Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9)

by Laura Griffin

  “Looks like.”

  “Damn, can you imagine his payroll?”

  Tara couldn’t imagine it. And she really didn’t want to. Thinking about Liam’s financial success made her antsy for some reason, and it wasn’t something she wanted to analyze now. Instead she focused on the spreadsheet, paying close attention to column labels across the top.

  “Hey, look.” M.J. tapped the screen. “Past military service. He did our homework for us.”

  “It’s broken down into branches and even units.” Tara’s pulse picked up as she scanned the list. “Here’s a guy from DEVGRU. That’s SEAL Team Six.”

  He also had columns for law enforcement, emergency services, and private security.

  “Not a lot of women on this list,” M.J. muttered.

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t see any, in fact.”

  “Whoa, look at this.” Tara clicked on a cell that contained an acronym she recognized. “CQC.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Close-quarters combat. There’s a whole category here for what he calls ‘special skills,’ including CQC, sharpshooting, pararescue training.”

  M.J. leaned closer. “Didn’t you say the weapon used, the Full Black knife, was originally designed for pararescuemen?”

  “Yeah, I’ll look at those guys first,” she said, leaning closer to study the PT column. Everyone had three scores listed: speed, strength, and agility.

  “That might be useful,” M.J. said. “We’re definitely looking for someone strong enough to carry a hundred-twenty-pound woman more than half a mile.”

  “Thing is, these men aren’t your average Joes. I’d bet everyone on this list could do that. Did you see Liam’s PT course?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I did, and it’s no cakewalk.”

  M.J.’s phone beeped with an incoming message, and she muttered a curse.

  “What is it?”

  “Sorry, but I have to go do an interview.” She stood up and gathered her purse to leave. “What are you going to tackle first?”

  “I’ll run a detailed criminal history on this entire list, starting with the current year,” Tara said. “That’s a hundred and twelve men.”

  “He’s bound to hire at least some women, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, that’ll help a lot. I can probably whittle it down to a hundred ten.”

  Tara settled in and got to work, and she soon discovered her estimate wasn’t far off. Of the complete roster of employees, past and present, there were only four females. Everyone else had to be systematically run through the database, which resulted in some interesting discoveries.

  First off, Liam seemed thorough in his background checks. Only a handful of the men he’d hired had criminal histories at all, and those who did had offenses that were either minor or so far in the past that they didn’t seem relevant. One guy had been busted for drugs his senior year of college, which had resulted in him getting kicked out of school, joining the Marines, and ultimately ending up in an elite unit in Afghanistan. The man was one of Liam’s first hires. Another guy had a DUI conviction in his early twenties, but when Tara opened his individual file, she discovered detailed notes about the treatment program he’d gone through prior to joining the Army.

  And it wasn’t just military guys who seemed attracted to Wolfe Security. Liam’s workforce included ex-cops, ex-DEA, ex-ATF, even a former FBI agent.

  After the criminal histories were completed, Tara went through the list again, this time adding men whose special skills included anything related to knives.

  That finished, she clicked open the file that contained the other list she wanted to check: trainees, the men and women who had been through one of Liam’s intensive boot camps. Tara scrolled through the spreadsheet, letting out a moan as it kept going and going.

  Tara’s phone chimed. The Delphi Center. Her heart did a little dance as she answered it. “Rushing.”

  “It’s Mia Voss at the DNA lab. Do you have a minute?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I have good news and bad.”

  Tara held her breath.

  “You recall the tooth we were examining in the Catalina Reyes case?”

  “The right first molar that was inside her throat. Yes, I remember.” Tara’s pulse sped up. “Did you get DNA?”

  “As a matter of fact, we did. We have two separate profiles, one from the victim and then a second profile. That’s the good news.”

  Tara leaned back in her chair. DNA evidence was huge. The second profile would be her attacker. Possibly blood from his fist when he knocked out her tooth.

  “What’s the bad news?” Tara asked.

  “Unfortunately, the profile doesn’t match anything in the Offender Index. Or even the Forensic Index.”

  “You mean—”

  “The Offender Index includes convicts,” Mia said, “along with various arrestees, although not every arrestee who has had a sample collected has been entered in the system yet. The new rules requiring DNA from all federal arrestees has created a tremendous backlog.”

  “I’ve heard,” Tara said. “What about the Forensic Index? That’s un-ID’d DNA from crime scenes, right?”

  “Correct. No match there, either,” Mia said. “So, the good news is we have DNA that I believe belongs to the perpetrator. However, he’s not in the system, so you’re going to have to come up with a suspect before we can run a comparison.”

  Tara’s mind was spinning. “What about military?” she asked.

  “How do you mean?”

  “We have reason to believe the UNSUB might have a military background. The military keeps DNA samples of everyone on file, right?”

  “That’s true,” Mia said. “Ever since Desert Storm.”

  The next few seconds were filled with silence.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Mia said. “My husband’s a homicide detective, so I know just what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no. Those records are for ID purposes. Human remains. The Department of Defense won’t permit me to run a blind search of their database. They’re very protective.”

  “What about—”

  “If you had a particular suspect developed you might be able to get a court order,” Mia said. “But I’d say that’s a long shot, not to mention time-consuming. If you zero in on a suspect, it would probably be easier to collect a DNA sample surreptitiously. You know, tail the guy around and collect a discarded cigarette butt or drinking cup or something.”

  “I can tell you’re married to a cop,” Tara said.

  “Yes, well. The thinking rubs off. Listen, I know you’re frustrated. But keep me posted, all right? If you come up with a viable suspect—”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  They ended the call, and Tara stared at her list again. DNA evidence was huge, but now more than ever she needed a suspect. And the fact that the DNA profile didn’t match anyone already in the system meant that several of the suspects they had—the ones with criminal records—were most likely dead ends.

  Back to Liam’s database. Tara stared at the list on the screen, hundreds and hundreds of names. She ran a hand through her hair. “Damn it.”

  “What’s that?”

  She glanced up to see Brannon standing in the doorway. “I’m drowning here.”

  “You look like it.” He stepped into the cramped room and had the nerve to smell like aftershave instead of BO and frustration. He leaned close and looked over her shoulder. “Looks tedious.”

  “It is.”

  “How about a break?”

  “I already had a sandwich.”

  “I meant dinner. It’s almost five.”

  Tara blinked up at him. She checked the clock on her computer and realized she had, indeed, spent four hours in front of the screen.

  “Okay, but I’m driving.” She got up and grabbed her blazer.

  “Then I get to pick the place,” Brannon said.

  Five minutes later, th
ey were in her Explorer and headed toward Dunn’s Landing, where Brannon had heard the diner served up an unbeatable meat-loaf-and-macaroni special on Thursday evenings.

  Tara felt dazed as she drove. Too little sleep, too much computer time, and the hypnotic swish-swish of the wiper blades threatened to put her out. No meat-loaf-and-mac for her. She’d be better off with a crisp green salad and about three Cokes to wake her up.

  Brannon fiddled with the knobs on her dashboard. “When are you going to get rid of this thing?”

  “What, the Beast?”

  “You’ve got to be approaching two hundred thousand miles by now.”

  She snorted. “Passed that years ago.”

  He managed to get a breath of warm air going and settled back in the seat. “So, how does your boyfriend feel about you seizing his computers?”

  She glanced at him, surprised. Had M.J. said something? “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Whatever he is, I’d think he’d be pissed.”

  Tara gritted her teeth. She didn’t like being needled on this topic. She didn’t like that it was a topic at all when they were supposed to be concentrating on a case. Did she go around asking the men she worked with about their personal lives? No.

  But then, Brannon was different. They had a past together—shallow and infrequent, yes, but still a past—so maybe he thought he was entitled to some sort of status update.

  He wasn’t.

  She focused on the road, trying not to think about Liam, which was impossible now that Brannon had brought it up. What was Liam? She didn’t know. She had a sudden memory of him looming over her in the sparring ring, and she felt her cheeks heat. Was he simply a man she’d had scorching-hot sex with? Or was there more going on? She pictured the look on his face when he’d given her his gate key. He’d downplayed the gesture, but it had been symbolic. She knew that now—hell, she’d known it at the time.

  Guilt gnawed at her. The crazy thing was that she’d wanted to take the key. She’d felt this little burst of joy when he’d handed it to her, like he was asking her to go steady or something. Like she wasn’t merely some woman he’d shagged on the floor of his gym and then sent home without breakfast. And how had she responded to that rush of giddiness?

  She’d rejected him.

  Really, it was no wonder she couldn’t maintain a relationship. Or even start one in the first place. Somehow she always sabotaged herself.

  And although Tara didn’t like Brannon’s needling, he brought up a good point. How did Liam feel about her seizing his computers? She didn’t know. After delivering the warrant, she’d left him three phone messages, and he hadn’t answered a single one.

  “So, boss, don’t you want to hear what I did today?”

  She shot him a look. “I thought you were helping Jason with the tapes.”

  “No, Ingram was helping Jason. You should keep better track of your minions.”

  She ignored the comment as a sheriff’s cruiser rode up on her bumper. She moved into the right-hand lane to let him pass.

  “I went through some ViCAP records,” Brannon said.

  Tara had already tried the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. “I checked,” she said. “Nothing with the same MO.”

  “Yeah, but what about a broader MO? You heard the profiler this morning. Our UNSUB most likely built up to this gradually. So I was checking older crimes, anything involving strangulation.”

  “And?”

  “I got a ton of hits,” he said. “Hundreds. After I wade through everything, I’ll let you know.”

  It sounded like a long shot, but Tara was glad he’d taken the initiative.

  “When I get my list together,” she said, “we can cross-reference, see if any common names pop up.” She looked at Brannon. “The Delphi lab came through with a DNA profile and they think it belongs to our UNSUB.”

  “You’re kidding. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just found out. Problem is, the profile isn’t in the database.”

  “So we need to come up with a suspect,” Brannon said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Shit, that’s a good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Another sheriff’s cruiser blew past doing at least ninety. Tara’s stomach tightened, and she glanced at her phone in the console. No missed calls. She checked her mirror to switch lanes just as a sheriff’s SUV raced by.

  “Damn it.” She changed lanes and floored the gas. “Something’s going down. You miss any calls?”

  “No.”

  She caught up to the SUV as it exited the highway. She thought she recognized the guy behind the wheel—one of Ingram’s men but not someone on the task force. And that was good, because whatever this was, it could be unrelated.

  But then the deputy put on his turn signal, and Tara’s stomach plummeted. She gripped the wheel and followed him.

  “Hey, isn’t this the way to—”

  “Silver Springs Park,” she said.

  Tara glanced around at the thick woods. Yesterday morning she’d driven this road with Liam, and the sky overhead had been a vibrant blue. But now it was lead gray, and the gravel road to the parking lot was dark and wet. A cold trickle of fear slid down Tara’s spine as she turned into the parking lot and spotted the mute ambulance.

  “Oh, God,” she murmured.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Some jogger could have had a coronary.”

  Tara pulled over beside a row of police units and got out. She spied the cluster of cowboy hats near the trailhead, Sheriff Ingram’s towering above them all.

  Tara walked straight up to him. He glanced over, and she knew the second she saw his eyes.

  “Why wasn’t I called?” she demanded.

  He looked across the crowd. “Jason was supposed to call you.”

  The deputy met Tara’s gaze, his expression tight. “Sent you a text message.”

  It was an outright lie, and Tara felt her face go red with outrage, for all the good it did her. She glanced around the scene, which had already been cordoned off with yellow tape. Deeper in the woods was another huddle of men. She recognized Dr. Greenwood’s bald head.

  Tara’s gut clenched. She looked at Ingram as everyone watched her reaction.

  “Same MO?”

  He nodded.

  She turned to Brannon. “Call Jacobs. We need an evidence response team here immediately. Then secure this perimeter. No deputies, no cops, no EMTs. No one goes back there besides myself, the sheriff, and the medical examiner’s people. Got it?”

  Brannon nodded.

  Tara sidestepped Ingram and set off down the path, careful to keep away from the trail itself. Greenwood, dressed for the weather in a gray raincoat, peeled away from a trio of uniformed police officers.

  “Agent Rushing.” He gave her a nod.

  “What do we have?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  She followed him into the woods, pushing through the foliage to avoid trampling the hiking path. Dread filled her as he led her deeper into the dank, dark forest. The air was cold and gloomy, and she could feel something terrible lurking in the shadows. Panic bubbled up inside her as she thought of what lay beyond the trees. Her palms felt clammy. She didn’t know if she could do it.

  This requires a new best.

  “Again this time, they found no car, no clothing,” Greenwood said. “He deposited her in a clearing.”

  Tara picked her way through the leaves, ducking under low-hanging limbs. “Who found her?” she asked.

  “You’ll have to ask Chief Becker. I received the call”—he halted and looked at his watch—“forty-six minutes ago and got here as fast as I could. Based on a cursory examination I’d estimate a postmortem interval of eighteen hours, possibly twenty.”

  Tara checked her watch. “So she was killed between ten and midnight?”

  “It’s an estimate.”

  “We need to get the autopsy scheduled as soon as possible so we can get an ID.”

  He
stopped and turned around. “I believe they already know her.”

  Tara stared at him. He started down the path again, and she followed, heart pounding now as she pushed through the branches. Her mind raced. She held her breath as they stepped into a clearing.

  She was sprawled on a bed of leaves, another horrific tableau. Legs spread apart, arms outstretched. Viciously mutilated beyond recognition.

  Except for the scarlet curtain of hair over her face.

  Tara’s breath hissed out as she knelt beside her. “Oh, God. Oh, Crystal.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Crystal Marie Marshall was last seen by her coworkers at the Waffle Stop at 10:15 the previous night when she punched her time card at the end of her shift. Jeannie Wharton told investigators she’d been closing up the kitchen and helping Donny clean the griddle when Crystal left the diner wearing only a blue fleece hoodie over her yellow waitress uniform.

  Silver Springs police found Crystal’s Toyota Corolla in the parking lot behind her two-story apartment complex on the east side of town, but they found no indication that Crystal had been inside since she’d left for work. Her mailbox was full, a pizza coupon was tucked into her doorjamb, and a hungry tabby cat greeted the landlord when he unlocked Crystal’s door for investigators.

  Had she been abducted from her parking lot? Had she dropped off her car after work and gone out with someone she knew?

  These and other questions remained pathetically unanswered as Tara scoured the hiking trails of Silver Springs Park alongside some of the Bureau’s top crime-scene technicians.

  After hours of searching in the freezing drizzle, they’d bagged up every food wrapper, water bottle, and cigarette butt they could find. CSIs had collected soil samples, leaf samples, and blood samples from on and around the body, hoping something might offer a clue. The rain had all but obliterated any tire tracks, but an alert SSPD officer—a rookie, no less—had noticed a deep tire rut on a back road not far from the body, and he’d had the sense to peel off his poncho and erect a tarp over the impression while the FBI’s evidence response team was en route to the crime scene.

  Tara crept through the forest now, shining her flashlight over every limb and tree root, searching for the slightest shred of missed evidence. Beside her, an FBI crime-scene tech did the same. This was their fourth sweep. The first had been conducted on hands and knees, as workers combed every inch of the park within a hundred-foot radius of the body. The crawling search had been followed by foot searches covering the entire park.