Beautiful Maids All in a Row (7 page)

After an uneventful plane ride, Luke and I landed at Reagan National and made our way to FBI headquarters in the heart of D.C. After I was cleared at reception and got my visitor's badge, we went up to the fourth floor, where a task force was set up after the third murder, headed by the supervisory special agent. Reginald Lamb, God help me. As senior special agent, Luke was the lead investigator on this major case, a large stepping-stone on the path to becoming director, which was why I was still surprised he asked for my help. Wild cards didn't always play out. I hoped for his sake I was an ace in the hole instead of a joker. Only time would tell.

Police from all four of the counties the women were found in were there, along with representatives from the state police in the three states. The FBI usually allowed them to come and pitch in just in case the county screamed about jurisdiction. That way they could go home and claim they had a hand in capturing the killer, maybe even become a hometown hero. Mostly all they did was answer the tip line. The FBI didn't usually get involved unless asked by the county or state police, but sometimes they just took over. The moment the Woodsman crossed out of New York it became the FBI's case, not that this stopped the infighting. I hoped all the ruffled feathers had been smoothed as I joined the team.

This was a relatively small task force compared to the ones assembled for the Unabomber or even the D.C. Sniper. Only about ten agents sat in the windowless room surrounded by square cubicles tracking this madman, plus the seven interlopers at the phone bank. A murder board with pictures of the women both alive and dead sat in the back of the room, watching over the dedicated group. Beautiful maids all in a row.

Luke and I walked through the room relatively unnoticed. He nodded to a few agents, those not shouting to the forensic techs over the phone, and they nodded back. I looked across the room and noticed one of the rookies gawking at me. He put down the Starbucks he was delivering and started toward me. “Special Agent Ballard,” he called from across the room. The man, or should I say boy, quickly walked over. His eyes were wide, as if he had just seen the President. Had I ever been that young and eager? I doubted it. The boy agent smiled. “Special Agent Ballard, this…”

“It isn't Special Agent Ballard anymore,” I corrected.

“Right. Of course.”

“Honest mistake.”

“I just wanted to say that I took your seminar on profiling when I was at the Academy. The last one you gave.”

“Really?” I was just being polite now, hoping Luke would save me from this brownnoser, but he appeared to be going through some message slips.

“It was so insightful.”

“Do you hope to join Behavioral Analysis?”

“If I can. That's why I volunteered to work the phones, so I can say I worked on the Woodsman.”

“The FBI respects a hustler. That's how you do it. I hope it works out for you.” I tugged at Luke's sleeve, and he looked up at me. “Isn't SSA Lamb waiting for us?”

“Yes, he is,” Luke said.

I turned back to the kid. “Nice speaking with you. Good luck.” I took a step toward the office with Luke beside me.

“Eager beaver that one,” Luke said as we walked.

When we reached the door, Luke knocked on it. “Come in,” a deep, booming voice shouted through the door.

Supervisory Special Agent Reginald Lamb sat behind his cluttered desk, sipping Mylanta from the bottle for his ever-multiplying ulcers. You always knew you were important in D.C. when you had holes in your stomach. The pain must have been intolerable, because his ebony skin was covered with a thin sweat, especially along his brow. His bloodshot eyes were on the verge of expelling tears. Ulcers were a bitch. I looked at the small spare tire encircling his waist. He had put on weight since the last time I saw him. Too much deskwork, not enough field. He glanced up at me and the corners of his eyes creased, revealing pronounced crow's-feet. The man flinched at the sight of me. We had never gotten along since I showed him up on an investigation six years before, when he was my supervisor at Violent Crimes out of Falls Church. I never did play well with others.

“Nice to see you, Agent Lamb,” I said as I stepped in.

“Sit down,” he commanded as he put the Mylanta on his desk.

“Ulcers still acting up?” I asked.

His eyes narrowed with contempt. “So, Hudson, tell me why
this,
” I assumed he meant me, “is a good idea again?”

Luke cleared his throat. “As I said over the phone this morning, she knows the case, knew one of the victims, and has presented avenues we never explored before.”

“Such as?”

“The fact that the UNSUB is most likely a doctor or someone in the medical field, and also that he is unconsciously killing his mother.”

“You believe these are avenues to investigate further?”

“Yes, I do,” Luke said. “I wouldn't have brought her here if I didn't think we could use her expertise, which, as you know, is extensive with this type of crime.”

“All right, more important question: is she up for it?”

I scoffed. “Excuse me,” I interrupted, “I
am
in the room.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke answered, ignoring me. “I have no doubt of Dr. Ballard's professionalism.”

Reggie leaned back in his chair. “I trust your judgment, Hudson. That's why I brought you on.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Am I allowed to acknowledge my own presence yet?” I asked.

Reggie swiveled in his chair to face me. “Did you sign the nondisclosure agreement? The other contracts?”

“On the plane. Don't worry, I know the drill,” I said. “I also know I'm getting paid next to nothing for my hard work and expertise, so I'd appreciate it if you dropped the condescending tone. You need my help a lot more than I need yours.”

“Still think you're God's gift to law enforcement, I see.”

“No, just better than
some.
” I glared at him for a moment, and he glared back.

Luke took this as his cue. “Sir, if we're done here…” He rose from the chair, as did I.

I followed Luke back to his cubicle, which had files five deep and a dozen boxes of files underneath and around his desk. An agent with a paisley tie walked over carrying two more boxes, setting them on top of the others as Luke sifted through more messages. The agent looked me up and down. Apparently, I'd been approved, because he smiled broadly at me. I did not smile back. “More of the files you requested,” the agent said, keeping his eyes on me.

Luke set down the messages before eyeing the boxes. “Is that all of them?”

“No, we should get the rest by five.”

“Excellent. Why don't you move these into the conference room with the others. I want at least three more agents sifting through them.”

“Yes, sir.” The agent walked away to set things up.

I looked down at the mountain of boxes. “What are these?”

“Files. All the murders, attempted murders, attempted rapes, and apparent suicides caused by strangulation, manual or otherwise, from New York. We're expecting ten more boxes.”

“Goody gumdrops.” I paused to glance down at the boxes. “We need more agents. Three poring through these won't be enough.”

“We've requested more, but they can't be spared. We have close to fifteen people working on this already.”

“Not enough.”

“There are other things going on in this country besides the Woodsman, in case you forgot.”

“But the Woodsman is getting most of the press attention,” I pointed out.

“We'll just have to make do with what we have.”

“Well, you've got one more now. Put me to work. What do you need me to do? I was thinking we could start with the geographical profile. Do you think…” I stopped talking. Luke hadn't heard a word I'd said. His eyes were focused behind me, on something he wasn't happy to see judging from his downturned mouth. I turned to see what had him spooked.

A tall, blond woman stared at Luke and me with shock and disbelief, almost as if she'd just seen us making out on her desk. The pain in her eyes jarred me. She was crushed, and I had no idea why. She turned away before scurrying into the hallway. Lord, even FBI agents felt the need to flee from me.

“Stay here,” Luke ordered. He hurried out of the room, presumably after the woman. The few agents around me smiled to themselves before looking over at me to gauge my reaction. Each one felt the full force of my glare. They quickly averted their eyes and went back to work. “Oh, fuck,” I muttered under my breath. There was only one explanation for their reactions.

Everyone knew.

I couldn't say I was surprised. A hot piece of gossip like that must have made the rounds like wildfire. Two hotshot, high-profile agents hooking up, one married no less, was the stuff gossips dreamed of. It wouldn't have surprised me if the whole of Washington knew.

It happened once,
just once,
and I immediately regretted it. I was going through a rough patch in my marriage. A
real
rough patch. It was no excuse, but it was the truth. For years I'd barely seen my husband. Toward the end we spent three hours a week together, and then it was just being in the same room zoning out in front of the TV. When I wasn't flying all over the country chasing the bad guys, I was in the bowels of Quantico or sleeping. Hayden worked a lot too, almost as much as I did. Our paths rarely crossed, and of course it put a strain on the marriage. I was just too damn busy to realize it. He reached the conclusion first. When his old family home in Grafton went up for sale, he put an offer on it. Without asking me. He gave me an ultimatum: transfer to the Charlotte field office and move with him or he'd file for divorce. I said no, he filed, and I received the papers right before I left on my last case.

It was a bad one: little girls raped, chopped into little pieces, and left by the side of the interstate in Rosetta, Texas. It was the worst of my career, hands-down. I had to talk to the families, these moms and dads who'd just had their babies, girls of five and six, torn away from them in the most heinous way. I fell asleep haunted by those lifeless eyes begging me to get justice for their little girls.

I was vulnerable. Luke was too. Even the strong have their breaking point. Ours was finding Arlene Percy's mangled body after twenty-six hours of searching. It all came to a head: the futility of the job, failing my husband, the unfairness of life, everything. I broke down and Luke picked up the pieces. When I woke in his arms, I grew ill, physically ill. No matter our problems, Hayden didn't deserve that. I gathered my clothes and slipped out without a word. We caught the psycho and I went home and put in for a transfer to Charlotte, North Carolina. A month later I was attacked, and my husband was dead. Because of me.

“We don't have time for this now,” I muttered to myself. I spun around and walked into the hallway, where I found them arguing near the elevators. I couldn't hear what they said, but the woman was on the verge of tears. She must have been from White-Collar Crimes. Nobody who cried that easily could possibly have been from Violent Crimes.

Luke threw his hands up in exasperation and turned from the blonde. A sense of déjà vu came over me. I'd witnessed a similar scene many times before, always starring Luke and a beautiful woman. The man left a swath of broken hearts all along the Beltway. Blondie was the newest recruit. He was angry, and his face had turned the color of red apples. That was out of the ordinary. Normally he maintained his calm in this pantomime, but not that day. He noticed me and squared his shoulders. The blonde looked at me in horror before fleeing down the crossing corridor out of sight. Luke watched her go but didn't follow. Instead, he walked toward me. He opened his mouth to say something, but I held my hand up. “You don't have to say anything. It isn't my business.”

“She just—”

“I don't care,” I said again, “it isn't my business. Your personal life is yours—it has nothing to do with me.”

Relief washed over his face. “Fine.”

“Good. Now, if you're done with your little soap opera, can we please get to work? Every second we lose is a second he gains.”

He nodded. “What do you need? Where do you want to start?”

“I want to talk to Justine Romy's family. See her house. Maybe I can gauge a little more as to why she was chosen.”

“Fine, let's go.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the car the entire drive to Arlington. I'd never needed a cigarette more in my life. The terrible traffic jam we were in wasn't helping. Out of everything I hated about Washington, the traffic topped the list. It was two in the afternoon and we hadn't moved an inch in three minutes. Luke kept drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, driving me nuts. Probably on purpose.

“It's going to take an hour to get twenty miles,” I said with a sigh.

“We'll get there.”

Then we didn't move again or say another word for another three minutes. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I opened the window, pushed in the cigarette lighter, and rummaged around my bag for the pack.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I need a cigarette.” I pulled it out, but Luke grabbed the pack, throwing it out of the window. “Asshole!”

“Don't smoke around me.”

“Well, excuse the hell out of me.” I raised my window. “You didn't have to toss out the whole pack. Now we have to stop at a gas station so
you
can buy me another pack.”

“Yeah. Like that's going to happen.” We moved a little more, then stopped again.
Fucking traffic.

“Why are you so pissed at me?” I asked. “
I'm
the one who should be pissed.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, I don't know. How about the fact that you apparently told the whole fucking world about our one-night stand?”