Girl Undercover 8 & 9: Traitor & The Smiley Killer

by Julia Derek

  I bit my lip, considering what Ian had told me. “A stranger may use the house to live in, you’re saying then. Do you think that person is responsible for Nadja’s disappearance? Or is that what Burt thinks at least?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what he thinks. And he also thinks that the person who lives there will return. And then Burt will be there.”

  “Interesting. What do you think?”

  “Well, I agree that if Adler was behind her disappearance, Burt would also be gone by now. Why wait to get rid of him? By now, they must’ve learned that he killed those two men in that car and then went to look for Nadja. They might even think he’s responsible for her escaping out of that room. So, yes, he’s making very good points.”

  “Okay. So what are we gonna do about it?”

  “I was planning on going back to the house today.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then I’m coming with you.”

  Ian frowned at me. “You don’t have clients to train?”

  “No, not until three p.m. My only morning client canceled last night. If we go now, we’ll be back by then.”

  ***

  It had stopped raining by the time we arrived at the house outside Philly. The big two-story house was gray with white details, a black shingle roof and wooden shutters. It had a garage attached to one side and a medium-sized storage shed stood kitty corner from the house. A thick forest rose like a wall behind the buildings. According to Ian, there was an old but functioning Volvo in the garage that he had intended for Nadja to use.

  Burt opened the red-painted front door when we knocked on it, expecting our arrival since Ian had called him moments before.

  “Anything new?” Ian asked by way of greeting.

  Burt blew out an agitated breath. “No. Nothing. But there’s for sure been someone living in this house recently. A woman.”

  We walked into the house, ending up in a wide hallway with high ceilings and rug-covered hardwood floors that had seen better days.

  “What makes you think that it’s a woman?” I asked Burt as we continued farther into the house.

  “Well, for one,” he said, “I found a couple of packs of tampons. I also found makeup in the medicine cabinet. Even if we were dealing with a transvestite, I doubt we’d be finding tampons, right?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle a little, even though it wasn’t really funny. But it felt good to be able to laugh; stress was definitely taking a toll on me, so I could use the release. “Yeah, that’s probably true,” I said.

  We walked past a big, bright kitchen with large windows and then up an L-shaped staircase. Burt wanted to show us the bedroom where he and Ian had found the signs of a struggle as well as the blood. We soon entered that room.

  “I haven’t touched anything,” Burt said to Ian. “Everything’s exactly how we found it.”

  There were lots of coagulated bloodstains on the small fur rug next to the unmade bed as well as on the hardwood floor around it. Several shards of white glass in different sizes were scattered among the blood. It looked like they were part of the destroyed lamp shade. I sank down to my haunches to get a closer look at the blood that had taken on the appearance of rust against the backdrop of white glass and bone-colored rug.

  “How do we know all this blood belongs to Nadja?” I asked, peering up at the two men.

  “Who else would it belong to?” Burt said.

  “The attacker,” I specified. “If Nadja tried to defend herself, she might’ve hurt the attacker so badly the person shed blood.” I indicated a couple of the big shards that had smeared blood on them. “These look like they might have been used as weapons. I’m especially envisioning her having potentially hurt the attacker if it was a female. In other words, about as strong as Nadja, right?”

  Nadja was a voluptuous, taller than average woman and fairly athletic. Unless she was asleep when she was attacked, surely she’d tried to defend herself.

  “Chances are the attacker is a criminal who’s already in the system,” I added. “If so, we’d at least know who we’re dealing with. Who knows how long it’ll take before the person returns to the house. It could take days, weeks even. And then it’s likely too late for Nadja.”

  “That’s a great point,” Ian said, contemplating the scene. “The blood might not belong to Nadja alone. I wish there was a way for us to find out. Unfortunately, I don’t trust the lab people at the field offices in the vicinity.” He gave a half smirk. “Or at any of the offices, quite frankly.”

  I thought about the people I knew at the station back home. Even if I could get the blood-stained rug over to the lab there, how would I get them to check it for me? Everyone except George believed I was on paid leave at the moment, living all the way over in Europe. I didn’t know any of them well enough to be in a position to ask for a favor. But maybe George did. It was worth a try.

  “I have a contact at the LAPD who might be able to help us,” I said. “Of course, getting samples all the way to the west coast will be complicated. One of us would have to deliver it, and it’s better if it’s not me. I need to keep up appearances, which means I have to keep training people.”

  “I could fly there and bring the rug in my hand luggage,” Ian said. “It’s not very big. I agree it’s complicated, but it’s not like we have lots of options. If the person is a criminal, we’ll know right away who it is. Waiting for him or her to return might take forever and we don’t have time to waste.”

  “I’m sure the woman will return and sooner rather than later,” Burt said. “Why wouldn’t she if she’s made this house her dwelling? Judging by how lived in the bathroom and the kitchen look, it’s the only thing that makes sense. And when she comes, I’ll be ready for her. Find out why she took Nadja. I have nothing better to do with myself but to wait for her.”

  I gazed at Burt, saw how determined he was. There was also sadness in his snake-like eyes that he struggled to hide. Guilt streamed through me now for having worried so much that he’d suddenly turn on Ian in the car. This man obviously loved Nadja, and the idea that he would ever do anything to hurt her seemed ludicrous now.

  “Okay,” I said, nodding. I turned to Ian. “Why don’t you look around the premises to see if you find anything that could help us, while I call my contact at the LAPD and ask him if he can help us?”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Ian said, then faced Burt, “Let’s go down to the kitchen. I want to check a few things there.”

  Watching them leave the bedroom, I found the two phones in my purse, looked up George’s number in my regular one and then used the burner to call him. He didn’t pick up, so I left a voicemail, telling him I had a new number and that I needed him to call me back ASAP. I checked the time. It was ten a.m. here in NYC, making it seven a.m. on the west coast, it being three hours earlier there. He was probably still asleep.

  I put away my phones and scanned the room again. Except for the mess next to the queen-sized bed, the room was neat and sparsely furnished. All it contained was the bed, the nightstand, a big oak dresser with drawers and an oval mirror above it, and a wooden kitchen chair placed next to the doorway. I opened the door behind me and saw that it led into a walk-in closet. It took me some time before I discovered how to turn on the light inside it—there was no light switch anywhere on the walls at the door; instead I needed to pull a string that hung from the ceiling.

  As Ian had already explained, suits, shirts, pants, jackets and neck ties belonging to his father’s old friend hung from the rods there. But as I looked closer, I saw that women’s clothing hung there, too. I counted three blouses, a couples of hoodies and sweaters, a jacket, two skirts and three pairs of jeans. Lowering my gaze to the floor, I saw there were two pairs of sneakers and one pair of flat sandals among the male dress shoes lined up on the metallic racks. The sneakers were smaller than the dress shoes and the kind only a woman would wear.

  I went back out into the bedroom and up to the oak dresser. Pulling out the top drawer, I discovered that it was
filled with lingerie and socks, looking like it had just been thrown in there with no regard for order. I closed it and pulled out the one below. This one had lots of T-shirts, sweaters, tights and shorts in it. Closing it, I pulled out the third drawer. That one contained men’s sweaters, all neatly folded and stacked. The one under that was filled with men’s underwear that was also neatly stacked and folded.

  Well, so far it did look like a woman was actually living in this house, just as Burt had claimed with such conviction. None of the feminine items I’d spotted in either the closet or the dresser were from the duffel bag I’d handed Nadja. The bag was thrown in a corner, the zipper open all the way. Walking over to it, I squatted to see what might be missing from it. It looked like a T-shirt, a pair of shorts and the toothbrush and the little toothpaste tube I’d put there did. It made sense; those were likely the items Nadja had taken and used before she went to bed. Did she get a chance to clean up before her attacker appeared?

  I walked over to the adjacent bathroom. The toothbrush I’d given Nadja as well as the toothpaste were on the sink, which suggested she had at least used those.

  Looking around the narrow, long bathroom, I spotted a pile of clothes on the floor next to the bathtub. A maroon shower curtain covered the tub. It took me only a few seconds to determine that they were the clothes Nadja had worn when we’d rescued her out of that run-down apartment. I was sure Burt and Ian had already checked, but I still pulled aside the shower curtain to see what hid behind it. The bathtub was empty, and a few shampoo and shower gel bottles, as well as a couple of well used bar soaps, sat in the corners of it.

  It seemed that Nadja had been able to take a shower before the attacker appeared then. Towels of different sizes hung from bars attached to the wall. Because I hadn’t spotted a bath towel on the floor in the bedroom, I assumed she had worn the clothes I’d supplied her with when leaving the bathroom.

  I walked out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom to take a closer look at the bed. The blue bed throw and the covers were in a big jumble. It was hard to tell if Nadja had been about to go to bed or in bed, sleeping already. The only thing that seemed clear was that a fight had taken place there.

  I sighed. So far, I’d seen nothing that gave me a better idea of why Nadja had been taken. What had prompted this person—this woman—to attack her? Had she felt threatened somehow? Was it possible that Nadja herself had started the fight? She had every reason in the world to feel threatened. Had she heard something and been convinced that people from Adler were coming for her? Thrown herself at the woman as she’d entered the room?

  One of the phones rang in my purse then. I walked over to where I’d dropped it next to the closet door, hoping it was George getting back to me. I had yet to give my regular phone a significantly different ring tone from my disposables—they all sounded very much alike with their standard ring tone.

  I found my phones and soon saw that it was my burner ringing. George’s number was displayed across the screen.

  I clicked the Talk button and put it to my ear.

  “Longoria? Is that you?”

  “Yes. Hi George, thanks so much for calling me back.”

  “Is everything okay? You sounded anxious in the voicemail.”

  I debated in my mind whether to clue George in on all that was going on with Adler and the conspiracy, but quickly decided not to. If I wanted him to help me get the bedroom rug over to the lab people, I’d better appear as sane as possible. Like Brady, George could easily think that sorrow over the loss of Nick had pushed me over the edge and made me lose my marbles finally. It was better that I made up some other story pertaining to my search for Nick’s killers instead.

  “Yes, I’m pretty anxious,” I said. “I’m in a room where there’s been a fight and there’s lots of blood on a little rug here. I have reason to believe the blood may belong to Nick’s killers, but those reasons are too complicated to explain right now.”

  “Okay. I’m with you so far. How can I help?”

  “I want those bloodstains examined by our lab people. If I get the rug over to L.A., can you have someone at the lab run the stains for me? Check who the blood belongs to? I’m hoping we’ll have their DNA in the system already. See what I’m getting at here?”

  “Yes, I do. Hmm.” George exhaled. “I think I can make that happen, but I can’t guarantee it. You know how anal they can be about paperwork and such. I don’t have any personal contacts in the lab, or I could have used those. But let me see what I can do.”

  “Please do. Maybe we can create fake paperwork. You know, to make it seem like it’s part of an investigation.” I could hear George suck in a breath to tell me how risky that was. It wasn’t like I didn’t know, and the last thing I wanted was to put George’s job in danger when he’d already helped me so much. So I added, “I’d have someone else create the paperwork of course. You would have nothing to do with it.” Either Ian or Jose, Dante’s friend and masterful creator of false documents, could make that happen. “All I’d need in that case would be for you to put the rug and the paperwork in the cue, so the lab people can run it and write a report that we can look at. And sooner rather than later.”

  “Right. You really think this could lead to the capture of Nick’s killers?”

  “There’s a big chance,” I said, hating having to lie to George. “But let’s forget about the paperwork for now. How about you just put some feelers out in the lab, see if anyone’s willing to help us before I send over the rug? You know what? You can always use my name if you want to. Tell the lab people that I’m behind it and that I want it done. Hopefully that’ll push them over the edge. Make them feel guilty if they don’t help out.”

  “That may work, but are you sure about that? They’ll know that you’ve been investigating Nick’s murder then. Do you really want anyone besides me to know about that? What if they tell on you and Brady finds out? He’ll fire you.”

  Again, I debated telling George that I had way more serious stuff to worry about than if my superiors found out that I’d been lying all this time, and, again, I decided not to.

  “Well, that’s a risk I’ll have to take,” I simply said. “Please just ask for me, will you? See if anyone seems to be willing to run it for me.”

  “Okay, I will. I’ll ask when I get in later today and get back to you. Should I call this number?”

  “Yes, I no longer have access to my old cell,” I lied, then thanked George and said my goodbyes.

  It was only as I pressed the phone’s End button that I finally noticed the sad smiley face carved into the hardwood floor right next to the nightstand.

  Chapter 4

  I squatted in front of the sad smiley face, the stark ray of sunshine that had suddenly come through the bedroom window illuminating it. It was the first time since yesterday morning that the sun made an appearance, the sky having been covered with thick, rain-heavy clouds. Now that I was so close in front of the emoticon, which was the size of a grapefruit, I discovered that it was encircled by more carvings, forming a heart around the sad smiley. I stared at it, knowing that I’d seen this particular image somewhere before. But where?

  Not able to remember, I got to my feet and left the bedroom, walking over to the railing that edged the landing outside. Looking down at the floor below, I heard faint voices coming out of the nearby kitchen.

  “Ian,” I called. “You guys have to see this.”

  He and Burt appeared out of the doorway leading into the kitchen. They were both looking around, like they were trying to place where I’d called from.

  “I’m still up here,” I said loudly, and they turned their heads in my direction finally. “I found something that I think may help us figure out what’s going on.”

  They began climbing the stairs built alongside two walls, a square landing in the middle parting the staircase in two in one corner. Ian reached me first.

  “Did you guys find anything interesting downstairs?” I asked him.

 
“Only that it does look like someone has been living here recently,” he replied. “There’s food in the pantry as well as in the refrigerator. Fresh food. What did you find?”

  Turning toward the bedroom, I said, “Several items of women’s clothing, which confirms Burt’s assertion that it is indeed a woman who’s been living here. But that’s not all I found.”

  I walked into the bedroom, Ian and Burt following me. I headed straight for the carvings by the nightstand that was still bathing in sunlight and squatted beside it.

  “When the sun broke through the clouds and shone into the room, I discovered this,” I said, pointing at the smiley. “I’ve seen that somewhere before, but I can’t remember where.”

  Burt, who’d been behind Ian, peered down at the sad smiley. He sucked in a breath. “Wow. That looks just like the signature the Smiley Killer carved into her victims’ midriffs.”

  I stared at the carvings, realization growing within me. Oh, my God, he is right. It’s her signature…

  About four years ago, right before I came to New York to go undercover to catch Cardoza, a teenage girl had been arrested for having committed a string of murders in New York City, all victims being twelve-year-old girls with long, dark hair. The teen had managed to terrorize the city for several months before she was finally caught—by her best friend, another teenager, who’d solved the case singlehandedly when the NYPD had been clueless. Photos of the murderous teen had appeared in the national media, and I remembered how incredibly beautiful she had been. I also remembered her parents, who’d looked nothing like their gorgeous offspring, which had prompted me to assume their daughter was adopted. But as I’d read the article about her, I learned that she was in fact their biological daughter, and that she had been genetically engineered. At the time, I hadn’t thought much about it as the media soon moved on to other stories. While the murders had been heinous and the murderer unusual, it became yesterday’s news within a week or two. Also, living in Los Angeles then, I had been less exposed to the crimes than Burt had, who’d been in the midst of them.