Web of Deceit

by Susan Sleeman

  Of course. That’s why he’d assigned driving to Kait. It didn’t matter if she knew the plan. She was sitting on the bench for this one. A bystander while the action went down. She hadn’t planned it this way, but so what? Fenton was going down today. That’s all that mattered.

  On the thirty-minute drive, she listened to them review the operation. Arrive. Disperse over the property they’d carefully mapped out. Surround the house. Breach the home if necessary and take him down. Thorough as usual. This was personal for them, too. They were her family. She might be more zealous about hunting down Fenton, but the entire team really did want to see him brought to justice.

  “What’s our ETA, Knight?” Sulyard asked, using Kait’s last name as he did with all his subordinates.

  “We’re five minutes out.”

  He dug out his phone. “Time to give the locals a heads up.”

  Kait nodded her understanding of the standard protocol, but Sulyard was already asking to speak to the watch commander. They wouldn’t include locals on the arrest today, but neighbors often flooded 911 with calls when agents rushed out of cars wielding weapons. It was only prudent to keep the police in the loop.

  “It’s not a good day to be yanking my chain, Vance.” Sulyard’s voice rose, and Kait glanced at him. “Yes, that’s our address.” As he listened, he worked the muscles in his jaw hard. “Fine, we’ll check in with the detective.” He hung up and slammed a fist into the dashboard.

  “Everything okay, sir?” she asked, a hard knot of dread filling her throat.

  “Do I look like it’s okay?” He faced the side window.

  She opened her mouth to delve deeper, but he’d clamped his jaw tight. No point in irritating him even more. If he wanted to tell them what was going on, he would. Nothing she could say would draw it out of him until he was ready to share.

  She focused on her driving, making the last few turns until she reached their target’s street in an older residential area of Portland’s east side. Sulyard swiveled in his seat. She felt his eyes on her and wanted to look at him, but there was something going on up ahead, keeping her attention on the road.

  “If Rhodes is indeed our suspect, we won’t be arresting him today,” Sulyard finally said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

  Kait’s heart dropped, and she bit her tongue before blurting out something she’d regret.

  “I’m sorry, Knight,” he continued. “But PPB dispatched a homicide detective to our address not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

  Homicide? The blood drained from Kait’s head, and the car seemed to close in on her. She lowered the window and drew hot steamy air into her lungs. “Fenton’s dead?” she asked when she could speak again.

  “Looks like it.” Sulyard pointed in the distance at two police cars with light bars flashing.

  Sucking in more air, she took a long look at the pair of uniformed officers standing duty inside fluttering yellow tape and acting as sentries to the modest home. FED was on scene already, snapping overall photos of the exterior. The Forensic Evidence Division’s custom van and surrounding chaos had drawn a crowd of neighbors.

  She slowed the car to a crawl, and then pulled up behind the other Bureau cars. “He can’t be dead.” Kait’s words whispered out.

  Sulyard eyed her. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

  “Death is too easy for him. He needs to spend the rest of his life in jail and suffer for the pain he’s caused my family.”

  Nina leaned between the bucket seats and squeezed Kait’s shoulder. “At least he finally paid for it. It’s better than running free.”

  Hah! Nina couldn’t possibly understand Kait’s disappointment. No one could. Arriving to find Fenton dead was not how she thought this would go down. He’d eluded their top-notch team for three years. So how could he be careless enough to let someone kill him today? The Fenton she knew was too smart for that. Too crafty and devious.

  “Wait,” Kait blurted out. “Maybe Fenton isn’t the victim. It might be someone else. Nina, you said yourself that Fenton wouldn’t use his code.”

  “She could be right, sir,” Nina said, catching Kait’s enthusiasm. “We knew finding Rhodes here was a long shot.”

  “It’s possible,” Sulyard answered. “Hopefully, Detective Murdock has ID’d the vic by now.”

  Did he mean the Sam Murdock? The cop who’d comforted her the night of Abby’s murder?

  Kait searched the scene. There, on the porch. She recognized the transplanted Texan’s dark jeans, distressed cowboy boots, and thick belt buckle. Perfect. He was Kait’s key to getting in on the action. All she needed was Sulyard’s approval.

  She schooled her voice to remove any remaining tension. “I get that you don’t want me involved in this, sir, but I know Murdock. He’ll balk at someone in your position asking for information. If I talk to him, I could get more out of him.” At least she hoped he’d be amenable to talking with her. Though locals and feds got along much better than TV and the media often portrayed, they didn’t always mix well, and she couldn’t be certain Sam would be open-minded.

  Sulyard looked at her, weighing his decision before lifting his shoulder. “Why not? This case is going nowhere with our suspect possibly headed to the morgue.” He pointed ahead. “I’ll update the other team members while you question Murdock.”

  Kait reached for the door handle, her palms moist and her hands unsteady. She was looking forward to seeing Sam Murdock again, but seeing Fenton Rhodes . . .

  Three years of imagining his arrest and she still wasn’t prepared for the sick feeling rising up in her stomach. Even if he was dead, getting out of this car and walking across the street to identify him would be one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

  DETECTIVE SAM Murdock took a quick break on the victim’s front porch as he waited for the medical examiner to arrive. He rolled to the balls of his feet, stretching as far as the stiff leather of his boots allowed. It was hotter than blue blazes inside the house and felt less brutal out here, but the stench of death still clung to his pores and nose as it permeated the sticky air.

  He turned away from the house in an effort to block out the image of the man handcuffed to sturdy bolts drilled into the floor. Not that it helped. The sight of the victim chained and left to rot for days remained burned into Sam’s brain. He took a deep breath, the horrible smell making him wish he hadn’t. Bad enough to catch a case this gory, but on the hottest day of the year?

  He heard a ruckus at the street. Hoping it was the medical examiner, he turned to find a news crew scrambling through the growing crowd hugging the crime scene tape. Across the road, he spotted four SUVs lining up at the curb like a mini army. The front door of the lead vehicle opened and a woman stepped out wearing a Kevlar vest. Not local law enforcement. She had the look of a fed.

  DEA? FBI?

  Playing nice with the feds was the last thing Sam needed today. Better to head her off at the pass and send her packing.

  He jogged down the steps as she marched down the street. Great. She moved like an officer bent on taking charge. That was so not happening on his watch. He stopped and planted his feet, staking claim to his territory and forcing her to come to him.

  Tall, maybe five ten or eleven, she wore a white blouse and gray jacket under the vest. Matching gray slacks emphasized legs that seemed to go on forever. Something about her posture was familiar, but from this distance, he couldn’t place her.

  Holding a hand over her eyes, she finally looked at him.

  What was she doing here?

  She wasn’t just a fed, she was Agent Kaitlyn Knight. The woman with haunted eyes that had once connected with his, telling him they shared pain only a terrible loss could bring. The same kind of agony and despair he’d seen in the eyes of family members on his death notification calls.

  He forgot about
the noisy crowd and the stench of death and took a long hard look at her. She slowed, her shoulders thrown back and chin raised in a dancer’s carriage. He’d never seen her slouch. Even when her sister had been murdered—a horrific day that would take most people down—she’d stood tall, and he’d instantly recognized the depth of her strength.

  Strong and stunning. The kind of woman who caught men’s attention. Her regal posture made her seem unapproachable and yet, if other men were like Sam, they couldn’t help wanting to try.

  So what? None of that mattered here. Not at his crime scene.

  “Ms. Knight,” he said, trying to sound detached when she glided to a stop.

  She quirked a brow and studied him for long moments as if she were questioning how he knew her name. Not surprising. They’d never been officially introduced.

  He held out his hand. “Sam Murdock. Homicide.”

  “I remember you, Detective.” She slipped slender fingers into his and shook.

  Despite the heat, they were like ice. Same as the night of her sister’s death when he’d taken her hand to express his condolences.

  He released her hand. “What brings you here, Ms. Knight?”

  “Kait, please.” Her tone was clipped and all business as she sidestepped his question.

  He tipped his head at her cohorts. “I take it y’all have a professional interest in this location, Kait.” He drew out her name, letting his Texas accent make it seem like her answer held little importance for him.

  She raised a brow again. She had to know he was purposefully keeping the focus on her reason for being here to avoid sharing information about his crime scene. Problem was, she simply stared at him as if looking for a way to get him to open up. Too bad. He wouldn’t be the first to cave. He returned her stare and waited.

  “We have an arrest warrant for the code name of Vyper,” she finally said, sounding a bit peeved at him. “We believe Vyper is occupying this house.”

  “Elliot Congdon?” he asked, though at this point in the investigation they hadn’t confirmed that the deceased was the man listed on the property deed.

  “We’re aware that he’s the owner of the home, but we have reason to believe he has a guest who possesses a specific computer background.”

  Interesting. Maybe Congdon wasn’t the deceased after all. Many detectives would have searched the body for a wallet by now, but that was sloppy. Could disturb and destroy forensic evidence. The victim was going nowhere. Sam could afford to wait for the medical examiner who was pulling up to the curb right now.

  He nodded at the van. “Now that the ME’s here, we’ll search the body for ID. No sense in all y’all waiting around. Give me your card. I’ll call you when I know something.”

  “Nice try, Detective, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  Spunky. “Sam. Call me Sam.”

  “Sam, then. I’ll be patient and wait with my co-workers until you get that ID before I insist on seeing the crime scene.” She rested a hand on her weapon, and he couldn’t help but notice she didn’t wear a wedding ring.

  Still single. A single mother, if her niece remained in her custody, as he’d once heard on the grapevine. Not that he was interested. Of course not. Just an observation made by a police detective. As was noting the spark in her eyes and the flash of independence and strength that managed to jumpstart his heart after years in mothballs. “I’ll let you know what we find.”

  She took a few steps, then turned back. “Don’t take too long, Sam.” Her good-humored tone held a hint of warning. “I’ve been known to bite when I’m kept waiting.” Her gaze lingered on his for a long moment until she suddenly broke contact and walked away.

  Very spunky and an interesting addition to his case.

  Making sure no one saw him smile, he watched her return to her posse, hoping with each step that she’d turn and look at him one more time. She didn’t, but kept going, a definite sway in her hips raising his interest. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to cooperate with the feds for once. Not a bad thing at all.

  WHAT WAS SHE DOING?

  Fenton gaped at Kait’s back. This wasn’t right. She shouldn’t have walked away from the detective. She should be stepping inside the house, not heading back to the other FBI goons.

  Who did she think she was? Ruining this. He’d set up everything perfectly. Sending the code. Giving the ISP enough time to contact her office. Making the anonymous call about Congdon. All at the right time.

  So why didn’t she care enough to dive in and investigate?

  Because she didn’t care about Abby’s death, that’s why. No surprise there. Kait had let her sister die in her place. Then she took his baby girl, leaving him alone.

  He should set her straight. Right here. Right now. He took a step in her direction.

  No. That’s what she’s hoping for. You’re smarter. More patient.

  Lily would be his soon enough. He had a plan. Even if Kait didn’t play her part, he’d improvise and she’d pay.

  She’d pay all right.

  He lowered the binoculars and climbed into Brian’s van. If you could even call it a van. The hunk of junk was held together by rust. He cranked the engine, white smoke billowing out the tailpipe and contaminating the air. He chuckled. He was just like the smoke. Soon, he’d contaminate every aspect of Kait’s life, then disappear in a wisp of air. All starting with the second surprise tomorrow morning. Too bad he couldn’t be a fly on the wall in her office when all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Four

  “THOUGHT YOU were off for the afternoon.” Deputy medical examiner Marcie Jensen paused on the porch and looked up at Sam.

  “I was.” He smiled at the petite, fifty-year-old woman wearing white coveralls. She was not only the Lead Deputy Medical Examiner for Multnomah County, but she was the best forensic pathologist on staff and a good friend. He was lucky she caught the case with him.

  She frowned at him as she snapped on her gloves. “You get to the cemetery before coming in?”

  He shook his head and entered the stifling house. He had no intention of discussing the fourth anniversary of his wife’s death or his interrupted trip to visit Hannah’s grave. Though they’d spent their married life in Austin, she’d been raised in Portland. He’d brought her home to be buried near her family and decided to stick around.

  “Maybe you’ll have time to go after we finish up.” Marcie stepped into the back bedroom that the victim had used as an office. After setting her field kit on the floor, she squatted near the body. “Where’s Connor?”

  “Out of town. His grandmother died this morning.”

  “He’s had a tough time lately.”

  “Yeah.” Sam pushed the questions about his missing partner from his mind to concentrate on the crime scene.

  One wall of the ten by ten room was lined with computer equipment and other gizmos he couldn’t identify. He’d have to request a computer tech from the Regional Computer Forensics Laboratory to dismantle and process it all. That was, if Kait didn’t try to wrestle this case out from under him, which was entirely possible. At least she was likely to try. The thought of going toe-to-toe with her on this made him smile again.

  “What’re you grinning about?” Marcie asked.

  “Nothing,” he said and focused on the victim.

  Heavy blackout drapes covered the only window in the space, letting in a sliver of sunlight near the hem and highlighting the victim. He was propped against a wall, his wrists handcuffed to thick bolts protruding from the wooden floor. He wore baggy jeans and a dingy T-shirt boasting the slogan, “Insufficient Memory”. No doubt a salute to his profession, if the many computers in the room could be trusted to tell his story. The left side of his chest and the floor below were saturated with dried blood.

  As Marcie studied the body, Sam wandered the room. This
was the oddest scene he’d ever worked. The oddity wasn’t in what was in the room, but what was missing. Plenty of people went overboard with computer equipment these days. Very few people had nothing else in their office space. No papers, files, supplies, file cabinets, no printer. Not even a pen.

  So what had this guy been up to?

  “Clean,” Sam whispered. “Too clean.” Not clean as in an obsessive person, but a professional killer who knew to remove all evidence and anything that would give Sam’s team a place to start their investigation.

  “Hmm.” Marcie sat back and stretched out the vic’s shirt. “No damage to the fabric. With all this blood, that’s odd.”

  “You’re telling me. I wanted to look under the shirt, but I waited for you.”

  “Good boy,” she said, and he almost expected her to turn and pat him on the head like an obedient dog. She leaned over the body again. “You really need to move on, Sam. Hannah would want you to be happy again.”

  Marcie often flitted from topic to topic, and now she’d returned to his aborted trip to the cemetery. “Not having this conversation, Marcie.”

  “What in the world?” Her hand rested on the victim’s chest, a frown marring her usual cheerful mood. “This isn’t good. Not good at all.”

  “What?” Sam moved closer.

  She pressed on the chest. “There’s a huge hole where his heart should be.”

  “The killer removed the heart?”

  “Looks like it.” She lifted the shirt and examined the body. “It’s missing all right. Looks like the killer used a saw of some sort to remove it.” She leaned back on her heels and looked up. “This is just sick. I see murder vics all the time, but nothing like this. Shackled to the floor. The heart missing.”

  “Definitely out of the ordinary.” Sam swallowed hard as he pondered the discovery. He was like Marcie—used to seeing murder victims, but cutting out a heart? They were dealing with a depraved individual here. And it was Sam’s job to catch him.