Serial Games (Virginia Justice Book One) (6 page)

“Do you mind if I tag along on some of your interviews?”

Maggie looked at Brandon. “Not at all. Besides, I need a vehicle since I left Fairbanks the keys to the one we traveled in.”

“I’ll drive. This will give me a chance to personally check in with my men in the field and confirm all assigned teams to our potential vics.”

Maggie and Brandon thanked Sheriff Macintosh in unison and then proceeded out of the hotel. “I would like to stop by the Burrowses’ residence first if that is alright,” Maggie asked as they settled into Brandon’s SUV.

She felt his sideways glance. “Sure. I took a brief, self-guided tour yesterday but your eyes are more familiar with it. Perhaps you’ll see something that might help pinpoint his whereabouts.”

Maggie wasn’t too sure, but she kept her doubts to herself.

****

Maggie unlocked the door to the small one-story house located at the edge of Route 663. She paused before she opened the door. To her right hung steel chains attached to a wooden two-seated swing, which creaked whenever it moved. The house appeared unchanged except the chipped white paint on the railing of the enclosed front porch. Brandon stood behind her and held open the front screen.

“You want me to go first?”

Maggie tried not to shiver when her mind dredged scenes of terror being right behind the door. She suppressed her silly imagination; the danger was long removed. Instead, she righted her shoulders, and gave Brandon a smile. “No, of course not. I’ve been here many times.”

“That still doesn’t mean it gets any easier.”

No, it didn’t. She was well aware of that fact. Even after Burrows’s capture, she came back to the house time and time again to go over evidence, the crime scene, and his bedroom. Maggie wanted to know everything she could about the man who senselessly terrorized the women of Culpeper. “I’m fine.” She opened the door and stepped inside.

The living room sat just as she remembered, yet the property appeared maintained. Only a light layer of dust covered lamps and end tables, even though Burrows had not returned to his boyhood home for a few years. Sunlight poured in from the sheer curtained windows and revealed a cared-for carpet.

Maggie flipped a nearby switch anyway. Glass lamps illuminated the small room.

“Is the electricity supposed to be on?” Brandon moved toward the fireplace. A picture of Burrows as a young boy with his late mother attracted his attention.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Maggie walked over to a tiny table with key hooks positioned above it. She fingered the small, dark brown wicker basket positioned on top of the table. It still held Burrows’s mail. She picked up a few envelopes, each one dated prior to Burrows’s arrest. “I sure hope the city isn’t footing the bill.”

“After what he’s put this town through? I can’t imagine they would. I’m actually amazed they haven’t bulldozed this place.” Brandon returned the photograph to the mantel and walked into the open dining area.

“When I was last here, there were rumors floating around that the home would be turned into an attraction for tourists.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish.” Maggie followed Brandon into the kitchen. “As small as this town is, having a serial killer as its claim to fame would be a huge tourist draw.”

“The Civil War battlefields aren’t enough?”

“You would think.” Maggie shielded her eyes from the bright light that bounced off the yellow walls of the kitchen. It was decorated in typical country fashion, with flower-patterned curtains, wooden furniture, and fruit-themed towels. Just like the living room and the dining room, nothing appeared out of place in the kitchen either.

“Hmm, clean countertops, no dishes in the sink.” Brandon gave her a worried stare. “Who has been here since the crime scene was released?”

“I’m not sure. The prosecuting DA got a court order to keep the house under police supervision until after the trial concluded. Burrows has no living relatives that we know of, so no one should have had access to the house. A clean kitchen doesn’t surprise me because Burrows was a neat freak. However, the lack of additional dust on the furniture does.”

“Well, I think we can safely conclude someone has been here.”

“We’ll have to find out who. It could be crucial to locating him.”

“Agreed.”

Maggie flipped a switch near a closed door. The steps behind it led to the first of a two-level basement. Maggie took a deep breath and expelled slowly.

“Ah…the basement.”

She heard a strong hint of glee in Brandon’s voice. Maggie raised her brows and looked at him.

One side of Brandon’s mouth curved upward. “You said it would be a huge tourist draw.”

Maggie rolled her eyes at his smile and opened the door. A single light shone at the bottom of the steps. “Thank you, Lord, the lights are on,” she breathed and descended.

The basement resembled any other. A dated washer and dryer were nestled in a corner with a wicker laundry basket on one side. A few cabinets were at the other end on either side of a wooden workbench, higher than Maggie’s waist.

“I honestly thought there’d be more to this.”

“You sound disappointed, Marshal.”

“I guess I was expecting, I don’t know—”

“Blood-stained furniture, knives hanging from the ceiling, eyeballs and other souvenir body parts in jars on the shelves?” She teased him with a grin.

Brandon laughed. “Maybe not so much horror movie, but more like something that indicates a meticulous killer.”

“Trust me, this does. Most serial killers have above-average intelligence, are well educated, and other than the occasional murder, are upstanding citizens. They are orderly professionals, which makes their crimes more difficult to uncover, unlike a petty criminal’s.” Maggie gestured around her. “This is textbook.” She watched Brandon’s disillusioned gaze take in his surroundings.

“What a drag.”

Maggie couldn’t help but smile. Cynicism was rampant among law enforcement officers. It helped combat the horrors they witnessed every day when they dealt with the violent members of society. Although everyone had the same goals — bad guys in prison and a safe public — the crimes and brutality of others couldn’t help but fascinate. Maggie had to admit the unpleasantness of the most violent offenders also intrigued her. It was one of the main reasons she stayed with the profiling unit after Burrows’s arrest.

“Don’t worry, Marshal—”

“Brandon,” he eased in.

Maggie forced out a small breath. If he was ready to be a bit more familiar, she might as well go with it. “Brandon. Wait until you see the lower level.”

“Show me.”

Maggie reached down and pulled back a small hemp floor rug to reveal a trap door.

“A secret door. Now, this is getting interesting.” He rubbed his hands together.

“You’re sick.” Maggie suppressed a laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to start a profile on me.”

Maggie gripped the metal rung attached to the wooden door and tugged until the door sprung loose. She flashed him a teasing grin. “I hope I won’t have to.”

“Good,” he said a little too abruptly.

Curious at his hasty reaction, Maggie’s gaze lingered on his face, but all she could perceive was the chiseled features of a well-guarded man. She turned her attention back to the darkness beneath the trap door.

“What is that smell?”

Maggie inhaled deeply. “Smells like a mix of formaldehyde and blood.”

“It’s still strong?”

“There’s virtually no airflow down here, so it stays stale.” Maggie pulled out a flashlight from its holder on her waist and descended the hanging steps. She shined the light around until she spotted a hanging cord connected to a small bulb near the ceiling. She pulled on the string.

Darkness.

“Oh, great.”

“What?” Brandon’s voice held a weight of concern.

“The light is out.”

Brandon chuckled. “Even better.”

Maggie looked up. Brandon had stooped and peered into the shadows around her. “You’re starting to scare me, Marshal.”

He focused his gaze on hers and held it. “Agent Weston, what do I have to do to get you to say my name?”

Maggie lost her footing at the edge of the steps and slid down a foot. “Oh!” Beneath her, the steps jerked roughly as Brandon hurried down. Two warm hands on both her arms pulled her to her feet. Her fingers went instinctively to his chest. His sculpted chest.

“You okay?”

She had dropped her flashlight, so the darkness obscured his eyes, but she could feel the accelerated beat of his heart beneath her palm. She quickly removed her hands and fought the urge to drag them down the length of his fitted shirt.

“Yes.” Maggie hated that her voice wavered. He
was
the cause of her losing her concentration, and her footing.

“So, the light doesn’t work.” He released her and turned on his own flashlight.

Maggie moved to the far wall to pick up her flashlight. When she stood, her eyes caught the illuminated sight of a familiar piece of furniture. An old, hunter green barber-like chair with metal armrests, in the center of the room.

“I take it that’s where…”

“Yeah.”

Brandon walked over to the chair and fingered the edges of an oval-shaped piece missing from the back of the backrest. Maggie recalled collecting that segment of the chair, the only spot where trace evidence was recovered. A few drops of blood, skin cells, and fibers from Sally Mayes. She had wanted to bag the whole chair for the trial, but the prosecuting DA decided against it. He worried the defense attorney would have drafted a motion claiming the chair would cause undue prejudice on his client. Considering Burrows was indicted for nine counts of felony murder without the bodies, the less hassle the better chance for a conviction.

Maggie flashed her light behind the chair toward a worn bookcase. She fingered the books, noticing the old wrapped binders, and recognizing the names of classics such as
Robinson Caruso, Great Expectations
, and
Moby Dick
. “He has a few classics here that are first editions.”

“Wow.”

“Yes, very valuable.” Her fingers touched a large book she didn’t recognize. She drew a finger down its spine, and felt the curves of what reminded her of a three-ring binder. The leather looked new, not as tattered as the other books on the shelf.

“What’s that sound?”

She turned away from the book and concentrated. Past Brandon’s breathing was the unmistakable sound of liquid dripping. “It’s a leak of some sort.”

“Do any pipes run down here?”

“Just those belonging to the main parts of the house, including the washer and dryer.”

Brandon raised his eyes to the ceiling and shone his light around in search of the leak. Maggie inhaled deeply and fought back a cough at the stench. She was done. “If you are finished enjoying the spook show, I’d like to get out of here.”

“You’re the consultant. I’ll follow your lead.” His voice held a level of professionalism she hadn’t heard him use with her.

Whenever she met new people, Maggie had to fight from putting on her profiler hat and deducing whatever she could about the person. Now an even greater reason existed. She felt an immediate physical attraction to Brandon. His easy rapport with her threw her for a loop, but she recovered. They would be spending a lot of time together — in close proximity — over the next several days or however long it took to apprehend Burrows.

She needed to stay focused.

If she failed to arrest Burrows this time, her skills as a profiler would come under serious scrutiny. With her quick promotion to profiler team lead after Burrows’s initial capture, Maggie worried she wasn’t up to par with Bureau standards. She didn’t want any distractions drawing away the energy she needed to remain confident in her abilities. Even if he did come in a classically handsome package, complete with brawns and a gun.

****

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Brandon stated as they exited the Burrowses’ house. He watched a silent Maggie as she kept her head down, a frown on her lovely face. In the last five minutes, Maggie had completely shut down. She had breezed through the rest of the tiny bedrooms in a manner quite the opposite from her review of the custody bus. This worried him as he watched her walk quickly around the car, hop inside, and shut the door with a bang. Brandon stood at the closed driver door. He sighed as he opened it.

Brandon climbed in and then softly shut the door. He slipped the keys into the ignition but didn’t turn them.

“Why aren’t we moving?” came her clipped voice.

Brandon turned toward her, and unlatched her seat belt. He had to suppress a grin when she jumped, startled at his action.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes widened.

Brandon took a moment to read them. She trembled slightly at his scrutiny, but her stare did not relent. Brandon’s eyes strayed down to see her hand clutched the seat belt. Hearing her rapid breath, he could almost swear her heart beat at two hundred times a minute. “You’re terrified,” he said softly. He gently eased the seatbelt latch from her fingers.

“I’m fine.”

Brandon shook his head slowly. “No, you’re not. What has you so spooked? Is it this house?” He pointed over his shoulder. She didn’t respond immediately, just stared at him. She searched his eyes for something and, if he knew what it was, he’d give it to her. Instead, he remained quiet, not knowing what to say to ease whatever panic had suddenly stolen over her.

Maggie finally broke her gaze. She sat back in the seat and shook her head. “It’s not the house.”

Brandon reached up to cradle the back of her head in his hand and turned her slowly toward him. “Then what?” he whispered. “Did you see something? A clue about his next move?”

Brandon struggled to recall whether he had missed anything as he waited for her to answer. He was no profiler, but he possessed basic investigative sense. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary, except for the Hannibal Lector-type dungeon. Yet, he might have overlooked something she’d notice.

“Did you know her body is also missing?”

Brandon was taken aback by the steadiness of her voice. Earlier in the hotel, she displayed a level of insecurity. Now, here in the car, the tiny flecks of gold in her chocolate eyes glowed with fear, yet she squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath. She possessed a sweet mix of vulnerability and strength he wasn’t used to in a woman.