by Robin Mahle
The Kill Season
A Kate Reid Novel
Robin Mahle
Published by HARP House Publishing
May 2019 (1st edition)
Copyright ©2019 by Robin Mahle
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design: Covermint Design
Editor: Hercules Editing and Consulting Services www.bzhercules.com
For my mother
She has always believed in me and continues to be my greatest supporter in this crazy endeavor I have chosen as my career. I would not have made it through the publication of the first Kate Reid book, let alone this 10th book in the series without her input.
Trust me when I say nothing I write would ever see the light of day without her getting a first look.
I am blessed to have you in my life!
I love you, Mom.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
About the Author
Also by Robin Mahle
1
Amid the backdrop of exquisite white sandy beaches, cloudless skies and leafy hillsides lay the anemic dwellings of the favelas cast in shadow by Christ the Redeemer. The city of Rio de Janeiro sat perched atop the ocean’s shores where the wealthy exploited its beauty, and the poor were kept at arm’s length.
Rocinha was Rio’s largest favela. More than half a million people resided in the urbanized slum which was hardly more than a series of shanties carved into the mountains. Controlled by the Amigos dos Amigos crime syndicate, those inside walked among drug lords, human traffickers and thieves who operated freely and without repercussion.
Civil Police Investigator Pedro Sosa worked in the stationhouse on the favela’s edge. A husband and father, Investigator Sosa straddled the line between right and wrong in order to stay alive. Everyone did.
He sat behind his desk with an oversized paunch and jaded features and set his sights on a middle-aged woman donning a worn housecoat and sandals who had just entered. She shuffled toward him while he typed in his reports from the day before on an ancient computer.
“Minha filha está faltando.” “My daughter is missing,” the woman said.
Sosa appeared indifferent before replying in their native Portuguese. “What is her name?”
“Adriana Santos. She is 24 years old and did not come home last night.”
“Ma’am, she is 24. A young woman of that age rarely comes home when expected. Please come back tomorrow if you have not heard from her.” Sosa dismissed her.
“No. You don’t understand. It is not like Adriana. You must find her. I am afraid she was taken, like the others.”
Sosa reclaimed marginal interest. “Like the others?” He looked at the wall behind him. Several pictures of missing young women were papered across it as though it was the latest in wallpaper decor. “Like them?”
“Yes,” the woman replied. “I fear she is missing just like them.”
Sosa understood the implication. The Amigos dos Amigos were known for kidnapping and human trafficking, though no one would dare cross them. Some of his closest colleagues were paid a handsome sum to look the other way, and he was no less complicit. “Fill out this form and I will file the report.” Sosa handed her a piece of paper and when she stared at it with some confusion, it became clear she couldn’t read. “Sit down. I’ll do it for you.”
He took down the woman’s information and last known location of her daughter. “I will do what I can for you, ma’am. But I would not hold out hope. This is Rocinha.”
The woman stood with notable defiance. “All of you have blood on your hands. We suffer while you reap the rewards. God will be the one to judge you at the gates.”
Sosa observed the woman as she left and a pang of guilt swelled inside him. A corrupt government, a tainted police force. What chance did the impoverished inside the favela have when those who were expected to protect them turned their backs?
He studied the report and noticed similarities to the other cases—the photos of the missing women who cast judgement upon him daily. Something changed in him, an intangible shift. Perhaps the time had come to remember who he was and why he was here.
Investigator Sosa stood from behind his desk, report in hand, and emboldened. He approached Inspector Gustavo Varela’s office and knocked before opening the door. “Excuse me, sir, but I just received another missing persons’ report.”
Varela pulled away his glasses and rubbed his aged brown eyes before peering at his subordinate officer. “File it with the others.”
“Sir, I think the time has come to take more seriously the claims of those who have loved ones on our wall.”
The lines across Varela’s broad forehead deepened. “Are you saying we do not take these allegations seriously? Are we not searching for clues regarding the missing every day? Would you care to explain then what our purpose is here, Investigator Sosa?”
He’d drawn the ire of his commander. This was not how Sosa wished to start off the day. For a man who pulled in an annual salary of only $15,000 US dollars or about 56,000 Brazilian reais, and a few extra when necessary, he was risking a lot for the woman who insisted God would be the judge of his actions. “Our purpose is to find the truth. Is it possible to ask for a gesture of good faith from the AdA? Perhaps they can offer insight?”
Varela gestured for Sosa to take a seat. “I understand you must believe what we do is futile and sometimes it is, however, approaching the Amigos dos Amigos could mean your face will be on that wall too. And that is not something I want to see happen.”
“Then what can we do, sir?”
“What we always do.”
Sosa nodded. “I see. Thank you for your time, Inspector.” He returned to his desk and entered the report where it would linger in perpetuity.
Rio’s civilian police force had been left behind. Cut backs, a depressed economy, recovering from the massive expenditures of the Olympics in 2016. All of it added up to a force rife with malfeasance. And Investigator Pedro Sosa was caught in the middle.
At the end of the day, Sosa prepared to leave and passed by his colleagues. “Boa noite.” “Good night.” He pushed through the doors and into the evening air that was perfect this time of year. In another month, it would be winter and because Rio was close to the equator, temperatures didn’t fluctuate much, but May was idyllic.
It was undoubtedly the most beautiful place in the world so long as one had the means to enjoy it. Rocinha was just 2 miles from the coast that was lined with extravagant homes and high-end restaurants and retail shops. It was a paradis
e for the privileged few.
Investigator Sosa stepped into his compact blue Fiat Siena which had long past its better days. His wife would never ask for a new vehicle because she knew it was out of their budget, for now and the foreseeable future. She was a good woman whom he did not deserve. They shared a child; a boy named Elias who had just turned six. Sosa was better off than most. He still had his family, unlike those who trailed in to see him almost daily speaking of missing or dead loved ones. No one cared. Sometimes he didn’t care either except for this woman today. He couldn’t shake her tenor as she spoke about her beloved daughter, Adriana, who would have been an ideal candidate for the AdA. She was exactly the type for which they searched, young, exotic and far too naïve.
Sosa drove through the favela where he and his family also resided. The hillside shantytown had powerlines that cascaded down the streets in a web of tangled and dangerous intersections. Because he was on the police force, their family was left alone. That would change should he ever turn his back on the alliance he had formed with the controlling criminal organization. If word were ever to reach them about his inquiry with Inspector Varela, that alone could bring significant changes to his circumstances.
So he drove home, praying that no one would catch wind of his disloyalty. He drove through the crumbling streets between dilapidated concrete structures that were once painted beautiful hues, though the colors had faded into the landscape. Much like the favela itself.
The investigation into Boston Field Agent Connor Murphy’s death and subsequent shootings of two serial killers was scheduled to conclude today. It had been six weeks and it was coming to an end, though that hadn’t made it any easier for Special Agent Kate Reid or her partner and supervisor Senior Unit Agent Nick Scarborough to find rest as the clock showed 5am and the sun had yet to rise.
What would be contained in the final report was what both of them feared. While Unit Chief Cole assured the BAU team none of them would be held accountable, the fact of the matter was, he hadn’t controlled the review, the FBI’s internal investigators had. These were people Scarborough had encountered before. He’d been let off with little more than a warning then and neither knew if he would be so lucky this time around.
Nick sat up on the edge of the bed, his back exposed to Kate. She caressed his skin to offer comfort that would be a welcome gesture but would do little to assuage his concerns. “It’s early. Are you getting up already?”
“Is it early? I can’t tell.” He stood and pulled on a pair of gym shorts. “I’m sorry if I kept you up too.”
“Don’t be. I’ll go put on the coffee.” Kate pulled her robe across her slender waist and tucked her long brunette hair behind her ears. She padded in bare feet along the cool tile floor until she reached the kitchen.
Gray light seeped in around the window blinds as signs of summer arrived via an early rising sun. Six weeks since the night they all listened as Agent Murphy was gunned down by a killer. Only Boston Police Detective King had survived and had spent this time exploring his own thoughts to try and understand how things escalated so quickly. It was impossible to know for sure. All they could now was wait to be briefed on the report. The fate of the team would then be decided.
Kate poured the freshly brewed coffee into two cups when Nick entered. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” He sipped on the coffee and closed his eyes for only a moment, ostensibly pondering the outcome. “On the bright side, it does seem like you and Quinn have reconciled.”
“Only because we don’t discuss what happened in Boston. I’m sure he’s waiting until the verdict is in,” Kate replied.
“But he has come around?”
“To a certain degree.” She sipped on her own fresh brew. “I can’t figure out if he’s biding his time or searching for as much dirt as he can find before bringing anything to light.”
“You make him sound like a villain,” Nick replied.
“How else would you describe what he did? He was strategic in his approach, I’ll give him that. Laying the ground work by implying your decisions were faulty because you had been drinking.” She laughed. “Good way to plant the seed of doubt about your leadership.”
“I’m so sorry, Kate. I never meant for any of this to happen. Coming here—to Quantico. It was supposed to be a good thing for both of us.”
She moved closer to him and placed her hand on his solid chest. “It has been a good thing. I love this team, almost as much as I loved our old one. And things with Noah Quinn weren’t like this in the beginning. Maybe I can find a way. Maybe we both can, I don’t know.” She reached for her mug again. “Look, this whole thing will blow over and even if it doesn’t, I don’t think Cole will remove you from your position. You’re getting help for a problem and it shouldn’t be cause for termination.”
“Even if he doesn’t fire me, I can’t afford to derail a reputation I’ve yet to finish building. I don’t want them to know, Kate.”
“So far nothing’s come of it. So maybe I keep doing what I’m doing to stay on Quinn’s good side.”
He ran his fingers through the side of hair and held her gaze. “I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. You know that, right?”
“I do. And you know I feel the same. Today will be just like any other day. We have each other and we’ll deal with whatever comes down the pike. It won’t change anything between us.”
“I couldn’t bear it if it did.” He stood from the barstool. “I better jump in the shower.” He offered his hand. “Care to join me?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Rocinha lay between the neighborhoods of Gávea and São Conrado where the well-to-do frolicked along the shores. Trendy night clubs and cafes and fashion malls lined the neighborhoods that were also home to some of the most expensive real estate in all of South America.
Gávea’s luxurious mansions were in stark contrast to the undesirable elements of the favela only minutes away. This was where Adriana Santos came when she wanted to escape the realities of life in Rocinha. Her beauty was enough to get her in the door. Tonight, Adriana convinced her friend to accompany her to one of the most popular night clubs in Gávea. Wearing borrowed dresses with stolen shoes and they were both allowed inside.
The nightclub was small and cramped with people pushed against one another, but that was the point. Music blared from the speakers above, shaking the floor beneath with its heavy bass. Lights flashed and people danced and no one cared that the aroma of sweat and smoke filled the room.
“Está quente aqui. Nós precisamos de uma bebida.” It’s hot in here. We need a drink.” Adriana walked to the bar and waited, though not for long.
An attractive 20-something man sporting expensive clothes and a stubbly beard approached the bar and leaned in next to her. “Posso te dar uma bebida?” “Can I buy you a drink?”
She gauged him from top to bottom and knew immediately of his wealth. “Sure. My friend is waiting so I’ll need two.”
“Of course.” He turned to the bartender and ordered two cocktails.
Their small talk lasted only until the drinks arrived and when he handed them to her, she began to leave.
“Where are you going?” Perplexity masked his face.
She nodded to her friend and shrugged. “Obrigado.” “Thank you.”
He tipped his head and raised his glass to her. “Adeus.”
She returned with the drinks and a smile on her face. “Here. There will be others. Just wait.”
“How do you know this?” Gabrielle was her partner in crime and dearest friend.
“This is how it works. Don’t worry, they’re harmless. It’s a different world here. You’ll see.” Adriana sipped on her cocktail and surveyed the packed dance floor. “Should we go dance?” Without awaiting a reply, Adriana finished her drink and made her way to the dance floor.
Her hips shifted beneath her sparkly dress and her feet moved in perfect harmony to the beat. Adriana was nothing short o
f perfection and she knew it. Unfortunately for her, she was born on the wrong side of town and this was but a glimpse of the life she could have led under the right pedigree.
The man who had delivered the drinks watched her as she swayed with others on the floor. He sipped on his cocktail and couldn’t keep his eyes from her. She was flawless. He set down his glass on the bar and approached her again, offering his hand.
Adriana smiled and took it willingly and the two moved in unison.
He whispered in her ear. “Can I take you home?”
“Where do you live?”
“Gávea.”
He didn’t need to say anything more than that and she followed him through the club but stopped. “I have to tell my friend.”
“She can come too,” he replied.
Andrea spotted Gabrielle and rushed to her. “Come on. He’s taking us to his house in Gávea.” She reached for her friend’s hand and both followed him outside.
The gentleman handed over his valet ticket and waited for the car to be brought around. “Thank you,” he said to the parking attendant.
“Your Portuguese is very good. Are you American?” Adriana spoke in her native tongue.
“I am. Do you want to change your mind now?”
She laughed. “No.” When they brought around his Tesla, her eyes widened and she gleefully turned to Gabrielle, nudging her in the process. For two girls who had nothing, this was beyond what they could’ve imagined. Adriana had been to this club plenty of times and had been seduced by plenty of wealthy men, but not this kind of wealth. This was American money and the idea excited her.