“It means you’re going to have to work behind the scenes, putting that photographic memory of yours to good use. I’m going to tell you what I know, and you’re going to help me to pull the pieces together, and we’re going to work to find this girl before it’s too late. What do you think?”
Accept it, he thought. Even as he stood there trying to come up with an arrangement that she would be pleased with, he recognized that his intentions were selfish. He needed every advantage in order to find Valentine before another life was lost, and having Mia on his side was a big advantage.
She was quiet for too long, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she considered his proposal. “I don’t know....”
“Yes, you do. You know that you want to help capture the man who killed your sister and tore your life apart. You know that no one can help me catch this son of a bitch like you can. And you know that you’d never forgive yourself if you walked away now and that girl ended up like all the others.”
She folded her arms across her chest but didn’t meet his eyes. “You know me well.”
“Then agree to help me. Let me consult with you. That’s all.”
Several cars rumbled by as they stood on the sidewalk, a reminder that Sunday morning was giving way to Sunday afternoon. Finally, Mia said, “Okay. Stop by my apartment when you’re done today, and we’ll review your notes.”
Gray’s chest swelled with the victory, but he resisted the urge to do something juvenile to celebrate. “Deal. In the meantime, you should consider how you’re going to explain the gun. I may not consider you a suspect, but someone will ask.”
She swallowed and looked away. “I know that. But I don’t remember anything.”
He reached through the space between them and placed his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch at his touch or resist him, but her soft lips parted as if she was about to ask a question. The innocent look on her face ripped a knife through him.
“I’m going to say this once, and I want you to remember my words and repeat them often,” he said. “You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than ‘I don’t remember anything’ if you don’t want to see the inside of a jail cell, Mia.”
* * *
Kate’s mouth felt swollen and dry, as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls. She licked her cracked lips and turned her head. The floor was cold. As she woke, she could feel the coldness seeping through her skin into her bones. Cold and damp. She took a breath. And musty.
She didn’t know what day it was or how many hours she’d been out. The room was dark, but shreds of light cut through the darkness. The air was dusty, allowing Kate to trace the beams of light to a small window over which boards had been nailed. I must be in a basement.
She rolled over to one side and placed her hands on the dirt floor beneath her. She was no longer handcuffed. Her arms were shaky as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, drawing her legs beneath her. A chain on her ankles secured her legs to the floor, but she had room enough to sit, stand and walk a few feet in any direction.
Slowly the room came into focus. Light from the boarded-up window illuminated a pile of metal chains in the corner. More cuffs bolted into the wall. Kate blinked and narrowed her eyes at the dark spatter on the walls. Blood. A bloody handprint on the wall. The breath stalled in her lungs. She was in some sort of torture chamber. With hurried limbs, she crawled on her hands and knees away from the blood, her breath pulsing in squeaks and squeals until the sharp tug on her ankles held her fast. She reached back to pull at the bonds holding her, prying the metal frantically, checking for a weak spot and coming up short.
Footsteps. The creaking of the spine of a wooden staircase. Kate froze, her heart thumping like a jackrabbit. Her blood screamed for oxygen, but she was too frightened to breathe. The steps stopped, hitting the basement floor with a soft thud. He was in the room now. She could smell him, mixed with smells that had settled in the chamber: earth, mold and the fear of those who had gone before her.
She was going to die here. Her life, her plans, all of it would end in this earthen basement at the hands of the psychopath behind her.
“Katherine.”
His voice was quiet and slightly raspy, and the sound of her name on his lips would have made her vomit had she had anything in her stomach.
He was silent for what seemed like minutes, watching her as she dug her nails into the dirt floor, stretching her body as far as it could go to get away from him. She heard the shrieks of her own breathing but nothing from him until he sighed. “You can’t move, sweetheart.”
He stepped closer, his footsteps sounding like shifting on the dirt. Closer and closer, and when the toe of his boots pushed against her leg she screamed, “No!”
Maybe she was still screaming. Maybe she couldn’t stop, and that was why he reached down to clamp a hand across her lips and to hold her head steady as she writhed in place. He pressed harder against her mouth, stopping the flow of air to her lungs so that he could lean in and snarl the words “Shut up” into her ear. And she had no choice, because she was light-headed with fear and lack of oxygen.
“That’s better.”
He had a cloth on his hand, and she wondered what kind of drug it was soaked in. Then he released his grip and lowered her back to the floor. A flash of light sent her heart bolting again. She recoiled and blinked, but he waited in place, watching her, and her eyes adjusted until she could see the dark gray of his pants and the black shirt. Then he crouched down, holding the flashlight in front of his face so she couldn’t see the monster he was. That was when she realized he hadn’t been holding a cloth over her face but that his hands were wrapped in gauze.
“I’m afraid I killed your boyfriend.” His tone was flat, unapologetic. “I didn’t want to, Katherine. I just wanted you. I hope you’ll understand.”
He lowered one hand to his leg and she saw the marks: deep cuts and scratches across his arms. Her lips and tongue moved uselessly several times before she managed to whisper. He leaned closer. “What was that, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. The pet name sent bile sputtering up her throat. “What...what happened to your arms?”
He turned them over as if examining them before saying, “A little accident, that’s all.” He shifted the flashlight to his other hand. “I usually like to start right away, but now isn’t the time.” He reached forward, and she jerked her head away. “Shh,” he said, resting his hand against her cheek. Kate pressed back from his touch, digging the shackles deeper into the flesh of her ankles. “Like a frightened filly,” he chuckled as he stroked her head. “So skittish.”
She winced at the shards of pain that radiated from her legs to her arms as the metal teased the edges of her nerves. It was no use. She couldn’t move, and fighting only weakened her. She stopped tugging and felt an immediate relief from the pain, but her legs were bleeding. She felt it on her bare feet.
“That’s better,” he breathed, finally withdrawing his hand from her head. “You’ll only wear yourself out that way.”
He turned behind him to retrieve a dark-colored backpack. He unzipped it, withdrew a small bottle of water and a plastic bag and set them beside her. “Here’s some food and water. I’d appreciate it if you kept your area clean.” He reached into the bag and Kate heard wrappers. “I tried to get things you’d enjoy. I bought those cereal bars you like to eat for breakfast. They were out of blueberry, so I got raspberry instead. I also got you some chocolate.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Women like chocolate.”
Kate fought to keep the disgust out of her voice. “You really think I’m going to eat any of that? After you drugged me? How do I know you’re not trying to kill me with that food?”
He sat back on his haunches, steering the light directly into her watering eyes. “You’re going to be here for a while. You’ll need to keep up your strength.”
If she’d had any moisture in her mouth, she would have spit in his face.
He leaned f
orward again, and this time she smelled his breath—minty, as if he’d just rinsed with mouthwash. “I promise the food is as safe as food with a three-year shelf life can be.” He moved the flashlight from one eye to the other, and when he was done, Kate could see nothing but red splotches.
She heard him shift and take several steps. “You can do what you’d like. Eat, drink or starve. Scream your bloody head off. It’s up to you.”
The staircase creaked as he left, and somewhere a heavy door shut and a dead bolt slid into place. Kate pulled her knees into her chest gingerly as she felt the full impact of her struggle against her shackles. The water bottle was within reach, and her mouth was so dry. She reached for it, twisted the cap and heard the reassuring snap of plastic. He hadn’t opened it. She gulped the water, stopping herself when the bottle was half-empty. She needed to ration it. There was no knowing how long she would be here.
She reached into the plastic bag and felt around. Six, maybe seven cereal bars. She would have to ration those, as well, but she tore into one and ate it. She would need to keep up her strength, because she’d be damned if she died in this place.
Chapter 6
Even if Gray hadn’t known about Valentine’s most recent abduction, he would have known that something big had happened. The police station was hopping with a rare energy as teams of officers prepared for the briefing Gray had scheduled for later that afternoon. They moved to allow him passage as he headed toward his office. A less-seasoned officer would let it go to his head, but Gray knew that their deference was proportional to the burden on his shoulders. They saw him as the poor bastard who had to take the lead on a messy case.
“Gray.” Joe D’Augostino rushed over to his side. “Good to see you.”
Gray and D’Augostino had started around the same time and had risen through the ranks together. Gray’s promotion was recent, and he didn’t hesitate to put a lower officer in his place if he felt he was being disrespectful, but D’Augostino was different. When D’Augostino referred to him by his first name instead of his title, it was from old habit. “Cut to the chase, Sergeant.”
A subtle flinch told Gray that D’Augostino had recognized his slip. “Langley and Morrison are waiting in my office. They’re ready to brief you on the copycat.”
Gray had spoken with both officers before leaving his apartment that morning and had ordered them to begin a background investigation on Samantha Watkinson and Jake Smith. “I’ll see them now.”
“Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “About Dr. Perez...”
That didn’t take long. “I’m aware of the issue. She’s off the case.”
D’Augostino kept his eyes forward, his face inscrutable. “Of course.”
Something in the tone of his reply told Gray there was more. “Just say it.”
“I’ve known Mia for a while now. Almost two years. We’re not close or anything, but...she didn’t shoot those people, Lieutenant. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I tend to agree with you, but I need more than that. Let’s revisit this matter when you can give me something more concrete than gut feelings.” He held a key card to the reader beside his office door and heard a beep. “I’ll see Langley and Morrison.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gray flicked on the lights to his office and opened the blinds. After breakfast he’d walked Mia home and left her standing on the stairs leading to her brownstone. They’d spoken little on the way. Everything was messy, everything was complicated, least of all his own head. He felt as though he were swimming against a tide. No, not swimming. Flailing.
“You’ll come over tonight?”
She’d paused on the steps, and her hair had floated into her face again. He’d fought the urge to brush it out of her eyes. Touching her was wrong. If he touched her again, he wouldn’t trust himself to stop.
“Mia, I can’t....”
“Oh.” She’d lowered her eyes and pulled the loose tendrils of hair behind one ear. “Sorry. I thought you’d said—”
He had said, but then he’d reconsidered. “Let’s meet somewhere more public. A restaurant. Somewhere small.”
Somewhere they wouldn’t be seen. Mia was a person of interest in two murder cases. It was risky to be seen consulting with her over dinner. But it was even riskier for him to be seen leaving her apartment.
“Of course.” She’d moistened her lips. “Do you like Italian food? There’s a little place a few blocks from here called Trattoria. It’s usually quiet on Sundays, and I know the owner. We could get a quiet table in a corner.”
His heart pounded blood to all the wrong places at the thought of an intimate dinner with Mia. He told himself he had to eat eventually, but that was just an excuse. “Fine. I’ll meet you then. Eight-thirty?”
It was a date. But not a date. Just dinner with a beautiful woman–slash–possible murder suspect. He must be losing his mind.
“Lieutenant.”
Gray turned to see officers Langley and Morrison standing in the doorway beside D’Augostino. Langley and Morrison were his go-to men. Langley had five years on the force, but he still looked like a kid and he hadn’t lost his drive. Morrison had the square, squat build of a bulldog and the tenacity to match. When Gray gave them a task, they got it done and asked questions only when necessary. They were good foot soldiers.
“Come in. Take a seat,” he said. “What’ve you got for me?”
Gray sat behind his desk, and the officers pulled up chairs. D’Augostino shut the office door and remained standing, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall. Officer Langley spoke first. “Like you told us, I’ve been asking around about Watkinson and Smith.”
“Asking around where?” Gray lifted a blue foam stress ball from a spot on his desk, leaned back in his chair and tossed it from one hand to the other.
“The Globe,” Langley said. “I’ve been in touch with a few of the recent vic’s colleagues. Everyone says the same thing—nice girl, hardworking, no known enemies.”
“What about relationships? Can we rule out abusive ex-boyfriends?”
“She’s been single for a while. A few dates here and there, nothing serious, nothing she talked about.”
“If I may, Lieutenant,” Morrison said, “I really think this killing has something to do with one of the stories she was working on. The vic was neck-deep in organized crime. We’re talking drug cartels. She was working on a piece about their ascent in New England. I talked with some family members, and they said she had New York Times ambitions.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she wanted to make a name for herself. She wasn’t afraid to put her neck out to get a story.”
Gray gave the stress ball a couple good squeezes. “There was a copycat element to this killing. That’s not a cartel’s style, to try to put the blame somewhere else.”
“I agree,” said D’Augostino. “We need to keep digging.”
“We can’t just dismiss the cartel angle,” said Morrison. “Apparently Smith was working on something when he was killed, too. Something big. His colleagues didn’t know the details. Threatened to topple some big players. Watkinson may have known about that story.”
Gray frowned. “Make sure we check her home computer. Her emails, everything.”
“Yeah, well. Too late. Someone broke into her apartment and took her computer. She took her work laptop home with her, so that’s gone, too....” Morrison’s voice trailed. He looked at Gray. “We should ask Mia Perez about it.”
Gray’s shoulders tensed at the mention of her name. “What exactly would we be asking her about, Morrison?”
“Start with the obvious. Her prints are on that gun. She knows all about those Valentine files, so she’d have the knowledge to set up a copycat crime.”
“Except it was an obvious copycat,” said Langley.
Morrison shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to make it look like an obvious copycat.” He shook his head. “Man, if she’s involved with the reporters’ deaths, our case
is screwed. She was walking around the crime scene. You don’t think a defense attorney is going to be all over that?”
Gray tried to ignore the sudden rage that throbbed in his chest. Officer Morrison was asking valid questions—questions similar to those Gray had asked many times over the course of his career. Viewing Mia through the lens of his personal feelings would only impede his objectivity on this case. He might have felt certain that she was innocent of these crimes, but that still left him unable to explain how a gun she’d handled had been used to kill two people.
“Mia is smarter than that,” Gray said in as measured a tone as he could manage. “She knows we have her prints on file. If she’d shot someone, she would have used gloves.”
Morrison raised his shoulders. “I can’t explain the dumb things criminals do,” he said.
“Dr. Perez isn’t some dumb criminal,” said D’Augostino. “She was accepted to Harvard at sixteen years old and earned her doctorate in psychology in her early twenties. She’s a well-respected professor and professional.”
“Yeah, well, she may be a genius, but something isn’t adding up here,” said Morrison. “I looked at her sister’s file. She doesn’t match the profile of one of Valentine’s victims. She’s too tall, and her body’s never even been recovered.”
Gray paused to select his next words carefully. “Are you suggesting that Mia—Dr. Perez—had something to do with her own sister’s disappearance?”
“Can we rule it out?” Morrison asked.
Yes, dammit, Gray wanted to shout. He’d seen her tears that morning. She’d been devastated by her sister’s death. That’s one thing we can rule out. “You’re suggesting that Mia Perez killed these two reporters and her own sister and made it look like a serial killer did it. What would the motive be?”
Morrison shook his head. “She’s been working with the Boston P.D. for a long time. How do we know she isn’t selling information to the wrong people? Maybe Watkinson and Smith were going to expose her.”
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