The Isolated Widow (The Widow Taker Book 2)

by Kennedy Layne

Someone’s chips had been cashed.

  “Start combing through the files,” Linc suggested, pointing toward the whiteboard where he’d written a list of factors that needed to be met. “You can use those bullet items as guidelines to screen the caseload, and then we’ll see what we’re left with.”

  Linc led the way out of the conference room and through the bullpen. Deputy Chen was utilizing one of the desks, getting ready to start his shift. He’d been lifted from light duty after having sprained his ankle during a charity indoor soccer match. Linc guessed him to be around the same age as Quinn, which made him one of the very select people who was about to be questioned today.

  “Deputy Chen?” Linc asked, stopping at the threshold of Chaz’s office. “Would you mind waiting five or ten minutes before leaving the station? I’d like to discuss something with you.”

  “Roger that,” Deputy Chen responded, his curiosity piqued.

  “What did she do now?” Dean asked wryly, finally closing the door behind them.

  She referred to Quinn Simmons, and Linc didn’t deny the fact that this conversation was about to revolve around their favorite local journalist. The unsub had chosen her specifically, and Linc had reason to believe it had more to do with her personally than it did with her professionally.

  “Quinn dropped off the USB drive with the unsub’s text message. I already gave it to Dwight this morning.” Linc claimed one of the two guest chairs, letting Dean sit in the other one. “I was able to engage with her last night. You and I both agree that she plays a major part in this investigation, but it’s not limited to her connection with the public. The unsub chose her specifically for what I believe are more personal reasons.”

  “We’ve already determined that Quinn has never been married,” Dean pointed out, rubbing the back of his neck. The last two weeks had been frustrating, but it had been nothing but a test run for what was coming. The political fallout from yesterday had damaged the FBI’s professionalism and credibility in the eyes of the citizens of Winter Heights. It would take a hell of a lot—mainly apprehending the unsub—before they gained back the trust of the public. “Are you saying she has another connection to the unsub that we are unaware of?”

  “Yes.” Linc leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I think they knew one another at some point. The day Quinn came running in here with a text from the unsub all but claiming he was taking another life was more important than we realized at the time.”

  Linc hated to bring up the fact that the woman who Dean was involved with had a scare of her own right before Thanksgiving. It had been a perilous situation, and one that had sheared several years off Dean’s life.

  He’d gotten involved with a widow of three years by the name of Kenna Burke. Working a case involving the murders of said women probably hadn’t been the wisest of choices, but Linc’s mother had always said the heart never listened to the mind. Bottom line was that Dean had gotten involved with a widow, who was a potential target.

  The message that Quinn had received on a brand-new phone that she’d yet to give anyone the number to had pointed toward Kenna as being the target. It had been one of the nails in Oliver Stevens’ coffin, but now Linc was convinced they’d overlooked the obvious.

  “You’re saying the unsub has a personal relationship with Quinn, or did so at some point in the past? That he has somehow inserted himself into her life without her knowledge or realization?” Dean asked, wanting a bit more clarification on the subject.

  “Not in the way you’re suggesting.” Linc connected a few more threads that might or might not go hand in hand with one another. “I think they’ve known each other since they were very young. Let’s face it. We’ve already established that the unsub is connected to Winter Heights. He zeroed in on this town, most likely due to his mother’s connections to the residents. Whenever it was that she became a widow, it occurred right here in this town. I think Quinn knows more about the unsub than she realizes, Dean. It could put her in danger if the unsub also suspects that she’s connecting the dots, and I believe she’s beginning to grasp the reality of it, too.”

  The muscle alongside Dean’s jaw twitched the way it did when he was irritated. They were used to cases lasting months, but this particular one hit a little bit too close to home. Not only was the woman he involved with a widow, but his mother held that same special designation as well.

  “Run with it. Keep me posted on any new developments.” Dean didn’t immediately stand in an effort to join the others. There was clearly something else that he wanted to discuss. “Frank is in town. He stopped by Kenna’s place last night.”

  Linc sat back in the chair. This conversation was no longer about the case. At least, not in the way that had to do with capturing the unsub.

  “Let me guess. Frank told you that Oliver wants to sue for wrongful imprisonment.”

  Dean didn’t even act surprised that Linc had guessed the direction of the discussion. He’d gotten used to Linc reading situations.

  “Frank also wanted to reassure you that he’ll do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening,” Linc tacked on, having had a bead on how men like Frank Rowe worked a situation to his advantage. Frank had basically been Dean’s mentor for many years, although Linc had only worked with the agent on limited occasions. “You’re a smart man, Dean. You know Frank’s weaknesses.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “I’m not arguing that point, however being good doesn’t mean that he’s not going to look out for his own best interest. The man’s wife asked for a divorce, his nephew was arrested in connection with several murders, and he was pressured to take a few weeks’ leave. He’s desperate, and you’re his lifeline.”

  Linc took a drink of his coffee, giving Dean some time to sort through his thoughts on the subject. He had a decision to make, and one Linc didn’t envy.

  “Look, Frank has a reputation for being a dick to local law enforcement,” Linc pointed out. “That won’t help his case. He’s old school. He sees the lines that separate his shield from others as more than they really are, and he also has the habit of stretching the guidelines on other practices to get the job done. If you were anyone else, I’d tell you to separate your feelings from your job.”

  “But?”

  “But you’re not just another agent. We’ve been friends since the academy, and I know you have the habit of shouldering everyone else’s problems. You also don’t easily take advice, which means that you’ve already made up your mind to recommend that Frank is fit to return to duty.”

  Linc and Dean both knew that his statement was just a formality. Dean really had no say in whether or not Frank stayed on the job or would be asked to take an early retirement. That decision was for the higher-ups. This was more for Dean’s conscience.

  “You said yourself that Frank never once inserted himself improperly into the investigation.” Linc waited for Dean to nod in agreement. “Frank stepped back, let you take lead, and he now he wants a bit of recognition for the choices he made. You’ll give it, Archer and his supervisor will decide on the man’s fate, and your field office will go on as usual. End of story.”

  Dean’s problem didn’t lie with the professional aspect of situation.

  “Frank was your mentor, Dean. You can still maintain that friendship, regardless of what happens internally to the bureaucracy that drives the bureau.”

  “Doesn’t feel that way,” Dean offered up, rubbing his eyes in frustration. Although, it could have been exhaustion. He was burning the candle at both ends. “Let’s head back to the conference room to brief everyone and set taskers for today. I’m heading down to the medical examiner’s office afterward to get the results of Pamala Griffith’s autopsy. I’ve also lined up an appointment to speak with the daughter now that she’s had some time to process what happened to her mother.”

  “Do me a favor and ask the daughter if she and Quinn knew each other, besides the fact that she’s a local celebrity. I want to dig into her
circle of friends from back then.” Linc would handle this side of the investigation while Dean worked the latest victim angle. “Start the briefing. I’ll be there momentarily.”

  Linc was glad to see that Deputy Chen had remained at his desk as requested.

  “Jonah, did you go to high school here?” Linc asked, turning around another desk chair on its wheels and taking a seat. “More importantly, how well did you know Quinn Simmons and her group of friends?”

  “I was born and raised in Winter Heights,” Jonah said, clearly curious as to where this conversation was heading. “Quinn gets a bad rap from the other deputies because of her job, but she’s loved by everyone who actually knows her on a personal level. She hasn’t had it easy, either. No father, her high school boyfriend died in a freak accident, her mom passed away from cancer, and then her best friend perished in a car accident around five years ago. She’s had a lot of loss in her life, and I think she does her best to give back to the community in her own way.”

  “What was the boyfriend’s name?”

  “Aaron Rockwell. His parents still live on the east side of town.”

  “Jonah, you might have just handed me a piece of the puzzle.” Linc stood and slapped Deputy Chen on the back. “I appreciate the talk. Be careful out there. The unsub will look just like anyone else at first glance. That gives him the advantage.”

  Linc didn’t give the deputy time to ask what he’d helped with, but instead quickly made his way to the conference room. He opened and closed the door quietly, not wanting to interrupt Dean as he caught the others up on where they were evidence-wise from the Griffith residence.

  “…speak to the daughter later this morning,” Dean finished, passing the buck to Chaz. “What have you got?”

  “I’m still keeping close tabs on Benjamin Henry. I even stopped by his residence yesterday afternoon, which resulted in his mother giving him an alibi for the night before. It was par for the course.” Chaz motioned toward the whiteboard. “He’s still our most viable suspect, though. Thirty-three years old, his mother is a widow, arrested two times for trespassing—basically a peeping tom who gets his dick hard by watching widows through their windows—and socially awkward with women.”

  Linc half-listened as he entered Aaron Rockwell’s name and town into a generic search engine. There wasn’t much coverage on the boy’s death. Two local articles written by Roger Ellington, who just so happened to be the chief editor and the owner of the local newspaper.

  “Connor Pryor, the previous owner of the pub, called into the station yesterday,” Evans said, picking up where Chaz left off. “He said he’s stopping by the station with a box of receipts. He mentioned his old habit of photocopying everything for his home office. He claims to have something we might want to see, so he should be here around zero eight hundred.”

  Linc glanced up from his monitor, catching the tension in Dean’s shoulders. The local pub was a sore spot, and rightly so. Daryl “Bright” Brighton had purchased the pub from Pryor, before seeking out Kenna’s accounting services. The two weren’t friends per se, but they had become friendly due to their business relationship.

  Unfortunately, Bright’s past had fit enough of the profile to warrant Dean’s attention. Certain events had even led to Evans going to the establishment in plainclothes to masquerade as a patron of the pub to monitor Bright’s movements. Besides, no one would think twice about a hometown deputy stopping into the local pub for a drink.

  The fact that the pub owner had been inside Kenna’s residence the night the unsub had claimed another victim’s life hadn’t helped the man’s case any. The mix-up had quickly resolved itself, and Bright had been ruled out as a suspect upon the discovery of Brenda Reinhardt’s body. She’d been murdered in her residence across town.

  It was literally impossible for a person to be in two places at one time.

  Linc’s profile didn’t indicate that there were two unsubs. Until that changed, Bright as a suspect was being put on the backburner.

  “Did Pryor mention what he’d discovered in the receipts?” Dean twirled a pen in between his fingers as he focused intently on Evans. It was simple things like the upcoming appointment that could lead to an arrest. “Did he reference a victim or a possible suspect?”

  “He didn’t say,” Evans replied with a shake of his head. “I asked, but he was adamant that he stop in with the receipts first.”

  The table became relatively quiet as they all pondered what Pryor had in his possession.

  “We all agree that the unsub is choosing his victims from a specific source,” Linc said, breaking the heavy silence. “We’ve searched local social gatherings, from yoga classes to knitting groups. Online groups have been compared between the search histories of the victims, as well as probing for anything else they might have had in common. The pub likely fits that scenario, especially given their monopoly on the local market for social gathering. They have great food, good-sized lunch crowds, and evening entertainment.”

  Linc had searched for Aaron Rockwell in the various databases that the bureau had direct access to, not that he expected to find anything going that route. One of the headlines listed Aaron’s death at the age of seventeen. It was doubtful that a local kid of that age would have been involved in or associated with anything on a purely criminal level.

  Still, Linc would continue to check all the boxes while multi-tasking.

  “What else is on the agenda?” Dean asked, unable to do anything with that bit of knowledge until Connor Pryor showed up in around thirty to forty minutes. “Dwight, you were following up on some leads. Did any of them pan out?”

  Linc began to close down some of the applications that he’d used to search Aaron Rockwell’s name after nothing of significance was found. He then printed out the two local articles regarding the boys’ death. Hearing Deputy Chen speak of Quinn’s losses, it was no wonder she was a bit of a loner.

  “…start going through the files of past cases involving stabbings. I’ll see if any show similarities to the current crime scenes, though we’ve already gone through most of them.”

  “Linc? Anything to add?”

  “You all know that the unsub touched base with Quinn Simmons after taking his latest victim. I’m meeting with her this evening to recount her steps the day she got her new cell phone number. She’s still confident that she didn’t release it to anyone before the unsub reached out to her. He had to have gotten her number from somewhere.”

  “Oliver Stevens was employed with the same telecommunications company where Quinn Simmons bought her new phone. He might have been cleared of the murders, but that doesn’t mean he or someone else at the shop didn’t supply her number to our unsub,” Chaz reasoned, having already gone through the employee list. “We’ve already spoken with the staff, but I can swing by there later today and have a talk with the manager. I’m sure she has a sense of who’s on the up and up and who’d be open to selling someone’s personal information at the flash of a little cash. The unsub might have spun some story like he was interested in asking her out or some other innocent sounding tactic.”

  “It couldn’t hurt, but I’m wondering if Quinn left her phone someplace where the unsub had access to her belongings, maybe a locker at a gym or something of that nature. I’ve been having lunch at the pub and monitoring her movements,” Linc said, not sharing details about his time that the others didn’t already know. “She carries a backpack, and she stores her cell phone in an outside pocket. Anyone could have had access to it if they were patient enough and bided their time waiting for a moment when she was distracted.”

  “Anything else, gentlemen?” Dean inquired before handing out assignments on top of what were already busy schedules. When no more details were offered up, he brought the meeting to a close. “Let’s make this a productive day.”

  Linc reached behind him and snatched the two articles off the printer. Both of them said pretty much the same thing, with the exception of the later one. Written two
days after the first, it gave the findings of the police report—accidental.

  The fact that Roger Ellington wrote both pieces and was now the owner of the newspaper didn’t escape Linc’s attention. He would certainly have had access to Quinn’s phone at different points throughout any given day. Linc even recalled her saying she’d swung by the paper to speak with Ellington that day.

  “Dwight, would you pull the police report for the accidental death of Aaron Rockwell?”

  Linc had already entered Roger’s name into the database systems. This new route the evidence was leading had the potential to pay off. The first question that needed to be answered first and foremost was if the editor and owner of the paper fit the profile. Second, what classmates had been close enough to witness Quinn’s grief?

  “Dean,” Linc called out, wanting to share this new lead with his colleague. “You’re going to want to see this.”

  Chapter Seven

  Quinn had spent the day with Aaron’s parents, but her visit hadn’t quite gone as she’d planned. She’d had every intention of telling them the whole truth, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it…to visit more pain upon them. She couldn’t bring herself to confess to them that Aaron’s brother had been the one responsible for his death.

  The truth would have shattered what remained of their world.

  Their renewed grief would have only served to shatter hers.

  “Have a great night,” the pizza delivery boy said with a crooked grin. He was already shoving his five-dollar tip into his front pocket. “I’m a huge fan. My roommate and I listen to your podcast every day.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Quinn replied, returning his smile.

  “Is it really true that The Widow Taker texts you all the time?”

  “No, it’s not like that. It’s just when he has something to share with the public.” Quinn’s stomach lurched at the question. She didn’t want to be anyone’s conduit, especially one who didn’t have any value for human life. Unlike the popular opinion of law enforcement, she didn’t print or relay anything to the public that wasn’t in their best interests. “Have a good night. Be safe out there.”