“That’s not going to happen.”
“You will,” she said firmly.
“I won’t, and I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s with the paper now.”
“Let me put it to you this way. I’ll make it crystal clear so there’s no room for misinterpretation. If you didn’t kill Ms. Fox, then your ‘source’ did.” She felt confident in saying that. After all, it seemed apparent that their killer wanted attention for his actions. He’d be the most interested in making sure his story got out there. “Did this person give you their name?”
He shook his head. “He said no names. Many sources prefer anonymity.”
“Especially killers or those with something to hide or protect,” Amanda rebutted, and she flopped into the chair she’d been in before.
Trent glanced at her and must have sensed she was too angry to continue, so he picked up for her. “It was a guy… Can you give us anything else?”
“All I can tell you is that he was a friend of Ms. Fox’s friend.”
“Okay,” Trent dragged out. “And the name of your source’s friend?”
“No names,” Fraser repeated. “He just said that she’s the one who discovered Ms. Fox.”
Amanda shot up straight. That meant the killer had been right there—probably in the crowd—and seen Bethany Greene talking to the police. That would excuse the lack of a name. He wouldn’t have known it. “No names at all. That probably should have been a clue right there. And let me guess, no phone number either?”
“No.”
“We’re going to need to know exactly when he called and the number he reached you on.” She’d get a contact of hers in Digital Crimes to track the call. He had a way of unlocking even blocked numbers.
“I’m not going to do that for you.”
“You are, or we—” she gestured between herself and Trent “—are going to arrest you for interfering in an active murder investigation.”
Fraser wiped his brow. “Fine. I’ll give you what you want. But it’s not because I respond to threats—” he shot a sour glare her way “—but because of Ms. Fox and her family and friends.” Fraser pulled his cell phone and scrolled through his log. Then he proceeded to give her the time and date of the call, along with his number.
Trent recorded it all in his notebook.
Amanda stood, and Trent followed her lead. She said to Fraser, “I still want you to get that article taken down.”
Fraser just stared at her blankly.
“You said that you were giving us the call information because of Ms. Fox and her family and friends? Well, her killer is feeding on the story of her murder getting out in fine detail. Do you really want to be his puppet and by doing so cause those people more pain?”
Fraser scowled. “I’m struggling because the public has a right to know there’s a serial killer in Prince William County.”
“You put that in your article too?” She felt nauseous. Start tossing out “serial killer” and people lost all common sense.
“No, but I’m thinking about a follow-up piece.”
She narrowed her eyes, really detesting the guy and what he represented. “Don’t.” Fraser shrugged, and her core temperature went up a few notches. “I’d also like to ask that you stop running your mouth all over town, starting with your friends, including Ted Dixon. He’s been spreading the rumor about Ms. Fox’s severed tongue around Bill Drive.”
“Is it rumor, though, when it’s the truth?”
She stiffened. “I never said it was.”
He smirked. “Everything about your visit here tells me it is.”
She left his apartment and closed his door just a little lighter than a slam. She turned to Trent, fuming. “He can’t get away with this. The information about Shannon’s severed tongue has no place in the mainstream media. None.”
“I agree with you, but what are we supposed to do?”
It took her less than two seconds to come up with the answer. “We have to get a media ban put in place. Simple as that.” Though there probably wasn’t anything simple about it. She’d have to convince Malone it was a good idea.
She called him on the way back to the car. Malone told her he was stuck at home for the night, and, yeah, he knew it was only six o’clock, but it was also a Saturday and his wife would kill him if he left. He welcomed her to come over, though.
“Malone’s at home,” she told Trent, “and I’m headed there to plead our case about a media ban. Hopefully, he sees the logic.” She’d never asked Malone for this type of thing before, so she really didn’t know how he’d respond.
“Okay, and while you’re doing that, how about I pop by and see Bethany Greene? I could see if she mentioned the severed tongue to any of her friends. After that, I can go back to Central and find out what I can about Ashley Lynch.”
“Great plan. I’m going to loop in Jacob Briggs over at Digital Crimes and get him tracking the call to Fraser’s phone. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Thirty-One
Amanda was on the doorstep of Malone’s two-story house in Woodbridge. Located just ten minutes from Central, he could probably walk to work—not that she’d ever known him to.
She rang the doorbell and waited.
The front door cracked open at first, but when Ida, Malone’s wife, saw Amanda, she grinned and flung it wide.
“Hey, Amanda, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.” Ida touched Amanda’s arm affectionately. She was a warm woman but not a hugger. “Come in. Scott’s in the backyard manning the barbecue, because heaven help us if I decided to cook on the thing.”
Amanda laughed. Malone was particular—or peculiar, hard to say—when it came to his food. “How are you?”
Ida sighed deeply and smirked. “Doing good. But that man might drive me crazy yet.” Amanda went to slip off her shoes, but Iva waved a hand. “Don’t you worry about that. Just follow me to the back.”
Amanda had been in the house many times and knew the layout by heart. In almost a straight line from the front was a sliding patio door that led to a backyard oasis. It consisted of a groomed green space and a flagstone patio, complete with a shelter for their barbecue, elevating it into more of an altar. They also had a beautiful wicker furniture set that would have cost a small fortune.
Ida slid the door open and gestured for Amanda to go out first.
“Ah, there she is.” Malone smiled at her as if she’d been an expected guest and not a last-minute intrusion at the dinner hour. He took a beer bottle off the ledge of the “altar” and took a long swig from it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand afterward.
The smell coming off the barbecue was intoxicating, and she inhaled appreciatively as her stomach grumbled and her mouth salivated. She should have grabbed something to eat before heading over. Sizzling on the grill were two potatoes in foil and a large T-bone steak about an inch thick with a large tenderloin piece. The entire thing must have weighed three pounds. Malone was in his late fifties and must not have received the memo that large amounts of red meat weren’t healthy for a man his age. Then again, if he did know, he probably wouldn’t care.
She opened her mouth and was about to speak, when he said, “I know you need to talk, and we’ll do just that. But first we eat.”
“Oh, I couldn’t…”
On her way toward her husband with an empty platter, Ida put a hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “Of course you can.” She handed the plate to Malone just as a timer beeped.
“Off she comes.” Malone’s enthusiasm wasn’t masked, and he removed the steak and potatoes, loading them onto the platter. “You never re-flip a steak.” He eyed Amanda with all seriousness, and she quirked an eyebrow.
“Here we go,” Ida mumbled and retrieved the food from her husband and took it into the house.
Amanda smiled. Malone had his share of stories, but his one weakness was talking his meals to death. It had been a while since she’d eaten a meal he’d cooked, but it was all coming back to her now. He loved to re
gale his guests with a breakdown of how the food came to be on their plate—the method of prep, including spices, how long he’d cooked it, at what temperature, and on it went. There were usually also little insights about why he did things one way as opposed to another.
Malone carried on like his wife hadn’t expressed annoyance. “If you flip a steak more than once, it’ll become tough.”
Amanda played along. “Is that so?” She squirreled away the tip and wondered if Logan knew about that trick. Ah, Logan. She felt horrible about forgetting their dinner plans the other night, but she’d make it up to him. She smiled at the thought of how she’d do that.
“Uh-huh, young lady. It’s a fact.” He pointed the business end of a pair of tongs at her to emphasize his point.
They joined Ida in the house. She’d already set the table for three and portioned out the potatoes. Half of one each for her and Amanda, and a whole one for Malone. The steak was left untouched, though. Probably because there was an unwritten but adhered-to rule, that Malone divvied up the meat. And sure enough, he grabbed a large knife from the block on the counter and got to work.
Amanda said she wasn’t very hungry, but she still got a sizable chunk of beef she wasn’t quite sure she could finish. Ida had a small piece about the size of her palm, and Malone loaded the rest onto his plate, along with the bone. He was the first to dig in. As he sliced through the meat, pink juices oozed out and transported Amanda right back to Fox’s crime scene.
“Dang it all, I forgot my beer outside.” Malone dropped his utensils and started to slide his chair back.
Amanda shot to her feet and volunteered. A little separation was exactly what she needed to clear her mind.
She returned with his beer a moment later and was offered one by Ida. She declined, of course. Ida must have forgotten that she didn’t drink.
Dinner went quickly with lighthearted conversation that only briefly turned to her love life. It was a subject she quickly steered away from.
As she was helping Ida clear the dishes, Malone said, “Okay, let’s talk.” He gestured toward the backyard. “I’ll be out there when you’re ready.”
“Ah.” Amanda looked at Ida, who was already watching her. She was torn. She wanted to help with the dishes, but her original purpose for coming here wasn’t to get caught up in a personal evening. She checked her phone, but there was no update from Trent about how things had gone with Bethany Greene. She tucked her phone back in her pocket.
“Go on.” Ida smiled at her as she turned on the hot water and pumped soap into the sink. “I’ve got this. I’ve been doing it for so long, I could do it with my eyes shut.”
“Thank you.” Amanda saw herself outside and sat on one of the wicker chairs that was adorned with bright-red cushions. She inhaled deeply, noticing for the first time that it was a pleasant evening to be outside. Birds were singing, heralding that spring was here, and the air smelled fresh and lush.
“So what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?” Malone snapped the cap off a fresh beer and took a draw.
“I need a media ban put in place.”
“Am I missing something here?” He took another quick swig.
She’d thought about how she was going to present her case, and now face-to-face with him, her mind was blank. She didn’t see Malone warming to the idea of a serial killer without some convincing.
“Amanda,” he prompted.
“I’m not exactly sure what we’re dealing with here.” Safe, neutral ground. It would be far better if Malone came out with “serial killer” before she did.
“Regarding?”
“The person who killed Ashley Lynch and Shannon Fox.”
“You sound confident they’re the same person now.”
She nodded. “There’s no one in Fox’s life who fits. She had her ex, who is a piece of work, but he’s not her killer. I’m confident in saying that Fox was taken out because of her call to nine-one-one. And if that’s the case, it points to Lynch’s killer.” Her phone pinged with a message. Trent, finally?
“I’m still listening. Go on.”
“The fire, the mutilation—both point to a killer who wants glory. He has something to say.” She took out her phone and went to her messages as she spoke. It was Trent with bad news. She continued talking to Malone. “If we let the media continue to publish stories about these murders, we’re giving the killer exactly what he wants. I don’t agree with allowing that to happen.” As she heard the words come back to her ears, she thought again of her mother. It was so strange that her mother was now technically a killer—though, in Amanda’s eyes, her mother was nothing like the man they were after.
“Okay,” Malone dragged out and set his beer on a side table. “But if we fail to give him what he wants, won’t it make him more likely to kill again?” His eyes pierced through hers.
“I think he’s planning that anyway.”
“Oh, Amanda, I don’t know. A serial killer? Doesn’t there need to be more bodies to qualify?”
And there, he had said it. “I’m trying to prevent more victims. I don’t even want to think there are others we don’t yet know about.”
“I can’t request a media ban without more to go on. And the public has a right to know what’s going on.”
“Now you sound like Fraser Reyes.” She crossed her arms and looked away.
“Fraser Reyes,” Malone picked up. “Isn’t that the journalist that almost had you throwing away your career?”
“In all fairness, that was more on Hill.”
“Hmm. Whatever the case, this isn’t what you need right now. Stay away from him.”
She bit her bottom lip.
“Oh no. You spoke with him. You said I sound just like him. Tell me you didn’t…”
“I did, but—”
“No buts, Amanda. I don’t think it’s really sunk in for you, so let me put it bluntly in words you’ll understand: Hill is gunning for your badge.”
His warning sank in her chest and made her heart bump off rhythm, but she couldn’t back down simply because she was afraid of the LT. She had to think of the bigger picture—the possibility that the killer would strike again. “If we let the news run with whatever they want, we’re essentially letting the killer call the shots.”
“And is that a bad thing if it keeps him from killing people?”
“We don’t know that it will,” she shot back. “It might whet his appetite to murder again.”
Silence played out between them while they were entertained by the antics of a black squirrel juking this way and that as he ran through the yard.
“There’s more you don’t know,” she began. Paused. The note flashed to mind, but she didn’t want to tell him about it right now. She intended to stay focused on petitioning for a media ban. “Reyes just published an article on Fox’s murder, and people on Bill Drive were already afraid to talk to us. We need that article taken down, for starters.”
“What do you mean they’re afraid?”
“The word about Fox’s mutilation has spread.” Amanda pulled up the piece on the newspaper site on her phone and handed it to Malone.
He skimmed the article and looked up at her. “How did he find this out?”
“The part I’m building to. A man called Reyes to tell him the story about Fox. He claimed he was a friend of Bethany Greene—that was Shannon Fox’s best friend—the woman who found the body,” she reminded him.
“You need to be following that lead.”
“It’s been done. I sent Trent to speak to her when I came here. That ping a moment ago was a text from him. Bethany didn’t tell anyone.”
Malone paled. “Can we track the call?”
“I have Detective Briggs in Digital Crimes on it.” She’d reached out to him on her way to the Malones’.
Her boss’s mouth was open like he was going to say something, but he shut it.
She said, “I don’t know for sure if we’ve got a serial killer here, but I don’t want mo
re bodies to confirm it for me.”
“Makes two of us.” Malone took a sip of his beer. “You get anywhere with that eyewitness? The one who saw the jogger?”
“Yes. He thinks he also saw the same man another time with someone who could fit the description of Ashley Lynch.”
Malone stiffened, and his gaze took on more intensity. “He’s sure of this?”
“As much as possible. You know how eyewitnesses can hem and haw.”
“I don’t know what to say here, Amanda. But I feel my hands are tied.”
“Two murders in two days, two different murder methods. He’s organized and versatile. I’m sure he plans to kill again.” She was presented with another opportunity to tell Malone about the note at the grave, but Brandon’s warning flashed to mind. This killer could be especially dangerous. If she came forward with it to Malone, he might remove her from the case. He’d defend the decision as a precaution, but she wasn’t willing to sit this investigation out. The killer had taunted her with saying they were on the same team, and she was past ready to prove how wrong he was.
Malone didn’t say anything, but he stared at her for some time before breaking the silence. “I hate to say this—yet again—but there needs to be more victims before we can get carried away thinking this is a serial killer at work. This isn’t some TV show, Amanda. This is real life.”
“Yeah, and in real life serial killers exist.”
“Still, I can’t do anything about the media yet. My hands are tied. We both know Hill’s on the warpath already. I need to consider your career, and my own.”
It only proved how wise she’d been to keep the note from him. It also probably wasn’t a good time to mention she’d booted the PWC News reporter from Fox’s crime scene and told Ronald in the Public Information Office to withhold information. “Hey, it was worth a try.” She got up and said, “Thanks for dinner.”
“Anytime.” Malone wasn’t looking at her; he was draining his bottle dry.
She wished she had something to quench her thirst—only she wasn’t thirsty; she was hungry. Not for food, but to put the killer she hunted behind bars.
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