by Mary Stone
“I’m an art director for LMV, a global ad agency.” His eyes flicked over the three of them, coming back to Bree. Probably because she looked like the most sympathetic. She wasn’t the best at hiding her feelings.
“I was working on a pitch with my team yesterday,” he went on, his watery gray eyes behind their black-framed lenses fixed on her like a lifeline. Pleading for understanding.
She nodded, just slightly, to encourage him, and a little of the tension in his face eased.
“I had to go over wireframes. We were working on a pitch for Kellogg on Monday.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Tomorrow, and we were nowhere near ready because—”
“Tell me again,” the detective interrupted, yanking Hawkins’s attention back to her. “If you were just working, why didn’t you discover your wife’s body until almost three o’clock this morning?”
Wesley paled at the reminder of what had been done to his wife and flinched visibly. “We went out for drinks.” The words were miserable. Guilt-ridden. “The creative director took us all out to celebrate.”
“And why didn’t you ask your wife to go? Did you even try to contact her before you left? Was there a reason you didn’t want her to go with you?”
Bree opened her mouth to intervene, but Noah beat her to it. He cleared his throat sharply, drawing the detective’s eyes to him. He didn’t say anything, just gave Dunn a look that asked why the hell she was torturing the guy.
Detective Dunn glared back before shoving to her feet, a belligerent scowl on her face.
Bree rolled her eyes. Ooh. A pissing contest. That was exactly what seasoned professionals always did in front of traumatized family members of victims.
“Noah,” Bree murmured. “Chill. You too, Detective Dunn.”
Bree wanted to scream at her that they were all there to do the same job. Just because they had special agent tacked in front of their names, rather than detective, didn’t mean they were going to yank the case. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared the woman down, until Wesley spoke up from the couch.
He’d been oblivious to the whole exchange and answered Dunn’s question without looking up from a space on the metal tabletop in front of him. His voice sounded loud in the tense room.
“I didn’t even think to ask Audrey,” Wesley said thickly. “We’ve been married for fourteen years now. I have my work. She has—had—hers…” His voice dissolved and his face crumpled as loss set in.
“You weren’t cheating on her?”
Wesley didn’t react to the question.
“I should have asked her to go with me,” he said instead, tears running down his cheeks as he stared at the floor. Dunn had broken him.
Vibrating with fury, Noah stepped in.
“Detective Dunn. Hallway. Now.”
Monica Dunn smiled at him in challenge, and Bree realized in disgust that she hadn’t been pushing Wesley Hawkins because she thought he had anything to do with Audrey’s murder. She’d been doing it to get a rise out of the big, bad FBI agents, who she figured were going to take over her case.
Bree moved to the table and sat beside Wesley. He didn’t react. She put a hand on his. It had probably been the first human contact he’d felt since he found his wife.
“Listen,” Bree said. His cold fingers twitched under hers. “I know it may seem cruel, questioning you like this. But we have to be sure that we’re getting all of the information we can to catch the monster who did this.”
Wesley nodded. He looked up, finally. “How can she act like she thinks I’d do something like this?”
Bree wanted to tell him it was because Dunn was clearly a stone-cold bitch, but she kept the words to herself.
“Detective Dunn may not seem compassionate to you right now, but she’s going to do everything she can to help. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Water? Have you eaten anything today?”
He shook his head dully. “I couldn’t.”
“All right. Let me know if you change your mind. As long as it’s just the two of us here, can I ask you a few questions?”
“Why not,” Wesley answered, dropping his head back against the wall. “This is all a nightmare. You can’t make it any worse. Audrey is gone.”
A spasm of emotion crossed his face.
“I’m not going to ask what you saw when you found your wife. I think you’ve been through enough questioning on that. But I want you to think about when you got home last night. Did you notice anything odd before you came into the house? Even the smallest thing, out of place, can help in an investigation like this.”
He was silent for a moment, and the two of them heard Noah’s voice on the other side of the door, low and rumbling. Implacable. Detective Dunn’s voice was shrill and defensive, but they couldn’t make out the words.
“I don’t,” Wesley finally replied. “I wish I did, but I was a little drunk. I came in the house—”
“You used your key?” Bree interrupted gently. “It wasn’t unlocked?”
“Yes. I do remember that, only because I had trouble digging them out of my pocket. I unlocked the door and came in.”
“Do you have a security system?”
“I do.” He blinked. Straightened. “I didn’t have to turn it off.”
Bree felt a little pulse of excitement. “Does your wife leave it on when she’s home alone?”
“Always,” Wesley said, showing some fire in his eyes for the first time. “She always leaves it on. When she was in college, she was alone in her apartment one night, and a guy with a gun broke in. Took her jewelry and scared the hell out of her. She used to be scared to be home alone, back when we were dating. It got better over the years, but never, in all the time we’ve been together has she not set the security alarm when she was going to be home alone.”
“We’d be a lot further along if the Roanoke PD would assign a different detective to the case,” Noah growled.
“Not the first time you’ve said that,” Bree reminded him dryly as she hurried to keep pace with his long strides that ate up the sidewalk ahead of them. “If you could stop antagonizing her for three seconds, maybe we’d get brought in on this stuff sooner.”
“I can’t help it,” Noah admitted. They’d spoken to the Hawkins’s neighbors on the other side, and they were approaching the neighbor’s house through the north. “She’s got the type of personality that practically demands hassling.”
From the end of the driveway, the neighbor’s house looked very similar to the Hawkins’s house. It was large and contemporary, with lots of glass and boxy angles.
“Wesley said his wife had done the interior design here,” Bree said.
“Not my style.” Noah shrugged as they made their way up the pathway that led to an imposing front door. “But it’s interesting.”
It was late on their third day in Roanoke, and the sky had already been dark for two hours. Bree knocked briskly on the door. Through the illuminated window, she could see a well-dressed blonde moving toward the front entrance.
She pulled the door open, the light overhead illuminating a sharp-featured face. Botoxed and meticulously made-up, Lisa Mayer could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty years old.
“Come in,” she offered breathlessly, in a young-sounding falsetto. “You must be the agents who called earlier.”
She led them through a yawning entryway done in stark contrasts of red and black. Metal and wood combined to give the place an industrial feel. It wasn’t homey, and neither was Mrs. Mayer.
“Can I get you both anything to drink? Perrier? Chardonnay?”
Lisa’s smile was bright and brittle, and there was greedy curiosity in her eyes. Bree pasted an impersonal smile on her face. It always bothered her, this dark glee some people showed when a crime hit close to home but didn’t affect them directly. From the looks of her, Lisa would thrive on the murder of her neighbor and personal interior designer for months.
“Thank you, no. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
<
br /> Lisa waved one tanned hand in the air. “No worries at all. You’re here about poor Audrey. She did this room, you know. Just last summer.” Lisa dabbed a crumpled tissue under one dry eye.
The living room had a heavy, modern feel, with hard furniture in bright, primary colors that stood at counterpoint to the corrugated steel that lined the walls. Not to her taste, Bree thought, but it looked expensive. Noah was looking around like he didn’t get it.
“Can you tell us if you’ve remembered anything that might be helpful since Detective Dunn’s officers spoke to you?” Bree asked.
Lisa pursed her lips. “No, I’m afraid not. So, you haven’t caught the man who did it?”
“Not yet, ma’am,” Noah drawled, turning on the Texan charm.
Lisa’s eyes glimmered with lust, and Bree stifled the urge to wrinkle her nose. The woman was gross. Before she could extricate them from the situation, a noise near the doorway caught her attention.
“Mama, I’m thirsty.”
Lisa jumped up, looking suddenly embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed. She rushed to the high arch that led to a staircase, where a little boy in jeans and a striped, long-sleeved t-shirt stood. He looked like a small nine-year-old, and only had one sock on.
“Shia, sweetie, Mummy told you if you needed anything to ask Carmen.”
“Carmen’s busy,” he replied in a flat voice. “She’s talking to her boyfriend on her cell phone.” A lock of blond hair stood up on the back of Shia’s head, making him look like Dennis the Menace, but his small face was serious. “Are you the FBI people?”
Noah—who was good with kids, Bree had noticed—smiled at the boy. “We are. You’re a smart kid.”
“I know. Can I see your badges, please?” Shia asked, taking a step forward and ignoring his fluttering, red-faced mom. “I watch Forensic Files and Criminal Minds and The First 48, and I know you’re supposed to show them if I ask.”
Obliging him, Noah took out his badge and handed it over for the boy’s inspection.
He nodded. “Good.”
Bree wasn’t a kid person, but she liked this one. He acted like a small grown-up, and she’d rather deal with him than his vapid mother. She also had a cousin on the autism spectrum, and Shia reminded her of Jay with his single-minded focus.
He was still looking at the badge when he said, “I can give you my witness statement now.”
Lisa tittered. “No, sweetie, go play. This is adult business.”
Noah and Shia ignored her. Bree gave Lisa a small smile. “It’s all right, Mrs. Mayer. We’ll take his statement.”
Lisa’s shoulders slumped a little in relief, and she looked more human. More like a mom who was glad her child wouldn’t throw a fit in front of visitors, and less like a trophy wife with a figure that had never even considered childbirth.
Shia climbed up on the couch next to Noah and folded his hands in his lap neatly. “The suspect accessed the victim’s house through a hole in the fence. He parked his truck on the service lane in the back of the woods that line these properties.”
Noah’s eyes shot to Bree’s. She closed her mouth, aware that she’d been gaping. Behind them, Lisa gasped.
“Did you see the man, Shia?” Noah kept his voice calm, matter of fact, as he made notes.
“I did, but not well.” Shia scrunched up his face, thinking. “His truck, I saw pretty good. It was green and red and had some writing on the side, but I couldn’t read it through the trees. I don’t know anything about trucks, so I can’t tell you what kind it was. Old, I guess.”
Lisa broke in, sounding less gleeful and more scared. “When did you see this, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The killer had brushed closer to her than she’d thought, and suddenly, the novelty was wearing off.
Shia gave her a mildly disgusted look. “You wouldn’t have believed me. I tried to talk to Detective Dunn, but she wouldn’t listen either. I was going to call the tip line, but I heard you talking to the FBI agents this morning, so I just waited.”
“Do we have your permission to record this interview, Mrs. Mayer?” Noah asked.
Lisa nodded, biting her lip.
“What else can you tell us, Shia? What do you remember about the man you saw? Hair color, approximate height, identifying features?”
“He looked like Santa,” Shia said. “Which I think is supposed to be a joke, because his truck is red and green. I don’t know anything about jokes, though. He had white hair and a white beard and glasses. He was old, like his truck.”
“Shia has an eidetic memory,” Lisa said, her voice shaky. “And he doesn’t lie.”
Bree blew out a slow breath, trying to calm her racing heart. They had their first eyewitness, and he was a nine-year-old autistic kid.
Detective Dunn was going to shit a brick.
15
Winter sat on the curb in the cold parking lot, dampness creeping through the fabric of the seat of her pants. She’d been pretending to fix the chain on her bike for twenty uncomfortable minutes, waving off the occasional helpful co-worker, when Bree pulled up in her little hatchback.
It wasn’t until Bree spotted her and changed direction, heading her way, that Winter breathed a sigh of relief. She quickly retightened the loosened chain. It was a breezy forty-nine degrees. The sun was shining, but they were in the middle of a cold front that had it feeling more like up north than down south.
“Having trouble?” Bree called out cheerfully.
She’d debated over whether to get in touch with Noah. They’d been close. She could apologize. Maybe that would prompt him to help her out. Ultimately, though, she’d decided she wasn’t going to use Noah like that.
“Not anymore,” Winter replied, giving the pedals an experimental spin to make sure the chain held.
Bree, she didn’t know as well. She could work with Bree.
She flipped the bike right side up and fell into step beside the shorter woman.
“How’s it going?” Winter asked. “I haven’t seen anyone from VC in a while.”
Bree looked at her, tucking her hands into her armpits. She wore a light jacket, more suitable for spring. “Going okay, I suppose. How’s life treating you in the BAU?”
Working with Aiden, who insisted on shadowing her? Sitting at her desk under the curious eye of several other people every day? Excruciating.
“It’s been interesting seeing how the other side lives.”
“Is it true that they have a better vending machine?”
Winter laughed, despite herself. “I don’t know. I’ve been too busy working to find out. I heard there was another murder.”
Bree nodded, her smile falling away. “Yeah. It’s not like anything else I’ve ever seen in my career, that’s for sure.”
“I’m sure. Taking a peek into The Preacher’s mind is no picnic, even though I haven’t seen any of his current work firsthand. I wish I could, just to see if I’d have different insights.” She wasn’t going to point out that Bree hadn’t known any of the victims she’d seen so far.
Bree slowed. “I hope you don’t hold it against Noah that you weren’t assigned, and he was.”
Winter tried to shake off the knee-jerk anger. “No. He’s got a job to do. He can’t control Max’s decisions on placement.”
“Do you really get to look inside his head?” Bree asked curiously. “The Preacher, I mean. Not Max. No offense, but I thought you were barred from the case, top-down.”
Bree was nibbling at the hook and Winter had barely put on the bait.
She stopped completely, turning her back to the cold. “I’m unbarred, actually,” she admitted. “Unofficially. I’ve known SSA Parrish for a long time. He’s doing me a favor. I’m only working on The Preacher right now.”
“I guess maybe they just wanted you out of the field,” Bree mused. “Makes sense. They still get your expertise, but you’re not on the front, so to speak.”
“No, Ramirez doesn’t know. Honestly, Parrish bribed me with this so I’
d take the transfer. Working with Noah, you might be able to see how that wouldn’t be cool with him. You know how he is.”
“Yeah.” Bree grinned, and Winter felt a twinge of something too much like jealousy to examine closely. “I know how Noah is. Hey, we’ve gotten the reports from the BAU, but…”
“But you want to know if I have any insights that haven’t been shared on the reports?”
“Yeah.” Bree ducked her head sheepishly, her wild, spiraling dark curls bouncing in the wind. “It sounds like corporate espionage when you put it like that, but Noah trusts your gut on The Preacher.”
“Hey, I’m focusing on behavioral analysis investigation techniques now, but my limited experience is with the traditional footwork approach. I’m still getting used to that, and I want to make sure we’re in sync. We should be working together to catch him. We’re on the same team, right? Why shouldn’t we be working together?”
Winter tucked her bike in the rack outside, not bothering to padlock it. If someone stole it from the front of the FBI building, they deserved it. They started walking again, an agent in a hurry cutting in front of them on his way through the doors.
“You want to meet for a beer later?” Winter asked, a little uncomfortable with Bree’s thoughtful silence. She didn’t want Bree examining the request too closely. “Completely informally and not for information sharing reasons?”
Bree seemed to come to some internal conclusion and nodded.
“Yeah. That sounds good. I’ll text you when I get things wrapped up for the night, and we can drive together. I hope you don’t mind if we take my transportation instead of yours.” She chuckled, taking off her knit hat and running a smoothing hand over her hair.
“Sure,” Winter agreed. “Just do me a favor. Keep this on the down-low? I don’t want Parrish getting in trouble with ADD Ramirez. He’s circumventing a direct order.”
“No problem.” Bree hit the button on the elevator. “Parrish is smooth, and handsome, and debonair…but he also has that low-key crazy thing going for him. I do not want to be on his bad side.”
