That someone was Abram.
“Thank you,” I said to Kevin as I stepped out of the office. Cait remained seated at Abram’s desk, a confused look on her face, as I turned to walk to the interview room.
With each step, my pace increased until I was jogging. Supporting evidence swarmed my mind as I put the pieces of the puzzle together. All the times the Casting Call Killer was one or two steps ahead of West JPD were because of Abram. Abram supplied Cait and I with the list of abandoned warehouses. He could have already been at the warehouse; he placed the shovel under the door and smashed the car window with a brick.
He also knew when Cait and I would be at the plaza to try to catch the person sending the videos. He knew to go to a different plaza that night in order to keep his MO the same. It was part of his signature to send the videos on the exact same night, but he wouldn’t be able to with Cait and me on surveillance duty.
Abram could have easily hacked into my laptop. He was the one who had given me the laptop in the first place. He could have installed a program to watch my every move, and I would have been none the wiser.
And then the most damning evidence came to mind: Abram was technically the last person to have Novak’s badge. Kevin had witnessed Novak turning it in to Abram. It was protocol for I.T. to collect and deactivate all badges from former employees. Abram could have waited a few days before deactivating Novak’s badge so that he could use it to sign out Lathan Collins’ case files.
As certain as I was that Abram was our third suspect, I knew Fluellen wouldn’t be as easily convinced. As I practically sprinted down the hallway toward the interview room, I passed the bulletin board with department information, including new hires from the past year. Abram’s photo was still on it.
I reached for his cocky-grinned picture and tore it from the board. It ripped at the corners where it had been stapled, and the paper wrinkled at the side as I tightly held it in my grasp. The only way I was going to convince Flu that Abram was a part of this was to show Jimmy Coffer Abram’s photo. His reaction alone would tip the scales.
I bulldozed my way through the first door that led into the interview room. A detective watched from behind the one-way mirror as Flu asked Jimmy questions. Jimmy sat in a metal chair bolted to the ground, his hands cuffed to a table also bolted to the ground. His lips were pressed so tightly together that not even tissue paper could be worked between them.
Flu stayed hovered over Jimmy as I barreled through the second door like an invincible warrior. Jimmy’s eyes widened as he stared at me, complete shock soiled his face. Flu also had a similar expression as I made my grand entrance. I walked up to the table, my breath heavy, and I slammed Abram’s photo onto the table in front of Jimmy.
“What’s his name?” I shouted.
Jimmy looked at me, then the photo, then back to me. Panic paralyzed his body as his eyes darted back and forth—to me, to the photo, back to me. He squirmed in his chair as he tried to free his cuffed hands.
“What’s his name?” I yelled again, moving further into Jimmy’s personal space. It was a fearless but stupid move. Even with cuffed hands, Jimmy could still attack.
“Evans,” Flu stood tall as he scolded my behavior.
“We have him. In the next room.” I ignored Flu as I filled Jimmy’s head with lies. “He’s talking. He told us everything,” I continued.
Jimmy’s face contorted into a mask of anger. His eyes burned black as he scooped the photo in his hands and crumpled it in his fists.
“Fuck you!” Jimmy screamed in my face as he stood from the chair. He kicked outward, but the bolted chair stayed in place. He pulled and yanked at the cuffs that bound his hands. The table moaned at his attempts to pry himself from the shackles. “Fuck you!” Jimmy shrieked again. Spittle flew from his lips as deep red marks formed along his wrists from the cuffs. “He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t talk!” Jimmy’s breathing rapidly grew as he gasped for air. “Fuck you,” he sobbed. A lost and confused cry escaped his lips. “You stupid, bitch!” Jimmy screamed. “You took Lathan from us. You took him from us!” he cried. “I hate you. I hate you, you stupid bitch,” Jimmy repeated as his scowl seared into me. He was a rabid dog trying to break free from his chains. “Mike would never turn on me.” His sobbing continued. “He never would,” he repeated, almost as if he was trying to convince himself rather than us.
Jimmy sat down in the chair and buried his tear-stained face in his hands as he sobbed into himself. Flu stepped to the side so that he could see what had invoked such a reaction.
The way Flu lost his balance when he saw Abram’s photo, I thought I was going to have to call for medical. Flu took a deep breath and let his head fall forward. It hung there for a few seconds as he stared at Abram’s photo, disappointment and discontent embedded in his skin.
“I hate you,” Jimmy repeated in a whispered snivel. His outburst had physically exhausted him—and the harsh, but false, realization that Abram had turned on him was more weight that his fragile state could handle.
Flu turned his gaze to me, his eyes thinly outlined with tears. “A word?” he said as he walked toward the door I had barged through only moments ago.
I glanced at Jimmy as he kept his face buried in his arms. He had calmed slightly, but the stream of tears remained. I followed Fluellen into the hallway, perplexed as to what he needed to say to me in private.
“What the hell was that?” Flu shouted, and all the detectives within hearing distance looked at us. I glanced behind Flu’s shoulder and saw Cait standing in the hallway.
“Flu, I—”
“No,” he cut me off. “You are pointing the finger at an officer. Another one!” Flu continued to shout. “First, it’s Novak. Now, it’s Abram?” he said as if he didn’t believe my allegation.
“Flu, you saw Jimmy in there.” I searched his eyes for the captain I knew and admired. He had to be in there somewhere. “Jimmy’s behaving as if I just shot his father in cold blood.”
“That stunt you pulled is unacceptable.” Flu lowered his voice once he realized we had an audience. He took two steps away from me and breathed deeply a few times before returning. “I’m willing to go along with this, but when are you going to stop pointing the finger at your own people?” he barked.
Flu walked to a vacant chair in front of his office and flopped down. “Damn it,” he groaned. “We can’t even trust our own people.” He sighed, and I understood his explosion, as unwarranted as it was. He’d trusted Novak. He’d trusted Abram. He’d trusted two people who were likely responsible for at least four murders. What did that say about Flu as a captain? As a human? “I’ll get a warrant for Abram’s place,” Flu said, his voice calmer. “Have Agent Porter scan his computer.”
“Can you get a warrant based off a photo?” I asked.
“I’ll get the warrant,” Flu snapped. “Charge that piece of shit in there with all four murders.” He stood from the chair and went into his office, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER | NINETEEN
I STOOD IN ABRAM’S front yard alongside Flu and Cait. The morning dew had yet to evaporate, and it clung to the tops of my shoes. It was roughly eight in the morning—two hours after Flu had received approval for the warrant.
As we stood in the front yard, I scanned the exterior of Abram’s burgundy ranch-style home. It was pristine and polished, much like I had imagined it would be. The landscaping was flawless. Not a single blade was higher than the rest. Had I not felt the grass firsthand, I would have thought it was Astroturf.
The walkway to Abram’s front door curved to the right and led straight to a weathered welcome mat that sat upon his small porch. The front windows were spotless, though the curtains were drawn, so no one could look inside.
Cait, Fluellen, and I stood in the front yard as one of the three uniformed officers knocked on the front door. The other two positioned themselves on either side of the door with their guns drawn. The officer knocked five times, a steady slap that pounded on the wood
frame of the screen door as he announced his presence.
“Abram Myers,” the officer said. “West Joseph Police Department. We have a warrant.”
No response.
The officer knocked again. “West Joseph PD,” he repeated. “We’re entering the home.” The officer pulled his gun from the holster and steadied it at his side as he opened the screen door. He jiggled the handle to the front door; to our surprise, the door opened when the officer turned the knob. It wasn’t even locked.
Either Abram had left in a hurry and didn’t have time to lock the front door, or we had an open invitation to come inside. Whatever the reason, I knew I wasn’t going to like what we would eventually find.
The officer turned and looked at Flu before he stepped inside. Flu nodded, and the three officers walked inside the home with their guns aimed and ready to fire. Within several minutes, an officer stepped back outside. “It’s clear, Captain,” he said.
Flu stiffened his posture and walked up the three steps that led to the front porch. Cait and I followed behind as if we were his trusty sidekicks. When we reached the front door, I looked at Cait. She had probably been on searches before with BCI, but nothing to this caliber. I worried that she wouldn’t be mentally prepared for whatever we’d find.
I worried that I wouldn’t be prepared for what we’d find.
The front door led straight into his living room. It was a typical bachelor-pad set-up. A sixty-inch flat screen television served the as focal point of his living room. Game consoles and multiple media devices were neatly aligned in the large entertainment center that enveloped the television. Two recliners faced the entertainment center, and I had visions of Abram and Jimmy sitting there late at night as they played various video games filled with violence and murder.
Toward the back of the living room, there was a large couch and an end table. The black leather couch looked unused, like it was only there for show. The table was tucked between the couch and wall. On top of the table was a picture frame that showed Abram and presumably his girlfriend spending a day at the beach together. The closest beach to West Joseph was nine hours east. Abram had on a red windbreaker and gave a wide grin as he loosely held his arm around her shoulder. Upon a closer look, I noticed that his girlfriend was, indeed, Rachel Sanzone.
She looked happy in the photograph. She was naturally photogenic, but there was a genuine joy in her smile. It was full of radiance, and she appeared to be truly in love with Abram. She was nuzzled up close to him, either in an effort to keep warm on what seemed like a windy day, or just to be nearer to the one person she trusted most. She looked much younger than she did now—though a year’s worth of PTSD can really age a person. But still. There was innocence to her smile. She had yet to learn what true fear was. She had yet to meet Lathan Collins.
I remembered Cait had stated that Rachel’s abduction might not have been an abduction at all—at least it didn’t start out that way. If Rachel had left voluntarily, it would have been because she had known her alleged abductor for a long time and trusted that person completely. And that trust would have deep roots.
If Abram had started dating Rachel before her five-day stay with Lathan, his obsession with Lathan may have stemmed from trying to protect his girlfriend. Perhaps I had pegged Abram all wrong. Maybe he took the investigation into his own hands after Lathan was killed. He had access to the case files, and he’s computer savvy—maybe all of this was to protect the person he loved.
I had been thinking of Abram as the enemy, but perhaps he was actually on our side, helping us from the shadows. He could have been the person who’d anonymously sent us the videos, hoping we would catch the killer. He knew that if he addressed the videos to my attention, I would make certain the killer was caught. He could have created the Alfa Mike persona in order to gain Novak’s trust. But why wouldn’t he just come to me or Flu with his findings? Why did he choose to leave breadcrumbs instead?
“Lena,” Cait said from behind me, then paused as if something else had caught her attention. She picked up the picture frame and stared at it. “Is this Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know they were dating?” she asked as she set down the picture frame.
“No.” I shook my head and turned to her. “Do you think Abram’s the one who sent us the videos?”
“It’s possible. But why?”
“To protect Rachel.” I gestured to the photograph.
Cait gave an uneasy smile. “Flu wants us to head through the kitchen. The officers said that’s where Abram’s home office is.”
I glanced over Cait’s shoulders and saw the officers leading Fluellen through the dining room and then into the kitchen. I looked at Cait and nodded before joining Flu on his quest toward the office.
Both the dining room and kitchen were spotless, much like the rest of the house. I thought about the profile of the Casting Call Killer, especially the part about him being well organized. Everything about Abram supported the fact that he could be the Casting Call Killer, but it was my hope that he loved his girlfriend so much that he was willing to do anything for her—and that hope kept me from wanting to believe he was the real culprit.
“In here, Captain,” the lead officer said as he opened a door just off the kitchen.
The room felt like an afterthought—an extension built onto the house after Abram had moved in. The wood-paneled walls made the windowless room feel even darker. The only light was a tall lamp in the corner of the room. A large bookcase rested against the wall next to the desk where the computer sat. The desk was free of clutter; the entire house looked like it was staged for an open house.
Although motionless, Abram’s computer was somehow eerily full of life, and chills ran through my body. It was as if its sole purpose was to breathe evil into this world—all it needed was someone to do the heavy lifting. The chrome-colored dual monitors sat on top of the desk and matched the keyboard and mouse. The screens just sat there quietly, as if patiently waiting for one of us to approach.
Cait pulled back the office chair after she stretched latex gloves over her hands and fingers. The gloves snapped around her wrists as she took a seat in front of the computer. The three officers had stationed themselves throughout the house, in case Abram or someone else decided to stop by. Flu stood next to Cait as she began her investigation into Abram’s hard drive.
Cait turned on the monitors, and I glanced around the room for any signs of Abram’s psyche. If Cait was going to be able to figure out Abram’s password, it would take several tries and a lot of time. Maybe there would be something in the room that would help us decipher the password.
Next to the desk was a large bookshelf the same height as the door. Every shelf was full of books. A drafting table was against the adjacent wall. A few writing utensils stuck out of the pencil holder. I didn’t think of Abram as an architect, but I was finding out a lot about Abram I hadn’t known before today.
“There’s no password,” Cait announced with surprise, and my attention was brought back to the computer.
Flu and I took a step closer and peered at the monitors. She was right. Abram’s computer wasn’t password protected. It was utterly defenseless to any spying eyes. Someone like Abram, an expert in computers and cyber security, would know the importance of having a password. Instead, he left this piece of machinery completely vulnerable.
Cait looked at Fluellen, and he nodded for her to continue. Icons for basic programs, like email and word processing, neatly aligned on the left screen. On the right screen was a program that was very familiar—though it didn’t come standard with the computer. It was the same program Cait had installed on my laptop so that we could access the Deep Web.
The background of Abram’s screens was a photograph of the abandoned home where Lathan had housed his victims. It was the same house where Rachel and I had been held captive. I stared at the photo, completely dumbfounded as to why Abram would have chosen that particular picture as his wallpaper. I
t could have been his motivation to help catch Novak, but that didn’t quite fit. Rachel probably would have seen this computer, and I doubted she would’ve appreciated seeing that house again. My jaw instantly clenched when I saw it, and I was sure that Rachel would’ve had a similar reaction.
“It shouldn’t be this easy,” Cait mumbled to herself. “He would have a password. Everyone has a password,” she continued to mutter.
It was the equivalent of leaving his doors unlocked—which was something he had also done. Abram had made it too easy for us to gain access to his home and computer.
He must’ve known the only way we would’ve entered his home was with a search warrant. So it was possible he didn’t see the need to keep us locked out. That only would have slowed down the process; Abram must’ve known that if we were already here, we would get in eventually. Maybe unlocking his door and removing his passwords were his way of further assisting the investigation—or raising the white flag? But if that were the case, then where was he? He should’ve been at the station giving a statement if he truly wanted to help.
I watched Cait click on the Deep Web program. “If he’s involved in the Deep Web,” Cait said, “he’ll have a hidden webmail account.”
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