by Robin Mahle
“Janine’s parents are dead and I don’t even know if she has siblings. Oh my God. I can’t believe this. I was just with her.”
“I know. I can’t imagine who would want to kill her. I don’t know if it was a road rage thing or what. Phelps wants me to go down there to talk—and identify her body.”
“I want to go with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Grant. Right now, the best thing for you is to steer clear of this until I know more. Let me go down and talk to the detective. I’ll find out what they know and we’ll figure this out.” Phil stood. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for Janine.”
Copeland watched him leave and continued to stare into the corridor. His mind’s eye took him to a better place. The last few moments when he gazed into her eyes, knowing how much she cared for him, maybe even loved him. And while the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, he cared for her deeply. Now she was gone—murdered. It seemed unfathomable. Who could have done this to her? Why?
3
Inside the D.C. Metro Police Department’s second district office, Philip Vega approached the counter. “Excuse me? I’m here to see Detective Phelps.”
The officer eyed him.
“I’m Philip Vega. He’s expecting me.”
The grizzled man behind the desk, an officer who appeared to have been on the job for too long, picked up the phone and made the call. “Yeah, I got a Philip Vega here to see you. Got it, thanks.” He placed the phone back in its cradle. “He’ll be right up. Just hang tight over there.”
Phil turned in the direction the officer had pointed and made his way toward a seat. His pulse was racing as he’d never had a reason to be inside a police station before and certainly not to identify a body.
“Mr. Vega? I’m Detective Phelps. Would you mind coming back with me?” He was already walking away before Phil caught up to him. “We did manage to get hold of the roommate. I had one of my guys go back to the apartment and she was there. She’s coming too, but not until later this afternoon. Apparently, she’s pretty broken up about it, as you’d expect, and needed time to gather her strength.”
“I’m sure. Do you still need me, then?”
“Yes, sir. The sooner we can confirm her identity, the sooner we can start the paperwork to release her to the coroner for the autopsy.”
“Autopsy?”
“It’s important that we find out exactly what happened to Ms. Atherton, Mr. Vega.”
“Of course.”
“You work for Congressman Copeland, is that right?”
“I’m his chief of staff.”
“I see. You must work closely with him?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
Phelps pushed open the door to the room. “She’s just inside here. Please follow me.”
Phil hesitated but found the courage to continue.
As they reached the draped body on the table in a room the size of a jail cell, with no windows and a concrete floor, he stopped and waited for the detective.
“You ready?”
He nodded.
Phelps pulled away the cover from her face. “Is this Janine Atherton?”
He could only look for a moment before he had to turn away. “Jesus. What the hell happened to her?”
“She was shot in the head, Mr. Vega. Point blank. Is this her?”
He nodded. “Yes, it’s Janine.”
Phelps returned the cover. “Thank you. Come with me.”
They left the room and walked back into the hall where Phelps led the way to an office.
“Would you mind making a statement for me, Mr. Vega? If you can’t do it now, I’d understand, but since you’re already here.”
“A statement? Why?”
“I need to know when you last saw Ms. Atherton and what you know about her that might shed some light on my investigation. There are some things here, Mr. Vega, that I can’t convey to you at the moment, but it’s vital I piece together the last days of her life. Do you understand?”
“I—I guess so. Yes, of course.”
“Good. Please take a seat and we’ll get started. Then you can be on your way.”
“What will happen to her?”
“I’ll wait for the roommate, for additional confirmation, then I’ll release her to the Chief Medical Examiner’s Office for the autopsy. With your help, though, I can at least get started on the paperwork. So your visit is not in vain. I’m hoping the roommate will be able to confirm whether Ms. Atherton had any family I can contact as well. If not, then she’ll receive the autopsy results that will confirm cause of death.”
“You said she was shot in the head. Isn’t that how she died?”
“As I said, Mr. Vega. I’m right in the middle of this and there are things I can’t comment on at the moment for fear it might jeopardize the investigation. I’m sure you can understand my position.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
Noah Quinn stared through the window of his office and on to the grounds. Quantico was a beautiful facility with stunning gardens inside the compound’s 385 acres. Home to the FBI’s training facility as well as BAU headquarters, Quantico was also home to many buildings that housed a variety of laboratories, additional training grounds, and even dormitories for the Academy trainees.
He’d begun to make the calls and schedule interviews for the junior position where he would get an opportunity to groom another profiler. It was unfortunate that another was needed, but his workload was overwhelming at times. It was a testament to what he saw as the decline of civil society, a phenomenon that he believed had only occurred in the past few decades, but was deteriorating at an ever more rapid pace. At some point, he wondered if all the hype about violent video games and the depravity that could be found at one’s fingertips on the internet had infiltrated pop culture, creating a cesspool of desensitized individuals whose ideas of right and wrong were so intertwined, the differences became indiscernible to them.
This, of course, was but one reason out of so many that could have contributed to the violence he studied on a daily basis. Quinn was an agent and psychologist. And while the work was fascinating, it was also terrifying, so he searched for help. A profiler who could offer additional insight, although that wasn’t an official title, but more of a job description.
There was one candidate, however, who stood out. Not just for her qualifications, which he had to admit, were impeccable, and not because he was well aware of the relationship she had with his boss, Senior Unit Agent Scarborough. It was because he remembered well their first meeting. And doubted she would.
With his phone at his ear, he waited for the line to pick up.
“Agent Reid.”
“Yes, this is Agent Quinn, BAU 4.”
“Hello, sir. Thank you for the call.”
“I assume, then, you know why I’m calling?”
“Well, I hope so, yes. The trainee position?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to know if you might be available to come in to have a chat with me this week? Say Wednesday, 10am?”
“Absolutely. Yes. I will be there. Thank you so much. I look forward to meeting you.”
Quinn smiled. “Same here, Agent Reid. I’ll see you then. Goodbye.” A shake of his head and a half-cocked smile and he turned back to his desk to finish making the calls. There were still three other candidates he wanted to consider. And knew completely the implications of bringing on his boss’ girlfriend. Quinn had a reputation to protect and doing favors wasn’t in his repertoire. He didn’t know Scarborough well enough yet to know what might happen were he to choose another candidate. As he saw it, it was a risk either way and the only way to approach the sensitive matter was to simply hire the best. And if it happened to be Agent Reid, then so be it, but if not, well, maybe his career would suffer for it, or maybe not.
Detective Phelps offered his hand. “I appreciate you coming down, Mr. Vega. I’m sure this wasn’t easy and I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. What’s going t
o happen now?”
“As far as you’re concerned, I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions, which I imagine I will the deeper I get into this case.”
“Do you believe it was more than a simple case of road rage or something like that?”
Phelps eyed the man. “Hard to say right now. Again, I thank you for your time.”
“There’s one other thing, detective. You understand I work for Congressman Copeland and so did Janine.”
“I’m well aware of that and before you say anything more, I have no intentions of bringing the media into this. There’s no reason to and it’ll only hinder my investigation. So if you’re worried about your boss’ name, and I suspect you are, unless I have a reason to make mention of the congressman in any way, I will speak with him myself first and we’ll just take it from there.”
After escorting him to the lobby and upon Vega’s departure, Phelps considered the bloodied note, the one piece of information he hadn’t relinquished. It was too early to show his hand, but he already knew this was no accident, no road rage incident. Janine Atherton was murdered and the killer was sending a message. Now it was up to him to figure out the intended recipient.
While waiting for the roommate’s arrival, Phelps returned to his desk and began searching ViCAP for any similar cases inside the repository and to enter this case. It had become available to local law enforcement on a much broader basis and more easily accessible in 2008. Accessed through a secure internet link, it was the best way to compare markers. And in this case, the note, for lack of a better description, was a very distinctive marker.
In his doorway appeared a young woman who seemed fragile and shaken. She was accompanied by another officer.
“Detective Phelps? This is Anna Soto, the roommate.”
“Yes, hello. Please come in.” He eyed the officer. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.” Phelps took her by the arm and led her to a chair. “Please, have a seat, Ms. Soto.”
“Thank you.” Her pallor and swollen eyes suggested the news of her friend’s death had already taken its toll.
“I appreciate you coming down, Ms. Soto. Before we go back, can I ask you a few questions about Janine?”
“Yes.”
“I know how hard this is, so please forgive my frankness. I would like to get to the bottom of what happened to your friend.”
“I understand.”
“Okay. Was Janine dating anyone?”
“Not that I was aware of. She worked so much, there was never any time for her to go out.”
“And she worked on the Hill, for Representative Copeland?”
“Yes.”
“From what I understand, she’d been attending a fundraiser of some sort on Saturday night? I already spoke with her supervisor.”
“Yes. She’s always—was always going to things like that. It was part of her job.”
“A media advisor?”
“Something like that.”
“What kind of car do you drive, Ms. Soto?”
Her brow knitted for a moment. “A 2012 Honda Accord. Why?”
“What color is it?”
“White.”
“Thank you. Why don’t we go back now and then I’ll take an official statement? Would that be okay with you?”
She nodded and wiped a tear from her cheek.
The congressman waited in his office for Phil’s return, unable to work, unable to think about anything else. All he wanted to know was what had happened to Janine. And when Phil finally appeared in his doorway, Copeland gleaned more than enough by the man’s downtrodden expression.
“What happened? Was it her? Did you see her?”
He was zombie-like in his approach and finally sat down. “It was her. Jesus. I saw the hole in her head.” He began to tremble. “Who would do that to her?”
“What did the detective say? Do they have any suspects?”
“No. Well, none that he told me about. He was waiting to talk to her roommate, Anna.” Phil paused for a moment and turned his sights toward Copeland. “We’ll have to draft a statement for the press. It won’t take long for this to get out.”
“Christ, I can’t think about the goddam press right now. Janine is dead.”
“I know, but we have to think about the optics here. We have to protect you.”
“Optics? What optics? A member of my staff was killed, presumably in some kind of horrific road rage incident. How could this possibly reflect poorly on me? It’ll reflect poorly if I try to distance myself.”
“Grant, look, I know what was going on between you two. It wasn’t hard to figure out. And if I could figure it out, the media will too.”
“What are you talking about? There was…” Copeland shook his head. “Damn it.”
“We need to just let the detective proceed with his investigation. I doubt Janine told anyone about you. The best way we can handle this is one day at a time. Wait to see what Detective Phelps comes up with.”
“And if my name happens to show up somewhere? What then? Don’t you think he’ll wonder why I didn’t come forward sooner? It’ll make me look guilty as hell and you know it.”
“For God’s sake, Grant, why the hell couldn’t you just keep it in your goddamn pants? You’ve just put your entire political career in jeopardy and we lost a friend and colleague.”
“Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? You think I wanted Janine gone? You think I don’t give a shit about her? You’re wrong. I cared about her more than you could ever know. So excuse the hell out of me for that, you son of a bitch. Get out of here. Just get out. I need to think, and right now, I don’t want to look at you.”
Phil’s face heated in anger before he finally pushed up from the chair. “Janine won’t be the only one getting buried if this gets out.”
The courses required to get to the point of being assigned work with an agent-profiler are extensive and Kate had taken several over the past few months in preparation. She was already at a disadvantage, since most of the other agents in those courses had far more investigative experience than she had. In fact, most had nearly ten years under their belts, while Kate had only finished her two-year probationary period earlier in the year. However, there was the one distinct advantage she had over her counterparts. Not one of them had been kidnapped—twice, by a serial killer, eventually bringing about the killer’s death. The tragic incident as a child shaped who she had become as a young adult, then several years later, the monster came after her again, partly due to the discovery of her past and partly because the monster had always been watching her. Waiting for her to remember—and when she did, Kate’s entire world turned on end.
The experience, however, was the reason why she was an agent to begin with and had been ushered down a speedier path to find herself here, today, ready to continue her training as a profiler and hopefully get the job so many others sought out for the majority of their careers.
“Agent Quinn?” Kate peeked into his doorway. “I’m Agent Reid here for our appointment.”
Quinn took to his feet and approached Kate, offering his hand. “Yes, Agent Reid. Hello. Noah Quinn.”
“Pleasure, sir, and thank you for seeing me.” Kate wondered why he looked at her in an odd fashion and the silence between them had become awkward.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Um, sorry, sir. We’ve met before?”
“Take a seat, Agent Reid.”
Kate flipped through the book of memories in her mind and in not one could she recall ever meeting this man. “Did we attend a class together? You’ll have to forgive me; I don’t recall meeting you in person.”
Quinn took his seat and wore a deliberate smile. “I wouldn’t expect that you’d remember. It was quite a while ago. I’d say at least six, maybe seven months ago. It was at the Crush Bar and you were with another woman. Oh, her name is on the tip of my tongue.” He looked upward as though thinking hard on the matter. “Anyway, I think your friend was
trying to set us up.”
The wheels were turning and at last it came to her. “Oh, that’s right.” She began to chuckle. “Noah Quinn. Okay, wow, that was a long time ago. And as I recall, Alicia—Agent Vasquez—was persistent in her attempt to get us to exchange numbers.” Her cheeks flushed the lightest shade of pink. “Now I’m embarrassed. If I’d have known, sir. I…”
“Don’t be. I only recalled myself after reviewing your file when you submitted your application. It’s hard to forget a face like yours, Agent Reid.” Quinn seemed a little flustered himself. “Anyway, you’re here now, so let’s talk.”
While he attempted to move past the discomfiture, Kate began to recall clearly now their first meeting. It had been the night she spoke with Marc Aguilar about the so-called Pretty Face killer. And after the conversation on that wet and cold November night, she went back inside and Alicia had, in a valiant effort, brought Quinn to their table. The ensuing conversation lasted scarcely five minutes before he seemed to catch on that she wanted nothing to do with him. Even before Nick, she wasn’t interested in a man like Quinn just based on his seemingly arrogant demeanor at the time, a rash judgment she now reconsidered, especially in light of the fact that if all went to plan, he would be her new boss.
“You mentioned you had reviewed my files. So, what would you like to know about me?”
4
The bartender stepped closer, leaned over the bar, and cupped his ear. “What’s that?”
“I said, can I get a vodka martini, dirty.”
“Sure. Give me just a minute. I’m short staffed and the place is packed.”
“I see that. Thanks.” Tasha Brenner scanned the bar in search of her friend, who was late, as usual. She peered at her cell phone. No texts or missed calls. “Great.”
It seemed the missing friend had just arrived when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Looking over, alas, she was mistaken. This was not her friend, but a man. A former acquaintance whom she hadn’t seen in some time. “Todd Kemper? What are you doing here? Wow, it’s great to see you.”
