by Tami Dane
“There’s no time. I’ll sleep after this bitch is caught.”
My phone rang while we were on the road, and I answered. “Mom, we’re heading to a meeting. What’s up?”
“I caught a piece of something. It’s pink. I told you it was after me! Now you believe me, don’t you?”
“I guess I owe you an apology.” Of course, I couldn’t know for certain she’d caught the unsub in her trap. Not without taking a look. Depending upon what sort of trap she’d created, she might have caught the toe of a squirrel, or the tail of a mouse. There was no saying. “Where did you catch it?” I motioned to JT, and pointed at the phone.
“I set it in my window, thinking I’d give it a test run before handing it over to you. I’m a little disappointed that the little beast somehow got away, though. I’m going to make some adjustments today. What do I do with this ... piece?”
“I’ll be over to pick it up in a while.”
“Okay. I’ll have a tweaked version of the trap ready for you when you get here too.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re finally letting me help. I hate feeling so useless.”
“You’re not useless. You’ve never been useless.”
The call ended abruptly when my mother clicked off. JT gave me an inquisitive, raised-brow look.
“Mom tested her trap last night. If what she believes is true, and the pink thing sitting in it belongs to our unsub, it was a damn good thing she set her trap. Or she might be dead now.”
“Your mother? She doesn’t fit the profile of our other victims,” JT pointed out.
“I know. She is pregnant. But not anywhere close to delivering. It’s possible the sample she caught in her trap belongs to your run-of-the-mill mammal or bird. But ... what if... ?” My eyes started tearing. I dragged my hand across my face and took a few deep breaths. This case was getting to me. “All this time she’s been telling me something was after her. And I’ve been completely dismissing her fears, basically calling her paranoid. If she really has caught a part of that thing, then I owe her a huge apology. And there’s Hough. You should call her right away.”
“I will.” JT extended his arm, weaving his fingers through mine. “We’ll stop her. We know what we’re dealing with now.”
We were silent for the rest of the drive, until we’d parked. Then JT looked at me and asked, “Ready?”
“Yes.”
I’d done this once before. Not long ago. That time, I’d been very nervous. I was certain I’d get laughed right out of the room. But that wasn’t the case then. And I knew it wouldn’t be the case today either.
Feeling fairly confident, though a little emotional because of my mother’s possible close call with the unsub, I headed inside with JT at my side. We checked in at the desk and were escorted to a large meeting room where Commissioner Allan, Detective McGrane, a large shift of uniformed officers, and several detectives had gathered.
Commissioner Allan gave me a friendly wave before coming over to shake my hand. “Good to see you again, Ms. Skye. Can’t tell you how much we appreciate the help with this case.” His gaze flicked south, to my belly, which hadn’t been anywhere near that round when he’d last seen me.
I patted it. “I’ve gone undercover.”
“Ah, I see.” Commissioner Allan motioned to the attendees, who were sitting in chairs arranged to face the front of the room. “They’re ready for you, whenever you are.”
“I’m ready to go. I’m as anxious as you are to catch this creature. She’s dangerous. And she won’t stop, can’t stop, until we make her stop.” I stepped up to the podium and wished them all a good morning. Then I went right into the profile.
“We’re looking for an intelligent, charming, organized killer who appears as an attractive female by day and a blackbird by night. She is hunting only pregnant women, gaining information about her victims through her job. Most female serial killers kill for personal gain. This one is no exception. However, she’s hunting for physical gain, for nourishment as well. Although I have no proof, I believe she’s possibly selling the infants she’s stealing for profit. At this point, the aspect of the missing children is a departure from classic aswang legend. According to legend, the infants would be killed as well.”
One of the officers raised his hand. “How do we stop her?”
I had my response written out. After skimming my notes, I said, “This creature is an aswang, a shape-shifting vampiric species. Fortunately, she can be caught and detained. We will be setting up a trap tonight, and I have high hopes that we’ll catch her. In her bird form, she extends a long proboscis into a sleeping victim’s room to feed. If we are able to snag that part of her, we’ll have her detained for a short time. We’ll then need something that will contain her in both her human and winged forms. And should you need to know, salt burns the skin of an aswang. Also, according to Malaysian legend, you can identify her in her human form by looking into her eyes. Your reflection will appear upside down.”
Questions and answers continued for some time. A plan was made for that night: McGrane, the lead, would continue on the trail of the missing children. JT and I would focus on identifying her human form and capturing her.
When we left the building, JT beamed. “Well done, Sloan.”
“Thanks.”
At the car, he asked, “Where to now? Your mother’s place?”
“Not yet. I’ll call her and tell her to put the specimen on ice for a DNA match later. It’s bugging me that we don’t know yet who we’re dealing with, only what. I mean, what if the trap fails? We’ve got nothing. We’ve been focusing too much on trying to capture the unsub and not enough on trying to identify her. That’s our job.”
“Good point.” JT started the car.
“Do you think I could get into Hough’s computer room?” I asked, adding, “Since she’s out on medical leave?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Let’s head to the office then. I want to do some good, old-fashioned detective work.”
“You got it.”
JT drove us to Quantico; and within the hour, I was sitting in Hough’s Cave of Wonders, trying to decide what I wanted to look up. JT was in the room with me, manning his laptop. It was close quarters, but better than having to run in and out with printouts. I decided to start with companies contracted by all four doctors’ offices first. That took a phone call to each one. I learned there were four companies they all contracted. The ultrasound provider was the first. I hit print, sending the list to the printer. JT took it from there.
The second was a small cleaning company. All but one of the employees of that company were male. I gave JT the name of the only female in the bunch and moved on to the third, a medical billing provider. That company had just over a dozen employees, all of them contract workers, most of them female. The owner provided a list of contract workers and addresses, which I handed over to JT so I could check out the last company, ABC Delivery. As it turned out, there was only one person who provided delivery service to all four practices. And the driver was a male.
That left us with two companies that had multiple possibilities, and one with only one possible suspect. Our list of persons of interest was getting smaller.
Now it was time to do some digging.
JT said, “I’ve sent the list of all possible persons of interest to McGrane, but it’s still a little long, if he’s going to pay every one of them a visit today to check whether they have a sensitivity to salt.”
“I get it.” I was Googling the first name on the medical billing company’s list, hoping to get lucky.
“We can eliminate Terry Pietrzak from the list. Not only was she in custody for questioning during the night Natalie Townsend died, but McGrane had someone watching her since she was released. There hasn’t been a minute that her whereabouts can’t be accounted for. Since she’s the only ultrasound technician who travels to all of those doctors’ offices, that means it’s prob
ably either someone from Pro-Ex Cleaning or MDS Billing.”
Keys tap, tap, tapped.
JT said sometime later, “No priors on any of them. That surprises me. With a need for blood as strong as our unsub’s, you’d think she’d be like a junkie—so desperate, she’d do anything.”
“Good point. But I think she’s too smart, too controlled, to let it get that bad.”
“Hmm.”
More Googling followed. Hours flew by. Before I realized it, my stomach was making obscene noises. I checked the clock. It was almost four in the afternoon. We’d been sitting in the Cave for nearly six hours.
JT rolled his head from side to side. “I need to take a break.”
“One more,” I said as I typed one final name into a Google search engine.
Seconds later, I was looking at the photograph of a very attractive woman—an abnormally, supernaturally attractive woman. I clicked. It was a newspaper article about a local store’s grand opening. She’d been the first customer.
JT leaned over my shoulder. “Wow, who’s that?”
“I think she’s our killer.” I circled her name and address on the employer’s list. Then I said, “Let’s go invite her out for dinner.”
Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.
—Ambrose Redmoon
22
On the way over to Onora Dale’s house, I called McGrane. He would meet us there, just in case we were right about our hunch. When we stopped in front of her house, he was already standing on the porch.
We joined him.
“I’ve knocked a few times. There’s no answer,” he said.
“She works from home.” I stepped to one side to try to peer in her window. “Maybe she ran an errand.”
“I’ll try her phone,” JT offered before he headed back to the car.
Disappointed, I glanced up and down the street. “Looks like our timing stinks.”
“Yeah. That’s Murphy’s Law for you.” McGrane backed away from the door. “I have a lot of work to do, so I’m going to head back.”
“No problem. I guess we’ll hang out here and wait for her to return.”
“All right.” McGrane clomped down the front steps. At the foot of the stairs, he said, “Give me a call if she shows.”
“Will do.”
I returned to the car. JT was frowning, listening to his phone.
He clicked a button and turned to me. “No answer. I tried both her landline and cell numbers.”
“Chances are she’s at the grocery store or something.”
“Sure.”
I twisted around, grabbed my laptop bag off the backseat, and dragged it onto my lap. “Let me see if I can dig anything else up about our new friend.” I Googled while JT watched her house. Two hours later, all I had was a sketchy history and a full bladder. There’d been no sign of Onora Dale.
“I need to pee,” I announced.
“Hold it.”
“I have been, but I can’t hold it much longer. For one thing, this stupid stomach is pressing against my bladder. Really, do you think I need to wear this thing? I mean, I’m running all over town with it on. I’ve been to the Baltimore PD. If she’s following me ...”
“I don’t believe she’s following you at all.” JT slid a sideways glance at my protruding faux stomach. He cranked the key and pulled away from the curb. “There’s a submarine sandwich shop up the road. I’m hungry, anyway. I’ll grab some sandwiches while you take care of business.”
“Great. I’ll take an Italian sub and a bag of Doritos.” My all-time favorite road food was Doritos. Don’t ask me why, because I couldn’t say.
Inside the restaurant, we parted ways. When I returned a few minutes later, JT was holding a bag and a tray with two paper cups. He handed me the bag and we headed back out to the car.
We parked down the street from Onora Dale’s house and ate our meal. We said very little to each other, which was weird. The energy in the car was tense, but not the same kind of tense as it was a couple of days ago. I think we were both focused on just getting this case wrapped up, before another woman was found dead and another infant came up missing.
In the meantime, JT called Onora Dale’s employer, to make sure she wasn’t on vacation. He was told no. In fact, she’d been in touch that day, via e-mail, letting them know she’d be taking some time off next week. JT asked for a copy of the e-mail to be forwarded to him.
Next JT called Hough to tell her about my mother’s apparent close call and to ask her for a favor. He wanted her to trace the e-mail Onora Dale had sent to her employer. He thanked her, warned her to keep her windows shut and locked, and hung up; then he asked me to log in to his e-mail account.
Then, for the next several hours, we stared at the dark, empty house. Sometime around eight, my mother called, asking where I was. I told her we’d be by to pick up the trap no later than ten. Gradually the eastern sky darkened.
For the zillionth time, I checked the clock. “She isn’t coming home.” At exactly nine-fifty, we pulled away from the house.
I came away from that experience having learned a couple of things.
First, going on a stakeout wasn’t nearly as thrilling as you’d think, if you believed what you saw in the movies. And second, drinking a big glass of anything while on a stakeout was incredibly stupid—no matter how hot you are, or how much you need the caffeine.
After making another pit stop, this time at a bakery, where I decided I needed to buy some cupcakes, we headed to my parents’ place to pick up the sample and the trap. Mom had frozen the chunk of pink flesh she’d caught in the trap, just as I’d asked.
She smiled proudly as she handed over what would be the very first (assuming it worked) invention of hers that I’d ever used.
“There’s no way that thing’ll escape from this trap,” Mom said proudly.
“Thanks for both. And remember—”
“To lock the windows. Yes, I know, Sloan. Remember, I was the one who told you about the bird.”
“Yes, you did. And if this sample is a match, then I owe you a huge apology.”
JT and I headed back to our rental, stuck the sample in the freezer, and set up the trap. Once we turned in the sample to the Baltimore PD, it would take weeks to get back results. It would be a long time before we would know whether Mom had caught a bit of our unsub or just your run of the mill creature.
JT’s phone rang just as I was getting ready for bed. I sat on the bed, next to him, and listened as he said, “Sure, uh-huh” and “Okay” a bunch of times. Then he ended the call and shoved his fingers through his hair. “That was Hough. She needs me to come over to her place.” He stuffed his phone in his pocket and grabbed his shoes.
“Why?”
Sitting on the bed, he rammed his feet in his shoes; then he kicked one ankle up on the opposite knee to tie it. “I couldn’t really understand her. She was crying.”
“Oh.”
His gaze zipped up and down my body. “Would you mind getting dressed? I’d like to get over there right away.”
“But I can stay here.”
“Hell no. I’m not leaving you here alone.” He tied the opposite shoe; then he went to the closet and started pawing through the maternity clothes I’d just purchased. “Here.” He pulled out a pair of stretchy pants and oversized T-shirt and thrust them at me.
I crossed my arms over my chest. There was no way I was going anywhere.
I didn’t want to be a third wheel. I’d been in that position more than a few times. It was never pleasant. “I’ll lock the windows. You can call off the troops for tonight.”
“No.”
“JT.”
“Sloan.” Again he thrust the garments at me. “Look, I understand this situation is awkward for you, but Hough is our coworker, and she’s my friend. I can’t ignore her call.”
“We’re undercover. Doesn’t work trump everything? Especially when we’re workin
g a case like this? We’re so close to catching her now.”
“Damn it, you make a good point.” JT’s shoulders sagged. “Maybe I can send a car over to pick her up and bring her here?”
“I guess that’s better than the alternative.” I sat on the bed.
JT closed and locked the windows; then he left the room to make the arrangements. He returned a little while later and opened the window; then he flopped next to me in the bed.
“Is she on her way?” I asked.
“She’ll be here in a few.” He sighed. “I feel bad that things are so uncomfortable between the two of you. Of course, when she and I ... When the baby was conceived, you weren’t working for the unit yet. So I hadn’t realized what kind of fallout I’d be facing when she’d asked me to help her.”
A little twinge of something hit my gut, but I tried to ignore it. “Do you regret what you did?” I asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Well ... I guess that’s a good thing.” I gnawed on my lip.
Silence.
I yawned.
“Go ahead, get some sleep,” he said, motioning toward the bed. “One of us needs to be well-rested.”
I lay down and closed my eyes.
I slowed my breathing.
I tried everything I could to relax.
Didn’t work. I couldn’t sleep.
I heard JT’s phone buzz—he’d set it on vibrate to avoid waking me. I felt JT roll out of bed. I heard him shut the window. A little while later, I heard him return. He opened the window; then he climbed back into bed.
“Is everything okay?” I whispered.
“Brittany’s here. She’s settled in the spare bedroom. She and Whitney had a fight.”
“Ah. Sorry to hear that.”
“They love each other very much. I’m sure they’ll work it out, after they’ve had a chance to settle down and think things through.”
“Sure.” I actually got the vibe that he wanted them to make up, which was a little surprising. After all, if they didn’t, he might have a chance to wiggle his way into Brittany’s life. With a child in common, he might even convince her to marry him.
