by Cat Connor
“Trouble how?”
Leaving the doctor’s office anytime soon felt like a fading notion. “I couldn’t see the edge of the steps and my balance seemed off.”
He frowned again. He was less Hawkeye-cute when he frowned.
“Have you been walking into things more than usual? More klutzy than you used to be?”
Mac raised one eyebrow at me. He’d been telling me for months that there was something off about my sense of where I am in relation to objects around me. I had been telling him he was talking shite. I’d been subjected to him going on and on about how I am spatially challenged. I am not spatially challenged. I refuse to be anything that makes me sound retarded.
“Maybe.”
Mac looked at me in amazement. “Maybe’s ass.”
“Okay … I have more bruises from walking into desks than I usually do.” I sensed the truth welling up inside me and spilling forth, unchecked. “I get dizzy for no reason and sometimes there’s a ringing noise in one ear. Lying down makes the dizziness worse … tipping my head also makes it worse. It seems to cause nausea. But it does go away. Then it comes back.”
I’m a freak. I dumped a lid on the freaky stuff: no need to mention the odd sensation of eyes watching me at crime scenes. Who needed to mention dead people watching me?
“I want you to have an MRI and a head CT.”
“Both? Isn’t that overkill?” Something behind Hawkeye caught my eye: a teddy bear, a brown teddy bear lying on a shelf under the windowsill.
Oh, my. He wasn’t Hawkeye at all; he was Radar O’Riley impersonating Hawkeye. No wonder he ordered an MRI and CT; he can’t know what he’s doing! There was no way he was a real doctor.
An uncanny fear gripped me. Maybe there really was something wrong.
The fear gave way to panic. I found myself standing. “I’m on a new case. I need to be at work now.” I didn’t have time to listen to someone who was obviously an imposter.
“I’m going to schedule the tests. I will get back to you this afternoon.” He looked at my file again. “I have your work numbers and cell phone.”
“Great, good, wonderful,” I replied. Within seconds I was out the door, trying to find the colored line on the hallway floor that would lead me to the parking lot. Mac should’ve noticed he wasn’t the real Hawkeye.
A hand grabbed my arm. “What?” I shook my arm to dislodge the hand.
“Honey, it’s me.” Mac slipped his arm around my waist. “It’s going to be all right, it’s just tests, no one thinks there’s anything major wrong with you.”
“What if there is?”
He grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face him. I staggered as my body came to a stop. “You’re still Ellie, you’re not a different person, no matter what the tests show.”
“I don’t want to have the tests.” Then I remembered: this guy couldn’t order tests if he was not a real doctor. Whew!
“I know, and I fully understand how scary this is. But it is better we find out if something whacky is going on.”
How could anything be whackier than Radar impersonating Hawkeye? Why didn’t Mac notice?
I decided it wasn’t the best time to bring up the whole Hawkeye thing. I had a sneaking suspicion that I might be wrong about that. He may have been the real Hawkeye.
Mac whispered, “It’ll be okay.”
“What does he think it is?”
“Something called benign paroxysmal positional vertigo.”
It sounded bad.
Mac kept talking. “They think it is caused by debris collected in part of the inner ear. It often follows a head injury. It is treatable. Leon said he’ll do something called the Epley Maneuver and that should fix it. He wants to be sure nothing else is going on, hence the tests.”
Somewhere inside me, I decided he was only saying that to make me feel better. If he knew dead people were watching me, what would he say then?
I breathed in his cologne, let the soft pressure of his hands melt away the panic I felt and fully believed him. Sometimes you’ve just got to have a little faith. It would be okay. Then I had the strangest feeling, as if I had missed something. I pulled back a little and looked at Mac.
He spoke quietly, “You okay?”
“Uh-huh. Let’s get moving, we have to meet with Caine.”
There was something else we had to do. Something important, that I couldn’t put my finger on, nagged at me. I was sure a switch needed flipping somewhere.
Chapter Seven
Misunderstood
Caine’s office door was open. I could see his cantankerous self sitting at his desk writing long hand, while his computer sat idly by. I knocked on the doorframe. Light reflected off the top of his balding head as he raised his eyes to mine.
“You made it,” Caine said, sounding as cranky as ever. “What are you standing out there for? Close my door behind you.”
It was very tempting to reach out, slam the door and walk away; but I resisted. We entered the spacious office. Mac shut the door behind us and took a seat next to me.
“You in on this, Mac?”
“Looks like it,” Mac replied, with his usual calm assurance.
Caine gave him a stony look that an outsider would interpret as hostility – to us it was equivalent to a warm embrace – then turned his attention to me.
“How are you, Ellie?”
“I’m okay.”
Caine’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “And again. This time the truth.”
“I’m okay,” I reiterated with more conviction.
I saw his eyes cut to Mac’s then he let it go. “Who do we like for these new homicides?”
“No one, yet.” I let my mind bring up the scenes, then continued. “This feels like an escalation: whoever this is, he’s been out there raping and assaulting women for some time and now that’s not enough.”
He rocked back in his chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head.
“And the words? The poem?”
“It’s my opinion that he staged the scene before placing the woman in the center.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The writing is fairly even; he took care and attention. Possibly he even copied the lines from something. He was in control.” I smothered that thought with a fire blanket, not wanting images of our poetry book at a crime scene. “If he’d just murdered, I would’ve expected to see evidence of high adrenaline, maybe shaky writing and malformed letters. All we have to indicate his state of mind, is his self-control. He was calm and unhurried.”
“Interesting observation.”
“I get the feeling he had time prior to the arrival of the victims, time to stage his scene and plan everything. He was waiting for them.”
“Mmmm.”
“He also had enough time to position them afterwards, so he was sure no one was going to disturb him. Could have stalked them, or at least had them under surveillance for a short period.”
Caine nodded but said nothing.
“I could be way off but that’s my impression.”
The hard line of Caine’s mouth blurred. I recognized that as his equivalent to a wide grin. “I think you’re probably on track.”
Nice to get a vote of confidence from the boss: enough of a boost for me to carry on with my observations. “Our killer has perfected his talents, he’s experienced.”
“You’re doing okay so far, kid.” The right corner of Caine’s mouth twitched.
“Kids.” I said. “You’ve just reminded me, both women had kids. We’re still trying to locate the children of the second victim.”
“Let’s hope they’re at school and safe.”
I nodded. “Did you get a report on any weapons found?”
“No. The medical examiner copied us both on his pre-autopsy findings. He found stab wounds in the back and defensive wounds on the arms of both women. It appears that both the victims died from the wounds inflicted; they bled to death. From now on, all correspondence regarding these
deaths goes to you and your team.”
Bled to death. That phrase dragged out a word that all the crime shows like to throw out: exsanguination, the fatal process of total blood loss. We’d best stick to ‘bled to death.’ At least we can all spell those three words. I thought some more about our killer and opted to share my thoughts out loud. “He’s organized: bringing his weapon with him, displaying the bodies, the writing on the walls, limiting our trace evidence. He knows what he’s doing and he’s taking his time to do it.” I leaned back in the chair, then sat forward to stretch my back. “How’d he get in?”
“Tool marks were found on the locks of both victims’ homes.”
“So he may have lock-picking skills too. Isn’t he the talented little freak?”
Caine slid a baggie across his desk at me. “Take a look at that.”
I could see it from where I sat: a small paper evidence bag. I read down the chain of evidence documented on the front of the bag. Lee’s writing was first, along with his signature, a lab stamp and signature, then Caine’s. It wasn’t a copy at all; it was the original evidence.
“I can see it.”
He handed me a sterilized packet containing disposable forceps and a pair of latex gloves.
“Open the bag.”
I put on the gloves, opened the bag and pulled out a piece of square blue paper with the forceps. It was the Post-it I’d heard about.
“Read it.”
My stomach flipped as I held it in the forceps and read the words aloud.
“ ‘Special Agent Conway. Gabrielle, we need more chlorine.’ ”
I dropped the note back into the bag and resealed it.
“The chlorine reference is interesting,” Caine stated. From his desk drawer he retrieved another bag. He dropped it on the desktop.
Again, I was in no hurry to touch it. My stomach lurched, my heart sank and memories of a not-too-distant past flew into my consciousness. I didn’t want to be there again.
“Take me off the case!” Even I heard the hysterical tone that edged into my voice but I seemed unable to prevent it.
He completely ignored me.
“Two messages, Ellie.”
“I know.”
Mac reached for a pair of latex gloves as Caine held them out. He took a fresh pair of forceps and opened the new baggie. “Is this a fluke? Or did the killer know Ellie would be working this?”
Caine spoke quietly making us strain to hear him. “All he could know was there was a chance Ellie would work the cases. The nature of the crime means we would be included. This falls within our task force perimeters and we’re currently split between two other major cases, in Maryland and Georgia. With only Delta A still in Virginia, we don’t publicize who is in which team.”
Mac read the note aloud, “ ‘Gabrielle, cleaning takes time.’ ”
“That seems fairly personal to me,” I muttered.
Mac lifted his eyes to meet Caine’s. “Do you think he committed these heinous acts to get Ellie involved?”
Caine pressed his fingertips together. “We can’t know that at this stage, Mac.”
Mac’s voice hardened. “Best guess?”
“It’s possible.”
“He uses her name!”
“Could be a fluke, could have easily used any of the agents’ names in Delta team,” Caine replied, his voice low and calm.
I listened as Caine downplayed the little detail of the notes bearing my name. He was doing a good job. I wasn’t buying and I knew he wasn’t either. The Unsub could’ve used any of our names. He could have; we’re a high profile team. But he fuc’n didn’t. He used mine!
“He had me with the Post-it. The use of a Post-it note has to be a blatant attempt at reminding me of the Son of Shakespeare case. That evil son of a bitch left messages on yellow Post-its for me, and now we have messages addressed to me on blue Post-it notes,” I said. “You still want to sit there and tell me this isn’t personal?”
Another thought crashed into the forefront of my mind. Why were we assuming this was a man? Okay, so women didn’t usually kill like this. I decided to stick with the term Unsub and not label this killer male or female yet.
My body switched to autopilot and propelled me to the door. I jumped when Caine spoke, “Ellie, where are you going?”
Conscious thought took over again. I realized I was standing by the closed door with my hand on the doorknob. Freedom lay just beyond the pale-grained wood.
“I don’t know, home maybe.”
Caine’s phone rang. I turned to face him, finding myself transfixed as the noise disrupted the air, causing ripples to radiate from the telephone on the desk. They covered Mac, the chair I had occupied and then flowed over me. As I observed the odd phenomenon, the ripples appeared to pass through the walls and disappear.
“Ellie, you all right?”
Mac stood in front of me. I didn’t know how he got there.
“What’s wrong, Ellie?”
Couldn’t he see the noise ripple through the air?
I didn’t know what to say. Why couldn’t he see them? Then it occurred to me no one could see them but me. I had a sudden flash of this being way beyond eccentricity. Seeing sound? Madness loomed. He can’t know.
Be okay.
I said, “I’m okay.”
Caine interrupted. “Good.”
I looked past Mac to see what was good. “What?”
“Good, you’re all right. I can’t take you off this. We got a hit back from the bulletin posted through Law Enforcement Online. I want you to go to Richmond. There was a murder forty-eight hours ago. It’s similar to what we have up here now. View the crime scene. Speak to the next of kin … the victim’s husband. See what you can turn up.”
The unearthly happenings in my head stopped abruptly. I refocused on the case. We had a hit. I swear one of the best inventions yet is the LEO system. Think MySpace or Facebook for police but not as pretty as MySpace and without the time-wasting applications of Facebook. Although, facial recognition software can be a real hoot.
“I take it they know I’m coming down?” Mac and I were both back in our seats, taking careful notes.
Caine nodded. “Mac, I’m going to have you assigned to us for the duration of this case.”
He could have asked – Mac may not have wanted to be in on this case. He also could’ve run it by me first, in private. I didn’t know why I wasn’t thrilled to have Mac with me on this. I should be, damn it! We worked well together. He was fun, too. I was scrutinizing Mac’s face for a clue to his real feelings when he nodded in agreement with Caine’s plan.
“I hate to say this, but why? We have no need yet for specialist help,” I said.
“Sam put the request in. It’s easier to have Mac on board from the beginning than to drag him in and have to play catch-up later.”
“That makes sense.” If Sam thought we were going to need someone like Mac on the team, then okay. I remembered that Sam and Mac had spoken of this in the mobile command center.
I turned to Mac and asked, “You don’t mind having me as your boss?”
His eyes sparkled. “I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”
“Good okay, that’s settled. It’ll be great, just like old times.” A cold shiver ran up my spine as the voice in my head hissed, ‘Let’s hope not.’ I pulled myself together and pressed all reservations aside. My focus was the task at hand.
I remembered something else that needed looking into. “Has someone pulled the open case file for the rape a few months back, the gold ribbon one?” I struggled but for the life of me could not recall the victim’s name.
“Lee mentioned it, ask him.”
I nodded. If Lee mentioned it then he was bound to have all the information.
“Time to get moving,” Mac said.
We stood and headed for the door but something made me pause. I turned back to Caine and asked, “Unless there was anything else?”
“Just one thing,” Caine said. He stood and ca
me out from behind his desk. “On behalf of the Bureau I would like to congratulate you on the formation of The Butterfly Foundation.” He reached down to his desk and picked up an envelope, which he handed to me. “This is from the division.”
I opened the envelope expecting to see a check for fifty bucks or so. Mac peered into it as I pulled out a personal check from Executive Assistant Director Owen. Our mouths fell open at the sight of the amount. Words seemed trapped as I tried to get my head around this incredible act of generosity.
Mac found his tongue before I did. “Owen wrote this check?”
Caine’s face cracked, his lip curled, teeth showed: it was shockingly close to a real smile. “Yes, Mac. She’s not all bad, you know.”
“Wow.”
Wow indeed. Hard-assed Owen had a heart. I slid the check back into the envelope. “We’ll thank her later, then have the chairman do it officially.”
I took the check out again and reread the amount: fifteen thousand dollars. With that and the funds raised at the dinner, we could set up many more school programs than originally planned.
I looked at Caine. He still bore the alarmingly real smile upon his face. “I suspect you had more than a little to do with this. Thank you.”
Caine hugged me quickly then kissed my cheek. Over all the years we had worked together, Caine had once before surprised me with fatherly affection. It was unnerving, and yet not.
His scary smile faded back to a more acceptable grim facial expression. “It’s a good thing you’ve done.”
For the first time it felt like we’d made a difference. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the paper evidence bags on Caine’s desk. Suddenly making a difference wasn’t enough.
Our next stop was the Butterfly Foundation offices. With a degree of relief, I realized my earlier thoughts of flipping switches were validated.
Something did need flipping; it wasn’t just something I’d conjured earlier in my head.
***
The ceremonial turning on of the Foundation servers that house the entire Foundation computer system took place in front of numerous journalists, amidst flashes of blinding light from cameras. Just what I didn’t need: more blinding lights.