‘The Edwardses were socialites,’ JD said, ‘until recently when he became a philanthropist.’
‘Why?’ Berman asked.
‘He got cancer,’ JD said, ‘became involved in a church, left them his estate.’
‘Interesting,’ Berman said thoughtfully. ‘He was searching for absolution.’
‘My money says Buck Trask has something to do with it,’ Stevie said. ‘The look on Agar’s face when JD said his name was all fear and guilt.’
Berman’s eyes gleamed. ‘I think a field trip is definitely in order.’
‘Okay,’ Hyatt said. ‘Stevie, you and Fitzpatrick take the doc to Anderson Ferry. Find out what the hell happened to connect these victims. Hell, take both docs. Maybe Dr Trask will remember something. I’ll put Morton and Skinner back on finding that flash freezer.’ He glanced at Daphne who’d been sitting quietly. ‘Why are you here?’
Her lips twitched. ‘You charmer. You asked for a warrant for Bennett’s medical files.’
‘Because Janet Gordon got her breast work done by Bennett,’ JD said.
‘That’s disturbing,’ Stevie countered with a shudder. ‘She knew Bennett when he was a kid. Her son grew up with him.’
‘Agar did say his mother wasn’t the milk-and-cookies type,’ JD said. ‘The super’s wife thought Bennett and Gordon had a thing. The super thought Bennett hated her.’
‘Yet she trusted him to cut her open,’ Berman said. ‘I find that very interesting.’
‘So what about Dr Bennett’s office?’ Daphne asked. ‘Because if you want access to his records, getting a warrant’s gonna take a long time and a lot of peach cobbler.’
‘I want them,’ Hyatt said. ‘Financial and patient. Maybe he worked on other women from Anderson Ferry. Hell, maybe he worked on the hot doc who wears black leather.’
JD frowned at Hyatt’s familiarity even as he bit back a denial. Lucy’s breasts were definitely natural. That much he could guarantee. ‘That doesn’t explain the death of Edwards or the luring of Agar,’ he said levelly and thought Hyatt looked amused.
‘True. Still, we need to find out all the details. What about the doc’s friend’s apartment?’
‘CSU’s still there,’ Stevie said. ‘There doesn’t appear to be anything missing and there’s no evidence of forced entry.’
‘Which means he has a key,’ JD said. ‘All the staff at Dr Trask’s club saw Gwyn give her a key last night. So they all thought she’d be there. We need whereabouts of the staff.’
‘I’ll put Morton on it,’ Hyatt said grouchily. ‘Skinner can run down the freezer. What about cameras at the club? What did they pick up last night?’
‘Nothing,’ JD said. ‘There was a camera in the rear alley, but all it caught was the blood splattering on the wall. The actual murder was out of camera range.’
‘Damn.’ Hyatt pointed at Daphne. ‘I want a warrant to make that arrogant SOB Thorne give me his client list. Somebody there saw something.’
Daphne’s brows went up. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said sarcastically.
Hyatt rolled his eyes. ‘Go. Get information. Report by five.’
Tuesday, May 4, 9.45 A.M.
There he was. Ryan Agar. The man was in an unmarked police car, taxied to his hotel courtesy of the Baltimore PD. The car stopped under the hotel’s overhang and Agar got out, taking his small suitcase with him.
The unmarked car left, then doubled back to sit a half-block away, watching the entrance. Luckily there were two entrances. He’d take Agar out via the elevator to the parking garage.
But first, the set-up. He dialed the cell phone number Janet had screamed under torture. Agar answered on the third ring. ‘Hello?’
‘Mr Ryan Agar?’
‘Yes,’ Agar said cautiously. ‘Who is this?’
‘This is Joseph Biddle, from Biddle and Light. I’m your mother’s attorney. First, please let me offer my condolences on the untimely death of your mother.’
‘Thank you. How did you know she . . . ?’
‘I got a call from her housekeeper this morning and called the police to be sure. They said you were here and looking for a hotel. Do you need my assistance?’
‘No, that’s okay. I found a place.’
‘Good. I’m sure you’re tired from your trip. Before you sleep, though, I’d like to meet with you. Your mother left me an envelope to give you. Also, I’m aware that the trip east was costly. I have access to an emergency fund your mother set up for you.’
‘She did? When?’
‘Last year. She wanted to give it to you, but she didn’t think you’d take it.’
‘I probably wouldn’t have. But the cost of the last-minute airline ticket stretched my finances. I don’t know how long I’ll need to be here, so an advance would be helpful.’
‘Excellent, excellent. If you tell me where you’re staying, I can meet you.’
‘The Peabody.’
‘They have a nice restaurant.’ Whose door he was staring at right now. ‘I’ll meet you in, say, twenty minutes. We can have breakfast and I can get you your funds.’
‘Thank you, Mr Biddle. I appreciate it.’
He hung up and smiled. So do I.
Tuesday, May 4, 9.45 A.M.
Lucy needed to do at least two exams today, maybe three. It would help Craig get caught up and would keep her mind off things. And off people, she thought, thinking of Fitzpatrick and her promise to see him later. Whatever had possessed her to say yes?
‘Narcotic,’ she muttered.
‘Excuse me, Dr Trask? You talking to me?’ Ralph, one of the ME techs, had looked up from checking a toe tag against the clipboard he held in his hand.
‘No, just to myself. I’m here for . . . let’s see.’ She pulled the printout from her pocket and read the ID number. ‘He’s an African-American male, aged fifty-two. Suspected heart attack.’
‘I can wheel him out of here for you.’ He handed her his clipboard. ‘If you could just hold this for a minute.’
‘Thank you.’ She glanced at the clipboard, then frowned. Cause of Death seemed to leap off the page. ‘We have another victim with a slit throat?’
Ralph looked up from the gurney he was pulling from the row. ‘Another?’
‘Yes. This says the victim is female. We have one who’s male. He died last night.’ And she could still see Kevin’s blood splattered across the brick wall.
‘This victim was just brought in a few hours ago. She’s definitely female. Jane Doe, killed last night. Garbage man found her behind a dumpster this morning.’
The bad feeling that had been hovering intensified. ‘I need to see her.’
‘Anything you say.’ He wheeled out the gurney holding the newer victim.
Lucy pulled back the sheet and drew in a sharp breath. The slice was exactly the same as Kevin’s. She tilted the woman’s head, knowing what she’d see. Still, her blood went cold.
It was exactly the same, down to the way the wound wrapped around the deceased’s right ear. Lucy draped the sheet over the victim’s face and stepped back.
‘Please wheel the deceased into exam room two,’ she said quietly.
Ralph regarded her with unveiled curiosity. ‘She’s last in the queue.’
Lucy thought of Bennett and Gordon and poor Kevin. ‘Not anymore.’
Tuesday, May 4, 9.45 A.M.
‘Thank you,’ Stevie said, on the phone with Delaware PD. ‘We’ll have our IT guys call your IT guys about money transfers from the victims’ accounts.’ She hung up with a frustrated sigh. ‘Delaware traced the Edwards transfer to an offshore account, then hit a wall. They’re waiting on a Federal warrant to trace the account holder.’
‘What about the church?’ JD asked. ‘Could they have cleaned out his account?’
‘There’s no evidence that they did. Yet, anyway. We’re back to Anderson Ferry.’
‘Where nothing of note happened twenty-one years ago,’ JD said. ‘At least nothing that’s available online. Their archives only
go back ten years.’
‘Then let’s collect Lennie and Lucy and get out there. It’s going to take us all day to do this field trip, so let’s take two cars in case we need to split up or I need to get Lennie back. Did you ask Lucy to come?’
‘I called, but she didn’t answer.’ Which he hoped was because she was busy and not because she was avoiding him. ‘I left her a voicemail. I left Agar a voicemail, too. Mulhauser’s waiting to do his mother’s ID.’
‘Agar’s probably sleeping. I’ll give his tail a heads-up that she needs to take him in for the ID. We’ll grab Lucy on the way to Lennie’s. I want to take another look at the “L” on Janet’s back. I’m wondering if we have an “I” and and an “L” as in letters, or if they’re still numerals.’
‘“IL” would be what, in Roman numerals? Forty-nine? What’s the significance?’
‘Could be an age or an address. Or the number on a football jersey.’
JD pointed to her briefcase, impressed. ‘You’ve got the team picture. Check it.’
She checked the photo and frowned. ‘Damn. No forty-nine on this team.’
‘It was a good try,’ he said. ‘What if it’s just letters? Why an “I” and an “L”?’
‘Part of a word?’ she mused as they walked to the elevator. ‘A place? Maybe a name? What starts with IL? Illegal? Illogical? Just plain ill?’
‘That would be my word for him,’ JD said grimly.
‘I’m serious. Help me out here. Places, names. Illinois? Ilene?’
‘Eileen starts with an “E”.’
‘Maybe he spells it differently. You’re not helping.’
JD hit the elevator down button. ‘Whatever it is he’s spelling, I hope it’s short.’
Tuesday, May 4, 10.15 A.M.
‘You’re right.’ Craig met Lucy’s eyes over Jane Doe’s body. ‘The neck slash is the same as Kevin Drummond’s. This was made by the same style knife.’
‘Look at the ear,’ Lucy said, tilting the deceased’s head a few degrees.
‘Exactly the same little curve,’ Craig said. ‘Good catch, Lucy.’
‘Thanks. But why? Who is this woman and why did he kill her?’
‘You say she was found behind a dumpster?’
‘This morning. Time of death was between eight and ten last night. The bruising on her back and face is post-mortem. She’d had intercourse shortly before death.’
Craig’s eyes narrowed. ‘Semen?’
‘Yes. I took samples and submitted it for DNA. We’ll compare it to what we took from under Kevin’s nails last night.’
‘Did you call the detectives?’
‘Not yet. I wanted to show you first.’
Craig’s eyes narrowed further. ‘Or you wanted me to make the call for you.’
Lucy dropped her gaze back down to Jane Doe. ‘That, too.’
‘Coward,’ Craig murmured. ‘Call Fitzpatrick yourself.’ As if conjured by evil genies, the man appeared with Stevie. Craig looked surprised but satisfied. ‘Or you could tell him now.’
Fitzpatrick wore the same suit as the night before, but somehow remained wrinkle free. He moved gracefully, sending the now-familiar tingles of awareness skittering across Lucy’s skin.
His blue eyes were sharp, focusing on her as he walked through the doors to the autopsy suite. She couldn’t look away, even though she tried. She couldn’t get the memory of the alley out of her mind, even though she tried. Why did I agree to see him later? Alone, for God’s sake?
‘Tell him what?’ Fitzpatrick asked.
‘This.’ Lucy gathered her composure and gestured them closer, pointing to Jane Doe’s throat. ‘Look at her ear.’ Immediately she saw they understood.
‘What the hell?’ Fitzpatrick murmured intensely. ‘When did you find this woman?’
‘Where did you find this woman?’ Stevie added. ‘Who is she?’
‘She came in as a Jane Doe,’ Lucy said. ‘Just this morning. I saw her throat and knew she was killed by the same person that killed Kevin.’
‘No ID?’ Fitzpatrick asked.
‘None. She was found behind a dumpster. She was dressed like she was going or had been clubbing. She had had sex, but there appears to have been no force used. I took semen samples.’
‘Do you recognize her?’ Fitzpatrick asked.
‘Noooo,’ Lucy said, overly patiently. ‘That’s why we call her a Jane Doe.’
Fitzpatrick’s eyes flashed. ‘I mean, could she be from Anderson Ferry?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy said, contrite. She’d been condescending and rude and he didn’t deserve that. ‘I’ve never seen her before, but I didn’t remember knowing Brandi Bennett either. I sent this victim’s prints to Latent. Maybe the system knows who she is. I took some face shots for you to show around, ones that don’t show her throat.’
Fitzpatrick nodded once, his ire dissipated. ‘All right.’
‘I was getting ready to start the cut. I’ll call you when I know something.’ Now go away.
She watched Fitzpatrick and Mazzetti exchange a glance. ‘Can somebody else do the autopsy?’ Stevie asked. ‘We’re headed to Anderson Ferry and want you to come.’
Lucy thought of the eyes at the window. Watching her. I don’t want to go back and I don’t want to spend another day wanting Fitzpatrick. ‘I’m sorry. I’m needed here.’
‘Why do you want her to go?’ Craig asked.
‘Our victims are connected through Anderson Ferry and Lucy herself,’ Stevie said. ‘Our boss wants her to come. We’re taking a profiler with us as well.’
‘Then go, Lucy,’ Craig said. ‘I’ll do this exam as soon as I’m finished with Kevin Drummond’s. I’ll call you with whatever I find as soon as I find it.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘I would really prefer not to go back.’
‘We need you to come, Lucy,’ Fitzpatrick said quietly. ‘Please. It’s important.’
She blew out a sigh, feeling churlish. ‘Fine. I’ll ride with Stevie.’
‘Sorry,’ Stevie said with a shrug. ‘Dr Berman already called shotgun with me.’
Fitzpatrick looked a little grim. ‘Looks like you’re stuck with me, Dr Trask.’
‘I don’t have any clothes,’ she said, sounding desperate even to herself. ‘Just scrubs.’
‘We’ll drive by your place so you can change,’ Fitzpatrick said.
She gritted her teeth. ‘All right. Let me get my things.’
Tuesday, May 4, 10.25 A.M.
What do they feed cowboys anyway? he thought as he supported a staggering Ryan Agar the final few steps to the car he’d parked in the underground parking garage.
Ryan was a big man. Soon he’d be a dead man. He shoved him in the back seat, covering him with a blanket. He wasn’t sure how long it would take the pills he’d slipped into Agar’s coffee to wear off, but it should be a while. He’d given him enough to take down an elephant.
He needed to get him out of the garage. Once he’d cleared the traffic of downtown, he’d pull over and restrain the cowboy. Trussed, he thought, pleased. A fitting end.
He got behind the wheel and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, feeling the stress ebb a bit. He took a look in the rear-view mirror, smoothing down his fake moustache with his thumb and forefinger. His wig had come askew and he tugged it back into place.
His own mother wouldn’t know him. Of course, he thought bitterly, she’d never get the chance. His mother was dead, because of Ryan Agar and the assholes just like him.
Prepared to be stopped, he had ID in his shirt pocket. People were a lot more likely to allow a cop to pass, and rarely did anyone check to see if the name was real or not.
If he was stopped, he was Officer Ken Pullman, up from Virginia on vacation, and his friend in the back was sleeping off one hell of a hangover. But no one stopped him. No one noticed as he exited the garage, feeding a crisp bill into the self-serve pay machine. With good winds he should have Ryan out on the Bay by noon and then the party would begin again.
> A beep caught his attention and he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. The bouncing blue ball on the tracking website had left the morgue. Little Lucy was on the move. He frowned. She was supposed to stay put in the morgue all day today.
Maybe she’s running away. He’d honestly thought she’d run at the first sight of Bennett yesterday and again at Bennett’s heart in her car, but she hadn’t taken his warning seriously. Instead she’d stayed, sticking close to the detective.
They’d been hot and heavy in that alley, which had been good for him. Had they finished any faster, they might have interrupted his delivery of Janet Gordon’s body.
Of all people, he hadn’t thought Lucinda would fall for a cop – or pretend to, which was more likely. He wondered in what direction she was steering the investigation.
Away from herself, without a doubt. He wondered whose name she was whispering in the cop’s ear, who she was blaming. He wondered what the cop would say when he learned the truth.
I’ll have to keep a close eye on Lucy. He might need to change his plans for the afternoon, depending on where she was going. If she was going back to Anderson Ferry, this time he’d have to go along too. He couldn’t let her talk to her parents, not just yet. Not until he was ready for their family reunion. He had a few more letters to burn first.
Tuesday, May 4, 10.30 A.M.
Clay stopped outside the Orion Hotel, taking a moment to compose himself. He’d ensured that all of Nic’s files had been relocated to his house before going back to her apartment and calling 911. By the time he’d done all of that he was numb, and behaving just like the detectives would have expected him to behave, having stumbled on a scene like . . . that.
Before, he had been reacting. Now, it was time to act. He squared his shoulders and walked into the Orion as if he hadn’t discovered the mutilated corpse of his partner four hours before.
He stopped at the concierge’s desk. ‘I’d like the head of security, please.’
‘Can I ask what this is in reference to?’ the concierge asked.