“That makes her a prostitute?” Matt asked, puzzled.
Wong shook his head. “She’s got a tattoo on her inner right wrist. A rose. It signifies a loosely organized group of working girls who keep tabs on one another. Kind of a sisterhood. I know that because a john went crazy and killed a member of the group about six months ago. He was familiar to some of the other girls. The victim was seen leaving him, he was identified and arrested and he confessed to the crime. But it was nothing like this. I believe this one has our serial killer’s signature.”
“The tongue is missing?” Meg heard herself ask.
“It is. I’m not an investigator on the case,” Wong said, “but I’d like to point out that I believe this to be a rush job. The cuts are more jagged. The body was poorly stuffed—she floated almost immediately. Unless, of course, the killer needs a faster kick—needs the body to be discovered more quickly.”
“Let me know when you get an ID,” Matt said.
“You bet. Jackson Crow had an artist in, one of your people, Jane Everett. We’ve got her sketch going out in the media.”
“You have any idea where we’ll find other girls belonging to this sisterhood?”
Wong gave them an address and the two of them thanked him and then left. Outside, Meg was startled when she felt Matt’s hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. He pulled her gently into his arms.
“We’re going to find her alive,” he whispered.
Maybe it was the unexpectedness of his action, or maybe it was because she’d become more and more aware with each passing hour of the physical attraction between them. But she was suddenly more afraid of his touch than even the bad news that might be coming. She couldn’t explain it to herself—other than to suspect that she feared losing control. Losing independence. And yet…she stayed in his arms for a moment, feeling the heat of his chest and breathing in his clean scent.
Then he stepped back and looked at her, searching her eyes. “You okay? Really?”
“Yes, I’m okay.”
“We’ve got to get to the office,” he said. “Then we’ll go see what our newest victim’s friends have to say.”
They returned to the car, where Killer was waiting for them; the windows were down far enough to allow him plenty of air. Meg had been afraid to leave him alone in the car on such a hot day, but Matt had taken care of it. He’d parked in a shady spot, and also made a purchase in a convenience store on the way here—a cloth water bowl that could be folded to fit into a pocket. They could fill it from a water bottle and empty it when they had to drive again.
Meg dumped the water, then slid into the passenger seat.
“Another murder. Here. And we might have been followed in Harpers Ferry. Maybe these murders and Lara’s disappearance aren’t related,” Meg said.
Matt glanced over at her. “But we’re both pretty sure that Lara wrote something about Walker having a connection with Garth Hubbard’s death.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. Hubbard wasn’t murdered. He died of a heart attack.”
“There was no autopsy. His private physician signed his death certificate. He had a heart condition, so there was no reason to suspect anything…untoward. Or anything in the way of a cover-up.”
“He was in his own home,” Meg said. “These women who are being murdered… The killer watches them and takes them off the street.”
“But now a prostitute. None of the other women were prostitutes. They were all new to the area from which they disappeared. Why change his choice of victim?”
“Because…he needed a kill last night or early this morning. He hadn’t chosen a new target yet. Could be that his desire to kill has escalated, that he’s not getting the same fix. And a prostitute is easily picked up on the street.”
“The timing would fit—if the killer is also our stalker. It’s only an hour and a half back to DC from Harpers Ferry,” Matt said.
They arrived at the Krewe headquarters and went directly into Jackson’s office where he was waiting with Will Chan, Angela and Kat Sokolov.
Kat had been to the OCME already; she’d gone in as soon as the body had been discovered. She told them she was as certain as Wong that the killer was the same man who’d perpetrated the previous crimes and she was equally certain that the time of death had been early morning.
Matt described their visit with Nancy Cooper in Richmond and how Meg believed that someone in a black sedan had watched them at a rest stop. He also mentioned the black sedan seen at her new town house, which Angela corroborated. Then he went on to tell them about Joey finding Meg—and their recovery of the note from the gravestone marker. He produced the note; Angela said she’d get it down to tech support right away.
“We believe that it’s all connected somehow—although we’re not sure why,” Matt said. “But Lara’s note seems to imply something about the death of Congressman Hubbard.” He paused, looking at Jackson. “Somehow, we have to get an autopsy done on Congressman Hubbard. I can’t help thinking that he was, shall we say, helped to die—and that it had to do with his political stand. Perhaps it was an assassination. If he’d lived to run for the presidency, there’s a good chance he would’ve been elected.”
“These women are being killed because of a government conspiracy?” Jackson asked incredulously.
“I know it’s far-fetched,” Matt said.
Jackson drummed his fingers on the wooden surface of his desk. “It sure is,” he agreed. “Unless…”
“Yeah, it’s far-fetched—unless Lara turns out to be one of his victims,” Matt said flatly, looking at Meg, sympathy in his eyes. “Here’s my theory. Lara is supposed to show up as a victim of this crazed serial killer. The thing is, if she was the only one dead, the investigation would fall on Congressman Walker and his team. But if a number of women die, then the suspicion falls on someone who’s a sociopathic killer.”
Meg knew that what they were saying was true. It was what she’d feared all along, even if she hadn’t actually voiced it aloud. Even if Lara’s body hadn’t been found. “Can Adam get Congressman Hubbard exhumed—and arrange for an autopsy?”
“We have no evidence against Ian Walker,” Jackson said. “We have no evidence at all, really. I don’t think there’s a judge in the world who’d allow Hubbard to be exhumed. But there’s one person who can do it—his widow. I’ll call Adam now, see what he can work out. Will, go down to tech and see if you can be of assistance. The rest of you—we have copies of Jane Everett’s sketch of the last victim. Get out on the streets and see if you can find someone who can identify her—and who she was with last night.”
They all rose, everyone taking a moment to pat Killer on the head. Meg smiled as she watched and wondered what it was about a dog…
“What?” Matt said, and she realized he was watching her.
“Killer,” she replied. “What a name—but he makes people smile.”
“Hmpff,” he muttered.
He was full of it, she thought. Matt liked the dog.
Did he actually like her, too?
She stepped away, wondering how she’d come to feel so drawn to the man. She was just a fledgling agent to him. He could be decent, but the work always came first. And yet, if she was honest, she’d have to admit she’d been attracted to him from the start—frightening though that attraction could be. He had a certain magnetism. Was it because of his strength? Because she wasn’t as strong as she wanted to be and needed that strength?
No, she was dangerously attracted to the man. And she had to stop feeling that way. If she could…
Supplied with copies of the sketch Jane Everett had drawn, the two of them headed to the address where the latest victim had been working, at the intersection Wong had given them. For the first few hours, they could find no one who claimed to recognize the dead woman.
They had Killer with them, and he was an invaluable asset. While the women they wanted to talk to tended to scurry away from anyone who looked official, they were captivated by the ugly little dog and stopped to pet him.
Finally, a tall brunette in very short shorts and a leopard halter top glanced at the picture—and her face crumpled.
“It’s Marci,” she said. “Marci Henning.”
“You’re certain, and she was your friend?” Matt asked.
The woman nodded, big tears appearing in her eyes, rolling down her face. “Of course I’m certain, and yes, she was my friend. Such a good kid. She came here with stars in her eyes and then she drank too much one night, got into drugs…and wound up with an arrest record. After that, she couldn’t even get a job in a coffee shop. Me, I’m out here because I’d rather be doing this than dealing with jerks in a crappy, low-paid job in the service industry. Marci…she wanted something more.”
“I’m sorry,” Meg said. “But…this is important. We desperately want to catch her killer. Justice for her, and for the other victims. What can you tell us? Did you see anything? Do you know anything about her last customer?”
“I wasn’t with her. I was at the bar over there. Drunks are easily seduced,” the woman said. She offered her hand. “I’m Ollie. Olive Warner. And I do know who was with Marci around the corner. Hold on. I’ll find her.”
“Thank you.”
“Now no one can work the street,” Ollie muttered as she started walking.
She was headed toward a seedy bar, and they followed her in.
The place fell silent, except for the old jukebox wheezing out a country tune as they entered. Meg could feel the distrust all around them.
Matt stepped forward, holding up his badge. “We’re not here to bust anyone for anything. We’re searching for a murderer, someone who gets off on chopping up women. We need your help.”
Killer let out a woof that sounded almost like the word please. Meg lifted him in her arms, not at all sure about bringing the dog into a dive bar. Later, she wondered whether it was Matt’s request, Ollie’s plea or Killer’s woof that changed things.
There was silence for another moment and then Ollie Warner spoke up. “Marci is dead. This horrible killer is attacking us now. I know one of you was with her—one of you saw something.”
The bartender, a grizzled man who looked as if he hadn’t seen water or soap in a week, was the first to respond. “Marci was here until about one in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Meg said.
A slim woman in a skintight blouse rose from a bar stool. “I saw her after that. We were…we were on the same block. I saw her get into a car.”
“What kind of car?” Matt asked.
“I’m not sure of the make, but it was black,” the woman said.
“A black sedan?”
“Yeah, you know. They’re all over the city,” the woman said. “Everybody uses them.” She sniffed. “And you’d be surprised just how many we see trolling the streets around here.”
“Did you see who was in the car?” Meg asked hopefully. “Can you describe the driver?”
The woman shook her head. “Sorry, no, I can’t. But…”
“But what?”
“I saw it drive away and I noticed that the license plate was all…covered in mud.”
* * *
Before they’d driven away with their witness reports, Matt was on the phone with Jackson, who was going to plan a press conference to make sure women were on the alert for a black sedan, even though they knew that if he saw the news, the killer might change his vehicle. At the very least, they’d force his hand. It was a small victory—with the dead piling up and Lara still missing.
But before Matt ended the call, he received further instructions from Jackson. They were to stop by the office for Adam. Killer would stay with Jackson; the rest of them were on their way to speak with Martha Hubbard, widow of the recently deceased congressman.
He looked over at Meg. “We have to be at our most persuasive. This could be our most important move, a way we can finally get to the truth.”
“I’ll beg and plead as soulfully as I can,” she promised.
Her tone was sarcastic but he knew she actually meant what she’d said. Matt looked straight ahead again as he drove and wondered if she realized just how far her sincerity went. She was definitely the right one to be on this mission.
Angela was waiting with Adam Harrison in front of the office. She scooped up Killer while Adam slid into the car.
“Press conference is in thirty minutes. Jackson will do the speaking,” she told them.
Matt waved and moved back into the traffic.
Meg turned around to speak to Adam. “Do you know Mrs. Hubbard?” she asked.
“Yes. We’re old friends. I was a huge supporter of Congressman Hubbard. He had a platform that was socially inclusive and fiscally smart. He was…political magic, and he never reneged on a promise he made to his constituents,” Adam said.
“Maybe you should’ve gone to see Mrs. Hubbard alone,” Meg murmured.
“Oh, no, my dear. You’re going to be an asset, I’m certain.” Glancing in the rearview mirror, Matt saw that Adam was impeccable as always in a soft gray suit, blue shirt and darker tie.
As he neared Congressman Hubbard’s home, Matt saw something that made him slow and then pull over.
“What are you doing?” Meg asked. He pointed down the street. The congressman’s house was in a neighborhood of sweeping lawns and they had a decent view of the horseshoe drive in front of the house.
“Someone’s just leaving,” Matt said.
A large party was about to drive off in two black sedans. Matt saw that it was Congressman Walker, his wife and his retinue. Ian and Kendra were getting into a black limo driven by Joe Brighton, his ex-marine campaign manager. The other two men—handsome and charismatic Ellery Manheim and Nathan Oliver—were entering a second car. Peering closely, Matt saw that the two little granddaughters were already in the car that Ian and Kendra Walker were stepping into, which explained the need for two cars.
“Company who got here before us,” Adam said thoughtfully. “How interesting—or maybe not.” He went on to say, “The families have been close for years. Walker and Hubbard were on a number of committees together.”
“Still, what timing,” Matt said. “We’ll wait a minute.”
“And hope they drive in the other direction,” Meg added.
They did. Matt wondered if he let out an audible sigh of relief. A few minutes later, he drove down the street and into the horseshoe drive.
The Hubbard house wasn’t as big or as opulent as the Walker house, Matt observed. Not that he knew much about interior design. It was homey, simple. Martha Hubbard was as warm and welcoming as her home.
She greeted them herself when she opened the door, stepping into Adam’s arms and hugging him warmly, tears filling her eyes. “So good of you to come, Adam. I’ve been trying to catch up—to reach everyone—since the funeral. But the children were here, and I’m in the middle of making various decisions. I have to decide whether to keep this home or not… So many details that must be handled.”
“Maddie, Maddie,” Adam said soothingly. “I wouldn’t be bothering you now if I didn’t think it was important. May we?”
They were still standing in the foyer.
“Of course, forgive me!” Maddie Hubbard looked past Adam and tried to smile brightly at Matt and Meg. “Come in!”
The parlor was in the front of the house. There was an inviting hearth, the mantel covered with family pictures. A throw over the sofa might have been knitted by the widow herself.
Adam introduced them. “Agents Matthew Bosworth and Margaret Murray.”
“And I’m Martha Hubbard, although I’m better kn
own as Maddie,” she said. “Sit down. The Walkers were just here with their little ones, so I’m in a bit of disarray.”
Meg laughed softly. “What a lovely home, Mrs. Hubbard. I only wish I had one as warm and charming as this.”
“Well, thank you, dear, and please, I’m just Maddie.”
They sat down; Adam looked at Matt and he knew that meant he was to begin.
He folded his hands as he faced her. “We’re sorry to bother you today,” he said. “I’ve been a fan of your husband and your family for years. I can only imagine how painful your husband’s loss is to you. But we’re here to ask for a favor that will be very hard to give. And while we can’t tell you the particulars, we have good reason to believe that your husband’s death might not have been…natural.”
She was a plump woman with a beautiful smile and naturally graying hair. She stared back at him in such shock that he was afraid that he might have caused her to have a stroke or a heart attack herself.
“Maddie, we don’t mean to upset you,” Meg said, reaching over to pat Maddie’s hand. “It’s just that…if something like that happened, it was a crime not just against your husband, you and your family, but against the American people.”
“But—but…how?” Maddie gasped out the words. “He was here. He was at home. I was making apple pie. He was in the bedroom. And when I went to get him…” She broke off, covering her face.
“He took digitalis, right?” Adam asked. “He didn’t have a severe condition, but he took digitalis.”
Maddie nodded. “There’s no reason to believe… Like I said, we were both at home. It had been a long day. He kept his pills in his pocket. But why would you think…?”
“Maddie, what I’m about to say must remain in this room,” Adam told her. “A young congressional employee is missing. She left a note for a friend that referred to your husband’s death. She was suspicious. We don’t know what she might have heard, but under the circumstances…”
Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5 Page 18