The brunette had a backpack and went in the elevator. “After hours, all floors are locked unless you have a room key,” Wright said. “She used the room key to access the sixth floor. Seven minutes later, she’s back in the garage.” While he spoke, he fast-forwarded through the film until they could see the brunette exiting. Though the film wasn’t sharp, it was obvious the young woman was in distress. She left the garage in Jocelyn Taylor’s car.
“She’s not a suspect,” Genie said, “but she’s definitely a person of interest. Why didn’t she report the crime? What happened to the teenager? Who are these girls? How are these murders connected to Nicole Bellows at the Red Light?”
“They’re connected?” Taback asked.
“I see a lot of homicides each week, but rarely does the killer leave a message. Two messages in two days?”
Three messages. But Lucy didn’t say anything. She had to run her theory by Noah first. She wasn’t going to overstep her place again.
But it all made sense. The hidden room. The prostitutes. Whore implied prostitute. Slut would have been more appropriate for a promiscuous young woman as Wendy appeared to be on the surface.
What if the three murders were connected because the girls all knew each other?
There was one easy way to find out. Go back to Nicole’s previous residence and show pictures of the other victims and find out from Cora Fox who had gotten Nicole out of the slums.
“Kincaid, ready for a road trip? Let’s talk to the people who knew the Taylors best, starting with their employers.”
“Detective.” One of the CSU investigators stepped into the cramped room.
Genie said to Lucy, “Meet me in the lobby.” To everyone else, she ordered, “Get to work, people. You know what to do.”
Lucy took the opportunity to call Noah.
“Armstrong,” he answered brusquely.
“It’s Lucy. I’m still at the Hotel Potomac. Genie and I are going to interview the victims’ employers.”
“Good. I don’t need a blow-by-blow, you’re in good hands with Detective Reid.”
“The male victim is chief of staff to Congressman Hartline.”
“Call me if anything comes of it, or e-mail a status report. You wanted to work this case, work it. You don’t need me to babysit you.”
“No, but—”
“Lucy, do you have a question?”
“No.” She bit her lip. She was trying to be diligent. She wasn’t an agent—as she’d been reminded countless times in the last three days—and she didn’t want to screw this up.
“I have to brief Assistant Director Stockton in ten minutes. Since Wendy James’s identity has been plastered all over the news, the media has been doing our case more damage than good with their speculation. Stockton is going to give a statement and hopefully stop some of the leaks and misinformation.”
“I know you’re busy. I’m sorry. I’ll e-mail a report tonight.”
“Lucy—” Noah hesitated. He must have put his hand over the phone because she only heard muffled voices, then he came back on. “Sorry. Lucy, you don’t need me to hold your hand, okay? I wouldn’t have let you work with Genie if I didn’t think you were more than capable of handling this investigation.”
You don’t need me to babysit you.
You don’t need me to hold your hand.
He must think she was the neediest agent-in-training the Bureau had ever hired.
Lucy decided to take the compliment at face value and not read anything into it, otherwise she would be paralyzed into inaction.
“Thank you.” She hung up.
Genie crossed the lobby, her skin shiny with perspiration. She grabbed a tourist pamphlet off a rack near the registration desk and began fanning herself. “I swear, menopause in summer is God’s way of punishing me for the sins of my youth.”
Lucy smiled. “I’m sure you were an angel.”
Genie laughed deeply. “Honey, I was a little devil. Where’d you think I learned my colorful language? Not just because I started as a beat cop.” They walked out.
“Are you going to Mrs. Taylor’s place of employment first?”
“No, we have a much bigger fish to talk to first. I have Chris Taylor’s phone records. He made two calls last night—one to his office where he left a message on voice mail that he wasn’t coming in today, and one four-minute conversation to Senator Jonathon Paxton.”
Lucy nearly stumbled off the curb.
Genie didn’t miss the recognition. “Know him?”
“Yes.”
“Conflict?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
Was her face that expressive?
“Yes.”
She got into the passenger seat and waited until Genie pulled into traffic before she spoke. How could she explain her relationship with Jonathon Paxton in a way that didn’t make it sound bizarre?
You can’t.
She hadn’t seen the senator in nearly six months, and she didn’t want to see him today. But her curiosity would keep her on this case, because she needed to know why Taylor called Paxton.
“Taylor worked for Hartline, right?” Lucy confirmed.
“For the last six months. Before that, he was a legislative aide to Senator Paxton. I need information, Lucy, before we walk in there. I’ll admit, I don’t like dealing with these guys, and if there’s any chance that the senator is guilty of a crime, I gotta turn it over to the feds, and I won’t be heartbroken about it. But as far as I know, Taylor is a former employee.”
Lucy didn’t want Genie to know about her past, but she couldn’t avoid it now. If she found out later, the detective would think Lucy had lied or intentionally withheld information.
“I’ve known Senator Paxton for seven years,” Lucy said.
“You must have been a kid.”
“Eighteen. I met him when I moved to DC for college. Both his daughter and I were attacked by the same man. Monique wasn’t as lucky as I was.”
“You knew his daughter?”
“No. She was killed years ago, but her killer was never caught until he kidnapped me.” Lucy hesitated, considering telling Genie the whole story, but now wasn’t the time or place to explain that Jonathon Paxton considered her some sort of hero for killing the man who’d killed his daughter and raped Lucy.
“Senator Paxton took me under his wing, so to speak. He gave me a recommendation for the FBI Academy, and I interned for the Senate Judiciary Committee for a semester when I was in college. I haven’t seen him in six months.”
“It sounds like a conflict. Shit.”
“It’s not. He won’t lie to me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He thinks of me as a daughter. But believe me, I don’t consider him a father figure.”
“Is he capable of murder? Do you think he killed the Taylors?”
Two different questions. Lucy answered the latter. “He didn’t kill the Taylors, or that poor girl. If Chris called him for anything, it was for help. Senator Paxton is very loyal to the people who work for him.”
“So our vic calls an old senator instead of the police for help?” Genie made a ticking sound with her tongue. “That sure sounds fishy to me.” She glanced at Lucy. “All right, I’m going to trust you on this. Let’s find out what they talked about during those four minutes.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lucy straightened her stance and put an impassive expression on her face, steeling herself against any emotional reaction. Jonathon Paxton read people well, and he would see through her if she gave him even one small crack in her composure.
She walked into his office behind Genie.
“Senator Paxton,” Genie said extending her hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us so quickly.”
“Of course.” He looked at Lucy, his eyes lit with surprise and unspoken questions.
“Senator,” Lucy said formally.
“Lucy. It is so good to see you.”
He took her hand. He held on long enough to have Genie change her posture. The detective was now hyperalert, and Lucy would have to be doubly diligent not to say or do anything that would make Genie think there was a conflict. Because there wasn’t. If Lucy could prove the senator was guilty of any felony, she would make sure justice was done.
“I’m sorry the circumstances are so tragic,” Lucy said carefully.
He motioned for them to sit on the couch in his sitting area. He sat in a leather chair and said, “Do you know what happened to Chris? If you knew him, you’d know he’s a good man. He doesn’t get into trouble.”
Genie said, “Mr. Taylor and his wife were found dead in their hotel room along with an unidentified woman. We confirmed that he left a message with Congressman Hartline’s office that he would not be coming in to the office today, and then he called you. You were the last person Mr. Taylor spoke to, and near as we can tell based on the evidence, he was killed less than an hour later. What did you discuss?”
Paxton was processing the information, but Lucy couldn’t help but think he was calculating his response at the same time.
“Chris wanted to meet with me. I told him come by anytime today, I’d leave whatever meeting I was in.”
“Would you do that for any of your former staff members?”
“Most of them. Chris? Absolutely.”
“Did he say why?”
“He didn’t share a lot of details, but told me that Jocelyn—his wife—was helping a couple girls who were in trouble and he wanted my advice. You know what his wife does, right?” He looked at Lucy.
“She works for Missing and At-Risk Children,” Lucy said.
“It’s a vocation for her. She reminds me of you, how dedicated she is to the people she’s trying to help.”
Genie said, “You didn’t find that odd? That he would call you and not someone else? If they were in trouble, why not call the police?”
Lucy knew the answer before Paxton said it. “Detective, the girls were scared of the police. Jocelyn worked primarily with teenage prostitutes. I’ve given a substantial sum of money to MARC, and Chris knows I’m always willing to help. I suspected he was going to ask for money, as well as advice.”
“You normally hand over money to prostitutes?” Genie asked.
Paxton didn’t miss the double entendre, and Lucy held her breath.
“These are troubled girls who are often dragged into this business by people they trust. If they show the desire to get out, and if they need help to do it, yes, I’ll give them money. Usually, I’ll give it through MARC and they direct it where it’s most needed. But sometimes, if the need is immediate, the director will call me.”
“Chris isn’t the director,” Lucy said.
“But he knows I’ll help. I didn’t know about the organization until he started working for me. That was nearly four years ago.”
Genie said, “Let me make sure I have this straight. Chris called you last night and asked for a meeting to seek advice to help teenage prostitutes.”
“Chris would do anything for his wife, and his wife would do anything to help these girls.” Paxton leaned forward, his compassion tinged with anger. “These girls are unwanted by everyone. Many were turned out of their homes. Abusive fathers. Molestation. Fast-talking boyfriends who uprooted them, then forced them to sell their bodies. The system failed them, over and over. Most don’t survive. If they have enough hope left to try and create a new life, why wouldn’t I help?”
In one conversation, Lucy was reminded about why she had liked and admired the senator for so long.
Everything he said was true. Chris had called him for help, and the senator planned to help him. But Lucy suspected he knew more than he was saying. For Jonathon Paxton, “help” meant a lot of different things.
Some of them illegal.
Genie said, “There are two missing girls that were seen with Jocelyn Taylor yesterday. Can you identify them?”
Genie showed the senator the photos of the brunette, then the dark blonde. Lucy watched his expression for any reaction.
There was none.
And that’s when Lucy knew that he knew who they were.
The Jonathon Paxton she knew would have shown compassion and tenderness toward the girls, suspecting what they had suffered that led them to this point in their lives.
Then he would have been enraged toward those who had made them suffer.
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” he said. “Are you going to go wide with this in the press? I can help, whatever you need.”
“Thank you, I’ll get back to you on that. We’ll see ourselves out.”
Jonathon followed them to the door anyway. “You have no suspects? You don’t know who did this? Or why?”
Lucy turned and looked into his eyes. “Do you?”
She couldn’t read his expression. “I wish I did,” he said evenly. “I would make sure justice was served.”
* * *
Senator Jonathon Paxton sat at his desk and considered his options.
Chris is dead.
Jonathon put his head in his hands and breathed deeply, sorrow flooding his heart. Chris was a good man, loyal, trustworthy. Jonathon had recommended him for the chief of staff slot when Dale won the special election in their home state of New York. Chris was smart, but not jaded like so many young staffers.
Maybe if he had been more jaded and less trusting, he would still be alive.
Jonathon needed more information about the murders, about what the FBI knew. He wasn’t going to volunteer information that they didn’t know, but he didn’t want to withhold information they might need.
He recognized with profound regret that he had some culpability in Chris’s death.
After all, he had set this chain of events in motion.
Jonathon glanced at his closet door. “You can come out,” he said.
His security consultant stepped into the room. “You should put a chair in there.”
“Find Ivy and her sister.”
“She’s spooked and not answering her phone. But I’ll do everything I can to find them.”
“Spare no expense, but be discreet. They have a photograph of Sara, it’s only a matter of time—”
“I understand.”
Jonathon always had a contigency plan. Now that Ivy wouldn’t be able to record the blackmailers, he had to find another way to get back what they stole.
“I’m going to bring in Sean Rogan.” He didn’t want to, because Rogan was a wild card. Jonathon wasn’t certain where his loyalties were. It all rested on how much he loved Lucy—and what he was willing to do to protect her future.
“Are you sure you can trust him?”
“I need the locket back,” Jonathon said, his voice rising. “It’s all I have of Monique.”
“He’s not going to buy that.”
He might not. But Jonathon didn’t trust Sean Rogan enough to tell him that what was inside the locket was more valuable than the locket itself.
“I have an idea. But make sure Ivy and Sara are safe. I made a promise; I’m going to honor it.”
“I’ll take them to the safe house.”
Jonathon breathed easier. “Thank you, Sergio. As soon as the police make the connection to Wendy James’s murder, I’ll confess my part. But if I say anything now, I won’t be in a position to help them.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jocelyn Taylor had worked for Missing and At-Risk Children, a nonprofit social welfare organization that focused on finding and reuniting runaways with their families, or finding homes for abused children. Many runaways left because of abuse or neglect, and MARC worked to place these difficult cases with homes outside of the foster care system.
MARC’s small suite of offices were on the third floor of a squat office building wedged between two skyscrapers on K Street. Genie and Lucy were ushered immediately into the director’s office.
Cathy Hummel was a tiny Asian woman, barely five feet tall, with an impossibly na
rrow waist. She wore fashionable red-framed glasses and a pale gray suit, crisp even in this sweltering heat. Hummel’s office was small but extremely tidy—no paper could be seen anywhere. Two locked oak file cabinets filled one short wall; the desk and two guest chairs crowded the remaining space.
After getting over the initial shock of the triple homicide, she asked, “Who did such a thing?”
“We’re pursuing all leads,” Genie said. “What did Jocelyn do for you?”
“She’s a social worker.” As if that explained everything.
“Can you be more specific?” Lucy asked. She held up the brochure she’d taken from the small lobby. “It says here that you also work with law enforcement to rehabilitate underaged prostitutes. Senator Paxton said that was Jocelyn’s specialty.”
“You spoke with Jonathon Paxton?”
“Chris used to work for him.”
“I know, but—why is that important?”
“We’re trying to retrace the Taylors’ steps,” Genie said. “How long has Jocelyn worked here?”
Cathy took a deep breath. “Fifteen years, started right out of college. Jocelyn had been raised in foster care, she knew how bad the system could be, and she also knew how good the system could be when it worked. She wanted to help teenage girls make better choices, and the only way they could make good choices was if they had options. So many of these girls feel hopeless. They think no one cares what happens to them.” She stared at a picture on her desk. From her angle, Lucy couldn’t see who was in the photograph.
Cathy shook her head, then continued. “Jocelyn worked mostly with teenage runaways and prostitutes. She cared.”
Unspoken was “She cared too much.”
“And recently? This past week?”
“Jocelyn hasn’t been in the office much this week, but that’s not unusual,” Cathy quickly added. It almost sounded as if she was protecting her, and while that wasn’t strange, here she sounded defensive.
Genie said, “So you don’t know what she was doing?”
“No, of course not, it’s just that—” She stopped. “You said there was a third victim?”
Genie said, “Unidentified. The photograph is disturbing, but it’s important we identify her.”
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