The Seven-Day Target

by Natalie Charles

  “Mmm,” she responded. “You don’t need to stay, you know. Shouldn’t you be busting a drug cartel or something?”

  “I busted them all before I left. And I told you I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “And I told you that this is nothing but empty threats.” She retrieved a paper from her file and studied it. “Anyway, I was thinking of staying at Cassie’s, just to be safe. She just had a baby, and she could use some help with the nighttime feedings.”

  His eyebrows shot upward. “I didn’t know Cassie was seeing any—”

  “She’s not,” Libby replied quickly. “She’s on her own. That’s why she likes it when I can stay over to help out.”

  She flashed him a look that warned him off any questions, but Nick didn’t care enough to pursue the issue. Whatever happened to Libby’s little sister wasn’t his business. He fished out his BlackBerry again. “What’s the name?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The baby. What’s the name?”

  “Samuel.” Libby’s face softened. “Samuel James. That was my grandfather’s name.”

  “I know.”

  She must have forgotten herself, because she looked up at him and smiled before returning to her paperwork.

  His gaze hovered on her pale, slender fingers. Once he’d surprised her at work after hours, just after their engagement. She’d closed the door and kissed him, running those fingers down the front of his shirt to his belt buckle. He’d watched her tug the leather loose, fixated on the sight of her manicured fingernails as she’d felt his arousal, then boldly freed him from his pants. Prim and proper Libby. So concerned about appearances. A lady by all accounts. But that night she’d slid off the flimsy excuse for panties she’d been wearing under her skirt and tossed them at him. Then she’d seated him in her chair and given him a naughty smile as she flung first one long bare leg across his waist, then another—

  He rose from his seat and walked to the window. He was not going there.

  As if she could read his thoughts, Libby looked up, her lips pinched in prim disapproval. “Maybe you can step out into the hall. I have a lot of work to do before the hearing.”

  Nick nodded silently and slipped out the door. He needed some air, anyway.

  * * *

  “You’re late.” Officer Frank Hawkins was standing in the hall outside the courtroom, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes narrowed at Libby in obvious contempt. His gaze darted to Nick. “You a new prosecutor?”

  “Nope. Just a friend of Libby’s.”

  More like a shadow, if shadows could be so irritating as to demand to drive you to a court hearing. No need to argue semantics in front of Hawkins, who made Libby’s blood pressure rise like nothing else. Hawkins was no stranger to the attorneys in the District Attorney’s Office, and this wasn’t the first time she’d had to defend his questionable police practices. If she didn’t know any better, Libby would think that Officer Hawkins loathed the very laws he was charged with enforcing.

  “I’m not late. I’m five minutes early,” she said in a brusque manner as she walked past him and headed for the courtroom. “I was preparing for this hearing.”

  Hawkins grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Wait, shouldn’t we discuss this first?”

  Libby glanced down at the hand gripping her arm and said in a stern, level voice, “Officer Hawkins, I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from touching me.”

  “Answer my question.”

  Nick spun on his heel and pinned Hawkins with a glare. “Take your hand off of her.”

  Hawkins blinked twice but dropped his hand.

  “Thank you,” Libby said. She turned to Nick, “Can you give us a minute?”

  He hesitated. “Okay, but I’m going to be right over there. I’ll be watching.” The warning was delivered to Hawkins with another glare.

  After Nick was outside of earshot, she turned to face the officer. “What do you want to talk about?”

  He scratched at the back of his head. A nervous habit, she supposed, or else he had a violent case of seborrhea. “Shouldn’t we go over my testimony?”

  She shrugged. “What’s there to go over? I interviewed you last week. I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and I want you to tell the truth.”

  There he went again with the scratching. His jawline was red with a painful-looking razor burn that extended down his neck. Between the bumps on his neck and the scratching at his head, he looked miserable. But, she mused, he probably didn’t look as miserable as he made those around him feel on a regular basis. Libby eyed him carefully, trying to conceal her distaste.

  “I thought we were supposed to meet. You know, to practice before the hearing.”

  “You’ve testified many times before, Officer Hawkins. I don’t see...” Libby paused. “Wait. Are you asking me to help you lie?”

  His eyes shifted and he placed his hands on his hips. “Of course not.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Then what, exactly, would we be practicing?”

  Hawkins leaned closer, unintimidated. “I’m trying to help you and your office out, Andrews. Keep a cold-blooded killer and an abusive husband locked away.”

  Libby laughed. The nerve of this man. “Help me out? You’ve made my job infinitely more difficult. Thanks to your overzealous police work, I’m certain Judge Hayward is going to toss this entire case.”

  His face darkened. “You wait a damn minute—”

  “All right,” Libby huffed, all five feet five inches of her glaring at all six feet of him. “You want to review your testimony? Let’s review it. You responded to a domestic dispute and then, without probable cause or a search warrant, proceeded to conduct a search of the house. You found a handgun with a filed-off serial number in a closet. Turns out that handgun is linked to an unsolved murder.”

  “I cracked open a cold case,” he growled.

  “You broke the law. You had no business searching that closet, and if the defense attorney succeeds in suppressing that handgun, we have no case.” Her voice was flat. “Do you understand? A murderer could walk because of your actions, and if you think that I’m going to help you to cover up this...mess, you are sadly mistaken.”

  Hawkins was dangerously still, and he seemed to channel the focus of a cobra immediately before striking. “Well. You’ve made yourself clear.” His upper lip rose to reveal his teeth. “Judge Hayward is expecting us, counselor. We don’t want to keep her waiting.” His voice dripped with acrimony.

  Libby pulled her shoulders back and lifted her head. Hawkins was a creep who’d shown contempt for the rule of law. Judge Lucy Hayward was a former criminal defense attorney who distrusted law enforcement officials. Sparks were about to fly. She’d do what she could to defeat the motion to suppress, but this would be an uphill battle. The judge was bound to chastise them both for this particular embarrassment.

  “No,” she agreed. “We don’t want to keep the judge waiting.”

  * * *

  Nick hovered by the door as the judge entered. The courtroom was mostly deserted except for a few men in dark suits, probably attorneys waiting for the next argument to be called. The court reporter dutifully typed names as counsel identified themselves. A young man in a gray suit sat somberly in the otherwise vacant jury box with a pen and notebook in hand, prepared to take notes. A law clerk or an intern. A marshal stood by the jury box. Nick slid onto a wooden bench in the last row. From here he could see everything that happened during the proceeding and he could respond if necessary.

  His gaze returned to Libby. He’d never watched her argue before. She was poised as she addressed the judge, but Nick thought he detected an underlying discomfort. The way she was moving, stiffly looking through the accordion file in front of her, made him suspect that their conversation at Coffee On Main had bothered her more than she’d let on. Then again, most people would have been bothered to find out that their photograph had been left beside a dead body. She’d never been one to be typical.

  Nick’
s focus was drawn to Officer Hawkins, who was sitting behind her. He kept looking at his watch as if he had more important things to do. Nick had worked with a few bad cops, the kind that give law enforcement officers a bad name. Hawkins struck Nick as a loose cannon.

  As the argument commenced, Nick realized this was a suppression hearing. The defense attorney had asked the court to throw out evidence discovered as the result of an unlawful search. Nick had testified at a few such hearings himself, first as a police officer with the Arbor Falls P.D. and more recently as a special agent with the Bureau. If an officer didn’t have a warrant or a damn good reason for conducting a search, then everything discovered in that search was tainted. Fruit of the poisonous tree. When evidence was inadmissible in court, entire cases were lost.

  “I’d like to call Officer Frank Hawkins,” Libby announced, and the scowling officer marched to the witness stand.

  Libby waited while Hawkins raised his right hand to swear and affirm that the testimony he was about to give was the truth. She arranged a small stack of papers before asking Hawkins to state his name for the record.

  Nick felt a tightness in his gut as she spoke. Her voice wavered. She was nervous.

  The testimony seemed straightforward. Hawkins had responded to a domestic dispute and found the wife of the accused badly beaten while the accused was flying high as a kite on a drug cocktail. “Did you see any drugs in plain sight?” Libby asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you see any weapons in plain sight?”

  “He struck her across the back with a floor lamp.”

  “But no guns or knives?”

  “No.” The officer paused. “But she told me he had a gun.”

  The response caused Libby to halt her questioning entirely. Hawkins had just surprised her. She continued. “By she do you mean the victim? The wife of the accused?”

  “That’s right. She told me he had a gun hidden in the closet and that it was loaded. I checked the closet and sure enough, there it was. Right on the top shelf.”

  “In plain sight.” Libby’s voice was flat.

  “Yep.” Hawkins flashed his eyebrows before sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest.

  “A moment please, your honor.” Libby retreated to her files and shuffled through them, then set them aside. She was rattled. She lifted an envelope and puzzled at it before setting it on the corner of the table. Finally she looked up at the judge. “Your honor, may I approach?”

  “You may.” Judge Hayward turned so that her back was to Hawkins as Libby and the defense attorney approached her. They spoke for several minutes, but Nick couldn’t hear any of the conversation from his place in the courtroom. When she was done speaking, the judge’s face was dark. Libby and the defense attorney returned quickly to their respective tables.

  “It has come to my attention that the witness has changed his story,” Judge Hayward announced. “I can only conclude that he has done so in response to this motion to suppress, and I will not tolerate such abuses from officers of the law. Therefore, I am granting the motion. The gun is inadmissible.”

  “You bitch!” Hawkins was standing in the witness box, pointing at Libby. “You’re gonna pay for this.”

  Nick sprang to his feet, but the marshal had already restrained Hawkins. Judge Hayward pounded her gavel. “I’m holding you in contempt. Get him out of here!”

  “You screwed the whole case!” Hawkins continued to shout as the marshal dragged him out of the courtroom. “I hope he kills you next!”

  Nick was at Libby’s side, his arm around her shoulders. He could feel her trembling. Judge Hayward continued to bang on her gavel. When Hawkins was out of the courtroom, they heard him shrieking down the hall. After a minute, the room was silent again.

  Libby and Nick were still standing as the judge announced that she was taking a brief recess to collect herself and that she would be back in fifteen minutes.

  “Libby,” Nick began after Judge Hayward had left, “are you—”

  “No. I’m not.”

  Now he noticed that her teeth were chattering. “You’re a prosecutor. You had an ethical obligation to tell her the truth.” He stopped himself from rubbing her arms. That would have been an old habit.

  “What?” She looked at him blankly. “No, I know. I don’t care about Hawkins. It’s that.” She pointed to the envelope she’d placed on the corner of the table. “Nick, that’s not mine, but it was in my file.”

  His heartbeat quickened, and he patted his jacket. He always carried a few sets of latex gloves, just in case. He put them on and picked up the envelope. “Did you open it?”

  She shook her head. “I only saw it a few minutes ago. But it’s addressed to me.”

  Indeed someone had scrawled Elizabeth Andrews in block letters on the front. The envelope was unsealed. Nick tucked his finger under the flap and peered into the pocket. He frowned. “Looks like a photo,” he said.

  “Oh, God.” She turned away.

  Nick looked around. There were still people scattered in the courtroom. He turned his back to them and carefully slid the photograph out of the envelope. The image was blurry, but after a moment it came into focus. A layer of perspiration beaded on his forehead.

  “What is it?” Libby’s voice quivered.

  “It’s a photograph of the murder victim,” he said. “And it says you’re next.”

  Chapter 3

  Libby forced herself to look at the photograph, to take in the image of the poor woman. The sick bastard had framed the picture like a head shot, capturing the ligature marks on her neck and the vacant stare of her blue eyes. On the back he’d written “Your next” in red block letters, followed by a number two. He should have written “You’re next,” but that was the least of anyone’s problems.

  “Yeah, that’s her, all right.” Vasquez’s expression was grim as he considered the photo. “Where did you say you found this again?”

  “It was shoved into one of my files.” Libby wrapped her arms around herself. Vasquez’s office was stuffy and warm, but she couldn’t seem to shake the chill that had settled over her in court.

  “That means that the suspect gained access to your office,” Nick said. “The D.A.’s Office is monitored by video surveillance.”

  “We’ll take a look at the videos,” said Vasquez. His face pinched with concentration as he turned the evidence bag that protected the photo in his hands. “The image is digital. We’ll analyze the ink used, see if we can trace it to a printer make and model. That could be helpful once we locate a suspect.”

  “Handwriting analysis will be impossible,” Nick mumbled. “He used a thick marker and block letters. What do you make of that number two?”

  “There was a reference to six signs in the first letter. Six signs over six days.” Vasquez placed the letter on his desk and rested his hands on his trim waist. “So I guess this is sign two?”

  Libby rubbed at her forehead, which pulled with tension. “Six days.” She was going to be sick.

  “We’re going to get him,” Nick said, gripping her shoulder. “I’m going to be right by your side. I told you I wouldn’t leave.”

  There was something wild and fiery in his eyes as he swore to protect her, and he intensified his grip as if to underscore his commitment. A few hours ago she’d hoped he would leave her alone, but now she clung to his promise with a frightened desperation. He wasn’t leaving. She wouldn’t be alone. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “So this is sign number two, and sign number one was the photograph left beside the victim.” Vasquez spat a foul word as he folded his arms. “What are these signs about, anyway?”

  “Some sick game he thinks he’s playing with us.” Nick sat in the chair beside her. He was close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body. “Serial killers get off on torture, and what is this but psychological torture? Mark my words—he’s watching us very closely. He wants to see Libby in a state of fear, and he wants
to see us panic. If these details land in the paper, so much the better.”

  “We’re not giving him that satisfaction,” Vasquez growled. “It’ll be a cold day in hell.”

  Libby looked at Nick. “So this is a serial killer, then? That’s what you’re thinking?”

  “We’re looking through our files to see if this most recent crime compares to any other cases,” said Vasquez. “The crime had bizarre elements that make me think it’s possible this is some sort of fantasy fulfillment.”

  “And killing me is the fantasy?” The realization washed over her like a rush of icy water. The black wig on the victim, the navy blue business suit. “I wasn’t chosen at random. I was selected for a reason.”

  “We don’t know that, Libby.” Nick’s voice was calm. “This could still be random, or you may be a target because of your work on the Brislin trial.”

  “Do you have any enemies?” Dom asked.

  Too many to count, it seemed, but she didn’t want to admit that. “Probably. Officer Hawkins just threatened me in court this afternoon. Well, I guess he didn’t threaten me directly, but he said that he hoped someone already accused of murder would kill me next.”

  Nick eyed her. “Spoken like a true attorney. Hawkins threatened you, Libby.”

  “Hawkins, huh?” Dom said. “Between us he’s been a real problem. He’s going through a divorce and there’s a nasty custody battle. He’s become something of a liability. I can’t see him as a murder suspect, but we’ll check him out.”

  “He should be easy enough to find. He was thrown in the holding cell at the courthouse,” Nick said. Dom’s lips thinned.

  Libby felt a wave of nausea as something occurred to her. “That file wasn’t just in my office.” She pressed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and closed her eyes. “I took it home with me a few days ago to review it.” Oh, God. Had he been in her home?

  A silence fell over the room, and when she opened her eyes again, Nick and Dom were watching her. Dom finally said, “Who has keys to your house?”