FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (2 page)

Kate stood in the middle of the Trauma Recovery Center’s waiting area, trying not to lose control. Part of her wanted to scream at the backs of the police officers who were walking out the door, another part wanted to sink to the floor and sob. This couldn’t be happening. Sally was missing and it looked like the police weren’t going to do much about it.

After Charles’s call, she had raced out of the house, not even bothering to offer her guests an explanation. She’d just told Rob and her husband that there was something terribly wrong and they needed to go to the center. Pauline had overheard her and had followed them.

They had found things as Charles had described. The outer door was unlocked and Sally’s office door was standing open. Her desk chair had been pulled out from behind her desk. It was in the center of the room, facing the door. Her purse rested on its seat, her wallet inside along with the keys to her car, which was still parked in the back parking lot.

Skip put an arm around Kate’s shoulders. “Dolph’s trying to get in touch with Judith Anderson.”

She nodded mutely and turned into his comforting arms. “Dolph” Randolph was a retired Baltimore County police detective and one of the operatives of Skip’s private investigation agency, Canfield and Hernandez. Dolph and his wife were visiting his grown daughter in Utah. Kate hated that they had to bother him on their vacation, but Judith Anderson, his former partner at BCPD, was their best shot at getting the police to take Sally’s disappearance seriously.

The uniformed officers who had just left certainly hadn’t. After looking around the premises, in which the desk chair was the only thing out of place, they had declared that there were no signs of foul play. Then they’d asked if Sally was of sound mind. When told that she was, the senior officer had informed Charles that he could go to the precinct and file a report with the Missing Persons Division.

Kate glanced across the room at Charles, who had sunk into the chair behind the receptionist’s desk. His normally mocha skin was an unhealthy shade of gray. Pauline, the center’s retired receptionist, was trying to get him to drink a glass of water. He took the glass and dutifully raised it to his lips. His hand shook.

Rob Franklin stood next to the desk, his arms folded across his chest. His gaze flicked from Charles to Kate. She saw her own sense of helplessness reflected in his eyes.

Rose Hernandez–the other half of Canfield and Hernandez–strode through the center’s outer door. Mac Reilly, her husband and also an operative of the detective agency, was right behind her. As usual, she was impeccably dressed in khakis and a brown knit top, and he looked like he’d slept in his baggy jeans and olive-drab T-shirt.

“What’s up, partner?” Rose asked Skip.

Before he could say anything, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered it and listened for a moment. “Thanks, Dolph.” He turned to the others. “Judith’s on her way.”

In response to Rose’s question, Kate launched into a description of the evening’s events. She’d just gotten to the call from Charles when a tall, thin woman appeared in the doorway.

She was casually dressed in black jeans, a loose-fitting white shirt and a black wool jacket, but the Glock strapped to her waist gave her all the professional authority she needed.

Relief washed over Kate. She took a deep breath to start over again, but the detective waved her hand in the air.

“Dolph gave me the gist of it.” Judith Anderson looked around the outer office and waiting area. “The door was unlocked?”

“Yes.” Charles stood up, his large frame imposing in the now crowded room. “And so was her office.”

Judith looked at him, then back at Kate. “You sure your former boss didn’t just decide she didn’t feel like partying?”

“Her car’s out back,” Charles said. “Purse is in her office. I didn’t touch anything, except to look in her purse to see if her wallet was there. I thought maybe she’d gone downstairs to get a soda or something…” He stopped, closed his eyes, swallowed. “I searched the whole building. She isn’t here.”

“Where’s her office?” Judith asked.

Kate led the way, the others trailing behind.

Judith came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, staring at the desk chair sitting in the middle of the beige carpet, the brown leather purse perched prominently on its seat. Running a hand through her short dark hair, she swore under her breath. She turned to Charles, who had stepped up behind her. “You didn’t move that chair?”

“No, ma’am.”

Judith clenched her teeth. “You all got a fax machine here?”

Kate tried to answer but her throat had closed at the expression on Judith’s face.

“Yes,” Pauline said from the group crowded behind them.

“Find me a good picture of this lady,” Judith said. “I need to make a call.”

~~~~~~~~

8:30 p.m. Friday

Judith Anderson stood at the end of the room, looked at the faces of those sitting around the conference table and wished she was anywhere but here. After they heard what she was about to tell them, some of their lives would never be the same. Especially Charles Tolliver’s.

Of course, they would take a long, hard look at Tolliver, just to be sure, but she already had a pretty damn good idea who Sally Ford’s abductor was. Well, not by name, unfortunately, but definitely by reputation.

Judith cleared her throat. “You will all be questioned to make sure no one has a secret grudge against Ms. Ford. Don’t take it personally. We have to cover all the bases.” She paused, wishing she didn’t have to go on. “But current indicators point toward a serial killer who was operating in New Haven, Connecticut. He dropped off their radar six months ago.”

Kate Huntington’s face turned pale and she sucked in her breath. Tolliver’s face went from gray-brown to a sickly shade of green. For a moment, Judith thought the man might pass out.

But he rallied. “What makes you think that, Detective?” His deep baritone rumbled through the room.

It was lieutenant now. Judith had been promoted since the last escapade she’d been involved in with this bunch, in which she had inadvertently come out smelling like a rose.

But she didn’t bother to correct the man. “The purse on the desk chair. It’s a part of his MO that was never released to the press. He leaves an obvious indicator that the person did not go willingly, even though there are no signs of forced entry or a struggle. Obvious to those who know the person, at least.”

She handed a pile of papers to Rob Franklin, who was sitting to her right, and gestured that he should pass them out. They were photocopies of newspaper stories. “He abducted five people, between April of 2012 and May, 2013, all of whom were expected somewhere within the hour. No pattern to the victims. Four female, one male. Three Caucasian, one Asian-American, one African-American. Ages ranged from twenty-two to forty-three. Only thing they had in common was that they were very responsible people.”

“Like Sally,” Kate whispered.

Judith nodded.

“Wh…what does he do to his victims?” Charles asked.

Judith took a deep breath. “After forty-eight hours, he kills them.”

CHAPTER TWO

Charles Tolliver crossed his arms on the table in front of him and lowered his head onto them.

Skip Canfield put his hand on the man’s broad back, then looked over his shaking shoulders at Judith. “Don’t block us out of this, Lieutenant. Use us.”

“I can’t include civilians in an ongoing investigation.”

“Not officially, but use us anyway.” Canfield’s voice was emphatic.

“Won’t be up to me. New Haven police had called in the FBI. The federal agents on the case are on their way here.”

“But you’ll still be on the task force,” Canfield said. “Maybe even heading it.”

Judith looked around the table at their worried eyes and mouths set in grim lines. Tolliver sat up and turned his tear-streaked face in her direction, his expression both pleading and angry.

She sighed. “I’ll do what I can. To save time, I’m going to interview all of you together.”

Everyone but Tolliver nodded. He looked confused.

She intended to have one of her detectives interrogate him further later, but for now… “Did any of you abduct or in any way interfere with the free movements of Sally Ford?”

A chorus of “No” was punctuated by a gruff, “Hell, I didn’t even know the woman,” coming from the scruffy little guy at the far end of the table.

“Speaking of which, who are you?” Judith asked. With the exception of his neat buzz cut, the guy looked like he could be homeless. His clothes were rumpled and she doubted that the day or two of stubble on his cheeks had anything to do with the current fashion trend.

“Mac Reilly. Her old man.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of Rose Hernandez sitting next to him, then waved it in Kate’s general direction. “Her friend.” His index finger pointed at Canfield across the table. “His employee, and friend.”

The clarification of his role in the others’ lives wasn’t necessary. As soon as he’d said his name, Judith knew who he was, but she’d only met him once before. That time, it had been dark and he’d been dripping wet from a dip in the Chesapeake Bay.

“Okay, having completed that round of interviews, I have dropped you all from the list of active suspects, for now.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s get started, folks. We have maybe two more hours before the Feds show up at the precinct.”

She turned to the white board behind her and picked up a dry-erase marker from its tray. “Here’s the profile the Feds gave New Haven.” She started writing as she talked. “White male. Between twenty and forty. Lives alone. Comes from a broken home, may be divorced himself. Very possibly abused as a child–”

Kate snorted. “That’s pretty much the profile of most pathological killers.”

Judith turned slightly and arched an eyebrow at her. “True, but it gets better. This guy looks harmless. He’s able to get close to the victims without them being alarmed. Probably average height or on the short side. Maybe even self-effacing. He follows his victims, learns their habits, their connections. He blends in–”

Tolliver sat bolt upright in his char. “Wait! Are they sure about that age range?”

“Nothing’s ever for sure with profiling,” Judith said.

“There was a guy. I saw him twice. First time was two weeks ago, in a restaurant. He was sitting alone, a couple tables away. I assumed he was a traveling businessman, felt bad for him that he had no one to dine with. Then my phone rang. Sally gave me the evil eye. She hates it when people talk on cell phones in restaurants. But the call was important, so I excused myself and walked outside. Few minutes later, this guy came out and walked right past me. I might not have even remembered him, but when I went back in, the waiter and maître d’ were having a hushed but heated discussion by his table. He had apparently left without paying for his meal. And now that I think about it, he slowed his pace as he went past me, like maybe he was trying to hear what I was saying on the phone.”

Charles paused, looked around the room. Everyone was holding their breath. Judith nodded encouragement. “Then on Wednesday–I dismissed it as my imagination at the time–but I thought I saw the guy again, in my peripheral vision, as I was walking up the block to Sally’s building. When I turned and looked though, nobody was there.”

“Mr. Tolliver, we need to get you hooked up with a police artist right away,” Judith said.

“No need. I can draw him. I’m a graphic designer. Anybody got a pad?”

Kate jumped up. “I know where to find one.” She hurried from the room.

Judith was staring at Tolliver. The man looked like an aging football player or wrestler, not an artist.

His mouth twisted into a parody of a grin. “I know. Breaks all the stereotypes.”

“Describe him!” Judith moved down the board to a clean area.

Tolliver stared at the ceiling for a beat. Then he looked around the room. “Stand up, please, Mr. Reilly.”

Reilly stood. Tolliver nodded. “About his height and build. Wiry.”

“Five-eight. One-sixty, ” Reilly said.

“Blue eyes, I think,” Tolliver said. “Light-colored business suit, gray or light blue. Gray hair, thinning on top. The guy had to be between fifty and sixty.”

Judith held up her hand in a stop signal. She rooted through the information in the file in front of her, checking the details of each victim. All under one hundred-thirty pounds, even the guy. He was only five-six, shorter and lighter than a couple of the women. It was conceivable that the guy Tolliver described could haul them around, slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Kate came back into the room with a stack of yellow legal pads. She handed one to Tolliver, along with a couple pencils, then passed out the rest to the others. They all started taking notes.

Judith was smiling for the first time all evening. “Mr. Tolliver, why don’t you go out to the receptionist’s desk, so you can concentrate on that drawing.” He quickly gathered his supplies and left the room.

Judith walked over and closed the door. “Best he not hear this. The victims had signs of torture and sexual assault–”

Kate gasped and turned white again. Canfield moved over into Tolliver’s vacated seat and put an arm around her shoulders.

“All seemed to have been inflicted postmortem, however,” Judith said quickly. “The M.E.’s certain the torture happened after death. The sexual assault he wasn’t so sure about, until the last victim.” She walked back and rummaged around in the stack of papers at her place at the table. She pulled out the clump she was looking for and flipped through them. “All the female victims had semen inside their vaginas, but little or no vaginal tearing. The last victim was the male. He had semen in his rectum, but again very little tearing. All but one of the women had bruises and abrasions on their wrists and ankles indicating they had been tied up or handcuffed, probably for the entire forty-eight hours. But the last two victims, one of the women and the guy, only had slight abrasions on their wrists. He was a male prostitute. The young women were all middle class, the youngest a college student–”

“He injected the semen into them postmortem,” Kate interrupted.