“I sure hope you’re right.” Cynthia’s face softened, but it didn’t last long. Her brow took on sharp concentration, and she jutted her chin toward her team. “We’re doing what we can to protect the evidence, but I’m sure some of it’s been washed away or trampled on.” She pointed toward a lounge chair about six feet away. Next to it were two piles of clothing. “It seems likely they belong to the victims, but this will still need to be verified. No wallet in the pockets, and I couldn’t find either one of their phones.”
“I put in a request to trace Lorene Malone’s phone and am waiting for the result,” Terry added. “Should have it soon, I’d imagine.”
“You probably saw the wine on your way back here?” Cynthia asked.
Madison nodded, trying to keep up with Cynthia’s updates, which seemed to be all over the place.
“We’ll be bagging and tagging it, of course, and now that the paperwork’s out of the way, we can really dig in,” Cynthia said. “At quick inspection, there aren’t any signs of forced entry.”
“So, the killer could have been someone either Mrs. Malone or our John Doe knew and let in,” Madison suggested. “We’re sure that robbery didn’t factor in at all?”
“Nothing indicates that so far,” Cynthia started. “I mean his wallet’s missing and both cell phones, but as you can see, he’s wearing a watch. It’s not a Rolex, but it’s still not cheap, and she’s wearing one, too, as well as her wedding rings.”
“They got undressed but didn’t take their watches off?” Madison mused aloud and let her gaze go to the bodies. “They weren’t planning to take a dip.”
“I wouldn’t say so,” Cynthia agreed.
“But they are naked. Was this an affair gone wrong?” Madison turned to look at the clothes. They were on the floor as if the victims had just stepped out of them. Was there some sort of clue in that? Surely in the throes of passion, the clothes would have been discarded haphazardly, strewn about everywhere, possibly more in a trail than in a couple of piles. An affair would present strong motive for Lorene’s husband or Doe’s wife—assuming he was married—if they’d found out about their mate’s infidelity. The lack of a wedding band on Doe’s hand wasn’t proof he was single; a lot of married men didn’t wear them.
One flaw in the theory that one of the spouses killed them was the missing wallet and phones. Still, they needed to talk to Mr. Malone and get a feel for their marriage. By extension, they’d ask anyone close to the family about the Malones’ relationship. It just as well might have been John Doe who’d attracted the killer, but without an identity, they’d start by focusing on Lorene’s life.
“We need to talk to the daughter and find out what she can tell us about her parents’ marriage,” Madison said. “Do you know where she is, Cyn? I didn’t see her as we came back here.”
Cynthia slid a glance to Terry.
“What is it?” Madison asked, turning to her partner. She didn’t care for the way Cynthia and Terry were looking at each other, as if the two of them shared a secret.
Eventually, Cynthia said, “Sergeant Winston took her home.”
“He what?” Madison spat.
Cynthia held up her hands. “I’m just the messenger.”
A responding officer should have taken Kimberly’s statement, and she should still be here for Madison and Terry to question. At the very least, she should have been taken to the station and set up in a soft interview room, nestled on a sofa.
“Tell me you at least swabbed her hands for GSR,” Madison said.
“I did,” Cynthia replied, “but it will take a bit before we’ll be able to process it and get the results.”
Madison had a feeling Cynthia would tell her that, yet the sergeant still let Kimberly go home. Not that testing negative for gunshot residue should have been enough to excuse her, either. GSR findings were fickle and didn’t rule out guilt.
“What about bullet casings? Did you find any?” Terry asked.
Leave it to Terry to carry on like nothing’s wrong.
“None.” Cynthia shook her head. “No sign of the murder weapon, either.”
She shook aside her fury at the sergeant and redirected her thoughts to the case. If Lorene had been cheating, Madison could somewhat understand where Mr. Malone was coming from if he’d been the one to kill his wife and her lover. After all, she was familiar with the pain of being cheated on, all because of Toby Sovereign. He had been her fiancé at the time she’d found him in bed with another woman. That image and resulting heartbreak took her over a decade to purge. Toby wasn’t her favorite person on the planet, but they’d at least made peace. It still didn’t mean she was looking forward to walking down the aisle with him at Cynthia’s wedding. He was Lou’s best man. Lucky her.
But if Malone was behind the murders, it’s likely he would have acted in the heat of the moment, so he would have lacked the necessary wherewithal to clean up after himself. Then again, a person of means didn’t need to dirty their own hands. He could have hired someone for the murders, the removal of the wallet and phones a ploy to mislead the investigation.
“Does the husband own any guns?” Madison asked.
“One of the first things I looked up. He has several registered to him,” Terry replied.
Madison’s gaze went to the bodies, to the wound on their foreheads, and it was hard to tell exactly what caliber was used. Once Cole Richards, the medical examiner, arrived, he’d have that answer.
Mark set down a marker by a drop of blood to the side of Mrs. Malone and took a photo. He then proceeded to pull out a swab, mark the case number and assign an evidence number, put it beside his find, and take another photo. Next, he swabbed the blood and sealed the sample.
“Where are they?” It was Sergeant Winston’s voice, and with each word, he sounded as if he was getting closer. If that wasn’t enough to give it away, she felt a cold front moving in.
She and her boss rarely saw eye to eye, but sometimes, when the moons aligned, they could tolerate each other. The greatest fissure between them was the fact Winston was old-school, and to him, law enforcement would always be—and should have always remained—a boys’ club.
The atrium’s door swung open, and Winston entered. He pointed immediately to the bodies but put his eyes on her. “We need this solved yesterday, Knight.”
“I agree.”
“Don’t be smart with me.”
“I’m not, I swear.” Cross my heart and hope to die.
“You do know who she is, don’t you?” Winston was panting, practically grunting.
“I do.” To Madison, who Lorene was didn’t matter as much as finding her—and John Doe—justice.
“Then give me some answers.” Winston puffed out his chest. His slightly rotund belly expanded, and he placed his hands on his hips.
She took a deep breath. It was like the man had forgotten his days in the field and that answers didn’t come immediately. They took time. Summing up her first impressions for the man was always a case of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” He wanted something, but then he’d hold it against her if her initial assumption turned out to be wrong. Sometimes, it was best to swerve and avoid. “I’m just arriving, but once I have more to go on, I’ll let you know.”
“They were shot,” Terry put out there, drawing Winston’s gaze. “It’s not looking like a murder-suicide. No gun and no casings.”
“A professional hit?” Winston speculated.
The location of the gunshot wounds would support that. Meat of the forehead, between the eyes, instant death. “It’s possible.” Madison’s stomach tossed with the admission. Verbalizing the prospect touched far too close to her near-death encounters with the Russian Mafia.
“But?” Winston drilled his gaze in on her. “I’m sensing there’s a ‘but.’”
He had a way of teeing things up for a smart remark
, and she had to bite down the urge to counter with one. “It’s too soon to conclude anything.”
“You’ve given me your initial impressions before.”
And they bite me in the ass—every time.
“Even if this was a run-of-the-mill hit, we don’t have motive,” she began. “We don’t even know the true target or whether both of them were.”
“The victims’ phones are missing, as well as Doe’s wallet,” Terry chimed in.
“At least one of you is talking to me.”
Ever the drama queen. “Fine, you want to know my first thoughts?”
Winston stared at her blankly.
Here goes.
“It’s possible they were having an affair. Mr. Malone found and put an end to—”
Winston’s expression hardened. “Must I remind you that the Malones are highly respected in the community.”
As if that made an ounce of difference where infidelities were concerned. Affairs found themselves within the walls of the White House.
Winston went on. “The Malones are also one of the largest contributors to the Stiles PD, and we owe it to Steven to find his wife’s killer immediately.”
One of the largest contributors to the Stiles PD? Steven? Now it was also abundantly clear why the sergeant was so concerned about the murders being solved quickly: it was to impress a benefactor. She hated that Winston had cast John Doe aside as if his life had meant nothing.
Winston rambled on. “If you’re going to point a finger at Steven Malone, you’d better have something solid to back it up.”
She hitched her shoulders. The impulse to be sassy was too overwhelming to ignore. “Well, no one seems to know where he is at the moment. That’s a little interesting, in my opinion.”
Winston scowled. “Not solid.”
She looked away to hide her amusement. She’d gotten under his skin.
“Before you got here,” Terry started, “we were discussing Kimberly Olson-Malone.”
Madison faced Winston again. “We’ll need to ask her about her parents’ marriage.”
“I’m warning you, Knight. Handle the situation with discretion.”
“I’ll do my job.” That was all she could promise. Justice rarely came without a struggle, without ruffling feathers and making enemies.
“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to comfort me, but I guess it’s where I’m at. Just keep me posted every step of the way.”
“Sure,” she said.
“I want to hear you tell me that you’ll communicate with this case.”
“I’ll communicate with this case,” she parroted in the tone of a rebellious teenager who says whatever necessary to appease a parent.
“Good.” Winston left the atrium.
She leaned in toward Terry. “That man bugs the hell out of me.”
“I’d say the feeling’s mutual.”
She shrugged that off as a victory. At least she wasn’t the only one suffering in their imposed relationship. Regardless of their feelings toward each other, she wasn’t going to let the sergeant tie her hands with political bullshit. She’d do whatever it took to find the killer and get justice for two people—even if it meant getting on Winston’s bad side. She’d been there, done that, and she’d be there again. She might even live there. Conflict with the male brass was the circle of life.
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Overview of Past Deeds
The sun was just coming up, and the sniper’s hands were sweaty as she looked through the rifle’s scope to the streets eight stories below and point eight miles away. In mere minutes, the target would be dead.
A prosecuting attorney is murdered in a sniping that takes place in Arlington, Virginia, less than fifteen minutes from Washington. FBI Agent Brandon Fisher and his team with the Behavioral Analysis Unit are called in to investigate the threat level and to determine if the lawyer was targeted. The FBI hadn’t anticipated previous victims stretching from coast to coast.
The team splits up across the country, but more than jet lag is getting to Brandon. As their profile on the shooter takes shape, their one theory on motive strikes too close to home and has him battling with regret over a past decision. He comes to discover some choices not only haunt us but can have long- and far-reaching repercussions we couldn’t even begin to imagine. Will Brandon be able to set aside his personal issues for long enough to stop a serial killing spree before there’s another victim?
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About the Author
CAROLYN ARNOLD is an international bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has four continuing fiction series—Detective Madison Knight, Brandon Fisher FBI, McKinley Mysteries, and Matthew Connor Adventures—and has written nearly thirty books. Her genre diversity offers her readers everything from cozy to hard-boiled mysteries, and thrillers to action adventures.
Both her female detective and FBI profiler series have been praised by those in law enforcement as being accurate and entertaining, leading her to adopt the trademark: POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT™.
Carolyn was born in a small town and enjoys spending time outdoors, but she also loves the lights of a big city. Grounded by her roots and lifted by her dreams, her overactive imagination insists that she tell her stories. Her intention is to touch the hearts of millions with her books, to entertain, inspire, and empower.
She currently lives in London, Ontario with her husband and beagles and is a member of Crime Writers of Canada and Sisters in Crime.
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Past Deeds Page 33
