by C. M. Sutter
Chapter 26
We left the Davis home with a better sense of who Molly was. She didn’t seem to have planned to disappear, and from the condition of her room, she hadn’t planned on leaving for good. Clothes lay scattered about, and a nice outfit—likely what she’d chosen to wear to the party that night—hung over the top of the closet door.
I checked for any incoming calls or texts once we drove away. “Here we go. Stone checked out Mitchell Carter. Uh-huh, now I understand.”
J.T. backtracked the way we had come and got on Central Avenue heading northwest. “What’s that? Is the guy dirty?”
“Nope, his record is clean. He’s just married.”
“Dirtbag.”
I smirked. “You’re quick with the clever comebacks, but either way, he still needs a talking-to. Okay, let’s get back to the police station. The noon news is going out soon with the description of Molly’s running suit and shoes. Hopefully the tip line will begin lighting up like a Christmas tree. Also, I want to know if we’re monitoring Alex’s incoming and outgoing calls. We need to get things checked off our list.”
We entered the station at twelve fifteen and dropped off the bag containing Molly’s hairbrush and toothbrush at the forensics lab. At that time of day, many of the officers were either out on patrol or eating their lunch in the break room. We headed to Sullivan’s office to let him know we were back. We saw him through the glass, elbows on his desk and staring at the computer screen with his sandwich suspended in his hand. I knocked on the half-opened door. “Sir?”
“Come on in, guys. Take a load off.”
We entered and sat in the two guest chairs that faced him.
He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Stone tell you the news?”
“About Mitchell Carter?” I asked.
He nodded and took another bite.
“Yeah, we know he’s married with no priors. That doesn’t make him innocent, but it doesn’t make him guilty of a crime, either. We’re going to check on a few things, grab a bite to eat at the vending machine, and pay Mr. Carter a visit later. What’s the status on Alex’s phone?”
“We’re good. Charlie has a couple of his guys listening in on the calls.”
“So it’s in real time?” J.T. asked.
Sullivan grinned and took a swig of his soda. “Is there any other way to go?”
“Anything on Heather’s car?” I asked.
“Mills is on that. He’s looking through the CCTV camera footage at the toll plaza in Indiana on I-90 going toward Chicago. The problem is, Heather had an E-ZPass, and even if the plate reader caught her car passing through at sixty miles an hour, it’s unlikely they could tell who’s behind the wheel. Paying at the booth would be much more helpful, but there are a lot of variables.”
I groaned. “Enlighten us.”
“Her car hasn’t hit on a plate reader at all. That means either it wasn’t driven on an interstate or freeway or the license plates were removed or swapped out. If Heather’s car was driven into Illinois, we sure as hell haven’t found it yet. He probably took back roads.”
“What about Michigan?” J.T. asked.
“Let’s put it this way, J.T. None of the interstates between Indiana, Illinois, and Michigan have had a plate reader hit on her car.”
“Then that leads me to think it’s either parked in the killer’s garage or it was chopped and sold off already.”
Melanie Fitch rushed into Sullivan’s office.
“Where’s the fire, Fitch?”
“Sorry, boss, but we just received a very interesting tip that came in on the noon segment of the news. I think this one is legit.”
I spun in my chair. “Who took the call?”
“I did, and the conversation is taped. Come and listen to it.”
We gathered around Melanie’s desk in the bull pen. Several other officers in the room stopped what they were doing and listened in too. We heard the female voice begin by saying she saw the noon news and thought she might have seen the woman in question. Mel’s voice took over for a minute and asked the caller’s name and what time she thought she saw the woman at the trails. The caller, Erin McNare, said she and her boyfriend were finishing up their jog around two o’clock. They were doing a short cooldown lap when they passed a man and woman sitting on a bench near the parking lot. She said they were kissing.
“Pause that tape for a second.” I turned and gave J.T. a frown. “That can’t be right unless Mitchell Carter was with her. What makes this Erin so sure it was Molly?”
“Here’s where it gets good.” Melanie clicked the button on the phone, and the message continued. Mel asked the caller that very question.
Erin continued talking. “The description of the woman never rang a bell with me until today when her outfit was described on the news. I remember chuckling at the running suit because the purple with the green stripe clashed so badly. But when I saw the lime-green shoes, I understood and continued on. I even mentioned the crazy color combination to my boyfriend. I’m positive it’s the lady that disappeared.”
Mel clicked the button again. “That’s the gist of it. She gave me her phone number and address, which I have right here.” Mel held up a piece of paper where she had written down the information.
“That whole kissing part doesn’t feel right,” I said. “What we need is a good description of the man Molly was with. Then we have to locate Mitchell Carter and see if he resembles that description. Call her back, Mel. I want to know everything she can remember.”
Mel sat at her desk and dialed Erin’s number.
I jerked my head toward the door. “We’ll be right back.”
J.T. and I headed for the lunchroom. We hadn’t eaten anything since that morning and needed a little something to hold us over until dinner. We returned to the bull pen in less than five minutes, each with a can of soda and a club sandwich.
Sullivan suggested we go into the conference room, where it was more comfortable. He led the way as J.T., Mel, Larry, and I followed. We took our seats and waited as Mel got situated. She placed the paper with her notes on the table and looked at each of us.
I held up my hand before she got started. “Give us a second here.” I tore open my sandwich wrapper and popped my soda can tab. J.T. did the same, then I gave Mel a nod. We didn’t want to cause a distraction while she talked.
“Okay, I got Erin back on the phone, and here’s what she said. The guy and girl were on the bench nearest the parking lot. That would be the west bench. The woman was on the right, the man on the left. Erin and her boyfriend were heading toward them.”
“So the man would be facing them?”
“That’s correct. She admitted she was looking at the woman’s clothing more than anything else, and the fact that they were kissing distracted her too. From the twenty seconds it took for them to pass, she said the man didn’t appear much taller than Molly because they were face to face. He wasn’t leaning down to kiss her.”
“Molly is—”
“Five foot seven,” Mel said.
“Then the guy could be anywhere from five seven to five ten without looking much taller. What else?”
“She said they both had on stocking hats, and she thought she saw blond hair sticking out from beneath the man’s cap.”
“Molly’s hair was auburn, right?” J.T. said.
“Yes, and Erin confirmed that the woman’s hair was red.”
I bit into my sandwich as Mel continued. I was glad everyone was taking notes. That gave J.T. and me time to wolf down our lunches. I swallowed a long gulp of soda. “What about body size?”
“Average build. He was sitting and wearing a jacket, but she didn’t think he looked heavy. She estimated from her own boyfriend’s size and weight that the man on the bench was somewhere around one hundred eighty pounds.”
I opened my mouth to speak then closed it.
Sullivan noticed. “Jade?”
I waved it off. “I was about to ask his eye color, but if the
y were kissing, I assume their eyes were closed. Anything else that could help, Mel?”
“Only that he was wearing a windbreaker type of jacket, and it was black.”
“That should do it. Now the fun begins.” I elbowed J.T., grabbed our food wrappers, and pushed back my chair. “Come on. Let’s go find Mitchell Carter. His wife is in for quite a surprise.”
Chapter 27
He released the girls one by one that morning and allowed them to do their business. Now back from the store, he carried two new buckets into the workroom and placed them next to the chairs occupied by Kristen and Bethany. Earlier, they’d had fits of hysteria, but now they sat quietly, their heads lowered. Their faces wore red welts from being slapped. He reminded them they would be punished every time they acted up. He needed to keep them under control. The girls were only there to act as donors and if they behaved, they would remain unharmed.
Sam disappeared into the garage for a moment and returned with a folding chair. He pulled it open in front of Kristen and Bethany and took a seat. Molly already knew the drill. With a deep sigh, he looked from one girl to the next and began.
“I’m going to tell you why you’re here, and you’re going to listen closely—your life depends on it. I’m not a horrible monster, and my intentions aren’t to cause you harm. Simply put, I’m going to take blood from you ladies every three days. Now, there’s a huge difference between taking blood and draining blood. Taking blood means you live, and draining blood means you die. As a matter of fact, you can die in twenty minutes if I drain your blood, and the choice is yours. Your roles are to do everything I say, and we’ll get along fine. Understand?”
They both nodded.
“Good, then it’s time to begin.” Sam moved the folding chair close to Kristen. Then he crossed the room beyond Molly’s gurney and rummaged through the old desk. He returned with everything he needed and sat down. He placed the sterile blood bag on Kristen’s lap. The long slender tube attached to the bag held a port on the opposite end. “Okay, here’s how this works. I’ll find a healthy vein and insert the needle. It’s going to be taped in place so you can’t dislodge it. The tube is also going to be taped to your arm, and your blood is going to flow into the bag as soon as I flip the valve. When the bag is full, you’re done. Easy peasy, right? I’ll do the same thing with Bethany as soon as we get you started. All you have to do is relax and act like you’re donating blood, which is exactly what you’re doing.”
“We’re going to die.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at Molly and glared. “Shut the hell up.”
“But we will. Nobody can give whole blood that often. I’ve donated blood before, and that’s what they told me. You’ve already taken plenty from me, and I can tell I’m getting weaker.”
“Too bad. It’s once every three days, like I said. You’re on a rotation, so deal with it, and you aren’t going to die. Eat the food and drink the juice I give you, and you’ll be fine.”
He tapped the vein on the inside of Kristen’s elbow and noticed how it popped up. “Good, you’re hydrated. Ready? I’m putting the needle in.” He pricked her vein and pushed the needle in deeper.
She moaned.
“There we go. Now I’ll tape it down and connect the tube to it. We’re almost set.” Sam held the roll of white medical tape and tore off a strip with his teeth. After making sure the needle was positioned properly, he taped it to Kristen’s arm. He inserted the port at the needle’s end to the clear plastic tube and taped it near her wrist. “Okay, no kinks. Everything looks good.” He flipped the valve. Deep red blood flowed from her arm to the bag.
Tears ran down Kristen’s cheeks as she stared at the bag that would soon be filled with her blood.
“Suck it up. The whole thing is only going to take fifteen minutes, max.” Sam stood and picked up the folding chair then moved on to Bethany. “Have an arm preference?”
She looked away.
“No? Okay, then it will be the same for everyone—the right arm.”
Chapter 28
My cell rang as J.T. and I climbed into the cruiser. I fished it out of my coat pocket and answered. Melanie was calling, hopefully with the update on Mitchell Carter.
“Hey, Mel. What did you find?” I put her on speakerphone.
“I found out where Mitchell Carter works. He runs the computer department at Synasys, Inc. He does travel now and then, which would make sense if he asked Molly to go out of town with him during the week. Obviously, he couldn’t do that on the weekends when he’s not working and supposed to be home with the family.”
“Does he have kids too or just the wife?” I asked.
“Two boys, ages nine and six.”
I glanced at J.T.
He shook his head. “Double dirtbag.”
“Okay, did you confirm he’s at work?”
“I did, and he is. Here’s the address.”
I set my notepad on the console and wrote down the address. “Great, we’re on our way. Mr. Carter isn’t expecting us, is he?”
“Nope, I only confirmed that he was on site.”
“Even better. He won’t have time to make up an alibi. Thanks, Mel.” I clicked off, programmed the address into my GPS, and led the way. Twenty minutes later, J.T. turned in to the parking lot of a large four-story brick office building.
“What actually is Synasys?” J.T. asked.
“I have no idea. Data storage, maybe? Let’s go find Mr. Carter and let him explain it.”
The marble foyer led to the reception counter directly in front of us. Three women, each with a phone and computer, sat in the space. We approached and asked to speak with Mitchell Carter.
“Certainly. May I ask what this concerns?” a blond-haired woman asked.
I took the lead and enjoyed the wide-eyed expression people usually wore when I pulled out my badge and told them it was an FBI matter. I’d explain, clearly but tactfully, that it was none of their concern. That day was like all the others.
“Ma’am,” I said as I pulled out my badge from beneath my buttoned coat, “we have a private matter to discuss with Mr. Carter. Would you please page him?”
Her face went bright red. “Oh, of course. One moment.”
J.T. and I waited at the end of the counter for several minutes. A bank of elevators and what appeared to be a main hallway were within eyeshot. When a bell dinged, we looked toward the elevators. The doors of the second elevator parted, and a man stepped out and turned in our direction.
I whispered to J.T. that it must be Mitchell Carter. The tall man wore a suit, had a thick head of black hair, and was relatively attractive. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. I sighed, knowing we were back to square one. “Don’t think he’s our guy.” I immediately sized up the bewildered man walking toward us. Clearly he wasn’t our suspect.
He extended his hand as he got closer. “I’m Mitchell Carter. Is there something I can help you with?”
We shook his hand, and I scanned the area. “FBI Agents Jade Monroe and J.T. Harper here, sir. Is there a private place we can talk?”
“Um, sure. What is this about?”
J.T. spoke up. “Please, Mr. Carter, I’m sure you’d rather keep our conversation private.”
“Yeah, okay.” Mitchell dragged his hand through his hair. His face was already turning pale. He pointed at a grouping of four chairs at the far end of the lobby. Two chairs faced two others, with a low, magazine-covered table separating them. I assumed he didn’t have a private office where we could go. “How’s this?”
“Sure, that area will be fine.”
I led the way across the lobby and took a seat. J.T. sat next to me, and Mr. Carter faced us on a chair from the other side of the table. I pulled out my notepad from my purse.
“Why do you agents want to speak with me? Have I done something wrong?”
“That depends on you, sir. We’ve been told you’re close to Molly Davis.” I made sure to note his initial expression when I sai
d Molly’s name. As I expected, his face went white, and he seemed as if he was about to get ill.
“Molly Davis? That name does sound somewhat familiar.”
I smiled. This wasn’t our first rodeo. We’d been through these types of interrogation sessions plenty of times. They were always the same. The person questioned initially played dumb, then they got a severe case of amnesia, and finally, when the jig was up, they’d backpedal, claiming they hadn’t heard the name correctly and thought we were asking about someone else.
“Yes,” J.T. said, “Molly Davis. We heard you two were seeing each other. Seems she confided in a coworker of hers at First Federal Bank. That’s how we knew who you were.”
Sweat droplets formed on Mitchell’s forehead. He pulled the pocket square from his suit coat and dabbed his face. “Agents, I’m a married man and have two sons.”
“We’re well aware of that too,” J.T. said.
I heard the disdain in J.T.’s voice. My partner was a man of high moral integrity, which I admired about him.
“When was the last time you spoke to or saw Molly?” I asked. The pages of my notepad were rolled back and folded under the clean sheet I was about to write on. I waited as Mitchell feigned the amnesia part of the session.
“Um—I think it was last week.”
“Last week since you saw her or last week since you spoke to her?”
“Uh, what? Can you excuse me for a minute? I need some water.”
“Sure, go ahead.” I normally wouldn’t let anyone get up and disrupt the questioning, but since a water fountain with cups was only thirty feet away, I waved him on. I whispered to J.T. “What do you think? I swear he’s about to faint.”
“He’s probably only guilty of being a cheating husband, but in his mind, that’s plenty. I’m sure he needed a few seconds to get his timeline right too.”
Mitchell returned and took his seat.
“So?” I asked.
“What was the question again?”
“When was the last time you saw or spoke to Molly? Exact dates, please.” I stared him down.