by Radclyffe
She wasn’t about to tell him that a fellow agent had been killed in the field. If there was an ongoing investigation, she couldn’t risk compromising it. In addition, the Bureau would want to put a cover story in place before news of the agent’s death became public. If it ever became public. “Thanks for your help, Agent. Have a nice night.”
Reese checked her watch. Ten minutes to four. At least the supervisory agent who was about to be awakened had had almost a full night’s sleep. She climbed out of the cruiser and started back down the alley to see where things stood with Carter before heading over to the clinic. Suddenly, she heard a shout and then someone came barreling toward her, a flashlight swinging crazily back and forth like a light-saber cutting a swath. She sidestepped quickly as Bri raced past, yelling something into her phone as she ran.
Reese didn’t bother asking questions—she just took off after Bri. She managed to make it to the cruiser and yank open the passenger side door just as Bri slammed it into Drive. Reese dragged her door shut, punched the lights and sirens, and grabbed the ceiling grip as they rocketed forward.
“What’s going on?” Reese said.
“Caroline. Somebody’s trying to break in.”
Reese radioed for backup.
“Where are you?” Bri yelled into her phone as she drove one-handed. “No! Don’t try to leave.” Bri fishtailed around the corner onto Bradford and floored the accelerator. “We’ll be there in one minute. One minute. Where is he? Can you see him?”
Reese reached across the space between them and gripped Bri’s forearm. “Angle the cruiser into the alley at the bottom of the staircase. If he’s inside, he’s got to come down that way.”
Bri nodded grimly and jammed the cruiser nose first into the gravel walkway that led to the outside staircase and their second floor apartment. She was out of the car with her weapon in her hand before the vehicle had rocked to a stop but, following procedure, she waited at the bottom of the stairs for Reese.
“Bri?” a voice called down from somewhere above. “Baby, I’m out here.”
Reese tapped Bri on the shoulder, indicating she should wait, and after scanning the alley, stepped back and looked up. Caroline was leaning over the second floor deck staring down at them.
“Did he get inside?” Reese asked.
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”
“Stay right there. Do not go back inside.” Reese returned to Bri, pointed to the staircase, and they both started up, Bri covering the door in case an intruder should bolt from the apartment, and Reese scanning the street and alley below them for any sign of a suspect.
Bri pulled her shirttail out with her left hand and used it to turn the knob, keeping her weapon up and ready. She shook her head. Locked.
“Use your key,” Reese whispered. An intruder could have jimmied the lock and slipped inside, and then let the door lock again behind him.
Bri used her left hand to insert the key and slowly turned the lock. She glanced at Reese, who silently mouthed a countdown, and on three, Bri twisted the knob and pushed open the door. Bri went in fast and low to her left and Reese went high and right.
“Clear,” Reese shouted after surveying the small room. To her right, sliding glass doors opened onto the front deck. She and Bri moved quickly to the rear, each taking a bedroom.
“Clear,” Bri shouted.
“Clear.” Reese holstered her weapon, radioed backup to stand by, and strode through the apartment to the front deck. By the time she got there, Bri already had Caroline wrapped tight in her arms.
“Let’s go inside so you can tell us what happened,” Reese said.
“Okay, babe?” Bri kissed Caroline’s forehead.
“Uh-huh. I’m okay.” Caroline patted Bri’s chest and eased out of her arms.
Inside, Bri sat on the futon sofa with Caroline curled against her side.
“What happened?” Reese asked.
“I woke up and I heard something strange—after a while I realized it was the doorknob rattling. When I went to check, I saw someone standing on the landing. I knew it wasn’t Bri, because she would’ve used her key, and he was bigger than Bri.” Caroline’s voice cracked and she shivered. “I called Bri. I didn’t think to call nine-one-one.”
Stony faced, Bri rubbed Caroline’s arm and murmured, “You did good, babe. Real good. Don’t be scared.”
“Did you recognize him?” Reese asked evenly, needing to get the facts while they were still fresh in Caroline’s mind. When Caroline had time to think about what might have happened, her fear could cloud her memory. As difficult as it was for the victim to talk about the details of a crime, it was critical that they do so as soon as possible. And Reese needed to be the one asking the questions. Bri had done well outside, had handled herself with a clear head. But right now, Bri was completely focused on Caroline, as she should be. “Did he say anything?”
Caroline shook her head, staring at her fingers entwined with Bri’s. “I couldn’t see his face. I think I screamed when I saw him.” She lifted her eyes to Reese. “He laughed. He laughed like he was having a good time.”
“Fucker,” Bri muttered.
“Then I pushed speed dial for Bri and ran toward the deck. I didn’t know where else to go and I didn’t want to be stuck in the back of the apartment. I thought I could maybe jump off the deck if he got in.”
Bri made a low sound in her throat, like an animal in pain, and turned her face into Caroline’s hair.
“You did well, Caroline,” Reese said. “When you were outside, did you hear him run away? Did you hear what direction he might’ve gone?”
Caroline frowned. “It’s funny, I can always hear Bri on the stairs. They’re kind of creaky and noisy and she usually runs up them.” She smiled and rubbed Bri’s leg. “I didn’t hear him go down, and I would have if he was running. I think he just took his time walking away.”
“What about a car door slamming? A motor starting? Motorcycle, maybe?”
“No, nothing. And I didn’t see anyone on the street out front, so he must have gone down the alley to the back.”
“That leads to Center Street, and from there to Cemetery Road,” Reese said. “Plenty of places to disappear back there.” She radioed the backup officers and instructed them to cruise through the streets directly behind Bri and Caroline’s apartment. “It’s a little early yet for recreational walkers,” she told the officers, “so take a good look at any single males who don’t seem like they’re on their way to work. Make sure you have the description of William Everly I circulated earlier.”
Caroline gripped Bri’s leg tighter. “You think it was him?”
Reese was aware of both Bri and Caroline staring at her, waiting for her to announce that a nightmare had re-entered their lives. “I don’t know. I’m going to swing by his mother’s place right now, just to check. You two went to school with him—or not that far behind him, at least. If he was coming home, but didn’t want to stay with his mother, who might he crash with?”
Bri looked at Caroline. “Ned Phelps? They were pretty tight all through high school. Who was the girl he was dating right before…”
“Um, Suzy Silva, I think.” Caroline grimaced. “I never paid that much attention to him.”
“And I don’t want you to waste a lot of energy on him now, either,” Reese said, standing up. “I want you to be cautious. I want you to be aware of your surroundings. All the things Bri has probably already told you and that you know anyhow.” Reese leaned down and kissed Caroline’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Bri started to get up, but Reese waved her back. “It’s almost end of shift for you. Stay here. Anything you need to write up, you can do tomorrow sometime.”
“No,” Caroline said instantly. “Bri, you go back to work.”
“How about this,” Reese suggested to Caroline. “How about we take you over to Rica’s—she won’t mind if we wake her up. In fact, it might be a good idea if you stayed over there the next few nights
while Bri’s on the night shift.”
Caroline looked at Bri. “You okay with that, baby?”
“Absolutely. Come on.” Bri rose and put her arm around Caroline’s waist, her gaze on Reese. “Reese and I have to check on Everly’s potential locations. Right, Sheriff?”
Reese studied Bri, silently taking her measure. Bri’s eyes were hot, but steady. Things had changed since the morning, when she’d told Bri she didn’t want her involved in the hunt for Everly. This morning he was just a potential problem. Tonight, someone had threatened Caroline. She knew what she would do if Tory were threatened. She couldn’t deny Bri the same right, not until Bri showed she couldn’t handle it.
“Right,” Reese said. “Let’s get to it.”
*
An hour later, Reese and Bri had cruised past Everly’s mother’s house as well as the addresses of the high school friends Bri and Caroline had remembered. His mother’s house was still dark. The garage door was open, and his truck didn’t look as if it had been moved. At five thirty a.m., some of the other residences showed lights inside—people getting ready for work.
“What now?” Bri asked, her voice flat.
“I’ll send someone by the school this morning to talk to his teachers, the guidance counselors, and the principal. See if we can draw up a more comprehensive list of Everly’s previous associates. Then we’ll question all of them.” Reese pulled into the parking lot at headquarters. “We’ll step up patrols in his old neighborhood and watch his friends. This is a small village. If he’s here, we’ll find him.”
“What about Caroline? What about during the day?” Bri scrubbed her face vigorously. “Jesus, I don’t want her to feel like she can’t go out, you know. She shouldn’t be the victim here.”
“You’re right, she shouldn’t be treated like one. Caroline is smart. She’ll be careful.” Reese gripped Bri’s shoulder. “Trust her. She needs that from you.”
Bri swung her head around and stared at Reese. “I do trust her. But I couldn’t take him, and I’m tougher and stronger than Carre.”
“He’s not going to get that close to her.”
“How do you—”
Reese’s phone rang. She looked at the readout and took the call. “Conlon.”
“Sheriff?” a woman said with a hint of irritation.
“That’s right.”
“This is Supervisory Special Agent Marilyn Allen. You have some sort of problem that can’t wait for proper channels?”
“Is Agent Robert Lloyd under your command?”
“Sheriff, I realize that in little towns like yours protocol is, shall we say, not really all that necessary,” Agent Allen said without bothering to hide her condescension, “but we don’t discuss Bureau affairs with just anyone who happens to call.”
“Agent Lloyd was murdered in my town last night. I thought you might like to know. But I certainly don’t want to interfere with your protocol, so when I find out who did it, I’ll be sure to call during business hours.” Reese disconnected.
“Did you just hang up on the FBI?” Bri tried to stifle a grin.
Reese glanced at her and half smiled. “I’d prefer you pretend you didn’t hear that, Officer.”
“Yes ma’am. I mean, no ma’am, I didn’t hear a thing.”
Reese’s phone rang.
“That will be the supervisory special agent calling back, I imagine,” Reese said. “Conlon.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Marilyn Allen snapped. “And I’ll expect a full report upon my arrival.”
“Give me a call when you land,” Reese said. “I’ll brief you.”
“Where’s the body?”
“With our coroner.”
“I know something of your reputation, Sheriff,” Marilyn Allen said. “You may have made a name for yourself busting drug dealers and arsonists, but you don’t want to get in the Bureau’s way on one of our operations.”
“Agent Allen,” Reese said quietly, “my town, my case. Call me when you arrive.” Then she disconnected and put the phone back on her belt. “Well. This is going to be an interesting day.”
“Can I stay and watch?”
Reese laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll be crawling with feds before we’re done. You won’t miss anything. When you’ve finished reports, check that Carter doesn’t need you. Then go collect your girlfriend, take her home, and get some sleep.”
“Do you know this FBI agent?”
“Not half as well as Carter does,” Reese said softly.
Chapter Eighteen
Reese let herself into the clinic with her key. The reception area was dark. The first time she’d entered the clinic, it had been dark too. She’d been answering a call from Tory, who had come upon a burglary in progress. That was the first time she’d seen Tory, and at that moment, everything in her life had changed.
She threaded her way through the rows of chairs and walked down the hall to the one room with a light shining under the door. She tapped on it and pushed through. Tory, wearing scrubs, gloves, and a mask, glanced over at her. Deep shadows underscored her eyes. The body on the table beneath the round surgical light was nude, skin tinted the faint bluish gray of death. His clothes rested in plastic evidence bags on the counter behind Tory. His holstered weapon sat in the center of metal tray on a stand next to her. Apparently he’d had nothing else in his pockets, which wasn’t unusual if he was on the job. Loose change could rattle. A wallet was unnecessary. A badge and a gun were all that was needed, and Reese had his badge in her pocket.
“Hi, love,” Reese said softly. “How’s it going?”
“I’ve just started the external exam. We need to make a decision about whether I do a full post. Ordinarily I would, but considering the circumstances…”
“Is there any doubt as to cause of death?” Reese walked to the opposite side of the table as Tory went back to work.
Tory shook her head. “None whatsoever.”
“Can you get everything you need without cutting him open?”
“If he’d been shot and we needed the bullet to identify the weapon, or there were any question as to COD, I’d insist on doing the internal part myself—jurisdictional issues be damned. But that’s really not the case here.” Tory tipped her head toward the counter where a row of blood-filled test tubes sat next to a line of small plastic containers, each labeled and filled with a clear solution. Pieces of tissue floated inside. “I’ve taken blood and tissue samples for tox. I already have specimens from his hands and under his nails for possible foreign DNA, but I’m doubtful you’ll find anything. I’d want to have his clothes checked independently for trace anyhow—the FBI should handle that.”
“If we turn over the body to the feds without a fuss, that might buy me some leverage in keeping them at arm’s length in the investigation. At least for a little while,” Reese said. “But that’s totally your call.”
“I’ll have everything I need if I can have another hour with him, without opening him up,” Tory said.
“You’ll have it. Can you tell anything more about the manner of death?”
“Your assailant was right-handed. No help there, I’m afraid. A single cut, almost exactly as deep on the left as the right, which tells me that he’s not only ruthless, he’s trained. He understands the importance of severing both carotids and the trachea to produce nearly instantaneous death.” Tory looked up. “I’m thinking military—special forces probably. Or a terrorist-trained assassin. Or just your garden variety home-grown hitman who’s had lots of practice. Whoever he is, he kills for a living.”
“That narrows it down some.” Reese slid her hands into her pockets, thinking about all the men in prison who learned to be highly effective killers with only homemade shivs to work with. Knives made from toothbrushes, razor blades, and rubber bands. Food utensils honed on the chipped edges of bathroom tile until they were sharper than any conventional blade. Once released, with real weapons in their hands, these men were proficient and deadly. “Typ
e of weapon?”
“A relatively short, thin blade. Probably a switchblade.”
“Double edged?” Reese asked, thinking a special forces member would more likely carry a standard single-edged combat knife.
“Possible. The slice in the trachea, which is in the deepest part of the wound, appears to be the same width as that in the skin. Nothing distinguishing, however.”
“Could it be a garrote?”
“Not as likely. Even the sharpest garrote requires some amount of sawing—and back-and-forth movement tears up the edges of the skin. I don’t see that here.”
“Okay,” Reese mused. “So our suspect probably didn’t go out hunting, but killed on impulse. You don’t set out to kill someone with a switchblade. That’s usually a defensive weapon. Something about this guy set him off.”
“It could be random,” Tory suggested. “Maybe your suspect is just psychotic and he didn’t like the color of this man’s jacket.”
“Anything is possible, but once a cop is involved, we have to assume a link. I have to believe this agent was murdered because our suspect made him or the agent stumbled into something he wasn’t prepared for.”
“Still, killing a cop.” Tory forced herself to think through the problem dispassionately. Ultimately, Reese’s life or the life of any other member of the department could be in the balance. “Even if your suspect recognized this man, why kill him? Why call attention to himself that way? Wouldn’t he be more likely to want to keep a low profile?”
Reese nodded. “Ordinarily, yes. And that worries me. Because a cop killer who’s also crazy is going to be completely unpredictable.”
“You keep saying he—couldn’t this be the work of a woman?”
“Possible. Women can be trained to kill with the same efficiency as men—the hardest hitmen to track down are female, precisely because they aren’t on most people’s radar. A female soldier could do this, sure.” Reese stared at the gaping wound in the neck. “She’d have to be tall, and damn fast to kill up close and personal like this. Most female assassins prefer guns—the great equalizer.”
