Web of Secrets (Agents Under Fire) (12 page)

Nina finally held up her hands in defeat. “You go do what you do best, and I’ll wait for Kait.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries.” Nina made a shooing motion with her hands.

“The Van Gogh thing. I need you to keep it between us for now.”

Nina mocked zipping her lips, and Becca went to her cubicle and booted up her computer to get started on Frankie’s investigation. In the next few hours, she learned that five credit cards had been opened in Frankie’s name with a post office box as the address. Buck and Elise’s credit seemed clear, but Becca printed the report to review with Elise. Further searching proved that Frankie wasn’t the only one of Elise’s foster kids whose identity had been stolen. Roxanne, Neal, and Steven had obviously been compromised, too.

Becca sent all of the reports to the printer then sat back to think. She could see that the kids’ credit had been compromised, but what, if anything, did this mean in relation to the insurance information theft? And how was this thief getting access to that information? Was one of Elise’s current foster kids involved? Or could one of Elise’s prior foster kids have stolen the info?

“Guess your comment about us needing sleep just meant me,” Taylor said from behind her.

Becca looked at the clock. Five a.m. She peered up at Taylor’s good-humored expression.

Becca smiled. “And I see you listened, too.”

Taylor chuckled. “I wanted to be here the minute you told me it was okay to take in Danny’s DNA sample. Have you called your friend?”

“Jack? No. I’m not calling him this early in the morning. Not if we want him to agree to help.”

“I take it he likes to sleep in.”

Becca shook her head. “He has a morning exercise and meditation ritual, and he gets grumpy if he’s disturbed.”

Taylor nodded at the computer. “You working on our ID theft case?”

“No, but I could use your help.” Becca gestured at her side chair and told Taylor about Frankie.

“Man, Becca.” Taylor shook her head. “I’m sorry. Real sorry.”

Nina came around the cubicle yawning. “I’m heading out, unless you need anything from me.”

“Mind giving me your thoughts on something?” Becca asked.

“Oh, hon, you know I’m always up for giving my opinion.” Nina laughed.

Becca shared the information she’d discovered on the Internet. “The kids see different doctors, so the odds of the info coming from them are highly improbable. I’m leaning toward ruling out a doctor’s office hack.”

“Makes sense.” Nina’s eyes narrowed in thought. “The home computer seems the most likely connection to me. And that means it’s someone local with a connection to Elise or even someone in the family.”

“It could just be someone trolling for unsecured networks in a neighborhood,” Taylor said.

“With all of my harping about network security, I’d hope Elise’s computer is secure, but I’ve never looked at it.” Becca drew her notepad closer to jot a note. “I’ll have an image taken of her computer and router and go from there.”

“I don’t suppose I could get in on this investigation,” Taylor said, her eyes aglow with interest.

“With everything on my plate right now, I’d appreciate the help.”

“Name it.”

“Easy, tiger.” Becca laughed. “I first need to run it by Sulyard when he comes in. If he’s on board with us taking on this part of the investigation, you can get a warrant for the PO Box and credit card statements for the bogus accounts, and get a tech out to Elise’s house to image her electronics.”

Taylor lifted her coffee cup. “Then here’s hoping Sulyard agrees.”

Nina yawned.

“Get out of here, Nina, before you make me tired.” Becca made a shooing motion with her hands.

Nina waved and set off down the hall.

“I’m really looking forward to meeting Quinn,” Taylor said after Nina had taken off.

“He’s just like you’d expect a former SEAL to be. But he has a softer side, too and a good heart.”

“So he’s the perfect man, then.” Taylor laughed.

“I’m pretty sure no such animal exists.” Becca couldn’t stop the thought of Connor popping into her head. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but he was the only man who’d ever made her question her life choices.

Maybe she could have more . . . if only she found the nerve to take it.

Chapter Thirteen

TAYLOR CLUTCHED Danny’s bagged soda can and stood by her car to wait for Jack’s arrival. After hearing the things Becca had said about the guy, Taylor was beginning to wonder if she was there to meet some nut job. It didn’t matter, of course. Nut job or saint, Taylor would talk to any person Becca directed her to meet, and Taylor would do it to the best of her ability.

A large black SUV pulled into the lot, and her pulse kicked up. She might just be delivering a can and waiting for results, but after going rogue and visiting Danny, she was a bit nervous about screwing up again.

The car slid into a parking spot on the far side of the lot. She resisted running over there and looking like the newbie she was. The door opened and long, jean-clad legs slid out. Hiking boots covered in a thick layer of clay hit the ground with a thud, and Jack soon stood tall next to his vehicle. She made him at well over six feet. He wore a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. His hair was black and cut short. With his back to her, she could see his broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist.

He wasn’t all that different than she expected a weapons expert to look, she supposed, though her initial reaction on seeing his build was that he’d likely be as good at firing weapons as he was at studying them. He reached into the vehicle and pulled out a rifle case that he slung over his shoulder. He slammed the door and finally turned to look at her.

His eyes were as dark as his hair, and when they landed on her, they cut through her like a knife. If she hadn’t been leaning against the car, she’d have automatically taken a step back. This was a guy you didn’t mess with. As he swaggered across the lot, he ran his gaze down her body, then back up to her face. Even from a distance, she could see she didn’t measure up to the person he was expecting. He could probably tell she was a raw recruit.

She would have to work extra hard to hide her nervousness. She pushed off the car and widened her stance. She felt a bit foolish, but with his gaze still raking over her, she had to do something.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes locking on hers. She held his gaze and committed to not be the first person to look away.

“You gonna give me the soda can or not?” he asked, sounding put-out.

“You must be Jack Rains.” She held out her hand. “I’m Special Agent Taylor Andrews.”

He ignored her hand. “The can.”

She offered it to him, and he took it casually. “Tell Becca I’ll get the results to her in a few hours.” He started to leave.

“Wait a minute.” She grabbed his forearm and relieved him of the bag.

He shrugged free and glared at her.

She got the message loud and clear. Hands off. As if she wanted to touch him in the first place. Okay, fine, she wouldn’t mind it, but. . . .
Focus.

“I’m going to wait with you for the results.”

“Not going to happen.”

She was starting to get mad at his he-man tactics. “Actually, it is, and nothing you can say is going to stop me.”

He watched her carefully. “Fine. You can sit in the lobby. Take it or leave it.”

She didn’t want to compromise, but she had no choice. Not if she didn’t want to disappoint Becca. “Then lead the way.”

He started off, and she had to take long strides to keep up with him, which, at five-eight, was something she rarely had to do. But there was no way she’d let him ditch her. And she wouldn’t be hanging out waiting for the results in the lobby. She didn’t know how she would accomplish it, but she’d be sticking with Jack Rains no matter what he said.

CONNOR WENT TO THE lobby to meet Becca and bring her up to the status meeting. She was wearing another conservative navy-blue suit and her hair was pulled back with a clip. Dark circles ringed her eyes, but despite her fatigue, she was still haltingly beautiful.

She caught his gaze and offered a smile that he could see was forced when he’d expected her to be glad to see him. They had worked so well together in the wee hours of the morning. Both of them had been too tired to put up any pretense, and they made a good team, finishing each other’s thoughts and sentences at times. He’d never had that with anyone but Sam. He’d certainly never had it with a woman, and Connor wanted more. But their interaction this morning? Nah. They were back to being strangers, and that was as comfortable as a bed of nails.

He shook his head. He had to quit waffling like this and make up his mind about what he wanted. Should he decide to trust Becca, and go for it, or put it behind him once and for all?

He stepped up to her. “You doing okay today? No bad dreams after yesterday?”

She curled her fingers into a fist. “For about the thousandth time. I. Am. Fine.”

Right. He’d offended her desire not to need anyone.

“Hey.” He held up a hand. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“Wait, no. It’s me. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just . . . I don’t know . . . I’m crabby today or off my game or something.” She sighed, and he heard a world of frustration in the depths.

He nodded, but he suspected there was more to her bad mood than she was letting on. Still, they didn’t have time before the meeting to discuss it, so he led her to the elevator.

“Any updates on who stole Frankie’s identity?” he asked, trying to ease the tension between them.

“I pulled credit reports for her and the kids last night. They each show several new accounts. Only, according to Elise, nobody has opened any new accounts.”

“So, someone must have stolen their socials.”

“It’s looking like someone has hacked her home network and accessed her computer tax preparation program.”

“Can you figure out who’s behind it?”

“Maybe. Taylor’s working on the logs for their home network, and she’ll hopefully turn something up.”

The elevator reached their floor and issued a sharp ding. When the doors parted, he escorted Becca to the conference room and introduced her to the PPB team.

“Welcome, Agent Lange.” Vance shook her hand, his gaze apologetic. “I’d like you to start our meeting by bringing us up to speed on Van Gogh.”

“Be happy to,” she said, not even a hint in her voice of irritation at Vance for sending her packing yesterday.

She took a position at the head of the table and opened a folder from which she extracted Van Gogh’s current sketch. She handed it to Sam who was sitting closest to her. She took a long breath and closed her eyes for a moment before recounting the same story she’d told Connor last night. But today, he had the luxury of watching her and seeing the nuances behind her words.

Her voice sounded robotic, her tone flat and devoid of any emotion. It seemed almost as if she didn’t care about this girl’s murder, which Connor knew was far from the truth. The only hint she gave of her uneasiness was the way she was worrying the paperclip in her hands, as Sam and the rest of the team, comprised of Lieutenant Vance, detectives Frank Yates, George Adams, and Olivia Lee, fired off the same basic questions Connor had asked last night. Becca stood strong as usual, but he got the feeling that she could drop at any moment.

“Van Gogh called himself Adam Smith when he chatted online with Molly, but the police exhausted all leads pertaining to that name,” she said, then seemed to sag, as if she was grateful to have the story told.

“Has the Bee-ur-eau ever done a profile on the guy?” Yates asked in his usual snide tone. He was an Old Guy on the force, and many of the OGs didn’t much like FBI agents or women in law enforcement in general, so Becca had two strikes in his book.

She nodded. “Do all of you hold the same opinion of profiling as Detective Yates, or would anyone else like the details?”

“Trust me.” Olivia stared at Yates. “Very few of us at Central have the same opinion as Frank here. Especially not women. I, for one, would like to get more insight on Van Gogh.”

Others chimed in, and Yates didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. Connor didn’t think he was a bad guy. He simply hadn’t adapted well to change.

Becca tapped a finger on the sketch of Van Gogh that had made its way back to her. “We know from Lauren’s description that Van Gogh is a white male. At the time of her attack, she thought him to be in his early twenties, which puts him in his early forties now. He’s a detailed and organized man, rigid, and in control at all times. The placement of the graves at the crime scene confirms that he still has this need for symmetry. The ears in the jar that Lauren described were never recovered in the nineties, but she’d reported that they’d been pierced, with pearl studs in all three sets of ears. He had identical earrings waiting for Lauren and Molly. Lauren was wearing them when she was found.”

Becca grabbed the table, as if to steady herself, clasping it hard before continuing. “It’s believed he was abused as a child by a woman, most likely his mother.”

“Let me guess,” Yates said. “Mommy Dearest wore pearl earrings.”

“Our profiler suspected, that yes, she wore pearls, but not necessarily earrings. They believed that the removed ears could hold another meaning for him.”

“Like what?” George asked, seeming fascinated.

“He may be trying to silence the girls. Or another theory is that the white gown the girl was dressed in, coupled with the angelic pose, expressed virginity, and he was trying to keep her from hearing something.”

“Was his first victim a virgin?” Olivia asked.

“No.”

“Did this Lauren girl say anything about this being sexual?”

Becca shook her head hard. “He never made any sexual advances and rarely spoke to the girls. He did, however, talk to his mother quite often. It was as if she was in the room, though she never made an appearance.”

“Did they ever ID the first girl they found?” Olivia asked.

Connor couldn’t help but notice she also took a personal approach to this case rather than clinical. Likely a woman identifying with a woman in a way the men in the room couldn’t do. Connor was glad to have her on their team.

“No,” Becca said.

Sam’s frown continued to deepen. “I assume the investigators visited local jewelers to see if anyone recognized Lauren’s earrings or to ask if someone had purchased multiple sets of pearl earrings.”

She nodded. “Nothing came of it.”

“What about the jars?” Vance asked.

“Without having them in hand, it was hard to tell anything about them. Lauren’s description put them at standard sixteen-ounce canning jars.” Becca suddenly shivered and Connor wanted to rest his hand on hers, but this meeting wasn’t the place to get personal. Besides, she’d pull her hand back anyway.

“The detectives suspected Van Gogh used formaldehyde as the preservative,” she continued. “And they did get a little traction on that. It wasn’t as readily available back then—no Internet orders at that time—which narrowed down the places he could have purchased it. They found a small chemical supply company in northeast Portland where a cashier remembered a man with a scarred face buying formaldehyde under a name and address that led to a dead end.”

“I hate to ask,” Sam said. “But since it’s used as a preservative, and I’m guessing it doesn’t go bad, did he buy in bulk?”

“Not really. Formaldehyde is sold by the liter. He bought three one-liter bottles, claiming he was a new science teacher and they were preserving frogs.”

Vance grabbed a marker and went to the whiteboard. “Okay, so a liter is around thirty-four ounces, which means he bought enough at that time to fill six mason jars. With yesterday’s Jane Doe being number nine, he’d have to have replenished his supply.” Vance looked at Olivia. “Start with the original supply place to see if they’re still in business, and ask if anyone has bought in quantity.”

He turned to Becca. “Okay, Agent Lange. This is where I ask you, as the leading expert on Van Gogh, how would you proceed if you were taking lead on this case?”

“I’d start by trying to answer my own questions.” She didn’t take time to think through her answer, but Connor knew that was because she’d been thinking about this case for years. “How did Van Gogh get the girls up the trail without anyone seeing him? They weren’t heavy, but most of us climbed that trail yesterday and know it’s a bear. Can you imagine having a body over your shoulder? What does this crime scene have in common with the first burial? Why did he change locations? Should we be looking at nearby clearings?”

“Slow down,” Vance said from the whiteboard where he was attempting to jot down all of Becca’s questions.

She nodded, but started right back in. “Then there are the bodies. Are they all girls? All the same age? All foster kids? Do they have something in common besides foster care? Anything in common with the girl found in the nineties? She was strangled. Were these girls strangled, too?” Becca paused for a long moment. “And then the biggest question of all, why is this creep dressing young girls in white gowns, cutting off their ears to preserve them, and killing them?”

“I can tell you’re not a detective.” Yates sneered. “It’s easy to ask all those questions, much harder to come up with concrete steps to answer them.”

“You want steps?” she asked, sounding irritated for the first time. “Okay. Step one. Meet with the ME and anthropologist to see what they’ve learned. Is there a way to ID the skeletonized girls? Fingerprints, dental records, DNA, physical and race description, etc. If so, proceed with trying to ID them. In any event, search for missing girls in the area. Use all police records—city, county, neighboring cities, other states. FBI. Where there’s a likely match, interview their parents. Maybe we can get forensic sketches made of the skeletonized bodies to compare to the missing girls’ photos. Talk to street kids to see if any of the girls they know have gone missing. Then, of course, we’d want to follow up on any forensic evidence that has been collected and track down any leads from there. And, you’ve already mentioned the formaldehyde.” She looked directly at Yates. “Is that enough of a start for you, Detective Yates?”