Deep Dark

by Laura Griffin

  “Unfortunately, no. I ran a standard amelogenin procedure, used to determine sex. The genetic material here came from a woman.”

  “Damn,” Jay muttered.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be.” He looked at Reed. “It’s the best break we’ve had. It connects the two crime scenes, which puts us at three, and that makes it official.”

  “Official?” She looked at Reed.

  “Three connected murders,” he said. “We’re dealing with a serial killer.”

  CHAPTER 21

  It was just like at Urban Grounds, only this time Laney saw him coming. She was standing in the Delphi Center’s lobby coffee shop, and Reed walked right up to her as she collected her extra-large no-whip latte.

  “Can I talk to you?” He darted a glance at Ben, who quickly took the hint.

  “See you upstairs, Lane.”

  She watched Ben leave and felt a twinge of panic. She stepped away from the bar into a quieter corner of the store.

  Reed gazed down at her, looking perfectly calm. “You disappeared,” he said.

  “I had to get to work.”

  “So did I.”

  She stared up at him, at a loss for a comeback. Her heart was racing now. She hadn’t thought this through. She’d known she’d run into him, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

  His eyebrows tipped up. “That’s it? We have amazing sex all night and then you sneak out at six in the morning?”

  “What else did you want?”

  He stared down at her for a long moment. Then he looked away and shook his head, laughing, although he didn’t look like he thought anything was funny.

  “What else? Okay.” His gaze locked on hers again. “For starters, how about we finish the conversation we were having?”

  The conversation about Scream, he meant. The one they’d been having when she crawled onto his lap. She thought of his mouth and his hands, and her cheeks flushed hot at the memory.

  “We were talking about Edward,” she said.

  “About what you were doing at his place when he got shot, yeah.”

  Laney wanted to duck out of this again, but she was all out of tactics. And he’d see right through her anyway. He was way too perceptive and always homed right in on the slightest lie or misdirection.

  “You have to promise me you won’t share this with the FBI,” she said.

  “I can’t do that, Laney.”

  “You have to promise to try.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and watched her. Finally, he nodded.

  “I told you how Scream finds back doors into places. He’s really good at it.”

  “Better than you?”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced around the coffee shop, but the midmorning rush had subsided, and they had the place mostly to themselves. She lowered her voice anyway.

  “I asked him to help me with Mix,” she said. “I told you how I redesigned their security last fall? I wanted him to see if he could penetrate it. Because someone obviously did.”

  Reed’s jaw tensed. “What’d he find out?”

  “Nothing.”

  He looked surprised.

  “But that helps us, too,” she said. “It confirms what I already thought, that Mix’s security is tight. Which means whoever managed to breach it knew what they were doing because there was no back door, not after my team and I overhauled everything.”

  “So how did he get in, then?”

  “We didn’t get that far.” Her stomach clenched as she remembered the muffled gunshot.

  “And this is what you were talking to him about when you went over there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure you have a theory. What is it?”

  She nodded. “Well, in any system, people are always the weakest link. My idea is that the killer used social engineering. That’s basically penetrating a system through human contact.”

  “You’re saying it’s an inside job?” His gaze narrowed. “We’ve already looked at all their employees.”

  “Not an inside job, necessarily, but I think he used an insider. He could have used a phishing scheme to get a high-level employee’s password. Or he could have covertly entered the building. Or maybe he got hold of someone’s computer and tampered with it to give himself a portal. If he was clever enough, he could use someone to gain access without them even knowing it happened.”

  “Let’s assume he’s clever enough. Now what?”

  “Now . . . we have to check it out. Confirm. If we can find out who he used, and how, that should tell us something about who he is. We might even get an ID.”

  “We aren’t doing anything. You’re not on this case anymore, remember?”

  She just looked at him.

  “Have Ben do it. Or Mark,” he said. “But I don’t want you involved.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “You’re aware, but you plan to ignore me, right? God damn it, Laney.”

  She didn’t bother answering. She figured her silence was answer enough.

  • • •

  “Not happening. We’re not involving the FBI.”

  Reed looked at his lieutenant across the conference table and clenched his teeth. It wasn’t the answer he’d wanted, but it was what he’d expected.

  “Sir.” Jordan cleared her throat. “I’m not sure you’re seeing the implications—”

  “I see just fine,” he snapped. “And I’m telling you no. Everything’s circumstantial. It’s not enough.”

  “With all due respect, sir, what more do you need?” Jordan asked. “April Abrams’s and Bella Marshall’s murders are obviously connected. And now we have DNA evidence linking them to Olivia Hollis. That’s three victims.”

  “And probably more,” Reed said. “The Delphi Center’s profiler believes he started well before now, maybe years ago. He believes he’s pursuing a list of women, monitoring multiple targets.”

  “No FBI,” Hall said firmly.

  “What about ViCAP?” Jay asked. “If we could at least run it through their database of violent crimes—”

  “No is no,” Hall said. “I don’t want the feds involved. Period. So far, we have two homicides in this city”—he looked at Reed, as if daring him to contradict him—“which is more than enough trouble. We don’t need to go advertising the fact that there’s a serial killer out there. The last thing we need is the FBI swooping in here and setting up some task force and creating a media circus. And that comes straight from the chief.” He crossed his arms and stuck out his chin, looking remarkably like Reed’s five-year-old nephew when he didn’t get his way.

  Reed’s temper festered. This went beyond turf wars. Hall was protecting someone. Was it Mix.com or one of its executives? Or was this whole thing coming down from Aguilar, and the chief was protecting someone? Much of Austin’s economy was based on the rapidly growing tech sector, and there were some pretty cozy relationships between the business community and city hall.

  “We done here?” The lieutenant shoved back his chair and stood, looking directly at Reed. “We’ll meet same time tomorrow. And by then I want a list of viable suspects.”

  Hall walked out, leaving his top three detectives staring after him.

  “Anyone want to explain the stick up his ass?” Jordan asked.

  “Got me,” Jay said.

  She looked at Reed.

  “No idea.”

  But he planned to find out.

  • • •

  Veronica stood back to admire her work. The virtual crime scene was perfect, down to the damaged wooden finial at the top of the stair railing. She glanced up and down the hallway checking for inaccuracies, but the computer-generated image had everything. Only a few minor details, such as the fine dusting of sawdust on the floor and the smel
l of primer that permeated the air, hadn’t been captured by the computer. But structurally speaking, everything was true to life.

  “We ready, Veronica?”

  She made a few adjustments, refusing to be hurried. Reed had been tapping his foot since he got here.

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  She looked up. “Are you doing this, or am I?”

  Reed glanced at Jay, and Veronica read the message loud and clear. Yes, she was in a snippy mood, but they could just deal. She was having a rough week, and she was fed up with overbearing detectives who wanted everything yesterday and didn’t see fit to tell her what was going on.

  She made a final adjustment to the brightness of her image. “Okay, come take a look,” she said, pivoting the computer on the portable stool she’d set up in the hallway outside Gantz’s apartment. “See the chip in the doorframe there? Based on that and where the bullet entered the victim, we’ve been able to calculate the bullet trajectory.” She tapped a few keys, and a red line appeared on the screen. The detectives eased closer.

  “You sure that’s accurate?” Reed asked.

  “Are the measurements you gave me accurate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then it’s accurate,” she said. “The victim is six-one, half an inch taller than that when you count the shoes he was wearing at the time of the shooting. So the bullet was fired from here”—Veronica pointed to a spot on the screen—“and followed the path delineated here, chipping the doorframe and then grazing the victim’s cheek, shattering the bone before becoming lodged in the wall.”

  Reed and Jay looked back at the spot where the shooter would have been standing.

  “So he was sheltered behind this corner,” Jay said.

  She nodded. “That’s my take.”

  “He probably knocked on the door, moved back, and waited for Gantz to step out, then fired the shot,” Reed said.

  “Based on the blood spatter, it looks like Gantz stumbled backward, probably clutching his face as he fell,” she said.

  “That’s when he closed in for the second shot to finish him off,” Jay said.

  “And that’s where it gets interesting.” She opened a new screen showing a different view of the hallway, this one much closer to the victim’s door. “For the second shot, he stood about ten feet back and pointed the gun downward. That’s consistent with the entry and exit wound you gave me.” She glanced at Reed to confirm. “And you’re sure those measurements are correct?”

  “Talked to the surgeon myself.” Reed walked over to the place where the shooter would have been standing for shot number two. He glanced at Veronica. “Your software program puts him here.”

  “That’s right.”

  Reed’s back was flush against the wall of the hallway. He unholstered his service weapon and pointed at the now empty spot in Edward Gantz’s apartment. Veronica walked over with her laser pointer and used it to create a line from the muzzle of Reed’s gun to the gouge on the floor where she’d recovered the slug after it passed through the victim’s body.

  “Lower.” She adjusted his arm. “See? Which tells us he’s shorter than you are. What’s your height, six-two?”

  Reed didn’t answer, evidently lost in thought.

  “Something’s funny,” Jay said.

  Veronica nodded. “I agree.”

  “You’d expect him to walk right in there, stand over the guy, and finish the job,” Jay said. “Instead, he stays out in the hallway.”

  “Also, he missed his first shot,” Reed said. “He’s hiding behind a corner waiting, his target steps into the hallway only fifteen feet away, and he basically hits him with a flesh wound.”

  “So we know it wasn’t a very good shot,” Veronica said.

  “It was crap.” Reed walked back to the spot in the hallway where the first bullet had originated. “Go back to the first view again.”

  Veronica pulled it up on the screen.

  “See that?” Reed pointed. “Let’s say he’s standing here aiming at the target in the doorway. He’s using the wall for cover.” Reed held out his gun one-handed to demonstrate. “Either he aimed for the center body mass and the gun jerked up when he fired it, so he hit the guy’s face. Or he was trying for a head shot, but his aim was off and he only grazed him. Then, instead of finishing him off up close, he stands out in the hallway.”

  “Even though he used a suppressor, this is no professional hit,” Jay said. “This guy’s an amateur. Everything about this shows hesitation.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So that puts a crimp in the feds’ theory.”

  “What’s the feds’ theory?” Veronica asked.

  Reed darted a warning look at Jay, but Jay answered anyway. “Feds think this was some kind of corporate-espionage thing, that Gantz probably pissed off someone powerful. But in that case, you’d expect a professional job.”

  “Well, what else would it be about?” She looked from Jay to Reed. “No drugs or cash stashed anywhere, and believe me, we turned the place inside out. And the victim isn’t even moved in yet, so there wasn’t much furniture to search. Our canine team was in and out of here in no time.” She waited for him to offer another explanation. “If this isn’t about drugs or money, what’s it about?”

  “Who knows?” Reed said with a shrug, and Veronica felt her annoyance returning. He was keeping his theories to himself.

  Maybe this whole thing had to do with Reed’s girlfriend, who happened to have been on the scene when everything went down. She was part of it, Veronica would bet her right arm.

  Jay pulled out his phone. “I told you last night this thing was screwy,” he said.

  But Reed didn’t answer. He walked over to the doorframe again, and the crease in his brow deepened. “And you’re sure about these measurements?” He glanced at Veronica.

  “Yes, Reed. Jesus.”

  He paced back to the top of the stairwell and examined the wall the shooter had presumably used for cover. Reed had that look that he got when something didn’t add up. But in this case, it did. She’d just done the math for him. She’d walked him through a beautiful demonstration. His problem was that he didn’t like the implications.

  Nothing she could do about that. The facts were the facts, and they didn’t lie. Unlike people. It was why Veronica preferred crime-scene reconstruction to eyewitness testimony any day of the week.

  “And like I said, the shooter is shorter than you, based on these trajectories,” she said. “That should help you a little, at least.”

  Reed didn’t respond. She shook her head and started packing up her computer.

  “Shit,” Jay muttered. He glanced at Reed. “You read your email lately?”

  That got his attention. “No. Why? We get a hit on the duct tape?”

  “No, but we got that phone dump you wanted.”

  “Laney’s phone?”

  “Yeah, Laney’s,” Jay said. “And you’re not going to like it.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Baggins gave Laney the evil eye as she tapped in her alarm code and dropped an armload of mail on the counter.

  “No sulking tonight, Baggins. For either of us.”

  She went straight into her bathroom, where she stripped off her T-shirt and splashed water on her face. She patted her cheeks dry with a towel and studied her reflection in the mirror.

  A purple bruise had formed along her hairline from when she’d crashed into the wall in Scream’s house. She leaned forward to examine it, touching it gently with her fingertips. Then she stood back to look at herself.

  She felt drained and sore, like being hungover. And she couldn’t remember every detail of last night, but certain ones stood out.

  The sickening thud of Scream’s body hitting the floor. The terrifying sound of footsteps pounding behind her in the dark stairwell.


  And Reed.

  She remembered the taste of his mouth and the warm slide of his hands. She remembered his breath against her neck when they were done, and she’d wanted to cling to him then, but instead she’d let her arms fall lax against the bed.

  Those moments together in the dark had been bone-­meltingly hot. But somehow everything seemed unreal to her now, as though it had all been a dream.

  She sighed and tossed the towel into the sink, then went into the living room to pull out her laptop computer. She checked her email to see if there was any word on the decryption program she and Dmitry had been working on all day.

  “Come on, come on,” she muttered, skimming through messages.

  Dmitry was their top encryption expert, but it would take him a while. Scream didn’t just encrypt things, he encrypted them. And the thumb drive he’d given her last night before the shooting was no exception. She hadn’t told Reed about the drive. Or the FBI. She didn’t want anyone to know about it until she figured out what was on it.

  Baggins hopped onto the table and rubbed his chin against the corner of her computer. Laney got up and filled his bowl, then took a quick look inside her fridge. Still empty. She returned to the futon, where she rummaged through her bag but didn’t manage to find even a pack of Twizzlers.

  She sat back and stared glumly at her screen. Physically, she was exhausted. She needed sleep, or she was headed for a systems crash. But she felt restless. Distracted. She’d felt that way all day.

  She was totally off her game, and she blamed Reed. Not the night they’d spent together but his coffee-shop ambush. She’d known when she slipped out of his house that he’d get ticked off over it. She’d even figured he might be nursing a bruised ego. But at the coffee shop, she realized she’d actually managed to hurt him. Just a little but enough to put a pinch in her heart. He was a good man. And the way he’d touched her . . .

  Well. No point in thinking about it now. She’d sabotaged any future they might have had by blowing him off this morning. And deep down, she knew she’d done it on purpose. She wasn’t comfortable in relationships, especially with men, and she always managed to push them to the fringes of her life.