He stopped laughing and gave her a piercing stare. “Are you familiar with the condition known as agoraphobia?”
“The fear of leaving one’s home.”
“Not precisely the definition, but close enough,” he said. “For reasons I won’t go into, I suffer from a sim ilar affliction. I have an apartment on another floor, and everything I require is brought to my door by either a delivery service or by my assistant, Mr. Oldman. You see, Agent Dunlop, I couldn’t have been the one following Clare McDonald because I haven’t left this building in over fifteen years.”
Chapter Seven
Pru met Tim on the lower level and as they waited for the elevator, he said, “Score,” beneath his breath.
“You found something,” Pru said with a surge of adrenaline.
He glanced over his shoulder at the frigid receptionist. “Yeah, but let’s get out of here first. This place gives me the creeps.”
“Gives you the creeps,” Pru muttered as they stepped onto the elevator.
They waited until they were in the car heading back to the office to exchange information.
“You didn’t really need me for this job,” Tim said. “All I did was check the temporary Internet files stored on the hard drive. Someone used that computer to visit an inmate Web site called TheForgottenMan.com. But there’s no way to tell if it was Clare McDonald.”
“Did you go to the Web site?”
“Yeah, and it was pretty much the way you described it. A bunch of prisoners trolling for pen pals.”
“What about Stiles? Did you see his ad?”
Tim shrugged. “No, but there were dozens. Hundreds, maybe. I didn’t have time to go through them all. I’ll take another look once we get back to the office.” He glanced at Pru. “I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get our hands on Clare’s personal computer?”
“Her laptop is still in police custody, and you know how territorial the locals are.”
“What about the other two victims?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll see what I can find out. Cahill is coordinating the investigation with HPD. He can at least alert them what to look for on the hard drives.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Tim muttered.
She ignored his disdain for the technical expertise of the police department. His attitude wasn’t uncommon in the Bureau. “One more thing I’d like you to do if you have time.”
“Shoot.”
“There’s a private detective firm on South Post Oak called Tripp Investigations. The owner is Max Tripp, and from what I’ve been able to gather, he has a number of ex-cops working for him. I’m interested in one in particular, a man named Danny Costello.” She explained about her suspicion that Costello may have been hired to follow Clare before her death. “Any information you can dig up about Tripp’s agency would be a big help.”
“I’ll see what I can find.”
Pru dropped him in front of the building and after he got out, he leaned back in through the open door. “In case I forgot to mention it, congratulations on your transfer.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Tim. It’s something I’ve been wanting for a long time.”
“You and a few dozen other people,” he said ironically. “So, how is it working with the great one?”
“You mean Agent Cahill?” She tried not to let anything show on her face. “It’s…a bit intimidating,” she admitted.
“Well, don’t let him get to you. I suspect his bark is a lot worse than his bite.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Tim nodded. “You do that. And in the meantime, if I turn up something on Stiles or Costello, where can I reach you?”
“I’ve got outside appointments for the rest of the day, and then I’m meeting my dad for dinner later. But I’ll keep my cell phone turned on.”
“Okay. Tell Charlie we need to get back out on the water one of these days real soon.”
Pru wasn’t surprised that Tim knew her father. Everyone in the Houston office seemed to know him. “I’ll be sure and give him the message.”
Tim grinned and shoved back a lock of shaggy hair. “You take care, Pru. And remember what I said about Cahill.” Then, patting the top of her car, he turned and strolled off.
A FEW HOURS LATER, Pru glanced at the digital clock in her Subaru and muttered an oath. She was nearly half an hour late. As she pulled into the parking lot of Mo’s Grill, just off South Main near the medical center, she spotted her father’s blue SUV sitting beneath one of the massive crepe myrtle trees that edged the property.
For as long as Pru could remember, she and her father had been coming to Mo’s. A tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant that catered to a lot of the med students in the area, it was open around the clock, just the sort of place a broke, bleary-eyed resident could stumble into after a twenty-four hour shift.
The place was owned and operated by a sixty-year-old Guatemalan woman named Molena, a tiny redhead with the stamina and figure of someone half her age. She manned the cash register and supervised the wait-staff with a ruthless, drill-sergeant efficiency while her partner of nearly forty years, a fiery Cuban named Miguel, ran the kitchen. They lived in an apartment over the restaurant, but they weren’t married and never had been. At least not to each other. Rumor had it that Miguel had once worked for Fidel Castro, and that he’d left a young bride behind when he fled the island country after becoming disillusioned with the revolution.
Whether any of that was true or not, Pru had no idea. But she’d always thought the exotic pair one of the most romantic couples she’d ever known, and she had a feeling that even now, although they were in their sixties, the ardor in their relationship had barely cooled.
Her father was already seated in their favorite booth with a basket of chips and Mo’s famous pineapple salsa to curb his appetite.
“Sorry I’m late,” Pru murmured as she slid onto the bench opposite him. “I was held up at work.”
“No need to apologize,” he said with a shrug. “I know how it is.”
That was one of the things she loved about being with her dad. There was no awkwardness. No resentment. No pressure of any kind. Just a nice, easy camaraderie.
He looked good, Pru thought with a surge of affection. He wore a light blue shirt that matched his eyes, and his hair, what was left of it, was freshly trimmed. In his midsixties, he was still fit and trim with the same ramrod posture he’d carried since his days as a Marine.
“Before I forget, Tim Sessions wanted me to tell you that the two of you need to get back on the water soon. I assume he meant fishing.”
“Tim? How’s he doing?” Her father poured her a glass of sangria as she reached for a chip.
“He seems to be doing fine,” Pru said. “Why?”
Her father shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought something might be developing between you two there for a while.”
“Is that why you went fishing with him?” Pru asked suspiciously.
“I went fishing with him because he’s a good guy and he happens to have a nice little houseboat down on the Gulf.” Her father refilled his own glass. “But enough about Tim. Let’s have a toast,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I heard about your transfer.”
“That was fast. Who told you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Touching his glass to hers, he said, “Congratulations, honey. I know this is what you’ve wanted for a long time.”
She couldn’t help beaming. “Thanks, Dad. I still can’t believe it. It happened so fast.”
He gave her a reproachful look. “Come on. You’re not that naive.”
“What? What do you mean?” she asked in surprise as she munched on a chip. “Okay, I know it wasn’t really all that fast. It’s been over a month since I submitted my request. But when I didn’t hear anything, I assumed it had been turned down. Then I ran into John Cahill in the elevator yesterday, and I decided to ask him about it point-blank. We had a conversation in his office, and he ended up approving my re
quest. That part was fast,” she finished with a shrug. “And unexpected.”
Her dad shook his head. “It may have seemed that way, but trust me, it wasn’t. Cahill spent a lot of time checking you out, and that includes talking to your supervisors, colleagues, instructors at the academy and yours truly.”
Pru stared at him in shock. “He talked to you? About me?”
He eyed her over the rim of his glass. “It was a fairly lengthy discussion.”
Pru sat back against the booth. It was becoming ex tremely clear to her how her father had found out about her transfer so quickly. “What did you tell him?”
“What do you think?” He set his glass on the table. “I told him that, for personal reasons, I’d hoped you’d go into white collar crime, but, nevertheless, he’d be lucky to have you.”
Pru grinned. “Thanks.”
He shrugged as he dipped a chip into the salsa. “No thanks necessary. I meant every word of it.”
“It’s odd, though, that he talked to so many people, including you,” she said accusingly. “And I knew nothing about it.”
“Surely that doesn’t really surprise you. John Cahill is a cautious man. He’s particular about who he brings into SKURRT. Especially when it comes to picking his own replacement.”
Pru’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean his replacement?”
Her father continued to eat. “I hear he’s leaving in six months.”
Pru grabbed his hand as he reached for another chip. “Dad, stop eating for a minute and tell me what you mean. Cahill’s leaving SKURRT?”
“He’s leaving the Bureau. Retiring. He didn’t tell you?”
Pru tried not to sound as stunned as she felt, but it was as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “He mentioned that they were losing a team member, but he didn’t say who it was.”
“Well, now you know. Can I eat?” her father grumbled.
But Pru couldn’t let it go. “Do you have any idea why he’s leaving?”
“Burnout would be my guess. It happens to all of us sooner or later, but in a unit like that…” He topped off their drinks. “Plus, I doubt he’s ever gotten over what happened to his daughter.”
Pru frowned. “Something happened to his daughter?”
“It was a couple of years ago. You were still in Washington, so you wouldn’t have heard about it.” He paused, his eyes going dark. “It was bad, honey. His wife and daughter went up to a house they had on Lake Conroe for the weekend. John was supposed to meet them, but he got delayed on a case. Someone broke into the house that night. Came in through the girl’s bedroom window. He raped her at knifepoint while the mother was asleep down the hall.”
Pru’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God, Dad. That’s awful.”
He nodded. “Yeah, it was rough.”
“Is she okay? John’s daughter, I mean?” Pru barely even noticed that she’d used his first name. It came out so easily.
“I hear she’s doing pretty well. She’s in college now. University of Houston, I think.”
“Did they find the guy who did it?”
“Yeah.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “After his arrest, a number of other women came forward. John’s daughter didn’t have to testify, which was a huge relief, I’m sure. The guy’s doing twenty, but they’ll be lucky if he serves half that. You know how the system works.” He shook his head. “Poor kid. The last thing she needs is for that bastard to be out walking around on the streets.”
“I had no idea,” Pru murmured.
“No, you wouldn’t. Cahill is a private kind of guy. I don’t imagine he’d ever bring it up. Besides everything his daughter went through, there was all that stuff with his wife.”
“What stuff with his wife?”
“The way I heard it, she blamed John for what happened.”
Pru glanced up. “Why? He wasn’t even there.”
“That’s precisely why. It’s a man’s duty to protect his family. You can argue about it until you’re blue in the face,” he said before she had a chance to. “But it doesn’t have anything to do with a woman’s independence. It’s not chauvinistic. It’s instinct.”
They’d had this discussion before. Pru knew it did no good to argue, so she didn’t even try. She sipped her drink and thought about everything her father had told her.
He leaned across the table, his expression stern. “I’m going to speak my mind about something and it’s probably going to tick you off, but that’s never stopped me before.”
Pru sighed. “What is it?”
“Something’s going on here that I don’t much like. You get a look on your face every time you mention John Cahill’s name. You can deny it all you want, but you’ve never been any good at hiding your feelings. You’ve got a thing for this guy.” Her father shook his finger accusingly. “It’s as clear to me as the nose on your face and unless you want to wreck your career, you’d better find a way to get it out of your system. The sooner, the better.”
“Dad—”
“I’m not going to say another word about it.” He picked up the menu. “You’re a grown woman. You know what you have to do. Let’s just order our dinner and enjoy the rest of the evening.”
He took a long time perusing the entrées even though he always ordered the same thing. After a few minutes of quibbling over the pros and cons of each dish, they placed their orders and sat back to enjoy the sangria.
“Speaking of your mother…”
No one had said anything about her mother, but Pru didn’t point that out. She was just glad to have the focus off her. “What about her?”
Her father studied his drink. “Have you seen her lately?”
His tone was casual, but he didn’t fool Pru. She wasn’t the only open book at their table. “We went to Clare McDonald’s funeral together. Why?”
He seemed fascinated by his drink. “I was just wondering how she’s doing. She seemed a little tired the last time I saw her.”
“She’s fine, Dad. But if you’re worried about her, why don’t you call her? Or better yet, drop by the store.”
He glanced up with a frown. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? You two were together for over thirty years. You don’t have to stop caring about each other just because a piece of paper says you aren’t married anymore.”
His features set in stubborn resistance. “Your mother made her wishes perfectly clear. I’m not about to make a nuisance of myself.”
“Oh, Dad.” Pru shook her head.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
“Nothing. It’s just…you’re a fine one to talk, that’s all.”
CAHILL SETTLED into his easy chair—feet propped up, a drink on the table next to him—and pretended to relax. But he was still too wired. The conversation with Stiles kept playing over and over in his head, and Cahill found himself wondering, as he always did, if he’d failed to pick up on a clue, some nuance that would tell him they were on the right track.
Earlier, he’d spread the crime scene photos from the recent cases and from the Casanova murders across the dining room table and studied them until his eyes began to water and burn and he’d had to take a break.
The inconsistencies—anomalies, as Agent Dunlop had called them—baffled him, too. The crime scenes practically screamed an organized personality, but there had been no attempt to dispose of the bodies. No overkill. No torture or mutilation. The kills had been relatively clean.
The items found at the crime scenes—the champagne, candles, rose petals leading to the body—were identical to the murder scenes Stiles had left behind, as was the signature. The similarities couldn’t be a coincidence, and yet Cahill’s instincts had told him from the first that they were dealing with something other than a copycat.
That brought him back to a surrogate-type killer, but the tape that had been sent to the police was yet another inconsistency. Stiles had never taunted the police. Why would he have his replacement do so now?
&nb
sp; Unless the surrogate was acting on his own.
I don’t fit any of your profiles because I’m not like any killer you’ve ever known.
Cahill wiped a hand across his mouth. What the hell was this guy trying to tell them?
Once again, he went back over the conversation with Stiles. His lack of interest in the photos of the dead women. His assumption that they’d driven “up” to Huntsville. The way he’d tried to play Dunlop.
Stiles had picked up on her nervousness and he’d tried to use it against her. Tried to rattle her. Dunlop was a good agent, but she wasn’t without vulnerabilities. No one was.
Still, the more Cahill saw of her, the more impressed he became. She was a dedicated, diligent agent whose credentials far surpassed the other applicants—even Tim Sessions, whose technical expertise was unparalleled. Cahill hadn’t seen anyone with Dunlop’s potential in years, and if her transfer ruffled some feathers, so be it. She had all the right instincts, and that couldn’t be taught in any class. It was a hard thing to explain to some of the excellent agents he’d had to turn down over the years, but the fact of the matter was, an agent either had a feel for this kind of work, or he didn’t. Agent Dunlop had it, all right, and if she still retained some of her soft edges, the job would take care of that in time.
Every case would change her, harden her, make her view the world in ways she couldn’t yet imagine. Cahill regretted that because he liked her.
There had been a moment or two in the car when he’d felt something even more for her. The attraction had taken him completely by surprise.
Nothing would come of it, of course. He’d see to that. Getting involved with another agent, especially a superior, could damage her career. It was a complication she didn’t need and an aggravation he didn’t want. In six months, he’d be out of there. It was time to move on, and he meant to make a clean break.
He needed to concentrate on his family for a change, although he supposed it was a little late for that. Lauren was no longer in the picture, but he felt surprisingly little regret over the divorce. It had been coming for a long time, and Jessie’s attack had simply crystallized all the bitterness and resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface for years.
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