by CJ Lyons
“Exactly,” Dom put in, as if it was his idea.
“How often is your building manager in your apartment, Ms. Saliba?”
Risa gave a shake of her head as if confused by the abrupt change of topic. “Cliff? He brings me my mail and packages if I can’t get downstairs. But he doesn’t do more than place them on the table for me. Why are you asking?”
“We have evidence that Mr. Vogel may have planted cameras inside your apartment.”
Jack sprang off the chair at that. “He’s spying on her? Where is he now?” Not waiting for an answer, he turned to Risa. “That’s it. You’re out of here. Tonight.”
“We’re searching for Vogel,” Luka told Risa. “But you understand why we want access to your electronics and your apartment.”
Risa pulled the quilt from the back of the chair around her shoulders, huddling under it.
Jack said, “Leave the damn computers; you can live without them. And if this Vogel creep is the killer, then he knows the game is up, he’s on the run, so he’ll be way past thinking about reaching you.”
“She needs her files for the story,” Dom put in. “But we’ll agree to some kind of remote monitoring.” He made it sound as if it was his decision.
“We have a warrant to search the common areas of the Falconer. I’d like to—with your consent—widen our search area to include your apartment.” Luka took a step closer to Risa, blocking Dom. “Perhaps Mr. O’Brien has a point about you leaving. At least until we’ve finished.”
Jack’s head bobbed along with Luka’s words, obviously agreeing. Risa frowned, took a breath, and threw off the quilt she’d been sheltering under. “No.”
“Risa—” Jack started.
“No. This is my home, the only place I feel safe. Now that the police know about Cliff, he won’t come back here, so it’s the one place I am safe. I’m staying.” She turned to face Luka. “I would appreciate it if your men could remove any cameras, and I’m happy to allow you to monitor my communications, but what exactly would you be searching for if I gave you further access to my apartment? I have sensitive files—physical and digital—which are confidential, relating to my work. As a journalist, I need to protect those.”
Luka’s lips tightened, but he nodded. “We can limit our search to any hidden surveillance devices along with Trudy’s cell phone and a stun gun that we believe was used during her murder. Would that satisfy your criteria?”
Leah could tell by the expression on his face that he would never leave it to that, was simply buying time until he could persuade a judge to grant him full access to Risa’s home and life. She wondered how difficult that might be given a reporter’s right to protect their sources.
Risa nodded. “I would consent to that limited search, yes.”
“I’m leaving Officer Harper here to monitor the situation.” He gave Harper a curt nod. “Perhaps you could get more complete statements from everyone involved,” he told her, holding his hand for the plastic bag containing Dom’s note. “I’ll get this to forensics, have them put a rush on it.”
He was out the door before anyone could move. Leah hurried after him—whatever had been in that image, it had shaken him. By the look on Harper’s face, she’d seen it as well.
“Luka, wait,” she called to him as she left Risa’s apartment. He took another two steps but then stopped halfway to the elevator lobby. Almost exactly where Trudy had fallen to her death. The crime scene tape was gone, everything sparkling clean as if it had never happened.
She caught up to him. “Was the killer telling the truth about your fiancée?”
He said nothing but his gait slowed as he led her to the elevators. “Her name was Cherise Sumner. We met sophomore year at Bucknell. I asked her to marry me start of our senior year.” He shook his head, his gaze arching skyward as if addressing the heavens more than Leah. “We had so many plans…”
The elevator doors slid open and they both stepped inside. Luka took advantage of the privacy to slump against the far wall while Leah pushed the button for the lobby.
“How did she die?” she asked when he remained silent.
“She was at a friend’s house—they had a LSAT study group. Cherise was brilliant but struggled with tests. She was always a bit up and down, had been on anti-depressants since high school, but thought they messed with her focus, so, unknown to me or her doctors, she’d stopped them. Her friend said she hadn’t done well on the practice tests for law school, was upset—and resentful of me for already being guaranteed a full ride for grad school. At least, that’s what everyone believed—” He stopped, a small choking sound emerging. “I shouldn’t have, though. I should have never believed, should have fought, should have—”
“Luka, you were just a kid.”
“Still… She never came home that night. A passing motorist saw her car partially submerged in the river. All the windows were down and she left a poem behind, weighted down on the river bank. A message to me, to the world.”
“A poem?”
“One of my favorites, I’d just done a paper on it. So elegant, so poignant, I’d thought at the time. Three lines, twelve words total. But the title says it all.”
“What was it?”
“Langston Hughes. ‘Suicide’s Note.’” He shrugged, less an expression of uncertainty than of frustration. “I should have known—”
“The killer’s just playing mind games,” Leah protested as the doors opened on the empty lobby. “Don’t believe anything he says.”
“No. He’s telling the truth.” Luka slid his phone free and thumbed the screen, then held it to her. It was a photo of an engagement ring, taken at an angle to reveal the inscription: Cherise, my beloved. Forever, Luka.
“It’s hers,” Luka said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “They never found it on her body, thought maybe she’d thrown it in the river. But now I know. He took it. There’s no other explanation. He killed Cherise.”
Twenty-Three
Luka stalked through the empty lobby, ignoring the fact that he was crossing the space where Trudy Orly’s body had lain a mere eight hours ago. Leah kept pace with him and while he was glad for her company, he also wished she wasn’t here to witness the tsunami of emotion swamping him.
Guilt, grief, fury, confusion all collided, screaming that he do something, anything, shrieking that the past seventeen years of his life had been a lie. Energy shuddered through every nerve—he couldn’t have stopped and stood still if he’d wanted to. He paced, first crossing then circling the lobby, his footsteps ringing through the vast expanse of the atrium, moving faster and faster until finally Leah simply stood and watched, letting him go.
Then it hit him. This was what the killer wanted. Chaos.
Luka halted so abruptly one foot skidded along the newly cleaned marble. The clarity that had eluded him since the case started was now stunning. Above him he heard the two patrol officers working, but they sounded very far away.
Leah joined him. “Are you okay?”
Luka swallowed, searching for his voice, and settled for nodding.
“If you need to talk—”
“No.” The word sounded clear, like the old Luka, as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Everything. Focus, he told himself. Prioritize. Family first. “Leah, can Nate stay at your place tonight?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” And Pops? Any way this played out it would devastate the old man—not only the implicit threat to Luka, but also the truth of Cherise’s murder. Pops had adored her. Best to let him stick with his routines, remain in his home. Far easier for Luka to be the one to leave. He’d ask Ahearn to arrange for patrols to swing by the farm. Then he faced Leah. How could he be so stupid, letting her get involved in this? “You need to go back to Good Sam. This wasn’t the right case for a civilian to be involved with.”
“You’re kicking me off the case? Why? Did I do something wrong? I mean, you wouldn’t even know about the killer if I hadn’t gone the extr
a mile to spend time with Risa.”
He started for the doors and she followed. “It’s nothing you did. But think. If this guy is responsible for Cherise’s death, then he’s been killing and getting away with it for seventeen years. He’s had that ring in his back pocket to use for all that time.”
“Right. He’s a serial killer—” She sounded almost flippant, and a rush of disappointment flooded over him. After what Leah went through last month, he thought she, of all people, would understand how serious this was.
“You’ve been watching too many movies. Real-life serial killers, the ones who make a career of it, who don’t get caught early on—it’s because they’re smart and careful. They don’t go around leaving clues and letters and taunting the police—especially not after BTK was caught—not unless it’s part of their plan, a way to force an error from the police or…” He trailed off, still fighting to follow the tangled threads of the tapestry unfolding in his mind. The picture was sprawling, so much larger than he’d ever imagined. How much of it was truth and how much misdirection? Could all three cases—Cherise, Trudy, and Risa’s stalker—really be the work of one man, undetected for seventeen years?
“If Cliff is Risa’s stalker, then did he kill Trudy and Cherise?” Leah’s question echoed Luka’s thoughts. “He didn’t strike me as very cunning.”
“We’re getting a full background,” Luka said absently. He agreed with her—his initial instincts when he’d met the building manager were of a socially awkward man with a limited skill set. But maybe they’d seen only what the killer wanted them to see. “But Cliff had the opportunity and the means to kill Trudy.” It didn’t feel right, but the facts in hand trumped Luka’s instincts. Until he discovered new facts that gave him a reason to doubt Cliff’s guilt. Either way, they had to find the man and question him. Soon.
“Why involve Risa? Why give her clues to follow? Why the letters? And why kill Trudy?”
“He has a plan.” No, that wasn’t quite right. “He had a plan. Involving Risa. But something changed. Trudy did something, saw something, said something that threatened him. He didn’t kill her because he wanted to or because his damn dice told him to, he did it because he had to kill her, to silence her, immediately. Somehow, she posed a threat to him. Maybe something in the photos deleted from her phone.” Except that they’d found nothing unusual in any of the deleted photos. What might have made them worth killing for?
“Why not just lie low, then? Or make a run for it? Why keep engaging Risa, why tell you about Cherise? Have you met Cliff before? Did he know Cherise?”
As much as he appreciated Leah voicing all the questions roiling through his mind, giving them some semblance of order, he wished she’d be quiet, give him a minute to think. “I never met Vogel before. Cherise never mentioned him. I have no idea why he’s doing this or how he got Cherise’s ring.”
“Maybe when he learned you were in charge of Trudy’s case, he saw an opportunity to create some chaos?" she mused. “Live up to the name he’s chosen for himself?”
He didn’t answer. Suddenly his case was in shambles, despite now having a viable suspect. Chaos. The killer worshiped it; Luka’s face grew cold as realization hit him. Chaos. That had been his life after Cherise. An abyss of confusion, rage, despair, and endless questioning, scrutinizing his every decision, blaming himself for missing vital clues.
Despite being in the cavernous empty lobby facing Leah, suddenly Luka felt claustrophobic, trapped in the tightest vice imaginable: of feeling alone. Then Leah touched his arm, breaking his reverie.
“He sees a way out—and it’s through me,” Luka said in a low tone. “They’ll remove me from the case—personal involvement. Like how you doctors can’t treat family members. Which means, I’m out of the game. Exactly what he wants.”
“If they take you off the case, who will replace you?”
“It doesn’t matter, you’re off it as well.” Her glare forced an answer from him. “It’d have to be a sergeant or higher, but not someone too close to me, so they won’t be tainted, just in case—”
“In case what?” she scoffed. Then she sobered, took a moment to consider. “In case they think you’re a killer? That you were involved in your fiancée’s death? No. Who would believe that?”
He wished he could joke about it. This was his life—past, present and future—on the line. “Leah. This guy is smart enough to go undetected for seventeen years. I don’t have an alibi for Cherise’s death. Maybe he’ll claim I gave him the ring or he stole it from me or who knows what. Point is, this could easily spiral out of control. Whatever happens, the department will need to investigate any role I may or may not have played in her death. They can’t afford even a whiff of impropriety. Otherwise this guy could walk, even if we do catch him.”
She frowned at that. “They’d really suspect you?”
“There’s no innocent until proven guilty, not when you’re a cop—not in the eyes of the public, at least.”
“So who will take over? Will they take over Trudy’s case or just Risa’s? How does it work?”
He could tell by her earnest expression that she wasn’t asking out of curiosity, but rather because she wanted to know how best to intercede on his behalf. “My guess? Ahearn will personally supervise, and he’ll put McKinley in charge of the day to day of the search for Vogel and the investigation into Risa’s stalker and any deaths he might have been involved in. Maybe they’ll let me stay on Trudy’s case, I’m not sure.”
“McKinley? The SWAT guy?”
“ERT,” he corrected automatically. “Listen. I have to go, try to get ahead of this. And you are no longer involved with this case, with Risa Saliba, or with me. Other than taking care of Nate. Understand?”
Defiance flashed across her face.
“Leah. I’m trusting you with Nate. With my family. If I’m in this guy’s sights, I need to make sure no one else is targeted along with me. Especially not Nate.”
“Right.” She blew her breath out. “Okay. But you need to keep me in the loop—if I don’t know what’s happening, I can’t protect him. Especially once this hits the news—”
“And you know the killer will make sure it lands with a splash, gets everyone’s attention. Only a question of when.”
“We’ll need to tell Nate as much as we can. He needs to understand—”
“I don’t even understand,” he snapped. Then he softened his tone. “No, you’re right. I’ll come by tonight, tomorrow at the latest—as soon as I know something.”
They walked toward the large glass doors at the front of the building. Despite their weight, the rain and wind lashed at them hard enough to make them shake.
“What will happen? To you?” she asked as Luka opened the first set of doors. “I mean with your boss?” But her tone made it clear it was more than his career that she was concerned about.
He looked out at the rain, not at her, not back at the scene of the crime he’d been lead investigator on up until a few minutes ago. “Same thing that happens with every suspect, guilty or not. They’ll tear my life apart.”
Twenty-Four
As she fixed Emily and Nate their dinner, Ruby kept talking about how proud she was of them both. But that didn’t make sense to Emily. Shouldn’t she be in trouble? She didn’t hit anyone, but she had made Jimmy fall.
“When’s Mommy coming home?” she asked Ruby. Miss Ruby was good when you needed loud voices or to run away, but Emily had quickly realized that she wasn’t the best at actually thinking through a problem. Not like Mommy or Daddy.
“Late. She’s busy at work.”
Emily sighed. Mommy was always busy at work. Helping other people. Guess it was up to her to figure this out on her own. Nate was in worse trouble now because of her—trouble with the Homans, trouble with Luka for losing Nate’s great’s war medal, and trouble with Ms. Driscoll. She couldn’t help with Ms. Driscoll, but maybe she could help with the Homans and the lost medal.
“Why’d you stand
there?” she asked Nate in a low tone as Ruby stirred the flavor packet into the chili. Emily liked how Daddy cooked better—he let her decide which spices to try so every time it was like a new experiment. Daddy always said to start with “why” when approaching a problem. “Why’d you let them throw those balls at you and call you those names?”
Nate shrugged. “Got called worse back home. Your mom gonna let us sleep in our fort? We don’t have to tear it down?”
“Why not? It’s not hurting anyone.”
His eyes grew wide. “Never got to do anything like that back in foster. Everything had to be cleaned up before bedtime.”
“How’re we going to get your great-great’s medal back?” Emily said it only to be polite—she already had a plan. And now that she understood Nate’s why—he was afraid of speaking up and being sent back to Baltimore or foster where people treated him even worse than the Homans did. She couldn’t ask the grownups for help; it was just her and Nate. When Nate shrugged, she continued, “You know Billy and Jimmy’s house is just through the woods? There’s a path down the mountain they come four-wheeling on. Ruby was swearing at them for tearing up the far lavender field, said she’d get a shotgun and shoot them next time.”
“No, sir.” He shook his head. “We’re not gonna shoot anyone. I can’t afford any trouble. They want the medal so bad, they can have it.”
“Won’t Pops and Luka be mad that you lost it? That could get you in trouble, too.” Besides, it was just wrong, the Homans taking Nate’s medal. Emily couldn’t stand by and let that happen.
He considered that, gulping down his own glass of Quik, leaving a milky brown mustache in its wake. Emily took another drink, so now they matched. It was one of the good things about having a friend; you didn’t have to be different all alone.