Kiss Me, Kill Me

by Allison Brennan

  On the other hand, why didn’t he come forward? He had to have known the girl he had once cared about was dead.

  “Of course not,” Hans said. “Keep him where he is. He may be guilty.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “I appreciate your taking my call, Suzanne. If anything jumps out at me when I receive the reports, I’ll call you.”

  She gave him her cell phone number and hung up.

  Suzanne didn’t know what to make of the conversation, and didn’t have time to think about it because security buzzed her to say that Rogan and Kincaid were here and where would she like to put them?

  Her ego wanted to tell the guard to lock them up, but instead she said, “Conference 22C.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  As soon as Lucy stepped into the conference room, she knew something had happened to change Suzanne’s attitude. She was cool and off-putting, and Lucy wished she knew why. Was it because Sean hadn’t asked if they could come by? Lucy didn’t think that was a good enough reason, considering that when they’d called earlier, Suzanne had promised to call back in thirty minutes.

  Still, this was a complex case and she was busy, and if Lucy understood anything about cops after living in a family full of them, it was that they didn’t like to be bossed around. And Sean could be bossy.

  So Lucy started the conversation off by saying, “We’re sorry to drop in like this, but we think the information we found might help.”

  Suzanne nodded. “By all means. I’m yours.”

  Her easygoing tone contradicted her physical tension. Sean noticed; it was a subtle shift in his own posture that Lucy didn’t think Suzanne noticed. Suddenly, Lucy felt that she was in the middle of a silent battle.

  Sean said, “A Hunter College student found Kirsten Benton’s cell phone at the abandoned warehouse during the party. He forgot about it and found it this morning. I retrieved it, and I talked to him about Kirsten. In the course of our conversation, I asked if he knew who Wade Barnett was. He did, and confirmed that he was at the Sunset Park warehouse the night Jessica died. He left around three a.m. with an unknown woman.”

  Suzanne nodded. “So I understand that you interviewed a witness about my primary suspect in a capital murder case.”

  Lucy’s stomach flipped.

  Sean said, “You could say that, but it was ancillary to my search for a missing minor.” He slid over a copy of Kirsten’s text messages from the thirty-six-hour period before Jessica was killed. “I downloaded her text messages and put them in chronological order along with other facts, including phone calls she’d made. Read the last two pages.”

  Suzanne picked up the packet, skimmed the opening pages, then read where Sean indicated.

  Suzanne frowned. “Is this accurate?”

  “You noticed the change in messaging.”

  “It’s obvious.”

  Sean nodded. “Someone else sent Kirsten that last message. And that person only knew her by her Party Girl name.”

  Lucy said, “We know she used the name whenever she came to New York—both Josh Haynes and Lauren Madrid knew her only as Ashleigh. But Jessica knew her real name.”

  “Maybe they were in their roles?” Suzanne said, though by her tone she didn’t believe it.

  “I think it’s clear that this gives you a good window for time of death,” Sean said.

  Suzanne didn’t say anything, but made a few notes on the packet.

  Lucy said, “In Kirsten’s message to her ex-boyfriend on Thursday, she said that there was something about the text that was wrong, and I think even through the haze of whatever drugs she was on, she noticed that Jessica called her ‘Ash,’ that it wasn’t written in their usual shorthand.”

  “Thank you,” Suzanne said. “Is that it?”

  Lucy nodded, but she was antsy. She thought that Suzanne and she had gotten off to a good start yesterday, and then this morning she was talking about dinner. “We’re sorry to take up so much of your time. You’re obviously busy, so if we need to cancel dinner to pitch in and help, we’d be glad to.”

  Suzanne looked confused for a moment, then said, “Look, I appreciated your help yesterday. We’re working two different cases that happen to overlap. I can’t tell you to stop looking for Kirsten Benton, but apparently you have enough clout to bring in the brass over my head.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sean said.

  Suzanne stared at Lucy. “She does.”

  It came clear to Lucy. “You called Hans and he told you I discussed the case with him. I wasn’t second-guessing—”

  “I didn’t call Washington. When I arrested Barnett this morning, getting a profile of a killer I had in jail was the last thing on my mind. But now I have to. I have dozens of potential witnesses to interview, but when an assistant director at national headquarters calls and asks for something, however nicely he does it, I have to spend my time putting it together.”

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know Hans would call.”

  “Hans? Really? You’re on a first-name basis. You could have clued me in earlier that you have connections.”

  “Any connections I might have aren’t important. I didn’t try to pull one over on you. I’m not even an agent.”

  “Yeah, but you act like one. I’d love to have your help because obviously, you two know what you’re doing. But I got blindsided today and feel like a damn rookie again.”

  “Please believe me, Suzanne, I didn’t know Hans was going to call. I wish he hadn’t.”

  Suzanne let out a long, pent-up sigh. “I’m glad he did,” she said, though she didn’t sound happy about it. “I don’t think I’m wrong about Wade Barnett, but—I’m not one hundred percent convinced he’s a killer. I have thirty-six hours to get convinced, because he’s going to be arraigned on Monday, and if he’s guilty, I have to convince the U.S. Attorney to remand him into custody. No judge is going to let him sit in prison for lying to me. We could push and get a conviction, but he’s not going to do time for it. If he’s guilty, I don’t want him on the streets. But if he’s not guilty, I need to find the killer before someone else dies.”

  Sean said, “I’ve served as a civilian consultant in the past. I have clearance; you can contact Washington.”

  Suzanne considered his offer. She said to Lucy, “Do you know what Dr. Vigo needs for a profile?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “I need to make a call. Stay here.” Suzanne walked out.

  Sean turned to Lucy. “You didn’t tell me you talked to Hans about this case.”

  “Something was bothering me about it, and Hans knew exactly what it was after I explained everything.”

  “What?”

  “That suffocation is a feminine way to kill.”

  “Which means what exactly? That a woman is the killer?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Hans agreed that while the murders were intimate, they weren’t sexual. There was no violence.”

  “No violence?” Sean questioned.

  “No excessive violence. The victims were weak, compliant. The killer held them while they died. And that’s the other big red flag.”

  “Why?”

  “Because whoever killed those women watched them die. Suffocation isn’t quick.”

  “Shit, that’s sadistic.”

  Suzanne returned with a dark, curly-haired female in her late thirties. “This is Andie Swann, the best of the best on our Evidence Response Team.”

  Andie rolled her eyes. “I pay Suzanne for compliments.”

  “What? In beer?” Suzanne laughed. She tossed Sean and Lucy two badges. No photo, but their names were printed on the cards. “Now if you need to take a leak, you don’t have to call in security to escort you. Andie is going to babysit you, however, because I’m responsible for these files. She’s also smart and has been my evidence coordinator from the beginning of the joint task force, so pick her brain.”

  Lucy asked, “What do you want us to do?”
r />   “You know what Dr. Vigo needs. Give it to him.”

  Sean wasn’t happy. “You want us to do your paperwork?”

  “You created it.”

  Lucy was elated. “I’m happy to do it.”

  Sean glanced at her and frowned. She ignored him. Sean was all action, but Lucy loved picking through reports for the gold nuggets that solved puzzles.

  Suzanne said, “This isn’t a punishment. Dr. Vigo asked me to do this, and I’m trusting that you know what you’re doing. Otherwise I’ll be the one who looks bad.”

  “I promise, you’ll look good.” Lucy hesitated, then said, “Sean might be more use to you outside the building.”

  “That’s okay,” Sean said. “I’ll help you.”

  “No, you’ll hinder me. I know what I’m doing.”

  Suzanne said, “I don’t need a partner.”

  Sean grinned. “You got one.” He winked at Lucy and mouthed thank you.

  After Suzanne and Sean left, Andie asked, “Are you related to Dr. Dillon Kincaid?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  “I worked on a case with him years ago when I was in the L.A. office. He’s probably the best forensic psychiatrist I ever worked with.”

  “He’s good.”

  “Tell him I said hi. Is he still in San Diego?”

  “Washington. He’s married now, to an agent, has a private consulting practice but works mostly for the Bureau of Prisons.” Lucy walked over to the whiteboard. “This is Jessica Bell’s autopsy report. I need all four. Do you know where they are?”

  “Certainly. Suzanne might seem disorganized, but she’s logical, if you know the way she thinks.”

  “And you do.”

  “I’ve been here seven years, and if I were murdered, she’s the one I’d want investigating the crime.”

  Sean gave Suzanne some space. Even though she’d accepted their assistance—almost seemed to appreciate and want the help—she was irritated that the case was getting out of her control. Sean understood that feeling.

  She parked near the coffeehouse where Erica Ripley had worked and wrapped up a phone conversation. “If you can stay there for another hour, I’ll be there.” She hung up. “That was the cousin of the first victim. She works at an art gallery near Central Park.”

  “Erica Ripley was the second victim, correct?”

  Suzanne nodded. “The only victim who didn’t attend Columbia.”

  “But she was on the Party Girl site,” Sean reminded her.

  Suzanne shot him a glance. “Right, the website I can’t access.”

  “I’m working on that.”

  “How?”

  “My partner, Patrick Kincaid, used to run the San Diego P.D. e-crimes division, before cybercrime was as big as it is. He’s rebuilding the site from the cache on my computer in D.C., and through Google, which usually retains cache information only seventy-two hours, but if you know what you’re doing you can pull out older data. We might not get everything, but it’ll be good enough for court.”

  “I don’t know—the defense could argue that the data was manipulated when it was rebuilt.”

  “Patrick is an expert witness. He has clearance up the wazoo; I’m not worried about the defense.”

  “Kincaid, huh?”

  “Lucy’s brother.”

  “She is well connected. You are, too. I checked your file. You have high clearance.”

  “I have to. I’ve been hired by federal agencies to hack their security. I break in; my brother Duke plugs the holes.”

  Suzanne was obviously surprised. “What are you doing looking for a missing teenager?”

  “Long story. But Kirsten’s my cousin.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “She’s a cousin by marriage. I haven’t seen her since she was little, but Duke is very loyal to family, even family that we don’t talk to. Kirsten’s dad called, we jumped.”

  “And you don’t want to?”

  “Of course I do. It’s not what RCK usually works on, so I’m stumbling a bit in the dark.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  Suzanne went up to the counter and spoke to the manager, then motioned for Sean to sit down near the back. “The manager is sending over the two people closest to Erica.”

  Less than a minute later, a petite girl with short, dyed red hair and a skinny guy, both in their early twenties, came over.

  Suzanne glanced at their name tags. “Jordan, Ken, thank you. I’m sorry about your friend.”

  Jordan nodded soberly. “It’s just so awful.”

  “I still miss her,” Ken said. “Erica was always happy.”

  Jordan agreed. “Our manager said you needed to talk to us?”

  “I just have a few follow-up questions. You told Detective Panetta that Erica didn’t have a regular boyfriend.”

  “Right.”

  “What about past boyfriends?”

  The two looked at each other and shrugged. Jordan said, “Erica really wasn’t into the dating scene. I mean, she saw a few guys, but nothing that was remotely serious.”

  Suzanne put out a picture of Wade Barnett. “Do you recognize this man?”

  “No,” Jordan said.

  Ken looked longer at the picture. “Yeah, I think so. He came in once near closing to see Erica. Erica was surprised to see him, but happy, too. I asked her about it and she said they’d had a one-night stand the week before and he wanted to go out again.”

  Jordan added, “Erica was way casual about sex. She used to be really overweight, but lost it all and was in totally great shape—worked out all the time. Kind of an obsession.” She looked at Ken for confirmation.

  “Every day,” he said. “I think she liked the attention she was getting.”

  Suzanne showed the two the pictures of the other victims. They didn’t recognize them.

  Sean asked, “In the days before Erica was killed, did she express any concern that she was being watched? Maybe followed?”

  Ken shook his head, but Jordan piped up. “Yeah, she did. I didn’t think about it, but for two years she rode the subway here from Brooklyn. Then she started asking me to walk with her. At first she said she just wanted to talk, but then I asked her if she was worried about something. She said she thought someone was following her, but wasn’t totally serious, you know? Like she thought she was being stupid.”

  Suzanne wrapped up the interview and they left. “We have time to swing by Jessica’s building.”

  On the way there, Suzanne got a call. She didn’t say much, but Sean knew immediately that she was livid about something. She said, “Make sure Panetta knows,” then hung up.

  “Bad news?”

  “The fucking press released the news that Wade Barnett is our suspect. No one knew!” She glanced at Sean.

  “Not me.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll bet a million bucks it was the manager at Barnett’s apartment building. Mousey little bastard. Just makes my life more difficult. My idea of hell is standing in the middle of a sea of reporters shoving cameras and microphones in my face, wielding little stubby yellow pencils like swords, and all of them shouting questions at me.”

  Neither Lauren nor Josh was at home, so Suzanne drove around the top of Central Park and down the east side to their next destination: an artsy dessert place. She explained, “Whitney Morrissey is the cousin of the first victim. According to Alanna Andrews’s closest friend, Whitney is the one who introduced Alanna to underground parties when she was seventeen.”

  Suzanne approached a leggy blonde with enough curly hair for three women, dressed impeccably in a stylish blue suit that matched her eyes. “Thank you for waiting for us,” she said to the attractive woman. “This is Sean Rogan; he’s a private consultant helping on my case.”

  Whitney nodded and gave him a half-smile. She seemed preoccupied to Sean, but she had been waiting for them quite a while.

  “You work at a gallery?” he asked her as he and Suzanne sat.

 
“The contemporary art museum across the street. I give tours on the weekends, unless I have an art show.”

  Suzanne said, “I’ve been reexamining each victim’s background, specifically men they were involved with in the weeks or months before they were murdered. Do you know if your cousin was seeing anyone in particular?”

  Whitney shook her head. “You should talk to her friend Jill. Alanna and I weren’t all that close.”

  “But she stayed with you for half a summer.”

  “And I liked her, but I’m twenty-four, she was nineteen. We didn’t have a lot in common.”

  “Other than the raves?” Suzanne said.

  “We went to a few together.”

  “Do you know if your cousin was romantically involved with a real-estate investor named Wade Barnett?”

  Whitney was noticeably surprised.

  “You know him?” Suzanne asked.

  “Of course. The Barnetts are major benefactors of the arts. They give away numerous art grants every year. I’d be stunned if Alanna was dating a Barnett.”

  Suzanne said, “I have proof they were involved; I’m just trying to figure out when and why they split.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “But—I think I might have introduced them. It was a long time ago. Probably the first party I took Alanna to. But I didn’t know they kept in touch.”

  “That helps,” Suzanne said. “Confirms what we already know.”

  “I worked on that drawing you asked for,” Whitney said. She reached into her wide purse and handed Suzanne a manila file folder. “I finished it last night, but have been tweaking it on my breaks. It’s not perfect, but it’s close.”

  Suzanne opened the folder and Sean leaned over to take a look. Whitney was talented. The pencil drawing was as good as those of any FBI sketch artist. “You could have a career doing this,” Sean told her.

  “Thank you,” Whitney said.

  The man seen with Alanna the night she died was a young, attractive Caucasian roughly the same age as the victims. “I gather you don’t know what his eye color is?”

  She shook her head. “He had brown hair. I made the shading about right in terms of color density. Not dark, not light.”