Soundbyte (-byte series Book 5)

by Cat Connor

  He could have used any one of a variety of possible escape routes. It appeared logical to me that the Unsub went into a building. I put myself in his shoes. Nothing about the crime felt opportunistic – it might have been to start with, when all we had was a tip-off about a robbery in progress and then a foot pursuit of a possible robbery gone wrong. Everything changed when we found Marika’s body. He’d planned every aspect with meticulous care, every aspect. We came in with the jeweler’s death, but that wasn’t where this all started.

  I listened to the recording of the call I received tipping us off to the jewelry robbery. A woman’s voice. She didn’t give a name. Sandra traced the call to a public phone at a Metro station. Uniforms found nothing. Public phones are lousy with fingerprints, hence of little use to our investigation.

  I played the phone call again. Kevin Costner started back up. I shut off the recording. The song stopped. When I turned it on again, Kevin was back singing ‘Maria Nay.’ I wrote across my desk blotter, “The woman who tipped us off was Maria.” The song stopped. I still needed to rule out Marika Bleich as the tipster, even though my gut told me she’d been long dead and it was someone called Maria.

  Maybe I should start referring to my gut as Kevin? Talk about a slippery slope.

  From my pocket I fished out the mp3 player I’d borrowed from one of the young men at the community center. I plugged it into a USB port on my computer and found the file he’d recorded earlier, copied the file to the computer and disconnected the mp3 player. I didn’t want to risk corrupting the original file in any way. The recording of Marika and her possible assailant wasn’t as clear as I’d hoped. I listened twice then the third time I wrote key words. The clearest voice was hers. The words that stood out were, “no”, “stop”, “Sigmund.” Then a clear sentence, “The boys don’t know anything.”

  If someone wearing a suit hadn’t been hanging around the community center I’d be wondering if Sigmund murdered his wife. In all fairness, he still could have.

  It was possible that Sigmund murdered his wife and was then himself a victim of an attempted robbery gone bad. Possible maybe.

  I made a call to the Forensic Audio, Video, and Image Analysis Unit in Quantico. “It’s SSA Conway. I have a recording I need analyzed. Can you give this priority and run both voices against all known databases, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Special requests?”

  It’s as if he could read my mind.

  “I need to confirm the identity of both parties on this recording. One party may be Sigmund Bleich. I doubt he’ll be in any of our criminal databases but he was interviewed by the media in 2002 about a large diamond. On second thoughts, make sure you do run both voices through all our databases even if you get a media match.”

  People aren’t always who they seem to be. Sigmund Bleich didn’t show up in my background check but that didn’t mean he didn’t operate under an alias. Something hinky was going on. My gut was insistent that this was not a simple case of husband kills wife and then is the random victim of a killer himself. Way to go, Kevin.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll send someone to collect the recording.”

  “Thank you.”

  It would’ve been quicker to email him the recording but the mp3 player was the vessel that contained the evidence and the vessel in this case could hold secrets a downloaded file might not, it also could add its own noise to a recording. So best to send the whole thing and let the experts deal with it.

  I filled in the back of an evidence envelope with my name, the case number, time and date then dropped the mp3 player into it.

  For a minute I let myself think about Mac and the whole shooting his ghost incident. I gave Sean a call.

  “It’s Ellie – any progress on the blood?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ellie, don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

  I hung up and pressed the worrisome thoughts deep in my mind. I needed more than one cinder block to hold them in place. I added a couple more and anchored the craziness but for how long I didn’t know.

  My mind flipped back to wondering how the Unsub left the city without touching the puddle-filled streets and without risking capture. I thought the Unsub was a planner; that meant he knew about the CCTV in the store. Time to accept that he knows we know what he looks like and assume he knows we are coming after him. How does that help him? I doubt it helped him in any way, except fueling his adrenaline and upping the stakes. If that’s the case, then catching the sick son-of-a-bitch might be real fun and even interesting.

  Another thought popped up and I found myself staring at the ceiling.

  Helicopter. But private operators were not allowed to fly within Washington DC airspace, not without special clearance, unless it’s a life flight or air ambulance, because they already have clearance. The alternative would be military or police use – but that’s not private, that’s government.

  Government would put a whole new spin on things. I pulled back from that.

  How could someone order a life flight for a specific time? Well, a person could, if the pilot was in on the crime.

  I checked the online street map up of the area again and looked for buildings with helipads. There was one in the vicinity. A disused heliport on top of the Washington Post building. Time to make a call. I called the Delta SAC, Caine Grafton. If anyone would know the protocol for bringing a helicopter into the city, he would.

  “Caine, I have a question?”

  “This about the police case?”

  “Um, it’s not police, it’s mine,” I replied. It’s interesting, police aren’t getting this case. “Can a private helicopter land on any heliport within Washington?”

  “You’re talking about a Flight Restricted Zone.”

  “So, no?”

  “Not necessarily no, there is a restriction to government, some scheduled commercial, and limited waivered flights.”

  “Thanks, would a life flight be waivered?”

  “You should check that. ‘Limited waivered flights’ is what I have in front of me and that would make sense for medevac.”

  I imagined his twitch becoming extreme. “Since when did government anything have to make sense?”

  “Exactly. Check.”

  I hung up and called Ronald Reagan Airport and asked if any helicopters lodged flight plans for the DC area, and which companies were allowed to fly within DC. They had nothing unusual to report.

  STAT Medevac was based at Children’s National Medical Center on Michigan Avenue N.W, DC. I pulled up their primary coverage area. They fitted. MedSTAR were at Washington Hospital Center on Irving. As much as they sounded like they were miles apart they were in fact very close.

  I put in calls to both.

  Neither sent helicopters to anywhere helpful to our Unsub. MedSTAR received a call to a multi-vehicle crash in Maryland but that was it except for some patient transfer work. STAT Medevac had two patient transfers. I checked hospitals in the surrounding areas, just in case. Nothing flying into, or out of, DC within two hours of our disappearing Unsub.

  So, if it wasn’t a helicopter that got him out, where did he go?

  An accomplice.

  I went back to my original thought. Was there a connection to one of the buildings? My digging continued. Five minutes later, my desk phone rang. Kurt’s name flashed on the display.

  “Kurt?” I said as I answered the call.

  “We’re in Georgetown, sending you pictures now.”

  My cell phone buzzed on my desk. I picked it up. Sure enough there were pictures.

  “Are they both dead?”

  “Yes. Found them in the apartment.”

  “Guess they didn’t kill mom and dad then. I’m on my way.”

  “We’ll wait.”

  While I had my phone in my hand, I called Cheryl hoping she could tell me something.

  “It’s Ellie. Do you have a time of death for Mrs. Bleich for me?�
�

  “Liver temp at the crime scene suggested between eight and ten this morning,” Cheryl replied.

  “Okay, thank you. You heard from SSA Henderson?”

  “Yes, a double murder in Georgetown,” she replied. “Busy day.”

  “Very ...”

  I pocketed my cell phone and called out to Sam. “Another crime scene. Let’s go.”

  He was already outside my door. I saw him put his phone in his jacket pocket. “I know, got the update.”

  Eleven

  Blood on Blood

  Sam was talking to uniformed officers standing a few feet away from the apartment door. I paused and tugged disposable bootees over my boots and put on latex gloves.

  The inside of the apartment was decorated with more taste than I’d expect to find in a student’s abode. There were no take-out containers strewn about, or empty beer cans. The muted brown tones of the furnishings felt warm, inviting and a little like a woman pulled it all together rather than two young men. Lee moved across a doorway, then stepped back and smiled at me.

  “In here, Ellie.”

  “Whose room is this?” I said.

  “Ephram’s,” Lee said. He took a step back opening up my view of the bed.

  A man wearing pajamas lay sprawled face down across the bed, his head hanging over the far side. That didn’t look comfortable. Crouching for a closer inspection, I saw the telltale petechial hemorrhaging in his eyes.

  Parts of my training ran through my head: “The presence of petechiae often indicates a death by manual strangulation, hanging, or smothering. The hemorrhages occur when blood leaks from the tiny capillaries in the eyes, which can rupture due to increased pressure on the veins in the head when the airways are obstructed.” Nice.

  I looked for signs of strangulation. There was no bruising or marking of the neck. I thought back to the video footage from the jewelry store then ran through a probable scenario again. A sleeper hold or, if you prefer, a carotid restraint hold, can be used to strangle someone, because the arm is used to apply pressure to the neck and not just the fingers, often leaving no bruising or marking.

  “He’s on top of the bed, not in it,” I said. “Anything to indicate he fought back?”

  Lee shook his head. “His clothing isn’t skewed at all either. He may have been asleep on the bed not in it when he was attacked.”

  That was a possibility. Or he could have gone to the bathroom and been taken by surprise. I lifted his pajama top. There was bruising on his back. To me it looked as though someone knelt on him. I imagined a scene where Ephram came back from the bathroom. The Unsub approached from behind, knocking him onto the bed, planting one knee firmly in the middle of his back and applied a sleeper hold.

  Goodnight Ephram.

  “Where’s the other one?” I said.

  “Next door,” Lee said. “Come on.”

  The next room was just as well put together as the first but in different colors, more greens than earthy browns. Jonah’s body was on the floor on the far side of the bed. Another asphyxiation. Why was he on the floor? I looked at how his body lay. Crumpled. He was strangled from behind and then slumped to the floor. Or lowered by the Unsub so he didn’t drop and wake his brother with the thud. For all we knew he may have been first.

  “I don’t get it. The mother was beaten with a horrific amount of force and the father’s neck broken. By the look of these two they were strangled by someone who knew what they were doing. Their deaths are very controlled. Three very controlled deaths and one displaying extreme violence that does not fit.” I considered the Unsub was a person capable of cold, quick death; I’d seen him break Sigmund’s neck. But why beat the mother? So much anger in that death.

  Anger was out of place. If he were an independent contractor, he wouldn’t be killing out of anger.

  “It’s a conundrum,” Lee said.

  “Been reading the dictionary again?”

  He smiled. “Doing crosswords.”

  “We’re going to need full autopsies on the entire family.” And that would take way too long but I needed to know if anything else was going on. I had to be sure of the cause and manner of death. “Do you think anything is missing here?”

  “Look how tidy this place is? If anyone turned it over they did so with great care and put everything back,” Lee replied.

  “Or they knew where whatever they wanted was kept …” I said, looking around the room. “Did you find a safe?”

  Lee shook his head. “You think there is one?”

  “Yep.”

  Kurt strode over. “Medical Examiner is here. You ready for Cheryl to come in?”

  “Yes. See if we can get a time of death. Kurt, have you found a safe?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll take the ME into Ephram first.”

  I nodded and pulled my phone from my pocket. “Sandra, we need to track down the remaining brother in London. Misha is in London – can you ask if he would locate Zachary Bleich and escort him back to Washington. Get Scotland Yard involved too. Make sure everyone understands Zachary could be in danger.”

  Lee oozed patience as he waited. Four members of one family dead. Monday was not going well for the Bleich family at all. Lee and I began hunting for a safe. There didn’t need to be one, it just felt like there was something more to the deaths. Maybe I wanted there to be more.

  I waited, but Mac’s voice didn’t ring out in the cavernous space in my head.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Lee said. He was standing in front of me.

  “Nothing,” I replied. “Nothing at all.” Then it hit me, as intrusive and insane as it was hearing Mac all the time, I missed his voice in my head. A sadness I couldn’t explain threatened to swamp me.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing, Chicky.” Concern laced his words together, matching the gathering frown on his brow.

  “I’m okay.” I shook off the feeling. “If I were a safe where would I be?”

  Lee smiled. “In the floor, under the carpet in a closet.”

  “How about in the bottom of the pantry in the kitchen?”

  We smiled at each other and hurried to the kitchen. The room was immaculate. So much so, I figured they had a housekeeper. I called Sandra back. “Can you find out if the Bleich boys had a housekeeper and if the parents did as well, please?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know the list is getting pretty long over there, but any luck with Misha?”

  “I’ve spoken to him. He’s looking for Zachary.”

  “Police?”

  “Them too.”

  “You rock.”

  “I know,” she replied and hung up.

  Lee opened the pantry doors and crouched down. He pulled out a vegetable bin from the bottom of the cupboard and looked behind it, shining his flashlight into the very back. “In anyone else’s house I’d say there would be dust to let us know whether something had been moved recently or not. But there isn’t even a crumb on the floor here.”

  “Is there anything there?”

  “Yep, there is.” He dragged out the vegetable bin. “Have a look.” Lee lit the floor within the pantry with his flashlight beam.

  “Looks like a safe to me,” I said. I could see the combination lock. It was set just below floor level. “Get someone in here to look for latent prints before we try opening it.”

  Lee summoned a crime scene tech who wasn’t busy like the other three.

  We stood out of the way and talked while the tech lifted prints.

  “Do you think the Unsub knew about the safe?” There was some pure speculation required on Lee’s part if he was going to attempt an answer.

  Cheryl appeared in the kitchen. “Ellie, I’m estimating time of death for both boys at between three and six this morning. They are the children of the earlier female victim, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is where the killing started,” she replied. “The mother was killed between eight and ten.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

>   “I’ll get the autopsy reports to you as soon as possible.”

  Cheryl disappeared leaving Lee and I staring at the safe.

  “You think this has something to do with what is or isn’t in that?” Lee said, pointing at the safe.

  “I have no idea.” For once, I was clueless. No songs. No possible motive for the twins’ deaths, or why it all started with them.

  Lee rocked back on his heels. “If our Unsub wanted something – the twin’s health and wellbeing would be leverage?”

  “You asking me, or telling me?”

  “Both.”

  “They could well have been leverage, maybe it didn’t work; maybe the mother was tougher than the Unsub thought? Something pissed off our guy – if indeed it was our guy who killed the mother. The violence of the attack was too much. Her death doesn’t fit.”

  He nodded. “What do we know for sure?” Lee said watching the crime scene techs moving around the apartment. “The boys were killed first – their deaths were quick and clean. The mother beaten to death a few hours later. Someone wearing a suit was seen at the community center a few times asking for her.”

  I interrupted Lee. “She clearly said her husband’s name while in the room with an Unsub. She also said, ‘No’, ‘stop’, and ‘the boys don’t know anything.’” I stood in the middle of the room and shoved my hands in my pockets. “The boys don’t know anything.”

  “We need to know what the boys didn’t know,” Lee muttered, joining me. “Was there a time stamp on the CCTV footage of the father’s death?”

  I nodded. “He was killed at ten-thirty-two a.m.”

  “Precise,” Lee said.

  “I watched it a few times.”

  We stared at each other. My mind calculated the dista covered by the Unsub and the timing. It could have been one guy. Could. But if it was, he had some kind of personal connection to Marika Bleich.