by Kylie Brant
Ryne felt a flicker of sympathy for Abbie. Conversation with her sister was mind-numbing. But he still wondered how much of that could be attributed to her illness, and how much to sheer cunning. “Then you can tell me their names.”
She laughed, genuine amusement lighting her face. “You aren’t that naïve. Abbie, maybe. But not you.”
Pitching his voice to a lower, more intimate tone, he cajoled, “You saying you don’t want to help me? Help Abbie?”
Heaving a sigh, she slouched lower in her chair. “I’m saying I don’t bother learning their names. Or remembering them. What’s the point?” She singled out a picture, tapped the man in it. “But if I had to name them, he’d be EverReady. Doesn’t take much imagination to figure why.” She slid another photo out of the pile, smirked. “We’ll name him Jackhammer.” Another photo. “And him . . .” She pursed her lips. “I think we’ll call him Handful of Disappointment.”
Deliberately, Ryne slid the photo of her and Juarez across the table. “How about this one? How well do you know him?”
Something flickered in her expression, there and gone too quickly to identify. “I didn’t fuck him if that’s what you mean. He’s not my type. He’s too pathetic.”
He surveyed the picture again, of Callie’s hand placed familiarly on the man’s crotch. “How’s he different from the others?”
Cocking her head, Callie reached up one hand to trace the rise of her top, where it stretched low across her chest. “You’re a cop, you know the type.” She gave another shrug, obviously losing patience. “He’s the kind of guy bent over from life continually kicking him in the ass. A permanent victim.”
“Detective Robel? Can I speak to you?”
Abbie could tell her dispassionate tone didn’t fool Ryne. From the sidelong glances of some of the men departing the conference room after the briefing, it didn’t fool them either.
“Of course.”
He remained behind the table, shoveling notes back into the accordion binder. She followed the last uniform to the door and swung it shut behind him.
Hauling in a deep breath, she struggled to rein in the temper that bubbled and frothed inside her before turning to face him again.
“Why?”
The question split the room like a rifle shot. She didn’t mind the accusation that sounded in it. He deserved that, and more. She just hoped he didn’t hear the note of betrayal layered beneath the word.
“That was an exercise in futility. I only caught the tail end of the interview, but it was enough to see you’d wasted your time.” Driven to move, she rounded the table then stopped again, bracing her arms on its top. “She gave you nothing. Because she knows nothing. Which I could have told you had you seen fit to share what you were planning.”
He didn’t dissemble. She could appreciate that, even if it likely meant he didn’t care enough to bother. Instead he silently held out a folder, something suspiciously like pity on his face. And that had the pent-up anger go molten again.
“Go ahead. Take a look.”
She eyed the folder like she would a live serpent. Something else sliced through her ire. Trepidation.
It took effort to reach for the folder, flip it open. She’d half expected something like the photos in it. Something in her chest eased a fraction. She lifted a brow. “So? Callie frequents high-risk places. Indulges in high-risk behavior. This isn’t news.”
“Look at the last one.”
Something in his eyes, in his voice, warned her. Steeling herself, she flipped to the bottom of the pile. But she still wasn’t prepared for the punch of disbelief, the sick little sink to her stomach when she saw the photo in question.
Callie and Juarez.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she said with remarkable calm. Remarkable, because her nerves were rattling like china dishes in an earthquake. Her mind whirled, possible explanations chasing doubt in fast-forward speed. She shook her head, attempting to clear it. “It goes to figure she’d run across him, given the places they both hang out.” When Ryne said nothing, merely continued to look at her, she snapped, “Juarez is alibied for the night of Bradford’s attempted rape. He doesn’t fit the profile. You can’t still believe . . .”
Ryne walked over to the coffeemaker in the corner, poured a cup, and returned, shoving it into her hands.
“Drink it,” he ordered brusquely.
Her fingers wrapped around the Styrofoam, welcoming the heat that transferred. Her blood seemed to have gone to ice.
“Think. You’re the expert on victimology. We’re looking for intersections, you said. Juarez was a victim, you said. Well, this is a hell of a coincidental intersection, don’t you think?”
Abbie took a gulp of the coffee, almost spewed it out again. Black as pitch and almost as thick, it was a vile brew. But it steadied her, had her thinking clearly again. “Juarez came across the UNSUB at some point, yes. But we have no reason to believe that Callie did, so the intersection angle doesn’t hold.”
“At the least she could help us with some of the guys in the photos we haven’t ID’d.”
Suddenly weary, she set the cup on the table separating them. “Maybe. If she felt like it. But it’s just as probable that it’s like she told you. She doesn’t bother to learn their names. My sister is a lot of things, Ryne, most of them sad. But she doesn’t have anything to do with this investigation.”
“I can understand why you wanted to talk to her,” she said stiffly when he remained silent. “But you still should have let me know first. If you didn’t want me in on the interview, I still could have given you some suggestions on how to best handle her.”
“I wanted to.” His voice was low, his gaze direct. “Believe that, Abbie. But you’re too close. You know that, even if you can’t admit it. Right from the first you said we had to consider every option.”
Her fingers gripped the edge of the table as she struggled for a calm to match his. “And what option haven’t I considered?”
“That hospital Callie stayed at in Connecticut. Was she free to come and go or was she on a locked ward?”
The seeming non sequitur took her aback. “What does that . . .” Then comprehension filtered through and her temper ignited all over again, a lit match to a gasoline-soaked fuse. “You can’t possibly be trying to link her to those sexual homicides in New Jersey three years ago!”
There was a muscle jumping in one tightly clenched jaw. But his voice was even. “Just tying up some loose threads. She was in the general vicinity at the time.”
Her fingers let go of the table to ball into tight fists. Hauling in a deep breath, then another, she struggled for composure, but the effort seemed beyond her. “So were you, remember? For that matter, so was Dixon.”
“I’m saying her presence here bothers me. Her background bothers me. Her connection to Juarez and the places he hangs out really bothers me. And then there’s the fact she refused to give me jackshit in the interview this morning. Remember how you dismissed Juarez right away as a suspect?”
“You pushed me for an opinion that I told you wasn’t based on any evidence, only—”
“Only your gut.” He gave her a grim nod of satisfaction. “Now my gut is telling me Callie could be linked to this case somehow. Maybe something she heard. Someone’s she’s met. I’d like your help getting her to cooperate.”
She gave him a mirthless smile. “Little late to be asking me in on that, isn’t it?”
“Abbie.” He took a step toward her then stopped, as if reining himself back. But the misery in his voice was reflected in his expression. “Do you think this is easy for me? Any of it? But we follow every lead, no matter how slim. To do it, we have to separate the personal from the professional. We have to do the job.”
Giving a jerky nod, she headed for the door. “Should be easy enough. As far as I’m concerned, there no longer is anything personal between us.”
Chapter 21
Because she was driving like an automaton, it took Abbie t
wice as long as it should have to get to Larsen’s place. Twice, she found herself having to backtrack because she’d missed a turn. Once she nearly sideswiped a car because she wasn’t watching the light closely enough.
The near miss shook off the curious numbness that had encompassed her since leaving headquarters. She almost mourned the loss. A tangle of emotion weighted her chest. Ironically, she seized on the one thing Ryne had said with which she could agree without reservation.
They had to do the job.
Pulling to a stop in front of Larsen’s, she turned off the car’s ignition. It took an embarrassing amount of effort to pull back and achieve the distance necessary to objectively evaluate the bombshells of this morning. The hits had come so quick and furious that she’d been left inwardly reeling. But now she forced herself to evaluate the events on their own merits. And reached a conclusion that was inevitable.
Of course they needed to talk to Callie. The same way they needed to speak to Juarez’s ex-girlfriend, his family, and known acquaintances. She’d crossed the man’s path, and at some point Juarez had come to the UNSUB’s attention.
Gleaning anything valuable from her sister, however, would be an uphill battle, even if she had anything worthwhile to share. Abbie strode rapidly up to Larsen’s front door, rang the bell. The most telling part of Ryne’s interview with Callie had been her remark about Juarez being a victim. Given her past, she’d empathize with the man, even while she derided him. And misguided sympathy would be enough to elicit Callie’s obstinance, assuming she knew anything important.
When Karen Larsen swung the door open, and wordlessly stepped aside for her to enter, Abbie had the thought that the last few days had been rough ones for the woman. The careful makeup couldn’t hide the circles under her eyes. And Abbie observed the way Larsen looked furtively past her before pulling the door shut. The careful way she secured what looked like a new deadbolt.
“How are you, Karen?”
“Fine.” The tone, the smile, was almost normal. But the arms folded tightly across her chest, the jerky movements as she crossed to the couch, told a different story.
“So, I guess you haven’t found him.” The woman lifted a shoulder. “Or you would have told me already, right?”
“We’re getting closer.” Abbie sat down on the couch beside the woman, turned to face her. “I hope it will all be over soon.”
“What about that last woman he attacked? People are saying she might still be in danger.” Karen swallowed hard, but her gaze was direct. “Do you believe that? That he might come after his victims again?”
Abbie reached over to grip the woman’s hand. “I can’t discuss details of the last attempted assault. But I don’t think you’re in danger.” Seeing that her words did little to alleviate the worry from the woman’s expression, she added, “For your peace of mind, though, maybe you’d feel more comfortable staying with a friend for a while.” She searched her memory. “What about your brother? Maybe he would come.”
The woman shook her head. “He’s in Louisiana. He’s asked me to come down there and stay, but I can’t afford to not work. I’ll be fine.” As if the words calmed her, Larsen forced another smile. “You said yesterday you had some other questions for me.”
Pulling her notebook from her purse, Abbie flipped it open. “I’d like to ask you about the fire at your home when you were a teenager.”
Larsen turned away, drew a deep breath. “Haven’t we already covered that?”
“I’m sorry.” Abbie’s sympathy was sincere. “I know this is difficult. But I need to find out if there are any similarities between the origins of two fires.”
“I don’t see how.” Larsen’s voice was shaky. “The fire at my home in Minnesota started because of frayed wiring in the attic. At least that’s what the police said after the fire department had investigated.”
“Do you happen to recall the name of the chief of police there?” When Larsen shook her head, Abbie smiled. “Doesn’t matter. I can track him down. I’d like you to tell me what happened that night.” When the woman closed her eyes, Abbie felt a tug of guilt. That first fire had cost the woman her parents.
And the cost of the fire a few weeks ago had been equally devastating.
Slowly, laboriously, Abbie elicited the details from Larsen. How she’d awakened to find the hallway filled with smoke. Flames visible beneath her parents’ door. The staircase engulfed in fire. How only the quick thinking of a neighbor had saved Karen, with a ladder the man had propped up to her window.
It occurred to Abbie then that Larsen had been fortunate twice in her escape. But her escape from the second fire was most likely not due to luck, but to design. The UNSUB had meant for her to get away, although perhaps not as quickly as she had. He would have wanted her terrorized as the flames got closer. Perhaps reaching the woman on the bed before she freed herself.
After more than an hour of questioning, Larsen looked wrung out. “I have to get to work soon.” Consulting the slim purple and gold watch on her wrist, she grimaced. “The clinic is clear across town, and I’m not even dressed yet.”
Abbie rose. “I realize this has been hard. But I appreciate your help. Have you remembered anything else about the night of your attack?”
Larsen hesitated, before shaking her head firmly, getting up to lead Abbie to the door. “No. Sorry.”
But that slight pause had Abbie’s instincts sharpening. She stopped inside the door, facing the woman. “It might seem insignificant to you. Maybe even not worth mentioning. But I’m interested in any detail you remembered, Karen. Regardless of how small.”
“It’s just . . .” Larsen crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure it’s meaningless.” At Abbie’s encouraging smile, she plowed on. “But you asked before whether I’d told anyone about the fire that killed my parents. And I’ve only told one person here, so I didn’t give it much thought. But your question got me thinking . . .” She halted, shook her head. “Like I say, it’s really nothing. But I did check back with Paula, my friend. She said she hadn’t told anyone what I said about the fire except for her boyfriend.”
“Her boyfriend?”
“I don’t even know the guy’s name. Paula’s always real coy about it. I think he’s married or something. I just found it sort of odd she’d mention it to him.” She gave a strained smile. “But then I’m no expert about conversational topics between lovers.”
Ryne checked the cell before answering it, feeling a quick clutch in his stomach when he saw the incoming number. “Abbie.”
“I finished with Larsen and wanted to update you before taking personal time.” She gave him a quick succinct run down of her conversation. “Did Dixon tell you that he knew about the fire in Larsen’s background?”
“I don’t think so. But it goes to figure. He’d have gotten as much information as possible from his girlfriend before ever bringing Larsen to my attention.”
“If I have time yet this afternoon, I’m going to follow up with some phone calls to Stratton, Minnesota.” He could hear the sounds of traffic in the distance. Abbie was on the road. “I’d like to talk to the officer who responded to the scene of the first Larsen fire.”
“I have a few questions to run by you.” Conscious of the occupants at desks around him, Ryne kept his tone impassive as he reported Dwayne Carsons’s dings on domestic assault and Holden’s sealed juvie record. “Given the unlikelihood that we have an UNSUB traveling fifteen hundred miles to commit these rapes, what are we looking for here?”
“The relationship between the TTX supplier and the perp,” she said immediately.
His muscles untensed a notch as the familiar back-and-forth exchange began. Whatever their differences, he could rely on Abbie to concentrate on the investigation.
“I started thinking about that at the debriefing this morning. About the origin of that relationship. Even if the perp doesn’t let the supplier know what he’s doing, the supplier recognizes the capabilities of the drug and can mak
e certain presumptions. It takes a degree of trust, don’t you think? So I’m guessing there is a long-standing connection between the two. This UNSUB is enacting the torture and rapes because of serious abuse in his background. That kind of abuse doesn’t lend itself to the establishment of casual friendships.”
“Why couldn’t it be someone he happened across who could be of use to him, like Juarez?”
“If I had to speculate, I’d guess it isn’t. This guy is careful not to be identified. I think he’d have gotten the biggest supply he could get his hands on and then made sure the supplier disappeared for good. He knows too much. Juarez was just a patsy.”
Ryne scrubbed one hand over his face. Holden and Carsons were a start, but if a Ketrum employee were the supplier, none of the ten on the team was above suspicion. They’d be in a position to get their hands on the drug, as well as falsifying any records necessary to cover up the loss.
“Okay. I’ll follow up on these two. If I strike out, we’ll have to check the other eight members of the Ketrum TTX team.”
“I look forward to your update tomorrow morning.”
From her impersonal tone, she could have been talking to Cantrell or Holmes. There was no hint of the fury she’d faced him with that morning. Nor any remnant of the intimacy that had developed between them. An intimacy she’d declared dead earlier.
An unfamiliar clutch of nerves tightened in his gut. “Listen, Abbie . . .”
“You were right this morning.”
Her words silenced him. “You had to talk to Callie. I’d have made the same decision.”
It was the last thing he expected her to say. The last thing he wanted to hear. His throat went tight, as recognition of his mistake slammed home. “I should have let you know I was bringing her in.”
“Yes, you should have.”
He took a breath, looked around, not really seeing his surroundings. Dammit, he’d played it safe. By the book. How could that be a screwup?