The Hangman (Forgotten Files Book 3)

by Mary Burton

  “And Wendy?”

  “Wendy is former Richmond police. She and Ken met on the job right about the time the Hangman case broke. She’s steadier, discreet.”

  “When did you request the files?”

  “Eight months ago. I had them for a couple of weeks. Made copies and returned all the originals. I was careful with the files. Kept them in a locked closet at my place when I wasn’t reading them.”

  “You are positive.”

  “Very.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Who saw Lana threaten you at the courthouse?” he asked.

  “Dozens of people could have seen her in action. She didn’t care. Elizabeth Monroe, Santiago’s attorney, dragged her away.” She shook her head. “Could this Hangman be watching me?”

  “It all traces back to you. Someone knows what you’re doing. Someone is watching you.”

  The idea sent a cold chill trickling down her spine. But it wasn’t fear that made her nerve endings snap. It was anger. “I’m not a victim.”

  Concern softened his gaze. “I didn’t say you were.”

  “No one ever says it out loud. But they think it.”

  “If I’d had any thoughts or opinions about you, you would have been the first to know.”

  “You have been direct.”

  “Because I care about you, Julia.”

  She raised a finger. “Well, knock it off. I’m not the kind of person you should care about.”

  He cocked his head, curious. “Why not?”

  She slid her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans. “What we did was fun. Real fun. But don’t confuse that with caring.”

  “Did.” He leaned closer to her. “Past tense?”

  She arched a brow. “We can’t anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re working this case, for one.”

  “We wouldn’t be the first couple who met on the job.”

  “We’re now a couple? No. Not a couple. You’re nice and normal; I’m crazy with issues. Not gonna happen.”

  A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “You’re not crazy.”

  “Trust me. I’m nuts. You don’t want me long term.”

  “You aren’t nuts. But maybe crazy in a good way.”

  The tightness always coiling her gut eased. “Fine line between the two.”

  “Miles apart.”

  “I should get you to put that in writing.”

  “Okay.” He nodded toward his car. “There’s not much we can do here now. Let’s drive back to the station and talk to the kids who found the body.”

  A half hour later they were walking a plain gray hallway toward a muscular African American man with a detective’s shield clipped to his belt.

  “Novak,” the detective said. “I was about to call you.”

  “This is Agent Julia Vargas,” Novak said. “Julia, this is Detective Samuel Riggs.”

  Riggs extended a hand. “Hear you’re working a similar case to the one we just grabbed.”

  She made sure her grip was firm, her gaze steady. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “And as it turns out, Julia knew the victim found in the warehouse,” Novak said.

  Riggs’s face lost all its jovial qualities as Novak filled him in on the case details as well as Julia’s connection to the victim. “That’s not by accident.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Can we talk to the kids that found the body?” Novak asked.

  Riggs ran his hand along his silk tie. “I don’t think they’ll give you much. Dumb kids looking for a place to party. But have at it.”

  “Thanks,” Novak said.

  They walked into the interview room where two young women and a man sat at a table. Each was cradling a cup of coffee, and all of them looked shell-shocked.

  Novak introduced himself and Julia. The tallest woman, a redhead, introduced herself as Emma. Her friends were Matthew and Sara.

  Novak pulled out a metal chair for Julia and one for himself. His face had lost most of the cold hardness she’d seen at the crime scene, and when he smiled, he could have been any dad talking to his kid’s friends at a soccer game or school function.

  “Hey, guys,” Novak said. “We won’t keep you much longer. I know it’s not been an easy night.”

  Novak’s presence relaxed the kids. One stopped gripping her cup so tight, and the other two leaned back in their chairs a little.

  “No one’s in trouble here. We’re trying to figure out what happened. Tell me why you chose this place,” Novak said. “It’s vacant and uninhabited.”

  “We got a message,” Emma said. “Said if you wanted a cheap place to hold a party, then look at this warehouse.”

  “Can I see it?” Novak asked.

  “It’s already gone. It’s only up for an hour before it automatically deletes itself.”

  “Who sent it?” Julia asked.

  “I don’t know. The handle was Hangman,” Emma said.

  Julia shook her head, enraged by the killer’s arrogance. She had the sense he was taunting her.

  “Anyone heard from the Hangman before?” Novak asked.

  “I never have,” Emma said as the other kids shook their heads no. She opened her phone and showed Julia the invitation.

  It would have been a matter of time before someone stumbled onto the body, but for some reason the killer had wanted it found sooner than later.

  “What kind of party was it?” Novak asked.

  “We have regular parties on random days,” Sara said. “Offbeat places. We provide the music, and it’s BYOB. It’s never gotten out of hand. Just a way for the seniors to blow off steam.”

  “You all in college?” Novak’s smile was self-deprecating. “I must be getting old. Everyone looks like high school to me.”

  Emma frowned. “What was that hanging from the ceiling? Was it really a woman?”

  “It was,” Julia said.

  “Shit,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Novak absently tapped his fingers on the table. “You see anything unusual when you showed up at the warehouse? Anything out of place that caught your attention?”

  “The place felt off,” Emma said.

  “What do you mean?” Novak asked.

  “We’ve partied in some odd places, but I’ve never been scared. This time I was scared. From the moment we got out of our car, I thought we were being watched.”

  “And then a dog started barking,” Sara said. “That spooked me.”

  “You see the dog?” Novak asked.

  “No,” Sara said.

  “Nothing real or solid,” Emma said. “Just weird feelings.”

  “Okay,” Novak said. “Detective Riggs has your contact information, correct?”

  They all nodded.

  “Then there’s no reason to keep you any longer,” Novak said, rising. He walked to the door and opened it. “If we have any more questions, I’ll call.”

  Julia rose. “Thanks, guys.”

  As Novak escorted the students out of the building, Julia reached for her phone and called Andrews. He answered on the second ring. She briefed him on the new murder.

  “So the Hangman uses social media that vanishes in an hour,” Andrews said.

  “Looks like it.”

  “You’ll want to talk to Vic Carson,” he said. “He runs a website called the Hangman. Big fan site.”

  “You’re kidding. There’s a fan site? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It popped up about a month ago, and I am telling you now.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “He was living in Richmond in 1992 and has always had a fascination with serial killers. He has a moderate following.”

  “I won’t insult you and ask if he has a record,” she said.

  “He does. Small petty crimes in the eighties, but since then, no arrests. He’s clean.”

  “Or careful.”

  “Agreed. He’s still in California at a conferenc
e, but as soon as he returns to Richmond, I’ll contact you. Sending his image now.”

  Her phone dinged with a text, and she studied the picture. “I’ve not seen him, but I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

  “Considering the Hangman might be active again, this case is now a top priority. I’ll expand my search and report to Mr. Shield and Mr. Bowman.”

  “To include what?”

  “A much deeper look into the lives of the past victims and now current victim. Your father. People you’ve crossed paths with over the last few years. Think of it as casting a net. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  “Novak is working the case of a Rita Gallagher. Her body was found three days ago, but she died around the time of the Hangman’s victims.” She recapped all that she knew about Rita and her connections to the Hangman’s victims.

  “I’ll add her into the search.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Understood.”

  When she hung up, Novak reappeared and she filled him in on her conversation with Andrews.

  All traces of the amiable, steady man who’d been talking to the teenagers vanished. “Going forward, you and Andrews will both keep me in the loop. If Shield Security gives you new data on the Hangman or Rita Gallagher, call me. You meet with Shield Security, I’m along for the ride.”

  The order stoked her temper before she reminded herself she was working in his jurisdiction now. “Sure. What I know, you’ll know.” She slid her phone in her back pocket.

  “Dr. McGowan said they’ve scheduled the autopsy for the day after tomorrow.”

  “I want to attend,” Julia said.

  Novak shook his head, the corners of his eyes creasing. “We’ll finish this together.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “We need to talk to Ken.”

  “He’s likely asleep by now. Besides, evenings aren’t good for him.”

  “Early in the morning. I’ll pick you up.”

  Novak was a part of her case, and that she didn’t mind. But he was now weaving into her life. She was depending on him. Looking forward to seeing him. None of that was good, because when it ended, she knew it would hurt like hell. “I’ll be ready.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Thursday, November 2, 8:00 a.m.

  When Novak and Julia arrived at the Thompson house, the sun had burned off the last of the morning fog. The air was crisp, and most of the trees had peaked with fall colors.

  Julia got out of the car. Her heeled boots clicked on the sidewalk. Unhurried, Novak easily caught up to her.

  He knocked on the door, and Wendy greeted them moments later with a smile.

  “Come on inside,” she said. “Ken is doing well this morning. I think working again has raised his spirits.”

  Julia moved through the house and found Ken in the sunporch. The room was lit with morning oranges and yellows. He sat at a desk, leaning over a computer that looked to be at least a decade old. Any kind of change had never been easy for Ken, but now it was impossible.

  “Ken,” Julia said. “Look who I have with me. It’s Detective Novak.” Ken remembered long-term facts well, but new acquaintances were harder for him to retain. She and Ken could still pretend that he remembered, but the encouragement might spark a recollection.

  Ken looked up from the computer and pulled off his glasses. He smiled, but his eyes searched for a connection. “Novak, how are you? It’s been a while.”

  Novak didn’t point out that they’d seen each other three days ago. “Doing well. You look good.”

  Ken patted his fat belly. “Wendy is feeding me too much. I’m getting fat.”

  “Sounds like she’s taking good care of you,” he said.

  “She’s great.” He pointed toward the floral couch flanked by a couple of matching chairs. “Have a seat.”

  Ken got up and took the chair on the right as he always did. Julia chose to sit close to him on the edge of the couch, and Novak took the opposite chair.

  Ken sat back. “So, what can I do for you two?”

  Julia smiled. “We want to ask you a few more questions about the Hangman case.”

  “Right, sure,” Ken said. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

  Novak leaned forward. “We’ve been talking to some of the former witnesses and family members of the victims.”

  “Good start,” Ken said.

  “According to Rene’s husband, Gene, Jim hung out in Stella’s bar when he used to work undercover.”

  “Makes sense,” Ken said. “He was all over the area during those years.”

  “Gene believed that Rene knew Jim,” Julia said.

  “He might have,” Ken said. “He knew everyone who worked in Shockoe Bottom.”

  “Rene was last seen with a woman by the name of Rita, but there’s no mention in your notes about Rita,” Julia said.

  “There isn’t?” Ken frowned.

  “You said before you don’t remember Rita. Are you sure about that?”

  Ken shook his head. “I said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not right. Jim knew Rita, and he told me he’d trail her. When I asked him about her days later, he said Rita was a dead end.”

  “And you believed him?” Julia asked.

  “Sure, why not.”

  “Maybe you saw her,” Novak pushed. He opened his phone and produced the image from her driver’s license. “Early twenties with red hair. Pretty. Attractive build, according to witnesses.”

  “A lot of ’em were pretty,” Ken said. He studied the picture, his frown lines creasing.

  “I know Jim wasn’t a Boy Scout,” Julia said. “I heard Mom and Cindy talk when I was growing up.” Cindy had been furious with her mother for grieving for Jim, a man who’d loved his wife but couldn’t be faithful. How many times had Cindy said that love wasn’t enough? “So if you remember Rita, tell us.”

  Ken shoved out a breath and sat back. He looked at Julia a long moment. “Yeah, I remember the redhead,” he said. “He met her at Billy’s. Jim called her Red Hot Rita. She was sexy and had a crush on Jim. He was working homicide by then, but I could tell he was restless. Missed the excitement and adrenaline of working narcotics undercover. It bugged the hell out of him that the past wouldn’t let him go.”

  “Did they sleep together?” Julia asked.

  Ken nodded. “Yes, they slept together several times that fall. I think she’s the reason Amy left him. When your mother left with you, Jim finally snapped out of whatever funk he’d been in and realized he needed to dump Rita. And he told me he did. He wanted to make it work with your mother. I know he loved Amy and he wanted his family back. After Jim died, Rita vanished. I never saw her again. What happened to her?”

  “She was killed right around the time Jim died,” Novak said. “We found her body a few days ago.”

  “She’s dead?” Ken asked. “How?”

  “Blunt force trauma,” Novak said. “And it looks like she might have been pregnant.”

  Ken rose, running his hand through his thick white hair. “A baby?”

  “About twenty weeks along,” Julia said. She’d been an only child and more than once dreamed of having a brother or sister. To think, she almost might have had one.

  “Was the baby Jim’s?” Novak asked.

  Ken tensed, glanced between Julia and Novak. “He never mentioned a baby to me.”

  “A pregnancy would explain why Mom left,” Julia said. It must have shattered her mother to discover her husband had gotten another woman pregnant.

  “But who killed her? Do you think she’s connected to the Hangman?” Ken asked.

  “She’s a new piece to the puzzle,” Novak said.

  “Makes sense,” Ken said, more to himself.

  Novak leaned in toward Ken. “Sometimes cops have theories that they don’t put into the paperwork. Maybe it’s a gut feeling, or perhaps someone has a lot of political juice, but either way the details don’t make the report.”

/>   Ken shook his head. “I was never one to leave information out. I put every detail in my notes. Jim was different. He was a little more selective.”

  “Why was that?” Julia asked.

  “Had to do with his undercover work. He was never a fan of the paper trail. He worried a careless administrator could get him killed.”

  “Did he mention that Tamara Brown was one of his confidential informants?” Julia asked.

  “No. He never said a word,” Ken said. “But he didn’t talk about his undercover work. I sensed it was a part of his life he wanted to leave behind, so I never pressed. Can you two pull those old files from the narcotics investigations?”

  “Jim’s undercover files are still sealed, and it’s going to take someone with a higher pay grade to gain access,” Novak said.

  Ken rubbed the top of his head. “I knew the murders really troubled him, and he took them harder than I did. It never occurred to me Jim had a personal connection to the victims.”

  “Do you think Jim killed those women?” Novak asked.

  Julia held her breath, afraid to move until he answered. Time slowed. When Ken glanced in her direction, his face tensed and she nodded. “Be honest, please.”

  Ken threaded his hands together, and she had the sense he was about to speak when Wendy entered the room with a tray of coffee cups. She said, “Jim didn’t kill anyone. He was a good cop and not a serial killer.”

  Ken straightened as she set the tray down. Whatever thoughts he’d been ready to share had filtered away.

  Frustration jabbed at Julia. “Ken, what do you think? Did Jim kill those women?”

  Ken glanced at Wendy, who laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and then back to Julia. “Jim was a great cop, kiddo. He believed in justice.”

  “You should talk to Neil Rogers,” Wendy said. “He was the forensic technician on all three murders. I worked with him on several cases, and if anyone knew the details as well as or better than Ken and Jim, it was Neil.”

  Novak scribbled the name. “I read some of his reports. Solid work. We’ll find him.” He accepted a mug of coffee from Wendy.

  Ken frowned, and his hand began to shake. He slid it into his pants pocket.

  “Look,” Wendy said. “I think it’s time we take a break. Ken and I’ll talk about it later, and I’ll dig through the attic and see what I can find in his file boxes. But for now, he needs his rest.”