by Andrea Kane
“Nothing else was missing? No clothes or toiletries?”
“No.” Brenda’s brow furrowed. “Chris and I both practically ransacked her room. Neither of us could find anything out of place. That’s why we filed a police report. It didn’t make sense. But, given Jan’s state of mind, I knew what the cops were thinking—that she’d either run away or worse. They searched for a body. None was ever found.”
Marc didn’t reply. But Casey knew his wheels were turning—and she also knew exactly the way his thought process was going. Suicide didn’t fit. If Jan was going to kill herself, she wouldn’t have vanished in order to do it. And running away? That didn’t seem likely. Not without packing at least one bag of essentials. True, there was nothing concrete for the police to go on. But the lead detective on the case certainly hadn’t knocked himself out. All signs pointed to the fact that Jan Olson had been the victim of some kind of foul play.
Footsteps sounded from the second floor of Brenda’s house, and a little girl of about eight burst in. She seemed surprised to see guests with her mother, and stopped in the doorway, twirling a strand of long brown hair around her finger.
“It’s seven o’clock,” she reported shyly. “I’m ready. So are Ben and Pammy. I reminded them. And I just called Daddy. He’s ten minutes away.”
Brenda smiled, reaching out her arm for her daughter. “Thanks for rallying the troops, sweetheart. Dinner should be ready in five.” A quick glance at Casey and Marc. “This is my daughter, Annie. She’s keeping track of the time for me. It’s family dinner night.” She gave them an apologetic smile. “Is there any way we can continue this another time?”
“Absolutely. We’re heading out now.” Casey rose to her feet. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. But I’m also grateful for your time and your input.” She handed Brenda a business card. “My email address is there. If you could send me that list of Jan’s friends and any addresses or phone numbers you do have, it would be appreciated.”
“I’ll take care of it right away,” Brenda promised. “I’ll even pull out our college yearbook to double-check that I’ve included everyone.”
“Great.” Marc put away his writing pad and stood up. “One more question. You said that Jan waitressed. Do you happen to know where?”
“The Lakeside Restaurant at the Central Park Boathouse. It was close to Columbia and the tips were really good. Plus, it was convenient if Jan wanted to get in an extra run. She worked there for about six months.”
Marc nodded, adding that to his memory.
“Thank you again,” Casey said. She flashed a smile at Brenda’s daughter. “Enjoy your family time, Annie. We’re sorry to have kept your mom for so long.”
* * *
Outside the house, Casey turned to Marc. “Well, that shoots my pregnancy theory to hell. Brenda wasn’t lying. Nor was she hesitating. She knew everything—including the fact that Jan went to health services about her missed periods. Of course, I’ll want to interview Jan’s boyfriend, Chris. But I doubt he’ll give us a different story.”
“Agreed.” Marc nodded again. “But we have a lot of other ground to cover. Jan’s friends, her sports, her job. This wasn’t a suicide. Nor was it a random disappearance. There are too many indications pointing to an inciting incident, from Jan’s anxiety to her change in behavior. I need that list of friends. As for right now, I’m sure Ryan’s already found his way into the university’s records. That’ll give us insight into Jan’s academic standing and her course schedule. There’ll be professors to talk to and classmates to look up. And we’ll get Brenda’s list soon. Patrick and I are going to be very busy.”
“So am I,” Casey said. “Knowing Ryan, I have no doubt that he’s also run a cross-check on all the basic aspects of Holly’s and Jan’s lives. I want to look over those results and add any of the courses and activities I remember Holly being involved in.”
“You’re convinced the cases are related.”
“Do you blame me?”
“No.” Marc didn’t hesitate for a second. “Actually, I’m starting to agree with you. The coincidence is just too real to be accidental. If the pregnancy theory had held water, I would have felt differently. But it didn’t. Which means the parallel victimologies still stand, at least until a piece of evidence says otherwise.”
“It’s going to be another late night,” Casey said grimly. “I’m not going to sleep until I sort out all the pieces.”
* * *
Back in his cell, Glen Fisher pushed aside his empty dinner tray. The food sucked. But he wouldn’t have to live with that for much longer.
He glanced at his watch. Eight forty-five. A slow smile curved his lips.
The fun was about to begin.
Chapter Six
Kendra reentered the liquor store a little before nine, barely noticing the drunk who staggered out ahead of her, metal flask in hand. The wall clock reminded her to hurry. She realized she didn’t really need to be here, that it was probably overkill. But a handle of tequila would go a long way toward sweetening her and Marie’s reception, especially when added to their earlier purchases.
That creeper Barry was still at the counter, eyeing her up and down as she paid for the booze. She kept her gaze averted and got out as quickly as she could.
She was late and she knew it. The party was already under way, and Marie would be pissed off that she had to wait.
Tucking the tequila under her arm, Kendra crossed West 113th Street, and headed directly toward the brownstone where the frat house was located. She was excited. She didn’t go out often; she was too busy with her schoolwork. But she’d killed herself studying this week, all so she could have some fun tonight. All she could think about were the hot guys Marie had told her would be at the party.
She’d taken care with her appearance. Gone was the pathetic-looking geek who buried her nose in philosophy books. She’d straightened her curly auburn mane and tied it back neatly. She’d put on her favorite pair of skinny jeans, a V-neck sweater and some makeup. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to ensure that she wasn’t lost in the crowd.
That was important to her. She didn’t have much of a social life. She was an introvert and aware that people saw her as a bit weird. She studied not only to get A’s, but because the philosophers fascinated her. Tonight would be different. Tonight she’d actually cut loose and have some fun.
She picked up her pace, eager to meet Marie and check out what promised to be a great party.
A flicker of light flashed from the alley, like a lighthouse warning an approaching ship of impending danger. Kendra was oblivious to it, as well as to the beam of light that bounced off the alley wall. She never saw the dark silhouette or smelled the acrid contents soaking through a handheld rag.
The fraternity house was just down the street. Kendra passed the narrow alley between two buildings.
Abruptly, a figure in black darted out of the shadows and grabbed her. A damp cloth was clapped over her nose and mouth. A powerful arm locked around her waist, pulling her into the dark alley.
Kendra began to struggle the instant she realized what was happening. But it was too late. The handkerchief was held in place. And the sharp point of a knife pressed against her abdomen. She felt its sting just as the sickeningly sweet smell pervaded her nostrils. Too terrified to move, too groggy to fight, she ceased her struggles.
The world went black.
It would never grow light again.
* * *
The fraternity party was already crazy when Marie showed up at the path leading to the front doors. She waited there as she and Kendra had agreed, which was just fine with her. As enticing as the thundering base was coming from inside, it always felt better to have at least one friend along when you made an entrance. Anyway, the liquor would be as welcome as the two of them, no matter how hot they looked.
Still, she found herself growing impatient as the minutes ticked by. She called Kendra’s cell phone, but it went directly to voice mail. Ma
rie hoped her friend hadn’t gotten lost in the library stacks, immersed in one of her beloved Aristotle books.
Three phone calls and thirty minutes later, Marie gave up. She hadn’t spent two hours tearing through her closet to find just the right outfit so she could stand outside and get odd looks from all the other partygoers. It was time for her to suck it up and go in on her own. She’d hand over the bottles and tell the frat guys that her friend was on her way. Then, she’d keep an eye out for Kendra. Hopefully, her friend would snap out of whatever trance had sidetracked her and show up.
On that thought, Marie marched up the path and went through the doors, ready to tackle the party on her own.
* * *
Claire had been sitting in a small dark office at Forensic Instincts all evening, handling Jan Olson’s personal items. The energies she’d been picking up were dark and complex.
Icy coldness. That was the prevalent aura that emanated from Jan’s clothing, her textbooks, even her notebooks. An icy coldness that was the absence of life. And the book bag, the running shoes—they held another energy. Fear. A powerful fear that Jan had internalized, shared with no one.
Whatever she’d been afraid of, it was key to their investigation.
A killer’s random learning curve. The awareness slid into Claire’s mind, then took root. Whatever had happened here, it was the initial part of a string of evil. Strategically planned. But a random choice of victims. At least it had been with Jan. Fine-tuning had brought with it a honed expertise. But Jan had been one of the first. A learning experience.
Claire could visualize Jan Olson running through a park. Water was glistening in the background. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. She’d peer over her shoulder, stumble on the uneven ground, then struggle on. Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire focused intently, trying to pick up something specific about Jan’s surroundings—a landmark, a street sign, anything that could tell her about the locale. Butterflies...birds...
Abruptly, there was a loud buzzing in Claire’s head, followed by an eclipse in time and a radical shift in scene. A jolt of ominous energy shot through her—one that was so powerful it caused her to physically double over.
Something horrifying was happening. Not in the past. Right this moment. Whatever energies Claire had been picking up from fifteen years ago had opened up a channel to a fatal crime that was occurring as she sat there. She fought her panic, trying desperately to zero in on the crime.
Pain. Agonizing pain. Terror. A woman. Struggling, clawing, fighting for her life. A monster who was overpowering her. The hard feel of a concrete floor. A warehouse? Yes, a warehouse. Dirty floor. Large wooden crates with shipping labels. The smell of the river. The sound of bells. The flash of a clock tower. Not right there. But close by.
Clothing was being torn. The woman was screaming, begging. She was pinned to the ground. Naked. Helpless. Violated.
Large hands locked around her throat crushing her air supply as he raped her. Searing pain. Paralyzing panic. Heightening more and more and more...
Claire almost screamed aloud, the violent energies she was experiencing were so acute. Beyond excruciating.
She couldn’t wait any longer. Drenched in sweat, she forced open her eyes and fumbled for her phone. Ordering her brain into rational action, she blocked out her vision and honed in on reality. Think. Think. The phone number. She’d called it a dozen times.
His direct line escaped her, so she settled for the general number and punched it in.
“Eighty-fourth Precinct,” a voice answered.
“Is Detective Werner in?” Claire made her voice sound relatively normal.
“Just a minute.” There was a short series of rings and then a familiar baritone.
“Werner.”
“Tom? It’s Claire Hedgleigh.”
“Ah,” Detective Thomas Werner replied with wry amusement. “The brilliant psychic addition to Forensic Instincts. I should be pissed that you’re not consulting for us anymore. But I can’t blame you for taking on a challenge like working for the FI team. How can I help you?”
“Something bad just happened. A rape. And an attempted murder. It could be a fait accompli already. I don’t know. But it’s in your district. A warehouse near the East River. Rows of wooden crates. And bells—I know those bells. They’re from the clock tower at Dumbo.” Claire pinpointed the enormously expensive Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass penthouse in Brooklyn. “That’s as specific as I can get. I wish I could tell you more. But I can’t. All I know is that it’s urgent. Search the area. And hurry.”
“I’m on it.” She could tell that Detective Werner was on his feet, ready to grab his partner and take off. He and his precinct had worked with Claire often enough to know she was the real deal.
“Please keep me posted.”
“I will.”
Claire disconnected the call, feeling ill as well as oddly attached to the vision. Like it was personal. But she’d never met the victim. She was sure of that. So why couldn’t she shake this sense of personal dread? She’d consulted for the NYPD and local police departments for years before coming on board at Forensic Instincts. She knew the drill. And this was out of the realm of normal. There was something more going on here.
And that something involved her Forensic Instincts family.
She knew what she had to do next.
* * *
Casey had just arrived back at the office. She was on her way down to Ryan’s lair to compare notes when her iPhone rang.
The number was blocked.
“Casey Woods,” she answered.
“You’re putting your energy in the wrong place, Red.” The weird tinny words told Casey that, whoever the caller was, he was using a voice scrambler. “That girl’s case is as cold as her body. But the one who just died? Her body is still warm.”
“Who is this?”
“The last person you’re going to see before you close your eyes forever.” A chilling laugh. “The blood chain is under way. It will end with you. Spin your wheels and try to stop it.”
The line went dead.
“Casey?” Marc had been parking the van. He walked inside and was standing behind Casey in time to see her ashen expression. “What’s the matter? You’re white as a sheet.”
Before Casey could answer, her phone rang again. She startled, then stared at the caller ID. It was Claire.
“Claire, I can’t talk now,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“You have to.” Claire was literally vibrating. “I just called the Eighty-fourth Precinct. Something’s happening. Someone’s being tortured and killed. It’s happening in Brooklyn. And it’s drawing me to you.” Claire’s voice broke. “Oh, my God—she’s dead. He killed her. He raped her and he killed her. He’s still with the body. He’s doing something to it. But she’s dead. And you have to know that. I don’t know why. But you do.”
Casey’s own stomach was turning over. “Claire. Listen to me. I need you to focus. Tell me everything. Everything.”
“I did.” It was clear that Claire sensed the rising hysteria in Casey’s voice. “Why?”
“Because I think I just got a phone call from the killer.”
Chapter Seven
The body was located just after 1:00 a.m. at a warehouse on Jay Street.
Identification was no problem, since Kendra’s purse hadn’t been touched, so neither had her driver’s license or student ID.
The medical examiner did his job and filed his report. The parents were notified. They lived locally, so they rushed over to identify the body. It was a heartbreaking scene.
Tom hated this part of his job.
Once he’d dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s, he dropped wearily back in his chair and rubbed his temples. His tired gaze fell on the phone and he stared at it for a long time. The case was now a wide-open homicide. No aspect of it should be discussed. But Claire had been instrumental in their discovering it. She had a right to know.
Tom pi
cked up the phone and punched in her cell number.
Claire answered on the first ring. She was with the entire FI team, gathered around the second-floor conference table, downing cup after cup of coffee.
“This is an unofficial call, Claire,” Tom stated flatly. “I shouldn’t even be making it. But given our prior professional relationship and the fact that you initiated this entire search, I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Thanks, Tom.” Claire put down her coffee cup. “You found the girl. I don’t need to ask you if she was dead.”
“No, you don’t.”
Claire nodded sadly. “I’m with my team,” she informed him. “May I put you on speakerphone?”
“We’re really pushing the envelope here. But fine.”
Claire pressed the speaker button and set her phone in the center of the table. “Go ahead.”
“It was pretty much as you described. The body was in a warehouse on Jay Street.”
“Shit. That’s my neck of the woods,” Ryan muttered.
“She was nude,” Tom continued. “Her clothing was torn to shreds. Her wrists were bound together. There was physical evidence of rape. The hyoid bone in her neck was fractured, indicating strangulation. The body was wrapped in a canvas tarp. Pieces of her hair had been snipped off. There was a red ribbon tied around her throat in a bow. And he’d applied lipstick to her lips. It was almost like he was leaving us a carefully wrapped gift, as sick as that is.”
“Sounds like a signature mark of some kind.” Marc spoke up. “Detective Werner, this is Marc Devereaux, one of Claire’s colleagues. I realize this entire conversation is off the record. So can you give me a description of the girl?”
“Caucasian. Petite—about five foot three, a hundred and five pounds. Brown eyes, shoulder-length red hair.”
There was a long moment of silence at the conference table before Casey spoke up.
“This is Casey Woods, Detective. What else can you tell us about the victim?”
