“I thought you said your mother would like me?” She knew she shouldn’t speak of such things, not here, but she couldn’t help it. The sheepish grin that widened Matt’s handsome face made her heart kick.
“Oh, I’m not worried about her liking you, I’m worried about you being able to tolerate them. They are not nearly as…humble as Mark and Aggie.” Shaking the file in his hands lightly, he tore his gaze away from her. Elizabeth readied herself for the next search as he began to read. “Oh, this one is yours. I guess we should have expected that.” He laid the file open on his desk and lifted her complete, and unredacted, case file from earlier into his hands, adding it to the sparse folder before he closed it and moved to set it aside.
“Wait, I want to see that.” Elizabeth reached out to take the file, sure he would simply pass to her upon hearing her request, but he didn’t. Looking frustratedly across the desks, she frowned. “Matt, give me my file.”
“Liz, I think maybe Pannel was right. This…it has things in it that I don’t think you should see. They won’t help us solve this case and, frankly, I don’t think you should read them.” He was completely serious, which infuriated her. She stared at him, her mouth slightly a gape. “Don’t look at me like that. While you were downstairs earlier I read through it. It’s pretty gruesome. I’m not really sure what he was hoping to recover by taking it, but honestly, I didn’t see anything other than pain in its pages.”
Elizabeth’s frown deepened. She had accepted, even expected this sentiment from Pannel, after all, he still saw her as the child in the hospital bed, but from Matthew? “Are you afraid it will damage my sensibilities? Throw me into a spiral of depression and despair? That I’m not strong enough to handle the horrible truth? That my fragile mind will crack under its weight?” Her voice was growing dangerous as angry color flushed in her cheeks. She could feel the wild rage within her starting to bubble, leaking its way to the surface. Much to her dismay, Matt seemed to be enjoying it. The angrier she became the more entranced he seemed to be with her visage, growing more and more physically agitated with each passing second, as if she was attempting to seduce him with an erotic display. What seemed to bother her more was that his reaction was causing a similar affect on her.
“Not at all. Actually I was afraid of the exact opposite, Detective Cord.” His wickedly warm smile sent a ripple of heat through her hips. Damn him, she thought wistfully as her anger waned on its own. “I was concerned that reading this might send you into a rage. Frankly, I like seeing you stirred up, but I need a calm and cool headed partner right now to help me. Not an incensed warrior goddess ready to exact justice. How about we save that for when we find the guy?” She knew he was trying to protect her again. Her anger gone, she smiled meekly at him and held her hand out. She listened to the regretful sigh that racked his body as he handed the file over, his brow furrowing at the thought of her reading it.
Elizabeth watched over the edge of the file as Matt sought solace in his coffee cup. As she read the lines that had for so long been denied to her, she tried desperately to fight the raw horror growing in her belly. She had sworn that this very reaction was not going to happen and yet here she was, transforming into that helpless fourteen year old again, reliving, in graphic detail, her terror. She was about to close the file, admit that it was far harder for her to read than she had thought, when something scrawled in Pannel’s handwriting caught her attention. Given any other killer, it would have meant nothing, but the words ‘he was in too much of a hurry’ drummed on her brain. Their guy was never in a hurry. He was methodical and cruel, but never rushed. Looking for the line that correlated with the margin remark, she found what she was searching for in the evidence list, specifically the knife’s entry. Straightening in her chair, she looked over at Matt again. He hadn’t taken his sad eyes off of her and found the new excitement in them quite interesting.
“What? Did you find something?”
“Maybe. Was the murder weapon, the knife, recovered in any of the other scenes?” Her voice was shaking, just like her hands. It was probably nothing, but then again…
“Let me check, but I can tell you right now that you’re going to have to look up the New Mexico case again. That one had nothing.” She pulled up the page she had left open on her computer and began looking through the article for the information she needed while he got files one and two back out. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and said, “That’s a no to the murder weapon in cases one and two. He left nothing, just like ours. How about you?”
“Same here. The paper said there were no clues left at the scene, not even a weapon.” She chewed on her bottom lip as she stared blankly at the screen ahead of her.
“But at your scene he did leave it. Strange.” She had to smile a little. Matt was a brilliant detective, something she had almost forgotten. Nodding she passed him back the case file on her desk, pointing to the comment along the margin. “Oh, I didn’t get to this page. In a hurry? Our guy is never in a hurry. He doesn’t make mistakes. Not like this.” Elizabeth nodded again. “Okay, so maybe there is something here. Why would he have rushed your attack and not any of the others?” His eyes searched her for an answer she didn’t have. Sighing, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the cold steel of her desk, staring at the crease running down the center of her thigh.
“I don’t know, Matt.” She closed her eyes, trying to do what she swore she never would, go back to that day. She could hear Matt’s voice, distant and faint against the memory she was struggling to pull forward. The man at the door, he had said something to her parents. Something that terrified them, launched her father into a rage and her mother into horror. She had heard it, she must have. Elizabeth struggled to listen, desperate to know. There, buried in the pain and fear, she found her courage, and with it came a clarity. He had said that he was sorry, but that he couldn’t wait to collect his Belle any longer. He was being forced to flee and he needed her first.
Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open. “Matt, he had to run. He was in a hurry to get me because he had to run. I don’t know what from, but he jumped the gun on my attack. That’s why he was sloppy, that’s why he left the weapon behind.” She lifted her head to find him on the verge of panic. Apparently, he had been trying to talk to her for the last five minutes but she had been miles away, lost in her memories, searching for the truth. “I’m fine, I just needed to concentrate. Sorry if I scared you.” She moved her chair around the side of the desk again, unable to bare the look on his face for another second. Sliding up beside him, she placed her hand on his leg, just below the edge of his desk. It was a dangerous move, but he was worth the risk.
“So do you think maybe he was in some kind of trouble? Maybe with the police?” Matt’s voice was calming down, her touch seemed to be soothing him just as it soothed her.
“That’s all I can think. He doesn’t seem concerned with anything else.” She sat for a moment simply looking at the board. Then, she stood and moved toward it. Lifting the marker, she began adding her own details to the list. She could feel the heat of Matt’s gaze on her back, the sheer power of his eyes on her flesh was enough to make her flush again, but this was important. She belonged on this list, on this board. Belonged with these girls. In a twisted, horrible way, they were a family. They were her sisters. Finishing, she didn’t turn, but asked, “Can you go ahead and read number five? Let’s finish getting everyone up here before we change directions.”
The rustle of papers was followed by Matt’s deep, clear voice. “Victim number five is Patricia Alexander of Carthage, New York. She was fifteen. Killed in 2007. Hey wait, I remember this case, from the news. People were really excited because it was solved so fast.”
“Solved?!” Elizabeth spun on her heels to face him. How can it be solved if he is still killing people? Her mind raced. “Is it a match to our other cases? M.O.? Scene?” Matt was reading the file in his hands, his brows pinched in concentration as she stood over him, waiting impatient
ly.
“Perfect match. Though this time there were more victims. She wasn’t an only child. Two boys, four and eight were also killed. The phrase was ‘Ring around my Posey.’ I’m guessing you can imagine why.” His face contorted in disgust mixed with rage. She almost turned away from the look. She stood puzzling over the revelation. All the other victims had been only children. It had never occurred to Elizabeth that he would even hunt a girl with siblings. Her answer was now brutally apparent. “She was a poet, nationally recognized. The man accused of the crime was a sex offender who lived down the street. Apparently he had used nursery rhymes to lure his victims before, so that’s how they connected him to this case. The D.N.A. sample they collected from her was run against him, but since she was sexually active at the time, a non-match was discarded as a possible consensual partner outside the case.”
“You just said accused, he wasn’t convicted? How is the case considered closed?” She turned and began adding Patricia’s information to the wall. She was one of them, regardless of what the file said.
“Apparently he committed suicide before the trial. He left a note where he confessed to her murder. There were details in it that only the killer would know, so that was that.” Elizabeth could tell from his tone that he was speaking from memory, not the information in the file.
“Is there anything else? 2007 was just a few years ago, maybe we can talk to the detective? See if he remembers anything else?” Despite the fact that her back was too him, she could feel him tense. Turning slowly, she found a blanched look on his smooth, angular face that stilled her blood. “What?”
“We could talk to the investigating detective, but I’m not sure he will want to talk to us…” The tension in his voice, the thinning of his mouth, the panic in his eyes made the answer crystal clear.
“Oh, no. Moreano?” All he could do was nod. Great. An hour ago she suspected him of being the murderer, and now she needed his help to catch him.
Chapter 42
Elizabeth stood nervously shifting her feet outside Moreano’s office door. How was she going to face him? Deciding to mimic her tone from earlier and pray he was still in a forgiving mood, at least when it came to her, she turned quickly and knocked on the door. Though the small window, she saw his eyes flick up to her. A sudden, fleeting, and disturbingly pleased, smile flashed across his face before it turned once again to stone. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
“Sir, we were doing some research and we came across a case you worked back in Carthage. I was wondering if you could fill me in on some inconsistencies.” Seeing his face turn sour, she added a little more detail to her question. “It’s the Patricia Alexander case. You were the lead detective and, well, it says you caught the guy, but it’s a perfect match to our cases. How is that possible?” She almost fled the room. The more information she revealed she knew the darker the rage became in his round face. His black eyes began to glint wildly as his hands tensed into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. Fear coursed through her veins.
“What kind of research are you and Barrow doing that you even found that case? It’s closed, end of story. That maniac even confessed in a suicide note!” He was screaming at her, literally screaming. She had thought the yelling from earlier was as loud as he got, but she had been horribly mistaken. Her ears threatened to bleed as she shrunk away, backing toward the door and the safety of the hallway.
“I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to imply that you made a mistake, it’s just, well, there was that sixth sample found in my apartment and we had the lab run it through C.O.D.I.S. last night. Several cold cases got a hit, one of them was that murder six years back in up state New York. Since you worked the case we were hoping you could tell us a little more than the file.” Her drawl, something she hid strenuously from everyone but Matt coated her words. It was no use, she was simply to shaken to concentrate on something so simple. Her hand clasped the door knob behind her back, ready to wrench it open and flee if he started to move toward her. While she was now convinced that he was not the killer, he was still a dangerous man with a fascination for her that bordered on obsession.
As if he could see the panic in her, feel the danger building in himself, he seemed to calm slightly, though his face remained the color of blood. “Ah, I see. Well, I can assure you that the case I solved in Carthage is not related to our serial. I also think that perhaps relying on cold case D.N.A. to solve a recent murder is reaching, wouldn’t you agree? Now, if you don’t mind, Cord, I’m very busy.” As if what he said would answer all of her questions and put her mind at ease, he waved his hand at her in dismissal. Gripping the knob tighter, she took a deep breath and asked one final question. She knew he very likely would shout again, perhaps even lash out at her, but she had to know.
“Sir, one last thing.” His eyes flicked up at her. Warning and rage glowing in their coal depths. “Was his suicide note handwritten or typed?” He blinked at the question, his expression shifting to confusion.
“Typed, I think. Why?” He stared through her with questioning eyes. She couldn’t stand the way it made her feel. Wrenching the door open behind her, she moved slightly toward the opening.
“Just curious. Sorry to have disturbed you, Captain.” Smiling weakly, she nodded and ducked down the hall, pulling the door closed behind her. On Light feet, she rushed back down the hallway to the safety of the bullpen, terrified he might follow her. As she came around the corner, every face turned to greet her. Some bore stunned looks while others showed more than a little concern and sympathy. Matt’s face was full of fear. It became suddenly clear to her that his screaming rant had echoed through the whole of homicide, allowing all of her colleagues to share in her moment of insult. Blushing slightly, she ducked her head and steered for their small corner, focusing solely on the terrified look on Matt’s familiar face.
“Are you okay?” He could barely whisper the words as she slid into her chair, cupping her face in her hands. He had heard the screaming, feeling every deafening syllable rip through him and fearing for her safety. “Liz?” He wanted to reach out to her, pull her into his chest and kiss the top of her head, the way he had comforted her after her nightmare. After all, that experience was probably as terrifying as this one. Perhaps this had been even worse, it was real. Chancing a little contact, he reached across and touched her wrist lightly with his fingertips. As he traced the curve of her pulse point, she raised her head a bit, but it wasn’t fear on her face, it was frustration.
“Matt, I can’t help it. I am sure he’s the guy. He just lost his mind. Not because he might have been wrong six years ago, but because we found that case at all. He pretty much told me to drop the cold cases completely. Then he insisted, insisted, that the sex offender guy was the murderer, despite the obvious connection. All I really got out of him was that the suicide note was typed, which means it could have been written by someone else.”
“Like the real killer.” Matt could see it now. The real killer jumping at the chance to get free of the guilt. The public had already singled out the guy, all he had to do was take away the doubt and any chance for the accused to defend himself. Staging a suicide probably seemed obvious and convenient. “Okay, so our guy framed a pedophile for his last murder so he could get away, but that doesn’t mean it was Moreano.” She looked at him pleadingly and for one brief moment he wanted to believe her, if for no other reason that to be on her side, but he knew it wasn’t true. “I think maybe you just caught him off guard. That case basically created his career. It meant a transfer and a promotion to here, and now he’s like the third highest ranked cop in this building. Wouldn’t you be defensive if someone suggested that your biggest case might have been bungled?” She seemed to hear his words, understand them, then ultimately accept them. He watched as she nodded slowly, coming to terms once again with the sad truth that Moreano couldn’t be their guy.
“Well, that was a dry hole I guess. Do you want to switch gears and look into why he had to fl
ee Florida?” Her voice was weak. This day had seen so much stress piled atop their shoulders, and it was supposed to be their day off. For one moment he wished she hadn’t notice the calendar. That he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom when he had left to go feed Bucky. If he had perhaps they would still be there, snuggled together in his bed, warm and tangled, and happy. It would only have delayed this moment. The though pinched his nose. Moreano would have still yelled at them on Sunday. They wouldn’t have known that the next murder was going to happen on Thursday. Mark and Aggie wouldn’t be flying away to France, and safety, and they would still be sifting through the tragic files lingering on his desk. He only wished the files were more complete, had more detail.
“If only we could talk to all the detectives. Maybe we could pool all the information together, find more similarities.” Reaching for Angelica’s file, he opened it and searched it once again. Finding what he was after, he turned in his chair and rose up in front of the board. Below her information, he added a name, Namoore.
“Who is that?” Elizabeth had watched him lazily, still reeling from her ordeal.
“The detective. 1979 was thirty some odd years ago, so he’s probably dead or something, but we can at least call Anaheim and see if we can reach him.” Returning that file, he lifted the next, thumbing through the pages to find the information he sought. Under Danielle’s column he wrote the name Amnoore. Skipping the third file, he wrote Pannel under Elizabeth’s details and Moreano under Patricia’s. Taking a step back to look at the board again, he was surprised to find Elizabeth beside him, extending her hand at him for the marker. He looked at her questioningly as he gave her the expo, and took another step back. She had apparently followed his lead and looked up the New Mexico detective’s name in the articles. Adding Oromane to Phoenix’s data, she turned to face him.
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