The Numbers Killer

by Jenifer Ruff

  The house was huge, so on her screen, each live feed was smaller than the size of a postage stamp. Clicking on an image enlarged it. She needed to find where Agent Heslin kept the dogs. She clicked on all the outside views. Finding no fenced kennels or pens, she switched to the interior views. Many of the rooms were almost empty of furniture, but covered with large stuffed squares, giant circles, and bean bag chairs. Some sort of contemporary decorating trend? A room with a sectional couch and a large television had the same squares and circles, but there, almost every stuffed shape had a dog on it. How many beds did those dogs need? Some of the creatures were laying around with their ridiculously long legs sticking straight out like poles, their mouths lolling open. A few were laying half-on and half-off the giant square beds. Some were curled up inside bean bag-looking chairs, their legs tucked beneath them. What a life they had!

  Beth enlarged the view of the kitchen and her jaw dropped. What the—? A bolt of anger shot her to full attention. There was a tall man in Agent Heslin’s kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers, acting like he was right at home. He had light brown hair and looked like he was in his late twenties, or early thirties. His muscles rippled under his jeans and form-fitting quarter-zip top, one of those silky athletic shirts. From all the pictures Beth had studied of the Heslin family, she would have recognized Victoria’s brother, who had blonde hair just like his sister. This was not the brother. “Who the hell is that?” If Agent Rivera was Mr. Sexy, then this guy was Mr. Sexier. But what was he doing in Agent Heslin’s house? He didn’t belong there. And did Rivera know about him?

  Beth quickly searched through the other feeds, clicking like mad to see if Agent Heslin was somewhere else in the house. She didn’t find her or anyone else. Unless the agent was in one of the bathrooms, this guy was alone in her house.

  She returned to the feed from the kitchen. Mr. Sexier stood against the large, white-marble topped island in the center of the room. He was busy doing something, but Beth couldn’t see what because his back shielded her view. She leaned closer to her laptop. Mr. Sexier moved to the side. Syringes lay spread across the counter. What was going on there? One by one, he filled them from a glass bottle. Beth squinted. The front of the bottle had a prescription label, it wasn’t something from a store. Whatever he was doing, it was extremely suspicious.

  He opened the refrigerator and removed a square, plastic container. Then he called to the dogs. The video has sound! They flew from their beds and surrounded him. He opened the container. Without a trace of hesitation, they gobbled down the food he handed them. The man grabbed the collar of a big dog, striped brown and tan like a tiger, telling the animal he was a good boy. Behind the man’s back, his other hand held a syringe. Slowly, he moved his hand toward the dog’s thigh. Once there, in one swift movement, he jabbed the dog with the syringe and depressed the plunger.

  Beth gasped.

  What the hell is he doing? Is he trying to kill Agent Heslin’s dogs?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rivera picked the short straw on updating Murphy, so Victoria arrived at the Sonesta Hotel before him. She parked her SUV in the back corner of the parking lot, away from the main entrance, to survey the area without being on display herself. From the cooler in her backseat, she grabbed a yogurt and spoon. The yogurt wasn’t exactly cold, but it wasn’t quite warm yet either, so she went ahead and opened it. She only had a few minutes to finish eating and pull up her video camera feeds to check on her dogs. Before too much time passed, she wanted to be sure there wasn’t another “glitch” with the system.

  Four of her dogs were in the family room, three of them on dog beds, and one on the couch. All slept soundly. Leo and Bella slept side by side next to the picture window. Victoria tapped the screen to change rooms and found Eddie by himself in the kitchen. With his butt up and his tail wagging, he swatted his toy and then hopped after it. Izzy trotted into the room, her tail wagging like mad, attempting to join in his game.

  Victoria smiled, eating her yogurt and watching her happy dogs. A year ago, Izzy was found malnourished and dehydrated, tied to the back of a house in Seville in the blazing sun. Victoria had pictures from when Izzy was first brought to the shelter. The vet had pulled more than fifty bulging tics off the pup’s ears, treated her for mange, worms, and burns from God only knew what. The playful dog with shiny fur romping around her kitchen looked nothing like the despondent animal who had been rescued from a hellish life of neglect and abuse.

  Eddie and Izzy froze in unison, ears up, and muscles tensed. After a few seconds of standing frozen like statues, they raced out of the room.

  Ned’s voice sang out. “Who wants to go for a walk next?”

  An unfamiliar pang resonated inside her. She had become used to the concept of Ned being around whenever she needed him. The threat of him being with somebody else bothered her more than she would have thought.

  Ned stepped into the entryway carrying leashes and wearing a Vanderbilt zip top and jeans.

  The passenger side door opened with a sudden click and the interior lights came on. “I’ve got the folder with—"

  Victoria gasped. The spoon dropped and clattered against the cup holder. Her hand flew to her sidearm.

  “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know I would startle you.” Rivera sat down next to her and pulled the door closed.

  She laughed, placing her hand over her chest. “Good thing you’re not the perp.”

  Rivera frowned, watching the image on her phone. “That’s Ned?”

  “Yes. Jeez, I’m still trembling, here.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “I don’t know. I just turned the video on. He was supposed to give the dogs their shots today. Not sure if he remembered.”

  Rivera reached for her phone. “Can I see him?”

  “Sure. You can even hear him.” After handing him her phone, she collected her spoon from the floor, wiped it off with a paper towel, and dropped it back into the cooler with the empty yogurt container. She leaned in to see what Rivera was seeing. A smiling Ned attached leashes and spoke to the dogs while they jumped up and down, weaving around him like it was the best day of their lives.

  Rivera’s expression concealed any emotion.

  “Let’s get out there before it storms again,” Ned said to the dogs. He began singing Thunder by Imagine Dragons, substituting in a few of his own lyrics.

  “Here, give me that,” Victoria held out her hand. “I feel bad that we’re spying on him.”

  Rivera returned her phone.

  “Did I tell you he agreed to go to Spain with me next month?” Victoria shifted in her seat. Her lips were pressed together, she didn’t have the heart to smile.

  “For another one of those dog group visit things?”

  “Yes.” She frowned and mimicked his deep raspy voice. “For one of those dog group visits.”

  “Don’t you ever vacation at a resort, like normal rich people? And why Spain? Aren’t there plenty of dogs here in the US that you can rescue?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. And I do help . . . financially . . . It’s just that some breeds really touch your heart. My mother had a thing for greyhounds, and the dogs at these shelters are all suffering, or they were, I mean. At the end of the hunting season, hundreds and hundreds of them are discarded by hunters like they’re pieces of garbage. And few will find forever homes if they aren’t sent to other countries for adoption.” Victoria took one last glance at Ned leashing up her dogs before shutting off her device and pocketing it. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Interview the staff again.” Rivera placed his hand on the door handle.

  “Good idea.” Victoria turned away from Rivera. They both opened their doors and got out. “And first, let’s take another look around inside.”

  “In case there are bodies stuffed in the cleaning supply closets . . .”

  “At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised.” The doors clicked shut and Victoria pressed the key to lock her car. “And I want to know why we did
n’t know about Gomez staying here until we found the key in his wallet.”

  They went straight to the front desk to introduce themselves and took down the names of the employees currently working the desk and on the floors. There had to be at least a dozen other detectives and agents working the Numbers Killer case from every angle, but Victoria and Rivera were the only ones at the hotel.

  Victoria’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen, frowned, and held up a finger. “Sorry. It’s Ned. Just give me one minute.”

  A frown appeared on Rivera’s face.

  Victoria wandered a few feet away from him to answer her phone. “Hey, Ned. Everything okay?”

  “No. Sorry to bother you on the job, but Sasha is acting really strange.”

  “Sasha?”

  “Yeah. Sasha is pacing and panting. I think she’s sick and uh, you should take her somewhere. Can you come home now?”

  Victoria froze. An icy chill skittered down her back. “Sasha?” Sasha passed away a few months ago from osteosarcoma. Ned administered her chemo for months and eventually put her down while Victoria held her and sobbed. Was he just getting her dogs’ names confused? Impossible. He wouldn’t forget her name. He knew all her dogs and everything about them. And if one of them was ill or injured—something beyond what he could handle—he was to rush them to the emergency vet hospital. Victoria didn’t take any chances with their health.

  “Um, okay. I’ll be there soon.” Her voice wavered as the phone went dead on the other end. What was he trying to tell her? Was this code that another one of her dogs had broken a leg due to osteo, and he just didn’t want to deliver the terrible news over the phone? A dull, heaviness crept into her chest. Did he have to put one of the dogs to sleep immediately, and wanted her to come back to say goodbye?

  Rivera’s dark eyes met her own. “Everything okay?”

  She clamped one hand around her waist. “Um, I don’t know. Look—I’m sorry. I hate to do this, but I have to leave. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Okay?”

  He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and studied her. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m really not sure.” Would Ned pull some sort of stunt to get her home because she had cancelled their date? Was this his way of showing her she could make the time? If that was his plan, she would be furious. Beyond furious. But it didn’t seem like something Ned would ever do. No, something terrible had happened to one of her dogs. Already, her heart ached. Her limbs felt numb. She couldn’t bear to consider which one was hurt.

  Rivera’s phone buzzed from inside his coat pocket. He slid it out and looked at the screen. “Murphy. I better take it.”

  Victoria waved over her shoulder and hurried off. In search of clues, she tapped the icon to view her security cameras and clicked the page with the video feeds.

  They were all blank again.

  A tendril of terror traveled down her neck and into her toes as her mouth went dry. She picked up her pace and called Ned back. His phone rang until it went to voicemail. She ran the rest of the way to her SUV, got in, and peeled out of her spot.

  When she drove past the entrance, Rivera held his hand up and mouthed something. She didn’t stop. She could call him later, once she knew what she was dealing with. At this point, all she could tell him was that something strange was going on at her house. Something that required her immediate attention.

  The timing could not have been worse. They were closing in on the killer, had to be. The secret to everything was somewhere locked inside the Sonesta Hotel. She’d come back as soon as she could. She swallowed the lump in her throat and sped down the street, driving 70 in a 50 mile per hour zone.

  Chapter Thirty

  Rivera ran his hand over his head as he watched Victoria’s taillights disappear into the night. What had Ned told her that made her spooked? Whatever it was, she hadn’t wanted to share it with him.

  Rivera did not consider Ned as a competitor—until he saw him on screen. In the past, every time Ned’s name came up, he’d pictured a goofy-looking, skinny guy in a big baggy T-shirt and loose pants. Like Shaggy from the Scooby-Doo cartoons, or the hiker who found the Cossmans. The live video proved he’d been way off. The dude was good looking and had the run of her house. Maybe there was something more than their employer and employee relationship. Guess he and Victoria weren’t as close as he thought. But when he pushed Ned and his emotions aside, he was even more uncomfortable with Victoria’s sudden departure. She had never left work at a critical moment before. So, whatever Ned told her had to be a big deal. Putting that together with the notes she’d received from a killer, and alarm signals went off in his brain.

  I should go after her.

  Murphy’s ranting broke through his thoughts. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, boss.” Rivera forced himself to unclench his jaw and focus.

  “Cops just found Horrigan’s truck. Abandoned in a Walmart parking lot. Another dead end.”

  “Hmm,” was all Rivera could think of in response. “I’m at the hotel. I’m going to find out what happened here if it kills me.”

  “Agent Poloski figured out why Gomez paid cash for his hotel room and checked in under a false name. His stuff is still in his room, by the way. I thought it might be our biggest clue yet, that Gomez knew someone was after him. But Poloski discovered that Gomez owes money to his ex and this follows a trend of not wanting her to know he had money for a pseudo-vacation and a hotel.”

  “Jeez. Okay. Let me know if he finds out there’s more to it.” Rivera ended the call and started walking back to the hotel with the folder of photos and sketches under his arm, cracking his knuckles. He stopped, turned toward his car in the parking lot, took a few steps, then turned again. With a loud, heavy sigh, he walked inside to the center of the three-story lobby and looked up at the upper floors. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the faint smell of must, the muted sounds of shuffling feet, and a few murmurs coming from behind the reception desk. He opened his eyes. Behind the registration desk stood an overweight young lady in her early twenties wearing glasses. Her name tag said Betty. Next to her stood a bearded man who looked slightly older, also wearing a black blazer with black pants. The man kept his focus on something behind the counter. Betty tucked a stray hair behind her ear and smiled at him. “Hi. You checking in?”

  Rivera held up his badge. “FBI.”

  “Oh. Again.” She blinked and squared her shoulders. The male worker beside her straightened up and leaned forward against the desk. “I’m the manager on duty. Can I help you?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to wear a name tag?”

  “Can’t find it today. My name is Alex.”

  “Where can we speak privately, Alex?”

  Alex lifted his hand toward the door behind the desk. “Come this way.” He raised a movable piece in the side of the counter, so Rivera could walk through.

  “I need you to come, too,” Rivera told Betty. “I know you’ve already spoken to detectives, so I apologize for putting you through this again, as you say, but it’s important.”

  Alex nodded. “Sure.”

  Rivera glanced out through the office window toward the front desk. “Have you seen anyone suspicious here? Any unusual behaviors that stick out these past few days?”

  Betty pushed on the arm of her glasses. “We already told the detectives, and the agents, but there was one guy who left a few days ago.”

  “The one who wanted a specific room number, right?” Alex grinned. “Said he knew it was ridiculous but just to ‘work with him.’ It was just . . . strange.”

  “Yes. That was him.” Betty’s eyes had lit up with excitement. Or maybe she was just nervous about the investigation being focused on her place of employment. “He was wearing a baseball cap, can’t remember what it said now, but I’m pretty sure he was wearing a cap. He’s gone now, but he never checked out. Left a few days earlier than he had the room reserved for. I heard that the credit card he used wasn’t
his. It was some sort of identity theft thing. But you know what? I’m just remembering this—I’m pretty sure he asked for two key cards.”

  Two? The guy posing as Thomas Wilson and whoever he was with—were they the couple Olivia saw running out the back door? Was his companion the mystery killer? Or did they have absolutely nothing to do with the murders? Rivera opened his folder and showed Alex and Betty the pictures of their killer compiled by the police artists. “Have you seen this woman?”

  Betty picked up the photo and drew it closer to face. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Rivera pressed his lips together and silently sighed. Just because the staff hadn’t seen her, didn’t mean she hadn’t been there. He trusted Olivia and what she claimed to have seen. Her “that might be her” response to the Smith’s sketches was the most hopeful testimony they had so far.

  He scanned the memos hung on a bulletin board next to his head. “Any kind of get together or meeting being held here?”

  Betty shrugged. Alex shook his head.

  The agent picked up the pictures and put them back in his folder. “A sales opportunity? A reunion of any kind? A hiking or fishing club?” None of the things he mentioned would be a fit for all the victims, but there had to be some commonality that hadn’t occurred to them yet.

  “Not that I know of. And I’ve worked every day this week.” Alex’s eyes flashed toward the door, then back to Rivera. “We’re more likely to have guests who pay with cash and don’t want anyone to know they’re here than we are to have business meetings, if you get my drift. This place isn’t . . . you know what I mean, don’t you?”

  “I understand. I’ve got some pictures for you.” Rivera opened his folder and set down the same photos he’d shown to Olivia earlier. “Did you see any of these people together? Talking? Coming or going together?”