by Kylie Brant
“It made a helluva lot more sense than someone vanishing into thin air, that’s why,” he retorted. Something told Cait the two of them weren’t going to hang up as buddies. “Hell, people lie all the time. Families lie. Where’d the guy go? They don’t know. He had no enemies, everyone loved him. Yeah, okay. Except he’s gone, right? Maybe he had a mistress he ran off with to Bora Bora. The fact that he didn’t want to tell his brother about his plans doesn’t mean he’s dead; it just means he left.”
Or else, she thought cynically, it meant that accepting that story made it easy for Cross to wash his hands of the whole thing and improve his closed-case ratio.
“You might want to take another look at Bentley’s case.” She watched an old man who looked on the wrong side of ninety step cautiously off the curb as if fearful of breaking a hip on contact with the street.
“And why should I do that?”
“Because I’ve got skeletal remains here in Oregon that are a tentative match for his age and stature.” Ignoring the rude sound he made, she continued, “We’ve got seven sets of remains all hauled out of the same cave. So far the two sets we’ve positively identified spent time in this area within a year of their disappearance.”
“What does that—”
“I just discovered records today showing Bentley was here six and a half years ago.”
That stopped Cross for a moment. “He disappeared about six years ago.”
She mentally sighed. “Yes. And a large sum of money went missing at the same time as the other two victims’ disappearance. Is this starting to sound familiar to you at all?”
“Helluva coincidence.”
“If you believe in coincidence, Cross, you haven’t been in police work nearly long enough.” The elderly man had made it safely down the curb and was now proceeding at a snail’s pace across the street. “Bentley didn’t happen to be a fan of the New York Giants, did he? And an avid whitewater rafter?” Both an image of the New York team and churning whitewater had been depicted on his scapulas.
“I’d have to check the file.”
She’d had more than enough. “You do that. And while you’re doing it, look for his credit card statements and see where he stayed during his time here. Then contact his brother about getting to a lab for a DNA profile. Got a pencil handy?” She gave him her fax number. “Get those results and his statement to me as quickly as possible, and I can give you a definitive answer about whether I’ve got William Bentley’s remains on a gurney in my lab.”
“Feds aren’t going to like hearing they’re wrong,” the man muttered.
“We all have our little disappointments.” She disconnected and called Gavin Pounds, Raiker’s cyber wizard back at headquarters in Manassas. As she waited for the call to go through, she spared the old man one more glance. He’d progressed about four feet. In the course of his short journey, he’d received, and shaken off, no fewer than three offers of help. McKenzie Bridge was a friendly little town.
Except it hadn’t proven so friendly for William Bentley. Or Marissa Recinos. Or Paul Livingston.
“So we should check with all the resorts in the area for a guest named William Bentley.” Andrews was seated at the desk in Cait’s McKenzie Motel room, scribbling on a notepad as she spoke. “What was the date again?”
Cait repeated it, and added, “Don’t forget the campgrounds. We can’t be sure where he stayed. I don’t have access to his credit card statement yet, and I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait for it.” Cross didn’t strike her as the sort of guy who would move at the speed of light. “We also need to find out who the Internet provider is for the resorts in the area. At least who it was at the time Recinos, Livingston, and Bentley went missing.”
Andrews looked up from her jottings, her expression shrewd. “You think the transfers were generated up here?”
“It’s possible. People of wealth caught our UNSUB’s attention. But he had to have some way of knowing they had money. Which means he had to gain access to their accounts initially to select his victims. What better way to do that than through their computer use?”
The sheriff frowned. “I’m pretty sure the provider is Lantis. They provide access to a lot of the outlying areas in Lane County. But you’re not thinking the company is involved.”
“Just an individual. One of their techs. Maybe even a former employee. We’ll need them to open their employment records to us, as well as which tech serviced the resorts.”
“I’ve got a couple men in cyber crimes, but I’m guessing if we need to search computers for this kind of evidence, it might be outside the expertise of my department. I may have to contact someone at State Police.”
“Eventually, maybe.” Cait sat on the edge of the bed. “I talked to Gavin Pounds earlier, Raiker’s cyber genius. He said it could be as simple as the IP host capturing cookies or keystroke information. To access their online bank records, the offender just needs the account names and passwords. If they check their email from a computer the offender is monitoring, he can even install spyware on their home computer remotely and continue to get information long after they leave here.”
Andrews was staring hard at her. “That easy?”
“I know.” She’d been shocked herself when talking to Gavin. “Although years ago it would have been a bit more of a process, recent ‘innovations’ in the industry have made cyber spying easier. And a state-of-the-art powerful spy system can circumvent many of the more popular anti-spyware software.”
“Del Barton has that wireless café,” Andrews mused, tapping her pencil rapidly against the tablet.
“He told me it had only been open for a year and a half.”
“I think I remember Gibbs mentioning it being fairly recent.”
“These victims disappeared three, five, and six years ago. Did he begin the business from scratch or take over an existing one?” In her one conversation with the man, it had sounded like the place had been a fresh start, but they needed to verify that. As the sheriff jotted that down in her notebook, she continued, almost to herself, “Of course, we’ve got more than one resort in two different towns. Do they both use the same provider? They’d almost have to for this theory to work.”
“Easy enough to find out.” Finished writing, Andrews looked up again, her mouth a thin flat line. “We got nothing on the photos. No one seems to recall either victim at the resorts. Not much surprise there, given how long it’s been since they were here.”
“I struck out, too,” Cait admitted. She stretched her legs out in front of her and suppressed a yawn. The lack of sleep was catching up with her. “I didn’t get to the restaurant that showed up on Livingston’s bill here in town. Tito’s. You might have better luck sending a few men there to interview everyone on staff. It’ll take some time to round up former employees. Any word on the garbage bags or paint?” A brief phone call with Kristy early this afternoon had resulted in the news that the tech had, indeed, found a match.
“Nothing on the paint yet. The garbage bags are sold in several spots within ten miles of here, including the General Store here in town. But other than nailing down accessibility, that lead is pretty much a dead end. We haven’t gotten anywhere on the paint yet.”
“And that would be easy to buy online, too,” Cait admitted. “I think our best lead at this point is the Internet provider.”
“Proving anything is going to be a bitch.” The sheriff’s familiar antsiness was present as she bounced out of the chair and began to pace, slapping the notebook against her stocky thigh as she walked. “Definitely won’t be immediate. We’ll need cyber experts on it, and with the state lab, no telling how soon I can get results.”
“Detective Cross in Idaho mentioned a federal investigation into Bentley’s money transfers. Every monetary transfer in the United States of ten thousand dollars or more has to be reported, so the offender stuck with nine-thousand-dollar transfers to multiple banks. Pounds told me red flags would have been raised if those multiple transfe
rs went out on the same day or if they went to countries known for private banking havens, as many of them are on the terrorism watch list. If we get anything at all on this lead with the IP, you should be able to get some cooperation from the feds who looked into it.”
Andrews threw her a sharklike grin. “Cooperation from the feds? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
Since there was more than a little truth in the question, Cait responded with a slight smile. “The banking transactions were also looked into for Recinos and Livingston. Those investigations sounded like they stayed local, so we might have better luck there.”
Andrews grunted and seemed to come to a decision. “Well, we’ll start fresh tomorrow. Maybe those newest bones will tell you something.”
Cait hated to tell her that the set of remains they’d taken out of the hot springs were likely to yield the least amount of clues. “I’ll go back to Eugene tonight so I can check on their drying progress in the morning. Once they’re in condition to be handled, we can at least get them put together and get height and maybe approximate age.” It would depend, in any case, on the condition of the bones and whether they were mostly all accounted for. “I don’t know if I told you before, but those remains were male.”
“So we’ve got five men and three women.” The sheriff looked bemused. “I’d expect it to be the other way around.”
“Ostensibly if money is the motivation, it might be easier to find men with bank accounts flush enough to attract the UNSUB. Although you’d think women would be easier to snatch.”
“Some women.” Andrews patted her pockets as if searching for cigarettes. Cait gave silent thanks when she failed to find any. “Others can surprise you.” When her look grew pointed, Cait went tense. “Take you, for instance. You were well and truly pissed this morning. Can’t deny that.”
“You don’t hear me trying to.”
The other woman gave a bark of laughter. “I know what you’re thinking. That Bentley being killed six years ago eliminates Sharper as a suspect because he was still in the Army then. But that still doesn’t necessarily clear him. He could have started killing while home on leave at the same time.”
“Sure,” Cait agreed with mock politeness. “There’s nothing like a little R and R. Fly a few thousand miles home, kill a tourist or two, and then back to the Army for more fun and games. Problem with that is how would he find the tourist if he wasn’t here? How would he have the time to track Bentley for five months and then be back here to kidnap him?”
“Way I hear it that was about the time his grandfather died.”
“That was seven years ago, not six.”
Undeterred, Andrews continued. “I have to do a bit more digging into the exact dates. But if we’re looking for two UNSUBs instead of one, he’s still not off the hook.”
Cait eyed her knowingly. “How’d you come out with him today?”
“He was an asshole, if you must know. Practically invited me to haul him in and charge him. He knew damn well I couldn’t, so he threw me off his property. He’s a real charmer, that one.”
Because her lips threatened to curve, Cait deliberately firmed them. “That’s surprising. Most people are more understanding about being suspected of multiple counts of theft, kidnapping, and homicide. Maybe it was the suspicion of money laundering that put him over the edge.”
“I’m not going to apologize for doing my job,” Andrews said bluntly. But she hesitated then, and her tentative manner instantly put Cait on alert. “I didn’t get to where I am by looks or personality.”
Even as Cait could feel herself heat, the other woman held up a hand as if to halt anything she’d say. “Not saying you did, just saying that wasn’t ever a possibility for me. So I worked harder. Thought harder. Proved myself twice as good as any man. And so if sometimes I’m . . . less than tactful . . . I guess that’s why.”
It was, Cait realized with a sense of bemusement, as close to an apology as she was likely to receive. And because she could empathize with the woman’s experiences to some degree, she felt herself thawing. “Like I said this morning, we’ll pursue all leads. See where they take us.” But she was as certain as she could be that they wouldn’t be leading to Zach Sharper.
Andrews nodded and headed for the door. And Cait let her go, a realization bringing a pool of trepidation with it. Sharper had issued an invitation today. One he no doubt wanted to rescind by now. But she was going to his place, regardless.
She had a feeling that her welcome would make the one Andrews received from him look positively friendly by comparison.
When he ignored her knock, she walked right in. He’d left the door unlocked. Didn’t think she’d have the balls to come after Andrews had worked him over today. But if there was one thing Caitlin Fleming didn’t lack, it was balls. No doubt she collected them from the men she’d stomped on over the years.
He watched her come through the door and halt when she saw him in the recliner, regarding her over the top of his beer bottle. Thought he saw a jitter of nerves in her expression before she deliberately smoothed it. And that calm composed mask shot his temper from simmer straight to boil.
“Plans have changed.” He took a drink, lowered the bottle to give her an insolent stare. “Turns out I’m not in a picnicking mood.”
“I think I can guess what kind of mood you’re in.”
“Shouldn’t be hard. Seeing as how you’re the cause of it.”
Because he was watching, he saw the flash in her eyes. But her movements were loose and easy as she crossed the room to sit on the couch. “You know better than that.”
“Do I?” The words burned, so he took another sip. The beer didn’t appreciably dissipate the scorch in his throat. The betrayal in his chest. “I knew what to expect with Andrews.”
“I couldn’t warn you she was coming . . .”
“Don’t recall asking you to. As a matter of fact, I don’t recall asking you to do much of anything, although”—he raised the bottle in a mock salute—“there are a few things you’ve thought of on your own that I have to admire for sheer creativity.”
A slow flush crawled to her cheeks. And her face may still have been composed, but her eyes weren’t. A vicious sense of satisfaction filled him at the sight.
“Fuck you.”
“That you did. Up, down, and then . . . over.”
“How do you figure me for the bad guy in any of this?” She bounced off the couch, fists clenched at her sides. Dispassionately, he took a moment to note that she looked good with a mad on. There was a twist in his gut at the recognition. Of course she would. “Because I asked some of the same questions of you a few days ago? This is a serial murder investigation. Was I supposed to intervene on your behalf with Andrews? Would it matter to you if I said I did? And she didn’t give a shit.”
“I don’t need your intervention.” He shoved up from his chair and crossed the room until he stood before her, his hand tightly gripping the throat of the bottle. “I don’t need a damn thing from you. I can handle Andrews. Hell, I have been handling her all along with her half-baked accusations. But I gotta hand it to you, Slim, I wasn’t expecting you to arm her with more ammo against me. Didn’t see that one coming.” He made a gun with his fingers and put it between his eyes. Jerked his head back as if feeling a bullet. “So yeah. Count me as another sap too dazzled by a pretty face and”—he raked her with a gaze deliberately insolent—“a killer body to see what was right in front of him.”
She pushed her face close to his. Looked for all the world as if she’d like to take a swing at him. “You couldn’t see what was right in front of you if it were written on the end of your nose. I’ve never seen a man so willfully stupid.”
“Stupid? Maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe I misheard Andrews when she said you’d looked into my military record. Used my training . . . my missions . . . and somehow twisted that to make me out to be someone with the skills to snap necks, I’m told.” He cocked a brow, the fury pumping through him now, a scalding
flood of heat. “See, the sheriff isn’t quite as close-mouthed as you are. But then I supposed confidentiality is off when you think you have the prime suspect in hand.”
Something in her seemed to ease. “You’re not the prime suspect.”
“No?” He cocked his head. “Sure seemed like it today. But after you’d fed her that info about my military record, I’ll bet she was hard to hold back.” He stared at her for a moment, willing her to respond. Feeling like a kid with the strength of the longing. “Or are you going to tell me she was able to dig into confidential military files on her own?”
“No.” Her gaze was steady. “I pulled some strings. Or at least got my boss to.”
The admission hit him in the chest like a fast right jab. Suspecting it was one thing. Hearing it was quite another. “Well, guess that was faster than sleeping with me and hoping I’d spill my guts after a good blow job.”
He caught her wrist before her fist connected. No ladylike slap for her. He’d expect nothing less.
“I didn’t ask for details of your missions. I didn’t need the information.” She jerked away from him and he released her. It wasn’t wise right now to be touching her. In any way.
“Right.” Like she’d put the brakes on getting too much info if she had an inside channel. Something raw and unchecked was prowling in his chest. He wasn’t ashamed of anything he’d done for his country. But back in the States the parameters changed. From a safe civilian distance it was easy to misconstrue the nature of acts half a world away. Easy to pass judgment on the ones making those sort of split-second decisions that had ramifications for entire teams. The thought of Cait sharing those details with Andrews made him want to punch something.
“Believe whatever the hell you want. And Andrews has had that information about your military record for days, so you’re blind if you think that knowledge all of a sudden made her want to slap cuffs on you.”