Zimmerman had nearly lost three of his agents tonight, on top of Troy’s injury earlier in the day. Kate would recover—although they were all nervous that her vision was still blurry—but the agents who’d been waiting in the van for Kate, Meredith, and Mallory were still unconscious.
Meredith sat in the back of the room, quietly coloring in a new coloring book that Special Agent in Charge Zimmerman’s wife had given her when they’d arrived at the hospital to visit Kate and the other two agents. Thoughtful lady, Mrs. Z. She’d also brought food for the team, which they’d wolfed down like feral dogs.
Meredith hadn’t complained, but Adam knew she was exhausted. He should have asked someone to take her to the condo so that she could sleep, but he found he wasn’t quite ready to let her out of his sight. Mallory might have been the target from the beginning, but the shooter at Buon Cibo had fired a second shot at Meredith. Adam wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to let her out of his sight, not ever again.
Standing by the whiteboard, he waited until all the seats were filled. Deacon, Scarlett, Trip, and Nash Currie had joined them, Nash choosing a chair on the opposite side of the table from Hanson. Which seemed to please Hanson a great deal as well.
Adam didn’t know what had transpired between the two to make them so contrary, but he was going to find out. He had enough trouble without saber rattling.
Isenberg was the last one in. She glanced at Meredith in the corner of the room, then pulled the door closed behind her. He wasn’t worried that she’d disapprove of Meredith’s presence. It had actually been Isenberg’s suggestion, both to keep his mind free of worry and to get Meredith’s take on the case.
They’d come a long way since yesterday afternoon when she’d threatened to pull him from the case if he got too involved.
“Detective,” was all Isenberg said, before sitting at the opposite end of the table. He could feel the weariness pouring off her and wondered when she’d slept last.
“All right,” Adam said. “Let’s get this done so we can grab a few hours’ sleep. You’ve all heard that Mallory Martin identified the man who tried to take her, right? Not by name, but he was one of several men who raped her when she was being held captive.” He was able to deliver the words impersonally, but his stomach still churned at the knowledge.
Heads nodded grimly all around the table.
“So,” he continued, “we believe that this man was a friend of the cop who blackmailed her captor into allowing him access to her. She didn’t see their faces, but recognized this man’s voice. The only other thing she remembers was the birthmark or maybe a scar on the chest of the cop.”
Oh. That Voss was being blackmailed suddenly made a lot more sense. Another connection. Two guilty men, both blackmailed by a cop. A glance at Trip showed that he had just put it together, too. The rookie was smart. Smart enough to keep Diesel’s info on the down-low for a little longer, because Trip gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
“Trip, what did you find at Voss’s house?” Adam asked.
“His body,” Trip said. “We got into his safe, found a little cash, legal papers, normal stuff. Prenup with Mrs. Voss, results of a DNA test proving Penny is his daughter, so he obviously had some doubt at some point. Hard to say if he had good reason or because he assumed that Mrs. Voss was cattin’ around because he was. We found his little black book in which he rated wines, movies, and hookers.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Adam said, wondering why he continued to be surprised.
Trip shook his head. “Nope. He gave Jolee”—he pointed at the woman’s Facebook photo on the whiteboard—“a solid seven out of ten.” His jaw tightened. “He had several scores for Linnie. They started high, sevens and eights, then began to decline. He wrote that he wanted his money back after the last entry because she was too bony. His first ‘grade’ for Linnea was six months ago.”
“Voss was a piece of work,” Scarlett said. “I can’t say that I’m sorry he’s dead.”
“Neither was Mrs. Voss,” Trip added. “Scarlett and I did the notification.”
“Shit, Trip,” Adam said, wincing. The guy had been destroyed after notifying Kyle Davis of Tiffany’s murder. “Two in twenty-four? That sucks.”
Trip shrugged, the look he gave Adam unhappy. “Mrs. Voss was . . . glad he was dead and I understand why, because the man did horrible things. He assaulted her and endangered her child. But it was almost easier dealing with Kyle’s grief.”
Hanson cleared his throat. “What was the final count on the money in the safe?”
“Three hundred euros,” Scarlett said. “I expected more.”
“We didn’t find any bank records, though,” Nash added. “We’ve requested the records from the bank. They’ve promised them by morning.”
“Would be nice to have them sooner,” Adam said. “Can you push them?”
“I’ll try,” Nash said with a shrug.
“Thanks. Voss’s time of death was between eleven last night and seven this morning, meaning he couldn’t have committed any of the murders we’re investigating. We already knew he had an alibi for the time of Andy Gold’s death. If he did pay someone, it was before the fact.”
Dissatisfaction rippled through the group. Everyone but Isenberg and Deacon was hearing this for the first time. Adam and Deacon had informed their bosses.
“How long have you known that?” Scarlett asked.
“Carrie called right before we went to talk to Kate,” Adam told her. “So forty minutes, tops. Sorry. We were interviewing Kate. It seemed easier to tell you all together.”
Scarlett waved a “no problem” hand. “You were right. And Isenberg did text to tell us that we were looking at cops or friends of cops, which let out Voss anyway. I don’t think he considered cops his friends.”
“True enough,” Trip muttered.
Nash frowned. “What time did you put surveillance outside Voss’s house?”
Adam gave him a nod. “Four detectives, watching front and back, were in place by nine p.m. So, assuming Voss did not inject himself with two to three times his normal hit and that he didn’t turn the heat up . . . how did his killer get past the guard?”
“I can answer that,” Isenberg said. “One of the detectives sitting at the front gate was taking a nap while the other watched. The one awake was approached by a uniform-wearing ‘cop.’” She used air quotes. “The cop gave the detective a cup of coffee, said he’d been sent by me. Which, of course, he was not.”
Adam blinked at her. “He believed that?”
Isenberg shrugged. “The detective questioned it because I’m clearly not known for my hospitality,” she said acidly. “The cop informed him that ‘even the bitch has a heart’ and didn’t want the detective to freeze. The detective was cold and took the coffee and the next thing he knew his partner was waking him up.”
“The coffee was drugged,” Deacon murmured.
Isenberg nodded. “Yep. The detective swears he was only asleep for a few minutes. His partner couldn’t speculate because he had been asleep, too. The detective swore that fake cop’s badge said Swenson, but the only Swenson on the force was documented to be somewhere else that night. The detective says the fake cop approached him at midnight.”
Nash pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right after a power outage cut out all the security cameras.”
“You’re shitting me,” Hanson said, clearly angry.
“Wish I was,” Nash replied.
“If we knew who killed him,” Hanson said, vibrating with the effort of keeping his cool, “we could crack open this case. Voss had at least two dozen working girls listed in that little black book. And he was obviously buying a lot of drugs, so now we’ve also lost a tip on the dealers’ identities. Are you sure there’s no video?”
Nash’s lips thinned. “I said there wasn’t.”
Isenberg tapped the
table to get their attention. “Gentlemen? It must have been a very localized power outage. The gate still opened when you all arrived.”
Hanson frowned. “Your point, Lieutenant?” he asked, far more politely.
“That it wasn’t a full outage,” Isenberg said with a patience that failed to veil her annoyance. “Do we know if the cameras ever came back online?”
Nash considered it. “The DVRs never did. But I don’t know about the cameras.”
“I’m still missing the point,” Hanson declared.
“The point,” Nash said with a little grin of excitement, “is that it depends what was on the circuit that blew. If it was on the DVR only, we wouldn’t have saved video but the cameras may still have been streaming to an off-site server. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Isenberg nodded soberly. “It might be nothing.”
“But we might get something.” Nash tapped the table nervously, a sure sign that his mind was galloping ahead. “How did the killer know the code?”
“I wondered that, too,” Trip said. “There was no sign of forced entry. Hell, we would have needed an armored car to break down those gates.”
“Maybe Voss was killed by someone who knew him well enough to know his codes,” Adam said. “The front was 0713 and the back was 0915.”
Hanson pulled out his phone and flipped through some photos. “Yeah, I thought I remembered the first one. I took photos of the documents we pulled from the safe. Here’s a certificate he received the day his company went IPO. September 2015.” He swiped through his photos. “And . . . July 1, 2013, is the date his company debuted.”
Scarlett got up from her chair to look over Hanson’s shoulder. “That’s worse than my mother’s passcodes. At least she picks dates nobody else would know. Anybody with Google could figure out Voss’s passcodes.”
Which is probably how Diesel was able to break into his system so easily, Adam thought. And from the look on Trip’s face, he was thinking the same thing.
Isenberg’s expression grew dark. “So we’ve narrowed the suspect pool to anyone with Google. Fabulous. Agent Taylor, did you find any fingerprints that would be helpful?”
Quincy shook his head. “We found hundreds of prints. It’s going to take Latent days to run them all. The man had parties and meetings and hosted company dinners at his home. A seedy hotel room would have fewer prints. But,” he added quickly, “we do have the rifle now and the SUV, and I think those two things will make a difference.”
“Say more,” Adam requested, relieved when Isenberg settled back to listen.
“Ballistics is finished with the rifle that Kate got from the SUV,” Quincy said. “It fired the bullet that killed Andy Gold, the bullets that hit your van and Agent Troy, and the bullet that ended Bruiser. And bullets fired during a robbery thirty years ago.”
“Any luck in getting the rifle’s serial number?” Adam asked him.
“Not yet, but the lab just received it from Ballistics. You’ll know if they’re able to lift a serial as soon as I do.” Quincy lifted his brows. “Now for the second good thing. The SUV the shooter left behind never tried to mask its VIN. The SUV was reported sold last year to a man who’s been dead for ten years. The seller on record was Barber Motors in Fairfield.”
Nash sucked in a breath. “The same used-car place where the three cars belonging to the college prostitutes were found.”
Excellent. Adam grinned at Quincy, relieved that at least a few things were coming together. “Really nice work.”
“Thanks,” Quincy said, his returned smile so big that he popped a dimple, making him look even younger than he usually did. Adam had a few doubts that Deacon was right about Quincy. He’d never seen the hard-faced, order-barking ex-soldier that Deacon claimed was on their crime scene tonight.
“So we pay Barber Motors a visit first thing in the morning,” Adam said. “Scar? You up for a little SUV shopping?”
Scarlett chuckled. “I can have any color as long as it’s black?”
Adam smiled at her, feeling more lighthearted than he had in months. He’d been Scarlett’s partner before Deacon came to Cincinnati and they’d enjoyed this banter every day. Until Adam went off to Personal Crimes and returned a different man.
Maybe he was finally finding his old self. He glanced back at Meredith, who was studying her gel pens. She turned her head and met his eyes with a wink and he knew that she’d been aware he was watching her.
I don’t want to be my old self. I want to be a better man.
Adam shifted his attention to Isenberg. “If we can get a warrant, I’d prefer to bust in without any subterfuge. If not, we can try an undercover op.”
Hanson looked worried at that. “I don’t know, Adam. I’m not sure there’s a face in this room that hasn’t been on the news. Anybody you send will likely be recognized. Especially Agent Novak.” He looked over to Deacon. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Deacon said. “It’s true, anyway.”
Adam sighed. “You’re probably right, Hanson, but you were on camera tonight, too, at the scene of Bruiser’s murder. Nash? You wanna buy an SUV?”
Nash nodded thoughtfully. “Sure. Why not?”
“Only if we don’t have a warrant before ten a.m.,” Isenberg cautioned. “Plan A is to walk right in and take their files and arrest them if they so much as look at us cross-eyed.”
“Understood,” Nash said.
Adam turned to study the whiteboard, specifically the items they hadn’t yet completed. “The damn hostess,” he muttered. “We still don’t know who paid her to seat Meredith and Mallory by the window.”
“And we can’t have her do a voice ID anymore,” Hanson said. “Voss is dead.”
“You can have her listen to file footage of his shareholder meetings,” Quincy suggested. “It’s not the same, but at this point I think we want to rule him out.”
“She still in protective custody?” Adam asked Isenberg.
“Yeah, and a pain in the ass,” Isenberg grumbled.
Adam feigned shock. “That’s a news flash. Can you have one of your clerks choose some footage of Voss speaking?”
“Yes,” Isenberg said. “What else?”
Adam’s gaze found the photo of the burned-out house. “The fire that killed the family who lived above Andy Gold’s apartment. It wasn’t Bruiser, because he was in Chicago at the time. When we catch the SOB who’s doing this, I want them charged with four counts of murder for that family, too. Do we have the arson investigator’s report?”
Trip looked through his file folder. “I have it. Arson says an accelerant was used. It appears to be gasoline mixed with some kind of soap. I’ll meet with the arson guy while you’re at the used-car dealer to see what they found at the scene.”
“Thank you,” Adam said. “Deacon, go with him. I don’t want any of us going solo. Not until we stop these assholes.”
“I agree,” Deacon said. “Tonight’s shooter nearly took out three armed federal agents. We need to be on alert.”
Adam clapped his hands once. “And to do that, we need to recharge. It’s almost midnight. Let’s go home, get some sleep, and meet back here at eight o’clock.”
Everyone filed out until the only people left in the room were Meredith, who was packing up her gel pens, and Nash, who came to stand next to Adam at the whiteboard. He thought Nash would be looking at the photos of the used-car lot, but his old friend’s gaze was locked on the crime scene photos sent by Reagan and Mitchell in Chicago.
Adam found himself studying the photos for only a few seconds before his attention bounced to something else. Someone else.
Anything else. The Chicago crime scene photos were hard to view.
“What?” Adam asked Nash softly, because Nash was staring at the photos with an intensity that was a little creepy, if Adam was being honest.
“Nothing,?
?? Nash said, breaking his gaze. “Sleep well, Adam. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waved at Meredith, who was all packed up and waiting. “Good night, Dr. Fallon.”
When Nash was gone, Adam put his arm around her shoulders. “Ready to go?”
“Absolutely,” Meredith said.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, December 21, 12:45 a.m.
“Took you fucking long enough,” Mike grunted as he emerged from the shadows of the deserted strip mall behind which he’d hidden. He dragged his right leg behind him and his left arm hung uselessly at his side. A deep gash across his cheek still oozed blood.
Mike leaned heavily against the brick wall of the dry cleaner’s located at the end of the strip mall, needing more medical care than he could provide. Although in about a minute, that wouldn’t matter anymore.
Because Mike just reached his ex-date, too. “What the fuck happened?”
“The women had guns,” Mike said, irritated. “And knives. They shot me.”
“And stabbed you.”
“Yeah. Bitch. It was the little cunt Mallory that had a knife.”
He drew a deep breath, let it out. “You were supposed to shoot the little cunt through the head. With the rifle. From far away. Why did you drag her to your SUV?”
Mike’s jaw cocked, his eyes narrowing defiantly. “You are not my boss, boy.”
“The hell I’m not! I’m the one taking the risks here.”
Mike approached slowly, a thunderous look on his face. “You selfish little prick.”
“Me? I didn’t disobey an order. I didn’t leave my blood all over the crime scene.”
Mike shrugged. “Won’t help them none. They got nothin’ to compare it to. Certainly doesn’t connect us.”
Because he and Mike didn’t share blood. “But it will connect you to my father.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Like anyone’s gonna go there. Look, boy, I need you to stitch the leg up. And get me a doctor. I figured you’d bring one with you. Like that pretty one I saw standing outside the shelter last night.” His eyes glittered with lust, surprising considering all his injuries. He should have been half-dead from blood loss alone. Sex should be the last thing on Mike’s mind.