I knew I had crap on my face—I could feel it—but I wasn’t expecting to see that. I nearly vomited in my mouth before rushing into the bathroom to wash. I stuck my head under the shower faucet and used shampoo and soap liberally. It completely and utterly grossed me out.
While in there, I tied a shirt I had found around my thigh to curb the bleeding. With my adrenaline rush depleting, I began to feel a throbbing in my leg. The cut was deep enough that I knew I would need stitches and walking for the next few days would be uncomfortable.
My jacket hadn’t survived. It was badly soiled. I slipped it off knowing the forensic team would want it, but I wasn’t about to hang out with my face painted with human matter.
The two other officers who were searching the other street arrived then as well.
“Shit,” one of them blurted as they entered the apartment. I couldn’t blame them. The living room was a minefield of bodies with fresh blood everywhere. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
Kang had already removed the blanket to reveal a body with a large hole in its chest. “The owner of the heart.”
“He looks so young,” I said. The body was stiff, still in its rigor state. The cool air of the Bay area had helped to slow decomposition. It would have been a few more days before the smell would have signaled the neighbors on the floor.
Kang walked around to where I stood and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”
I nodded. “A little bruised, and some stitches to my thigh are in order, but I’ll be fine. Probably need a new suit though,” I joked weakly.
Kang gave me a small courtesy smile. “There were two of them?” he said, still serious.
“It makes much more sense. The whole heart removal bugged me. That action was more in line with a male killer.”
Kang nodded in agreement and pocketed his hands.
“You check for ID yet?” I asked.
“Yeah. They had nothing on them. But the wig probably explains why no one could place her after that day on Mount Tamalpais. She probably only used it on kills or I guess for returning to crime scenes. We got lucky here.”
I walked over to where she lay and glanced at her from the same angle in the picture. The resemblance was unmistakable to me, even with her short, black hair. I let out a long, lingering breath before punching Kang in the arm. “We got ’em.”
“You got ’em.”
A lot of elements in the case had been stacked against us, but there we were, staring at our two dead sickos. I never thought it would play out this way, violent like this. I always hope to walk the bad guys into the jail cell, because death is easier than a life behind bars.
I looked around and realized Tucker wasn’t there. “Have you seen Agent Tucker?”
“Abby,” Kang said, his hand gently squeezing my arm.
“What? Where is he?” I asked, though the look in Kang’s eyes had me answering my own question.
He shook his head. “He’s gone. His body is outside, at the end of the hall.”
My knees buckled a bit, but with Kang’s help, I was able to catch myself before I fell.
“Take a seat, Abby.” Kang ushered me to a chair.
“No.” I shook my arm free from his grasp. “I need to see him.”
“Abby, it’s not pretty.”
He stepped in front of me and tried to stop me, but I pushed him out of my way and exited the apartment. From there, I saw Tucker’s body at the far end of the hall. He lay face down, his body crumpled as if he were cold. I fell back against the wall. My legs lost their urge to stand, and my body inched its way down the wall into a sitting position.
Why? It was the only question I had.
My eyes never left Tucker, not for a second. I couldn’t have looked away even if I had wanted to. I didn’t. I felt Kang’s presence next to me and his hand on my shoulder. A beat later my vision blurred.
46
The trip to the hospital cost me two hours from my day and earned me a week off, mandated by Reilly. I argued with him over the phone, but he wouldn’t have any of it.
“Abby, the FBI isn’t going anywhere. We’ll still be here after a week.”
“But the case! There are still a bunch of loose ends, and Agent Tucker—”
“Let me deal with him. I don’t want you anywhere near the office. Have you thought about counseling? Do you want to talk to someone?”
“No, I’m okay,” I said in a lowered voice.
“No one faults you for what happened. I don’t fault you. Do you understand that?”
I heard Reilly, but I wasn’t listening. He continued on about how he was behind me one hundred percent and that procedure was followed and what occurred was an unfortunate accident.
“Remember, Abby; you almost lost your life, too, so don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m glad you made it. Go home and be with your family.” Reilly hung up, and that was the last we spoke of Tucker.
Later, the hospital discharged me with a pair of crutches. The doctor told me to avoid vigorous activities, or I would risk tearing my wound open. Not a problem. I had already accepted my mandatory time off and looked forward to a little R&R with the family.
I never told them what exactly had happened. I never do. I gave them the downplayed version of events, the one that favored me. No need to make them any more upset than they would be once they saw I was injured—though I think Ryan was beginning to catch on to my tall tales. I was in my home office, a challenge getting there with crutches, when he stopped by to talk about my injury.
“I already told you,” I said, careful to keep the tone of my voice even.
“Come on, Abby; you didn’t think I would believe the story about you climbing a fence.”
Uh, yeah, actually, I did. Okay, telling them that a fence caused the big gash on my thigh might not have been the best answer, but at the time, I thought mentioning anything close to being attacked with a razor would be too much.
Anyway, I had thought I had everything under control until Ryan called me out on my B.S. Don’t get me wrong; I love that he had become comfortable with speaking his mind but questioning me, even though I lied—not a fan of it.
“I have a job that can be dangerous at times—”
“Duh!”
“You want the real story?” I asked, raising my left eyebrow.
Ryan nodded.
I leaned back in my chair and rested my hands in my lap. “While apprehending a suspect, he attacked me with a sharp knife.”
“Why didn’t you shoot him, Abby? You have a weapon, too, right?”
“I do, and I did.”
“Did you kill him?”
That’s a first—talking to my kid about killing someone. How does one prepare for that? At that moment, I would have preferred the why-does-my-penis-get-hard question. But life doesn’t work that way.
Ryan was becoming wiser to what it was I did for a living. I figured I might as well be truthful. The truth is always good, right?
“Why do you ask that?”
He shrugged and looked down at the carpet.
“Well, to answer your question, the suspect received a fatal gunshot wound from me. So yes, he died.” I didn’t bother to add any more than necessary, figuring less was more.
“Oh…”
Ryan eventually looked up at me. “It was self-defense, right?”
“Yes, Ryan. That man intended to hurt me more than he already had. I had to protect myself.”
A smile formed on Ryan’s face. “You’re awesome.”
Secretly, it made me feel good to know my kid thought I was awesome, but I was a little worried that it was because I had killed someone. “You understand it’s not okay to go around shooting people, right? Even an FBI agent like me is not above the law.”
“Yeah, I know that. It’s just cool having a tough mom.”
My heart jumped. He called me his mom. I almost cried. Luckily, I held it together. I think if I hadn’t, he might have rolled his eyes and taken the compliment back.<
br />
He seemed satisfied with my explanation, because he headed back downstairs to his room. I closed the door to my office right as my eye let go a tear. My son had finally called me Mom.
47
Only three days had passed since the incident in the apartment, and I was already antsy at home. The kids were in school during the day, and Po Po and I had talked each other out. My only contact with work came through a small memorial service we had at the office for Agent Tucker. Reilly didn’t balk when I said I would show for that. Tucker’s family lived in Tallahassee, Florida, and that’s where the body would later be flown for funeral arrangements, but only after Green had completed an autopsy. Standard procedure.
Kang did his best to keep me clued in on things on his end with text messages and phone calls. I knew I could count on him for updates. Even though we were both certain we had our killers, the Prosecutor’s Office sought more proof. We had yet to identify the John and Jane Doe killers, and that proved problematic. Even their prints came up empty. We found no record of them. We still didn’t know if they were from out of town or locals. There were a lot of questions and not a lot of answers. Those pesky but required details kept blocking what should have been a slam-dunk ending.
When Kang finally stopped by to check on me in person, similar to his last visit, Po Po sent him upstairs to my office unannounced. It’s a good thing I don’t work in the nude.
“We caught a break.”
I spun around in my chair in time to see Kang enter my office. Before I could react, he took a seat next to me and started talking. “A day after our investigation at the apartment, one of the uniforms on perimeter patrol mentioned to me that he’d spotted a cab driver parked in the alleyway next to the building.”
“I like it when people do their jobs, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I already gave him an earful. Anyway, he never got a name or plate, but he said it was a Yellow Cab. So I visited our friend at the cab company—”
“The one with the grungy nails and an office that resembled the city dump?”
“That’s the one. He did some digging and came up with two names for me. I questioned them both.”
“And?” I asked, my body tensing a bit.
“One of them was the driver in the alley that day.”
I smiled at Kang. “Good work, Detective.”
“Thanks. By the way, how’s the leg?” he asked, pointing.
“Meh. It’s slowly healing. What’s to say? Tell me more about this cab driver.”
“Immigrant from Pakistan.” Kang removed a small notebook from his jacket. “His name is Yousuf Ijaz. He confirmed that our guy was his fare and that he had promised him $100 to wait in the alley. The pick-up address was a home on Russian Hill.”
“Near you?”
“Nah, this was a nice house on the east side with views of North Beach and the bay. Above my pay grade.” Kang chuckled. “I got a search warrant and hit the place ASAP. We found plane ticket stubs, originating from Toronto, suggesting they’re Canadians.”
“Married?”
“Seems like it. We also found multiple passports and fake facial hair. Looks like the guy sported a disguise as well. They’re pros, and know how to cover their trail. Right now, we’re working with authorities in Toronto to ID them. Our findings don’t stop there, though.”
I gave Kang my best Oliver Twist impression. “More, please.”
“We found a laptop with pictures and videos that document their crimes.”
I threw myself back into my chair. “No way!”
“Yeah, pretty stupid, huh?”
“How incriminating is it?”
Kang leaned forward. “Devastating. One of the videos shows the woman striking your vic with a hand axe.” His hands emphasized his words. “Pretty gruesome stuff, and it nails the case shut. We’re pretty sure their real names are Jerry and Vicki Carlson. Once we confirm it, we can file the case away.”
“What you do mean ‘file it away’? What about the staging at the crime scene? Or our theory that it was done for someone else or a group of people?”
“We solved the murder. We found our victim’s killers.”
“Did we? I think we found two of the people involved. There’s more to it. I can feel it.”
“Why couldn’t the photos and videos be souvenirs, something to inflate their egos? Maybe they got off watching themselves in action. There are plenty of documented cases where a serial killer keeps photos or clothing or something from the crime scene.”
“I hear you, but this is different. If it were for their pleasure, why go through all that extra trouble of coming up with presentation that tied into an SF icon? It makes no sense. Something or someone else prompted them to act this way.”
Kang leaned back. His ego and mood deflated and swooshed out of his lips.
“Look, I know if we keep digging, it prevents you from closing the case on your end, which keeps your a-hole boss on your back. It also prevents me from closing my case. But we both know there’s more to this story.”
I knew that was the last thing Kang wanted to hear. To be inches away from putting this case to bed and then realize there might be more to it had to be irritating. The other part of the equation: if I was wrong, Kang got skewered. Not an easy decision. Cavanaugh didn’t care about the truth. He cared about stats. Kang said the department had a ninety-percent solve rate for their cases and staying there was what mattered. Cavanaugh made me appreciate Reilly.
“So what do you want to do?” he asked with a shrug.
“What else was on the laptop?”
“The photos and videos were the only incriminating thing we found. The rest were just personal files and programs.”
“That’s what we need to be paying attention to. It may give us a clue as to who else might be involved.”
“Well, we combed all their email and social media accounts, and nothing came up.”
“My guess is you were looking for the wrong thing.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his brow crinkled.
“You were looking for evidence that ties them to our victims. We need evidence that ties them to their audience.”
48
“No way. I can’t do that. If Cavanaugh finds out I’m intentionally derailing his closure rate, I’ll be relegated to foot patrol faster than you can spew a quick remark.”
Did he slam me or compliment me? “Look, I know I’m asking a lot, but if we’re right, not only will we put away another degenerate, but this will put you in a better light with your captain. That has to earn you some extra donuts in the morning, right?”
Kang rubbed his chin and chewed his bottom lip. I had never seen a cop mull over a decision to chase a bad guy. Well, maybe I had, but this was Kang. This guy was straighter than a baton when it came to policing.
“Do you really need the laptop?”
“How else am I to find the information? Where is it now?”
Kang shifted in his seat and looked away. “It’s bagged and sitting in the evidence room under lock and key.”
“Will it be a problem to get it?”
“This evidence seals the case. If anything happens to it, or it gets damaged, or the contents get erased… we’re screwed.”
“Hulk be careful. Hulk no break laptop. Hulk promise,” I grunted.
Kang shook his head. “I don’t know, Abby. Can’t you come down to the precinct? I can probably get you access for a few hours.”
I looked at my injured leg and then back at him, triggering his eyes to roll upward.
“Come on, Kangster,” I pleaded. “Kangman,” I continued. “Kangis Khan. See? I can do the name thing too… Kangaroo.” I batted my eyelashes, threw in a pout and waited for him to cave. It took two seconds. You still got it, Abby.
While I had enjoyed watching Kang succumb, I had a better solution than just snagging the computer. I really didn’t need the laptop. If I could copy the entire contents of the hard drive, I’d technically have the lap
top without needing the actual laptop. And to be honest, I really didn’t need his permission for him to agree. As an FBI agent, I had the authority to confiscate the contents of that laptop for the purpose of my investigation if needed. I was being mindful of his situation with his supervisor—which was so unlike me. I sent an email to Reilly to keep him in the loop in case the SFPD found out and cried about my methods. He sent his usual reply. “Do what you need to do to get the job done.”
Later that evening, Kang returned with the laptop, and I copied the entire contents over to an external hard drive. He was eager to get it back into the evidence room and was out the door as soon as I had finished. I didn’t bother to wait for him to return before I checked out the contents.
“Anything yet?” Kang asked when he returned a half hour later with two plates of food. He noticed the look of confusion on my face. “Oh, your Po Po gave this to me on the way up.”
He handed me my plate and proceeded to shovel beef and broccoli into his mouth. “She’s a good cook,” he managed between bites. “This is the real deal.”
“Tell me about it. I overeat at every meal.”
“So what’s the latest?”
I swallowed before answering. “Nothing yet. I went through his email, his documents folder and the trash.”
“So did we. We also looked through his photo organizer and video folders.”
“What about his Internet history?”
“We looked at it, but nothing popped out.”
I opened the browser. A quick scan showed a lot of SF searches for information on sights and attractions. It didn’t take long before I found dirt. “Looks like they’ve visited the personals on a few adult directories. Escort services.”
“Yeah, we saw that. He’s got an active life back home.”
“The searches appear to be for escorts here, not Toronto.”
[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter Page 16
