by CJ Lyons
He shrugged, studying an antique map hanging on the wall. “We working this with Burroughs? How about the DEA, stepping on their toes?” His voice held a tone of caution. With good reason. Walden knew a clusterfuck waiting to happen when he saw one.
Lucy didn’t answer him. Instead she propped herself up on Raziq’s desk, the dagger still in her hand. “No pictures of his family. Out in the public area they’re arranged like trophies. But here, in his inner sanctum,” she gestured with the dagger, “nothing of them. He’s surrounded himself with items that prop up his ego and his family isn’t part of that.”
Walden shrugged. “Different culture.”
Maybe. But she’d gotten the same vibe when inside the homes of serial killers and child predators. Living a lie with a public facade very different than who they were in private. She pushed off the desk, returned the dagger to where she’d found it. “I want to talk to Raziq, and before I do I need to learn as much about him as possible. What exactly he did back in the old country, why he came to Pittsburgh, is he working for the DEA, who his enemies are, who his friends are.”
“Only one place to find all that.”
She sighed. “I know. The DEA.”
“What about the girl?”
“Burroughs’ guys will handle that.” Homicide 101, learn everything you could about the victim’s life. “The locals can do a better job of tracing Mina’s footsteps than we can. But this doesn’t feel like a crime targeting a fifteen-year-old girl. This feels like a message. A big, neon light, horse head in the bed kind of message.”
“Speaking of messages,” he said. “There was one from Jenna Galloway on Raziq’s machine. And I found this on the refrigerator.” He handed Lucy a card bearing Jenna’s contact info.
Jenna Galloway was a postal inspector who had been temporarily assigned to Lucy’s SAFE team and worked a case with Lucy last month. Morgan Ames, the teenaged daughter of a serial killer, had captured Jenna, almost burning Jenna alive before escaping arrest.
Lucy had never told anyone of those last moments before Morgan disappeared when Jenna had her weapon aimed at the unarmed girl’s back, ready to pull the trigger until Lucy stopped her.
Turned out Lucy didn’t need to address the issue of Jenna potentially shooting an unarmed juvenile. Jenna had been transferred off Lucy’s squad after failing her psych eval. As far as Lucy knew, Jenna was back working Nigerian mail fraud.
“Why would the DEA be working with the USPIS?” Lucy didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she dialed Jenna’s number. It was a good excuse to check in with Jenna, see how she was dealing with being back to work after what she’d suffered at the hands of Morgan Ames.
She’d tried to reach out to Jenna a few times since Morgan’s escape, but Jenna had rebuffed her. Lucy had a feeling Jenna resented the fact that Lucy had seen her so vulnerable: first outwitted by a teenager, then almost burned alive before Lucy rescued her. Or maybe she just didn’t like it that Lucy stopped her from shooting Morgan in the back.
“Galloway.”
“Jenna, it’s Lucy Guardino. I’m at a homicide scene. Family name is Raziq. We found one of your cards. The father, Rashid, was flagged by an Agent David Haddad of the DEA. Want to fill me in?”
“Shit. Did you say homicide?”
“Raziq’s daughters.”
“Was it another mail bomb? The first one was a dud—planned that way. A warning. Our profile said this guy would escalate. But Raziq declined protective custody.” That explained the Postal Service’s involvement: investigating and profiling letter bombers was their territory.
“No. Not a mail bomb. Raziq refused to talk to the local police and I haven’t interviewed him yet.”
Jenna grunted. “He won’t talk to you. Maybe Walden if he’s with you. Guy doesn’t trust women. Or local cops. Will only deal with David Haddad.”
“We haven’t reached Haddad yet. He’s the case agent?”
“No. He’s a victim. Both he and Raziq have been getting threats via the mail as well as Internet. We’ve chased leads from Afghanistan to Iran to China. Between the two of them, they have a lot of enemies overseas. Still not sure who’s behind them, but I’m narrowing things down.” She said the last on a superior note as if waiting for Lucy to congratulate her investigative brilliance. Typical Jenna.
“Haddad’s working the case and he’s the victim?” Lucy put the phone on speaker as she and Walden headed through the dining room to the front door.
“The threats are my case, my jurisdiction, but Raziq is David Haddad’s pet project. Guy’s providing DEA with tons of info, bringing down smuggling routes across Asia and the Mid East. Besides, you know the DEA. Bunch of hotshot control freaks. I’m lucky David shares anything with me on my own freakin’ case.”
Lucy really didn’t care about the complexities of interdepartmental cooperation as long as they pointed a finger to the animals who’d butchered two young girls.
Leaning against the door, she slipped her shoe covers off, her gaze once again caught by the small bloody handprint. “You’d better get over here. Bring everything you have.”
She expected Jenna to balk. But even Jenna knew the murders of two innocent girls took priority over the Postal Service case. “I’m on my way.”
Lucy hung up. “I think it’s time I met Mr. Raziq.”
<><><>
Jenna Galloway threw her cellphone to the kitchen countertop of her Regent Square loft. Damn, she’d just walked in the door from work and had plans for this evening. Didn’t Saint Lucy know it was a Friday night? There were drinks to be drunk, men to be fucked. Not necessarily in that order.
Swearing under her breath, she glanced around the wide-open living space of the brick-walled loft. She was tempted to keep Saint Lucy waiting. After all, the woman had gotten Jenna kicked off her squad with that rigged psych eval, then had the gall to call and order Jenna to do her bidding, like Jenna was some kind of peon. Never asked, Hey, how you doing after that psycho-bitch Morgan Ames almost killed you? Never apologized for dragging Jenna into that damned case in the first place.
Just, get your butt over here.
But two girls. Dead. She’d seen their picture when she visited the Raziq household last week. Cute kids. She’d warned David and Raziq. Arrogant prick—Raziq, not David. David was okay, just sometimes not as with it as she’d like. No wonder the DEA had him on babysitting duty.
She put her coat back on and re-pocketed her phone. It rang again just as she was grabbing her bag with her laptop inside. The caller ID read: Lucy Guardino. “I said I was on my way.”
A young woman’s voice answered. “Sure you don’t want a drink first? I left one out for you—it’s on your dresser beside your lipstick. Too bad you won’t have a chance to wear the outfit I picked out. I made sure it was easy on, easy off.”
“Morgan.” Jenna bit back expletives along with the urge to hurl the phone against the living room’s exposed brick wall. The bitch was always spoofing familiar numbers to get Jenna to pick up at all hours of the day and night. Last night it’d been a call at three-thirty in the morning, supposedly from Jenna’s mother.
She’d just added a security system—nothing too fancy, she actually hoped to some day catch the darling little psychopath in action—thinking she’d have a few days privacy away from Morgan’s prying eyes and ears and hands all over Jenna’s stuff.
“Don’t you ever get tired of watching?” Jenna asked as she walked into the bedroom. As promised, Morgan had left a tumbler of bourbon on the dresser and Jenna's favorite low-cut black dress and fuck-me heels on the bed. “I’d think a girl like you would want to come out and play in person.”
“Don’t worry, you’re on my to-do list. Just not at the top. Besides, I’d miss our little chats.”
Little chats that came day and night, interrupting Jenna when she was working, sleeping, eating. And people wondered why she’d started drinking and picking up men. It was the only way to get Morgan out of her head for at least a little w
hile.
Jenna carried the tumbler out to the kitchen, dumped its contents—who knew what fun stuff Morgan had added?—and rinsed it out before putting it in the dishwasher.
“We can chat all you want as soon as I have you behind bars,” she told Morgan in a falsely chipper tone.
It was damned hard work trying to track and trap a psychopath like Morgan. She might not be very old, but she was cunning. A few times Jenna had come close to nabbing her while Morgan was stalking Lucy, but every time Morgan had slipped away.
Saint Lucy didn’t have a clue Morgan was obsessed with her. But Jenna knew Morgan would never let Lucy go—not after Lucy had caught Morgan’s serial killer father and ended Morgan’s fun. Jenna had watched Lucy for almost two weeks before she spotted Morgan. Unfortunately, Morgan had also spotted her and pulled Jenna into her web of deceit.
In addition to tormenting Jenna day and night with phone calls and text messages, Morgan invaded Jenna’s home on a routine basis. She also sent Jenna anonymous photos of Lucy and Lucy’s family, daring Jenna to warn Lucy and send Morgan on a killing spree.
Jenna had forged a desperate pact with Morgan: the teen psychopath looked without touching while Jenna hunted her without telling Lucy the truth about the danger she and her family were in. It was a race to the finish. The only question was: who would be left standing in the end?
“Don’t you feel guilty?” Morgan asked as if she could follow Jenna’s thoughts. “Using Lucy as bait? She’s your friend, right? I never had a friend like that. Her daughter is almost my age, I’ll bet she’d make a good friend.”
“We talked about this,” Jenna said, her tone reminding her of her own mother’s. She hated when Morgan got all adolescent whiny on her, but it was better than when she acted superior and played power games. Everything was a game with Morgan, you just had to understand what the rules were. Playing the game was the only leverage Jenna had with Morgan, which didn’t leave her much in a way of trump cards. “You go near Lucy’s daughter, I’ll end this. You’ll never get near Lucy then.”
Lucy could take care of herself. But no way would Jenna jeopardize Megan. Even if Megan's mother had almost gotten Jenna killed.
“Maybe.” Morgan’s pout carried through the airwaves loud and clear. “But I get so bored just watching you trying to find me. Really, Jenna, you’re a trained federal agent. Can’t you find one little girl? I think you have been drinking too much. And all those men, a different one every night. Did you tell Lucy’s husband about them at any of your sessions? He’s so dreamy. I wish he were my doctor.”
Jenna’s stomach clenched. She’d begun seeing Nick Callahan after failing her psych eval as a way to keep tabs on him—and through him, Lucy. He thought he was treating Jenna for Post Traumatic Stress, but really, Jenna was treating herself with booze and sex. Dangerous, spontaneous, anonymous sex. So much better than talking. Especially about her feelings.
Now Morgan was taking that away from her. “You want me to stop going out?”
“I feel so lonely. If you don’t start paying more attention to me, I might need to visit those men you hook up with. Show them my pretty knife collection.”
“Okay.” Jenna hated giving in to Morgan’s manipulations but what choice did she have? “If you promise to stay away from Lucy’s daughter.” For some warped reason, Morgan prided herself on her integrity. She'd once told Jenna her brutal honesty was what separated Morgan from the rest of the world. It was the only weapon Jenna had to use on her. "Promise?"
"Yes. I promise. If you hold up your end of the bargain." Morgan paused and Jenna could sense she was deciding which tactic to torture Jenna with next.
"I really need to go." She tried a pre-emptive strike. "Lucy's waiting for me."
"I heard." Morgan didn't sound upset by Jenna's attempt to regain control. Always a bad sign. "Your letter bomber. Think you'll catch him? Finally make your grandfather proud?"
Jenna sucked in her breath, caught off guard. Her grandfather had been dead for fifteen years. And if Morgan had linked him to letter bombs, then she must know the whole story. How an anonymous bomber who was never caught had targeted the Judge. The fact that he hadn't died right away, it had taken over a year for him to finally succumb after being left in a persistent vegetative state.
It was all a matter of public record, Jenna told herself. Didn't mean that Morgan had any real insight. Just a bunch of facts she could wield like scalpels, re-opening old wounds.
Jenna passed the mirror in her foyer, automatically checked her hair and make up. Her eyes looked puffy, her red hair dull, and her cheeks sunken—probably not a bad idea to cut back on the all night partying. Not that she’d get any more sleep playing Morgan’s game, but she’d be one step closer to ending all this.
At first she’d been content fantasizing about Morgan behind bars, locked up for life. Lately though, her fantasies had been of the moment when she had Morgan in the sights of her pistol, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot her in the back before she could escape.
In her dreams Lucy didn’t stop her. Jenna pulled the trigger. Over and over and over again, emptying the gun. Morgan’s body jerked like a puppet with its strings cut, arms flailing, crumpling to the ground, a stream of crimson pouring from her. The fantasy was beginning to feel more real than this sleepwalk existence the rest of the world called life.
Jenna slid her hand in front of her face, blocking out her blue eyes and most of her hair in the mirror. She lowered her hand like closing a blind, blanking her expression to a professional neutral. Better. Saint Lucy could see way too much when she read a person’s face. Jenna grabbed her coat and bag.
“I’ve got to go,” she told Morgan, setting boundaries. Or trying to. “We’ll talk later.”
“Of course. I can't wait to hear all about your grandfather. Tell Lucy I'm thinking about her.” Morgan hung up before Jenna could manage a retort.
Jenna slammed the door behind her, double checking the locks and alarm. Morgan was always thinking about Lucy. But her words held new menace tonight. Plus she’d said she was bored—not a good combination.
Jenna sighed, shoulders hunched as she ran down the stairs to her car. At least she’d be with Lucy tonight where she could keep an eye out for Morgan.
Then maybe this would all be over. Morgan caught—or killed, a quiet voice whispered in Jenna’s head—Lucy safe thanks to Jenna, Jenna a hero.
Was that too much to ask?
Chapter 5
Lucy walked across the street and down the block to the patrol car holding Rashid Raziq. Curtains rustled in windows of houses as she passed—homeowners wondering how violence had come to choose their street. Worried if their families were safe. Or maybe it was just plain morbid curiosity, that primal instinct to turn and stare at danger even as you ran from it.
She introduced herself to the patrolman watching over Raziq. Burroughs must have cleared her because he nodded as soon as she said her name. Or it could be that her reputation preceded her—she’d been a bit unlucky these past few months, receiving a lot of unwanted media attention. “Has he said anything?”
“No. Wanted to make some calls but Burroughs had me take his phone before he could. After that, he just kinda sat, rolling those prayer beads between his fingers, mumbling in Arabic or something.”
He opened the car door and gestured for Raziq to get out. Raziq looked up, eyes sharp, jaw set, as if expecting an attack. But then he focused on Lucy and his expression softened.
He was in his forties, dressed in an expensive suit, black or navy blue, she couldn’t tell in the limited light, with a white shirt and conservative dark tie pulled tight to hide the missing top button. Dark hair, neatly trimmed beard, dark eyes that wouldn’t meet hers at first. When he stood he was only a few inches taller than her own five-five, yet his posture was one of a man accustomed to intimidating others, being obeyed.
No sign of the distraught out of control man Burroughs had described. Except for the tearstains, wet against t
he collar of his otherwise impeccable shirt. His hand was fisted tight around a set of ebony prayer beads.
Contradictions. Just like inside his home. Not a man easily understood.
Lucy offered her credentials, hoping to build some trust. “Mr. Raziq, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Guardino from the FBI. I’m very sorry for your loss. What did Detective Burroughs tell you?”
He nodded. Not to her but to the official seal on her ID, as if satisfied she was high enough rank to be worthy of his attention. She stood so he had his back to his house and he never once tried to turn to look at it. Instead he faced her, square on.
“The police told me nothing. Other than my daughters were dead.”
Interesting. Already using the past tense. “Yes sir. I’m afraid both Badria and Mina are dead.”
“Who did this to my family? Have you caught the man yet?”
“No, sir. Do you have any ideas? Is there anyone who might want to harm your daughters?”
“Only that boy she took up with.” He spat out the words, looking away and down at the ground as if he might physically spit as well. Lucy noticed he didn’t use Mina’s name.
“We’re looking into that. I understand you’ve been receiving some threats lately?” Funny how Raziq immediately blamed the boyfriend instead of whoever was behind the threats and mail bomb. Guilt? Or deflection?
“Yes. They’re nothing.”
“I was told one of them was a letter bomb?”
He glared at her. “In my country, if we send you a bomb you are not alive to discuss it afterwards. This man, he is a coward, a fool. He had nothing to do with this, this attack on my family.”
“Do you have any idea who this man sending the threats could be?”