Winter's Curse

by Mary Stone

  And, privately, he was afraid if he tried to turn down an advance from Sun, she’d castrate him. The woman was terrifying.

  “The two incidents are connected. Trust me on this.” Sun moved on, and he could breathe easier. “Bull? You have any questions?”

  “The local LEOs think this has to do with the Saudi prince.” Bull picked at his teeth with the cap of his pen. “You sure it doesn’t?”

  “I know what I know,” Sun pronounced. “Let the other law enforcement officers chase the wrong tail. We’ll be on the right one. I’ve got us four flights leaving at noon. Let’s roll.”

  Five minutes later, they’d piled into a Bureau vehicle and were on their way. Sun drove, and Noah let Bull take shotgun. He rode in back with Winter, sacrificing leg room for distance. There was no way he was going to encourage Sun in any way if he could help it.

  He waited until Sun and Bull were arguing over Bull’s choice of a classic rock station to check in on his one-time partner, former Quantico competitor, and good friend. She had bags under her eyes and looked like she was carrying every worry in the world on her narrow shoulders.

  “You okay?” he asked in an undertone.

  She nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

  Instead of elaborating, Winter pulled out her cell phone and dialed a phone number, fast, like it had been memorized. Was something wrong with her Grandpa? Noah knew he’d been sick.

  Her face was tense as she waited for an answer. When someone picked up on the other end, she immediately apologized, which was unlike her.

  “This is Agent Winter Black. I’m sorry to bother you again. I know you’ve got your hands full. Have there been any updates on Shannon Marchwood?”

  Ah. The San Clemente Sheriff who’d been injured in an explosion. He’d already heard about the heroic effort Winter had put into saving her. Of course, she would be concerned about the woman.

  He watched as the tension in her face grew, and then evaporated.

  “That’s fantastic. Do me a favor, will you? Save my number so you can text me. Keep me updated, and when she’s ready for visitors, please let her know I’m—we’re—pulling for her.”

  Then she blushed. That was interesting. Winter didn’t do that often.

  “Stop,” she blurted into the phone, looking even more uncomfortable. “Anyone else would have done the same thing.”

  She disconnected the call and gave Noah a stronger smile. The difference in her attitude was palpable.

  “Marchwood going to pull through?”

  Sun was listening. Noah caught her eye in the rearview.

  “Yeah. She’s got a bumpy road ahead of her,” Winter said, letting out a long breath. “They’re concerned about lung issues after the concussive blast she was exposed to. Plus, she’s pretty badly burned, a number of second and third degrees. She’s in good hands, though. They’re hoping she’ll make a full recovery.”

  Bull poked his bald, bullet-shaped head through the gap in the front seats. “You talking about the cop that was in the explosion in California? I heard Max saying you saved her life.”

  Winter started to protest, but Sun spoke up, the irritation in her voice obvious. “Focus, guys. I need your brains on the East Coast,” she snapped. “San Clemente isn’t our concern right now.”

  Harsh, Noah thought, considering a fellow law enforcement official’s life hung in the balance. Sun was coming off as a little insensitive, seeing as how she had witnessed the sheriff’s near-immolation firsthand.

  Winter met Noah’s eyes. She rolled hers and shrugged. Through the gestures, he could almost hear, You see what I’ve been dealing with? coming from her mouth.

  The Phoenix was closed to incoming guests during the active investigation. Most of the guests already staying at the hotel were waiting to be interviewed by police before either leaving town completely or having their reservations transferred to another hotel. The street outside was crowded with reporters, hovering around the crime scene tape and barriers that had been put up to keep them back.

  Winter kept her head low. Reporters shouted questions and raised cell phones to record them as they bypassed the yellow crowd barriers erected out front and entered the restricted area in front of the building. Dozens of bystanders chattered, sharing theories on what the heavy police presence might mean.

  It was a circus.

  She scanned the faces in the crowd out of the corner of her eye. The killers could be among them. It wasn’t uncommon for criminals to visit the scene of their own crime, view the chaos they’d created firsthand. Thieves, though, didn’t usually subscribe to that kind of behavior.

  She focused instead on the task ahead of them.

  Sun flashed her badge to the street cops, and their small group was waved through. She strode through the lobby like she owned the place, unerringly finding the sergeant in charge. He stood in deep conversation with another man wearing a nametag on his expensive-looking suit. Probably the hotel manager.

  Behind them, evidence markers were laid out in different areas, and a pool of congealed blood marred the pristine perfection of the marble-tiled floor.

  “Agent Ming, with the Richmond FBI office,” Sun interrupted, thrusting her hand out to the sergeant while ignoring the hotel manager. “Is there a place where you can brief us? How soon can we get in to see the witness?”

  To Winter’s relief, Noah stepped in when the man’s face reddened. The guy was practically sputtering. He looked like he was about to tell Sun exactly where she could go and get briefed. Sun needed to pass the public relations role over to Noah. He was better at it.

  “Sergeant,” Noah interrupted, giving the harried man a commiserating smile. “FBI. Richmond office. Sorry for the interruption. We’re here to assist in any way we can. We’ll be over there…” he indicated a small group of tables, “whenever you have time for us.”

  Before she could sputter some retort, he grabbed Sun’s elbow and steered her away. Winter and Bull followed behind.

  “You need to cool it,” Noah hissed. “You cannot just walk in here and stomp all over everyone’s faces, expecting them to turn around and be ready to let you in on what is already their investigation.”

  Sun’s face reddened with fury and embarrassment. For a second, Winter felt sorry for her. Only for a second.

  “I’m sorry,” Noah said in an undertone. “I know you’re the case agent, but you should know better. Scale it back, Ming.”

  Lucky for Noah, the sergeant joined them before Sun could get a chance to pound him into the ground.

  “Agents,” he said, addressing Noah as he shot a wary glance at Sun. She wisely kept her mouth shut and let Noah take the lead. “I’m glad to see you all, actually. We’ve got a clusterfuck on our hands here and appreciate any help we can get. Come with me, and I’ll show you what we’re dealing with.”

  The sergeant moved to the bloodstains on the floor, first. “We’re working in backward order right now, of course. This is where the night security guard was killed. Two shots to the chest. According to our witness, he was taken down without warning, trying to return the cell phone to a man who was leaving with a woman around four a.m. They’d all ridden down the elevator together. The elevator operator saw the whole thing. The rest of the murders took place higher up, on the forty-second and forty-third floors.”

  On the forty-second floor, he took them first to a sumptuous suite. The entryway opened into a living room, which was undisturbed by any signs of struggle. But the couch had obviously been the site of two shootings. Dark stains marred the expensive, cream-colored upholstery.

  “This was their first stop. The suspects came in the front door. We assume they had gotten ahold of some kind of master key. They shot the two security guards here.”

  “And the prince?” Sun asked, her voice still clipped but softer. She had grown paler, Winter noted. Bodily fluids. How had the woman ever gotten a job in law enforcement with such phobias?

  The sergeant waved an arm and continued down the h
allway at a fast clip. He stopped in front of a bedroom door. “Prince Al-Muhammad was killed here, while he was sleeping. We’re trying to figure out if any valuables have been taken, but there’s no one to ask,” he went on in frustration. “His remaining security guards are at the consulate. He didn’t check anything in for insurance purposes. Who knows what they could have gotten away with.”

  He took them to the next floor up, and Winter was careful to bypass the bloody footprints still dotting the floor.

  “The pattern varies up here.” He led them to the first door, grimacing. “This was the apartment of Richard Covington, a wealthy finance guy. He didn’t go easy, like the others. I hope you’re not squeamish.”

  “They left footprints?” Bull sounded astounded, staring at the floor. “Who the hell splashes around in a bunch of blood and doesn’t wipe their feet?”

  He was right. The trail of medium-sized, bloody shoe outlines were everywhere, moving from one door toward another before fading into more indistinct smudges as they went down the hall. Any sane person would have at least taken their shoes off before stepping into a public area.

  Sun glanced at them. “A small man or a big woman,” she decided. “Show us Covington’s apartment.”

  In contrast to the prince’s apartments, Covington’s room looked like a slaughterhouse. He, too, had been killed in bed, but that’s where the similarities ended. There was blood everywhere. Arcs of it had been thrown across the ceiling, the bed was drenched. The walls were spattered with it, and there were footprints all over.

  “Why the deviation?” Winter wondered out loud. “It’s like the others were done by a careful professional, and this one…the person who did this was in a blind rage.”

  “I agree,” the sergeant said. His face had paled just a little bit since they’d entered the room. He, apparently, was the squeamish one. “This was not a premeditated act. Whatever happened in here was a result of pure, unadulterated fury. Not only did the suspect shoot Covington several times, they came back with a knife from the kitchen. I’ve seen a lot, but the mutilation that took place in here…I just hope the guy was already dead before they started.”

  They all stood in silence for a moment. Winter felt lightheaded. The macabre scene in front of them seemed even worse with the additional information. And for her, it brought back unwelcome memories.

  The sergeant cleared his throat. “While one suspect was in here, freaking out, the other was doing something different in the next suite over.”

  He led them out and down the hall.

  He put his hand on the doorknob. “Before we go in, you need to know that this woman is supposed to be dead. You need to be careful when you question her, and you need to make sure it goes no further than here. Until we apprehend these suspects, Charlotte Edwards was killed during this robbery. Do you understand?”

  At their agreement, the sergeant opened the door. Inside, two uniformed officers sat at the table in the dining area, playing cards with an elderly lady. She looked up as they entered, her eyes bright and curious, bird-like. She wore a nylon tracksuit, in purple and green. She looked like the 1990’s version of someone’s fashion-forward grandmother. Not like the wealthy heiress of a long-dead industry titan.

  “Welcome,” she sang out as they entered. She didn’t look like a woman on the brink of death, after suffering at the hands of a brutal armed robber. Instead, she seemed to be blooming under all the attention and excitement.

  “I haven’t had so many visitors in years! Would any of you like something to drink? Something to eat? I made up some appetizers earlier. Just some cheese and crackers, and those little cocktail weenies, but they’re very tasty.”

  The sergeant smiled at her. “No thank you, Ms. Edwards. I want to introduce you to our FBI agents. They’ve come from Richmond to help us out.”

  The old woman stood, a little awkward and slow, and took her cane in hand, hobbling around the table to meet them. After shaking everyone’s hands, she called back to the uniformed officers, “We’ll have to continue our game later. Come into my living room and make yourselves comfortable. And, please, call me Charlotte,” she insisted.

  “Miss Charlotte,” Noah drawled. “You certainly look well for a dead woman.”

  Winter had to smile at the elderly woman’s reaction to that.

  Her face lit with humor as she made herself comfortable in a spindle-legged antique looking chair. “Thank you, young man. I’m feeling exceptionally well for a dead person too.”

  “Would you mind telling them your story again, Charlotte?” the sergeant asked, his tone deferential. “I’m sure you must be sick of sharing it at this point…”

  “Oh, heavens no,” she said with a bright laugh. “I’d be happy to.”

  Noah, turning on his Texas drawl, said, “Very much appreciated, Miss Charlotte.”

  Beaming under the attention, Charlotte batted her eyes at the handsome agent before setting her cane beside her chair and folding her hands in her lap. “A man came into my apartment in the middle of the night,” she began. “He was very polite, apologized for the intrusion in a most charming Irish accent, I should add. He told me he was there to rob and kill me.”

  “Can you tell us what he looked like?” Sun demanded.

  Charlotte waved a hand at her. “Let me tell the story without you interrupting. You can ask me questions when I’m done.”

  Sun sat back in her chair, tight-lipped in irritation.

  Winter couldn’t help it. She chuckled.

  “At any rate,” Charlotte went on. “He asked me to come to the living room. I told him where the wall safe was and gave him the combination. I didn’t tell him I had a pistol stashed between my couch cushions. As a matter of fact, you—” she pointed at Bull, who was perched on a Victorian love seat, “be careful squirming around, or you might find a bullet in your rear end.”

  Bull stilled immediately, and the sergeant laughed out loud. It was clear why he’d been so protective of the woman. She was great. Gramma Beth would love her.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “before I could inform him of that fact, he turned around and gave me the most unusual story. He told me he was supposed to kill me, but that he didn’t want to. We had a little chat about how terrible his partner was, and he asked me…very politely, mind you, to go into my bedroom. He was going to kill me, and he wanted me to be comfortable. He waited for me to get into bed, shot my chair twice, and then left.”

  “Wow…” Noah murmured.

  Winter found herself nodding in agreement.

  Charlotte slapped her hands lightly on her knees in delight. “He even locked the door behind him, as if other enterprising thieves might come in after he’d left. When I got up this morning, I went and checked. The sweet thing didn’t even take all the money! He only helped himself to a little bit, and only took two boxes of jewelry. The smallest ones.”

  “Sounds like you like him,” Sun said, her eyes narrowed.

  Unabashed, Charlotte beamed. “He was a scoundrel, but oh, I did like him. A great deal.”

  14

  “I know who one of the suspects is,” Sun announced. She paused for a second, letting the suspense build. The faces around the small table weren’t showing nearly enough of a reaction to be satisfying. She almost vibrated in her chair with excitement. She’d solved part of the puzzle.

  The hotel staff had given them a small room to confer in, and they were gathered around the table. They’d also been given rooms for the night. The hotel had a lot of unexpected vacancies, and comping rooms was in their best interests. They wanted to wrap the case, control the publicity, and get back to normal business as soon as possible.

  “I can’t believe none of us saw it before. One of the suspects is Ryan O’Connelly.” She looked around the table, half-expecting applause at her announcement. “Come on, guys. Ryan O’Connelly? The Cat?”

  “Vaguely rings a bell,” Noah commented, but his tone held doubt.

  “He’s known all over the wo
rld,” Sun went on, feeling her impatience rise with every word. “He’s Irish, and probably Catholic, which would explain the Saint Dismas medal and the donation of the robbery money to the Catholic church in California. From reports, he’s handsome and well-spoken, which jibes with what Ms. Edwards told us.”

  Noah lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”

  Winter wisely kept her mouth shut.

  Sun pulled up her computer and read a description off to them.

  “He’s slippery and has been on the radar of the FBI, Interpol, and all kinds of international police departments. He’s said to work for the highest bidders, slipping into his targets’ homes and removing what he’s after before anyone is the wiser. He gets around alarm systems, gets out of tight situations. He escaped through a chimney once in Lourdes. No one has managed to come close to getting him.”

  “I know who you’re talking about now,” Bull put in. “I saw a Dateline special on him once. But he doesn’t kill people, does he?”

  “Not so far,” Sun admitted. “He’s been strictly non-violent. Almost a criminal passivist.”

  “That part doesn’t fit,” Bull said, scratching his cheek. “Maybe it’s someone trying to make it sound like they’re Ryan. Using a fake Irish accent and planting the details in the story he gave Charlotte Edwards.”

  “No,” Winter put in. She’d kept quiet, but she was in agreement with Sun. “It fits. We’re dealing with two people here. O’Connelly told Charlotte Edwards he didn’t want to do it, but his partner was vicious, and he was under orders. For whatever reason, he’s teamed up with someone who doesn’t have any qualms about killing.”

  Sun nodded, glad for the backup. It irked her, but now that Winter had put her seal of approval on the idea of one of the suspects being O’Connelly, the other two were closer to being on board.

  “So, we need to look at the accomplice,” Noah said. “Are there any profiles out there that fit so far? Have we talked to anyone in the BAU yet about putting something together?”