Dominic sat at his desk and dialed a number he knew by heart. The office hummed with busy agents, but Dominic tuned them out.
Hunter Graham picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Any luck on finding my father?” Dominic didn’t bother with a formal greeting.
“Nope. The man’s gone. If it was him—and we think it was—he left about three hours before we got here.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah.”
Dominic could hear the weariness in his friend’s voice. “So what are you going to do?”
“Head home. We’ve both got work to do.” He paused. “You hear anything about Jillian?”
“No. I’ve got Terry O’Donnell working on it. I should hear something soon. One way or another.”
Hunter grunted. “The woman has disappeared from the face of the earth.”
“So it appears.” Dominic pushed a paper across his desk searching for his pen that had gone missing. “How does Alexia like working with the Columbia Fire Department? We haven’t really talked a lot about it since she got the job.” He found the pen under the next set of papers.
“She loves it. Thrilled to be back working fires. I’m not crazy about it. Scares me to death. I live for our days off together so I know she’s safe.”
“Yeah.” Dominic worried about his little sister fighting fires too, but that was what she’d chosen to do, and there wasn’t a thing he or Hunter could do about it. Except pray.
Which he found himself doing on a regular basis. For a lot of people. “Bet you can think of better ways of spending those days off than tracking down a deadbeat dad.” Silence on the other end. Dominic said, “I’m sorry, shouldn’t have said that.”
“Dom, you know—”
“I’m working the case now.”
The abrupt change of topic didn’t faze Hunter. “Which case?”
“The one you talked me into checking out.”
“The dead girl in the park? My take-pity-on-Dominic case?”
Dominic allowed himself a small smile. It was more the other way around—Hunter had his hands full to overflowing with all of his cases. “That would be the one. It’s now an official FBI case. I think we’ve got a serial killer running around our city and I aim to catch him before he kills again.”
“Fill me in.”
Dominic did, and when he finished, Hunter said, “We’ll be back before lunch tomorrow. We’ll catch up then.”
“Count on it.” Dominic hung up and turned to his computer. Before he could type the first letter, his phone rang.
He smiled when he saw the caller. “Hi, Serena.”
“Hi, Dominic.” Her husky voice jangled his senses. In a good way. “I’m finished for the day here, but I have to run an errand. How much longer are you going to be in your office?”
“At least another couple hours. Why?”
“I thought I’d offer to help and join you in your research. That is, if that’s what you’re still planning on doing.”
“It is. I’ll have to get you clearance to get back to my office. It’ll just take a few minutes,” Dominic told her.
“Great. I’ll call you when I get there.”
His brow lifted and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “I’ll be waiting.”
Serena flashed her ID to the security guard and walked into Covenant House, a shelter for homeless teens—or for teens whose home wasn’t worth living in. Like Camille’s. It gave the girls a place to regroup, decide what they wanted to do and a way to develop a plan. Serena became interested in the place after she did the autopsy on one of the residents who had been killed by an abusive uncle. The man had broken in, kidnapped the teen, slit her throat, and tossed her in a dumpster. She’d been found a couple of days later. She’d had Covenant House’s card in her pocket.
Serena scanned the occupants and spotted Camille curled in the corner of the couch, sound asleep.
Biting her lip, she hesitated, hating to wake the girl, but she’d promised. She walked over and lightly touched Camille’s shoulder.
Camille blinked and got her bearings. When she saw Serena, her eyes filled again, but the tears didn’t fall. Surprise flickered in her gaze for a moment. “Hey. You really came.”
“I said I would.”
“I know, but . . . never mind.”
The people in Camille’s life didn’t keep promises. Serena dropped to the couch beside her and looked the girl in the eyes, studying them. Even pupils, direct gaze. She wasn’t using. But then that wasn’t Camille’s way, thank goodness. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I . . . I’m seventeen years old. I can’t believe I was so stupid.” A tear managed to escape and slid down her cheek. She lifted a hand to give it an angry swipe.
“Who’s the father?”
Shame filled Camille’s eyes before she lowered them. “Bobby. My boyfriend.” She scoffed. “I guess I should say ex-boyfriend now.”
“He dumped you?”
“As soon as I told him.” Bitterness flashed, taking the place of the shame. “I should have known.”
“All right, here’s what we’re going to do if you want to do it. Mrs. Bea Lamb is the director here. If you’re willing to stay, you’re welcome to do so. But, there are rules.”
Camille’s upper lip began to curl. Serena lifted a brow and the lip settled.
Camille gave a slow nod. “I met her when I first got here. She was really nice and didn’t ask any questions. Just told me to have a seat on the couch and to wait for you.” A low sigh filtered out. “I don’t have any other options, Serena. I . . . want to stay if she’ll let me.”
“She will, but I’ll be honest with you. If you mess up and don’t follow her rules, the rules of the house, then you’re out. You understand?”
Camille seemed to think it over, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Would the girl follow through? Did she believe it when Serena said the director would tell her to leave if she didn’t comply?
Only one way to find out. “All right, let’s go get you settled in your room. Did you bring a bag?”
Camille pointed to the bag on the table behind the couch.
Serena snagged it and pulled the girl to her feet.
“What if my dad shows up?” The fear in Camille’s voice and eyes was unmistakable.
“They have security here. They won’t let him in.”
“But—”
“And the guard will call the cops if necessary.”
Camille swallowed hard. “He would be so mad about that. You can’t do that. Promise me, you won’t call the cops on him.”
Serena bit back the things she’d like to say about Camille’s father. Bashing the man wouldn’t do Camille any good. “I can’t make that promise if he shows up here causing problems. But let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s just take it one day at a time, all right?”
Another slow nod from Camille. Serena motioned for the girl to follow her and together they walked down the hall to one of the empty bedrooms. Serena stepped inside, then turned to watch her young friend’s reaction.
Camille’s eyes went wide as she took in the soft pastels and thick comforter on the twin bed. “It’s nice.” She looked at Serena and gave her a tremulous smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, honey.” She gave Camille a hug and let the girl cling to her for a few moments.
Finally Camille let go and drew in a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this.”
Serena gripped Camille’s hand. “We’ll do this. Together.”
An hour later, after making sure Camille had what she needed and with promises to return soon, Serena headed back toward Dominic’s office, her mind back on the case and the information she and Dominic might learn.
Once inside the building, she rubbed her bare arms in the air-conditioned office. As she waited, she let her eyes scan the walls. Plaques, awards, honors . . . fallen heroes.
“Ready?” Dominic’s voice rumbled in her ear fr
om behind her.
“Sure.” She followed him through security and through a weave of desks. Feeling eyes on her, she smiled at those she passed, then found herself in a corner in the back. A desk, a computer, and a stack of files greeted her.
Dominic smiled. “It’s temporary but it’s home base for now.”
He grabbed a spare chair and pulled it up to the desk next to him. Serena slipped into the seat and leaned in. She drew in a deep breath, his woodsy-smelling cologne drawing her like a fly to honey. The man smelled good. He turned and met her gaze. She was helpless to stop the flush she could feel forming on her cheeks. He gave a slow smile as though he knew exactly what was going through her mind. Then he let her off the hook.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s see what we have on Drake Lindell.”
A few clicks of the keyboard brought forth a man’s picture.
Serena stared. “He looks so . . . normal. Approachable. Like my next-door neighbor.”
“Yeah. Scary, isn’t it?”
“Definitely.”
A few more clicks brought up the man’s entire history, transcripts of the trial, and everything else they could possibly want.
“What about his family?” she asked.
More taps on the keyboard. “Hmm,” Dominic said, “he’s left a lovely legacy. He’s fathered four children all with the same mother. He’s got a son who’s in jail for murder.” She watched his eyes scan the screen. “Looks like Trey Lindell got in a bar fight that went really wrong. He ended up killing a guy not long after his dad’s trial. Two more sons, Pete and Nate. Pete’s location is presently unknown.” He glanced at her. “Which can mean dead, but not necessarily. Nate, who is the oldest at forty-two, is a lawyer here in town. Interesting.” Back to the screen. “And finally, we have a daughter. Gwendolyn Lindell, age thirty-nine. Location also unknown.”
A young woman’s face appeared. Serena sighed. “She’s pretty even without makeup. Very natural looking.” Slender, with hair so blond it looked almost white, blue eyes, clear skin. “She has sad eyes.”
“This was taken at her dad’s trial. Apparently she was the only family member in attendance.”
“Then I guess she has a reason to look sad.”
“After the guilty verdict, she said she never wanted to have anything to do with him again. Here’s her quote. ‘I can’t believe this. He’s betrayed me and I hope he rots in prison.’” Dominic shook his head. “Pretty bitter.”
“Do you blame her? Poor thing. I can’t imagine.”
A few more clicks brought up the photos of the shed containing the evidence. He said, “The shed was soundproofed as was the room below it.”
“Guess that explains why no one in the neighborhood heard anything out of the ordinary.” As he scrolled through the photos, she narrowed her eyes. Blood spatter covered the wall behind a poker table. Cards littered the table and the floor next to the table. A roulette table backed up against a wall.
A length of chain with handcuffs attached to the end lay on the floor beneath a steel chair. Serena could see the bolts holding it in place.
“What’s that?” she pointed.
“I don’t know.” A piece of steel that looked to be about fifteen inches long lay on the poker table. “Says they didn’t know what it was for. But some of the victims’ DNA was found on it.”
“Poker. So, he was a gambler.”
“Looks like.”
He pressed print, then leaned over and grabbed a manila folder from the bottom drawer.
Placing the stack of papers inside, he said, “One more thing.” A few more clicks of the keyboard. “Okay, the case agent on the Doll Maker’s case was Howard Bell.”
“Then we need to talk to Mr. Bell.”
“He retired four years ago, but I bet he’s the perfect place to start.” Dominic sent the man’s contact information to his phone.
Serena said, “I wonder how Chad and Katie are coming with Leslie’s investigation.”
“I’m sure they’ve notified the family by now. I guess the next step will be releasing the body to them.”
She nodded. “Yes. And I’m not ready to do that yet.”
He frowned. “I thought you were finished with the autopsy.”
“With the preliminary stuff. I want to go over a few more details before I let her go.”
“Like what?”
“The Doll Maker Killer’s victims. I want to look at their autopsies.”
“And compare them to Leslie?”
“Exactly.”
8
TUESDAY, 9:45 A.M.
Howard Bell agreed to talk to them at ten o’clock. Serena had slept fitfully the night before, waking often, hearing the echo of her gunshot in her dreams. Only the Glock in her nightstand and Yoda’s comforting presence at the foot of her bed kept her from pacing the floor all night.
She looked with satisfaction at the reports she’d finished, the result of the last two hours. Mr. Gary Hanson had definitely died of heart failure. The tox screen came back clean of any suspicious drugs. His heart had simply stopped and no amount of drugs or procedures had been able to get it started again.
The family wouldn’t want to accept that. They were a noisy lot and Serena wasn’t looking forward to sharing her findings with them. Maybe she’d pass them off to her boss. She smiled at the thought. He would tell her she was a wimp and she’d agree.
Camille had called in the midst of the report writing and grudgingly admitted, “It’s not so bad here.”
Serena prayed the girl would stay put. The home would allow her to continue her education during the school year, attend parenting classes and even an optional Bible study. Serena fully believed God needed to be in these kids’ lives, but she wouldn’t shove him down their throats.
Serena set the folder on the edge of her desk. She’d drop it by Daniel’s office when she left.
A glance at the clock said she needed to get a move on. Dominic had asked if she wanted to go with him to meet the retired FBI agent, Mr. Bell, and Serena did.
Gathering her things and the folder, she headed to Daniel’s office. She left the folder where he could find it easily and made her way up the stairs and out the door into the parking lot.
Dominic was waiting for her. She slipped into the passenger seat. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” He offered a smile and a cup of coffee. “Sweet with cream, right?”
She took a sip and sighed. “Perfect. Thanks.”
Dominic pulled from the lot and made a left. “Howard can be a crusty dude, but underneath the gruff, I think he’s a decent guy. He’s not happy to have a copycat of the Doll Maker Killer walking the streets and is willing to answer questions and share information.”
“Good.” Serena sipped her coffee and thought about the case. “Thanks for letting me come along.”
“Sure.”
They continued the small talk until they pulled up to the front of Mr. Bell’s house and climbed out of the car.
Serena took in the details. Middle-class neighborhood with a quiet street. The two-story white house with green shutters looked well taken care of, but Serena was surprised by the yard. It didn’t look like anyone ever did anything with it. Overgrown and neglected, it was obviously the eyesore of the neighborhood.
Mature trees lined the streets, some grouped in clusters for maximum shade and privacy, others were spread out.
She drew in a deep breath, the peaceful ambiance striking a chord within her. Dealing with what she did every day, she’d gladly take a measure of peace wherever she could find it.
Dominic knocked on the front door.
It swung inward and a man in his late sixties with bushy gray brows and sharp blue eyes greeted them. “See you found it okay.”
“Yes. Thanks for seeing us.” Dominic shook hands with him, then Serena had her turn.
With a look up the street, then back down, keeping the door between him and the outside world, he waved them in. “This is a first.”
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Seated on the love seat next to Dominic, Serena shifted and tried not to be distracted by his nearness. Pretty soon the clutter in the room took her attention away from Dominic’s cologne.
The word “hoarder” came to mind. But just on every available surface. At least she could see the blue shag carpet under her feet. And the place smelled musty and probably dusty, but nothing that indicated anything was dead underneath the piles of . . . stuff.
Dominic handed Howard the file he’d compiled on the current killing. “Leslie Stanton. Can you tell us what you think about this?”
The killer hunkered down on the roof of the empty house. Not exactly the prime spot for a clear shot, but it would do. Fury burned at the realization that everyone was already inside. Too late. “Well, make the best of it and get this over with.”
The killer looked through the scope of the McMillan Long Range G-30 hunting rifle. The 7mm bullet would do the trick as soon as the target stepped into view.
Howard took his time looking through the folder. As he read, his face paled and Serena saw him swallow at least three times. When he finished, he broke the silence. “It’s not Lindell.”
“We know that, sir,” Dominic said. “Lindell’s still in prison.”
Howard still seemed to be engrossed in the file in his lap. He didn’t respond to Dominic’s statement. Instead, he muttered unintelligibly under his breath and Dominic shot Serena a questioning look. She shrugged her own confusion.
Then Howard said in a louder voice, “It’s got to be a copycat.”
“Yes sir.” Dominic nodded. “We realize that. Any idea who would want to do that?”
Howard shook his head and visibly gathered his thoughts. “No. But you know there are the crazies out there. People who are fascinated with serial killers. Women fall in love with them and marry them even though the killers will never get out of prison. Men want the fame of being the copycat. Of garnering national attention. They study the transcripts of trial cases, get all the details just right, and then they strike.” Howard grunted. “But you know all that. So what do you need from me?”
“I guess we need to know about Lindell’s family. Only his daughter sat in on the trial. Apparently she’s had nothing to do with him since. Changed her name, her address. So far, we haven’t been able to pin down her location.”
When a Heart Stops Page 5
