by Mary Burton
Novak released a breath. “Sure. We can talk later.”
Julia was frustrated. A critical piece of the puzzle had just danced inches from their reach. “You were a big help, Ken. Thanks. We’ll come back another time.”
“I must have some notes on her in my files,” Ken said, clenching his fists. “I know the answers are there.”
Julia patted him on the shoulder. “And we’ll get at them. Just not today. Not now.”
She and Novak showed themselves out. The sun was higher in the cloudless sky, but a wind added to the chill as it cut through her light jacket.
“He became agitated,” Julia said.
“Yes, he did.”
“Like he thought Jim might have been involved in Rita’s death?” Julia pulled up her collar to guard against the wind.
“Next time, I’ll talk to him alone without you or Wendy.” No hint of hesitation. He was telling her what was going to happen.
“What happened to team?”
“If I were cutting you out, I wouldn’t be telling you what I was going to do.”
“Ken is family.”
“I understand that. But I still need to talk to him. He’ll be more candid with me and less embarrassed if we’re alone. I’m a fellow cop. He thinks of you like a daughter and doesn’t want to hurt you.”
She understood the logic and what needed to be done. But she didn’t like it. She checked her watch. “I’m calling Neil Rogers.”
“We’ll talk to the guy together.” He adjusted his cuffs. “Foolish to double up efforts.”
She could have used distance from Novak right now, but he was right. Territorial cops weren’t as effective. “You’re annoyingly logical.”
The edges of his lips lifted as he fished keys from his pocket. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
She slid into the front seat of Novak’s car. He had a relaxed confidence that she admired. Sure, she was confident, but not calm or tranquil. He wasn’t rattled easily, and she was a little jealous of that.
Novak called Neil Rogers and explained the situation. “Great. We’ll be by in a half hour. Thanks.”
When he hung up, she settled back into her seat.
Novak’s phone rang. “Hey, kiddo,” he said. His face and demeanor softened when he spoke.
Julia guessed it was his daughter. Feeling awkward, as if she were now intruding on a family conversation, she looked out her passenger-side window.
“You made it back without any issues?” he asked.
Julia didn’t want to be curious, but she was.
“All right,” he said. “Do you ever get instant messages for parties?” He frowned. “Do me a favor and watch out for any from the Hangman. He’s very bad news. Yeah, I know I’ve said it before. Just be careful. Okay. Have a good time this weekend. And remember . . .”
She could hear Bella groan like she imagined a teenager would when talking to a protective father.
“But I enjoy hearing you run through the safety rules all the time. Run ’em again,” he said. And then, “Love you.”
He hung up and clipped his phone back in its holster. “My kid,” he said. He scowled as he drove. “Why did you become a cop?”
No challenge, but genuine curiosity was enough to make her answer. “My mother always said I was like my father. She said some people are wired for this kind of work. Like me, you, and maybe Bella.” When he frowned, she said, “Cheer up. Bella might not be suited for police work. One thing to say you want the job, but it’s another to do it.”
“She’s a lot like me.”
“Tell you what. If she still has an interest, she can shadow me for a few days over the holiday break. I’ll take her to an overnight stakeout on the coldest night. I fill her up with sludgy coffee and stale candy bars.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“What, you don’t trust me with your kid?”
“I don’t know you that well, Julia.”
It was a fair statement. “You mean, am I too much like my old man?”
“You hold a lot of feelings in tightly. Sounds like he did the same, and it cost him in the end.”
“It’s never crossed my mind to do what he did.”
He shot her a glare as if she’d hit a nerve.
“I’m not Jim. Not your late wife.”
“You could open up more.”
“Look, part of the reason I can do what I do is because I can keep my feelings in check. You’re the same. You’d have to be to do the job.”
He stared ahead, silent.
“If Bella wants to see what being a cop is like, I’m a great resource. And I would never put her in danger.”
“No offense intended, but you take chances.”
“And you don’t?”
“Calculated risks.”
“They’re the same in my book.”
“No, not really.”
Ah, they’d come full circle back to what happened in Virginia Beach. “You don’t want me around your kid because you think I’ll encourage her to be reckless, and one day a drug dealer will treat your kid like a punching bag, is that it?”
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“Look, I appreciate that you’re protective of your daughter. It’s really damn charming. But let’s face it, she’s one example of the many reasons we could not go the distance.” She took his silence as acceptance, and though it bothered her more than it should that they weren’t couple material, she couldn’t blame the guy. “I don’t fault you for caring about Bella. In fact, I used to dream that if Jim hadn’t shot himself, he would have settled down and been a great father to me. You know, the kind that cheers on the sidelines at soccer practices and threatens your prom date if he doesn’t bring you home by midnight.”
“Have you ever gotten pushback for your father’s suicide?”
“Not outright, no. But some instructors at the academy recognized the name. And my captain at the beach brought it up in a debrief.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. Her captain had meant well. He’d wanted her in counseling, and when he found out she only attended two of the four scheduled sessions, he pressed buttons. She finally agreed to complete the counseling sessions. “He was afraid I’d go off the rails like Jim did. He wouldn’t be the first to wonder if I’d go a little nuts.”
“I know you were pretty battered.” His brow knotted. “Is the other part true?”
Her heart stilled, and her breathing slowed. She didn’t answer.
“Did Benny rape you?” Each syllable sounded gnawed on and spit out.
For a long moment she didn’t respond. “Who’s saying that?”
“Riggs said you refused the rape kit.”
“Maybe I needed to be left alone. Maybe the X-rays and the twenty-five stitches the nurse put in my arm were enough of an intrusion for one day. Maybe the noise of the emergency room was too much.”
“You’re deflecting.”
No one other than her captain had had the balls to voice the question directly to her face, let alone push for an answer. “It’s going to have to do. Like you said, you don’t know me, Novak, and I sure don’t know you.”
“That’s why I’m asking. I want to know.”
She stared out the window, thinking. It would be so easy to open up and talk to Novak. And she nearly did before reason stopped her. She sidestepped back to Bella. “I remember how my aunt tried to talk me out of the academy. She hated the idea. At the time, I didn’t understand her fear. I understand it now. I can talk to Bella about the job and what it’s like for a woman. I can warn her and share war stories, but none of us really knows until we put on the uniform. But at nineteen, we all think we’re bulletproof.”
He accepted the conversation shift, not pressing about Benny’s attack. “The goal is to get her to twenty-five, and then she can make any kind of decision she likes.”
Laughter rumbled in her chest. “Have you picked out the convent she’ll live in until then?�
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“Not funny.”
“Do you see me laughing?”
He sighed. “Bella’s a good kid. Her mother wasn’t easygoing, but she is.”
“Lucky for you. I was a terror.”
That tweaked a smile. “I can’t imagine you being difficult.”
“Let Bella figure her own life out, Novak. If her head is screwed on straight, she’ll make good decisions.”
He didn’t speak for a couple of miles.
“You see the world as black-and-white,” she said. “I see lots of grays.”
Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t know what the hell that means.”
“Not surprising.”
He was at ease behind the wheel, and she sensed that, like her, he was at his best when he was chasing a case. Nothing warmed the blood better than hunting bad guys and watching them go down. She and Novak had more in common than she originally thought.
Novak parked in front of the simple brick rancher located on a tree-lined street. The neighborhood dated back to the fifties, but the presence of children’s toys in many of the yards proved the area was enjoying a renewal.
Julia walked up to the door and Novak followed, allowing her to ring the bell. Novak liked Julia. Liked her tenacity. Been hooked on her since the first night he’d seen her standing in the back of the ballroom. Also suspected she’d bolt if he told her so.
Inside the house, a steady beat of footsteps approached. Those steps then hesitated on the other side of the front door as Novak assumed Rogers was checking them out through the peephole.
A chain rattled, and the door opened to a slim man with a thinning stock of gray hair. Deep wrinkles lined his face, but his eyes were a brilliant blue. “Novak,” he said.
“Good to see you again, Neil.” Rogers had been on the way out when Novak had made detective, but they’d caught a few cases together. “This is Agent Julia Vargas with the Virginia State Police.”
Julia extended her hand. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“Anything for Novak. And Jim’s kid. Come on inside.” Rogers stepped aside, allowing them into a well-lit hallway that led into a living room and a kitchen beyond. Though the smell of burgers still lingered in the air, Novak could see the kitchen was clean, counters wiped, and dishes stacked in the drying rack by the sink.
The living room was also tidy. The television was off, but a steaming cup of coffee next to the television remote suggested he’d been watching the news.
“Can I get either of you a cup of coffee? Just put a fresh pot on.”
“I’ll take a cup,” Novak said.
“Sounds great,” Julia said.
Rogers moved into the kitchen and grabbed two white mugs from the cabinet. He filled each carefully, then reached for a bowl filled with sugar and creamer packets. “No fresh milk. I drank the powdered kind on the job so long I never could get used to real milk after I retired.”
“Most of my meals come out of vending machines or fast-food joints,” Julia said. “Hate to think what I’d do if I came toe-to-toe with a fresh vegetable.”
Rogers held up a cup. “Novak?”
“Black works,” he said.
The three sat in the living room, Rogers in a well-worn recliner and Novak and Julia on the couch that faced a large picture window.
Rogers swiveled his chair from the television toward the couch as he sipped his coffee. “You surprised me when you called. I haven’t heard the names Vargas and the Hangman in ages.”
Julia cradled her cup in long fingers that looked oddly graceful even with plain, shorn nails. “I’d thought about opening the case, but until this year didn’t act on it. In my spare time I’ve been going through the files and reading my father’s notes. Now I have a private security firm that’s willing to retest some of the samples. I’m hoping something might pop.”
“Since you phoned, I’ve been trying to recall the case. I made it up to the attic and pulled the notes I kept.” He reached for a pad and pencil resting on another small table by his chair. “The forensic guys are light-years ahead of what we could do twenty-five years ago. DNA was only just being accepted by most juries.”
“I’ve read your notes,” Julia said. “Well written.”
Rogers raised his cup to her. “Thank you.”
“Did your notes jog your memory?” Novak asked.
“They did. I remembered that I found hair fibers on all the bodies. I sent them off for testing. Not uncommon for it to take months, even a year to get DNA tests back. After Jim Vargas died and the killer went dark, the case landed on the back burner and the results must have been lost in the shuffle.”
“According to what I read, DNA couldn’t be mapped,” Julia said.
“When some suggested that Jim had been the killer, I wanted to cross-check the DNA scene samples with his. I called the lab and found out the samples had been compromised. They had been improperly stored in plastic. Mold and heat had destroyed them,” Rogers said.
“All three were destroyed?” Novak asked.
“Afraid so.”
“Who was in charge of the samples?” Julia asked.
“Everyone and no one. Procedures have improved considerably since then,” Rogers said.
She and Novak exchanged glances. Who’d had access to the samples? The forensic team. Technicians. Cops. It could have boiled down to incompetence, but didn’t seem likely with three separate sets. If Jim hadn’t improperly stored the evidence, someone who knew him might have.
“We have another homicide case,” Novak said. “Her body was found four days ago, but the woman was murdered within days of Jim’s death.” He recapped the details.
Rogers nodded. “Be interesting to see what forensic samples they can pull from her clothing.”
“Agreed,” Julia said. “We also have a recent murder.” She told him what they’d found, keeping her voice steady and clear. “I knew the victim from my undercover days.”
“Funny that you knew the victim. A couple of the Hangman victims knew your father.”
“Jim told you that?” Julia asked.
“I don’t think he told me. He could be pretty tight-lipped when it came to the undercover days. But his partner, Ken, mentioned it to me after Jim died. Ken had been drinking heavily, and his wife asked a couple of us to track him down. We found him in a bar and asked him what was wrong. That’s when he started talking.”
“We were just with Ken,” Novak said. “He said he didn’t know about Jim’s CIs.”
“He might not have known all of them, but he knew some.” Rogers shook his head. “Jim confided in Ken. They were close. Went to the academy together. If Jim Vargas had any secrets and was inclined to tell them, then Ken Thompson would have been the one he confided in.”
Was Ken lying? Or did he not remember? She’d had the sense that both Ken and Wendy were hiding something.
Rogers sat back in his chair, carefully setting his cup on a side table. “I was sorry to hear about your father, Julia. He was the last guy I would ever expect to commit suicide.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She leaned forward, cradling her cup in her hands. “What was he like to work with?”
“He was a stud,” Rogers said. “I don’t think anything scared the guy. The risks he took while undercover made the toughest cops shudder. If not for him, Popov would never have been brought down.”
“The Popov case made Jim’s career,” she said to Novak.
“Alexi Popov was a drug dealer and a nasty son of a bitch,” Rogers said. “Left a trail of mutilated bodies along the East Coast. No one could get close to him, but your father did. It was a huge bust. Saw to it that the murderer died in prison.”
“Neil, if you can give some more thought on the Hangman, it would be a help,” Novak said. “Any detail would be appreciated. And I’m especially interested in those lost samples.”
“Believe me, all I’ve thought about is the case since you called. I’ll go through my notes again.”
“
Thanks for your help,” Julia said.
“Keep me posted,” Rogers said.
They rose and Novak took Julia’s untouched coffee with him back into the kitchen. He drained both cups in the sink and returned to the living room.
Julia was at the front door. “Thanks again, Neil.”
“You come by anytime. Jim’s kid is always welcome here.”
Outside, Novak dialed Riggs’s number and landed in his voice mail. “I need you to look up the case files of an Alexi Popov. He would have done time for drug trafficking in the late eighties. Arresting officer was Jim Vargas.”
He pocketed his phone and met Julia at his car. As she sat in the passenger seat, he slid behind the wheel. She was quiet as she stared at the house.
“You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve heard people talk about my father before.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“Does it look like it does?”
He studied her closely. “You can be hard to read.”
“Good.” A smile hitched the edge of her lip. “Keeps everyone guessing.”
He shook his head. “I’m not a fan of puzzles.”
“Another reason why we’re excellent in the short term.”
As he pulled onto the street, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the text. “Dr. Kincaid will be conducting the Lana Ortega autopsy tomorrow morning at nine thirty.”
“She’s efficient.”
Her phone buzzed with a call from Andrews. She glanced toward Novak. “Andrews, I’m going to put you on speakerphone. I’m with Detective Novak now. He’d liked to be looped into your work.”
“Understood,” Andrews said.
She pressed the proper button. “Go ahead.”
“A video has been uploaded on the Hangman site. The footage looks like it was taken by the killer.”
She looked toward Novak, who frowned as he absently rubbed the worn section of his steering wheel with his thumb.
“It’s the murder of Tamara Brown,” Andrews said. “The coverage is about twenty-five seconds long and was taken with a VHS camcorder.”
“Can you send the link to me?” she asked.