Man of Action

by Janie Crouch

  “Some sicko killed Noelle,” Luke said. “We don’t know anything about it.”

  Corey was looking more and more uncomfortable. “What’s your name?” she asked softly even though she already knew.

  “You don’t have to answer that, Corey.” Luke wasn’t too smart.

  Jarrod laughed from where he stood against the wall. “You just told her his name, Luke. Dumb ass.” Of course, he’d just done the same thing.

  “Corey—” Andrea took a step toward the other man “—do you know something? Anything that could help us find Noelle’s killer?”

  “No.” Corey shook his head, not really looking at her. “I don’t know anything.”

  Andrea was about to press further with Corey when Jarrod interrupted.

  “Oh my gawd, are you Andrea Gordon?” Jarrod all but gushed. “It is you, right? You were in one of my math classes in high school. I’m Jarrod McConnachie.”

  Damn it. Andrea knew she might be recognized at some point, but hadn’t thought it would be by some guys in a bar in the middle of the afternoon.

  Luke tilted his head to one side. “Oh yeah, I think I remember you. You were pretty quiet. But always hot.” All three men snickered.

  Oh God, had they come to see her dance when she worked at Jaguar’s? She’d always worn wigs and enough makeup to give herself an entirely different appearance, but the thought they might recognize her and announce it made her absolutely sick.

  “I thought you’d moved away your junior year,” Jarrod said.

  She hadn’t moved away, really just to the other side of town. But she’d dropped out of school. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “But I still kept seeing your mom and dad around. So then I didn’t know what happened to you. A couple people thought you’d died and they just hadn’t announced it.”

  It was good to know a few people noticed she was gone.

  “It was my aunt and uncle I lived with, not my mom and dad. But yeah, they stayed here when I left.” They’d never once tried to find her, thank God. That last time when she’d fallen through the table, they had probably been afraid they might go to jail. Looking for her wouldn’t have been in their best interest.

  Andrea should’ve gone to the police. She knew that now. Knew there were good officers out there—Omega worked with them all the time—who wanted to help. Who would’ve believed her or at least have thoroughly investigated. But at the time she’d been young and scared and thought all cops were the enemy.

  The exact way these guys thought of them, too. She needed to get the questions back on track but had no idea how to do so.

  “Well, you sure cleaned up nice,” Jarrod said, moving slightly closer. “And you’re a cop. I’d be happy to let you cuff me to anything you want.”

  The other guys chuckled.

  “How about if I cuff you and throw you in a cell with a couple of long-term criminals?” Brandon interjected, coming to stand next to Andrea again. “Would that work for you?”

  “Look, man—” Jarrod backed off “—I was just trying to say hello to an old friend.”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “Instead, why don’t all of you tell us where you were on Friday night between midnight and 4:00 a.m.?”

  The body had been found Saturday afternoon, but the coroner put the time of death as late Friday night or early Saturday morning.

  “I was at home with my wife,” Corey said. Brandon marked it down in a notebook.

  “I was in Phoenix at a bar with a bunch of friends,” Luke said, giving its name. “We started home after last call.” He glanced down before looking up defiantly at Brandon and Andrea.

  There was definitely more to that story. Luke’s emotions weren’t necessarily guilt in a specific sense, but a sort of overall vague sense of shame.

  “I was at my house sleeping, after walking home from here. I live off Old Highway 80,” Jarrod said, still staring openly at Andrea.

  “You live alone?” Brandon asked.

  Both the other men snickered. Brandon raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “No,” Luke said. “He lives with his mother.”

  Jarrod turned away, grimacing. “Thanks, Luke.”

  Andrea couldn’t help but smile a little at Jarrod’s comeuppance. Especially since his desire to bed her practically oozed from his pores. He wasn’t even trying to hide his craving for Andrea.

  “Your mom can vouch that you were at the house?” Brandon asked Jarrod.

  “Yeah, man. She’s always at home. Gets so angry at me whenever I go out.”

  Probably pretty angry that Jarrod didn’t have a job, either, but Andrea didn’t mention that. Didn’t want to draw the attention back to herself.

  She watched all three men as Brandon got their names and contact information. He explained that, at this point, they were eliminating suspects. Telling the truth now would save them from more trouble later. Although none of them were thrilled at giving the info, none of them resisted.

  Jarrod tried to talk to her while Brandon spoke with the other men, but she wouldn’t engage with him. She’d had plenty of practice being standoffish over the past few years. Shutting him down was easy.

  Plus, she wondered if he wasn’t trying to get on her good side because he was hiding something.

  One thing she knew for sure as she and Brandon left the bar, waving to bartender Phil as they went—all three men they’d interviewed today had secrets. All of them had lied or withheld information in some way.

  Chapter Five

  They spent the entire next day traveling around Phoenix and Buckeye, checking alibis, talking to the employers and colleagues of the women.

  As the detectives had said, none of the victims had family who had spoken up. It didn’t seem as if they had many friends, either. The killer had chosen well: women whose deaths would go relatively unnoticed. Only the ritualistic placement of the bodies and the symbolic items found with each victim even clued in law enforcement that it was the same killer at all.

  The killer probably hadn’t been able to stop himself from placing the symbols of purity around the women, even if he’d intellectually recognized that it could lead to his demise. The purity rituals had been just as important to the killer as the kill itself.

  The killer was calm, sure of himself—almost definitely a he based on the nature of the crimes and the fact that the victims were all females. These murders hadn’t been done in rage. There had been no mutilation of the bodies, no bruising beyond the restraints on the wrists and the rope marks around the throat.

  If he let himself, Brandon could perfectly envision the rope tightening around the victims’ throats. The killer most certainly would’ve had them on their knees—an act of repentance, needed before one could be deemed pure.

  The killer hadn’t been interested in the women sexually—or perhaps he had and wouldn’t let himself act on it—only in freeing them from their evil. Cleansing them.

  Brandon had been sitting in his hotel room for the past hour, looking blankly ahead. To most people it would’ve seemed as if he was staring out into nothing, but really he was giving his mind a quiet place to sort through all the data he’d been processing for the past forty-eight hours.

  Letting his mind get into the head of a killer.

  It wasn’t a comfortable place to be, and since David’s death, Brandon didn’t let himself get in that dark place too often.

  Brandon was aware of the dark side of his intelligence, of his nature. Was well aware that immersing himself deep into the thoughts of a killer could leave him tainted by that darkness.

  And now there was no one to drag him back but himself. No one to warn him when he was getting too close to the abyss. It was one of the things he missed most about having a partner he trusted.

  And speaking of partne
rs, it was time to meet his temporary one. When they’d arrived back at the hotel, Andrea had all but fled into her room. She’d said it was because she wanted to look over some notes from today’s interviews, but Brandon knew that couldn’t be it. She hadn’t taken any notes all day.

  She was an enigma. Her work ethic seemed impeccable—she was punctual, attentive and focused—but then she’d do something completely unprofessional like refuse to take any notes.

  Even Brandon took notes. He realized a long time ago his brain—all brains—were capable of great things, but they were never infallible. Evidently Andrea thought hers was the exception.

  He should be thankful for her flaw. For her reminder that he didn’t want someone like her as a partner. Because if he woke up one more time, his body hard and wound up, dreaming about her—about kissing her and removing all the professional clothes she wore like armor—he was afraid he would act on it.

  He needed to keep his distance.

  Pulling rank and forcing her to have dinner with him was not helping with that plan. She’d wanted to camp out in her own room all evening, grab some crackers, go over what they’d found. He’d told her they needed to eat real food and could discuss the case while doing so. She put up a bit of an argument, but he hadn’t listened, just threatened to bring dinner to her hotel room so they could work there.

  That got her agreement.

  He moved into the lobby to meet her. They were going to walk a few blocks down the street to the mom-and-pop Italian restaurant. He saw her as she walked in the lobby just moments later. He had changed into jeans and a T-shirt, but she still wore her pants and blazer from the interviews earlier. She looked nice, no doubt about that. But definitely not casual or comfortable. He wondered if she ever looked casual or comfortable, if she ever just let herself relax around anyone.

  He couldn’t seem to make himself stop looking at her. Damn, he wanted to peel her out of those clothes. To see if there was any fire underneath and disprove the ice-queen theory. To show her that it was okay to let go with him. To protect her from whatever demons she was fighting. The sudden overwhelming thoughts caught him off guard.

  “What?” she asked at his continued stare.

  “Nothing. Just hungry. Ready?”

  After walking to the restaurant and ordering, Andrea immediately brought up the case, obviously wanting to offset the chance of talking about anything personal. That was fine with Brandon. He hoped to use this time not only to go over the case, but to give her a lesson in law enforcement about the need to take notes. He wanted to point out how many things she missed by not taking notes and trying to keep it all in her head.

  “So what do we know about each of the victims? Let’s make sure we haven’t missed any details,” he said as the waitress brought their salads and they began eating.

  Andrea nodded. “Victim one, Yvette Tyler, found two weeks ago. Twenty-one years old, brunette, five feet five inches, 115 pounds. No family. Place of employment—Diamond Cabaret Strip Club in Phoenix.”

  Her lips pursed the slightest bit with that sentence. Evidently she didn’t approve of that career choice.

  Brandon continued. “She was arrested last year for drunk and disorderly, and underage drinking, but since she had no record the charges were dropped.”

  “Yes. Victim two, Ashley Judson, found six days ago. Eighteen years old, worked at a diner west of here in Tonopah on I-10.”

  “That truck stop is known to be a place for truckers to pick up women, and women to pick up rides, literally and figuratively.”

  Andrea smiled a little at that and speared another bite of her salad. “Judson had also been arrested for solicitation, no surprise there. Spent a couple of nights at the Maricopa County lockup, too. Charges were dropped because of some technicality.”

  “And we have Noelle Brumby.”

  “Yes, twenty-three, blond. Worked at Allure in Phoenix.”

  She knew her facts better than he’d thought. Maybe he’d misjudged her at the airport when he’d thought she was just skimming over the files.

  The waitress brought their main course. Andrea had ordered chicken Alfredo; Brandon had gotten lasagna. He had to admit, it smelled delicious.

  “So give me your opinion of Noelle’s friends, the guys at the bar yesterday. Jarrod and the other two.”

  “Luke and Corey,” she murmured, taking a bite.

  Hmm. That had been his first attempt to catch her, to use as an example later of why she should take notes. Guess that wouldn’t work.

  “They’re all hiding something,” she said.

  “Something about Noelle’s death?”

  She shrugged. “Tied to it, probably yes, although I don’t think any of them are the killer.”

  Interesting. “Okay, tell me what you saw and what you concluded.”

  “Corey looks most guilty at first glance. Or at least he feels guilty about something.”

  Brandon had noticed that, also. “Go on.”

  “I think he was either having an affair with her or was in love with her or both. His guilt probably stems from a lot of things—failure to help Noelle, his feelings about cheating on his wife, not being able to do anything about it now.”

  “I agree.”

  She nodded. “And he’s scared. That’s what initially made me think he might be the killer, but I think he’s scared that his wife is going to find out. That the investigation will uncover the affair.”

  “What about the defensive guy, Luke?” He took a bite of his lasagna. It tasted as good as it smelled. “You think he’s hiding something, too?”

  “He definitely has no love for law enforcement.”

  Brandon chuckled; that had been clear enough for a blind person to see.

  “He also didn’t want us looking into his alibi at the bar.”

  That was interesting. Something he hadn’t picked up on.

  He slowed his chewing. “Okay, why do you think that? His alibi checked out today.”

  She shrugged. “He definitely had a vibe, something he didn’t want discovered. After talking to the bartenders today, I think it was probably that he and his friends drove home drunk. They were definitely drinking enough to be drunk, and then according to his own testimony he drove himself home.”

  A good insight.

  She took another bite. “Or his guilt may have been about some sexual shenanigans they got into. Maybe he seduced some girl in the bathroom and feels a little bad about that—I don’t know.” She couldn’t quite keep eye contact with him as she said it.

  She couldn’t look at him when talking about sex. Maybe he wasn’t the only person affected when the two of them were together. Maybe Little Miss Professional wasn’t as buttoned-up as he thought.

  “Okay, interesting theories.”

  “But not pertaining to the case, so not important.” She frowned and stabbed her pasta with more force than necessary.

  “I didn’t say that. Understanding—getting inside their heads, their desires—can lead you to the right path. It’s not always a direct route, but it almost always helps.”

  She shrugged. “Only if it’s the actual criminal. Otherwise you’re wasting time.”

  “Eliminating someone isn’t a waste of time. It’s one step closer to the truth.”

  “Well, I don’t think either Luke or Corey are our killer. I think they’re up to no good in at least some part of their lives, but not killing.”

  “And Jarrod?”

  “I didn’t really get a read off him, one way or another. He was embarrassed to still be living at home, I know that.”

  Brandon had gotten a read off Jarrod. Not because of his skill as a profiler, but because he was a man.

  Jarrod wanted Andrea. It had pretty much consumed the man’s thoughts. That neither cleared him nor made him g
uilty. His mother had told them that Jarrod was home when they talked to her today, but she had to admit, she hadn’t actually been in the room with him during any of the hours in question.

  Jarrod could’ve come home then sneaked back out.

  Of course, nothing about Jarrod matched the profile Brandon was developing in his mind. Jarrod wasn’t methodical or meticulous like the killer, so Brandon wasn’t looking at the younger man as a true suspect yet. However, Brandon still might find reason to arrest him if he kept making moves toward Andrea.

  “So did you know Jarrod well in high school?” Brandon wasn’t sure why he’d asked, but he knew he wanted to know.

  The fork that was carrying food to her mouth stopped and returned to the plate without the bite being eaten.

  “No. To be honest, I don’t remember him at all.”

  “He said he was in your math class.”

  She shrugged, fidgeting slightly in her seat. “A lot of high school was just a blur for me. You know how it is.”

  Brandon wanted to know more about her. “What clique were you? Sports? Nerd? Punk rocker?”

  A ghost of a smile passed her lips. “None, really. I pretty much kept to myself.”

  Like the way she pretty much had kept to herself the past couple of years while at Omega?

  She was pushing her food around on her plate now, not really eating it. Okay, she didn’t want to talk about high school. Maybe she had bloomed more in college. That happened. For some people high school had been a miserable experience. Brandon’s own high school experience had been nothing fantastic.

  But now Brandon found he wanted to know something about Andrea. Something about her as a person. Not about her abilities as a behavioral analyst—hell, he was already completely impressed by just about everything she’d done concerning the case. His plan to teach her about note-taking had just proved fruitless; she’d taught him a lesson about her abilities instead.

  But what did he really know about her? Name, occupation, age. Brandon made a living getting inside the minds of others, but he’d be damned if he’d been able to do so with her.