Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (7 page)

Feeling foolish, Sophia hitched the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. “It’s not imperative, of course. I could conduct the interviews with the identified victims’ families by phone. I just thought the proximity of their hometowns would provide a rare opportunity to see where and how the victims lived. To talk to friends and neighbors…”

“Yes, you said in your email.” This time an actual smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Go ahead. I’ll be anxious to hear what you come up with. How long do you plan to take?”

Sophia did a mental calculation. Both Davenport and Kansas City were within three hours of Des Moines, but the distance from one to the other would be closer to five. “Three days.”

“All right. I’ll contact you if a need arises before you get back.” Someone called his name and Cam turned to see Special Agent Franks gesturing to him.

“I’ll keep you updated,” she promised. And watched him move away with a purposeful stride, his mind obviously already on the upcoming conversation with the older agent.

It occurred to her for the first time to wonder if there were any ill feelings about Cam being named lead investigator on this case. With Gonzalez promoted to SAC Franks was the most senior agent in the MCU. She could think of a couple others who had been here longer than Cam, as well. Before transferring to MCU, he’d started out with DNE, the agency’s narcotics enforcement division.

Turning toward the door again, Sophia pushed out into the still bright sunshine and headed to her car. She’d worked with many agents in all four zones of DCI’s Major Crimes Unit in one capacity or the other over the years and knew Cam had always been highly regarded. But the recent multi-task force assignment he’d worked had probably added luster to his reputation.

Unlocking her car and slipping inside, she wondered if anyone else suspected how much the undercover experience had cost him.

The doorbell rang even as she was mentally congratulating herself for her rapid packing. She’d decided to leave tonight, and set up the interviews in Davenport by cell on the way. The bell rang again, signaling a lack of patience or maturity. Sophie was betting on the latter. Livvie Hammel, her neighbor next door, had a seven-year-old who was as charming as he was precocious. Last week he’d come over to proudly show her his frog collection. She could only hope that he hadn’t developed a newfound fondness for snakes.

While she could see the cuteness in the miniature tree frogs, Sophia didn’t do reptiles.

A check of the Judas hole showed a grim-faced Cam on the other side. Her stomach sank as she fumbled with the lock and pulled the door open. “What’s wrong?”

He was already stepping inside, sending a look around. “You packed yet?”

“I…actually yes.” She fell into step behind him as he started for her bedroom. “I had decided to leave this evening. What are you…” He was already lifting her bag from the bed, and his proximity in the room had her stomach doing a slow roll.

They’d ended up here that first night. Some subsequent ones too, but the first time…she’d stood in this very doorway, logic slicing through the sensual haze like a quick cold blade.
What am I doing?

The panicked question had dissipated when Cam had pressed her against the doorjamb, his kiss turning the blood in her veins molten.

Exactly what I want to, a dim inner reply had sounded. For once.

Belatedly, she realized he was talking. “…but you didn’t answer. Figured I’d save time and drive over. Wanted to be sure and catch you in case you’d decided to leave tonight.” Two quick strides brought him much too close, her suitcase in his hand. “Is this all there is?”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Move. We’re in a hurry.” Applying gentle pressure to her shoulder, he nudged her around and through the door.

Her thought processes finally clicked into gear, bringing an accompanying feeling of dread. “I’m assuming there’s been a change of plans.” Responding to the urgency in his manner, she quickly gathered her cell phone from its charger and slipped it into her bag. Grabbing her purse she headed to the door, where he was already resetting her alarm. The sight gave her an odd moment of déjà vu. She’d told him the code once when they’d arrived here, their hands full carrying groceries. It never would have occurred to her that he’d remember it.

“Change of direction.” Cam’s voice, his expression was grim. “Just got a call from the Edina PD. Three hours ago the Edina USTC bank alerted law enforcement of a large withdrawal requested by Courtney Van Wheton, widow of a successful hedge fund manager in the Twin Cities. The woman was last seen getting into a white panel van, plates unidentified. No sighting since.”

His rapid-fire delivery was punctuated by swinging open the door, stepping aside to allow her to precede him. Sophia’s earlier trepidation congealed into a nasty knot in the pit of her stomach.

“You think he’s found a new victim?”

“The longer we go without anyone seeing her, the likelier that becomes.”

Chapter 4

“How long have you had this?”

He was sprawled facedown across her bed, taking up more room, to her way of thinking, than was strictly necessary. “You mean my Adonis like physique? Or my godlike sexual stamina? If it’s the latter, modesty forces me to admit that I had a great deal of inspiration toward that end.” His voice was muffled against a pillow.

She snickered at that, surprising herself. Sophia Elise Channing was not in the habit of snickering. Of course she wasn’t in the habit of lying sweaty and tangled with a hard-bodied sexually ravenous and frankly beautiful specimen of man.

Not that she’d tell him that.

“The tattoo,” she clarified. She stretched her leg to glide along his, not quite innocently. Enjoyed the play of muscles in his back as they jumped in response.

“Which one? The one on my arm or my ass?”

“You don’t…” She stopped mid-sentence to double-check.

“Aha.” He flipped over, his lazy grin quirking the corner of his mouth. “Made you look.”

“Your arm,” she clarified. But couldn’t prevent a small answering smile. Honestly, the man was incorrigible. Which wasn’t surprising, given what she’d already known about him. But the hidden depths she caught glimpses of intrigued her. Before he closed up, shut down, or turned her curiosity away with a well-aimed quip. She expected him to do the same now, and couldn’t prevent a faint tinge of disappointment.

But he surprised her by answering. “Fifteen years ago or so. Army Intel.”

His response was no less surprising than was the fact that he’d answered at all. He had a number of ways of evading questions that skirted too close to the personal. “A compass?” She traced the black arrows on his bicep lightly with one finger. “What does it signify?”

His gaze was sober. Pensive. And uncharacteristically honest. “Undercover work has lots of gray areas. Easy to lose your way if you don’t remember which direction you’re heading.”

“And did you? Lose your way?” she dared to ask.

Bleakness settled into his eyes. His voice. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

It was a three and a half hour drive on I-35 from Des Moines to Edina, Minnesota. Cam passed the time acquiring more background and periodic updates from Paul Boelin, the Edina Chief of Police. Upon arrival at the wealthy Minneapolis suburb, they followed Boelin’s directions to the USTC bank building where Van Wheton had last been seen. The branch was closed now, but a few of the employees had remained at Boelin’s request.

Cam, Jenna and Sophie got out of the agency issued Dodge Charger and approached the officers stationed in front of the darkened bank doors. Immediately the doors opened, and Boelin, a tall angular looking man in his early forties, came out to greet them. Jenna had done some research while Cam had driven up here. So he already knew that the man was a twenty-year law enforcement veteran, but a relative newcomer to his current position. He’d face some unique challenges in Edina, which was an elite suburb of Minneapolis. With over eighty thousand residents, its upscale shopping area and plentiful parks would attract a constant stream of visitors from neighboring cities. And the three major highways leading out of the city meant that easy access and exit were unlimited.

“Thanks for coming so quickly.” The chief acknowledged introductions with a perfunctory nod of his head and led them both inside the bank. “Still no word on Van Wheton. The private school her kids attend has a year round calendar, and she didn’t arrive to pick them up at dismissal time. The oldest, a daughter, missed a dentist appointment this afternoon. No one has heard from the mom. Not the kids, dentist’s office or school. She’s been widowed for nearly five years…car accident. Husband left her very well-fixed.”

“How much did she withdraw?” Cam wanted to know.

“Fifty thousand cash.” Boelin lowered his voice and said, “More than some clients would be allowed, at least without prior notice, but sounds like Van Wheton is one of the bank’s premiere customers. The branch manager had shared your alert with his employees, but the personal banker helping Van Wheton was also concerned about accommodating a valued client.” He broke off as a middle aged woman in a discreetly pin striped suit strode up to them briskly, the authority in her bearing heralding her identity.

“Are these the Iowa law enforcement people we’ve been waiting for?”

Boelin made the introduction. “Charlotte Dillon, bank president.”

Cam stuck out his hand. “Special Agent Cameron Prescott, DCI. My colleagues, Agent Jenna Turner and Dr. Sophia Channing.” He noted the speculative flicker in her eyes when the older woman turned to Sophie, but he didn’t explain further. “Is the personal banker who helped Van Wheton still here?”

“Yes, of course. Angie Gassaway. She’s in her office.” The woman hesitated. “I’ve spoken to the branch manager. He assured me that Angie followed all banking regulations during her interaction with Ms. Van Wheton.” Dillon was clearly in damage control mode. “She quite properly filled out a CTR during the interaction documenting the client’s stated use for the cash, as required by federal law.”

“We’re not here about the paperwork, Ms. Dillon. But we’d appreciate a word with Ms. Gassaway.” Cam gave a slight nod to Jenna and Sophia to follow the woman before turning to Boelin. “I’d like to see the security footage, if it’s still on site.”

The chief nodded. “I can show you a copy. Got the original at headquarters, seeing if we can get more from it with enhancements.”

“Enhancements.” Cam fell into step behind the man. “Like a license plate number? Or a shot of the driver?”

The man shot him a quick hard grin. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

Two things upon meeting Angie Gassaway struck Sophia. One was her youth. The pretty brunette couldn’t be thirty yet. And the other was the lingering fear in her eyes. Sophia was content to observe silently as Jenna led the bank employee through the events of the day.

“Yes, large cash withdrawals are somewhat unusual requests, but not as much as you might think,” the woman said somewhat shakily in response to Jenna’s question. “Ours is a wealthy community. I guess I can tell you we keep enough cash on hand to handle several large monetary withdrawals daily. Not all the size of Ms. Van Wheton’s, of course. She seemed to know that her request would trigger a CTR. That’s a form we have to fill out for every cash transaction over ten thousand dollars.”

“And what reason did the client give for needing the cash?”

Handing Jenna a copy of the form she was discussing, Angie responded, “She said it was for a horse she was purchasing for her daughter, Tiffany. She mentioned that the girl’s birthday was coming up and what a good rider she was getting to be. The girl’s riding coach had a line on a thoroughbred with an excellent bloodline.” The banker shrugged helplessly. “I mean, I don’t know anything about horses, but it sounded plausible. You’d be surprised by the number of people who deal only in cash.”

“Had you ever waited on Ms. Van Wheton before?” Jenna asked.

“Not me personally, but I’ve seen her in here.” The woman lifted a shaky hand to smooth back her hair. “She usually heads right for the manager’s office. I was shocked and a bit nervous when she came to me.”

“Was there anything unusual her manner? Did she seem relaxed, anxious, afraid?”

“Oh, not afraid, I don’t think. A bit fidgety with the time it was taking to fill out the paperwork, but it would have taken as long no matter even if she’d seen the manager. She was more chatty than I thought she’d be. Not exactly friendly, but she mentioned her daughter several times. How happy Tiffany was going to be with the horse, that sort of thing. I think I was much more nervous than she was. Honestly, I never even thought about that bank alert until about a half hour after she’d left.”

“And who did you talk to once you remembered the alert?”

Angie looked uncomfortable at Jenna’s question. “Well…to be truthful…it wasn’t until an hour or so later that I said something. I kept telling myself it couldn’t possibly be relevant in this case. I mean…The Van Whetons have done business with this bank as long as I’ve been here. Longer. And then I got busy. But before I went to lunch I told the manager, Vaughn Sinclair, about it, and he called Mrs. Dillon, who tried to contact the client. When she was unable to reach the customer’s cell, she contacted the police.” She clasped her hands tightly on the desk before her, fingers clenched. “You don’t know how much I wish I’d mentioned it to someone right away. But it just seemed so far-fetched. I mean…the Van Whetons? Who would dare?”

Sophia watched the security images twice through without comment. Each time she was attuned to the victim’s body language as she approached the white panel van. Despite Gassaway’s assertion, Sophia saw anxiety and nerves in the woman’s rigid posture, her jerky movements. Van Wheton was dressed casually in knee length spandex tights and athletic bra covered by a loose fitting sleeveless cotton top. She carried a designer purse in one hand and a worn leather slouch bag in the other. Presumably the money was in the bag, although Sophia wasn’t quite certain how much space was required to carry fifty thousand dollars.

There was no hesitation in Van Wheton’s actions when she reached the van, which was running. She opened the back sliding door and let herself into the shadowy interior, although the angle of the images showed clearly that the passenger front seat of the vehicle was empty. Sophia reached forward to stop the tape in its final seconds, for the last clear shot of the victim before the door closed. It wasn’t merely nerves she saw in the woman’s eyes at that precise moment.

It was the bleakest fear.

“Why isn’t anyone out finding my mom? What are you all doing here?” Seventeen-year-old Chelsea Van Wheton’s demand might have sounded imperious were it not accompanied by the tears streaming down her face. “There have been cops here all day, and now you guys, so who the hell is out looking for her?”

“Entire teams of other officers, all of whom are reporting directly to your chief of police.” Sophia watched the long-legged teen swing out of her chair to pace around her well-appointed bedroom. Cam had asked Sophia to take lead on the interviews with the girls, assuming, rightly so, that the two would be fearful and traumatized by the day’s events. Boelin had already interviewed both, with the girls’ grandparents present, and neither had shed any light on the day’s activities.

But Sophia thought they might be able to offer insight on their mother’s personality, on her routine, and that could prove helpful. “I know every hour must seem like an eternity, but you have very well-trained investigators on this case. In the meantime, any little thing you can share could aide in the investigation.” She turned toward the silent daughter, Tiffany. At fifteen she looked much more like her mother than did her sister, with the same pointed chin and hair color. Clutching a large ragged stuffed bear, she seemed younger than her years. “You said you don’t ride anymore?”

The girl shook her head. “I haven’t ridden horses since I was a kid. Maybe ten or so. I don’t get why everyone keeps talking about horses. My dad wouldn’t buy me one then because he said I’d outgrow my obsession with them.” She hunched her shoulders. “I did.”

“I don’t understand how this could happen to my mom,” Chelsea put in insistently. “She’s hyperaware of security for all of us. After my dad died, she upgraded the security system on the house. She wouldn’t even let me drive myself to school, still insisted on picking us both up and dropping us off herself, or sending a driver. It’s embarrassing. And now she’s the one who vanishes? Just like that?”

“Can you think of anything she might have wanted to buy with the cash?” Sophia offered a gentle smile. “Maybe she just didn’t think it was the bank’s business so she told them a story about a horse. Does she collect paintings? Sculptures? Do charity work?”

“She buys stuff, sure. But why couldn’t she just write a check for anything she wanted?”

Tiffany’s lips trembled. “After my dad died…mom promised us over and over that she’d take care of us. That she’d never let anything happen to us. And yeah, she was way over-protective and everything. But now to have her gone…there’s no way she’d leave us like this. Not if she had a choice.”

Sophia recounted the conversation to Cam and Jenna on their way to the motel an hour later.

“Boelin mentioned they didn’t really have much to offer, other than the locations where Van Wheton liked to run.”

“From her dress, it looks like she was picked up wherever she was jogging. If we can figure out where she ran yesterday, we might find someone who saw something.”

“We got more than that from the girls’ interviews, at least I did.” Sophia rolled her shoulders tiredly. She was much more of an early bird than a night owl. Her brain grew positively fuzzy after ten p.m. Which, in retrospect, might have been the cause for her lapse in judgment a few weeks ago when she and Cam ended up sharing a drink together. And much, much more.

She gave herself a mental shake and continued. “We talked before about how the offender might be controlling his victim. Van Wheton was inside the bank for nearly twenty-five minutes. Why does the UNSUB believe so absolutely that she’s coming back to the van with the money? How does the offender know she isn’t alerting the police from inside?”

“Maybe he wires them prior to sending them in,” Cam remarked. His features were hidden in the dark interior of the vehicle until a passing pair of headlights speared through the shadows, throwing his profile into sharp relief. “Or he might have figured some way to get video, too, to make sure she wasn’t handing off notes or triggering some sort of silent alarm.”

Sophia was silent for a moment, digesting that. “Yes, of course he would want some assurance, wouldn’t he? And remote surveillance would be much less threatening to him than following her inside, lingering in the vicinity to make certain of her obedience.”