“She wasn’t making fun. She was trying to get shopping tips from you.” Coop’s tone was gentle, her voice quiet.
“What? What do—?”
Kyle stepped forward. “In her effects, we found a bag from Walgreens. With the same shade of nail polish you had been wearing.”
Agent Cooper followed up. “She thought you looked nice. Sharp. Professional. And she just wanted help.”
Tears were welling up in Brynn Capson’s eyes. “No, no. That’s not true. That can’t be true.”
“Confess, Brynn. Confess, and I promise we’ll make sure your brother stays right where he is.” Coop reached out and placed a hand on the saleswoman’s shoulder.
Something seemed to give in the woman. Her body heaved with her silent sobs as she nodded, unable to speak.
Kyle might not be as smart or as trained in profiling as Agent Cooper, but he knew people. He knew body language.
This case was over.
EPILOGUE
Salazar hadn’t been happy. Actually, Sariah figured a better way of putting it was that he had thrown a gasket. But there hadn’t been a damn thing he could do.
With Brynn Capson’s confession to all seven counts of murder, the Mary, Mary Quite Contrary case was officially put to bed. And, miraculously, Sariah’s reputation as both a sharp agent and a pain in the ass had been completely solidified.
She sighed. There would be repercussions, especially where Salazar was concerned. Just because she had solved this case didn’t mean she magically gained seniority over the macho agent.
But, for now, she was happy.
Looking over at Hadderly, who was busy packing up the temporary space the BAU team had occupied, Sariah realized something else. She had found a friend, as well.
All of which was making her more than a little bit nervous. Happiness for her had always been followed by some pretty severe nastiness. Usually hard on its heels.
She started moving toward Had when her cell phone went off. Glancing down at the number, she recognized it as belonging to her boss, Special Agent-in-Charge Nicholas Tanner. Fantastic.
This call could go one of two ways, and with Sariah already waiting for the other shoe to drop, she almost didn’t want to answer the phone. But ditching the calls of one’s superiors didn’t do much for one’s career. She opened the phone.
“Agent Cooper? I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Yes, sir,” Sariah replied carefully. “Agent Salazar did a wonderful job leading the team out here.”
“I call bullshit, Agent. You and I both know who really solved this case.” Agent Tanner chuckled a bit and Sariah felt her shoulders settle from being up around her ears to somewhere closer to their normal positioning.
“Actually, sir, I did have a lot of help. Officer Hadderly, one of the local uniforms, was right there in the thick of things. Couldn’t have done it without him.”
“Hmmm. I’ll keep that in mind, especially considering what I’m calling about,” Agent Tanner rumbled.
“Sir?”
“Well, you have to know that I’m not just calling to pat you on the back.” Her boss took a deep breath and then let it out as an extended sigh. “The DNA came back on the hand. It’s a match for the others.”
Sariah felt her stomach muscles clench in a combination of excitement and nerves. She was right. Had been right all along. Humpty Dumpty was back. She had two conflicting urges… to confront Salazar and tell him to suck it, and to break down crying. Instead, she listened intently as Agent Tanner continued.
“You were the one who found the link where no one else would’ve, so I’m putting you on this.”
“Sir, I’m so—”
“Don’t,” Tanner cut her off. “Don’t thank me. The other reason I’m assigning you is because everyone already thinks you’re either nuts or a suck-up. Word gets out that there’s a big team working the Humpty case and it’s a PR disaster. You’re going to be working this mostly on your own.”
That dampened Sariah’s enthusiasm a bit, but couldn’t snuff it out completely. “I understand, sir. But what do you mean by ‘mostly’?”
“Well, if the Ann Arbor precinct gives their okay, we may be able to borrow the officer you were talking about. You’ve worked together, and he seems to like you. That’s not nothing.”
Sariah took the implied criticism in stride. “No, sir, I guess it’s not.”
“But that’s not exactly what I meant.” Agent Tanner paused again. “I think we need to bring Joshua Wright in on this.”
“Agent Wright?”
“Former Agent Wright,” Tanner corrected her. “Since he worked the case and... well… everything happened that happened, I think he’s gone pretty far downhill.”
Sariah thought for a moment. “I heard he was up in New York, working as a bartender or something.”
“Or something. He’s the janitor for a bar, actually.”
“Wow,” Sariah breathed.
“Wow is right.” Her boss cleared his throat. “But no one knows that case better than he does. You’ll need to reach out to him.”
“No problem.”
“I can’t promise that, Agent Cooper. My guess is he won’t be too thrilled to hear from us.” Another deep breath, then Tanner finished up. “We can talk about it more when you get back. For now, grab that officer and buy him and yourself a drink. On me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good work, Agent Cooper.” And then the connection ended.
Sariah sat staring at the phone as the screen faded to black. Her world had just changed in a heartbeat, and for the life of her, she couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing. She probably wouldn’t know until she was deep into working the Humpty case.
Shaking her head to rid herself of the shadows that now seemed determined to take over, Sariah lifted her head to look over at Had, who had finished up and was looking over at her, a sad smile on his face.
Sariah grinned back at him, suddenly determined to keep the happy mood around her while she could. There was no way to control what was coming up in the not-so-distant future. But right now?
Right now, she could take her friend out for a celebratory drink.
Tomorrow they could tackle Humpty Dumpty.
HUMPTY DUMPTY: The killer wants us to put him back together again
PROLOGUE
There were times when living in Charleston, South Carolina was as close to heaven as Crista could imagine. Times when it came pretty close to the ideal version of the South. Ladies sipping mint juleps on the porch in the cool evenings of early summer. Fireflies winking and blinking in the burgeoning darkness. Children playing kick-the-can out in the street, pausing only for the slowly passing cars.
Today was not one of those days.
Late summer was pretty much always hot and humid in the Deep South. But this? This was way past anything reasonable. This was the kind of summer weather where the central air couldn’t keep up with the brutal heat, and stepping out of the shower didn’t make a hill of beans' difference in the level of moisture surrounding you in the air.
And for some idiotic reason, this was the day that the girls had decided—no, demanded, the little monsters—that they wanted to go to the park and have a picnic. Yay. Good plan, kiddos.
The heavy sound of the cicadas filled the air with a buzzing that somehow made the heat all the more oppressive. It was a sound that Crista missed during the winters, but right now it was the audible expression of a world gone thermonuclear.
Her husband Brady was stuck at work for at least the next three or four hours. And right at this point, Crista envied him. So much. The thought of being indoors in an office building that had an industrial-sized air conditioning unit sounded like such a fantastic idea. She wiped a sheen of sweat away from her face while she tried to ignore the trickle that was creeping its way between her cleavage and down the inside of her bra.
It was so hot.
The air above the parking lot asphalt shi
mmered with the promise of nonexistent water that made Crista’s parched mouth try, and fail, to create saliva. There was that bottle of water she’d picked up at the gas station ten minutes ago, but by this point it was probably close to boiling in the enclosed car where she’d left it. The thought of pouring hot water into her gullet made her want to cry just a little bit. Well, if she had enough moisture left in her body to create tears that was.
At least everything was still mostly green. They’d gone to visit Brady’s family in West Texas a month ago and while it wasn’t nearly as humid as Charleston, everything had been brown. Crista had come away so depressed that she’d seriously considered trying to buy herself Prozac from Taylor, one of the soccer moms in the neighborhood.
There was no way the woman was that naturally happy. Chemicals of one kind or another had to be involved. Maybe it was meth? Crista would have to ask Jodi. Jodi was that neighbor who knew everything about everyone. It was enough to make a saint nervous. Crista did everything she could to keep that woman on her side.
A middle-aged Filipino man pushed a handcart with pictures of ice cream novelties depicted in glossy splendor on its sides. Pavlov’s bell had nothing on this guy’s chime. The kids screamed and swarmed around the man, clutching sweaty bills in their tiny fists. Red faces demanded instant satisfaction as fast as the man could deliver it.
Predictably, Crista’s own girls popped out of whatever hole they’d been hiding in, running over to see if maybe Mom would relent on her no sugar rule just this once. And you know what? Sure. Why not?
It was way too hot to argue with them. She couldn’t even muster up her normal righteous anger at the ice cream man for corrupting her children with his devil wares. In fact, maybe she’d send an extra buck or two with Molly, the oldest of her three girls. See if maybe there was some frozen confection in that man’s cart that wasn’t sweet enough to make her teeth rot right away.
Crista dug around in her purse, encountering a liquid chocolate bar that she’d confiscated from her middle child the other day. That was a decision she was regretting, as brown stickiness now coated most of the contents of her handbag. Closing her fingers around her wallet, she fished around until she came up with a five and two ones. That should be enough to make everyone happy… until the ice cream started to melt. Whatever. She’d cross that bridge when she got to it.
Molly was placed in charge of the transaction, and the new responsibility shone from her face, with the radiance of power combined with a layer of sweat. She turned to run toward the ice cream Mecca, but tripped over her own feet in a fit of excitement. Landing face-first in the sand, Molly somehow managed to keep a tight grip on the money with which she’d been entrusted.
At least the girl had her priorities straight.
But the screams that issued forth from her daughter’s throat drove all thoughts of fiscal responsibility right out of Crista’s mind. She rushed over to Molly, trying to see what had caused her yelling fit. Was she hurt? There was no blood that Crista could see, although it did seem like Molly’s hand was sticking up out of the sand at a strange angle.
And then Crista’s screams joined those of her daughter.
The hand wasn’t Molly’s.
CHAPTER 1
Joshua Wright was having a wonderful time, in spite of the crowd. Okay, okay, maybe even because of it. It was his youngest daughter’s birthday and everyone was there. Friends from the neighborhood, family… yes, his father-in-law George was there too, but it wasn’t that bad. It was Olivia’s big day, and little Livvie was her boompa’s favorite, so the old man was on his best behavior. Still not a match for a normal person on a bad day, but no major fights yet.
Jacquie, his wife, was bringing in the birthday cake, three candles burning brightly in the darkened dining room. She was singing, her face lit from beneath the cake. There was no denying it—his wife was a stunner. How she had come from that cranky grouch of a father, Joshua had no idea.
Speaking of the old curmudgeon, George approached Joshua from the side, holding out a card to him. Strange. Why was he giving Joshua the card? It was Livvie’s birthday. A strange dread settled into the pit of his stomach as he opened the bright pink envelope, uncovering the frilly greeting card inside.
There were puppies all over the surface of the missive. Fitting. Livvie loved dogs. She loved all animals, but dogs were her go-to choice. There were times that Joshua thought that his little girl liked animals a lot more than she did people. Deep down, he was pretty sure he agreed with her.
Opening the card, Joshua read the words that had been carved on the inside, the words scrawled with deep fury, cutting deep into the paper. The meaning of the words seared into his soul, burning away all happiness, all light. All love.
She would have been 16 today.
An agonizing flush of shame and horror washed down Joshua’s spine. The cake in front of his beautiful little blonde-haired girl went suddenly dark, all light fleeing the room in an instant. He couldn’t breathe. He was choking on his guilt. She was gone, and it was his fault. All his fault.
Joshua’s eyes opened up, releasing him from the nightmare. He felt the oppressive heat of the late afternoon that was ebbing into the dull, patient simmer of early evening. July in New York.
She would have been 16 today.
This year’s card that his nightmare had mimicked lay open on the dashboard of Joshua’s car. He’d gone in to the post office box expecting it, but hoping nonetheless that it wouldn’t be there.
He should have known better. Hope was for suckers and characters in romance novels. Same difference, now that he came to think of it.
Even with everything that Joshua did to try to lose track of the days of the year, he always knew when they were coming. The un-birthdays. There was no forgetting. Ever.
They weren’t the worst. Not by a long shot. No, that honor was reserved for the anniversary. That was the day that belonged to the cemetery, with its flowers and close-shorn grass and weeping willows. It was the day that belonged to death and pain and loss.
It was the day of the visit.
The cards were bad enough. Each one would hit him like a sledgehammer striking an anvil. The pain would be anticipated for the week leading up to the dates and would linger for at least a month following them.
But nothing could compare to the date of the anniversary. That was a day that tore his beating heart from his chest, ravaged it and then replaced it as if nothing had happened. Recovery from that day wasn’t even completely possible. Each one left him lower than the previous. And it had been thirteen years now. Maybe at some point there wouldn’t be any lower for him to sink. In a strange way, he looked forward to that moment.
So, at least it wasn’t that. The anniversary was coming up soon enough, but it wasn’t today. Today was the day of lesser pain. Still more than enough to send Joshua into a shame spiral. Still enough to make him want to numb all the pain. He scooped the card off of the dash, stuffing it into his back pocket. Not because he wanted it closer to him. More to keep him from seeing it.
You weren’t supposed to have favorites, but Livvie had been his youngest. She had still looked at him with un-disappointed eyes. Eyes that said he had still been her hero. Eyes that had still believed he could do anything.
In his mind, he envisioned her whole. The reality was far more graphic, far more painful. But that’s how she appeared in the imaginings of his soul.
He was parked on a side street out in Queens, everything he owned stuffed in the backseat. The remains of his fast food “dinner” lurked in the passenger seat, the grease from the slice of pepperoni pizza absorbing into a pinkish-orangey blob on the paper plate, the odor pervading the close confines of the 1997 Buick LeSabre.
Glancing up into the cracked rearview mirror, Joshua winced away from the man staring back at him. But not before he caught a glimpse of bloodshot hazel eyes and a closely cropped, balding head of dark hair that was starting to show some signs of salt. The hair led down to stubble on
his cheeks that was just slightly shorter than the hair on his head and had even more flecks of gray. Full lips were the only thing that softened the severe angles and shadows of that face.
He hated his reflection. There was a reason the mirror was cracked.
Even though he was parked in the shade, the temperature in the car had to be approaching 100 degrees. Sweat dripped down his face, over his chest, under his arms. Any sane person would have abandoned the car for some spot where at least a hint of a breeze might eventually touch them. But not Joshua.
Physical relief was reserved for those who deserved it.
A burst of pain swelled up in his chest, reaching a crescendo. Trying to swallow past it did nothing—it wasn’t physical. He had to do something. It was five o’clock. The bar where he worked would allow him to begin taking advantage of their arrangement starting at seven. It would take him an hour to get into Chelsea if he managed to catch the E train at 5:15. Otherwise it would be the F at 5:29. Maybe he should just leave now.
The needle on the gas gauge hovered right below the E. No chance it would get him to Manhattan and back again. Besides, parking was a bitch.
He checked his punch card. Just enough to get him there and back. Then he’d have to buy another. Joshua hoped he had enough cash for that. Maybe he should risk spending some time rummaging around and under the seats of his car. Some change might have slipped out of his hand at some point. It was always possible.
Peeling himself up from the seat, he determined he would leave the search for the next day. Right now he needed the quiet oblivion that only the hardest of liquors could offer him, and the thought of missing out on even a drop had his hands shaking in fear.
It was fear, wasn’t it?
The deodorant was lying in the well of the driver’s side of the backseat. Joshua had to push aside a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans to get to it. He pulled off the lid, shoved the stick under his shirt and added a layer of odor protection to the slick sweat he found there. He sniffed, and then added another layer to the outside of his shirt, rubbing it under his arms and across his chest. It was time to sneak into a truck stop for another shower. Or maybe this time he’d just spend some time at a public pool. Another riveting question to be answered tomorrow. Sufficient unto the day are the evils thereof, right?
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