“Don’t think so. He said he couldn’t get involved unless he was invited by the sheriff, and so far, Sheriff Frank Loomis hasn’t been too helpful.”
“Maybe this girl’s death will change that.”
Alex shrugged out of her suit coat. “Maybe. But I won’t hold my breath.”
Atlanta, Monday, January 29, 6:15 p.m.
Daniel was still frowning as he exited the elevator and headed toward the team room. Frank Loomis had been too busy to see him and finally Daniel had to leave.
He sat down at the team table where Chase and Ed were waiting. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Why were you?” Chase asked.
“I tried to call you from the road, Chase, but Leigh said you were in a meeting. I’ll explain. I promise.” He pulled out his notebook. “But first, let’s debrief. Ed?”
Ed held up a plastic evidence bag triumphantly. “A key.”
Daniel squinted at it. It was about an inch tall and silver and had a muddy string threaded through the ring hole. “Where did you find it?”
“In the mud we took from around the storm sewer. It’s a brand new key. It still has the marks from the key cutter. I don’t think it’s ever been used.”
“Fingerprints?” Chase asked.
Ed scoffed. “We should be so lucky. No fingerprints.”
“It could have been dropped by anyone before the body was left there,” Chase said.
Ed was undaunted. “Or he could have dropped it.”
“What about the blanket?” Daniel asked. “Do you know where it came from?”
“Not yet. It’s a camping blanket sold in sporting goods stores. The wool is water resistant. It kept the victim fairly dry given the rain we had on Saturday.”
“So this murder thirteen years ago, the girl in Dutton,” Chase said. “Was that also a wool camping blanket?”
Daniel rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to get the old police report yet. I’m running into a brick wall I don’t understand.” And it was disturbing. “But we do have a lead on the victim, maybe even her face.” Daniel told Chase about his work with the Fun-N-Sun security team. “The security guy e-mailed me this still photo. It’s grainy, but you can see her face. She’s the right height and body type.”
“Slick,” Chase murmured. “This came off the park’s security tape?”
“Yep. The cellist slogan on her sweatshirt caught my eye. Park Security called me while I was driving back. They couldn’t find a credit card receipt, so they think she paid cash for her meal. They’re going to review the tapes from the front gate and FedEx copies of the tapes to us, too. She may have paid her park admission with a credit card. If we haven’t tracked her by morning I’ll release this photo to the news services.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Chase said. “So your trip to Dutton was a bust?”
“Not entirely.” Daniel put the memory card from Jim Woolf’s camera on the table. “The reporter got an ‘anonymous’ call telling him where to go and when to get there.”
“You don’t believe him?” Chase asked.
“Not entirely. He lied about a few things and left a few things out altogether. Woolf said he got the call at noon, got to the tree at one, and the bikers passed by at two.”
“It’s only a thirty-minute drive from Dutton to Arcadia,” Ed said. “He had time.”
“It’s normally a thirty-minute drive,” Daniel said. “But they had a five-mile section of that road blocked off before nine yesterday morning. It was local traffic only and they checked IDs and wrote down tag numbers. Woolf told me his wife dropped him off, but I called Sheriff Corchran on my way back and she’s not on his list of cars that passed through their checkpoint.”
Chase nodded. “So either Woolf got there before nine yesterday morning, or his wife dropped him off a couple miles from the crime scene and he had a two- or three-mile hike. He still would have had time to climb the tree by two, but just barely and only if he ran the whole way.”
“Jim doesn’t seem like the running type. Hell, I was kind of surprised he even managed to get up in the tree at all. Add to that, that the call came into 911 at two-oh-three,” Daniel said. “The biker who called it in came in sixty-third, so he was in the back of the pack. I checked with the race officials. The biker who came in first passed by there at quarter to two.”
Ed frowned. “Why would the reporter lie about something you could check?”
“I don’t think he wanted to admit he’d been at the ditch a lot longer than a few minutes. It gives him time to contaminate the scene. And maybe if he told me what I wanted to know, I’d go away. I called Chloe Hathaway in the SA’s office on my way in. She’s going to try to get a warrant for his phone records at the Review office and at home as well as his cell. I’m betting he got a call early Sunday morning.” Daniel sighed. “Then when I got done with Jim Woolf, I went across the street to the police station. Alex Fallon was on her way in.”
Chase’s brows went up. “Interesting.”
“She said she was trying to get her stepsister’s missing person paperwork filed. She’d called repeatedly over the weekend, but was told her stepsister had probably just taken off somewhere. She’s convinced her stepsister’s disappearance and the Arcadia murder are no coincidence. I’m inclined to agree.”
“I’m not inclined to disagree,” Chase said. “So?”
“So I told her I was going to see the sheriff and I’d check it for her.” Daniel fought the urge to squirm when Chase’s brows went higher. “I was going in there anyway, Chase. I thought I could talk to Frank Loomis, maybe find out if there was something they weren’t telling Alex, some reason why they were so sure Bailey had just run away.”
“But?” Chase asked.
“But his clerk kept telling me it would be just a few minutes more. Finally, I left. Either Frank wasn’t there at all, or he was refusing to see me and the clerk didn’t want to be upfront about it. Either way, I was being stonewalled and I don’t like it.”
“Did you request the Tremaine police report?” Ed asked.
“Finally, yes. Wanda, she’s Frank’s clerk, said it was in ‘storage’ and would take some time to find. She said she’d get back to me in a few days.”
“It is thirteen years old,” Chase noted, but Daniel shook his head.
“This is Dutton we’re talking about. It’s not like they have warehouses full of records. All Wanda had to do was go to the basement and get a box. She was putting me off.”
“So what are you gonna do, Daniel?” Chase asked.
“When I talked to Chloe about the warrant for Jim Woolf, I asked her about getting this report quickly. She said if I didn’t get a response by Wednesday morning to get her involved. I know Frank Loomis doesn’t like outsiders, but it’s not like him to just blow me off like this. I’m starting to get really worried, like maybe he’s a missing person.”
“What about the Fallon woman’s stepsister?” Ed asked. “Did they file her?”
“Yes, but Wanda said they’re not pursuing it with any resources. She said Bailey Crighton had a record for possession and public intoxication. She’d been in and out of rehab. She was a junkie.”
“Then maybe she did run off,” Chase said gently. “For now focus on our victim.”
“I know.” But Daniel wasn’t going to mention his planned trip to Peachtree and Pine with Alex Fallon. “Felicity said the bruising around her mouth was put there after the fact, so I think we were meant to see it. Rape kit found evidence of assault, but no fluids. She died sometime between ten p.m. Thursday and two a.m. Friday, and she had just enough Rohypnol in her system to show up on the test. The old newspaper articles on Alicia Tremaine’s murder said they found GHB in her system. So both victims were given date-rape drugs.”
Chase blew out a breath. “Damn. He’s copying it all.”
“Yeah, I know.” Daniel checked his watch. Alex would be getting here soon. He couldn’t get rid of the worry that she’d been brought back he
re for a reason. At least he could keep her safe while she searched for Bailey in the hellhole of Peachtree and Pine. “That’s all I have for now. Let’s meet tomorrow, same time.”
Atlanta, Monday, January 29, 7:25 p.m.
Alex had no sooner parked her car at the curb in front of a small two-story house in a quiet Atlanta suburb than Daniel Vartanian appeared at her window. She rolled it down and he crouched, his face level with hers. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Thanks for following me home. You can leave your car here and not have to drive so far later.”
His eyes were bright blue and completely focused on her face, and Alex found herself staring too closely. His nose was sharp and his lips firm, but all in all, his features worked together to make him a very ruggedly handsome man. She remembered him holding her hand, then remembered he most likely knew more than he’d let on. “I appreciate you being willing to come with me.”
One side of his mouth lifted, softening the harshness of his features. “I have to change and walk my dog. You can come in or sit out here, but it’s getting cooler.”
It was, actually. Now that the sun had gone down, there was a hard chill in the air. Still, prudence prevailed. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”
He lifted one blond brow. “Alex, you’re trusting me to take you to Peachtree and Pine. My living room is a good bit safer, that I can assure you. But it’s up to you.”
“Put that way . . .” She rolled up her window, grabbed her satchel, and locked up her car. She looked up to find Vartanian eyeing the satchel dubiously.
“I don’t want to know if you’re carrying anything nasty in there, because unless you have a permit to carry a concealed, you’d be breaking the law.”
“That would bad of me,” Alex said, blinking her eyes, and his lips twitched.
“Now if you were to leave the satchel in my private residence . . . that would be okay.”
“No kids in your house?”
He took her elbow and led her up the sidewalk. “Just Riley, but he doesn’t have opposable thumbs, so he’s safe.” He unlocked his front door and disengaged his alarm. “That’s him.”
Alex laughed as a droopy-looking basset hound sat up and yawned. “Oh, he’s cute!”
“Yeah, well, he has his moments. Just don’t feed him anything.” And with that cryptic advice, Vartanian jogged up the stairs, leaving Alex alone in his living room. It was a nice enough living room, more comfortable than the one she’d left behind in Cincinnati, which wasn’t hard to accomplish. The super-size flat-screen TV was the centerpiece of the room. A pool table dominated his dining room and in the corner was a shiny mahogany bar, complete with stools and a Dogs Playing Poker painting.
She chuckled again, then started when something poked her calf. She hadn’t heard his dog approach, but there Riley stood, gazing up soulfully. She’d crouched to scratch behind the hound’s ears when Vartanian reappeared, looking completely different in faded jeans and an Atlanta Braves sweatshirt, carrying a leash.
“He likes you,” Vartanian said. “He won’t walk across the room for just anyone.”
Alex stood up when Vartanian leaned down to snap the leash on the dog’s collar. “I’m going to get a dog,” she said. “It’s on my list of things to do tomorrow.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot better than the thought of you depending on a gun.”
Her chin went up. “I’m not stupid, Agent Vartanian. I know a barking dog is a greater deterrent to intruders than a poorly handled handgun. But I’d rather hedge my bets.”
He grinned and stood up, tugging Riley toward the door. “You might have a point there, Alex. You want to come with us? I think Riley wants you to.”
Riley had dropped to his belly, ears splayed straight out, nose pointed straight at Alex. Drowsily he blinked up at her and Alex had to chuckle again. “What a ham. But I think I’d need a more active dog. More of a watchdog.”
“Believe it or not, this boy can move when he wants to.”
Riley padded between them as Vartanian led them out his front door and back down to the sidewalk. “Well, he’s moving now,” Alex said. “But he’s still no watchdog.”
“No, he’s a huntin’ dog. He’s won awards.” They walked in companionable silence for a time and then Vartanian asked, “Does your niece like dogs?”
“I don’t know. I just met her two days ago and she hasn’t been very . . . engaged.” Alex frowned. “I don’t know if she’s scared of dogs or even if she’s allergic. I don’t have her medical history. Damn, that’s one more thing to add to the list.”
“Before you buy a dog, see how she does around Riley. If she’s afraid of him, any other dog might be too much.”
“I hope she likes dogs. I’d like to snag her interest in something.” Alex sighed. “Hell, I’d just like to see her do something besides color all day.”
“She colors?”
“She’s obsessed.” And before she knew it, Alex had spilled the whole story and they were back in his living room. “I just wish I knew what she’s seen. It terrifies me.”
Riley flopped to the floor with a dramatic sigh, and as one they crouched to scratch the dog’s floppy ears. “It doesn’t sound good,” he said. “What are you going to do when your cousin goes home tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.” Alex looked into Daniel Vartanian’s kind eyes and felt the connection once again, even though he hadn’t touched her. “I have no idea.”
“And that scares you,” he said softly.
She nodded tightly. “I seem to be scared a lot lately.”
“I’m sure our department psychologist could recommend a specialist for children.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and as she stared at his face, something between them shifted. Settled. And Alex drew her first easy breath all day.
Vartanian swallowed, then stood, ending the moment. “Your jacket’s still too fancy for where we’re going.” He went to his coat closet and began moving hangers around with more force than he probably needed to. Finally he emerged with an old high school letter jacket. “I was skinnier then. This might actually not swallow you whole.”
He held it out and she shrugged out of her jacket and into his. It smelled like him and Alex fought the urge to sniff the sleeve with all the finesse of Riley. “Thank you.”
He nodded but said nothing, setting his alarm and locking his door behind them. When they got to his car, she looked up again and caught her breath. His eyes were piercing as always, but there was something more now, a hunger that should have scared her, but with which she found herself fascinated instead.
“You’ve been nice to me, Agent Vartanian. Nicer than you needed to be. Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said, so quietly she shivered. “I have no idea.”
“And . . . that scares you?” she asked, purposely repeating his line.
One side of his mouth lifted in a wry gesture she was coming to appreciate. “Let’s just say it’s . . . unfamiliar ground.” He opened her car door. “Let’s go to Peachtree and Pine. It’s still cold enough at night that a good number of the city’s homeless head for the shelters. The shelters are pretty well filled by six, so by the time we get there, they should be finished serving supper. Looking for Bailey will be easier that way.”
She waited until he’d slid behind the wheel. “I wish I had a current picture of her. I know they’d have one at the salon where she works—on her cosmetologist’s license. But I got so busy I forgot to call and they’re closed now.”
He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. “I ran her driver’s license before I left the office. It’s not glamorous, but it’s recent.”
Alex’s throat closed. In the photo, a clear-eyed Bailey smiled. “Oh. Bailey.”
Vartanian shot her a puzzled sideways glance. “I didn’t think she looked bad.”
“No. She looks good. I’m so relieved and . . . sad at the same time. She was so out of her mind the last time I saw her. I kept wishing I could see her
look like this again.” Alex pursed her lips. “Now she might be dead.”
Vartanian gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Don’t think it. Think positive.”
Alex took a deep breath, her shoulder tingling from his touch. This was something to think about that was positive. “All right. I’ll try.”
Atlanta, Monday, January 29, 7:30 p.m.
She was married now, to some rich stockbroker she’d met in college. She’d gone to college, while he’d . . . While I rotted in a cell. His payback list had become quite long during his unfortunate incarceration. She was right up there near the top.
Her heels clacked on the concrete floor as she came out of the elevator to the parking garage. She was dressed to the nines tonight. She wore mink and some perfume that probably cost four hundred dollars an ounce. The pearls at her neck gleamed in the dome light as she settled herself behind the wheel.
He waited patiently for her to shut her door and start the engine. Then quick as a whisper he slipped the knife to her throat and shoved a handkerchief in her mouth.
“Drive,” he murmured, and he chuckled when, wide-eyed, she obeyed. He told her where to go, where to turn, enjoying the terror in her eyes every time she looked up into her rearview mirror. She didn’t recognize him, and while this was advantageous in the everyday, he wanted her to know exactly who now controlled her life. And death.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know me, Claudia. Think back to the night of your senior prom. It wasn’t so long ago.” Her eyes flared wide and he knew the reality of her fate had fully sunk in. He laughed quietly. “You know that I can’t let you live. But if it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t have anyway.”
Monday, January 29, 7:45 p.m.
Bailey blinked, slowly coming awake. The floor was cold against her cheek. She heard footsteps out in the hall. He was coming. Not again.
She braced herself for the light. For the pain. But the door never opened. Instead, she heard another door open and the sick thud of dead weight as someone was thrown into the cell next to her. A voice moaned in pain. It sounded like a man.