Silenced lk-4

by Allison Brennan

  Noah had stepped away to talk to Slater, and Lucy hoped he wasn’t irrevocably angry.

  You shouldn’t have jumped down his throat.

  Noah had always been supportive of her career, had stood up for her even when her ideas went against protocol. He cared about victims, but didn’t wear his compassion on his sleeve like she did.

  Six blind mice.

  Were there six victims? Was Nicole the first? The last? Would there be more to come?

  See how they run.

  Lucy had studied killers of all stripes in both criminal psychology coursework and on her own. Her life had brought her face-to-face with evil many times: her cousin’s murder when they were seven, her brothers and sister in law enforcement talking bluntly about their jobs, when she was raped at eighteen. Then years of schooling and internships studying crimes and criminals. She had a gift-or a curse-for getting into the heads of both killers and victims.

  This killer was taunting someone, but the message didn’t seem to be directed at police. It was almost an internal thought on his part, a private joke.

  Six blind mice.

  The children’s rhyme only had three mice, so six seemed especially important, a signal to law enforcement or a threat. A rat could mean the victim had said something to police. Children’s rhymes were singsong, and in this context seemed taunting. Why cut off the tail?

  Lucy played the song in her head.

  Three blind mice, three blind mice

  See how they run, see how they run

  They all ran after the farmer’s wife

  Who cut off their tails with a carving knife

  Did you ever see such a sight in your life

  As three blind mice.

  Did the tail have any significance to the killer? Or did he cut off the tail just because of the song? Had he planned to kill the rat, did he bring it with him, or was the act an afterthought? Did he intend to mislead the cops, to cloud the motive?

  The scene didn’t feel like a serial killer to Lucy, but she couldn’t articulate why. No rape. No rage. Clean kill, a message. Uncovering why Nicole Bellows was killed would lead them directly to the killer, Lucy was certain about that.

  The killer didn’t rape his victim. They may have had consensual sex, and Lucy wanted to go to the morgue to get a jump on any potential evidence. Time was always a critical factor in a homicide investigation.

  Noah approached Lucy. “Don’t contradict me in public.”

  Lucy’s stomach flipped. He was still angry with her. She needed to make this right. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I know you care, I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t.”

  “It stung,” he said simply, then moved on. “You told Detective Reid that we can handle the case. It’s not your call.” Noah was stern. “Just remember, I’m the FBI agent, you’re the analyst.”

  His words were true, but he’d never been so harsh. He’d always treated her like a partner, not a novice.

  “I understand,” she said, hoping she kept the hurt from her tone.

  He continued. “You’re going to be liaison between Genie Reid and me. You want this, you got it. If there’s anything that points to a serial murderer, any verified leads, we’ll reassess whether we officially step in. But right now, this is a DC metro case and we’re observing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Josh Stein wants you off Wendy James, and this is the only way you’re not going to be chained to your desk for the next three weeks. I’m going to talk to Detective Reid and make sure she’s satisfied with this arrangement.”

  He strode away and spoke quietly to Genie.

  She wished she could take it all back. She didn’t want to work with the DC police, she wanted to work with Noah. She’d already learned so much from him, every day she felt she was better prepared not only to start the Academy, but to be an agent. When they had downtime, he told her what to expect in classes, some of the tricks, how to maneuver through the bureaucracy. Though her sister-in-law was an instructor at Quantico and also helpful, Kate had been a recruit fifteen years ago. A different time, a different program. Noah graduated less than four years ago.

  Their friendship had just taken a big hit, and it was her fault. She had to find some way to repair the damage.

  Genie and Noah approached. “Welcome aboard,” Genie said. “Agent Armstrong says you’re with me, and I’m glad for the help, even temporary-you’re still deputized, right? He said you’d come from the Arlington Sheriff’s Department?”

  She nodded, wishing she knew what Noah had said to Genie about her. “I worked there a year ago, yes.”

  “And you worked at the morgue, too? Then you get to head down there and talk to the coroner when we’re done here, because I hate that place and I’m glad to have someone to pass it off on.”

  Genie continued. “My guys found a backpack with blood in the trash. We’re comparing it to the vic. Also, the CSU says the door wasn’t forced. The lock was easy to break, and the killer used bolt cutters on the chain. The doors are so weak he could have kicked it in.”

  “But that would have made noise,” Lucy said. “If he had to break in, that means he wasn’t a john. He goes in quietly, so as not to wake his victim, closes the door, turns on lights?” She glanced back at room 119’s window, noted that she could almost see through the flimsy curtains. “Probably enough light from outside.”

  “Good guess. And the switch by the door is broken. Only the lamp on the nightstand works.”

  “So he comes in, grabs the victim off the bed, and kills her.”

  “Or she hears something and gets up-” Noah suggested.

  “But he’s already inside, grabs her and kills her before she can scream.”

  “Either way,” Genie said, “it was fast. He went in with a purpose.”

  “He had to have known her.” Lucy frowned, looking over at the room, but not focusing on any detail. “I don’t know.”

  “Explain.”

  “It’s not random. She was a target.”

  “Target?” Noah said. “Interesting choice of words.”

  “He meant to kill Nicole Bellows, not just any prostitute.”

  “Possible,” Noah said, “but that’s for you to run down.” He glanced at his watch. “Are the managers here? I need to get to a briefing.”

  “In the office.” Genie waved her hand in the general direction.

  “Any cooler inside?” Lucy asked, pulling her sticky blouse from her skin.

  “No.”

  Genie was right. The motel lobby’s air-conditioning was no more effective than the motel room’s.

  The manager had a small office behind glass. Posted inside the glass was a sign with their rates: $25/hour; $69/night; $249/week. Maid service was an additional $20/day.

  Genie motioned for the two managers to come out of the room. “I swear, these two are idiots,” she muttered.

  The night manager, Ray, was dark, wiry, and disheveled, with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. The day manager, Buddy, was twice the size, but deferred to Ray.

  “Buddy says room one-nineteen got whacked?” Ray said. He stared at Lucy through half-lidded eyes. She resisted the overwhelming urge to look down and make sure her blouse was buttoned.

  Genie stepped forward before Noah could say a word. “Who you trying to impress, Ray? Whacked. Shit, you’re pissing me off. Took you fucking long enough to get in. Buddy called you three hours ago. Probably called you before he called us. Makes me think you have something to hide.”

  “Hey, Genie babe, we go way back, no need to get all hostile.”

  “You ‘babe’ me again, I’m taking you to jail and losing the paperwork.”

  “Shee-it, Detective, you got no sense of humor.”

  “What I have is a dead girl, I want to know who did it. Do I need to ask for security tapes?”

  “Ask, but I don’t have any. You know that.”

  “Nice fucking place you run.” Genie s
aid. “When did Nicole Bellows check in?”

  “Nicole? She didn’t give me that name. Gave me N. Smith.” He chortled. “But I recognized her.”

  “Recently?”

  “Naw, last year. I say, ‘Babe, you haven’t been around lately.’ She says, ‘Just give me a room.’ I should have kicked her to the curb, but she had cash, paid for a week, and was willing to wait an hour for me to flip the room.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “I asked how she been, how she doin’, what can she do for me, you know-” He grinned.

  Noah cleared his throat. “When did she come in?”

  “Yesterday. Early, like six A.M. It had been a busy night, most of the rooms were still occupied. So they had to wait.”

  “They?” Noah said.

  “N. Smith and her sister.” He snorted. “Hardly. Nicole is a foxy black bitch with-” He cut himself off when Noah’s jaw tightened. The tension was hotter than the temperature.

  “Her sister was white as a ghost. Pretty, I guess, if you like your girls young and scrawny.”

  “How young?” Lucy asked. Two girls but only one victim. She feared what might have happened to the younger girl.

  “Teen. Maybe eighteen.”

  “Really?” Genie said.

  Ray shrugged.

  “Don’t fuck around, tell me how old you think she was. I’m not going to arrest you for screwing her, but I will arrest you for obstruction of justice and being an asshole.”

  “Maybe sixteen. I didn’t screw her. Didn’t say a word. She followed Nicole around like a puppy.”

  “Describe her,” Noah said.

  “White. Dark brown hair down to her shoulders. About yea high.” He put his hand to his chin. He wasn’t five and a half feet, which put the girl at just about five feet. “And like I said, scrawny. I don’t think she was ninety pounds wet.”

  “Did you get a name?” Genie asked.

  “Barely saw her.”

  Noah asked, “Did you see them after they checked in yesterday?”

  “Not the white chick. The babe-um, Nicole-came and went a couple times. Brought in food.”

  Buddy interrupted for the first time. “I–I-I saw the girl. Yesterday, when I was flipping a room. She was waiting outside room one-nineteen, then the black girl came out and they left.”

  “On foot?”

  “Yeah. They didn’t have a car. Not that I saw.”

  “What time was that?” Noah asked.

  “Um, four maybe?”

  “Four in the afternoon?”

  “Yeah. Maybe a little earlier.”

  “Did you see anyone going in or out of their room? Anyone lurking in the parking lot?”

  “Nope,” Ray said. “It’s been quiet until now.”

  They walked outside. Genie said, “I got my team canvassing the businesses on the street to see who has security cams that actually work. Plus, the gas station on the corner-the owner of the chain is a good guy, he has decent security. Might not know what we’re looking at, but if we get a suspect, maybe we can put him in the vicinity.”

  Genie continued. “What do you think about the second girl?”

  “There were no signs of a second person. Maybe she was gone when the killer came in. Maybe she returned and bolted when she saw her friend.”

  “Maybe she set her up,” Genie said.

  “A sixteen-year-old ninety-pound kid?” Lucy said.

  “I’ve seen stranger things.”

  “Or the killer could have taken her,” Lucy added.

  “We don’t have any evidence that he did.”

  “And we don’t have evidence that he didn’t.” The whole scene felt unreal to Lucy. They couldn’t discount the fact that there had been two young women in the room, but only evidence that one had been killed. “Either way, we have an unknown minor in danger. We need to find her.”

  “Either she wasn’t there, she was an accomplice, or she’s been kidnapped,” Noah said. “You’ll have access to our lab and database, Lucy can expedite the paperwork. I need to go. You good here?”

  Lucy nodded. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t say anything, only gave her an odd look, then left.

  “Ouch,” Genie said.

  “I’m so sorry you had to witness that.”

  “I admire your drive. He’ll get over it, he respects you.”

  “Not anymore.” And that is what really hurt. Lucy didn’t want to lose Noah’s friendship.

  “He does. He thought he had to do a hard sell to get me to work with you, but you had me sold before we walked out of the motel room. It’s not like you’re an untrained crime writer on a perpetual ride-along.” She laughed. “Damn, I love that television show, even if they get procedure all wrong.”

  Lucy smiled. She had no idea what Genie was talking about because she didn’t watch television.

  “Seriously,” Genie said, “you have more creds than most of our rookies. Let’s go hit up the vic’s last known address and see what we learn, then I’ll drop you at the morgue. That’s not far from FBI headquarters, right?”

  “A few blocks.”

  “I’ll work the hookers,” Genie said. “They’re not going to talk to a white fed, but they’ll shoot straight with me.”

  They walked toward Genie’s unmarked police sedan. “Don’t forget to give your grandson another dollar-twenty-five.”

  “You counted?”

  “You were too angry with those two jerks to do it yourself.”

  Genie sighed and took out her coin purse. “He’ll be going to Harvard at this rate.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nicole’s last known address was only six blocks from where she’d been murdered.

  The neighborhood was what Lucy would classify as a slum. One of the worst in DC, heavily segregated. While most neighborhoods were mixed, this one was one hundred percent black. Lucy definitely stood out, and not in a good way.

  It seemed areas like this were worse in the summer, when the humidity made the overflowing Dumpsters smell ten times worse; when the heat shimmered off the sidewalks and streets; when the people slumped shirtless in any shade they could find from the sweltering sun.

  Maybe because of the heat, no one bothered them as they walked from Genie’s unmarked but obvious police sedan to the doorway of a four-story apartment building that dominated the short block. The window AC units made the entire building groan.

  Genie buzzed the manager first, but the buzzer was broken and there was meager security on the main door. Genie opened it with a shove and they knocked on the first door, 1A, with

  AN G R

  in broken letters underneath. “Hope that’s not foreshadowing his mood,” Lucy said, gesturing toward the door. Behind the door a television roared with canned laughter.

  “I really hate this neighborhood,” Genie muttered. “I pull a case here at least twice a week.”

  The manager was a rotund black woman in her sixties. She was dressed in a blinding bright pink muumuu with green flowers.

  “What do the cops want with who today?” she asked.

  Genie showed the manager Nicole’s driver’s license photo. “Nicole Bellows, four-B.”

  “Don’t live here.”

  She started to close the door.

  “But she used to,” Genie said.

  The woman stepped heavily into the hall and shut the door behind her, though Lucy could still hear the laugh track of a mindless sitcom. “Let’s see her.”

  Genie showed the manager the photo. The woman put on her glasses and stared. “She’s one of the hookers. Moved out back before Thanksgiving. Found herself a sugar daddy, I suppose.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell, right?” She laughed at her own joke. “All I know is she caught up on her back rent and gave me two weeks. That covered her room through Halloween, I think. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “How long did she live here?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe a yea
r. Little longer.” She glared at them. “She wasn’t a bad girl, you know. Never brought trouble here. No drugs. I catch one of my tenants with drugs, they don’t get no second chance. Drugs are killing my people, I don’t tolerate that garbage.”

  “Nicole wasn’t a problem, then,” Genie said.

  “Nope. Didn’t think she’d stay as long as she did.”

  “Did she have any friends in the building?”

  “Dunno. But I remember one friend, came by a couple times. I told her once, don’t come here at night, it wasn’t safe for a rich white girl like her.”

  Lucy’s interest was piqued. “Do you remember her name?”

  “Never introduced. She didn’t belong here. I think she was in Nicole’s line of work, if you know what I mean.”

  “Are any of Nicole’s friends still in the building?”

  “Four-C. Cora Fox. Been here for years. Nosy bitch, too.”

  “Is she here now, or are we wasting our time walking up four flights?”

  “She’s here, but you won’t find her upstairs. Coolest place in the building is the basement. I put in some fans, bring in some blocks of ice.”

  Lucy’s surprise must have showed on her face.

  The manager said, “You wouldn’t understand, chica.”

  Genie grinned. “Nice meeting you-?”

  “Meggie. Meggie Prince.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Lucy said, not understanding what Genie found humorous. She was still stunned at being called chica. Being half Cuban, she could pass for Hispanic or Caucasion, but growing up in San Diego, she blended in and rarely thought about skin color. That sounded trite, but it was the way she’d been raised.

  Lucy and Genie took the stairs down to the basement. Support beams six feet apart seemed to hold up the building, and the ceiling was so low Lucy could reach up and touch it without stretching. But it was definitely twenty degrees cooler down here. In each corner of the long, narrow space was a big metal tub with a block of melting ice. A fan blew on the ice, cooling the air.

  There were about two dozen people lounging about talking or watching one of three televisions, all of which had the same sitcom that the manager had been watching. Half got up and left when Genie and Lucy walked in. Genie stopped each woman and asked if she was Cora.