She knew she should have left, but she was drawn to wait and see if Harper had found the money transfer. And the gamble paid off. She watched them go into the bank. Whether it was Ferris’s account or Clive’s that had led them here, it didn’t matter. Two men in suits, obviously armed and reeking of being federal agents, studied their surroundings on the way into the institution. Based on her sixth sense, the redhead seemed to have something to prove. She pegged Harper as the older of the two, and he appeared to be the type most would strive to impress. His ramrod-straight back indicated he was someone who lived and breathed the job.
She eased into the front seat of her car, a smile finding its way to her lips. She was worthy of his attention? Impressive. And she hadn’t even tried to make him take notice. She had simply been following her urges, killing those who deserved it.
At least she had beat them here. She was still a step ahead. The cash was secured in her purse on the passenger seat, and she put her hand over the bag. On the way here, she had worried about what would happen if she had lost her nest egg. All that money, gone. Now she had the funds to feed the greedy pharmaceutical companies. At least a little while longer.
There was no way she was going to let the FBI interfere with her plans. Everyone needed to make a living, and at one time, she had tried doing so the conventional way. Not that everyone would consider her career choices conventional. She had wanted to be an actress and light up the screen. But it wasn’t meant to be.
And she’d had such huge dreams. She had planned to be a movie star, a diva who would warrant a trailer and entourage as she traveled the world starring in box-office hits.
Then the diagnosis of the disease had come, and she’d learned that Hollywood wasn’t as open-minded as they liked to claim to the masses. But she’d found one true way to bury her sorrow…
She wondered just how much the FBI knew and, with a satisfied smile, concluded they probably didn’t know the half of it.
But there was something else she had netted from last night besides the money—the list from Clive’s computer. She hadn’t known what it was until she’d seen Ferris Hall’s name, but then she’d quickly realized it was an accounting ledger. She had forwarded the list to herself, and as she had waited for the agents, she examined the e-mail attachment.
She keyed in Kyle Malone. And the document returned a finding that had her seeing blood red. Not that she had ever experienced remorse over her kills, but she had been in the right to kill Clive. Labeling him guilty as she had was an apt finish for a man responsible for so much pain, let alone his contribution to her own rape. After all these years, the experience from that night was still fresh in her mind. The loud music, the cramped quarters, the urinals, the grunting pig behind her…
She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. The only time she experienced any sort of peace was while torturing and killing those scumbags. Then her mind calmed and went quiet, soothed by the pain and discomfort of another. She needed to do it more often.
But she didn’t consider herself an evil person, which was the way the world likely viewed her. That and a freak of nature, even in this “accepting” society where people were able to live as they saw fit, to do whatever it was that made them happy. Live your bliss was a statement preached by those too afraid to follow their own. It was something most hid behind, a shield to protect themselves from judgment. But she was no longer going to hide, not in a proverbial closet, nor was she going to hold back from what made her happy…even if it meant dying behind bars.
She clicked on the sheet for the current year and was about to select the name Guy Owen at the top of the list, but her gut churned.
“No!” she cried out as she realized her own stupidity. Her gaze was now back on Harper’s card.
The FBI had found the money transfers. Did they also find the ledger? Now she was doubting herself. Had she deleted the file from Clive’s recycling bin on his desktop?
She clenched her hand into a fist. Her options were limited and growing smaller.
Take down another violator, or go out with a bang…
She picked up the card. Maybe covering her tracks was no longer an option.
-
Chapter 39
ROAR SECURITIES WAS SITUATED IN a strip mall, and they boasted the nicest front of all the businesses there. Their signage was embossed brass lettering, and I was certain that, at night, lights would shine from behind to showcase the business name. Their windows were tinted and weren’t covered in advertisements like their neighbors’ were.
The door chimed when we entered, and a cute blonde was seated at the front desk. She wore a headset clipped over one ear, and when she smiled, she was even more attractive. And that was saying a lot. Her wardrobe was conservative—white blouse paired with a black jacket. Whether she wore them with a skirt or slacks, I didn’t know. The desk was in the way. Her hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, and her eyes were clear, alert, and the color of a stormy sky.
“Good day. How can I help you?” she asked, her gaze sliding over me.
“We’re agents with the FBI,” Jack answered. He pulled out his cred pack and told her we’d like to see the footage for the bank and for what days and times.
“Oh.” She blinked rapidly, almost as if she had something in her eye. “Sure, let me get Joni for you.”
“Who is Joni?” Jack asked.
“Joni Pounder is the manager.” The blonde tapped the counter. “One second and I’ll be back.”
Pretty much true to her word, the blonde returned quickly, a woman who was tight in all respects by her side. Not only was she in great physical shape but her face had hardened edges, carved as if by the hand of a skilled sculptor. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it probably tugged on her scalp. It almost gave me a headache just looking at it.
She reached a slender arm toward Jack. “My name is Joni Pounder. I’m the manager of Roar Securities. I understand you have a warrant to view some camera footage.” She shook Jack’s hand, then mine.
“We have a warrant to obtain it, actually,” Jack said, “but we’d like to watch it immediately.”
“May I see this warrant?”
Jack let her view it on his cell phone screen.
“We’ll e-mail you an electronic version,” I said.
Joni lifted her gaze from the phone. “I will need you to wait for about twenty minutes. Stuart—he’s our best tech guy—will need to set things up for you. I assume you have a date and time of interest.”
“It’s dates and times, plural.” Jack provided the data from when the account was opened and this morning when it was closed. By comparing the two images, we’d hopefully learn something useful.
“All right, then. Please take a seat. Stuart will be out for you shortly.” With that, Joni slipped away.
The blonde met my eyes and smiled at me. “Would either of you like coffee while you wait?”
I smiled back. “I—”
“No, thank you,” Jack intercepted.
The blonde faced me, the question written in her eyes. I nodded for her to get me a cup, and she walked away.
Jack and I sat quietly until the blonde came back with a black coffee, two creamers, two sugar packets, and a stir stick.
“Is that good?” she asked as she handed everything to me.
I nodded. “Perfect.”
She smiled and returned to her desk.
I really needed to figure out how to keep this woman smiling. She was breathtaking when she showed the expression, and it seemed she shared it rather easily.
I took a sip of the coffee, and it was good and fresh.
Soon a stereotypical computer nerd—complete with wide-rimmed glasses, acne, and a gangly frame—came into the waiting area and approached me and Jack. He pushed up his glasses and sniffled. “You’
re the agents?”
I glanced around the room. We were the only ones here.
His smile showed yellow teeth. “I’m Stuart Watkins. I have the first video up for you now, if you want to come back.”
Both Jack and I were on our feet quickly, and it seemed our speed must have surprised Stuart because he jumped back a bit. “This way,” he said once he collected himself.
Being closer to him now, I could smell his stale coffee breath. I put more distance between us, both to get away from his mouth and to save him from mine.
Stuart led us to a small conference room, sparse with furnishings. A long table took up a good portion of the floor space, and six chairs were positioned around it. At the far end of the room was a television on a cart, like the kind they’d wheeled into classrooms when I was a kid. The forty-inch flat screen seemed out of place when I was used to seeing a crappy tube TV on those dollies.
The video on the screen was grainy but focused on a teller wicket. A customer’s back was to the camera, but the person’s hair was dark and long.
Jack sat in a chair at the table, and I took one across from him. Stuart dropped into an end chair.
“Here we go,” Stuart said.
The video started, and we watched Leslie interact with the teller. With movement, it was easier to distinguish that her hair was also curly. She wore a short skirt, and from the back, which was our viewpoint, it would’ve been easy to conclude that she was biologically a woman.
After about fifteen minutes with the teller, Leslie turned to leave. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge the camera and walked nonchalantly out of the bank.
“Pause that there.” Jack directed Stuart to stop it at the point when her front was in direct view.
Except for the subtle shadow of an Adam’s apple, Leslie Shaw appeared to be female.
“Send a copy of that still to this e-mail.” Jack gave his e-mail address to Stuart. “Then I want a copy of this footage sent to Nadia Webber, including the still shots.” Jack flipped out another card and put it on the table in front of Stuart.
Stuart picked it up and glanced at it. “Sure.”
My attention went back to the TV. There was the face of our killer. Still a stranger and an enigma, even though she had a face now.
Stuart backed out of the video and brought up another one. The time stamp dated it as being taken this morning.
In this one, Leslie had her hair wrapped up in a handkerchief. Her walk was fast, then slow, as if she was trying to pace herself. She lost her balance at one point, twisting her ankle slightly, but she recovered quickly.
“Are you picking up on the same thing I am?” Jack asked me.
“I think so…” When she opened the account, she hadn’t paid any attention to the cameras, but this morning, she’d avoided looking directly at them and, in fact, did her best to keep from facing them altogether.
Jack locked eyes with Stuart. “Send both videos to Nadia. Right now.”
-
Chapter 40
THE FOUR OF US WERE back at the hotel in Jack’s room. It seemed to be the best location for privacy.
“It’s obvious our unsub opened that bank account for a questionable purpose,” I began, “but what I don’t understand is why not hide her face from the camera the day she set up the account? To do all that planning and then not worry about it? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Zach said, “but what it does tell us is she didn’t think she’d get caught.”
I took a bottle of water from the mini fridge.
“And the way she walks… She’s confident in who she is—at least now,” Paige said.
I turned to her. “And what makes you say that?”
“Well, it’s like we discussed last night. Those with an intersex condition can be very confused, especially when parents have taken the decision from them to choose which gender they relate to,” Paige explained.
“This morning she did all she could to avoid the cameras,” Jack said, steering the conversation back to the video.
“She knows we’re on to her,” Paige stated.
“But it’s not enough to stop her from coming out of hiding. She didn’t want to lose the money,” I reasoned.
“I think that tells us even more,” Zach said. “Not only does she know we’re onto her but she’s no longer afraid. That can only mean one thing: she’s going to kill again. And soon.”
“Or she’s got her money and will be making a run for it,” I countered.
Jack’s phone rang. “It’s Nadia.” He raised his phone to silence us and answered on speaker. “Lay it out for me.”
“I’ve got a lot for you.”
“Good,” Jack said.
I dropped onto the edge of the bed, figuring I might as well get comfortable. I hoped her updates included the calls to Synergies.
“I’m still working to find out more about Simpson’s previous employer, and unfortunately, the images from the bank footage couldn’t be cleaned enough to be run through facial recognition. That’s the bad news. But I tracked the money transferred from Simpson’s account, and it went to the same place as Hall’s money. I also pulled the backgrounds for everyone listed in Simpson’s ledger from sixteen years ago, and again within the last year. I have eleven names. Seven, including Hall, have a record of rape charges. They paid their fines, served their sentences—”
“Got a slap on the hand and walked,” Paige spat out.
Nadia let a few seconds pass before talking again. “None of the seven have anything great by way employment, but two have what you’d call secure work.”
“Only two?” I asked.
“There was a third, though, who had more-than-secure work. He’s got big money. Guy Owen. He’s a movie director.”
“A movie director?” I heard the incredulous tone to my voice. “Why would a movie director go to Canyon Country for drinks? I know I’m not from here, but even I can tell it’s a dive. And Wild Horse of all places? I’m thinking he makes B movies.”
“Porn,” Nadia clarified.
“Oh…”
“He’s had numerous complaints ranging from sexual harassment to assault and rape. None of the charges stuck. And Owen is worth just shy of a million. His address is coming to you now,” Nadia said. “Brandon, I also got to the recordings from Synergies and narrowed it down to one caller from Duluth—a Sandy Hoss. A deeper look into her history showed that Hoss lived down the street from Malone when they were both teenagers. Now, the DMV shows a woman with dark, long, curly hair, age twenty-seven. More digging revealed that she was born with intersex condition in Wisconsin. Shortly after, the family moved to Minnesota, and then Sandy’s parents died when she was three. She continued to live there with her aunt and uncle.”
“Where she crossed paths with Malone,” I surmised, my gut twisting. We might have found our killer.
“Likely. When she was eighteen, she enrolled in an acting course in Texas of all places. At twenty-one, she moved to Valencia, and that’s where she’s lived since.”
“She moved to California probably full of dreams and was raped for her troubles,” Paige said, shaking her head.
“Or Malone raped her in Minnesota, she found him through Synergies, and tracked him down here,” I offered.
“Not sure how all this factors in, but Hoss never completed the classes. I called and spoke to her teacher from the time and was told that her grades were horrible and she seemed preoccupied. They actually recommended that she seek therapy,” Nadia explained. “Sandy was diagnosed with HIV not long after that.”
Jack rubbed his chin, thinking. “Hmm, so if Malone raped Sandy, it would have happened before she was twenty-one.”
“Actually nineteen, Jack. That’s when she left the acting course. The teacher remembered
that Hoss took a trip to California then, too, and wasn’t the same when she got back.”
“So she was raped while on vacation, but returns to live here a couple years later? Sounds like she came back for a reason,” Paige said.
“You’re forgetting that there wasn’t evidence of HIV in Malone’s case,” Zach said, rendering us all silent.
“Crap, you’re right,” Paige responded.
Nadia continued. “Now, I went ahead and obtained a warrant for Hoss’s health records. If Hoss is our killer she had a good reason not to be killing for six years. She had a really rough time with the HIV and even required hospitalization.”
Paige took the time to look at each of us. “That wouldn’t be cheap.”
“Sandy wouldn’t need to worry about that, though, Paige. She was the sole benefactor when her parents died. She received one million on her twenty-first birthday. And before any of you ask, it’s all gone now.”
I was stuck on an entire million dollars being gone. “Our unsub comes into all this money, sees herself as a woman but has male anatomy, so why not pay for a sex change?”
“Our unsub may not have qualified for sex reassignment surgery,” Zach said. “The surgery is quite involved, and the body treats the constructed vagina as a wound. Since Sandy is HIV-positive, she might have been at high risk of becoming infected or rejecting the change.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on Nadia’s end of the line. “During the time Hoss was in Texas, there was a murder in her town that remains unsolved. The victim’s name was Leslie Shaw.”
I glanced at Jack. “Now doesn’t that name sound familiar…”
“Dig up all you can on Shaw and send us Hoss’s address,” Jack told Nadia.
“Right away. I’ll get a BOLO out for Sandy’s car, too.”
[Brandon Fisher FBI 05.0] Violated Page 19
