It was as if somehow Joshua Cahill had managed to strike again.
3
Caitlyn watched as the backhoe operator filled the hole in the wooded hillside where Aggie’s remains had been laid to rest. Her heart heavy, she shivered as the afternoon sun failed to warm her. When the task was finally completed, she climbed onto her white-socked bay and began the trek back to the stables, unable to stop thinking about the horse’s gruesome death. The sight and odor of the carcass, deteriorating, buzzing with flies, would remain etched in her mind forever.
As she left the trail and came into the clearing near the equestrian schooling ring, she spotted Manny outside the stables, still talking with Ed Malcolm, the Middleburg chief of police. A third man had joined them. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had dark hair and wore jeans with a leather jacket. Only as Caitlyn climbed from the horse did she realize who it was.
Reid Novak’s cool gray eyes met hers.
He gave her a small nod. Caitlyn remained frozen. One of the stable hands took the horse’s reins from her and led the bay into the stalls. As Reid approached, she took inventory of him. He looked thinner, different in some way, but he was as handsome as she remembered. She tried to sort through the tangle of emotions she felt.
“Caitlyn,” he said in greeting, his voice rough.
She took the hand he offered, aware of the chill to her fingers despite her recent ride. Children’s laughter came from the stable’s tack room. Caitlyn hadn’t wanted to disappoint, so the therapy program had gone on as planned despite the discovery of Aggie’s body.
“Agent Novak.”
“Reid,” he corrected. “I thought we were beyond formalities, Caitlyn.”
“I haven’t seen you since the trial.” She lifted her chin, a faint defensiveness in her words. “Why are you here?”
If her abruptness bothered him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he squinted toward the range of smoky Blue Ridge Mountains behind her. She could see his mind working and wondered what he was preparing to let her in on. The visit was one of necessity, not pleasure, she knew, and that worried her. The possibility that something had happened to Joshua in prison, and that Reid had come to tell her himself, crossed her mind.
“The police chief says there was a horse mutilation on your property?”
“Manny found her this morning,” Caitlyn replied solemnly. “Chief Malcolm thinks it was some local teenagers. There’ve been rumors about them being part of a satanic cult.”
“Do you believe that?”
Uneasiness washed through her. “I really don’t know what to think. It’s hard to imagine that anyone—especially teenagers—could do something like this.”
But she had mulled it over. If Chief Malcolm’s guess was accurate, Caitlyn wondered if her farm had been selected at random, or whether she’d been targeted because of Joshua’s notoriety. The thought of a bunch of kids attacking Aggie in some sort of twisted homage to her brother made her stomach turn. Caitlyn ran her hands over the thighs of her riding pants, brushing away a thin layer of dust from the trail. Pride forced her to keep her tone impassive. “Surely you didn’t come all the way out here about a dead horse, Agent. Or is the FBI’s Violent Crimes Unit now dabbling in agricultural matters?”
He didn’t reply, but the seriousness she saw in his eyes made apprehension tingle along her skin.
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“My office,” she said, and began walking efficiently toward the stables, self-conscious about the messy pony tail her hair had been hastily pulled into that morning. Although Caitlyn didn’t look back, she heard the thud of Reid’s hiking boots on the packed dirt as he followed her inside. Once they were seated in the modest office—a small, sparsely furnished room with Rambling Rose Equine Therapy printed on its door— Caitlyn’s gaze again met his.
“You’re doing a good thing out here, Caitlyn.”
“You’re familiar with the program?”
“I saw the article about it in the Washington Post last spring.”
Caitlyn felt inexplicably pleased he’d kept up with her, and proud of her achievement in equine-assisted learning. She had put her heart as well as her bank account into the stables. “I have four instructors now, all part-time but they’re certified. I received my EAL training this past summer so I also teach some of the courses myself.”
“If I recall, your background is in social work?”
Caitlyn nodded. She had chosen that field of study to give something back to the system that—at least in her case—had worked. After being abandoned by her birth mother when she was only a few weeks old, Caitlyn had lived in the care of a foster family until her adoption by Braden and Caroline Cahill. Prior to Joshua’s arrest, she had also served as director at one of the District’s urban centers for at-risk children, and held seats on the boards of several nonprofits, positions of prestige that being Senator Cahill’s daughter provided. The equine therapy program allowed her to continue her work while staying out of the D.C. spotlight.
“How’s your mother?” Reid asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“I had to move her to a full-time care facility. I’m putting the house in Georgetown up for sale.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere.
A horse whickered from one of the interior stalls, reminding her why they’d gone inside to her office. Caitlyn straightened the papers on her desk, her posture rigid. “You wanted to talk in private, Agent Novak?”
He didn’t comment on her continued formality. “Have you spoken with Joshua recently?”
“No, I…” She shook her head. “We haven’t talked since before the trial.”
“Has he attempted to contact you?”
“Joshua believes I betrayed him. I don’t expect to hear from him, nor do I want to.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” she asked softly, an irrational dart of resentment sailing through her.
“I know what your role in the investigation cost you, Caitlyn,” he said. “And no matter what Joshua did, I understand he is still your brother.”
“He’s a murderer,” she whispered. Her face felt hot. “What he did—”
“Wasn’t your fault.” Reid reached across the desk and covered her hand with his, an unexpected, consoling gesture. Caitlyn didn’t look at him, afraid her eyes would reveal the loneliness and pain she’d felt since her family’s unraveling. Reid was a specialist in behavioral psychology with an advanced degree—surely he could sense such things. When he withdrew his hand after a brief moment, she released a breath and slowly repeated the question she’d asked earlier.
“Why are you here?”
“I was at a homicide scene this morning. A female victim. The signature was similar to Joshua’s.” A tense beat of silence fell between them. “It’s being viewed as a possible copycat.”
What felt like a cold stone sat in the pit of Caitlyn’s stomach. “You think someone’s emulating Joshua? Why?”
“There are a couple of theories.” Reid templed his fingers on the desk as he spoke. “It’s believed copycats have the same impulses as regular killers, but lack the originality to go their own path so they mimic the style of someone they admire. They may also view it as a bonding ritual with the original killer.”
“You said regular killers. I’d consider that an oxymoron.”
He gave a small nod. “That’s true.”
“How was the murder similar to…” Caitlyn’s voice trailed off, but she forced herself to finish. “To the ones Joshua committed?”
“The victim’s physical description is similar to the women he chose—mid-twenties to mid-thirties, blonde, attractive. There’s also a similar pattern of wounds to the body. The COD—” realizing his use of law enforcement lingo, Reid checked himself “—the cause of death appears to be strangulation.”
“What about the cigarette burns?”
“They were present, as well.”
Caitlyn swallowed, thinking of the
crime scene details brought out during Joshua’s trial. “But those things could be purely coincidental, couldn’t they? It isn’t enough to know for certain.”
“There’s something else. A chess piece, a pawn, was inserted into the victim’s mouth.”
She felt a chill. Joshua’s mastery of the game had been widely discussed in the press reports surrounding his arrest and trial, since it pointed to his high intellect and was symbolic of the privilege and culture in which he’d been raised. One journalist had even used the game as a metaphor for describing Senator Cahill’s strategy for thwarting the FBI investigation into his son. It was a game her father had been winning until Reid Novak approached Caitlyn and convinced her Joshua was responsible, asking for her help.
Her arms folded over her white turtleneck sweater, Caitlyn stood and walked the short length of the office, until she reached the window that provided a view into the equestrian ring. Sarah, her newest instructor, was on foot and leading a brown gelding by the reins. A boy of about ten, his face and anatomy bearing the physical characteristics of Down’s syndrome, sat in the horse’s saddle. His expression was one of pure delight. Above them, the sky was bright blue with only a few wispy clouds.
Caitlyn sensed Reid’s presence behind her. She turned slowly, tilting her head upward to stare into his face. She’d been right. There was a new leanness to him and his dark hair was shorter, making his strong, clean-cut features more pronounced.
“I wanted you to know about this. If there are other murders, it could create renewed media interest in your brother.”
Her throat felt tight. “You think there could be…others?”
“I hope not. But the chess pawn indicates the perpetrator wanted to be sure we made the connection. It’s not a good sign. Just be prepared, Caitlyn.”
She did her best to sound calm and nonchalant. “I appreciate your concern—”
“I also want you to be on alert.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“A charm was found at the crime scene. Most likely, it fell off a bracelet the victim was wearing. It had a Tiffany logo, so the Bureau’s checking the store registry to see if they can trace it to the owner in order to ID the victim.” When he saw her puzzled expression, he added, “The charm was a horseshoe.”
She understood where he was headed. “Virginia is horse country. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe not. At least that’s what I kept telling myself until I came up here and found out about your mutilated horse. What if it isn’t coincidental?”
An image of Aggie’s bloated corpse filled her mind. “What are you suggesting? That I knew the woman? Or that I’m a possible target?”
He sighed tiredly, rubbing his forehead with two fingers of his right hand. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I just felt the need to come up here and see you, that’s all.”
They stared at one another for several seconds, a meaningful silence filling the space between them. Then she asked, “Did you mention any of this to Chief Malcolm?”
“He didn’t see any connection between the D.C. murder and your horse, either. ‘Barking up the wrong tree, son,’ is how he put it. I hope he’s right.”
Looking into those flint-gray eyes, Caitlyn wondered how one man could conjure up such feelings of physical desire and pain in her simultaneously. She thought of the spark they seemed to have shared even as Reid had urged her to search for evidence that could prove Joshua’s guilt. Afterward, she wondered if she’d only imagined the magnetic pull between them, or if Reid had simply charmed her in order to close his case, to get what he’d wanted.
“I brought a Polaroid snapshot from the crime scene.” Reid sounded hesitant. “I know it’s a long shot, but would you be willing to take a look at it? Make sure you don’t know the victim?”
She took a small breath, preparing herself. Reid withdrew the photo from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. Caitlyn felt her stomach clench. The victim’s skin was blue-tinged and waxy, her eyes sunken and corneas clouded. She didn’t look real.
“No,” she said in a soft voice, shaking her head. “I can’t be sure, but…no.”
He retrieved the photo. “Thank you for looking.”
She nodded without speaking.
“I am sorry for what you went through. For what happened to your life.” Reid’s voice was a low rasp. “I should have told you that sooner.”
He appeared as if he wanted to say something more, but instead he broke their gaze and walked to her desk. Picking up a pen, he wrote on a small notepad she kept there.
“That’s my cell number. If anything unusual happens, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“I still have your card from before—”
“This is my personal number. I’m currently on leave from the VCU.”
The announcement surprised her. She didn’t see Reid as someone who took time off for an extended vacation. “But you said you were at the crime scene—”
“As a consult only, due to the similarities to the previous murders.” He offered no further explanation. Reid retrieved his leather jacket, which had been folded over the back of his chair, and put it on. She noticed its soft, distressed leather and realized that until now she had seen him only in the dress suit and tie that his job with the FBI required. The casual clothes on him—the faded jeans and hiking boots, the long-sleeved T-shirt—made him somehow more appealing.
“Take care, Caitlyn.”
She watched from the window of her office as Reid went back to his vehicle. Several moments later, the Explorer kicked up a cloud of dust as it traveled down the dirt-and-gravel road and disappeared from view.
4
Caitlyn rinsed her dinner plate under the stream of water in the kitchen sink as she talked to Sophie Treadwell on the phone. Sophie and her husband, Rob, were the nearest neighbors to the Rambling Rose stables, which in the Northern Virginia countryside was still a good three miles away. Apparently, word of the horse killing on her farm had spread quickly through the rural township.
“Who would do such a horrible thing, and all the way out here?” Sophie fretted. “The poor thing’s head was nearly severed. Honestly, we left D.C. to get away from all the crime.” She paused, then added awkwardly, “Sorry, Caitlyn. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” Caitlyn assured her. Since her arrival some eighteen months earlier, Sophie was the closest thing she had to a friend. Nearly a decade older than Caitlyn, she and her husband were childless and closely integrated into the local horse community. Rob was a successful architect who worked mostly from their large, country estate home, and Sophie wrote children’s books. The couple knew about Joshua, of course, and had asked questions, but it hadn’t kept them from welcoming her into their home and wide circle of acquaintances. Caitlyn was grateful for their acceptance.
“Are you sure you want to be all alone out there tonight? Ed Malcolm thinks it was some kind of cult—”
“A cult comprised of teenagers,” Caitlyn pointed out, not wanting the rumors that were flying around to get any worse. Still, the fact remained that someone had committed the brutal act.
“Teenagers or not, the very idea of something like this is frightening. Rob wants to come get you. He insists, actually. You can stay in one of the guest rooms.”
Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Caitlyn politely refused the offer, but not before agreeing to meet the couple the following evening in Middleburg for dinner. After saying goodbye, she replaced the receiver on the console and rubbed her hands over her upper arms to ward off the night chill. Although the radiators were on, the farmhouse was old and not blessed with the thick insulation installed in newer homes. A fire in the stacked-stone fireplace would be nice but Caitlyn didn’t have the energy or interest in bringing in kindling from the back porch. Instead, she poured a glass of merlot, went into the large living room and turned on the television.
But her thoughts remained on seeing Reid Novak again.
Two years ago, when he had first
come to her asking for her assistance in proving her brother’s involvement in the murders, Caitlyn had been angry. But a part of her had also worried his suspicions were correct.
“Joshua’s behind this, Caitlyn,” Reid had warned, the intensity of his conviction unnerving. “We’ve been able to link him to two of the five victims. That’s no coincidence, no matter how much your family would like it to be.”
Caitlyn picked at the tassel of the throw pillow she held in her lap, the recollection enveloping her like a cold fog. Joshua’s connection to the two women was loose—one had taken a college course with him, and another had belonged to his gym, a large facility with hundreds of members. Still, considering his mental history, the revelation had been troubling. The FBI had interviewed him, the discussion setting off something that had put Joshua in their sights. But they had little else to go on, and not enough for a warrant.
Help me look into him, Caitlyn. Before anyone else dies.
In the end, Reid had gotten through to her. She’d used the key Joshua had given her to slip inside his Logan Circle loft apartment at a time she knew he wouldn’t be home. Her all-out search had ended when she came upon the spiral-bound composition book under a pile of clothes in the bedroom closet.
What she read inside the notebook repulsed and terrified her. She’d been physically ill—vomiting in the bathroom sink, her stomach convulsing and her bones numbed by the handwritten journal detailing Joshua’s dark secrets, including some of the names of the dead women. The crude drawings accompanying the passages were worse, with nude female figures bound and gagged as they were degraded and tortured. Mutilated. Distraught, Caitlyn had removed the evidence. After an hour driving aimlessly around the city, she had met Reid at FBI headquarters and turned over the notebook.
It was the right thing to do, Reid had assured her. He’d taken her into a private conference room and allowed her to cry against his shoulder. They had barely known one another and yet the bond between them seemed instant. Later that evening, under Reid’s guidance, Caitlyn made a televised appeal to Joshua when another woman went missing, urging him to turn himself in.
Midnight Fear Page 3
