If She Fled

by Blake Pierce

  “Sheriff, can you think of any companies around the area that have a logo that is star-shaped and mostly white in color? The employees may be wearing dark-colored suits.”

  Bannerman considered this for a minute and then started to nod slowly. He typed something into the laptop on his desk, made a few clicks with the touch pad, and then turned the screen to them. He had typed Hexco Internet Providers into a Google search and pulled up the first image.

  “There’s this,” he said. “This is the only one that comes to mind straight away.”

  Kate and DeMarco both studied the logo closely. It was an almost identical match to what Mrs. Patterson had described. It was indeed in a star shape, only the back arm was stretched and slightly curved. A small trail of lines followed the star, the center one containing the word Hexco.

  With speed like that of a gunslinger, DeMarco pulled out her phone and instantly started dialing the number beneath the logo. “Let’s see if there was a service call of some kind to the Hopkins residence on Tuesday.”

  She sat down, waiting for the phone to start ringing. As she did, Bannerman turned the laptop back around and closed the lid. In a soft voice, as to not interrupt DeMarco as someone answered the phone, he looked at Kate and asked: “You got any initial thoughts?”

  “I think we’ve got a killer that has a certain type of victim he’s targeting. Both Karen Hopkins and Marjorie Hix were in their mid-fifties, at home alone. The assumption is that the killer knew the husbands would not be there. And I also assume he had studied the houses, as there was no sign of forced entry. So…our killer has a definite type, and he does his homework. Other than that…I’m at a dead end.”

  “I can try to add to that,” Bannerman said. “There were no signs of struggle, either. So the killer knew how to get into the houses without tripping security and then was also able to strike without the victims knowing. It makes me think the victims invited the killer in. That they knew him.”

  Kate had assumed the same thing but decided to let Bannerman get it all out. She rather enjoyed hearing him speak. His older age made him sound very wise and she greatly appreciated his experience. She usually felt as if working closely with anyone from the local police force could be a hindrance, but she was already starting to like Bannerman.

  As she nodded her agreement, DeMarco ended her call. “I got confirmation that Hexco Internet did indeed send a tech out to the Hopkins residence on Tuesday. The woman I spoke with said there had been reports of spotty internet service all over the neighborhood around that time, starting Monday night. There were about a dozen other similar calls for maintenance that day.”

  “Well, it’s a huge jump to make, but being a tech for an internet company during interrupted service would grant pretty easy access into just about any house,” Kate said.

  “Well, it’s not too big of a jump, actually,” DeMarco said. “I also asked if there had been any Hexco techs sent to the Hix residence lately. Turns out, there was a request put in by Joseph Hix two weeks ago. And according to their records, the same technician replied to both calls.”

  “Sounds like a suspect to me,” Kate said.

  “I agree,” Bannerman said. “You should know, though, that Hexco is a relatively new provider around Frankfield. A small company. I’d be surprised if they have more than three or four technicians. It might not be such a huge deal that the same tech was at both addresses.”

  “Still, I’d like to talk to that tech,” Kate said. “Did you get a name?”

  “I did. The operator I spoke to has sent out a page for him to call me right away.”

  “In the meantime, I’d like to visit the Hix residence,” Kate said. “I know the reports indicate that the scene was essentially clean, but I’d like to see it for myself.”

  “I’ve got the key in the case files,” Bannerman said. “You can—”

  He was interrupted by the ringing of DeMarco’s phone. She answered it right away and when Kate heard her formally introduce herself, Kate knew it was the Hexco tech. Kate listened in, so she already knew the details before DeMarco spoke them out loud.

  “We’re meeting with him in fifteen minutes,” DeMarco said. “He seems very willing to meet, but sounded a little scared, too.”

  As Kate opened the door, Bannerman got to his feet. “Need anything from me?”

  Kate thought about it and then, with a bit of hope in her voice, said: “Maybe just get a room ready for interrogation.”

  ***

  The technician’s name was Mike Wallace, a twenty-six-year-old who looked very nervous when Kate and DeMarco met him at the little coffee shop three miles away from the Frankfield PD. He looked back and forth between the agents in a way that reminded Kate of those weird geckos that could move their eyes in such a way as to look in two directions at once.

  He had a tablet with him, covered with a scarred leather case. The Hexco logo stood out in embossed trim on the front of it.

  “Mike, for now this is just standard procedure and you have absolutely nothing to worry about,” Kate said. “At present, it seems that you are just having a bit of bad luck and circumstance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, in the course of the last two weeks, you have been assigned to homes where two women have been killed. The most recent was this past Tuesday.”

  “I visited a lot of houses Tuesday. There was a pretty bad service interruption in two different neighborhoods.”

  “You have your service calls on that tablet, right?” DeMarco asked, nodding to the device he carried.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Can you pull up the entry for the Hopkins residence on Tuesday?”

  “Sure,” he said. He tapped a few different places, scrolled a bit, and then scanned the page with his finger. As he did, Kate noted a slight tremor in his hands. He was clearly nervous; the trick was to find out if he was scared because he was hiding something or if he was simply nervous being in the presence of a pair of FBI agents.

  “Right here,” he said, sliding the tablet over to them. “I arrived at ten forty-two a.m. and was gone at ten forty-six.”

  “That seems very fast,” Kate said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had any sort of utility fixed so fast. What was the nature of the outage?”

  “There was a bigger one out closer to Chicago. In order to fix that one, we had to downgrade some service in other places. Frankfield never quite came back up the way it was supposed to. It was an easy fix, though. For all but one of those calls on Tuesday morning, it was just a manual reset at the install boxes at each house.”

  “And it only took five minutes?” Kate asked.

  “Really, each reset only takes about two or three minutes. For each stop, Hexco requires me to start the clock on each visit. Once the timer starts, I have to log the visit and then walk to the box. The reset itself only takes about two minutes. After the reset, I hook a test device up to the box to make sure it’s working. That takes about thirty seconds. Then I walk back to the truck, enter in a status report, and log out.”

  He was fidgeting and still trembling the slightest bit. He seemed to notice this and attempted to stop the tremors in his hands by clasping them together on the tabletop.

  “So all of that was done at the Hopkins residence between ten forty-two and ten forty-six?” Kate asked.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Did you interact with Karen Hopkins during the visit?”

  “No. Hexco sent out a mass text and email notice that techs were being sent out. Whenever that’s done and the fix doesn’t get billed to the customer, we aren’t required to meet with them to get a signature. I doubt she even knew I was there.”

  It all checked out, but Kate did the math in her head. Four minutes was more than enough time to get into the house and strangle someone. Of course, the fact that his report showed where the reset and test had been conducted and logged in knocked that four minutes down to practically nothing.

  “Can you find an entry for th
e Hix residence two weeks ago?” Kate asked.

  “Yeah. You got a first name?”

  “Marjorie, or maybe her husband, Joseph,” DeMarco said.

  Mike went through his routine again and had the results within twenty seconds. Again, he slid the tablet over to them. As they scanned the information, he did his best to explain it.

  “Right there…exactly two weeks ago. This was a response to a complaint about the speed of their service. They’d called to get their speed and data upgraded but it never took. It sometimes happens when done remotely, on the phone. I went over there and did it myself.”

  “According to this, it took about fifteen minutes,” Kate said.

  “Yeah, the little device I use to test the strength of the signal was giving me a hard time. If you want, I can show you the request I put in to Hexco to get a new one.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Kate said. “I see here that Marjorie Hix signed for the service. Did you go inside her house?”

  “Yes ma’am. I needed to check her modem. I recommended they get a new one, because the one they had was a little outdated.”

  For a third time, Kate noted a nervous trembling in his hands. It was too evident to ignore at this point.

  “Was her husband home?” she asked, not letting him see that she was noticing his nervousness.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Kate looked over the report one more time. Based on the reports and his story, everything seemed to check out. But it seemed too damned coincidental to her. She eyed Mike for a moment, looking for some crack in his façade, but saw none.

  “Thanks very much, Mike,” she finally said. “We’re done here. I don’t want to keep you from your work any longer. Thanks for your help.”

  “Absolutely,” Mike said, taking the tablet back. “I hope you catch the guy.”

  “Yeah,” DeMarco said. “Same here.”

  The three of them left the coffee shop together, Mike giving an awkward wave as he got behind the wheel of the Hexco service truck.

  “He seems to check out,” DeMarco said as they got back into the car.

  “Yeah, he does. But the coincidence factor…”

  “Yeah, it kind of nags at you, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, that and the fact that he was shaking like a whore in church…”

  “Nice metaphor,” DeMarco said with a chuckle.

  They both watched as Mike pulled out of his parking spot. Neither of them spoke, though Kate found herself reaching for her phone, still wanting to find out if Melissa had left her a message…and just how upset she was.

  Later, she told herself. Got to keep my priorities straight.

  But that thought, like the potential waiting voice message, felt like a bomb tucked away in some long forgotten place, ticking down and waiting to explode.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Hix residence was about eleven miles away from the Hopkinses’ address. Located just outside of the Frankfield city limits, it was close enough to the town to offer Bannerman and his crew authority over the case. Chicago loomed just twenty minutes to the south, giving the section between something of a gray area when it came to jurisdiction. The neighborhood was a little less extravagant than the Hopkinses’, though not by much. The yards were smaller, most of them separated from the next by towering elms and oaks. In the falling rain, the trees made the houses and their yards look a little gothic as Kate and DeMarco pulled into the Hixes’ driveway.

  DeMarco used they key Bannerman had given them to enter. From what they had been told, the husband had moved just up the road to Chicago, to stay with his brother directly after the funeral. There was no indication as to when he might return.

  However, not too long after Kate and DeMarco had allowed themselves in, another car pulled into the driveway behind them. The agents waited at the door to see who the visitor was. They watched as a middle-aged blonde woman got out of a very nice Mercedes. Kate noted that the car had Realtor plates.

  “Hey there,” the woman—presumably a Realtor—said as she neared the stairs. She was clearly confused. “Can I ask who you are?”

  Kate flashed her badge, not being showy but also not wanting to beat around the bush. “Agents Wise and DeMarco, FBI. You’re a Realtor, I take it?”

  “That’s right. Nadine Owen. I’m here to give the house a final walkthrough before we put it on the market.”

  “I wasn’t aware it was going on the market,” Kate said.

  “We got the call yesterday morning. Mr. Hix won’t be returning. He’s got a moving crew coming in tomorrow to start packing everything up. I’m doing a checklist today to make sure the moving crew leaves it as is. Lord knows it’ll be a hard enough sell as it is.”

  “Why is that?” DeMarco asked.

  Kate knew the answer, having been involved in several cases in the past where a Realtor had come into play. “Realtors have to disclose when there has been a recent murder on a property,” Kate said.

  “That’s right,” Nadine said. “And in this case, Mr. Hix is donating just about everything he has. He was a mess when I spoke with him. He just doesn’t want all of the reminders of his wife in whatever place he chooses as his next home. It’s quite sad, actually.”

  That’s pretty suspicious if you ask me, Kate thought.

  “How long has Mr. Hix been in Chicago?” she asked.

  “He left the day after the funeral…so I’d say three days, I believe.”

  “If you don’t mind, we’d like to look the place over before you go about your checklist,” Kate said.

  “By all means.”

  The three women entered the house. Kate found it in immaculate shape. Again, it wasn’t quite as nice as the Hopkins home, but it was still more than Kate would ever have been able to afford. It wasn’t just the house, either; all of the furniture looked to be very expensive as well.

  As they walked through, DeMarco trailed behind Kate, scrolling through the electronic police reports. She read aloud the important parts as they did a walkthrough of the house.

  “Marjorie Hix was found dead in her bedroom, half in and half out of the master bathroom,” she read. “She, too, was choked to death but there was no blood or cuts as there were with Karen Hopkins. There was bruising around her throat but no signs of hand imprints. It is believed she might have been strangled with a belt or some sort of smooth rope.”

  The downstairs was mostly an open floor plan, the living room and kitchen separated only by one large column. The other area appeared to serve as the living room, a small but expensive-looking television situated between two bookshelves. An elegant-looking piano also helped to separate the areas. Kate knew very little about pianos but was fairly certain this one was a baby grand Steinway…and that it was likely valued at one year of her salary. It was hard to imagine the husband simply donating such an item rather than selling it. It sent a little red flag up in Kate’s brain.

  A reading area and mini-office space sat to the far left, tucked in a corner and looking out onto a spacious porch via a picture window. All in all, it looked rather plain and idyllic.

  “Remind me again what the reports say about evidence taken by the police,” Kate said.

  “The husband willingly handed over his own laptop, which was given back pretty quickly,” DeMarco said, still reading from the reports. “He also handed over Marjorie’s laptop and cell phone. There was a belt in the upstairs closet that was taken in by forensics as a potential murder weapon, but it was conclusively determined not to have been used.”

  After a bit more looking downstairs, they walked up the stairs on the right side of the floor plan, the stairs running parallel to the little office space. The upstairs consisted of a wide hall and four rooms: a bathroom, two guest rooms, and a massive master suite. They went directly to the master suite and stopped just inside the doorway, taking the place in.

  The bed was unmade, but other than that the room was spotless. Kate looked to the area in front of the bathroom and tried to pi
cture a body there. She knew the crime scene photos were in the case files and she was sure she’d look at them later. For now, though, she was trying to picture the room like a killer might—a killer who had likely been invited in for some reason or another.

  The room was situated in a way where someone coming out of the bathroom would not immediately see someone coming into the room. If the killer had managed to sneak into the room while Marjorie Hix had been in the bathroom, he would have gone completely unseen.

  “No clues of any kind in the bedroom, huh?” Kate asked.

  “None listed in the report. Not even a single drop of blood. Nothing.”

  Kate walked around the room and stopped at the window closest to the bed. She had to draw the curtains back, but she saw that it looked out onto a back yard with a wooded lot beyond. She then went into the bathroom. It, like most everything else in the house, was large and boastful. She hunkered down on her haunches and peered beneath the little thin spaces between the bottoms of the counters under the sinks and the floor. Other than a few stray dust bunnies, there was nothing.

  “What’s the security system like?” Kate asked.

  “Um,” DeMarco said as she scanned through the reports. “Apparently, there’s no actual security system. But they do have one of those doorbell cameras.”

  “That’s perfect. Did the PD get access to it?”

  “Yes. It says here that the husband gave Bannerman the passcode. Apparently, it’s all accessible through the camera’s mobile app.”

  “Any idea what the app is?”

  “It doesn’t say. I’m sure Bannerman has it, though.”

  “Hold that thought,” Kate said. She left the bedroom with DeMarco trailing behind her, still scrolling through the records.

  They found Nadine Owen checking over the living room walls, apparently looking for preexisting scuff marks before the movers arrived. “Ms. Owen,” Kate said. “Would you happen to know the name of the app the Hixes used for their doorbell camera?”

  “I do, actually,” she said. “When the husband called to list the house, he gave me their passcode so I could go in and kill the account before someone else moved in.”