“Okay, so about five minutes from the time she called to when she actually steps outside the building. Gives her time to pack up her stuff and turn everything off. So she’s outside the building approximately eight thirty-five.”
“I’ll go with that,” the tech said.
“He could have grabbed her right here after she locked the door,” Luke said.
I looked to the left and right. The doors were right in the middle of the building, with about fifty feet of building going either way. There were no bushes or dark corners to hide in, just a line of red brick and open space.
“No place to hide,” I said.
“He could have run at her,” Jones suggested.
“No, he couldn’t control her actions if he did that. She could have run or signaled for help. He prefers a blitz attack. He would have grabbed her somewhere between the door and car.”
I began walking toward the car at the pace Audrey would have walked. I was Audrey Burke. I’d just finished a long day tightening braces, and I was tired but anxious to get home. I walked quickly but not furiously. All I could think about was getting home, tucking my kids in for the night, immersing myself in a warm bath with a glass of wine, and falling asleep. Though, like all women alone at night, I was aware of my surroundings, scanning the empty parking lot for anything strange. I reached the car and stopped at the driver’s door, relieved to be there.
I turned to the men who had followed a few feet behind me. “All the doors were locked?” I asked the tech.
“Yes.”
“Okay, if I was him, this is where I’d grab her. She’s boxed in pretty well. The side mirror is in front of her, the car to the right. He’d come up behind her so there’s only one way to run. But he’s quick. He has the needle out in his right hand and most likely puts his left hand over her mouth to stifle her screams.” I turned to Luke. “Luke. You’re him; I’m her. Realistic as possible. We’ll assume the drug takes thirty seconds to take effect.”
I could tell by his furrowed brow that Luke wasn’t sold on the idea. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t think—”
“Luke,” I said, “it’s okay. It has to be done, so let’s just get it over with.”
After a pause, he gave a reluctant nod. “Everyone clear out!” he shouted. The agents and police milling around walked away as ordered. I didn’t want an audience, especially for something so hard to watch. One of the men might have pulled Luke off me and ruined everything. Happened before. And speaking of an audience…as the men left, I took a quick glance around the lot for reporters, but I could see only the lights from their vans. I couldn’t see them, so they couldn’t see me. It would look very odd if a member of the FBI attacked a defenseless woman for no reason. Lord knew what the headlines would say. When the majority of the people were safely away, I turned to Luke and nodded. It was time for the fun to begin.
I turned around and pretended to put a key into the car’s lock. Out of nowhere, a hand came behind me from the right, covering my nose and mouth. Even though I was expecting it, it was still a big enough shock. I started screaming as loud as possible, but his hand muffled most of the sound. My screams came out no louder than a whisper. Using his grip on my jaw, he pulled me tight to his body, making it easier to control me and leaving me nowhere to run. Almost immediately, I felt his finger press against my neck, imitating the needle entering. This caused me to panic more. Who knew what he’d just put into my body?
A second after he injected me, his right arm was around my right arm and upper chest, then finally my left arm. I couldn’t move my arms above the elbow. I tried to pull his arms off me, but his grip was too tight and I had no leverage. He had total control of me. The only thing I could do was scream and buck my lower body. I kicked and kicked, but his grip was so tight my legs just lingered in the air. I moved my body back and forth, left and right, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. His grip on me tightened. Then he pressed my body against the car; I was wedged between my strong attacker and a ton of metal. I wasn’t going anywhere. I tried to turn my head to see my attacker, but his hold on my jaw didn’t allow it. I stood there, screaming and fighting to no avail. At the end of the thirty seconds, I was out.
Luke released me, and it felt as if I’d just been taken out of a vice. I managed a few deep breaths, allowing a little oxygen finally in.
“You okay?” Luke asked.
“Yeah,” I panted. “Let me get some air.” It took a few more seconds until my lungs no longer felt like two deflated balloons. Footsteps on the pavement came from behind me. I looked up and noticed the agents had returned to the car. They all looked down at me with awe, even Roth. I smiled to reassure them. “I’m fine, guys.” My breathing returned to normal a second later. “That was horrible! She must have been terrified. I was and I knew my attacker. I could barely breathe.”
“You put up a good fight,” the tech said. “You kicked Agent Hudson’s shins a few times.”
I turned to Luke. “You okay?”
“I’ll live,” he replied with a wry smile. “If she fought as hard as you did, he should have some pretty bad bruises on his shins. Could help with an ID.”
“Could she have bitten or scratched him?” the tech asked.
“He probably wore heavy gloves,” I said. “If she bites or scratches, all she’ll get is glove.”
“Less physical evidence, too,” Luke said.
“That and if they hurt him, a little of the fantasy dies,” I explained. “He’s set this all up so there’s as little risk to him but maximum pleasure. Her hurting him is not an option. A few knocks to the shins are nothing; drawing blood is.”
“So where does he come from?” Luke asked. “Where does he hide?”
“That is a good question,” I said. “She’s parked right in the middle, with empty space all around. If she took the route I did, directly across the lot, she wouldn’t go near any bushes or trees. The only possible hideaways are about thirty feet from the car, so he couldn’t hide there. A woman alone in a parking lot at night is alert. She’d hear someone running up to her and have more time to scream or prepare.”
“He could have waited in her car,” Clarkson offered.
“The doors were locked,” the tech said.
“I can’t see him taking the time to lock the car doors with her unconscious,” Luke said.
“So that leaves?” the tech asked.
“He was in his car waiting for her,” Luke said.
I nodded. “That’d be my guess.” I took a few steps away from the car to survey the lot. There had to have been about fifty parking spots. That was a lot of empty space. “He’d wait until the lot was nearly empty so he could have his choice of spots and park either directly behind her or a few rows away so the car was close. He’d get out of the car when he saw her office light go off and go over to his passenger side to avoid being seen. She’d come out, walk to the car, he’d quickly leave his hiding spot and pounce. After she’s out, he picks up her body, walking the few feet to his car. He’d get in his car and drive away. Easy as pie.”
“Makes sense,” the tech said.
“Whatever fibers and hair he shed outside got blown away by the wind.”
“We’ll keep looking just in case,” the tech said.
“Okay, the moment we find her, I want you to abandon this place,” Luke said.
“Okay.” The tech nodded at Luke, smiled at me, and walked back toward the building to do his thing. Waste of time, in my opinion.
“I think we should talk to the family,” I said to Luke.
“We have people over there already,” Luke said. “CSI’s going through all her personal items now.”
“I need to go over there,” I insisted.
“So you can make more promises to grieving families?”
“To know why she was chosen, wise-ass. To see her kids, especially the boy.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said a little too forcefully.
“Of cour
se it is. We have to do this, and we might as well get it over with. You’re a tough guy; you can handle a few crying women and children.”
Luke, like most agents, loathed talking to the family of a victim. A root canal was more pleasurable. These were people who had just found out their daughter, son, or wife was never coming back to them. They could never tell them they loved them ever again. They could never make up for the harsh words said over the years. They could never hold them again or feel their warmth. Their tears and pleas to God could rock you to the core. These were broken people, living through hell, and you had to interrogate them about their loved one’s sexual habits. Drug habits. Even accuse them of having involvement in the crime. I’d been spit on, screamed at, even slapped, but it had to be done.
It was time to make someone’s worst day even worse.
Chapter 11
I counted three police cars, two black sedans, and a gray van with State Police imprinted on it in front of Audrey Burke’s upper-class, perfectly manicured white split-level house. Uniformed policemen walked in and out of the house carrying boxes containing the life of Audrey Burke to the State Police HQ in Richmond. Later, when we got our federal warrant to take over the case, they’d be moved to the Richmond field office where our experts, including yours truly, would sift through them, looking for anything that might help us understand why this happened to this woman.
It was a nice neighborhood, one of the better ones in the Richmond area. It was a quiet community where none of the slime from the inner city ever got past the BMWs and Mercedes that sat in every driveway. Neighbors awoken by all the commotion stood outside the house in their designer robes and slippers, trying to get a peek of the circus. This was going to keep them talking for ages.
We parked down the street. I was the first out, followed by Luke and Clarkson. We’d left the rest of the men at the office building to help the techs. The fewer of us there, the less intimidating we’d be to Audrey’s already shaken family. Clarkson, I found out, was the only one on the team with kids, so he was allowed to come, his elfish face lighting up when Luke chose him over the other men.
We walked down the street past all the neighbors, who eyed us and murmured among themselves. “I’m surprised the press isn’t here yet,” I said to Luke.
“They’re on their way. We just released her name and picture fifteen minutes ago. Enjoy the calm while it lasts.”
Inside the house, uniformed state police seemed out of place in this tranquil setting. I first noticed the light smell of lavender, sweet and stringent. I used to light lavender candles after a hard day at the office. I wasn’t surprised that that’s what Audrey’s house smelled like. Raising two kids and having a thriving orthodontic practice could stress anyone out. The nanny must have lit the candles right after the call from Audrey, because they were burnt to the wick. They didn’t even have the heart to blow them out. Probably were still hoping she’d walk back in that door. Hope springs eternal.
We pushed past a few county police officers walking down the small staircase with more boxes. I had hoped I could get to the bedroom before it was entirely stripped. I liked to see how the clothes were organized and if the bed was made or if everything was just tossed about higgledy-piggledy, as Grandma always said. In my experience interviewing serial murders, the woman who had to have everything in her life in order usually broke faster. Those were the women who kept everything organized to avoid stress and not overly complicate their lives. Everything had a place, a function, and a reason to be. When the structure collapsed, they didn’t know how to act, so they broke down. A new, horrific element introducing himself into their lives broke the structure they had built for themselves. The messier people liked chaos—they went with the flow. Not to say they wouldn’t break under enormous stress, but it happened a lot slower. They could adapt more easily to new situations. I belonged to the latter category, as the state of my closet could attest. It had driven my neat-freak husband nuts. I hoped Audrey fit into my category but judging from this immaculate house, I was guessing not.
Luke sent Clarkson off to oversee the collecting, then we walked to the living room. The top of the stairs looked onto this room, where Audrey’s family had gathered. Kevin Burke, DDS, was sandwiched between his two children on the blue-and-white striped couch. He looked about fifty, with graying black hair and fine lines all over his face. The girl, Tiffany, had her head on her father’s shoulder and was crying softly. She had her father’s black hair, cut just below her ears, making her face appear round as a ball. Her ebony eyes seemed distant, almost dead. Her father stroked her hair as he whispered into her ear that everything would be all right and other believable lies. The boy, Andrew, was asleep, with his father’s chest serving as a pillow. The boy had his mother’s light brown hair and sharp nose. His thumb moved in and out of his mouth in sleep. I was sure Audrey, as an orthodontist, discouraged this behavior, but he needed to indulge in it now.
Sitting in the chair next to the couch was a young woman, early twenties, with a nose ring and hay-colored hair cropped short. She clung to her leather jacket like it was the last safe haven. She looked across the room at the massive bookcase in a daze. She must have been the nanny, the last one to talk to Audrey.
The plainclothes officer sitting on the glass coffee table asked Kevin Burke a question that I couldn’t hear. As Luke and I walked closer, I could see the officer’s badge. State Police. Kevin and Tiffany both glanced up as Luke and I approached, which caused the officer to turn and look at us too. As he stood up, Luke pulled out his badge. We met each other halfway.
“Special Agent Luke Hudson, FBI. This is Dr. Iris Ballard, our consulting forensic psychologist.”
“GID Special Agent Robert Mortimer, Virginia State Police. I wasn’t expecting y’all so soon.”
“No time to waste,” Luke said. “Have you got anything from them?”
“Nobody saw anything, nobody remembers anything.”
“Mind if I give it a go?” I asked.
“Be my guest,” Mortimer said.
Kevin and Tiffany watched me bridge the gap to the couch. I gave a little reassuring smile as I sat on the coffee table facing them. I turned to the nanny as well and smiled. She weakly smiled back.
“My name’s Dr. Iris Ballard. I’m a psychologist with the FBI.”
“FBI?” a horrified Burke asked. “The FBI is involved?”
“I’d rather not discuss it here,” I said, eyeing a frightened Tiffany.
She looked up at her father, eyes as wide as his. “Daddy?”
Almost as fast as the fear came, it went away. “It’s nothing, sweetie,” he reassured her. She seemed to take his word for it and lay back down. “I don’t really know anything that can help you. I haven’t spoken to Audrey in over a week. I got a call from Tammy,” he said, turning to the nanny, “around midnight, saying Audrey hadn’t come home or called. I just told her to call the police and came right over.”
“You two are divorced?” I asked.
His face squished up like he’d just tasted something bitter. Must not be over it. “For about a year now. We just grew apart.”
“How often do you see the children?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, annoyed.
“Please,” I insisted. “It’s not a comment on your parenting skills. I just need to know.”
He sat back in the sofa, taking the children with him. “Not as much as I’d like. I get every other weekend.”
I turned to Tammy. “You called 911?” I asked her.
“Yeah. Well, first I called Audrey’s cell a few times, but it went straight to voicemail.”
“Is that normal?”
“No, she always has it turned on. That’s why I got worried.”
“What time did she call?”
Tammy pulled her jacket in closer like a blanket. Poor kid. “Eight thirty. My show had just ended; that’s how I know. She asked if the kids were asleep, and said she’d be home in twenty mi
nutes.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah. At first I thought she had car trouble, so I called her and got voicemail. Then I thought maybe she went for a drive, or stopped by the grocery store and lost track of time. But then it was midnight, so I called Dr. Burke.”
“Does she normally work so late?”
“Sometimes. She and her partner alternate late days. It was her turn.”
“In the past three days, how many times did she stay late?”
“Counting tonight, two.”
I decided to switch gears. “How many hours a week do you work?”
“Between twenty-one and twenty-four. I go to college full time. The nights she comes home early she gets home about six. I pick up Tiffany at school and Andy at preschool at three, after my Lit class.”
“What do you do after you pick them up?”
“We come home, I fix them a snack, we do homework, I make dinner, and I put them to bed. That’s it.”
“Do you ever take them to the park or anything?”
“Sometimes, but it’s been too hot lately.”
“Do you know if Audrey did?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. On Mondays I ask the kids what they did over the weekend; they haven’t mentioned the park in a month.”
“Is Audrey seeing anyone that you know of?” I asked.
“No, nobody. She just goes to work and comes home. She told me she spends most of her weekend reading.”
“Have you seen anything out of the ordinary, especially in the past three or four days? People, cars, packages, anything?”
“No, nothing,” she replied.
“No strange cars parked across the street? Maybe an SUV or van?”
“This is a residential area—cars are parked on the street all the time.”
I sighed. She didn’t know anything. Tammy had had enough for the night. I turned back to Burke, who had been listening intently to our every word. “I’m terribly sorry, but could you wake up your son?” I asked.
“Why?” Burke asked.
“Well, the man who may have your ex-wife,” I said delicately, “may have approached your son.”
Beautiful Maids All in a Row Page 11