Killing Fear pb-1

by Allison Brennan

Carina caught up with Will in the bull pen. “Just got a call back on the woman in Anaheim, Jenny Olsen, who wrote to Glenn. Remember, we found her car at the library? The Feds paid her a visit. She started by lying, they threatened jail time, she caved. She saw Glenn on Sunday night, late-about eleven thirty p.m. Gave him her car the next morning. Swears he was a perfect gentleman and we obviously had the wrong man.” She rolled her eyes. “The Feds were not amused and arrested her for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Mario called. Said Robin shut down the Sin. Paying her staff at least through the weekend.”

  Will frowned. “Closed it? Because Glenn’s on the loose?”

  “She’s concerned about the safety of her employees and customers.”

  It was a smart, responsible move, but it had to have hurt. The Sin was Robin’s business, her livelihood.

  Will pulled out the slip of paper he’d written the post office box number on. “It looks familiar,” he explained after bringing Carina up to speed on the e-crimes part of the investigation. “The fact that two corporations affiliated with Glenn have the same post office zip code, I think we need to stake it out.”

  Carina opened her file on the case. She flipped through the reports. “Here,” she pointed.

  “Same post office that Sara Lorenz uses? Definitely no coincidence.” He called Hans and clued him in. “I’m sending an undercover team over there,” Will said. “And instead of picking her up, I’ll have her followed.”

  “People don’t always check their boxes daily,” Hans commented.

  “This is the best lead we have so far.”

  “I agree. I saw your interview with Trinity. I think it went well.”

  “I hope it doesn’t lead Glenn to her doorstep,” Will said.

  “You beefed up her protection.”

  “I told her to get out of town, but she refused.”

  “That’s all you can do.”

  “I can put her in prison for her safety,” Will mumbled, with no intention of doing it. “Robin closed the Sin.”

  “I thought she would,” Hans said.

  “Anything more on Lorenz’s cell phone?”

  “We’re tracing the numbers. So far, nothing has panned out.”

  An idea came to Will. “Doesn’t the post office require a physical address on file?”

  “I’m not sure,” Hans said. “But I can check. I see what you’re getting at, I’ll see if they have any address for Lorenz or the corporations.”

  Will hung up and said to Carina, “Where is Sara living if she’s not at the house she owns?”

  “Friends? Family?”

  “We couldn’t find any family on her. But what if one of these corporations Doug tracked down owns property?”

  “You’re a genius,” Carina said.

  “I just hope it leads somewhere, because I’m getting nervous.” Will dialed Doug’s line and added to his partner, “Glenn has been quiet for too long. He’s going to make a move. Soon.”

  Theodore paced, furious over the pathetic newscast. Trinity Lange put on a good show, but she had done shit to prove he hadn’t killed Anna Clark.

  The Feds had looked into the case in two days and ruled that everything was fine? Since when did government bureaucrats work that fast?

  And then William called him an animal. Some low-intelligence four-legged nothing. He was something, better than the cops, better than William. Smarter. Tougher. Not limited by conforming to an inane man-made moral structure. He could do anything. He’d BASE jumped off the highest bridge in the world. He’d flown a twin prop in thunderstorms that would have frayed the nerves of the most skilled fighter pilot.

  He could do anything. Be anything. Get away with anything.

  And they called him an animal!

  What about the women he killed? What were they? Oh, that’s right, victims. Didn’t matter that none of them were pure, that they were anything but innocent. But slice a couple of sleazy strippers to death and suddenly they become innocent victims.

  Stupid fools. Framing him for Anna’s murder to get him out of the way. Maybe William had done it. Maybe he’d killed Anna, framed Theodore, so he could have Robin all to himself.

  Theodore laughed. William didn’t have the balls.

  Sara came into the room. “Is everything okay?”

  “No,” Theodore said. He didn’t elaborate.

  “I have-”

  A phone rang. Her cell phone. It was a disposable phone, like he’d told her to buy, but still he was suspicious.

  She answered it, not taking her eyes from his. “Hello?” She listened. “Oh, are you sure? I understand. When do you think you’ll reopen?” She waited, then said, “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do, call me, okay?”

  Sara put the phone down.

  “Who was that?” Theodore demanded. He was too close to have the cops find him now.

  “My boss.” She giggled.

  He stared at her, self-preservation instincts kicking into high gear.

  She continued. “Didn’t you wonder how I learned so much about Robin McKenna?”

  He didn’t respond. A cold chill crept up his spine as he realized exactly what Sara meant. “What have you done?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s all fine. I didn’t use this address, I used a P.O. box, different than our corporate address. I have a completely different identity over there, a driver’s license, fake social, everything. I’ve been working at The Eighth Sin over a year, no one suspects-”

  He slapped her. “I told you to tell me everything you were doing. You kept this from me! What were you planning to do? Keep me in the dark forever?”

  “Pl-please. Listen.” Sara took a deep breath, took a step away from him, her eyes bright with fear.

  She continued. “Everything is fine. Just fine. I know her schedule, I know where she lives, I know everything about her. I know that she still sleeps every night with the lights on.”

  Theodore stepped toward Sara but said nothing.

  “You wanted to scare her, right?” Sara continued, emboldened by his silence. “Well, she’s scared. She closed the Sin tonight. Until further notice. Called everyone and said she was still paying us, but not to come in.”

  Theodore walked over to the front window, opened one of the plantation shutters, and stared at the quiet street. Bryce Descario’s house was across the road, three houses down. He could have easily killed him at least three times. The guy had such a predictable routine, it would have been easy. He left between eight and eight fifteen every morning dressed in workout clothes. Returned before ten thirty. Left again at noon in business casual clothes. And so on.

  But he didn’t care about killing Descario. The thought didn’t fill him with any emotion, excitement or otherwise. No thrill.

  Killing William Hooper? Oh, yes, he felt it. Anticipation crawled up his spine, excitement spreading, giving his mind clarity and purpose. Killing Robin McKenna? He filled with heat, a blaze of intense satisfaction and bliss. As if watching her die would put him on top of the world, he would have the key to the universe.

  But together-killing the two lovers together would be the pinnacle of everything Theodore ever wanted. A culmination of all his now seemingly childish pranks with his sister, the games he’d played with the strippers, watching William and Robin fuck like animals.

  Now, he saw his true potential, what he could have if only he could get William and Robin in the same room. If only he could control them. He ran through the possibilities.

  “Teddy?” Sara asked cautiously.

  “You should never have kept that information from me.” But he wasn’t angry. He saw the benefit, but more than that he was looking to the future. Robin bleeding. Dying for him.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s get ready to go to Mexico. You start packing. I need to transfer some money.”

  “I can do that,” she said. “I know-”

  “I said pac
k!” He slapped her. Something in her eyes-she was hiding something from him. “Now,” he added, keeping his voice artificially calm.

  This was the second time she had made a comment about handling the money. What did she know that he didn’t?

  He was about to find out.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jim watched Trinity’s newscast from his office. He had mixed feelings about Hooper’s plan. While he understood the necessity of putting whoever killed Anna Clark at ease, he still wasn’t one hundred percent confident that it was someone in his lab. Someone he’d worked with for years. Who he’d had dinner with, gone for drinks with, hired or promoted.

  “You’re a scientist, Jim, stop being so emotional,” he muttered.

  He’d re-packed all the evidence related to Anna Clark’s homicide into the case file box to take home. He’d quietly contacted the Sheriff’s Department, where the city arranged to store long-term physical evidence because they didn’t have the room, and asked that everything relating to Glenn’s investigation be sent immediately to Quantico. It was already en route. Anyone who came in asking about it would be detained.

  He needed to do this work from home. He wasn’t a good liar, and he didn’t want to lie to his staff. And more important, he wanted the freedom of spreading the photos and reports out so that maybe he could see something he hadn’t seen before.

  Stuart Hansen had been borderline depressed after the screwup on the Bethany Coleman homicide. He’d taken Jessica’s death personally. But could he have killed an innocent human being in order to frame a killer? Jim couldn’t understand that kind of reasoning.

  Hans Vigo did, but Jim expected that from the Feds. Suspicious of everyone. What he didn’t expect was that Will Hooper would be so ready to suspect an insider. Yes, the evidence was there, and Jim could see that, but would Will be quick to think that someone he worked with every day was capable of cold-blooded murder? It had been Will’s idea for a federal agent to follow Stu, Diana, and the two cops-in case they recognized a local law enforcement tail.

  Jim’s career was on the line. Worse than that was the thought that he’d failed in the worst way. By missing something that had let a killer walk free, but more devastating to him, personally, was that he could have been working side by side with a murderer. He put everyone he knew in that role, and no one fit. Kind, smart but dopey Stuart Hansen? Career-minded Diana Cresson? All to right a wrong by committing a crime? A cop turned vigilante?

  None of them fit. And if it had been personal against Robin McKenna, Jim couldn’t help but ask why. Who that he knew would have anything against a witness? It didn’t make sense.

  His cell phone rang. “Gage.”

  “It’s me, Stuart. Did you see the news? What’s going on? What are the Feds up to? Did they really reopen the Anna Clark homicide?”

  Responding like Agent Vigo instructed him, Jim said, “I don’t know. I’m out of the loop on this one. But nothing came of it, and they concur with our findings.”

  “Are we all going to be fired? Am I going to be fired?”

  “No one is going to be fired, Stu.”

  “We’re worried.”

  “It’ll be okay. Just sit tight. The cops need to find Theodore Glenn and life will get back to normal.”

  He was leaving with the box an hour later when he ran into Stu and Diana in the parking lot. Damn, he thought by leaving after the lunch rush he’d miss his people. “Where are you off to?” Diana asked, glancing at his files.

  “I’m coming down with a bug,” he said. “I’m going to do paperwork at home.” His smile was strained.

  “Are you sure we’re not going to be in trouble?” Stu said. “With the Feds? Are they investigating you? Is that why you’re leaving?”

  “Stu, slow down,” Jim said. “No one is investigating anyone. I told you the Feds looked at the evidence and everything is fine. Glenn was rightfully convicted.”

  “Any news on that front?” Diana said. “We haven’t heard anything.”

  “We’ve been busy with our jobs, and that’s what we need to focus on. We have a dozen cases to process from this week, I have a major trial in two weeks. Worrying about the Feds or Glenn isn’t productive.”

  “Right,” Diana said. She squeezed Jim’s arm. “I agree.” She motioned for Stu to follow her to the lab. “Back to work.”

  Will was on the phone with the undercover team surveilling the post office. They had a pair watching the parking lot, as well as a man inside watching the boxes. So far, no one matching Sara Lorenz’s description had been seen, and no one had opened the boxes. The Feds had obtained a warrant to search the boxes. Nothing of interest was in any of them-only a day of mail had been delivered.

  “Which means we’re a day too late,” Will grumbled.

  “It shows that she probably picks up her mail regularly,” Hans offered.

  The physical address on the postal box application led right back to the house Sara Lorenz had rented to Stephanie Barr since last year.

  Hans took a call while Will wrapped up his conversation. They hung up at the same time and Hans said, “We need to get over to the Sin.”

  “What happened?”

  “We’ve been monitoring Sara’s cell phone for real-time activity. She just received a call. From the Sin.”

  At the time Robin was supposed to be opening her business, she was sitting in her office while Mario and his men turned away her customers. They’d posted a sign on the door simply stating that due to an emergency, the Sin would be temporarily closed.

  She called Isabelle Swann at the art gallery. “Robin! I’m so glad you called. I’m thrilled with the response we’ve been getting on your work. Several serious buyers have already contacted me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Robin said. She wished she could be more excited over the news.

  “You don’t sound very happy about it. What’s wrong?”

  “My life is completely falling apart.” She dropped on Isabelle virtually everything that had happened this week, from Theodore Glenn escaping-which the gallery owner knew-to closing the Sin.

  “Oh, sweetie, that must have been such a hard decision.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. And I don’t have a choice in this, either. You’re going to have to postpone-”

  “No, I know exactly what you’re going to say. I’m not postponing the showing.”

  “I can’t risk it.”

  “I’ll hire extra security. I have some cops that work for me off-duty. Good guys.”

  “It’s not about the security. I’ve hired my own, and the police are watching my business and home, but Theodore Glenn doesn’t care about that. He may decide to take out something big. Like your gallery. Holding everyone hostage or something. I don’t know how he thinks. But I can’t risk it.”

  “Look, Robin, I understand your concern. But I’m not postponing the show. If you can’t come, I’ll work around it. In fact, I might be able to spin it. Yeah, that’s it, we’ll do a video feed. You say a few words, let people ask you questions. I can make a big deal about it, so if that guy is hanging around, he’ll know you’re not here. Okay?”

  “I don’t know-”

  “Robin, it’ll work. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I’ll make it work. I promise. I’ll sell dozens of your paintings and make us both tons of money.” She laughed. The prices weren’t so extravagant that Robin could even think of closing her club and painting full-time, even if she wanted to, but they were high enough to warrant looks by serious investors.

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “I’ll let the police know. If they think we should cancel, I’m going to agree with them.”

  “Just think about it, okay? Call me Saturday. I have to go. Be careful, sweetie.”

  She hung up before Robin could say anything else.

  She’d met Isabelle two years ago when the gallery owner came into the Sin and spotted Robin’s paintings. She demanded to know who had done
the work, and for two years they’d worked together to increase Robin’s exposure in the art community. Isabelle had sold several of her paintings already, keeping the allure by only having one piece for sale a month. Then three months ago Isabelle announced that Robin was ready for her own gallery show. Robin went along with it.

  Isabelle was also one of the only women Robin had grown close to since Glenn killed her friends, and even now Robin kept her at arm’s length. As much as she could with Isabelle’s natural exuberance and enthusiasm.

  Did Glenn know about Isabelle? That she was someone important to Robin? How much did he know about the art show? Could he really be planning something for Sunday?

  She rubbed her forehead and opened her payroll. She clocked everyone in at their normal time.

  The knock on her office door startled her. “Come in,” she said.

  It was Will. Alone, though she heard voices in the bar. “I didn’t expect to see you until later,” she said.

  Will closed the door, sat on the edge of her desk, his hand reaching for her face. Caressing her in a casually intimate gesture that gave her butterflies.

  “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to tell you straight.”

  The butterflies turned to lead. “Wh-what?” she asked.

  “Two hours ago a phone call was made to Sara Lorenz.”

  “Is she one of the women you’re following who might be helping Glenn?”

  Will nodded. “We haven’t been able to locate her. The call came from here.”

  “Here?” she repeated. “The Sin?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not possible. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “Mario said that you called your staff this afternoon.”

  “I closed the Sin until further notice.” Her head was swimming. “You’re not saying-I don’t know Sara Lorenz!”

  “She may have changed her name or appearance or both. I need you to look at her picture. It’s not a very good image; it’s from her driver’s license about six years ago.”

  Robin looked. The woman in the photo was a mousy blonde with brown eyes. She gave the camera a half smile. She looked normal. Not like someone who would help a killer.