Web of Secrets

by Susan Sleeman

  She stepped into view. His camera auto-focused and the image cleared. He fell back in shock. Could it be? Yes!

  He sat up straight. Zoomed in closer. His heart fluttered. It was her. Lauren.

  “Like it’d be that easy,” Billy said. “This nonstop focus on finding her has you imagining it.”

  Had he imagined it? He blinked hard and stared. She stopped to talk to the police officer, and Reginald zoomed in tight on her nose. There, at the bridge. The tiniest of bumps where she’d fractured her nose as a kid.

  Praise, be, it was her. Lauren!

  He started snapping shots, his finger pressing as if his life depended on the speed. A shot every second maybe more. His mind raced. What was she doing here? Had the police brought her in to consult on the case?

  He studied each and every inch of her. Tall. Muscular. Lovely long hair. Eyes, those whiskey-brown eyes he remembered so well. He wished she’d focus on his area so he could see them even better.

  Oh, happy day. She was back. He found her. He really had.

  “Mother, do you see? It’s her. Lauren,” he whispered.

  “You fool,” Billy said. “Getting so excited when it could just be a girl with a broken nose.”

  “No,” he whispered. “I know her voice. Her movements. I know her!”

  She turned, and his mouth dropped open. She wore a navy windbreaker with FBI in big bold yellow letters across the back. Was she an agent? Had his little Lauren gone into law enforcement? No. The guy she was with must have lent it to her. But wait, he had a PPB crest on his jacket.

  “Thanks a lot, Agent Lange,” the uniformed cop said as he shook her hand. “I appreciate it.”

  Agent Lange. Her name was Lange. She was an agent. He wanted to lurch from his hiding spot. Run to her, hold her, and question her all at the same time. But he couldn’t give himself away. He couldn’t even risk following her. Oh, but it was so hard not to.

  He would go home. Let his fingers do the work for him. He’d search the Internet, scour it, actually. Do everything he had to do to prove that fine-looking woman strolling toward a black SUV was Lauren. His Lauren. If ever he needed his best hacking skills, this was the time.

  Hold on, Lauren. Hold on. He blew a kiss in her direction. I’m coming to rescue you.

  “I’M SO OUT OF MY element here,” Connor said, as he swung his truck into the Medical Examiner’s parking lot. “Usually we have a time and cause of death, as well as the vic’s ID by now, so we can move forward. But it just seems like we’re in limbo, waiting for bone analysis and soil tests to get started.”

  “We can only work the leads we find.”

  He swiveled to look at her. “You seem awfully complacent about this.”

  She arched a brow. “Trust me, no one wants Van Gogh found more than I do. But we have to accept that the science in this case is going to take some time. Maybe Marcie will be able to gives us Jane Doe Two’s name and we can work on that lead.”

  He wanted to believe her, but there was an underlying tension that made him question if she really was dealing with this as well as she professed. “You’re right. Hopefully Marcie will have something actionable for us.”

  They got out of his truck and didn’t speak as they walked inside. Maybe Becca was thinking about the graves. He sure was. He’d seen death before—many times—but he’d never seen a body reduced to bones. Three young girls, their black eye sockets staring up at him and imploring him to find their killer.

  He stifled a shudder and held the door for Becca. She stopped for a moment, then squeezed his hand.

  “We’re smarter than Van Gogh, and we’ll catch him.” She peered up at him, her eyes soft with sympathy and understanding.

  Never had he wanted to draw a woman into his arms as much as he did at this moment, even more than at the crime scene yesterday. He wanted to forget about the time. Forget about the place, about the horror they’d witnessed, and pull her close. Right there on the main steps of the ME’s office.

  “Connor.” Marcie’s voice came from the lobby breaking the moment. “And Becca.” She looked from one to the other then got a big smile on her face. “Of course. Why didn’t I see it before?”

  “Excuse me,” Connor said. “See what?”

  “You two are perfect for each other. Straight-laced goal-setting Becca with fun-loving Connor. You two balance each other perfectly.”

  Connor’s mouth dropped open, and Marcie’s smile widened. She linked her arm in Becca’s and started through the lobby. Connor vaguely heard them chatting, but he was too focused on the way Becca moved to listen. He’d always been interested in her, but right now, he had a heightened sense of the fluidity of her body. An athlete, she didn’t waste a single movement. Her legs were toned and firm, the pumps with spiked heels making them look even more so.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee, too, Connor?” Marcie asked as she glanced over her shoulder.

  Connor pulled his gaze free and nodded. “Coffee would be good.”

  They swung through a breakroom, and Connor grabbed a cup then loaded it with sugar and cream. Becca took hers black. They both sipped as they walked.

  Marcie was right—they were opposites. He knew people always said that opposites attracted, but back when he’d been a patrol officer, he’d seen those opposing qualities cause a lot of intense drama. Someone always got hurt. So he’d tried to date women with like-minded thoughts, ones who’d been comfortable and compatible. Women like Gillian.

  Is that what you want in life? Comfort? Or do you want the fire that a life with Becca could offer?

  Besides, being comfortable with Gillian had simply made it easier for her to cheat on him. Maybe she was bored. He didn’t know. He’d never given her a chance to explain. Instead, he’d just broken off their engagement.

  They entered Marcie’s office, and Becca crossed those long, long legs. He ran his gaze from the shiny black pump dangling from her foot, up the toned calf to the hem of her skirt. Perfection. He glanced at her face. She continued to sip her coffee and was oblivious to his watchfulness. She was having no trouble focusing. Why couldn’t he?

  Get your mind back in the game, man.

  He straddled a chair and put his gaze squarely on Marcie. “So you’ve completed Jane Doe’s autopsy?”

  Marcie nodded then scowled. “Since I know your first question will be cause of death, I’ll start by telling you that she was strangled. The ligature marks indicate he used wire.”

  Connor saw Becca wince.

  “Just like the girl from the nineties. Is the time of death still the same range you noted at the site?” Connor asked.

  “I’ve narrowed it down, and I’d estimate three days. I’d like to give you a more exact date and time, but with the body having been buried, everything changes.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. Marcie was usually unflappable, but Connor knew her well enough to know something about this girl’s death had hit her hard.

  “Have you found anything to provide an ID on that older case, yet?” Marcie asked them, changing the direction of the conversation.

  Connor shook his head.

  “Maybe I can help with both of them, then,” Marcie said. “I’ll request the records from her autopsy and compare them with this one to see if there are any additional similarities.”

  “How long will that take?” Becca asked.

  “We didn’t keep computer records sixteen years ago, so the files will have to be pulled from storage. I’ll put Tim on it. If he’s his usual acerbic self over there, they’ll bump up the request just to get rid of him.” She laughed, but it was forced.

  Connor forced an equally unfelt smile. “We just came from the scene where Dr. Williams filled us in on the other girls. You’ll continue to coordinate with her, right?”

  “Yes. If I thought I could be
helpful, I’d be right there digging alongside her.” She reached for another folder. “The good news is that I was able to obtain an ID on the girl with the knee implant.” She slid the folder to Connor.

  He scanned down the report. “Allie Fields. Age fifteen. She lived on the east side near Westmoreland.”

  He pulled his crime-scene sketch from his notes and jotted Allie’s name on the grave where they’d located her. The act seemed so final, as if he was sealing the poor girl’s fate. But he hadn’t. That was sealed the day she’d gone missing.

  BECCA TOOK THE sidewalk to the Fields’s pricey home and rang the doorbell, then stood back. As the lead on this investigation, Connor would handle the death notification. As far as Becca was concerned, that was a good thing. She was too involved in this case to do it. Besides, she had no experience in delivering such difficult news.

  A regal woman with graying hair pulled back into a bun opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Fields?” Connor asked.

  “Yes.”

  He took out his shield and displayed it.

  “Oh . . . oh . . . oh no. This is about Allie, isn’t it? Is she?”

  “Her remains were located yesterday. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Connor’s words sounded harsh, but Becca knew the first thing an officer learned in making a death notification call was to let the person know right up front that their loved one had died, so they didn’t hold out hope.

  A strangled cry came from Mrs. Fields’s mouth, and she wobbled. Becca gripped the woman’s elbow and steadied her with an arm around her back.

  “Can we come in and ask you a few questions?” Becca asked, mainly so she could help this poor woman sit down before she collapsed.

  Allie’s foster mother nodded half-heartedly, her eyes glazed with pain and anguish. She was already in a state of shock. Becca escorted her through an open foyer with expensive furnishings to a large family room with colorful designer touches. Becca felt as if she’d been teleported into one of Nina’s decorator magazines.

  Mrs. Fields sat on the edge of the gray sofa, her back straight, her manicured hands clasped in her lap. “Where are my manners? Can I get you anything to drink?”

  Her reaction might have seemed odd to some people, but it made perfect sense to Becca. The woman was obviously close to a breakdown, but falling back into her comfort zone by offering refreshments kept her from losing it.

  “No, thank you.” Becca sat across from Mrs. Fields. “When was the last time you saw Allie?”

  “Five months ago,” she said, the tears coming faster now. “We had a fight. We’d discovered she’d been using drugs. For some time, actually. She had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, and she said the drugs were the only thing that relieved her pain. I believed her, but my husband Fred didn’t. He gave her an ultimatum. Check in to rehab or leave. I thought he was being too harsh, but that’s Fred. He’s a cut-and-dried no-nonsense kind of guy. He thought I let Allie get away with too much because of her health issues. So he put his foot down.” She turned and looked at the foyer. “The last time I saw her, she was walking out that door. She never came back. Never will come back.” Mrs. Fields broke down sobbing, and her gaze darted about the room.

  Becca pulled out the tissue packet she’d thought to add to her pocket and handed it to her.

  “I didn’t tell Fred, but I tried to look for her.” The woman fumbled with the packet and finally freed a tissue to dab at her eyes, smearing her mascara. “A couple of street kids in Portland recognized her, but I never found her.” She looked back at Connor. “I suppose she overdosed.”

  “We’re still looking into drug use,” Connor said vaguely. “But I’m sorry to tell you, we believe she was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” She wrapped her arms around her waist and started rocking. “Oh, no. No. No. No. My poor, sweet baby.” Her gaze flew to Connor’s. “Did she suffer? Please tell me she didn’t suffer. With her health issues, she already had so much pain and suffering in her life. ”

  Becca knew Connor couldn’t offer such an assurance, so she jumped in before he had to tell the distraught mother the truth. “How long was Allie gone before you reported her missing?”

  “Gone?” She looked startled, as if she hadn’t remembered Becca was in the room. “I wanted to call when she didn’t come home that first night.” A soft smile played on her face then evaporated. “I remember when she ran away as a child. She’d just come to live with us as our first foster child.”

  “Was she still in the foster system or did you adopt her?” Becca asked.

  “Her mother wouldn’t allow adoption, so we were never able to do so.” She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. “But we’ve had her since she was four, so she’s more ours than hers. Now she’s . . .” She wrenched her hands together and looked so lost.

  “Do you have other foster children?” Connor asked.

  She shook her head and relaxed her fingers. “After Allie was diagnosed with JRA, we knew she’d need special care, so we decided to direct all of our efforts to her.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Connor said. “Why foster, when you could have adopted?”

  “I was fostered as a child, and I wanted to give back.”

  Becca nodded. “I had the same experience.”

  An instant bond formed between them, and Becca could more readily identify with this woman. “So what happened when Allie ran away as a child?”

  Mrs. Fields smile returned. “She got to the corner. She knew she wasn’t allowed to cross the street, so she came home. When she left this time, I knew she’d go farther . . . but I really thought she’d come back that same night. Or stay at a friend’s place. So I called around, but no one had seen her. Fred said to give it a few days. I waited two full days, then called the police and her caseworker. They kind of sided with Fred, saying she’d likely come home on her own. I thought she would, too. Especially for her medicine. Without it, she must have been in so much pain.”

  Becca could hardly stand to see the woman’s grief. It reminded her of the days following Molly’s abduction, and made her consider how she would have reacted if she’d heard this news about Molly back then. Shoot, then? Even though Becca suspected Molly had died, she knew she’d still fall apart if her suspicions were confirmed.

  “You mentioned Allie’s friends,” Connor said. “Could we get their contact information from you?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll get that for you.” She rose slowly, regaining her regal posture when she reached her full height.

  After she’d stepped from the room, Becca looked at Connor. His compassion, combined with strength in this situation, made her see him in a new light. He worked with death on a regular basis, and yet, he had an easygoing approach to life. It took an amazing person to be able to balance that.

  “I don’t know how you do this all the time.” A shudder claimed her body.

  “Hey.” He took her hand. “First off, it’s not often that I’m dealing with a kid like this, which trust me, is harder. Second, our murder rate here in Portland is much lower than a lot of cities, so I have it better than most homicide detectives.”

  “Still, I couldn’t do it.” She smiled at him. “I’ve gained new respect for you, Connor Warren. You’re quite a guy.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but Mrs. Fields returned. He jerked his hand away, his professional demeanor back in place.

  “I wrote them down for you.” She handed a piece of paper to Connor, but didn’t sit, indicating the visit was over.

  “Would you mind if we took a look at Allie’s room?” Connor asked.

  “Her room?” Mrs. Fields’s forehead furrowed. “What could you possibly want to see in there?”

  “I know it seems like an invasion of your privacy, but we hope to find something to lead us to the person who
killed Allie,” Becca said softly.

  “Oh, right. Yes. I want this person caught.” She gestured at a hallway off the family room. “Her room’s down the hall. Third door on the right. I’ll just call Fred and then join you.”

  Becca followed Connor down the hallway, dreading what she might see. It was another first for Becca and something she didn’t want to repeat. But she feared she’d have to do a lot of things she didn’t like before they arrested Van Gogh and put him behind bars.

  Chapter Sixteen

  BECCA MEANDERED down the sidewalk to the tree-filled park across the street from Elise’s house where homeless teens were known to hang out. She was hoping to find a few of the street kids who were willing to talk about Allie, or the credit card fraud.

  A sharp wind picked up and cut through her jacket. She huddled into the coat’s downy warmth. She’d be a whole lot warmer if Connor was by her side, but he’d headed back to the station with a smile on his face. He was picking up a new portable fingerprint scanner that had arrived this afternoon. He was also meeting with Sam and Lieutenant Vance to update them on today’s events. She hadn’t been invited.

  Maybe that was for the best. She was getting used to having Connor around, and she honestly missed him. It would be good for her to be away from him for a while.

  Her phone buzzed and she looked at the screen to see Taylor’s name.

  “What’s up, Taylor?” Becca answered.

  “I just left Elise’s house. It looks like her foster daughter, Roxanne, is inadvertently responsible for the hack. She gave their network password to a homeless girl named Willow and with all the network logins listed on the logs, it’s clear she passed it on to others.”

  “Why on earth would Roxanne do that?” Becca asked.

  “Willow and Roxanne used to be in a foster home together, but Willow took off. Now she hangs out in the park across the street. Roxanne felt bad for Willow and wanted her to have access to free Wi-Fi.” Taylor paused. “I also reviewed the hospital security footage for the day of Frankie’s supposed visit for bronchitis. It was Willow who impersonated Frankie.”