Silent Graves (Brandon Fisher FBI Series)

by Carolyn Arnold

  Hanes and Stenson were now down at The Earth and Evergreen Restaurant where they often shared conversation, drank a few beers, and fed on chicken wings.

  “Ever get the feeling we’re like ticks on their backs?” Stenson tilted the beer bottle to the side and then lifted it to his lips. “I mean, they ask for our help but then dismiss us. They run the case like it’s theirs—and don’t interrupt me to say it technically is.”

  Hanes rolled his eyes.

  “I hate saying it’s their case. We had it first. This guy fell into our laps. I was even ahead of you with this.” Stenson smiled.

  “I hate it when you get that look on your face.”

  “What? This charming smile? All they want to do is talk about it or jump here and there with the investigation. If I were in charge, I’d have the guy already.”

  Hanes’s brow curved upward.

  “Okay, maybe not, but I’d be closer.”

  “So how close are you, Sherlock? You have a suspect list?”

  “I have some ideas, but I’m not sharing them with you.”

  “Because you don’t have any.” Hanes extinguished his mockery with a bottle pressed to his lips. “You have to watch your attitude, or you’ll never advance rank. I’m telling you.”

  “You have a damn bad attitude, and you wear a detective’s badge. If you can, I certainly qualify.”

  Both men smiled at each other and clinked bottles.

  “Yeah, if you say so.” Hanes checked his watch. “I better get going or the little lady is going to pitch a fit.”

  “She’s probably already wound up for a tirade. Come on, one more beer.”

  Hanes let out a deep breath and settled back into the booth. “One more, but no more daydreaming talk about you advancing rank.”

  “Oh, you’ll be sorry man. One day when I’m your boss,” Stenson drained back the rest of his beer and summoned the waitress for two more, “you’ll have to kiss my ass to make up for all the times you put me down.”

  “Trent, you know I have faith in you, but you do have improvements to make.”

  “What if I told you I had knowledge about this case that no one else does?”

  Hanes’s face took on dark shadows. “Then I’d tell you to get it out in the open before you’re considered an accessory.”

  There was hardly any light in the room as he watched her sleep. Her apartment was a one bedroom on the main street and two stories up. He had followed her and Lover Boy from the coffee shop and planned his return visit.

  The building wasn’t secured and it gave him direct access to her front door. He had picked the lock easily, and, as the blonde’s chest rose and fell beneath the sheets, he zeroed in on his target.

  Kill her now.

  The voice reached him no matter where he was. He might as well embrace it and let it become one with him.

  Lover Boy had left an hour ago. He saw him walk down the sidewalk—a literal bounce to his step. He had fucked the whore, but it would be his last mistake.

  You are going to fuck this up.

  He spoke back to the voice within the confines of his mind. I have everything under control.

  Even with his determination, uncertainty had a way of creeping in on him. He had never gone about things this way. He got to know the women and lured them to him. He would take this one with him, and if she didn’t cooperate…

  His thought derailed there.

  Her breathing exhaled as soft purrs, bordering on snores, into the darkness of night. She kicked the sheets off, and his heart raced as he readied to move. But she hadn’t woken up, only moved in her sleep.

  He stepped closer to her bed and caught the waft of her smell—woman muskiness mixed with perfume. As he inhaled, he also picked up on something else. She was unclean. The man who had defiled her had left his stench behind, and the air was riddled with cheap cologne. He guessed it was a pharmacy knock-off.

  Bile rose in his throat. Rage filled him.

  Kill her now!

  Do it!

  While she sleeps, cut off her head!

  You had fun with Amy. Remember Amy.

  He tried to forget Amy. She had been beautiful, but he had taken her beauty. He usually struggled with remorse, but, with her, it went deeper. She had been a passionate lover. She looked him in the eye when he was inside her. She was uninhibited. He had loved that about her.

  She was poison.

  “Shut up!”

  The blonde bolted upright and screamed. He slid up the bed and muffled her yells with a well-placed hand over her mouth. Her eyes went wide, the whites obvious in the dim light, as if she were facing a ghost.

  “You do as I say, and I remove my hand. Got it?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll try this…slowly.” He peeled back his hand in fragments of inches.

  She howled.

  He tightened his grip again. “Nope, nope, nope!”

  “I’m—”

  The rest of her words were mumbled, but he sensed it was an apology. At least that’s what he chose to believe.

  “We will try this one more time. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again.

  “All right.” He removed his hand.

  Her mouth remained closed for less than a second, but she didn’t let out a scream.

  “It’s you. You from the coffee shop.” Her eyes blinked tears.

  “You remember me? Thought I was cute, didn’t you?”

  Her eyes never left his as she went to lift the sheets up to cover herself.

  “Don’t try to be modest now. We’re just getting to know each other.” He reached out to the strap of her camisole and pinched the fabric.

  She clawed his face.

  His hand cradled the stinging flesh, and he struggled for control.

  Kill her! Kill her!

  He pulled the camisole up and exposed her swelled breasts. She was aroused. He ripped off her lacy thong and got to work.

  Chapter 37

  Jack had wanted to talk to Rogers about Poole, and, in a roundabout way, he had saved us the trouble of hunting him down.

  Jack and I sat in the conference room of PWPD with Rogers and his cohort Neil.

  The background on Neil didn’t show any charges, but I had my suspicions that, in his case, it was only because he hadn’t been caught.

  Paige and Zachery were in the room with the crime boards. They figured while Jack and I talked to Rogers, they would study them in the hopes of seeing something that was missed.

  “He killed my wife, and you’re just willing to look the other way and let him go?”

  Rogers’s body language communicated the man wasn’t open to discussion. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. He was convinced that Keyes was involved with his wife’s disappearance, murder, and decapitation.

  “How do you know Keyes?” Jack asked his question calmly, giving no impression that Rogers’s impatient attitude affected him at all. My personal opinion was that it didn’t. I didn’t think there was much that fazed Jack.

  “You need proof? How about my wife’s head in his toilet? Isn’t that enough—”

  Neil put his hand on Rogers’s forearm, bringing his stream of words to a halt. It earned him a sideways glare, but Rogers calmed down before speaking.

  “I know Keyes from charity events—that’s all.”

  “Nothing on a personal level?”

  This was the third mention of charity events. Poole had said he knew Rogers from these types of events, and now Keyes was being pulled into that world as well.

  “No. Absolutely not. We walked in different circles. He does what? Manages a gym? I run a communications empire.”

  “What about Ian Poole?”

  “The lawyer? Same thing. Charity events. You don’t think this factors in do you?”

  “Did you ever approach Poole to work for you?”

  Seconds ticked by.

  “I did approach him once, but it was a long time ago. Nothing came
of it. He said he didn’t want to get involved with someone who has such a high profile. Didn’t make much sense to me. You’re a lawyer? Make a killing off it. I would have paid handsomely.”

  “Did he say why he turned you down?”

  “Shouldn’t you be out there finding the rest of my wife?”

  Jack remained quiet.

  Rogers continued. “Just that—he didn’t want such a high-profile company to represent. Are you even looking for the rest of her? I can’t have a funeral and only bury her head.”

  “There was no history before that between the two of you?” Jack opened a manila folder in front of him and consulted some reports. I figured it was more to create drama since Jack remembered mostly everything. “Ian Poole owns one of the most successful law firms in the area. He took on companies as large as yours. Why not yours?”

  “Like I said, I can’t answer that.”

  “What about your wives?” I interjected the question. “Women can be petty sometimes. They can hate another woman on sight. I know my wife used to be like that.”

  “Used to be?”

  I had hoped that Rogers wouldn’t pick up on the past tense and with having such a self-centered attitude, I was surprised he had. “I’m divorced. At least, it’s in the process.”

  Rogers’s face contorted, giving the impression he didn’t really care.

  “Did your wives not see eye to eye? Both of them were involved with charity events, the organizing of them? Did they compete with each other? I’m sure there’s only so many who can afford to attend these functions. Were they fighting for attention?”

  “I think I need a lawyer.”

  “Surprised he’s not already here.” Jack closed the folder.

  “I did nothing wrong. Do you hear me?”

  Jack walked to the door. “You went to a man’s house, bound him, assaulted him, and held a gun to his head, but you did nothing wrong?”

  Rogers sighed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. You just don’t like me because I have money.”

  The energy in the room changed as if a hurricane were coming.

  Jack turned to face Rogers.

  I prepared for a verbal lash out, but Jack said five words. “Get out of my face.”

  Chapter 38

  “I like your angle with the women.”

  Did I just hear Jack correctly? I trailed behind him, down the hallway toward the room with the crime boards.

  “Well, it’s another viewpoint on this. Maybe the women had an association, and that might be how our unsub got to both of them,” I said.

  Jack picked up his cell. “Nadia, one more thing for you. Check into charity events where both Amy Rogers and Sydney Poole were involved. While you’re at it, see if any of the other women got involved with this type of thing.” He clicked off—he must have had to leave a message for her.

  I’m certain I was wearing the smug smile that came with validation. Jack had Nadia acting on my suspicions. I had to bask in these moments. They didn’t come along as often as I would have liked. Even when I made a hefty contribution, most of them were dismissed with hmm.

  We entered the room with the crime boards. Jack just cleared the doorway and was already asking questions. “All right, what do you guys have?”

  Paige and Zachery were standing in front of the spread on Lindsay Parks.

  “The financials came back on Parks.” Zachery turned to face us. “There is nothing that stands out as elaborate spending. She went to Reborn Spa every Wednesday, and it doesn’t seem that she belonged to any gym.”

  “That agrees with what her husband told us,” I said.

  “No connection that way. What about any cash withdrawals?” Jack pulled out a cigarette.

  “There was a regular withdrawal of five hundred a week,” Zachery said. “That’s not a lot, considering the money the Parks have. To us, maybe a weekly cash spending budget of five hundred would be a lot.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “The other thing that stands out is most things that Parks spent money on was via her banking card or Visa. So why this need for cash?”

  “Possibly for tipping?” I offered with a shrug. “You said she went to the spa weekly. What about regular salon appointments for her hair? I know if I pay cash to the lady who cuts—”

  My words stopped there due to the correction meted out in Jack’s eyes. I knew what they were saying, so you can avoid the tax. I averted eye contact.

  Paige consulted the folder she held. I assumed it must have contained the financials of Lindsay Parks. She bobbed her head side to side. “It could be. I don’t think any of the names that showed up on the banking report belonged to any hair salons. Reborn Spa doesn’t do hair, just massage, etcetera.”

  “There aren’t any names there that do. You know I remember everything I read.” Zachery flashed a cocky smile.

  “What else would she need cash for?” I asked the question out loud, not necessarily expecting an immediate answer.

  “She pays for a gigolo.” Paige laughed after she said it.

  “A gigolo?” I smiled at her. The word instantly brought to mind the movie from the late nineties—Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo.

  “Being a male gigolo, professionally known as a male escort, is a thriving business,” Zachery began.

  “Think about it,” Paige said. “It would fit perfectly with our victimology as well. You have lonely wives who need attention. They know the comforts of a secure relationship—”

  “At least, when it came to their financial status Paige. Come on, these women were on their own—married yet single,” I said.

  Paige closed the folder and tossed it on a nearby desk. “Secure in the sense that they probably didn’t want to risk their marriages, their comfortable financial status, on a tryst. There were probably prenups in place for all of them.”

  Jacked pulled out a cigarette. “Then you believe these women paid our unsub for sex?”

  “Not necessarily Jack. It’s quite possible that these wives weren’t cheating on their husbands, at least not in the typical sense. If their relationship with the unsub was free of physical interaction, in the least, they would have bonded emotionally. That is cheating to me anyway.” Paige’s eyes slid to me.

  Zachery paced the perimeter of the room. “Let’s say these women meet up with him for company. They want to feel needed, wanted, and important. How does our unsub go from being a confidant to a killer?”

  “The money withdrawals. You said five hundred a week?” Jack asked.

  “Yes,” Paige answered.

  “We need to find out where the money was taken out. On the statement, there’s just code. Was it always the same place or different? It might get us closer. It is possible Parks stopped for money en route to the unsub.”

  Paige took out her phone and dialed. “That’s probably something Nadia can handle quickly. Hello, Nadia, need you to check on something for us…yes, I know. This is an easy one for you…yes, I promise.” Paige smiled at us, and, when her expression fell to me, it erased, and she turned away.

  The situation between us had become complicated, and, at times I wondered if I were deceiving myself to think everything would be all right. Rarely, when mixing a prior sexual relationship—what I liked to classify as encounters—with business, did everything work out.

  Zachery watched me as if he knew what I was thinking. I was giving too much consideration to the situation anyway. Go with the flow. That was typically my motto, and it was one I needed to readopt. Everything would be fine.

  Paige slipped her phone into its clip and faced us again. “The money was always taken out at the Capital One ATM machine located on Fortuna Center Plaza.”

  Zachery’s finger bolted up and then he pulled out his phone and started tapping keys. He extended it to us as if we could all get a clear picture on a four-inch screen from this distance. “This is the location of the ATM.” He spread his fingers on the screen, expanding the grid of the map. “Right near Route 234.
She’d just have to follow the highway straight north.”

  “Toward Keyes’s cabin and the property where Nina Harris was found,” I said.

  Zachery smirked. He must have found my contribution rhetorical. “She could have hit the machine before heading out of town to meet with the unsub.”

  Jack addressed Zachery. “Did the withdrawals from Parks’s account always come out on a certain day?”

  Zachery thought for less than five seconds. “Every seven days, on Wednesdays, and that’s the day of the week she was last seen.”

  “She definitely had a regular appointment corresponding with the withdrawal and easy access from the ATM to the highway.” Jack paused, letting the summation sit in the air.

  “He made the women come to him,” Zachery said.

  “Or they didn’t want him in their homes?” Paige’s eyebrows hitched upward.

  “Why go to the trouble?” I interjected.

  “Their husbands were never around. They would have had time to clean up any evidence of their infidelity.”

  She crossed her arms. At the same time, a knock came at the door.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Detective Hanes entered the room. “Forensic results have come back on Nina Harris.”

  Positioned over her, he swept back a strand of her hair with his hand. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she refused to meet his.

  “Shh. There is no reason to worry. You will be fine. You were perfect.”

  The sobs started again, racking her body.

  “Now, now.”

  When he moved, she would do one of two things—scream and run or continue to lie there without the strength to get up. He put his wager on the latter. Not only was she beautiful, she was submissive as well. She was willing to let him have anything if it meant her life in exchange. Those were the ones he could best control.

  “You are going to come with me.”

  She shook her head. “Please, don’t…please, leave me.”

  “No, I can’t now, you see. I’m a wanted man.”

  “I won’t tell the…police…please…just go.” Crying fragmented her words.