Dead End (5 page)

6

Annie sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, the contents of the thick file stacked around her in piles. Police reports here, photos of the crime scene there, autopsy report and photos on the edge of the coffee table.

In her hand she held the master list of the contents of the file. She’d read through the reports of Dylan’s death many times, but this time she thought she’d put them in the same order in which they appeared on the list. It would be easier for Evan, who’d be taking his first look at the records this weekend. It would go a lot faster if he could just follow along and check off each report as he read it. Unfortunately, the file had been taken apart and read by so many people over the past two years, nothing was where she’d expected it to be.

The photos were easy to put in order. They were numbered in chronological order. The witness statements were a little more challenging. It seemed that few of them had been returned to their rightful place.

No time like the present, she told herself as she proceeded to search the file for the first report on the list. She found it near the bottom of the stack. She checked it off, then went on to the next. Three hours later, she had most of the reports where they should be. There were three, however, she’d not been able to find.

One was a report attributed to Connor Shields. She frowned, trying to recall if she’d previously seen a report from Connor in the file. She didn’t think she had. And why would there have been a report from Connor? Hadn’t he been out of the country at the time of Dylan’s death?

If he hadn’t been there, hadn’t been involved, what could he possibly have contributed to the investigation?

She was tempted to call and ask him, then thought better of it. Who knew where he was, or with whom? Better to send an e-mail that he could read at his leisure.

She opened her laptop and typed her message.

TO: CShields00721

From: AMMccall00913

RE: Report

Hey, Connor—Just a quick question. Brought Dylan’s file home tonight, it’s all out of order (too many hands in this pot over the past couple of years)—quite the mess. Started trying to organize, using the master list as a guide. Found all but three items in file, including a report that was attributed to you. Could I ask you about the nature of your report? Do you remember? Did this reflect directly on the op, or did this deal with identifying Dylan at the M.E.’s office, maybe? Am confused, since I was not aware you had been involved in this op in any way.

Just curious—would like to tidy up the file, as well as try to find some closure. I guess we all would like that.

Annie

She turned her attention back to the file and its master list, which continued to guide her in her quest to put the file in perfect order before sharing its contents with Evan. Some minutes later, she heard the
ping
that announced in-coming email. She leaned over the computer to see who the correspondence was from and was surprised to see that Connor had responded so quickly.

To: AMMccall00913

From: CShields00721

Re: Yours

Hey, Annie—You’re sure that report isn’t stuck inside another folder or something in the file? Definitely turned it in. Didn’t contribute a whole hell of a lot to the investigation. They just wanted me to confirm that I had been pulled from the op at the last minute and that Dylan substituted for me and why—how that whole thing had been set up. All before-the-fact stuff. Nothing that shed any light on the events later that night.

Anything I can help you with, any other questions, I’m here.

Connor

Annie read the e-mail, then reread that one line over and over.
They just wanted me to confirm that I had been pulled from the op at the last minute, and that Dylan substituted for me and why—how that whole thing had been set up. All before-the-fact stuff . . .

Annie stared at the screen. Connor had originally been part of this operation? Dylan had been sent at the last minute as a substitute for Connor? Why had she not heard this before?

Or had she? In the dense fog of confusion and pain she’d been trapped in for weeks after Dylan’s death, had someone mentioned this?

Maybe.

She doubted it, but then again, there was much from that time she couldn’t remember. She was hard-pressed to remember Dylan’s funeral, had little recollection of the viewing, and none whatsoever of the graveside services, though certainly she’d been there. Maybe someone had mentioned that Connor originally had been slated for this assignment, and the information had been lost in the midst of her grief. She couldn’t honestly say she hadn’t been told. On the other hand, she couldn’t say she had.

She drummed her fingers on the side of her laptop, trying to determine the importance of this new information.

She dialed Evan’s number and was grateful that he picked up on the second ring. She told him about the e-mail from Connor, then said, “I’m trying to decide how—or if—this changes things.”

“I guess the only way to answer that is to know what else Connor had been involved in back then.”

“You mean, if he’d been involved in something someone might have wanted to kill him for?” She laughed roughly. “That’s every assignment Connor’s ever been on.”

“Look, why not just ask him if there was anything going on back then that sticks in his memory.”

“Even if there was, he wouldn’t be able to tell me.”

“Maybe not, but maybe it’s something he can look into himself. You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

“True. Maybe I’ll just e-mail him . . .” She opened her laptop and debated on how best to put forth the question.

“Good idea. Bring it all with you this weekend and we’ll toss it around a little more.”

“How’s your case going?”

“Not well.” His voice dropped with something more than disappointment. “In the past week, we’ve had three victims. I was going to call and ask for your opinion on this. Have you ever known a serial killer to target different types the way this guy is? I mean, two distinctly different types of victims? This guy is going back and forth between the pampered and privileged to girls who haven’t even been reported missing a week after we’ve found their bodies. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It is odd. And no, to answer your question, I’ve never heard of a case like this one.” She pondered the facts he’d given her. “Maybe I should take a look at the files while I’m up there this weekend. Can you get me copies of all of them? It will give me something to do while you look over Dylan’s file.”

“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine?”

“Something like that.” Annie smiled.

He laughed.

“We’re going to be all right, aren’t we.” It wasn’t a question.

“We
are
all right,” he told her.

He appeared to be about to say something else, but his thoughts were interrupted by a click on the line.

“Hold up, Annie, I have a call coming in.” He put her on hold.

Moments later, he was back.

“I have to go,” he said, and she knew by the tone of his voice he was wanted at a crime scene.

“I’ll see you Friday night, then,” Annie told him. “I’ll be flying up, then I’ll rent a car at the airport.”

“You sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”

“You might be tied up. I’ll just go to your place, and you’ll get there when you get there.”

“I’ll see you then,” he said as he hung up. “I love you, Annie.”

“I love you too, Evan.”

Later that night, Annie opened her laptop and checked her e-mail. Amid several from the office, there was one from Connor.

To: AMMccall00913

From: CShields00721

Re: Missing Reports

Forgot to ask—what were the other missing reports?

Annie went in to the living room and opened the file, searching for the note she’d made, then returned to her laptop to respond.

To: CShields00721

From: AMMccall00913

Re: Missing Reports

One was written by SA Melissa Lowery. The other is a diagram of the crime scene drawn by SA Lou Raymond.

Connor’s reply was almost instantaneous.

To: AMMccall00913

From: CShields00721

Re: Missing Reports

Special Agent Raymond killed in car ax almost two years ago. Heard Missy Lowery quit the Bureau but don’t remember when.

Annie stared at the e-mail as it appeared on the screen, and a little chill sneaked up her spine.

Don’t look for something that isn’t there,
she reminded herself.
People die in car accidents every day. Agents quit the Bureau every day.

She began to type.

To: CShields00721

From: AMMccall00913

Re: Missing Reports

Thanks for the info. BTW, I noticed there’s no reflection in the file that you had been set for this assignment originally—other apparently than the report you wrote, which is missing. Seems odd to me. Just out of curiosity, was this widely known? That you were on this op? And called off at last minute?

———

To: AMMccall00913

From: CShields00721

Re: Missing Reports

It was no secret that Aidan and I were running this—don’t know who knew that Dylan stepped in for me when I got called out. What are you thinking? That I was intended target?

———

To: CShields00721

From: AMMccall00913

Re: Missing Reports

Well, it did cross my mind. Can you think of anything you might have been working on back then that could have made you unpopular in the wrong places?

———

To: AMMccall00913

From: CShields00721

Re: Missing Reports

You’re kidding, right?

———

To: CShields00721

From: AMMccall00913

Re: Missing Reports

That’s what I thought you’d say. Would you let me know if anything comes to mind, maybe something . . . odd or strange that happened that made you think twice? Sorry if I sound off-the-wall. I just don’t recall having heard that you were slated for that night. Strange no one else mentioned it.

She hit
send,
then waited. And waited. But there was no further reply from Connor that night. Nor was there e-mail from him waiting for her in the morning.

She’d touched a nerve, no doubt, and felt a stab of regret. If Connor started to question if the bullets that killed his brother had been intended for him, he’d have one hell of a time forgiving himself.

Then again, knowing Connor, there’d be no question that he’d put his own personal feelings aside to search for the truth.

Annie turned off her computer, content with that knowledge, for now. If the truth had been buried with Dylan, there was no one more likely to help her ferret it out than Connor.

7

Annie stepped out of her office and began the long walk to the elevator, made longer this afternoon by the heavy files she juggled in both arms. One had come just that morning from a police department in Michigan that had requested a profile on a killer who was targeting homeless men. The other was Dylan’s.

She turned the corner and stopped in her tracks. Thirty feet down the hall, near the conference room, a group of men in dark suits were gathered. All tall, dark haired, well built.

All Shieldses.

Andrew, Brendan, Grady, and Aidan.

From the back, they were nearly identical. Oh, some were a bit taller—Aidan and Grady were a few inches shorter than the other two—but even someone who knew them all as well as she did could have a tough time telling them apart from the back.

From this angle, any one of them could have been Dylan.

She had no idea how long she’d stood there, staring, before Aidan turned and saw her.

“Hey!” he called to her, his mouth curving into a wide smile. “My favorite sister-in-law! I was just on my way to see if you were in your office when I ran into this motley crew.”

The group walked toward her, and her stomach knotted. They were all so damned alike. Brendan and Aidan even walked the same way.

“Good to see you, Aidan.” She turned her cheek for him to plant a kiss. “I just left voice mail for Mara. I wanted her to know I’d be out of town for a few days.”

“Business or pleasure?” Grady peered around his brothers to see her better.

“A little of both. I’m going to Lyndon, Pennsylvania, to see Evan, but he’s in the middle of a case he wants me to look over.”

She stole a quick peek at her watch.

“I have to get going or I’ll miss my plane. See you all later. Aidan, tell Mara to call me when she’s free.”

The men stepped aside and allowed Annie to pass. She waited for the elevator, anxiously tapping her foot. She should have left at least a half hour ago.

Maybe the plane will be late,
she found herself hoping.

“Annie, hold the elevator.”

She caught the door with her foot and held it open for Andrew.

“Thanks, Annie.” He entered the car and hit the button for the lobby. “You are going to the lobby, right?”

She nodded and shifted the files.

“Here, give me one of those.” Andrew took the nearest file from her arms.

“Thanks. I was just starting to think I might lose that one.”

He glanced at the label.

“I heard about this case. Catherine Cook was just sent out on it. What’s the count up to now, seven homeless guys?”

“Eight, as of this morning.” She watched the light follow the floor numbers, then stepped back when the elevator stopped at the third floor and the doors opened.

Two women in summer business suits smiled absently as they entered the elevator. No one spoke until they arrived at the lobby.

“Which level is your car on?” Andrew asked Annie.

“I’m right outside the door.”

“You must be a real early riser, to have gotten a spot at the door.”

“Early enough.” She smiled and reached for the file.

“I’ll walk you out.”

He followed her across the lobby, then held the door to the parking lot open for her.

“Give me the other file,” he said when they got to her car and she began to search her bag for her keys. “I’ll hold them while you open the car.”

“This is Dylan’s file,” Andrew said softly after glancing at the label.

“Yes.” She unlocked the door and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat.

“How many times have you read through this?” he asked.

“Lots. You?”

“Lost count.” He looked past her, toward the exit. “Every time I think, I wish I had been there. Maybe I could have done something . . .”

“There was nothing anyone could have done. Aidan was there, and he couldn’t save him.”

Andrew merely shook his head.

“Andrew, when was the last time you looked at this file?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” he admitted. “We were all sitting around at Aidan’s bachelor party, talking about how much we missed Dylan, and I just felt—I don’t know, compelled, somehow, to take another look. I guess I always somehow hope this time it will end differently.” He shrugged. “Of course it never does.”

“Do you happen to remember seeing a report from an agent named Melissa Lowery?”

“Not really. I remember her, though. Didn’t she leave the Bureau a while ago?”

“Not long after Dylan died. She was on the backup team that night.”

“Maybe she had a tough time dealing with it.” He cleared his throat. “She wouldn’t have been the only one.”

“Any idea where she is now?”

“No. I didn’t really know her. I only know her to say hi.”

Annie opened the back door, then turned to take the files from Andrew. She placed the files on the backseat, then got into her car and started the ignition.

“By the way, Andrew, did you know an agent named Lou Raymond?”

“Yeah. What a waste. He died in a car crash out near I-95 a couple of years ago.”

“That’s the one.”

“He was on one of the exit ramps coming off 95 into Maryland. Three or four in the morning. Word was he apparently fell asleep or something and the car hit the guardrail, then went out of control and flipped over. At least, that’s the story that was going around at the time. Best I recall, there were no witnesses.”

“No other cars involved?”

“Not as far as I know. It was called in by a tractor-trailer driver who came across the scene at some point after it happened.” He cocked his head to one side. “Did you know him?”

“No. I just saw his name in the file—Dylan’s file—and was curious, that’s all. The master-file list notes that Raymond had sketched the crime scene, but there’s no sketch in the file.”

“You mean the sketch that shows where everyone was at the time of the shooting?”

“I’m not sure what it was. I haven’t been able to find it. Likewise a report written by Melissa Lowery.”

“I worked maybe two or three cases with Lou when I first got out of training. He always drew things out, made it part of his report. He’d show where everyone was stationed, parked, standing, whatever. Put his whole account in pictures. It was pretty interesting, actually.” Andrew appeared to think for a minute. “I don’t remember ever seeing sketches that Lou drew in this file. Not ever. And like I said, I’ve gone through it a couple of times. Can’t say I remember a report from Lowery, either, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. At some point, they must have fallen out.”

“Must have.” She put the car in gear. “Thanks for carrying the files for me.”

“Anytime.” He stepped back to allow her to back out of the parking space. “Tell what’s-his-name I said hello.”

“It’s Evan,” she told him. “His name is Evan . . .”

“Sorry.” He shrugged, much as his brother had a few days earlier, and waved to her as she drove off.

“So, you think this guy is targeting homeless guys because he thinks he’s on some kind of a mission to clean up the streets?” Evan sat on the sofa, his bare feet propped on the coffee table.

“I think he has a vigilante mentality. Look, check out this letter he sent to the local papers.” Annie found the newspaper and read, “ ‘The city belongs to the people who pay the taxes that pay the police and the firemen and the city workers. I’m a street cleaner, just like them.’ ”

“Ugly.” He frowned. “Who thinks like that?”

“Some misguided soul in Denton, Ohio.” She yawned and closed the file cover. “How about your case, you ready to talk about it now?”

“I don’t know what else to tell you that you haven’t already read for yourself. I’m finding it confusing as hell.”

“It is confusing, but I still think you’re looking for two different people, Evan.”

“The killer is doing exactly the same things, in exactly the same manner. Rape the girl, slash the throat. Dump the body. Steal the shoes. The murders are identical.”

“Except for one very important difference. The victims. And you know what I always say.” She poked him in the ribs with her pen.

“Yeah, yeah. Know the victims, know the killer.”

“Are you humoring me?”

“Nope. That’s what you always say. And you’re usually right; at least, in my experience with you, that’s held true. I just don’t see how it could be two different killers. Especially since we haven’t released any of the details about the crimes. I just wish we had something—hair samples, DNA, something—that we could use to confirm one way or the other. We’ve kept the MO, the signature, all of the important things, under wraps. And as far as I know, there haven’t been any leaks.”

“Well, someone is talking. The second killer has to be someone close to the investigation.”

“You realize what you’re saying?” He bristled. “The only people close to the investigation are the cops working the case. I’ve known all these guys forever, since I joined the force in Lyndon. I’ve worked with every one of them at one time or another, either as a county detective or as a Lyndon cop. I can’t believe that any of these guys would kill a kid.”

“Someone’s killing them, Evan. And you of all people should know that killers don’t look like killers. They look like the rest of us.”

“I can’t argue with that, but I just don’t see any of these guys killing little girls. I couldn’t even narrow the list down to a few likely suspects, Annie.”

“It’ll be the person you least expect. It always is,” she said almost absently as she made notes on the yellow legal pad.

“So, you almost finished with your analysis?”

“Almost.” She nodded. “I won’t be too much longer. I want to get this e-mailed to the chief of police tonight.”

He sat up and began to lay the photos of the murdered girls side by side across the table.

“Those are your vics?” She looked up from her notes.

He nodded and continued setting out the pictures in order of the girls’ deaths.

Annie put her notes aside and sat next to him, studying the photos.

“It’s not the same guy, sweetie,” she said softly.

“Annie . . .”

“Look at these girls in their school uniforms, at the way they project such innocence. Now look at them through his eyes, at the way he’s left them, defiled. He’s ruined them. He’s taken something clean and pure and ravaged it. He’s stolen from them. He has tremendous power over them now. He’s definitely feeling very proud, very smug. He’s stolen something precious, and no one can stop him. No one is
powerful
enough to stop him.”

“You think this is mostly about power for him?”

“It is only about power. My guess is he works a low-level job where he’s in contact with people whom he perceives as socially and economically superior to him.”

“We all come in contact with people like that.”

“This is daily, this is close contact on a daily basis. He resents that he’s placed in a position of inferiority, of subservience, when he knows he’s morally and intellectually superior to all of them. That he’s forced to work for them, that his livelihood is dependent on people he thinks are less than he. That they can’t see his brilliance marks them all as fools. This is how he retaliates. He’s showing
them
who has the power. He’s showing them who’s really in charge.”

“And you don’t see that here?” Evan tapped on the photos of the last three victims.

“Not at all. Where are the symbols of purity, of innocence? He’s tried to make them look the same as the others, I think in an effort to fool the police. To make you think this is all the work of the same man. So far, he’s succeeding.”

“You feel that strongly about this?”

“There is no question in my mind.” She studied his face. “I’m sensing a lot of resistance here, Evan. Why so reluctant?”

“If I take this in to the office, I have to be able to convince the chief of detectives that there are two killers, not one, out there targeting young girls. Yet I have no DNA, no trace, nothing, to distinguish the crimes.”

“Want me to write a memo or something outlining why?”

“Sort of like a note from my mother to give to my teacher?”

“You’re the one who’s pressing here.”

“Maybe a memo would help,” he conceded. “And keep in mind that right now there is no link. We’re still waiting for the lab results from the first two vics.”

“What’s taking so long?” She closed the file and set it on the table near the photos.

“It’s a small lab, only a few techs. They’re doing their best, but this is not the only open case in the county right now.”

“Why not send what you have to the Bureau’s lab?”

“What’s the timetable there?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” Annie grinned.

“Suppose you asked . . .”

“We’d have the results in a week, maybe better.”

“And if I asked?”

“What year is it now?”

“So how do we get you involved?”

“I write that memo, you give it to your chief, tell him we can get the evidence expedited if only he asks. I can take it from there.”

“You have friends at the lab?”

“You betcha.”

“What’s your take on this possible second killer? You’re pretty specific about the first one; how do you peg this other killer that no one sees but you?”

“I’m still working on that.” She stood and stretched, then took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “I thought maybe I’d sleep on it.”

“Excellent idea. I think I’ll sleep on it, too.” He tugged her toward the steps leading up. “I’m thinking maybe between the two of us, we should be able to come up with something . . .”