Skin Deep

by Michelle Hanson

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.” I was slightly relieved that Flu also found it hard to believe that Novak could be capable of something like this. It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one.

  “I have his number here somewhere.” Flu looked around the living room as if his rolodex was suddenly going to come running into the room. “Geez, I haven’t talked to him since he retired. Last I knew, he was moving to Florida. All he talked about was how much he wanted to buy a boat and live in the Keys. I figured that’s what he did.” Melancholy swept through Flu’s voice. “I’ll find his number, give him a call. I’m sure he just forgot to return the file and was too embarrassed to bring it back.”

  “Maybe,” I said, although I wasn’t exactly eager to believe the reason was that innocent. “We’ll have to be prepared for worst-case scenario here,” I gently added.

  “What do you mean?” Flu asked.

  Was he trying to play dumb?

  “I mean, Agent Porter and I think there may be a connection between Lathan Collins and the Casting Call Killer,” I answered. “The script that each victim read from….” I wasn’t ready to present my theory to Flu just yet, but he needed to know the type of person we could be dealing with before he gave Novak a friendly call. “It all matches up with Lathan Collins’ victims,” I said. “Pamela Westlake played a grad student, and Lisa Johnson was a grad student. Fionna Michaels played a woman on the verge of divorce, and Sophia Good was divorcing her husband. Kristen Valeri played a woman going to see a mechanic, and Angela Truman went to a mechanic.” I swallowed the hot saliva building in the back of my throat before I said the next sentence. “Lathan Collins was that mechanic.”

  Flu sat still in his seat, a slight waiver in his stature as my words sank in. Did he know the two cases as well as I did that he would be able to make the correlations? Realistically, I didn’t think anyone knew the Lathan Collins case as well as I did.

  “What’s the worst-case scenario?” Flu asked. Although it seemed obvious to me where I was going with this, maybe Flu needed to hear the actual words. Accusing a detective, especially one as likeable as Novak, was something we couldn’t come back from—especially if we were wrong.

  “Worst-case scenario, sir, is that Novak took the files so that he could recreate the murders.” I paused. “Worst-case scenario? Novak is the voice behind the camera.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” Flu sat back in the couch, astonished.

  “I don’t know what I believe. It’s why I came to you first. In private.” Silence rose within the room. Flu just sat there, the weight of my accusation pinning him to the back of the couch.

  “I’m glad you did,” he finally said. “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” I lied. I could’ve told him about the Deep Web and Alfa Mike, but I had nothing to support Novak’s involvement yet. If Novak turned out to be the person we were looking for, Alfa Mike would surface soon enough.

  “Okay.” Flu nodded. He licked his lips, and a dry smack carried across the room. He stood from the couch. “I’ll give him a call,” he said. “I won’t mention anything. It’ll be a friendly chat just to see how he’s doing. Who knows, maybe he’s been in Florida this whole time.” Flu forced his optimism into the situation, but it didn’t bring much comfort. If Novak was in Florida this whole time, then we were back to zero suspects. “Let’s sit on this until tomorrow,” Flu advised. “If I can’t get ahold of him by tomorrow morning, we’ll look deeper into your theory.”

  I knew Flu wanted me to be wrong as much as I wanted me to be wrong. But we had to acknowledge the possibility that one of our own could be involved with the Casting Call Killer. I would’ve rather had no suspects than have to investigate someone I once trusted with my life.

  “You and I are the only two who know about this,” I informed him. “Cait doesn’t know either.”

  Flu nodded. “Thank you, Evans.” He sighed. “I’m glad you stopped by.” I stood from the loveseat as he walked me to the front door. “If you don’t hear from me before nine, come straight to my office. We’ll inform Agent Porter and then follow up with standard procedure.”

  What was “standard procedure” when investigating a fellow officer? Retired or not, Novak was still family—in the proverbial sense, anyway. Flu would go to Novak’s last known address to see if he was home. If he wasn’t, a patrol car would be stationed outside Novak’s house until he came home. Out of respect for the badge, Flu or I would conduct the interview. Based on the information we gathered, he would either be released, or formal charges would be brought against him. That thought sat like an anchor in the bottom of my stomach.

  I left Flu’s house with a quick goodbye and drove in silence. By three o’clock in the afternoon, I was sitting in my home office, staring at the laptop on my desk. Masking tape was still over the webcam along the top of the screen. I had promised Cait that I wouldn’t go into the Deep Web without her, and I intended to keep that promise. Traipsing through a world I knew nothing about wasn’t on my to-do list.

  I wanted to work on the case a bit more, but I didn’t need the Deep Web to do it. Regardless of whether it was Novak behind the camera, I wanted to find the next victim before we were presented with her video. If these three victims were replications of Lathan Collins’ victims, then number four was still out there. Whoever was in the fourth video would be playing Lathan’s third victim—Carmine Jenkins.

  Carmine Jenkins was twenty-eight. She lived with her roommate in one of the nicer parts of West Joseph. She worked as a paralegal, often staying at the office late. She was the only victim to be weighed down before she was dumped in Mirror Woods Lake.

  I logged into the laptop and signed into West JPD’s database for Missing Persons. It was a long shot but still worth the effort to search for Ohio women reported missing in July. I typed in the pertinent details and forcefully struck the “enter” key. A low chuckle escaped my lips when the results appeared a few seconds later: only two hundred and nineteen women had been reported missing in Ohio that month.

  How many of these two hundred and nineteen women had been found? Fortunately, not all missing persons ended up dead. The vast majority usually returned home within a few days.

  I knew it would be a long list, but I had made the conscious decision to go through as many of these reports as I could. The women from the Casting Call Killer’s videos were beautiful. Not just attractive, but drop-dead gorgeous. That’s the type of woman I would search for within these reports. I needed a woman who was “movie-star beautiful,” under thirty, possibly local to West Joseph.

  This wasn’t going to be a speedy project. I needed to review each report carefully. It was only a hypothesis that the victim would be gorgeous. And my idea of gorgeous could vary from the next person’s idea. It was also just a guess that she would have been reported missing at all. Maybe her body was found the next day—maybe the family didn’t even know she was missing. It’s also possible she didn’t have a family. Prostitutes and people who were homeless would be perfect prey for a serial killer.

  By six o’clock, I had a handful of potential names—but I was only up to July 9. Independence Day was a busy holiday for Missing Persons. Drugs and alcohol played a huge part in why someone disappeared. Usually, the person wondered off in a drunken stupor, only to wake up in an unfamiliar city the next day. With no phone and no money, they would have to rely on the kindness of strangers to contact home.

  I rubbed my eyes and rolled my neck as I took a break from searching through the files. This would go a lot faster if I had Cait with me. What was she doing right now? Maybe she went back to Lyons for the weekend to see her nieces. Or she could be sitting in her hotel, watching free HBO, eating take-out. She made no mention of wanting to spend time together this weekend. Even if it would be case-related, I didn’t get the impression there was an open invite to be social with one another when not at work.

  With a sigh, I brought my attention back to the laptop.
The screen glitched and a few wavy lines swept down as the Missing Persons Reports on the screen disappeared. The cursor began to move across the screen, but I wasn’t controlling the mouse. I tapped a series of keys on the keyboard. Nothing. It was as if this keyboard wasn’t even connected to the laptop. No matter which key I punched, the screen ignored my commands.

  Just as I was about to press the “power” button, a square window popped onto the screen. It divided into two segments, and it looked like a forum for a webcam chat. The left side of the window was completely black. On the right side was a silhouette of slender man wearing all black. His face was covered by a black mask. The background of the room was grotesquely familiar. The soot-covered walls and enclosed archways—he was in the warehouse.

  I froze as I stared at the man on the screen. He sat so incredibly poised, as if he was waiting for a business meeting to begin. “Uncover your camera,” the distorted voice from the videos said from behind his mask. I looked at the laptop and saw the masking tape. “Uncover your camera,” he ordered again.

  I broke from my trance and peeled the masking tape off the camera. Slowly, the left side of the screen filled with the contents of my office, and then I saw myself on the screen. The man in the mask leaned forward in his seat. I couldn’t see the color of his eyes. The mask was tight around his face, like he was dressed as a ninja for Halloween. Over his eyes was a dark shadow, and he looked more like an apparition than a human.

  “Who are you?” I asked as I stared at his image on the screen.

  He laughed a demonic distortion of triumph over me. “I believe this is who you’re looking for?” Multiple news articles filled my screen.

  One by one, digital articles about the accidental drowning in Mirror Woods Lake coated my screen. It looked the way bacterium multiplies in a petri dish. As each article popped up, I read the content. “Wilma Reynolds,” I read aloud, “accidentally drowned in Mirror Woods Lake. Reported missing on July eleventh….” I paused as more articles about her drowning appeared on my screen. After the twelfth article, the barrage stopped. I dragged my fingers over the mouse pad, and the white cursor moved across the screen, giving me a glimmer of hope that I had control of my laptop again.

  I moved each article off to the side as I cleared the screen. It was like clearing the rubble after an explosion. With all of the articles moved to one side of the screen, I was able to see him again. He sat there, calm as ever, and I glared at him. I wasn’t frightened to look at him. Although he was right in front of me, he was miles away. He couldn’t jump through the computer and attack me. I was safe— at least physically.

  “Who are you?” I repeated.

  A smirk surfaced through his tight mask, and I was reminded of the way Angela Truman’s skin lifted from Lathan’s face when he smiled at me. The man took a deep breath and let it out. “You have five days to find out,” he said. Then the video cut out. Aside from the articles on the screen, there was no trace of him.

  One by one, each article on the screen started to disappear before the screen went completely black. A series of letters appeared on the screen. It was complete jargon to me, but I had a feeling those letters represented something dangerous in the tech world.

  I slid my fingers across the mouse pad. Nothing. I punched several keys on the keyboard. Nothing. As I tried to gain control of the laptop, files began to delete from the hard drive. Folders that held pertinent files to this case—and every case I had ever worked on—were vanishing within seconds. My entire computer was being erased, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

  I reached under the laptop, and the cooling vents emitted enough heat to bake a cake. I unplugged the battery cord. The laptop died in my hands as I set it back on the desk.

  I had to call Cait. She needed to be here. She could fix this. I looked down at my phone, and a jolt of worry shot through my body. Had my phone been hacked too? If I called Cait, would he know? I didn’t want to take the chance, but I had to call her.

  “Can you come over? I need you,” I breathed into the phone after she answered.

  “Sure,” she calmly said. “Are you okay?”

  “I can’t say on the phone. Just get here soon, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Cait said. “Tell me you’re okay first.”

  “I am,” I said as I tried to calm myself. My flair for dramatics may have caused unnecessary alarm. “I just need you here,” I urged.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said. I heard what sounded like blankets ruffling underneath her. She had to be at the hotel if she was only ten minutes away.

  “I can’t stay on the phone,” I told her. “The door’s unlocked. Just come in.” And before she could reply, I ended the call.

  She was at my house in seven minutes. How fast did she drive to get here? She came through the front door like a superhero running into a burning building. She was dressed in jeans and an old T-shirt, perfect for sleeping in. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her eyes that were usually lined in black were free of makeup. It was obvious she was in for a quiet Sunday evening.

  “What’s going on?” she asked when she saw me standing in the living room.

  “He was here… in my laptop.”

  “Who was here?” She closed the front door and locked it behind her.

  “Him,” I stressed. “The Casting Call Killer. He hacked my laptop.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” I sighed. “The laptop is in my office—but everything is gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “He deleted the hard drive. I tried to stop him, but I don’t know if it worked.” I could feel myself getting worked up again. The more I thought about his intrusion, the more I realized that I wasn’t safe here. I was no longer safe in my own home.

  “Okay….” Cait paused. “Tell me exactly what happened.” I led her into the office and showed her the laptop.

  “I was looking through Missing Persons Reports, and then I lost control of the laptop. He came on the screen, and he told me to uncover the webcam.”

  “But how? I tested your firewall. There’s no way anyone could have hacked in,” Cait said as she stared at the laptop. Her brows gathered together as her jaw clenched. “Why would he want you to take the tape off?” She looked my way, a baffled tone tinged in her voice.

  “I don’t know,” I snapped. “He wanted to see me, I guess.”

  “Okay.” Cait put out her hand—a calming tactic we often used toward agitated victims. “Then what happened?”

  “I asked him who he was. And he just smirked at me, like I’d told a bad joke. He said I had five days to found out.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah….” I hesitated. “He showed me his third victim.”

  “The third victim?” Cait paused. “Who is it?”

  “Her name’s Wilma Reynolds. She was found in Mirror Woods Lake a few days before you got here. We thought it was an accidental drowning.” Tears formed along my bottom lashes.

  “It still could be,” Cait said in an effort to comfort me. “He may be taking credit for a drowning to throw you off his scent.”

  “Maybe….” I slowly nodded. If I was getting close to finding the actual third victim, then he may have thrown out a random body just to steer me in the wrong direction. “But why? He gave us three of his victims already—why would he take credit for a fourth if it wasn’t true?”

  Cait just shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “But you can’t stay here tonight.”

  “I know.” For all I knew, the Casting Call Killer had snuck into my basement and was waiting to strike as soon as Cait left.

  “Grab some clothes and whatever else you need. You’re staying with me tonight.” It wasn’t a suggestion or a request. It was an actual command.

  “Cait…,” I protested. I couldn’t stay with her. Where would I sleep? She had a full-size bed and a chair. Who was going to sleep where? It wasn’t just the inclination of sex that caused m
y hesitation. Cait and I really weren’t on the best of terms, and what would the other detectives say if they found out I had stayed with her? It would look rather unprofessional, regardless of whether they knew our history.

  “Either with me or Fluellen,” she said sternly. “You’re not rooming alone.”

  “Okay,” I surrendered. The only thing worse than the other detectives assuming I was sleeping with Cait is if they thought I was sleeping with Flu. And if the situation was reverse, I would want her to stay with me. Not because I would see it as an opportunity to get close to her, but because I would want to watch over her. I could protect her. “I’ll get my things.” I left the office and walked into the bedroom.

  “I’m bringing your laptop. I might be able to see the damage that was done,” Cait said as I left the room.

  I grabbed a few shirts and pants from the closet, along with socks, underwear, and pajamas, and threw them into a duffle bag. As I made a mental checklist of everything I would need for a sleepover, thoughts of the masked man filled my mind.

  Why would he distort his voice? Covering his face was obvious, but why his voice? Was it because I would recognize it? From what I remembered, Novak was as slender as the man in the video. If that was Novak, I would have recognized his voice. Is that why he disguised it?

  I needed to wait to tell Flu about this until tomorrow morning. If Novak was in Florida and truly innocent of my accusation, then there was no reason to worry Fluellen with this. Besides, telling Flu about my video chat would also open the door to telling him about Alfa Mike, and I had a pretty good feeling Cait would make that a top priority during the meeting tomorrow anyway.

  In twelve hours, everything I had worked for on this case would be taken away from me. Flu would put me in some sort of police protection, and Cait would return to Lyons. My entire life was going to shatter into pieces. I needed tonight to remain intact. Just for a few more hours, I needed to hold on to this illusion of normal.

  CHAPTER | FOURTEEN

  WHEN WE GOT TO her hotel, Cait began to dissect my laptop, and I went straight into the bathroom. All I wanted was to take a long, hot shower and let the stress of the day wash off me. I should have known better than to think the water would be hot or that the pressure would be soothing. What I’d intended to be an hour-long therapy session with just me and a few gallons of hot water turned into a five-minute lukewarm rinse.