Next Girl On The List - A serial killer thriller (McRyan Mystery Series Book)

by Roger Stelljes

  “I guess we may never know, then,” Ridge speculated.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Wire replied, shaking her head, a small smile on her face. “You guys don’t know my partner. Mac is not going to let that rest. If I didn’t know any better, he’ll be right back at it in the morning, trying to figure it out.”

  “Really?” Greene asked. “You and Mac have been going days on end without a break and Rubens is put down and done. I think you’ve both earned some time off. I mean, Mac was shot, for crying out loud—he can’t be out there chasing this. I saw all the blood.”

  “Flesh wound,” Wire replied dismissively. “It’ll slow him down for a few hours, if at all.” She took another sip of her water and offered a small laugh, “You have to understand Mac. He’s not the type to let that go. If he has a thread to pull on, he’ll keep after it. Besides, he is otherwise not working. He has the time to devote to it.”

  “But not tonight?” Ridge asked.

  Wire smiled and shook her head. “No, not tonight. Sally will be dragging his ass home.”

  “Maybe his fiancée will shut him down,” Ridge suggested.

  “Would she do that?” Greene asked. “Can she do that?”

  “I kind of doubt it,” Wire replied, shaking her head. “She’s a former prosecutor and as big a justice junkie as he is, especially for something like this. She’ll make him rest, slow him down some, scold him for getting shot, admonish him to be more careful, fret over him, but she won’t stop him. Heck, she knows she can’t. That dogged determination is one of the reasons she loves him so much. Like I said, if I know him, we’re not done working this.”

  “In that case,” Coolidge said with a weary smile, “we all best take advantage of the time off we can take before Super Cop puts us back to work.”

  Ridge laughed. “Super Cop—I like that. I’m going to use it.”

  “With appropriate attribution, I should hope.”

  “Detective, you can count on it,” Ridge answered with a big smile, patting Coolidge on the back. “You and I are going to have to have a drink here in the next few days.”

  “If you’re buying the bourbon, I can make myself available,” the affable MPD detective offered.

  “Be careful,” Wire warned. “Writers are dangerous.”

  “You should talk,” Ridge snorted. “Last I checked your book is sitting at number one on the New York Times Best Sellers list.”

  “Really?” Wire asked in disbelief. “Honest?”

  “Yeah,” Greene added. “It’s there. Where have you been?”

  “Distracted by the case,” Dara replied while checking her phone. “I suppose if I had paid attention to all of the calls from our agent I might have found that out.”

  “Man, what a night,” Greene muttered, rubbing her face with her hands. The FBI profiler looked exhausted and just a bit traumatized.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, April?” Wire asked, placing a hand softly on her shoulder. “You … killed someone tonight. It was totally justified, completely in the line of duty and I thank you for it, but you did take a life. Do you think maybe you should talk with someone?”

  Greene smiled and provided a small chuckle. “You mean like a shrink?” The profiler shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll be okay— I think. My car is now evidence. There’s something I never thought I’d have to say.”

  “Do you need a ride?” Dara offered.

  “Thanks for the offer, but no. I’ll call a car service. I’m going to go home, pour myself a very stiff drink and go to bed.”

  “Come on, I’ll walk you out,” Coolidge offered.

  “Thank you, Detective.” She pushed herself up off the bench. “I’ll see you guys later.”

  Ridge and Wire watched as she walked down the hall with Coolidge.

  Wire turned to Ridge, who was in turn smiling at her.

  “So, Agent Wire, after cracking a big case it seems like a celebration is in order.”

  “I agree.”

  “It’s late. How about I buy you a burger and a beer?”

  Wire nodded. “You know what, Ridge, that’s exactly what I need.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Check out the cute blond girl to his right.”

  “No, I’m not staying home today,” Sally admonished playfully, slapping Mac’s hand before leaning down to peck him on the lips. “And don’t even try to start anything,” she added with a wide smile.

  “Come on,” Mac begged. “It’ll help the healing process.”

  “Hah,” Sally replied and then added with an evil smile, “until that leg heals you aren’t getting any there, buddy.”

  “Oh, that’s just cold. That’s just so, so cold.”

  “Well then, don’t get shot in the calf, dumbass,” she counseled as she went into the walk-in closet and started selecting her outfit for the day, choosing a light gray skirt suit.

  Mac pushed himself up and rolled his legs over and put weight on his right calf. He grimaced. It was sore, really sore. “This is going to suck,” he muttered as he reached for his crutches.

  Sally stuck her head back out of the closet. “What are you doing?”

  “My pain meds are in the kitchen,” he replied. “That and I’m going down to make you some breakfast.”

  “Stay in bed,” Sally ordered. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can,” Mac retorted as he pushed forward with the crutches. “But I’m not going to just lie around. I want to get up. I’m not going to sit around and be pathetic.”

  Twenty minutes later Sally walked into the kitchen. He had coffee, scrambled eggs and sliced strawberries waiting. She sat down on a center island stool while he hopped on one leg around the island to sit down with her.

  “You should use your crutches.”

  “I should do a lot of things,” Mac replied as he leaned against the counter and reached for his cup of coffee.

  “Yeah, like not get shot,” Sally said in a serious tone. “You know, one of these days you’re not going to walk away from something like this so easily. Luck runs out.”

  Mac nodded. It was a thought that popped into his mind more than once and this was a conversation they’d had far more than once. “What I do is not without risk.” It was something she’d heard on many occasions.

  Sally didn’t really want to talk about it any more than he did. He’d survived and was making breakfast. It was time to move on and that was a good thing.

  Mac found the remote for the flat screen and turned on the news. They quietly watched CNN for five minutes until the story of Rubens came on.

  “Change the channel,” Sally asked. “I’ve heard enough about that asshole.”

  “I hear that,” Mac agreed as he switched to CNBC. At least the stock market was recovering some.

  “Your book is doing quite well, by the way,” Sally announced. “Top of the best seller list.”

  Mac nodded, looking at his phone. “That probably explains all the calls from my agent. I should give her a call today.”

  “Good idea, do something sedentary. I don’t want you even thinking of leaving the house today. You need to rest and let that leg heal.”

  “Rubens has a partner out there,” Mac replied. “That jackhole needs to be found. That person is a murderer and has the blood of fifteen, and if I add in Gwendolyn Waxe, sixteen women on his hands.”

  Sally smiled at him and shook her head. “He won’t be found. You have no leads. In fact, you pretty much have nothing to go on.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes,” Sally nodded, “actually, I do.”

  “You talked to Wire?”

  “Yes, and Galloway, Delmonico and Lincoln Coolidge and so I know, I know you have nothing to go on. No hot lead, nobody to even talk to. So, just relax today and let them handle it. If they find something, they’ll call. Take a break.”

  Sally left and he occupied himself by watching some SportsCenter and caught up on his hometown tea
ms. The Wild were in the playoffs. Unfortunately, they were once again struggling with their nemesis, the Chicago Blackhawks. The baseball season was in swing and he checked up on the Twins, who were off to a brutal start, and he even scanned an NFL mock draft to see who the Vikings might select.

  He couldn’t go back to sleep so he crutched his way up to his office and started digging into his file on Rubens. He called in to the office, looking for Grace Delmonico.

  “You’re late,” Grace growled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s 8:45. I had you and your dedicated ass in here by 8:00 A.M. in the office pool. Instead, your lazy ass is at home. You cost me money. So are you coming in or what?”

  “Not today,” Mac replied.

  “We all thought you’d be in for sure.”

  “And I’d like to be. But I want to get married in a month so I’m going to behave myself, at least for today. But while I’m not coming in that doesn’t mean I can’t work. Have you still been collecting stuff on Munger?”

  “Yes,” Delmonico replied. “And you can remote in to it and see it real time. I’ll send you the instructions.”

  “Do that,” Mac replied. “Is Wire in?”

  “Uh, no,” Grace answered.

  “Yeah, she’s probably with Ridge,” Mac replied. “Send me the remote access instructions.”

  At 11:15, he got a call from Wire. “You want company?” she asked.

  “Yeah, stop over, I’ll make some lunch.”

  “No, you’ll rest. I’ll grab some takeout.”

  Wire arrived an hour later with Chinese food and they retired back up to his upstairs office.

  “How’s the leg?”

  “It hurts. How’s Ridge?”

  “Do you want me to answer you or pretend you’re Sally?”

  “Sally.”

  “The man is a machine.”

  Mac cackled and Wire laughed as well. Mac reached down and rubbed his leg as he tried to get comfortable.

  “Is Sally pissed about that?” Wire asked, pointing at his leg with her chopsticks.

  “More than a little,” Mac answered as he fumbled with the chopsticks, trying to eat some noodles. “I told her I was a fast healer.”

  “You better be,” Wire replied. “If for no other reason than that surprise honeymoon you have planned for her.”

  “I will be ready. There is no way I’m screwing this up.”

  At 2:00 P.M., they got on the phone with Galloway, Delmonico, Coolidge and even April Greene.

  “Mac, Munger’s buddy has to have left town, don’t you think?” Galloway asked.

  “Maybe,” Mac answered. “It might depend.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether Munger was the alpha or not,” Mac answered. “And I don’t think he was the alpha.” He related the confrontation. “He was not happy when I said he was the submissive. That’s because he was.”

  “So if he was the submissive, you’re saying it’s not over?” Galloway asked. “The dominant will what? Just find a new minion?”

  “Something like that,” April Greene replied. “The dominant will try to find someone to fill that submissive role. People willing to engage in this sort of stuff don’t grow on trees. It’s not like there’s a Rolodex of submissives willing to be a serial killer. It could take years but sooner or later, the dominant person will find a new collaborator.”

  “So Munger was the submissive?” Coolidge asked.

  “Based on what Mac is reporting, it sure sounds like it,” Greene answered. “He could have also walked away from this in Boston.”

  “When he was caught,” Coolidge added.

  “Right,” Greene replied. “Mac thinks, and the more I think about it, I’m inclined to agree, that the accomplice killed the other two women to get him free.”

  “At which point,” Mac stated, “the accomplice owned—”

  “His ass,” Greene finished the thought. “So the person who killed the last two in Boston became the dominant and manipulated Munger into continuing. I mean, from my perspective it seems as if Munger wanted to kill and had the compunction to do so but from what Mac describes about his talk with Munger in the alley, at gunpoint, I might add, it appears that whoever this other person was, that person perhaps controlled the mental and emotional aspects of their relationship.”

  “So how do we find this person?” Coolidge asked.

  “Munger,” Mac answers. “It’s all we have to work from. We have to continue digging into his life history. If he did kill all of these women in conjunction with someone else, then that person he partnered with is not some casual acquaintance. It is someone he knew. There has to be some evidence somewhere in his history of that relationship.”

  “You have some information,” Galloway suggested. “What we put together when you first suspected it was him.”

  “We do,” Mac replied. “And we’ll go through that all again with a different perspective, but I suspect we’ll need more. It probably happened in Boston, so we should start there, looking into who he has worked with, lived with, ran with. Then we look at medical school and college. Heck, we go all the way back to his childhood. That connection happened somewhere.”

  “Mac, I would caution you,” Greene warned. “It’s not like this person is going to jump out at you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Mac answered, not totally agreeing, “When you start looking at all the people in his life suspiciously, like they’re potential partners, when you put everyone in that context you might see something you otherwise wouldn’t.”

  Mac transitioned to a different topic. “We found his office yesterday. My question now is where was he laying his head? We don’t have that yet.”

  “I’ve just been handed a note, Mac,” Galloway stated. “We found it.”

  • • •

  Wire drove to the apartment, located across the Anacostia River on East Capitol Street. The structure surrounded by squad cars was a faux colonial-looking apartment building, red brick with black shutters around the picture windows, white trim and a white-pillared portico over the main front entrance to the building.

  Wire slowly walked with him while Mac crutched his way up the sidewalk.

  “This shit is going to get old in a hurry,” Mac muttered. “This is embarrassing, hobbling up here like this.”

  “Quit your whining,” Wire countered with a serious tone. “If you want less time on them, use them now, especially if you want your fiancée happy.”

  Mac stopped and stared down Wire. “Sally called you, didn’t she?”

  “Well, duh.”

  “Figures,” Mac replied bitterly. “Whose partner are you anyway?”

  “I’m looking out for my fellow sister,” Dara retorted. “So quit your bitching. You were shot in the line of duty. I don’t think anyone around here is thinking any less of you, although you did let Munger get the drop on you.”

  Mac stopped and turned to Wire. “I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”

  “Oh hell no,” Wire answered with a big smile.

  “Sweet,” Mac moaned.

  Coolidge’s men Stretch and Hart met them under the portico. “The building superintendent saw a picture of Munger on the television this morning and he started to see the similarity to a tenant named Robert Stein,” Stretch reported. “Mr. Stein was a tenant that drove a black Honda Civic, a factoid that first made the news last night. So the super, being a fine citizen and all, did his civic duty and called it in.”

  “How long has he been here?” Mac asked.

  “Nearly a year,” Hart replied. “In fact, the superintendent said he was looking to check in with Stein to see if he was going to renew his lease. It was up at the end of April and Stein, as he knew him, hadn’t said anything about renewal.”

  “Of course not,” Mac noted. “He would have been gone.”

  Mac and Wire slowly made their way up to the apartment on the second floor. It was a standard two-bedroom unit with one bath, a small ga
lley kitchen and family room area. The apartment was spartanly furnished, with rather drab furniture arranged around a thirty-two-inch flat screen television. Sitting on an end table in the family room were books on the Smithsonian, Gallery of National Art, and the Stegall Museum, among other points of interest.

  “His research interests,” Wire mused.

  “His fishing holes,” Mac corrected.

  One bedroom was completely empty and the other contained a twin bed, a narrow nightstand with a small lamp and alarm clock. In the closet were various clothing options, long and short sleeve dress shirts, jeans and dress slacks. On the shelf above the clothing rod sat five folded white t-shirts, two black t-shirts, a stack of black folded boxer shorts and a small box with colored and white athletic socks. Also hanging in the closet were two golf shirts, yellow and green, along with a red hooded sweatshirt. There were a series of light-colored, button-down collared shirts, all larges. There were six pairs of pants, all thirty-eight-inch waist and thirty-inch inseams; four tan khakis and two pairs of Levi’s blue jeans.

  “Perfect for someone who was five-foot-ten,” Mac noted.

  “Shoes are nines,” Wire added, picking up a pair of Nike runners. There were also two pairs of penny loafers, one pair black and the other burgundy. “There are not a lot of clothes in here for a guy who lived here nearly a year. What do you make of that?”

  “He lived like a monk,” Coolidge suggested. “I mean, look at the place, pretty limited existence.”

  “By design,” Mac replied. “If he was changing up his look all the time, why not the clothes as well and why not get rid of any clothes that could incriminate you? Look at all of the empty hangers. He used the clothes, then discarded them as he started killing.”

  “I suppose we’ll never really know,” Wire finished. “He’s dead. We can’t ask him.”

  They left the bedroom and worked their way back to the kitchen where an FBI tech was working on a laptop computer that had been found in the living room.

  “Anything?” Wire asked.