by Cat Connor
“And you will return me to KS?”
“Yes, sir, we will. Your flights are booked. You will be back at KS at approximately nine pm.”
“That’s more than six hours, Agent Conway.”
“We’re flying you to D.C. There are six crime scenes. Crime scenes take time.” Silence. “I really appreciate your help.”
“I have a family. We have an engagement this evening.” His voice hardened as resistance crept in. “My wife will not appreciate my absence.”
I felt my expert slipping away. Instinct told me to let him come to me.
“Six crimes scenes?” Petrovovich asked with reluctance.
And he was back. “Yes, sir. Six crime scenes.”
“When you say crime scenes, Agent Conway, do you mean murders?”
“In this instance, yes, I do.”
“The bodies?”
“Will not be in the scenes.”
They’re in the morgue. Where all good freshly dead folk belong. Safe, cold, waiting for a Y-shaped incision that had the potential to provide a few answers.
“They are all women?”
“Yes.”
“Two hours on my helipad?”
“Please. I will meet the jet at Washington National Airport.”
“I look forward to meeting you.”
He hung up leaving me staring at my phone. He wouldd come and it didn’t kill my budget. I just hoped he could make sense out of what my gut thought and give me something tangible we could work with.
The next call was to Mallory Stevens. I rang the number I’d copied from Phoebe’s cell phone.
“Good morning Ms. Stevens,” I said as a husky female voice answered the phone.
“Good morning. You are?”
“Special Agent Conway with the FBI. I’d like to talk to you about Phoebe Childs.”
“I … I don’t …” she faltered, “… I haven’t seen Phoebe in a while.”
Really? Why can’t people just tell the truth?
“How about you accept that I know about your relationship and we move on from there?”
“I really don’t think I have anything to say to you, Agent.”
“But I think you do.” Something told me she didn’t know about Phoebe. “Would you like to come into my office or shall I come to you?”
“Um, ah, can we meet somewhere?”
“Sure, where do you suggest?” I crossed my fingers, hoping for anywhere but a café. Coffee and I were about to end our long-standing friendship. Water was my new best friend.
“The Firehook in forty minutes?”
Dammit!
“If you’re not there I will issue a warrant.”
She mumbled something unintelligible and hung up. I rocked back in my chair and thought about her response.
A knock on my door snapped me out of my thinking zone. “Come,” I called.
The door swung open and my team walked in, one by one. The last one through was Sam, he shut the door. They pulled up chairs and sat in front of my desk. A room full of large men. All of a sudden there was no air. Heat curled around me, closing my airways. The fingers of my left hand pulled at the fabric of my shirt lifting it away from my neck.
“You all right?” Kurt asked, leaning an elbow on my desk.
“Just seems close in here,” I replied with a shrug, letting my shirt go.
Sam opened the door. Lee opened a window. Cross breeze. That felt better.
“Let’s get this case closed, shall we?” I said, swinging my chair and bringing up the case file on the laptop that sat on the left of my desk.
“Update time,” Lee drawled. “We’re not having any luck finding an overlap with the women and any security companies.”
That was less than good news.
“A perfumer is flying into Washington National this morning. Kurt and I will meet him. The plan is to take him to the crime scenes. He will hopefully be able to tell us something about the scents missing from the scenes and maybe enlighten us as to the motive for taking them.”
Sam and Lee nodded.
“I’ve been talking to the medical examiner,” Sam said. “None of the bodies bore defensive wounds. Still waiting on the rest of the toxicology reports.”
That’s significant.
“Anything under the fingernails of Serena Sorensen?” I scrolled through the crime-scene photos.
“She recently broke them, possibly during some struggle with the Unsub but nothing was found under her nails. The ME thinks they were cleaned,” Sam said.
“Okay, that’s something. Our Unsub may have obvious scratches. And is more thorough than we knew when it comes to cleaning.”
Everyone made a note.
“How long for the rest of the toxicology reports?”
“Could be days.”
Yeah, it could.
We’d just hit the lab with six victims on top of their already crushing workload. Caroline called in another ME to help her with the autopsies but the lab work would still take time. I made a mental note to keep an eye on it. If necessary, I could speak to Sean O’Hare and see if we could use his lab. Outsourcing might be the best way to go. My budget could handle it.
“Theory time … why are the Unsubs killing in the shower?” Lee said.
I rocked in my chair and offered my opinion, “They like to kill clean women ...”
“That could be something to do with it,” Lee said. “But why?”
“Because they had shower gel, body wash, or shampoo residue.” I looked at Lee. “By residue, I mean I could smell it on their skin or hair. The Unsub surprised them in the shower but didn’t kill them as soon they stepped into the shower. They had time to clean themselves or maybe just time for the sedatives to work?” I paused. “I’m pretty sure the toxicology reports will confirm the presence of sedatives in all the blood samples.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Only Serena possibly fought back,” Sam said.
“That could be why the Unsubs waited until they’d been in the shower a few minutes,” I said. “Let those sedatives work. Compliant victims are easier to deal with.”
“That means …” Lee said, “… that there is something about the Unsubs that requires them to render the women unconscious or near to it before the stabbing?”
“The man I saw was about six foot tall, not small. He didn’t seem incapacitated by any kind of physical disability. Could be that they like unconscious women,” I replied.
“Do we know if there was any sexual component at all?” Lee said to Sam.
“Not at this point,” Sam said. “Apart from them all being naked … which could be part of it.”
“Most people shower naked. Makes it easier to get clean,” I said. Rocking back in my chair and swigging water from the bottle in my hand, I surveyed the men in front of me waiting for the next observation.
“You don’t think the nakedness is a factor?” Lee addressed me.
“That’s not what I said. I just don’t believe it’s a sexual thing. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but it’s not sexual.”
I felt pretty sure the Unsub wasn’t getting off on the killing but there was another reason for the killings.
Chance’s voice sounded so clear, he could have been in the room not in my head. “I think you’re right. Your mission is to prove it.”
The Mission Impossible theme blared from the walls of my office. Chance’s laughter filled my head.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” I said. Wishing he’d chosen a better theme song to taunt me with; that one smacked of short men and I wasn’t a fan.
“Who isn’t?” Kurt rejoined the discussion at the worst possible moment for me.
Typical.
I shook my head. Chance slipped, skidding across the surface of my brain until he dangled precariously off the edge. I shook my head again. He tumbled out of sight leaving his laughter behind.
“No one,” I replied, smiling sweetly at Kurt.
His brow furrowed. �
��That was Chance, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t be silly,” I replied. “Just a random thought that popped out of my mouth. That’s all.”
“So what is it?” Sam said.
I turned my attention to Sam. “What is what?”
“What is it that’s going on, why the deaths?”
“Fucked if I know,” I replied with a thin smile. “There is something deeply disturbing happening, We just don’t know what, yet.”
The cleanliness of the crime scenes weaseled into the forefront of my thoughts. Clean and bloodless: had to be something to that. If the Unsub didn’t like mess, then why stab? Stabbing isn’t exactly the tidiest way to kill someone. He got them halfway there with sedatives, why not just increase the dose to a fatal amount, very little mess then. They could still die in the shower if that’s what he wanted.
Lee’s voice spilled over my thoughts bringing me back to the conversation around me.
“Women are hardly likely to shower with a stranger in their home. If he broke in while they were in the shower – then he wouldn’t have been able to sedate them – they would’ve fought back. There would at least be a few defensive wounds or bruises as they struggled.”
Kurt’s phone rang. He answered and looked at me, holding up an index finger for us to wait until he finished the call.
“He could’ve been to all the homes earlier and set his sedative in motion,” Lee said. “Kurt, is that possible?”
He nodded. “About a month ago I was called to look at the evidence from an attempted murder. Wife tried to kill her husband. She crushed up some of her husband’s Lorazepam prescription and added it to freshly ground coffee beans. She then brewed the coffee and took him a cup.”
“So it’s still effective even after being brewed in a coffee maker?” Now that interested me. “Two victims so far had coffee in their stomachs and sedatives in their blood.”
“Yes, it’s effective even after being brewed and yes they did.” Kurt rubbed the side of his face. “That was the lab, confirming the presence of sedatives and coffee in two more victims.”
“What about the prescription we found in Jane Daughtry’s medicine cabinet? Could that be used the same way, in coffee grinds?” A Post-it note appeared in my mind with the word ‘prescription’ written on it. “Stick a pin in the coffee thing for a second,” I said. The Post-it note scrunched into a ball and flew into the trash basket in the corner of my mind. “The prescription, Kurt, why was it from a different doctor?”
“You’ll love this …” Kurt flipped over a few pages in his notebook. “I spoke with the doctor. He told me she had difficulty sleeping and couldn’t get in to see her regular doctor.”
“How did she find that doctor?”
“Referred by a friend. A Mr. Emilio Herrera.”
“Our Emilio Herrera?”
“Yes.”
“You spoke with him?”
“I did and he informed me he suggested Jane tried his doctor but didn’t know that she had.”
“And we’re good with that?”
Kurt nodded.
“Are we back on the sedatives in the coffee yet?” Lee rocked back in his chair.
“Yes,” I said.
Lee let the chair drop back onto all its legs. “How much would you need to knock an adult out or make them happily compliant?”
“Four to eight milligrams of Lorazepam would be enough to knock an adult out for about six hours,” Kurt said.
“How fast does it work?” Sam asked.
“The victim would become sleepy after about fifteen to thirty minutes. So not long.” Kurt looked at me. “Conway suspected the coffee as a delivery system for drugs.”
“Yes, I did. That’s why I suspect he was in their homes the night before which is when he would have doctored the coffee.” I took another sip of water. “He may or may not leave. We could have a freak who is spending the night in the homes with the clueless victims.” I set the water bottle on my desk.
I checked my watch, gave it a minute for my stomach to settle, and then stood up.
“Conway?” Kurt questioned.
“Going to meet Mallory Stevens at the Firehook for a chat,” I said.
Kurt rose to his feet. “Could do with a coffee.”
I don’t recall asking for company.
“It’s not necessary. I can bring coffee back,” I said, sliding my holster inside my waistband.
“I’ll come for the drive.”
I knew I wouldn’t get out of the building without him. I sighed. “Okay, let’s go.” At the office door, I paused. “You two let me know if you find anything we can use.”
“Will do,” Sam replied. “You bringing back coffee?”
“Yep.”
Because that’s the nice thing to do.
Twenty-Four
Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo
Kurt and I ordered. He wanted coffee and I decided on hot chocolate. I checked the DMV image of Mallory Stevens on my phone to refresh my memory. Mallory Stevens was ten minutes late. I saw a woman who fitted the image walk in and waved her over.
“Ms. Stevens?” I said as the woman stood awkwardly at the end of the table.
She nodded. “Agent Conway?”
“Yes. Have a seat.”
Kurt introduced himself. “I’m SSA Henderson.”
She didn’t say anything to him.
“Why do you want to talk to me?”
“Have you heard from Phoebe since you met her at her house on Thursday night?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t expect to. We had an argument. She needs time to cool off.”
She’s pretty fucking cold now.
I smothered the smirk that tweaked the edges of my mouth and reminded myself that Phoebe, cold or not, was a friend.
“You argued about what?”
Mallory frowned and adjusted her jacket. “We just argued. It’s personal.”
My phone rang. Lee’s name flashed across the screen. I excused myself from the table and walked outside before answering the call. “What’s up?”
“Charles Locke junior. What’d you like him for?”
“Beating the crap out of Phoebe’s sister, Christine.”
“That’s right. His name just surfaced while as I dug around looking at the Mallory Stevens chick’s background,” Lee said.
“Now that’s something we should look into.”
“I thought so.”
“You’re sure it’s junior not the old man?”
“Junior.”
“Anything recent?”
“Yeah. Thursday night. They had a Facebook messenger conversation.”
Not dead then. So Lette didn’t kill Locke. Would’ve been a public service if he had.
“Before or after Stevens met Phoebe?”
“The conversation happened early in the evening and over by five-thirty.”
Good to know.
“Anything I need to know?”
“Yeah, she told Locke about meeting Phoebe at seven at her place. He replied that he’d see her afterward.”
A cold foaming waterfall crashed over me, pooling at my feet.
“Anything about Phoebe’s sister?”
Part of me hoped that this was what it was about. That he wanted information about Christine and used his friendship with Mallory to that end.
“No. No mention of her at all. He mentioned his father. Said he hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since the incident.”
“Incident?”
“Not sure, could be referring to his arrest for domestic violence.”
Could be.
“Great work, Lee. I’ll see what I can find from this end.”
I hung up and rejoined the table.
Mallory Stevens knowing Charles Locke felt all kinds of hinky. That Lette didn’t kill him felt wrong on a few levels too. If not dead, why did no one seem to know where Charles lives? No more being nice. I wanted answers.
“Ms. Stevens what time did you meet Phoebe on Th
ursday night?”
“It was after dinner. Seven, I think.”
“Who knew you were meeting her?”
She clasped her hands together while resting her elbows on the table. “No one. We weren’t public about our relationship.”
Mental note to bring the conversation back to the relationship as soon as I’d dropped Charles Locke’s name and watched the reaction. Kurt caught my eye. I smiled with all the sweetness I could muster. It wasn’t much.
“And you met with Charles Locke when?”
Stevens froze.
She actually froze.
“Breathe,” I said.
Her body shuddered.
Kurt spoke softly, “What time did you meet Locke?”
“I didn’t meet him,” she said, her voice wavering. “I didn’t meet him …”
Kurt’s eyes flashed at me. I raised an eyebrow.
He tried again. “What time did he meet you?”
“After ten …”
“Where?” I asked as Kurt shifted back into his seat again.
“On the street.”
“What street?” I asked.
She fidgeted with a napkin. Folding the corners then unfolding them again. I reached my hand out and removed the napkin. Balling it up in my hand, I watched her. The fingers of her right hand covered her mouth for a split second.
“I don’t remember.”
“Ah, but you do,” I said. “I think we’ll take this conversation back to our office. I’ve got a plane to meet and I’m not a fan of liars.” I looked at Kurt. “Sam and Lee can continue with Stevens, yeah?”
He nodded. “Yeah, they’ll enjoy it.”
“I don’t know the name of the street …”
Incredulity filled the space between us as I said, “You know Phoebe’s address.”
Her eyes widened.
Kurt and I stood up. I let him do the honors.
“Mallory Stevens, you are accompanying us for further questioning regarding the death of Phoebe Childs.”
Bam! Just like that all the air left her body and she fell forward; with a sickening thud, her face hit the table.
Kurt placed two fingers on her neck. “Alive,” he said.
I saw a moving red line spread from under her face and called for paramedics. We had a plane to meet; I didn’t want Kurt doing his doctor thing this time.
