Blake Pierce - Kate Wise - 5 - If She Fled
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being blown apart with each victim.
Maybe you’re getting too old for this.
The thought came out of nowhere and was like a dagger to the heart. It
hurt even worse, like that dagger being twisted, when she imagined a younger
agent working alongside DeMarco.
“Everything okay?” DeMarco asked, looking away from the board to grab
a large forkful of orange chicken.
“Yeah,” she lied. She took her seat and stared up at the absolute lack of
answers on the whiteboard in front of her. “Where were we?”
***
When she and DeMarco drove back to the hotel at 8:35, Kate nearly told
DeMarco about the call Duran had placed. In the end, she decided not to. She
assumed Duran had also called DeMarco to fill her in and, if that were the
case, DeMarco had not mentioned it and was choosing to keep it to herself.
Kate wondered if DeMarco was trying to protect her or if she found the
situation too awkward to handle. Or maybe Duran hadn’t called DeMarco at
all. Maybe he was waiting to see how she would handle it—if she would
totally blow up at him or if she’d be the good little agent and come back
home for her punishment without putting up a fight.
DeMarco parked the car and got out, apparently noting how quiet Kate
had been for the past several hours.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’d really rather not.”
“Fair enough. Want to have a few drinks and then accidentally tell me?”
Kate shook her head. “At the risk of seeming like a bitch, I think I just
want to spend some time alone tonight.”
They were walking toward their rooms, Kate fumbling with her keys, when DeMarco reached out and took her hand. “Wise… Kate… I hope you
know I consider you more than my partner. More than a good agent, even. I
consider you a friend. That being said, I want you to know that you can tell
me anything.”
That settles it then, Kate thought. Duran hasn’t called her yet. He’s wanting me to tell her.
Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She did not want to admit defeat
to this woman who was looking up to her as a mentor of sorts.
“I’m fine,” Kate said. “Just tired and bummed out about all of the stuff
going on back home with Melissa.”
“Okay. I’ll leave you to your own stuff tonight. Me, I’ll be heading back
to the bar. If you change your mind, I’d love to have you.”
“Sounds good.”
“But if you aren’t there within a few hours, maybe stay put. If that same
bartender is working tonight, I may embarrass you.”
“Embarrass me how?”
DeMarco grinned as they reached their respective rooms, side by side.
“Not that you’re old-fashioned or stuck up or anything, but you don’t strike
me as the sort of woman that would be overly comfortable being in the
presence of a gay woman trying to pick up another gay woman.”
“Thanks…I think. I would not be uncomfortable with that, by the way.
Also, that gives me one more reason to stay in. You go do your thing. Let me
know how it goes in the morning.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” DeMarco said.
She looked rather surprised at how well Kate had responded. It again
made Kate wonder just how much of an obstacle DeMarco’s homosexuality
had been as she had come up through high school, college, and even the
academy. Kate knew the bureau took great strides to promote inclusion, but
some individuals within the academy were still, even to this day, unable to
shake racial and sexual biases.
Kate walked into her room, kicked her shoes off, and fell onto the bed like
a tired and angst-ridden teen. She let out a huge exhale of air, figuring it was
much more mature and productive than screaming into a pillow.
Perhaps it was the uncharacteristic anger that had her so riled up, but she
decided in that moment that she was not going to leave the case. She assumed
that at some point, Duran could threaten her—perhaps even with being arrested for interfering in a case that was no longer hers—but she didn’t think
he would do such a thing. She knew Duran well enough to know that he was
damned good at being scary and demanding certain things of people, but he
was often very slow to pull the trigger when it came to doling out
consequences and punishments. Besides, even if he did come down hard on
her, what was he going to do? The absolute worst he could do was fire her
and while that would certainly be a blow, Kate figured it might be just the
exit strategy she needed—a forced one.
As she tried to sort through all of this, her phone rang. She dug it out of
her pocket and saw that it was Melissa. She nearly swiped her finger across
the screen to answer the call but stopped herself at the last minute. She placed
the phone facedown and waited for the buzzing to stop.
Don’t tear yourself up, Kate told herself. She has to learn to deal with things on her own. She has to learn that just because things are better
between the two of you, she can’t come rushing to you whenever something is
bothering her. If there’s something related to Michelle and her health,
Melissa will leave a message and you can respond. But for now, you have to
let her learn to navigate life on her own.
Kate knew that tears were brimming in her eyes over these thoughts—but
she also knew they were true.
It was then, contemplating the meaning behind Melissa’s calls, that Kate
started to wonder how Alan was doing. He had always been quite good about
not calling her when she was on a case, but he would typically text her every
now and then when she was away, just to let her know he was thinking about
her. Ever since she had left two days ago, leaving him with Michelle, she had
not gotten a single text.
And that’s fine, she thought. I’m not sure I want to speak to him after he gave me his little spiel about “getting my priorities straight.”
She lay there for a very long time, staring at the ceiling and trying to
remain calm. She’d experienced far too much anger over the last few days—
an emotion she typically managed to stay very far away from. It had thrown
her off and, if she was being honest with herself, felt toxic.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying there when she realized just
how tired she was. Hadn’t she read somewhere that copious amounts of anger
tended to tire out those who weren’t accustomed to the emotion? She nearly
got up from the bed but decided against it. She simply lay still, wallowing in it all, until she fell asleep far earlier than she had intended.
***
While she slept, she dreamed. It was the sort of dream where the dreamer
is somehow fully aware it’s a dream, but that realization does nothing to stem
the impact of it.
In the dream, she was walking into a well-to-do home with DeMarco. The
was similar to most of the homes she had been in ever since taking the new
position with the bureau after coming out of retirement: well built, trendy,
and over-expensive. As she made her way through the home, she came to a
man standing over a body in the living room. The body on the floor was that
of a woman,
her face turned toward Kate in a horrified expression.
It was her daughter…it was Melissa.
She had been strangled, but with something much harsher than what had
killed the three women in Frankfield. Whatever had strangled Melissa had
sliced deeply into her throat, her head barely hanging on to her neck.
Unmoved, Kate stepped forward. The man standing over the body turned
around and looked at her. It was Terry. He had been weeping so much that
the area around his eyes had been rubbed red. The corner of his right eye was
torn, trickling little drops of blood.
“She was here alone,” Terry said. “I was at work and…my God, I just
didn’t show her I loved her enough, did I? I was too distant, too…”
On the floor, Melissa opened her mouth. Doing so made it appear as if her
head would separate from her shoulders completely. She mouthed just two
words; they were soundless, but Kate knew what they were.
“Mom…help…”
“Terry,” Kate said. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he wailed, his eye still bleeding. “I wish I knew. I wish I’d
paid more attention to her. I wish…I wish you knew yourself.”
In the dream, Kate only stared at the body of her daughter with the eye of
a seasoned agent.
But in a hotel room in Frankfield, Illinois, she moaned in her sleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Kate stirred awake just after 5:30 the following morning, the dream
was still prevalent in her mind. She saw Terry’s bleeding eyes looking at her
as if she had the answers, as if she might know why that dream version of
Melissa was dead. As haunting as the dream was, it slammed one determined
thought to the front of her head. It was an obvious next step in the process,
but one that she and DeMarco had been patiently waiting on.
Well, Kate thought as she made her way to the bathroom and brushed her
teeth, patience isn’t something I have time for right now. When I’m not back
in DC by noon, Duran is going to know I disobeyed him. He’ll start calling.
And I’ll ignore him. I have no idea how long it will be before he calls
Bannerman and his men, giving them authority to arrest me.
She sorted through all of this as she did her best with her hair. She had,
after all, fallen asleep without getting properly ready for bed the night before.
Her neck hurt and the dream felt as if it had glued itself to the very center of
her mind.
No, she did not have time to be patient or by-the-book. She had maybe six hours to get something done. And as much as she hated to go rogue on
DeMarco, she honestly didn’t see that she had much of a choice.
She was going to have to go by the hospital and hope she could get in to
see David Lowell. Even if he was not medically cleared yet, she had to figure
out some way to speak with him. Over the past thirty years or so, she’d
spoken with numerous people in various states of injury—a few even on their
deathbeds. She knew when to push and when to pull back. And without
DeMarco watching over her shoulder, Kate thought she might be able to get
away with flirting with the boundary between the two.
She was fastening her holster, perhaps a minute or two from stepping out
the door, when her phone rang. She checked the display and saw that it was
Bannerman. She nearly ignored it and headed out on her mission but figured
it made no sense to dodge his calls. There was always the chance that he
might have information no one else did. When you were the sheriff of a town
the size of Frankfield, the breaks in nearly all developing stories went to you
first, even when the FBI is in town.
She answered it, almost feeling as if she had been busted. “This is Wise.”
“Agent Wise, it’s Bannerman. I just got a call from David Lowell. He’s
home. He apparently got home around midnight last night, about an hour
after he was discharged. The hospital didn’t bother calling when he was given
the okay to speak to us, as I asked them to. But I just got off of the phone
with him. Seems he was unable to sleep and wants to talk to us—wants to
find out who killed his wife and why.”
Now she really felt like she had been busted. She was relieved to know
that Lowell was back home and more than willing to speak with them, but at
the same time, working alongside Bannerman and DeMarco would only slow
her down. She gritted her teeth in frustration but carried on as expected.
“That’s great, Sheriff. Can you meet us at the hotel in about ten minutes?”
“I’m already on the way.”
***
Kate was impressed at how quickly DeMarco got dressed and ready for
the day. She’d still been asleep when Kate knocked on her door at 5:51,
answering the door and then leaving it cracked for Kate to walk in while she
scrambled around the room to get ready. Kate noted the empty bed and
grinned.
“Did you strike out last night?”
“No, I’d call it a home run. I told her what I do for a living and that it
wasn’t practical for her to sleep here. She agreed and left.”
“Good for you,” Kate said.
DeMarco smirked as she buttoned up her shirt. “For her, too.”
Bannerman arrived just as Kate and DeMarco headed out of the room in
hopes that the crappy little hotel office served complimentary coffee.
“No need,” Bannerman said as they approached the car. “I figured you’d
need some for this early hour and brought you each a cup of the petrol we
drink from down at the station. Breakfast, on the other hand…”
“We can wait,” DeMarco said, though it sounded like a question as she
looked over to Kate.
“Yes,” Kate agreed. “We can wait.”
Bannerman seemed pleased when they got into his patrol car rather than
opting for their own. He sped out of the lot and took the familiar two-lanes
through the city until he came to the trendy little subdivision the Lowells had happily lived in until yesterday. Kate frowned when she realized the house
already had that feeling she had somehow gotten used to and had come to
accept—the feel of a residence that is no longer a happy home but now a
place of trauma and sorrow. It was far too similar to pulling up to a funeral
parlor.
They made their way up the porch, Kate knocking on the door while
DeMarco and Bannerman kept a respectable distance behind as to not make
the grieving husband feel too overwhelmed.
The door was answered by a woman of about forty or so. She looked tired
but had the air of a woman who was getting things done. She nodded to them
all before saying anything.
“FBI?” she asked in a hopeful tone.
“Yes,” Kate said. “Agents Wise and DeMarco. This is Sheriff
Bannerman,” she said, gesturing to Bannerman, “with the local PD.”
“I’m Paulette Ivans, David’s sister,” the woman said. “I’ve been with him
from the moment he was admitted to the hospital. I made the request for the
doctors not to call you when he was given the clear. David…I don’t know. I
don’t think it was so much a heart attack as it was a heart break. I know that sounds cheesy, but it sums it all up pretty well.”
“But he�
�s fine now?” DeMarco asked.
“Fine enough to make it through the details, I think,” Paulette said. “He
badly wants to talk to you to figure this all out. Just…I wouldn’t be at all
surprised if he breaks down while you’re here. He hasn’t really talked deeply
about it. If he does have a breakdown, I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d leave.
I’ll call you back when he is ready.”
“Understood,” Kate said.
“Come on in, then.”
Paulette led them into the Lowell home. Just like the exterior, the interior
simply felt gloomy. It was clear that a great deal of grieving was being done;
Kate could feel it in the air. Paulette led them to the living room, where
David Lowell was sitting in an armchair and looking out the window. He
glanced toward them at once when they entered the room and the amount of
absolute hope in his eyes slayed Kate.
“Mr. Lowell, I’m Agent Wise and this is Agent DeMarco.”
“Yeah, I was told the FBI was in town on this but…I mean, I appreciate it,
but why?”
“I assume neither of you have seen the news?” Bannerman asked.
“No,” Paulette said. “Why?”
Kate stepped forward after giving Bannerman an unsteady glance. “Ms.
Ivans, Mr. Lowell…this was the third murder of this kind here in Frankfield
over the past two weeks or so.”
“Oh,” he said. He went wide-eyed for a moment, as if he was awed by this
information, but it did not last long. “Are there any suspects so far?”
“I’m afraid not,” Kate said. “None that have panned out, anyway. We
were hoping you might have some ideas.”
“Not a single one. I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since I was
coherent enough to do so. It just doesn’t make sense. I can’t think of anyone
that had anything against her. It had to be some random asshole, preying on
random women. I called the security company because when I tried to check
the Nest feed, nothing came up.”
“We checked that, too,” Kate said. “The feed was killed.”
“What?”
She knew she had to be careful here. The last thing she wanted was to
inform him that his wife had slept with another man less than an hour or so