I Can See You

Abbott’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Times that Axel Girard will need alibis for. Why didn’t you tell Jack?”

  “Today Eve offered to go onto the university’s server to get us the test subjects’ files. She said she could do it faster. That’s when Jack accused her of trying to keep her job and said we couldn’t use the info anyway. About the second thing he was right. But a week ago? He would have grabbed those files as fast as she could have printed them.”

  “Now you’re wondering how much of Jack’s sudden moral uprightness is true belief and how much is the fact Eve rejected him. And how much of your willingness to accept illegally gotten information is because you want to catch a killer versus being smitten.”

  Noah sucked in one cheek. “God, you are scary good.”

  “That’s why they pay me the medium-sized bucks. I’ll find out if we can get a warrant for Girard’s house and office, including the computers, based on what we know.”

  “If he is guilty, he’ll wipe the evidence tonight. Or he’ll destroy it.”

  “Then we’ll have to go the conventional route, request ShadowCo’s records, and hope that they cooperate.”

  “Have they so far?”

  Abbott shook his head. “We requested the victims’ files and they said that they are ‘committed to providing their users with a place where their anonymity remains secure.’ ”

  “Sometimes you want to go where no one knows your name,” Noah said.

  “Exactly. We’ll keep an eye on Mr. Girard tonight, then in the morning the two of you pay him a visit at work. Find out where he was at the times Eve said the killer changed the avatars. We can at least do that.”

  Noah stood. “Did Olivia and Kane search that apartment next to Martha Brisbane’s?”

  “They did. It was filled with bags of garbage. Some was Martha’s mail.”

  “Because he made her clean the house.” Noah frowned. “Why would he do that?”

  “Don’t know. I made sure Carleton knew, so he could incorporate it into his profile.”

  “Were there any papers, documents showing her Shadowland movements?”

  “So far no. Olivia and Kane have gone through about half of it. Micki had the carpet vacuumed and all surfaces dusted for prints, but if we find Kobrecki’s prints, they’ll just say he was doing maintenance. Micki will have a prelim report tomorrow morning.”

  The thought of Micki reminded Noah he needed to ask if anyone had found Eve’s keys. One thought of Eve spurred another. “Eve had some screen name possibilities for that dancing avatar. She thought you might be able to use them in a warrant.”

  “I already know his name. He’s Romeo62.”

  Noah looked at Abbott’s screen. “What happened to your other guy?”

  “Ditched him. Meet Lola.” Lola was a statuesque raven-haired stunner. “I’m trying to get Romeo to talk to me, ask him to meet me. My guy avatar was a definite liability.”

  “Better for you to go undercover than Eve.” Who wanted to catch this guy for all the right—and wrong—reasons. Either way, Noah wanted her off the playing field.

  “I thought so, too. If Girard’s innocent, we need to continue the Romeo lead. Work things out with Jack. I won’t have you working against each other. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tuesday, February 23, 8:45 p.m.

  “Miss Wilson?” For the second time that evening Eve found herself summoned. A man stood at the bar, looking out of place in a suit. He was an infrequent customer, but she didn’t know his name and for the life of her, could not remember his drink.

  She smiled her bartender smile. “Yes, how can I help you?”

  “It’s more how I can help you. I’m Dr. Carleton Pierce. I’m a psychologist.”

  Apprehension tickled the back of her neck. “Nice to meet you,” she said as he put a piece of paper on the bar. Immediately she recognized her own name. “My thesis abstract.”

  “I work with Noah Webster. Today I heard an interesting story about a confidential informant. Web was adamant on keeping this person’s name secret. He’s worried I’ll turn him… or her… in. I wanted you to know that I don’t plan to.”

  Eve’s exhale was controlled, her frown confused. “I’m sorry. I’m not following you.”

  He smiled gently. “I’m really here to help you. It took me five minutes to locate your abstract in the university’s online library. Using Shadowland as a training tool has amazing therapeutic potential. But your study has attracted the attention of a dangerous man. I was there, yesterday, at your friend’s house. I was shaken. I still am.”

  A chill raced down Eve’s back as she thought of Christy, hanging from that rope. Her eyes… “You’ll have to talk to Detective Webster, sir. He has all the information.”

  “Because you gave it to him,” Pierce said kindly. “That was very brave, Eve. You could be facing disciplinary action for breaking double-blind, but I think I can stop that. I know Dr. Donner’s boss, Dean Jacoby. We’re old friends. I can smooth the way.”

  She studied his face. “Why?” she asked baldly.

  “You’ll need others throughout your career, Eve. We all do. Colleagues, experts. Mentors. You found yourself in an untenable situation and you did the right thing. I’d hate to see you penalized. You have a great career ahead of you. It would be a travesty for you to lose it all before you even begin.”

  He took a business card from the pocket of his expensive suit and slid it across the bar. She stared at the card for a moment before putting it in her pocket. Then she met his eyes, remembering her manners. “Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He nodded once. “Good,” he said and turned to put on his coat and gloves.

  “Dr. Pierce, does Detective Webster know you came?”

  “No. But as I said, it took less than five minutes to connect the study with you. You will be found out, but I think you knew that before you came forward.”

  “Yes, I did,” she murmured and in his eyes she saw respect.

  “Call me when you’re ready for me to talk to the dean. But I wouldn’t wait too long.”

  She toyed with the business card in her pocket as he walked away, then sucked in a breath when Sal appeared at her elbow. “Who was that?” Sal asked, frowning.

  “Psychologist,” Eve answered. “Works with the Hat Squad. Interested in my thesis.”

  “I see,” Sal said stiffly and Eve looked up at him. He looked angry and… hurt.

  He’d eavesdropped. No surprise there. “Go ahead. What did you hear?”

  “ ‘Disciplinary action.’ And last night you were with the Hats. What’s going on?”

  Eve dropped her voice. “Sal, somehow my thesis project is being used to hurt people. I can’t tell you any more than that. I’m sorry.”

  “All right,” he said in begrudging acceptance. “So what about disciplinary action?”

  “The way I got information was… against the rules.”

  He met her eyes and once more she felt the scrutiny of another. But this was different. This was Sal. “Would you do it again?” he asked quietly.

  “In a heartbeat,” she said without hesitation. “Less than a heartbeat.”

  “Good enough for me,” he said, then his eyes went sly. “So what about the kiss?”

  Eve looked up at the ceiling, flustered. “Oh for God’s sake.”

  “I knew it,” Sal said smugly, rubbing his hands together. “I won the pool.”

  Eve stared at him. “There was a fucking pool?”

  “Well, not a fucking pool.” Sal snickered. “Just a kissing pool.”

  I should have known. She controlled the anger that rose, knowing it came from humiliation. “Well, I hope you won a bundle,” she said quietly and he sobered quickly.

  “Only a beer,” he said. “Eve, what’s wrong?”

  Everything. A business card she was afraid to use, directions to a dinner she was afraid to attend. A good man who wanted her when he shouldn’t. A man she wanted, but couldn’t hav
e, who’d end up hurt when this was over. A career on life support before it began. And over it all, three dead women, a dangerous man, and the real possibility he could strike again. That he was hunting fish in the very barrel she’d stocked.

  A sudden urge to weep grabbed at her throat and she took an unsteady step back. “Nothing. I’m fine. I just need a break. Can you mind the bar?”

  Without waiting for his answer, she went back to his office, hearing his heavy sigh. “Goddammit,” he muttered, which Eve thought summed it up pretty well.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tuesday, February 23, 9:00 p.m.

  The worst of Jack’s anger had calmed by the time Noah got to the morgue. Ian had posted photographs of Samantha Altman’s decomposed body on his board.

  “Anything?” Noah asked, scanning the photos.

  “Same MO,” Jack said quietly. “Ket in her system, puncture wound on her neck.”

  “And dirt,” Ian said, “in her mouth.”

  “What?” Noah leaned forward to get a better look at the photos. “Where?”

  “You can see it in between her back molars,” Ian said. “When the funeral home delivered the body, I asked them if they remembered anything different about this body.”

  “And?” Jack asked.

  “Samantha had a viewing, and it’s standard practice for them to put cotton in the deceased’s cheeks to keep them from hollowing. The funeral director told me when the cosmetologist was adjusting the cotton in Samantha’s cheeks, she saw dirt. She thought this was strange, but knew it was a suicide. They see all kinds of weirdness with suicides, just like we do. Some people eat dirt. We find it in their stomach contents.”

  “Did you find dirt in Samantha’s stomach?” Noah asked.

  “No, but I did find it other places. When I heard about dirt in her cheeks, I went back to all the samples Janice had taken in the first autopsy. I’d already submitted the blood samples she’d stored and they came back with the ketamine. Janice had scraped under the nails, just in case. Samantha had a lot of dirt under her nails, like she’d been digging in a garden. It’s potting soil.” Ian’s eyes narrowed as he watched their faces. “It makes sense to you,” he said grimly. “Tell me.”

  “He buried her alive,” Noah said. “Her worst fear.”

  Ian stared. “Is that what the snake was all about? And the water in Martha’s lungs, too? He’s torturing them with their worst fears? My God, this guy is a real prince.”

  “And we just let him go,” Jack said without emotion.

  Ian’s eyes grew wider. “You let him go?”

  Noah shook his head. “No, we did not. Jack, we need to talk.”

  “Yeah, we do. But this first. Was there dirt in her lungs, Ian?”

  Ian hesitated. “Yes.”

  Noah found himself hesitating as well. “Shouldn’t that have been caught in the autopsy the first time around?”

  “Yes, it should have been. Janice missed it. I don’t know why, but she missed it.”

  “If she’d found it,” Jack said, “we might have already been looking for a killer.”

  Ian nodded, pain in his eyes. “I know. This is going to kill her. She’s a thorough ME. Maybe she was in a hurry, thinking it was a suicide. Maybe it was simple error. There wasn’t that much dirt, but she shouldn’t have missed it. I’ve informed my hierarchy and we’ll have an internal investigation. In the meantime, we have to live with the fact that we could have prevented two more deaths.”

  “What was the official cause of death, Ian?” Noah asked. “Suffocation?”

  “No, strangulation. I think she could breathe while buried. There are abrasions along her gumline.” He pointed to the photos of Samantha’s exposed teeth.

  Noah pictured the options. “Snorkel?” he asked and Ian nodded.

  “Probably. I think he took her out, cleaned her up, and hung her.”

  “If she could breathe, how did the dirt get in her lungs?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ian said wearily. “Maybe he put dirt down the snorkel on purpose, maybe it was an accident.”

  Noah didn’t want to think about it, either way. “Anything else?”

  “No.” Ian began taking the photos down from the board. “I think that’s enough.”

  Noah agreed. “We’ll be in touch. Thanks.” He waited until he and Jack were in the hall. “Come on. I’ll buy you a cup of decent coffee. We need to clear some things up.”

  Jack nodded, still subdued. “All right.”

  Tuesday, February 23, 9:30 p.m.

  “Hello there, Eve.” Kurt Buckland slid onto a bar stool with a smug smile.

  Eve gritted her teeth. She was getting damn sick and tired of visitors to the bar. “Mr. Buckland. Still stalking me, I see.”

  “Now, Eve. I’m simply sitting here at the bar, waiting for service.”

  “You’ll be waiting a long time.” She wanted to throw him out, but Sal was their muscle, and after the “fucking pool” conversation he’d gone AWOL.

  “That was an interesting show you put on at the Deli this morning,” Buckland said.

  She shrugged. “Believe what you want.”

  “It must have been hard to keep that secret from your best friend. I thought it quite interesting that Callie so adamantly insisted you weren’t seeing anyone.”

  Eve started wiping down the bar, ignoring him as best she could. She should have warned Callie, but honestly the thought hadn’t entered her mind. I’ve been a bit busy.

  He slid a manila envelope across the bar. “Here are some pictures you should see.”

  “No, thank you. I’ve already seen your pictures once today.”

  “No, these are better. You’ll see your detective isn’t such a good guy after all.”

  Shaking her head, she turned away. “I’m not playing your game, Buckland. Leave.”

  He reached over the bar and grabbed her arm, his grip punishing. “I said, look.”

  Fighting the instant panic that swelled within her, Eve calmly lifted her eyes to his and saw the crazed light of fury. “You are not a smart man, Kurt. This bar is filled with cops. I scream, and they drag you away in handcuffs. Take your hand off me. Now.”

  His eyes flickered, as if he’d momentarily forgotten where he was. He let her go, lowering himself back to his stool. “I apologize,” he said stiffly.

  Her pulse was still racing, but she kept her voice even. “I don’t accept. Please go.”

  “Eve?” Regular Jeff Betz stepped up behind Buckland, hulking over him.

  “I’m fine, Officer Betz. Mr. Buckland was just leaving.” She shoved the envelope over the bar and into Buckland’s hands. “Take this with you. I don’t want it.”

  Buckland slid off the stool, the fire in his eyes now banked. “I’ll be in touch.”

  When he was gone, she massaged her arm. It hurt worse than she wanted to let on.

  “You’re not fine,” Jeff said. “You should get that looked at.”

  Eve looked up at him, her smile wan. “I’ve had a lot worse.”

  Jeff frowned, troubled. “Doesn’t make it okay. You call if he bothers you again. I’m off to pick up my wife. Have Sal walk you to your car when you leave, Eve.”

  “I’ve got a ride, but tomorrow I will. Don’t worry. I don’t take chances.” Not anymore.

  Tuesday, February 23, 9:30 p.m.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me about Eve’s information?” Jack asked wearily.

  They’d met at the Deli, but had taken their coffee and conversation back to the privacy of Noah’s car. “Because you haven’t been exactly approachable today.”

  “I guess I deserve that. So what if it’s not Girard? What do we do next?”

  “Well, right now Abbott’s moonlighting as a woman in Shadow-land’s bar, trying to attract this guy. Abbott is scarily convincing and, I think, having too much fun.”

  Jack’s lips twitched. “Wish I’d stayed around to see that.”

  Some of the tension dissipated. “If Gir
ard is our guy, we’ve got surveillance tonight. Tomorrow we ask him to alibi the times Eve found the avatar files had been changed.”

  “But even if he was home, or at work, or anywhere people can verify his presence, he still could have gone online and made the changes. He could have just pretended to check his email. Or he could have taken a bathroom break and taken his laptop to the john. If his home or office has wireless Internet, he didn’t even have to be at his desk.”

  “But if he doesn’t alibi, we get a warrant for his computer and check online activities.”

  Jack nodded. “Makes sense. If he does alibi, we’ll have to find something else to tie him to one of the crime scenes or the crimes in general.”

  Bathroom break. Jeremy Lyons. Noah closed his eyes. His tired brain was making delayed, haphazard connections. In the heat of tracking Girard, they’d lost sight of the most obvious connection. “Like Eve’s list. Girard had to have had access to it. If he didn’t, we have to comb through the people that did. Like Jeremy Lyons, Eve’s advisor’s secretary. Who knows things like her worst fear.”

  “Shit. Did you get any of those background checks back?”

  “They weren’t on my desk. I’ll check tomorrow. Right now, I need to sleep.”

  “You want me to drive you?” Jack asked, his tone kinder than it had been all day.

  “No. I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

  “Then I’m going home.” Opening the door, Jack hesitated. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  But Jack didn’t move and Noah frowned. “Jack? Go home. Katie will be waiting.”

  Jack’s lips twisted and when he spoke, it was with self-contempt. “If I’m lucky. She’s only there because I’m on the cover of a goddamn magazine. And everybody knows it.” He turned his head to look Noah in the eye. “Including you.”

  It was true. Katie had latched on to Jack the day after the story had hit the stands, just another woman in what had been a long line over the years. Noah remembered Eve’s description of Jack. Alone in a crowded room. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I will apologize to Eve. But I didn’t know how else to apologize to you.”