The President finished straightening his tie and stood, acknowledging their presence. He glanced at Adien. “Give us a few minutes.”
Adien looked at his watch as he headed to the door. “You’re live in eighteen minutes.”
After the Chief of Staff left and closed the door behind him, the President held out his hand to Derrick. “Good to see you.”
Derrick went and shook his hand. “You too, Mr. President.”
“I told your father it’s been too long since we last met.”
Myron Burke was fifty-six, an attractive man with all-American good looks, and in top physical shape despite the rumors he was an alcoholic. He had a strong and loyal base of constituents because of his tough stance on terrorism.
“It’s been about eight months, sir.”
“Far too long. Have a seat.” The President smiled and moved to the small table with the crystal decanter and glasses on it and poured a couple of shots of whiskey.
Derrick and his father took a seat on the couch.
Myron held out his glass. “Drink?”
“No, thanks,” both men said in unison.
Derrick wondered what he was doing here. He was anxious to know.
The President downed his drink and poured another. “Was our issue taken care of?”
Derrick was confused. He was positive his father would have passed along his email to the President. “Early this morning, sir.”
Myron sat behind his desk and took a sip of his drink. “There’s another problem. We think the reporter kept notes about the Elara Project on her personal laptop.”
“The information she and Eddie Bullington planned on revealing to the world,” his father added.
Derrick looked at the President. “Do we know the original source yet?”
“Not yet. Which will create another problem. We need the laptop before someone realizes she’s expired. I’m sure you understand what will happen if the authorities or anyone else get their hands on it before we do.”
Jail wasn’t in his future. Derrick knew how important it was to keep the Elara Project secret. His ass was on the line too. This was beyond his paranormal skills. He’d have to do it the old fashion way, break in and steal it. It was a huge risk but too much was at stake.
“Son, I had someone call the TV station pretending to be Mann. As far as anyone knows she’s home sick for a couple of days. That should give you enough time to get the laptop.”
Derrick wasn’t happy about the turn of events. Again, they weren’t giving him a choice. “I’ll look after it.”
The President smiled. “While you’re here, I’d like you to take a trip over to Fort Meade and meet our latest recruit. You’ll be impressed. Who would have thought that over the decades there would be more people out there with unusual skills this government could utilize to help keep our country safe? Thank you for your service, Derrick. Your grandfather would be proud, as I’m sure your father is as well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“The security of our nation is, and always will be, number one.” He held his glass up in the air. “To another three years while I’m in office and hopefully a second term, God willing.” He gulped down the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on the desk. “I’ll have a car take you to Fort Meade.”
✽ ✽ ✽
As Victory drove to Rapid Run Park, the sun lowered, and wispy thin clouds transformed into shades of golden pink. To the north, the sky was full of tumultuous dark clouds. Another snow storm was brewing. She had called Derrick’s secretary on the way and left a message canceling their dinner plans. A small part of her was disappointed, but she was confused as to why. She shoved the thought aside for now and pulled up slowly to the entrance of the park. A river of lights flashed, coming from dozens of police cruisers, FBI and search and rescue vehicles.
She rolled down the window and showed her ID to one of the officers guarding the entrance. He gave it a long once over with a critical eye and finally let her pass. She steered into the parking lot and found an empty spot next to one of the white ERT vehicles. Victory shut off the engine and watched two uniformed officers blocking off the perimeter with white and blue crime scene police tape. She stayed put for a few minutes, mentally preparing herself for what she’d find at the scene.
A dozen news trucks were parked along the perimeter. Reporters pushed and shoved each other, volleying for a front-seat view. Victory didn’t see Melissa Mann. The reporter was probably hiding behind a tree, ready to attack. Victory noticed Curtis and Joe Mains busy talking with reporters. She let out a long sigh and got out of the car.
Ryan met her. Lines etched his forehead. He looked frustrated.
“What’s the dynamic-duo up to?” Victory asked.
“They’re calming the public.”
“The word calming isn’t in either of their vocabularies. I thought Curtis didn’t want anyone speaking with the media unless necessary,” Victory said.
“It’s necessary. Guess you haven’t heard yet. Angel Hogan’s uncle is a sergeant with CPD’s Violent Crimes Squad.”
“Shit.” They’d be under even more pressure to solve The Wrapper case. She continued to watch the growing crowd of reporters and spectators. “Is Sean here?”
“Yeah.” Ryan blew on his hands to help warm them, then stuffed them in his coat pockets. “Just waiting for some lights to be set up. It’s pretty dark back there.”
Victory yanked the collar of her coat up around her face to help with the frigid air nipping at her skin. “Who found her?”
“A jogger. He’d stopped for a breather before returning to his car,” Ryan said.
“Who runs in this weather? It’s close to freezing.”
“Apparently, an exercise-obsessed freak.”
She spotted Sean heading their way, drinking a Starbucks coffee. By the thick stubble on his face and the dark shadows under his eyes, he looked exhausted. She knew working homicide was a long grind and helping the FBI with The Wrapper and Eddie Bullington’s case wasn’t helping matters.
Sean handed her and Ryan a pair of Nitrile gloves. “They’re ready for us.”
She snapped on the gloves, her gaze straying from Sean and back to the throng of reporters. She still hadn’t seen Melissa. Victory had never been at a crime scene in the past six years without the woman pestering her. “Let’s stay clear of the media circus.”
Sean nodded in agreement and pulled a flashlight from his jacket pocket.
After sneaking past the media, thanks to Curtis and Joe Mains busy getting in their five minutes of fame, Sean led the way. They trudged through the hilly terrain, the snow almost waist-high in spots. The flashlight’s beam swung like a giant pendulum, sweeping the heavily wooded area.
Victory spotted the bright beams of light coming from the portable lights. She recognized members of the emergency response team standing next to the long cream-colored brick shelter. A group of uniformed officers were talking to Gregory and pointing while another group was busy combing the area for any evidence.
As she approached, Victory noticed a large shallow pond, not yet frozen over. Her breath clouded in the chilly air. “He could have dumped her anywhere. Behind the baseball diamond, the playground, back in the trees—”
“Or the hiking trails.” Sean shut off the flashlight. “Any idea why a shelter is important to him?”
Frustration knotted her stomach. Victory shrugged, not knowing the answer. In the distance, she heard the loud hum of the generator powering the portable lighting. She veered off a short distance from the others and observed one of their response team techs photographing numerous boot prints in the snow while another tech was using snow wax, a specific casting compound used in the snow to make a form of the boot’s tread. The footprints followed a path toward the shelter then disappeared in the snow.
A gust of wind whipped through the pine trees. Frantic wings rustled and flapped in the shadowy treetops canopying the area. When she returned to Sean and Ryan, she was horrified at what she
saw. Nothing could have prepared her.
The putrid sweet smell of baby oil, and burnt and rotting flesh, invaded her senses first, and lingered in the air. The victim’s upper body was burnt so badly there wasn’t much left except for chunks of bubble wrap, muscle, ligaments, and blackened skin hanging from her arms and upper torso. No hair was left on her head, the skin on her face, gone. All that was left, sunken and glazed-over dead green eyes.
“Jesus.” Ryan blinked a couple of times and looked away.
Sean held his ground. Victory could tell he was fighting to keep it together.
A charred breastplate and ribs revealed an open chest cavity. It appeared the killer had ripped out the heart. Victory grimaced. Bile rose in her throat. She staggered four or five steps away from the body and vomited in a snowbank next to a tree.
All eyes were on her. She could feel them. Twenty years on the job and she’d never been sick at a crime scene. A rookie move. She’d never live it down.
Gregory put his hand gently on her shoulder. “This one caught you off guard. It happens, Victory.”
She straightened, sucked in long deep breaths and then exhaled each one slowly and evenly. “He ripped out her heart,” she said, her voice slightly wavering.
The M.E.’s eyes met hers. “It looks that way.”
Ryan handed her a bottle of water. She took a couple of sips and searched Gregory’s eyes. “We have to stop him.”
“I found something during my examination that might help.” He gave her a small smile. “When you’re ready.”
She took another drink of water and waited for her stomach to stop whirlpooling.
“Has she been here long?” Sean asked, his eyes fixed on the grisly scene.
“Not long. Less than twenty-four hours. From the internal organs, I can see, they haven’t started to decompose. I’ll know a lot more once I do the post-mortem.”
Victory braced herself, determined to continue, anxious to learn what the M.E. had discovered. “Show me what you found.”
At the body, Gregory lowered to his knees in the snow and lifted the victim’s right foot as best he could. He pointed a gloved finger at the bottom of the heel. “That’s a product label from a box of Rohypnol embedded in a piece of melted bubble wrap.”
The same drug the killer used to sedate his victims. Victory bent down and squinted at the discolored label with slightly smeared black lettering. At least most of what was left of the label was readable. “A partial serial number.”
“The NDC number is missing, but we might have enough to trace it back to the original manufacturer.”
She pushed her excitement down and glanced up at Ryan and Sean, cautiously optimistic, hoping it was more than wishful thinking that the killer had finally made a mistake. “We might have our first solid lead.”
CHAPTER TEN
While they waited for the product label to be traced, Victory and Ryan walked up the steps leading to a two-storey house on Kinney Street with sand-colored vinyl siding and white trim, ten minutes from the University of Cincinnati where Angel Hogan had been enrolled. Snow fell like frozen confetti and blanketed the middle-class Evanston neighborhood.
Victory shivered, her pant legs still damp against her skin from hiking through the park. “Damn snow.”
“They’re calling for six to eight inches tonight and more tomorrow.”
“Someone said snow arouses wonderful flashbacks of your childhood. Whoever said that was a dickhead.” Her childhood was a not a place Victory ever wanted to revisit.
Her father was a tough Cleveland detective, who’d worked out of the third district. He was also married to the bottle and enjoyed taking his stress out on her and her mother with his fists. It was back in the day when domestic and child abuse by police officers was virtually invisible. Victory had made the decision to leave home when she was seventeen and never looked back. Her mother, on the other hand, stuck it out, a decision Victory never understood. Two years after Jade was born, Victory received the phone call, a call she had predicted for years. Her father had shot and killed her mother, and then himself.
Ryan ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Guess you aren’t into having a snowball fight.”
She knew her partner was just trying to lighten things up after witnessing such a horrific image at the park. But Victory wasn’t in the mood for his playful sense of humor. Not right now. Speaking with Angel Hogan’s father wasn’t going to be easy since they didn’t have an ID on the body yet. They needed one. She’d have to prepare Angel’s father for the worst, that his child was probably dead.
They stopped on the front porch. Multi-colored Christmas lights sparkled through the sheer curtains from the front window. A battery-operated holiday wreath made of garland, pinecones, and white LED lights glowed against the oak front door. Victory took a deep breath and knocked.
On the other side of the door, a dog barked wildly with excitement. Then the noise stopped, and the door opened. A man in his mid-forties with a kind face and vivid green eyes was holding an adorable brown puppy.
“Samuel Hogan. I’m Agent Victory McClane. This is my partner, Agent Slater.”
The man’s eyes snapped to her ID around her neck. “Did you find my daughter?”
His voice was frantic and filled with fear. She could tell he knew this wasn’t a happy visit.
“May we come in?” Ryan asked.
He let them in and Victory noticed the man’s hands were shaking when he closed the door. She glanced at a young girl sitting on the couch in the living room, watching a holiday TV show. She appeared to be about ten years old, and a spitting image of Angel. Dread flowed through Victory.
Samuel handed the dog to his daughter then picked up the remote and shut off the TV. “Sara, go watch the show in your bedroom, okay, sweetie? I need to speak with these people.”
Worry flickered in the girl’s eyes. She took the small dog and left the living room.
Samuel’s gaze shifted from the stairs to Victory. “Have you found Angel?”
Victory paused for a few seconds and chose her words wisely. “A body was found in Rapid Run Park this evening. We don’t know yet if it’s your daughter or not.”
He sat on the couch and dropped his face in his hands. “It could be someone else.”
“There is a chance of that. We need to know for sure.”
Samuel suddenly jumped to his feet. “I can come with you right now and see if it’s Angel. It’ll only take me minute to get my neighbor to come over and watch Sara.”
“I’m sorry, we can’t do that, Mr. Hogan.” Victory was about to strip a few more layers of hope from the man, and she didn’t feel good about it. Part of her job included being as honest as possible based on what they knew so far. It was not a situation any parent should ever have to experience.
“What we need from you is Angel’s hairbrush and toothbrush for a DNA sample.”
The room grew deadly quiet.
“They’re—upstairs in the bathroom. The blue toothbrush—and the red-handled hairbrush.”
Ryan turned to Victory and lowered his voice a fraction. “I’ll grab a couple evidence bags.”
Victory nodded. While Ryan went to the vehicle to get the bags, Samuel began to weep.
“I know this is extremely difficult.” She’d noticed the living room didn’t have any female personal touches. “Is your wife home?”
He shook his head slowly. “The kids’ mother left four years ago. She had a drug problem. It’s better she’s not around. She lives in California and hasn’t talked to the girls since she walked out the door.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you think it’s Angel?”
Victory looked at him, his eyes searching hers for the answer. She saw the pain. She wanted to tell him, to give him some type of closure but she couldn’t. Not until they had the DNA results, even though she was certain the body was the man’s daughter. “Let’s wait and see what the DNA has to say.”
After Ryan ret
urned with the evidence bags, he headed upstairs. When he was out of sight, Samuel sat back down on the couch, the reality of the situation obvious on the man’s anguished face.
“What am I supposed to tell, Sara? She’s young and doesn’t understand. She already thinks her big sister left like her mother. I don’t know what to tell her.”
Victory swallowed the hard lump forming in her throat and regret swamped her. She thought about Josh and what she wished she had told him when she’d dropped him off at the bank. “Tell her you love her.”
Heavy footsteps thumped on the stairs. Ryan appeared with the evidence bags containing Angel’s personal items.
Victory’s gaze switched from her partner and back to Mr. Hogan. The man was silent, staring at the wall, his eyes vacant and tear filled.
She tried to remain stoic even though her heart was breaking for him. “We’ll contact you as soon as we have the results.” Before leaving, she placed her business card on the coffee table, unsure if the grieving father heard one word of what she had said.
Outside, snow continued to fall, a thick curtain of white, turning the city into a winter wonderland. Wind rushed at her and snow lashed at her face. They got into the Suburban and Ryan started the engine. Frigid air pumped out of the heating vents.
Victory gazed at the evidence bags on the seat. “After we get those back to the lab and get the results, I want to swing by Melissa Mann’s house.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“I know. I can’t believe I just said that either.”
“Still no word from the troll—um—reporter?”
Victory yanked the seatbelt over her shoulder and secured it. “Nothing. She wasn’t at the crime scene either. Yet another mystery to add to our plate.” She watched the snow hitting the windshield. The flakes were hypnotizing and making her tired.
“That is strange. She’s an ambulance chaser, always in our way at every crime scene.” Ryan checked the side mirror and waited for a slow-moving car to pass before he steered away from the curb. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be found because she’s pulling your leg about having info about Bullington.”
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