Web of Secrets

by Susan Sleeman

  SOMETHING BAD had happened.

  Nothing visible or apparent, but Becca could feel it, the heebie-jeebies making her twitchy. Because she’d basically had to fend for herself since she was a child, she’d developed a sixth sense—a kind of warning system. It wasn’t accurate all the time, but more times than not, it was spot-on. She’d learned to pay attention to it.

  Today, she just didn’t know what it was, but she was going to find out. She pushed away from her desk to check on her friends. Before she could, Taylor rounded the corner and stepped up to Becca’s cubicle.

  Here it comes. Becca braced herself for Taylor to open the folder she was carrying and hand over the bad news.

  “Here’s Danny’s DNA results for your files.” Taylor planted her free hand on her hip. “Jack was just like you said he’d be, but he came through for us, which I suppose is all that matters.”

  Becca eyed her protégée and didn’t like what she saw. “A word of warning. Jack may seem like the mysterious guy you want to dig deep and unravel, but many women have gone before you and failed. More importantly, they got hurt in the process.”

  Taylor gave an offhand shrug. “I’ve run in to his wounded hero type at my dad’s gun range. Trust me. I know better than to try to save him.”

  “So you say.” Becca laughed. “But your interest in Jack is written all over your face. I’m guessing you’re not much of a poker player.”

  Taylor bit her lip, then scowled. “I’ve been working on my game face since I got this job. Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

  “Especially if your emotions are of the romantic type,” Becca warned. “Let those fly around here, and Sulyard will bench you before you know what happened.”

  Taylor handed the folder and another sheet of paper to Becca. “This’s the rental agreement for that address on Frankie’s credit report. You’re gonna be surprised.”

  Becca scanned the document, and her mouth dropped open.

  “Exactly,” Taylor said. “I never expected the bogus address on the credit report would match the apartment where we found Danny.”

  Becca looked up at Taylor. “Maybe this goes deeper than we expected, and it’s not just about Willow stealing Frankie’s ID.”

  “Makes locating Willow even more important.”

  “I agree,” Becca said, as she pondered their next move. “How would you like to stake out the apartment where we think these teens are living?”

  “Are you kidding?” Her voice brimmed with excitement. “Of course, I’ll do it. My first solo stakeout.”

  Becca didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d likely spend several long, boring hours sitting in a car where she might or might not even catch a glimpse of Willow. “Just make sure to call me if Willow shows.” Becca paused for effect. “Whatever you do, don’t approach her.”

  “Got it.” Taylor turned to go.

  Becca got up and looked over the cubicles. “Have you seen Kait?”

  Taylor shook her head. “I just came back from lunch.”

  “Guess I’ll go find her.”

  Taylor left, walking toward her own cubicle at the end of the row. Becca searched the bullpen but found nothing odd—just agents, heads down, focused on their cases as usual. The routine hum of computers, the copier, and the sound of low voices on the phone were also all normal. Nothing was out of order at all.

  So what was making her so jumpy? Could this feeling of dread have something to do with her personal life? Someone she cared about?

  That list was short. Only four strong and it wouldn’t take much time to check up on Elise, Buck, Nina, and Kait. Taylor was also working her way into the fold. So is Connor, the thought came unbidden. But I’m so not going there now.

  She started her search at Nina’s cubicle, just in case her friend had popped in to the office, but it was empty. Becca fired off a text and got a quick reply that all was well. She moved on to Kait’s cubicle. She wasn’t in hers, either.

  Kait always checked in if she planned to step out of the building so Becca knew she was still at the office. As Becca went in search of Kait, she texted Elise. Becca took the long hallway to the breakroom and found Kait standing outside. Her posture was perfect and her back was to Becca as she talked on the phone. Her hair was pinned in her typical bun, not a strand out of place. Becca loved Kait, but the woman spent way too much time making sure everything was neat and tidy. Give Becca a shower and a hair clip, and she was out the door.

  Becca’s phone chimed with an all’s well text from Elise. So that left Kait, who turned and met Becca’s gaze. Her face was dark with anguish. Bingo. Becca’s intuition was right on the mark.

  Her heart starting to pound, Becca stepped up to her friend. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Let’s go back to your cubicle and talk.” Kait tried to take Becca’s arm.

  She sidestepped Kait and planted her feet. “Now. Here. Just tell me. I can take it.”

  Kait sighed and stood silently.

  “C’mon, Kait. Spill.”

  “It’s Molly,” she finally said.

  Molly. Becca’s heart sank. She knew deep in her soul, in that spot where anguish over leaving her best friend lived, that they’d finally found Molly. But Becca had to hear the words. “What about Molly?”

  “They found her,” Kait said reluctantly. “It was Van Gogh.”

  The words registered, and Becca’s legs refused to hold her up. She grabbed the wall, her breath stolen from the pain. Kait slipped a hand under her arm and walked her back to her cubicle to settle her in her chair.

  Becca dropped hard, her mind racing with the news. Her friend had died. It was something Becca had expected for years, but the pain that radiated through her body? That ache was far more excruciating than anything in Becca’s wildest imagination, and her chest constricted with the loss.

  Kait squatted next to Becca. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I know how much Molly meant to you.”

  Becca searched for a response, but what could she say? Molly. Dear, sweet Molly. She was gone for good.

  A fresh ache pierced Becca’s heart. “Are you positive it’s her?”

  Kait nodded. “Connor ran her fingerprints.”

  “Fingerprints?” A burst of hope raced through Becca’s veins. They were wrong. They had to be. It wasn’t Molly. “If he’d killed her sixteen years ago, her body would have decomposed long ago. There’d be no chance of taking her prints.”

  “No, you don’t understand. She was just killed a few days ago.”

  “Wait, what?” Becca’s gaze flew to Kait. “She’s been alive all this time?”

  “Yes.”

  Molly hadn’t died back then. She’d been alive for sixteen years, and Becca wasn’t responsible for her friend’s death after all. A flash of relief flooded Becca’s body. Yes. Good. Molly had had more time on this earth. She’d lived, maybe loved and had a good life. But now, now she’d been murdered.

  Oh, Molly. How I loved you.

  Pain swept in again, leaving a physical ache in Becca’s gut.

  “Talk to me, Bex,” Kait said.

  Becca couldn’t form any words.

  “I’m sorry that you couldn’t reconnect with her,” Kait continued. “Sam said she had a family and two kids. She’d lived in Clackamas. Her husband reported her missing six days ago.”

  Molly in suburbia. Becca couldn’t imagine it.

  She’s dead. Molly’s dead.

  Becca’s gut roiled. Her heart splitting, she started to rise. “I need to see her.”

  Kait shot to her feet and pressed down on Becca’s shoulder. “That’s not a good idea, sweetie.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s a good idea or not. I’m going.” Becca shook off Kait’s hand, reached for her backpack and pulled out her keys. “Where is she
?”

  Kait eyed her and didn’t speak.

  It didn’t matter. Becca had to see Molly. “Tell me, or I’ll call Connor.”

  Kait crossed her arms. “Then you’re going to have to do that, because there’s no way I’m telling you where to find her.”

  Becca couldn’t be angry at Kait for interfering. Becca would have probably done the same thing if Kait had been in this situation. But Becca also wasn’t going to let it deter her. She dug out her phone and dialed Connor.

  “It’s Becca.” She buried her pain, something she was good at, and tried to sound in control. “Where’s the scene?”

  A long hiss of air filtered through the phone, followed by silence.

  “The address, Connor,” Becca insisted.

  “It’s not a good idea to come here, Bex.” His tone brooked no argument, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the stubborn set of his shoulders as he spoke.

  “Will everyone quit telling me what’s good for me?” She sighed, trying not to lose her temper. That would get her nowhere with Connor. “Just give me the address. Please.”

  “On one condition.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me you won’t come alone. Bring Kait or Nina.”

  “I will.”

  “No, Becca. Promise.”

  “I promise, already.”

  He gave her an address located in the industrial area in northeast Portland, an area Becca wouldn’t expect suburban Molly or the street-smart Molly she remembered to frequent. She’d always been so savvy, except when it had come to Van Gogh that first time. Still, she would have known that part of town could be bad news. Maybe she worked over there. There was so much Becca wanted to know.

  She looked at Kait. “Connor made me promise not to come alone. Either come with me, or I’m sure Taylor will.”

  Kait grabbed Becca’s keys from her hands.

  “Hey.” Becca tried to snatch them back.

  Kait’s lightning-fast reflexes kept them out of reach. She put her hand behind her back. “You’re in no condition to drive. I’ll take you.”

  Becca sighed out her relief. Kait wasn’t going to continue to argue. Becca’s legs trembled and she hoped they would hold. She took several deep breaths, shouldered her backpack, and marched toward the parking garage, her steps frantic.

  They settled into Becca’s car, and she fell silent as Kait maneuvered into the midday traffic. Memories of Molly came rushing back and questions followed. Would Becca ever learn what had happened to Molly so long ago? Where she’d been all these years? What she’d been doing?

  Oh, Molly. Sweet, sweet Molly. I’m sorry. So sorry.

  Tears pressed hard against Becca’s eyes, begging for release. To stem them, she filled her mind with her intention to hunt Van Gogh down and bring him to justice. She’d get him. Oh yeah, she’d get him. Hunt him down until she found him and he begged for mercy. There was no question now.

  By the time they pulled up to the low-slung building, she had her head on straight and was ready to work this scene. She ran her gaze over the long building, rotting on one side and covered with bright red and yellow gang graffiti. The metal roof was rusty and curled at the corners. Their car bumped over potholes and crumbling asphalt in the parking lot. Why would a suburban housewife like Molly frequent a place like this?

  “Who found her?” Becca asked as she noted three police cruisers and one unmarked vehicle parked near the building.

  “Van Gogh called 911 and reported it.”

  Van Gogh called? “He wanted us to find her,” Becca said, her mind rushing over the reasons he could have for telling them about Molly.

  “He mentioned you and Connor by name on the call.”

  “Me?” She shot Kait a confused look. “How does he know anything about me?”

  Kait shrugged. “He must have somehow figured out you and Connor were working the investigation.”

  Was that it? Had he only mentioned her name because she was the agent on the case? Or had he figured out she was Lauren, and he wanted her to see what he’d done to Molly? Wanted her to know what he’d do to her if he caught up with her again?

  Fear raced through her veins and she scanned the lot, peering into the shadows, the bushes, searching for Van Gogh. He could have staged this whole thing to bring her out in the open to kill her. No, he was smarter than that. He wouldn’t try anything in front of so many police officers. He likely learned she was working the case just as Kait had said. That was all.

  But how? How could he possibly know?

  Kait parked next to Connor’s car, and Becca was out the door before her friend turned off the engine, bolting for the officer of record standing at the door. He was tall, wide, and powerful. His narrow-eyed gaze was meant to intimidate. He might look imposing to some people, but nothing was going to stop Becca.

  She stepped up to him and flashed her ID. “Detective Warren is expecting me.”

  He crossed his arms. “He didn’t tell me that, and I’m not letting you in until he does.”

  “But they’re expecting us,” Becca argued.

  He widened his stance. “Sorry. Orders are orders.”

  Kait joined them and displayed her ID. “You might recognize my last name. Murdock. As in Sam Murdock’s wife.”

  “Oh, hey, Ms. Murdock.” He smiled broadly. “Give me a minute to let them know you’re here.” He bent his head toward his shoulder mic, announcing their arrival.

  Becca was a bit irritated at having to wait, but the officer was to be commended for protecting the scene so well. His diligence would help prevent contamination of evidence, and that meant a faster arrest of Van Gogh.

  He lifted his head. “Sam’s on his way up to get you.”

  “Up?” Becca asked. “There’s a basement here?”

  He nodded grimly. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Becca assumed that was where they’d found Molly’s body. Becca could almost imagine the room. It would be like a dungeon. No windows. Maybe airless. Dank and musty. And Molly. Dear, sweet Molly, who’d do anything for anyone in need, had been left behind like trash.

  A shudder ran over Becca, and she crossed her arms to keep warm, though the sun was beaming down on them. Smiling on them, belying Molly’s death. Becca’s loss.

  She heard footsteps on a wooden floor and soon Sam was striding toward them. He wore his usual blue jeans with big belt buckle and cowboy boots. Becca could easily visualize him sitting astride a horse. Maybe wearing a Stetson on his head. Not coming to tell her about Molly’s death.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Becca.” He gave her arm a squeeze. His clothing carried the lingering scent of death and decay.

  Becca jerked back, the knowledge of what she was about to see becoming very real. She’d breathed in the smell of death the other day, but it hadn’t been the final scent of someone she knew and cared about.

  Sam watched her carefully, his lips a flat line. “Are you sure I can’t talk you out of this?”

  Becca shook her head. “I have to do it.”

  He turned to Kait. “I wish you’d think twice and stay here. I can accompany Becca. Between Connor and me, we’ll look out for her.”

  Kait flashed a beaming smile at her husband. “I know you’d do a fine job, but Becca needs me with her.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Then let’s go.” He led the way inside the fabrication plant.

  Giant lathes stood like headstones, marking the grave of the former company. Metal shavings littered an old pine floor that had rotted in places. The few windows that weren’t broken were sprayed with so much graffiti, the interior was dark and ominous even in the daylight.

  “Watch your step.” Sam pulled out a flashlight and gingerly stepped over cracked floorboards leading to the crumblin
g end of the building. At a doorway that had once been boarded up, he turned and looked at Kait. “I wish you’d reconsider.”

  She fired him a terse look. “I’m going.”

  “What is it with you two?” He sounded angry now. “The scene is gruesome and neither of you will be the same afterward.”

  “He’s right, Kait,” Becca said. “You stay up here. I’m fine.”

  Kait frowned and made a shooing motion. “Go ahead, I’m right behind you.”

  Becca led the way down worn wooden steps. As she neared the bottom, the caustic scent of bleach mixed with a heavy musty odor and the unmistakable smell of a decaying body assaulted her.

  Becca ignored it and turned the corner. The odor slammed up against her face and almost forced her lunch up and onto the cracked flooring. She put her wrist up to her nose, breathing in the scent of fabric softener that clung to her cuff, but it didn’t help, and she gagged. She looked back at Kait. She wasn’t faring any better.

  Sam stepped in front of Kait. “Now are you ready to stay put?”

  Kait shook her head and put her arm around Becca. Together, they stepped forward. Becca saw Connor standing near the far wall, his back to her. His broad shoulders were stiff, his feet planted wide, as if he was forcing himself to remain in the basement. He was talking to Dane and another criminalist she didn’t recognize. She moved on, settling her gaze lower. She spotted a table. It was the same table that she’d lain on with her hands bound. Today, there was a large plastic bag draped over it. Her gaze traveled higher, and she gasped.

  On her back, Molly was wearing one of the white nightgowns. Her hands were folded over her chest. Her face was beaten and swollen. Becca took a step forward. When she thought she might collapse, she felt Kait’s hand under her elbow. Together, they approached the table. Connor turned.

  “Aw, honey, why’d you come?” he said as he stepped closer. He stuffed his notebook and pen in his pocket and took her hand. “I’m so sorry. I know she was like a sister to you.”

  Becca dropped his hand, and, as if in a trance, she moved alone toward Molly. Her long-lost friend’s hair was matted against a face covered with purple and yellow bruises. The yellow ones were more difficult for Becca to see. They meant that Molly had been here and suffered for some time before Van Gogh had finally killed her.