Body Count (25 page)

“You're accusing him of lying?”

“He's painting the picture to suit his needs.”

“Are you sure that's what this is about?”

“I didn't care that the police questioned me. I had nothing to hide.”

“Really?”

“Sophie, what are you saying?”

“You're left-handed, Josh.”

“You can't be serious. You think…” He pauses and his fists clench. “You think
I
did this?” He backs away from me and shakes his head. “You think I killed Sam? How could you think that, even for a moment?”

I look at his hurt face and it's a good question… How could I think it? But then I answer the question myself… Because all the evidence points to it.

But I don't say that. “I don't know, Josh. I don't know what to think.”

Couples walks back into the room, a cup of coffee and a sandwich in her hand. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?” She's embarrassed.

“No. I was just leaving.” Josh grabs his things. “Make sure you're not by yourself tonight, Sophie,” he says, then leans in closer to me so Sandra won't hear him. “Even if you have to be with
him.
” He storms out of the room.

It was either one hell of a good performance or I've just thrown away any chance of ever having a relationship with Josh.

I
look out my window at the car parked on my street—half the new shift of agents assigned to me. I wave and he holds his hand up in a small salute. The other agent is loitering somewhere in the corridor outside my apartment.

I stare out the window and replay the conversation with O'Donnell. I went to him as soon as Josh left the field office. I had to.

“Have you got a minute?”

“Sure, Anderson. Come in.”

“Some information has come to me. Information I need to tell you.”

“Yes?” He's hesitant. He knows it's something big from my tone of voice.

“It's about Agent Marco.”

“Yes?”

“Are you investigating him for this?”

“I'm investigating all task force members, like I told you.” He keeps his cards close to his chest.

“I discovered something this afternoon. Some pertinent information.” I stall, hardly able to believe I'm about to enter Josh as an official suspect.

“Well, go on, Anderson.”

I take a deep breath. “Josh Marco was questioned about Sally-Anne Raymond.”

O'Donnell raises his eyebrows. “Questioned? I don't remember seeing his name in any of the files.”

“Marco's name was deleted from the list as a personal favor to his father.”

“Governor Marco.” O'Donnell doesn't seem surprised.

“Yes.”

He sits down. “Marco's the only one in the task force I haven't been able to eliminate.” He takes off his glasses. “I just don't see it.”

“I know what you mean. But he fits the profile, he was in all the states and he's a left-hander.”

“I noticed that. The evidence is overwhelming.”

“What are you going to do?”

A moment of silence. “One way or another, Marco's got to come off this case.”

I nod.

A few seconds later O'Donnell stands up. “Thanks, Anderson. I'll take care of this.” And I was dismissed.

I wonder what Josh's response was. First
I
accuse him, and then the Bureau?

A faint whiff of something burning brings my focus back to the kitchen. I stir the pasta sauce on the stove, taste it and add some more cracked pepper. This will be
the first decent meal I've had since the diner in Arizona. If Darren wasn't here, I would have gone without again.

My security phone buzzes. I pick it up but don't bother talking. I know it's Darren, he called me fifteen minutes ago on his way back to my apartment to see if I preferred red or white wine. I buzz him in and unlock my apartment door.

“I got Merlot. Hope that's okay,” Darren says as he walks in.

“Sounds good.” I love Merlot. Sam loved Merlot.

“Did you check the dates for Josh?”

“I didn't have to. He's on one of our goddamn lists. I confronted him earlier this evening and he's either a good actor, or innocent,” I say. “I told O'Donnell too.”

“What did he say?”

“He was already investigating Josh, anyway. After I told him about Sally-Anne, he decided to pull Josh off the case.”

“So he's definitely off?”

“I presume so. O'Donnell was going to deal with it tonight.” I put my head down, ashamed. Even though part of me does suspect Josh, I feel as though I've betrayed him, betrayed my lover and betrayed a work colleague. I also hate to think of the repercussions if I'm wrong. It's bad enough that O'Donnell has been investigating everyone.

Darren puts the bottle down and stands real close. He strokes my hair. I start to cry and he pulls me closer to him. I pull away—if anyone holds me now I'll never stop crying. I need to keep myself together. The tears are replaced by anger. I want to kill the pervert. For Sam.

I stand over the stove and stir the pasta again. “I could do with a drink.”

“Good idea.” Darren opens the wine.

Five minutes later we're sitting down.

“Do you really think it's Josh?” I say.

“I don't know.” Darren pauses. “Sophie, let's not talk about the case. For the next twenty or thirty minutes, let's just enjoy the food, wine and company.”

I hesitate. Will I be able to not think about it?

“It'll do you good. You need some time off,” Darren says. “Deal?”

“Okay.” I'll try at least. Maybe I do need some time off. Sam's no longer waiting for me to save her.

“So you're from Melbourne, right?”

I finish a small mouthful of pasta. The food feels strange in my mouth and I'm already full and nauseous after only a few bites.

“Yeah. I grew up in Shepparton, rural Victoria, then we moved into the city when I was ten.” We'd moved soon after John's body was found. The old house and Shepparton held too many memories, too many reminders. “What about you? Born and bred in Tucson?” I ask, trying to force myself to have a normal conversation and not think about the case, Josh or my brother.

“Yep. My folks were both from Phoenix but moved to Tucson just before I was born.”

“Why'd they move?”

“Dad's company wanted him to open up the Tucson office.”

I nod. “They still live in Tucson?”

“Yeah, I see them most weeks.”

I force a smile, thinking of my parents and home.

“You miss Australia.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Friends? Family?” He pauses. “Someone special?”

“Yeah, I miss my friends and my mom and dad.”

He looks at me. I have avoided the last part of his question, but he seems determined.

“There was someone, but we broke up. You?”

“Nah. You know what it's like, married to the job as they say.”

“Yeah.” I push the spaghetti from side to side.

“You're not eating any more?”

“I don't feel like it,” I say.

“Hey, remember our deal.”

I force a smile. “Nothing about the case until we've finished our meal.”

Darren nods and takes a sip of wine.

“It just seems wrong…sitting here, eating and drinking while he's out there.”

He gives up too. “You're right. You're right.” He pushes his food away. “I'm not hungry either.” He stands up and clears the plates.

“I'm sorry, Darren.”

“No, don't be. Like I said, you're right. Who knows, maybe we'll find something.”

He comes back and we empty the files onto my dining-room table, grouping them in piles by state. I also take out a map of D.C. and lay it out on one end of the table. I mark the abduction and dump sites and stick passport-size photos of Jean, Teresa and Susan around the edge of the map. I can't bring myself to put Sam's photo on there too. Not yet.

“Any pattern?” Darren peers over my shoulder.

“Not that I can see.”

He moves closer and studies the map, drawing lines between all four abduction sites and then between all four dump sites. “If there is a pattern we might need more victims before we can see it.”

He's right. You never hope for another victim, but sometimes it's the only thing that gets the perp.

Darren backs away from the table. “Have you tried inducing a premonition?”

“No. And I haven't had any since Sam was found.” I hadn't bothered even trying since Sam was found. What was the point?

“Why don't you give it a shot.”

“Okay.” I sit in the armchair.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Remember, it's like meditation.”

I close my eyes and slow down my breathing. I concentrate on each inhalation and exhalation, blocking out everything else. But my mind keeps wandering to Josh. Could he really be the killer? I'm about to give up when suddenly I see a woman running through the woods. She's terrified, looking behind her as she runs. I try to focus on her face and make out her features.

The vision vanishes. I open my eyes and gasp for air.

Darren kneels down in front of me. “What did you see?”

“A woman. She was being chased in the woods.”

“The killer's next victim?”

I wrinkle my forehead in response to the onset of a headache. “Perhaps.” But the message on the mirror indicated I was next.

“Teresa was found in the woods, wasn't she?”

“Cedarville Forest. It wasn't Teresa though.”

“Did you see anything else? What did she look like?”

“All I could see was the woman.” I shudder, remembering the fear on her face. “She had short blond hair, with a slight wave in it. She looked petite, but it could have just been the size of the trees around her.”

“Go on.”

I shrug. “That's it.” I rub my forehead with my index finger and thumb.

“You're tired. It makes a difference.”

“Really?”

“My aunt was a pro, but if she was tired or sick her visions were always unreliable and sometimes nonexistent.” He stands up. “Come on, let's stick to the standard detective work.”

I follow him over to the table and take him through the D.C. murders again, hoping he'll see something that we haven't been able to—fresh eyes. But we draw a blank. We go back to Michigan, the perp's busiest years in terms of murders. Six murders in Michigan, five college girls and the shoe-store employee. We push the other files aside and spread the Michigan photos out on my table. We use vertical lines to separate each murder but have to overlap the photos to fit everything.

I finger the first column of photos. “First-year college student.” Her body was found in a dumpster on campus. She'd been cut, like the rest, but also took a beating around the head and face. I trace my finger along the bruises. “She must have said something that got him angry. Too angry to use the knife on her.” It was out of character for our guy.

“But what?” Darren says.

“Some sort of derogatory comment would be my guess. Probably of a sexual nature. Or maybe she recognized him and she got a beating for her smarts.”

Darren flips through the coroner's report. “She died of this cut here.” He points to a vertical cut on her throat. “And from the blood in the Dumpster, she was still alive when she was dumped.”

“Yeah, I saw that. Weird. He usually likes to finish it with his victims. I think he was ashamed that he beat her and wanted to get her out of his sight as soon as possible.”

“But he doesn't mind slicing and dicing.”

“He sees the knife as controlled, refined. But beating with his bare hands when he was now a college man, educated…it was beneath him. It would be enough to throw him.”

Darren shakes his head. “Nut job.”

I look at the line of photos. “They found a carpet fiber on her body but could never match it. It's about the only time he left evidence too.”

I move my gaze to the next column. Michigan victim two. Another freshman.

“She's pretty,” Darren says.

“Yeah. She was. Also found on campus. He liked being close by when the discoveries were made. It enhanced the thrill.”

“So do you think he lived on campus?”

“On campus, or nearby.” I grab the coroner's report and read through it again.

Darren skips forward to Michigan victim number three and reads the coroner's report.

I flip over the last page of the report for victim number two, and then put it down.

“Anything?” Darren asks.

“Not really. Same old story.”

“Me too.”

I stand up and lean on the back of my chair. “The guy's a ghost.” I put my head down.

Darren stands up and hovers behind me. His hands touch the back of my shoulders and he starts massaging my shoulders and neck. It feels good. The combination of stress and hunching over desks and tables is taking its toll.

“Good?”

“Yep.”

“You're very tense.”

“I wonder why.”

He laughs. And for a second even I laugh. His thumbs move rhythmically on either side of my vertebrae. He's a good masseur. I lean back into him slightly. His lips brush my neck. I could easily succumb to this. Maybe it would take my mind off things, but it doesn't feel right. Not with everything that's happened with Sam, and not when my feelings for Josh are so confused.

I step forward. “Victim number four. Michigan.”

Darren's hands release their grip. He hovers behind me and I sense his indecision. He wants to keep touching me, but after a few seconds he sits back down at the table.

“Victim number four,” he says somewhat reluctantly.

 

We finally give up at about 4:00 a.m. We wearily set up the sofa bed and then Darren lies on top of the sheets and stretches out—it's way too small for him.

“Sorry,” I say.

“It'll be fine.”

We say our good-nights and I wander down to my bedroom. I take Jones's lock-picking information with me in case I can't sleep. I walk past the linen press and pause… Shall I check the apartment? Darren's here. The agents are out front. The perp can't be here. I keep walking and give my teeth a quick brush. I avoid looking at my face, knowing it's the worse for wear.

Lying in bed, I lift the pages up high, in front of my face, but my eyes are too weary to stay open. I put the information on my bedside table and turn on my side. I need sleep.

Two hours later I wake up, bolt upright. I rack my brain, hoping I've had a meaningful dream. But I can't remember anything. I get up, move into the living room and shake Darren awake. Then I jump straight in the shower. Today will be the day. Today we'll nail the bastard. I stay positive.

Once out of the shower I dress quickly and throw a groggy Darren a towel. “Shower's yours.” He catches the towel, smiles and walks into the bathroom. He looks pretty good in his boxers and T-shirt, his ruffled hair falling into his blue eyes.

“What do you normally eat for breakfast?” I call.

“Anything. Cereal, toast, whatever.”

I hear the shower start.