“Feeling better, Ms. St. Claire?”
Ah, passive-aggressive. Check. “As well as one can after having her blood drained before waking up hanging in a meat locker.” She scribbled her signature, dated the bottom of the yellow lined paper and clicked the pen shut. “Cole said the FBI was taking an interest in the case. Now.” She pushed to her feet. As much as she appreciated Cole’s desire to give her some privacy as she relived her ordeal, being on this side of the two-way mirror didn’t exactly calm her nerves. “Coffee?”
She didn’t wait for an answer before she walked out of the interview room. “Here you go, Bowie.” Eden handed over the yellow tablet to the uniformed officer at the desk next to Cole’s. The young man had been assigned to the major case division a few months back. He still had that whiff of youth and eagerness, his nickname a tribute to the British rock star his father idolized. But even with that blue-eyed baby face of his, she picked up on his determination to make a difference. Much like most of the officers Cole worked with. She’d never admit it out loud, but she felt at home here, in the bustle of law enforcement. It reminded her of the hours she spent working at the Tribune, where the energetic buzz of discovery and revelation was contagious. “Is Cole around?”
“Said he had an errand to run.” Bowie eyed Agent Simmons over her shoulder. “He asked that you wait for him.”
“As I’m stuck without my car for the time being, that’s a given. Thanks.” She jerked her chin toward the pink bakery box she’d deposited on Jack’s desk on her way in, making the other cops in the division swarm like bees to honey. “Better get your maple bar before it’s gone.”
“It’ll wait. I’m the only one who likes them,” Bowie said with a wistful look on his face. The transplant from Vermont may as well have had a bottle of syrup branded on his arm.
“Sure about that?” Eden arched a brow.
“You like maple?”
“I like doughnuts. Save me from myself, will you?” She glanced at Agent Simmons, who was watching the exchange with more interest than she thought necessary. “I’ll be in the break room.” Being interrogated by a federal agent. This day was shaping up to be great.
As she and Simmons sauntered inside, the few detectives and officers parted like the Red Sea, giving Simmons a wide berth while murmuring words of welcome and relief to her as they passed. Somehow the break room had been neglected in the recent remodel of the station. With its mismatched chairs, chipped tabletops and crooked blinds covering the windows, the space reminded Eden of an out-of-date coffee shop. The air was saturated with the smell of overpopped popcorn and continuously brewing coffee. Funny how the familiarity relaxed her.
“Odd,” Agent Simmons said as she handed him a chipped mug. He motioned to the officers who had just left. “They like you.”
“Odd because I’m a reporter?” She added a good dash of cinnamon to her cup before taking a seat by the window. “Or because I’m me?”
“In my experience reporters and cops don’t tend to get along.”
“It’s my charm.” Her friendship with Cole went a long way to bridging those professional gaps. “They know I want the same things they do. Doesn’t mean I’m their favorite person.” She’d spent plenty of time being frozen out of investigations. Eden cringed and added more sugar to her coffee. Great choice of words. Personally, she accepted their trepidation as a badge of honor.
“They circled the wagons for you.” Agent Simmons took a seat across from her, cupping his hands around the mug. “That tells me a lot about them. And you. It’s funny. I was led to believe Detective Delaney was keeping me away from you because you were...”
Eden sipped, looked at him over the rim of her cup and silently dared him to finish his thought.
The strained smile that stretched his lips caught her by surprise. “Not important.”
“Cole can be a bit—”
“Overprotective?”
“Determined.” And yes, overprotective, thanks to that oath he’d sworn to her brother. An oath she felt certain hadn’t included kissing. She shifted on her chair and veered off that track with a ferocity that could leave skid marks. “Cole’s radar goes up if he thinks I’m in trouble, which I often am, according to him. He also gets testy when he thinks someone’s trying to home in on his case.”
“I’m here to advise, that’s all.”
“Why? I didn’t think the Iceman case was even on the Feds’ radar.”
“On the contrary, it’s a case we’ve been following for some time.” He drew his gaze around the room. “As I told the lieutenant and Detective Delaney, I’m here to lend any assistance you might need.”
“So that wasn’t you raising a ruckus when you thought he’d— What was the phrase he used?” Eden kept her eyes on his face. She found Agent Simmons difficult to read. He didn’t give much away, barely a twitch or a flicker of his dark eyes. This was a man who was used to being in control. And getting what he wanted. If what he wanted was to steal this case from Cole—from her—she certainly wasn’t going to help him do it.
“I don’t like being lied to. And I don’t like the idea that this case might have stalled thanks to your—” he paused and inclined his head “—excessive interest.”
“This department’s had its fair share of disappointing interactions with your agency,” Eden felt compelled to explain, or maybe defend. “And the last thing a case does with me is stall.”
“I’m not the agency,” Simmons said. “But I took the lieutenant’s advice and did a little research while I was waiting. On Detective Delaney’s record with this case. And on you.”
Here we go. “Find anything interesting?”
“Aside from a couple of misdemeanor arrests—”
“A girl has to have a hobby.” She’d learned the most important lesson when it came to breaking and entering a good decade ago: don’t get caught.
“You’ve done good work, Ms. St. Claire. You’ve helped reopen at least three cold cases both here and in Oregon, all murders, in the last few years. Cases law enforcement had given up on.” His temper didn’t catch, not even with her baiting him. Interesting. “Worthy of a badge, some might say.”
“Bite your tongue.”
“Not a fan?”
“Of them?” She glanced through the blinds and chose her words carefully. “Absolutely. I admire them. I just prefer not having the...restrictions they do.” Cole needed those boundaries to stay sane. Eden fought them for the exact same reason.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t need some. Calling out a killer the way you did has consequences. Which brings us to last night. Did you see him? The Iceman?”
Ah. There it was. Put the witness at ease with small talk before you hit her with what you really want to know. “I did not.” Anger bubbled in her blood, not at Agent Simmons’s curiosity but at her own carelessness. Not checking her surroundings, not parking under a light. “One second I was getting out of my car and the next...” She rubbed a hand over her bandaged wrist where the pain had subsided to a dull ache as ghostly footsteps echoed in her memory. “I woke up in an air-conditioned igloo with a third of my blood missing.” Her ears buzzed as the fear crawled back into her throat.
“So there’s no hope of a description.”
Fragmented images flashed through her mind. Like jagged puzzle pieces with no way to fit together. “Not from me.” And didn’t that just burn. “Maybe the lab will have some luck with my phone.”
“Strange, don’t you think? That he broke pattern like that? Potentially exposed himself by calling a police detective and telling him where to find you. You’ve been on his trail long enough. Why do you think he did that?”
Strange? Strange was the tip of the iceberg, wasn’t it? “Killers like this aren’t exactly known for their grasp on reality.” Personally, she didn’t appreciate the increased level of a
nxiety she had to adjust to thanks to his changeup, but she didn’t have anybody but herself to blame after that last blog post she’d run. “The Iceman has spent three years being invisible. No one’s come forward with any information of having seen him, let alone a description. There’s been no indication as to how he targets his victims, how he transports them—only that he seems to have an unhealthy fascination with vivisection and deep freezers. Now we can add blood to that list.” Her palms itched to get to her files and notes. “Aside from the missing persons’ reports, there’s been nothing to track. His abduction pattern has always been erratic and meticulous, and we’ve never found a common thread among the victims. At least not the first three victims.”
“More victims give us more data to work with.”
“But that’s the sad thing. Like Cole’s superiors, I wanted to believe he’d stopped, but that’s not the norm with these types of killers, is it? The Iceman is confident. Smart. Organized. Until...” She cleared her throat and drank her coffee, the warm spice of the cinnamon bathing her tongue. “We still don’t understand how he’s choosing his victims, and if he isn’t, if they’re completely random, we might never catch him.” That was what she needed to figure out: the connection between the victims. “Somehow he was aware enough to know their routines.”
“And yours. The coffee shop where you were abducted. Is it your habit to meet with Detective Delaney at that particular time and place?”
“Yes.” Eden frowned, realizing Agent Simmons had turned her questioning into a conversation. “And don’t think that hasn’t been bothering me.” It was one thing to be predictable; it was another to fall into a careless routine that had nearly gotten her killed.
“And yet he went out of his way to make sure you survived. Seems...inconsistent to me.”
“Makes me an outlier,” she mused, agreeing with him. “Something he can’t quite figure out or control.” Except what he’d done had been an attempt to regain that control. She would have noticed if someone had been following her. Or had she gotten lazy earlier than she realized and stopped paying attention? She took a deep breath, sat back in her chair and looked at the FBI agent, grudgingly appreciative for making her look at the case in a different way. “He knew his victims’ routines going back to the first three killings. Pam Norris disappeared on her way home from school before a three-day weekend. Her parents were away and didn’t report her missing until they got home on Monday. Elliot Scarbrough, single, junior partner in a local law firm who had started working from home. Last place he was seen was leaving the gym four days before anyone realized he was gone. Denise Pageant—her husband was on a business trip that got extended. Her car was found abandoned in her neighborhood grocery store almost a week later. He knew when to grab them. He knew they wouldn’t be missed for a while. That puts him somewhere in their lives.”
Agent Simmons twisted the wedding band on his finger and dropped his chin. “You know their names.”
“Of course I know their names.” She didn’t even try to hide her offense.
“Why?” He looked honestly perplexed. “Why do you do this? And please don’t disillusion me by telling me this is about fortune and fame.”
Eden crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you wanted to question me, not analyze me.”
Again, he didn’t rise to the bait. “Why risk your life to go after him? To go after others like him?”
Eden couldn’t remember the last time she’d been asked such a simple yet complex question. Her answer shouldn’t matter. Not to the FBI. Not even to Cole or Simone or Allie. The only person who deserved an answer to that question was herself. And for her, the answer was simple. “Because their victims mattered.”
“That’s all?”
“Isn’t that enough?” She didn’t want to talk about herself; she didn’t matter. Stopping the Iceman before he hanged anyone else in a deep freeze had to be her focus. And then she’d move on to the next one. Because there would always be a next one. “Here’s what’s really odd about what happened last night. Not that he targeted me. Yeah, that’s creepy and all—” and would give her nightmares for the rest of her life “—but why would he want me found?”
“He can’t take credit for something no one knows about.” Cole strolled into the break room with that cop look in his eyes that revealed confidence, obligation and a touch of annoyance as he bit into an apple fritter. Just seeing him eased some of the tension that had settled around her.
He was Cole. Her friend. Her best friend, and yet every time she laid eyes on him it was as if she was seeing him in a different light. A light she shouldn’t want turned on.
“Bowie is typing up your report now,” Cole said and poured a cup of coffee. “Sticky maple fingers and all. Should be ready for you to sign in a bit. Agent Simmons, I thought we agreed you’d wait until I was present before you spoke with Eden.”
“It’s fine.” Eden sighed. “I don’t need you hovering, Cole. We’ll only kill each other that much sooner.”
Agent Simmons’s sad smile knocked against an unfamiliar soft spot on her heart. “You two sound like me and my ex-wife.” Eden glanced down at his wedding band. He shook his head. “Long story. Suffice it to say obsessing over a case you can’t crack destroys more than the victims’ lives. Did Forensics give you anything?” he asked Cole.
“Only confirmed what we already knew.” Cole sat on the edge of the counter and crossed his ankles as he polished off his doughnut. “No prints other than yours and people you know, Eden, and no prints on your phone. Dr. Collins sent over the final lab results from your blood work. We might be able to trace the sedative he used—”
“That’s good news,” Eden interrupted.
“Remains to be seen. Propofol is popular on the black market, but we’ll run it to be safe. Other than that, we’re coming up blank. Again. He must have been hermetically sealed given the lack of forensic evidence. He drove your car, Eden. That should have given us something.”
“All you have to do is watch TV crime shows to know how to evade forensics,” Eden muttered. Nothing like television to turn those with twisted behavioral tendencies into master criminals. “How am I supposed to drive my Bug again?” She loved her neon green VW, the first new car she’d ever bought. “Not to mention use my phone.” She shuddered.
“I’m afraid a new car is out of my budget, but the phone I can fix.” Cole reached into his jacket pocket and held out a shiny smartphone. “It’s the same make and model as your old one. I had Tammy transfer everything over.”
“So that was your mystery errand. My hero.” Eden smiled and accepted the phone with reverent hands. “Thank you.” She tapped open her text app and noted the number of messages from her boss at the paper. “I’m going to have to make another stop on the way home.”
“If you’re done with your questioning?” Cole said as if dismissing Agent Simmons. “We can send you copies of all the reports. Keep you in the loop.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Agent Simmons replied in what sounded like a rehearsed tone. He’d surprised her, as congenial and curious as he’d been, but not around Cole. Clearly the mistrust between the agencies went both ways. “If you do happen to remember anything else about your abduction, I’d like you to let me know. In the meantime, I’ll let you know if anything pops on our end with those reports. Thanks for your cooperation.”
“Considering what you told me about Simmons,” Eden said as the FBI agent left and she finished her coffee, “that didn’t go at all as I expected.”
“Maybe not for you.” Cole walked to the door and watched as Agent Simmons stopped to talk to Lieutenant Santos. “I bet if you were to ask Simmons, it went exactly as expected.”
Chapter 7
Cole clicked off his phone as he spotted Eden heading out of the Sacramento Tribune offices full steam ahead. Mouth set, eyes piercing, the sligh
tly pink tinge to her skin told him she’d either just been given the exclusive of a lifetime or...
She wrenched open the passenger door of his SUV with enough force to rip it off its hinges. “Do you know what that sanctimonious boss of mine did?” She threw herself into the seat and slammed the door shut. “He put me on indefinite leave.” She slumped and crossed her arms. The look had Cole spinning back to a particularly nasty temper tantrum she’d thrown when some boys in school told her she couldn’t play football with them because she was a girl.
“Can you believe that? He says I’ve been traumatized, that I need time to recover.” She rolled her eyes but he caught the slight shiver. Her pink cheeks were already draining, as was the energy in her eyes. She might be fighting it, but exhaustion was taking over. “He’s already assigned Wonder Klutz to the crime column for the foreseeable future.”
Cole started the car. “Wonder Klutz being?”
“Benedict Russell, who has trouble putting one foot in front of the other let alone structuring a sentence. Probably because one of them is always in his mouth or stuck up his—”
“Isn’t he the reporter who covered the Panteras murder case?”
“One and the same.”
Ah. “The one who called Simone an ineffectual, pedantic political scapegoat.” Eden’s outrage wasn’t just about being temporarily replaced; Russell had done the unforgivable. He’d gone after one of her best friends.
“He’s a toadstool.” Eden smothered a yawn. “As if Simone’s getting the guy for manslaughter rather than risking an acquittal was a bad thing. And then that cretin boss of mine has the nerve to suggest we run my blog articles on the Iceman as an exclusive feature while I’m out.” She put air quotes around out. “He’s the one who passed on the story idea to begin with and now he wants to print them.”
More Than a Lawman Page 6
