Glimpse of Death: A Riveting Serial Killer Thriller

by Leslie Wolfe

  “Include the husbands too. They must have crossed paths somewhere in the past, I agree, and the husbands might have been the ones paying for wherever that was.”

  “Will do. When’s DNA back?”

  “Later today. Maybe we get lucky, who knows. Wouldn’t it be nice? To find both donors in CODIS and just go pick them up, end of story? While Katherine’s still alive?”

  “Right,” Michowsky replied. “Has it ever happened to you before? To get that lucky?”

  “No, never,” she admitted with a groan. “You’re right, let’s stop dreaming. Better include Katherine in the background checks. Let’s get ahead of this game for once.”

  “All right,” Michowsky said, getting ready to leave. “See you later, Winnett.”

  “I’ll call you when DNA comes back,” she said, and waved at him as he left the room.

  Then she looked at Pearson, who’d observed the entire interaction without saying a word.

  “We have two victims, and one missing woman, Katherine Nelson, coincidentally a medical resident in this hospital,” she explained. “Two sets of DNA on the victims, two unsubs, a strangler and a rapist. By the way, thanks for the lab approval. If we move fast, we might be able to save her. We were too late for Sarah, but we might not be too late for Katherine.”

  Pearson nodded a couple of times but didn’t say a word. Then he pulled open the sliding door.

  “Take care of yourself, Winnett, all right?”

  24

  Breakfast

  Stacy Rodriguez liked to prop herself up on a bar stool in front of the kitchen island, holding a cup of freshly brewed java in her hands, and inhale the powerful aroma while watching her wife, Renata, fuss over their little girls. Renata was much better at being a mother than she’d ever hope to be; she’d been the one carrying the twins to term after the in vitro, and learning she was carrying twins in her seventh week of pregnancy brought tears of joy to her eyes. Stacy had been okay with it, but not thrilled, and that also included the in vitro fertilization. Renata wanted children, and thankfully, she wanted to be a full-scope mother, and get the IVF instead of adopting, like many homosexual couples did.

  Thankfully, because Stacy had no interest whatsoever to let her body be used as a vessel for procreation, with all the side effects that followed, from weight gain to postpartum depression. She didn’t even have to argue, because Renata wanted to be pregnant, wanted the “real mother experience,” as she liked to call it. That was more than two years ago, and she still looked her fabulous self, no weight gain, no depression, just a maternal glow surrounding her all the time. Renata was made to be a mother.

  Stacy liked to watch the acts of parenthood from a distance. She pulled her weight in the family, but she didn’t feel the enthusiasm her wife did when changing a diaper or preparing a meal. Chores were chores, and sometimes she wished the time would fly faster so she’d get back to work, where she could be working with data and computer code, instead of poop and drool.

  Through some strange workings of nature, Renata had carried the twins to term, but it was Stacy who struggled with the postpartum depression. In her case, because no actual baby had left her body, she secretly referred to her condition as “post-arrival blues,” and kept it a secret because Renata deserved all the joys of motherhood, without having to worry about her.

  She loved watching her care for the twins, though. There was this blissful peace that Renata’s love spread around with every wipe, every diaper, and every kind word she whispered to the girls. The three of them together were the image of harmony, of serenity in family life. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “What’re you grinning at?” Renata asked playfully. “Like to watch, huh?”

  Stacy chuckled. Renata’s mind wasn’t all maternal; there was a streak of sexual impulse running through that brain of hers, hot as hell, flowing slowly like molten lava.

  “Last night was nice, wasn’t it?” Renata asked. “I love that patio.”

  “Uh-huh,” Stacy replied. “They make excellent cheese sticks.”

  “It’s good we can take the girls there, and don’t have to put up with the glares from people inside the restaurant. I’d rather deal with the heat than the ‘why’d you bring your kids here, they better not cry,’ attitude.”

  “It’s not so bad, Renata, really.”

  “Yes, it is. Maybe you’re not noticing it, or maybe you’re smart enough not to care, but I can feel it, their disdain, their scorned superiority, as if they weren’t children themselves at some point in their lives, annoying others.”

  Stacy took another sip of coffee and refrained from voicing another comment. Renata was sensitive, she cared about what other people thought. Maybe it was her line of work as a travel agent booking flights for a large corporation, or maybe she’d lost the habit of not caring, after she started working from home, to be with the twins. Daily exposure to office shenanigans toughens one’s skin.

  “Have you thought about it some more?” Renata asked, making reference to her idea to get a minivan. Over dessert, the night before, when Stacy was most likely to say yes, Renata had listed several reasons why their small Nissan crossover wouldn’t cut it anymore, and why they needed to trade that in for a full-size minivan.

  Stacy looked at her, trying to gauge how badly she’d react to the “hell, no,” she was dying to say. “I struggle with it, you know. I hate the damn things, and I don’t see any reason why a full-size SUV couldn’t be good enough. If size is the issue, then we’ll upgrade the car.”

  “Those sliding doors are—”

  “Once you have the child seats in place, you don’t really need them,” Stacy interrupted her, sounding a bit more dismissive than she’d intended.

  “It would be easier to clean,” she insisted. “Think of all the spilled liquids, all the food dropped on the floor—”

  “What’s with all the food and drink in the car, anyway?” Stacy blurted out, frustrated. “Why can’t these kids do something else with their time in the car other than eat? What’s the deal with that, huh?”

  Renata dropped the diaper she was holding, and came to her quickly, wearing an expression of concern on her face. She touched her arm gently, then gave her a side hug, and Stacy didn’t shun it. Instead, she lowered her eyes and stared at the marble counter’s random pattern for a while.

  “You’re upset,” Renata whispered. “I would be too. I’m scared, probably more scared than you are. What are you going to do about it?” She caressed Stacy’s long hair for a while, waiting for an answer, but none came. “I still think you should call the cops.”

  “Not calling any cops,” Stacy replied morosely. “There’s nothing to report. Maybe I just imagined the damn thing.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Renata encouraged her, throwing a quick glance toward one of the twins, who started fussing. “Please call them, see what they say. Maybe it’s happened before.”

  “No. I don’t need that circus in my life. Maybe it was… I don’t know, something benign. Maybe it wasn’t meant for me.”

  “You said you were alone in that parking lot, right? No one else was there?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But he must have been there for someone else, not me. There’s nothing special about me.”

  “I can think of a few things,” Renata whispered in her ear, sliding behind her and wrapping her arms around her. “Beautiful, sexy, hot lady, setting my heart on fire.”

  Stacy turned her head and accepted Renata’s kiss on her lips. “Still not calling them,” she mumbled.

  “So, I can’t gain your favors with sex… that’s disheartening,” Renata laughed. “Any idea what else would work?”

  “Nothing, at this time. If I see him again, maybe then I’ll call them. But I’m not even sure what I saw. Just his hands, holding something. It was too far and too dark, and my eyes are shot after a day’s worth of staring at a computer screen, deciphering code. Let’s drop this, all right?”

  She sto
od and grabbed her car keys, getting ready to leave for work. From the door, she turned and shot the three girls in her life a loving look. If a minivan would make Renata happy, maybe she could learn to live with it.

  25

  Remote Office

  “You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Cat asked, slowing his pace even more, to keep up with her faltering gait. “You could give it another day or two.”

  “Can’t do that, Cat, I’m sorry. There isn’t any time, you heard for yourself. That unsub’s not waiting for me to feel better. He’s going to keep on strangling more innocent women, and it has to stop.”

  She pushed herself to keep on walking, taking step after step while clinging to Cat’s arm, and felt drained and dizzy. The post-op hallway was a generous length to walk back and forth, and she didn’t want to cut it short. Dr. DePaolo had said she needed to start walking, to prevent postoperative tissue adherence, and that’s what she was doing. He didn’t say she had to walk for an hour; that was her own challenge quota for the day.

  “I can’t be wobbly on my feet when they finally discharge me,” she added, feeling out of breath, as if she’d been running. “They’ll let me go in a day or two, you know. Then what?”

  “Then come live with me,” Cat offered, “and let me take care of you.”

  “Huh… like old times,” she said, letting a wave of sadness wash over her pale features. “You put Humpty Dumpty back together once before; I think you’re trustworthy enough.”

  “Coming from you, that’s a huge compliment.” Cat slowed his pace even more, and gave her a worried glance. “Time to go back to bed, kiddo, and I’m serious this time.”

  She nodded, letting a long sigh escape her chest.

  “How about I wheel you back to your room?”

  “No. It’s just around the corner. Not worth the trouble.”

  She didn’t want to end the day’s challenge feeling defeated. She hated to admit it, but every time she dozed off in bed, she woke up feeling guilty, ashamed she’d stop thinking about Katherine, about how to get her back. Those weren’t rational thoughts, she knew that, but it didn’t help her feel any differently. Earlier that day, she’d endured through a long, detailed scolding from Dr. DePaolo, who’d mentioned a hero complex and other such nonsense. She didn’t have a hero complex; she was the one who held the knowledge and skills to help get Katherine back. For Sarah, they’d been too late. She wasn’t going to let history repeat itself with Katherine. It would be unforgivable.

  They turned the corner, moving slower than she’d ever thought possible, and stopped in their tracks a few yards short of her door. There was a cart filled with all sorts of boxes, parked right in front of her room. She walked the final stretch no longer feeling tired and entered the room. The first thing she noticed was Melissa’s disapproving glance; her arms were crossed at her chest and she stood there, watching, not saying a word. Then Tess noticed the two wide-screen monitors mounted on the foot rail of her bed.

  “Who’s turning my room into a scene from The Bone Collector?” she asked, looking at Melissa, but she just pursed her lips and remained quiet. Tess couldn’t help but smile, anticipating the answer to that question.

  “That would be me,” she heard Donovan’s voice behind her.

  She turned, still holding on to Cat’s arm. “Hey, Donovan. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m actually glad to see you.”

  “I’m not,” he quipped, “not when you look like shit on death’s door.”

  Cat grunted and frowned, and she though she heard him mutter a curse under his breath.

  “Seems you haven’t lost your charm,” she replied solemnly. Nevertheless, she smiled, and felt Cat’s arm relax. “What goodies have you, and how did Pearson pull this off?”

  “He filed a request to reinstate you as a remote consultant; he deemed you necessary, not in person, but in wit.”

  “My wit’s damaged,” she replied, “foggy and drugged. Coming off that oxy high these days. My creds are up and running?”

  “Yep, on all systems,” Donovan confirmed. “Since this isn’t the bureau’s network, I’ve set you up with encrypted cellular data. Make sure this data card is plugged into your laptop, or you won’t be able to connect. Then use the security token whenever you start a new remote work session.”

  “All right,” she replied, feeling excited, as if it were Christmas morning. “My weapon?”

  “Strangely enough, yeah, it’s here,” Donovan replied, and pointed at a small, fingerprint access gun vault on Tess’s bedside table.

  “Um, excuse me,” Melissa intervened, “this is where I draw the line. We’re in a hospital. Guns are strictly prohibited in here.”

  “She’s an active-duty, law enforcement officer,” Donovan replied, “and that’s the only exception to the rule allowed in your book.”

  “She’s a patient in this hospital,” Melissa replied, holding her ground.

  “You didn’t mind the gun on the uniformed cop,” Tess intervened. “Remember the guy who was stationed at my door, up until yesterday? Newsflash: he was packing. He probably had a spare too.”

  “He was lucid and healthy. He wasn’t on IV drugs, and he could tie his own shoelaces if he tried,” Melissa replied. “This is not negotiable. If you can’t see my point of view, I’ll get Dr. DePaolo to explain it better. He’ll throw a fit anyway, when he sees all this mess at rounds tonight.”

  Tess lowered her eyes and breathed deeply. Melissa was probably right. She didn’t feel up to it, and her life wasn’t in any danger. It wasn’t as if the unsub could drop by one day, just to strangle her.

  “All right,” she conceded, “Donovan will hold on to my weapon until I’m discharged. But the rest of the stuff is staying.”

  Melissa relaxed a little. “Thank you,” she said, “I’m probably going to get written up for this anyway. There are limits, you know, and you’re breaking every one of them.”

  Donovan laughed. “Yeah, that’s Special Agent Winnett for you. Glad that knife didn’t cut any of your charming personality, Winnett. It would have been a disaster; the local community would have never recovered.”

  “Ah, screw you, Donovan. What other good stuff did you bring? Some of us have a job to do.”

  “You have a videoconferencing console here, on this mobile table. Wireless. The Palm Beach detectives can conference you in when they’re out in the field, talking to witnesses. Then this is your camera, a simple Web cam, if you want to participate actively.”

  “Take that Web cam and shove it where the sun don’t shine,” she snapped. “Do I look camera ready to you right now?” She gestured loosely at her wrinkled hospital garb and fuzzy slippers.

  “I’m going to let that question go unanswered,” Donovan said, but took the webcam and put it back in its box.

  “All I need now is a case board, but that’s going to pose issues,” Tess added. “I wonder if we could—”

  “Please log in to your system for me,” Donovan interrupted. “Let’s see you get online.”

  She typed her password, then started her virtual private network application and entered the random security code generated by her token.

  “I’m online, VPN’s connected,” she confirmed.

  “See that new icon on your desktop, marked PB? Double-click it to open a feed from a camera installed in the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office, in the conference room. It shows a direct view of the case board in there, the one they’ve already been working on. Zoom in, like any Web page, with control plus.”

  She clapped her hands. “You’re awesome, Donovan.”

  “Pearson was clear that we can’t have confidential case information displayed on the walls here, at the hospital. Rules are simple; when you’re not here, the laptop is closed and all conferencing is terminated. Not paused or muted, terminated.”

  “Understood,” she said, eager to lie down. Her knees were starting to shake, and she leaned against Cat more and more.

  “You could hav
e delayed this by a day or two,” Cat said, turning toward Donovan with a grim look in his eyes.

  “Sorry, man, just doing as I’m told. Her boss said he wants her to stay in bed, and apparently, this is what it takes.”

  “Thanks, Donovan, I appreciate it,” Tess replied.

  “One more thing,” he said, getting ready to leave. “I’m assigned to you, full time. Please don’t abuse that. Please.”

  She grinned widely, and he turned toward the door without a word and left the room with a spring in his step. Right before disappearing from view, he waved without looking back.

  She crawled into bed and Melissa immediately checked her vitals, connected all the machines, and hooked up the IV drip.

  “You know you’re shooting yourself in the foot, don’t you?” Melissa asked. “You’re not giving your body time to heal. This is all wrong, and Dr. DePaolo will chew us both a new one for it.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry if I ruined your day,” Tess replied, a little irritated at the thought of another scolding from Dr. DePaolo.

  “You didn’t ruin my day,” she blurted, sounding offended. “This hospital is littered with know-it-all pricks who make a health professional’s life hell.” She used a small file and popped open a glass vial, then extracted the fluid inside with a syringe and transferred it into the IV bag. “Thanks for the gun part, though.”

  “Uh-huh,” Tess muttered, wondering what was in that vial, waiting for a good time to ask.

  “I wonder how much of your handiwork keeps us busy here, in the ER,” Melissa added, with an almost irate undertone. “For those of us who are in the business of putting people back together again, guns are a hard pill to swallow,” she said, sounding somewhat apologetic.