The Third to Die

by Allison Brennan

He emailed Ryder instructions to follow up with Tony Greer about the warrant for Anne Banks’s legal records at the hospital, and that he wanted as many agents as Spokane and Seattle could spare first thing Monday morning.

  If we don’t catch this bastard today, I will need all the people I can get to protect an unknown number of cops—and we both know how cops feel about taking protection.

  Matt was not writing off the principal. So far, so good. If they could throw the killer off his game, he would make a mistake—and Matt was ready to capitalize on it.

  He went back for seconds at the buffet and was on his third cup of coffee when Michael Harris walked in, dressed impeccably as usual.

  “Ready, boss?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Michael grinned, his teeth sharply white against his dark skin. “You didn’t come back to the war room last night.”

  “Kara and I had a drink.”

  Damn, why had he said that? He didn’t want everyone to know they’d slept together.

  “She’s something.”

  “She’s smart.”

  “And hot.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Not hot. Got it.”

  Matt grabbed a cup of coffee to go and followed Michael to his rental car. “Ryder divvied up the list of twenty-eight principals, and we have four—let’s hit them fast. You drive.”

  “Never pegged you as one to give up control of the transpo.”

  “I need to work—can’t do it while driving.” Matt slid into the passenger seat and typed the first address into the GPS, then pulled out his phone to follow up with Jim, Maddox, and Knolls.

  “Let’s go, or I will be driving and you’ll be taking dictation from me.”

  “Roger that.”

  26

  Liberty Lake

  7:30 a.m.

  Kara walked into Liberty Lake Police Department only minutes after Andy. She knew when he’d arrived because she’d waited until he showed up before she came in. The office wasn’t technically open until eight, but she’d received Matt’s memo and called Andy, who said he’d be there early.

  Last night was fun, and she wouldn’t mind sharing Agent Costa’s bed another night or two before she returned to LA. She suspected, however, that there was something else going on with him—something that might move past the let’s have fun for a few nights.

  He was intense about everything he did—the job, conversation, sex.

  All good, because having 100 percent of his focus on her personal enjoyment was just fine. She didn’t do relationships; it wasn’t in her skill set. Plus, she had a job in LA and she was itching to get back to it. Needed to get back to it.

  So what if the hot Cuban Agent Mathias Costa interested her? So what if he was hunky and smart? He was an alpha male trying very hard, and failing, to be a beta—the way he kept asking her if she was sure she wanted to go to bed... Yeah, she was sure—she voluntarily went to his hotel room. She put her hands down his pants. Finally, she had to tease him a bit so he would let go of propriety—and then wow.

  Yeah, she wanted another night or three.

  But sex was sex, and just because she enjoyed it—and enjoyed it in particular with Matt Costa—didn’t mean there was a future, and that was A-OK with her. She was hardly relationship material, and she was pretty certain Costa would disapprove of many of her undercover activities. Plus, his intensity struck her as real, but he was also a bit of a player. He certainly had plenty of experience, and absolutely knew exactly how to set off her libido.

  None of that meant that if he had time off, and she had time off, that maybe they should share time off down the road. The whole friends with benefits thing had worked well for her in the past.

  “You look worried,” she said to Andy as he made a pot of coffee.

  “I became a cop fifteen years ago.”

  “That’s why I’m going to stick to you like glue.”

  He didn’t so much as crack a smile.

  “I don’t know what I could have done.”

  “You didn’t do anything.”

  “I read the memo. The killer feels that Banks and Marston hurt him in some way. Maybe they did. Maybe I did something and didn’t realize it. Arrested an innocent man. Said the wrong thing at a traffic stop.”

  Kara put her hands up in the time-out gesture. “Whoa. Stop. Don’t even go there. You are straight up one of the most honest cops I’ve met in my life. I’m a damn good judge of character, Andy, and you are an all-around good guy. You did nothing wrong. Got it?”

  He still looked concerned.

  “This guy is loony tunes,” Kara said. “Yeah, I know, the shrink thinks he’s sane—and maybe legally he’s sane, which is a good thing so we can lock him up for the rest of his fucking life. But whatever twisted sense of injustice he feels, none of that is on you or whatever cop he has in his sights. Did Anne Banks deserve to be stabbed and carved up in front of her baby? Did John Marston deserve to be sliced and diced in his own home? Hell no.

  “I don’t care if Marston was a prick who expelled kids for no reason. He didn’t deserve to be gutted. And Anne Banks...she was a nurse. She saved lives. What if she didn’t save someone? Is that her fault? What if they couldn’t be saved? Does she deserve to die because some guy comes in after a heart attack and flatlines it on the operating table? No.”

  Andy nodded and shrugged at the same time. “What do you really think? Over and above the fact you say he’s a loony tune.”

  “Let me rephrase that. I’ll side with the shrink on this one—the guy is sane. I think he has an agenda, a very specific agenda, and we’re going to stop him. You and me and the FBI goon squad.” She was trying to get Andy to lighten up a bit—sure, be diligent—but if he started second-guessing himself or losing himself remembering every collar he’d made over the last fifteen years, he would be in greater danger.

  “Confident, aren’t you?”

  “Always. I’m ready when you are.”

  Andy poured two to-go cups just as Abigail walked in. “I got here as soon as I could.”

  “Abigail, I need all personnel files of any sworn officer who worked out of our department between the dates I sent you. If you can please pull them and make a list—current, transferred, retired.”

  “Of course, sugar. What’s going on?”

  “The FBI thinks the Triple Killer is going to go after one of our people.”

  “No! Why on earth?”

  Kara piped up. “Because he’s a nut job. But this is important, okay?”

  “I’m on it. It won’t take me long—I’ll get you the list before lunch. I can retrieve current officers in five minutes—just need to run the report.”

  “Send the info to me as you get it. Kara and I are going to check on a few people—we talked to all the teachers and principals yesterday, but the FBI narrowed down the potential victims to principals and vice principals only. We’re still going to touch base again with those, offer protection.”

  “Do we have that many people?”

  “If I have to haul everyone in here and put them in jail, I will,” Andy said.

  Not practical, but Kara liked the sentiment.

  Andy continued, “I’ll need patrols to ride double today, no exceptions, no one goes out alone. Detective Quinn will be with me, so that should free up someone else.”

  “Okay—does Chief Dunn know about this?”

  After hanging out with Andy for the last couple days, Kara realized that he ran the office and the staff looked to him for guidance, not the chief. She wasn’t surprised. Andy instilled loyalty among his people.

  “He was included in the memo—but I don’t care what he says, for the next four days at a minimum, no one is to ride alone. Agent Costa is going to debrief our office sometime today with more information about the killer, but we have to watch
out for each other. And—just in case—keep the door locked when you’re alone.”

  Now Abigail looked freaked, and maybe she should be, Kara thought.

  They left the station. The first two principals they checked on were alive and well—one they woke up, and one was tending to his yard.

  Andy explained to each what was going on and suggested that they not be alone for the rest of the day and night. The first was divorced and lived alone. Two other cops had spoken to him the night before, and he had already made plans to visit his daughter in Seattle. Andy got her contact information and his cell phone number.

  The second, a vice principal at the elementary school, felt they were overreacting but finally—after thirty minutes of conversation and arguments—agreed that he would cancel his standing golf game that morning and stay home with his wife.

  Andy was frustrated. “He didn’t take us seriously.”

  “You did what you could,” Kara said.

  “I’ll have patrol drive by every hour. It’s all I can do—I can’t force them to leave town or hire a bodyguard.”

  He called in the order.

  “Andy—you can’t take this personally.”

  “Wouldn’t you? This is your town, too. You may not live here anymore, but your grandmother does. You have friends here. There are seven thousand people, take or leave, who live here full-time. They live in Liberty Lake because it’s safe. A good place to raise kids. A good place for recreation, to start a family, to be happy. And this person has stolen that security from us. From everyone. No one is going to feel safe again.”

  Kara didn’t want to tell him she didn’t have many friends, and none here, other than her grandmother. And maybe Maddox. In fact, Andy was probably the closest thing she had to a friend and they’d just met.

  And safety? It was relative and never a given.

  “Andy, Liberty Lake has you. And they’ll have you when this is over. You’ll make them feel safe again.”

  “I don’t know how you live and work in Los Angeles. So much violence and hate and anger. Senseless violence. I love my town, Kara. I don’t want it to change.”

  It was a naive but sweet idea. Kara didn’t want to destroy Andy’s optimism, so she said, “Then help it stay the same.”

  She saw people for who they were—the good, the bad, the very, very ugly. She didn’t see a lot of good, but so what? That was the way the world worked. Violence might seem senseless to someone who had a good soul, but she understood it. She knew why the people she went after hurt and killed people. For money, for power, for control. To make themselves feel superior.

  She didn’t fit in here—Liberty Lake was too good for her.

  When she met someone like Andy, she didn’t initially believe that they were as noble and good as they seemed. But he was exactly as he came off. She hoped that he kept that spark of optimism and joy because so few people had it. In fact, she knew only two people who didn’t have an ounce of hate or violence in their soul—Andy and her grandmother.

  Andy was the reason she did what she did—people like Andy Knolls and her grandmother Em. And damn if she’d ever let them down.

  They were driving to the third name on their list when Matt Costa called Andy.

  Andy answered and put Matt on speaker. “Kara is here with me. She’s riding shotgun today.”

  “Good. Harris and I are at a spread in the county, about halfway between Spokane and Liberty Lake. Joanne Grant. She’s the principal of St. Elizabeth’s.”

  “Is she—?”

  “She’s not here. Her place has been tossed. I’d think she was robbed, but nothing valuable appears to have been taken. Cushions are torn open, a mirror’s broken, a bookshelf knocked over. There’s no blood, but we need an APB out on her.”

  “Grant left town yesterday,” Andy said. He typed on his onboard computer. “Right after the press conference.”

  “How certain are you?”

  “My officers followed up on the phone. I have her contact information—Abigail also has it. She’s in Yakima with her sister.”

  “I’ll get it from Abigail.”

  “You think she was the target.”

  “Very likely. Dr. Jones said if we screw with his plans, he may crack or deviate. This house? He’s definitely cracking.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Hold that thought.”

  “I mean, we saved the principal.”

  “It’s still only eight-thirty in the morning. He may very well have a backup plan, and we need to make sure everyone is accounted for.”

  “Of course. Kara and I just cleared two, are heading to the third on our list.”

  “I need a favor—can you call in the crime scene investigators? I need this place gone over and I already called Jim, but we have to jump through the goddamn hoops Chief Packard put in place.”

  “That’s county—”

  “I’m not dealing with another jurisdiction. This is the Triple Killer. My team would normally take care of it—when we’re fully staffed. But right now I need help, and Jordan’s people are good.”

  “I’ll get it done.”

  “Thank you. Be careful out there, Andy, Kara.”

  “Always,” Kara said.

  Andy called Brian Maddox and relayed the information. He’d navigate the jurisdictional issues and get the job done.

  When Andy hung up, he said, “We talked to Grant yesterday. She left because of the press conference. It worked.”

  He sounded relieved and happy all rolled together, but Kara was still worried. Matt was right. They may have taken one target off the table, but he would have a second or third target in his sights.

  Until the cop. According to the shrink, he had a specific person in mind. A person he would be compelled to kill. But considering he’d escalated—nowhere in the reports had she seen trashing a house as part of his MO—maybe he wouldn’t wait until March 9 to go after the cop. Maybe he would speed up the timetable. They all had to be diligent from here on out.

  “We’re here,” Andy said, and pulled in front of a small A-frame cabin on a slope. “I was here last night, just after midnight. Jeffrey Ogdenburg, principal of Central Valley High.”

  “Our alma mater.”

  “Was he there when you graduated?”

  “No, it was Susan Carpenter. Bitch.”

  “She wasn’t that bad. I had her for English my senior year, before she was the principal.”

  Kara glanced at him. “You were never in trouble.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you would hate her, too.”

  Andy glanced at his patrol computer. “Odgenburg is thirty-nine, single, lives alone. He said he’d be going to his sister’s this morning, would keep the place locked up. The patrol drove by six times between midnight until now—no sign of trouble.”

  They got out and approached the door, rang the bell. No answer. It was already after nine in the morning, but some people liked to sleep in.

  Kara wasn’t one of those, but sleep had never been her friend.

  Andy knocked loudly. “Mr. Ogdenburg, this is Detective Andy Knolls with the Liberty Lake Police Department. We talked last night.”

  No answer.

  He knocked again.

  No response.

  Kara said, “I’ll walk around, see if his car is in the garage. Maybe he already left.”

  She took out her gun. Andy seemed surprised, but she wasn’t one to take chances, especially when a killer was out and about. They didn’t know what to expect, but she had an itch—and she always trusted her instincts.

  She walked around to the side and looked in the garage window. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she spotted a lone car. A Toyota Land Cruiser.

  She went back to the front. “He own a Land Cruiser?”

  “There
is one registered to his name.”

  “It’s in the garage.”

  Andy looked stricken, as if he knew what they would find inside.

  “I need to call it in.”

  “We have probable cause,” Kara said. “I have your back, Andy.”

  She doubted that Andy had ever drawn his gun in the line of duty. He would likely go to the range, practice every month, but it was clear he didn’t think he would ever have to shoot. Small town cop with a small town girlfriend and a small town life.

  Kara almost felt sorry for him. Like he still believed in Santa Claus and she was going to burst his bubble.

  Andy radioed in their intentions, then pounded on the door. “Police! We’re coming in!”

  Kara tried the door. It wasn’t locked.

  She opened it and went low to the right. Andy entered.

  She smelled blood.

  “We need to clear the house,” she said.

  “He’s dead.”

  “We don’t know what’s dead yet,” she said sharply. “We need to clear the house now.”

  Andy pulled his gun—belatedly, she felt, which irritated her—and went left, toward the living area and kitchen.

  That left the bedrooms for Kara and dammit, she knew that’s where the dead body would be. Because most likely the killer sliced open Ogdenburg while he was sleeping.

  The house wasn’t large, a two bedroom, two bath spread far from any other houses.

  Ogdenburg’s door was open. And though she knew he was dead—the smell of the dead was something you never forgot—seeing him flayed in his own bed startled her.

  She shook her head, checked the room—closets, bathroom, under his bed.

  “Clear,” she called out.

  Andy said nothing.

  “Clear!” she shouted, and left the bedroom, heart pounding.

  She should never have left Andy by himself. He had never faced a situation like this before, and she would never forgive herself if something happened to him. The killer could still be here, hiding, waiting to attack.

  “Andy!” she called, the hair on her skin rising, as she held her gun up, but close to her so no one could grab it by surprise. Checking each doorway, behind each door, hesitating around corners, expecting a killer or a dead cop.