A large e-mail was downloading to Megan’s BlackBerry while she and Officer Dodge were stuck in slow traffic in Santa Maria, about midway between SLO and Santa Barbara. Megan was antsy to get a look, suspecting the e-mailed file was from the sketch artist working with Padre. Finally, she thought, eager to put a face on the woman she was certain was Rosemont’s accomplice.
Her phone trilled with a call, and she almost sent it directly to voice mail when she saw the caller I.D. was from Orlando.
“Megan Elliott,” she answered.
“This is Paula Andrews from the Orlando Lakeside Adult Community. I just got your message.”
“Thank you so much for promptly returning my call.”
“It sounded important. I knew the Rubins well.”
“It’s about their daughter-”
The sound of a fist hitting wood radiated through the phone. “Is that woman using Hannah’s name again?”
“So you know of the woman who was living with the Rubins and calling herself Hannah?”
“Yes. I was so upset and angered by the whole thing!”
“Can you start from the beginning? Tell me about the Rubins, and how the woman who claimed to be their daughter got away with it for months.”
“Bernard and Millie were the sweetest people on earth, very private. They didn’t socialize much, but Bernard took Millie for walks every day and it was obvious he loved her dearly. One day, right after Christmas a year ago, Millie comes into the social center with a woman on her arm. Introduces her as her daughter, Hannah. I’d heard Millie talking about Hannah before, but I didn’t know anything about her or why she never visited. But at that point, I’d only been manager for a few months and I was still getting to know the residents.
“Hannah was fabulous. She hung out with the residents, helped them with shopping, and Millie was a changed woman. She still had Alzheimer’s, of course, but she seemed brighter. Happier. The thing is, I liked Hannah. We went shopping together and out for lunch and I considered her a friend. There are not a lot of people my age-forty-five-in the area, so to have Hannah around was a perk.
“But then I saw her driving a new sporty car, and I started worrying that maybe this daughter was using her parents. When she took Millie to the doctor one day, I went to the house and talked to Bernard. Millie was senile, but Bernard was smart as a whip. Rarely spoke a word, but he was all there, you know? So I ask him if he’s okay, if Hannah was taking advantage of his generosity. If it was true, I was thinking I might talk to Hannah as a friend, not in a confrontation, you know? And you know what he says? That this woman wasn’t even Hannah. That one day Millie came home with her and thought she was Hannah. And Millie was so happy that Bernard didn’t want to hurt her. He said, ‘Millie doesn’t have many years left. I want her to have her daughter back.’ He said Hannah didn’t want money, only a place to live because she’d gone through a nasty divorce and needed time to get her life back together.”
“When you found this out, what did you do?” asked Megan.
“I checked up on her. I couldn’t believe anyone was that altruistic. Call me cynical, but though Bernard and Millie were okay financially, they had money in the bank and I thought this woman was a con artist.”
“So was Hannah stealing money from them?”
“I thought so, but Bernard said he was giving her a bit of spending money and had bought her the car. To me, that’s manipulative. Two elderly people who lost their daughter in a tragic car accident get suckered by a woman who doesn’t want to work and is happy to live off their savings. If Bernard had hired her, I wouldn’t have had as big a problem, but Hannah was playing up this martyr role to the hilt. So I confronted her when I found out that she had never been married, and therefore never been divorced. I had also found out she had been a physical therapist in New York and still had an apartment there.”
“Had you hired a private investigator?”
“My dad is a retired Miami cop. He knows people and found the information for me. I just wanted Hannah to leave the Rubins alone, but now I wish I hadn’t done anything.”
“Why’s that?”
“Millie got so depressed when Hannah took off, Bernard said it was as if their daughter had died again. They went into Sunny Day two months later.”
“What happened when you confronted Hannah?”
“I expected tears and an apology, something! I mean, we had been friends. But she simply said, ‘That’s fine, I was leaving anyway’ “
“She said that?”
“She was completely heartless. I said that maybe we could work something out, write up a more formal agreement between her and the Rubins, because I knew Millie was going to be heartbroken without her. But Hannah didn’t care. She didn’t bat an eye. Said she’d be out by that night. Then I find out that she’d had a huge fight with her boyfriend over God knows what. I thought maybe he’d found out too.”
“Her boyfriend, Kenneth Russo?”
“Yes. And then she was gone. And you know what happened to Kenny, right?”
“Yes.” Megan’s heart skipped. “That was a week after Hannah left, correct?”
“Yes. We don’t have crime here. We have a security patrol and gates and until Kenny was killed hardly anyone even locked their doors, everyone was comfortable walking at night. But now? My residents are scared. At night they barricade themselves in, and few people come to my evening events. Friday-night movies and Saturday-night dancing? Attendance dropped in half. It’s just started to grow again.” She stopped talking. Megan was about to thank her for her time, when Paula said, “So did Karin have something to do with Kenny’s murder?”
“We don’t know- Karin?”
“Yes. I told you I found out her real name, right? Karin Standler. A physical therapist from New York.”
Megan didn’t know whether she said thank-you or just hung up the phone. Officer Dodge said something, but Megan didn’t hear the question. Her face was clammy, her hands shaking, as she looked down at her Black-Berry screen to view the e-mail that had come in from the sketch artist in Texas.
Karin Standler had been Megan’s partner.
The woman who had shot her in the back twelve years ago stared at her from the BlackBerry screen.
Karin Standler was a sociopath.
Megan had come to the conclusion slowly, disbelieving. She’d ignored the signs because they were partners, friends, sisters. For three years they’d worked closely together, and Megan had learned so much from the senior agent. Karin was smart, sharp as a tack, and believed wholeheartedly in the job. “I love this job,” Karin said time and time again.
As it turned out, Megan realized, Karin loved it too much. She loved the badge, the power, the ability to scare people-criminals or not. True, she had clean cases, impeccable attention to detail, and her arrests had the highest rate of imprisonment through either confession or conviction.
Megan discounted Karin’s moodiness-Megan’s mother had been moody. Megan ignored Karin’s running commentary on the failings of the justice system, or the leniency of the courts. A lot of cops had a problem with a system that let violent criminals out early or let them plead to a lesser offense. Karin may have had extreme views of crime and punishment, but they weren’t any more extreme than the views of Megan’s own father, who, after drinking a bit too much on occasion, would lament a failing country he risked his life for. That he’d died defending the rights Americans hold dear wasn’t lost on Megan.
Karin slept around, but never had a steady boyfriend. She told Megan she was too independent and temperamental to live with someone. Megan felt like a prude around Karin.
But even with all of Karin s flamboyant acts, Megan saw the compassionate woman inside.
Or so she’d thought. After nearly three years, she’d realized it was an act. That Karin had been playing her all that time, and Megan had sucked it up because she wanted a big sister, a mentor, a friend.
It was two months before Karin shot her that Megan made the first
turn toward suspecting that her partner was overzealous in her pursuit of criminals. They had been part of an annual drug raid in coordintion with the Washington, D.C., Police Department, DEA, and ATF. Megan and Karin were assigned to a periphery post and Karin was displeased with the position.
“They’re putting us here because we’re women,” Karin complained.
Megan had been nervous-this was only her third year in the Bureau, and she’d never worked the annual roundup. Last year, two cops had been shot, one seriously, even with all the vests and protection they wore.
At the time, Megan thought she was being a coward and perhaps Karin was right. After all, they had a lot of experience working the drug cases with the DEA.
As soon as Operation Wild Wild West-named for the location they were hitting that year in west D.C- began, Megan sensed they were in serious trouble. The cross streets they were assigned became the primary exit route of the criminals-mostly parolees who didn’t want to be caught with drugs or weapons and be sent immediately back to jail.
Megan had called for backup and Karin had a fit, but they didn’t have time to argue. Six gang members, notorious for trafficking drugs, ran down the alley toward a car parked half a block from Megan’s location. Karin immediately began pursuit, and Megan couldn’t let her partner go off without her, even though she felt it was too dangerous in this situation without having backup in place.
Five of them escaped in the car, leaving the slowest behind. The kid-Megan learned later he was sixteen and his older brother was one of the five who escaped-kept running.
Megan had to find cover as the car made a second, then third pass, trying to kill them and get the kid. Karin disappeared from view and Megan began to panic. She couldn’t leave her partner. The car finally left, and Megan ran toward where she saw Karin turn into an alley.
She didn’t see the shooting, but she heard it.
Megan had thought Karin was dead.
Instead, Karin was standing and the kid was dead, lying in a filthy alley in the worst part of Washington, D.C.
“Karin! Are you okay?”
Karin whirled around, her gun still out, and aimed at Megan, then she pulled it up and relaxed. “Just fine.”
It had been a righteous kill. The kid had a gun out; Karin had no choice but to fire.
Megan didn’t dispute that.
But in her mind, she couldn’t forget the look on Karin’s face when she turned around, gun drawn: excitement. Nor could Megan forget her calmness after the shooting. Megan questioned her own competence because she knew she wouldn’t be so calm and collected if she’d killed a human being-and that bore out the two times she was forced to draw her gun and fire. Megan had been calm on scene, but she’d been a basket case for two days afterward and grateful for the forty-eight-hour administrative leave.
Megan had done a little research after that incident and learned that Karin had killed or shot more suspects in the line of duty than any other active agent. Every shooting had been investigated and ruled unavoidable. Yet … Megan knew Karin was a good liar. She had caught her fibbing about little things. It had never bothered Megan too much because it hadn’t affected her. But suddenly Karin’s rages against the system and criminals who got off with a slap on the wrist took on a far more ominous meaning.
Her mistake-Megan had realized when she thought she was about to die in an alley two blocks from the D.C. jail-was not sharing her concerns with someone. Maybe they could have given Karin a psych test or counseling. Maybe Megan was wrong. She had hoped she was. She’d hoped she was very, very wrong. After all, the people Karin killed were criminals. They were wanted fugitives or suspects in violent crimes. She had no compassion for anyone. Her strength in the FBI had been her relentless and dogged pursuit of criminals. She worked extra hours, took extra training, volunteered for dangerous undercover missions, and turned in clean and prosecutable cases. The U.S. attorneys had loved her. She’d taught Megan to cover all the bases, not giving the bad guys any wiggle room.
But Karin was a sociopath. Because of their friendship, Megan had ignored or excused Karin’s actions for far too long. She couldn’t avoid the truth after the kid in D.C. was killed. Megan might have done the exact same thing in the same situation facing a gun, but it wasn’t the shooting itself that had disturbed her. It was the aftermath. The glee. The satisfaction on Karin’s face.
The day Megan almost died, Karin had confronted her about an in-depth report Megan had on her desk about officer-related shootings. It wasn’t an FBI article, but there were law enforcement statistics about drawing one’s weapon, firing, injuries, and fatalities. Big-city cops were in daily and consistent danger, more than the average FBI agent, but individual cops fired their guns less than half what Karin did.
Not proof of anything directly related to Karin, but enough that Megan wanted to keep an eye on her.
Megan lied about the article, but she was a pitiful liar and Karin didn’t say much the rest of the day. Megan was about to leave when Karin ran up to her, excited. “I have a location for Rentz! Let’s get him!”
Stanley Rentz, twenty-five, was a college dropout wanted for molesting prepubescent girls while traveling the country as part of the stage crew for an alternative rock band. When local and federal agencies figured out who the rapist was, they put together a sting, but Rentz had slipped out before it went down. He’d been hiding out for weeks, and his mother worked as a consultant in Congress. The FBI had received information that Rentz’s mother was helping him financially, so they had kept a close eye on her, her office, home, and commute route.
Megan followed Karin out. “Who’s our backup?”
“Marty and Ted. They’re meeting us at the station. My contact in the building said Rentz’s mother was acting nervous all day. I put a tail on her, and she’s waiting at a different Metro Stop, taking the blue line north instead of the orange south.”
This was the break they needed. Megan was relieved that Karin wasn’t privy to her investigation. She had been feeling guilty about it as it was, but knew she couldn’t go to her boss about Karin without something solid. Something more than her gut. Karin had been preoccupied for weeks; maybe that was her way of handling the trauma of killing a suspect, Megan didn’t know. Maybe all this would come to nothing, and Megan could forget she thought Karin was trigger-happy.
The first inkling that something was wrong was when Megan didn’t see Marty and Ted anywhere at Metro Center. They’d worked with the two agents multiple times when apprehending a fugitive, both as the primary team and as backup. Even though the men were undercover and the station was crowded, Megan should have been able to pick them out.
“Where are they?” Megan had asked Karin.
Without answering the question, Karin pointed out Rentz’s mother to Megan. The fifty-year-old accomplice was carrying her briefcase, her purse strapped over her shoulder, and a small black backpack. She glanced over her shoulder several times as she looked down the tunnel, nervously waiting for the approaching train.
“I told them to get on at the stop before this one,” Karin said absently as the train pulled up.
That made sense, Megan thought as she followed Karin onto the train.
They split up-Megan in the front, Karin in the back-inside the car as Rentz’s mother entered. She got off at Stadium-Armory, a transfer station. She didn’t cross over to another line, but took the escalator up to the street level.
They followed. Though it was dusk, the gray drizzle that had dampened the streets all day had turned into a steady, cold November rain, making visibility poor.
Rentz’s mother approached a small, driverless car parked illegally across the street, near the corner of C and Burke Streets. She opened the passenger door and dropped the backpack inside, then turned around and walked back toward the Metro.
Karin spoke into her walkie-talkie, “Follow the mother.”
Megan turned to her. “What? Rentz is going to be here. We need them here.”
“Yo
u’re a wimp, Megan. I always suspected it, but now I know that you can’t do this job. You follow her, I’ll take Rentz down myself.”
“No,” Megan said. “He’s desperate, and desperate criminals do stupid things.” She didn’t want Karin to get hurt. The irony of this thought at that moment stayed with Megan the rest of her life.
“There he is,” Karin said three minutes later. Megan saw a figure that could have been Rentz walking with his head down toward the target vehicle. “We need to get him before he gets to the car.”
“Let him get closer,” Megan said. “He’s too far-”
But Karin jumped. “Rentz! FBI! Stay right there. You’re-”
Rentz ran. Of course he did, he was more than fifty feet from them. Easy to get away. He dodged traffic and ran through the grounds of D.C. General Hospital.
Karin went after him. Megan followed. Karin motioned for her to circle around. Megan saw the plan and agreed-if she could get to Rentz before Karin, she could talk him into surrendering. She was good at it, had gone through extensive training in hostage negotiations, which helped with talking to fugitives as well.
But the alleyway was dark, and although initially it had been a good idea, Megan realized that they were in a vulnerable situation. On this side of the hospital, lighting was poor, there were no public entrances, and Megan couldn’t see or hear Karin or Rentz. Worse, Marty and Ted had no idea where to meet up with them. Megan radioed her location over the open channel, but all she got was static. What was wrong with her earpiece?
The pop of a gun was far closer than Megan thought. Cautiously, gun drawn, she rounded the corner and nearly tripped over a body.
Karin?
She bent down, and realized immediately it wasn’t Karin but Rentz. He’d been shot in the stomach, blood poured from his mouth. “I–I-I didn’t see. She-she shot me.” He was shaking and Megan knew he was dying.
“Call an ambulance!” Megan screamed. She searched for a weapon and found none.
“Watch out!”
It was Karin’s voice behind her. She started to turn, then heard the loud pop of a gun followed immediately by an intense pain in her lower back and the smell of gunpowder. She fell to her knees.
Sudden Death f-1 Page 29
