Blood of Dawn

by Tami Dane

  “I guess that should make you feel better, right? Do you think we can trust her?”

  “I believe we can trust her witness more than her. But my gut says we can also trust her. She had no problems stating she doesn’t feel comfortable around Derik. But she doesn’t feel threatened by him either. So why would she lie? Not to mention, she confessed something else to me. And this something else could get her witness in a lot of hot water. As common belief dictates, when a witness starts telling the interviewer the truth, she becomes increasingly less capable of lying. The likelihood of her telling a lie is low.”

  “Well, damn,” JT responded. “Look at you, all grown-up. I’m impressed. I knew when I first met you that you’d catch on quickly. But it’s only been a few short weeks. I can’t wait to see what you’re doing by the end of the summer.”

  “That’s all fine and dandy, but we’re back to square one on this case. Once again.”

  “Where are you headed now?” he asked.

  “To get some dinner. Then Quantico.”

  “Where are you eating?”

  “I haven’t thought about it yet. I’m on Dumfries, heading that way.”

  “Meet me at Sam’s, on Potomac. We’ll have a working dinner. I think we need to sit down and put our heads together on this case. I haven’t been with it for this one. I’m going to correct that, starting now.”

  This was good. I was feeling a little overwhelmed. And extremely frustrated. If JT’s head was in the right place, I wondered if we might be closer to profiling this unsub. I checked my dash clock. “I can be there in maybe thirty-five minutes, depending upon traffic.”

  “See you then.”

  Exactly thirty-eight minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Sam’s Inn. As I was maneuvering into an empty spot, I caught sight of JT’s car, parked down the row. My stomach rumbled. I was starving. Hopefully, we wouldn’t be waiting for a table.

  In I scurried; I glanced around the waiting area. No JT. I approached the hostess, who was reaching for menus from a shelf. “I’m meeting someone. My name’s Sloan.”

  “This way.” She led me to a table in the back corner of the restaurant. JT stood as I came closer.

  “Forty minutes. Not bad,” he said.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” the hostess asked as she set my menu on the table.

  I made myself comfortable and ordered a diet cola.

  She scurried off.

  JT and I exchanged gazes.

  “Well,” I said, feeling a little awkward.

  “Well,” he echoed. “Derik Sutton has an alibi. Not the best news I’ve heard.”

  “Yeah. He’s creepy enough to be a killer, if you ask me. I thought we had something there.” I picked up my menu and skimmed the selections.

  JT sipped his water, then set his glass down. “This case is frustrating me. We’re getting nowhere fast. Three young women are dead. We’re no closer to a profile today than we were four days ago. And I realize I’m partially to blame. I haven’t been one hundred percent this week. But I’m working on it.”

  “Who would be, JT?”

  He shrugged. “Wagner brought back your stereo. He said it was shorted out. Power surge. That’s all he could get. And Zoey Urish has a solid alibi as well.”

  I had no comment about the stereo or Urish. What was there to say? They were both dead ends. I set the menu aside. “How’s Hough?”

  “She’s doing better. They’ve moved her into a regular room. And she’s getting some help. Now that she’s stable, it’s actually better that I have this case to focus on. If I don’t keep busy, I’ll be sitting around, thinking.” His mouth tightened. “That’s not a good thing right now.”

  The waitress brought my cola. I thanked her and took a sip, waiting for JT to order his food.

  After I placed my order, and the waitress hurried off to turn it in, I said, “I’m glad she’s doing better, and I understand why you want to keep busy. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I have my moments. I just try to keep those moments to limited times.”

  “I understand. Is there anything I can do? Anything we should be doing for you or for Brittany?”

  “I’m fine. As far as Britt goes, honestly, I don’t know. She’s grieving. That’s to be expected.” He sighed, and his mouth went tight again. “The timing was rough, with the breakup. Nothing I’ve done has helped much.” He drank some more water. I noticed his eyes were getting watery again.

  “I hate feeling so useless.” I said.

  “Believe me, so do I.”

  We didn’t say anything for a long time. Long enough that it felt awkward. I did some thinking while I sat there, watching the ice melt in my cola.

  Finally I broke the silence. “JT, our case. I’m thinking we should go to Hailey Roberts’s wake tonight.”

  “Okay.” He was staring at his water glass, blinking a lot.

  “Maybe we’ll see something. If nothing else, it’ll give us some more people to interview.”

  “Okay.”

  JT had mentally shut down.

  So much for the working dinner.

  And so much for his being okay.

  After our dinner, which ran longer than I had expected, I ran home to change before heading to Ambrose Funeral Home. It was a pretty, vinyl-sided white structure—an old house, turned commercial—situated at the end of a quiet residential street. As I pulled up, I noticed the cars packing the lot. I circled the block, finding an open spot down at the far end, and hoofed it to the building.

  I prayed for a clue, some insight, anything that might help us nail this profile.

  Inside, I met a wall of bodies the instant I walked through the door, mostly teenagers huddled in groups, whispering. I saw very few with teary eyes. I wriggled my way through the lobby and entered Viewing Room A.

  The casket was positioned at the room’s end; stands displaying large photograph collages stood on either side of it. And more framed photos sat on every horizontal surface. Large clusters of people were gathered here and there; some were sitting in the rows of tightly packed chairs, some standing. I recognized Hailey’s mother, standing next to an easel, talking to a woman. Her arms were wrapped around herself, and her face was very pale. A stab of pain jabbed me at the sight.

  I knew I should at least greet her, but I didn’t want to interrupt. The woman she was speaking to left a moment later, offering me the chance.

  “Hello, Mrs. Roberts,” I said, offering my hand. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” She gave my hand a very weak shake, then released it. “Have you found my daughter’s killer yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  She blinked. Her lips tightened. They quivered slightly. “I can’t believe this is real.” Her gaze drifted to the coffin. “Since that awful night, I’ve been waiting, expecting to wake up and find out it was all a nightmare. I go to my daughter’s bedroom every morning, praying she’ll be there, in her bed, sleeping.”

  I had no idea what to say. There was nothing that would take away the pain I saw in her eyes. Nothing to give her hope or ease her guilt. I nodded.

  Mrs. Roberts said, her voice shaky, “I want to know why. I need to know why. Until I have that, I don’t think I can go on.”

  “We’re doing our best to get that answer for you.”

  Someone nudged my back. I glanced over my shoulder. It was JT.

  He reached around me to extend his hand to Mrs. Roberts. And as they shook hands, he offered his condolences.

  A woman approached, leaned into Mrs. Roberts, and whispered something into her ear. Mrs. Roberts nodded. “I’m sorry, Agents. I have to go handle something.”

  “Of course. Before you go, is there any chance we can get a copy of the guest log?” I asked.

  “I suppose. Why? Do you think the killer is here?”

  “It’s not likely, but I thought I’d ask, anyway.”

  Her gaze lurched around the room, and her face paled even more. �
��You think he could be watching us? Would he enjoy this? Seeing people suffer?” A tear dribbled down her cheek, and she sniffled.

  “It’s not very likely he’s here,” JT repeated, stepping in a little closer. “The list will help us find people to interview, friends and fellow students who might have seen her that night.”

  “I see.” She dabbed at her nose. “I’ll ask the funeral director to make copies before we leave.”

  “Thank you.” I watched her walk away, shoulders slumped forward, head lowered. Who wouldn’t feel bad for that woman? “Look at her. She’s absolutely torn apart. She’s blaming herself.” I glanced around the room. “Where’s her husband?”

  “This is the side we don’t see very often,” JT said, tugging on my elbow, moving me toward the back of the room. “In my years with the FBI, this is only the second wake I’ve attended.”

  “Sure makes it hard to remain objective when you see so much pain and suffering.”

  “It does.” He steered me toward a chair in the back row. “We need to stay out of the way, just watch people.”

  “Do you think the killer is here?” I whispered.

  “It’s possible. Some organized killers like to watch the fallout from their crimes. They enjoy the suffering.”

  “I know, that’s so twisted.”

  “It is.”

  We watched for a few minutes. My gaze kept finding Mrs. Roberts. And every time I saw her, my heart jerked in my chest. This just wasn’t right. That girl up there shouldn’t be dead. The longer we sat there, the worse I felt. I needed to solve this case. Needed to. What if I couldn’t? What if I failed? And even if I did do my very best, what if it wasn’t enough?

  For the first time, I was doubting myself.

  I asked, “JT, when you first started, did you ever question whether you could handle this job?”

  “Yes, I did. And I still do.”

  “You haven’t quit yet.”

  “No. I tell myself that this stuff would still happen, even if I walked away. But at least by staying, I’m doing something about it. I’m helping, instead of closing my eyes and pretending it doesn’t exist.”

  “But do you worry that seeing so much is changing you?”

  “It probably has. It’s probably made me more cynical and less trusting of human beings in general. I see the dark side of human nature.” His eyes searched mine. “Sloan, if you’re worried the darkness will somehow taint you—eat away your soul—there’s still time to walk away. I’d hate to see you do that. You’re so intelligent. You’d make a damn good agent. But that doesn’t mean this is the right career for you. That’s something you have to determine for yourself.”

  “I guess it’s good that I’m only an intern. I haven’t made any commitments yet.”

  “Exactly.”

  We sat in silence for a while, watching packs of teens wander into the room, shuffle up to the casket. Girls cried. Boys stared, their expressions unreadable for the most part. Nobody stood out. Not one teen looked any more or less grief-stricken. I recognized a few faces from summer school. Nobody approached me, though I saw a few curious glances.

  “Are we wasting our time here?” I whispered an hour later. We hadn’t moved from our seats. My butt was aching a little. My back was sore. I needed to get up and walk around. More than that, I needed to do something besides sit and wait. I could be doing more research. Interviewing someone. Something.

  “If we weren’t here, where would we be? At home, Googling more?”

  “Yeah. I get your point. At least we’re doing something different. As Albert Einstein said, ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. ’” I stretched. “I think I’m going to head downstairs and see if I can find some water.”

  “Okay, I’ll stay here.”

  I headed out of the room, sidestepped my way among mobs of teens, until I found the stairs. I headed down to the open space below, where the snacks and drinks were kept. Down I went, finding that area less crowded. Along one wall ran a counter, stacked with trays of cookies, fruit, crackers, probably brought by friends and family of the deceased. And sitting off to one side was an open cooler with bottles of water. I helped myself to a cookie and a bottle of water, then stepped into a corner to watch and listen.

  I finally saw Hailey’s father, sitting in a chair not far away, talking to a group of adults who were roughly his age. One of them asked if he’d heard anything from the police, and he shook his head.

  “They supposedly have the FBI working on the case, but they don’t seem to be doing a damn thing to find the bastard who did this.”

  We are trying. We really are.

  The guy to his left shook his head. “You’d think they’d be all over a case like this. Three dead teen girls.”

  We are all over this case. I’m practically living and breathing this case. What more do they expect?

  “I told Forrester, the detective on the case, that I think it’s Hollerbach. There’s something not right about that bastard. I can tell. But did he do anything with that? No. The asshole’s still teaching.”

  Hollerbach? That name hadn’t come up before tonight, not in connection with this case. I already knew he was inappropriately involved with one student. That meant he was capable of making poor decisions. But did that mean he was a killer?

  A young man approached the group and offered a hand. I recognized him right away. “Sir, I’m sorry for your loss.” They shook hands.

  Mr. Roberts nodded. “Thank you. You were a friend? I don’t believe I’ve met you before.”

  “Yeah, I’m Ben. I knew Hailey from school.”

  Her father’s eyes reddened. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t know her very well, but she seemed to be a nice girl.”

  Mr. Roberts nodded.

  Ben stepped back. “Again, I’m sorry. I was shocked when I heard what happened.”

  “Weren’t we all?”

  I headed back upstairs and sat next to JT. I whispered, “There’s a teacher we need to check out. His name’s Hollerbach.”

  “A teacher. That makes sense. Older. Confident. It would be easy to gain the girls’ trust. What’s the connection?”

  “At this point, I don’t have a solid one,” I said to JT’s profile. “He was mentioned by Roberts’s father, just now.”

  “Okay.” JT nodded, and his gaze still moved around the room without coming to me.

  “Here’s the thing. You remember the alibi I mentioned for Derik Sutton? The other witness who can vouch for him is none other than Carl Hollerbach. Hollerbach’s having an affair with Sutton’s stepsister.”

  JT’s gaze jerked to me. “Hmm. Interesting. If that’s the case, then he couldn’t be the killer. He has an alibi. Jia.”

  “True, but I think we should still take a look at him,” I continued, making sure to keep my voice very low so nobody could eavesdrop. “He’d fit the lust-motivated serial-killer profile. Between twenty-five and thirty-five years old, above-average to average intellect, married guy next door.”

  “The crimes don’t look like your typical lust-motivated crimes. There’s no sexual torture, no mutilation, no flagellation, no necrophilia.”

  “But there is the electrocution. That could be a form of torture. And what about the vampirism? We could be dealing with your run-of-the-mill, lust-motivated killer—of the Homo sapiens variety, not Mythic.”

  “Interesting theory.” Looking thoughtful, he nodded; then he went back to scanning the room. “We’ll see what we can dig up on the teacher. We’ve already found one skeleton in his closet. Let’s see if we can find some more.”

  I waited a beat to add, “And, JT, I’ve decided I’m not dropping out of summer school. Not yet.”

  JT’s jaw clenched. “Sloan—”

  “I can handle it. Don’t worry.”

  “That’s exactly what Wayne Roth said before he died.”

  “Who’s Wayne Roth?” I asked.

  “Some moron wh
o was bit by a cobra and refused to go to the hospital. He was a Darwin Award nominee.”

  “Ah, it’s wonderful being compared to someone who improved humanity’s gene pool by removing himself from it.”

  “No offense, of course.” JT’s lips curved up in a ghost of a smile.

  “None taken.”

  There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.

  —Buddha

  16

  The next morning, during the drive to school, I repeated my mantra, “I will make a friend. I will make a friend. I will make a friend.” And I didn’t stop until the very last bell had rung, and I was heading out to the parking lot, having yet again failed at making a connection with one single student.

  It was no use. These kids weren’t going to accept me.

  I was strolling along the far end of the building, chastising myself, when Derik Sutton, my best buddy, came around the corner from the opposite direction.

  Once again, there we were: he was glaring at me, and I was trying to pretend not to notice.

  Damn it. If I’d been more aware of what I was doing, I wouldn’t have come this way.

  Since pretending he wasn’t there hadn’t worked last time, I went for a different approach. I warned him, “Touch me, and I swear you’ll be sorry.”

  He laughed. He laughed hard. And then he sauntered over and clamped his hands around my wrists. “Oh, yeah? What are you going to—”

  My knee went up. It made contact.

  He fell to the ground, curled in a fetal position.

  “Really? Were you so sure I wouldn’t do anything that you’d leave yourself hanging out like that?” I said over his whimpering form.

  Behind me, I heard a gasp. I turned, finding two students standing about ten feet away: the female, a short brunette, skittered away without looking at me; the male, a tall, lanky boy, who had braces, didn’t.

  “Braces Boy” and I exchanged looks; then I jerked up my chin, squared my shoulders, and headed for the parking lot. I made it as far as the second row before hearing a distant shout of “Wait!”