No Good Deed (23 page)
Lucy rarely lost her temper, but the control she’d exhibited during her brief conversation with Elise disappeared. “Elise Hansen is a cold-blooded killer who is not afraid of anything or anyone. You should have your license revoked if you can’t even see the sociopath right in front of you.”
She was shaking. Why had she said anything? She should have walked out.
Lucy glanced at Hans and saw that he was just as surprised by her outburst as she was. She opened her mouth to apologize to Oakley, but the doctor said, “Elise will get the care she needs to help her cope with the trauma that has been her life for the past sixteen years. Your lack of compassion is terrifying, Agent Kincaid.”
Hans handed Oakley his card. “Please call me, Dr. Oakley, and I’ll straighten this matter out.”
She took his card but didn’t look at it. She slipped it into her pocket. “There is nothing to straighten out,” she said and left.
“Lucy,” Hans began.
“I screwed up.” So much for her icy exterior. When had she become such a hothead? It wasn’t like her.
“You handled Elise just right. We’ll talk about Dr. Oakley later—you should have let me handle her, but it’s done.” He held out her cell phone. “It’s been vibrating nonstop for the last fifteen minutes.”
She took her phone. There were numerous missed calls and messages from Brad, Ryan, Zach, and one from ASAC Abigail Durant.
She called Durant first. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I was interviewing Elise Hansen at the jail.”
“Samantha Archer was shot to death in her house. Zach Charles will send you the address—Agent Quiroz is already en route with Agent Donnelly. Our office is handling the investigation.”
Her stomach twisted. “Rollins.”
“Be careful, Agent Kincaid. Put Dr. Vigo on the phone.”
Lucy handed the phone to Hans. He didn’t say anything for a minute, then said, “I understand. I’ll call you back.” He handed the phone back to Lucy. “She wants me to take lead as the highest-ranking agent. SAC Ritz Naygrow is on his way—he’s in McAllen and won’t be back until later this afternoon. How well did you know Samantha Archer?”
“I worked with her during Operation Heatwave, but I didn’t know her well.”
“Then you’ll be okay walking through the scene?”
“Yes,” she replied. Why had Nicole killed Sam Archer? As a threat? As payback? She was bold, vindictive, brazen. Nothing seemed to faze her—just like Elise.
“Even the smartest criminals are caught,” Hans said, as if reading her mind.
But when? Her sister-in-law Kate had been after Trask, the man who had killed Kate’s partner, for over five years. He’d continued raping and murdering women for not only his own pleasure, but also the pleasure of the sickos who paid to watch the violence. He’d killed his first woman when he was eighteen, and he hadn’t stopped until Lucy killed him twenty years later. Trask had been smart and ruthless and evil.
Just like Nicole Rollins.
What if they couldn’t find her? What if she eluded their manhunt? Lucy would never have peace, not knowing when Nicole would go after her—or someone she loved.
She turned to Hans. “And some get away with murder for years.”
Lucy, Nate, and Hans arrived at Sam Archer’s quasi-suburban house only fifteen minutes after Lucy spoke to Durant. The street was blocked off at both ends. Security was tight and all identification scrutinized.
Brad and Ryan stood next to the tactical van talking to a short, grim man in a pale-gray suit that matched his hair. Though Lucy had never met him before, she recognized the DEA Special-Agent-in-Charge Edward Moody from his photos.
“I’ll handle Moody and keep Agent Donnelly outside,” Hans said. “You walk through the scene.”
“Is ERT here yet?” Lucy asked. Protocol dictated that ERT process the evidence once the crime scene was secured.
“Before this place becomes a zoo, I want your initial assessment. Get into their heads, Lucy. The victim and the killer.”
She nodded, but inside her gut twisted.
What did Nicole want? Why act so smart, plan a brilliant escape, then risk exposure in order to kill one person? Of course—just because Sam was dead didn’t mean Nicole pulled the trigger herself. She could have sent Joseph Contreras to do it—the man they suspected had broken Congresswoman Worthington’s neck.
After the two cops cleared them, Lucy and Nate approached the threshold of Sam Archer’s house. Lucy slipped on gloves and handed Nate a pair. “Don’t touch anything,” she said. “But just in case.”
Steeling herself against death, Lucy stepped inside.
Sam’s house was neat. Cluttered, but not messy. A wide entry. A living and dining room that were scarcely used. A generic house in a generic neighborhood, but Sam had added a few personal touches. Color on the walls, art that didn’t quite fit with the decor but was fun, as if she’d picked it because she liked it, not because it matched her furniture. Straight ahead was a great room, with the kitchen, eating nook, and family room flowing into large windows that looked out at a small, peanut-shaped swimming pool. Trees shielded most of Sam’s yard from her neighbors, but the surrounding houses could be seen through the leaves.
It was a spacious, comfortable house for a single, professional woman.
Sam clearly lived in the great room. Pictures of family and friends on the walls; books and papers scattered on all available surfaces; dishes rinsed but not washed, stacked in the sink. A collection of whimsical salt- and pepper shakers lined three shelves on a narrow wall that separated the kitchen from the eating area. A full pot of coffee had been brewed—the carafe was still full—but at least two hours had passed since it had been made and the light was off. Lucy felt the side of the pot with the back of her gloved hand. Room temperature, maybe a bit warmer. It had been off for at least an hour, if not longer. It was ten thirty in the morning. Sam started the pot before seven thirty but hadn’t poured a cup.
Hadn’t Sam sent Brad a text message at nine telling him she was running late? Where was her phone? Was she already dead?
She had a meeting at nine at the office. She wouldn’t be late for it—not with the SAC himself coming into town.
She was already dead.
The family room was comfortable and well lived-in with a fireplace on one end and a large-screen television on another wall. A billiard table fit comfortably between the sectional sofa and the wall of windows. Cushions were scattered around the room—and so were clothes. Women’s clothes, including a bra and panties.
Sam had a man here last night.
Nate saw the same thing Lucy saw, but he didn’t comment.
A large, wide hall separated the front of the house from the back. Lucy walked down the middle, Nate three feet ahead of her, checking doorways though the house had already been cleared by responding officers. He was silent, listening as she listened to the sounds of cops outside, trucks and cars and the occasional whirl of a siren cutting through the idyllic middle-class development. There was a den on the right—with a computer and files. “Whoever killed her could have had time to access anything in here,” Lucy said, mostly to herself.
She was glad when Nate didn’t talk. She didn’t want a conversation. She was absorbing the scene, the setting, the house. Picturing Sam Archer, a forty-something professional. A woman as well as a federal agent.
Two large bedrooms were unused—one had been converted into a weight room, the other was a guest room. Both had their own bathrooms. Neither appeared disturbed, but that would be up to ERT to determine.
The master suite was at the end of the wide hall. Lucy paused for a minute outside the open door. Her heart was racing because she knew that Sam Archer was dead inside. She grounded herself. Yes, she knew Sam Archer; she liked the woman. But Sam was a victim now. Sam needed Lucy to give her justice.
Lucy opened her eyes and stepped over the threshold.
The first thing she saw was a king-sized bed. The comforter was on the floor. The sheets were tangled at the foot, and all pillows had been used. Sam could simply be a restless sleeper, but more likely the man who removed her clothing in the family room was the same man who slept in this bed.
Sam could very well have been killed by someone she knew.
She walked over to the bed.
“Lucy,” Nate said quietly.
She ignored him. There was something familiar in the air—a scent. She smelled blood but didn’t see any in here. She focused on the scent of perfume.
Not perfume. Cologne. Distinctive.
She knew who’d spent the night with Sam Archer.
“Lucy—” Nate began.
“Shh,” she said. Conversation would distract her.
She crossed the master bedroom and stopped at the doorway to the bathroom.
Sam was dead on the stone tile floor just outside the shower. A green towel, stained dark with blood, lay on the tile next to her. She was naked.
She’d been surprised by her killer.
Didn’t she have a security system? If so, had she neglected to turn it on? Had the killer disabled it? Or did the killer know the code?
Sam’s blood snaked through the grout for several feet. Soaking in, staining the porous material.
Sam’s right knee was a bloody mess. She’d been shot in the stomach, then the head.
Lucy turned abruptly and bumped into Nate.
“Are you okay?”
“Nicole Rollins killed her.”
“That’s what we think, but—”
“I know. Nicole came herself to kill her—and she wants us to know it was her.” She turned back to face the bathroom. She looked at the blood spatter patterns. She wasn’t a blood spatter expert, but she knew enough about patterns as well as human physiology to know that Sam had been shot in the knee first.
“Nicole stood here and waited for Sam to be done in the shower. Sam stepped out—reached for the towel—maybe she saw something, or maybe Nicole spoke. But Nicole faced her naked. Sam had no place to go. Trapped. Nicole had a silencer.”
“How do you know?”
“Because no one called about hearing gunshots. She was killed hours ago, people would have been home. This is a family neighborhood, the lots aren’t large. Someone would have heard something.”
Lucy continued. “Nicole shot Sam in the knee as soon as Sam saw her.” Lucy gestured to a bloody handprint on the bathtub, a pool on the floor several feet from where Sam’s body now lay. “Sam fell to the floor. Touched her knee, or the ground, tried to pull herself up on the bathtub.”
“How—”
She put up her hand to silence him. She couldn’t have doubts now, not now. This was what she did. This was what she was good at, why Hans wanted her to see the scene fresh.
“Sam’s lover left and she made coffee. He didn’t stay for coffee; it was dark. He wanted to get home, shower, change into new clothes before going to work. He doesn’t have anything of his in this house, because the relationship just started. Or, I should say, resumed sometime after Nicole was arrested.” How did she know that Sam and Brad had been lovers in the past? Had Brad told her? Or had she picked up on it by watching them together? She didn’t remember but was confident it was true.
“Sam showers, gets out, Nicole is here, right where we are. She shoots Sam in the knee, then she talks to her. She’ll need to talk to her. To gloat. To brag. To tell Sam that she’s better, that she’s going to win because she’s smarter than Sam, smarter than the whole DEA. She doesn’t need information, because she still has someone inside. But Nicole is better than Sam, and she’ll want Sam to know it. Rub salt in the wound, because Nicole likes to feel smarter than everyone else. Ha, ha, you didn’t even know you had a fox in the henhouse, Sam, did you?” Lucy said, mimicking Nicole gloating.
“Sam pulled herself up, because she wanted to appear strong, but she knew as soon as she saw Nicole that she was dead. What would Sam have said or done? She might have pleaded for her life. Sam didn’t want to die. She limped forward several feet—” Lucy stared at the blood behind Sam, at the distinct pools, the smears.
Nicole knew that Brad had been here. She’d been watching.
Lucy would need to talk to Brad to confirm the time line.
Brad leaves, Sam makes coffee, gets in the shower, gets out,
bang!
Knee blown out. Thirty minutes, tops. Probably less.
“Nicole could have killed Brad, but she doesn’t want to yet. She wants to make him suffer, but she also considers him a worthy adversary. Worthy, but not as good as she is. When Brad gets angry and emotional, he makes mistakes. She enjoys watching Brad make mistakes.”
“Brad?” Nate said.
“He was here last night.”
“Did he tell you that?”
She shook her head. “I just know.” Except he’d mentioned in passing that he’d talked to Sam after leaving Sean and Lucy last night. He just hadn’t said he’d stayed all night.
“Brad will be pulled from the investigation. He could be suspended.”
Lucy ignored Nate. The last person she wanted to hurt was Brad, but he had to come clean about his affair with Sam. It established a time line, and his DNA would be all over the place. The ERT would process every inch of Sam’s house, and if he lied he would be fired.
What did Nicole
really
want to accomplish by killing Sam Archer? Had this always been her plan? Payback for having her arrested? Or was it something more? Did this vendetta go back only three months … or longer? Did Nicole hate Sam, or was this murder a psychological attack on Brad? If so, why Brad? Was this personal … or professional? Did Nicole stay in town for some practical reason before she could disappear, or was she here solely for a personal vendetta?
Lucy shook her head. She didn’t see it. Not yet. Neither reason stood out as being right. Nicole was too smart, too methodical, to remain in San Antonio just to seek revenge on people she didn’t like—people she thought betrayed or hurt her, or those who destroyed her criminal enterprise. Yet … there
was
something personal about this murder. A gloating. A
you can’t catch me, I’m smarter than you all
vibe. She enjoyed it—there was no doubt in Lucy’s mind that Nicole found a thrill in killing Sam Archer—but she didn’t kill indiscriminately. There was a purpose to Sam’s murder. A reason for every crime Nicole committed.
