I’ve searched for you Ciara for five long years. How can anyone disappear off the face of the earth? Where are you? You bitch, you humiliated me in front of both our families and friends. You left me stranded at the altar on our wedding day. I waited hour after hour for you. You didn’t show. You left with no explanation. Why? What an idiot I’d been…worrying something bad had happened to you. God, how I wished it had. Not one word from you, no explanation, no apology. Not a whisper or trace of you in all these years.
Your parents moved away—left me no forwarding address. Ah, but I know where they live. I’ve traced them through the internet. It seems Ciara, you don’t live with them. My tracers on your social security number, your credit cards haven’t turned up one clue. Though I almost had you once. Your mother’s credit card was used in a different state and another one on the same day in the state where she lived. I jumped on a plane, searched the area where the purchases had been made, but I never sighted you. Aren’t you working Ciara? Are you using a different social security number and name. Damn it, where are you?
“What is your real name?” he demanded.
* * * *
“It’s…it’s Nadia. I keep telling you. My name is Nadia,” she screamed hoarsely. Broken, she almost was unable to remember her own name. Nadia knew deep in her heart she hated a woman named Ciara. A woman she had never met.
“It’s not Ciara?”
“No.” Nadia knew this was the end, and had even prayed for it.
She sent her prayers, her goodbyes and love to Donny, her parents, and her sister.
“Say goodbye, Nadia.” He pressed the knife deep into her skin as he ran it across her throat, left to right, ending her life.
After weeks of torture, she barely registered the final insult.
Chapter 1
September 1st
“That’s the best sex on or off planet a girl could’ve asked for first thing in the morning. But next time, put Brigh’s bed in the living room.” Mia pushed off Jake as his cell phone started to ring.
He grabbed it, looked down at the caller ID and cursed, before answering it. There went his day off. He reached for the pen and notebook he kept on his nightstand and started writing as he listened to the Dispatcher.
“Thanks. Notify Sergeant Romanelli and have him meet me at the scene.” Jake disconnected the call and turned toward Mia. And wasn’t it strange to have her back in his life. Life…wasn’t it bizarre?
“I know. You’re leaving me. Who’s dead?”
“I don’t know. Sorry, Mia. I’d hoped to spend the whole day with you.” He got out of bed, pulled a pair of jeans from the bottom drawer, his socks and underwear from the top one.
“I understand. Call me later.”
“Will do, go back to sleep.” Jake stepped into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed, he walked back into the room and put on his shoulder holster along with his ankle holster, then reached into his closet safe for his guns.
“What?” he asked. Mia was sitting up in bed, staring intently at him.
“All that hardware—doesn’t it bother you to carry it?”
“It’d bother me more if I had a situation and didn’t have my weapons with me. Don’t worry.”
“I can’t help it. Will I see you tonight?”
“I hope so. I’ll let you know what’s going on when I do.” He leaned into her and glided his lips over hers, lingered there for a moment—something positive to take with him to the scene.
In the kitchen, he brewed a quick cup of coffee, toasted a bagel, and headed to his car. As he drove out of the garage Kyra’s death weighed on him. He hadn’t been able to get Kyra out of his head. It was Kyra who had helped him when Mia dumped him. He and Mia were still testing the ground of their newly resumed relationship. Trust had become an issue for him. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to walk away again. Though Kyra dying had nothing to do with them getting back together it was still a touchy subject for him. A few times in the past couple of weeks Mia had tried to broach the subject. Hadn’t he told her he’d only talk about that one time? When she brought it up, he’d cut her off. At least Mia had the sense not to throw Kyra’s criminal history at him. Even with it, Kyra held a place in his heart. She’d saved his life when she jumped in front of Lucci’s gun for him. Phil Lucci continued to refuse to offer insight in Angelo Rainford, or say where he had taken off to. All Lucci did was gloat about Kyra’s death.
Oh, Kyra.
* * * *
Jake scanned the crowd as he drove into the Metro station parking lot. He counted six cruisers with their lights flashing. Nothing like advertising a crime scene in the joined lot to the newspaper. Whatever happened to common sense? I bet the reporters got better pictures than we did.
Disgusted, he gulped down the rest of his coffee and wiped his mouth before climbing out of the car. He wondered what the body count was for there to be that large of a police presence. The crowd consisted of not only the patrol car officers, there were a few who patrolled on foot, as well as CSIs, uniformed Metro employees, strangers he assumed were commuters who got more than a ride to work today. The crime scene tape was in place, installed to hold back the lookie-loos. He nodded to a couple of the uniforms as he walked by. Some turned away from him. He gritted his teeth. Damn freaking ‘Wall of Blue.’ Did they trust going through a door with a dirty cop? He’d refuse to go through a door with one. Jake continued to scan the line as he pushed down his anger. It didn’t belong at a crime scene. He surveyed the crowd again for anyone who stood out. It was never that easy, though some killers did like to watch the police process the scene.
Dispatch had reported that two kids who had cut school this morning had gotten more than they’d bargained for. They had planned to walk along the tracks to get to a favorite party spot where there was no access by car, making it difficult for the cops to patrol it. Instead of enjoying the late summer day, they’d found a body. It might act as a deterrent from cutting classes the next time, he mused. A tough lesson for sure.
“This way, Lieutenant,” Officer Martin Gregory said, approaching Jake.
“How contaminated is my scene, Marty?”
Jake followed him down the slight incline to the tracks while taking in the area. Not an easy dump site, he noted. Someone had lots of muscle if he’d carried the body this far. Jake pulled out his notebook, wrote down his first impressions before listing the questions that popped into his head. How much strength did it take to carry a body this far? It clearly had to be done early before people headed to work. But there’s still be a possibility someone might’ve seen the perp. Where had he parked? Where had he entered the area? Did he drag or carry her?
“You got kids running around, the homeless, plus all the druggies use this spot,” Marty said.
“Grab a couple of uniforms and walk the perimeter. See if he dragged her down here once he was off the road and out of sight. Look for tire marks in case he drove it.”
Jake looked down the hill, still unable to locate the body. “And see if you find any bags large enough to transport a body.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did Sergeant Romanelli get here yet?”
“He’s with the victim, sir. My partner’s with him.”
It eased his mind knowing Louie had taken control of the scene. Someone called out to him.
“Lieutenant, is she the missing girl from July sixth?”
Anger burned a hole in his gut as he turned to face the speaker. Reporters in general annoyed him. Cretins in his opinion. They only cared about their next headline, not the victims or their survivors. But Matthew Hayes was the worst of the lot.
“Stay off my crime scenes. This is your last warning.” Hayes was on the scene too early—again. Someone had tipped off the bastard. He turned to Marty. “Escort this person to the parking lot. If he asks you any quest
ions, even one, arrest him.” Turning, he headed toward the victim.
“You know, Lieutenant, a little cooperation might help you solve the Bride Murders,” Hayes shouted out.
Jake knew better than to engage him, but he’d had enough of Hayes. He pulled up short and turned back to the reporter. The ‘Bride Murders’ the press had dubbed them for sensationalism. Christ, if I find out who’s letting Hayes onto my scenes, there’ll be hell to pay. The victims deserved everyone’s respect. They weren’t headlines. They were people with families, lives and ambitions. Someone stole their lives, their futures. If he let it, it’d fester until his sister Eva’s case jammed into his head. She didn’t belong there right now. It would cloud his judgement if he wasn’t careful.
“The other women are still listed as missing, not murdered.” Without another word he continued on to the body.
* * * *
“What have you got?” Jake asked, Sergeant Louie Romanelli, his partner for the last ten years and his life-long friend.
Louie’s six-foot-two frame was crouched over the body as he examined some piece of evidence. His styled brown hair didn’t budge in the wind.
“A Caucasian woman in her early twenties with dark brown hair, brown eyes, approximately one-twenty or less, she fits the description of the most recent missing woman,” Louie replied, as he pushed up from his position.
“Same date?” Jake asked, looking into Louie’s brown eyes.
“Yes.”
“Don’t give Hayes that information. It’ll only give him more ammunition to tag the victim. I don’t want these crimes referred to as the Bride Murders by any officer.”
“You’re a little touchy this morning,” Louie said quietly for Jake’s ears only.
“Hayes is on our scenes even before we are. We need to find out who’s feeding him.”
Louie nodded as he squatted down to pick something up with gloved hands. He placed it in an evidence bag and labeled it.
Jake looked around at the faces of the young and experienced cops as he pulled on his own gloves. In the car he had put on his booties. It was as good of a time as any to address the issue. “I understand you all heard what I said to the reporter. I want every victim treated with respect. It starts by referring to her by name. Not a nickname given by the press. Understood?” He looked to each person, not moving until he got a nod from each of them.
“Let’s get to work.”
Sympathy, pain, and memories flooded him as he crouched to examine the woman’s face. It never failed to amaze him what human beings did to one another. Animals fought and killed to survive. Humans fought and killed for many reasons—sport, food, trophies. What kind of satisfaction did the unsub get from torturing a beautiful young woman? What switched on in a person’s mind to cause this kind of brutality? After twelve years of being a cop, he understood self-defense, even instant rage. But murder and especially this kind of killing he hadn’t a clue to the why of it. To abduct, torture and hold a person hostage took planning and organization. It said something about the killer.
“You ran her fingerprints through the computer? There’s no mistake?” he asked Louie.
“Yes, it’s Nadia Carren. According to her Missing Persons’ file she was twenty-two at the time of her disappearance. She worked over at Feinberg & Feinberg as a paralegal. Besides her parents, she leaves a sister. Mr. and Mrs. Carren asked to be kept in the loop. The date’s the same as the other missing women. Want to speculate?”
“Not at this time, Louie, we need more information. When we get back we’ll bounce it around.”
Jake knew questions like this would be directed at him from the brass. Last year he’d taken the FBI profiling courses at Quantico. He hoped it gave him an edge in this case, though it might not. This case fell to him even though it started out as a missing persons’ case two and a half months ago. In that time, he’d been running only Homicide. Now he had the Missing Persons’ department too. Now a homicide, a case this sensitive, that’s been in the news, brought pressure from the candidates in an election year. The incumbent was running again, much to Jake’s chagrin, and two others with no political experience. Jake’d take either of the new comers over Mayor Velky. Politics screwed with cases that drew large amounts of publicity. Velky’d have no problem using it as a stepping stone.
“I don’t have a clue. We’ll find out when we catch him. But it will never make sense to anyone but the killer,” Jake said.
“None of the other victims have been found. He obviously wanted this one found quickly. Why is the question of the hour? And is it the same guy?” Louie asked.
“All good questions, Louie, but without the other bodies, we can’t be sure.”
“I’m only throwing it out there.” Louie scratched his head.
Jake understood he partner’s methodology. “I don’t know. If someone came upon him dumping the body it changed his MO. Who knows if it’s the same guy.” Though deep down his gut told him it was. “He might’ve been tired of not getting the credit for his work.” He heard the frustration drip from his voice.
Every July 6th for the past five years a young woman disappeared. Five beautiful young women ready to start their lives, all gone without a trace…until now. And Louie was right, it was a big question. Why now? What had changed?
“I hate that it ended this way, but at least now we have something to work with. I hope it’ll lead us to the other women,” Louie said.
Always the optimist. Jake wondered how Louie held on to it.
With a rhythm born from years of partnership, Jake and Louie worked side by side in silence, directing, gathering, and collecting evidence. Together they examined the train tracks near where Nadia’s body was found. Jake stood beside the splayed body, eyeing the different ways the murderer might’ve brought her in without being noticed. If he’d done it himself, he’d have parked beneath the underpass.
This crime scene was covered in litter, empty crack vials, cigarette butts, fast food containers, cheap wine and liquor bottles along with used condoms and needles were scattered everywhere. It was a known party hangout. The area around the body had been cleared of debris. It pointed to an organized killer. Fingernails and hair looked recently washed. Bending closer to the body, Jake took a sniff. Yep, there went his trace, damn. The perps learned how to spoil evidence from television. Why here, why now? kept popping back into his head. The killer had a reason for dumping her where she’d be found fast. What was it? Jake’s stomach churned. Whoever washed the body was familiar with police procedure. Was it a cop? God, he hoped not after the recent scandal of corrupt cops working for the mob. It didn’t need more.
“Disease Haven” he’d dubbed this place years before when he was a uniform on patrol. Everyone hated to get stuck with duty down here. It was bad enough he had a contaminated scene, between the homeless and emergency response members. Jake wouldn’t be able to get any decent footprints and the large amounts of garbage in the area hindered them further. He directed the CSIs to pick up every bit of litter they saw. Told them he’d supply uniforms if necessary. He wasn’t taking any chances—he didn’t want to miss one important piece of evidence due to laziness. One gum wrapper might nail the suspect. Louie had a couple of officers taking swabs from Neil McMichaels, the railroad safety inspector, who’d called in the report after his morning rounds, and any of the homeless still on scene to eliminate them from the mix. They had to wait for the parents before taking samples from the kids.
* * * *
After overseeing the collection of evidence, Jake walked back to the body and joined the assistant medical examiner. Louie had already bagged the hands and the feet. Doc McKay pronounced her dead on scene and made a notation of the time. It was a myth that medical examiners checked the body temperature at the scene. It served no purpose except to make the M.E. look efficient on television. Once he completed the other necessary tasks, McKay signaled
to the morgue drivers. He turned from the corpse, took off his gloves, rolled them together, and placed them in an evidence bag as not to contaminate any of his other instruments. Next, he wiped his hands with an alcohol wipe, than swiped the wipe over his tweezers before putting them back into his bag.
“I heard what you said before to your team,” McKay said. “You know, Jake, one of the reasons I like working with you over other detectives is your respect for the victims.”
“Thanks, Tim.” Embarrassed, Jake dropped the subject, and asked, “Do you have an approximate time of death?”
“No, I don’t want to venture a guess. With the wild weather and the heat we’ve been having estimating time of death will take a while. I’ll give you a heads-up when I finish my prelim.”
Doc McKay was a respectful man who handled the dead with care. Next to him, Jake was a giant. McKay stood about five-ten, his thinning hair and a paunch showed his age. The Doc didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care about. On his scenes, Jake only wanted Lang or McKay.
“Good enough, Doc.” He watched as the morgue assistants loaded up the body for transport.
* * * *
After he finished with the scene, he and Louie headed to the west end of town, to an affluent neighborhood, and a house lined with cheerful flowers along its border. After they delivered their news, it’d be a false façade. Out of all the tasks his job required, Jake hated notifications the most. Cop families knew when another cop knocked on their door the news was the worst. Civilians stalled hoping to delay the news and the outcome. Today he’d dash the hopes of the Carrens and change their lives forever.
Jake knocked harder than intended. A pretty, petite brunette in her late forties, who resembled the pictures of her missing daughter, answered the door. The smile dropped off her face when she spied their badges.
All the Hidden Sins Page 34
