If She Fled

by Blake Pierce

  DeMarco nodded as she looked at the printout. Kate assumed she had learned the same thing somewhere along the way during her time in the academy. “Still…he strikes me as a fit. I want to check his truck and his locker.”

  “I won’t stop you.”

  DeMarco got to her feet and left the break room. Kate trailed behind, fairly certain that Watts was not their man, but wanting to give DeMarco her own space to run with her instincts. As they approached Morris and Watts, Kate let DeMarco handle the conversation. She would be supportive but didn’t see the point in piling on.

  “Mr. Watts,” DeMarco said, “I’d like to see inside your truck, please.”

  Watts looks at Morris and gave a nervous little shrug. “I’m fine with it.”

  “That’s fine,” Morris agreed.

  “It’s parked in spot eleven out in the lot,” Watts said.

  “What have you taken out of it that would have been in it when you stopped by the Lowell residence?”

  “My lunchbox and my backpack. Those are both in my locker.”

  “I’d like to have a look in the locker as well. Your backpack and lunchbox, too.”

  “Sure,” Watts said, already digging into his pocket. He took out a small key ring and handed it over without hesitation. “The bigger one is to the truck. The one with the little yellow head is to my locker.” He pointed behind them to the row of orange lockers bolted into the wall. “Mine is number twenty.”

  DeMarco started over toward the locker, Kate still letting her take the lead. With each bit of permission Watts gave, Kate became more and more sure that he was innocent. She could tell by the slight slouch in DeMarco’s posture that she was becoming a bit more convinced of Watts’s innocence as well.

  Still, Kate did her best to remain a loyal partner. When DeMarco took Watts’s backpack and lunchbox from his locker, Kate helped her search. It did not take long, as the lunchbox was empty with the exception of a small empty bag of Doritos, and the backpack only contained his wallet, a Lee Child paperback, and a change of clothes.

  Kate noted that Watts was watching it all. He still looked rather distraught but there was a sense of calm about him now. If anything, she thought he looked genuinely confused that two FBI agents were going to such great lengths to search his possessions.

  Without saying a word, DeMarco returned the pack and lunchbox to Watts’s locker and headed straight to one of the loading bay doors, where the parking lot waited outside. She walked to parking spot eleven and to the truck positioned there. She used the key to unlock the double doors on the back, swung them open, and stepped inside. Kate followed behind, surprised to find that there was still a small part of her that hoped they might find something.

  The back of the truck contained only a few straps and carabiner clips hanging from the walls. There was scattered detritus here and there—a partially broken board that was scarred up in a way to indicate it was often used to pry larger boxes away from the walls of the truck. The only thing suspicious in the truck was a length of nylon rope, bundled up neatly. DeMarco picked it up and examined it. She showed it to Kate, shrugging as Kate took it from her.

  “It could easily be used as a means of strangulation,” Kate said. “But I think it might be too thick. The nylon could certainly cause some of the abrasions we’re seeing, but you have to remember that with Karen Hopkins, whatever was used to strangle her was so thin that it slightly cut into her skin. The only way you’re going to get this nylon rope to do that is if you’re yanking it back and forth—and if that were the case, there would be more of a rope burn look to the area.”

  “I thought so, too,” DeMarco said. She took the rope back and tossed it down. “Shit. I was sure it was him.”

  “I was hoping it was, too,” Kate said. It dawned on her then that this was not the first time she had witnessed DeMarco pushing hard to pin down a suspect who had been involved in an affair with a married murder victim. She wondered if there might be something in her partner’s past that caused this.

  “Well, even if it’s not him, it’s obvious he knows at least a thing or two about Meredith Lowell,” DeMarco pointed out. “So he might not be a suspect, but he’d certainly be a potential source of information.”

  Almost comically, DeMarco sat down on the floor of the back of the truck. “This one is getting to me, Kate.”

  “If it didn’t, I’d question your heart.”

  “No, I mean…all cases get to me in a certain way. But this one…this one is really screwing me up. And I don’t know why.”

  “It’s a common feeling. And I know it sounds all go-get-’em and whatnot, but the best way to find out why a case is having such an effect on you is to wrap it. Typically, once the killer is apprehended and the smaller details of the case start to fall in place, you’ll be able to step back and see it from a bit of a distance.”

  “You talk like you’ve experienced it before.”

  “More times than I can count.”

  “Guys like this…guys like Watts…they piss me off. My own parents were both involved in affairs. And they forgave one another…gave it another try, you know? And it fucking crashed and burned after that.”

  Kate did not take the time to feel affirmation from having called it less than a minute ago. Instead, she reached down and offered a hand to help DeMarco back to her feet. “Family demons can make it even harder to figure out why a case is getting away from you,” Kate said. “And to be honest with you, I’m dealing with that very same thing right now.”

  “So how are you able to deal with it so well?”

  “Because I’m allowing things to fall apart back home.”

  The answer was out of her mouth before she was aware she was going to say it. And though it felt freeing, there was some sting there as well. DeMarco seemed taken aback at the honesty of it, too. She took Kate’s offered hand and got back to her feet. Before starting back for the opened doors at the back of Watts’s truck, she smirked and said: “So let’s wrap this. Let’s get that distance.”

  Returning the snarky little grin, Kate nodded. “Sure. Just lead the way.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kate and DeMarco had dinner delivered to the Frankfield precinct, filling the building’s one conference room with the smell of Chinese food. Bannerman was sitting at one end of the table, slowly chewing on the egg roll Kate had offered him. Bannerman and Kate were looking up at the dry erase board as DeMarco stood by it, jotting down notes underneath pictures they had attached to the board with magnets. The pictures came from each of the three crime scenes, the ones from the Lowell residence fresh from the printer. DeMarco jotted the notes down for each case, connecting what seemed like common links with little broken dash marks that stretched across the entirety of the board. Sadly, there were very few of these.

  So far, they had come up with the fact that the Hopkinses had not had a security system of any kind in place, making Karen Hopkins unique in those aspects. Then there was the fact that the Hix residence had been the only site that had a secondary entrance, allowing the killer to sidestep a security camera altogether. There had been the connection that the women were middle-aged wives with non-responsive husbands, but that theory had been dashed with Meredith Lowell; sure, she had been involved in an affair but her husband seemed to have basically arranged his world around her.

  And while there were still obvious connections, none of them led anywhere. All of them were at home by themselves during the day. They had all been strangled by someone they had apparently willingly allowed into their homes.

  But the two most important questions remained, and they were on the board in DeMarco’s handwriting, circled in red: Who? Why?

  “This makes no sense,” Bannerman said. “Either the killer knew that Meredith Lowell was having an affair and exactly when Watts was coming by, or it was sheer luck.”

  “Or,” Kate said, “he had been scheduled to come by. Maybe Meredith told the killer an exact time to come by the house. After all, it appe
ars she allowed him in.”

  “And Watts already told us when we left Panther Shipping that she never mentioned anyone coming by,” DeMarco said.

  “That means nothing,” Kate said. “As we have discovered, she was apparently very good at keeping secrets.”

  “Well,” Bannerman said, “I’ve got several officers reaching out to family and friends of the victims, looking for any sort of a connection between them. Even right down to the minute details like which gyms they belonged to and their pizza place of choice. We’re looking for anything—grasping at any straw available.”

  “Sometimes that can be more helpful than you realize,” Kate said.

  Just as the comment was out of her mouth, her phone rang from inside her jacket pocket. She grabbed it, saw that it was Director Duran, and got to her feet. “Sorry,” she said. “I have to take this.”

  As she stepped outside of the conference room, she did her best to calm her nerves. She wanted to ask him right away why he felt that DeMarco needed to babysit her. She wanted to ask him if the career she had built for herself meant nothing to him. But she knew she could not let her temper get the better of her. After all, she and Duran had been working together in come capacity or another for nearly twenty years. She respected him and trusted him implicitly. If he had DeMarco checking on her, surely there was a reason.

  But he was calling her now, not DeMarco. Perhaps it was to even apologize or to give her some sort of encouragement.

  Kate answered on the fourth ring. “This is Wise.”

  “Kate, I need you to explain what was going on in your mind when you decided to storm in front of the cameras at a press conference.”

  “And hello to you, too.”

  “Kate, this is no time to be funny. We’ve worked together for twenty-one years and I don’t think I’ve ever been this enraged at you.”

  “Well, did you see the entire thing?”

  “I did,” Duran said. “And I know what you were doing. You were trying to help out an older sheriff who was clearly being bullied by an asshole of a mayor. But still…by getting in front of those cameras, you basically made yourself the face of this case—a case, I might add, that now has three victims and not a single lead.”

  “If I’d had time to think it through, I might not have done it,” Kate admitted. “But as you saw, that conference was thrown together hastily…probably for nothing more than to take a swing at local law enforcement. But I did not have time and I acted on instinct. And for that, I’m sorry.”

  “Has there been any progress on the case since that little blunder?”

  “Not really. We found a guy who was having an affair with the latest victim, but he’s got some pretty tight alibis. He’s agreed to stay in the area for repeated questioning if necessary.”

  “And that’s all?”

  Kate felt her own little flash of rage stirring inside of her. “We’re in a conference room with Sheriff Bannerman right now, trying to find a common thread.”

  “Three victims, Kate. Working in a conference room isn’t enough. Look…I really hate to do this but after the stunt with the press conference and an absolute lack of leads, I have no real choice. I’m going to have to pull you off the case.”

  “Excuse me?” Some of the rage came through in these two words and as juvenile as it made her feel, it still felt incredibly good.

  “You know how this works, Kate. An agent has been on public television, speaking about a case. In this case, that just happens to be you. Not only is there huge pressure coming from farther up the ladder all dumped on me, but the media is all over it and so far you and DeMarco have absolutely nothing to show.”

  “And you think it’s going to look better for you to pull the face that you yourself said you believe is now representative of the case?”

  “It’s better than nothing. It will show the public that we are actively on the case and that we keep tight reins on our agents.”

  “So you just want us to come in and leave the case to some other pair?” Kate asked, incredulous.

  “I’m afraid you didn’t hear me right. I just want you off. I have another agent assigned to work with DeMarco.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “I’m afraid not. Look…it’s late in the evening. Get some rest and head back in the morning.”

  “Duran, you can’t possibly—”

  “Be smart about this, Kate. Know when to stop talking. I expect to see you in my office for debrief no later than ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Even if she could have thought of something logical to say, she did not have the chance. Duran ended the call before she could even wrap her mind around what had just happened. She stared at the phone, deeply confused and angry, before slowly walking back into the conference room.

  DeMarco was writing down the few details they had on Ashley Watts while Bannerman was polishing off the egg roll. Kate looked at the whiteboard and realized that Duran was right: they had nothing, seemed to be going absolutely nowhere, and maybe it had been irresponsible of her to jump in front of the cameras like that.

  The whiteboard told the story. No clues, no connection. Theories that were being blown apart with each victim.

  Maybe you’re getting too old for this.

  The thought came out of nowhere and was like a dagger to the heart. It hurt even worse, like that dagger being twisted, when she imagined a younger agent working alongside DeMarco.

  “Everything okay?” DeMarco asked, looking away from the board to grab a large forkful of orange chicken.

  “Yeah,” she lied. She took her seat and stared up at the absolute lack of answers on the whiteboard in front of her. “Where were we?”

  ***

  When she and DeMarco drove back to the hotel at 8:35, Kate nearly told DeMarco about the call Duran had placed. In the end, she decided not to. She assumed Duran had also called DeMarco to fill her in and, if that were the case, DeMarco had not mentioned it and was choosing to keep it to herself. Kate wondered if DeMarco was trying to protect her or if she found the situation too awkward to handle. Or maybe Duran hadn’t called DeMarco at all. Maybe he was waiting to see how she would handle it—if she would totally blow up at him or if she’d be the good little agent and come back home for her punishment without putting up a fight.

  DeMarco parked the car and got out, apparently noting how quiet Kate had been for the past several hours.

  “You going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’d really rather not.”

  “Fair enough. Want to have a few drinks and then accidentally tell me?”

  Kate shook her head. “At the risk of seeming like a bitch, I think I just want to spend some time alone tonight.”

  They were walking toward their rooms, Kate fumbling with her keys, when DeMarco reached out and took her hand. “Wise…Kate…I hope you know I consider you more than my partner. More than a good agent, even. I consider you a friend. That being said, I want you to know that you can tell me anything.”

  That settles it then, Kate thought. Duran hasn’t called her yet. He’s wanting me to tell her.

  Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She did not want to admit defeat to this woman who was looking up to her as a mentor of sorts.

  “I’m fine,” Kate said. “Just tired and bummed out about all of the stuff going on back home with Melissa.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave you to your own stuff tonight. Me, I’ll be heading back to the bar. If you change your mind, I’d love to have you.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “But if you aren’t there within a few hours, maybe stay put. If that same bartender is working tonight, I may embarrass you.”

  “Embarrass me how?”

  DeMarco grinned as they reached their respective rooms, side by side. “Not that you’re old-fashioned or stuck up or anything, but you don’t strike me as the sort of woman that would be overly comfortable being in the presence of a gay woman trying to pick up a
nother gay woman.”

  “Thanks…I think. I would not be uncomfortable with that, by the way. Also, that gives me one more reason to stay in. You go do your thing. Let me know how it goes in the morning.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that,” DeMarco said.

  She looked rather surprised at how well Kate had responded. It again made Kate wonder just how much of an obstacle DeMarco’s homosexuality had been as she had come up through high school, college, and even the academy. Kate knew the bureau took great strides to promote inclusion, but some individuals within the academy were still, even to this day, unable to shake racial and sexual biases.

  Kate walked into her room, kicked her shoes off, and fell onto the bed like a tired and angst-ridden teen. She let out a huge exhale of air, figuring it was much more mature and productive than screaming into a pillow.

  Perhaps it was the uncharacteristic anger that had her so riled up, but she decided in that moment that she was not going to leave the case. She assumed that at some point, Duran could threaten her—perhaps even with being arrested for interfering in a case that was no longer hers—but she didn’t think he would do such a thing. She knew Duran well enough to know that he was damned good at being scary and demanding certain things of people, but he was often very slow to pull the trigger when it came to doling out consequences and punishments. Besides, even if he did come down hard on her, what was he going to do? The absolute worst he could do was fire her and while that would certainly be a blow, Kate figured it might be just the exit strategy she needed—a forced one.

  As she tried to sort through all of this, her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket and saw that it was Melissa. She nearly swiped her finger across the screen to answer the call but stopped herself at the last minute. She placed the phone facedown and waited for the buzzing to stop.