by Mary Burton
“What was your angle, Rita?” Rita, like Jim, had known the Hangman victims. Had she taken the job at Billy’s to meet Jim and perhaps be close to the other victims? “Was it your job to lead those women to the Hangman? Did Jim figure out what you were doing? Did you kill him?”
Across the street, a door creaked open and then shut. Julia turned to see an old woman easing herself into a chair on her front porch. The woman waved her over.
Glancing both ways, she crossed the street and stopped at the base of the concrete steps. Rows of potted plants were crammed on the front porch around the woman’s chair. Once painted a fresh white, the porch had grayed and chipped, and the Astroturf that covered the cement front steps curled up at the edges. A security door covered the historic wooden door. Bars protected the first-floor windows.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re police.”
“Yes, ma’am. Agent Julia Vargas with Virginia State Police.”
“Etta Greene.” She adjusted her glasses and squinted. “You’re here about that body the police found the other day?”
“I am.”
“Thought so. You have that look.”
Julia smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You have an air about you. Like you’re in charge.”
Julia nodded. “What can I do for you?”
“The cops came by the other day and were knocking on doors and asking questions. I wasn’t here, but I still have the card from Detective Novak.”
“He and I are working the case and need all the help we can get. How long have you been in this house, Mrs. Greene?”
“Seventy years. My folks moved here when I was a child.”
“That’s saying a lot. I bet you’ve seen some changes in this area.”
She picked at the folds of a white crocheted shawl. “It was a nice place when we moved in. A real community. And then the area went downhill bad and stayed down for the longest time.”
“I never policed this area when I was in uniform, but I heard stories. Happy to see the new development coming back.”
“And young families. We’re getting more and more young families.” She adjusted the folds of a thick purple housecoat. “It’s good to hear the laughter of children again.”
Julia glanced at the house across the street. “You heard about what we found in that house the other day?”
“I arrived home from my grandson’s this afternoon, but I heard.”
“We think the woman found in that house died about twenty-five years ago.”
“The early nineties,” she said, more to herself. “I remember that time. My mother was real sick, so I had to quit my job for a time and was home a good bit.”
Julia rested her hand on her hip. “You remember what was going on with that house at the time?”
“Like a lot of houses on this block, it was home to druggies and homeless people. Some of those houses closer to the river were getting fixed up, but not this street. It was rough. I didn’t dare go out at night. Mr. William Delany owned that house in the early nineties, and after he died he left it to his son. I saw the son, Marcus, a lot. Came and went around the clock. He’d show up at odd hours. Carrying boxes. Had a redheaded girl with him all the time. Often, there was another man with him, but I didn’t catch his name or his face.”
“That’s a good memory. You remember the woman?”
“Pretty. Big laugh. Big chest.” She sniffed. “I never spoke to the woman, but I didn’t like Delany. He was rude and left his trash in the yard. Made me so mad I would go over and pick it up.”
“You happen to catch the name of the girl he was with?”
“No.”
“You remember what she looked like?”
“It was usually dark and hard to see, but the one I remember wasn’t a big woman. A white girl.”
Julia pulled her phone and found Rita’s picture. “How about this woman?”
Mrs. Greene took the phone, squinting. “Make the picture bigger.”
Julia swiped the image with her fingers and enlarged Rita’s face.
“Got great-grandkids who have phones like that. They’re always looking at it rather than playing outside. They type messages, snap pictures, and play games. Don’t think anyone talks on ’em. My phone is attached to the wall, where it should be.” She studied the image while adjusting her glasses. “Can’t say for sure if it was her. But this one reminds me of that woman.”
“I’m still amazed you remember back so far. Twenty-five years is a long time.” She wasn’t questioning her honesty, but the story of the body had been in the paper, and memories, though helpful, weren’t always reliable.
“I remember them real well because the last time I saw them together was the night my mama died. The ambulance came, and I was so upset. And then I heard that woman cackle as she and Mr. Delany staggered into the house. They saw the damn ambulance taking my mama away, but they didn’t stop to give their respects. Some moments stick hard in your memory.”
“You’re sure it was Marcus Delany? I understand he had a guy living in the house.” She flipped through her notes. “The guy’s name was Scott Turner.”
“No one else lived in that house but the younger Mr. Delany. The others came and went.”
“You sure? This Turner fellow could have come and gone at odd hours.”
“I know my street, young woman. Especially in those days with me being home so much. It’s like now. I don’t work no more, but I know my street.”
She showed her a picture of Jim Vargas. “Did you ever see this man?”
Mrs. Greene leaned in and studied the image. “No.”
Julia cleared her throat, surprised by the emotion that cut through her body. “What day did your mother die?”
“November 2, 1992.”
November 2. One day after Jim Vargas had died. There’d have been no way Jim Vargas could have killed Rita if Etta Greene had seen Rita here on November 2 with Delany.
“Did Delany come back to the house?”
“That next week was mighty busy making the funeral arrangements for Mama. Fact, I don’t think I ever saw Mr. Delany again until the week before last.”
“He was here over a week ago?”
“The Thursday or Friday before last, I think it was. He looks a lot like he did back in the day. Fit. Hair is grayer, but he looks about the same.”
“What was he doing here?”
“I don’t know. He went inside the house and was in there for about a half hour, and then he came out and left.”
“You’re sure about the day?”
“I went to see my grandson that next Saturday afternoon.”
The fire started the following Sunday night around seven. Natasha had said there might have been a delay device that had set the fire. But why set the fire for forty-eight hours later? Why bring everyone here? Did he know Rita’s body would be found? Or did he want her body found?
“Thank you, Mrs. Greene. I appreciate your time.”
“Think it helped?”
“It was a big help.”
“You going to tell Mr. Novak? I was gonna put a call in to him, and then I saw you. Now I reckon he won’t have to call me.”
“I’ll tell him.” She handed Mrs. Greene her card. “And if you think of any new information and can’t get Novak, you can call me.”
“Sure will.”
Julia crossed the street to her car and slid behind the wheel. She dialed Novak. He answered immediately. “Julia.”
“I paid a visit to Etta Greene. She lives across the street from Delany’s Church Hill house.”
“What were you doing there?”
“It all circles back to Rita. So I wanted to see the house again were she was found. Mrs. Greene saw a woman that looked like Rita with Delany the night Rita disappeared. It was the night Mrs. Greene’s mother died, so she remembers it clearly. It was November 2.”
“Assuming it was Rita, why would Delany kill her?”
&nbs
p; “I think Rita’s job was to set Jim up. And maybe after he was dead, she was of no more use.”
“Where are you now?”
“Headed to Delany’s residence. I need to talk to him.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t engage unless I’m there.” His voice was tense with worry.
“I think Rita might have shot Jim.”
Novak repeated his demand. “Don’t engage until I arrive.”
“Understood.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sunday, November 5, 10:00 p.m.
Julia arrived at the entrance to Delany’s driveway a half hour later. She cut her lights and drove slowly down the drive. The house was dark, silent. She parked and cut her engine. Without the heater running, the fall air quickly chilled her.
She dialed Andrews’s number. He answered immediately. She didn’t bother with pleasantries, sensing they annoyed him anyway. “What can you tell me about Delany? Where was he during the Hangman murders?”
“Stand by.” Keys tapped in the background. “He was the primary investor in a real estate development in the West End. Came close to filing bankruptcy when it took longer than he’d anticipated to fill up the units.”
Moonlight bathed the two-story brick home and its well-manicured lawn. “What saved him?”
Keys tapped. “He was able to attract a new investor. The influx of cash bought him enough time. He ended up turning a significant profit on the development and moved on to his next project. Why do you care?”
“He was seen at his Church Hill home with Rita Gallagher the night after Jim died. Rita was linked to all three Hangman victims along with Jim. I’m at his place right now.”
“Who’s your backup?” Andrews asked.
“Novak is en route.”
“I assume you’ll wait until he’s on scene.”
“You sound like Novak.”
“He’s a reasonable man,” Andrews said.
“I’ll be fine.” She studied the dark house. “It doesn’t look like Delany is home. Can you ping his phone to confirm his location?”
“Stand by.” More keys clicked in the background. “His phone is pinging from his home address.”
“I can’t imagine he’s in bed this early.”
“This guy might be smart enough to leave his phone at home so he won’t leave an electronic trail.”
“What about his vehicles?”
Keys clicked. “All have antitheft packages. He has three registered in his name, and his company has six trucks. Delany’s cars are in his driveway. And five of the six trucks are at the corporate offices.”
“Where’s the sixth?”
He hesitated. “In the Manchester district near the warehouses on the river.”
“Warehouses. He’s killing someone now,” she said.
After a heavy silence, “Update me immediately when you and Novak have made contact.”
“Will do.”
She checked the time on her phone and dialed Novak.
“Where are you?” Novak demanded. Frustration sharpened each of his words.
“At Delany’s.” She recapped the information Andrews had shared. “I’m headed to the Manchester district now.”
“I’m rerouting.”
“I’ll call you right back.”
“Don’t hang up.”
“I have to go.” She ended the call, but as she reached for the ignition key, she spotted the flicker of movement in the garage. A light clicked on, and she watched a man pass in front of the garage window. Behind him she could swear she saw a dangling body.
“What the hell?” Hand on her weapon, she got out of the SUV. She moved closer, not fully believing what she’d just seen.
Julia pulled out her phone and dialed Novak. He didn’t answer. The woman’s body had twitched. She was dying. “Pick up.” On the fourth ring she shoved the phone in her back pocket and drew her weapon. She pushed open the garage door and stood back, surveying the area, knowing this could be a trap.
A woman was suspended from a beam in the center of the large garage. Blood soaked the woman’s chest and dripped down her body to the concrete floor. Julia scanned the room, taking in a workbench with neatly arranged tools, lawn equipment tucked in a corner, and a collection of six racing bicycles in the other. A door that appeared to lead into the house was closed. There was no sign of anyone else.
Heart racing, Julia dashed toward the end of the rope, which was tied off around a support beam. She shoved her gun in her holster, and rising on tiptoes, reached for the knot. The body faced away from her, making it impossible to see the victim’s face.
She dug her nails into the rope and tried to wedge her thumb under the outside loop. After the outer knot, there were two more knots to undo before the rope would give. More digging and pulling and the second knot came loose. The woman’s body was limp now.
A squeak of hinges and movement in her peripheral vision had her backing away from the rope and drawing her weapon. She steadied the gun in front of her with both hands as a man with long white hair and a slim build came in the side door. Even as very faint memories tugged at her, she couldn’t place him. Where and when had she seen him before?
She leveled her gun. “Put your hands where I can see them.” The last knot held firm as the woman’s body now dangled gently. “Untie her! Get her down!”
He looked amused as he glanced toward the lifeless body. “Which is it? You want me to get my hands up or cut her down?”
Julia’s fingers tightened on her grip of the gun. He had an air about him that screamed cop. “Release the rope!”
He glanced up at the woman, then looked at Julia with a smile before moving toward the last rope.
Her phone rang, her heart hammering as she watched him. She started to reach for her phone. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
Laughing, the man tugged at the rope, and the last knot came free. The woman slammed to the concrete floor in a heap. The impact of the body distracted Julia for a split second. It was enough time for him to unwind a second rope she’d not noticed when she’d entered.
Overhead, three-inch-diameter metal pipes rattled and then fell about her, driving her reflexively to a crouching position while covering her head. Two struck her shoulder and back. She staggered to rise just as the man landed a punch squarely to her stomach. Pain rocketed through her body.
“You working with Delany?” she wheezed.
He gently lifted her chin upward and pointed her focus to Marcus Delany’s lifeless body, which lay crumpled in a darkened corner. There was a bullet wound in the chest.
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“He owed Popov a debt. He thought no one cared after the old Russian died. But the family never forgot, and I collected the last installment,” he said.
She stared into his eyes, and old memories reached out from the past. The hair was whiter and the lines around his face deeper, but she knew him.
The moment’s hesitation cost her. He was old, but his reflexes were lightning quick. She never saw his left punch rise up and connect with her jaw. Pain shot through her head. She staggered, then dropped to the floor. And blacked out.
Novak stared at the phone display, wondering why Julia had called him and was now not picking up. He dialed her number a third time, and when he still got no answer, he called Andrews, who picked up on the first ring. “Andrews, this is Novak. Where’s Julia?”
“Five minutes ago, she was on her way to the Manchester district.”
“Ping her phone.”
“Stand by.” The seconds ticked by at a painfully slow pace. “She’s still at Delany’s. Why hasn’t she left?”
“This isn’t good. She just called me and now is not picking up. I’m headed to Delany’s now.”
“I’m on standby.”
“Understood.” He ended the call and shoved his foot against the gas pedal. He’d barely traveled a mile when his phone dinged with a text. Riggs had sent him a snapshot of the po
lice artist’s rendering done with Bonnie Jenkins.
He gripped the phone as he stared at the very familiar eyes. Bonnie Jenkins had described Nate Unger.
When Julia’s eyes opened, a thick fog enveloped her brain. Her body was racked with pain. She lay very still and slowly unhooked her belt. She tugged the buckle free and gripped the sharp edge in her fist.
She blinked until her vision cleared enough for her to realize she was lying on a cold concrete floor. The room was dimly lit now, and rope coiled around her wrists, binding them in front of her body. She fought, twisting her hands as she rolled on her back. Beside her lay the lifeless bodies of Elizabeth Monroe and Marcus Delany. Julia swallowed her panic. She pushed herself up, shoving back a wave of nausea.
Julia’s skin tore and burned as she struggled to pull her hands free of the ropes. The ropes didn’t budge. Her weapon, badge, and shoes were gone.
She pushed up into a sitting position and forward onto her knees. Pulling in several slow, deep breaths, she concentrated on her breathing until it settled. Gritting her teeth, she lumbered into a standing position like a boxer taking an eight count after a knockdown. She staggered, then righted herself. How long had she been out? Was Novak headed toward her or toward the warehouse in the city?
The same man came around the corner, his arms loaded with rope. “You’re awake. I thought you’d be out longer. I’ll give you credit. You figured this out faster than I anticipated. I thought we’d have more time to play. Me leaving you little clues like attorney Monroe here. But no matter. I’ll get you both loaded up, and we’ll head to the staging area.”
The distant memory crystallized. “You knew my father.”
“It’s been a while since we saw each other face-to-face. I think you might have been ten or eleven.”
Her head spun, and she drew in air to settle her tight stomach. “Unger. Jim’s undercover partner.”
He grinned. “That’s right. We worked undercover for three years together. He was a great cop. A bit too honest for his own good, but I still liked him.”
“You came to my birthday party.”
“That’s right.”
“What do you mean Jim was too honest?”
