Already Gone (A Laura Frost FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

by Blake Pierce

  Laura hated this part of the job sometimes. Having to talk to people who’d lost family members. Sometimes having to be the one to break the news. It was just another layer of separation: always turning up at the worst point in people’s lives.

  “Hello?” The woman who answered the door was easily recognizable from the photograph of Caroline that she’d seen. There was no mistaking the family resemblance between them: the same thin-lipped mouth, the same long nose.

  “Hi, Mrs. Howard? I’m Agent Nathaniel Lavoie, and this is Agent Laura Frost. I’m sorry to have to do this at such a sad time for you and your family, but do you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?” Nate had the polite voice down pat, along with his polite smile and his politely relaxed body posture. As a six-two Black man who spent a lot of time at the gym, Nate knew he had to keep the intimidation levels down as low as possible when dealing with grieving white people. They’d even spoken about it, back when they were first partners. It was another level that Laura didn’t have to deal with, and she was grateful for that privilege.

  “Please,” Caroline’s sister said, stepping aside to allow them in her home. She was pale and her eyes were red; as they passed by her, Laura noticed how she pulled her thin cardigan closer around herself.

  Caroline’s apartment had been small and cramped, and almost entirely without personality. Like it was a temporary home, even though she had been there for years. Here, though, there were signs of life. The sister had framed photographs on the walls of herself with a man and a few small children—her family. There were toys scattered around as they walking into a cozy living room, where the same man from the pictures was seated on a worn sofa cradling a cup of something steaming.

  “Take a seat,” Mrs. Howard said, gesturing with a jerky and awkward movement to the dining chairs that had been brought into the room from elsewhere before sitting next to her husband.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he offered, his eyes flicking between their faces and their FBI-approved suits. “Tea, coffee, water?”

  “I’ll take a coffee, thanks,” Nate said. He glanced at Laura as he sat down, prompting her to take his cue.

  “Same for me, thanks,” she said. “Just black, for both of them.”

  “Got it.” The husband stood, squeezing his wife’s hand and mouthing something to her—Laura guessed it was something like “you okay?”—before disappearing back into the hall.

  “I’ll help with that.” That was a voice from the sole armchair: the young deputy who had been sitting with the family. He stood and nodded to both Nate and Laura before leaving, allowing the sheriff to sit down in his place.

  “So, Mrs. Howard,” Nate said, his tone light and gentle.

  “Oh—Tara, please,” she said, tucking a strand of dirty-blonde hair quickly behind her ear.

  “Tara,” Nate resumed. “We’re very sorry for your loss. You were the older sister, is that right?”

  “Yes.” Tara had a birdlike way about her, from her rapid movements to her thinness. Caroline had been a little bigger, which on balance made her look healthier. Ironic, considering the only time Laura had seen her so far, she’d been dead. “Oh, god. I’m sorry. I just still can’t believe it. I only spoke to her the night before. It doesn’t seem real.”

  “When you spoke to her, did she seem any different than usual?” Laura asked, wanting to get a picture of her mental state. “Was she upset, tired, anxious, angry?”

  “Nothing like that,” Tara said, with a less frantic tone, a more relaxed sag of her shoulders. Laura saw Nate close his mouth, leaning back against the chair, out of the corner of her eye. If Tara was more responsive to Laura’s questions, then he was obviously happy to let Laura do all of the asking. “She was normal. A bit annoyed, but not with anything that would make me think something was going on.”

  “What was she annoyed about, then?” Laura asked.

  “Oh, life.” Tara shrugged, then drew a tissue out of her sleeve and dabbed it against her eyes. “She was always complaining about that stupid little apartment. I can’t believe she… that that was the last place she saw.”

  “Why did she have such a small place?” Laura said, her tone gentle enough that she hoped it didn’t sound like a rude question. “You seem to be doing better here, and Caroline lived alone. Was she single?”

  “It wasn’t her fault,” Tara said quickly, shaking her head. “She got divorced a few years ago. Carrie and David just weren’t compatible in the end. But it left her without any savings, and so she had to start again from scratch. She was working her way up. Not much longer, and I think she’d have been on the path to getting out of there, getting somewhere nicer. Maybe finding love again.”

  This seemed to set off a fresh round of tears, and Tara held the tissue against her eyes for a long moment, her shoulders shaking up and down. Laura glanced at the sheriff, giving her a moment to herself.

  “David?” Nate asked, his voice low.

  The sheriff shook his head. “We’ve already looked into him. He’s now happily settled with a new partner, and he has an alibi for last night. Absolutely solid. He was nowhere near the apartment when it happened.”

  “Any children?” Nate continued, still keeping his head turned toward the sheriff. Tara was getting herself under control, sniffling and looking up from her tissue.

  “No,” the sheriff said. “Both the parents are deceased, too, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, they passed away years ago,” Tara said. She had a weary look; she must have been up most of the night, crying and mourning her sister the whole time. She probably needed some rest. “That’s why there wasn’t anyone to give her any support. I would have if I could, but the kids…”

  “She knew you loved her, darling,” the husband said, coming back into the room with two full mugs. He put one of them in Laura’s hand and the other in his wife’s before taking his seat again. Behind him, the deputy entered, handing a third mug to Nate while keeping a fourth for himself. “She knew you would have helped more if you could.”

  Laura cradled the coffee in her hands, warming them on the surface of the mug. It wasn’t cold out, but sometimes the warmth of a cup of coffee was exactly what you needed when you had to sit and watch someone mourn the loss of a family member. It was hard to stay professional, and this little drop of comfort helped.

  “I know…” Tara paused, sighing deeply. “I just… if we could have helped her get a bigger place sooner, she wouldn’t have been there…”

  “It’s best not to dwell on what-ifs,” Laura said, not unkindly. She would know; that was part of why she’d spiraled over years past, how she’d struggled with alcohol and losing her partner and daughter. “Do you have any idea if there was anyone who might want to hurt your sister? Anyone at all?”

  “No,” Tara said, looking down into her mug miserably. “No, I don’t know why anyone would. She was a good person. She was just living her life.”

  “Anyone at all?” Laura prompted. “I know it can feel like you don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but it’s better that we investigate and clear someone from our inquiry than to have no leads to work on.”

  “So you don’t have any leads?” the husband asked, his head snapping up.

  “We have a working theory at this time, but any information we can get will always help,” Nate said, deliberately taking over as if he didn’t want them getting angry with Laura. He was always her rock. A wall between her and the very worst of people. Laura felt grief hit her like a knife to the gut. Who was going to do that when he was gone? “Not just for the arrest, but for help with a conviction, too.”

  “There’s really no one,” Tara said, sounding a little distant. “Sorry. I wish I could help.”

  “You’ve helped a lot,” Laura said softly. “You’ve given us a bit more of a picture of who Caroline was, and that’s really important. We want to catch the person who did this just as much as you do.”

  The husband looked doubtful, but he no
dded. Laura turned her head slightly in Nate’s direction, catching his eye to form a question in her look. It seemed he had nothing more to add, taking a long sip of the coffee and then placing it down on the table.

  “Well, thank you both for your time,” Nate said, making to stand. Laura did the same What a shame it was to waste the coffee. But that was law enforcement. They had things to do, and this killer was probably not going to wait around for them to refuel. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

  “If anything comes to mind, please do give us a call,” Laura added, dropping her card onto the table.

  They left the grieving couple behind, and Nate stayed silent until the door of the house was closed behind them out of respect. “Back to the precinct?” he said then, raising an eyebrow to both the sheriff and Laura.

  “Back to the precinct,” Laura agreed, with a weary note to her voice.

  This had all the hallmarks of one of those cases that could really put them through the wringer—especially if the killer struck again tonight. Because that would mean they were dealing with a serial killer, and then all the normal rules would be off the table.

  Unpredictable attacks, constant pressure, and opportunistic crimes added together to make serial killers some of the hardest criminals to catch. And this one hadn’t made any mistakes yet. Laura prayed they would find him before they needed him to mess up—because if it got to that stage, there was no telling how many lives might be lost.

  ***

  Laura had a bad feeling as she cautiously sank down into the chair they had pulled into the room for her, hearing it squeak as old springs protested. At least it had cushioning. This case, though, was starting to feel anything but comfortable. “All right, what do we have?” she asked, spreading the pages of the file indiscriminately across the desk.

  Next to her, Nate scratched his chin through his beard. “Well, I think the sheriff might be right about there being no link between the women. This is looking more and more like crimes of opportunity.”

  Laura groaned. “I was hoping you weren’t going to say that,” she said. She didn’t need to worry about insulting the sheriff by not agreeing with him—he’d left them to it. They’d requisitioned an empty meeting room and turned it into their makeshift headquarters, setting up a board ready to stick up images and start making notes.

  “Well, I don’t see anything between them,” Nate said, pointing at the files as he grabbed two printed images. The women as they were when they were alive, newly provided for them by the sheriff’s team. He stuck them up on the board as he talked. “Let’s make a list of what we know about them. That might help.”

  Laura rubbed her eyes to clear them and lifted up the first page of information with a heavy sigh. “All right. Caroline Birchtree. Lived alone, no boyfriend, divorced but the husband has an alibi. Thirty-one years old, working as a waitress at a restaurant downtown. No car, so she took the bus to work every day. Lived here her whole life, didn’t go to college.”

  Nate’s marker pen squeaked against the board as he jotted down everything she was saying in fast, sharp-angled capital letters. “Okay. And Laura Carlisle?”

  “Lived with a roommate, but she was alone at the time of the murder. Dating a guy around her age, but he also has an alibi. She was twenty-two, worked as a nurse, and had her own car. She moved here right after graduating college in the area, but she’s originally from Michigan.”

  Nate tapped the board. “So, all I’m seeing is that we have two women who were alone in their homes at the time of their death, and they were killed right there.”

  Laura groaned out loud again. “You’re right,” she said. “Unless something comes up that links them down the line, we’re looking at unrelated victims. Damn it.”

  “I second that,” Nate said. “What about the killer? We’ve got two strangulations, two women alone at home in the evening. All in the Albany area, so we’ve got that going for us. We just have to figure out if there is a motive, or if it’s a crime of opportunity from someone with the urge to kill.”

  That was an unwelcome thought. Laura hated these random cases. They were always so hard to work on. If the killer was making sudden decisions or acting out of passion, then he hadn’t made any plans. That meant there was no determined future in place, nothing for her to see. She might not be able to get any clear visions about him at all, if it went that way.

  But then there had been the déjà vu. Whatever that meant. There was something going on here that she couldn’t put her finger on. She had to hope that meant visions would come.

  “We’re at a dead end already,” Laura said, frowning. “There’s hardly anything to go on.”

  “Well, we can hope for something in the more conclusive forensics report, once they’ve had a few days,” Nate said. “Although that won’t be much help if he strikes again tonight.”

  “Yeah.” Laura paused, thinking. There was only one thing they hadn’t done yet—aside from going over the same ground the police had already trodden on with the other crime scene and the other Laura’s family. Which didn’t seem like a good use of their time, given that Laura had seen with her own eyes that nothing was missed in Caroline’s case. “We need to listen to that nine-one-one call.”

  “I’ll get the sheriff’s tapes,” Nate said, getting up and heading for the door.

  Laura nodded as he went, trying to steel herself. Listening to 911 calls was never easy, especially not when the killing happened during the call. It was always a traumatic experience. But she had to do it, because if she got close enough to the killer, she might be able to see him.

  And there wasn’t much closer you could get than hearing him breathe right into your ear.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Miss? Can you hear me? Can you respond? I need you to stay on the line. Miss, are you there?”

  Laura closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to keep down the lunch they’d eaten on the plane. The computer speakers in front of them continued mercilessly, playing the sounds of a woman losing her battle to breathe.

  Caroline Birchtree gasped and choked on the recording captured by the 911 dispatcher. There were occasional loud bangs and thuds; having seen the place now, Laura could picture her kicking out, hitting the cupboards, connecting with the counter. It sounded as though she was fighting hard.

  The recording was heartbreaking. Laura clenched the side of the table until her knuckles popped. Slowly, the sounds of choking petered out. The dispatcher kept asking over and over again if Caroline could hear her, if she was all right, telling her to hold on and to stay on the line.

  Finally, there was silence.

  There was a clunk of the handset hitting the floor, and then footsteps walking away. A tinkling of glass, only just audible, as he went back to the bedroom and presumably exited the house. Then nothing.

  Sheriff Lonsdale cleared his throat, a gruff sound that broke the heavy hush. “It goes on like that for about four or five minutes, before our first responders arrive and you can hear them break down the door,” he said. “No more noise from her, and he’s long gone.”

  “Play it again,” Laura said, gesturing toward the screen.

  “Are you sure?” the sheriff asked, hesitating. “It’s a hard listen.”

  “Exactly.” Laura took a breath. “I need to be sure I didn’t miss anything. It will be easier the second time.”

  That was barely true. Sometimes repeat listens could make it worse, because you knew what was coming. But she had to keep listening. Maybe if she heard him enough times, if she learned to distinguish the sounds that he made from the other noises on the call, if she could get down deep enough to know him a little more…

  Maybe a vision would come.

  “Well, I’ll leave you with the computer, if you don’t mind,” the sheriff said. He cleared his throat gruffly again. Laura did a quick calculation in her head. If he had children, she realized, they would probably be about the same age as Caroline. “I don’t need to hea
r that again.”

  Laura nodded, waiting until he had moved out of the room and stopped making noise before pressing play. Her thoughts strayed to Lacey in the interim. One day, Lacey was going to grow up to be a young woman too. She’d be just as at risk as anyone. But Laura couldn’t think about that right now. It wasn’t exactly easier for her to listen to a woman dying, but she had to do this. She had to—so that it didn’t happen again.

  And there it all was again. Caroline’s frantic plea for help. The 911 dispatcher trying to talk to her, to ask questions, to find a way to help. The sound of the cord being pulled tight around her neck, an intake of breath, a—

  Laura’s mind raced back. Wait—that intake of breath. It couldn’t have been Caroline. Not if she was already choking. Laura marked the point in her head, trying to listen hard to the rest of the tape. To Caroline gagging and trying desperately to get free. It must have been hard to hold her while she fought. He must have been breathing hard. There would be more sounds, more traces of him. Laura was sure of it.

  “All right, I don’t think we’re going to get anything out of this,” Nate said, as the tinkling glass signaled the killer’s exit again. “Let’s move on. What’s next?”

  “No,” Laura said, turning and looking at him. He met her eyes with a raised brow. “I’m not done yet. I need to listen to it again.”

  “Again?” Nate frowned, then shook his head. “Laura, it’s horrible. Don’t force yourself to keep listening. We’re not going to find out anything from it, not on our own anyway. If you want it analyzed, let’s send it to the tech geeks and have them try to isolate anything they can, turn up the volume. We’re better used elsewhere.”

  “I nearly have it,” Laura snapped, turning back to the screen. “I heard something. Just let me do this.”

  She instantly regretted snapping at him. Nate was only ever trusting and patient with her, whether she deserved it or not. He didn’t deserve to be snapped at. More than that, he was the one who let her get away with all of her quirks, never asking why she did things the way she did. If she annoyed him enough to start throwing his own weight around, that could quickly change—and it would be her own fault, too.