Blue Baby

by Arnold, Carolyn

  AND THE WAITING GAME CONTINUED. The DNA results from the dress Penny had been posed in was still being processed along with the ring. The earrings from Cheryl were also being pulled from evidence and analyzed for epithelial and then if we were lucky, there would be DNA evidence to analyze there.

  It was after nine at night, and I was working out in the hotel gym. I had left Zach and Jack in the hotel bar awhile ago, and Paige had excused herself earlier. Something about getting fresh air. I’d been able to translate: she was meeting with Barber again.

  The muscles in my legs burned as I increased the speed on the treadmill in increments until I was flat-out running at eleven miles per hour on a small incline. My cell phone vibrated off the ledge designed to hold a book. I caught it and slipped it into the pocket of my shorts.

  My earbuds blasted out rock music ranging from classic to modern. My taste covered the range of the genre. But as the music played, my mind dwelled on the case. There were times we got lucky because killers messed up, did something stupid. I hoped ours had done precisely that by bringing the dress and ring to Penny’s apartment. He had acted on impulse by selecting a woman who wasn’t, or wasn’t recently, engaged. The fact that Penny had broken it off with a man not long before didn’t fit. She couldn’t be their unsub’s ideal, so why her? Why act on a whim when, at one time, he was composed enough to wait a year between kills?

  Was Zach right? Was our unsub responding to our presence, trying to do as much as he could before being caught? That wasn’t rational thinking, though it was common. As the murders racked up so did the evidence.

  The man we were after was a homosexual who befriended his female targets. He was trusted by them and welcomed into their homes. No neighbors had testified to seeing anyone other than those close to the victims, such as their friends and fiancés, where they lived. And he knew Cheryl and Tara each had a wedding dress and a ring.

  My phone pulsed in my pocket. Maybe this was the break in the case we were waiting for.

  The treadmill beeped with each push of the button as I slowed its speed. At five miles per hour, it felt like a fast walk given the pace I had been moving.

  The caller would have to deal with my heavy breathing. “Agent Fisher.”

  “Oh, good evening, Agent Fisher.”

  I smiled. It was Becky. I slowed the machine more.

  “I hope you’re not having fun without me.”

  “Actually, if you could call back in about twenty minutes, I’m almost finished here.” I played with the implication I was with a woman and she was the reason I was out of breath.

  She giggled. “Uh-huh.”

  God, it was great to hear her voice.

  “How are things going in North Dakota?”

  I hit STOP on the treadmill, despite knowing it was healthier to slow my heartbeat by decreasing the speed in increments. The sound of her voice would keep my pulse elevated enough. Or maybe it wasn’t so much Becky’s voice but memories of our time together. I missed her touch and the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips, her warmth.

  “Brandon?”

  “I did give you the option to call back.”

  “Cut it out.”

  “Fine.” I was smiling. I couldn’t help myself. “You want to know how it is here? Frustrating. I like to think we’re getting closer. Sadly, there’s nothing to validate the optimism.”

  “At least you’re keeping a positive attitude.”

  I miss you. The words almost slipped out. Thank God this was one of those occasions when I thought before I spoke. I didn’t need Becky to blow it out of proportion. And women were good at doing that. They could take a small gesture and expand it to the point they started on wedding plans. I swallowed hard, the saliva barely escaping the wrong pipe. It still caused me to cough. “How are things back there?”

  “Same old. I missed our dinner Monday night. We’ll have to make it up.”

  And there it was. She had said it. If I had acknowledged it first, it would have made matters worse and complicated things. And life was complicated enough without bringing in the drama of a complex relationship. If anything, this case reinforced such thinking.

  “Not much could be done about it. When there’s a case, there’s a case,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  A few seconds passed in awkward silence. I sensed she may have expected me to tell her that I missed her. I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t going to succumb to the pressure to verbalize my feelings. I longed for her touch, but the implication of missing someone went beyond the physical. It implied an emotional connection, a vulnerability.

  “Anyway, I hadn’t heard from you and thought I’d call.”

  “I meant to—”

  “Don’t bother, Brandon. I understand. You’re busy.” She waited two beats and said, “How’s Paige?”

  My eyes widened. I figured the curiosity or jealousy or whatever it was existed within Becky, but typically, she kept it better concealed. Becky was aware of the relationship I’d had with Paige. It’s actually how she and I had ended up getting together. She’d found out about Paige and me when we were working a case in her area. I’d called Becky for drinks after things ended between us and the subject of Paige resulted in downing shots of liquor. The night ended at Becky’s place. And, speaking of Becky, she was waiting for my answer.

  “Paige? She’s okay. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s on a date right now.”

  “Really?” That news pleased her. Her tone had lightened, and I swore she was smiling.

  “You know you have nothing to worry about right?”

  “I know. I didn’t think—”

  “You did.”

  She let out a breath into the receiver. It met my ears and fired me back to my bedroom, four days ago now.

  “You do remember who you’re talking to, right?” I teased. “I work for the FBI. I profile people every day.”

  “Right.” She laughed again. “I guess I’m guilty. You’re away from home, staying in a hotel with your ex.”

  “You make it sound like we’re sharing a room. We’re not even on the same floor.” It was a white lie, but if it made Becky feel better, it was justifiable.

  “It doesn’t matter. I trust you. Besides, it’s not like we’re married.”

  I recognized the implication and it scared me to death. Becky and I had the talk at the outset—the one where boundaries were set. I’d made it clear I was interested in a fun time and nothing serious. I wasn’t in the position for anything more after my divorce, nor was I interested in it. Over time that translation was lost. Becky had said the words, It’s not like we’re married, but she’d been trying to rescind her display of jealousy. Jealousy stemmed from attachment, possessiveness, a form of love.

  “Well, I better get going,” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess it’s getting late.”

  “I’ll call you once I’m back home.”

  “All right. Sounds good. Oh, Brandon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “Every day.” I hung up, the words You too going unspoken.

  What was it with me and women? I tended to attract the ones who wanted a commitment. Ironically, the one I’d made the exception for had broken my heart. Years of marriage dissolved, ruining me for life. At least I never saw a happily-ever-after in my future. I’d have to settle for hot, lustful sex. Pity, but someone had to live that lifestyle.

  I got off the treadmill. Time for a cold shower.

  -

  Chapter 54

  MORNINGS HAD NEVER BEEN MY FRIENDS, and they never would be. My idea of sleeping in was eleven. Jack’s was six, possibly seven. So when my alarm went off at five thirty, the expletives were loud. I loved the s
nooze button, but I didn’t have time to hit it again. The radio first came on about an hour ago.

  Jack had made it clear we were to meet in the lobby for six. From there, we’d head over to the station and get to work. Work on what, we’d find out as we went along. Investigations became tough when there was dwindling evidence. Those times called for deeper digging and out-of-the-box thinking.

  The knock on my door was faint. I thought I had imagined it, but the hammering repeated and I knew it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Who the hell could it be?

  Another quick glance at the clock. I was good. I still had twenty minutes to get downstairs.

  “Who is it?” I called out as I headed for the door in my boxers.

  “Paige.”

  Paige? What was she doing here?

  “Give me a second.” I grabbed the T-shirt I had thrown over the chair last night. I smelled the pits. They were fine so I slipped it over my head. But I couldn’t very well answer in boxers and a T-shirt with our history. I looked around hoping a pair of shorts or pants would magically appear.

  “Brandon?”

  “I’m coming.”

  Aha! My dress pants from yesterday. I fumbled into them as I headed for the door.

  I opened it and leaned on the frame as if this were a casual encounter and I was ready for the day.

  Her eyes traveled down my outfit, and she chuckled. “That’s a new look.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I glanced down the hall, and no one was there. “Sure.” I stepped back, allowing her room to enter.

  She walked in about five feet and turned to face me. I stood at the closed door, my back against it. “What is it?”

  “Did I ever tell you why I became an FBI agent?”

  I studied her face. I wasn’t sure where this was coming from and why it had prompted the early-morning visit. “We have to be downstairs in—” I maneuvered to see around her to see the clock “—fifteen minutes. I need to get dressed.”

  “Well, you certainly can’t go like that.” She laughed again.

  Her amusement was catchy, but I was a sucker for her laugh. “Can you stop that?”

  She nodded. Her eyes glazed over, and her mouth fell in a straight line.

  For someone who’d come in here with such purpose, she had suddenly lost her enthusiasm. Hesitation was exuding from her. But I gave her the time she needed. If I were late getting downstairs, at least I’d have company. It brought temporary relief but backfired. My showing up with Paige wouldn’t look good…at all.

  “I know we’ve got to move, but the brief recap is that a friend of mine was gang-raped in college. And those guys from the bar, the ones our unsub beat up? Well, they were going to rape Penny. The bartender, who didn’t recognize Gavin, did remember Penny. He said he was about to cut her off. She was unsteady and acting quite drunk. He thought it was all the tequila shots.”

  “I’m not sure you ever told me…about your friend.” It explained why she’d been upset when she and Zach had filled us in after speaking to Ryan and his friend.

  “I probably didn’t.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about your friend.” It was the right thing to say, despite recognizing the irony in the statement. It was odd how the natural tendency was to offer an apology even when one wasn’t responsible for a situation.

  She nodded and continued. “There was no indication people at the bar thought she was drugged.”

  “That’s probably because most of them are trying to save their jobs.”

  “Okay, so if Penny was drugged, what does this have to do with her murder?”

  “I don’t know, and maybe it doesn’t. But we need to hold them accountable for their actions.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What? How? One, Penny is dead. Two, even if a tox panel proves she was drugged where does that get us? And assuming something shows up, what’s to say it resulted in her death? The other two women were drinking the nights they were killed, too, but there was nothing to indicate they were drugged, nothing—”

  “That’s right. No forensic proof.”

  I walked around her and paced the far end of the room. “None of the victims put up a fight.” I paused and locked eyes with Paige.

  “I think our killer is using a drug to subdue his victims,” she said.

  “Why aren’t you sharing this with the team instead of just with me?”

  “If I bring this up to Jack…”

  “He’s going to think it has to do with your past? He knows about your friend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you want me to address this?”

  Paige nodded.

  “None of the victims had defensive wounds or epithelial under their nails. But the petechiae shows they did struggle.” I stopped walking. “It could explain things. If our unsub drugged them, even if survival instinct woke them, they would be quieter when he got on top of them.”

  “They might be disoriented, not sure if it was actually happening or if it was a dream.”

  “It’s how he’s able to kill them without anyone hearing their screams.”

  “I think so. So will you point this out to the rest of the team?” she asked.

  I didn’t see another option. The theory needed to be discussed. “I will.”

  “Great.” Her eyes left mine, and I followed them in the direction of the clock. She looked down at my outfit again and smiled. “You better get a move on.”

  -

  Chapter 55

  “SO YOU THINK HE DRUGGED THE WOMEN BEFOREHAND?” Jack’s incredulous tone didn’t stem from him not believing the possibility; it came from him questioning whether the idea was originally mine. It was disclosed in the way he kept glancing at Paige from across the room.

  “It would explain why no one heard the victims scream,” I said.

  “I agree with Pending. Even if he covered their mouths, people would have heard the women,” Zach said.

  “Penny’s landlady said she’d heard loud moaning.” Jack walked to the board and turned to face us. “She heard that around the time he would have been suffocating her.”

  “Yes, moaning. Penny was too out of it to scream,” I added.

  Jack looked at Paige. “And what do you think about all of this?”

  “I think Brandon makes an excellent point.”

  “Hmm.” Jack paced a few steps. “I don’t know how this gets us closer to our unsub.”

  “For one, he needs to have access to the drug,” Paige said.

  “You forget any tox panels run on Cheryl came back clean,” Zach said.

  “And you must be forgetting not all drugs show in those tests.” Paige stood her ground.

  She raised an eyebrow, and Zach shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  “Sam has a friend in—”

  “Sam?” Jack interrupted Paige. “We’re on a first-name basis now?”

  A red hue blotched her cheeks. “Detective Barber has a contact in Sex Crimes over in Fargo. He’s going to see if they’ll help us out, provide some clue as to where these creeps get drugs like Rohypnol.”

  “I guess this wasn’t really Brandon’s idea then, it was yours.” Jack and Paige locked in eye contact.

  “I don’t think we’ll need his help,” Zach said.

  Paige wrested her eyes from Jack. “What do you mean?”

  “These days you don’t need to have the right contacts to buy flunitrazepams. They can be sourced online.”

  “Online?”

  “You can get almost anything on the Internet, Paige. I’m appalled you don’t know this.” His serious expression cracked into a smile. “I’m kidding.”

  “Uh-huh. And what happened to the good ole days when it was so
ld on the street? This world can be a disgusting place.”

  “And you have a front-row seat.”

  Zach summed that up perfectly, in an imperfect sense. How could witnessing such things up close and personal be perfect in any way, shape, or form? But some of us needed to face these issues and still keep our sanity. Some days were easier than others.

  Zach continued. “While it’s possible he is using a chemical or drug to subdue the victims, there are herbal alternatives that won’t show up in a tox screen.”

  His words made me think of the case we’d had in Dumfries, Virginia.

  “All right, so we think he might have used a drug on his victims,” Jack said, taking back control of his team, “but that doesn’t get us any further ahead at this juncture. We need to analyze what we know for certain, brainstorm on possible suspects.”

  At this moment, I recognized the normal Jack.

  I began. “We know he brought the dress and ring to Penny. Was she special? His ultimate target? Does this signify he’s finished killing?”

  “Or—” Paige paused as if for dramatic effect “—what if he thought Penny had a dress and a ring?”

  “Maybe our unsub didn’t know her as well as he thought.”

  “But he took his car, not hers.”

  “Easily explained by the fact that she was drinking”—I glanced at Paige—“and possibly drugged. Maybe it had nothing to do with targeting her but happening upon her?”

  “He had the dress and ring in his car but didn’t necessarily have plans to use either that night,” Zach offered.

  Paige pressed her lips. “Carting these items around could be the way he holds on to the memory of the woman he lost at a younger age.”

  The more we talked about this guy, the more demented and twisted the scenario became. Here he was, carting around remnants from a past loved one in his car.

  Paige continued. “And when he found out Penny didn’t have either item…”

  “He improvised,” I finished.

  Everyone fell silent for a few seconds. Jack was the first to speak. “All this sounds reasonable, and it tells us he’s falling apart. The urge to kill—to give these women happiness—is at an all-time high.”