Searching (PAVAD- FBI Romantic Suspense Book 18)

by Calle J. Brookes

  Miranda fought the urge to do things just to shake Taggart up a bit.

  She always had been contrary like that.

  “No one saw him leave. He’s still checked in. At least according the supervisor at the front desk.” Which wasn’t all that unusual. People took off from hotels all the time. She’d seen it thousands of times before.

  If there was someone checked in this room, well, Miranda would gnaw her cast off with her own teeth. There wasn’t a sign of anyone even having stayed there. Unless Sturvin was beyond fastidious.

  Although the bed showed obvious signs where someone had laid, that was no indication of how long someone had been in that bed. She knew that. She checked the drawers in the cabinet quickly. Nothing.

  The bathroom looked undisturbed, except for a wet towel hanging over the bar. Miranda checked it carefully, not wanting to disturb any evidence if any existed.

  The towel was damp. Damp enough to have been used just that morning.

  Miranda knew hotel rooms, knew when something felt off.

  She grabbed her own cell phone and texted Dani quickly. The computer analyst had gotten her the information in the first place. Within seconds Dani’s face appeared through video chat. “What’s up, Doc?”

  Her friends had started calling her Doc in the last month. Since her return from Masterson County. Her degree was so new that the ink was barely dry on the certificate, but Miranda was proud of it. She’d worked hard for that degree. She’d earned it. While working for the FBI.

  It hadn’t been easy, and it hadn’t been fast. But she’d done it.

  She now held a doctorate in social psychology, with a specialization in small towns.

  She’d work for the FBI for a handful more years, maybe five, possibly ten. Then she would retire, to work on the research projects that had been burning within her for a long while.

  Miranda was fascinated with how small towns worked. That, more than the FBI, was her true passion. Her heart project. The culmination of years of hard work. She’d go home. Where she belonged. “It says his phone is here somewhere.”

  “I know. I’m the one who messaged that information, remember?” Dani had a snarky humor that Miranda had always enjoyed.

  “Well, can you tell me where?” Miranda turned her phone, panned it around the room so that Dani could see. Dani and whoever else was there with her. “Because I have nothing. It’s possible the man was here this morning. But it’s also possible he left last night and drove home in time to commit the murder. I have pretty much…nothing. He could have easily left here last night.” Which would put him well within range of the Sturvin home with plenty enough time to kill his wife and Mrs. Lindsay. “Going to say this is inconclusive.”

  “No, it’s elementary, Doc. Look around. I bet you his phone is there somewhere.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I’m far cleverer than you are? Look around. His phone is there. It’s binging towers in your vicinity. Has been all night. By the way, Jac just texted—they found the body of Deborah Miller just over the Missouri border less than an hour ago. Murdered. Watch yourself out there.”

  Miranda disconnected and then looked at her new best buddy. “Well, how do you feel about playing search? There’s a phone in this room somewhere. Or, at least, Dani says so. I love proving her wrong, so let’s get to it.”

  He looked at her and gave a quick smile. She shivered. The man was hot as hell. But his smile, cold. This was a very scary man.

  “Well, let’s get started. We have a phone to find.”

  66

  Jac was holding herself together, but Max sensed that it was just barely. The sun had come and went. Search teams, led by Lytel and Hanan were out, combing the area around where Debbie Miller’s body had been found. Max doubted they would find anything.

  Nat was buzzing around, coordinating search teams consisting of local LEOs and Lytel’s auxiliaries.

  For such a small woman, she commanded respect—once she started giving orders.

  Quiet, but more than capable of leading.

  Much like her older sister.

  They were taking the body back to PAVAD via helicopter within the next hour.

  Max intended that he and Jac would be on the same flight.

  They needed something to tie a suspect to Debbie, to get them something to say definitively that it was Paul Sturvin.

  News from Indianapolis said the man possibly could have made it back to St. Louis in time to kill his wife. Which meant the odds were good that it was him.

  Approximately twenty percent of female murder victims were killed by their intimate partners. The number of women killed by men they knew was fifteen times higher than that of women killed by strangers. Those weren’t numbers Max could discount.

  Especially considering the facts of the case.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Max turned. Jac was there, watching the searchers, just as he was.

  “The facts as we know them. Rachel knew her killer. The girls were already with Debbie. She was alone in the house, but she knew her aunt was on her way. Maybe she unlocked the door.”

  “That fits. Dani said the only prints on the door locks were Rachel’s.”

  “She had already unlocked the door. Paul came home and pushed it open.”

  “Wouldn’t his fingerprints have been there?”

  “Not if he wore gloves when he came in. He had a pair of black gloves on when he arrived at Emery’s party. I remember him taking them off very carefully.”

  “So he comes in. She sees him, confronts him about something. Maybe…he was supposed to be working. And they needed the money. They argued. He killed her.”

  “We never found the murder weapon,” Max said. “But let’s assume he bludgeoned her to death right there. Crime of passion, right at that moment. Nothing premeditated.”

  “But Debbie was in the house. Either while it was happening or immediately after. Maybe Rachel had heard him come in and went to meet him, thinking it was Debbie and the girls.”

  “But she never made it down the stairs.”

  “Just like Debbie and Edith never made it away from him. But how do we tie what we know happened to it being Paul Sturvin who did it? And if it’s not him, then who was it?”

  “I don’t know. But I bet our answers are already back in St. Louis.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  67

  It took them a while, but they found it. The phone was along the back wall beneath the headboard. From the dust and cobwebs back there, hotel housekeeping hadn’t done that great of a job at keeping the place clean.

  Miranda’s grandmother would have been incensed if any of the housekeeping staff—whether one of her granddaughters or the dozen or so they employed—were that slipshod in their duties.

  “I guess hotels are going downhill these days,” Taggart quipped.

  “Not the one my family owns. You should check it out sometime.” She sent him a wicked grin as she carefully grabbed the phone in a gloved hand. It would be bagged and tagged appropriately, of course. “Best hotel in Wyoming.”

  “You take me there, and I’ll do just that.”

  She hadn’t missed the appreciation in his eyes. Not at all.

  Miranda would admit it—that boosted her confidence just a tiny bit.

  He was a hot-looking man, after all. “Let’s just find Sturvin and rescue those little girls. Then…I’ll show you around St. Louis. Take you to Smokey’s. Best onion rings on the planet.”

  He’d already volunteered to ride back to St. Louis with her after she’d delivered the special package to the director’s friend. He said he wanted to see this case through to the end, before going on vacation in two days, himself.

  He was hers to do with whatever she wanted.

  Oh, if she was a different kind of woman…

  They ended up driving. There was more rain and thunderstorms threatening. She checked the St. Louis weather report and shrugged. It was
a four-hour drive. Better than waiting around on a plane that may or may not take off.

  Her companion was entertaining. And he drove well.

  Miranda liked the guy. She didn’t know if there would be enough spark between them for something more to develop but she liked him.

  Quite a bit.

  “So…tell me,” he said about three-quarters of their way back to the city. “What happened to Knight exactly? I tried to keep up with him after he was injured, but to be honest, he cut off most of his friends right after. Even me and my foster brother. It’s been a year or so since I even tried.”

  “Oh boy. Good thing we have a four-hour drive. There’s lots to tell you about our good pal Knight.” Knight’s face flashed into her mind.

  Miranda shivered.

  That was one man she’d probably never understand.

  68

  Max studied what was written on the whiteboard in a mix of Jac’s precise scrawl and Dani’s more flowery hand. Debbie’s body was currently in autopsy. They were all hoping something would have been left on her to either confirm her killer’s identity or tell them where the killer was most likely headed next. He knew the odds were against it, but the hope was there.

  Miranda was on her way back from Indianapolis with Paul Sturvin’s phone. Indianapolis Metro police were combing the city for signs of where he might be, as well. Dozens of people were looking for that man now.

  In three states.

  From what had happened to Debbie, Max was almost ninety-five percent certain they were looking for Paul Sturvin as their number one suspect now.

  Max had been trained on different types of homicides. At heart, most could be boiled down to a few simple motivations. Power, greed, anger, jealousy, financial instability, control, hiding other crimes—he didn’t quite know Sturvin’s motive yet, but he knew enough to form a picture of what they were looking for.

  Someone came into the conference room. He knew without turning that it was Jac. He would always almost feel her presence. He was well beyond the process of accepting that fact.

  He was more attuned to her than a super-magnet. He probably always would be.

  “Shayna called; she and Dani have been doing some digging while waiting on test results.”

  “And?” There was exhaustion on her face. Her skin was paler than usual. They had been getting closer to finding the girls. Only to be knocked back again. That would have sent her reeling, even if she wasn’t outwardly showing it.

  “Paul Sturvin was adopted by a maternal aunt when he was four.”

  “Is she still living?”

  “She and her husband were killed fifteen years ago. Carbon monoxide poisoning one night while Paul was in college.” Jac put copies of death certificates on a clip attached to the board. “But it gets more complicated.”

  “How so?”

  “Paul’s paternal aunt adopted his twin brother, Philip, at the same time.”

  “They split them up? Why?” Max asked.

  “No clue yet. But his paternal aunt and uncle died—in a fire ten years ago.”

  “And the twin brother?” Whit asked, having come in behind Jac. “What about him? Would Paul go to him if he was in trouble? Would he know where Paul would go?”

  “Not possible. He was killed in an auto accident almost six years ago.” Jac put another photo on the wall next. One that looked identical to Paul Sturvin. She put the name Philip Sullivan beneath that photo.

  “Tragic family,” Whit said. “That sucks. So is there anyone left alive who knows Sturvin well now?”

  That’s when Max zeroed in on Jac’s face. Her eyes were trained on the final report in her hands. “Jac?”

  She shook her head. “Philip Sullivan, Paul’s brother, lost his entire family a month before his own death. In a house fire. Suspected arson. Philip and his infant son, Bentley, were the only survivors. His wife and three other children were killed. Only the baby and Philip were found outside.”

  Max swore. “What happened to the baby?”

  “He went to live with a relative of Philip’s adoptive mother. But she died six months ago from cervical cancer.”

  “I wonder why the Sturvins didn’t take him?” Whit asked. “He was Paul’s nephew. They were financially able, and the closest living relatives.”

  “Where is the boy now?” Max asked.

  “I’ll have Dani check. See why the Sturvins didn’t take custody.” Jac pulled out her phone. “It’s not much, but someone out there has to be able to help us narrow down where he’s taking the girls. Or where he might be now.”

  “And we think his family’s past has something to do with it?” Whit asked skeptically.

  “There is a lot we don’t know at this point,” Max said. “We need to find out exactly what kind of man Paul Sturvin is. Because until we have him back here, he is our person of interest number one.”

  69

  “You doing ok?” a male voice asked from behind Jac. One she recognized. Fortunately, Barnes wasn’t with him.

  Barnes had become an almost nonentity. She didn’t know exactly what he was doing. It was almost like he’d wondered away hours ago—and no one had even noticed.

  Not so with Whit. He was staring at her with his gorgeous brown eyes—eyes filled with concern.

  Jac paused a moment to consider his question. “Yes. I’m focused on finding the girls. I’ll…deal…with the emotional side of things later.”

  “See that you do.” Whit squeezed her shoulder gently. “Take care of yourself, Jac. Promise me. I’ve…seen too many of us struggling lately.”

  There was a world of pain in his words. Pain that had her attention sharpening. “You ok?”

  “Yes. Just…demands of the job. You know how it goes.”

  She almost asked about the woman from admin who he’d been dating so heavily the last she knew. But something made her hold off on that.

  Now wasn’t the time for that.

  But she wouldn’t forget. Something was going on with Whit. She just couldn’t put her finger on what.

  Dani came in, hurrying as quickly as she could. Most days, she preferred the crutches, but some, like today, she had to use the chair. Jac knew Dani’s story, but it wasn’t something the other woman broadcast. “Dani? What is it?”

  “I have a list of every known address, every property, every camping spot Paul Sturvin and his brother ever visited. If we go on the theory that in times of stress—”

  “People seek out the familiar,” Jac finished. “We need to figure out which of these properties is the most likely.”

  “And one other thing…”

  Jac turned toward the other woman.

  “I’m not entirely certain, but…something feels off about the two men.”

  “What do you mean?” Everything felt off about Paul Sturvin to her.

  “I’m looking into it now. But there’s something about the photos of Paul Sturvin that don’t look right to me. I’ll dig deeper and get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “Can you be more specific?” Whit asked.

  “I’m not certain, but if you look at the photos of Paul Sturvin from eight, ten years ago, he carries himself much differently from more recent photos. And…look here.” She took the keyboard for the digital display board from Jac and brought up a file from the main server. “Here is the photos from Rachel and Paul’s wedding. Here’s the most recent photo.”

  The photos were both close-ups, with Rachel and Paul in a similar pose. There were lines around Rachel’s eyes in the most recent. A sadness. Jac wished she had seen that earlier, wished she had made more of an effort to know Rachel before.

  That was a guilt she would always have.

  “There are nine years between them,” Jac said.

  “Well, look at his neck. At the birthmark. In the first photo, it’s approximately an inch and a half in width and more oblong.”

  Jac moved closer to the screen. “It’s in a slightly different place.”

  “And if w
e do a size comparison,” Dani said, illustrating what she was saying. “It’s also twenty-five percent smaller and more circular.”

  “Seriously?” Whit asked, clear skepticism in his tone. “What does that even matter?”

  “Well, it’s a café au lait macule. They usually show up on the buttocks. And unlike some other types of birthmarks that fade with age, this type doesn’t. It’s rather distinctive.”

  “So his birthmark changed over nine years?” Whit asked again. “I don’t know what the significance is.”

  “The significance is this.” Dani pulled up a photo of two young boys, around the age of eighteen months. “Check out the birthmarks on both boys.”

  Dani zoomed in on the photo.

  Each boy had the birthmark. It took her a moment, but… “The birthmarks are different.”

  “The baby on the left is Paul Sturvin, according to the photo. I thought his birthmark looked a bit like the state of Georgia, there. His brother, Philip’s looks a bit like Alabama, minus the Mobile area.”

  Jac saw it, too.

  Then she looked at the birthmark in the Sturvin wedding photo. “That’s definitely the same birthmark as the boy on the left.”

  “From photos I’ve found of the couple before they were married—Debbie had several photo albums; Kelly brought me one when I asked—we’re talking the birthmark of Georgia. But more recent photos, those taken in the last five or six years, it’s changed a bit.”

  Jac studied the most recent photo, the one taken in Max’s rec room.

  “Alabama!”

  “Exactly. But I’m not entirely certain. I mean, the birthmarks are very similar. And Philip is dead, so we really can’t compare. I’m waiting on someone to find me photos of Philip as an adult. But that’s taking a while.”

  “When you find something definitive, besides just these photos, let me or Max know, ok?”

  “Will do.”

  Jac looked at Whit. “Can you find me everything you can about Philip Sullivan?”