“I personally think we have enough to bring him in for questioning, what with the books, the gun, and the ID,” I told Reggie Lamb as he sat behind his desk chugging Mylanta.
“A Browning nine-millimeter is one of the most common guns used in America,” Lamb countered, wiping the milky mustache off his ebony skin, “and children’s testimony has been proven unreliable. It’s not enough.”
“How can we gather evidence if we can’t talk to people?” We’d been having the same discussion for a day and a half. It was getting damn old.
“Not happening,” he said, voice hard.
“Sir,” Luke said, “we don’t have any other suspects. Shepherd is the only link between all five.”
“You have a link between four,” he pointed out, “and a weak one at that.”
“But there is a link,” I countered. “The first victim, Sarah Illes, worked for the firm that represents Shepherd’s clinic and she had one of his DVDs.”
“It’s not enough.”
I paused to take a relaxing breath. My patience had hit empty. “Sir, he has a history of aggression. He was brought in on rape.”
“That charge was dismissed,” Lamb said. “She dropped the complaint.”
“She was paid to!”
“No proof. We have to be able to get in front of a judge and jury and prove guilt. Nothing I see here even warrants an interview.”
“We can get proof if we start the interviews. We can’t collect anything staying in Washington looking at press clippings that tell us how fabulous he is.”
“Sir, chances are he’s already been tipped off,” Luke advised.
“He has,” Lamb said. “I got a call this morning from Cyrus Beaton, Dr. Shepherd’s attorney, asking me why we’re investigating his client.”
Not good. “What did you tell him?”
“I said Dr. Shepherd’s name came up in one of our investigations, but I didn’t say which one.”
“And Beaton no doubt told his client,” Luke muttered. “He’s had a chance to destroy all the evidence, all the hearts.”
“Not the hearts,” I said. “He can’t part with them, but everything else is gone.”
“So, now whatever chance we had to get his murder kit is gone, and we still don’t have enough—in your opinion—to go talk to the man,” Luke snapped. Lamb’s eyes narrowed at Luke’s impudence. “Are we just going to let our only suspect go because we’re afraid of looking like fools in the press?”
“Jeremy Shepherd is still a person of interest,” Lamb assured us. “I don’t care how famous he is, he did have contact with the victims.” Lamb ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Poor Reggie. He was stuck between two really bad choices. Either way he was gonna catch flack, either by harassing a beloved public figure or not catching a serial killer. I felt bad for him. Almost.
“Sir?” Luke asked.
“Fine,” Lamb eventually said, “go up to New York and talk to the man. Just a friendly chat. Get his alibi and whatnot. He knows we’re looking into him, so he’ll be expecting it. But only speak to him and his inner circle. And for God’s sake be discreet. Depending on what you find out, I may authorize other interviews.”
“Thank you,” I said with a smile.
“You’re not going.”
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
“You have too big a hard-on for this guy. You’ll be overly aggressive, probably insult him, and then Cyrus Beaton will have all our asses.”
“I’m not going to spit on the man the second I see him,” I said. “I do have a modicum of professionalism.”
“Sir,” Luke interjected, “if he is the man, and everything Iri—I mean, Dr. Ballard says is true, her being there could open him up. He’d think of it as a game, and maybe drop his guard in an attempt to one-up her. That, and she’s the only one who’s ever spoken to him. There are things she can pick up on, sayings or phrases that he used before.”
“If it even was the Woodsman who called her,” Lamb countered.
“I still want her there, and quite frankly she deserves to be there. We wouldn’t even have a suspect if it weren’t for her.”
“I promise to be on my best behavior. I would never do anything to jeopardize this case, and you know it.”
Lamb leaned back in his chair and sighed again. “Fine. But if I get one call claiming harassment, I’ll have you on the—”
“First plane back to Hicksville,” I said. “I know.”
Big Apple, look out.
Chapter 18
“The element of surprise is paramount,” I said as I walked up the stairs into the Emerson Auditorium with Luke. “He knows we’re investigating him, but we still have a chance to throw him off guard.”
As we entered, the roar of five thousand people echoed through the nearly empty lobby, where a few employees sat behind fold-out tables counting yellow tickets. We walked toward the employees, passing a life-size cutout of the esteemed Dr. Shepherd holding up his book like a priceless artifact mere mortals couldn’t touch. I stopped to look at the enemy.
His artificial smile revealed a row of unnatural pearly white teeth. Caps, all caps. That smile cost tens of thousands of dollars and was worth every penny. His bright blue eyes, the color of a clear day, sparkled from the lights used in the photo session. For some reason I always expected sociopaths to have eyes like a shark: black, and without a trace of humanity. Not light and friendly like those of the man before me. His wavy sandy-blond hair was parted in the middle, without a strand out of place. He’d never seen the inside of a Supercuts before. The blue pinstriped suit looked tailored to perfection. I would have bet I could have bought a good used car for the price of just one of his suits. All in all, I couldn’t help but be impressed. He reminded me of one of those cover models in GQ, who all men want to be and all women want to be with.
Luke sidled up beside me and stared at the cutout. “Why would a man with everything in life do something like this?”
“Because he can.”
I turned away from the enemy and walked toward the tables. The employees were so busy with their counting, they didn’t see us approach. I stood in front of the nearest table to the door, where an overweight girl with glasses and frizzy hair sat. Luke cleared his throat and the girl finally looked up. “It’s almost over,” she told us. “There are no refunds if you missed it.”
Luke pulled out his wallet and flashed his shield. “Special Agent Luke Hudson, FBI. I’m here to speak to Dr. Shepherd.”
The girl’s face fell and her mouth opened into a large O. “Um, hold on a minute,” she said before running down the hallway and into a side door. All the other ticket takers glanced up from their stacks, eyes wide with wonder. On the other side of the door the crowd went wild, but this time the roar was followed by gregarious applause. He was doing something right in there.
A minute later, the girl returned, followed by a man with a scowl on his face. As the man walked toward us, his dark blue suit shifted, showing the handle of a gun sticking out of his belt. I could tell Luke saw it too, because his jaw tightened. The gunslinger was in his early forties with a solid build, like he’d spent many an hour in front of a punching bag. His dark brown hair was parted to the side with whiffs of gray all over. His jaw was square, with sharp right angles. His piercing brown eyes didn’t move their gaze off Luke and me. This was not a man I would ever wish to meet alone in an alley.
“I’m Henry Mooney,” the man said in a deep baritone, “head of Dr. Shepherd’s security detail.”
Luke flashed his badge again. “Special Agent Hudson, FBI. This is Dr. Iris Ballard. We wish to speak to Dr. Shepherd.”
“What is this regarding?”
“Just a few routine questions,” Luke said. “His name came up in one of our investigations.”
“Dr. Shepherd is a very busy man. You can contact his office and make an appointment.”
“We just came up from Washington and have to leave tonight,” I lied. “It’ll only take
a few minutes, I promise.”
Mooney’s eyes moved to me, studying me up and down and not in a normal man way. His eyes narrowed. He was appraising me to gauge my threat level. I squared my shoulders and jutted my left foot out in a defensive pose to prove my toughness.
He quickly looked back to Luke. “Fine. Please follow me,” he said, spinning on his heels. Luke and I followed.
We entered a dark staircase and walked down two flights of narrow wood steps, our footfalls echoing around us. I could almost hear the Phantom of the Opera playing melancholy music in the walls. Maybe there were two monsters in the building, one onstage and another under it. You never knew.
Mooney opened a metal door, and we stepped into a dimly lit hallway. In the distance, I heard a man’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. The only thing I understood was the word chance. After that word, the audience cheered again, but this time it was much louder. The man’s hearty laughter resounded down the hallway, louder than that of the audience. Someone was having fun.
As Mooney led us toward the man’s voice, I noticed the pictures of famous speakers who had graced the auditorium lining the walls. Shepherd was right next to Nelson Mandela. Between the pictures were closed doors, probably dressing rooms or offices. I passed the only open door and stopped dead.
Diana Hall, Shepherd’s live-in girlfriend, sat in front of a long vanity mirror with a halo of lights above it, fluffing her blond hair. Light blue bruises wrapped around her wrists like bracelets. A familiar sight. The tight red dress she barely wore had a U neckline that cut way too low, almost to the center of her chest. I lingered in the hall a moment, watching her adjust her breasts to appear fuller. Hooker Barbie. When she was satisfied with her breasts, she gazed into the mirror again. It took a second, but when she saw my reflection, her mouth gaped open as a small gasp escaped. She knew me. She was scared of me. Useful. I gave her a smile and nod before catching up to Luke and Mooney, who had reached the short flight of stairs that led up to the stage.
Backstage was filled with stagehands spread out around the dark stage, waiting for their cue. Most looked bored out of their minds and a few yawned in unison. The only reason they weren’t in the land of nod was because the light from the stage was so blinding it was as if we were outdoors. A singular man, the king of the auditorium, stood under the lights wearing the same blue suit and sky-blue silk tie he wore in the cutout, beads of sweat glimmering in the light. His hair was far from perfect now, with wisps plastered to his face. His attention was turned to the audience, a sea of heads at various heights. I couldn’t see an empty seat, just person after person crammed side-by-side, all captivated by the man onstage.
“Say it with me now!” Shepherd commanded his minions. He could probably have told them all to go knock off a 7-11 and they’d do it.
“The past is in the past!” everyone said in unison. “I live in the here and now!”
Everyone, including the stagehands and Mooney, began to applaud. The audience rose to its feet, giving their guru a standing ovation. Shepherd smiled and nodded graciously at his audience as they cheered even louder. I even saw a woman in the first row wiping a tear from her cheek. I was gonna be sick.
“Thank you, thank you! You’ve been a wonderful audience! Good night!” Shepherd waved goodbye as a heavy red curtain closed. End of circus. Instantly the backstage lights came on above, startling me. A stocky stagehand ran out from the opposite wing and handed Shepherd a towel and a bottle of water.
Mooney took this as his cue to approach Shepherd. I took a few steps forward, but I stopped in the middle of the stage to get the perfect vantage of my quarry and him of me. Shepherd spoke to Mooney as he walked, but I couldn’t hear over the banter of the stagehands. Mooney nodded in agreement, then leaned in to say something to Shepherd in private, his square jaw moving furiously as he whispered. He stepped away from Shepherd, who looked at his bodyguard and grinned. The bastard grinned like the Cheshire cat. That was all I needed. Any doubt in my mind flew away with that smile. Any normal man when told the FBI was there to talk to him would shit his pants, but that prick smiled.
Shepherd sauntered toward us with his lapdog in tow. Luke and I met him halfway. Up close, I could see fine lines beside his eyes and mouth, and his graying temples. “Special Agent Hudson, was it?” Shepherd asked, holding out his sweaty hand to Luke. “I’m Dr. Jeremy Shepherd.”
Luke actually shook his hand. “Yes, I know.”
“Of course,” he said gracefully. He turned to me, eyes lighting up. “And you’re Dr. Ballard. I recognized you from your photo on the news.” He held out his hand for me, and I fought the urge to swat it away. That hand squeezed the life out of five women. I didn’t want it anywhere near me. But I promised to be a professional, and a pro would smile and shake his hand. Which is exactly what I did.
“Nice to meet you.” I tried to pull my hand away from his grip, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he puts the other hand on top of mine and squeezed. I looked into his eyes in the hope they’d tell me what he was up to. His eyes revealed nothing but comfort and understanding.
“It’s really an honor to meet you,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. They say you’re the top in your field.”
Let the games begin. “Thank you. Coming from such a distinguished man as yourself, you have no idea what that means to me.”
Shepherd smiled once again and released my hand. When I got back to the hotel, I was running scalding hot water over it. Even then, I wondered if it would ever feel clean again.
Shepherd, having finished with me, turned to Luke. “So, what can I do for you?”
“Your name came up in one of our investigations,” Luke advised him.
“The Woodsman?” Shepherd asked.
“How did you know that?” I asked.
Shepherd turned to me. “I do watch the news, Dr. Ballard. Your name is now synonymous with his.”
“Of course.”
“How exactly did my name come up?” Shepherd asked Luke.
“Each of the victims attended one of your book signings.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out the women’s pictures, handing them to Shepherd. “Do any of these women look familiar to you?”
He gazed down at the pictures. I watched his expression as he flipped through. He seemed inquisitive but nothing more. He handed them back to me. “I’m afraid not. Hundreds of people attend the signings; all the people just meld into one.”
“Do you attend all of Dr. Shepherd’s signings, Mr. Mooney?” Luke asked.
“Yes.” I handed Mooney the pictures and he went through them. “I don’t recognize them either.”
“Dr. Shepherd, can you account for your whereabouts the night of May eighteenth?” I asked.
“I have no idea. I’d have to check my calendar.”
“What about from June third to June fourteenth?”
“I was at my retreat in the Catskills. We came back June fifteenth for a benefit.”
“Can anyone verify this?” Luke asked.
“I can,” Mooney said. “I was there with him.”
“As was Diana Hall,” Shepherd said.
“Did anyone else see you?” I asked.
“No, I’m afraid not. The only times I left the cabin were to go hiking or hunting. I never went into town.”
“Some groceries were charged to your credit card,” Luke said.
“Diana went shopping,” Shepherd said.
“We’re going to need to speak to Ms. Hall to verify all of this,” Luke said.
“I’m afraid tonight’s going to be impossible,” Shepherd said. “She and I are expected at Donald’s penthouse, and we’re already going to be late. Why don’t you call my office and make an appointment? I’ll make her available to you.”
“All right,” Luke said. He took out a business card. “Have her call me.”
“Of course,” Shepherd said. He turned back to me. “Dr. Ballard, I hope to meet you again under more pleasant circumsta
nces. I’d love to pick your brain. Your area of expertise has always fascinated me.” I smiled and nodded. Yeah, that’d happen. “Good night to you both.”
Shepherd brushed past us, followed by Mooney. Luke and I watched as they disappeared down the stairs. When they were out of sight, I began to wipe the hand he shook on my pant leg, getting rid of the cooties. “That guy makes my skin crawl,” I said.
“A little full of himself, no?” Luke asked.
“Did you hear the way he talked about his girlfriend? ‘I’ll make her available to you’? What an ass.”
“An ass with an alibi.”
“Yeah, his loyal bodyguard and faithful, airhead girlfriend,” I pointed out. “I bet neither would give a second thought to lying for him.”
“Think either will crack?”
I sighed. “Maybe the girlfriend. She’s a fellow woman, might get us a little sympathy. Depends on how dependent she is on him, though.”
“We still don’t have enough for a search warrant.” Luke sighed. “Was anything he said familiar to you?”
“No. He chose his words very carefully.” I groaned in frustration. “If this were anyone else we’d have a search warrant and an arrest. I hate all this ‘don’t step on his toes’ crap.”
“With Cyrus Beaton as his lawyer, we need him standing over a dead body with a bloody scalpel in his hand.”
“We need the hearts, and we can’t get them without a search warrant, and they won’t give us a search warrant without the fucking hearts!”
All the stagehands milling around stared at me. I quickly looked away.
Beautiful Maids All in a Row Page 19