The return to reality had been harsh.
She thought of the intrusive reporter. Hal Feingold was dead, and, based on the chess pawns, at the hands of the copycat who had been right outside Reid’s apartment. The body count had risen again. Caitlyn closed her eyes, attempting to ease her frayed nerves.
She had wanted to stay with Reid that morning, but he’d rightfully shifted into FBI mode and taken control of the crime scene. For more than an hour, she had waited inside his apartment for Manny to arrive and escort her home. As she’d climbed into the passenger side of the Rambling Rose pickup truck, she had glimpsed Reid on the mist-grayed street. He’d been in discussion with a trench-coated man who was also in law enforcement, judging by his authoritative stance and gun belt. Reid’s eyes had met hers only briefly before Manny spirited her away.
Outside her house, the previously cloudy day had begun to brighten. She heard the muffled voices of Manny and Maria, and Caitlyn looked out the window to see them unloading chrysanthemums from the pickup’s bed. Maria had shyly mentioned her love of flowers and asked if she could work on the garden in back of the farmhouse. Caitlyn had given her free rein, even suggesting Manny take her to the nursery in Middleburg.
Dressed in riding breeches and a lightweight turtleneck, she retrieved her leather-bound organizer which sat on top of a newspaper Manny had left spread out across the table. She noticed he’d circled several listings for furnished apartments in town. As she read through their descriptions, the telephone rang. A look at caller ID told her it wasn’t Reid as she hoped. Instead, the name Treadwell, Robert appeared on-screen. Caitlyn sighed and considered not answering, but finally picked it up. Based on the number displayed, the call was coming from the house and not Rob’s cell phone. “Hello?”
“Caitlyn?” It was Sophie on the other end of the line. Her voice trembled. “I need your help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The FBI and police are here. They’ve got a search warrant for the house. They’re taking Rob’s computer! I—I don’t know what to do!”
Her grip on the phone tightened. Caitlyn attempted to process what Sophie had just told her, her mind leaping ahead. Was it possible Rob was behind the hidden webcam, or was this about something else entirely? She ran a hand over her forehead, trying to calm herself.
“Sophie, listen to me,” she said above the other woman’s frightened whimpers. “Is Rob there?”
“He’s out of town. They’re in his office. They’re going through everything! What’s going on, Caitlyn? I heard them mention your name!”
Her heart sank.
“Hold on. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She disconnected the phone and stared blankly into the hallway. Despite the overtures he’d made to her recently, it seemed unthinkable that Rob was the one who’d invaded her privacy. That Sophie’s husband was the one who had been watching her. She felt disgusted. At the same time, another, even worse thought entered her mind. She and Reid had talked about the possibility that whoever placed the camera could also be the person responsible for the murders. Could Rob be Joshua’s copycat?
No. For Sophie’s sake, she wouldn’t allow her thoughts to go there.
Caitlyn pushed the sequence of buttons on the security console so she could exit the house without setting off the alarm. Right now, she had to get to Sophie. Try to explain things to her. But she had no idea what she was going to say that wouldn’t tear her friend’s world apart.
“This could all be another mistake, couldn’t it?” Caitlyn said to Reid, her voice low. He’d ushered her into the sunroom to gain some privacy from the FBI agents and police officers filtering through the Treadwells’ sprawling, Georgian-style home. “I mean, you were wrong about Manny—”
“Computer forensics is very specific, Caitlyn. And Treadwell’s had repeated access to your house.” Reid stood with his hands on his hips. Despite his even tone, tension seemed to emanate from his body. “I expect what we find on his computer will corroborate our tech’s findings.”
“What would he be charged with?”
“At the least? Burglary of a habitation, possibly felony eavesdropping and harassment. And that’s if we can’t tie him to the serial murder investigation.”
“God,” Caitlyn uttered, feeling sick. “Where’s Sophie?”
“In the living room.”
She started to move past him, but Reid placed his hand on her forearm.
“What are you doing here?” he asked gently.
“Sophie’s my friend. She called me. She needs my help.”
Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. His gray eyes had darkened. “This guy was watching you without your consent. Try to remember that.”
He stopped speaking as Agent Tierney walked past them, heading in the direction of the house’s expansive kitchen. Once he was out of earshot, Reid ordered, “Go home, Caitlyn. Now. Your presence is inappropriate.”
“I can’t do that—”
“How do you think she’s going to react to you when she finds out her husband’s been spying on you?” He didn’t wait for her answer, instead supplying it himself. “She’s going to be angry and hurt, and she’ll probably treat you like it was your fault.”
Through the sunroom’s heavy glass panes, Caitlyn could see Rob and Sophie’s swimming pool, now covered by a tarp for the fall and winter. The outdoor rattan furniture wore similar cloaks, as well. Compared to the summer months, the flagstone patio appeared bleak and barren. She bit her lip, knowing Reid was probably right about Sophie blaming her. Still, she couldn’t deny her call for help. The two of them were supposed to have lunch together the next day—Sophie was going to pick her up. Caitlyn couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Just let me talk to her for a few minutes, all right? Then I’ll go. I won’t get in your way.”
“Where’s Ruiz?”
“I sent him to the stables. He wanted to come with me, but it’s only a three-mile drive and the middle of the afternoon. I told him I’d be fine.”
“Those weren’t my instructions.”
Her chin lifted fractionally. “He isn’t your employee.”
Caitlyn stared at him, wishing this hadn’t been their first conversation after what had happened between them last night. Reid released a labored breath, then nodded his consent. “Fine. Go talk to her.”
Traveling down the hallway, Caitlyn felt hollowed out inside. She tried to keep in her head what Reid had pointed out to her—that Rob had done something terribly wrong. But the rationale was lost in her sympathy for Sophie. None of this was her doing.
“Sophie?” Caitlyn said gently as she reached the opening into the living room. Sophie sat on the floral sofa, silhouetted against the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows that were covered by ice-blue silk drapes and gauzy sheers. She clutched a crumpled tissue, dabbing her eyes.
“They’re accusing Rob of spying on you.”
So she already knew. Caitlyn sank onto the sofa next to her.
“What proof do they have?” Sophie asked.
Caitlyn swallowed hard, forcing the explanation out. “There was a web camera hidden in my upstairs bathroom. The FBI’s computer specialist traced the connection…it went back to Rob’s computer here in the house.”
“That’s a lie. They’re wrong!”
Sophie shook her head, sniffling. Caitlyn reached for her hand, but the other woman snatched it away.
“Rob said you have a crush on him. That you came on to him and he turned you down, so he thinks you devised this whole scheme to get even.”
The accusation stung and Caitlyn felt her face grow hot. She had to defend herself. “He’s lying to you, Sophie. I would never do that to you or him. When did he tell you this?”
Sophie’s mascara had smudged, and a blackened trail of tears marred her cheeks. “When I called and told him the FBI and police were here. Right after I called you.”
“It’s not true! He’s been calling me and coming by—”
“Becau
se he’s been worried about you! That’s all!” She picked at the frayed tissue, leaving lint on her brown corduroy skirt. “I heard those FBI men talking. They’re trying to tie my Rob to those murders, too! Why are you doing this to us, Caity?”
The nickname made Caitlyn’s stomach clench. “I’m not doing anything—”
Sophie’s voice shook, its volume rising. “We’ve always been so good to you! Even when everyone else around here was whispering behind your back, we befriended you. We felt sorry for you!”
“Please calm down—”
“I’ve changed my mind.” Sophie squared her shoulders but still looked devastated. “I don’t need you here. I want you to leave.”
“Sophie—”
“Get out!”
Caitlyn stood stiffly. Sophie’s choked sobs were like arrows being thrown at her back as she retreated to the foyer. Reaching the open front door, she went through it and drew in a large gulp of crisp, fall air. Her heart ached for Sophie but it also hurt that her friend had so quickly believed the worst of her. She jumped at the sound of Reid’s voice.
“Caitlyn.”
She didn’t turn to face him, not wanting him to see the humiliation in her eyes. Not wanting him to know exactly how right he’d been. Who was she kidding? He had probably heard Sophie screaming at her anyway.
“Caitlyn,” Reid repeated, his tone less harsh this time. As she dug her keys from her purse, he said, “Let me drive you home.”
“I got myself here. I can get myself back.”
When she didn’t turn around, he walked to face her, putting himself between her and her car.
“I’m sorry,” he said simply.
“You tried to warn me.” She located her keys, but her uncooperative fingers dropped them on the stone walkway. Reid bent and picked them up, handing them to her. His eyes reflected her pain, and Caitlyn had to look away. She focused on the assortment of dark government sedans and squad cars parked along the house’s circular drive.
“What happens next?” she asked.
“The Loudoun County D.A. will have to bring any charges relating to the webcam. The Bureau just wants to interview him regarding his interest in you and any connection he might have had to the dead women. Did he know Bliss Harper?”
Caitlyn felt dread constrict her throat. She had to tell him. “He met her at my house this past summer. I…I had a small dinner party and Bliss came out for it.”
Reid squinted across the house’s wide lawn. An elaborate, tiered fountain was in its center, surrounded by sedum and mounds of red and purple winter pansies. A brick and wrought-iron fence gave the residence privacy from the road.
“Treadwell’s not answering his cell,” he said. “He’s checked out of his hotel in Atlanta. He was supposed to be there all week. He never made it to his business appointment this afternoon, either.”
Caitlyn realized the implication. Sophie’s call had warned him. “Maybe he hasn’t disappeared. Maybe he’s just trying to figure out what to do.”
“Maybe,” Reid agreed quietly, but he didn’t look convinced.
41
Reid spoke with Megan on his cell phone as he stared out the darkened window of his apartment. “Tell Maddie I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. Give her a kiss for me, okay?”
He said good-night, regretting he had missed his niece’s dance recital. His hand rose to clasp the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles he found there. The day had been a long one. It was already after 10:00 p.m. and he still wore his dress shirt and suit pants, although he had discarded the jacket and tie upon arriving at home fifteen minutes earlier.
His mind felt heavy, overloaded. Robert Treadwell, David Hunter, his appointment with Dr. Isrelsen set for eight the next morning—it all weighed on him. Reid was all too aware his life moving forward could be determined by what a fatherly, middle-aged man in a white lab coat had to tell him.
Moving aimlessly into the kitchen, he stared into the refrigerator’s contents but ended up extracting only a beer. Reid leaned back against the counter and tried to fight the worry pooling inside him. He’d placed his cell phone nearby. He stared at it, needing more than anything to hear Caitlyn’s voice. Finally giving in, he retrieved the device and located her number in its storage.
She answered on the second ring, her tone carrying relief. “Reid. I’m so glad you called. I wanted to apologize.”
He absently pressed the amber beer bottle against his closed eyes, its chill soothing. “For what?”
“For coming to Rob and Sophie’s house today. I know that I put you in a bad position.”
“I understand why you did it. It’s okay.” He realized she was probably upset, still worried about what Sophie Treadwell was going through.
“Is there anything new?” she asked. “About Rob?”
Reid sighed, unsure of how much he should tell her. But the truth was, he hadn’t been playing by the books for a while now, not where Caitlyn was concerned.
“Agent Tierney and I got a call from Treadwell’s attorney in Georgetown. He won’t tell us where Treadwell is—he claims he doesn’t know—but he’s promising to deliver him to the Middleburg Police by Monday. He’s probably trying to talk Treadwell into turning himself in before he’s considered a fugitive.”
“Do you think he’s in the District?”
“I have no idea.” Reid really didn’t want to bring up the webcam but he figured she might as well know all of it. “Our computer specialist went through Treadwell’s PC back at the lab. You’re not the only woman he’s been spying on, Caitlyn. We found digital footage of others. A couple of them appear to be in their homes, another one in a public bathroom, maybe inside an office complex.”
“The women…” Her voice wavered a little. “Are any of them victims of the copycat?”
“No.” If they were, it would make it a slam dunk to link Treadwell to the murders. But at the moment, all they knew for certain was that he was a deviant who’d been illegally taping women. The link between Treadwell, Caitlyn and Bliss Harper was promising, but it wasn’t any proof. Not like the incriminating evidence found in Hunter’s hotel room. Still, in Reid’s opinion Treadwell fit the profile much better than David Hunter.
Either way, both men were still out there somewhere.
“Are Ruiz and his daughter there with you tonight?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Reid nodded to himself. “Good.”
“Manny found a furnished, two-bedroom apartment in Middleburg today. It looks like Maria will be staying for a while and the apartment over the stables is really too small,” she told him. “He put the first month’s rent down to hold it, but they won’t move in until after…”
Her voice trailed off, and Reid understood what she was thinking. It was probably difficult for her to imagine any of this would ever be over.
“I just can’t stop thinking about Sophie,” she confessed. “I know she doesn’t want to see me and I don’t plan to approach her again, but she’s all alone right now.”
“We found some other things in Treadwell’s home office today. Hard-core pornography and some pretty extreme S&M videos. They were in a locked drawer of his desk.”
“I don’t believe this,” she said quietly.
Reid had seen a portion of one of the DVDs and it had been particularly disturbing. A woman tied down and being gang raped and sodomized, although it was obvious from the bad acting that it had been staged for the camera. The DVDs weren’t illegal, but they were another indicator of Treadwell’s unhealthy prurient interests.
“How are you holding up, Caitlyn?” he asked. She met his question with a sigh.
“I wish you were here,” she replied softly.
Reid swallowed. He thought of what he would be facing tomorrow. “Me, too.”
He wanted to tell her, share the burden he carried. But he didn’t want to worry Caitlyn until he knew exactly what he was dealing with, and how bad it was. Part of him realized that if he received the worst ne
ws tomorrow, he should break things off with her. It would be the right thing to do.
Reid just wasn’t certain he would be strong enough.
Police squad cars sat in front of the two-story brick colonial in the upscale, Bethesda neighborhood. His heart heavy, Reid parked across the street, flashed his shield at the uniforms standing guard and waded across the weed-filled lawn still wet with morning dew. He ignored the huddle of neighbors on a nearby driveway, holding coffee mugs as they spoke in low tones to one another. The house’s soft gray brick and black shutters were out of sync with the overgrown shrubs, and a real estate sign now announced the property as Bank Owned. Entering the foyer, he noticed the home owners’ association citations still taped to the door.
He’d gotten the voice mail from Mitch after leaving Dr. Isrelsen’s office and had come directly over.
“Where’s the body?” he asked a uniform standing in the hallway.
“In back, Agent.”
Mitch’s deep voice came from the house’s rear. Reid followed the sound of it, arriving in a sun-filled kitchen with granite countertops and top-of-the-line appliances.
“I got here as soon as I could,” he said to his partner, who stood in the midst of forensics technicians and workers from the M.E.’s office going about their jobs.
David Hunter slumped over a maple wood table, a nearly empty bottle of gin nearby. Blood pooled beneath him. His right arm hung downward, fingers pointing toward the .357 Magnum that lay on the Mexican tile floor. Reid’s chest tightened. He took a step closer, saw the massive exit wound on the left side of the skull.
“A squad car conducted a drive-by and saw a light on,” Mitch said. “This is what they found. The blood spatter expert confirms the pattern is on target with a suicide. They’re estimating time of death was four to six hours ago.”
A ballistics technician moved around them, measuring the bullet’s trajectory from Hunter’s head to where it was buried in the plaster wall a few feet away. Brain matter speckled the cheerful wallpaper.
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