The addresses of all the study subjects were in a file on the university’s server under Dr. Donner’s account. The one time she’d broken in, she’d done so from Donner’s admin assistant’s PC. Jeremy Lyons had typed the names in when the study began.
Jeremy Lyons was also careless and left his workstation unprotected when he took one of his many bathroom breaks during the day. It had taken Eve only minutes to find the file and write down the names of the subjects she’d thought at risk. There hadn’t been time to write home addresses and she hadn’t wanted to know them anyway.
That had been too close to real-world stalking. Now she wished she’d copied them.
“You could just call Noah Webster,” she said aloud. And tell him what? How about the truth? She’d wanted to tell him when she stood in front of Martha’s apartment. There was something in his eyes that she… trusted. Trust was a precious commodity.
So’s my place in grad school. Eve needed access to the server in a way that couldn’t be traced back to her. She knew someone who could do it. Dana’s husband, Ethan, was a network security expert. When she lived in Chicago, Eve had worked for Ethan part-time and had learned a hell of a lot about networks. She needed to phone home.
If this doesn’t work, I’ll call Webster and come clean. Fingers crossed, Eve dialed and nearly cried when Dana’s familiar voice answered. “Evie, how are you?”
“I’m fine.” Dana was pregnant again, due in a month. There was no way Eve would tell her anything was wrong. “Can I talk to Ethan? My hard drive froze again.”
“You will tell me what’s wrong, sooner or later,” Dana said. “Hold on, I’ll get Ethan.”
A minute later he picked up. “Eve. How the hell are you, kid?”
“I’ve had better days. Ethan, I need access to my university’s server, but don’t want anyone to know I’ve been there.”
“Why?” The single word carried all of Ethan’s unvoiced concerns.
That was a damn good question. “I told you about my thesis study.”
“Building self-esteem in the virtual world. Your subjects get to play all day in Shadowland. I wish I were on your study.”
“No, you really don’t. I’m concerned about one of the subjects. I need to get her home address. Can you trust me and not ask me any more?”
“I can do that. You’ll tell me if you get into trouble? I can be there in a few hours.”
Eve’s heart squeezed. “Thank you.” She gave him Jeremy Lyons’s logon and password. “He wrote it on a sticky hidden under his blotter.”
“He’s an idiot,” Ethan muttered. “Writing his password down like that.”
“But so many do.” One of her jobs for Ethan had been to hack into his clients’ networks, to show them their vulnerabilities. It had been all too easy.
“Keeps me employed,” he said. A minute passed, then two more while Eve watched Christy’s avatar swing from a virtual noose. “I’m in. What do you want to know?”
“Home address for Lewis, Christy L., for now. Can you email me a copy of the file?”
“Done and done. Christy Lewis lives at 5492 Red Barn Lane in Woodfield.”
It would take a little while to get there. “Thanks.”
“Eve, wait. How much trouble are you in?”
“I broke the double-blind code on this test. If anyone finds out, I’ll get expelled.”
“Ooh.” In her mind’s eye she could see him wince. “That’s bad, kid.”
“I know, but it was the right thing to do.”
“You’re Dana’s,” he said quietly. “I’d expect no less. Call me if you need me. I can keep it from her for a little while. She and the baby are strong, so don’t worry.”
Eve hung up, staring at the hanging Gwenivere. “Easy for you to say.”
Monday, February 22, 4:05 p.m.
“It’s officially a homicide,” Ian Gilles said when he joined the team that had gathered in Abbott’s small office. “Martha was strangled. Among other things.”
“What other things?” Noah asked, then put up his hand. “Wait, before you tell us, you know everybody, right? Micki Ridgewell and Carleton Pierce?”
“Of course I know Micki.” Ian smiled at her, a rare look for his face. “And Dr. Pierce and I worked on a homicide last year. Good to see you.”
“And you.” Carleton had photographs of the two victims in front of him and he pointed to Samantha. “Have you re-examined her yet?”
“Not yet,” Ian said. “I’ll have her body tomorrow. For now, I can only tell you about Martha Brisbane. Her bloodwork was positive for ketamine.”
“The puncture wound on her neck,” Jack said. “Ket’s a sedative.”
“Exactly. It’s sometimes used in field surgery because it sedates and immobilizes. This is interesting.” Ian pulled a photo from the stack. “These are her lungs.”
Micki frowned at the photo. “They’re blue. Why did you stain them?”
“I didn’t. She came that way.”
“I’ve heard of holding your breath till you turn blue,” Jack said, “but I never actually thought it worked. What is it?”
“Copper sulfate. I found traces in her tracheal wall and stomach. Copper sulfate is found in drain cleaners that clear tree roots. You flush it down your toilet.”
Micki winced. “It eats through tree roots?”
“And skin. I found traces on her face, under the makeup.”
“He held her face in the toilet?” Noah asked and Ian nodded.
“She was held under long and frequently enough that she’d inhaled and swallowed the liquid. If he hadn’t strangled her, the copper sulfate might have eventually killed her. Also, she’d been cleaning right before her death. I found pieces of sponge beneath her nails. Her hands had also been in contact with some very strong bleach.”
“Her landlady said the apartment was filthy,” Noah said, “but it had been cleaned. The sonofabitch made Martha clean before he killed her?”
“Now, that’s a new one.” Jack looked at Ian. “No signs of sexual assault?”
Ian shook his head. “This woman had not been sexually active in some time.”
“Well, not in the conventional way,” Noah muttered. “You done, Ian?”
“Almost. I found a callus above her left ear. I’ve seen it before in victims who worked in phone sales. It was where the headset rested on their skin.”
“Martha spent quite a lot of time on the phone,” Jack said deliberately. “That we can’t find her headset means he took the tool of her trade, painted her face up, made her clean up her apartment… It does all fit.”
“Martha worked for Siren Song,” Noah said. “It’s a phone sex company.”
Micki blinked. “She was a phone sex operator?”
“No wonder her mother was mad at her,” Abbott said.
Noah sighed. “Perhaps Martha didn’t consider it prostitution, but her mother did. We’re thinking Martha may have been killed because of Siren.”
“By a client or somebody who didn’t approve,” Jack added. “We don’t know how Samantha Altman factors in, yet, although she had been laid off recently. Maybe she was working for Siren until she got something better.”
“We want Siren Song’s employee list. It could connect Samantha and tell us who’s at risk for the next attack.” Like Eve, Noah thought.
“I’ll call the DA,” Abbott said. “Get the subpoenas started. Mick, what do you have?”
“All the prints matched the victim except for one set we found on pipes, light fixtures, etc. I’m betting they belong to the maintenance man.”
“Taylor Kobrecki,” Noah said. “He does all her maintenance. He’s still AWOL.”
“Also, we’ve searched her computer,” Micki said. “Looks like the drive was wiped.”
“Can you work your magic and save the day?” Jack asked.
“Sugar’s working on it,” she said. “If anything’s there, he’ll find it. That stool that you two recovered from the thrift store this mor
ning is a match to Martha’s. I haven’t traced the origin yet, and there are no usable prints. On the other hand, both victims’ dresses and shoes came from The Fashion Club, an online shopping network. Unfortunately they sold hundreds of each this year, none to Martha or Samantha. If we get a suspect we may be able to use the list to confirm, but I don’t see it being a beacon.”
“If this killer bought those dresses, he had to have known his victims’ sizes,” Carleton said thoughtfully. “That’s quite a bit of planning.”
“I agree,” Micki said. “Lots of planning and no mistakes. No fibers or hair, except the cat hair in Martha’s carpet. She had food and a box of litter, but no litterbox.”
“And nobody’s seen the cat,” Jack said.
“That’s not good,” Carleton said quietly. “Serial killers often begin by killing animals.”
“Wonderful.” Abbott shook his head. “What about the noose?”
“Ordinary rope,” Micki said. “Could have been purchased at any hardware store. Same with the hook in the ceiling. Martha had really high ceilings in that apartment. I don’t think she could have put the hook in herself. She would have needed a ladder.”
“Or a handyman,” Noah said. “Taylor Kobrecki, again.”
“So the panty perv moves to the top of our list of suspects,” Abbott said.
“Mrs. Kobrecki says Taylor’s out of town,” Noah said. “I’m thinking that as soon as I left, she called him, so we put in for her LUDs, cell and home phones.”
“He could be hiding in an empty apartment unit next to Martha’s place,” Jack said.
“We called for a warrant,” Noah said. “We didn’t have cause. Now we might.”
“I’ll push it with the DA,” Abbott said. “Carleton, any thoughts on profile?”
“White male, twenties or thirties. High IQ. He plans and he’s dramatic. He’s obsessive about detail.” He sorted through all the photos until he found the ones of Samantha and Martha hanging in their identical poses. “There is something about the eyes that’s important to him. He made sure they’d stay open.”
“Which was very creepy,” Micki said under her breath.
“Agreed,” Carleton said. “Whoever did this thinks he got away with it with Samantha. So he did it again with Martha. It’s interesting that he used ketamine, and that he injected it in the neck. That indicates a level of… confidence. Except for Ian, how many of you would be comfortable shoving a syringe in a woman’s neck?”
“You think he’s had medical training?” Noah asked and Carleton shrugged.
“Or practice.”
Abbott nodded. “Let’s find out if the panty pervert ever played doctor. Ian, go through the hanging cases over the year. See if any others have puncture wounds.”
“We’ll track down Siren Song and get an employee and client list,” Jack said. “I can’t imagine they’ll fork over their clients without a subpoena, so we’ll get that started, too.”
“And we’ll talk to tenants, including the three women who filed a complaint. Somebody knows where Taylor hangs.” Noah winced. “No pun intended.”
Faye stuck her head in the door. “Noah, call on one. The woman said it was urgent.”
Noah pulled Abbott’s phone to the edge of the desk. “Webster.”
“This is Eve Wilson. You need to come to 5492 Red Barn Lane. It’s in Woodfield.”
Eve? Her voice didn’t falter, but he heard the underlying fear. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a woman here. She’s dead. She’s hanging from her bedroom ceiling.”
His heart sank, both for the newest victim and for Eve’s now undeniable connection. “Are you in the house?”
“No. I’m looking through the back window. Her name is Christy Lewis.”
“Did you know her from work, too?”
“Yes,” she said, resigned. “Just hurry. Please.” And she hung up.
Noah stood. “Victim number three.”
“I’ll get my team out there,” Micki said.
“I’ll meet you there,” Ian said. “I want to see this scene myself.”
Carleton already stood, buttoning his coat. “So do I. I’ll follow you up, Ian.”
Jack put on his hat. “Then let’s go.”
Abbott waved them out, then pointed at Noah. “You stay. Close the door.”
Noah obeyed, knowing what was coming and dreading it.
“Who, how, and why?” Abbott asked.
“Eve Wilson,” Noah said dully.
Abbott did a double take. “From Sal’s?”
“Yeah. She was at Martha’s today. Said she knew Martha from work. She just said the same thing about this victim.”
Abbott still looked stunned. “I never would have picked her for a phone sex jockey. So she knows something. Find out what it is. I’ll send a squad car to the address, just in case this guy is still around. And to make sure Miss Wilson doesn’t leave.”
Monday, February 22, 4:55 p.m.
Eve sat in the back of a police cruiser, staring at the handcuffs on her wrists, trying to stay calm and not think about the woman hanging from a rope inside the house.
She hoped somebody’s wires got crossed, because she’d been cuffed and pushed into her current seating assignment. It had taken a lot of years, but she’d finally grown accustomed to a casual touch from a friend, or a stranger in passing. But this… the cops had put their hands on her. Pushed me. For a moment she’d been eighteen again and terrified, without enough air to breathe.
Luckily she’d breathed her way through enough panic attacks to know how to control the fear. She was still rattled, but she no longer needed a paper bag to breathe into.
She’d gotten a text off to Callie before the cops had arrived so somebody knew where she was. Then she’d been surrounded by cruisers, ambulances, flashing lights. For Christy, Eve thought, the memory of her empty eyes still fresh. And terrifying.
“Oh for God’s sake. You cuffed her? You weren’t supposed to arrest her.”
Noah Webster. She looked up through the window and met his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. She said nothing as he opened the rear door and unlocked her cuffs.
“I’m sorry, Eve. A little miscommunication there.”
Eve rubbed her wrists gingerly. “Have you seen her?”
“Your friend? Not yet. Come.” He took her arm and urged her to her feet.
Eve yanked away, panic still bubbling too close to the surface. “Where?”
“To my car. It has dark windows. I don’t want the press taking pictures of you.”
She followed, but when he opened the passenger door the panic boiled up and over, closing her throat. Didn’t your parents teach you not to get into cars with strange men?
It was his voice. Winters, the man who’d left her for dead, five years, eleven months, and eight days ago. His voice taunted when she was panicked. Or stood next to a man’s car. Even a man she trusted.
“Are you all right?” Webster asked.
“I’m fine. Fine,” she repeated focusing on Noah’s voice. He was real, in the here and now. She forced herself to get into his car, flinching when he slammed her door.
“I need you to listen,” he said when he’d slid behind the wheel. He stared straight ahead, his jaw hard. “We know about your work.”
She forced her face to remain composed. How did he know? “Really,” she said.
“Really,” he repeated tautly. “You might be in danger. Stay here while I check.”
The word “danger” gave her pause. “Don’t cuff me again. Please.”
“I don’t plan to.”
“How did you find out about my work?”
He looked at her then. “I’ll ask the questions for now. When did you arrive?”
There was disapproval in his eyes. Were it Donner, she’d understand. But Webster had no cause to disapprove of anything she’d done. She’d broken the rules, not the law. “About three minutes before I called you,” she said stiffly.
“Ho
w did you know to come here?”
“Christy didn’t show up to work today. I was worried.”
“So you knew her well?”
“Well enough.” Which was true. Martha had been all about the merchandise when she came into Eve’s Pandora store in Shadowland. She came to buy face upgrades for her Desiree avatar, while Christy’s Gwenivere had come to chat. Martha had been all business. Christy had just seemed lonely. Within a few visits, Christy, through her avatar, had blurted her whole real-world life story, including where she’d worked.
And now she’s dead. “Her eyes.” Eve swallowed hard. “They looked unnatural.”
“I know. Do you know if Martha or Christy had problems with anyone from work?”
“Besides the one who killed them?” she asked sharply, then looked down at her hands. “No, I don’t know of anyone who would have done this. I wish I could help you.”
“So do I. So far you’re our only connection between three dead women.”
Eve’s chin jerked up. “Three?”
“Yes. The other was Samantha Altman.”
Eve tried to see the participant list in her mind. They had over five hundred test subjects. Samantha Altman was not a name she remembered. “I don’t know her.”
“She didn’t work with you?” he asked, still disapproving. Disappointed.
“I don’t think so. If I knew, I’d tell you.” She met his angry eyes. “I swear.”
That seemed to satisfy him, temporarily at least. “Stay here. I’ll tell the officers to keep any press away. You’re our one link right now. I don’t want any of this leaking.”
“Don’t worry,” she said grimly. “I’m in no hurry to tell.”
He nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll be back.”
Frowning, she watched him go. What did he know? How had he known? And who was Samantha Altman? Quickly she pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed Ethan.
“I can’t talk long. I don’t want them to see me calling you.”
“Who is ‘them,’ Eve?”
“The police. It’s bad. Christy Lewis is dead. And she’s not the first.”
There was shocked silence on the other end. “Oh my God. Are you all right?”