by Dan Padavona
There was a long island in the kitchen which carried the scent of cut lime, and he’d nailed a fishing net to the living room wall and adorned it with blue and red starfish. She found joy in his playful collection of seashells which he laid out on an ocean blue tarp in the den.
More than anything, Bell wanted to stay with Lucas for the next week and forget work. She watched the tide pull the sand out to sea and deposit sediment in its place. Perpetual motion. Life in balance. She leaned her back against his chest, and he hugged her close.
“I wish I could. Not this time. The case is too serious.”
“It’s the murders in Florida, right? Everyone’s talking about them. The pictures are all over the news.”
The pictures.
Imagining the crime scene photographs turned her stomach. As an agent with the FBI’s Behavior Analysis Unit, hunting murderers was Bell’s specialty. She’d witnessed too much death, too much evil over the last several months, including her near-death encounter with Logan Wolf, a former BAU agent and the nation’s most wanted serial killer. The reports about the stabbing were all over the television. It was the second woman murdered in Palm Dunes, Florida, in the last two weeks.
Another serial killer.
Instinct told her this one was more dangerous than most, a phantom haunting the beach town.
“Can we not talk about it? It’ll be my life for the next week, or at least until we catch him.”
“Sure, of course. Promise me you’ll text and keep me up to date.”
“I’ll do you one better than that.”
“Sexy selfies?”
She tutted.
“I meant I’d call…but I’ll take the suggestion under consideration.”
He knelt in the shallows, scraped at the sand, and came up with a blanched, V-shaped shell that fit in the palm of his hand. Wiping the hair from her face, she leaned over to study the finding.
“That’s a weird looking shell,” she said.
“It’s not a shell. That’s a shark tooth. Hammerhead or bull. Something big, anyhow.”
“I didn’t think Chesapeake Bay had sharks that large.”
“They’re rare, but they swim through from time-to-time. Great whites, too. You want the tooth?”
She shook her head, and he hurled the tooth over the waves. Frigid as it was during winter, the Atlantic was beautiful, soothing. And dangerous. The shark’s tooth served as a reminder that danger lurked where the light didn’t touch.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow approach. Bell turned and saw her partner, Neil Gardy, struggling down the beach in his suit and dress shoes. Was it time to leave? No, Gardy was early as usual. He kept his head down while he walked, navigating sand hills which sought to swallow his shoes.
He was out of breath when he caught up to them. Bell moved a half-step from Lucas and waved.
“You could have called from the apartment.”
Gardy smiled.
“I thought a nice walk on the beach would do me good.” He glanced at his shoes, scuffed and gritty with sand. “Guess this wasn’t such a good idea.”
Gardy and Lucas met with their eyes, and there was an uncomfortable moment of silence before Bell broke in.
“Lucas, this is my partner, Special Agent Neil Gardy.”
They nodded, but no handshake followed. Closing the space, Lucas edged toward Bell and moved his hand back to her hip.
Gardy cleared his throat.
“So Bell tells me you’re into computers.”
“A born coder,” Lucas said, smiling, and this chipped the ice away. “Got my start on the PC when I was twelve and never looked back.”
“My parents bought me a used Commodore 64 back in the eighties,” Gardy said, staring at the sea and remembering. “I started out playing games, and I figured out a lot of them were written in BASIC. Took me a few days of trial and error, but I hacked the code on a movie monster game and made my fire breathing lizard unbeatable.”
“It wasn’t Rampage, was it?”
“No, but I played that game in the arcade until I ran out of quarters and my fingertips went numb.”
They laughed. Gardy and Lucas had gone from distant to amiable in a matter of seconds over retro gaming, and she became the third wheel.
The grin on Gardy’s face waned, and he shot a look back at the apartment where the morning sun turned the exterior golden.
“Yeah. I know, Gardy,” Bell said. “Time to go.”
“Sorry.”
She squinted up at Lucas.
“Why don’t you walk back with us? Hang out while I pack. You guys can talk about…Mario Kart or something.”
“I’ll take a rain check and head back to the house. I’ve got a conference call at eleven.” Lucas checked his phone. “And I’m totally unprepared.”
“You sure you can’t come?”
“I can’t. I’ll see you when you get back.”
Lucas kissed her on the forehead and shared a nod with Gardy, then he trudged toward the beach house, following the footprints they’d made earlier when the sun crawled out of the sea with the day’s first light. A lump formed in her throat. It was only a week, yet she already missed him.
Gardy apologized again. They didn’t talk during the walk to Bell’s apartment complex. He sat on the porch overlooking the beach and thumbed through a magazine while she packed. He lifted the radio to his ear and issued a command. Bell couldn’t hear through the glass, but she knew he’d given the all-clear to the agent parked in front of the apartment and sent him home. The FBI put Bell on 24-hour surveillance after Logan Wolf kidnapped her, believing the serial killer would come after her again.
Bell was almost out the door when she remembered her appointment with Dr Morford, her therapist. The nightmares had become vivid and intense since the abduction. Swiping through her contact list, she found Morford’s phone number and rescheduled the session.
While Bell waited in the doorway with her belongings, Gardy checked the windows and the sliding glass door to the deck. It was pointless. A locked door never stopped Wolf.
“Everything sealed tight?”
He nodded.
“We should go. The plane leaves Dulles in ninety minutes.”
They pulled out of the lot and followed a long and weaving access road that cut through marshland and undeveloped meadow. Through the window, she saw the top of Lucas’s beach house peaking up from behind a grass covered dune. Then she couldn’t see it anymore, and the vehicle hurtled toward the interstate.
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
The jet ride into Tampa International Airport was smooth and didn’t aggravate Gardy’s motion sickness. By the time the plane landed, it was five o’clock, the palm shadows lengthening across the heat-baked parking lot as they wheeled their bags to the rental. The temperature was a pleasant seventy-five degrees, the sky a deep cerulean blue that you could swim in, and Bell felt a pang in her chest when she thought of her seaside apartment. She checked her texts and found nothing new. Lucas was probably fishing on the coast, planning a sunset dinner on the porch.
Gardy noticed Bell lost in an alternate reality.
“He’s nice.”
His voice brought her back to the present.
“What?”
“Lucas. He seems like a nice guy.”
“I suppose so.”
“That’s a ringing endorsement if I ever heard one. What do you tell people about me?”
Bell winked.
“You don’t want to know.”
Gardy pressed the key fob, and the rental SUV honked and flashed its lights. He loaded Bell’s bag into the trunk despite her protests, and then they were on the highway, cruising south with the salty tang of the gulf pouring through the open windows. This wouldn’t be so bad if they were here for a pleasure trip. If only that was the case.
He patted the case folder on the seat between them.
“How much do you know about the murders?”
“Only what I saw on CNN and r
ead in the papers. Two young women stabbed in their homes in the last two weeks. Killer used a glass cutter on the patio door the first time. Second murder, he lifted himself onto a roof overhang and crawled in through the attic. Violent stabbings.”
“Similar to the Hodge case in New York.”
“Similar, yes, but not teenage girls. These women were upwardly mobile, single, career oriented. Both lived in upscale homes, new developments. Not likely you’d need a handyman like Hodge when everything is new and working.”
“So here’s the timeline. Cheryl Morris, age twenty-seven, murdered in her home on December twentieth. The latest, Lori Tannehill, age twenty-five, killed last evening.”
Bell opened the folder and cringed at the grisly pictures.
“Those are deep wounds.”
“Which suggests he’s a big man, or at least strong. Tannehill must have heard him coming out of the attic. She locked the bedroom door, but the killer snapped the lock and forced the door open. Local PD is working under the assumption the killer knew both women, and I agree.”
He glanced over at Bell as he weaved through rush hour traffic.
“But you don’t think so.”
She shook her head.
“It doesn’t feel right. He knew them, yes, but not intimately.”
“Explain.”
“It’s possible he was an acquaintance, a co-worker or someone who crossed paths with both women now-and-then. This isn’t a case of a jilted lover exacting revenge.”
The traffic glut cleared, and Gardy accelerated. The first road sign for Palm Dunes appeared off the shoulder. Another seven miles. Peering over a coastal development, Bell spied the gulf, the water a fiery red that left imprints on her eyes.
Gardy cleared his throat.
“Hey, there’s something else you should know.”
“Okay.”
“The point on this investigation, our contact, is Detective Jay Phalen of the Palm Dunes Police Department.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“Formerly of the BAU. Phalen was well before your time, but you might have heard his name. He worked during the Wolf years.”
Bell squirmed.
“We came through the academy together,” Gardy said. “Good cop, hard worker, but he flamed out with the BAU. Phalen never cut it as a profiler and quit after a few years.”
She glanced across the vehicle. Gardy chewed his lower lip as he gripped the steering wheel.
“Why do I get the impression this is a problem?”
“Because he doesn’t buy into profiling. Claims it’s theoretical bullshit that doesn’t fly in practice.”
“So why are we here?”
“Because the Chief of Police sees things differently. Unfortunately, he put the investigation in Detective Phalen’s hands. We’ll get good cop work out of Phalen. He’ll hustle and shoot straight with you. Don’t be put off if he comes off as caustic.”
“You know me.”
Gardy maneuvered around a tractor trailer.
“You bet I do. He says the wrong thing, and you’ll bite his head off.”
“I won’t. Scout’s honor.”
“Bell.”
“I’ll behave.”
Gardy sighed.
“I remember how much you love office politics, but you need to be careful with Phalen. He’ll push you. Anyhow, we have just enough time to check into the hotel and grab a bite to eat before we meet him at the station.”
Palm Dunes was as Bell envisioned—sprawling homes and condominiums along the beach, gated communities with brick roadways, and pastel storefronts which blended with the tropical flora. Their hotel, the Palm Dunes Garden Inn, was a white Victorian property with ruby red shingles and a gable roof. Bell whistled when she stepped into the air-conditioned lobby where three children giggled and chased each other in a circle. The front desk gleamed with fresh polish, and a replica cage elevator ascended from the center of the room and carried guests a dozen floors into the Florida sky.
“You outdid yourself this time, Gardy. This is hardly the Pronti, Kansas Inn.”
“Don’t thank me. The Holiday Inn was overbooked.”
“Alas, fate is on my side for once.”
After checking in, they made their way to the elevator. Gardy opened his hand expectantly.
“What?”
“Your room key.”
Bell huffed and handed it over. Gardy’s rules forbidding Bell from staying alone were in effect again. She thought they were past this point, but the threat of Logan Wolf had Gardy on high alert.
“You’re acting ridiculous. This place reminds me of Disney World. You can’t believe Wolf will stride in here unnoticed and try to kidnap me.”
A bell dinged, and the door opened.
“Better safe than sorry. Besides, we make good roomies. Just try to keep your side of the room clean this time.”
She followed him into the elevator with one fist cocked and loaded. He snickered as the doors closed.
The third-floor room was spacious and included a modern kitchenette with a two-burner stove. A balcony overlooked the gulf, dark now and frothing against the beach.
Gardy pulled out the bed on the sleeper sofa before she could claim it.
“The bed is yours.”
“You gave me the bed in Milanville. It’s your turn to sleep in style.”
He fluffed the pillow and patted the mattress.
“I prefer the sofa bed. Good for the old back.”
She muttered doubtfully and unpacked.
Bell wondered what Lucas would say if he learned about their living arrangement. She’d dated him for less than two months, not long enough to build lasting trust and loyalty. Hell, she had no idea how long the relationship would last or if either of them wanted to move beyond the casual stage. She checked her phone and found his message waiting.
Did you arrive safely? How’s the weather?
She thumbed her response.
Arrived fine and the weather is great. Gotta unpack and head to police department. Will text you after.
The sending indicator spun while the hotel WIFI struggled. Finally, a delivered icon appeared beside the message. She finished unpacking and watched Gardy smooth the sheets on the pullout bed.
This felt like a betrayal.
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
The Palm Dunes Police Department looked more like a swanky car dealership than a headquarters for law enforcement. A black and white American flag flew on a mast towering above the parking lot with the classic Thin Blue Line running parallel to the stripes. The front of the building was blue-shaded glass, the windows reflecting the parking lot lights. Palms lined a concrete walkway to the doors.
Bell and Gardy flashed their badges at the front, and a male officer pointed them toward the stairs. The lobby was busy for an evening. A group of officers stood in a circle beside the stairway. Their laughter ended when the tallest member of the group noticed Bell and Gardy. Bell felt their eyes follow her up the steps.
They found Jay Phalen’s office at the end of the hall. Gardy knocked on the open door. The detective greeted the agents without lifting his eyes from the case notes.
“Agent Gardy. I could have saved you the trouble. We’ve got all the manpower we need on this case.” Phalen issued a tired sigh and ran his hand through a tuft of brown, thinning hair. Then he dropped his pen and lifted his head. “Glad to have you, regardless.”
Phalen rounded the desk and shook Gardy’s hand.
“Good to see you again, Jay. What’s it been? Five years?”
“Time flies even when you aren’t having fun.”
The detective wore a white short sleeve Polo that accentuated strong arms and his deep Florida tan. In his younger years, Bell reasoned, Phalen was the boy who inspired clandestine entries into teenage girls’ diaries, but he was older now and fighting a losing battle against time.
“I expected you’d be running the place by now,” said Phalen, leaning against the desk. “Tell
you one thing, when I heard Don Weber got Deputy Director of CIRG, I thanked my lucky stars I got the hell out of there. Damn shame. Everyone and their mother had you pegged for the job.”
Gardy coughed into his hand and glanced around the office.
“You’re doing okay for yourself. This has to be the most spectacular law enforcement building I’ve set foot in.”
“The taxpayers aren’t impressed.”
Gardy remembered Bell was in the room.
“Sorry, I lost my head for a second. Jay, this is Special Agent Bell. She’ll take the lead developing the profile.”
One corner of the detective’s mouth curled into a forced smile.
“Yes, I know about Agent Bell. Her reputation precedes her.”
Bell met Gardy’s eyes. He shrugged.
Phalen rolled open his desk drawer, pulled out a folded newspaper, and slapped it on the desk. To Bell’s horror, she saw it was a recent issue of The Informer, the tabloid that made a mint exploiting her. The lead reporter, Gavin Hayward, had tracked Bell to numerous manhunts across the country in the last year. On one memorable occasion, Hayward broke through a police barricade in California to get a quote and snap Bell’s picture.
Bell rolled her eyes.
“Hopefully, you don’t take anything Gavin Hayward writes seriously.”
“I wouldn’t wipe my ass with The Informer or any of these crime rags stacked at the grocery store checkout line. But I’m concerned. The sleaze ball has a knack for tracking you to crime scenes, and I can see it becoming a problem.”
“We’ll handle Hayward,” Gardy said.
“You do that. With a serial killer on our hands, we can’t afford distractions.”