“Caucasian female, midtwenties, still working on an ID,” she said.
“You caught the case?”
“No, but I happened to be in the area. It’s Montoya’s.”
Reed looked over the building. It was old and poorly maintained, judging by the chipping paint and sagging second-story gutters. Just inside the door stood a cluster of uniformed officers.
“Jesus, what’s with the crowd?”
Jordan glanced inside. “Slow night. Plus, it went out over the scanner.” She looked at him. “The first responder’s new.”
Reed shook his head. It would have been much better if the responding officer had kept things over the phone, at least initially. It would have given investigators a jump on the media, who would no doubt be arriving soon.
“Where’s Jay?” Reed asked.
“In the bedroom.”
Jordan moved aside, and Reed stepped into a moldy-smelling living room. A faded blue sofa sat beside a plastic patio table. No lamps in the room, and the only light was provided by a dim ceiling fixture. He glanced at the kitchen, where a CSI was dusting the refrigerator door for prints.
Jay squeezed past the two uniforms milling in the hallway and walked over. “Montoya’s about to kick everyone out so the gurney can get through.”
“He’s in the bedroom?”
Jay nodded. “Victim’s in bed. Clothes torn off, duct tape, the whole thing.”
“Blunt-force trauma?”
“That’s right. And I talked to Montoya. He caught the case, but I think he’ll toss it to us if we think it’s related.”
“It’s related.”
“That’s my take, too. You seen the back door?”
“No.” Reed glanced down the dark hallway as Montoya’s voice echoed from the bedroom.
“Everyone out,” he bellowed. “Unless you got a body bag or an evidence kit, I need you on the other side of the scene tape.”
Reed looked at Jay. “Where are we?”
“ME’s guys have been here a while. They’re fixing to roll. Veronica’s on the back steps now, examining the door.”
“What about a computer? Or a tablet or even a cell phone?”
“No phone. Not that we’ve found yet, anyway.” Jay glanced over Reed’s shoulder, and his brow furrowed. “Damn, who invited the mayor’s people?”
Reed turned around and spotted about the last person he wanted to see right now. His ex-wife stood in the doorway arguing with Jordan. She was tall and slim, with a cascade of thick dark hair that hung down her back. As always when she argued, she did it with a slight smile and a gleam in her eye.
Reed muttered a curse.
“You were asking about computers,” Jay said. “There’s a desk in the bedroom with a laptop on it—”
“Get it,” Reed said. “Make sure the photog documents it, and then bring it out here. I have Laney with me.”
“Laney?”
“Delaney Knox, from the Delphi Center.”
Reed walked over to the doorway, where Jordan now had her arm physically barring the door. Reed’s ex was a head taller, but Jordan didn’t seem intimidated.
Erika’s gaze landed on him. “Reed. Glad to see someone’s in charge here.”
Jordan shot him a look. “I was just explaining that this is a closed crime scene.” She dropped her arm as a parade of bulky officers squeezed past.
Erika stepped back and watched them. Sunday night, and she looked fully put together in a suit and heels, ready for any contingency—such as a briefing with reporters.
“We don’t have a statement yet,” Reed told her. “You’ll be the first to know.”
She smiled sweetly. “Could I have a moment, please? In private?”
Reed eased past Jordan and stepped onto the patch of weeds that constituted the building’s landscaping.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Erika asked in a low voice.
“It’s not my case.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Professional curiosity.”
She gave him a baleful look. Then she glanced over his shoulder as another uniform exited the apartment. “Tell me this isn’t related to the other one.”
“I’ve been here ten minutes, Erika. I can’t tell you jack shit.”
“Do you guys at least have a suspect yet?”
“We’re working on it. Obviously. When there’s something more to tell you, we will.”
“The mayor is getting concerned, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I am.”
“Great. Then you’re also aware that in three weeks about forty thousand students will be descending on this city. And their parents are not happy to know there’s a murderer on the loose.”
“Yo, Reed.”
He turned around to see Jay motioning him inside.
“Stay here,” he told Erika, stepping back into the apartment to find Laney standing at the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. He wasn’t sure how she’d slipped in, but she seemed to have a knack for getting in and out of places discreetly. She had a laptop computer open in front of her, and her latex-gloved hands flew over the keyboard.
“It’s password protected,” Jay said. “I don’t know how she’s going to get in.”
Reed looked over Laney’s shoulder. The screen was flat blue with lines of code scrolling up. “We still need a name?”
“Affirmative,” Jay said. “The neighbors say this apartment’s being sublet for the summer. We haven’t tracked down the lease holder yet. We’re running vehicle tags in the parking lot.”
“Detective.”
Erika was standing beside the uniform who was guarding the door now. The man was doing an admirable job of keeping her outside. It helped that he was built like a tank.
Reed walked over as she pulled her phone from her pocket and checked a message.
“You have to give me something,” she said. “You know I can’t call Bob with nothing.”
“Tell him to call the chief.”
“The chief doesn’t know anything. That’s why I’m here talking to you.”
“I’m in.”
He darted a look at Laney and returned to the bar to watch as a personalized desktop appeared on the computer screen. The desktop background was a candid photo of a smiling blonde with her arms around the neck of a golden retriever.
“How’d you crack that so fast?” Jay asked.
“It was a simple key walk.”
“Key walk?”
“C-D-E-three-two-W-S-X.” She shifted so Reed and Jay could view the keyboard. “See? It’s one of the more common passwords.”
Jay gave Reed a look that said holy shit, and Reed had to agree. She ran circles around the computer techs back at the station.
Reed touched her shoulder. “Nice work.”
“You say you need a name?” She clicked into an email program and skimmed a few outgoing messages. “Looks like . . . Isabella Marshall. Bella for short. I can give you her email.”
“Give us everything you can,” Reed said, and Jay was already taking out a notepad.
“It’s a dot edu.” Her gaze met Reed’s. “Looks like she’s a student.”
Reed leaned closer and read some of the subject lines. He picked up on a legal theme. Maybe she was at the law school. Shit.
Laney was in a blue screen again, and Reed watched lines of code scrolling at dizzying speed.
“What are you—”
“The webcam,” she said. “Looks like . . . we’ve got an anomaly.”
Jay leaned closer. “A what?”
“He’s been spying,” Reed said.
“Same thing I found on April’s system. Where was this laptop recovered?” She looked up at Jay.
“The bedroom.” Jay glanced at Reed, his look dark. “You think she was
on that same dating thing?”
“We’re about to find out,” Laney said.
“Hey, found the phone.”
Reed glanced across the kitchen where a crime-scene tech crouched beside the open refrigerator. He glanced at Reed. “We need the photographer over here.”
“It’s in the fridge?” Jay walked over to take a look. “Weird-ass place for a phone.”
“Not really,” Laney said.
Reed looked at her. She glanced up at him, then returned her attention to the computer screen.
Reed looked back at Erika. She was watching everything from the door, and Reed knew she wouldn’t leave until he gave her something, so he walked over.
“We’ve got a tentative ID on the woman living here,” he said. “I have no idea whether she’s the victim. The ME should be able to tell us within twenty-four hours.”
“Who’s that?” Erika nodded at Laney.
“A cyber investigator.”
“I don’t recognize her.”
“She’s with the Delphi Center.”
Erika studied his face for a moment, then shifted her attention back to Laney.
It was the shoulder pat, damn it.
“She’s cute,” Erika said. “In an alterna-teen kind of way. You seeing her?”
“She’s twenty-four.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Nice.”
Reed stepped back to let a CSI through the doorway.
“Really, I’m happy for you.” Erika pulled out her phone and checked a message. “Anything that gets your mind off work. I sure as hell never managed to do it.”
• • •
It was after eleven when Laney finally left. Reed was still tied up, and one of his coworkers had offered her a ride home. The woman was polite but brisk, and Laney appreciated that she didn’t try to talk Laney’s ear off as she gave her a lift in her unmarked police vehicle.
Laney stared out the window. She couldn’t get the crime scene out of her head. She’d been standing at the bar working on the computer when the medical examiner’s people had removed the body.
Isabella. Bella to her friends. The sight of the body bag being wheeled out had stolen the air from Laney’s lungs. She hadn’t been able to breathe or even move.
Reed had noticed her noticing and asked some meaningless question to distract her. But it was too late. The image was etched into Laney’s mind.
The ID hadn’t been confirmed yet, but Laney felt certain it was Isabella Marshall, twenty-four, a second-year law student at the University of Texas. She’d been in summer school. Based on her email exchanges, she’d apparently spent the weekend with family in Dallas before returning to Austin to study for exams.
No one had said how she’d died, but Laney could guess. It hadn’t been a gunshot. The CSIs had been talking about blood spatter and castoff patterns. And then Laney had seen a pair of detectives—including the big one, Jay—remove the back door from the apartment and load it into the crime-scene van.
The lock had been picked, evidently.
A cold ball formed in Laney’s stomach. She glanced at the woman beside her, Jordan Lowe, a detective who worked with Reed. She was slender and brown haired—pretty in an understated way. She wore a linen blazer over jeans, and Laney noticed the bump at her hip.
“What kind of gun do you carry?”
Jordan glanced over. “Glock twenty-two.”
“You keep it with you all the time?”
“Yep.”
“This is your exit up here.”
She sailed across three lanes without signaling. Traffic was light this time of night.
“Does it feel heavy?” Laney asked.
“Not really. Honestly, when I’m not carrying? That’s when I feel weird. You get used to the weight of it.” Jordan gave her a sidelong glance. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
“You worried about something?”
Laney looked out the window. “Isn’t everyone?”
She didn’t comment right away, and Laney wished she hadn’t brought it up.
“A Glock twenty-three is more compact.” Jordan glanced at her. “You’re petite, so that might be a better bet for you.”
“You’re turning left at the light here.”
“A concealed-carry permit shouldn’t be a problem. If you don’t have a sheet, that is.” She smiled slightly. “Which I assume you don’t, if you’re working for us.”
Laney didn’t answer the implied question.
“There’re some reputable dealers in town. Reed could hook you up.”
Laney didn’t comment. She had no doubt Reed could hook her up. In a lot of ways.
But if she asked him for a favor, that would put him in some kind of power position over her. The idea made Laney uncomfortable. Intensely uncomfortable. She’d never owed a man for anything in her life, and she didn’t want to start with Reed Novak.
Jordan rolled to a stop at the light and glanced at her. “What’s up with you two?”
“Nothing.”
Another faint smile. “He’ll be disappointed to hear that. Reed likes you.”
“How do you know?”
“The way he looks at you. And the way his ex looks at you.”
“His ex?”
“Erika Cowan. The PR flack from the mayor’s office. You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Laney had noticed the woman eyeing her but had thought she was just pissy over being barred from the crime scene. Laney couldn’t picture her with Reed. She seemed too . . . artificial, with her designer suit and her dragon-lady fingernails. How had Reed ended up with her?
But it was obvious, really. How did men end up with anyone? She was built like a Victoria’s Secret model.
“The other way I know?” Jordan looked at her. “Because—no offense—your house is way the hell out of my way. Not that I mind or anything. But normally Reed would have let a uniform drive you home. He asked me because he didn’t want anyone hitting on you.”
They finished the drive in silence. Jordan pulled up to the curb, and Laney pushed open the door.
“Thanks for the ride.” She glanced at Jordan’s gun again. “And for the tip about the Glock.”
“No problem. And you know, for what it’s worth, homicide scenes are always disturbing. It’s a normal reaction.”
Laney watched her drive away, feeling more unsettled than ever.
There was no way she’d be able to sleep. She was wired and hungry and more than a little unnerved. She should make herself a snack and then slide into her computer world where she could lose herself until her head cleared. She pictured that body bag again, and a shudder rippled through her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.
She glanced up and down her block, trying to calm her thoughts. There was no moon tonight, and it was dark but peaceful. Her neighbors’ familiar cars were parked along the street. A warm breeze wafted over her. She turned toward the bright glow of the convenience store on the corner. Still open.
She walked quickly, thinking about Reed again.
He’d said the crimes had a similar MO, but what did that mean, exactly? She knew the details of her own incident, but that was it. News articles about April and Olivia had included little information about the crimes themselves. In April’s case, most of the news coverage focused on the fact that she was young and worked for a local tech company. Olivia’s case was sensational for totally different reasons—the small-town teacher who had disappeared without a trace and the intensive search that failed to yield even a single clue until her skeleton was discovered by hikers.
Laney shuddered again. She picked up her pace and hurried into the squint-inducing brightness of the grocery store. She nodded at the clerk as she stepped inside. He had turquoise ear plugs and a ponytail down his back, and he a
lways reminded Laney to buy a lottery ticket when the pot was big.
She bypassed the “fresh” food section, where brisket sandwiches languished under a heat lamp, opting instead for a frozen pizza and a Raspberry Snapple.
“Ticket tonight?” the clerk asked her.
“No, thanks.”
“Six mil.”
“Ten’s my floor.”
She left the store swigging her tea, buoyed by her purchases. She had dinner now, and probably breakfast, too, and she could work on her computer until her nerves settled.
What she definitely wouldn’t do was stare at her phone all night hoping Reed would call. He wouldn’t—he probably had hours of work ahead of him. And she wouldn’t stare at her door, either, because she definitely did not want him to come over when he was finished.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked it. No messages.
The breeze kicked up again. Moths flitted around the streetlights. Her street was calm and empty, and she couldn’t really account for the sudden queasiness in her stomach.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Nothing.
She scanned both sides of the sidewalk for threats. No shadows between the cars. No dogs barking. No sign of anyone on the street right now, but—
Scrape.
She whirled around.
It had sounded close. Too close. But there was no one there.
She kept walking, focusing on her house, scanning her yard for anything out of place.
Snick.
Her heart did a flip. She glanced around. She quickened her stride and pulled out her phone.
She didn’t have pepper spray or even a purse. She had nothing but a pepperoni pizza and a phone. And, yes, two years of kickboxing under her belt, for all the good that would do her. She wished she had a Glock on her hip. She rushed down the sidewalk, feeling ridiculously paranoid as she neared her house.
“Screw it,” she muttered, breaking into a run. She clutched the pizza to her chest and glanced over her shoulder as she dashed for her door. Relief surged through her as she reached her sidewalk.
An arm snaked around her, grabbing her from behind.
CHAPTER 11
The Snapple bottle shattered as Laney shrieked and kicked.
Deep Dark Page 10