“There it is. Tuesday. Initial consultation with John Wilson,” she said.
“Wilkes, Wilson. It could be he was trying to hide his identity. Did he act embarrassed to be signing up with a dating service?”
Afton shook her head. “Too arrogant. Too confident, as well.”
“Okay. I’ll have Aidan check out John Wilson and Richard Wilkes the Second as a priority.” Sean shook his head in disgust at the work that would go into following up this new angle. “There have to be ten thousand John Wilsons in this country. We’ll start with driver’s license photos of the ones who are geographically close to D.C. and see what happens.”
“I have a better idea,” Afton said. “Follow me.”
He hesitated, then went down the hall with her to a place that looked like some kind of equipment room.
“After the murder investigation started,” Afton said, “and especially once a question had been raised about some clients, I had my IT manager set up a hidden digital camera in the reception area. We should have a photograph of everyone who stopped at the desk and signed in.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She grinned. “No. My IT manager said it would be easy to store the photos short term, as long as we didn’t accumulate too many of them. Didn’t want to use up his precious disk space. I’ll call him and ask where the files are saved.”
Sean handed Afton his cell phone, then waited as she called her technician and got instructions on how to call up the files on the server.
“Okay,” she said. “Here’s last week, so it should be under the folder marked Tuesday.”
They clicked through the photos in silence, pausing when they reached Afton’s noon appointment. Sean held up the framed picture he had brought from the conference room and compared it with the grainy digital image on the screen in front of him. Then he compared it to the sketched image of the man who had threatened Claire in Afton’s backyard.
Gotcha, you smug bastard. You took one risk too many, and now you’re mine.
“I’ll need a copy of this digital photo to send to the lab,” Sean said, looking at the computer. “Then we’ll just pick up Mr. Wilson and ask him a few questions.”
Sean took back his cell phone and dialed his partner’s number.
“Aidan, rush the background check on Richard Wilkes the Second. He had a meeting at Camelot last week, tried to look at the catalogue. He was using the alias John Wilson. I’ve compared photos of the two and they look good.”
“Hell, Sean, are you reading minds now?” Aidan asked.
“What have you got?”
“Richard Wilkes the Second has a juvenile record. I just put in a call to the lead investigator on the case.”
“Was it a violent offense?” Sean asked.
“Looks like it. Reading between the lines of the closed case file, aggravated assault charges were initially brought against him, but they were later bumped down after the victim and main witness boarded a plane and returned to Costa Rica. She’d been working as a maid and cook in the home of Richard Wilkes, the father.”
“Hispanic female, mid-twenties,” Sean said, thinking of the string of murder victims.
“Shit, I hadn’t thought of that. We can verify with the lead investigator. I’m guessing that Richard’s daddy managed to get the charges pleaded down to harassment, and got his son enrolled in court-ordered counseling. But not before the little bastard was booked and fingerprinted.”
“You’ve got prints on file?” Sean asked sharply.
“I’m in the Latent Fingerprints lab right now. The technician is doing a quick search of prints from the crime scenes we’ve linked to the killer and comparing them to Richard Wilkes the Second. I’ve asked the technician to expedite manual verifications of any computer matches on the prints.”
“We need to run a location check on Mr. Wilkes, as well,” Sean said.
“I called both his legal addresses already. The first is his father’s estate, where a housekeeper answered and said the son had been in Aruba for the last month or so. The second number is an upscale apartment complex in Alexandria. No answer.” Aidan paused as the fingerprint technician came rushing over. “Hang on a sec, Sean. We might have something.”
The technician waved the enlarged fingerprint she was holding. “I ran a second computer check of Wilkes’s prints against all known fingerprints in the system, in addition to the ones from the crime scenes you requested,” she said. “The computer showed a potential match between the old Wilkes prints and a partial that was recovered at a homicide in Northwest D.C. today. I’ve done a manual verification, and it looks solid to me.”
“Nina, you’re beautiful,” Aidan said. “Who’s the investigating detective on the D.C. homicide?”
“Ron Garvey.”
Aidan picked up his cell phone again and raced down the hall. As he did, he explained to Sean about the potential match. “I’m going to hang up and call you on my desk phone, then conference in Garvey. I’d be very interested to see what Richard Wilkes the Second was doing at this dead guy’s apartment.”
“I’ll be right here with Afton,” Sean said. “Call me.”
Sean hung up, looked over at Afton, and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Stop beating yourself up. You did great.”
“Really?”
“Really. Thanks to you, we’ll nail the little shit.”
Chapter 66
Fairfax County, Virginia
Wednesday night
The man sat quietly behind a lilac bush, waiting for the police officer to make his six-minute circuit of the property where Marie Claire was staying. The officer constantly kept moving and checked in regularly via his radio. Presumably he was checking in with his partner in the house, or possibly one of the dispatchers.
It would make the timing of this operation critical, because he’d have to strike as soon as possible after one of these brief radio conversations. That would buy him the maximum amount of time to get into the house and get Marie Claire before the alarm went out.
He was confident he could get to her in the short time he would have. He’d spent most of the morning and all of the afternoon watching the house, and he already knew which room belonged to Marie Claire. Although the curtains had been closed, he’d seen her silhouette as she sat by the window. That curly hair of hers gave a very distinctive profile.
Things were running smoothly so far. The only possible glitch was the fact that the roving police officer was wearing body armor. That would make his usual method of attack impossible, because the knife wouldn’t penetrate a bullet-proof vest. He wasn’t eager to try to slit the officer’s throat—even if he managed it, the result would be too messy. In addition he risked losing the element of surprise, because he wasn’t sure he could get the job done on the first pass. He was used to being much stronger than his victims.
He supposed he could use his gun, but the noise would be unmistakable. He’d brought it along to ensure Marie Claire’s cooperation, not to start shooting people—at least until he had her and both officers under control. Then he would use whatever he wanted, knife or gun or both together. The idea made him smile, even though it was another departure from the script he had laid out in his mind.
It’s a good thing I react quickly under pressure and can improvise, Wilkes told himself.
The properties in this neighborhood were large and had dense vegetation, which would be to his advantage. And the ground was damp and covered with a layer of fallen leaves, which would muffle his approach. He picked up one of the large landscaping stones that formed a border around the bush where he was hiding.
Wilkes hefted the weight of the rock in his hands and ran through what he would do several times. Then he checked his watch and waited in the dark for his chance.
Forty seconds later, the cop walked by on his umpteenth circuit of the property. He didn’t notice the additional shadow in the bushes. Wilkes rose up and smashed the rock into the back of the officer’s head with both hands.
The cop went down and stayed there, motionless.
Wilkes crushed the police radio under his foot and threw the officer’s weapon deep into the bushes. Then he hit the man again several times for good measure.
With the first part of his mission accomplished, Wilkes crept slowly toward the house.
Chapter 67
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday night
Sean pounced on his cell phone when it rang. “Aidan?”
“Yeah. I’ve got Garvey on the line, and he was just about to tell me about the homicide case that came across his desk today. Go ahead, Ron.”
“We had a call this afternoon after some computer consultant didn’t make it in to work,” Garvey said in a gravelly voice. “Seems our caller and the consultant were in the middle of some computer game and he was impatient to get on with it. Anyway, the guy went over to the consultant’s apartment after lunch and found the body.”
“And?” Sean asked impatiently.
“I’m getting there. The consultant—a kid, really—had been shot in the back of the head as he sat at his computer, so the place was a mess. But he did have a shitload of high-tech equipment, and his friend hinted the kid might have been a semi-pro hacker who pissed off a customer.”
Sean told himself to be patient. Garvey was one of those people who told a story in his own way and at his own snail’s pace. Pushing him just made him go slower.
“Who did he do his hacking for?” Sean asked.
“No idea. But he collected a paycheck from Wilkes Brothers Software.”
“Bingo,” Sean said softly.
“Told you I’d get there,” Garvey retorted. “So imagine my surprise when Burke called me with a match for the partial print we got off a monitor in the victim’s apartment, and it belonged to none other than a VP at Wilkes Brothers Software.”
“It could be coincidence,” Sean said. “Wilkes might have an explanation for being there. He was the kid’s boss, after all.” And the guy who’s after Claire uses a knife and only kills women.
“I’d still like to talk to him,” Garvey said. “I’ve had the computer technicians here going over the victim’s equipment since we brought it in. I figure if the kid was a hacker, whatever he was last working on might have something to do with why he was killed.”
“So what was he doing?” Aidan asked.
“The computer and printer had both been shut down improperly, so my guys are working on getting stuff from document recovery or some such thing. According to the browser history, the kid had been on a web page that enables reverse phone number searches—you know, getting the address and name when you only have a phone number?”
Sean didn’t like that at all. “Any record of who he was looking up?”
“We couldn’t tell until we powered up the printer. The techie here is a genius, and he managed to pull the last print job from the buffer memory thing, or whatever the hell it’s called. Hang on, I’ve got a copy of it in the file.”
Garvey made rustling sounds as he flipped through the papers on his desk. “Here it is. The document isn’t much—just an address. Three two three Crepe Myrtle Lane, in Alexandria.”
“Jesus Christ. That’s our safe house.” Sean’s hand clenched tightly around the phone. He heard Aidan dropping Garvey off the conference with a promise to get back in touch soon.
“I’m less than ten minutes from there,” Aidan said to Sean. “I’ll go.”
“Damn it, I—” Sean stopped, knowing his partner was right. Sean was half an hour away, and he didn’t have a unit with lights and siren. “I’ll call Diaz and have him put the women in a secure upstairs room until you arrive. Call me on my cell the instant you get there.”
“I’m gone,” Aidan said and hung up. He raced down the hall, shouting at people to get out of his way.
Sean wanted to keep his cell phone line open, so he ran back to Afton’s office.
She took one look at his pale, grim face and said, “What’s wrong? Is Claire all right?”
Sean held up a hand to keep Afton quiet while he dialed the safe house’s number on Afton’s desk phone. He got Officer Diaz on the line within one ring.
“Where are the women right now?” Sean asked.
“Upstairs playing cards.”
“Secure the house and get up there with them. The killer has your location.”
“What! How in—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sean cut in. “Burke is on his way right now. I want you to move the women into the upstairs room with the best locks and most limited access.”
“The master bathroom,” Diaz said instantly. “There’s only a small window and two doors to protect.”
“Good. Get them in there. Tell Brown to be extra careful on his foot patrol.”
“You got it.”
Sean hung up the phone and looked at his watch, counting off the minutes, and willing his cousin to call.
Chapter 68
Fairfax County, Virginia
Wednesday night
“Gin,” Olivia said. She laid down her winning hand and grinned at Claire triumphantly.
“That’s what, ten times in a row? We’re going to have to handicap you.” Claire tallied up the points on a note-pad. “Wait until Aidan gets here, then I’ll win some of my money back.”
She looked up as the phone rang, then froze. A man was standing near the doorway behind Olivia, pointing a gun at her head.
Olivia paused as she shuffled the cards, wondering at Claire’s sudden silence. She looked at her friend’s ashen face and rigid posture, and realized something was very wrong. She jolted when a strange voice spoke from behind her.
“Hello, Marie Claire. You aren’t going to do anything stupid, like call for help, are you? Because if you do, I’ll blow your friend’s pretty little head away. Do we understand each other?”
Claire nodded numbly.
“Don’t move, Red,” Wilkes said to Olivia. “Marie Claire, come over and stand next to me.”
Claire stood and wiped her clammy hands down the front of her jeans. She moved slowly to stand next to the man who was holding a gun on her best friend. He was tall, probably just over six feet. He had short dark hair and navy blue eyes, but other than that she didn’t notice anything outstanding about his features. Nor did he trigger any memories of the night she had run for her life.
Yet she knew this was the man who meant to kill her.
“Excellent,” he said. “You’re being very cooperative—this time.”
He shifted the gun to his left hand and pulled a knife from inside his dark jacket. In a heartbeat he had his hand wrapped around Claire’s neck and was holding the knife to the tender side of her throat. The gun stayed trained on Olivia.
“Okay, Red. Now it’s your turn. You can help with the cop downstairs. Come stand over here, to my left, about six feet away from me. Don’t make any sudden moves, or I’ll cut Marie Claire’s throat and kill you before she hits the floor.”
Olivia stood slowly and did as she was instructed.
Downstairs Claire heard Diaz moving around the ground floor quickly. Windows closed noisily and the front door banged shut, followed by the sound of the dead bolt slamming into place. A little late for that, she thought bitterly.
Wilkes flinched when Officer Diaz called from downstairs.
“Claire! Olivia! Which room are you in?”
“Answer him, Red,” Wilkes said. “Tell him where you are, nothing more.”
Olivia spoke, but only a hoarse sound came out. She closed her eyes, cleared her throat, and tried again. “We’re up here, in Claire’s bedroom.”
“Stay there. I’ll be right up,” Diaz said, still locking everything downstairs.
“Now be quiet,” Wilkes said to Olivia, tightening his grip on Claire. He had to think and think fast.
Olivia’s eyes moved toward Claire’s. Both women knew they had to get away somehow, and to do that they would have to work together. Thinking frantically, Claire looked around th
e room, then she motioned with a hand at her waist toward the open bathroom door behind Olivia. She prayed the man holding a gun on Olivia wouldn’t be able to see the faint movement.
Olivia blinked her understanding without turning her head, thinking the same thing Claire was—escape.
The bathroom sat between the two smaller upstairs bedrooms, and it was connected to each by a heavy wooden door. While a gun and knife stood between them and the hall door, if the women could get to the bathroom, they would have another way out.
Both froze at the sound of footsteps on the back porch. Claire could hear Diaz calling out to his partner on the radio, then using his voice alone.
Claire motioned to Olivia with her hand again, this time pointing at herself. Then she pointed at the hallway. For emphasis, she once again pointed at Olivia and the bathroom door, willing her to understand that Claire would go for the hall door, while Olivia should go toward the bathroom, through it, and into the master bedroom, where there was a door to the hallway.
Olivia bit her lip, not liking the idea of splitting up. But it was their best chance of dividing the killer’s attention, so she blinked again in agreement.
The man holding Claire tensed as he heard heavy footsteps on the old wooden stairs of the house. Officer Diaz called out as he made his way up to them. She watched in horror as the man moved his gun away from Olivia’s head and aimed instead at the doorway.
She realized that he was going to kill the officer, and probably Olivia as well. Their best chance for escape would be when the officer came through the doorway, distracting the killer. She wanted to cry out a warning to Diaz, to tell him of the danger, but she was very aware of the knife resting against her throat and the fact that the killer’s gun could be pointed back to Olivia before the first word of warning left Claire’s mouth.
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