Deadly Bonds (2 page)

“That would be great. If it weren’t so important...”

“But it is. One day, though, you’re going to reassess your priorities and realize experiencing every aspect of Theo’s childhood is—or should have been—important too.”

* * *

Thankfully, the heat of the summer day didn’t penetrate the stark confines of the concrete building, especially on the basement sublevel. The parking garage was cool, dark and smelled of stale motor exhaust and death.

The area had been cordoned off by the CPD, an easy feat since the government building the garage lay beneath was closed up tight on the weekends. There were no other cars, no curious bystanders. At least something was going right today.

As Holt approached the only car and the few people gathered there to process the scene, he nodded to the detective who stood to the side. The other man’s scowl wasn’t exactly a warm-fuzzy greeting. Of course, he’d probably been stuck in this place for hours and now Holt was treading on his territory. Judging by the cold welcome, SSAM must have been called in by one of his superiors. Holt was accustomed to the lack of appreciation of his talents and let the man’s assessment roll off him. In the end, what mattered was apprehending a murderer.

Behind him, the coroner was squeezing into the passenger seat of a black Mercedes, careful of any evidence, assessing the body in the position it was found before it was removed and taken to the morgue. Talk about up-close and personal.

Holt offered his hand to the detective. “Dr. Holt Patterson. My specialty is forensic psychology.”

The detective accepted his hand with a clammy grip. He was shorter than Holt’s six-foot-two, but the guy’s paunch made him twice as wide. “Detective Wayne McDowell. My specialty is catching murderers.” His tone held a degree of sarcasm that Holt chose to ignore.

“Then let’s get to it.”

McDowell jerked his head toward the Mercedes. A crime scene technologist circled, taking pictures of the car and the garage. Judging by the coroner’s actions, the body and the car interior had already been extensively photographed and processed. “Victim is Roy Beechum. State senator with an office upstairs. Worked late yesterday. Was found this morning as the weekend cleaning crew arrived. They’ve been questioned and cleared.”

“Any suspects?”

“I suppose that’s why you’re here. Ask anybody around here and nobody hated the man. Christ, one of the cleaning ladies was actually in tears when she found out. At forty-five years old, Beechum was young, attractive and relatively competent. What’s not to like? In fact, recent polls showed he has the highest approval rating of any Illinois state senator in history. Happy marriage too. Nineteen years. Nuclear family with a son and daughter in high school. No rumors of shady side dealings, at least nothing we know of yet.”

“Why didn’t his wife report him missing?”

“Apparently Beechum was due to leave town last night. She didn’t expect to see or hear from him until today.”

Holt glanced into the dark recesses of the garage. Sure enough, a camera hung in the corner near the elevator.
Hallelujah.
“Video surveillance should give us more.”

“We have someone processing it.”

“If you don’t mind, SSAM has an expert who can help out too. Einstein has a lot of experience.”

“Einstein?”

“Just a nickname. But an accurate one.”

McDowell eyed him a moment, then sighed. “Sure. I’ll have someone send a copy over.”

The coroner was now standing beside the car, pulling his gloves off. The yellowish light of the garage glowed against his bald spot as he joined them. He nodded a hello to Holt before turning his attention to McDowell. “Same signs of struggle, same style wound, same weapon of choice as the previous two scenes. I’d say your guess about this being the same killer has merit.”

“Fuck. That’s what I thought. Thanks, Rick.” The detective dropped any lingering signs of an attitude as he turned back to Holt. Lines formed across his wide forehead. “We found black fibers under a few of Beechum’s broken nails, but I doubt it’ll lead anywhere. Just like the others. This murderer doesn’t leave any traceable evidence behind, except for what he wants us to find.”

“Which is?”

“A hypodermic needle and syringe. Other than the weapon, he’s careful. Methodical. And deadly. Beechum wasn’t the first victim, or the second. And I’m guessing he won’t be the last.
That’s
why you’re here, Dr. Patterson. We suspect we have a serial killer on our hands, and I’ll be damned if I have any idea who’s next on his list.”

* * *

Theo Patterson’s creativity was off the charts but Sara couldn’t say that. Not yet, anyway. As director of the Hills Boys’ Academy, she had to hide her surprise behind a mask of disapproval as he and his science teacher faced off across the desk from her. It wasn’t even ten in the morning and her Monday was veering off a cliff. Summer was supposed to have a more relaxed atmosphere with fewer students around, yet this was Theo’s fourth time in her office. There was clearly more going on here.

“This—” Mr. Lockhart, a valued professor at the Academy, shook a spiral notebook in Sara’s face, “—is why he’s going to be held back and forced to retake fourth grade. Summer school is his chance to finally pass this class, yet he’d rather doodle about nothing than learn something useful.”

She bit back the defense that sprang to her lips. The doodles had hardly been aimless. Given Theo’s youth and lack of training, they were amazing. In a comic book format, the boy had created an entire cast of unique characters that told a coherent and compelling story. Sure, it had elements of violence, and she would speak to him about that, but at least the notebook was a healthy outlet.

Sara took Exhibit A from Lockhart before he could shove it under her nose again and tucked it into a drawer of her desk. Theo’s groan was audible, but one sharp look from her quelled the outburst she knew was brewing. The boy showed signs of his father’s intelligence and his mother’s devil-may-care attitude. Still, she had a soft spot for the son of her best friend. More than that, she’d made a promise before Elizabeth had died.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Lockhart. You can return to your class now.” Sara’s words had the man’s jaw dropping.

“You’re going to let him get away with this?”

“Absolutely not. He’s staying so we can have a little chat.”

“
Chat?
” Lockhart’s neck turned bright red.

“I understand how serious this is, and you can be sure I’ll be addressing it.”

“I’ve spoken to his other teachers, and we all agree his attention span is equal to a gnat’s and nowhere near par for this school. Punishment is the only acceptable recourse.”

Sara rose from her chair and came around the desk to stand toe-to-toe with Lockhart. Though he had a few inches on her average frame, he took a step back. “As director, my goal is to act in the best interests of the school as well as its students. I assure you, I plan to. I take my job and the reputation of this school very seriously. Don’t ever doubt that. Will there be anything else?”

“No, uh...no.” Lockhart glared at Theo. “I’ll expect that extra work on my desk by the end of the week.”

As the door closed behind Lockhart, Sara retreated behind her desk, then dropped into her chair. She picked up the phone and dialed the outer office, where Cheryl, efficient as always, picked up immediately.

“Shall I hold your calls?” her secretary asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. Sara added mind reader to the list of Cheryl’s talents.

“Yes, please. Thank you.” She put the phone back on its cradle and eyed Theo.

After a moment of quiet, he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “I thought we were going to
chat.
”

She didn’t miss the sarcasm slathered in a thick layer over that comment. “We are. But a conversation requires two participants, and our previous experience together suggests you won’t exactly be eager to talk.”

Theo shrugged. “Not much to say.”

“I disagree, but I think you’d rather communicate in other ways.” She pulled the notebook from her drawer and laid it on the desk between them. “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks.” His mumble was reluctant, but she caught the glint of pride in his eyes before he glanced down at his lap. When he looked up again, the seriousness of his gaze immediately brought Holt to mind. Her heart squeezed. “Can I have my notebook back?”

“No.” Just like that, she felt their tremulous connection break. “At least, not yet. Let’s talk about the content. Your story has a lot of violence.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “They have to fight. They’re an army of mutants who battle the minions of death. They’re not just going to lie down and take a beating.”

Sara wondered if Theo realized how his comic illustrated his own frustrations, fears, and pain of the past year and a half. He’d probably channeled all those deep emotions into this creative outlet. “You’re right. It’s hard to fight evil forces without a battle or two. But we don’t approve of violence here at the Academy. I have to be sure you don’t intend to act out any of these fantasies.”

Theo looked surprised. “I would never hurt anyone for real.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“So, can I have my notebook now?”

Sara wanted to give in, but there was no better opportunity to connect with Elizabeth’s son. “How about I make you a deal?”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll return your notebook if you promise me one thing.”

His response was swift. “Deal.”

She held up a hand. “You haven’t even heard the deal yet. You’ll meet with me on Friday afternoons, after your summer school class, for the rest of the term.”

He scowled. “To do extra homework or something?”

“No. You’ll be working on a special project with me. I hope you’ll share your notebook with me too.”

“You
want
me to work on my story?” Surprise chased the frown from his face.

“Absolutely. But if your grades don’t improve and your teachers don’t stop complaining, we’ll have to chat about other ways to curb your distractions—maybe the extra homework or chores you mentioned. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure.” Theo accepted the hand she reached across the desk toward him and punctuated the agreement with a tentative smile.

Again, Sara thought of Holt and his reluctant grins. He’d always been serious in a thoughtful, distracted, studious way. But when he smiled, it seemed to be filled with boyish wonder or mischief. She wished she could forget that smile.

“So, that’s it?” Theo asked. “That’s my punishment?”

“Nice try, but there’s more. This is the fourth time you’ve been sent to my office in the last few weeks—”

“—because my teachers have no sense of humor—”

“—and I’m seeing a pattern here. A disturbing pattern that has to end now, before school rules require I expel you.” She stifled a smile as Theo paled. At least the kid wanted to be here. “Pranks, cutting class, and distractions like comic books...I
am
going to have to call your dad. He might decide on an additional consequence.”

“He won’t answer.” Where other kids might have sounded triumphant at the prospect of getting out of further punishment, Theo sounded sad. Worse, she suspected he was right. That certainly had been the case in the previous instances she’d attempted to reach Holt. She’d ended up discussing things with Theo’s grandparents, with whom Theo seemed to spend most of his spare time anyway. At least they’d been concerned and supportive.

Hoping Theo was wrong this time, she dialed the number she found in his contact information. The phone rang and went to voicemail once again. Holt’s recorded voice requested she leave a message.

Keep it professional
,
no matter how much you want to wring his neck.
“This is Sara at the Academy. Theo is in my office once again. Please call me at your earliest convenience so we can arrange a parent-teacher conference. It’s imperative that you contact me.” She left her number, hung up and met Theo’s gaze.

To his credit, Theo didn’t back down, didn’t look away. There was wisdom beyond his years in those hazel eyes, tinged with pain. His shrug was deceptively casual. “Told you.”

Chapter Two

August

The feel of the H&K pistol in Holt’s hand was a comfort. As ex-law enforcement, Ron Patterson had taught his son how to fire a gun—and instilled a healthy respect for the weapon—at an early age. Holt hoped to teach Theo similar lessons one day soon. In the meantime, retreating to the basement of the SSAM building where Damian had constructed a firing range was therapy. Holt had some serious kinks to work out of his mood.

He’d had his hands on the three supposedly connected murder cases for a couple of weeks now, and most of his attempts to profile the killer had involved reading through the interviews already on file and re-interviewing people linked to the victims. Tedium
ad nauseum.

Add his latest discussion with Theo’s science teacher Mr. Lockhart a few days ago to the mix and Holt was not a happy camper. Theo was a smart kid but apparently very distracted and still struggling to get his grades up. And, according to Lockhart, Sara was compounding the problem by coddling Theo. Perhaps it was time to try a different school. Elizabeth had wanted Theo to attend the Academy, where her friend could help look out for him, and Holt had honored that. But surely she wouldn’t have continued to send Theo there if it wasn’t the right environment for him.

“Tough day?” Fellow SSAM agent Max Sawyer had to stand at his side and shout the words to be heard through Holt’s ear protection.

Holt pulled the gear off and let it circle his neck. “Sometimes I do my best thinking down here.” Except today it wasn’t working.

Max nodded. His specialty at SSAM was weaponry, and this basement level, which housed the employees’ gun safe as well as a target practice area and a gym, was his domain. He kept SSAM agents up to speed on their shooting skills, and sometimes his training extended to the public, particularly in weapon use and safety, but he was also ex-special forces. Though he wasn’t a profiler, a sharp brain lay within the good-ole-boy Texan. Perhaps it was time to invite a different perspective.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” Holt asked.

Max flipped his hand up to check his watch. “About an hour, as a matter of fact.”

“Meet me upstairs in five.” Holt cleaned and put away his equipment, locking the gun away in the community safe. A short while later, Holt used his palm print and a key-code to gain entrance to the west wing, which housed their offices.

“What’s this about?” Max followed Holt into the conference room.

“I could use a fresh pair of eyes. Latest case involves three murders we believe are connected.”

Max stood at the SSAM conference room table and studied the crime scene evidence Holt had set out that morning, hoping a global look at all the little pieces would help the puzzle slide together. Photos of each of the three murder scenes were laid out in an organized manner.

A few minutes later, Max frowned. “I can see why you’re struggling. Victims of different ages, genders, occupations. It’s as if he threw some darts at a board and these were the unlucky winners.”

Holt was relieved he wasn’t the only one to see the complications. A doctorate in psychology, special training with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, and years of experience hunting big, bad killers with various police departments across the United States, and Holt still failed to see a pattern. “A CEO, a doctor and a politician.”

“Sounds like a bad joke. A CEO, a doctor, and a politician walk into a bar...”

“Coffee?” Becca Haney entered the room, a tray in her hands. She had the petite frame and graceful movements of a fairy princess, but her short, sassy, blond hair and the gun at her waist quickly relieved one of that impression.

“Thank you.” Grateful for the break, Holt took the tray from Becca and set it on a side table. He’d been so immersed in the investigation he was seeing the photos in his sleep. Which meant he wasn’t getting enough sleep. He took a cup and dumped in the contents of two sugar packets. Without looking up, Max accepted the cup Becca handed him.

She stood beside Max and scanned the evidence. “The drug?”

“A blend of neurotoxins,” Holt said. “Our lab is analyzing it in case there’s something unique enough to lead somewhere. From the previous two crime scenes, the CPD’s lab determined the components are used for industrial purposes and can be purchased from any of several commercial chemical facilities.”

“Scary thought. What about the delivery system?”

“One needle and syringe was recovered from each of the scenes. Hypodermics available at any pharmacy or medical supply company.”

“Damn.”

“Exactly.”

Becca slapped Max on the shoulder, which was at the level of her head. “Well, I’ll leave you experts to it then. I’m off to play bodyguard.” A SSAM security expert, Becca often guarded at-risk, sometimes high-profile people.

“For?”

“A wealthy business buddy of Damian’s who’s had a couple of death threats. I’ve got to go get dressed up for some fancy party.”

Max smirked. “Must be hard being you.”

“Somehow I suffer through.” Becca wriggled her fingers over her shoulder as she walked out.

Holt’s gaze went back over the items on the table, landing on the pictures of the hypodermic needles. The real things were locked up in the CPD evidence locker after the crime lab had finished with them. The media was pressuring him for interviews, profiles and answers. Answers he didn’t have. “Becca may be on to something. Maybe I should get SSAM’s crime lab to hook up with CPD’s. Have them go over the older needles one more time.”

Max straightened and took a gulp of coffee. “What for? We have a detailed report of the contents, and the chemical breakdown.”

“That covers the inside, but not the outside.”

“Prints on the needles, you think?”

“No. They tested for those and found them clean. I’m wondering if there are traces of other chemicals. Something that would indicate where these cocktails were mixed. Maybe they were made in a lab that has other specific uses.”

“I can check with my street contacts. See if any of the illegal drug labs are known to mix special requests.”

“Do that.”

Max took out his phone and sent a quick text, then tucked it away again. “I should hear something in the next twenty-four. What else have you got?”

“Let’s review the victims.” Holt learned more about the killer by profiling the victims and the crime scenes than he did searching for the bad guy. After all, there was a reason a killer chose the people he did, even if the reason was convenience. “The first—”

Max arched a brow. “That we know of.”

“—was found slumped in his chair in his office at Tech Innovations in early January. Joseph Kurtz was the CEO. Fifty-three years old. At first, everyone thought the death was natural—heart attack or something—but he had been relatively healthy.” The coroner had found a small bruise on Kurtz’s neck, which led to the tox screen that showed cause of death hadn’t been a simple heart attack. Irregular blood chemistry and the presence of neurotoxins showed Kurtz was poisoned. “When foul play was suspected, police interviewed his coworkers and associates. A cleaning lady admitted she’d found an empty syringe under the desk and thrown it away. Thankfully, they recovered it from the trash. His employees seemed to think Kurtz was competent, but not particularly likeable.”

“I assume his family was investigated?”

Often it was someone close to the victim who perpetrated such a violent crime. Sometimes the line between love and hate was a fine one.

“Yes. Married, and though it wasn’t a happy marriage, they tolerated each other. His wife complained Kurtz worked too much, but I don’t think she’d kill him and then throw suspicion elsewhere by killing two more people. Besides, Kurtz was much taller, heavier and stronger than her, and he was injected in the neck.”

“So we’re looking for a strong, relatively tall male.”

“Yes, and probably someone Kurtz knew.”

“Either that or the killer snuck up on him. To get that close in a private office without a fight...”

“Interviews of everyone who’d come close to Kurtz in the weeks before his death didn’t lead to any strong suspects.”

Max picked up a picture from the table. “And the second victim?”

“Dr. Sheila Brown was found late on Valentine’s Day, outside a bar, sprawled on her stomach near her car in the parking lot. Thirty-four-year-old oncologist who worked at Mercy Hospital. Well-liked. Had an active social life, when she could squeeze in the time. Also injected in the neck.”

“But she put up a fight.”

“The defensive wounds—broken fingernails, bruising across her torso, and a black fiber remnant in her teeth—clued the ME in, so there were extra tests done. Bingo, same neurotoxins found in her bloodstream.”

“No sign of sexual assault?”

“None.”

Max set her picture on the table away from the others. It was a smiling portrait of a healthy woman, taken from the medical directory at Mercy. “She was an attractive lady.”

Holt had thought the same thing. “These attacks aren’t sexual in nature. The killer’s after another kind of power, or has a different motive altogether—revenge, greed, covering up something else...” Holt had been through the list of possibilities countless times, but the picture was still hazy.

Max lifted a photograph from among those of the third crime. “And then there’s the politician. Even though he was state-level, definitely a powerful position. How would killing Beechum give the
killer
power?”

“It might not be a literal shift in power, just something the killer experiences. A kind of post-kill high.”

“I get it.” As an experienced covert operative, Max would know what an adrenaline high felt like, and possibly what it felt like to kill a person, maybe even with his bare hands.

“Forty-five-year-old Illinois State Senator Roy Beechum was physically fit and could have fought back. I think the killer learned from Dr. Brown’s resistance and ambushed him. But he had to have lain in wait for hours. Like the others, Beechum had been stabbed in the neck. The killer was hiding in the backseat of his car and waited for the opportunity to attack with minimal risk to himself. There were no prints in the car or on the door handles. We even checked the rearview and side-view mirrors, assuming he’d turned them to watch the elevator doors from where he’d crouched. Einstein reviewed the video, and the killer had adjusted the mirrors before breaking into the car, but still no prints. No hairs, either. In the video, you can see the killer from behind and he’s wearing a hood. Presumably, this also kept him from leaving hairs behind at the scene. This guy is careful, and may even have shaved his body to avoid leaving DNA. Still, we were able to determine he’s Caucasian, and estimate he’s about five-eleven and one hundred-eighty pounds.” Holt tapped a fingertip on the table. “What I can’t figure out is why Beechum? He was relatively new to the legislature.”

“Hardly had time to make enemies.”

“I’m sure he had plenty of time along the road to election, and probably in the positions he held before, since he worked his way up to the State Senate.” Holt’s gaze traveled over the table. “But how did all three of these people make the
same
enemy?” It was the question that had been bugging him since he’d been handed the case.

As if hearing his thoughts, Max spoke the question. “What leads have you got?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Holt. You’re thinking too hard. What’s your gut telling you?”

“This guy wants to be noticed. He’s got an agenda he wants known, but on his schedule.”

“What makes you say that?”

Holt met Max’s curious gaze. “Instinct. Maybe because the method of killing is so dramatic and different. And, despite being so careful not to leave personal evidence, the fact he leaves the needles at the scene...it smacks of someone who wants to be noticed. He wants someone to figure him out.”

“A drama queen?”

“Exactly.” An idea bloomed. Holt grinned. “Every drama queen craves a spotlight. Maybe I should oblige him.”

* * *

“Where are we going?” Theo asked, bending his head to avoid a tree branch.

“I thought we’d take our chess game outside today.” Sara smiled as he looked back in surprise. “This is our last Friday meeting. Last day of summer school. I thought we could make it special. Are you excited to have a week off before the fall semester starts?” She laid out a plaid blanket beneath a tree on the far edge of the school’s property.

He shrugged. “I guess. This is really where you want to play chess today?”

“I was kind of thinking that, yeah.” Their chess chats, as she’d come to think of them since she’d begun teaching Theo chess, had become a regular Friday occurrence over the past couple weeks. With the same attention to detail he’d used in creating his comic book, Theo had taken to the game in a flash. She was going to miss the way he chewed his lip as he studied new moves or drummed his finger against his knee when he was thinking particularly hard.

“Where’s the board?”

She slid her bag off her shoulder and sat cross-legged on the blanket. “I have a miniature version for travel.” She took out the chess pieces as he sat down opposite her in the shade of the elm. “Do you have something for me?”

He fished in his own backpack for a tattered notebook and handed it over with a triumphant look. “I finished it last night.”

“How about you set up our game while I read?”

Sara was soon absorbed in Theo’s story, fascinated by the challenges he’d thrown at his heroes, and the way they’d united to overthrow the villain. But what most gripped her was the relationship between one of the heroes and the guy who supposedly ran the group. “Agent Z doesn’t seem to like his employer, Mister X, much, does he?”

“Yeah, X is kind of a mystery to everyone.”

Kind of like Theo’s dad was a mystery to Theo? Or was she reading too much into things? Still, she would love for Holt to read this. “Are you going to show this to your dad?”

“Maybe.” Another shrug.

“Well, I think you should. It’s excellent. How about our game?” The next fifteen minutes was spent mostly in silence as they moved and counter-moved. Theo had her in check but didn’t seem to want to take his final turn. He had to have seen the opening she’d accidentally left him. “I think you can capture my king.”