Blue Baby

by Arnold, Carolyn

  Paige glanced over at Zach’s profile. “I can’t help but think there might be a connection with the bars somehow. A bartender maybe? They listen to people’s problems day in and day out. Tara and Penny were both last seen at a bar. A bartender would know if they were unhappy.” Her mind went to Marshall from Down the Hatch, but his looks didn’t fit the description of the man they were after.

  “And bartenders always try to make people feel better. But it doesn’t fit. The bars were different.”

  “That doesn’t mean the bartender doesn’t work at more than one place. But you’re probably right. I’m grasping at straws. I’ll think it through before I speak next time,” she said.

  Zach glanced back to the road. “It doesn’t hurt to talk things out. It’s kind of what we do.”

  She liked him for trying to make her feel better. Her mind was on the case, but it keep wandering back to her university friend, Natasha. Meeting that jerk in the hospital had really rattled Paige’s nerves.

  Their week in Cancun was good up until their last night there. Sadly, a decision to go clubbing one last time had ruined her life.

  There had been three guys from California—if they were truly from there. Guys lied about their state all the time on vacation, thinking it made them more appealing to girls than the little Podunk they were really from. Why these three would lie was beyond Paige. They weren’t worried about impressing anyone. Their minds were on one thing: taking what they wanted.

  With the clubs in the Hotel Zone, it wouldn’t have taken much effort to find what they had been seeking—a date rape drug. And they had scored. The three of them slipped the pill into Natasha’s drink and ended up gang-raping her. When she and Paige had returned home, Natasha was damaged, and the carefree girl who had left Atlanta never returned.

  Natasha never told her parents what had happened. She never even filed a report with the Mexican police because she’d been afraid they’d miss their flight. She’d just lived in denial that the rape had taken place. She’d remained captive within the confines of her traumatic ordeal. It hadn’t mattered that several of her close friends had prompted her to speak with the counselor at the school.

  What Natasha didn’t know was that Paige had taken it into her own hands. She’d gone to the police station in Atlanta and told them what had happened. The officer she spoke to, while sympathetic, told her there wasn’t much that could be done. Natasha would have needed to file the report and have a rape kit run on her in Cancun. Paige had understood, but she hadn’t wanted to accept it. There had to be a way of tracking those bastards down.

  She’d used her natural instinct to pry into a situation until she derived the answers. She’d called the resort but struggled with the language barrier. Despite the staff and manager knowing English, it wasn’t their first language and what she needed to talk to them about was intricate. It had taken some time, but Paige had learned Spanish, and within six months she was fluent enough to carry on a conversation with the resort’s manager. But she had met with a dead end. At that point, it’d been about a year and a half since her friend had been raped. A rotation of staff had been used as an excuse for the lack of good record-keeping, but her rebuttal that it shouldn’t matter had been met with further resistance.

  She’d known she wouldn’t make headway unless she went down there and confronted them in person. And that’s what she’d done. Paige had felt as if the resort was condoning what had happened or, better yet, would rather sweep it under the rug, as the expression goes. They’d been worried about how it would make them look, not how the situation had destroyed a young woman’s life.

  She’d taken the trip by herself even though she was scared of traveling and hated flying back then. Her parents had thought she was going with friends, but that was their assumption, not a lie on her part. She’d told them she was taking the trip, and they’d said to have fun with her friends. She had gotten off easy as that type of announcement usually resulted in questions such as who she was going with and if there was a guy involved. But for some reason, her mother hadn’t given her standard interrogation. It had been tricky when she had asked for vacation photos, but Paige had just said she hadn’t taken any. That had been met with a moan of disappointment and her mother saying, “Hopefully your friends took some.” Thankfully, her mother had never followed up and Paige had never mentioned the trip again.

  Paige hadn’t made progress with the staff, but she had come close to taking a ride with the local police due to her tenacity. But before the male manager could follow through on his threat to have her forcibly removed from the premises, the owner of the resort had come into the room and caught the topic of their conversation. The owner was a woman, a mother of two teenaged daughters, and highly sensitive to the subject matter.

  From there, Paige and the woman—Maria—had sorted through the records and narrowed it down to two rooms booked under the name of Ferris Hall. Ferris was a name one of them had used. After all this time, Paige had only a name to pursue. Maria hadn’t been legally able to give Paige the specifics, leaving the guy’s address an enigma. Maybe home was California as they had claimed. Still, it was a large state to track down one guy. She had tried searching for the name, but the results didn’t line up with any of the men’s ages and descriptions.

  So, despite all Paige had tried to do, all her pleas, Natasha had never spoken to anyone about it herself and Paige had never been able to find the men. Eventually, the tragedy of the situation culminated in the winter of that same year when Natasha overdosed on painkillers. But instead of dying, her mother found her and the doctors had been able to save her—what remained of her, anyway. The brain damage was permanent.

  “You look deep in thought.” Zach’s voice cut through her recollections. Her mind was so ensconced in the past, she’d lost track of where she was. It was almost as if she were waking from a deep sleep. The haze was slow to lift.

  “I’m thinking about the past.” She figured honesty was the easiest route. Before the incident at the hospital earlier that day, Zach hadn’t known about her friend—at least as far as Paige knew. He wouldn’t know her friend’s rape was the reason Paige had changed her major from journalism to pursue law enforcement.

  “Let me guess. Your friend who was raped?”

  “Whoa, you’re good.”

  Zach pulled the vehicle into the parking lot of Angela’s apartment building.

  “I wish I could have done more for her,” she said softly.

  “I’m sure you did everything you could have.”

  She appreciated what he was trying to do, but she wasn’t willing to accept the kindness. Her conscience condemned her, as if what she could have done was right there on the edge of her brain but she had yet to figure it out.

  “Are you ready to speak to Angela?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She got out and shut the door before Zach could dispute it. She wasn’t fine, and he’d see it in her eyes. After all, they were paid to read people.

  But the skill only took one so far. She had learned the bitter truth first as a young woman, and then repeatedly after she’d started with the FBI. There was a big difference between knowing someone was guilty and proving it.

  For Natasha, she would prove those three men had intended to rape Penny even if they never stood a day in court. She hoped it would be enough to make them change their ways, at least.

  -

  Chapter 38

  THE SUN WAS UP, but its power was weakened by the onset of evening. The aroma of barbecued meat was tantalizing, and freshly cut grass confirmed the season. The former caused my stomach to rumble. Hours had passed since my last meal, but with all the action of the day, eating seemed low on the list of priorities.

  Jack smoked a cigarette on the way over to Penny’s apartment building. As we waited for Sharon, the landlady, to buzz us in, the stench of nicotine
overpowered the favorable scents and squashed my hunger. People who smoke must not realize how they smell to nonsmokers. If they did, it would be enough for them to abandon the habit.

  Sharon spoke over the intercom, her voice sounding uncertain and shaky. “Who is it?”

  “The FBI. We want to speak with you.”

  Jack’s no-nonsense tone had Sharon responding instantly. Before he was finished speaking, the security door buzzed to notify us it was unlocked.

  Sharon met us in the hallway outside of her apartment with both arms directing us inside.

  The fragrance of fresh air hit me again, and it was apparent she had her windows open. Any wafts of Jack’s habit were overpowered again.

  Despite her taste in furniture, which dated back decades, her place was clean and tidy.

  “Take a seat wherever you like. Would you like tea? Coffee?”

  “I’ll take a glass of water.” I figured the cool liquid would hit the base of my empty stomach with a dull ache, and maybe it’d be fooled into believing food was coming soon. Anything to stop the rumbling and the quaking that had started to make way through my arms.

  “And you?”

  Jack dismissed her with a wave of his hand and took a seat on a sofa with doilies on the arms. Beneath the lace was a sleeve of plastic. It reminded me of my grandmother who did the same thing, claiming it made the furniture last longer. The sofa faced a recliner. Next to it was a knitter’s box. Balls of yarn and two needles stuck out, probably her latest project. Pattern books were stuffed next to the wool and one was spread over the edge, no doubt serving as a makeshift bookmark..

  I sat on the sofa to Jack’s left, and Sharon handed me a glass of water, her hand shaking as she did so. Then she took a seat in the recliner. Based on how she had her knitting supplies stacked next to it and on the wear pattern and sag to the cushion, I guessed it was her favorite spot.

  A glass of white wine in a crystal stemmed goblet sat on the table beside her. She must have noticed my observation. “I rarely drink. It’s not good for my heart. But neither is all—” Her hand shook as she lifted her drink for a sip.

  I glanced over at Jack and received the silent go-ahead. “We can imagine this has been hard on you, but we’re hoping you can help us.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Did you see anyone around Penny’s apartment last night? Anyone, perhaps, in the parking lot who you’ve never seen before?”

  “This is what is eating at me.” Sharon’s tremble reached her voice. The words were tight, reined by emotion, the restraint one used to avoid crying. But Sharon was failing. Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. She exchanged her glass for a tissue from a nearby box and dabbed her eyes. Then she blew her nose. “I’m sorry about all this.” She circled her hand in front of her, indicating her composure, or lack thereof, and as she did so, the tissue was peeking out between her fingers, making me think of a white flag and mercy.

  “Most people don’t go through this. No one should have to.” I wanted Sharon to know what she was feeling was completely normal and any way she reacted was the right way. “Sadly, in this world, it’s a fact of life. There are people out there who cause this pain, this suffering—”

  “You can say it, Agent. There are people who kill. Hateful bastards who work out their madness on young and unsuspecting women.”

  Her blasé tone shocked me. The fact that she used the word bastards rendered me silent, too, as I had her lumped in with my grandmother and she never cursed. That I heard anyway.

  “My favorite TV shows are those cop ones. You know, like CSI and Law & Order. I can’t bring myself to watch Criminal Minds. I’ve heard it’s a great show, and I tried watching it once. It was a little too dark for my liking. Maybe because I live alone.”

  I didn’t voice my opinion, but I thought what Sharon was stating would resonate with a lot of people. There was something unnatural about murder, but at the same time, people were fascinated by those who took others’ lives. As human beings, we were curious creatures, and this applied to grasping at an understanding of the darkness—or what most would term darkness. The vision of those in the supposed darkness had adjusted. They had learned to see and operate within its confines. They no longer saw obscurity, but saw with distinction. They were justified in their actions in their minds. Whether we understood or accepted their reasons was not the issue. Murderers just were, and by extension, murders happened. A sad fact of life made even more tragic when its fingers reached in and touched us personally.

  “You said something was eating at you,” Jack prompted Sharon.

  “Yes.” Her eyes pulled from me, and her gaze was redirected to Jack. “I saw a man in the parking lot about midnight. Actually, it was after I knocked on Penny’s door. I came back here.”

  “You mentioned being at her door at twelve-fifteen,” I said.

  “Ah, yes, so it must have been around twelve thirty. Anyway, I was so angry my blood pressure was up. I could feel it. I was faint, dizzy, and lightheaded. I had to lean on the counter to steady myself for a bit. Well, my kitchen has a window with a direct view to the parking lot. At the time, and even earlier today, I didn’t think much of it. But as I kept dwelling on it, I thought, what if I saw Penny’s killer?”

  I leaned forward. “You didn’t recognize him? What did he look like?”

  “No. He wasn’t from this building. I assumed he was visiting someone. Why would I have thought any more of it? In answer to your second question, he had dark hair, average build.”

  If one wanted to consider the vague summation a description, it matched the one of the man who had left the bar with Penny. “What was he doing in the parking lot?”

  “He was bent over the trunk of his car.”

  “He had a car?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, not a truck, an SUV, or a crossover, but a car?”

  Sharon’s brow pinched. “Yes, a car. Not sure what a crossover is.”

  “Essentially, it’s a compact version of an SUV.”

  “No, it wasn’t one of those.”

  “Did you catch the color? The make or model?” I asked, hoping she could offer something further.

  “It was a dark color. The streetlight casts over the lot so I caught a glimpse, but the yellowish light can affect colors.”

  “A dark color? Gray? Black?”

  “I think it was a dark green, actually.”

  “All right. Did it look like a newer car or an older one?”

  “I’d guess it was about five years old. It didn’t have the newer curves the current models do. It was boxy.”

  I was impressed Sharon had made this distinction. “Okay, so a dark-green, older model. Anything else? Two doors? Four?”

  “Four.”

  “You mentioned he was over the trunk. Did you see what he was doing in there?”

  Sharon shook her head. “No. Like I said, I was angry and catching my balance for a few seconds. Once I had, I went down the hall to bed. I told you everything I saw.”

  I nodded. It was easy to assume Sharon had witnessed our unsub getting the wedding dress from his trunk. It fit the timeline. And the fact that she hadn’t recognized the man spoke to his low profile or maybe even “mystery man” status.

  But we were operating under the impression that the women knew and trusted the killer. After all, they had invited him into their homes. Penny had been described by witnesses as having been happy to see him at the bar. With this tidbit, the fact that the landlady hadn’t recognized him lent itself to the possibility that Penny had never brought him home before. This spoke to their relationship being casual, while at the same time, he must have possessed a charm and ability to set her at ease.

  All three victims were described as being flirts. Karen, Cheryl’s friend, had gone so far as to men
tion that Cheryl had had a soft spot for a handsome face. So we were looking for a dark-haired man with brown eyes who was handsome. It wouldn’t be the first time a killer who was good-looking used it to his advantage.

  -

  Chapter 39

  IT WAS SEVEN AT NIGHT, and Angela answered the door in Hello Kitty pajamas. Her tank top was pink and tattooed with the iconic cat head, as were the matching lounge pants. The odor of greasy food hung in the air, testifying to takeout from a fast-food joint. She held a television remote in her hand. Colored light flickered through the apartment behind her, but there weren’t any sounds to accompany them. She must have muted the TV to answer the door.

  Paige confirmed her identity and went through the formal introduction. “Can we come in for a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  Paige entered first but turned to see Angela smiling at Zach.

  “So why is the FBI interested in me?” she asked, putting her hand on Zach’s arm.

  Paige may as well have been invisible. Angela’s gaze—and interest—was fixed solely on Zach. Paige hid her amusement by tucking her chin into her shoulder.

  Zach proceeded to tell Angela why they were there. As he did so, he took her hand off his arm in a gentle enough manner that her smile remained in place. It faded a few seconds later as she crossed her arms and angled her head to the left.

  “So what do you want with me?” She sucked on a fingertip. “Am I under arrest?” She reached out and touched Zach’s arm again.

  Paige had to give it to the man. For the pressure this woman was putting on him, he remained calm, cool, and professional.

  Zach extended his phone to Angela. “Does she look familiar to you?”

  “No, I don’t know her.”

  Zach took his phone back from her and pushed some buttons. “What about her?”