The Drowned Woman: An absolutely unputdownable mystery and suspense thriller (Jericho and Wright Thrillers Book 2)

by CJ Lyons

  Ian would understand, she thought as her trembling fingers locked the door. She pressed her palm against the wood, making a silent promise: I will be back. You aren’t forgotten. Never forgotten.

  As she walked back to her car, breathing still ragged, her phone rang. Risa.

  “Leah?” Risa’s voice trembled. “There’s a new message.”

  “What’s it say?”

  Then Risa said, “It’s addressed to Detective Jericho.”

  Twenty-One

  Risa Saliba’s background check came up clean, and as Luka combed through her files, he couldn’t find any evidence to prove the existence of her stalker. Much less whether he’d killed anyone.

  All of the people the stalker suggested that he’d killed shared some similarity to people Risa had interviewed, written feature stories about during her career as a journalist, or, more recently, had worked on their obituaries as a fact-checker. But the similarities were small: a shared name, shared date of death or manner of death—a clever internet researcher could easily have found these “doppelgängers,” as Luka thought of them, using them as examples of his killing prowess by claiming responsibility for their deaths.

  Or an equally clever investigative reporter determined to reclaim her fame and fortune could be using them to create a fictious stalker.

  Frustrated by his lack of progress, Luka decided to head over to the Falconer. Time to interview Risa himself, without interruptions from distraught boyfriends or distractions from her medical issues.

  He parked in the lot beside the building, recognizing Leah’s Subaru as he jogged through the rain to the front door. Leah said she’d be talking to Risa about her medical issues. He wondered if Leah should stay during his interview—he could use her medical expertise to dissect Risa’s symptoms, see if they were genuine. If he caught Risa lying about those, it would be a short journey to discrediting her stalker “evidence” as well.

  He pulled open the Falconer’s heavy glass front door, shutting the furious elements behind him. After texting Harper to come let him in—he didn’t want to alert Risa to his arrival, give her time to prepare by asking her to buzz him in from her apartment—he relished the silence of the space between the two sets of glass doors. Fingerprint dust still stained the keypad, although the brass door handles had been polished bright. The lobby was empty, the decorative sconces casting a ring of light around the space where Trudy’s body had lain.

  What role did Trudy’s death play in all this? After all, she was his real case. Not this unlikely serial killer–stalker drama that Risa Saliba had engulfed him and Leah in. He remembered Leah’s naïve first instinct to believe Risa, that the killer stalking Risa may have killed Trudy. Far-fetched, for sure. But at this stage, with no concrete suspects, he had to keep an open mind.

  Movement behind the reception desk caught his eye—Harper emerging from a door hidden by the tall potted palms, the same one the building manager had used this morning. She waved at him and crossed the lobby to open the door, her expression one of wide-eyed enthusiasm. “Perfect timing, boss. Wait until you see what I found.”

  “Trudy’s cell or the stun gun?” he asked as he followed her back through the same door.

  “No. Maybe better, though.” The door led to a short hallway. A doorway leading to the mailroom was on one side, a janitor’s closet on the other. And at the end was a door labeled: Manager. Here Harper hesitated. “Not sure how it ties into Trudy’s murder, but—look for yourself.”

  With a flourish she flung the door open. The lights were on in what appeared to be a simple office: cheap desk with an outdated computer, file cabinets, whiteboard filled with maintenance items to be addressed. Beside it was an open door leading to a walk-in closet. Luka stepped inside.

  And found himself surrounded by images of Risa Saliba. On one wall, a collage of candid photos caught from a variety of angles. The back wall held a collection of printed headshots from her various publications.

  “Where’s Vogel?” he asked Harper.

  “No idea. Left before I got here. His shift officially ends at four, so no one thought too much about it. But there’s a sleeping bag tucked under the desk and the address we have says he hasn’t lived there in months—”

  “Put out a BOLO. Local and state.”

  “Already done.”

  Luka scrutinized the images on the first collage. A few showed Risa working in her living room and were taken from above. Hidden camera? Probably in the fire detectors—easy enough for the building manager to place under the guise of replacing the batteries. “Did you check the computer?”

  “Nothing on this one, but I’ll bet his phone or home computer has a lot more than these. Who knows how many cameras he’s had on Saliba.” She backed out of the small space. “Big question is, what does this have to do with Trudy Orly? Did she catch him spying on Saliba and he killed her to silence her?”

  “Someone has been sending Risa anonymous letters. Claiming to be a serial killer who wants her to tell his story.”

  Harper’s eyes went wide at the implications. “Boss. Did we just let a serial killer escape?”

  Luka’s phone rang, saving him from answering. Risa’s boyfriend, Jack O’Brien.

  “Detective Jericho?” he said, his tone rushed. “I think you need to come here. The killer sent Risa another message. I can’t explain, just get here as fast as you can.”

  Twenty-Two

  To Leah’s surprise, after Risa buzzed her into the Falconer, her door wasn’t opened by Risa or even Jack O’Brien, but instead a reedy man with a shaved head and a pair of very small, round glasses perched on his nose.

  “You must be Dr. Wright,” he exclaimed as if he’d been waiting all day to meet her. He thrust out a hand. “Dominic Massimo. Risa’s agent. Call me Dom.”

  Leah followed him inside where Risa waited in her customary chair. Jack stalked the narrow space behind the island that separated the kitchen from the living area, talking on the phone in a low voice. He hung up and turned to Risa. “He’s on his way. But as soon as he gets here, we should leave. Let me get you out of here.”

  “Why? It’s not like he doesn’t already know where I live.” Leah frowned at Risa, who shrugged. “Jack was here when Dom called, so I told Jack about the stalker, showed him the letters. Thanks for coming. I just don’t know what to do—and these two aren’t being much help.” Her almost flippant attitude surprised Leah until she realized it was all an act of bravado. When Leah looked closely she saw the fear hiding behind Risa’s calm façade.

  “Excuse me?” Dom said, hands on his hips. “The letter was sent to me, not you. Who dropped everything to drive here from Manhattan?”

  Jack glared at the other man. “Only to protect your own interests. You want Risa to turn this into some kind of media spectacle.”

  “We all want Risa to return to her former level of success. If this serial killer story is our ticket, then I say we take it and run with it.”

  “Except it’s her life on the line.” Jack walked over to Risa’s chair, settling on its arm.

  “Mine as well—the killer obviously has my address.”

  “Wait,” Leah put in, drawing both men’s attention. “How did the killer send you a letter addressed to the detective investigating Trudy’s death when she only died this morning?” It sounded terribly complicated and meant the killer—or stalker—had been close enough to know Luka was on the case and where to reach Dom.

  “Exactly why I want Risa out of here. The guy is toying with us,” Jack said, one hand laid protectively over Risa’s arm.

  “Anyone care to know what I think?” Risa asked. “I don’t think Trudy’s murder was planned—or at least not like his other killings, which despite his victims being determined by a throw of the dice, otherwise were so meticulous no one has ever labeled them as murders. And he had plenty of time after he killed Trudy to email a letter to a courier service, ask them to print it out and deliver it to Dom.”

  “Even required my
signature. I thought I was being sued or something.”

  “You called Luka, right? He’s coming?” Leah asked.

  “I just spoke with him. He’s on his way,” Jack assured her. He seemed the only one taking the potential threat seriously.

  “In the meantime, we might have had a breakthrough on one of the other cases the killer mentioned. The guy from Indiana?” Dom sounded excited by the prospect of helping to unmask a serial killer. More than excited, rapacious. Making Leah wonder exactly how far he’d go to resurrect Risa’s career.

  “Jack thinks I was looking in the wrong place for the dead landscaper,” Risa explained.

  “Problem was, Risa grew up in Kansas and then lived in New York City,” Jack said. “She doesn’t know this area. Not Indiana the state, but Indiana, Pennsylvania. It’s a town not far from Pittsburgh. Making it much too close to here,” he finished with a worried expression, edging his hip closer to Risa.

  “Any missing landscape guys from there?” Leah’s tone matched Dom’s and she realized how easy it was to get caught up in the exhilaration of hunting a serial killer—never mind that ten minutes ago she’d been convinced that Risa might be making the whole thing up. And who was to say she wasn’t? She could have arranged for the letter to be delivered to her agent. It was a great way to divert suspicion.

  Before Risa could answer Leah, there was a knock on the door. Dom rushed out and returned with Luka and Harper, neither of whom appeared happy with the circumstances.

  “I understand you have a letter addressed to me,” Luka began after introducing himself and Harper to Dom.

  “Actually, it’s a letter to me,” Dom corrected him. “Containing instructions to deliver a message to you. In person.” He raised his phone to video the encounter. “I saved everything for fingerprints and DNA and such.” He turned to Harper, who was donning a pair of nitrile gloves. “I assume that’s your department?” With a flourish he reached to the coffee table and handed her a clear plastic folder containing an envelope, sheet of paper, and receipt.

  “Please stop filming, sir,” Luka told him. “What was the message?”

  “I have my rights,” Dom argued.

  Risa intervened. “Dom. Stop. It’s distracting. And this is important. Give Detective Jericho the message.”

  Dom shrugged and pocketed his phone. “It’s all there, in the letter. You didn’t expect me to memorize it, did you? It’s just a bunch of numbers. Said to bring them to Detective Sergeant Jericho. So I did.”

  Harper held up the plastic-encased sheet of paper. “Looks like maybe an IP address?” She snapped a photo. “I’ll ask Sanchez.” She moved to the foyer to make her call.

  Luka took a breath and Leah knew he was sorting through priorities—she’d seen that expression on him before, when he was questioning her after Ian’s murder. “Ms. Saliba. I’d like to know more about your stalker. Take me through everything. When exactly did the emails and texts begin?”

  Leah remained at the bar separating the kitchen from the living room, but when Luka began questioning Risa, Jack quietly moved from the kitchen to Risa’s chair. He said nothing, simply sat on the arm of the chair, one hand on Risa’s shoulder, offering his silent support.

  “Last April 1st. You can see the timestamp on the first email. The video about the man hit by the train came a few weeks later but I don’t have any proof of that; it was sent by a text that deleted itself.”

  “And who else have you told about his correspondence?”

  “Me,” Dom said, chest thrust out as if it was a point of pride, his gaze not on Luka but rather on Jack. Leah had the feeling it wasn’t the first time the two men had competed for Risa’s attention. “I’m her agent, Risa tells me everything.”

  “It wasn’t until a few months later—May or June, last year—after I’d hired a private cybersecurity consultant, that I told Dom,” Risa corrected him.

  “That consultant was Ian Wright?”

  “Yes. I contacted him through the college, thought that way I’d be sure to get someone reputable. After he couldn’t track the stalker via my computer, we asked my most frequent contacts to allow Ian to check their computers for malware and tracking software.”

  “Contacts? Including Mr. Massimo?”

  “Right. And my editors at the news bureau along with a few research contacts. Since I became ill and began working from home, I haven’t been in touch with as many people as I used to be.” She grimaced and shrugged one shoulder.

  “The stalker seems well aware of your illness. How many people know about it?”

  “That’s my fault,” Dom interjected before Risa could answer. “When it became clear that Risa’s condition precluded any travel, I put out feelers, called in some favors to get her work she could do from home.” Then he aimed a glance at Jack. “Not that it was any secret. Jack started a fundraising campaign to help Risa with medical expenses.”

  Luka nodded his understanding and returned his attention to Risa. “Ms. Saliba, have you noticed anyone taking an unusual interest in your activities?”

  Risa seemed surprised by the question. “No. But I don’t actually have many usual activities—lately I haven’t even left the apartment.”

  “Because of your medical condition?”

  She hesitated, raising a hand to cover Jack’s. “No. Because of Ian Wright’s murder. I thought, maybe, his death could be tied to my stalker.”

  Leah noticed that Jack’s jaw tightened at Risa’s admission, but he said nothing, only squeezed her hand.

  “And yet you never reported your stalker to the police,” Luka said, his tone calm—too calm, like a cat waiting to pounce.

  Leah turned to Risa. “But you did. You said—”

  “I said I’d spoken to the police. And I have. I’ve chased down every lead the stalker left, trying to confirm his victims. Without evidence, no one would believe me. Several threatened me with charges of making a false report.” She kept her expression and tone business-like despite her obvious frustration. “So, no, Detective Sergeant. When an expert like Ian Wright couldn’t track my stalker, I realized there was no way your department would be able to. I did submit a cybercrime complaint to the FBI but never heard back from them.”

  “Do you have documentation of any of that? A copy of your report to the FBI?”

  Jack jumped up, taking a stance between Risa and Luka. “Are you calling her a liar?”

  Before Luka could answer, Harper returned, her phone held up in front of her. “Boss, you’re going to want to see this.” She handed the phone to Luka. “The message led to a webpage.”

  He peered at the screen. Leah had the urge to step closer, to try to see what he saw, but it was Dom who actually sidled up to Luka, shamelessly reading over his shoulder.

  “It’s addressed to Risa,” Dom said.

  “What’s it say?” Jack asked.

  Luka said nothing, simply cleared his throat and handed the phone back to Harper. “Go ahead, read it,” he told her, stepping back, his posture rigid as he observed the others’ reactions to the message.

  Harper began, “My dearest Obituary Reader, You’re the one person I can trust with these insights because even if you went to the police, there’s nothing to lead back to me. I know you’re hungry for details, facts you can check and validate and use to springboard your investigation. I’ve whetted your appetite, perhaps given you a new reason to live given the pathetic prison your health has sentenced you to? I hope so. In fact, my guess is that Detective Sergeant Jericho is there with you now, reading this. You have my permission to share everything with him. He, of all people, will take an interest in my very first kill. After all, he was engaged to her. Her name was Cherise.”

  The phone shook in Harper’s hand and she turned to glance at Luka. He blinked rapidly and jerked his chin, nodding at her to continue. Leah was certain no one except her noticed his reaction; everyone else was focused on Harper. But then she saw that Risa was staring at Luka as well.

  Harper co
ntinued, “Luka will think I’m lying, taking advantage of the fact that it’s public knowledge that he’d be lead investigator on any violent crime committed in your city. But I’d never not tell you the truth, my dear Obituary Reader. You’re the one person I trust to chronicle my achievements; I’d never tarnish our relationship with tawdry lies. Tell Luka to open the encrypted image below. Welcome to the game, Detective Sergeant Jericho. Just call me Chaos.”

  Everyone was silent as Harper finished. “Sanchez told me not to click on the image, but he’s going to decrypt it, run it through software to make sure it’s not infected, and text it to you.”

  “Is it true?” Jack asked. “Your fiancée was murdered?” He sank back onto the chair arm and wrapped an arm around Risa’s shoulders, pulling her close to him.

  Luka’s face remained blank. “My fiancée killed herself. Seventeen years ago today. Facts anyone could easily discover after two minutes with Google.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t suicide?” Dominic said. “How can you be sure?”

  Before Luka could answer, his phone chimed. The mystery image. Everyone, even Leah, leaned forward in anticipation as he slid his phone out and glanced at it, turning his body to shield the image from everyone else.

  After a moment, he hauled in a breath, his shoulders rigid, and slid the phone back into his pocket. “Ms. Saliba, I’d like permission to search your apartment and take your electronics in for our cyber squad to analyze.”

  That got both Dom’s and Jack’s attention. Jack spoke first. “Search her home? Why? You can’t suspect Risa had anything—”

  Dom’s protests overrode Jack’s in volume. “Absolutely not. Risa’s livelihood depends on those electronics. Maybe, if you sign a waiver and NDA, we’ll let you monitor incoming communications, share any new information the killer sends us—”

  “Wait,” Risa said in a quiet but commanding tone. “Detective Jericho, I can’t afford to be disconnected from the world, especially not right now. In fact, if the killer is watching me so closely, won’t he be upset if he can’t communicate with me? Maybe lash out at an innocent victim? Is there a compromise we could reach?”