Sudden Death

by Allison Brennan

  “Not Bartleton,” Detective Holden said. “I don’t know about the others.”

  Hans frowned. “Can you ask Dr. Clark to contact the other crime labs and get a ballistics comparison?”

  “What are you thinking?” Jack asked.

  “Why change guns? Are we looking at a completely different crime?” He rubbed his temples.

  Jack realized that Hans was practically asleep on his feet. Whatever was bothering him had interrupted his sleep as well.

  “Russo and Hackett were both involved, either directly or indirectly, with the mission in which Rosemont was kidnapped and held hostage,” Jack said. “It would be far too big a coincidence if two separate killing pairs were targeting the same group of men.”

  “Right,” Hans nodded. “And Bartleton’s dog tag was found at the Hoffman double homicide.”

  “My question is, why change guns?” Holden asked.

  Jack said, “So Russo’s murder isn’t connected to the others through ballistics.”

  “But it is connected,” Hans said.

  “No, it’s not—yes, to these recent murders, but if the other three ballistics reports match Scout, then we know that a different gun was used for those victims, which makes me think that the killers didn’t want Russo’s murder connected with these crimes.”

  Holden nodded. “That makes sense. But why?”

  Hans said, “Because it’s often the first victim that leads directly to the killer. Can I see that fax?” he asked Holden. “I’m going to call the Orlando office and get them to overnight the reports to us. Something is in there that we can use.”

  The SLO sheriff’s department contracted out their forensic sketch work. The woman would arrive at the Stenbergs within an hour, and had instructions to fax the sketch to Santa Barbara P.D. as soon as it was ready. Megan asked Officer Dodge to take her back to Santa Barbara. It was getting close to four and she wanted to be back to review the ballistics reports more carefully and see if Jack could nudge his friend Padre to speed up the sketch artist. She wished she had a picture to show the Stenbergs because Megan was certain they would recognize her. Although meeting with the witnesses hadn’t been a complete waste of time, Megan still felt that a local cop could have handled it just as competently.

  Simone Charles with the Sacramento crime lab called to let Megan know that there was no match on the ballistics report with John Doe.

  Still, just because the ballistics didn’t match didn’t mean they were different killers. Megan just had to review the evidence more closely and hope to find another commonality.

  Her cell phone vibrated and she recognized the Orlando prefix, but not the phone number.

  “Agent Elliott.”

  “Hello, this is Gerald Boswell with the Sunny Day Adult Living Center in Orlando returning your call.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Boswell. I won’t keep you long.”

  “My secretary said it was about the Rubins?”

  “Yes. Their daughter, Hannah.”

  “That’s what she said, and that’s why I’m calling you back. They don’t have a living daughter.”

  “Maybe a daughter-in-law?”

  “No. Their only daughter died years ago, when she was in her twenties.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He sounded put off. “Of course. I have their file right in front of me. No living childen. I am positive.”

  “Does the file have the name of their daughter?”

  The sound of shuffling paper, then, “No. Under immediate family, simply ‘one daughter, deceased, February 1, 1960 to November 29, 1981.’ Mr. Rubin was the youngest of five kids and the only survivor.”

  Megan almost hung up, but she remembered a case of elder abuse from her first years as an agent where an adult son moved in with his elderly and disabled parents. He spent their entire savings plus mortgaged their home, then left them destitute.

  “Are the Rubins paying for your facility? Or are you a subsidized adult care home?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  She couldn’t very well explain her vague theory without sounding paranoid and suspicious. “One of their former neighbors expressed concern over a relative of theirs who seemed to be living off their generosity. Seniors are very trusting as a group and tend to be conned quite easily.”

  “You’re right about that, Agent Elliott,” the director said, his voice decidedly more friendly. “I’ve seen well over a thousand cases of elder abuse and fraud in the twenty years I’ve been an adult care director. I don’t know if the Rubins were victims, however. They bought into a plan with Sunny Day when Mr. Rubin retired from county government so that when they were in need of care, they could move in and live here rent free. Medicare and Social Security pay for their food and medical needs.” He paused. “I can look into their finances for you, if you’d like. We have a board of trustees that manages the accounts for our residents. We’ve never evicted anyone for nonpayment. We receive donations and have many planned giving programs.”

  “If you can, that would be very helpful to me. Even if nothing is odd, let me know.”

  Megan thanked him for his time, then called Mrs. Lyons again.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Lyons, this is Megan Elliott again, with the FBI. I have another question for you if you have a minute.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  “Did the Rubins ever talk about their daughter? Before she moved in with them?”

  She didn’t say anything for a long minute. “I honestly don’t remember. I don’t think it came up. I didn’t know them well—we have more than four hundred houses and town-homes in the community. It was just because Kenny was my neighbor that I got to know them a bit, but it was only at social functions.”

  “Do you know if they had any close friends I could call?”

  “I’m sure they did, but I don’t know who. They lived on Sea Breeze Circle. Maybe the manager knows them. I’ll give you her number. Paula Andrews. A darling girl.”

  Megan called Ms. Andrews next, but she wasn’t home. She left a message on her answering machine that she was an FBI agent and wanted to talk about the Rubins who had lived on Sea Breeze as soon as possible.

  “Sounds like a promising lead,” Officer Dodge said as she turned south onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

  “It seems clear that our female UNSUB has been an integral part of Rosemont’s killing spree for well over a year. That she moved to Orlando to specifically get close to Ken Russo so she could do that. Why him? He was the team leader of the mission that Rosemont was kidnapped from. Russo was the first victim.” He’d been killed seven months before Duane Johnson. How long did Rosemont and his partner plan these murders? Years?

  “If he was the team leader, maybe he’d kept in touch with the other men,” Dodge suggested.

  Megan straightened. “And he might have their current addresses. Or know how to find them.” And because George Price was AWOL, the killer stole the tags … why? Why was it important to the UNSUB and Rosemont to kill a homeless man and plant Price’s tags on him? Contact the FBI and bring them into the case?

  It wasn’t common for the FBI to be involved with local homicides, but the killers wanted the FBI involved. If Megan wasn’t already called into the investigation because of the connection to victims in two other states, she would have certainly gotten involved when she received Price’s dog tag at her apartment.

  The killers started in Florida with Russo. Then they did nothing for seven months before hitting Johnson in Texas. Two months passed, then they took out Perry in Nevada and “Price” in California two weeks after. Then they returned to Texas to kill Bartleton two days after John Doe. It would have been far more efficient to remain in Texas and move west. And it made no sense to kill a stranger and call him George Price.

  Except to bring in the federal authorities. Except to bring Megan herself into the investigation.

  Why her? She’d assumed that the killers sent her Price’s dog tag because she was the squad le
ader of Violent Crimes and had recently been in the media because of a complex and high-profile investigation, or because they’d been watching the crime scene and saw her arrive.

  But they had known where she lived.

  Suddenly, a chill slithered down Megan’s spine. For the first time she thought maybe there was something more going on here than simple revenge against the army and the Delta soldiers who Rosemont blamed for his captivity.

  She called Hans to fill him in, but his voice mail picked up. Dammit. She dialed Jack’s number. He answered after the first ring. “Kincaid.”

  “It’s Megan.”

  He sighed audibly. “You okay?”

  “Yes. I need to talk to Hans. Is he there?”

  “We’re on a conference call with a profiler. My brother.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “I can interrupt—”

  “No, I’ll text him the information. I have a question for you. In February, around the tenth, were you and Scout on any mission out of the area?”

  “Two short assignments, the first week of February we were in Honduras, the last week of February we were in Belize.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just thinking about the timeline, why the killers jumped around when it would have been more efficient to kill their Texas targets first, then move to Nevada.”

  “What about the witnesses?”

  “They I.D.’d Rosemont. I’ll text Hans with the details.”

  “When will you be back?”

  Megan asked Officer Dodge their ETA. Her driver said, “An hour, maybe a bit more because of traffic as we get closer to Santa Barbara.”

  “Did you hear that?” she asked Jack.

  “Yes. Be careful.”

  “I will. You too.”

  Jack chuckled lightly. He wasn’t a man who laughed a lot, but when he did the humor in his voice was endearing and sexy at the same time. “I’ll watch my back, Blondie. And I want to watch yours, too, so get back quick. I’ll feel a lot better when you’re in my line of sight.”

  She was still smiling as she e-mailed Hans the status of her investigation, and included the information about the Rubins and the woman who had claimed to be their daughter.

  “I think this is our UNSUB. I know it’s a theory, but it’s the only thing that makes sense right now. She befriended Russo in order to learn where the Delta team members lived, then killed him and stole Price’s dog tag. The only thing I can’t figure out is why they sent me the dog tag. Me, specifically. Let’s talk when I get back.”

  She hit Send and leaned back, closing her eyes briefly. Officer Dodge said, “I just called for a traffic update. It’s Friday; it’s always heavy with tourists. Take a nap if you want.”

  “I don’t think I can sleep, but five minutes to think things through would be nice.”

  “Feel free to bounce ideas off me. I’m pretty good with a puzzle.”

  “Thanks.”

  Megan turned her head and looked out the passenger window at the ocean beyond the cliffs, at the way the late-afternoon sun made the water shimmer like jewels. She frowned, knowing she was on the cusp of a solution, but fearing she was missing a critical piece of the puzzle.

  * * *

  Jack listened as Dillon asked questions over the speaker phone in the hotel conference room. He was impressed with his brother’s quick and intelligent analysis and thoughtful inquiries. He hadn’t seen Dil in action in two years, and he remembered that they were essentially in the same business. Jack gathered military intelligence to lay out a game plan; Dillon gathered psychological evidence.

  “So Rosemont’s partner is female,” Dillon said after Hans laid out all the information they had to date.

  “I’m ninety percent sure. There are no dead women in red dresses popping up, and unless there are three people involved—”

  “I think you’re right,” Dillon said. “I have Rosemont’s medical records your partner had couriered to Quantico from New York—it’s the reason I was so late returning your call. I wanted to get a sense of who Rosemont was.”

  “And?”

  “I still need more information for any substantive profile. You went over the victimology and the timeline, but I’m curious about the Sacramento victim. George Price.”

  “That’s the thing,” said Hans. “The vic wasn’t George Price. He’s a John Doe, homeless—was most likely a stranger to the killers.”

  “But this John Doe just happened to have the identification of a man who fits the profile of the victims?” Dillon asked.

  “We now believe that the killer planted Price’s dog tags on the victim, but I can’t figure out why,” Hans replied. “If the killers were more symbolic at the crime scene, it would make sense because they couldn’t get to Price—he’s AWOL. The military couldn’t find him, and our killers probably couldn’t either.”

  Hans continued. “That’s one of the many things I’m struggling with. Price’s dog tag actually led us down the path we’re going, connecting the victims via their military records. No one had thought to check that with the first two victims because it wasn’t obvious they were both veterans. Then Rosemont sent one of Price’s tags to the FBI agent in charge of the investigation, as if to say, ‘In case you haven’t figured out this is important, let me shove this under your nose.’”

  “But why did they choose Sacramento of all the cities in America to plant Price’s tags on a body? Wait … did you say that the killers sent Price’s dog tag directly to one of your FBI agents?”

  “Megan Elliott, supervisor of the Violent Crimes Squad. I thought maybe it was a sign that he wanted to be stopped, but … now I don’t know.”

  “What about a copycat killer?” Dillon asked.

  “I don’t think so,” answered Hans. “Rosemont was found with a medical bag of the needles he used to torture his victims. The hamstring injuries are consistent with the same type of knife, though the knife is missing and is presumed to have been taken by the accomplice. But this is the thing, Dillon: Rosemont killed two innocent civilians at a rest stop. No apparent reason, he just shot them point-blank. Now he’s dead, and I can’t even ask him why. A married couple. She was eight months pregnant.” His voice cracked on the word.

  “Hans?”

  Jack watched Hans’s face as it went through myriad gut-wrenching emotions, then the agent rubbed his eyes and looked down at the table. Suddenly, Hans’s odd behavior for the last two days made more sense. Jack said nothing, but filed the information away.

  “Let’s retrace what happened in Hidalgo when Jack’s buddy Scout was killed,” said Dillon. “Was there something different about that crime scene, inconsistent with the first three?”

  “Everything on the surface appeared to be the same,” Hans said, “but I didn’t see the crime scene. I have the reports from the Rangers, and they read like it could be any of the other scenes. Putting aside the rest-stop murders and General Hackett, it was the Sacramento crime scene that was different from the others because of the planted dog tags.”

  “But there was also one other thing different in Hidalgo,” Jack interjected. “My friend Frank Cardenas, a priest, had been on the mission where Rosemont was abducted, yet Rosemont killed Scout and not Frank.”

  “You know this priest well, Jack?” Dillon asked.

  “Yes,” Jack said, his voice clipped. Everyone was suspicious.

  Hans said, “Cardenas hasn’t left Hidalgo in months, and there’s been no evident contact with Rosemont. Cardenas’s involvement doesn’t fit with what I know about him. And it goes back to motive. Cardenas doesn’t have one. Who does?”

  “After the Hidalgo murder, you noticed a change?”

  “The first four murders were well planned, methodical, disciplined,” said Hans. “The last three—the two civilians and General Hackett—were rash, disorganized, impulsive. Though Rosemont came prepared to torture Hackett, I don’t see how he possibly thought he’d get away with it, even with the priv
acy of the cabin. He registered under a variation of his name, was captured on the lobby security camera. After that, it would have been only a matter of time before he was identified and stopped.”

  “His female partner lured Hackett to the room,” Dillon conjectured, “where Rosemont hamstrung him and then she shot him in the back.”

  Hans wasn’t convinced. “That isn’t consistent.”

  Jack asked Dillon, “How can you say that with certainty?”

  “Because of Rosemont. I’ll write up a formal report for you, but here’s the nitty-gritty. The guy suffered from severe post-traumatic stress. He’d been tortured for three months, including needles in his nerves with the purpose of causing excruciating pain. Therefore, he wanted to cause pain to those he blamed for his captivity. He obviously couldn’t go back to Afghanistan and hurt those who held him, so he turned to the Delta team who were supposed to protect him.

  “He acknowledged to his psychiatrist that he didn’t follow orders, and he alternately blamed himself and blamed the army. He was suicidal—had attempted suicide at least twice that the doctors knew about—and he was on medication. The psychological reports all indicated that Rosemont was a threat to himself and not others.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Jack said. “Who are these idiots?”

  “Let me finish, Jack.”

  Jack crossed his arms. His phone vibrated and he looked down. Padre had sent a message. He clicked on it and it started to load.

  Dillon continued. “But Rosemont still suffered from nightmares that were as real to him as if he were being tortured again. He also started hurting himself—cutting, poking, making himself relive the pain of captivity. I think, if he was left alone, he would have eventually been hospitalized or would have succeeded in killing himself.

  “Shortly after he was ordered to start an intensive exercise program two years ago as part of therapy, he seemed to get better. But last June he disappeared and has never refilled his prescriptions.”

  “You can get most drugs on the streets.”

  “True, but psychopaths aren’t going to actively look for drugs that are supposed to make them calmer.”

  “I thought psychopaths were born that way,” Jack said.