . . every hitman had to start somewhere. And if the killer was a novice, they had a good chance of catching him or her with forensic evidence. But . . . if the killer was a hitman, he had more than likely been contracted by Raymond Butler or one of his associates. And if anyone had options that included experienced hit men, Raymond and his guys did. Victoria rubbed her chin, bothered by the apparent contradiction. If it was a hit, it didn’t appear to be ordered by Butler. And it wasn’t a robbery, not with the keys to a luxury vehicle sitting in plain view on the counter. So what was it?
Rivera slid behind the wheel of a black sedan and dropped his container of spearmint gum in the center console. Victoria slid her leather backpack off her shoulder and lowered herself into the passenger seat next to him. “Lots of things are odd about this.” She waited until Rivera put the car in gear and backed it out before continuing. “The blindfold for one. Like the killer felt guilty and didn’t want Todd to look at him. Professional hit men don’t usually feel guilty, do they? The woman’s scarf, that was odd, too. Someone is trying to confuse us, or . . . they have no idea what they are doing.”
“Or both.” Rivera flipped his sun visor down as they exited the garage, even though the sun wasn’t shining. “Hope James Meiser hasn’t listened to the news yet.”
Todd’s older brother owned his own accounting practice. They located his office inside a brick building full of small, professional businesses and waited for ten minutes until his client left before gently breaking the news of his brother’s murder.
James Meiser leaned back in his chair as the wind went out of him, his shoulders slumping as he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. His voice shook as he spoke. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but . . .” He swallowed hard. “Butler.” His eyes went to Victoria’s. “You have to stop that guy.”
“It’s possible Butler was involved.”
“Possible! Come on. Who are we kidding here?”
Rivera leaned forward in the office chair. “We’ll explore all angles. The Medical Examiner and a forensic team will look into everything. We’ll let you know what they find.”
James placed his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands. “Toddy.” Reaching for a tissue, he coughed then wiped his nose. “I guess you’re saying you want me to wait to make funeral arrangements.”
“Yes. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions now?” Rivera removed his notepad from his coat pocket.
“Of course not.” James closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. “But you catch the ba
stard who did this. Butler or not, you get this guy.”
Rivera gripped his pen. “When did you last see Todd?”
James shook his head, scanning the desk top. “Oh, I haven’t seen him in weeks. Not since the last time he visited our mother. But I spoke to him yesterday. I called him. I just arranged palliative care for our mother. She has terminal cancer. I had some things I needed to tell him. Oh, God.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “Now I have to tell her Todd is dead.”
“I’m sorry about your mother, James,” Rivera said. “Did you and Todd talk about anything else?”
“Yes.” James sighed loudly. “Nothing I would mention under normal circumstances, but this isn’t normal, so I’ll throw it out there. Todd said he was meeting an . . . escort.”
Bingo, Victoria thought.
“A prostitute?” Rivera asked.
“Yeah.” James kept his eyes lowered.
Rivera opened his notepad and made a note. “Is that a habit for him?”
“It wasn’t his first . . . appointment. I gave him a hard time about it, but now I suppose I’m glad he lived it up before he died. He had a lot of stress, you know, with the case. It was eating him up. Or—wait, when did you say he was killed? I mean, could she have . . .?”
“He was shot around ten this morning. Someone heard the gunshot. Do you know who he called? Was there a service, or—?”
“No. I don’t know. Sorry.”
“Did he say where he was meeting her? Would she have come to his house?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea how it’s done.” He let out a sad sort of snort. “My brother and I led very different lives.”
“Do you know who Todd may have been seeing—a significant other?” Victoria asked.
“He never mentioned one to me. I mean, if he did, why would he be calling a prostitute?”
“No angry girlfriend, upset about him seeing hookers?” Rivera asked.
“I—like I said, I just don’t know.” James ran his hand over his head.
“Did he mention receiving any threats? Specific threats?” Victoria asked.
“No. But it’s pretty obvious why someone wanted him dead.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss.” Victoria clasped her hands and met James’ gaze. “Sorry Todd won’t have the chance to live a different life.” She got up from the chair. “We plan to catch whoever did this to him. We’ll keep in touch.”
James Meiser led both agents to his office door and shut it behind them. They walked to the car and got in before speaking again.
“I’ll call Sam, so we can establish a time line for Todd Meiser’s last few days with his phone and credit card records.” Victoria tossed her bag into the back seat. “I think there has to be a girlfriend. But we also need to find out who he arranged to meet last night. Maybe she stayed into the next day.”
“A woman does fit with the bloody shoe prints we saw.” Rivera started the engine and a second later, his phone rang. “It’s the boss.”
“What now?” Victoria murmured. “Impatient for our update?”
Rivera pressed the answer button.
“Where are you?” Murphy’s voice would have carried through the car even if the phone wasn’t on speaker.
“We’re just leaving James Meiser’s place.” Rivera merged the car into traffic.
“I’m about to text you something.”
“What is it?”
“The address of a double homicide. It’s an elderly couple. Both dead at the scene. No idea who they are yet.”
“And you’re giving it to us because—?”
“Gunshot wounds. The numbers three and four on their foreheads. And another message.”
Chapter Seven
Ned parked his SUV in front of PawTiques, the all-organic pet store. He could have ordered everything Victoria wanted for less online, but Victoria preferred to support local businesses. He attached Izzy’s leash and went inside. He walked straight to the shelves with the supplements and grabbed what he needed.
Wearing a tight, V-neck T-shirt, the beautiful young girl at the register leaned over the counter. “Hi, Ned.”
“Hmm? Oh, hi Jenny.” Ned scanned the bakery shelf. It was filled with dog treats people would want to eat. “I’ll take seven of those frosted things.”
“Oh! I love that dog. Which one is that?” The girl pressed her palm against her cheek and smiled at Ned.
“Izzy. She’s a good dog.”
“She’s a greyhound, right?” She moistened her lips and ran a hand through her hair.
“A galga. A Spanish greyhound.”
“Can I pet her?”
“Uh, sure.”
The girl walked around to the front of the counter and crouched next to him. The light, floral aroma of nice soap and fragrant shampoo filled the air. While she stroked Izzy, she looked up, batting her eyes. “Oh! So cute!”
Ned stepped back and nodded. If Jenny was of legal drinking age, she was just barely. “So, how much do I owe?”
After the store he ran with Izzy on the greenway, filled his truck with gas, and stopped at Lowe’s to pick up some wiring to patch up a hole he’d seen in a fence on Victoria’s property. She hadn’t asked him to do it, but he wanted to anyway.
When he returned to Victoria’s house, the red hatchback delivering for Farm Fresh Meals stopped at the main entrance in front of him. Ned pulled up next to the car and got out of his SUV.
“Hey, Kristin? Right?”
“Oh, hi, Ned.”
“I’m on my way in.” He gestured toward the gate. “I’ll take that from you.”
“Great.” She got out of her car and removed a large insulated bag from the back. “Here you go. We put in extra of the root veggies Victoria liked. And the French cobbler. Could you be sure to tell her? I know she doesn’t always get a chance to eat what we prepare.”
“I’ll tell her. No worries about the food. It’s all appreciated and none of it ever goes to waste.” He patted his stomach and grinned.
“Good.” Kristin smiled and kept staring at him like she was in no hurry to leave.
“See ya.” Ned got back in his truck and placed the bag of food on the passenger seat. Izzy jumped into the front and stuck her nose into the bag. Ned pushed her back. “Not for you.” He waved at Kristin, opened the gate, and drove through.
Entering through the back door, he stopped to size himself up in the hall mirror. He had to bend his knees, since the mirror hadn’t been hung for someone six-feet-two. All his time training outside over the summer had turned his brown hair golden.
In the kitchen, he opened his laptop and logged his run. He’d swim tonight and bike early tomorrow, putting his training right on track for the upcoming triathlon. He was ready to refuel in a big way, but the dogs would eat first.
He dug his hands into the giant container of raw lean beef, vegetables, rice, and vitamin supplements, kneading the moist mixture until it was evenly distributed. He scooped measured amounts into labeled bowls and added some premium dog food. Eddie stuck his nose on the counter. “Excited, buddy?” Ned laughed as they danced around him, spinning and leaping in attempts to earn their food quicker.
Working for Victoria wasn’t a huge challenge, but he thoroughly enjoyed his job and it left him with more free time than he would have working anywhere else. Two afternoons a week he was able to volunteer as a vet at a not-for-profit clinic for low income people. As long as he stayed with Victoria, he could continue to pay off his graduate school loans faster than he had ever previously imagined and help pet owners who otherwise might not be able to afford care.
And then there was Victoria.
He smiled.
The dogs inhaled their food in seconds, barely chewing. By the time he set down the last bowl, he was back to collecting the first and depositing them all back in the dishwasher.
After cleaning up, he walked outside and sat down on the back patio. Absentmindedly rubbing Eddie’s ears, he gazed out over the back of the property.
The whole set up never ceased to amaze him—the acreage and trails, the agility course, a pool just for the dogs—it was like a canine Disneyland. He had an entire wing for himself—a “nanny suite”—bigger by far than his own condominium. He stayed there when Victoria went out of town. But when she came home, he left.
It was hard to keep his thoughts from turning to Victoria. There were just too many reasons to admire her. She worked hard every day to rid the world of trouble, make it an easier place for others to live in. Who would ever imagine someone with her privileges and background wanting to do that? She once told him that being the recipient of a huge trust fund was simple but incredible luck but being an FBI agent was an earned honor. He agreed and his respect for her went through the roof. He’d tried to ignore his daydreams of running his hands through her hair, kissing her . . . but they were only growing, along with his determination. Not a one of his friends would ever say that he wasn’t determined. He had six ironman triathlon finishes to prove it.
His phone rang.
“Hey, baby brother. Just calling to see if you can come over on Tuesday night. My friend Katie is in town visiting. She’s smart and adorable.”
“Can’t. I have plans.”
“What sort of plans? Actual going out plans or more of babysitting those dogs?”
“I’m going out to dinner with my boss to talk about our trip to Spain.”
“Ah. All my joking aside, don’t mess things up. You’ve got a great thing going there. If you’re happy that is.”
“Yeah. I know. But would it be so bad if we shared a bottle of wine and ended up—”
“Are you paying attention to the world right now? She could accuse you of sexual harassment, fire you, and try and sue you just for—”
Ned laughed. “She’s not like that.”
“Look, you can have wine with Katie and me. I’ve got a case I brought back from vacation that I’m excited to share. How about we switch it to Sunday afternoon instead? Brunch?”
“All right, all right.”
