by Tami Dane
The lump in my throat doubled in size. And I was hyperventilating again. “I’m not ready to talk about the wedding yet.”
“The golf course where your father and I married the second time was lovely, but there are other options. Oh! I have an idea! I can check Maryvale Castle and see if there’s been a last-minute cancellation. I couldn’t be married there, but maybe my daughter can.”
My lips were tingling. “Mom—”
“This is so exciting! What are your favorite flowers?”
My head was spinning. “Mom—”
“Lilies are always lovely. I think you should have all white. No, maybe some other colors. Orange?”
I was starting to see stars. “Mom—”
“Ah, I remember, you don’t care much for orange. What about yellow? Yellow’s very cheery. It’s a nice color for summer. A July wedding would be lovely.”
I stuck my head between my knees. “Mom, stop! It’s much too soon to be talking about wedding plans. And . . . July? Are you suggesting we get married . . . tomorrow? July’s three-quarter’s over. I did accept Damen’s proposal, but I have every intention of putting off the nuptials until I’m good and ready.”
“Of course you are, dear. Honey! Our daughter is getting married! Your father wants to speak with you.”
“Mom—”
“Here he is!”
“Hello, Sloan?” my father said.
The stars were gone. I slowly lifted my head. “Yes, it’s me.” “Congratulations. Damen is a good man. I’ve known him a long time. Good choice. Very good, though not as good as Elmer.”
“Dad—”
“The queen will insist you have the wedding at Willow Hill.”
“Where’s that?”
“Her home. The grounds are nice, if you’d like to have an outdoor ceremony.”
“Dad—”
“And her favorite color is blue.”
My gaze dropped to my ring. Blue. “Dad, I think I’ve made a mistake.”
“No, you haven’t. You’ve made an excellent choice in a husband. First rate. I’m sure you’ll both be extremely happy. Gotta go now. Your mother is clawing the phone out of my hand. I love you.”
“Sloan, I heard what your father said,” Mom practically shouted. “I think we should try to get Maryvale Castle, anyway. But blue and white sounds lovely. Blue is a good color for me. I’m assuming I’ll be the matron of honor . . . right?”
The twinkling stars were back. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”
“Of course, you haven’t. This is all very sudden. I remember what it was like when your father proposed to me the first time. I was overwhelmed, but my mother wasn’t happy about my engagement. She didn’t help me with a single thing. That’s why I will make sure I don’t let you down. I’ll be there every step of the way . . . once I get back in town. Your father’s checking on flights as we speak.”
“Don’t hurry back on my account. Like I said, I don’t plan on marrying anyone before the end of summer. No, I’m thinking next spring sounds good. Late spring. Like . . . May.”
“We’ll see how far you get with that.” My mother giggled. “Honey, stop that. I’m still talking to our daughter. Oh! You naughty, little urchin. Must go. Bye.”
Click.
I stuck my head between my knees again.
Katie stooped down, peering at me. “I take it your parents are happy about your engagement?”
“Happier than I am.”
Katie’s brows furrowed. “What’s up with that?”
“It’s just that . . . they said Damen is going to expect a speedy wedding. I can’t do a speedy wedding. I’m not ready. We barely know each other.”
Katie laughed. “This is insane! Thank you for making me feel better about Viktor dumping me.”
“That wasn’t my intention, but you’re welcome, anyway.”
Celebrate endings—for they precede new beginnings.
—Jonathan Lockwood Huie
27
I rolled into the parking lot of the Einsteins’ bagel store at exactly thirty-two minutes after seven for our meeting with Carl Hollerbach the next morning—accident on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. JT had left an hour and a half earlier, saying he wanted to take care of some personal things before the meeting. He made me promise I wouldn’t stop anywhere along the way, not even for gas. He called me several times to make sure I was okay. As I pulled in, I’d expected to find a slightly annoyed JT waiting for me—not a fire truck, two police cars, and the ME’s truck.
I had a sick feeling, but that didn’t stop me from hoping that the sick feeling was wrong. Looking down at the giant rock on my finger, I slid off the ring and put it in my purse. I wasn’t ready to explain my engagement to JT yet.
As I approached the yellow tape and an armed police officer I didn’t recognize, I looked for JT.
“I’m Sloan Skye, FBI,” I told him.
“ID?” he demanded.
“Um, I don’t have ID. I’m an intern.”
The officer gave a little grunt.
With no other choice, I dug my cell phone out of my purse and called JT.
“Finally,” he said. No hello.
“I was thirty-two minutes late. Thirty-two minutes isn’t so bad—all things considered. The backup was miles long. Tell me Carl Hollerbach isn’t dead.”
“Okay, Carl Hollerbach isn’t dead.”
I let out a long sigh. “What a relief. Who is it?”
“Carl Hollerbach.”
“Ugh.”
“Why aren’t you in here yet?” He sounded annoyed and crabby.
“The friendly officer standing guard out front won’t let me by.”
JT’s sigh was audible. “I’ll be out there in a minute.”
“Thanks.”
I stood at the tape and stared at the policeman.
He stared back.
JT finally ambled over. “Officer, Miss Skye is a respected member of our team. I’d like to ask you to let her by.”
The officer’s eyes slitted. He jerked his head. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” I bounced past him. “So what’s the story?” I asked JT.
“Electrocution and exsanguination. Same marks as our other victims. Similar MO. And a witness said they saw an attractive man talking to the victim shortly before he died. But the victimology is off. This is the first one that isn’t a student and is an adult male.”
“Even so, I know it’s our unsub. Damn it. Now I wish I hadn’t put off the meeting until today. It gave the unsub time to find out what he was up to.”
JT shook his head. “I’m done here. There’s nothing more to look at. I’d like to head over to his house and see if we can dig up something useful there. These unsubs are on a rampage. We need to stop them.”
“I agree. Do you have an address?”
“Yes, come on. We’ll take your car. Mine is pinned in.”
By the time we arrived at Carl Hollerbach’s house, several of BPD’s finest were huddled outside. They hadn’t gone in yet.
“I’m guessing Mrs. Hollerbach insisted on a search warrant. They’re waiting for the judge to sign off,” JT said as I angled the car up to the curb. “It’s going to take a while to get the warrant, but Forrester’s probably already inside, questioning the wife.”
As we strolled up the front walk, my gaze snapped to the tricycle parked in the driveway.
This guy had children. Now, most likely thanks to his extracurricular activities, they would grow up fatherless. I knew what that was like. My heart ached for them. “I wonder why he did it, why he slept with those students?”
“Some guys don’t think. They just . . . let their penis do the thinking for them.”
“A penis can’t think. That’s a physical impossibility.”
“It may be, but it’s more common than you know.” JT slid me a look I didn’t like very much. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to get at. Right now wasn’t the time, anyway.
“I’d rather n
ot talk about this now.”
“Fair enough.” JT knocked. And knocked. After about thirty raps, the door opened. Forrester motioned us inside. “Good, maybe you can get somewhere with this woman. I’ve been questioning her for over a half hour. So far, all I’ve gotten is her date of birth. She’s refusing to talk.”
“Sloan?” JT gave me a little nudge. “You’re a female. I think in this case, you’re the only one who stands a chance at getting her to talk.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best.” I approached her with the same caution I might give a cornered wild animal. “Mrs. Hollerbach, I’m Sloan Skye. I work for the FBI.”
She didn’t even look at me. She was standing in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over her chest, hands cupped over her mouth. She was staring at a family portrait and crying. My heart twisted.
Under her breath, I could hear her saying something, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“Mrs. Hollerbach? We’d like to find out who did this to your husband.”
Still, nothing.
“Is there anything you can tell us that might lead us to his killer?”
Finally she turned to look at me. Her eyes were the color of a stop sign. They were watery. Her face was splotchy. Her hands were shaking. She sniffled.
After noticing a box of tissues next to the couch, I handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She pulled a few tissues out, blew her nose, and dabbed her eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you, Agent. I’m shocked. I want to believe it’s all a bad dream and I’ll wake up, and then everything will be back to normal.”
I set the box on the fireplace mantel, within reach. “I’m sorry. I can only imagine how confused you are.”
“‘Confused’ doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. I’m hurt and furious and sad and torn. Last night, my husband told me he’s been having an affair with a young woman, a student. And today, he’s dead. I don’t understand what happened.”
Damn it, this was awful. “What a terrible shock.”
“Terrible is right. What am I supposed to do now? Our boys. They don’t have their father anymore. They need their father. All children do.”
“Yes, they do. We’ve been working with the Baltimore Police Department, helping them profile the people who killed your husband. There’s nothing I want more than to catch them. What did your husband tell you last night?”
“He told me he was sleeping with a student, that things had gotten out of control, and he’d tried to stop it, but she was threatening him.”
“Did he mention a name?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything about his plans today?”
“What plans?”
I motioned to JT. “He called Agent Thomas last night, telling us he had information relating to our case. Did he say anything about that to you?”
“Nothing.” She picked up the framed photograph and traced the image of his face with her index finger. “I feel like I didn’t even know him—that the man I’d married, the man I loved, wasn’t real. I wonder if he even loved me. Or the boys.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“Then why’d he sleep with her? Why’d he do it?”
“I wish I could tell you. Did he ever mention the name ‘Jia Wu’?”
“Yes. She’s one of his star students. . . .” Mrs. Hollerbach’s eyes widened. “Is she . . . Is she the little tramp who was threatening my husband?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why? Was there more than one?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that question.
Mrs. Hollerbach took my silence as a response. “There was?” She clapped her hands over her face and sobbed. The sound seemed to knife into my gut. I felt useless as I stood next to her, wishing I could say something that might give her some comfort. “How many?”
“I don’t know if there were more or not. And even if I did, I don’t think telling you would be helpful right now.”
“Yes, yes, it would.” She put the picture back where it was, then knocked it facedown. “If I can hate him, maybe it won’t hurt so much.” She turned those watery, tear-filled eyes to me and wrapped her arms around herself. “Help me hate him. Will you, please? Tell me my husband was a cheating pedophile. Maybe then I’ll be able to live with this hell.” She clapped her hands over her mouth, smothering the sobs. Shoulders shaking, she cried. She swore. She cried some more.
I had no words; I merely shook my head. When she stopped crying, I asked, “Will you please allow us to search your home for clues? Sooner or later, you’re going to want answers. Maybe not now, but later. I would like to give you those answers when you’re ready.”
She stared at me.
“Please.”
“Fine. Go ahead. Dig through all our secrets.” Her hands curled, cupping her upper arms. “What the hell? Everyone knows my husband was a psycho, anyway. Right?” She stomped away, shutting herself in a bathroom.
I returned to JT, who’d been watching from a safe distance. “She didn’t give me any names, but she did give us the go-ahead to search the house.”
“Good. Excellent work, Skye.” JT waved at Forrester; and when he had his attention, he gave him a thumbs-up sign. A few minutes later, a team flooded the house.
“Now what?” I asked.
“I say we step aside and let the BPD do their job here. I’d like to head over to the school and see if there’s anything interesting in his classroom.”
“You really think he was careless enough to leave something in his desk drawer?”
“I’ve heard of weirder things happening.”
JT gave Forrester a departing wave, saying, “Call us when you have something.”
Walking together, we headed out to my car. We were at the school within minutes, checking in with the principal. We were told Hollerbach’s classroom was empty—they hadn’t had enough advance notice to call in a substitute, so the students in his class had been combined with another. We were free to search his things, and we were the first to have the chance.
JT led the way back to the classroom. Once we were shut in, he rubbed his hands together. “If you were a teacher, having illicit affairs with your students, where would you hide the evidence?”
“Nowhere. I wouldn’t have an affair with my students,” I said, squelching a shiver of disgust.
“Yes, of course, you wouldn’t. But our job is to think like a criminal. So that’s what we need to do.”
“Fine.” I glanced around the room. “It wouldn’t be somewhere any students might stumble upon it. Or administrators. Or the janitor. Which leaves . . . nowhere. We’re wasting our time here.”
“Hmm.” JT was standing next to the door, visually searching the room. His gaze snapped to the storage cabinet standing against the wall, behind Hollerbach’s desk. He tried it. “Locked.”
“Someone must have a key.” At Hollerbach’s desk, I tried a drawer. The top two opened. Not the third, the largest at the bottom. “This drawer’s also locked.”
JT headed for the exit. “I’ll check with the office, see if they have copies.”
“I’ll keep looking.” Pulling Hollerbach’s chair back, I sat in his seat and stared out across the expanse of empty desks. There was a time when I’d considered teaching. I’d decided it wasn’t for me years ago, after tutoring a nice but not very bright student named Patty Eccles. But, with the rising doubt in my suitability for the FBI, I might reconsider. Teaching might have its moments. Then again, recalling that situation with Derik Sutton, I thought maybe not.
Using care not to disturb Hollerbach’s belongings too much, I rummaged through the top drawer. Not much there: some pens, pencils, whiteboard dry-erase markers, chalk, scientific calculator, lots of pads of unused sticky notes.
Again, feeling as though we were wasting time, I searched the second drawer too. All I found were teacher things . . . and a stash of protein bars and Doritos.
JT returned just as I was wrapping up my search. “It seems Hol
lerbach’s keys have gone missing. The janitor’s on his way down to see if he can break into the cabinet.”
“Interesting.”
JT and I kept ourselves busy until the custodian came in; he was armed with a screwdriver. He pried. He cussed a little. And then he shook his head. “I can’t damage it.”
I checked the hinges. They were hidden. No way to pop them off and get in that way. “I guess we’re out of luck.”
JT called Forrester and told him we were on the hunt for a set of keys. He “uh-huhed” a few times, then clicked off. “Forrester has some keys for us to try. Let’s run over and grab them.”
“I could stay here and keep working.”
“No.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes. I can lock the classroom door.”
He stared at me and sighed.
“I can get a lot finished while you’re gone. Look, I can search through those papers.” I pointed at the mountain on the shelf under the window.
He sighed again. “But what if—”
“I’ll be fine. I can lock the door. Nobody but Principal Glover knows I’m here.”
“Okay. But don’t leave this room. Not for anything.”
I raised my hand, as if swearing in. “You have my word.” After locking the door behind JT, I pulled a chair up to the shelf under the window, and started flipping through the stack of graded student papers. A few minutes passed, and a doorknob rattled. Assuming it was JT, I glanced up.
Derik Sutton.
How did he get in here?
“I thought I saw you,” he said, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Couldn’t stay away from me, could you?”
“I’m here on official business, and you need to leave.”
His eyes sharpened. “What official business?”
“You need to go now.” I slid my hand into my purse, fishing for my phone. That was it, I needed to buy a clip-on phone holder, something to keep it closer at hand. Today.
He took a few steps closer. “You look scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Are you sure?” He stepped closer still.
“How did you get in here? The door’s locked.”
He thumbed over his shoulder, at the door I hadn’t noticed before now. “This one wasn’t locked.”