Blake Pierce - Kate Wise - 5 - If She Fled

by Blake Pierce

  being blown apart with each victim.

  Maybe you’re getting too old for this.

  The thought came out of nowhere and was like a dagger to the heart. It

  hurt even worse, like that dagger being twisted, when she imagined a younger

  agent working alongside DeMarco.

  “Everything okay?” DeMarco asked, looking away from the board to grab

  a large forkful of orange chicken.

  “Yeah,” she lied. She took her seat and stared up at the absolute lack of

  answers on the whiteboard in front of her. “Where were we?”

  ***

  When she and DeMarco drove back to the hotel at 8:35, Kate nearly told

  DeMarco about the call Duran had placed. In the end, she decided not to. She

  assumed Duran had also called DeMarco to fill her in and, if that were the

  case, DeMarco had not mentioned it and was choosing to keep it to herself.

  Kate wondered if DeMarco was trying to protect her or if she found the

  situation too awkward to handle. Or maybe Duran hadn’t called DeMarco at

  all. Maybe he was waiting to see how she would handle it—if she would

  totally blow up at him or if she’d be the good little agent and come back

  home for her punishment without putting up a fight.

  DeMarco parked the car and got out, apparently noting how quiet Kate

  had been for the past several hours.

  “You going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’d really rather not.”

  “Fair enough. Want to have a few drinks and then accidentally tell me?”

  Kate shook her head. “At the risk of seeming like a bitch, I think I just

  want to spend some time alone tonight.”

  They were walking toward their rooms, Kate fumbling with her keys, when DeMarco reached out and took her hand. “Wise… Kate… I hope you

  know I consider you more than my partner. More than a good agent, even. I

  consider you a friend. That being said, I want you to know that you can tell

  me anything.”

  That settles it then, Kate thought. Duran hasn’t called her yet. He’s wanting me to tell her.

  Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She did not want to admit defeat

  to this woman who was looking up to her as a mentor of sorts.

  “I’m fine,” Kate said. “Just tired and bummed out about all of the stuff

  going on back home with Melissa.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave you to your own stuff tonight. Me, I’ll be heading back

  to the bar. If you change your mind, I’d love to have you.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “But if you aren’t there within a few hours, maybe stay put. If that same

  bartender is working tonight, I may embarrass you.”

  “Embarrass me how?”

  DeMarco grinned as they reached their respective rooms, side by side.

  “Not that you’re old-fashioned or stuck up or anything, but you don’t strike

  me as the sort of woman that would be overly comfortable being in the

  presence of a gay woman trying to pick up another gay woman.”

  “Thanks…I think. I would not be uncomfortable with that, by the way.

  Also, that gives me one more reason to stay in. You go do your thing. Let me

  know how it goes in the morning.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that,” DeMarco said.

  She looked rather surprised at how well Kate had responded. It again

  made Kate wonder just how much of an obstacle DeMarco’s homosexuality

  had been as she had come up through high school, college, and even the

  academy. Kate knew the bureau took great strides to promote inclusion, but

  some individuals within the academy were still, even to this day, unable to

  shake racial and sexual biases.

  Kate walked into her room, kicked her shoes off, and fell onto the bed like

  a tired and angst-ridden teen. She let out a huge exhale of air, figuring it was

  much more mature and productive than screaming into a pillow.

  Perhaps it was the uncharacteristic anger that had her so riled up, but she

  decided in that moment that she was not going to leave the case. She assumed

  that at some point, Duran could threaten her—perhaps even with being arrested for interfering in a case that was no longer hers—but she didn’t think

  he would do such a thing. She knew Duran well enough to know that he was

  damned good at being scary and demanding certain things of people, but he

  was often very slow to pull the trigger when it came to doling out

  consequences and punishments. Besides, even if he did come down hard on

  her, what was he going to do? The absolute worst he could do was fire her

  and while that would certainly be a blow, Kate figured it might be just the

  exit strategy she needed—a forced one.

  As she tried to sort through all of this, her phone rang. She dug it out of

  her pocket and saw that it was Melissa. She nearly swiped her finger across

  the screen to answer the call but stopped herself at the last minute. She placed

  the phone facedown and waited for the buzzing to stop.

  Don’t tear yourself up, Kate told herself. She has to learn to deal with things on her own. She has to learn that just because things are better

  between the two of you, she can’t come rushing to you whenever something is

  bothering her. If there’s something related to Michelle and her health,

  Melissa will leave a message and you can respond. But for now, you have to

  let her learn to navigate life on her own.

  Kate knew that tears were brimming in her eyes over these thoughts—but

  she also knew they were true.

  It was then, contemplating the meaning behind Melissa’s calls, that Kate

  started to wonder how Alan was doing. He had always been quite good about

  not calling her when she was on a case, but he would typically text her every

  now and then when she was away, just to let her know he was thinking about

  her. Ever since she had left two days ago, leaving him with Michelle, she had

  not gotten a single text.

  And that’s fine, she thought. I’m not sure I want to speak to him after he gave me his little spiel about “getting my priorities straight.”

  She lay there for a very long time, staring at the ceiling and trying to

  remain calm. She’d experienced far too much anger over the last few days—

  an emotion she typically managed to stay very far away from. It had thrown

  her off and, if she was being honest with herself, felt toxic.

  She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying there when she realized just

  how tired she was. Hadn’t she read somewhere that copious amounts of anger

  tended to tire out those who weren’t accustomed to the emotion? She nearly

  got up from the bed but decided against it. She simply lay still, wallowing in it all, until she fell asleep far earlier than she had intended.

  ***

  While she slept, she dreamed. It was the sort of dream where the dreamer

  is somehow fully aware it’s a dream, but that realization does nothing to stem

  the impact of it.

  In the dream, she was walking into a well-to-do home with DeMarco. The

  was similar to most of the homes she had been in ever since taking the new

  position with the bureau after coming out of retirement: well built, trendy,

  and over-expensive. As she made her way through the home, she came to a

  man standing over a body in the living room. The body on the floor was that

  of a woman,
her face turned toward Kate in a horrified expression.

  It was her daughter…it was Melissa.

  She had been strangled, but with something much harsher than what had

  killed the three women in Frankfield. Whatever had strangled Melissa had

  sliced deeply into her throat, her head barely hanging on to her neck.

  Unmoved, Kate stepped forward. The man standing over the body turned

  around and looked at her. It was Terry. He had been weeping so much that

  the area around his eyes had been rubbed red. The corner of his right eye was

  torn, trickling little drops of blood.

  “She was here alone,” Terry said. “I was at work and…my God, I just

  didn’t show her I loved her enough, did I? I was too distant, too…”

  On the floor, Melissa opened her mouth. Doing so made it appear as if her

  head would separate from her shoulders completely. She mouthed just two

  words; they were soundless, but Kate knew what they were.

  “Mom…help…”

  “Terry,” Kate said. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” he wailed, his eye still bleeding. “I wish I knew. I wish I’d

  paid more attention to her. I wish…I wish you knew yourself.”

  In the dream, Kate only stared at the body of her daughter with the eye of

  a seasoned agent.

  But in a hotel room in Frankfield, Illinois, she moaned in her sleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When Kate stirred awake just after 5:30 the following morning, the dream

  was still prevalent in her mind. She saw Terry’s bleeding eyes looking at her

  as if she had the answers, as if she might know why that dream version of

  Melissa was dead. As haunting as the dream was, it slammed one determined

  thought to the front of her head. It was an obvious next step in the process,

  but one that she and DeMarco had been patiently waiting on.

  Well, Kate thought as she made her way to the bathroom and brushed her

  teeth, patience isn’t something I have time for right now. When I’m not back

  in DC by noon, Duran is going to know I disobeyed him. He’ll start calling.

  And I’ll ignore him. I have no idea how long it will be before he calls

  Bannerman and his men, giving them authority to arrest me.

  She sorted through all of this as she did her best with her hair. She had,

  after all, fallen asleep without getting properly ready for bed the night before.

  Her neck hurt and the dream felt as if it had glued itself to the very center of

  her mind.

  No, she did not have time to be patient or by-the-book. She had maybe six hours to get something done. And as much as she hated to go rogue on

  DeMarco, she honestly didn’t see that she had much of a choice.

  She was going to have to go by the hospital and hope she could get in to

  see David Lowell. Even if he was not medically cleared yet, she had to figure

  out some way to speak with him. Over the past thirty years or so, she’d

  spoken with numerous people in various states of injury—a few even on their

  deathbeds. She knew when to push and when to pull back. And without

  DeMarco watching over her shoulder, Kate thought she might be able to get

  away with flirting with the boundary between the two.

  She was fastening her holster, perhaps a minute or two from stepping out

  the door, when her phone rang. She checked the display and saw that it was

  Bannerman. She nearly ignored it and headed out on her mission but figured

  it made no sense to dodge his calls. There was always the chance that he

  might have information no one else did. When you were the sheriff of a town

  the size of Frankfield, the breaks in nearly all developing stories went to you

  first, even when the FBI is in town.

  She answered it, almost feeling as if she had been busted. “This is Wise.”

  “Agent Wise, it’s Bannerman. I just got a call from David Lowell. He’s

  home. He apparently got home around midnight last night, about an hour

  after he was discharged. The hospital didn’t bother calling when he was given

  the okay to speak to us, as I asked them to. But I just got off of the phone

  with him. Seems he was unable to sleep and wants to talk to us—wants to

  find out who killed his wife and why.”

  Now she really felt like she had been busted. She was relieved to know

  that Lowell was back home and more than willing to speak with them, but at

  the same time, working alongside Bannerman and DeMarco would only slow

  her down. She gritted her teeth in frustration but carried on as expected.

  “That’s great, Sheriff. Can you meet us at the hotel in about ten minutes?”

  “I’m already on the way.”

  ***

  Kate was impressed at how quickly DeMarco got dressed and ready for

  the day. She’d still been asleep when Kate knocked on her door at 5:51,

  answering the door and then leaving it cracked for Kate to walk in while she

  scrambled around the room to get ready. Kate noted the empty bed and

  grinned.

  “Did you strike out last night?”

  “No, I’d call it a home run. I told her what I do for a living and that it

  wasn’t practical for her to sleep here. She agreed and left.”

  “Good for you,” Kate said.

  DeMarco smirked as she buttoned up her shirt. “For her, too.”

  Bannerman arrived just as Kate and DeMarco headed out of the room in

  hopes that the crappy little hotel office served complimentary coffee.

  “No need,” Bannerman said as they approached the car. “I figured you’d

  need some for this early hour and brought you each a cup of the petrol we

  drink from down at the station. Breakfast, on the other hand…”

  “We can wait,” DeMarco said, though it sounded like a question as she

  looked over to Kate.

  “Yes,” Kate agreed. “We can wait.”

  Bannerman seemed pleased when they got into his patrol car rather than

  opting for their own. He sped out of the lot and took the familiar two-lanes

  through the city until he came to the trendy little subdivision the Lowells had happily lived in until yesterday. Kate frowned when she realized the house

  already had that feeling she had somehow gotten used to and had come to

  accept—the feel of a residence that is no longer a happy home but now a

  place of trauma and sorrow. It was far too similar to pulling up to a funeral

  parlor.

  They made their way up the porch, Kate knocking on the door while

  DeMarco and Bannerman kept a respectable distance behind as to not make

  the grieving husband feel too overwhelmed.

  The door was answered by a woman of about forty or so. She looked tired

  but had the air of a woman who was getting things done. She nodded to them

  all before saying anything.

  “FBI?” she asked in a hopeful tone.

  “Yes,” Kate said. “Agents Wise and DeMarco. This is Sheriff

  Bannerman,” she said, gesturing to Bannerman, “with the local PD.”

  “I’m Paulette Ivans, David’s sister,” the woman said. “I’ve been with him

  from the moment he was admitted to the hospital. I made the request for the

  doctors not to call you when he was given the clear. David…I don’t know. I

  don’t think it was so much a heart attack as it was a heart break. I know that sounds cheesy, but it sums it all up pretty well.”

  “But he�
�s fine now?” DeMarco asked.

  “Fine enough to make it through the details, I think,” Paulette said. “He

  badly wants to talk to you to figure this all out. Just…I wouldn’t be at all

  surprised if he breaks down while you’re here. He hasn’t really talked deeply

  about it. If he does have a breakdown, I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d leave.

  I’ll call you back when he is ready.”

  “Understood,” Kate said.

  “Come on in, then.”

  Paulette led them into the Lowell home. Just like the exterior, the interior

  simply felt gloomy. It was clear that a great deal of grieving was being done;

  Kate could feel it in the air. Paulette led them to the living room, where

  David Lowell was sitting in an armchair and looking out the window. He

  glanced toward them at once when they entered the room and the amount of

  absolute hope in his eyes slayed Kate.

  “Mr. Lowell, I’m Agent Wise and this is Agent DeMarco.”

  “Yeah, I was told the FBI was in town on this but…I mean, I appreciate it,

  but why?”

  “I assume neither of you have seen the news?” Bannerman asked.

  “No,” Paulette said. “Why?”

  Kate stepped forward after giving Bannerman an unsteady glance. “Ms.

  Ivans, Mr. Lowell…this was the third murder of this kind here in Frankfield

  over the past two weeks or so.”

  “Oh,” he said. He went wide-eyed for a moment, as if he was awed by this

  information, but it did not last long. “Are there any suspects so far?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Kate said. “None that have panned out, anyway. We

  were hoping you might have some ideas.”

  “Not a single one. I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since I was

  coherent enough to do so. It just doesn’t make sense. I can’t think of anyone

  that had anything against her. It had to be some random asshole, preying on

  random women. I called the security company because when I tried to check

  the Nest feed, nothing came up.”

  “We checked that, too,” Kate said. “The feed was killed.”

  “What?”

  She knew she had to be careful here. The last thing she wanted was to

  inform him that his wife had slept with another man less than an hour or so