by Mary Stone
No, I didn’t want Autumn.
Not yet.
I still hadn’t progressed far enough in my research, and I didn’t want Autumn to die. I wanted her to be a success story, to present her to academic circles as a prime example of how brilliance could shine through the gray sludge of adversity.
I could make the drive.
As I set my glass of tea on a cloth coaster, the front screen of an archaic flip-phone lit up. The device buzzed an annoying dance on the glass table, but I scooped it up and opened it before the second ring.
“Yes,” I answered.
“It’s me,” replied a familiar, gruff voice.
“Mr. Parker.”
I kept my response as cool and composed as always, but the truth was that the man set my teeth on edge. He was a pretentious asshole, and every time I was forced to deal with him, I liked him a little less.
“They’ve got the psychiatrist in custody,” the man started. “You’re going to want to lay low, Sandra. I just got a call from Ladwig. He hasn’t said anything to the Feds, not yet.”
My tongue felt thick in my mouth as I echoed, “Not yet?”
“They’ve got something. I don’t know what it is, but they’ve got something solid, something they can hang their hat on. We need to get their eyes off you, and we need to do it permanently.”
“You’re going to have him take the fall for it?” she surmised, her voice flat. “He’s got the information I need, Mr. Parker.”
“And he’ll still be able to get it to you when he’s in a prison cell.” Parker’s response left no room for debate.
“A prison cell? That’s not like you, Mr. Parker.”
“For now.” His response was cryptic, but its meaning wasn’t lost on me.
Robert Ladwig was about to confess to the murder of Jensen Leary. And then, after he’d given us all the useful information he possessed, he would die.
“Why am I still with you?” Autumn asked.
Locking the screen of his phone, Aiden turned to regard her.
The shadows beneath her green eyes had become more prominent as the evening wore on, but she had gone through some effort to keep the disheveled look at bay. Her ponytail was neat, and her subtle cat-eye eyeliner had not so much as smudged.
“You’re still with me because there was a serial killer tracking you for seventeen years,” he answered after a brief spell of quiet. “Sorry to say, Ms. Trent, but you’re going to be seeing a lot more of us from now on.”
“Motherfucker,” she muttered under her breath. “I just got out of the hospital. I just had surgery a few hours ago. Isn’t there some kind of law against keeping me in the waiting room at the FBI building for an unspecified amount of time?”
He flashed her a sarcastic smile. “You’re the one with the Juris Doctorate. You tell me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got the tracking device now, don’t you? I don’t really see what else you need me for.”
“We’ve got it,” he confirmed with a nod. “But that doesn’t mean you’re in the clear. They’ve been watching you for a long time, and they not only know where you live, but your daily routine, probably down to the minute. The plan is to leave it on in hopes we’ll draw them to us. Not you. But still…” He left the statement unfinished and glanced back to her.
With a resigned sigh, she leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs. “But still, they’re a serial killer with a medical degree, and they’ve been stalking me for seventeen years. How long am I going to need a babysitter, then?”
Now, it was his turn to sigh. “I don’t know. I’m waiting to hear back from Agent Dalton and Agent Black. Hopefully, their lead gave them something worthwhile.”
“And I’m just stuck here waiting until they get back?”
“I’m here too,” he reminded her, tapping an index finger against his chest for emphasis.
“This is your job. You’re getting paid for this.” She crossed her arms over her zip-up hoodie.
“Well, yes and no. I’m salary, so, not really. It’s not like I’m getting overtime for staying past four.”
“Then why are you just hanging out in the waiting room with me? Don’t you have some super secret FBI stuff you ought to be doing right now instead of babysitting a witness? I figured this would be above your paygrade, SSA Parrish.”
“This case…” He waited until she met his gaze. “It started thirteen years ago. A colleague and I worked it, and we couldn’t even figure out who our victim was. It got shelved until Jenson Leary turned up outside town. I don’t think there’s any way that Jane Doe and Jenson are the only two people this person has killed. Based on the precision and how damn thorough they were, they aren’t new to this.”
Autumn lifted her chin. “I think that’s pretty clear.”
“We might have that tracking device now, but I’m not willing to bet that’ll be enough to stop them from searching for you. That’s not to say I doubt another agent could do this, but I’m here to see this through. And right now, it looks like that means ‘babysitting a witness.’”
In the silence that followed, her green eyes remained fixed on his. For the most part, he had been truthful in his explanation. Her dry sense of humor and her good looks were just an added bonus.
There was no doubt that Autumn Trent was a beautiful woman, but he had to wonder if he felt so drawn to her because she reminded him of someone else. Someone who, with each passing day, seemed to drift farther and farther away.
“Okay,” she finally said. “But, just a fair warning, I’m probably going to keep pissing and moaning until I get some food. I haven’t eaten at all today.”
He pushed aside the doubts about Winter—doubts about himself—to offer her a slight smile. “Then, while we wait for them to get back, let’s go get some food.”
29
Aside from asking Robert Ladwig if he wanted something to drink, neither Noah nor Winter had spoken a word to the man since his arrival in the FBI building. For two hours, Ladwig was alone in an interview room while he waited for his lawyer. And for most of those two hours, Noah and Winter had watched the man from behind a pane of one-way mirrored glass.
They’d stepped away after the pricey defense attorney arrived, and at least another twenty minutes passed before the man indicated that his client was ready to talk to them. Their case was almost entirely circumstantial, and the successful interrogation of Robert Ladwig was the only way to lend weight to the evidence they did have.
The interview had to be flawless.
In an effort to maintain impartiality, Winter had suggested that Noah and Bree take over. She and Aiden Parrish would watch the exchange to provide backup and ensure no aspect of Ladwig’s dialogue was overlooked.
As soon as the SSA came to mind, a flicker of movement from the open doorway snapped Noah’s attention away from the one-way glass.
Fluorescence from the hallway caught the silver band of the man’s pricey watch as he raised a plastic baggie for them to see. Though Noah’s first inclination was to mentally berate Parrish for the absurd amount of money he’d undoubtedly spent on the timepiece, he stopped himself. Watches had never caught Noah’s interest, but his granddad had a whole collection, and any one of them could rival the value of Parrish’s.
“What’s that?” Bree’s query drew him back to the dim room.
“A GPS tracking device,” Aiden answered as he set the bag on top of a wooden table. “It’s what our perp used to keep tabs on their victims.”
“Shit,” Noah muttered. “Where’d you get it?”
Parrish’s blue eyes flitted from him to Winter and then Bree before he answered. “From your friend, Autumn.”
“What?” he and Winter asked simultaneously.
Aiden ignored their outburst. “There’s only one person who could’ve put it there, and that person wasn’t Robert Ladwig. That means that at the least, Catherine Schmidt is or was a co-conspirator. Your theory still holds. He might have worked with her and t
hen killed her after she lost her usefulness.”
A determined glint in her dark eyes, Bree pushed herself to stand and glanced over to Noah.
Wordlessly, he nodded.
Showtime.
Rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, Noah followed Bree to the interrogation room. She rapped her knuckles against the metal surface as she pushed open the heavy door. With a wide smile that was mostly feigned, Noah nodded a greeting to the psychiatrist and his lawyer.
For the first time since they’d seen him that afternoon, the man looked worried. Until now, his visage had been cold and steely, and he hadn’t so much as twitched when he was handcuffed.
Maybe his attorney had gone over the situation, and he’d realized he was cornered. But was he cornered?
Not even close, Noah thought.
They had found barely enough to arrest him, much less press charges. Sure, he had hired a private investigator to follow Noah around for the better part of six weeks, but that was hardly illegal. After all, Noah had provided false contact information, false insurance information, and false medical information to Dr. Ladwig.
Hiring a PI to figure out why Brady Lomond had falsified all those records was well within the realm of possibility.
But Noah knew there was more to the story. He knew there was something they’d missed, a detail that would put all the little pieces together like a damn puzzle, and he knew that Robert Ladwig was involved.
When he turned his attention to the lawyer, the feigned amiability vanished from Noah’s face. The man was well-dressed—his tailored suit had likely cost as much as Parrish’s—but that was where any resemblance to a white-collar professional ended.
Though he was seated, Noah could tell the man stood close to his six-four. His lean frame filled out enough of the expensive suit to show that he kept in peak physical shape. Jet-black hair was brushed straight away from his face, and then there were his eyes.
They were dark brown, and they brimmed with the same malicious cunning he would have expected from Charles Manson or Jim Jones. Even as he looked away from the unnerving sight, he tensed at the cold caress of a shiver that threatened.
“Evening, Dr. Ladwig.” He forced the agreeable expression back to his face. “I know we’ve already met, but I’m Agent Dalton. This…” he paused to gesture to where Bree stood in one shadowy corner, “is Agent Stafford.”
“Agents,” the lawyer said. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Chase Parker, and I’ll be representing Dr. Ladwig.”
“Then you know why we’re here, right?” Bree’s voice was as sweet as her smile was condescending.
Chase nodded. “I do.” He turned to Robert Ladwig with an expectant look. “We’ve discussed it, and my client and I would like to make a deal.”
Noah could hardly keep the stupefied look at bay. “A deal?” he echoed after the stunned silence. “What kind of deal?”
“A plea deal.” The lawyer’s smile was full of teeth. “A full confession in exchange for a guarantee that the death penalty is off the table.”
This didn’t make any sense. There wasn’t enough evidence to frighten a competent lawyer into a full confession, not unless…
The flash drive. Ladwig might have made a valiant effort to erase the data, but the Bureau’s tech department would be able to restore the majority of the information.
“All right.” The clatter of the chair legs against tile followed Bree’s laconic agreement.
As Bree sat at Noah’s side, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an important aspect of the case they were missing. Something with the lawyer was wrong, something with Ladwig was wrong, something with this whole damn investigation was wrong.
“Let’s hear it.” Bree’s composure hadn’t faltered.
Coughing into one hand to clear his throat, metal clattered against metal as Ladwig rested his arms atop the table. “Jenson Leary.” His green and amber eyes shifted from Noah to Bree and back. “And Megan Helfer.”
He could almost hear Winter and Aiden scramble to check Ladwig’s statement for accuracy.
And sure enough, as Ladwig continued on, there were aspects of his story that hadn’t been released to the public. Information only the killer could have known, such as both victims’ history of head trauma, the missing brains, and the precision with which they had been cut apart.
His alleged motive was straightforward enough: scientific curiosity.
Though he’d hesitated when they brought up his relationship with Catherine Schmidt, he admitted that her work as a neurosurgeon had been behind the need to know more about the inner workings of human brains. He’d listened to her talk about changes in personality after damages to different lobes, and Ladwig had become obsessed with the idea that he could correct deviant behavior with the right surgical procedure.
Noah pointed out that scientists at the beginning of the 1900s had already come up with a specific surgery to alleviate criminality. A lobotomy.
At the mention of the draconian method, Ladwig only scoffed.
He hadn’t wanted to give his patients a lobotomy. He wanted them to come out of the procedure as functioning members of society, not drooling messes. When the psychiatrist speculated on the barbarity of a lobotomy, Noah almost laughed aloud.
As the recount drew to a close, he and Bree exchanged glances. He didn’t miss the wariness behind her dark eyes.
“All right, gentlemen,” Noah said, tapping his palm against the stainless-steel table as he stood. “This is quite a bit of information, so if you’ll excuse us for just a second.”
Ladwig followed their movements with his eyes, and try as he might, Noah couldn’t get a read on the man’s emotional state.
Robert Ladwig was like a brick wall. Maybe he was a sociopath.
Noah had no substantive reason to doubt him, especially when he considered all the details Ladwig had revealed about the two murders.
Before he and Bree even stepped into the adjoining room, Parrish was already shaking his head. Winter sat at the table in front of the one-way mirror, her lips pursed, blue eyes fixed on the psychiatrist and his lawyer.
“What?” Noah asked.
“I don’t believe him.” Parrish reached out to grab the baggie with the coin-sized tracking device. “He didn’t say a single word about this. Not even a vague mention of it when you two asked him how he found his victims. Seems like an important piece to leave out, don’t you think?”
“A little,” Noah said through gritted teeth. As much as he was loath to admit, the man was right. He usually was.
“We’ll ask him about it,” Bree decided. “You said that’s from Autumn, right?”
“Right.” Parrish nodded. “Ask him about the tracking devices he planted in his patients’ heads.”
“That was in Autumn’s head?” Noah’s eyes widened as he looked back up to Parrish.
“No.” Aiden’s voice was flat. “It was in her abdomen. Which is why you’re going to say it was in her head. Then if he agrees with it, or goes along with it, we know he’s not the one who put it there.”
Jaw clenched, Noah nodded, looked to Bree, and tilted his chin in the direction of the doorway.
He pushed past the sudden wave of concern for Autumn. Though he and Winter had each missed a call and a text from her earlier that afternoon, the messages were vague. They sure as hell hadn’t alluded to a tracking device that was surgically implanted in her body.
First, he had been pulled away from their outing, and then he’d failed to answer an urgent call.
And since he and Winter hadn’t picked up, Autumn had been forced to resort to Aiden Parrish, of all people. He wouldn’t be surprised if she hated all three of them by the time this debacle was over.
But he would have to deal with the pang of guilt later. Right now, he had a series of lies to peel away from a messy truth that was not even guaranteed to get them closer to the killer.
“Sorry about that.” He flashed a quick smile to Ladwig and his l
awyer.
“So, Dr. Ladwig,” Bree started as she took her seat. “These ‘patients’ of yours, you said you kept track of them from when they were patients of Dr. Schmidt. How did you do that, exactly? I mean, did you actively follow them throughout their lives? That seems like a hell of a lot of work.”
The dark-haired lawyer leaned forward, and as he spoke to Ladwig in hushed tones, the psychiatrist’s grim countenance didn’t change.
“I tracked them,” Ladwig said.
“How?” Noah pressed.
“With a GPS tracking device.”
“In their head?” he asked.
This time, Ladwig merely nodded.
“Why would you put it in their head? And how’d you put it in their head?” Bree’s voice was as tense as Noah’s muscles felt.
“That’s where they had surgery,” Ladwig replied as if the answer should have been obvious. “I went to med school, too, agents. Implanting a tracking device in someone’s head after they had surgery wasn’t hard.”
Bree pursed her lips and tapped an index finger against her cheek. “Why their head, though? You had to know that after a traumatic head injury they’d have MRIs, PET scans, CT scans of their head. Wouldn’t one of those find it? Not to mention, if it’s metal and they went through an MRI.” With a cluck of her tongue, she shook her head. “Well, you’ve got a medical degree. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate, do I?”
Aside from a flicker of wariness in the man’s green and amber eyes, he didn’t balk.
“Are you covering for someone, Ladwig?” Propping both elbows atop the table, Noah leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the man. “Why would you give us a false confession?”
“False?” the lawyer echoed. “You heard what my client said.”
“We did.” Noah offered the man a wry smile as he nodded. “And maybe it seems like an easy open and shut case, but that’s not how we operate around here. See, we like to put away the people who actually did the crime. And your client is full of shit. We’ve got one of your tracking devices.”
