Web of Secrets

by Susan Sleeman

  Satisfied at his work, he got onto his knees and flooded the entire linoleum floor with bleach. Let the police spend their time trying to decide if any traces of blood they found was his. It would keep them from looking for any real evidence. He moved on to the sink, dousing it with bleach and scouring every bit of the drain and the corners with a toothbrush. His nose dripped from the caustic liquid. He wiped it with his sleeve to keep from leaving evidence, and then continued until every inch of the room had seen bleach.

  Not satisfied, he went back to the floor and rinsed it with buckets of water, swishing it toward the floor drain with a rubber squeegee. He repeated the action with bleach again, then scoured the drain and turned on a large fan.

  “Perfect.” He was finished.

  Now, he needed to go home and do the same thing, just in case the police learned his name and came calling. He took the empty crate and carefully packed his mason jars, then carried it and the supplies to his car before heading home.

  On the drive, his thoughts went to his home basement—or his workshop, as he liked to think of it. He’d brought the first five girls there. Mother hadn’t minded. She’d liked knowing he was getting on with his work, but when Molly and Lauren had gotten away . . . oh my . . . Mother had totally shut him down.

  As a memento, he’d used each girl’s blood to scrawl their name, along with the date of their cleansing, on the wall. Mother had ended that, too, when she’d made him paint over it.

  Ah, the girls. Each special in their own right. They’d once made him feel powerful. Useful. But now, now he felt nothing but emptiness except on cleansing day. So what if Mother hadn’t approved of him resuming his work before he’d found Molly and Lauren? Mother was dead and gone in physical form. He hadn’t waited even a day before starting his cleansing again. Sure, she continued to speak to him but she could do nothing to interfere except scold him. No more ear-pulling or pinching. No more closet.

  Now he was his own boss. The master of his destiny. And tomorrow, oh, tomorrow. . . . That would be his big day. The day of expectation.

  He’d pull out the burner phone and voice scrambler he’d ordered on the Internet and dial 911. He’d tell them, quickly, but succinctly—no point in lingering—where to find Molly.

  Oh, yes, he could see it already. See the police scramble out of their building, running for their cars. They’d race out to the river, break down the building door. Then they’d come out with admiration on their faces, impressed with Molly’s sacrifice for purity’s sake.

  And then . . . then and only then . . . would his real search for Lauren begin.

  Chapter Seven

  “THE NUMBER ISN’T NINE,” Becca said matter-of-factly, though her expression remained horrified.

  “Explain, please.” Connor didn’t want to make Becca rehash her knowledge of this madman, this creep who carved numbers into girls’ bodies and took their ears, but that was the reason she was here.

  “One girl . . . a young girl . . . fifteen . . . Lauren Nichols,” Becca started haltingly. “She was abducted by Van Gogh in the nineties but got away.”

  “Tell me about her,” Connor probed.

  Becca’s eyes went blank, all signs of earlier emotion gone. “She . . . Lauren . . . escaped. This happened before Van Gogh’s first victim was found. She saw three jars with ears in them, labeled one through three. Lauren had the number five carved into her stomach, Molly number four.” Becca paused, and a shudder claimed her body. “So that means there could only be eight murdered girls. And of course, I’m hoping Molly escaped, too. If she did, we’d only be looking for seven bodies out of nine girls abducted.” Becca drew her shoulders into a straight line, and her expression filled with resolve.

  Connor was impressed that she could hold it together, much less call up the determination he saw on her face. She was a tough woman. Stronger than most. After what had happened to Molly, seeing a foster girl treated with such disrespect today had to be tearing Becca up inside. Not that she wanted him or anyone else to see how badly it was affecting her, hence the squared shoulders and resolved look. But his training taught him to look deeper. That’s when he noticed that the color hadn’t returned to her face, making her large brown eyes stand out. She could be in shock.

  And she’d definitely be, if he told her about the second body. But he wasn’t going to do that without a positive ID, and that wasn’t coming anytime soon.

  She suddenly pivoted, her gaze going to the trail.

  Connor turned to see his supervisor cresting the hill. Lieutenant Vance’s gaze lit on Becca then traveled to Kait who was still standing with Sam near the trail. Vance came to a complete stop, his look bewildered.

  Dang. Connor and Sam had obviously violated their lieutenant’s first rule of investigation. If it was a big case, a hairy case, one that might bite any of them in the butt, Connor was to report every step, every move to Vance before taking action. Only neither he nor Sam had informed their lieutenant that Becca and Kait would be involved.

  Had they asked, odds were good that Vance would have said no to Becca’s help this early on in the investigation. Vance was unlikely to call in the feds before he had a grasp on the situation and determined the resources needed. It ensured that no details of the case were made public before Vance was ready.

  Shoot, it was the last thing Connor wanted, too. At least, he didn’t want any additional feds to come out here, which could easily happen on such a high-profile case, if the news hit the media. The FBI had no jurisdiction here, but if the press got wind of the murders, Vance would have to include them to make it look as though he was doing everything he could to catch Van Gogh, even if they didn’t need the FBI’s assistance.

  Vance started across the space, and Connor turned to Becca. “Sam and I may have omitted telling our lieutenant that you and Kait were here. You should join Kait while I bring him up to speed.”

  She nodded and, without saying a word, walked over to Kait. Connor motioned for Sam to join him, then tipped his head at Vance. “Prepare yourself.”

  “I thought you told him,” Sam growled, his smooth southern accent long gone.

  “And I thought you did,” Connor said, when what he really wanted to do was remind Sam that it had been his idea to include Becca. But Connor wouldn’t. Mostly because he should have made the call for Sam.

  Ever since Sam had married an FBI agent, he walked a fine line. He naturally wanted to support his wife. What guy wouldn’t? Yet, locals and feds didn’t always have the same motives, and there was often an underlying tension, putting Sam in a tight spot. Connor could have taken the heat for this and spared Sam. If Vance’s stormy approach was any indication, they’d both get an earful.

  Connor braced himself and watched the short and squat powerhouse of a guy mash the grass flat with his forceful steps as he strode across the field toward them.

  “Heck of a place to bring your wife.” Vance focused his intense study on Sam, standing there with arms crossed, waiting for Sam to provide a good reason for Kait and Becca’s presence.

  Connor had to admit to feeling relieved. Sam didn’t seem inclined to give an explanation, likely because he didn’t want to say anything about Kait that would make Vance mad.

  “Kait’s here as moral support for Agent Lange,” Connor said, trying to take some of the heat off Sam. “Becca grew up in the foster system and—”

  “Even better,” Vance interrupted. “Bring her here to watch us dig up the missing foster girls.”

  “As I was going to say,” Connor continued. “She’s studied Van Gogh for the last six years, and she’s the leading expert on him. She’s already provided valuable information, proving that we’re looking at the real Van Gogh and not a copycat.” Connor brought Vance up to date.

  Vance stared at Becca and Kait for a moment. “Do they know about the second body?”

  C
onnor shook his head. “Not yet. Only Sam, Dane, and I know the details.”

  “We need to keep it that way.”

  “I wasn’t going to tell anyone.” Connor was offended that Vance felt the need to tell them how to do their job. Every good detective knew sharing details that suggested a serial killer had claimed multiple victims was foolish until they’d decided how much information to release to the public.

  “Good, though if they’re still here when the OSP anthropologist arrives, it will tip them off that we’re looking at a skeletonized victim, too. I don’t plan to let that happen.” He spun and marched over to the women.

  Sam and Connor traipsed after Vance.

  “Kait,” Vance said cordially, then turned his gaze on Becca. “And Agent Lange. Good to see both of you again.” Vance was a master as schmoozing when he needed to be, but Connor knew the hammer was coming.

  “We’ve come to a standstill in our investigation while we wait for additional resources. We appreciate your help thus far, but you’re free to go now. I do ask that you not mention to anyone what you saw here today, or that we suspect Van Gogh has resurfaced.”

  “No,” Becca said.

  Vance’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “I won’t mention this to anyone, but you said I was free to go.” Becca planted her hands on her hips. “And I choose to stay. So my answer is no.”

  Vance widened his stance. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. We appreciate your help, but now you need to leave.”

  “No,” Becca said again.

  If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Connor would have laughed at the shocked look on Vance’s face.

  “Again,” Becca said. “I choose to stay.’

  Kait tugged on Becca’s arm. “We’ve done our part, and we should go.”

  “Our part?” Becca’s voice shot up, startling birds into flight. “If Van Gogh isn’t behind bars then our part,”—she put air quotes around the words—“isn’t completed.”

  Vance sighed. “I get that you’re personally committed to finding Van Gogh, but it looks like it’s clouding your judgment. I see that as an even better reason to ask you to take off.”

  Becca jutted out her jaw. “My judgment is just fine, thank you very much.”

  “Look.” Vance took a step closer. “Since I haven’t gotten a call from your supervisor, I’m sure he doesn’t know you’re here. If I tell him you’re refusing to leave, he’ll make you go. So why not take off on your own?”

  Becca eyed Vance, obviously considering her options. Connor thought he’d realized the depth of her conviction regarding these girls, but it obviously ran deeper than he thought. She looked at him, begging him to help her. And he wanted to help, wanted to stand up for her, to do whatever it took to remove the look of panic on her face. But Connor knew his lieutenant, and Vance wasn’t going budge. If Connor interceded on her behalf, it would only make things worse. He offered her an apologetic smile.

  “Fine, I’m going.” She met Vance’s gaze with one that brooked no argument. “But I will work this investigation. No matter what you say, or my supervisor says, I’m not going away.”

  She stepped off, flashing a disappointed look at Connor as she passed.

  “Look after her, Kait,” Sam said. “Try to keep her out of trouble.”

  Kait frowned. “I’ll try, but no one keeps Becca from doing anything she’s set her mind on.”

  Connor almost mentioned that the same was true of Kait, but he sure didn’t need Sam or Kait mad at him, too.

  When they were out of earshot, Vance faced Connor. “She stays out of this unless I approve. Got it?”

  Connor nodded.

  “Fine. Now that we’ve settled that issue, let’s get to work on formulating a plan.” With a scowl on his face, Vance strode over to Dane.

  Connor and Sam followed, and the three of them briefed Vance on the investigation.

  “So you’ve done the basics, but we really don’t have much to go on.” Vance fixed his gaze in the distance. “What about Marcie? Did she give us anything?”

  “Only that the girl’s been here about a week and was likely strangled. But you know Marcie. She’s not going to say much until she completes the autopsy.”

  Vance nodded and turned to Dane. “Get another set of pictures before Marcie takes the body. And once the anthropologist—a Dr. Williams—arrives, I want you glued to her side. Get a photo of everything—every piece of bone, clothing, etc. Clear, crisp pictures. Never has your work been as important to a case. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dane said, his words almost a salute.

  Sam took a step closer. “I hate to bring this up when we’ve already got our plate full with two girls, but this is a large clearing. There could be additional bodies.”

  Connor had considered that, but he hadn’t been willing to dwell on it.

  “The thought crossed my mind.” Vance let his gaze run over the area. “But I won’t waste resources until Dr. Williams confirms we’re dealing with another murdered teen.”

  “Odds are good we are,” Dane said.

  “Likely.” Vance rubbed a hand over his face. “If so, I’ll get cadaver dogs up here.” Vance looked at Connor. “Until then, we need to get lights set up for Dr. Williams. This is going to be a long night.”

  A very long night, Connor thought as he headed down the trail with Dane to retrieve the items they’d need to light up the hillside of death.

  BECCA STORMED DOWN the trail, her breathing quick and labored in the humid air. Her legs ached as she slammed her feet onto the clay soil packed into a hard slab. She took perverse pleasure in the pain. It helped numb her from what she’d seen, numb her from being tossed off the crime scene. Numb her from Sam and Connor’s lack of support. Especially Connor’s. That irked her more than anything. It didn’t bother her that Sam had held back. He’d had to. He walked a fine line with Kait being an agent. Becca got that. But Connor? What did he have to lose, other than any hope of ever dating her?

  “Right, like that will ever happen,” she muttered.

  “Hold up, Becca.” Kait grabbed her arm. “I can’t breathe in this humidity. What’s the big rush, anyway?”

  “I want to get back to the office before Sulyard leaves for the day. I plan to convince him to call Vance and find a place for me on the team.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” Kait came to a stop, halting Becca’s movements. “If you were thinking instead of reacting, you’d realize that.”

  Becca shirked off Kait’s hand. “I can help. They need to let me do what I can.”

  “Granted. And I know Sam and Connor will be working on that. But if you go rushing into the office all wild and crazy like this, Sulyard will see how off your game you are and bench you.”

  “He might not notice.”

  “Ha! He might not notice if I flew off the handle or Nina got all emotional, but you? The woman who is so organized and methodical that you keep an inventory of your paper clips? Trust me, he would notice.”

  Kait exaggerated, but Becca got the point. Still, what was she supposed to do? She’d left Molly in Van Gogh’s hands and she had to atone for that.

  “Let’s just take a moment to breathe.” Kait dropped onto a stump and took off her shoe to rub her foot. “What’s going on with you? I’ve never seen you like this. Running off half-cocked.”

  As much as Becca wanted to blurt out her story, she couldn’t. It wasn’t as if she minded others knowing about her harrowing experience. If that was all there was to this, then she’d tell her story in a heartbeat. But telling people that she’d left Molly in the hands of a madman? No. After other agents heard that story, there was no way they would ever trust her to have their backs. Nor could she bear to see the disgust in her best friends’ eyes. It was far easier to live a double life.


  She shrugged.

  “I get that you have this connection with foster kids, but you’ve worked other cases that were just as difficult and kept it together.” Kait’s face suddenly lit. “Wait, it’s Connor isn’t it? You have thing for him, and you’re mad that he didn’t stand up for you.”

  “He didn’t stand up for either of us,” Becca corrected.

  Kait’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t deny it.” She smiled. “Am I right? You have a thing for him? I mean, how much more perfect could that be, right? Sam and me. You and Connor.”

  “It’s not Connor.” Becca’s answer felt like a lie—they were attracted to each other, but that had nothing to do with her current mood.

  Kait studied her intently, the fire in her eyes usually reserved for grilling a suspect. “It’s the foster connection, then?”

  Becca hadn’t really been dwelling on that aspect of the situation, but it did make her mad that Van Gogh targeted foster girls because they were less likely to be reported missing. That was something she could discuss with Kait.

  Becca found a nearby log to sit on, but since she didn’t plan on being truly forthcoming, she looked at the path. “Foster kids have a connection. A strong one. Since they—we—are so alone in the world, we know how to look out for one another.”

  “I get it.”

  “Really?” Becca glanced at Kait. “I’m not sure you could ever understand what it means to be alone like these girls are.”

  “You’re not alone, sweetie.” Kait squeezed Becca’s arm. “You have me and Nina. And Elise and Buck.”

  Becca moved back. “See, that’s the thing you can’t understand. Elise and Buck were the best foster parents I could ever ask for. I love them dearly, and we’re still close . . . but it’s not the same as having parents. There’s nothing official tying me to another human being.”