The Hangman (Forgotten Files Book 3)

by Mary Burton

  “Any thoughts on cause of death, Doc?” Novak asked.

  She examined the face and reached around to the back of the head. “The base of her skull feels damaged. My guess is that the blow would have been enough to knock her out, and maybe kill her,” Dr. McGowan said. “Without flesh, there’s no way to determine if there were ligature marks on the neck.” She pushed up the brittle shirt. “Tox screens won’t be possible.”

  “Let me know when you do the autopsy. I’d like to be there.”

  “We’ll get her scheduled in the next day or two.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dr. McGowan zipped up the body bag and, with the help of her assistant, lifted it to the gurney before securing it.

  The concrete floor where the body had lain was stained with the victim’s outline, but there were no large dark stains suggesting old pools of blood. If she’d been struck hard, it hadn’t been here. Where the body had been was a strip of rope about two feet long with the ends cut clean.

  Novak watched as Natasha photographed and bagged the rope. “Dr. McGowan, be on the lookout for any marks on the bone that might suggest blunt force trauma or a knife wound.”

  “Will do.”

  He followed the pair to the stairs, and when Dr. McGowan moved to heft her end of the stretcher, he nudged her aside and took the weight. It was unwieldy more than heavy and slow going up the stairs. It took maneuvering to get the stretcher around the tight kitchen door corner. When they cleared it, he and the assistant carried the gurney out to the sidewalk.

  “Thanks,” Dr. McGowan said. “I’ll never say no to a bit of brawn.”

  “How well do you know Agent Vargas?”

  Since Novak and Julia had started sleeping together, he had resisted the idea of learning more about Julia Vargas. He respected her privacy and halfheartedly believed she would eventually open up to him about herself. Now, asking about her didn’t feel as intrusive. She was part of his case, so it was business. And when it came to a case, all bets were off.

  “She’s worked with my husband, Agent Sharp, on a couple of cases. She’s new to the criminal investigations unit. She’s dedicated. Did a couple of years’ worth of undercover work near Virginia Beach. We’ve been out for drinks once, so I can’t say I know her well.”

  “Does she ever say much about herself?”

  Dr. McGowan cocked her head. “If you want to ask her out, then do it.”

  “It’s not like that. We found evidence connecting her to this body.”

  “This body? She would have been a kid when the woman died.”

  “I know.”

  “What did you find?”

  “A picture of her with her father in the victim’s wallet.”

  Dr. McGowan brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Did you ask her?”

  “I did. She didn’t recognize the woman’s name or face.” And if she had, he wasn’t sure she’d have told him. She guarded her thoughts closely. “I thought you might know about her family.”

  “Like I said, we went out the one time, but she never mentioned her family.”

  “What’s she like in general?”

  “When it comes to a case, Julia’s a straight shooter. She’ll tell you what she thinks. If she says she didn’t know the victim’s name, she didn’t know.”

  “I’m not questioning her integrity. Have you heard about her father?”

  “She doesn’t talk about family, but I know he was a cop. I was at the awards dinner when she went to pick up his award.”

  “I was there as well. She didn’t stay long.”

  “Can’t be easy. Not everyone was happy that Jim Vargas received recognition.”

  When Novak had been in Julia’s apartment, he’d glanced around for the award, but there’d been no sign of it.

  Wouldn’t hurt to have a look at the Hangman’s files—and poke around in Jim Vargas’s life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monday, October 30, 7:00 a.m.

  When Novak pulled into his driveway, he was dead tired and could have used an hour or two of sleep. But the dark-blue four-door sedan parked in the driveway told him his daughter, Bella, was home. He reached for his phone and checked the texts. Nothing. She was supposed to let him know when she was on the road.

  He ignored the fatigue and pushed through the front door. “Bella? Everything all right?”

  “Came home last night to do laundry and study in a quiet place. Where were you?”

  He loosened his tie and shrugged off his jacket. He moved to the small cabinet in the entryway, unclipped his gun, and locked it in one of the drawers as he’d done since she was a baby. “Crime scene. Why didn’t you text me and let me know you were coming?”

  He found her sitting at the counter, a cup of coffee cradled in her hand. She’d pulled up her hair in a sloppy ponytail, and her eyes were still puffy with sleep. “I don’t know. Guess I wanted to surprise you.”

  “I would have told you to stay at school.”

  “Is it a crime to visit my father?”

  “No.”

  She grinned, sensing she’d already won this round. “So, how did it go last night? What’s the case?”

  Novak opened the refrigerator and pulled out the carton of eggs. This was her second year away at school, but he still bought groceries in case she showed. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. “A woman. Looks like she’s been dead about twenty-five years.”

  “How do you know she’s been dead that long?”

  “Right now it’s based on receipts in her purse and the state of her body.” These moments with Bella were now few and far between, and he knew, as she got older, he’d see less of her. He was sorry he’d not been here last night when she’d arrived, but he wasn’t sorry he’d been with Julia.

  Bella had never shied away from case details. “How’d the victim die?”

  He fished a bowl from the cabinet and cracked a few eggs while the pan heated. He whipped them up and poured them into the pan. “I’ll soon have a date with the medical examiner to find out.”

  She sipped her coffee. “I wish I could come. Maybe I could drive back after classes on Friday and discuss the case like you did with Grandpa?”

  He was proud of his girl. But he didn’t want this life for her. “Stay at school. Enjoy the weekend. Besides, I’m not crazy about you driving back and forth on the busy roads.” He pushed the eggs around until they were cooked, then served up most on a plate for her.

  Bella accepted a fork and jabbed it into the eggs. “Who cares about weekend parties when there’s such an interesting case?”

  He poured himself a cup of coffee. He liked it when they could have breakfast. “Be a kid while you can.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because by twenty-three you and Mom were married and I was on the way.”

  “Exactly.” He wouldn’t have traded Bella for the parties or freedom, but parenthood was hard. It sure had been on his wife. He’d never figured out why his wife had snapped.

  “I don’t need a college degree to be a uniformed officer.”

  “You need a college degree. End of discussion.” His phone buzzed with a text. It was from Julia.

  Let me know when Gallagher autopsy is scheduled. I’d like to attend.

  A half smile tugged the edge of his lips as he typed back.

  Will do.

  “Is that a hot date?” she asked, watching him closely.

  He shoved the phone in his back pocket. “It’s work.”

  She pointed the end of her fork at him. “Your face looked like it could be a date.”

  “It’s a date with an agent at the medical examiner’s office.”

  “But she’s pretty, right?”

  The kid was too sharp. “She is.”

  Bella grinned. “Maybe you should ask her on a date. Have some fun. I’m out of the house. No more excuses.”

  He ate the eggs on his plate. “How about we agree that you shouldn’t date until you’re thirty?”

  “Right.
”

  When they were finished, he cleaned the dishes while she grabbed the laundry she’d done last night. When her car was loaded, he shoved fifty bucks into her hand, kissed her on the cheek, and reminded her to stay under fifty-five miles per hour.

  “I’m not a baby, Dad.”

  “You’ll never convince me of that.”

  After Bella drove off, Novak’s thoughts turned immediately to the Gallagher case. He showered, changed, and drove to the office.

  Novak exited the elevators and made his way to his desk, located in the center of a busy room with phones ringing and people talking. He shrugged off his coat and settled it on his chair. He kept his desk organized, files stacked and pencils sharpened. The lone personal item was a picture of Bella, taken when she was two.

  His desk butted against his partner’s. Detective Samuel Riggs had muscled shoulders and a broad chest that hinted at his years playing football for Virginia Tech. Riggs dressed well, and his quick smile always caught the ladies’ attention. He was one of the sharpest minds in the department. At forty-one, he and Novak were the same age, but Riggs had no wife or kids. Wasn’t ready to retire from the field, as he liked to say.

  Novak sat, checking messages. The arson investigator on the case would be on-site this morning at nine. The cadaver dog handler could also walk the property. He checked his watch. He called the handler and arranged for a nine fifteen meeting.

  Riggs rounded the corner, approaching his desk with a fresh cup of coffee from the café across the street. A pressed blue shirt and red tie set off mocha skin. He smelled of expensive aftershave. “I heard about the bones.”

  “Too bad you missed it.”

  “Dealing with a shooting. Lucky me.” He set his cup on his desk and tugged at starched cuffs secured with gold links before sitting. “Is it true about you hooking up with Jim Vargas’s daughter?”

  Novak had told no one about Julia, but that didn’t mean word hadn’t leaked out. He slowly looked up from a stack of messages. “Hooking up isn’t the right phrase for it.”

  “You called her to the scene, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve seen her picture in the paper.” He whistled. “She’s smokin’.”

  Very true. “And prickly when called to a homicide scene in the middle of the night.”

  He chuckled. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Maybe.” He unfastened his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.

  “Is it true about the picture in the victim’s wallet?” Riggs asked.

  Word traveled fast. “Yep.”

  “What’re the chances? How’d Vargas take it?”

  “Difficult to get a read on her.”

  “Had to be a kick in the balls. Did she know the victim?”

  “She says no. But she was seven at the time of the victim’s death. You said you saw her picture in the paper. What do you know about her?”

  “A buddy of mine told me she worked undercover in Virginia Beach. He said she had a solid record. Some have said she’s a natural like her old man.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “I’m not sure if it was her choice. The last bust captured a shit-ton of drugs, but it went sideways, and she nearly died.”

  “What happened?”

  “One of the guys she was shadowing during the operation made her as a cop. Started beating her. There was some confusion about whether she was in trouble, and when the backup team finally busted the door, she was in bad shape. Had to take six weeks of paid leave to recover.”

  He thought about her smooth pale skin. How sometimes she flinched a little when he touched her face. A rush of anger and outrage made it hard to keep his voice steady. “Bad shape, how?”

  “Beaten up and then some. The paramedics wanted to order a rape kit, but she refused. Said it wasn’t necessary. They didn’t press, but my buddy said the cops had their doubts.”

  “About a rape?”

  “Yeah. But she denies it happened.”

  Shit. He leaned back in his chair trying not to imagine Julia Vargas beaten and bloodied. Raped. She wore her pride like a mantle, and to think some animal had tried to strip that away. “Did she ever see a counselor?”

  “How am I supposed to know that?”

  “You know it all, my friend. If anyone knows what’s going on in any department in Virginia, you’re the man to ask.”

  Riggs grinned. “I make an effort to keep up. You don’t.”

  “What about Vargas seeing a shrink?”

  “That, I’m not privy to.” Riggs held up a large index finger.

  Novak thought about the first time he’d touched her. He’d sensed tension. Nerves. He’d figured it had been a while and she was edgy. “Keep your ears open.”

  “Always.”

  “You get my text last night?”

  “Yes, and I’ve requested all the files on the Hangman’s case. Records promised them this morning. And by the way, they told me your pal, Julia Vargas, put in a similar request while she was on leave. She made copies of all the files.”

  “Last night she told me she was reopening the case.”

  “She decided to put to rest the rumors about her old man?”

  “Maybe.”

  “There are a few who think the past should stay in the past.”

  “I suspect when she sets her mind, there’s no changing it.”

  “What do you think of her?” Riggs asked.

  “She’s tough. Has a temper.” Her old man had killed himself, and an assault could leave deep scars. Both were red flags.

  “Hotter looking in person?” Riggs teased.

  “Yeah.” He reached for his telephone.

  The reality of a detective’s job was hours of tedious phone calls, knocking on doors, record searches, and walking crime scenes. And yet, in a second, violence out of nowhere could shatter the tedium.

  “Who’s your contact in Virginia Beach?” Novak asked. “I want to ask him a few questions about Vargas.”

  Riggs scrolled through his phone and sent the contact information to him. “Why?”

  Novak couldn’t articulate why he should care. Instead, he said, “You know her old man killed himself.”

  “And you think the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

  “I don’t know. I do know suicide makes a hell of an impression on a kid.”

  “Bella’s doing fine.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Shaking his head, Riggs turned back to his computer. “If you think Julia’s hot, ask her out.”

  He tried to look like he didn’t care one way or the other. “Now you’re a matchmaker?”

  Riggs grinned as he sipped his coffee. “You don’t make a move, I might.”

  Novak met his partner’s gaze and before he thought, said, “Don’t.”

  Riggs raised a brow. “Well, all right. Looks like the old man might be back in the game.”

  “I don’t know what I am.”

  “But she’s off-limits?” Riggs said, laughing.

  “Yes.” He dialed the number of Riggs’s contact at the beach and found himself in voice mail. He left his name and number and asked for a callback.

  Irritated, he refocused on the case. The first order of business was to determine the history of the homeowners where Rita Gallagher had been found. He made calls to the city records offices and was given the name of William Delany, who had owned the property until his death early in 1992. Delany’s son, Marcus, inherited the property but had failed to pay the taxes in the last couple of years before the city had taken it over. Marcus Delany was in his early fifties and living south of the city in Chesterfield County.

  Next, he pulled up the arrest record for Rita Gallagher. He learned that by her twentieth year, she was convicted three times for prostitution and once for possession. At the time of her last prostitution conviction, she was looking at several years in jail, but a day before trial, charges were dropped. No reason was given.

  Her next of kin was her brother
, Brad Gallagher. He helped her make bail the first time. The contact information listed was twenty-five years old.

  He rose, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair. Riggs was on a phone call as Novak headed out to his car. His first stop was the crime scene so he could meet with the arson investigator, and then he’d knock on a few doors.

  It was almost nine when he parked in front of the old Church Hill home behind the fire vehicle. Out of the car, he ducked under the crime-scene tape and made his way into the building.

  He found a burly man with a thick mustache, wearing a city fireman’s uniform, inspecting the socket in the room where the fire had done the most damage.

  “Captain Fletcher, I’m Detective Novak. What do you think?” he asked, nodding to the socket.

  The man rose and shook Novak’s hand. “The socket was rigged. Someone shoved a wire inside, which short-circuited the outlet and caused the fire.” He pointed to black burn patterns on the wall. “Area is also testing positive for accelerant. My guess is gasoline. When the socket short-circuited, fire sparked and caught the area on fire. Gasoline fires burn hotter and leave a residue.”

  “I didn’t think the house had electricity to it?”

  “When Rice Renovation took it over, they had it turned back on. All someone would have to do is screw in a fuse.”

  “Any prints on the fuse?”

  “No.” Fletcher studied the scorched wall as if reading words on a page.

  “Was it enough to destroy the building?”

  “Never can say with fire. In this case, the flames stayed contained in this room.”

  “You see a lot of arson in this area recently?”

  “No more than the usual. And from what digging I could do this morning, Rice Renovation is a solid company.”

  “Right.”

  “Any more information on the woman in the basement?”

  “Still working on that one.” The burn patterns in the wall were black and dark all around the outlet, but as they climbed the wall they diminished. “I’m going to have a look upstairs.”

  “Sure.”

  Novak heard a dog bark and looked toward the front entrance, where a young woman stood with a hound dog. She had blond hair pulled into a thick ponytail, which emphasized her brown eyes and full lips. He moved toward her and introduced himself.