by Mary Burton
“What brought you here, Andrews?” she asked.
“I went to see Dr. Kincaid. She allowed me to see your father’s autopsy file.”
Her gut tightened. “And?”
“The findings were conclusive enough,” he said.
“What’s that mean?” she asked.
“Most of the indicators suggest suicide.” He also relayed Dr. Kincaid’s personal opinion and doubts.
“And now we have a note that no one saw and our only eyewitness is a guy suffering from Alzheimer’s. So basically, we have a few maybes, but no solid facts,” she said.
Andrews appeared unfazed. “I consider it progress.” His phone chirped, and he checked the message. He raised a brow as he read. “I’m running those pictures you gave me of Vicky Wayne through a facial recognition scanner.”
“And?”
Novak was listening.
“I have two faces that the program identified,” Andrews said. “Vicky Wayne and Rita Gallagher. So we know Rita knew Vicky or was at least at a party with her shortly before they were both killed in the fall of 1992.”
“Have you completed your handwriting analysis of the letters Julia gave you?” Novak asked.
“I did. I do not believe they were written by Jim Vargas.”
“So Vicky’s boyfriend wasn’t my father?” Julia asked.
“He didn’t write the notes,” Andrews said.
Wendy pushed through the front door.
“How’s Ken?” Julia asked.
“He’s upset and withdrawn into himself. He does that now when he’s stressed.”
“Do you have a minute to answer questions?” Julia asked.
“I’m not sure what I can add.”
“What was your opinion of Jim Vargas?” Novak asked.
“No matter what anyone said or what Ken thinks he remembers, Jim was one hell of a cop. A good man. He hated being away from you and your mother. But he said someone had to be willing to sacrifice and do the hard work.”
“Some men like Jim get addicted to the rush of the job,” Andrews said. “Sometimes a more normal life is too mundane without the constant adrenaline rush of undercover work.”
Julia watched Wendy closely. A tension seemed to ripple through Wendy’s body that made Julia think she was on guard. “Do you think Jim could have been the Hangman?”
“No.” A nervous laugh rumbled in her chest. “That is absurd. I don’t care what Ken thinks he remembers. Why would Jim kill those women?”
“He knew them all,” Julia said.
“He was your father, Julia. How can you say this?”
“I didn’t see him growing up. I never really knew the man.”
“I’m sorry for you, because he was a great man. People don’t realize what kind of sacrifices men like Jim make. He gave up so much. And I can’t stand to hear him run down,” Wendy said.
“You’re loyal to Jim,” Novak said.
She glared at him with watery eyes. “He was my husband’s partner.”
“You married Ken right after Jim died, right?” Julia asked.
“So? Ken and I were engaged when he and Jim worked together.”
“But when you talk about Jim Vargas, it’s as if it were yesterday,” Novak said. “You sound like his champion.”
Wendy raised her chin. “I cared about him.”
“Did you and Jim Vargas have an affair?” Novak asked softly.
Julia wasn’t surprised by the question and stood waiting for the answer.
Wendy flinched. “Why would you ask that?”
“I’m not passing judgment, Wendy,” Novak said, softly. “I’m trying to solve a case.”
Julia was silent.
Wendy shook her head as she looked at Julia. “You’re all off base on all of this.”
She’d not denied an affair. And in Julia’s experience, when someone was innocent, they made it immediately clear. “Wendy, is it true? Were you and Jim having an affair?”
“Amy was my friend.”
Julia leaned in, stripping the emotion from her voice as she struggled to maintain some emotional distance. She said, “It’s okay. It’s in the past.”
Wendy looked at her, and for a second she looked ready to speak before she shook her head. “All you need to know is that Ken is wrong,” she said. “Jim didn’t leave any note. And he didn’t kill himself.”
Still no denial. Whatever superhero fantasies she’d had for her father grew more and more tarnished. No one spoke as they waited for Wendy to continue.
“Jim created the image of the ladies’ man,” she said. “The image suited his undercover work. He wasn’t the man people thought he was.”
“He was having affairs,” Novak said.
“He was lost and lonely after Amy left,” Wendy countered.
“Rita’s the reason Amy left,” Novak said.
“You didn’t know him. He wasn’t perfect, but he cared so much about his family and his work.”
Her mother had endured so much to hold her marriage together. She could see now why Cindy hadn’t liked the man. “Who was Jim Vargas?” Julia asked.
A tear slid down the side of Wendy’s cheek. “A good, dedicated man. And that’s all I’m going to say. Now you all will have to excuse me.”
When she vanished into the house, Andrews stared after her for a long moment. “She’s expressing signs of guilt.”
“Agreed,” Novak said.
“For the affair?” Julia asked.
“Or something much worse,” Novak said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Saturday, November 4, 2:00 p.m.
Novak didn’t like leaving Julia at the Thompson house, but she’d insisted she wanted to stay longer. She’d find her own way back.
Too restless to go home, he went by the office and found a note from Riggs. He’d located Charlotte Gibson, Rita Gallagher’s former roommate. The woman now used the last name Cramer and lived south of the city. She was married and the mother of two. Novak snatched up the note and drove across town.
Thirty minutes later, he parked in front of a two-story colonial house. The yard was cut and edged; the leaves were raked in a large pile at the curb.
He rang the bell, then stepped back and off to the side. He’d picked up the habit as a uniformed officer, learning early in his career that routine could turn deadly in a blink. He’d witnessed an officer being shot through a door while serving a warrant.
The door opened to a short, heavyset woman. She wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt and had pulled her hair into a ponytail. Impatience in her gaze suggested he’d caught her on her way out.
“Mrs. Cramer?”
“That’s right.”
He held up his badge. “Detective Novak with the Richmond Police.”
Her brows rose with worry. “Is everything okay? My husband? The kids?”
“They’re fine, ma’am, and I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I’m investigating a murder case.”
“Murder.”
“Rita Gallagher?”
“Rita.” She shook her head slowly. “I haven’t heard her name in years.”
“Do you mind if I ask you about her?”
She checked her watch. “I need to join my husband at my son’s soccer practice in twenty-five minutes, but I have a little time.”
She pushed the door open, allowing him into a meticulously clean and organized living room decorated in a colonial style. The walls were filled with pictures of kids ranging in age from infancy up to high school. She extended her hand to a wingback chair, and she settled on the edge of a couch.
“You and Rita were roommates?” he asked.
“Yes, how did you know?” She shook her head. “I was still single then and hadn’t met my husband yet.”
He sat and removed his notebook from his breast pocket. “We located Rita through the address on her driver’s license. That led to the apartment complex, and they gave us your name.”
“Maple Tree Apartments. That takes me back. I had a
lot less responsibility in those days. Can’t remember what it’s like to kick back by a pool and drink wine on a Saturday. Why’re you asking about Rita?”
“Her remains were found Sunday night, but judging by the receipts we found on her, we think she’s been dead since November of ’92.”
“She’s dead?” Charlotte shook her head. “When she first vanished, I was so mad at her. She stiffed me on the rent for several months. I ate peanut butter sandwiches so I could make good on the entire rent. I kept expecting to hear from her. I knew she could be a free spirit, but she always turned up eventually.”
“Did you file a missing persons report?”
“No. I thought she and her boyfriend, Jack, took off for good. She always talked about living at the beach with him. Rita fully expected him to marry her.”
“But,” he said, sensing her hesitation.
“He was married, I think. I met him once or twice. Charming and attractive, but a little aloof. I assumed he was hiding a wife and kids.”
“When was the last time you saw Jack?”
“Well, I had a big party to celebrate a new job, and he came by. She had begged him to come and was thrilled when he walked in.”
“Do you have his last name?”
“No. That’s what always bothered me. He was just Jack.”
“Do you have any pictures of him?”
“I might from that party. I’m a scrapbooker, and I know I have stuff from then.”
“May I see it?”
She glanced at her watch. “Sure. Be right back.” She vanished through a set of double doors and was gone less than a couple of minutes when she returned with a bright-red leather-bound book. She laid it on the table and opened it, flipping through detailed pages until she reached the page decorated with balloons and marked “First Real Job.” She tapped on two images. “That’s Rita, and in the other picture is Rita with Jack.”
Novak studied the face of the woman who looked like the one in the driver’s license he’d found with her body. His attention shifted to the boyfriend. He was tall with thick blond hair that brushed his shoulders, but his face was turned partly away, ensuring the camera didn’t catch his face. “Mind if I snap a picture with my phone?”
“Go ahead. And I have the negatives.” After he took a picture she flipped to the back and tugged out a packet of negatives. She found the corresponding strip and handed it to him. “Keep it.”
“Thank you.” He thought about Andrews’s facial recognition scanner. If Jack was in the system, Andrews was the man to find him.
“How did she die?”
“She was struck in the head with a blunt object and perhaps suffocated.”
Unconsciously her fingers rose to her mouth. “That’s terrible.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“It was only a few days after my party. October 30. Funny I should remember that. The rent was due the next day, on Halloween, and she asked if I could cover her portion until the middle of the following week when she was paid. It took every penny I had to do it, but she swore she’d get me the money. She was a waitress in a bar then, and I knew she made good tips and was good for the money.”
“Did she need financial help often?”
“It was always close with her when it came to the rent, but she managed to make it.”
“What was Rita like?”
“Fun girl. When she was around, it was always a party. The guys loved her.”
“Anything else about her boyfriend, Jack?”
“He was nice enough. She catered to him. Did whatever he said. Do you think he killed her?”
“I don’t know. I’m chasing all the leads I can now.”
She frowned. “I did find drugs in the toilet tank after that party. It was the middle of the night. And the toilet wouldn’t stop running. I lifted the lid and found a white bag. I’d never seen the drugs before, but it didn’t take a chemistry degree to figure it out. I asked her about it, but she swore she didn’t know anything. Someone at my party must have stashed it there. When I told her I was calling the cops, she begged me not to. She said she had been arrested before and didn’t know how the cops would take this discovery or who would come after them.”
“What did you do with the drugs?”
“I flushed them down the toilet. I was terrified of having that in my apartment.”
“Did you know about her arrest record?”
“No. I didn’t. In fact, I was really upset about it. I don’t think I’d have roomed with her if I’d known.”
He found the picture of Jim Vargas with a young Julia on his phone and showed it to her. “Did you ever see this guy before?”
“No, but I’ve seen this picture. I remember finding it in her nightstand. It was a few days before she disappeared. It was on her nightstand.”
“Did she ever say who the picture was of?”
“Said it was another guy she was dating and his kid.”
“She was seeing someone else other than Jack?”
“Like I said, the guys liked her.”
“Can you think of anyone else who I can talk to about Rita?”
“She worked at a restaurant called Billy’s. I think it’s still in business.”
“I’ve spoken with the owner. Any other friends?”
“There was one woman named Rene. They went out a lot. But I never got a last name.”
She was the second person to confirm that Rene Tanner and Rita had been friends. He thanked Charlotte for her help, left his card, and slid behind the wheel of his SUV. As he turned the ignition, his phone rang. “Novak.”
“Natasha Warner. I have some forensic results for you.”
“I’ll be right over.”
Novak swung by Natasha’s office. He found her hunched over a shirt laid out on a light table.
“You got something?”
Natasha pushed away from the table. “Found DNA at the Lana Ortega crime scene.”
“And?”
“The DNA we found on the ropes binding Lana Ortega matches DNA on a similar set of ropes you and Julia Vargas brought in. I believe they were found near her residence.”
“Correct, it was a noose left as a calling card for Julia by the back door of Billy’s. Are you sure about the DNA match?”
“I was as surprised as anyone when the system came up with a hit, so I retested. After analyzing your sample and the ones from the Ortega crime scene, I’d say with 90 percent certainty they share the same touch DNA.”
“Does the DNA sample match any already in the CODIS?” CODIS was the FBI criminal justice DNA database.
“No. But I’m confident that the same person handled both sets of rope.”
“Do me a favor. Get these results to a fellow named Garrett Andrews. He works with Shield Security. He’s retesting the ropes from the Hangman cases.”
“That was twenty-five years ago, Novak. Good luck with that.”
“I know. It’s a long shot.” Novak pulled out his phone and texted Andrews’s contact information to Natasha. “Andrews found some hair samples on the clothes of two victims and is retesting.”
“Okay.”
“Have you gotten any hits on the Rita Gallagher crime scene?” Novak asked.
“I pulled several hair fibers from her clothing that don’t belong to her. I found a surprising match.”
“Who?”
“Jim Vargas.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Saturday, November 4, 4:00 p.m.
Julia had made her way back to her place, but was headed out the door again to revisit Ken after his nap when she saw Novak push through the front door of the bar. Oddly, she was glad to see him even though his jaw was clenched. Something was chewing on him.
“Out with it,” she said. “Or you’re going to grind all your teeth out of your head.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips. “Am I that obvious?”
“You are. What happened?”
“The DNA on the rope that you
found in the back alley behind Billy’s matches DNA found on the ropes binding Lana Ortega’s body.”
Any lightness was crushed under the weight of worry and anger. “I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I’ve asked Natasha Warner to get with Andrews and compare DNA notes. I want to know if the same killer is at work on both ends of the timeline. If so, your father is innocent. If not, a copycat can kill you just as easily as the original killer.”
Acknowledging her fear would do her no good. “Of course.”
He moved to within a foot of her. He wore a subtle aftershave that she’d come to associate with him. He knew he’d put a lot on her plate, and yet she sensed there was more.
“Hit me with both barrels,” she said. “I know there’s another shoe to drop.”
“A thumbprint was pulled from the inside of Rita Gallagher’s pendant. It belongs to your father.”
She studied him without any hint of emotion. “And?”
“I also found Rita Gallagher’s roommate, Charlotte. I showed her the picture we found in Rita’s purse. The picture of you and your father.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
She looked around the bar that had once felt so familiar and safe to her. Now she felt exposed, vulnerable. “I’m fighting blind, and I know time is running out before he kills again.” She hated hearing her voice crack with emotion.
He nodded toward the door. “Get in my car.”
“Why?”
“A time-out.”
“A what?”
“A break.”
“We can take a break upstairs,” she said.
“Somewhere else,” he said. “Neutral territory.”
She didn’t have the reserves to argue. “Sure.”
In his car, she didn’t pay much attention to where they were going. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. They ended up in a suburban neighborhood populated by houses that weren’t large but looked solid and well kept. Novak parked in front of a two-story white colonial. The yard was neatly trimmed and the leaves raked. Nothing fancy about the gardens, but the beds were edged and mulched.
“Where are we?” she asked.
