Going Gone (19 page)

She smiled.

“Pretty as ever,” Bo said, and carefully swung her up in his arms, planted a kiss on her cheek, then set her back on her feet. “Hey, sugar, this is my friend Grant Whitelaw. I thought it would be a good idea to have two sets of eyes on your info, instead of just mine. You know how difficult it is for me to keep my eyes off you, so I’ll most likely be distracted anyway.”

Lucy grinned. “You haven’t changed a bit. You’re still the disreputable rake you always were, and I love it. Nice to meet you, Mr. Whitelaw. I hope you know the company you’re keeping.”

Grant smiled. “All too well, ma’am. All too well.”

“I insist you call me Lucy. All of William Harold’s boys do.”

Grant’s smile widened. “Yes, ma’am...I mean, Lucy, and thanks.”

“Now...where’s that journal you’ve been keeping?” Bo asked.

Lucy took it from the top drawer of the desk and handed it to him. When he opened it and began to read, she still felt the need to narrate.

“I was put off almost immediately by the large amount of cash he was carrying and his claim not to like hotels. Who doesn’t like a hotel? Room service, maids to make the beds...you know what I mean. Anyway, I began with his name and the date of his arrival. As you can see, I noted what he was driving and the tag number, although a few days in, he switched to another vehicle in a completely different color. Another van, though. Good for hauling bodies, you know.”

Grant started to grin and then realized she was dead serious. He looked at his partner’s face, and saw that he was serious, too. She continued to talk.

“He suffered some kind of injury a few days ago and could barely walk. I recommended a chiropractor, and I suppose he went, because he came back later a little better.” She tapped the page. “But his injury occurred the same night the last victim went missing. Deadweight is heavy to move.”

Bo was listening with one ear as he scanned the entries. He could see the case she was making, and it was damn intriguing. He glanced back up at the top of the page.

“Said his name was Leibowitz, did he?”

She nodded.

“Did you call this in to the D.C. police?”

She frowned. “Yes, and they blew me off like dust on a little black dress.”

Grant stifled a chuckle. He liked Lucy Taft more and more by the minute.

Bo frowned. “Blew you off, did they? So give me the key to your apartment and we’ll see if we can lift some prints.”

She frowned. “Okay, but don’t make a big mess for Mildred to clean up. Oh, he left a stepladder and some old, empty paint cans behind. They’re beside my garbage cans.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bo said.

Lucy rang for the maid, who led them out to the apartment the same way she’d taken Hershel. Grant went to their car to get a kit to dust for fingerprints, and after Mildred’s assurance that nothing had been touched since his disappearance, she left them to their devices.

Grant was smiling as the maid left.

“That Lucy Taft is something, isn’t she?”

Bo nodded. “So was her husband. At one time Taft was one of the best international operatives we had, and she was his cover. Cute little woman married to a rich industrialist. They were perfect. She was also smart enough to know not to clean this place until we could search it. So let’s get started.”

They lifted prints off the most obvious places. The bedside table, the bathroom mirror and the coffeepot in the kitchen, and then took pictures of the prints and emailed them in to NCIC to confirm what they already knew, so there would be no loophole for him to crawl through when they finally got him in court.

They were still poking around in the bedroom when Grant’s phone signaled a call, but the caller ID was a blocked number.

“Look at this,” he said as he held it up to Bo.

“That’s weird,” Bo said. “So answer and find out who it is.”

“I’m putting it on speaker,” he said, and then answered. “This is Whitelaw.”

“Agent Whitelaw, this is Agent Jo Luckett, FBI. You sent a fingerprint into NCIC, and we’d like to know where you lifted it.”

Grant’s eyes widened. “Whoa,” he muttered. “I do believe Miz Lucy hit the jackpot.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Could you repeat?” Jo said.

“I’ll tell you where I got it if you’ll tell me who it belongs to,” Grant said.

Jo didn’t hesitate. “Ever hear of a serial killer called the Stormchaser?”

Bo introduced himself and then joined the conversation.

“Agent Luckett, this is Agent Bo Phillips. I’m here with my partner, Agent Grant Whitelaw. Are you telling us that this print is a definite match for the killer?”

“Yes, and there is an active investigation involving the D.C. police and our Stormchaser team as we speak. I would ask that you take yourselves and your information down to the P.D. as soon as possible. I’ll alert them that you’re coming.”

“Is it that urgent?” Bo asked.

“Yes. They can explain,” she said.

“So who’s heading up the team?” he asked.

“You’ll be looking for Special Agent Tate Benton and his team, along with Detectives Wells and Burch on the P.D. side.”

“Okay. Tell them we’re on the way and we’re bringing along a witness.”

“Stellar,” Jo said. “I’m making the call now.”

Grant logged off, then gave Bo a look.

“I wonder how close Miz Lucy came to being a victim?”

Bo frowned. “I don’t like to think about it. However, let’s get back to the house. We need to get our pie, and then take Lucy and her journal down to the P.D. ASAP.”

Seventeen

L
aura and Cameron were eating breakfast when her phone rang. “Hey, Laura, this is Tate. Is Cameron there with you? He’s not answering his phone.”

“Yes, he’s here and it’s on the charger. Hang on a minute.” She handed Cameron the phone. “It’s Tate, for you.”

“What’s up?” Cameron asked.

“Ricks’ body turned up. A jogger spotted it in the river. The M.E. is on the scene.”

“I’m almost through. I’ll meet you at the P.D.,” Cameron said.

“My best to Laura. Tell her to pay attention.”

“Will do,” he said, and disconnected.

Laura got up to refill her coffee, then carried the carafe to the table to top Cameron’s off, as well.

“What’s happening?” she asked as she slid back into her seat.

“The fourth body surfaced this morning.”

She shuddered, the expression on her face suddenly haunted.

“We’re going to stop him, Laura.”

She didn’t look up. It was her lack of faith that they could honor that pledge that hurt most, and he completely understood why. They’d been saying the same thing for far too long.

He reached across the table and took her hand.

“So what are you going to do today after you get everything shipped back?”

She made herself smile as she looked up to meet his gaze.

“Go home. The place has been sadly neglected. It needs a good cleaning. We’re low on groceries, and laundry is piling up.”

“Give me the grocery list. I’ll shop before I come home today.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. You have a whole new victim to process. It will be good to do mundane tasks. I want to get them over with before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow...besides Saturday?”

She smiled again, and this time it was genuine.

“I’m going for the last fitting on my wedding dress.”

The knot in Cameron’s stomach tightened. He loved this woman so much, and, come hell or high water, he had to keep her safe.

“I don’t suppose I’m allowed to go on this trip?”

“Of course you’re not allowed. It’s bad luck, remember?”

He frowned. “I don’t believe in luck. I believe in blessings, and the day I met you was the biggest blessing of my life.”

Tears suddenly blurred her vision of his face.

“I sure do love you, Cameron Winger.”

“I love you most,” he said softly as he got up to leave. “And if that slips your mind during the day, when I get home tonight, I’ll be happy to remind you again.”

Laura stood and put her arms around his neck.

“I could never forget my hero.”

Cameron bent down to kiss her, but when he saw the tears she was trying not to shed, he groaned.

“Laura...honey...you break my heart.”

Her voice was shaking, but she wouldn’t let go of her smile.

“Just kiss me, Cameron. All I need is a kiss.”

He could never tell her no.

* * *

Laura worked through the morning with her head down and didn’t look up. It took her until early afternoon to finish the paperwork and get the unused supplies loaded back onto a truck before she could leave, but it was finally done.

Kevin had already signed off on the community center and was on his way back into D.C. to the main office.

She handed the church keys to the pastor, thanked him for the generosity, then drove home in a daze, her mind still filled with images of lives lost and hearts broken. As always, it would take time for the shock and sadness of the disaster to dissipate. It was part of the job.

She was driving past a supermarket when she suddenly switched lanes and drove into the lot. Even though it was late and she was anxious to get home, it would be easier to do the grocery shopping now than have to deal with it tomorrow, and she’d wanted to get it done today anyway.

Once she found a place to park, she sat in the car making a grocery list, then glanced at the time. She couldn’t remember the time difference between here and London, but she suddenly had the urge to hear her sister’s voice. She made the call, then settled against the seat as she waited for it to go through.

The sun was warm against her face. The silence inside the car was hypnotic. If it wasn’t for the constant movement of the cars and people around her, she could easily have fallen asleep. When the phone finally began to ring, she counted them. Just when she feared it was going to go to voice mail, Sarah answered.

“Hello?”

Laura frowned. “It’s me. You sound terrible.”

“That’s because I was asleep. I’ve been sick with some bug for the past two days, so I went to bed early.”

Immediately she knew she wasn’t going to tell Sarah she’d already seen the killer—twice.

“Oh, no! Honey! I’m sorry. Have you been to the doctor?”

“Yes. I have meds. I’m taking them, but they make me sleepy, which is why I sound like a drunk.” Sarah tried to laugh, but it came out in a cough instead.

“I’m so sorry. I feel bad that I woke you, but I was homesick to hear your voice.”

Sarah shoved the covers back and sat up. She could hear more than loneliness in her younger sister’s voice.

“Have they caught him yet?”

“No, but we know for sure it’s Inman now, and he’s killed four people so far.”

“Why? How is he choosing them?”

“The team hasn’t figured that out yet. It’s worrying Cameron. He feels responsible for putting me in danger.”

“I disagree! He didn’t put you in danger. That creepy killer is the one putting people in danger, and you tell him I said that.”

Laura smiled. This was exactly what she needed to hear.

“I’ll tell him. Selfishly, I wish you were here. I have the final fitting for my wedding dress tomorrow.”

Sarah groaned. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I should be the one with you. Well, technically, it should have been Mom, but—”

“Oh, I’m not going alone. Nola is going with me. I’m not sure about Jo. They have her working on the case with the guys, so she might not be free. Please, don’t feel bad for me. I was just talking.”

Sarah sighed, then blew her nose.

“Sorry for the interruption. It was threatening to run away.”

Laura laughed. When she was little and didn’t think to blow her nose, Sarah used to tell her to blow it or it would run away.

“That’s how you got me to blow my nose when I was little,” Laura said. “I was afraid my nose was going to disappear if I let it run, so I blew it religiously.”

Sarah giggled. “Looking back, that threat was kind of mean.”

“Not really,” Laura said. “At least I never had a snotty nose like Mike Gerlicky.”

“Ick,” Sarah said, remembering the kid who used to live next door.

When they both began to giggle, the knot in Laura’s stomach began to ease. Sister talk was good for the soul.

“So what are you doing now?” Sarah asked.

“About to go into the supermarket. Ever since the explosion, I’ve let shopping slide.”

“Explosion? What explosion?”

“Oh, that’s right. I haven’t talked to you since that happened. There was a gas leak here in Reston. Four blocks of houses on both sides of the street were leveled, with no survivors, and they evacuated blocks and blocks all around it until the gas company could cap off the breaks and make sure there wouldn’t be another one.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, Laura, how awful. Not one survivor?”

“Well, not anyone who lived through the blast. One poor teenage girl did show up at the shelter. She’d had a fight with her parents that same night and had run away from home before it happened. She didn’t know about the explosion, and kept expecting them to call or text her. After several days she got scared, thought they didn’t want her anymore and came back to find out her whole family was gone.”

Sarah blew her nose again, but this time it was from tears. “Can you imagine what the rest of her life will be like? I mean, knowing the last thing you’d said to the people you love had been in anger and never getting a chance to say you’re sorry?”

Laura was picking at a speck of dirt on the knee of her jeans, but she was thinking about what Sarah was saying.

“I kind of have a different take on that. When I thought I would never see you again, I was sorry for all the things I never said.”

Sarah was quiet for a moment, digesting the poignancy of such a simple truth.

“Then say them to me now, little sister.”

Laura swallowed past the lump in her throat. “For starters, I love you very much. You are the best sister ever, and I thank you for stepping in the gap when Mom and Dad were killed and never letting me feel like the orphan I actually was. We both were.”

“Aw, honey, I love you, too. And yes, technically I guess we
are
orphans, but at least we were nearly grown, and we weren’t left homeless and destitute. Even though Mom and Dad are no longer here, they’re still taking care of us. They left us a beautiful home that’s debt-free. We have the stock portfolios Daddy started for us when we were born, and we have our educations.”

Laura sighed. “I know, and I also know I need to hang up so you can go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you, and I’m very sorry you’re sick.”

“It’s fine. I always want to hear from you. So be careful while that nut job is still on the loose, and I’ll see you at the wedding.”

Laura smiled. “I can’t wait.”

“Me, either, honey. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Laura said, and disconnected.

She looked down at the grocery list in her lap, then grabbed her purse and car keys and got out, feeling lighter and better than she had in days.

* * *

Before the Stormchaser team even got to the P.D. that morning they were rerouted to the field office for a face-to-face meeting with their chief. He didn’t read them the riot act, but it was evident by the time they left that he wanted this case brought to a successful end ASAP. It was nearly ten in the morning when they walked into Homicide.

Burch and Wells had gone out to the site where the body had been recovered and weren’t back in the office yet, and after the discussion the team had just had with their superior, Tate didn’t want to wait for Lionel Ricks’ autopsy report to show up. He decided they needed to make a trip to the morgue to see the evidence for themselves.

Once they’d verified the ligature marks around Ricks’ neck and the Taser wounds as identical to the ones on the other victims’ bodies, they had the confirmation they needed. They were on their way back to the P.D. when Wade’s cell rang.

“It’s Jo,” he said. “Excuse me while I breathe heavy into the phone.”

They laughed. Wade wiggled his eyebrows and grinned as he answered.

“Hey, honey, tell me something good.”

“I have more than good. Are you sitting down?” Jo asked.

“Is this business?” he countered.

“Yes, directly related to the case. Put me on speaker.”

“Listen up, guys. Jo has news. Go ahead, honey. You have the floor.”

“You know we had Inman’s fingerprints flagged in case they ever came through NCIC, and we just got a hit not an hour ago. You won’t believe who ran them.”

“Who?”

“Two spooks named Phillips and Whitelaw. I don’t know where they pulled the prints or why, but they’re on their way to the P.D. now with a witness to tell you the particulars.”

Tate sped up the car.

Wade was more than surprised. “The CIA? You’re not serious.”

“Yes, I am. Are you there?”

“We’re almost there now. Thanks for the heads-up,” Wade said.

“Maybe this is finally coming to a close,” Jo said, and signed off.

Tate was driving as fast as the law allowed, and still it didn’t feel fast enough. The men riding with him were silent. Almost everything they’d been through with this killer had been said and repeated far too many times already. They were coming up on the police station when Cameron finally broke the silence.

“I so need this bastard behind bars.”

“We all do,” Tate said.

Cameron shook his head. “Yes, I know, but we still haven’t figured out the message in his kills. I know it’s there, but I can’t find it, and I have to figure it out before it’s too late.”

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?” Tate asked.

“It’s obvious he’s coming after Laura. I can’t prove it, but I know it.”

“What makes you so sure?” Tate asked.

“Other than the fact that he’s been stalking her? She was once his boss. Now she’s hooked herself up to me, and he’s mad at all of us. He took a shot at Jo and Nola, and they beat him. He won’t try them again. Laura is the only one left. She’s the obvious choice.”

“Do you still have that tracking app connected to her necklace on your phone?” Tate asked.

“Yes, and on my iPad, too.”

“We’re here,” Tate said as he slowed down and turned into the police parking lot.

They got out on the run, anxious to get inside. They met Detective Burch coming out and stopped him.

“Wherever you’re going, cancel it,” Tate said. “We have a break in the case, and they’re bringing in a witness. Where’s Wells?”

“In a meeting with the lieutenant. We’re getting pressure, big-time.”

“Get him back here. Everyone needs to be in on this.”

Burch made the call as he followed them in.

They made it to the investigation room a couple of minutes ahead of Wells. He came in wild-eyed and breathing heavy from running part of the way.

“What’s happening?” he said.

“CIA ran some prints through NCIC that came up as Inman’s. They’re on their way in with a story and a witness.”

Wells rubbed his hands together in obvious delight.

“Oh, man, I hope this is what it takes to close this case. We need to get this sorry sucker off the streets.”

Less than five minutes later the men from the CIA arrived with a little gray-haired lady in tow.

Tate knew Bo Phillips was CIA but didn’t know the other agent or the woman.

Cameron recognized Whitelaw, who nodded in acknowledgment, as CIA, as well.

Tate glanced at the detectives and then stepped forward to take charge.

“Agent Phillips. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I understand you have some information for us.”

Bo grinned. “Hey, Tate. You’re looking good. What have you been eating?”