Psychobyte

by Cat Connor

  “She’s a local. Her sister is dating a paramedic and his brother is a cop.”

  The bells got louder. “Her sister is dating a paramedic … who?”

  “Cliff White, know him?”

  “Nope. What house?”

  “Four-forty.”

  The clanging continued. “I need that list.”

  “I’ll get an email off to you A-SAP.”

  “Thanks, Josh.”

  I hung up. Kurt had taken up position in the chair by my desk again. He watched me as I emailed Josh all the details pertaining to Sarah Ng. I felt his unspoken words and looked at him. “Serena Sorenson was known to a few of the officers down in Fairfax PD.”

  I didn’t have to say anymore because he knew we could be looking for a cop. A cop would know how to clean a crime scene but then, so would a paramedic.

  “We’ll be working late tonight then?”

  “Yep. Josh is sending me a list.” Four emails arrived in quick succession, including the list from Josh. I opened it and scanned the names. “I have fifteen names in front of me. We’ll divide up the list and get to it.”

  “You want Sam and Lee?”

  “No.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Evening loomed. “I’d like them to go back to both crime scenes and try to get more information from neighbors. Someone saw something.”

  “Okay. And Collins?”

  “Make sure he’s okay, ask him if he knows Cliff White, a paramedic from the four-forty, and see if there is anything he can tell us about Serena’s sister.”

  “Her sister?”

  “Yeah, she’s dating Cliff White. That’s Collins’ station.”

  “Another link.”

  I nodded. If only I knew what the link meant.

  Kurt pushed his chair back as he stood. “You drink that water. You’ve hardly touched it.” He wagged a finger at me. “I’ll be back.”

  Nine

  Beneath Your Beautiful

  At six in the morning, the phone lying on my desk lit up. I’d turned the ringer off during the night. It vibrated while the screen flashed ominously. I felt pretty sure it wouldn’t be good news.

  I stretched my tired body, yawned, picked up the blinking vibrating phone, and swiped the screen. “Agent Conway.”

  “Agent Conway, it’s Troy Fallon. Sorry to call so early but I thought you’d want to know how the night went.”

  My heart sank to my stomach. “Is Sarah Ng all right?”

  “Yes.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe we were on the right track. “Give me a sitrep for Sarah?”

  “She had a quiet night. No visitors, and sighted four minutes ago as she left for work. We have a plain car following her and another continuing surveillance on her home.”

  “Keep everything in place for now. I’m not convinced she’s safe.”

  Or that this is over. My gut still said our Unsub was just warming up.

  “Sure,” Troy said. “Did you hear what the PD are calling the Unsub?”

  “I did,” I said.

  I don’t like cute names for killers. It trivializes their actions. A yawn escaped as another thought popped up. “Hey, we’ll need to hold a media conference. I’ll have my people set it up but would like you to join me on camera?”

  “Let me know when and where,” Troy replied.

  “Will do, and thanks, Troy. I’ll be in touch.”

  Hanging up, I scrabbled around in my top drawer until I found the business card from a journalist, Rosanne Lette, who’d been quite helpful to me once. I even liked her somewhat. Not easy: the media and I had a hate-hate relationship. I fired off an email to Rosanne letting her know there would be a media briefing later in the day and that she should contact Sandra for details.

  I checked the rest of my inbox in case I’d missed something during the night. Emails from Lee and Sam: they hadn’t found anything of use from revisiting the neighbors. A vague memory lurked of sending them home about midnight.

  Kurt had left several messages; mostly they were of the “go home” variety.

  Yeah. Nah.

  I didn’t go home. I’d stayed and run every name on the list from Fairfax PD against Facebook and Twitter accounts belonging to our victims.

  Matthew Collins wasn’t the only one who knew both victims. Five Fairfax police officers made it to my list of potential suspects, and Cliff White the paramedic from the four-forty.

  I rang Mitch’s cell.

  “Missed you last night. How’s it going?” Behind his words, I heard the shower.

  “Can you wait for me?” I said, chewing my lip. “I need—”

  “Absolutely. How long will you be?”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Twenty minutes.” Mitch’s place was closer than mine. I could be there in twenty with traffic.

  “See you soon,” Mitch replied.

  I hung up, pocketed my phone, slid my holster back on my belt, and left my office. Sandra came in just as I opened the stairwell door.

  “I’m going home for a little while,” I said, holding the door for her.

  “You’ve been here all night?” Sandra adjusted her handbag on her arm.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll organize the troops when they come in.”

  “Thanks, Sandra. I’ll be in touch. My phone is off for an hour or so. Kurt is urgent contact until I’m back on deck.”

  Taking time for me was a new thing. I started doing it during a particularly brutal case a few months ago, at Kurt and Mitch’s insistence. Turns out I have less crazy in my head and apparently it’s less scary for everyone else if I look after myself. Imagine that?

  I needed a decent run. Running gave my mind thinking time. Swinging the stairwell door open I hit the stairs sprinting. A poor substitute but it’d have to do. Felt like I wouldn’t be going for a proper head-clearing run for a while.

  Fifteen minutes later I pulled into Mitch’s driveway; before I got to the front door, it swung open. Greeted by a half-dressed Mitch, I grinned. More often than not a shirtless, barefoot, belt open, jeans unbuttoned, sleep-tousled Mitch met me at the door. Unbuttoned shirt with no pants was new.

  “Nice start to the day. Pants optional?”

  He laughed, pulled me close, and shoved the door till it clicked behind me. “Such a wiseass,” he said, hugging me then taking a step back, his eyes traveled down my body. “Those are yesterday’s clothes. Pull an all-nighter?”

  “Got a bit busy.”

  A thought flashed into his eyes. I didn’t want him to think; thoughts became questions. I didn’t want questions.

  “Everything all right?”

  I smiled. “I need a shower and would like company.”

  “Guess that answers my question,” Mitch said, smiling.

  And just like that, I was off the hook. No squirming required.

  I dropped my holster and phone on his bed, throwing my jacket over them. The sound of running water drowned out Mitch’s voice.

  “Did you say something?” I asked from the bathroom door.

  “I said, come here,” he replied, taking my hand. When I was close enough, his fingers unbuttoned my shirt and slid it over my shoulders and down my arms. Mitch’s shirt followed. Clothing piled up on the floor. Mitch steadied me as I kicked my jeans away from my feet.

  He smiled and stepped into the shower taking me with him. Hot water cascaded over me and down the drain, taking the night with it. Mitch slid an arm around my waist holding me close, his free hand against the wall. His muscles rippled as he moved against me.

  Breathing. One hand on his shoulder, the other arm around his neck.

  Blue eyes penetrating blue eyes.

  Smiling. Water flowed down our bodies.

  “That’s not helpful,” I said sometime later, with a slight chuckle as Mitch undid the buttons I did up as I tried to dress

  “I know,” he replied, nuzzling my neck.

  “Really, again?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You�
�re going to be worn out before the honeymoon …”

  The losing battle continued for a minute; we both recognized it as token resistance on my part.

  “You complaining?”

  “No,” I said, giving up and wrapping my arms around his neck. “Not at all.”

  Ten

  With Or Without You

  My phone rang as I walked to the car. I pulled it from my pocket: Detective Troy Fallon. With a wave to Mitch, I slid behind the steering wheel and touched the speaker icon. “How can I help?” I said, turning the ignition key.

  “There is a new crime scene.”

  “Ah, crap. Sarah?” My brain clicked in telling me Sarah had left for work, so still safe unless she’d returned without her police surveillance.

  “No. She is at work. In fact, she was one of the paramedics who arrived on scene about three minutes ago. The victim is twenty-six-year-old Terri Kane.”

  I breathed. Pleased about Sarah but fighting anger that someone else died on my watch. We were failing. Failure is never an option. I needed a direction.

  “And there’s no doubt it’s the same Unsub?”

  “I’m sure it is,” she replied.

  “Gimme the address, Troy, and then email the details of the latest victim. I’ll head over to the scene. Wait for me.”

  She gave me a nearby address. “Sending those details via text now.” She paused for a moment. “I’ll be out front.”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  I hung up, punched the address into the GPS and waited as it plotted the shortest route. The robotic female voice droned out directions. Today I was happy to just follow them without trying to make her explode by taking different streets. One day I’d make the calm voice screech obscenities. I’m a woman on a mission.

  The thought of missions warped in my mind. Before “Mission Impossible” became a thing, I switched gears and crawled inside an Ian Fleming novel which morphed into a movie. A smooth voice inside my head said, “Bond, James Bond.” Daniel Craig made a great James Bond. There was little possibility of dislodging my smile before I arrived at my destination.

  According to the voice of the GPS, my destination would be on my right. Sure enough, police cars with their lights rolling and an ambulance were parked out front of a house. I pulled in behind a police car and flung open my door. My phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize flashed insistently. “Special Agent Conway.”

  “Ellie, this is Martha Gerrard.”

  My brain whirred and my stomach sank as her introduction hit home. Martha, mother of retired NCIS Agent Noel Gerrard. This couldn’t be good. “How can I help, Mrs. Gerrard?”

  “You can call me Martha, dear. I was wondering if you’d heard from Noel recently.” Her voice spiked and cracked, anxiety filtering through.

  “Not for a long time, Martha. Is something wrong?” I shifted in my seat and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel in front of me as I thought about my last conversation with Noel. He’d wanted to know we were all right after the DC bombings.

  “He’s missing. I haven’t heard from him in six weeks.”

  “Missing?”

  “He always checks in with me. Every week. I’ve heard nothing for six weeks.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably got caught up fishing … I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “No problem.”

  I added Martha’s number to my contact list. Not contacting his elderly mother for six weeks could spell trouble. He was close to his mom. I made a note on my phone to check up on Gerrard as soon as I had a moment then plastered on my game face and clambered out of the car.

  Troy traipsed across the small front lawn to greet me. Beyond her, crime scene tape flapped in the warm breeze.

  “You made good time,” she said, shaking my hand.

  “I wasn’t far away,” I replied, grabbing my pack from the back seat.

  “The victim is twenty-six-year-old Terri Kane. She works for the DMV,” Troy said, reading from her notebook while we walked to the house.

  “State level government employee,” I said, more to myself than Troy.

  Troy handed me booties and gloves from two boxes by the front door. I pulled the booties on first, using the doorframe to balance. Once suitably attired, Troy led the way to the bathroom and the body of Terri Kane.

  “Give me a minute?” I said to Troy and entered the room alone. She waited, watching but silent, by the doorway.

  Two steps in I knew it was the same Unsub. No doubt in my mind at all. Another clean crime scene. My eyes closed. I breathed slowly, taking in all the subtle scents and aromas. Four breaths later, I approached the slumped naked body in the shower.

  “Terri, I’m Ellie Conway. I need you to help me find out who did this to you,” I said, kneeling by her head. Her glazed eyes stared vacantly at the corner of the shower. “I need your help. Show me what happened.”

  It felt as though I’d tilted, I tried to straighten up then realized it was the room. No, not the room: Terri. I was Terri. She was moving? I breathed. Standing up, I let Terri’s incorporeal arm reach through me. Her hand grasped the shower control, turning the water to hot. I shivered as she stepped right through my body and into the stream of water, closing the curtain as she moved. My mind danced, trying to fathom what was happening as I stood in a shower with a ghost and a dead body but not getting wet. A voice told me to go with it: might be Terri’s.

  Who am I to argue with the recently deceased?

  I looked at Terri. We were the same height, five foot nine.

  Terri took shampoo from a caddy in the corner. She washed and then conditioned her hair. The shower filled with a light coconut scent. I’d noted it when I walked into the bathroom. It smelled like summer. Coconut body scrub followed. She rinsed off the scrub. A noise startled her. Her eyes blurred. She struggled to focus. The outer door opened. Someone launched themselves into the shower, wrapping Terri in the cold, wet curtain. She fought to get her face free. One glimpse was all I got before her eyes closed. Half a face. The same man I’d seen before.

  From the way he’d launched himself and how he’d wrapped her, I had the feeling he was tallish. Six foot maybe. No shorter than that. Terri’s ethereal self folded back into her dead body. I blinked a few times and checked the shower caddy. Nothing I’d seen her use appeared missing.

  What did I know? She was drugged, it was the same male, and I had an approximate height.

  I sank back down to the floor by her head. “Thank you, Terri. Thank you for showing me,” I whispered. My eyes roamed the room looking for a telltale piece of folded white paper. Sure enough, I spotted it poking out from the laundry hamper. Retrieving it, I read, “‘I broke when you looked at me.’”

  Troy said, “Another note?”

  I jumped. I’d forgotten she was there.

  “Sorry,” she said, curtailing the nervous giggle I heard in her voice before she spoke again, “What does it mean?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you have evidence bags or shall I get some from my car?”

  “My pack,” I said, pointing to the pack by the door. “Main compartment. Please.”

  Troy unzipped the pack and held open an evidence bag, then dropped it with the note back into my pack. I resumed a thorough inspection. Clean, tidy, nothing out of place. No sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. No prescriptions of any sort. She had some over-the-counter cold and flu medicines, pain killers and vitamins, but that was all.

  There wasn’t even a stray hair on the floor or basin. The garbage bin contained scrunched paper towels. The cabinet under the sink had a roll of paper towels and two different spray cleaners. Neither had much smell. More hypoallergenic cleaning products.

  Could that be a link?

  It was time to go back to Terri and inspect the wounds on her body. Several stab wounds on her torso. I moved her long blonde hair and found the fatal wound to her throat. A stab,
not a slash. That would’ve squirted blood up the walls. Not as much as a stray drop on the white walls. I moved closer and sniffed. The coconut conditioner was still strong. I expected that the amount of water needed to shift a substantial quantity of blood would’ve diluted the coconut a lot more than it was.

  Maybe. Something to ask about later.

  I leaned in and gave one last inward breath through my nose. Coffee. She drank coffee.

  Done, I nodded to Troy, hoisted my pack onto my shoulder, and left the house.

  Outside I called Kurt. “I’m at a new crime scene. Would very much like you all to join me.”

  “We’re just tidying a few things up at the office,” Kurt replied. “Address?”

  I rattled off the address and hung up. While Troy and I waited, I sent some uniforms to canvass the neighborhood. Sometimes people responded better to a uniform than an FBI badge.

  Go figure.

  Eleven

  Wherever You Will Go

  I swallowed, took a breath, and once again led the way into the latest house of death.

  “Crime scene four but I don’t think it’ll be the last,” I said as I beckoned to Kurt down the hallway. I stopped near the bathroom door.

  “You okay, Conway?” Kurt asked. “I’ve never seen the color drain from you like it just did.”

  Concentrate.

  “Draining.”

  Blood. How much blood would’ve sprayed up the walls of the shower?

  “Conway?”

  “Let’s do this first, then I have a question.”

  “I don’t like how pale you are.”

  Ignoring Kurt, I flipped to work mode. “Terri Kane. Twenty-six. Works for DMV. That makes her a state level government employee and she’s blonde with blue eyes.”

  Kurt nodded.

  “Worked. Made,” Kurt said as he entered the bathroom. “How’d the Unsub gain entry?”

  “No signs of forced entry and no open windows. She might have let him in.”

  “That’s new.” Kurt turned to face me. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”