Her face impassive, with just a touch of disdain, Lucy entered the interview room.
“Elise Hansen,” she said with a small smile. She sat down across from the teenager and made a point of looking her over and nodding. “You look well.”
She looked much younger without all the makeup. Her bleached-blond hair had started to grow out, revealing dark-blond roots. She looked almost innocent.
This girl didn’t have an innocent bone in her body.
“So do you,” Elise said with a half smile. “I knew you’d be back, Agent Kincaid. Lucy, right? Lucy Kincaid.” She had a sparkle in her eye. She was already enjoying the conversation, in the I have a secret you don’t kind of way. “Where’s my lawyer?”
“I’m not here about your case. I have some questions relating to another matter and was hoping you’d answer them.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Elise shrugged. Curiosity shone in her eyes, but she wasn’t going to ask. It was a game, Lucy reminded herself. A game Lucy would have to play if she wanted to get anything useful from Elise.
“There’s really nothing in it for me to help you, is there?”
“I didn’t say I wanted your help. But if you’d like to think of it as helping me, that’s fine.”
Elise leaned forward and spoke very softly. “You know I’m getting out tomorrow.”
“Maybe you will,” Lucy said openly and without anger.
Elise glanced at Lucy’s hands. “You didn’t have that ring on last time you were here. So you’re getting married.”
Lucy mentally hit herself that she hadn’t taken off her engagement ring. Though why would it matter? What could Elise do with the information? Why was Lucy fearful that she knew?
Because, Lucy thought, any personal information Elise had could be used against her.
“I wanted to share some information,” Lucy said, ignoring the comment about her ring.
Elise grinned. “Really? Out of the kindness of your heart? You think I’m that naive?”
“I don’t think you’re naive at all, Elise.”
“So spill.”
“Tobias helped a former DEA agent escape from custody yesterday,” Lucy said.
“Huh.” No other reaction. Not even curiosity. “What’s it to me?”
“Why not you?”
“Me?”
“He left you here.”
She laughed. “I’m not going to be here much longer. I’m getting out tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
“Do you know Nicole Rollins?”
There was a sparkle in her eye. She wanted Lucy to know that she knew Nicole. “Nicole who?”
Lucy said quietly, “You know exactly who I’m talking about. She works with Tobias. In fact, I think she’s in charge of the entire operation and your brother—if Tobias really is your brother—works for her.”
Elise smiled. “Girls are smarter than boys. Most of them, anyway.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. She watched Elise, waiting for her to continue.
Elise didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with chatter. She stared back at Lucy, not intimidated in the least. Lucy didn’t expect her to be and let the silence hang.
Lucy was very good at the cold facade. She could sit here all day. And she’d given Elise enough to make her curious. If Elise wasn’t curious, she, too, would have sat there and stared all day. But curiosity … it might be Elise’s only weakness.
Elise spoke first, her lips curved into a half-smile.
“I’ve learned a lot in the last two weeks, Agent Kincaid. I learned that my behavior is a result of abuse I suffered as a child. Abuse I barely remember. I learned that I sell my body as a way to gain the love and affection I never had as a little girl. There’s hope for me, Lucy.”
She was lying. Sitting there regurgitating whatever her shrink had told her. She didn’t believe a word of it, but there was no doubt that she could play the role for a judge and jury.
“Elise, you’re not getting out. You’ll be locked up for a long, long time.”
Elise leaned forward and dipped her head slightly, so her hair fell in front of her face. She whispered so quietly that Lucy doubted the recording could pick up the words, though Lucy heard them very clearly. “You are wrong, Lucy. Very, very wrong.”
Then tears slipped out of her eyes, completely unexpectedly, and for a split second Lucy was surprised. She had interviewed suspects who could fake emotion, who could force themselves to cry, but not so spontaneously.
“Why would you say that to me?” Elise said.
“What do you think I said?”
“That you want to lock me away forever and ever.”
“I didn’t say that, Elise.” She kept her voice calm, reminding herself that Elise was acting for the camera.
“You hate me. Why are you so mean?” Her voice rose. “What did I ever do to you?”
Voices outside the door distracted Lucy, and then the door opened.
Dr. Barbara Oakley stormed in. “Agent Kincaid! I did not give you permission to speak with my patient.”
“She has information regarding an ongoing investigation.”
Oakley walked over to Elise and squatted next to her. “Elise, I’m going to take you back to your room, okay?”
Elise sobbed and nodded. “I’m sorry, Dr. Oakley. I wanted to help, really, b-b-but I don’t know what she wants from me! I don’t want to be locked up. I don’t want to die in jail. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong!”
Her voice was pained, in anguish, a complete reversal from five minutes ago. Certainly, when Lucy showed Dr. Oakley the recording, she’d see that Elise was manipulating her and the system.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Elise. This is not your fault. We’ll talk about this later.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Elise repeated.
Dr. Oakley ordered the guard to unlock the restraints and take Elise to her office. As soon as Elise left, Oakley turned to Lucy. “I’m filing a complaint with your superiors.”
“That was an act,” Lucy said. “She’s manipulating you.”
Oakley stared at Lucy, her eyes wide and full of rage. “I’ve been a psychiatrist for longer than you’ve been alive, and have worked with juvenile criminals for the past decade. You have no idea what Elise Hansen has suffered. Yes, she’s manipulative. She’s had to be in order to survive. Do you even understand what girls like Elise have lived through? The abuse, the rapes, the complete devaluing as a human being? I’ve worked daily, for two weeks, to get her to open up to me, and we’ve made great progress based on mutual trust and understanding. You set us back. She’s terrified of being locked up.”
“That girl is scared of nothing,” Lucy snapped.
Hans Vigo walked in and said, “Dr. Oakley, I’m Dr. Hans Vigo with the FBI.”
“And you’re responsible for this? Who do you think you are? Have you ever worked with abused children? I’ll be taking this up with your superior as well, Dr. Vigo. Let me make this perfectly clear: Elise Hansen is under my care, as a patient and as a ward of the court. Neither of you is allowed to speak with her again unless both myself and her lawyer are present. Your actions show complete disdain for the plight of victims and is on its face a gross abuse of power.”
Lucy rarely lost her temper, but the control she’d exhibited during her brief conversation with Elise disappeared. “Elise Hansen is a cold-blooded killer who is not afraid of anything or anyone. You should have your license revoked if you can’t even see the sociopath right in front of you.”
She was shaking. Why had she said anything? She should have walked out.
Lucy glanced at Hans and saw that he was just as surprised by her outburst as she was. She opened her mouth to apologize to Oakley, but the doctor said, “Elise will get the care she needs to help her cope with the trauma that has been her life for the past sixteen years. Your lack of compassion is terrifying, Agent Kincaid.”
>
Hans handed Oakley his card. “Please call me, Dr. Oakley, and I’ll straighten this matter out.”
She took his card but didn’t look at it. She slipped it into her pocket. “There is nothing to straighten out,” she said and left.
“Lucy,” Hans began.
“I screwed up.” So much for her icy exterior. When had she become such a hothead? It wasn’t like her.
“You handled Elise just right. We’ll talk about Dr. Oakley later—you should have let me handle her, but it’s done.” He held out her cell phone. “It’s been vibrating nonstop for the last fifteen minutes.”
She took her phone. There were numerous missed calls and messages from Brad, Ryan, Zach, and one from ASAC Abigail Durant.
She called Durant first. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I was interviewing Elise Hansen at the jail.”
“Samantha Archer was shot to death in her house. Zach Charles will send you the address—Agent Quiroz is already en route with Agent Donnelly. Our office is handling the investigation.”
Her stomach twisted. “Rollins.”
“Be careful, Agent Kincaid. Put Dr. Vigo on the phone.”
Lucy handed the phone to Hans. He didn’t say anything for a minute, then said, “I understand. I’ll call you back.” He handed the phone back to Lucy. “She wants me to take lead as the highest-ranking agent. SAC Ritz Naygrow is on his way—he’s in McAllen and won’t be back until later this afternoon. How well did you know Samantha Archer?”
“I worked with her during Operation Heatwave, but I didn’t know her well.”
“Then you’ll be okay walking through the scene?”
“Yes,” she replied. Why had Nicole killed Sam Archer? As a threat? As payback? She was bold, vindictive, brazen. Nothing seemed to faze her—just like Elise.
“Even the smartest criminals are caught,” Hans said, as if reading her mind.
But when? Her sister-in-law Kate had been after Trask, the man who had killed Kate’s partner, for over five years. He’d continued raping and murdering women for not only his own pleasure, but also the pleasure of the sickos who paid to watch the violence. He’d killed his first woman when he was eighteen, and he hadn’t stopped until Lucy killed him twenty years later. Trask had been smart and ruthless and evil.
Just like Nicole Rollins.
What if they couldn’t find her? What if she eluded their manhunt? Lucy would never have peace, not knowing when Nicole would go after her—or someone she loved.
She turned to Hans. “And some get away with murder for years.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucy, Nate, and Hans arrived at Sam Archer’s quasi-suburban house only fifteen minutes after Lucy spoke to Durant. The street was blocked off at both ends. Security was tight and all identification scrutinized.
Brad and Ryan stood next to the tactical van talking to a short, grim man in a pale-gray suit that matched his hair. Though Lucy had never met him before, she recognized the DEA Special-Agent-in-Charge Edward Moody from his photos.
“I’ll handle Moody and keep Agent Donnelly outside,” Hans said. “You walk through the scene.”
“Is ERT here yet?” Lucy asked. Protocol dictated that ERT process the evidence once the crime scene was secured.
“Before this place becomes a zoo, I want your initial assessment. Get into their heads, Lucy. The victim and the killer.”
She nodded, but inside her gut twisted.
What did Nicole want? Why act so smart, plan a brilliant escape, then risk exposure in order to kill one person? Of course—just because Sam was dead didn’t mean Nicole pulled the trigger herself. She could have sent Joseph Contreras to do it—the man they suspected had broken Congresswoman Worthington’s neck.
After the two cops cleared them, Lucy and Nate approached the threshold of Sam Archer’s house. Lucy slipped on gloves and handed Nate a pair. “Don’t touch anything,” she said. “But just in case.”
Steeling herself against death, Lucy stepped inside.
Sam’s house was neat. Cluttered, but not messy. A wide entry. A living and dining room that were scarcely used. A generic house in a generic neighborhood, but Sam had added a few personal touches. Color on the walls, art that didn’t quite fit with the decor but was fun, as if she’d picked it because she liked it, not because it matched her furniture. Straight ahead was a great room, with the kitchen, eating nook, and family room flowing into large windows that looked out at a small, peanut-shaped swimming pool. Trees shielded most of Sam’s yard from her neighbors, but the surrounding houses could be seen through the leaves.
It was a spacious, comfortable house for a single, professional woman.
Sam clearly lived in the great room. Pictures of family and friends on the walls; books and papers scattered on all available surfaces; dishes rinsed but not washed, stacked in the sink. A collection of whimsical salt- and pepper shakers lined three shelves on a narrow wall that separated the kitchen from the eating area. A full pot of coffee had been brewed—the carafe was still full—but at least two hours had passed since it had been made and the light was off. Lucy felt the side of the pot with the back of her gloved hand. Room temperature, maybe a bit warmer. It had been off for at least an hour, if not longer. It was ten thirty in the morning. Sam started the pot before seven thirty but hadn’t poured a cup.
Hadn’t Sam sent Brad a text message at nine telling him she was running late? Where was her phone? Was she already dead?
She had a meeting at nine at the office. She wouldn’t be late for it—not with the SAC himself coming into town.
She was already dead.
The family room was comfortable and well lived-in with a fireplace on one end and a large-screen television on another wall. A billiard table fit comfortably between the sectional sofa and the wall of windows. Cushions were scattered around the room—and so were clothes. Women’s clothes, including a bra and panties.
Sam had a man here last night.
Nate saw the same thing Lucy saw, but he didn’t comment.
A large, wide hall separated the front of the house from the back. Lucy walked down the middle, Nate three feet ahead of her, checking doorways though the house had already been cleared by responding officers. He was silent, listening as she listened to the sounds of cops outside, trucks and cars and the occasional whirl of a siren cutting through the idyllic middle-class development. There was a den on the right—with a computer and files. “Whoever killed her could have had time to access anything in here,” Lucy said, mostly to herself.
She was glad when Nate didn’t talk. She didn’t want a conversation. She was absorbing the scene, the setting, the house. Picturing Sam Archer, a forty-something professional. A woman as well as a federal agent.
Two large bedrooms were unused—one had been converted into a weight room, the other was a guest room. Both had their own bathrooms. Neither appeared disturbed, but that would be up to ERT to determine.
The master suite was at the end of the wide hall. Lucy paused for a minute outside the open door. Her heart was racing because she knew that Sam Archer was dead inside. She grounded herself. Yes, she knew Sam Archer; she liked the woman. But Sam was a victim now. Sam needed Lucy to give her justice.
Lucy opened her eyes and stepped over the threshold.
The first thing she saw was a king-sized bed. The comforter was on the floor. The sheets were tangled at the foot, and all pillows had been used. Sam could simply be a restless sleeper, but more likely the man who removed her clothing in the family room was the same man who slept in this bed.
Sam could very well have been killed by someone she knew.
She walked over to the bed.
“Lucy,” Nate said quietly.
She ignored him. There was something familiar in the air—a scent. She smelled blood but didn’t see any in here. She focused on the scent of perfume.
Not perfume. Cologne. Distinctive.
She knew who’d spent the night with Sam Archer.
“Lucy—�
� Nate began.
“Shh,” she said. Conversation would distract her.
She crossed the master bedroom and stopped at the doorway to the bathroom.
Sam was dead on the stone tile floor just outside the shower. A green towel, stained dark with blood, lay on the tile next to her. She was naked.
She’d been surprised by her killer.
Didn’t she have a security system? If so, had she neglected to turn it on? Had the killer disabled it? Or did the killer know the code?
Sam’s blood snaked through the grout for several feet. Soaking in, staining the porous material.
Sam’s right knee was a bloody mess. She’d been shot in the stomach, then the head.
Lucy turned abruptly and bumped into Nate.
“Are you okay?”
“Nicole Rollins killed her.”
“That’s what we think, but—”
“I know. Nicole came herself to kill her—and she wants us to know it was her.” She turned back to face the bathroom. She looked at the blood spatter patterns. She wasn’t a blood spatter expert, but she knew enough about patterns as well as human physiology to know that Sam had been shot in the knee first.
“Nicole stood here and waited for Sam to be done in the shower. Sam stepped out—reached for the towel—maybe she saw something, or maybe Nicole spoke. But Nicole faced her naked. Sam had no place to go. Trapped. Nicole had a silencer.”
“How do you know?”
“Because no one called about hearing gunshots. She was killed hours ago, people would have been home. This is a family neighborhood, the lots aren’t large. Someone would have heard something.”
Lucy continued. “Nicole shot Sam in the knee as soon as Sam saw her.” Lucy gestured to a bloody handprint on the bathtub, a pool on the floor several feet from where Sam’s body now lay. “Sam fell to the floor. Touched her knee, or the ground, tried to pull herself up on the bathtub.”
“How—”
She put up her hand to silence him. She couldn’t have doubts now, not now. This was what she did. This was what she was good at, why Hans wanted her to see the scene fresh.
No Good Deed Page 18