I laughed. “You’re going to put me out of business, buddy,” I said, before looking around the room. Every person there was leaning forward, looking intently at his own notes and at me. “Who else got robbery for the crime involved?”
Almost every hand in the room went up. The only one that didn’t raise a hand was poor Brice. “I wrote down homicide,” he said.
“Don’t sweat it,” I told him. I then beamed at the other agents. “The crime committed was an elaborate embezzlement scheme involving two criminals. One male, one female. Who else had the detail of a female accomplice?”
Five hands stayed in the air and all of the agents seemed really stunned.
I wanted to clap my hands. These guys were fantastic. “Did anyone get a detail that seemed out of place?”
Dutch waved his hand and I called on him. “I kept seeing a boat.”
Excitedly, I dug into the file and pulled out the photo of a large ski boat. “The Kalamazoo PD found most of the embezzled funds in the bow of this boat belonging to the suspect,” I said. The look on Dutch’s face suggested I could have knocked him over with a feather.
“Whoa,” he said.
Brice leaned over to eyeball Dutch’s notes. He shook his head enviously. “I think after all this time, she’s rubbed off on you, Rivers.”
Dutch looked at me and winked. “I think you’re right, sir.”
I glanced at the clock and decided to quit while we were ahead. “Let’s stop here, gentlemen. Thank you so much for coming. Next week we’ll expand on your vocabulary and learn some additional techniques.”
As everyone exited, I was thrilled to see most of the agents comparing notes with one another, and the buzzy excitement of the exercise carried out into the squad room.
Dutch squeezed my hand as he passed. “Great job, Abs,” he whispered, and I felt giddy with happiness that I’d finally managed to break the ice with these guys.
The rest of that morning and early afternoon I was very busy, and my desk saw a lot of traffic. Some of the investigators came over to get my intuitive input on the progress they’d made so far on their cases; others stopped by to ask me questions about intuitive theory and for a few of those Web sites I’d talked about in the meeting.
By the end of the day I noticed a real shift in the energy of CCS. It was as if we all had a secret and we’d bonded over it.
A little before six, Dutch swung by my desk. “You ready to go?”
I leaned back in my chair and stretched. “I didn’t get much of a chance to focus on your case,” I said, referring to the three men who’d been murdered.
“Don’t sweat it. This was your first day back. Let’s have a meeting with the agents I’ve assigned to help work it in the morning.”
I got up and reached for my purse. “Perfect.” I was about to suggest dinner out when I noticed Brice still in his office working on his computer. “Is he coming back to our house tonight?”
Dutch slapped his forehead. “Damn,” he said. “I forgot to make him a spare key. Can you give him yours?”
I took my keys out of my purse. “I’ll be right back,” I said, and moved toward Brice’s office. Poking my head in, I said, “Sir? I thought I’d give you my keys so that you can let yourself in when you come home.”
Brice eyed the squad room. No one was left but me and Dutch, and I could see his shoulders relax. “Thanks, Abby,” he said, reaching for the keys. I turned to go, but he stopped me. “Can I ask you a favor?”
I turned back. “Of course, sir.”
Brice reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a thin folder and extracted a legal-sized paper from it. “If you’re going to see Candice in the next few days, would you give her this?”
“Um, sure,” I said, wondering what the paper was, but not wanting to appear like I was prying by reading it in front of him.
Brice seemed to know that I was curious, because he explained, “It’s a contract.”
“A contract?” That surprised me and I glanced down at the paper.
“It’s a consulting contract to retain Ms. Fusco’s services. In the paperwork we acknowledge that she is not currently licensed within the state of Texas, but the FBI finds her services invaluable and understands that the paperwork with the licensing board is merely a formality. Oh, and when she signs it, she won’t need to date it. I’ve done that for her.”
I felt a smile spread slowly to my lips, especially when I took note that the date Brice had posted was for March 30, a full week before she and I began investigating the case of the missing girls. “She can show this to the state licensing board,” I said.
Brice focused back on his computer. “I believe it would present her with an excellent defense if she could show that she was acting on our behalf and that no intent to deceive existed. And please tell her that if she agrees to the terms and finds them acceptable, she can return the signed document to Katherine and have her ID photo taken at that time.”
“ID photo?”
“For her civilian-profiler badge,” Brice said. “Just like yours.”
I glanced down at the badge hanging from the lanyard around my neck. “Sir,” I said, smiling broadly now, “can I just state for the record that I think you’re a really great guy, and that this is pretty awesome of you?”
Brice actually laughed. “Thank you, Abby. And you guys shouldn’t wait up. I’ve got a few hours left here.”
Dutch and I had dinner at a wonderful Indian restaurant called the Clay Pot. After that, I asked him if he wouldn’t mind dropping me at Candice’s. “How’re you going to get home?”
“She can drive me,” I said. “Or I can take a cab.”
Dutch rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to have a heart-to-heart with Candice, there’s probably going to be wine involved. Call me when you’re through with your powwow and I’ll come pick you up.”
“You might be the best man I know,” I said.
“Might be?”
“I’ll change it to ‘are most definitely’ when you come get me.” I then pulled him close for a little smooch.
Candice was in a pretty foul mood when I arrived on her doorstep. “He’s a son of a bitch,” she snapped by way of hello.
“Hi, honey!” I sang, pushing past her into the condo and waving the doggie bag full of leftovers Dutch and I had taken from the restaurant. “Hungry?”
“I’m serious, Abby,” Candice said stubbornly. Still, she marched over to the kitchen and started pulling plates out of the cupboard. “How am I supposed to make a living now that I can’t get a license?”
“I don’t think Harrison was the one who complained,” I said, setting down the bag and unloading the contents. “Get a plate for me, would you? I could go for more of this rice.”
“Of course he’s the one who complained!” Candice insisted. “You heard what he said at the hospital! He couldn’t wait to get me in trouble!”
I took a deep calming breath and pulled out the contract from my purse. “Honey,” I said softly. “He didn’t do it. And this proves it.”
Candice’s brow furrowed as she took the paper and began to read it. “What’s this?”
“Brice drew it up,” I explained. “It’s a consulting contract between you and the bureau.”
“How does this help me?” she asked, holding the paper like she was ready to discard it into the trash.
“For starters, Brice notes in the third paragraph of the contract that the FBI knows you don’t yet have your license from the state licensing board, but is aware that the paperwork has been filed. Until such time as you become licensed, you will be acting as a civilian profiler with the FBI. Oh, and I almost forgot the best part—look at the date.” For emphasis I tapped the date at the bottom of the page. “Brice made sure to tell you that he’d already filled that in for you.”
Candice scrutinized the bottom of the contract and I saw her mouth fall open a little. “No way,” she whispered.
I dished out a healthy portion of food onto her p
late. “Way.”
She looked back at me in disbelief. “I can present this to the board. It’ll totally exonerate me.”
I pointed a finger and said, “Bingo. And it’ll also allow you to keep investigating the missing girls in the meantime. Worst-case scenario, Candice, even if the board denied your license, you could still act as a consultant for the FBI. Brice made sure there was no end date on the contract—and he’s willing to turn his good faith into money. He’s matched your hourly rate.”
I’d had time at dinner to go over all the details of the contract, and I had to hand it to Brice: He’d worked hard to make sure that Candice wasn’t adversely affected in any way should the worst happen, and her PI license was denied. She’d have a job with the FBI as long as she liked.
It was a risky move too; I mean, not only was he willing to fudge the date, but she and Brice were seeing each other. I wondered how the higher-ups would feel if a complaint came through that both the special agent and assistant special agent in charge at the Austin bureau had their girlfriends working for them.
“He didn’t send the complaint in,” Candice determined as she finished reading the contract. “And the potential to cause him trouble personally if I sign this is significant.”
Candice had assumed the same thing I did. “Still, our dear Mr. By-the-Book Harrison went ahead and drafted it anyway.”
“Wow,” Candice said, looking meaningfully at me.
“Wow,” I agreed.
Candice pushed her food around with her fork. “I think I owe him an apology.”
“Yeppers.”
She glanced at the clock. “I should do it in person,” she mused. “But I don’t even know where he is.”
“He’s either still at work or he’s at our place.”
Candice’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Your place? You guys took him in?”
“You would have done the same for Dutch,” I reasoned.
Candice smiled. “You never would have kicked Dutch out.”
“You’re probably right there. But remember back when we were first dating? We didn’t always get along so well either.”
Candice laughed. “Oh, I remember,” she said. “I never thought you two were going to work through it. Back then, I gave you guys a month, tops.”
“And yet, three years later, here we are.”
Candice looked thoughtfully at me. “Here you are,” she repeated softly. “Okay, I’ll call him and see if he wants to talk tomorrow.”
“You can drop off your contract when you see him,” I suggested. “He wanted me to tell you to give it to our office manager, Katie, and make sure you get your photo taken for your civilian badge.”
“Oh, I’m not signing this,” Candice said.
I did a double take. “Say what, now?”
Candice folded the paper and set it to the side. “I can’t. If Brice ever got called on the carpet because of it, I’d never forgive myself.”
I blinked furiously, trying to catch up to her logic. “But, Candice, if you don’t sign that, then the board could deny your license.”
“They may,” she said. “But I can’t let Brice risk his career for a mess I created.”
She picked the paper up again and moved to tear it in two when I reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her. “Will you just wait until you talk to him first?” I begged. I wasn’t getting a negative feeling from the contract. I knew logically that it was risky for them, but I also didn’t feel that by signing it she would get either herself or Brice in trouble. I told her as much, but she still looked unconvinced. “Just give it some thought. Talk it over with Brice and make sure you’re both okay with it.”
Candice agreed to at least wait a day and I called Dutch, who picked me up, and we headed home.
Chapter Fourteen
Dutch and I got into the office bright and early. I wanted to review the cases of those men as soon as possible because I felt a tremendous sense of urgency that I couldn’t quite explain. I could just feel a sense of foreboding in the ether, and I knew I didn’t have much time left to put the clues together before they would all just slip away.
We sat down together when the other three agents arrived. Assigned to the case were Agents Todd, Ruben, and Cox.
Dutch brought me up to speed on their progress so far. “We’ve interviewed an additional twenty-two family members and friends, and no one knows why these guys wound up dead, much less decapitated.”
“No connection to drugs or the Mexican Mafia?” I asked.
Agent Cox shook his head. “The first time I looked at these crime-scene photos, I could have told you these were made to look like cartel hits but they weren’t.”
“How can you tell?” I pressed.
I’d heard that Cox was a gang and organized-crime specialist from Houston, but I wanted to hear why he didn’t think these murders were cartel related. “Well, for one thing, La Familia doesn’t just behead anyone. When they take off a head, it’s to send a powerful message to anyone thinking about crossing them. These three guys had no connection to organized crime. At most, they were street punks that La Familia wouldn’t have bothered with. And the coroner ruled in all three cases that Lopez, Cushing, and Brown likely died before they were decapitated. Not La Familia’s style. Those sickos tend to go for maximum gore, if you know what I mean.”
My stomach clenched and I had to swallow hard. “No need to elaborate,” I told him.
Dutch took over the conversation then. “As Agent Cox said, we really think we can rule out the Mexican Mafia for this, but whoever did kill these guys wanted to make it look like a Mexican Mafia hit.”
“But why?” I wondered out loud. “I mean, why go to all that trouble?”
Agent Todd said, “Maybe the best way to cover up three murders is to make them look gang related. La Familia’s been in the news a lot in recent years. Maybe our killer got the idea to cover his tracks by watching the evening news.”
I sat back in my chair and thought about that. “You think we’ve got a serial killer here, targeting young men?”
“That was one of the theories we were batting around,” Dutch said. “To our knowledge, he hasn’t killed anyone in almost a year, which means he could have moved out of the area, got thrown in jail, or someone killed him.”
“Or he might just be lying low, waiting for another opportunity,” said Todd.
“What’s your radar saying?” asked Dutch.
I eyed the driver’s license photos of the three men that Dutch had placed on the conference table. “Yeah. That could be it. I mean, my intuition strongly suggests they were all murdered by the same guy.”
“What we’re having a hard time with, Abby, is identifying what characteristics connect them to each other.”
“What do you mean, ‘what characteristics’?” I asked.
Dutch pointed to the photos and said, “Jason was white, Felix was Latino, and Avril was mixed race. They don’t look alike, they’re not the same age, and other than the fact that they lived in the same two- mile radius, they have nothing in common. We’ve done extensive checks into their backgrounds; Jason and Felix attended the same high school but at different times and floated in different social circles. Avril moved into the area after he got out of juvie and never attended high school. None of their family will admit to any of them being either gay, or in a gang, and as far as we can tell, their paths never crossed except maybe by pure coincidence.”
“I hate to ask this next question, but did the coroner note any signs of rape or molestation?”
Agent Cox said, “I checked, and the answer is no.”
I sighed. My radar said very clearly that there was a clue right in front of us that we were missing. I wanted to say it was even obvious, but no one had connected the dots yet. I stared again at all three photos and closed my eyes. In my mind I saw Santa Claus reviewing a list of names, and as I focused harder, I saw that the scroll in his hand had the heading “NAUGHTY,” and down a few spaces were the names
Jason, Felix, and Avril and one additional name I couldn’t make out. “They were on a list,” I whispered.
“List?” Dutch asked.
I opened my eyes, and stared at Dutch. “Yes.”
“Like a hit list?” Agent Ruben asked.
I shook my head. “No,” I said, feeling that out intuitively. “I think their names were maybe mentioned publicly, like in the newspaper or something. And whatever they were noted for, it was for being bad.”
All four men just stared at me blankly. They obviously had no idea what I was talking about.
“I know that sounds odd,” I admitted, “and I’m sorry I can’t help you more than that, but I do want to mention that there could be a fourth victim.”
“You mean, he’s killed someone else?” Dutch asked.
I took a deep breath and tried to inch along the thready energy I was picking up. “No,” I said slowly. “But he will if we don’t stop him.”
“What’s the name?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. But I do know that unless we figure out how this guy is targeting his vics, we won’t be able to narrow the field and he’ll strike again.”
The meeting broke up shortly thereafter, none of us looking like we felt it’d been very productive. “Sorry,” I whispered to Dutch as we left the conference room.
He gave me a funny look. “Why are you sorry?”
“I wasn’t very helpful in there,” I admitted. “I only gave you guys the most obscure tip ever to follow up on.”
“How do you know you weren’t helpful?” he asked plainly. “Seriously, Edgar, you know how this psychic stuff works better than I do. Maybe the fact that you told us to focus only on one direction was because that’s the only direction that will yield us one more clue.”
I smiled up at him. “You’re a pretty understanding guy—you know that?”
Dutch grinned back. “You realize I’m going to quote you on that the next time you and I get into an argument, right?”