Killerbyte (byte Series Book 1)

by Cat Connor

  I wish I had never taught him how to do that.

  “Aidan, give me the damn keys.”

  He grimaced, held them out, then snapped his hand back.

  “Come on, Aidan, time is not on our side.”

  “You shouldn’t go out there,” he protested.

  I knew where this was leading and now was not the time.

  “Give me the damn keys now.”

  He dropped them into my hand. “I don’t like this, Gabrielle.”

  I gave him my best reassuring smile, the one that said “everything’s okay.” “I’m the only one of us paid to do this shit. I’m the only one going out that door.” I handed Aidan my bag.

  “Maybe you should consider other employment.”

  I ignored his comment, the same old refrain I’d heard many, many times from him. I wanted to snap back “That dog won’t hunt.” Instead, I told him, “I will be two minutes.”

  I opened the door, keys in hand, and scanned the parking lot in front of the building. I couldn’t see anyone, but I used caution as I hurried across the twenty yards to my car. I noted the same cars were still in the lot. No extras apart from Aidan’s car and none had left.

  I fumbled the keys, shoved one with much haste into the driver’s lock. It didn’t fit. “Wrong key, stupid,” I mumbled to myself and tried another. Dammit, that didn’t work either. I looked at the key ring. I’d already tried two out of three keys. The only one left was my house key. I scooted around to the passenger door and tried again. Neither key would go into the lock; scowling at them pulled at the cut on my forehead. No matter how hard I scowled, the keys didn’t magically fit the locks. I was set to cuss up a storm when something touched my leg.

  My heart leapt. I glanced down. There was nothing there. Looking over the car roof, I spied a squirrel scampering up a big old tree. “Vermin,” I grumbled. “Disease-ridden vermin.” I had a strong inclination to shoot it.

  I gave the area one last look before doing back to the café. I paused at the trunk for a last ditch effort with the keys. They didn’t fit the trunk lock either.

  Someone was whistling a very familiar tune. Ice-cold fear threatened as I searched the lot for the origin of the song. My mantra played for all it was worth in my head. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

  Walking toward me from the other side of the lot was a hooded figure with hands concealed in the front pockets of a dark-colored hooded sweat top. The hood was partway over the face, and shoulders hunched forward, as if braced against a cold wind.

  The wind wasn’t cold. There was a light autumn breeze making leaves float in a delicate dance to the ground and squirrels scamper about, frightening people half to death.

  I stood motionless listening to the whistling, it was coming from the approaching form. I pressed a physical description into my mind. Gait and posture suggested the figure was male.

  I looked from the car to the man to the café; should I stay, or head back to the safety of the building? One last look at the car, just in case I had the wrong dark blue Corolla. I checked the tags. It was my car.

  Something felt wrong. I checked the man’s position then had another look at the back bumper and this time I saw a dark smudge that looked like a drag mark. Someone had dragged something over the bumper and into the trunk. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would explode. I ran back to the café, shoved the door shut behind me, and watched through the window. I waited to see if the whistling figure would continue past the building.

  Mac spoke to Aidan from somewhere behind me, “Get your sister a coffee.”

  “You want one, too?” Aidan asked.

  “Please,” Mac said his voice was quiet. “Can you log us off those computers as well?”

  Aidan touched my arm. “I’ll be back.”

  I nodded keeping my eyes on the parking lot. Mac moved up beside me.

  “What happened?”

  “The keys don’t work.”

  “Expand on that.”

  “I can’t get the key into the lock.” I put great effort into not frowning as I peered into the lot beyond the windowpane.

  “Epoxy in the locks? It’s an old, but effective trick.”

  “Maybe.” I couldn’t shift my gaze.

  “What are you watching?”

  “I saw someone out there, someone who walked very slowly, and whistled a tune.” I tried to keep my voice even and calm as I said, “He was whistling, ‘Where oh where has my little dog gone.’ Sound familiar?”

  “A little too familiar,” Mac said. “What else?”

  The man didn’t pass the café building. I stared at the car in the dimming light before answering Mac’s question.

  I put on my best “It’s probably nothing” voice. “I think there’s something in the trunk.”

  Mac exhaled through his teeth. “What’s in the trunk?”

  “I’m not sure but I saw what could be blood smears leading up over the bumper.”

  “Caine checked the car out before we left?”

  “He said it was clear.”

  We both sank into the closest chairs. An air of doom settled over us.

  Aidan came back carrying a tray. “Coffee,” he announced as if we couldn’t see, or smell it. He set the tray on the table and passed me a mug. “What’s wrong?”

  “The locks are jammed.” I saw no need to mention the trunk and its possible contents or the nursery-rhyme-whistling stranger. I sipped my coffee. It was sweet. “Tell me this is sweetener and not sugar.”

  Aidan pulled a tube of artificial sweetener from his pocket. He showed it to me with a snappish, “How stupid do you think I am?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Cops are here,” Mac said. We watched two police cars turn in from the street. Their flashers lit the interior of the café as they cruised to a stop by the front door.

  I hauled myself from the comfort of the chair. “I’ll go talk to them.” I opened the door as the first two officers alighted from their vehicle. A tall blond police officer spoke as I stepped out of the building.

  “Ma’am, would you be Special Agent Conway?” His voice smooth, but not officious, he smiled and adjusted his belt.

  Why do men always feel the need to draw attention to their pants?

  “Yes. sir, that would be me,” I replied and then got straight down to business. “Did you see a male, medium build, approximately five-feet-eleven, dark hooded sweat top, indigo jeans and black sneakers, in the street or parking lot as you came in?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Will you please put out an all-points bulletin on that description? Note it ‘Wanted for questioning.’”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He spoke into the radio clipped to his epaulette. I waited and racked my mind for the meaning of the ten codes he spouted with great efficiency. It was like a foreign language. We used plain English at the Bureau at all times, and now I knew why; 10-23 sometimes meant “Arrived at scene” but it could also mean “Hit and run” or “Break-in in progress” depending on the County one was in. Absolutely no confusion there. I forced myself to move on before I was lost forever in my own internal ramblings.

  “Do you have a camera in your car?”

  The officer turned to his partner. “Alex, the cam, please.”

  Alex fetched the camera from the back of the car and passed it over with a new roll of film.

  “Follow me,” I said. I pointed to the windows and requested two photographs of each windowpane from the inside and then two of each from the outside.

  “Don’t suppose you have a tape measure? I’d like a scale for the outside shots if you could manage it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I enjoyed the ma’am thing. “And footprints, under the windows, if there are any.”

  “Sure thing, ma’am.”

  The officer loaded the film and took the shots.

  “Do you have a name?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Doug. Officer Douglas Stevens.” He didn’t look up from his tas
k until he had finished. As he walked to the door with his partner, he clicked the radio on his shoulder. “Are we secure?”

  The radio crackled then a voice responded, “Affirmative.”

  The radio call and subsequent crackling attracted the attention of several patrons more than the photographs and general police presence. Doug became aware of the inquisitive looks and addressed the room, “Sorry to disturb your evening, folks. We have a reported prowler in the area, and are checking it out. I ask that nobody leaves until we are sure that this person is no longer around.” His tone was smooth and comforting. Hell, I almost believed him.

  I saw several concerned expressions on the faces of the patrons. Doug saw it too. “There is nothing to worry about. I’ll let you all know when we’re done.” Doug exited the building with his partner in tow. The theme to The Lone Ranger galloped through my head. Who was that masked man?

  I sat down with Aidan and Mac. We watched the other squad car cruising around the lot. They shone their spotlight into trees and under cars.

  A few minutes later Doug startled me when he spoke.

  “Sorry, I’m a little jumpy.” My heart tried to escape from my mouth along with the words.

  He just smiled serenely. “I have the pictures of the window panes and also the flower bed. We may have enough of an impression to determine size and possibly type or make of shoe.”

  “Great.” The Lone Ranger and Tonto did good work. “There’s an FBI forensic team in the area. I’ll get them to come on over here when they’re done with my place.”

  Doug raised his eyebrows. “You’re not having a good day, are you?”

  “It’s had its moments.” I looked across the lot to my car. “See that dark-blue Corolla?”

  He nodded. “What about it?”

  How much worse could the day get?

  “It’s my car. The locks have been tampered with.” I lowered my voice. “And there maybe something in the trunk.”

  “We’ll take a look. Do you have a vehicle you can use to get home?”

  “Yes.” Mac’s truck.

  Mac’s home, oh to be there right now, safe and warm.

  “Cool.”

  I found myself thrown by the thought of the real Lone Ranger saying, “Cool.” During my moment, Doug slipped back out the door. I stood watching as they donned latex gloves. A few minutes later, Doug signaled me through the window to go outside. He ran over to meet me at the door.

  “Is your car alarmed?” he puffed.

  The real Lone Ranger was never breathless.

  “No.”

  “We need to pop the trunk with a crowbar, unless you have any objections.”

  “Go ahead. If you find anything noteworthy we’ll add it to the list for forensics.”

  I rejoined the boys at the window. We stood transfixed by the scene as it unfolded, overcome by a macabre curiosity that made it impossible to turn away.

  Alex made two attempts on the trunk then passed the bar to Doug. The metal crunched and gave way. A metallic ring echoed against the building as the crowbar hit the asphalt. I stared, barely breathing, while Doug opened the trunk. He stepped back so fast his foot caught on the crowbar. Alex threw an arm out to steady him.

  Slipping out the door unseen, I edged my way between Doug and Alex. We all stared into the trunk.

  My eyes struggled to determine what I saw. My brain stuttered. “What the fuck is that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Doug replied. “It’s hard to tell.”

  There was a mass of flesh and fabric, with no obvious beginning or distinguishable end. It didn’t resemble anything in particular. I glimpsed something silvery.

  “Gloves? Flashlight?”

  Alex handed me a pair of latex gloves and took a flashlight from his belt. I lifted a piece of bloodied fabric and revealed what I thought was an arm. “Shine it here for me.”

  Alex directed the beam of light over my shoulder.

  “Looks like a bracelet,” Doug commented. He was right, that is what it looked like; not only that, it looked familiar.

  I leaned in and read the inscription. “Oh, man.” I gulped for air. My legs threatened to buckle. I staggered as I turned away. I managed to unload the meager contents of my stomach by the back wheel, preserving the integrity of the crime scene as much as possible. Someone pulled my hair back and had hold of my shoulders.

  A tissue magically appeared in my hand as I straightened up. “Thank you,” I sputtered, wiping my mouth.

  “You’re welcome.” Alex’s voice sounded just as smooth as Doug’s did. “Go on back inside. Do you want me to call someone for you?”

  “Give the forensic team a hurry-along.” I faced the café and sure as hell would not look back at the car. I pulled my wallet from my pocket and handed over my card, “My number is on here, ask for SAC Grafton.” I took a breath. “Tell him. We found Carter.”

  Alex frowned at me. “He’ll know what that means?”

  “If he asks, tell him he’s in the trunk of my car.”

  “Will do.”

  I felt disjointed. The building wavered in front of me. Alex planted his hand on my elbow. “I’ll escort you,” he said, and handed my card to Doug.

  I glanced up at Doug. I’ve never seen the Lone Ranger look that pale. I’m guessing I looked rough too.

  Alex gave instructions, “Make the call Doug, and get the medical examiner out here, too. Request immediate backup. We have to interview everyone in the café.”

  Alex and I walked back inside. Mac met us at the door.

  Alex’s voice filled the quiet café. “Sorry, folks, we have to keep ya’ll here a bit longer. There will be four uniformed police officers arriving in the next few minutes.” As if on cue, the sound of approaching sirens filtered through the air. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He waited for questions. A young man stood up. Alex acknowledged him. “Can I help you?”

  “Will the city pay for coffee while we’re here?”

  Alex grinned. “Sure,” he replied. “The city gets the bill for everything consumed from now until you are released.”

  Now that’s a generous city.

  Alex came back over to us. “As soon as forensics gets here I’ll see if you three can go.”

  “Thank you,” Aidan said.

  I looked up at Alex. “Can you open a back door of the car for me?” I said, hoping I sounded normal and not as if it was the last thing on earth I wanted to say.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He didn’t ask why. Together we went back over to the car. I hung back as he picked the crowbar off the ground and pried open a back door. Metal crunched and squeaked as it gave way. These boys sure did like using crowbars. Maybe it was a man thing, something to do with the satisfying noise of metal on metal.

  He popped the door then swung it open and stood back. I crawled across the seat and retrieved my new laptop. Having to replace two in one day would not have thrilled Caine at all.

  “Thanks.” I tucked the laptop under my arm and scurried back to the café, taking care not to look at the trunk.

  “I’m okay” wasn’t working too well for me anymore. I had a love-hate relationship with my job at the best of times, but tonight I truly hated it. I hated it, and I was confused. It wasn’t that Carter was dead that caused my dilemma: that couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. It was the way he turned up and the taunting that went on beforehand. If not Carter, then who was responsible? Was it some other freak from our chat room?

  We seemed to wait forever; in reality it was only an hour and a half before Caine found us. He strode to our table looking grim. He held a small paper bag in one hand and a pair of polystyrene tweezers in the other. I wondered what the bag contained but knew it couldn’t be good.

  “What’s that?” I asked, indicating the baggie.

  “We found this on the body in your trunk.” He removed a yellow Post-it note using the tweezers and showed it to me. The writing was smeared with blood but still legible.

  I r
ead it aloud. “‘Cream of the crop, he’s missing his top, no more meals ࠬa gourmet. Breakfast of champions is not Special K.’ I don’t even want to ask if that means his head was hacked off.”

  “It was removed from the body. We found it under his legs,” Caine said. “Now get out of here,” he added and dropped the Post-it back into the bag. “Stay in touch, stay safe.”

  I scanned his rugged and weathered face for any hint of what was happening in his head but even I couldn’t determine his line of thought.

  “How quickly do you want a report?” I asked him, feeling detached and very odd.

  “A-sap,” he replied then revised his comment. “Tomorrow, Ellie. Email it to me first thing.”

  “I forwarded you a couple of emails this evening before the body turned up.”

  “Yes, I know. What I don’t know is if this related to Carter and is now over, or something else entirely and just beginning.”

  I knew I should tell him about the death threats. I watched his eyes as I spoke, “I receive regular death threats from people in a chat room that Mac and I founded.”

  His eyes flinched. A bad sign. “And you never thought to mention this to me?” His tone conveyed more than a little frustration. “Jesus, woman!”

  My shoulders tensed as I spat back, “It’s a poetry chat room for fuck’s sake. What are the chances of anyone actually finding me?”

  Caine’s jaw squared. “I don’t know, Agent Conway, you tell me. We have a dismembered body and no suspects and you received email prior to discovery. And we have a poem of sorts.” He still sounded frustrated. He looked from me to Mac and then back again. “This report will contain all information on this chat room.”

  I’d intended to provide all the information anyway but kept that to myself. No point inflaming him further.

  Five

  Can’t You Hear Me Knocking?

  Tuesday I spent hanging out at Mac’s place in Fairfax trying not to think about Carter. Night snuck up on me. From where I sat on the sofa in his office, I could see Mac, immersed in the glow from his monitor. The only noise in the entire house was my fingers tapping on the keyboard of the laptop on my knee. I stopped typing to read an email from Caine. It was a report of the café incident the previous day. I moved my laptop to the coffee table in front of me. My knees were getting hot.