by Blake Pierce
Don’t tear yourself up, Kate told herself. She has to learn to deal with things on her own. She has to learn that just because things are better between the two of you, she can’t come rushing to you whenever something is bothering her. If there’s something related to Michelle and her health, Melissa will leave a message and you can respond. But for now, you have to let her learn to navigate life on her own.
Kate knew that tears were brimming in her eyes over these thoughts—but she also knew they were true.
It was then, contemplating the meaning behind Melissa’s calls, that Kate started to wonder how Alan was doing. He had always been quite good about not calling her when she was on a case, but he would typically text her every now and then when she was away, just to let her know he was thinking about her. Ever since she had left two days ago, leaving him with Michelle, she had not gotten a single text.
And that’s fine, she thought. I’m not sure I want to speak to him after he gave me his little spiel about “getting my priorities straight.”
She lay there for a very long time, staring at the ceiling and trying to remain calm. She’d experienced far too much anger over the last few days—an emotion she typically managed to stay very far away from. It had thrown her off and, if she was being honest with herself, felt toxic.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying there when she realized just how tired she was. Hadn’t she read somewhere that copious amounts of anger tended to tire out those who weren’t accustomed to the emotion? She nearly got up from the bed but decided against it. She simply lay still, wallowing in it all, until she fell asleep far earlier than she had intended.
***
While she slept, she dreamed. It was the sort of dream where the dreamer is somehow fully aware it’s a dream, but that realization does nothing to stem the impact of it.
In the dream, she was walking into a well-to-do home with DeMarco. The was similar to most of the homes she had been in ever since taking the new position with the bureau after coming out of retirement: well built, trendy, and over-expensive. As she made her way through the home, she came to a man standing over a body in the living room. The body on the floor was that of a woman, her face turned toward Kate in a horrified expression.
It was her daughter…it was Melissa.
She had been strangled, but with something much harsher than what had killed the three women in Frankfield. Whatever had strangled Melissa had sliced deeply into her throat, her head barely hanging on to her neck.
Unmoved, Kate stepped forward. The man standing over the body turned around and looked at her. It was Terry. He had been weeping so much that the area around his eyes had been rubbed red. The corner of his right eye was torn, trickling little drops of blood.
“She was here alone,” Terry said. “I was at work and…my God, I just didn’t show her I loved her enough, did I? I was too distant, too…”
On the floor, Melissa opened her mouth. Doing so made it appear as if her head would separate from her shoulders completely. She mouthed just two words; they were soundless, but Kate knew what they were.
“Mom…help…”
“Terry,” Kate said. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he wailed, his eye still bleeding. “I wish I knew. I wish I’d paid more attention to her. I wish…I wish you knew yourself.”
In the dream, Kate only stared at the body of her daughter with the eye of a seasoned agent.
But in a hotel room in Frankfield, Illinois, she moaned in her sleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Kate stirred awake just after 5:30 the following morning, the dream was still prevalent in her mind. She saw Terry’s bleeding eyes looking at her as if she had the answers, as if she might know why that dream version of Melissa was dead. As haunting as the dream was, it slammed one determined thought to the front of her head. It was an obvious next step in the process, but one that she and DeMarco had been patiently waiting on.
Well, Kate thought as she made her way to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, patience isn’t something I have time for right now. When I’m not back in DC by noon, Duran is going to know I disobeyed him. He’ll start calling. And I’ll ignore him. I have no idea how long it will be before he calls Bannerman and his men, giving them authority to arrest me.
She sorted through all of this as she did her best with her hair. She had, after all, fallen asleep without getting properly ready for bed the night before. Her neck hurt and the dream felt as if it had glued itself to the very center of her mind.
No, she did not have time to be patient or by-the-book. She had maybe six hours to get something done. And as much as she hated to go rogue on DeMarco, she honestly didn’t see that she had much of a choice.
She was going to have to go by the hospital and hope she could get in to see David Lowell. Even if he was not medically cleared yet, she had to figure out some way to speak with him. Over the past thirty years or so, she’d spoken with numerous people in various states of injury—a few even on their deathbeds. She knew when to push and when to pull back. And without DeMarco watching over her shoulder, Kate thought she might be able to get away with flirting with the boundary between the two.
She was fastening her holster, perhaps a minute or two from stepping out the door, when her phone rang. She checked the display and saw that it was Bannerman. She nearly ignored it and headed out on her mission but figured it made no sense to dodge his calls. There was always the chance that he might have information no one else did. When you were the sheriff of a town the size of Frankfield, the breaks in nearly all developing stories went to you first, even when the FBI is in town.
She answered it, almost feeling as if she had been busted. “This is Wise.”
“Agent Wise, it’s Bannerman. I just got a call from David Lowell. He’s home. He apparently got home around midnight last night, about an hour after he was discharged. The hospital didn’t bother calling when he was given the okay to speak to us, as I asked them to. But I just got off of the phone with him. Seems he was unable to sleep and wants to talk to us—wants to find out who killed his wife and why.”
Now she really felt like she had been busted. She was relieved to know that Lowell was back home and more than willing to speak with them, but at the same time, working alongside Bannerman and DeMarco would only slow her down. She gritted her teeth in frustration but carried on as expected.
“That’s great, Sheriff. Can you meet us at the hotel in about ten minutes?”
“I’m already on the way.”
***
Kate was impressed at how quickly DeMarco got dressed and ready for the day. She’d still been asleep when Kate knocked on her door at 5:51, answering the door and then leaving it cracked for Kate to walk in while she scrambled around the room to get ready. Kate noted the empty bed and grinned.
“Did you strike out last night?”
“No, I’d call it a home run. I told her what I do for a living and that it wasn’t practical for her to sleep here. She agreed and left.”
“Good for you,” Kate said.
DeMarco smirked as she buttoned up her shirt. “For her, too.”
Bannerman arrived just as Kate and DeMarco headed out of the room in hopes that the crappy little hotel office served complimentary coffee.
“No need,” Bannerman said as they approached the car. “I figured you’d need some for this early hour and brought you each a cup of the petrol we drink from down at the station. Breakfast, on the other hand…”
“We can wait,” DeMarco said, though it sounded like a question as she looked over to Kate.
“Yes,” Kate agreed. “We can wait.”
Bannerman seemed pleased when they got into his patrol car rather than opting for their own. He sped out of the lot and took the familiar two-lanes through the city until he came to the trendy little subdivision the Lowells had happily lived in until yesterday. Kate frowned when she realized the house already had that feeling she had somehow gotten used to
and had come to accept—the feel of a residence that is no longer a happy home but now a place of trauma and sorrow. It was far too similar to pulling up to a funeral parlor.
They made their way up the porch, Kate knocking on the door while DeMarco and Bannerman kept a respectable distance behind as to not make the grieving husband feel too overwhelmed.
The door was answered by a woman of about forty or so. She looked tired but had the air of a woman who was getting things done. She nodded to them all before saying anything.
“FBI?” she asked in a hopeful tone.
“Yes,” Kate said. “Agents Wise and DeMarco. This is Sheriff Bannerman,” she said, gesturing to Bannerman, “with the local PD.”
“I’m Paulette Ivans, David’s sister,” the woman said. “I’ve been with him from the moment he was admitted to the hospital. I made the request for the doctors not to call you when he was given the clear. David…I don’t know. I don’t think it was so much a heart attack as it was a heart break. I know that sounds cheesy, but it sums it all up pretty well.”
“But he’s fine now?” DeMarco asked.
“Fine enough to make it through the details, I think,” Paulette said. “He badly wants to talk to you to figure this all out. Just…I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he breaks down while you’re here. He hasn’t really talked deeply about it. If he does have a breakdown, I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d leave. I’ll call you back when he is ready.”
“Understood,” Kate said.
“Come on in, then.”
Paulette led them into the Lowell home. Just like the exterior, the interior simply felt gloomy. It was clear that a great deal of grieving was being done; Kate could feel it in the air. Paulette led them to the living room, where David Lowell was sitting in an armchair and looking out the window. He glanced toward them at once when they entered the room and the amount of absolute hope in his eyes slayed Kate.
“Mr. Lowell, I’m Agent Wise and this is Agent DeMarco.”
“Yeah, I was told the FBI was in town on this but…I mean, I appreciate it, but why?”
“I assume neither of you have seen the news?” Bannerman asked.
“No,” Paulette said. “Why?”
Kate stepped forward after giving Bannerman an unsteady glance. “Ms. Ivans, Mr. Lowell…this was the third murder of this kind here in Frankfield over the past two weeks or so.”
“Oh,” he said. He went wide-eyed for a moment, as if he was awed by this information, but it did not last long. “Are there any suspects so far?”
“I’m afraid not,” Kate said. “None that have panned out, anyway. We were hoping you might have some ideas.”
“Not a single one. I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since I was coherent enough to do so. It just doesn’t make sense. I can’t think of anyone that had anything against her. It had to be some random asshole, preying on random women. I called the security company because when I tried to check the Nest feed, nothing came up.”
“We checked that, too,” Kate said. “The feed was killed.”
“What?”
She knew she had to be careful here. The last thing she wanted was to inform him that his wife had slept with another man less than an hour or so before she was killed. If they truly believed Ashley Watts might be the killer, it would be pertinent information to share, but as it stood, Kate did not see the sense in putting him through such pain.
“We found it odd, too,” DeMarco said, picking up on Kate’s hesitation. “We’re working to get it figured out with them.”
“Do you recall how she was acting before you left for work yesterday?” Kate asked.
“She seemed normal. Perfectly fine. We…we made love before I left for work. We were excited because it was going to be a short day at work for me. We had plans for a date last night and…”
Kate could already sense that this little interview was going to be quick. She did not think David Lowell was going to make it very long.
“Mr. Lowell, how would you describe your marriage? Was it happy? Were there issues or strain?”
“We were very happy. Sure, I caught flak from people for being significantly older, but that was about it. Meredith seemed happy. And she made me happy.”
“He’s right,” Paulette said from the edge of the room. “They were one of those couples that other couples hated to be around. They were annoyingly cute together.”
“Yeah, I guess we were,” Lowell agreed.
“What can you tell us about Meredith?” Kate asked. “What was she like? What interests and hobbies did she have? If we can find a link between her and the other two women who were murdered, it may help point us toward a suspect.”
“Meredith was…well, she was a delight. God, she was such a light.”
As he chewed on his own words, Kate started to feel uncomfortable. Clearly he knew nothing about her other side—the side that had quick sex sessions with the delivery man every chance she could.
“She was a very big reader,” Lowell went on. “She tore through about three books a month. Sometimes more. She was very interested in learning how to cook, though she would be the first to tell you she was never very good at it. She was a fan of classical music, something that always surprised me because she also likes nineties hip-hop. A weird combination, you know? But I think classical was her favorite. It’s actually one of the things that drew me to her.”
“How did you meet?” DeMarco asked.
“At a tacky bar down in Miami. I was on vacation and she was just sort of journeying around from place to place, taking a break from community college. It was a piano bar, right before it was closing up. I was headed out and heard someone sort of trying to play this classical piece that sounded familiar. I went to see who was playing it, and there she was. Her and a friend were sitting on the piano bench and Meredith was clumsily trying to play a song that I later figured out was Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune.’ And that was it…”
“Did she live in Florida or did she just go to school there?” Kate asked.
“She was born and raised in Mississippi. Did some community college and hated it. When I met her, she said she was in between classes.”
“Was she not working as of late?”
“Not really. She did some virtual assistant work when she could find it. I had a friend set her up with this eBay business where she would buy stuff dirt cheap from resellers, catalogue them, and then sell them. But she was the one that wanted that. She insisted on it. I told her I didn’t want my wife working if she didn’t want to. I wanted her to have a life of luxury.”
“And she was okay with that?”
“Most of the time. Sometimes I think she got restless and bored…but I think, overall, she was happy.”
Restless and bored, Kate thought. Two key ingredients for a spouse looking around for something else to do…namely an affair.
Lowell lowered his head and took in a shuddering breath. A little sob came out and at first it seemed like that was the end of it. But then Kate saw the tremors and noticed that he would not look back up at them.
The interview was over. It had been all too brief, but Kate figured that was fine for now. For David Lowell to have been so oblivious to his wife’s secret life, she doubted he’d be of much use for the remainder of the case anyway. But it was more than just a dent in the case; it was a dent in Kate trying to find a reason to buck against Duran’s order to return back to DC.
Paulette gave Kate and DeMarco a little nod toward the hallway. Kate nodded as Bannerman was already headed out of the room to give Lowell his space.
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Lowell,” Kate said as she and DeMarco walked out of the room. “Please give us a call if you happen to think of anything else that might help.”
He was only able to give a weak nod as he gave in to his grief and let out a wail. He kicked helplessly at the floor, letting out his frustration in any way possible.
As Kate followed behind DeMarco toward the front door, she lo
oked to the left, toward the den. There, the couch that Watts and Meredith Lowell had had sex on sat like some quiet witness. Kate frowned at it and then continued on her way to the door.
After two steps, she stopped. She cocked her head, as if listening for some idea that might be hovering in the air, and then stepped back toward the den. She gazed into the room, past the couch and the bookshelves, her eyes landing on the larger item in the room.
“DeMarco?”
“Yeah?” she asked, pausing at the front door as Bannerman held it open for her.
“The Hopkins residence…there was a piano, right?”
“There was, yes. The Hix family, too.”
“That’s what I thought…”
DeMarco walked back to join her, looking into the den. The piano sat near the back of the room, pushed into the corner with just enough room for someone to get on the bench behind it.
“What is it?” Paulette asked, coming up behind them.
“David said Meredith played a bit of piano,” Kate said. “Did she play regularly?”
“I don’t think so,” Paulette said. “In fact, I doubt it. She was taking lessons from someone in the area from what David tells me.”
“Any idea how long?”
Before she could answer, David came to the arched doorway of the living room. He did not step into the hallway, but leaned against the wall as if he might fall over. “About a month or so now,” he said, apparently having heard the conversation.
“Do you have a name and number for the instructor?” Kate asked. She could sense DeMarco and Bannerman tensing up behind her, sensing that they may have just accidentally stumbled across a new lead.
“One second,” he said. When he pushed himself away from the wall, he seemed to glide. He looked like he was being pushed gently down the hall rather than walking.
“You think there’s something to this?” Paulette asked. “Did the other two women take piano lessons?”
Kate did not answer, as she did not want to give a hope that might not exist. But she could see the dens and living areas of those other two houses, could see the pianos situated in her mind as if she were standing on those rooms. Sure, it could be a coincidence, but it would have to be a damned strong one.
