Searching (PAVAD- FBI Romantic Suspense Book 18)

by Calle J. Brookes

  A third woman changed everything.

  Jac looked at Miranda. “Is it possible that we have a female killer? That the blood was the UNSUB’s?”

  Miranda nodded. “It is possible. We all know women can be just as deadly as men.” Miranda waved the plaster cast on her arm significantly.

  Jac winced. Yes, Miranda had experience with that.

  “Hell, yes,” Kelly added. She’d faced her own nightmares thanks to her association with PAVAD.

  “How likely is that, though? Bludgeoning isn’t exactly a common method of murder for a woman,” Miranda pointed out.

  Kelly had a different opinion. “Of course, it’s possible, but the location is problematic. The unknown woman’s blood samples were in the driveway, and there was a great deal of it. Almost as much as there was of Mrs. Sturvin’s and Mrs. Lindsay’s. And we’re testing now.”

  “And you’re certain it’s not either one of the children’s?” Miranda asked quietly.

  Jac’s breath seized as she waited for the answer to the question she was glad she hadn’t had to ask.

  Kelly shook her head. “Preliminary DNA doesn’t match either of the girls. I’m not an ME, but if I had to give a good guess based on the amount of blood evidence—it’s highly probable you have a third victim out there.”

  “And we still have two missing little girls.” Jac’s stomach tightened at what that meant. “We don’t know who’s out there now.”

  “You’ll find them. We’ll find them. No one is doing this alone.” Kelly touched her own stomach briefly. If Jac recalled correctly, she was due with her first somewhere around the end of April, six months away. “Shayna has something from you as well.”

  “Thanks, Kel,” Miranda said. “And…take it easy. You look green. It doesn’t go well with the purple and orange hair.”

  “I have a feeling it’s going to be my main color for a few more months. Good luck, you two. We’re here on standby the instant you need us. Just find those kids. Livy was at the sleepover my dad and stepmother hosted last month for Aislyn’s birthday. I…just find those little girls.”

  Jac thought about Kelly’s words as she and Miranda stepped into the hall.

  Too many at PAVAD were connected to Brynlock Academy.

  To those little girls.

  This…this felt like a blow to the very family Jac loved so much.

  42

  Jac was silent as the crossed the hall to the next lab. The tech inside looked up when they entered.

  “About time someone from the CCU showed up,” the assistant blood-and-bios supervisor said. Jac nodded to her.

  “We just left Kelly. She said you may have more.”

  “They called me in to deal with…this.” Shayna Hawkes was a recent transplant to PAVAD from one of the west coast field offices. About Jac’s height, she was brown-haired, brown-eyed, and snarky. “Welcome. I was just about to get started with…her.”

  The evidence she was referring to give a small yip and growl.

  Jac stepped closer, to take a better look.

  Harnessed to the exam table was a small dog of indeterminate breed, wearing a fluorescent-green cloth muzzle. She suspected the dog had some Yorkie and Chihuahua. Maybe a little bit of beagle or hound. She was so completely ugly. Jac’s heart melted just seeing her.

  Most definitely a mutt, of less than ten pounds or so. Shayna, wearing nitrile gloves, was attempting to run a small fine-tooth comb through the dog’s two-inch fur. “Who’s this?” Jac asked. She murmured to the dog, then grabbed a pair of gloves for herself.

  This looked like a three-person job. Well, two and a half, considering the cast on Miranda’s arm.

  It took them a few minutes, but eventually the little dog calmed. She almost seemed to enjoy the grooming—and the attention from the three women.

  “Agents Jac and Miranda, meet Sadie Gayle Lindsay. This is your elderly victim’s dog. Vet records show she’s not quite eighteen months. Very well-loved, according to the vet tech I spoke with twenty minutes ago. St. Louis police found her on Mrs. Lindsay’s porch about an hour ago. Had a bit of trouble catching her from what I understand. She’s little, but she’s quick.”

  Jac wanted to pet the dog. To help calm her. But she refrained. The dog was evidence. She knew better. The dog had to be processed, meticulously. Cases had hinged on tiny details many times before.

  “She kept outsmarting them,” Shayna said. “Something I would have paid to see.”

  “She was at the crime scene, I take it?” Miranda asked.

  “We believe so,” Shayna said. “There were small dog prints found near Mrs. Lindsay’s body. They led up toward her house. We believe that Mrs. Lindsay heard what was going on and came to investigate. Mrs. Lindsay probably witnessed what had happened. And the killer turned on her. At least, that’s what the evidence is showing so far.”

  “Edith was most likely collateral damage,” Miranda said, her tone grim. No wonder. Jac adored Miranda’s grandmother. Every time she looked at a photo of Mrs. Lindsay she saw Flo Talley in that woman’s place.

  Shayna nodded. “Now, I know that I’m supposed to stick to the science, but that’s what most of us believe. There’s blood on Sadie’s muzzle; most likely, it’s that of Mrs. Lindsay. As if maybe the dog licked her to try to wake her. But...”

  “We have to confirm.” Jac said.

  “Poor little thing,” Miranda said. “I think she’s traumatized. No wonder. I fully believe dogs grieve. Especially when they are well-loved. They just know.”

  Jac agreed wholeheartedly. She hadn’t had a dog since she’d been a child. Miranda had an elderly dog back in Masterson. A border collie who stayed with Miranda’s cousin, a vet tech in the county.

  Jac knew Miranda missed her a great deal, but she’d decided that moving the dog to St. Louis would be too stressful for the dog at this stage in her life. In Masterson she could go outside, and be with the rest of the family that loved her so much.

  Jac carefully gripped the little dog’s hips and her chest. And held her still. The poor little thing was shaking. Terrified. Shayna took the swab samples she needed efficiently.

  Jac just watched. “She has been traumatized. Tonight, she danced with the devil. She’s not going to forget that anytime soon. It’s not an easy thing to ever forget.”

  Jac had danced with the devil enough to know that. Memories of her stepfather threatened to break back in. No wonder; they always did when she felt vulnerable and unsettled. Unsafe. Hurting.

  Shayna shot her a look, as if she could see in Jac’s soul to the hurt beneath. “From what we can tell, Mrs. Lindsay has no family. Once the dog is processed, we’ll be turning her over to the humane society. Hopefully, she’ll find a good home soon.”

  The dog would be forgotten about. Just passed around like old luggage. Unless she got lucky and someone took her home. Even as homely as she was.

  The dog’s whole world had changed, too.

  The dog whined and licked Jac’s hand through the muzzle. Jac knew procedure.

  The dog would remain muzzled while being processed, for everyone’s safety. Her sister, who worked extensively with dogs, made certain her animals were always muzzle trained. Nat had said many times that you didn’t know how or when an emergency can occur, where a dog needed to be muzzled for everyone’s safety—including the dog’s.

  Nat hadn’t wanted her dogs to have to face being muzzled for the first time when they were already terrified for their lives. But that was a viewpoint most people didn’t have. They thought muzzles were inhumane—or a sign that the dog was dangerous.

  Dogs were one of the few topics Jac’s little sister was fiercely vocal about.

  There was the same age difference between Jac and Nat as there was between Olivia and Ava. Olivia was probably watching over Ava right now.

  Just as Jac had once watched over Nat.

  This was probably the first time little Sadie had ever been muzzled.

  She was terrified, she’d lost th
e owner who adored her, and she was all alone in a scary place. Jac felt for the little thing, so much. It sucked to be facing the world alone and terrified.

  “Can we hold off on that? I…just until we know what the dog witnessed? It would make it easier in case we need her again.”

  Shayna nodded. “There’s quite a lot of blood on her face. I’ll get her processed. Then, I’ll give her a bath. I’ll sign her out to one of the agents on your team. Just have someone pick her up in a few hours.”

  “Let us know if you find anything?” Miranda asked.

  “I’ll do that.”

  Jac pulled off the gloves carefully. They would be labeled and kept, in case something had transferred from the dog to her in the processing. “Make certain to get a bite impression as well. Just in case.”

  “Will do. Good luck out there, Jones. I know you’ll catch this guy soon.”

  “I hope so.” She thought of the victims, and the two missing little girls. Even the dog. Innocents who hadn’t deserved their worlds destroyed. “I really hope so.”

  43

  Jac hadn’t been able to sit in the bullpen, waiting, after leaving forensics. Miranda had been called into the director’s office to update him on their progress. Everyone in the CCU was using Miranda as auxiliary admin due to her broken arm.

  Jac dragged Whitman back to the Sturvins’ home. Old Jamestown. The least they could do was canvas neighbors. First, though, they’d stopped by the small office where Paul Sturvin worked out of.

  He was a contractor, hired solely to service all the IT equipment located within the St. Louis and PAVAD offices. Eventually, the plan was for PAVAD to absorb the regular field office, but that was going to take some time and careful planning.

  From what the director had told her, Sturvin was in the process of setting up the office equipment that the newly forming cold-case unit would need. It was run-of-the-mill IT work. He had had to pass all security checks in order to be awarded the contract.

  Nothing in his background was throwing up red flags. As far as she could tell, Paul Sturvin was exactly who he seemed to be.

  An ordinary guy, not overly well liked or well-connected, who went to work, came home, and lived his life. Nothing indicated that he would brutally bludgeon his wife to death in their upstairs hallway. From what Dani had found, there were no criminal complaint, domestic complaints, traffic tickets, or any other indication that the Sturvins had ever been on the police’s radar.

  This was a nice, middle class family, in a nice neighborhood. So ordinary they wouldn’t be recognized by half the neighbors.

  Sometimes, people just snapped, though.

  Jac tried to imagine what it could have been—if Paul was their UNSUB, in the first place. There was nothing yet to say that he was.

  She and Whit discussed that as they drove from Paul Sturvin’s office to the crime scene.

  Whit parked, and she hopped out, pulling her PAVAD: FBI jacket tighter around her. The steady rain of that morning had switched to intermittent showers. But it was cold.

  Colder than November usually was, even with the sun threatening to come out from behind the clouds.

  She could see Max in the distance, talking to Marianna Dennis as she oversaw the rest of the forensics collection. He had spent the last few hours interviewing neighbors of the Sturvins and some of Paul’s work colleagues, with that toad Todd Barnes supposedly assisting him. She wasn’t certain what Max was looking for, but she kept him in sight.

  Paul Sturvin had a home office. It was covered by the warrant, but she couldn’t get into the man’s computer systems. Yet. She would eventually, if the warrant went through.

  But there might be paper files. Or at least contact information for where the man was right now.

  She’d do one more perimeter search, then work her way inward.

  There had to be something they’d missed.

  That was just inevitable.

  44

  Jac had wandered away. Max kept an eye on her, wondering what was going on in her head. This was pure Jac. She usually walked the crime scene a couple times, alone. He’d long thought it was his job to keep an eye on their surroundings for her, while she did it.

  To protect.

  She’d go deep into her head. Then she would come back with some piece of insightful information. Many times the case would hinge on it.

  She’d make a damned fine profiler when she was ready. He knew of the self-doubt she wouldn’t admit to anyone.

  She walked over to the sidewalk, where the first victim had been found.

  Max ran over what he knew about Mrs. Edith Lindsay.

  Eighty-two years old. A widow. No children or grandchildren living. All alone. Neighbors had described her as a shut-in who only got out long enough to walk her small dog around the block twice daily. The belief was that Mrs. Lindsay had heard the attack and came over to help.

  That had been her fatal mistake.

  Barnes followed Jac into the large forensic tent over where Edith had been found. Max shifted direction. She didn’t need interrupted.

  “What are you looking for?” Barnes asked.

  Jac looked up, appearing startled for only a millisecond. Her cheeks were so pale that concern went through Max. “The blood, Barnes. Take a look. What does it tell us?”

  Max watched as the man did what she said, looking where Mrs. Lindsay’s body had been found. The tents had preserved a good portion of the scenes, thankfully. Barnes immediately turned green and stumbled back. Carelessly.

  “That someone died here. But we know that. It was the old lady.”

  Jac’s cheeks turned red, and anger flashed through the green eyes Max loved so much.

  “Way to put it, Barnes. Her name was Edith. Remember that.” Jac said. “Don’t make assumptions, Barnes. That’s not just one person’s blood there.”

  Max waited, knowing she’d tell him what she meant. She’d texted him that information hours ago.

  “So who else was out here?” Barnes demanded.

  “There was another woman injured here last night. Rachel, Edith…and a third. Forensics are trying to get us more to go on. We have to figure out how that changed the dynamics last night. Who was she, and why she was here. Victim or perpetrator. We don’t know yet.”

  She looked at Max. “What if Edith interrupted the attack on the mystery woman, rather than Rachel? It was out here at some point. I don’t know if it started inside and ended up out here, or if it was outside and ended up inside. Has anyone said anything about directionality of the blood drops?”

  “We have a few photos. The teams are working on it, but the rain that fell before the crews could get here did a number on blood trail outside,” Max said as they stepped outside the tents to give the remaining forensics techs room to work. “Inside…there were a great deal of samples taken. It’ll take time to tell us who was where officially. I’ll see if Mari can give us anything about directionality.”

  The shape of a blood drop told what direction the movement would be—but not who had been doing the bleeding. Or it could have dripped from the murder weapon itself.

  Forensics weren’t Max’s strength; he was more a social scientist at heart. Jac understood the science aspect much better than he ever could.

  If directionality could tell them anything at all—forensics weren’t always a given.

  He didn’t bother cursing that fact—it just was. Sometimes, the forensic evidence was less valuable than he would want. He had long ago learned to run with that.

  The rain had finally stopped, but it still glistened on the yard. On the black canvas tents the forensic teams had worked quickly to erect over the bloodstains.

  The tents stood out like the eyesores that they were.

  There were neighbors and gawkers everywhere still, watching. Always watching.

  “She wouldn’t have heard what happened to Rachel. Not out here. Rachel died too quickly. She didn’t even have a chance to scream, most likely. According to what the ME
said it was someone she trusted, someone who could get close enough to bludgeon her. We need to find the murder weapon.” Jac said, shading her eyes as the sun peeked out behind the clouds. She slowly panned, studying the scene, much as Max was.

  “Still waiting on that. Teams are looking.” Max had agents searching the Sturvin house, the yard, the woods behind the subdivision and throughout the neighborhood. They had another team of PAVAD: SEARCH coming this afternoon as soon as they could get there, to expand that search. “I have Lytel’s C team out searching dumpsters and trash cans now.”

  That weapon was somewhere. Unless the killer had taken it with them. Finding it could mean a turning point. But he wasn’t about to get his hopes up.

  “So you think that Mrs. Sturvin was killed first? The second woman heard or saw and tried to escape outside? Where she was attacked, and then Mrs. Lindsay? What about the children?” Whit asked, coming up behind Jac. “Where were they? They weren’t in their beds.”

  “They weren’t out here, then,” Jac said.

  “How do you know?” Max asked. Jac had an uncanny gift of getting into the mind of the killers and of the victims. She could also see things that others couldn’t see so quickly. She was one hell of a profiler, even if the division hadn’t made that official yet.

  “Rachel was killed first. I have no doubt about that. She was the main target. The mystery woman ran outside, screamed, needing help. Mrs. Lindsay saw. Heard. Or the dog started barking. Instead of running and calling the police, Mrs. Lindsay ran toward whatever happened next. She wanted to help. Or maybe it was too late, and the killer saw her before she saw him. The killer panicked, and Edith just couldn’t get away. Maybe the killer stopped the mystery woman here. The children weren’t here, but the dog was. The dog left paw prints. There’s no sign that the children were out here at all. The girls…they would have left prints in the blood.”

  “So say the killer attacks Mrs. Lindsay then. Where did the mystery woman go?” Max asked quietly. He looked around and tried to imagine the scene as it had been. Tried to think of what could have happened.