The Numbers Killer

by Jenifer Ruff

  Victoria tapped the gun in her holster. “I’ve got this thing here with me at all times. And another around my ankle. But, you know what, just in case, I should ask Sam to see if anyone from one of my past cases was recently released from prison.”

  “No need.” Rivera slowed the car to a stop for a red light.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve already checked.”

  “Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “When did you do that?”

  “After we found the first note.”

  “And?”

  “We didn’t come up with anyone.”

  “Hmm.” Victoria rubbed her hands together then placed them under her legs.

  “Murphy’s probably going to take you off the case now.”

  She had been thinking the same. She stared out the window, away from Rivera. “Well, until then, I’m still here. So let’s hurry up and get to the Hampshire Apartments. Now that the killer is sending me personal threats, I want to catch him more than ever.”

  # # #

  Rivera gazed past the police tape to study the apartment complex—rows of identical buildings, mustard-orange on the bottom, whiteish with mildew stains on top. A few porches overflowed with trash—mattresses, boxes, rusty bikes. Others were much nicer—a colorful bistro table and chairs, one with large potted and hanging plants, some Halloween decorations. “Any surveillance cameras around?” He stared over Bella’s shoulder, still scanning the buildings.

  “There are cameras, but they don’t work.”

  “Great.”

  Blood stained the pavement in the parking lot. Crime scene techs had left evidence markers and tape behind, but the corpse was en route to the medical examiner’s office.

  “The guy’s nephew is over there. Name is Hernan Gomez.” Sully gestured to the young man sitting on the curb. “He had a gun on him, no permit, but it hadn’t been fired. We took it. Also had a knife.”

  “Okay. We’ll talk to him. Might as well.”

  Rivera and Victoria walked over to Hernan Gomez. Wearing a ball cap, the young man’s face blazed with anger. He didn’t look any older than twenty and might have still been a teenager.

  “I know you’ll have answered some of these questions already, but please bear with me,” Rivera said. “He was your uncle?”

  “Yeah.” Hernan kicked at the ground with his shoe, scuffing it back and forth.

  “Did you see anyone else around when you found him?”

  The young man wiped at something under his eye. “Like I already told the cops, no one except some lady. She left to call 911. She told me she didn’t see who did it.”

  Rivera made a note on his notepad. “Did she come back?”

  “Nope.” Hernan pulled on the rim of his cap and avoided Rivera’s eyes.

  “What did she look like?”

  Hernan shrugged. “I dunno.” He pointed to Victoria. “Sorta like her.”

  “Good, that helps. Was she taller, shorter, heavier?”

  “Heavier, maybe. And she wasn’t as pretty.”

  “Okay. What about hair? This color, same as Agent Heslin?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rivera and Victoria exchanged a quick glance.

  Hernan shrugged. “I don’t really remember much. I was, you know, blown away about my uncle.”

  “That’s okay,” Rivera said. “That’s a good description right there. We’re going to have you work with a sketch artist on a computer, see if you can remember more.”

  Hernan nodded. “Because you think the woman mighta killed him?”

  “We need to talk to her. Hear what she might have seen. She might be scared, too. Did you see her leave?”

  “Yeah. She drove off in a black pick-up. Back part was open. Like no cover on it.”

  “That’s great. Glad you noticed that.” Rivera wrote on his pad. “So, you live here with your uncle?”

  “He was here visiting me. We were going to lunch.”

  “Were you with him when he was shot?”

  “No, I was upstairs in my apartment waiting for him to get here.”

  “Can you show us your place?” Victoria asked. The police hadn’t gone inside. She wanted to get in there before any evidence could be hidden or destroyed.

  “Yeah. Over here.” Hernan mumbled as he trudged toward his home.

  Rivera stayed where he was. “I better call the boss.”

  “Find us when you’re done.” Victoria caught up to Hernan and walked alongside him. “What sort of man was your uncle?”

  Hernan shrugged again. “I don’t know what he was into. Not getting shot type of sh—stuff. Nice, real nice, but—you know—boring. Worked in a warehouse somewhere. Moving boxes and stuff. He was the manager.”

  “Do you know where he worked?” Victoria asked.

  “Nah. Sorry. He told me, but I forget the name of the place.”

  “That’s okay, we’ll find out.” She stopped outside Hernan’s door and looked around.

  Hernan unlocked his apartment door and held it open. “Why’d he have that writing on his head?” Hernan frowned deeply. “That was freaky.”

  “We’re not sure yet.” Victoria stepped inside. Apparently, Hernan didn’t watch the news. “Just wait over there, please.” She gestured toward the corner where she could keep an eye on him as she explored the small space. The entire apartment could fit into her kitchen. Xbox games and controllers lay around the main room and on the table top. In the kitchen, a trash can needed to be emptied, a stack of dishes filled the sink, and a cereal box sat open on the counter. In the bedroom, clothes were strewn across a single twin bed.

  “If your uncle was staying here, where did he sleep?”

  “He wasn’t staying here. We were just hanging out during the day. Getting to know each other. He’s my dad’s brother and I don’t know my Dad. So he just found out I existed. I just met him for the first time a few days ago.”

  That explained how little he knew about the man. Victoria opened the closet and peered inside. “So he was staying somewhere else?”

  “I don’t know where he was staying. I think he said he knew a guy who lives around here.”

  “But he didn’t say who?”

  Hernan shrugged and sank down into his ratty couch. He dropped his head into his hands. “I didn’t ask him. Oh, man. This is unbelievable. My uncle was a good guy. I know he was. Not like my—You got to catch this—"

  “We’ll find whoever did this. You can count on that. This is my card. Call me, please, if you think of anything that might be helpful, or if you remember who he was staying with.”

  Hernan took the card and nodded.

  “Is there someone you can call to come hang out with, so you won’t be alone?”

  Hernan shrugged.

  “You’re holding up really well, and we appreciate the help. Can I call someone to be with you? Your mom, a friend?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Okay. Maybe you can visit a friend then.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Okay. I’ll do that.”

  Sensing the annoyance in Hernan’s voice, Victoria said goodbye. She left as Rivera was striding up the path to Hernan’s apartment. Rivera stopped suddenly and stared off in the distance toward the woods lining the back of the complex.

  “Hear that?” Rivera took a few quick steps toward the trees, then took off running.

  Following Rivera’s lead, Victoria pulled her gun from her holster and dashed into the woods after him. When she caught up, he was putting his gun away.

  “It was just a deer.” He shook his head, breathing hard. “Sorry.”

  “No, problem. A sprint works better than caffeine.” She tucked her weapon back where it belonged.

  “I just thought, if she’s leaving you messages- it’s likely she’s sticking around to see your reaction to them.”

  “I know.” Victoria walked next to Rivera, taking deep breaths, her heart still pounding.

  “Learn anything from the nephew?”r />
  “Not much. He barely knows his uncle. Gomez was divorced. No kids. And he wasn’t staying here. Hernan isn’t even sure where he was staying or where he lives, so we’ll have to find out. I’m sure the detectives already have. You?”

  “I left a message for Murphy. He was supposed to make a public announcement on the case at five. Then called Sam, asked him to search for connections between all the victims. If we’re lucky, Gomez is the missing link connecting all of them.”

  “Hope so.”

  Rivera took a last look back at the woods. “And . . . I just got off the phone with the 911 shift manager. There were three calls to 911 about this shooting. All from males. None from a woman.”

  “You were busy. I think it’s safe to say our killer is a woman with blonde hair. And Hernan didn’t find her at all suspicious. But did she want him to see her, or did she get caught?”

  Rivera ran his hand over his hair. “Either way, it’s a short matter of time before we catch her.”

  “Let’s try for catching her before another body comes in.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  With a tennis tournament playing on his television in the background, Jason Smith tore open an envelope and threw its contents into the growing pile of junk mail. Kelly sat in a recliner nearby, reading. Jason’s phone rang. She looked up from her novel. “Who is it?”

  Jason lifted the device. “Unknown. I’m not answering.” He set it back down.

  Kelly leapt from her chair and grabbed his phone off his desk. “Hello,” she said breathlessly.

  “This is Federal Agent Victoria Heslin. It’s urgent that I speak with Jason and Kelly Smith.”

  # # #

  At the local police station, the Smiths sat in a small room with a table and four hard chairs, across from a tattooed woman with two nose piercings and jet-black hair. A big, burly officer in civilian clothing, with a close-cut beard and side burns, sat with them.

  “Why are we here, again?” Jason asked.

  The officer cleared his throat. “The information you provided led us to identify Steve Horrigan, the man you saw on TV earlier. The car you described with the dent in the right front, the one your wife thought was following you, it might match the one found at the crime scene this morning. The plates were stolen, the car isn’t registered. And, we have three victims who were checked into the Sonesta, your hotel, when they died.”

  Kelly turned to Jason. “See that, baby, good thing we told them about that lady. Glad we didn’t stay another day in that hotel.”

  The tattooed woman tapped a pencil on the table. “Tell us what you remember about the woman driving the car, and I’ll do my best to create her image.”

  Jason clasped his hands in front of him. “She was probably around thirty years old, maybe a little older. She had blonde hair. Not thick like Kelly’s, but not stringy either, just average hair. She wore it down, parted in the middle.”

  Kelly toyed with the ends of her hair. “And it was pulled back in a ponytail when I saw her. She was parked in a car next to me. Before she drove off, she stared at me—really stared, like she hated me or something. It freaked me out. I knew something was seriously wrong with that woman.”

  “We’ll make a version with each hair style.” The artist showed them different features on her laptop, asked questions, and used short quick strokes of a stylus to shape the woman’s head, her hair, her cheeks, and her eyes.

  The Smiths studied the image.

  Jason frowned. “Can you make her eyes a little more . . . lidded? And maybe a little more . . . dull?”

  “Okay.” A hint of a grin crossed the artist’s face.

  Jason studied his wife—her glossy, smooth hair and glowing complexion, her lush pink lips—and offered her a smile meant to reflect his appreciation. He turned back to the sketch artist. “She had sort of an overall disheveled look to her.”

  The artist nodded, adding lines and shading. When she was finished, she’d created a portrait of a sad woman with a distrustful look in her eyes, like she’d had a tough life. She didn’t look like a killer, but more like a victim. “What do you think?”

  “That’s pretty good.” Jason nodded. “Seems about right best I can remember.”

  Kelly agreed.

  The artist tilted her head, studying the picture. “Any other distinctive features, birthmarks, scars?”

  Jason shrugged and shook his head.

  “Okay.” The officer stood up. “Just sit tight awhile longer. Some FBI agents need to speak with you. They’re on their way.”

  “We spoke to them earlier.” Kelly crossed her arms in front of her chest and rubbed her shoulders.

  “Right.” The officer walked toward the door.

  Jason took off his jacket and wrapped it around his wife. “Cold?”

  Kelly nodded.

  “Can I get you anything while you wait?” the officer asked from the doorway.

  The Smiths asked for water bottles and settled in, holding hands, exchanging anxious glances and nervous smiles until the officer returned. He waved them toward the door. “Okay. They’re ready for you.”

  The agents were waiting for the Smiths in a room with more comfortable seating and a window. The change in rooms felt like an upgrade. “Hi. I’m Agent Victoria Heslin, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” The female agent shook hands with Kelly, then Jason. “We’re grateful you called the tip hotline today. Your sketch was very helpful. We just compared it to another image from someone else at a recent crime scene. The sketches are similar. You’ve been a big help to our investigation so far. Especially since you noticed the car she drove.”

  “It was my wife who wanted to mention the woman following us.” Jason’s eyes beamed as he glanced at his wife. He had teased her that this wasn’t how he wanted to spend the evening—at the police station—but she had done good. At the prompting of the agents, he repeated the information they had shared with Agent Heslin earlier in the day.

  “This is important. Did you ever see that woman inside the Sonesta Hotel?”

  “No. We didn’t,” Jason said.

  “I’m positive I didn’t,” Kelly added.

  “What made you notice her following you?” Victoria asked Jason.

  “So, first she was behind us when I dropped Kelly off at the mall near our hotel, to get her nails done. Her headlight was out so I told her.”

  Victoria’s face lit up. Rivera was already out of his chair and tapping his phone, most likely calling the police impound lot, asking someone to turn on the Honda’s headlights and check the left one.

  Jason shifted his gaze from Agent Rivera back to Agent Heslin. “Then she was behind us again when we were going to the movies last night. We left the hotel and stopped at a store to get snacks. She followed us right from one parking lot to the next.”

  “Did you find that strange?” Agent Heslin asked.

  “Oh yeah. But then a cop pulled up and I let it go. He must have said something to her about her headlight, I saw him pointing to it. And when I came out of the store, she was gone.”

  “She left as soon as the cop talked to her,” Kelly said. “So creepy. Why was she following us? What did she want?”

  Victoria shook her head. In light of what happened to three other hotel guests, she could make an educated guess about what might have happened if a cop hadn’t come along, but she had no proof yet.

  Kelly picked at her nails. “I really don’t think I’m going to sleep well again until you find her.”

  “We will,” Victoria shifted in her seat and crossed her legs.

  Kelly clasped her hands tightly together. “That hotel was awful. I can’t believe we ended up there. It looked nothing like it did online.”

  “We’d like to show you some pictures. Please tell us if you came across any of these other people while you were at your hotel or at any other time.” Victoria set out a picture of Todd Meiser, from before he died.

  Kelly and Jason both said no.

  “
What about this married couple?” She set down a picture of the Cossmans.

  “Oh no.” Kelly clamped her hand over her mouth. “I did see them! They had cute dogs with them. Is that…oh my God! That’s the couple who were murdered when they were on that hiking trail!”

  “Where did you see them?” Victoria slid the stylus from the side of her tablet.

  Kelly perched on the edge of her seat, knees bouncing. “I saw the husband taking the dogs out one night. Our first night, because it was when I went to fill the ice bucket. And I saw them both at breakfast one morning.”

  “Did you speak with them?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see them interacting with anyone else?”

  “No.”

  Rivera showed them a picture of Arnold Gomez, just in case he had made an appearance at the hotel for some reason. Neither had seen him.

  “Why is this happening to people that stayed at the Sonesta with us? Why are they dead?” Kelly twisted her fingers together in front of her chest.

  With a grim expression, Jason reached for his wife’s hand and squeezed it.

  Victoria swallowed hard. “We aren’t sure yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The agents drove back to their office checking leads, requesting data, and sharing information. Since it was Sunday, traffic was light. The drive was taking a lot less time than usual.

  Rivera lowered his phone from his ear. “Okay. Listen to this.” His voice might have sounded calm and controlled to anyone else, but from the hitch in his breath, Victoria knew he was excited about something. “The Honda they found near Horrigan’s body matches the Honda the Smiths said followed them from the hotel. Broken left headlight. That puts this blonde woman at the Sonesta Hotel, at least in the parking lot, and at two of our crime scenes. And her hairs put her at Todd Meiser’s crime scene and in the Honda, not conclusively, the DNA tests will take a while, but at least the hairs are a visible match under the microscopes.”

  Victoria clapped her hands. “So who owns the Honda?”

  “The vehicle and the plates were stolen, and its been wiped clean of prints.”