Psychobyte

by Cat Connor

  I stretched out my left leg and jammed my hand into my pocket to fish out my phone. “Sandra—”

  “At your service, Warrior Princess.”

  Petrovovich’s presence in the car meant I needed to be careful and not use Fallon’s name. I hoped Sandra would make the connection.

  “Background check on that new helpful friend at Metro, I want everything and I want it fast.”

  “I am your servant … and the new friend, is that Detective Troy Fallon?”

  “Yes, indeed it is. Sandra, if there’s dirt, I want it. I want to know what she had for breakfast and what toothpaste she uses.”

  “Got it.”

  The sound of fingers tapping at lightning speed on a keyboard filled the airways.

  “Let me know A-SAP.”

  I hung up and let my head meet the headrest. My eyes closed without bidding. Tired and frustrated pushed each other around until fatigue became the clear winner. Dusk descended on my mind bringing shadows from the recesses. A shadow I recognized as Chance crossed my vision.

  He paused, turned, and came back. “What are you doing in here?” he said with a lopsided grin.

  “It’s my head. I live here,” I snapped. That grin of his wouldn’t work this time. “Why are you here?”

  “I like the dark, you have plenty of it,” he quipped. His dimples deepened as his smile increased.

  “You’re trespassing.”

  He tipped his head back and Chance’s laughter bounced across the gray and slammed into the darker shadows at the edges of my mind. “You know you really love me.”

  I shrugged. I wouldn’t go that far. “You can be an infuriating sonofabitch. But I like having you around, sometimes.” I decided I needed a qualifier in there. No need to stroke his ego unnecessarily.

  He grinned. “How do you like me so far?”

  The wiseass was mixing up his series.

  “If you call me Moneypenny, I’ll evict you.”

  His infectious laughter flowed over me. “While I’m here … you want a hand?”

  I nodded. “I do. What’s with Fallon?”

  He froze for a second. His eyes met mine. When he looked down, I followed his gaze. In his hand was a can opener. That didn’t bode well.

  “You sure you want to go there?”

  “She went there. She was deep inside a crime scene.”

  “You need to look at Stevens too. They know each other.”

  “What do they have to do with the deaths?”

  “Think about it, Ellie … you have two male Unsubs. How did they gain access to women’s homes?”

  “Broke in, mostly. Apart from one scene, where there was no forced entry.”

  Chance rocked on his heels, dropped the can opener, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Would single young females open the door for strange males?”

  No. Or I’d like to think not.

  “Are you telling me I have four Unsubs and two of them are women?”

  “I’m telling you to keep an open mind and work all the leads.”

  “Fallon is a detective …”

  He nodded. “Stings when it’s close to home, doesn’t it?”

  Yeah. It does.

  “Locke senior?” I still thought he had something to do with the surveillance. And his son knew Stevens.

  “Does Fallon have the expertise to rig surveillance equipment?”

  “Probably, or if not, she’d know who to ask.”

  “Take it easy, El, you look like crap.” Chance winked and disappeared. Magic.

  My eyes pinged open.

  Houston, we have a problem. We have a potentially dirty cop.

  I needed her surgically removed from the investigation and all information we gathered to stay within Sentinel.

  “Are we there yet?”

  “Nearly.” He glanced at me. “Were you sleeping?”

  I shook my head. “Not sleeping, thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Tell you later. Let’s do this scent thing first.”

  My eyes closed again. I was back in the roof space. I walked around the room. By the farthest window from the trap door, I smelled something.

  White musk? Sandalwood? No, a combination of the two.

  Not so much a perfume as the heavier aroma of an essential oil. Cloying in large amounts but this was dilute and diffused.

  Why didn’t I notice it when I was in the house? Preoccupied with death and the discovery of the shiny piece of wrapper.

  I twisted in my seat and looked at our guest in the back. “Mr. Petrovovich?”

  “Yes, Agent Conway. Please call me Sasha.”

  Sasha and Misha ‒ altogether too close for comfort.

  “Did you smell any other scents near the body, other than the missing soap?”

  His brow creased. I could see thoughts processing in his dark eyes. “I thought as I walked to the trapdoor area of the hallway that I smelled sandalwood.”

  “Do you think it was a perfume base note or an essential oil?”

  He nodded with approval. “Your nose is very good.”

  “Thanks, which is it?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I smelled white musk and sandalwood in the attic. Dilute but heavier than a perfume. I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

  “To me it does. I think, Agent, it was oil.”

  I nodded.

  It wasn’t either Unsub. Neither of them wore essential oil.

  “Where do you get something like that?”

  “Fairly good quality essential oils that can be worn on the skin are mixed with a carrier oil. They’re available from new age stores all over the country and also online. We use oils in the production of perfume but they’re pure and very expensive.”

  Kurt pulled into a car park.

  “Rachel goes to a New Age store for incense, you want me to give her a call and find out where it is?” Kurt asked me.

  “That might be helpful, thanks.”

  The owner might just recognize Fallon or Stevens. Just because we didn’t find Stevens’ prints doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.

  Kurt called home and I zoned out. One partial print that came back as possibly Fallon’s wasn’t a whole helluva lot. The sandalwood/white musk scent wafted past me again. I’d smelled it before.

  Where?

  “Coming in, Conway?” Kurt asked, opening my door for me. I hadn’t noticed him get out of the car.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s on your mind?” His fingers lightly held my elbow as he escorted me off the road and onto the pavement outside a severe, cold looking building. County Morgue.

  “The white musk and sandalwood, I’ve smelled it before.”

  The can opener Chance had in his hand fell from nowhere along with a can. The can rolled, stopping at my foot. As I watched, the can opener attached itself to the top of the can and gave a few turns. A worm wriggled through the tiny opening and plopped onto my boot.

  Yuck.

  “When we’re done here, you’re going home,” Kurt said. “I have no idea what you can see down there, but I don’t like it.”

  I dragged my eyes away from the worm on my boot and looked at Kurt. “A worm fell out of a can.” After a couple of slow beats, I knew where I’d smelled the fragrance before. I whispered in Kurt’s ear. “Jane Daughtry. The scent came from her home, maybe even from her.”

  “We’re whispering why?”

  “I want to see if he …” I inclined my head to the Russian, “… can detect it on Jane’s skin. I couldn’t but he might be able to.” I stopped.

  Cloak and dagger, much? Conway, Ellie Conway. Had a nice ring to it.

  The thought made me chuckle; thankfully the laughter was contained in my own head.

  An hour later we were back outside the morgue. Sasha smelled as many scents as I did but unlike me, he could name the products they came from. One was even from his own line. Most of the missing items from the crime scenes were high-end products. All but one of the
products came from perfume counters or duty-free stores. The odd one out he thought might be Black Amethyst. The cheapness of that fragrance didn’t sit right compared to the others. We debated the possibility it was Black Orchid by Tom Ford rather than the mass produced Black Amethyst.

  “I did not smell the depth of fragrance I would expect from Tom Ford. The composition is different and sillage stronger.”

  In my mind I was again in Jane Daughtry’s home, walking through the room until I reached her bedroom. “When I sat on her bed there was a light shroud of scent.”

  Why didn’t I notice it at the time?

  In my mind’s eye, I looked around the room. I didn’t notice it because the existence of the poetry threw me back to another case. “I don’t think that scent was Black Amethyst.”

  “Nor do I. You’re talking about the sillage, for the scent to remain in the room like that the sillage would be medium and above.”

  “The shower gel was Black Amethyst but she wore another perfume, something darker with strong sillage.”

  He smiled. “You can work for me when you grow tired of the FBI.”

  We took Sasha back to the office and let him use my desk. He wanted to build a scent profile for the Unsubs and victims alike. Kurt and I joined Delta in a meeting room.

  “Time we laid out a few things,” I said, closing the door firmly. “There is a likelihood we have a cop involved in the killings.”

  No one reacted. Not a raised eyebrow in the room. Silence.

  I sat at the table.

  Sam rocked his chair back, hooking his fingers under the table top to stop himself toppling backward.

  “Who?” Sam asked.

  “Detective Troy Fallon.”

  “The chick who worked the first few crimes scenes and came to the media briefing as your guest?” Lee said.

  “Yep.”

  Sam shook his head. “What do we know?”

  “That we have a partial print and it came back as hers,” Kurt said. We found the print in the roof space of the latest crime scene on a piece of a candy wrapper.”

  “That’s not good,” Sam said. “You talked to her yet?”

  I shook my head. “Sandra is trawling through her life as we speak. I’ll talk to Fallon when I know everything there is to know about her.”

  She’s a cop; I need to have done my homework to interview her. Is dotted, Ts crossed.

  Interviewing cops had the potential to be challenging. I didn’t feel all that sure I was up to the task.

  “Anything else we should know?” Lee’s pen stayed poised over his open notebook.

  Time to let out the crazy.

  “I think Fallon knows Stevens, and I think both women are involved. Maybe even at the crime scenes.”

  “You can back that up with some kind of evidence?” Lee asked.

  “Yeah. Nah. Not so much. That’s where good old fashioned investigating comes in. We need to prove Chance’s theory.”

  As soon as I heard his name fall from my mouth, I knew I was in trouble. Wishing the floor would open up and swallow me didn’t even get close to how I felt.

  “He’s chatty lately. Any particular reason he’s back? Chance have any ideas how to prove his whacked-out theory?” Kurt said.

  “No, no reason, and proof is up to us.” I inhaled and exhaled slowly. What I was about to say wouldn’t make me sound any less like a fruit loop. “Fallon may have supplied and even installed the surveillance in the houses.”

  Lee flipped pages in his notebook.

  “Neighbors at scene three, four and five remember seeing a Fire Security Services van at those houses a week before the deaths.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said. “Maybe not Fallon?”

  Or maybe she’s clever.

  Sam opened his notebook and read something before saying, “Charles Locke senior worked for Fire Security Services as a technician until six months ago when he left to become a building super.”

  “Great. And Mallory Stevens, who I believe was Phoebe Childs’ lover, knows Charles Locke Junior, the man who nearly beat Phoebe’s sister to death,” I added. “There’s a tangled web of bullshit going on here. Let’s start pulling on threads and see what stinks as it unravels.”

  Kurt nodded and checked the time. “I’ve asked Delta C to work with us on searching the crime scenes for hiding places and evidence that the Unsub or Unsubs spent the night in the houses before killing the women. Sam and Lee, you’re with Delta C, scene by scene, please.”

  I looked at Kurt. “I’d like to be in on that.”

  He shook his head. “You and I need to return Sasha Petrovovich to the airport for his flight home and then, Conway, you are going home. I don’t want to see you until tomorrow morning.”

  So shut your eyes.

  To be fair, my heart wasn’t in it and I didn’t complain. Two weeks ago I would’ve screamed bloody murder at being sent home. Now, I just wanted some quiet time to myself.

  Twenty-Eight

  Something To Believe In

  “Hey,” I said as soon as he answered and then touched the speaker icon.

  “Hi. Where are you?”

  “Home. Am I expecting you anytime this evening?” I moved from room to room closing curtains and turning on lights as I talked.

  “Late. Sorry,” Mitch replied.

  “Long day,” I said; a statement, not a question. My fingers locked on the lid of a bottle of water and twisted off the cap.

  “You all right?”

  “Of course,” I replied taking a big swig of water.

  “Wine?”

  “Water.”

  “El, really?” Mitch sounded preoccupied, distracted even. Computer sounds and office noises accompanied him. I decided to leave him to it. “Still working the case?”

  Because that’s the only reason I’d drink water not wine after a long shitty day.

  “Yeah. Not making a lot of progress but a few things have fallen into place.”

  “And you’re okay?”

  “Yep. I’m okay. Don’t work too late. I finally have an evening home.”

  “Sure. I’ll pick up a bottle of Pinot. There isn’t any in the wine rack,” he replied, his smile evident in his words. “One glass wouldn’t hurt.”

  I didn’t know if I could stop at one glass. Best not to tempt fate.

  “Don’t be too late,” I said with a small laugh. An envelope on the kitchen counter drew my attention. I touched it, dragging it closer to me with a finger. I picked it up and turned it over. “Hey, did you call in here today?”

  “Nope.” He paused. I heard him typing. “Why?”

  “There’s an envelope on the counter addressed to me.”

  “Not me, babe, maybe your dad came in?”

  “Maybe.”

  It wasn’t Dad’s writing but that didn’t mean he hadn’t put it on the counter.

  “Don’t be all night, M.”

  “Wait up?”

  “Think I can manage that.”

  He laughed. “See what you can do.”

  I hung up, set my phone on the counter and took a closer look at the mystery envelope. No postmark. Regret twinged about handling it. Rookie mistake. Investigators look with their eyes first not their ungloved hands.

  Who knew that would be a thing in my own kitchen?

  Me! I should’ve.

  Definitely not Dad’s handwriting, not Aidan’s either. It didn’t look like anyone’s that I knew.

  So how did it get on my counter?

  Walk? Nope.

  Envelopes don’t have legs. Someone helped it.

  My hand felt for the Glock on my hip. Unease crawled across the kitchen floor. A deep bone-chilling cold lapped at my boots. I opened the alarm company app on my phone and checked on code use. Dad’s code was used.

  Maybe it was Dad.

  I didn’t believe that for one second. Dad would’ve left me cupcakes or some other edible treat. It’s what he did.

  “Just this once, I’m glad you’r
e late, M,” I said to no one. With a sigh, I made another call. I had to check. As soon as I heard Dad’s voice I spoke. “Did you come by today?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You didn’t put an envelope on the kitchen counter?”

  “No.”

  A bang shuddered in the distance as a door closed.

  What the hell?

  Listening, I held my breath.

  “You okay? Where’s Mitch?”

  “I’m good. M’s at work. Nothing to worry about, Dad.”

  Another door closed.

  “I hope not.”

  Footsteps above me.

  “Gotta go, Dad. Talk soon.”

  “Honey, call Delta or push the panic button.”

  “It’s nothing, Dad. It’s just an envelope.”

  “Ellie!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m calling.”

  Later. Once I know who is in my house.

  I hung up. I slid my Glock from the holster on my right hip using only my index finger and thumb. Awkward. Switching the weapon to my left hand, I adjusted my grip as best I could. I’m not the best with my left hand. Quietly, I walked down the hallway to the laundry and shut down the power to the house. The silent house alarm would trigger as the alarm system switched to auxiliary power.

  Plunging the house into darkness worked in my favor. My home: I didn’t need light to find my way. I did take a small flashlight from a drawer under the laundry sink. I switched it on to check it was red light. Safety first. Might be my house but I have no desire to fall while climbing stairs in the dark. Red light doesn’t travel as far as white light. It wouldn’t alert anyone to my presence until it was too late.

  My right hand ached. Standing in the dark hallway near the back stairs I listened. A door opened upstairs followed by a vibration as someone bumped into a wall.

  I stood for a moment at the bottom of the staircase. Above the sound of my pounding heart, I heard tentative footfalls moving toward the stairs. Someone in my super secure house. Weird. Should also be impossible.

  Footsteps moved downward. I flicked off the flashlight and waited.

  The steps paused then continued. Every few feet the footfalls stopped. Tentative? Someone who didn’t know my house and had no idea how long the staircase was?

  I supported myself on the wall at the foot of the stairs and waited. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I did a slow blink. As I opened my eyes, a dark shape appeared then stumbled over the last stair. Instinctively my hand shot out and connected with a soft body.