Fatally Bound

by Roger Stelljes

  Mac was not accustomed to failure. He closed cases. That was his history. He’d never gone three days on an investigation without any breaks, without making some progress, without some new development or lead to follow. Wire yawned and he could tell she was getting worn down.

  “Tell you what,” Mac suggested. “Two nights in the hotel is enough. Let’s head back to DC, let the case percolate for a day in our minds and go from there.”

  “Do you have a plan from here?” Wire asked.

  “Not right now,” Mac answered as he pushed himself up off the steps. “In twenty-four hours, I will.”

  He pulled into the garage a little past sun down and found Sally relaxing in a deck chair on the back patio of the townhouse, a bottle of red open and two citronella candles burning to keep the bugs away. Mac walked up, kissed her and poured himself a glass of wine. He plopped himself down into the chair next to her, took a long sip of the Cabernet and shook his head in disgust.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Don’t ask,” Mac grumbled, his frustration evident. “Please don’t ask. I’ll talk about anything but the case.”

  Talk they did, for an hour. She could always ease his mind and sometimes he liked to just listen to her talk and it didn’t really matter about what, something about her voice would soothe him. An hour later she walked inside and left him sitting on the patio to finish the last of the Cabernet. He closed his eyes, relaxed in his chair and listened to the hum of the neighborhood, the crickets, the light breeze through the leaves of the trees, the murmur of traffic in the distance. Fifteen minutes later he heard a window open above his head. He opened his eyes, looked up and saw Sally looking down from the master bathroom. “Come on up. Bring another bottle of wine.”

  Mac did as ordered, selecting another Cabernet from the wine fridge and making his way upstairs to find Sally waiting in the bathroom. She was in their large whirlpool tub, with candles arranged around the room. “Join me and relax. The warm water feels good.”

  They spent a lazy Sunday morning lounging around the townhouse. Sally had to watch the morning political shows and make a variety of phone calls. While she did, Mac took a long run to get a good lather going and to clear his mind. He ran from his home in Georgetown down to the Capitol and back, running along both sides of the Mall, past the reflecting pool and the Lincoln Memorial on his way back. After his run, he made waffles and they read the Sunday newspapers while sipping coffee and relaxing in the living room.

  In the afternoon, they took a long walk down to the Georgetown Waterfront Park and relaxed in the sun and watched the boat traffic along the river. Mac had his boat garaged back in Minnesota. He was giving some thought to driving it out and finding a boat slip. The Simon Says, a thirty-foot boat that had once been his dad’s, could easily handle the waters of the Potomac and Chesapeake Bay.

  On their way back, they stopped in two pubs for a beer and finished by dining at a small Italian place they’d discovered four blocks from their townhouse.

  At 7:30 P.M., Mac trudged up to the attic and started looking at the case again, hoping that twenty-four hours away would help clear his mind. He sat in the swivel chair, leaned back, put his hands behind his head and soaked in the whiteboard, focusing on Hannah Donahue because they’d worked her murder so hard. Sometimes when he sat before the case like this it would speak to him in some way. He would see a fact, a piece of evidence, a pattern that made all the pieces fit. After a while of looking at the board, he came to the conclusion that he needed more information on all of the victims. He needed to look at all of their cases with the same intensity they’d looked into Donahue’s. If they did that, perhaps a clearer picture would emerge.

  A little after 9:00 P.M., Wire called, “Any thoughts?”

  “I’m looking at the whiteboard right now. It’s not talking to me—yet.”

  “Any thoughts on a next step?”

  “Yeah, pack a bag. We’re going to Harrisburg.”

  “The first victim?”

  “Yes,” Mac answered. “Our killer is obviously very good at covering his tracks. I’m thinking we take another look at victim number one. He wasn’t as experienced then. Maybe he left a bread crumb or two behind just waiting to be found.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?”

  “Then we go to Salisbury and look into Janelle Wyland.”

  “So we’re going over all of the crime scenes then.”

  “Right. The quick find isn’t there so we need good old-fashioned police work.”

  They agreed Wire would drive over for breakfast in the morning and then they’d head out for Harrisburg.

  A little after ten, he turned off the lights in the attic and went down to the bedroom. As was often the case, Sally was sitting in bed with reading glasses on, engrossed in work papers and highlighting various passages, starting her work week already. After engaging in his nightly mechanics, Mac crawled into bed and turned on the television to watch SportsCenter.

  At 10:30, Sally leaned over and kissed him, “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “That was a really good day,” she said, holding his left hand. “We need more of those.”

  “I agree, something for us to work on,” he answered, leaning over and kissing her back lightly. “Now get some sleep.” She worked long hours at the White House and she could never get enough rest.

  Mac, more of a night owl and not someone who needed lots of sleep, lay back against the pillow and watched the scores roll across the screen with the sound down low. At some point, he faded off.

  At first, he thought he was dreaming with the buzzing he was hearing. Then by cop instinct he reached for the nightstand and his phone.

  It was 3:20 A.M.

  Nothing ever good happens at 3:20 A.M., he thought. “Hello.”

  “Is this Agent McRyan?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Wendy Jonas.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “It’s like you’re too cool for school.”

  Ding Dong … Ding Dong …

  Dara heard the distant sound of the door bell ringing as she shifted her body under the comforter but she did not awaken and fell back to sleep.

  Ding Dong …

  Her eyes fluttered. It wasn’t a dream.

  Ding Dong, Ding Dong, Ding Dong. Three straight pushes in succession, there was definitely urgency to the ringing.

  She opened her eyes and looked at the clock on the side of her bed, 4:45 A.M. Only emergencies lead to someone ringing your door at 4:45 A.M.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  It must be an emergency if they’d transitioned to pounding on the door.

  “Coming!” she grumbled as she threw her legs over the side of the bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and double-timed it down the steps and to the front door.

  Thump! … Thump! …

  She looked through the eyehole and quickly pulled the door open, stopping McRyan in mid-pound. “Mac, what the hell?”

  “First off, how is it that a security specialist doesn’t have a security system?”

  “Brand new place, I haven’t gotten around to it yet. Why are you here?”

  “Get ready, we have to get back up to Dover,” Mac exclaimed excitedly as he walked inside carrying two tall gas station coffees. “Here, this one has the hazelnut,” he said, extending one of the coffees.

  “Ah, thanks, I think,” she replied, taking the coffee and downing a long sip as she closed the front door. “Dover? Why Dover?” she asked, rubbing her eyes, still not completely awake. “I thought you had us going to Harrisburg next.”

  “We might have a break,” he answered and then stared at her impatiently.

  “What?”

  “Don’t just stand there, get dressed! Chop! Chop!”

  “Okay, okay, but Jesus, what’s the break?” she asked as she hustled up the steps to her bedroom. Mac waited downstairs, loitering in the entryway. She looked back down, “Hey, dumbass, come
up here and stand outside my bedroom door at least and tell me what you got.”

  Mac started walking up the steps and bellowed, “Remember the name Wendy Jonas?”

  “Jonas, Jonas … Yeah, friend of Donahue’s who showed up when Hannah and that teacher friend of hers were having drinks, right?” Wire answered from the bedroom.

  “Exactly. Turns out she lives in Hong Kong and works for Asia Pacific Banking Worldwide, you know APBW?”

  “I’ve seen the commercials, so?”

  “Anyway, she was in Wilmington for a day for some meetings and managed to sneak away to come down to Dover to see Donahue. After Nicole Moore left them, Jonas said they had a couple of more drinks, got caught up and when they were saying good-bye in the parking lot, Hannah Donahue realized she’d locked her keys in her car.”

  “So?”

  “Soooo,” Mac answered, taking a sip of his coffee. “Jonas says Hannah reached way under the driver’s side door to the car and pulled out …”

  “A key holder,” Wire said, sticking her head out of her bedroom door. “Are you serious?”

  “I wouldn’t joke about this. Jonas drove Hannah back to her house where she got her backup set of car keys, and then drove Hannah back to the bar so she could fetch her car.”

  “That’s how he got in, Mac,” Dara stated. “It has to be. He was watching and then found a time to get that house key. So did he make a copy or just take it?”

  “Well, we need to get up there and see if the key is still there.”

  “And if it is?”

  “Well that creates all kinds of potential new investigative avenues, now, doesn’t it?” Mac said with hope. “So finish getting ready, will ya?”

  “Okay, okay, okay. Five minutes,” Dara answered, rushing back into her bedroom.

  Just before 7:00 A.M., Mac turned into the alley behind Hannah Donahue’s house and pulled up next to the detached garage. Dover Detective Wente and two techs from the county crime scene unit were awaiting their arrival. Everyone slid on blue rubber gloves. Inside the garage was Donahue’s bright yellow Audi A6. The detective opened the garage and a crime scene tech took her camera and slid under the driver’s side of the car. “I see the key holder,” she said, snapping two photos in the cramped space. She started reaching for it.

  “Wait!” Mac exclaimed, holding his arms out.

  “What?” the tech asked.

  “Let’s get the car down to the county crime lab. If he left a print on the key, the holder or the car, we need to get it. It’s too risky here. Let’s play it safe and get it down to your lab.”

  An hour later, they were in the Kent County Crime Lab garage with the car safely up on a lift. A tech took pictures and then carefully removed the key holder, which was tucked under the fiberglass molding of the car and attached to an exposed piece of metal on the frame. More pictures were taken and a tech began dusting for prints. Another tech opened the key holder and there was a key inside. The tech held the key under a swing-arm magnifying glass.

  “We’re thinking a duplicate was made,” Dara speculated. “What do you think?” she asked the tech.

  The tech looked closely. “I think you’re right, Agent Wire. This key was duplicated and recently. There are still some small minute shavings in the grooves.”

  “How about prints?” Mac asked, looking back to the forensic tech dusting for prints on the under carriage of the car. “I’ve got prints,” he answered, inspecting them closely. “However, it looks like only one set.”

  “Which are probably Donahue’s,” Wire sighed.

  “Maybe we’ll do better on the key or key holder.” The tech dusted the key and key holder. “Shoot. Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Mac asked with his arms folded.

  “Wiped clean, I’d say,” the tech answered. “You can tell it was duplicated, the marks are there with some small shavings, but there are no prints on the key or case, so if your guy touched this thing, he wore gloves or wiped it down before he put it back.”

  Wire looked to Mac dejected, the elation of the last four hours draining quickly from her face. “I got excited there for a minute.”

  “Don’t give up so easy,” Mac answered evenly. “I’m not surprised. Our guy is real careful. There’s a reason we don’t have any forensic evidence on him. Leaving prints behind was a long shot. You know what I’m interested in figuring out, though?”

  “What?”

  “From the time Hannah Donahue used the key to get back into her house until her death creates a four-day window of time in which our killer grabbed it and duplicated it. So when and where did he do that?”

  At the Dover Police Department and over a lunch of sandwiches and chips, Mac and Wire quickly set about once again reviewing the last four days of Donahue’s life. On the whiteboard, from the Friday night of drinks until the Monday night she was murdered, Mac and Wire went through every detail of her life.

  “Assuming Friday night, after Jonas takes her back to the bar and Hannah drives home, that probably is it for the day, don’t you think?” Wire asked.

  “I think so. That’s when he discovers the existence of the key, that’s where we start from,” Mac answered. “He could have, I suppose, gotten into her garage and stole the key that night, but that’s kind of risky. I’m banking that’s not when he did it, and if he did? Well, then we’re screwed.”

  Saturday was not a work day. Hannah had gone to hot yoga for an hour session early Saturday afternoon. Her credit card records showed that after yoga she stopped at a coffee shop for a large iced coffee and then stopped at a local clothing store where she purchased a blouse and a pair of designer jeans. There was no further financial activity on the credit card. Her cell phone records showed four calls on Saturday, none after 6:30 P.M. It appeared that she low-keyed it and stayed home on Saturday night, as she rented the movie Safe Haven on her home pay-per-view.

  On Sunday, she went to yoga again and once again grabbed a post-session iced coffee. “He could have grabbed the key then,” Wire speculated.

  The yoga studio was located in a new strip mall which had video surveillance of the parking lot. On both Saturday and Sunday, Donahue arrived a few minutes before her noon class, parking in the second row in front of the studio both days. Probably part of a pattern as people tended to park in the same places, go to the same places, it was human nature, all routine.

  “The bright yellow makes it easy to see her car,” Wire noted.

  On neither Saturday nor early Sunday did anyone approach the driver’s side of Donahue’s car. Her credit card records revealed that the better chance came later on Sunday. “Her credit card shows the purchase of a single ticket for Iron Man 3 for the matinee on Sunday,” Mac stated.

  Wire flipped through her notes. “Yeah, she went with a friend of hers we talked to last week. A movie and then they went for an early dinner and drinks.”

  Mac searched the movie times at the theatre. “She bought the ticket at 2:44 P.M. and the movie started at 3:00. With previews running twenty minutes, plus the movie running over two hours, she doesn’t get out of the theatre until …”

  “Close to six,” Wire finished.

  The movie theatre was part of a large shopping mall near the Dover International Speedway. The mall itself had a large sprawling parking lot, needed, at least in part, to service the fourteen movie screens. The Dover detective took them to the mall’s security office. The mall had surveillance cameras pointed out to the surrounding parking lots although the coverage was less than stellar. The surveillance system recorded in grainy black and white. A member of the security team pulled up the surveillance video for eight days ago, “Sunday, right?” he asked.

  “That’s right,” Mac answered. “Let’s start around 2:15 P.M. I know it’s black and white, but we’ll be looking for a bright yellow Audi A6.”

  The security technician started bringing up video for that day. “Sundays are busy days here at the mall, particularly at the movie theatre. That parking area is
likely to be full.” The tech had three monitors and he ran a replay for the cameras aimed at the common parking areas for the movie theatre. It took them an hour of scrolling through the video replay and a couple of false alarms before they found her. “I think that’s her,” Wire said, pointing to the left monitor. “Mac, what do you think?”

  The tech rolled the tape back and then forward again. A light-colored Audi A6 pulled into the parking lot, about twenty parking slots out from the building. The car looked right and the woman looked like Hannah Donahue. “That’s her,” Mac answered. Then to the tech he said, “Let it roll.”

  It took eleven minutes of video time. A man came walking from the left, in a dark hooded sweatshirt and what looked like the bill of a baseball cap sticking out from the hood. “Was it warm eight days ago?”

  “It wasn’t sweatshirt and hood weather, if that’s what you’re asking,” the tech replied. “Everyone else we see on the video is in shorts and short shirt sleeves.”

  The hooded man walked across the aisle and to the driver side of Donahue’s car. The man took a quick look around and then disappeared down below the car. A few seconds later, the man was back up and walked back the direction he came from.

  “That’s our guy,” Mac said, a small air of satisfaction in his voice. Perhaps they had finally caught a break. “We’ve got a look at you now.”

  “Not a great one though. Can we follow him?” Wire asked, her voice sounding calm, but she was a little amped.

  The tech followed the man to the next camera. It was difficult to follow him as he walked farther out in the distance of the parking lot. It looked as if the man jumped into a white sedan and pulled away.

  “Are there any cameras farther out?” Mac asked.

  The tech shook his head. “No. I know they’ve talked about mounting cameras on the light polls but it’s never happened.” The man who took the key was so far in the distance at the far edge of the parking lot they couldn’t make out the model of car, let alone a license plate. Mac started jotting down notes, which led to more questions. To Detective Wente, Mac asked, “Do you know if there are any traffic cameras in the immediate area?”