A Deeper Fear

by Allison Brennan

  A patrol car was parked behind the van. The officer stepped out when he saw John approach. “Detective.”

  “Riley. Any interest?”

  “No. Megan—I mean, SSA Elliott—from the FBI came over and said no one in or out until you arrive with the tech.”

  “He’s not here yet. You might know him—Rogan?”

  “Sean Rogan? Yeah, of course. He and his brother were hired to protect my sister once.”

  “I’m sorry, we haven’t met,” Lucy said. “I’m Lucy Kincaid.”

  Riley grinned. “Riley Knight. I feel like I know you. My sister is Sonia Hooper.”

  Small, small world, Lucy thought. She’d just worked with Sonia on a case. She was married to the ASAC in Sacramento, Dean Hooper.

  “Nice to meet you,” she mumbled, feeling a bit out of sorts. She’d forgotten how well known Sean was here—he’d grown up in Sacramento, RCK started in Sacramento, he had friends all over the area.

  John said, “If Rogan arrives before I get back, call me. No one is allowed to touch the van without me here, understood?”

  “Of course,” Riley said.

  “Jack Kincaid and Dupre’s partner already went in it this morning, which ticks me off, but that was before they called it in.”

  John and Lucy continued walking another half block then turned left on 14th. The alley separated a block-long office building and a parking lot. The unstaffed parking lot had a machine where drivers pre-paid. The lot was about a third full.

  “This is mostly for evening events,” John explained. “The Memorial Auditorium, the community theater, Music Circus—all walking distance.” He gestured to the building that took up half the block on the west side of 14th. “That’s the AG’s office.”

  “Security cameras?”

  “Likely, don’t know that they’d reach here. I’ll have someone call.”

  He looked around the area. Neither of them saw anything out of the ordinary. They slowly walked down the alley. Three Dumpsters were lined up against the building on the right.

  John pulled out his phone and dialed Ellen’s number.

  It rang in the Dumpster closest to the street.

  John pulled on gloves and Lucy followed suit. He cautiously opened the Dumpster and they both looked in.

  Ellen Dupre was lying faceup on top of the garbage.

  “Fuck,” John mumbled under his breath. He started to close the lid.

  “Wait,” Lucy said.

  She smelled garbage, but she didn’t smell decomp. If Ellen was dead since last night, there would be clear signs. But her body looked . . .

  Lucy’s heart raced. “I think she’s alive! Help me climb in.”

  John pushed the top open. It hit the brick wall and stayed. Lucy pulled herself up, stepped into John’s hands, and hoisted herself inside the Dumpster. There was only one layer of bags, some food but mostly paper and office garbage.

  Carefully, she moved over to Ellen’s neck and pressed her fingers on the main artery.

  At first nothing. But her body was pliable, warm. If she was dead, she hadn’t been dead long.

  Then she felt a faint heartbeat.

  “I have a pulse!” she said.

  John was already calling for an ambulance.

  Lucy wanted to remove her from the Dumpster but worried that Ellen might have a neck or back injury. She was fully clothed, shoes on. Dried blood matted her blond hair, on her right side. She could have been shot or hit or beaten. Her face was dirty, but unmarked.

  There were no other visible signs of injuries.

  She could have been here since last night, or since dawn. They needed a full time line of her night after her husband left the tactical van.

  “Hold on, Ellen,” she said.

  It didn’t take long for Lucy to hear an ambulance.

  “What do you see, Kincaid?” John asked.

  “Dried blood on her head, no other visible signs of injury. Her pulse is faint, but she is breathing on her own. I don’t know why she’s unconscious and unresponsive.”

  Only minutes later the paramedics arrived. One joined Lucy in the Dumpster, and Lucy assisted with putting a neck brace on Ellen and sliding the board under her body. Then Lucy jumped out while the two paramedics pulled Ellen up and out, onto a gurney. They were on the phone with the doctor at the hospital and immediately started an IV, checked her eyes, pulse, blood pressure—which was very low.

  “We’ve got her, Detective,” one of the paramedics said to John. “We’re taking her to the Mercy trauma unit.”

  “Is Dr. Storm on duty?”

  “That’s who we’re talking to now.”

  “Good. I’ll be down as soon as I get this scene secured. Tell him this is my case.”

  The ambulance left, and John said to Lucy, “Gabriel Storm is my brother-in-law, heads the trauma department at Mercy.”

  “I swear, Sacramento is the smallest big city in the country.”

  John looked around the area, his face grim, his eyes seeing everything. “Why was she here?” He glanced at his phone. “Crime scene is on their way. I don’t know what we’re going to get from the Dumpster or the van, but if there’s anything to find, my team will find it.”

  Chapter Six

  Sean arrived downtown just after ten that morning. He couldn’t park near the convention center; J Street was blocked at 13th Street, and a traffic cop directed traffic south on 13th. He’d expect this in a homicide investigation, not for an assault. He looked again at Lucy’s message:

  We found Ellen Dupre unconscious, unresponsive, but breathing in a Dumpster off 14th and J. She’s en route to the hospital, awaiting status. Drone is missing.

  That was thirty minutes ago.

  He’d failed Ellen. He should have been here last night, running through the last tests with her. But his damn pride, his self-pity, his . . . what? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be anywhere near the law enforcement conference. He didn’t want to talk to people, to smile, to pretend like everything was normal.

  And Ellen was in the hospital fighting for her life because he felt sorry for himself.

  He sent Lucy a text message that he was parking in the hotel garage and would meet her at the van. She responded almost immediately that Detective John Black with Sacramento PD would meet him there.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  He’d fucked up. Big time.

  Sean parked at the top of the garage. He stood at the edge and looked down below at the corner of K Street and 13th, the convention center to the east, the police vehicles to the north. He had to pull it together.

  Ellen was a visionary and got as excited about new ideas like he did. He’d worked on her drone software project before he’d been arrested for murder; he had mixed feelings now working on anything that helped law enforcement track people. While on the one hand he knew that most cops would use it for lawful, warranted purposes . . . there were always a few bad cops out there.

  He despised bad cops.

  Sean shook the thoughts from his head. He wouldn’t be able to help Ellen if he didn’t focus on the task at hand. At doing what he was good at.

  What, fucking things up? Because you really screwed things up with Lucy. You didn’t come home last night. You didn’t tell her where you were, what you were doing, just ran away like an asshole.

  His fists clenched at his sides; why couldn’t he just make this all stop? Was he so weak that he couldn’t put the past in the past?

  Or maybe he couldn’t stop thinking about his failures because he knew that Jonathan Paxton was right.

  His phone vibrated. He looked at the message. It was from Jack.

  Are you coming?

  Lucy must have told him he was here. Shit.

  Sean walked down six flights of stairs and headed toward the van. Jack was standing near the corner of the convention center. From where he was, he might have seen Sean standing at the top of the parking garage. Sean wouldn’t be surprised.

  Se
an straightened his spine. He didn’t want to have it out with Jack now. His emotions were too raw, he would lash out in anger. This wasn’t Jack’s fault, but dammit, he didn’t want to talk to him about it. Him or Dillon or Lucy or anyone. It would just make him seem weak. He felt weak, but he didn’t want to share that with anyone.

  Jack’s face was blank as Sean approached. Without comment, Jack turned and walked toward the van as soon as Sean reached him. Sean saw Riley Knight, a cop he knew. Riley was a good guy, and Sean was almost relieved that he could work with someone easy-going who he liked. Crime scene tape surrounded the van, and a CSI tech was on her knees on the sidewalk inspecting something that Sean couldn’t see.

  Standing just outside the crime scene tape, Jack motioned toward a very tall, broad-shouldered detective. He came over and Jack said, “John Black, Sean Rogan. He worked with Ellen on the software, he’ll know what’s missing.”

  Sean said, “You didn’t find the drone?”

  “No, though we’ve broadened the search. But if this is a valuable piece of technology, it could be she was attacked for it.”

  “The drone isn’t valuable—it’s high-end, but someone could buy it for a thousand bucks. The software Ellen wrote is worth more, but that software is on a laptop that communicates with the drone. Even then, I don’t see what they would gain from stealing it. Like I said, everything is available in different formats, and the software is open code. The only thing proprietary about the project was how Ellen packaged it.”

  John let Sean in under the crime scene tape. When Sean glanced back, Jack was already walking away.

  “Ms. Robinson, correct?” John said to the CSI.

  She looked up at him. “Yes?”

  “Are you almost done? Can we go in the van?”

  “We’re done inside, but I’m collecting samples—I may have found a small amount of blood. Just stay on that side of the markers.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  She nodded and went back to inspecting the sidewalk.

  “Marc Dupre gave me a basic rundown on the drone, but he wasn’t all that helpful,” John said. “Can you explain? In lay terms, please.”

  “One of the requests Ellen had from multiple law enforcement agencies was for a drone that was quiet and responsive. They would suggest something like a military drone without weapons, something to provide quality video to surveil an area of interest, specifically in urban areas. One SWAT team leader gave her a real-life scenario—they had a hostage situation, but they didn’t know how many hostages or suspects, and the drones they had were too loud and didn’t have the ability to incorporate other technology, like heat sensors or real-time video. All that tech is available, but putting it together in an easy-to-use system was Ellen’s goal. An agency could purchase one package, Ellen would come in and train their tech people, and they’d be able to use it for any number of things—active shooter situations, looking for meth labs, assessing a hostage situation, high-risk traffic stops, and more. Ellen ran a scenario aimed at getting a handle on human trafficking along the Delta using drones to patrol the waterways—I’m sure you know that Sacramento has the second highest incidence of trafficking in the country.”

  “I’m unfortunately aware.”

  “Ellen is a true visionary, the way her brain works. If you can play video games, you can run her program, it was intuitive and responsive. I’m . . .” Sean shut up when his voice cracked. He was getting emotional, he had to rein it in. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, she’s a friend. How is she?”

  “I don’t know yet, but the best trauma surgeon in Sacramento is working on her.” John opened the rear doors of the van. “Did she have a major competitor? Someone who might be developing the same thing?”

  “The tactical world is relatively small, and Pride caters to small units and private security. But I haven’t heard of anyone developing something like this. It’s sort of a niche market. It would be great for a business like Pride, but a big business like 531 or NorCal? Drop in the bucket.”

  “And you were hired to . . . ?”

  “Test the software and work out the bugs.”

  John handed him gloves. “The van has been processed for prints, fibers, and blood—there was no blood. No prints. When we got Ellen out of the Dumpster, your wife assessed that she had been attacked, likely suffering from blunt force trauma, though she may have been shot. There was a lot of matted blood and they weren’t in a position to fully assess the damage. No other visible wounds. Still—I don’t know much of anything right now, other than that quick field assessment.”

  Sean pulled on the gloves John handed him. “No prints?”

  “Someone wiped it down. We found prints in the cab—they match Ellen Dupre. And there were some prints on the back door of the van, they were all Ellen’s and her ex-husband, Marc, but nothing in here.” He gestured to the main command center.

  Sean didn’t need to look long to assess. “Her laptop is missing. It’s the brains of the drone. Also the backup drive—it’s supposed to be here.” He gestured to an empty slot under the small desk. “But they’re idiots.”

  “Explain.”

  “I can track the drone and her laptop from the Pride office. The backup drive is external, but it saves everything remotely to the main server in real time. I should be able to track what Ellen was doing last night—I mean, I know that she was testing the night-vision camera and creating a video presentation for today. It’s the big selling feature. But I can find out exactly what the drone recorded.”

  “I suppose it would be too easy to have her attack on video.”

  Sean said, “Sometimes cases are easy.”

  “I’ll have Officer Knight take you, if you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. I’ve known Riley for years.”

  “Document everything. Don’t talk to anyone except me—and of course Riley. I asked your wife if she would be willing to assist, so she’s partnering with me on the case. Jack and Megan are friends with Marc Dupre, I can’t have them involved any more than they already are. I can’t figure out why Marc would attack his wife for her equipment. Unless he had a reason to kill her, and the robbery was a diversion. Did Ellen ever discuss with you whether she wanted to sell her company?”

  “Sell Pride? No—she wouldn’t. At least, my impression is she loved what she did. She worked her ass off to make Pride successful.”

  “And her ex-husband? Did he want to sell?”

  “I get it. The ex is at the top of your list. I don’t know Marc as well as Ellen, but I’ll tell you one thing—he’s great at marketing and sales, but he wouldn’t know a backup drive from a dictionary.”

  * * *

  “Agent Kincaid?”

  A tall female officer younger than Lucy approached her. “Yes,” Lucy said.

  Lucy had been supervising the crime scene investigators in the alley looking for evidence, though she knew by their demeanor that they hadn’t found anything of value. The only evidence might be in or on the Dumpster itself.

  “Detective Black told me to report to you about our canvass.”

  She pulled out her phone so she could take notes. “Do you have a witness?”

  “No, ma’am. My partner and I were tasked with locating all security cameras in the area. We found three that potentially had a view between the van and the Dumpster. One was close focus only, on a store front. One was outside the convention center, but angled away from the van. The third was there”—she gestured across the street—“on the Attorney General Building. It is aimed at the alley where delivery trucks come in, and may have an angle to the street. It’s distorted, but they are copying the file from nine p.m. to midnight, per Detective Black.”

  “Great. There’s nothing here on the parking lot?”

  “No. But—I have one idea?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, J Street is one-way. If anyone was walking on the sidewalk or driving to the van or away from the van, there are many businesses that have sec
urity cameras, and there are several police cameras on K Street and around the capitol building. It’s a long shot—especially since we don’t know exactly what to look for—but it might be worth looking into.”

  Lucy agreed. “Follow up, four-block radius, as well as checking the security from the two hotels across from the convention center. Do you know, is there any way to find out who was parked here last night during our window?”

  “I can contact the parking company.”

  “That would be great.”

  “The only problem, it’s all pre-pay—so you pull in, go to that machine”—she motioned—“and then pay. They can tell me when cars come in, but not when they leave.”

  Lucy considered. “We need to know all cars that were here between those hours. Someone might have seen something, if the company can give us a list—I don’t know if we need a warrant, or if there are any other jurisdictional issues.”

  “I’ll ask. If they balk I’ll bump it up to Detective Black.”

  “Perfect. Thank you, Officer . . . ?”

  “Delacruz.”

  “Officer Delacruz.” Lucy nodded and smiled, knowing how hard it was to be a young officer working a crime scene. Many times they received no appreciation from the people in charge, even though they were doing the bulk of the legwork.

  Forensics was inspecting the area near the van as well as the alley and every place between the van and alley. Lucy turned her focus to the alley. It stood to reason that Ellen had been attacked last night and had been lying unconscious in the Dumpster for hours. Yet no one had heard anything. Was she attacked at her van or here in the alley? There was no blood evidence in the van, which told Lucy the attack likely happened when Ellen left the vehicle—though, according to John, the van had been wiped down. If the assault did happen in the alley, why was she here? She had a room in the hotel, which was in the opposite direction. She didn’t have a car at the hotel—John had checked—she had driven the tactical van from Pride headquarters yesterday morning.

  Lucy hadn’t had much opportunity to inspect the wound before the paramedics rushed Ellen to the hospital, but it appeared to be blunt force trauma. She didn’t see a gunshot wound, but she couldn’t be certain. If Ellen had been shot, could someone have had a silencer? Silencers weren’t completely silent, but they wouldn’t echo on the street and possibly alert nearby residents. Had the killer thought she was dead, and that’s why he put her body in the Dumpster, to avoid being discovered quickly? Or did he know she was still breathing and expect her to die before she was found? Either way, the shooter had a uniquely dark coldness about him.