by Mary Burton
“You remember much about her?” Julia asked.
“Rita was hard to forget,” Cindy said. “Are you saying she’s dead?”
“Her body was found last night,” Novak said. “She’s been dead at least twenty-five years.”
“That’s about the time she took off. She worked here about six months and then, without a word to anyone, didn’t show again. Where did you find her?” Cindy asked.
“I can’t really discuss it. What do you remember about Rita? You said she was hard to forget.”
Cindy studied Rita’s face. “Same smile. And the red hair caught a lot of attention.” She handed the phone back. “Friendly with the customers but terrible with numbers. Always screwing up the cash register. Couldn’t count to save her life. But she could make people laugh, and she could sell drinks. I used to say she could peddle a truckload of ice to an Eskimo in winter.”
“She ever say what she did on her off-hours?” Novak asked.
“I don’t remember that, but I do recall she left unexpectedly right around the time Julia’s father died. The family was in turmoil. Amy was a wreck. There was also a big convention in town, and Rita’s disappearing act left me in one hell of a bind. I worked nonstop for a week until I could hire someone else.”
“They found a picture of Jim and me in her purse,” Julia said as she pulled up the image on her phone. “It was taken on my team’s soccer field before he died.”
Cindy’s frown deepened with confusion. “Why would she have a picture of you and your father?”
“That’s the mystery,” Julia said.
“The fact that Rita worked here fills in several pieces,” Novak said. “I’m assuming she had access to the bar’s office.”
“Yeah. And upstairs. She seemed like a good kid.” Cindy studied the picture of Julia and Jim. “I do remember the day this picture was taken. Julia was seven.” She smiled up at her niece. “You were so excited about playing in the game. You were champing at the bit to get to the field that day.”
“Mom came along that day, right?”
“She did. I held down the fort at the bar so Amy and Jim could enjoy the day with you. She was so excited to have your dad back in your lives again.” Her smile faded a fraction. “He’d been gone so often. The loneliness was hard on your mom. She kept saying it was for a good cause. Never complained once. But it bothered her when he wouldn’t call her.”
“Cindy, Mom and Jim were separated when Jim died in November. Why’d they separate?” Julia asked.
“Amy never said what it was, but she was upset.”
Julia had resented her father. He’d left them again and again, and in the end, used a bullet to take himself away for good. “Do you have any guesses as to who took the picture?”
“I suppose your mother took it, but couldn’t say for sure.” She handed Novak back the phone.
“Could Rita have stolen the picture from upstairs?” Julia asked.
“Sure, it’s possible.”
“When I cleaned out the attic in the spring, I didn’t see any pictures of Mom and Jim.”
“There are a few more closets to clean out back at my house,” Cindy said. “I’ll look.”
“Anything else you remember about Rita?” Novak asked.
“She dated a guy named Jack,” Cindy said. “I gather from what she said about him, he was a solid fellow and was nice to her. She worked hard. Took off a little too much sometimes. She liked to party. I always thought she had another guy on the side besides Jack.”
“Why do you say that?” Novak asked.
“I’d catch her talking on the phone. When she saw me, she’d hang up. Not my place to judge as long as she did the work.”
“And she vanished?” Julia asked.
Cindy shrugged. “One day here, happy and laughing. And the next she was gone.”
“What about Jack?” Novak asked. “Did he ask about her?”
Cindy frowned. “I’m pretty sure I never saw him again.”
“You remember his last name?”
“Afraid not. How did she die?” Cindy asked.
“I don’t know for certain yet,” Novak said. “The medical examiner’s office has her remains now, and they’ll be doing an autopsy in the morning.”
Cindy shook her head. “Damn shame.”
“If you think of anything else, will you let me know?” Novak handed her one of his cards.
“Yeah, sure.” Cindy glanced at the clock. “Listen, if I don’t get going now, I’ll never get my work finished.”
Novak smiled. “I know where to find you.”
Cindy kissed Julia on the cheek. “Thanks again, doll.”
“Sure.”
After Cindy had left, Novak asked, “When are you going to tell her about the Hangman case?”
“Soon.”
“You hold a lot inside, Julia.”
“Hazard of the business.” Julia’s phone rang. It was Garrett Andrews. “Excuse me a second. It’s Shield Security.”
“Sure.” He appeared in no rush to leave.
She turned and faced the line of liquor bottles. “Julia Vargas.”
“My apologies, Agent Vargas,” Andrews said. “I couldn’t break away to call you by five.”
Julia held her breath. “No worries.”
“Shield Security has agreed to work with you on the Hangman case.”
Relief washed away the tension gripping her gut. “I’m very glad to hear it.”
“We’ll provide all the lab testing and computer analysis. To start, I’ll do a data search on the key parties involved in the case. Current address, police records, et cetera. I’ll have a list of current addresses by tomorrow. Get me the DNA samples from the lab and I’ll have them retested.”
“That’s great. Thank you.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Andrews hung up.
She stared at the phone, allowing a grin over this victory.
“Looks like good news,” Novak said.
“Yeah. It might be.”
“Shield is taking the case.”
“They are. Their help will save legwork.”
He tapped his fingers on the bar. “The Hangman was high profile. Ken and your father would have been working nonstop.”
“It was an election year, and when the media learned of the story, the powers that be put big pressure on the cops. Ken said the entire department was involved.” Novak studied her, listening, watching. She liked the kind of distraction he offered. “I’m hoping fresh eyes will do the trick.”
“You have nothing to prove.”
His words hinted at unspoken emotions that had her ducking her head toward a lime in need of slicing. “I owe it to Mom, more than anyone. That last day we were driving home to see Jim, she was happy. Excited. Said a couple of times how much she loved him. And then, he was dead. The rumors about him being the Hangman always bothered her.”
Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could picture her mom’s smile while the wind blew her dark hair as they drove across town. “You Give Love a Bad Name” by Bon Jovi had been playing on the radio, and her mother had been singing along.
Seeing her father’s blood had tainted that memory along with so many others.
Novak frowned. “You okay?”
Julia shook her head. “Don’t worry about me; I always land on my feet. I know what I’m doing.”
Novak’s gaze didn’t waver. “The case took a toll on your father, according to Ken. And from what he said, you’re like him.”
She tipped her chin up. “I’m not going to crack, Novak. I’m not going anywhere. What I’m going to do is catch this killer.”
Again, he was quiet. Peeling off layers as fast as she piled them on. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the medical examiner’s office.”
“I’ll be there.” She watched as he walked out of the bar. Broad shoulders. A subtle swagger she’d noticed the first night he’d found her in the stairwell avoiding the loud crowds.
She’d broken her number-
one rule when she’d slept with him: don’t date cops. Though dating wasn’t the right word. At least they’d not worked together. But now that they had a professional relationship, the sex would have to end. Her focus had to be on this case. Maybe that was for the best. She’d sensed that the last time they’d slept together, he wanted to get closer, get to know her better. Maybe if she was a different kind of person, a better person, she might let him. But she wasn’t.
It was past eight when Andrews entered Bowman’s office. He should have called it a night, but the Hangman case had already gotten under his skin. He hated the idea of a killer escaping justice.
A need to right the world’s wrongs had prompted him to join the army after he graduated college. His physical and mental quickness had caught the attention of his superiors. He’d moved up through the enlisted ranks and, within four years, was enrolled at OCS in Fort Benning, Georgia. He served for fifteen years on active duty until an IED explosion in Iraq ended his military career.
He couldn’t change what happened in Iraq, but he could help Vargas catch the Hangman.
“I delivered the news,” Andrews said. “Julia Vargas is ready to get started.”
Bowman sat back in his chair. “What have you found out about Jim Vargas?”
“He’s a hard one to pin down,” Andrews said. “Lives weren’t posted online twenty-five years ago as they are now, so no cells to trace or online profiles to build.”
“I know you. You’ve found something.”
“He had ten thousand dollars in credit card debt. Most of the card transactions were cash advances, so I have no way of knowing what he spent the money on. He also took out a second mortgage on his house. His death was ruled a suicide, so there was no life-insurance payout. His widow lost the house and moved into the apartment above her sister’s bar with Julia.”
Every man reacted differently to death. He’d seen the meekest push through the worst and the strongest break like glass. Jim Vargas broke.
“And there wasn’t a note?” Bowman asked.
“The wife said no. The first cop she called was his partner, Ken Thompson, and he was first on scene. He backed up her story about the note.”
“Partners look out for partners.”
“Possible.”
“Signs of foul play?” Bowman asked.
“None was detected. But his death rattled a lot in his ranks. The department opted not to give him a formal funeral.”
“Do you think he was the Hangman?” Bowman asked.
“Hard to say. A few cops talked anonymously to the media about it.” He had nothing but contempt for anonymous sources. They reminded him of the politically obsessed who’d distanced themselves from him after the explosion. “But there was never any solid proof.”
“You think Julia Vargas really wants to get to the bottom of the case?”
“Not my concern,” Andrews said. “I follow the facts. And if she doesn’t get to the bottom of it, I will.”
It was minutes after 1:00 a.m. when Lana stood outside of Billy’s watching as Julia locked the front door and flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed.”
“Bitch,” she muttered.
She staggered back into the shadows, cursing the extra shots of tequila that made her head spin. Benny always said she got sloppy when she was drunk. He’d be pissed if he saw her now.
But Benny wasn’t here. He was locked up. Awaiting a transport to prison that could eat up the rest of his life thanks to the dirt that bitch cop had dug up. His attorney still might get an appeal, but it was a long shot.
It wasn’t fair. Benny had taken Julia Vargas into his life and given her his trust. Treated her like family.
If she’d let Lana take her beating, then Benny would have gotten over his anger. He always did. He might have escaped the raid. And they’d still be together.
“I should torch this bar with you inside,” she muttered.
Smiling, she staggered as she turned to find herself standing face-to-face with a man. His face was hooded, his hands gloved. Immediately, she tensed. Tried to step around him.
He blocked her path.
“I don’t want any trouble, man,” she said.
“Neither do I.”
His voice had a very familiar ring, and she dug for a smile. “Do you work for Benny?”
“Let’s say I’m doing him a favor.”
The snap of a stun gun came seconds before voltage cut through her body. Her knees buckled, and he caught her, pulling her close against his side.
“Breathe,” he said. “And keep walking unless you want more of that.”
“I didn’t talk to no one,” she whispered. “Tell Benny I’m doing what he said to do.”
“You’re looking to make trouble for that cop, aren’t you?”
He’d been watching her. Shit. This was bad. “Look, maybe we can go somewhere and have some fun.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
The dark glint in his eyes sent a jolt of fear through her. Instinctively Lana balled trembling fingers into a fist and reared back to hit him. As she raised her arm, he zapped her again.
Her entire body constricted, and she nearly vomited. He dragged her down the concrete sidewalk to a van. The side door slid open, and he dumped her inside and climbed in beside her.
“Benny,” she rasped. “Did he want me killed?”
He quickly bound her hands and feet. “Benny knows you talk when you drink too much.”
She tripped and struggled to right herself. Her head was spinning. “I didn’t talk to anyone.”
White teeth flashed. “You talked to that cop last year. He knows you were the one who betrayed him to the cops.” He shoved a rag in her mouth.
She shook her head as a scream rumbled in her throat. She didn’t know that bitch had been a cop until it was too late. If she’d known, she’d never have talked.
She shook her head no.
“You shouldn’t have talked.” He stunned her again, and she crumpled. “Time to play, Lana.”
CHAPTER NINE
Tuesday, October 31, 8:00 a.m.
Julia arrived early outside the medical examiner’s office. She’d closed up the bar after midnight and then spent a couple of hours reading the Hangman case file. And when she had closed her eyes and nodded off to sleep, she’d dreamed again of apples and blood. She’d awoken twice last night, her nerves rattled and her hands trembling. Now, her eyes were burning and the countless cups of coffee weren’t putting a dent in her fatigue.
In the lobby she showed her ID and took the stairs to the basement. After one final swig of java, she dumped her cup in the trash. She pushed through the doors to the autopsy suite.
Dr. Addison Kincaid, one of the top medical examiners in the country, was tugging on latex gloves when she looked toward Julia. The doctor had pinned her hair in a neat bun and wore a face shield that accentuated bright-green eyes full of curiosity. The medical examiner’s technician wheeled in the sheet-clad remains and positioned the gurney under the overhead light. Behind the gurney was a long stainless-steel sink equipped with bottles filled with solutions, extra supplies, and instruments.
“Agent, which autopsy are you here for?” Dr. Kincaid asked.
“I understand you’re autopsying Rita Gallagher’s remains now.”
“That’s correct. Is this your case now?”
“No. She belongs to Detective Novak. I’ve an interest in the case, and he’s letting me tag along.”
“Ah.” Questions lingered behind the statement, but Dr. Kincaid rarely bothered with the jurisdictional questions of an investigation. She already had enough to worry about.
Julia shrugged off her jacket. “Is Novak here yet?”
“He called to say he was hung up at the forensic lab. He should be here any minute. Generally, you can set your clock by him.”
Julia pulled a hair band from her wrist and coiled her hair on top of her head. Then she suited up.
The technician pulled back the shee
t, revealing the yellowed bones of Rita Gallagher. The clothes were gone, and the bones had been laid out in anatomical order. The mandible gaped as empty eye sockets stared sightlessly toward the ceiling.
“Where are her clothes?” Julia asked.
“They’ve been sent to the state lab for processing,” Dr. Kincaid replied.
That explained Novak’s visit to the lab. Honestly, she was glad to be here first. Gave her a moment to get her bearings and shore up her barriers. Novak was very perceptive, and if anyone picked up on her fatigue, it would be him. She straightened her shoulders, determined it would not happen.
The doors opened to Detective Novak. He wore a dark suit, crisp blue shirt, and a red tie. Shoes polished. Always so pulled together.
“Agent Vargas and Dr. Kincaid,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. I was at the forensic lab.”
A glance at the clock nailed him as one minute late. “No problem,” Dr. Kincaid said.
“Just started,” Julia said. “You checking on the victim’s clothing?”
“Spoke to Natasha about them. She’ll have something for us in a few days.”
“Great.”
Novak slid off his jacket and carefully laid it over a chair before donning a gown and pulling on gloves and eye protection. Julia stood across from Dr. Kincaid, while Novak slid into the spot beside her. His aftershave was barely noticeable, just like an expensive aftershave would be.
“Any theories on when she died?” Julia asked.
“There was a clothing receipt in her pocket that Natasha was able to enhance,” Novak said. “It dates to November 1, 1992. Because the line items match the clothing she wore when her body was discovered, we believe it confirms Ms. Gallagher was still alive until that day. Your aunt said Gallagher went missing after your father died. She also didn’t make her rent in November. My guess is she died around the first of November.”
“Any family?” Julia asked.
“A brother. Still trying to track him down.”
Julia shifted her attention back to the bones. “Twenty-five years alone and forgotten in that room.”
“Let’s see if we can find out how she died,” Dr. Kincaid said.
Dr. Kincaid moved up to the exam table and positioned the overhead microphone closer to her mouth. She leaned in and asked her assistant for tweezers. She spoke her name, the date, and the names of the persons in attendance. “We took X-rays of Rita Gallagher’s skull and body. As was noted at the crime scene, she suffered a blunt force trauma to the back of her skull. A closer look reveals she wasn’t hit once, but twice in the same spot. The blows would have been enough to knock her out and likely cause severe cranial hemorrhaging.” She turned to the X-ray pinned to the lit monitor. She pointed to the fractures, which were the size of quarters and slightly overlapped. “Note there are two sets of edges, indicating two strikes. One would have knocked her to the ground, and the second was so violent it caused this small fracture that radiated up to the center of her skull.”
