by Liliana Hart
“You said there was an explosives expert when we first talked to Greer.”
“I’m getting to that. The explosions started off small. The first in the boys’ bathroom. No injuries, and it got classes cancelled for the week while there was an investigation. The surveillance cameras had been messed with so no suspects.”
“The next was a little larger in scale and happened about six months later, still in the middle of junior year. The advanced chemistry lab was leveled two days before exams. And this time there was a casualty. The professor went up with it, and most of his body parts were found. His name was Thomas Atkins.”
“Nice,” I said, grimacing as I looked over Jack’s shoulder at the crime scene photos.
“The investigators found traces of unstable compounds and it was decided that the professor must have made a mistake in an experiment he was working on. There was nothing else found in the rubble that would suggest it was a device of any kind.”
“But when we dug a little further we found that Jordan Parker and Eric Lieber were on probation for cheating. They were to go before an advisory board and Dr. Atkins was going to present his evidence against them and push for expulsion as well as failing his class, which would make them have to retake it the next year.”
“Handy. Get rid of the teacher and he can’t testify against you.”
“Exactly. But nothing could be proven. Only suspicion. Next we’ve got another explosion only two months later. Classes were dismissed for a study break for four days, and most students went home. Because of distance the group converged on Peter Anderson’s home since he had a home closest to the school.
“This is where things start to click,” Jack said. “While on holiday some friend of a friend had a party. Adam Boxer was an American soldier on leave for three weeks, and he winds up at this party that was a friend of a friend of Anderson’s.”
I raised my brows as the Ahh moment hit. “And Boxer and Paris Spencer hit it off.”
“That’s the polite way of saying it. Friends say they started off hot and heavy from the moment they met. In fact, witnesses say they hooked up in one of the guest rooms about half an hour after they met. Paris Spencer went back to Boxer’s place shortly after that, and when the holiday was over and everyone returned back to school, she was a no show.”
“The school called her parents, but they couldn’t be reached for several days. Spencer spent the remaining time of Boxer’s leave with him until the police showed up almost two weeks later to escort her back to campus on her parents’ orders. She didn’t go willingly, and because she missed so much class and several key exams she ended up flunking that quarter.”
“Three days after Spencer was escorted back to class the lead officer who came and took her away from Boxer was killed in an explosion in his home along with his wife and three children. The cops looked at Boxer hard, but he was alibied tight for the time in question, and he eventually went back to active duty.”
“Things stayed quiet for the rest of the school year and until they all graduated. Then we see the same kind of thing start about the time they all enter university together. Same deal. They don’t like to be separated from each other and end up attending the same university, though their majors are all very different. There were three more explosions that went unsolved during their tenure at university, and each of the victims had somehow done something wrong in their eyes or they’d felt they’d been slighted in some way.”
“But nothing was ever proven,” I said. “What happened with Boxer?”
“Every time he has leave he spends it with Spencer, and when his last tour was up he turned in his retirement papers and went to join her. They never married but they were together up until his death during the heist. She was questioned extensively, but it was postponed because she had to be hospitalized and sedated when she got the word of Boxer’s death. She spent more than a year in a mental institution, uncommunicative. Investigators never could get in to question her, and by the time a year had passed there wasn’t really any point because the case had been closed.”
“We need to talk to Paris Spencer.” I ran my fingers through my hair and blew out a breath of frustration.
“Yeah, we need to talk to Paris Spencer. But Carver says she’s in France and the chances of getting her here are slim. She hasn’t set foot in America since Boxer was killed, though fresh flowers show up on his grave once a month.”
“We need to go back tonight, Jack. Wake up Carver and tell him he can either drive us back or we’re taking a cab.” I pulled off the tank and boxers I’d put on to sleep in and grabbed clothes out of my bag.
“It can’t wait five hours?”
“I missed something. I need to look at those photographs again.”
He sighed and closed his computer. “You’ve got that look on your face, so I’m not going to try and argue. Let me call Carver and see what he wants to do.”
I nodded and put on jeans and a Georgetown University sweatshirt. I didn’t much care what Carver wanted to do. I was going back to Virginia tonight whether he wanted me to or not.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“My wife has some choice words to say to you, Jack,” Carver said once we were back on the road. “The baby was actually asleep and there wasn’t a toddler between us in the bed. Do you realize how rare that is? Not to mention she got her six week report back and she was all in the clear.”
“I don’t mean to let murder interrupt your sex life.”
“And if things get violent when she has those words with you I’m not going to do anything to stop it. I’ll just stand back and watch. And I’ll enjoy it, you bastard.”
“Would you be this cranky if you weren’t getting to have sex with me?” I asked Jack, curiously.
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had to go without, and the couple rounds we had earlier will probably hold me through tomorrow.”
“I hate you,” Carver said, making my lips twitch. “You just wait until you have kids. Maybe I’ll go poke holes in all your condoms just to help you along.”
“You’ve got issues, Carver. I have no idea what the FBI psych profiler would have to say about that.”
“He’d say I need to get laid. Why was it again that we needed to leave in the middle of the night?”
“There’s something that’s been bothering me about the autopsy reports on Jack’s men. I need to study them closer. In particular, I need to study the reports on Andrew Caine a little closer. Something isn’t right there.”
The drive back to Bloody Mary seemed to take forever and I tapped my fingers against my leg and stared out into the darkness while Jack and Carver talked up front. I noticed the tail as soon as we crossed into King George County.
“It’s Donaldson,” Carver said. “He’s going to follow us in. Greer was able to pin down a location for Jesse Tydell while we were gone. He’s got undercover agents keeping an eye on him. We’re hoping he’ll make contact with other members of the gang and we can take them all.”
“The gang members are the killers,” I said. “We know that without a doubt. But they acted as the weapons. They’re just a small part of the puzzle. The gang is the metaphorical bullet but someone else is pulling the trigger. Whoever that is is just as guilty of murder as the Vagos gang.”
Carver sighed. “Right. We just have to find them first. I’m going to see what I can do about bringing in Paris Spencer. We need to talk to her.”
Donaldson’s lights were bright behind us as we finally made our way into Bloody Mary. Nerves dampened the palms of my hands, and I dried them quickly on my jeans. I didn’t like the thought that there could be someone out there watching and waiting for Jack right now. Our home was supposed to be safe, but it didn’t feel that way anymore. I wouldn’t breathe easier until we were inside with the doors locked behind us.
It only took another ten minutes or so until the house came into view. Carver parked in the garage and we went in through the mudroom door, but I didn’t wait on them t
o do a walkthrough of the house. I went straight to the offices and to the table where I’d been combing through the autopsy reports.
“Just give me a minute,” I said, when they came in behind me. “I just need some quiet.”
“Carver and I will be in the kitchen making coffee.” And they left me alone.
I lined up the crime scene photos next to each other on the table and put the reports beneath them, reading through them all again. I saved Caine’s until last and by that time I knew what had been bothering me.
“Jack,” I called out.
“We’re here,” he said. I hadn’t even realized they’d been back in the room sitting at their own tables. He handed me a cup of coffee but I put it aside.
“We’ve got eight murders if you take out Elliott, who Jack killed during the heist, and Winters who died in the car crash. Those are the only two anomalies.” I took a second to group them together. “We’ve got Wallace, Santos, and Gonzales with the same cause of death. Two gunshot wounds to the back of the head with a large caliber weapon. Testing proved that it came from a .357 Magnum with hollow point bullets. I don’t know the results of Wallace’s findings yet, but that was my assumption when I worked on his body. The weapon is going to be a match among all three. One killer took them out.
“Next we’ve got Dreyer and Thompson.” I grouped their pictures together and then added Wolfe’s next to them. “We’ve got the same thing here. Same cause of death for Dreyer and Thompson, and the same attempt that happened with Wolfe earlier today. Long range shots from a sniper rifle. The shots were taken by someone highly skilled, and they were kill shots. We got lucky today with Braddock and Wolfe. The weapon and caliber of the bullet are the same. This is going to be Jesse Tydell’s work. He’s your marksman.
“Moving on to the next group.” I arranged the next two pictures together. “We’ve got Price and Garfield with the same cause of death. Slit throat. A fluid motion from left to right, severing the jugular at the entry point. The wound was deep, indicating the strength of the killer, and the angle of the wound indicates the assailant was around the same height as Price and a couple of inches taller than Garfield. He was also right handed since it was a left to right motion.”
I grabbed a step stool and moved behind Carver to demonstrate.
“Oh, man. I hate being the test dummy.”
“Be thankful I’m not using real props.” I grabbed him by the hair and pulled his neck back to expose his throat. “It had to have been fast, considering the size of the victims. Come up behind them out of the blue. It’s a skill. And the depth of the wound showed how strong the killer was. The knife nicked the C4 vertebra in both victims, almost taking their heads off. So you’ve got gang member number three as the killer here. They all have their own MOs.”
“What about Caine?” Jack asked. “His throat was slit too.”
I went back to the table and my photos. “It sure was, but not like Garfield and Price. Caine was found dead in a motel in the Trinidad area of DC. That’s a bad part of town, and word was that Caine was supposed to meet with an informant. He was found in the bed, stripped of all clothing, with his throat slit and other shallow hack marks along the torso. His wallet and any valuables were missing from the scene. No fingerprints, and there’s so much DNA in a room like that it wouldn’t be admissible anyway.”
“I feel like I’m missing something obvious,” Carver said.
“The wound doesn’t match,” I said, showing the crime scene photo of Caine. “It’s a shallower slice, nowhere near close enough to nick vertebra. And see how there’s a jagged edge in the flesh here and here?” I pointed to the two offending spots. “The assailant wasn’t nearly as strong. It was a struggle to tear through the arteries and nick the jugular. It wasn’t even severed all the way, but it was enough for him to bleed out. This was done face to face, in very close contact.”
“Damn,” Jack said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was a woman. Crime of passion, and in the middle of it too. Poor bastard.”
“They didn’t finish,” I said, nodding. “Vaginal fluid was found and collected for DNA but tests show they didn’t finish the deed. Not only was it a crime of passion, but she was majorly pissed. See these shallow wounds in the chest? These happened perimortem. She would’ve been covered in blood from head to toe.”
“Do you think there’s a chance Paris Spencer had a connection with Caine?” Jack asked.
“I know she did,” Carver said, going back to his own table and rifling through stacks of paper. “Before Spencer had her nervous breakdown there was a police report filed by some of Caine’s neighbors. Caine was the only one of the team interviewed on television after Boxer and the others were killed. It seems Paris tracked him down and there was some kind of altercation before the police arrived. She disappeared before the police got there, and Caine didn’t know who she was at the time—only that she was a young woman, late twenties or early thirties, with long straight blond hair and blue eyes. Cops were stretched thin so when Paris tried to slit her wrists less than an hour later the connection wasn’t made until she’d already been admitted to psych lockdown.
“This is good stuff, Doc. Enough that I can have Paris Spencer transported across international waters for questioning.”
“The knife wound moved from right to left,” I said.
“Left-handed killer. Paris Spencer is left handed.” Carver smiled. “That information was almost worth missing a night of hot sex for. I’ll alert Greer and we’ll meet here first thing in the morning for a briefing.”
“Then we’d better get some sleep,” Jack said, taking my hand and pulling me toward the door. “Have I ever told you how hot it makes me to watch that brain of yours work?” He leaned down and kissed the sensitive spot below my ear.
“Oh, man. Why don’t you just rub it in?” Carver complained. “If I hear sex noises coming from your room tonight, I’m going to start shooting through the wall and hope it hits you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to keep her mouth occupied.” I snorted out a laugh and Jack tossed me over his shoulder and ran up the stairs.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The alarm went off at half past five and I groaned and buried my head under the pillow, pretending it would go away.
“Rise and shine, Doc.”
“I’ve never understood how you can be so cheerful in the mornings without coffee.”
“It’s a gift. I have many.”
I snorted out a laugh and threw off the covers. It was still dark outside, but the house would be swarming with agents before much longer. I sat up on the side of the bed and stretched, rotating my neck to alleviate the stiffness. There hadn’t been much time for sleep the last two days.
Jack was already showered and dressed and he sat down next to me. “Let me see your back.”
I turned and then let out a moan as his fingers worked magic up and down my spine and between my shoulder blades.
“That right there is totally worth marrying you for,” I said between moans.
“That’s not what you said last night.” His hands snaked around and palmed my breasts before going back to the massage.
“Well, maybe I can think of a couple other reasons.”
“Do you want breakfast?”
“It depends. Are you making it?”
“Well, I want to not die of food poisoning or have to rebuild my kitchen if you burn it down, so yes, I’m making it.”
“In that case, I’d love some breakfast. And a pot of coffee.”
“What are you going to do when there’s a coffee shortage in the world and you have to do without?”
“I’m going to expect my rich husband to pay whatever he has to so I don’t kill anyone when I wake up in the mornings without it.”
“You’re very violent without your caffeine. It’s very sexy.”
“I only have to breathe for you to think it’s sexy.”
“You speak the truth,” he winked. “Grab your shower
and meet me downstairs before I make us both late.”
He slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him, and I realized I had a ridiculous smile on my face. I rolled my eyes and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
It was foolish of me, but I knew Lauren would be joining us for the meeting so I took more time with my appearance than normal. I blow dried my hair so it lay smooth around my face and I messed with my eyes some to make them look bigger, more exotic, and put a hint of color in my cheeks.
There was no point in trying to compete with her in the wardrobe department. My closet consisted of old comfortable jeans and Tshirts and business suits I wore at the funeral parlor. Expensive clothes were wasted in my profession because so many got ruined if I had to go to a crime scene or while I was doing an embalming.
I selected gray slacks and a purple wrap shirt that made it look like I had more boobs than I actually did, and then I sighed as I tried to decide on footwear. There was no point strangling my feet in icepick heels. I needed to be practical, and there was no way I could go a whole day wearing them without falling on my face. I decided on flat black half-boots I’d gotten on clearance the summer before and figured that was as good as it was going to get.
I went downstairs without a backward glance at the mirror and headed toward the smell of coffee and bacon.
“Good timing,” Jack said, turning from the stove. His eyebrows raised at the sight of me and I felt self-conscious all of a sudden. I almost turned around and went back upstairs to wipe the stupid makeup off and change clothes, but Jack got that look in his eye that made my skin tingle.
He took the pan off the stove and turned the burner off and then walked toward me. No, stalked would be more accurate.
“I like that shirt. A lot. I especially like what’s underneath it.”
“You’ve seen what’s underneath it a thousand times.”
“That doesn’t mean I ever get tired of it.” His hands curved around my waist and he kissed me.
“Am I interrupting something?” Carver said from the doorway.
