by Mary Burton
He grabbed her hand, raised her fingers to his mouth, and kissed the tips. “Do you understand that I’ll never hurt you?”
“Couples say that to each other. We’re not a couple.”
His hand slid under her hair to the back of her neck, and he tugged her closer. He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. “Us a couple? The thought never crossed my mind.”
She opened wider for all of him. “I mean it. Not a couple.”
He pressed inside her. “I thought you didn’t want to talk.”
She didn’t argue as her hand slid back to her core and she whispered, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
He captured her hand yet again and halted her race toward orgasm. “We’re in this together.”
She tried to tug her hand free.
“Tell me you understand,” he said.
“Fine. I get it.”
“You get what?”
“What I’ve known all along. You’re a good guy. But that has never been the issue.”
He released her hand and watched as she began to touch herself again. This time when they came, it was together.
Julia dreamed of the pop of gunfire. Bright-red blood splashed on her face and hands. She looked up and saw her father lying in his own blood. The air was sharp with the acrid scent of gunpowder. Behind him stood the monster that vanished when she screamed.
She sat up in bed, swallowing a scream as her heart pounded in her chest. “Shit,” she muttered.
Julia pushed her hair out of her eyes, searching for her bedside clock. It wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her bed. Where the hell . . .
Novak clicked on a light. He was awake, alert. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Sorry to wake you.”
He smoothed his hand over her rigid spine. “You’re shaking.”
She pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to soothe the pounding in her skull. “Just a dream. I can handle it.”
He sat up and put his hand on her back. “Does it have to do with Santiago?”
His touch was gentle and strong. Calming. “No. Ironically, I never dream about him and what happened.”
“Then what?”
“It’s always the same. The day my father died.”
“When did the dreams start?”
A silence settled around her, and she couldn’t find her voice.
“After the rape?” he asked.
She winced. “Yes.”
“What’s in the dream?”
“I hear gunfire and smell the gunpowder. There’s blood under my feet. And then I see the monster recede into the shadows.”
“The monster?”
“No face. No name. Just a shadow. Moving away and vanishing.”
“The police report states your mother found your father’s body.”
“That’s what she told me at first. She kept telling me I didn’t see anything. But the shrink the department chief made me see after Benny suggested I try hypnosis. It must have opened a door, because that night I had the dream.”
“Did you talk to the doctor about the dream?”
“I did. It made no sense to me, but he said Jim’s death was so traumatic that it was logical a new trauma would bring it back to the surface.”
Absently he rubbed a calming hand against the small of her back. Christ, sex with Novak was becoming a habit, and she was telling him all her secrets. These complications were unwise on so many levels.
Her phone rang, giving her a reprieve. She cleared her throat, but didn’t pull away. “Agent Vargas.”
“This is Andrews.”
She glanced at the clock on her phone. 5:02 a.m. “You’re up early, or should I say late?”
“Is this a bad time?”
“Not at all.”
“I’ve traced the sender of the e-mail that contained footage of the original Hangman case.”
“Who?”
The mattress shifted as Novak sat up.
“Elizabeth Monroe.”
“Santiago’s attorney?” she asked, looking at Novak. “That doesn’t sound like a mistake she’d make.”
“It took some digging. She hid the source information behind some very sophisticated firewalls.”
“So why send the video to Carson?” she asked as she tipped the phone so Novak could hear.
“I dug into her past as well as her career. She used to be an attorney at Ricker, Davis & Michaels. That firm defended Alexi Popov in his drug-trafficking trial.”
“What does that have to do with the Hangman?”
“I’ll let you figure that out.” Papers shuffled. “I’ll have DNA work-ups for you today. When can you be here?”
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “One p.m. I want to have a chat with Monroe first.”
“Tell Novak to join you when you come here.”
She glanced at Novak. “Why do you want Novak?”
“He’s investigating the case of Rita Gallagher, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I might have information for him.”
“We’ll be there in a few hours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sunday, November 5, 8:00 a.m.
Novak studied Julia’s rigid features. Her face showed no signs of emotion when they arrived at Monroe’s office. Any traces of the emotionally exposed woman he’d seen an hour ago were gone. It was critical to her that the world didn’t see any of the vulnerability she’d shown Novak. But as long as she let him in, he could live with that.
Monroe’s West End office was sleek and modern with neatly manicured landscaping. The guard at the front desk didn’t seem impressed by the badges, and given Monroe’s client list, Novak imagined they looked tame in comparison. After a ten-minute wait, another guard appeared and escorted them up to the top floor, where they were placed in a conference room.
An attractive woman dressed in a designer navy skirt and white blouse materialized at the door. “Ms. Monroe will see you now.”
The pair followed the woman along a carpeted hallway decorated with original works of art that would have cost more than six months’ worth of the entire police department’s payroll. They found themselves in a spacious corner office with a large bank of smoked windows overlooking a lake. The furniture was tasteful, expensive, and antique. Sell that and he could put Bella through college and graduate school.
The woman behind the desk wore black, her blond hair combed back into a smooth ponytail. She looked midforties, but a bio suggested she was at least a decade older.
Elizabeth Monroe stood from behind her desk. “Agent Vargas, what a surprise on a Sunday morning.”
“Ms. Monroe.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you again until I filed Mr. Santiago’s appeal.”
“I thought so, too.”
“And who’s this?” Monroe asked, regarding Novak.
“Detective Novak, Richmond City Police,” he said.
Her handshake was firm, but her skin cold to the touch. She moved to a stylish upholstered chair and crossed her long legs. “Please have a seat.”
Julia glanced at Novak, and he knew she was ready to come out swinging. He moved toward the sofa and sat, hoping Julia would follow his lead. She did.
“What can I do for you two?” Ms. Monroe asked.
“Have you heard about a case called the Hangman?” Novak asked.
“Of course. As part of my preparation for Agent Vargas’s testimony in the Benny Santiago trial, I did extensive research. Her father was the lead detective on the case. Some even argued he was the Hangman.”
Julia was stoic, but tension radiated from all her muscles.
“You have a reputation for being thorough, Ms. Monroe,” Novak said. “You must have viewed some of the original footage taken at the Hangman crime scenes.”
She smiled and brushed imaginary dust from her skirt. “I wouldn’t have had access to that.”
He held her gaze. “You have a few connections in the department.”
“All I can say is that I did my due diligence when it came to deposing Agent Vargas.” She knitted her fingers together. “What is this about? Cut to the chase.”
“Vic Carson, who operates the Hangman fan site, received original footage of the crime scene. He posted it, though it’s since been removed.”
A delicate brow arched. “How does that relate to me?”
“The e-mail sent to him with the video attachment came from your company’s server.”
She shook her head, smiling. “I find that very hard to believe.”
“We traced it to your firm,” Julia said.
Monroe swung her gaze toward Julia. “How, when it never came from this office?”
“A private company with sophisticated software offered to assist,” she said.
The smile hardened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do,” Julia said. “Why’d you send the video to Vic Carson? Why do you care about the Hangman case?”
Monroe remained silent.
Novak followed up. “Have you heard about Lana Ortega?”
Her focus remained locked on Julia. “I did hear about her death. That’s unfortunate. Ms. Ortega was one of your informants, and my sources told me you took a very personal interest in her. You thought you could save her.”
Julia’s expression remained steady. “Some people can’t be saved.”
“I find it interesting that Lana’s death mirrors the Hangman’s work,” Novak interjected.
The attorney looked genuinely surprised. “What would that have to do with me?”
“We can prove you sent the video to Carson.” Julia held up her hand as Elizabeth began to rebut. “For the moment, let’s not argue that.”
“Your premise is flawed,” Monroe said.
Julia continued. “I’m not worried now about how you gained access to the files, only that you did. You used my father’s death during my cross-examination to discredit me. It didn’t work. But never let a crime go to waste, right? You decided to use the Hangman to clean up a few loose ends. First you sent the video to Vic Carson to stir up interest in the old case. People might think the Hangman saw the video and it sparked his desire to kill again. And then you used the Hangman to deal with Lana Ortega.”
“Why would I do something so foolish? My case will soon be on appeal. For now, the commonwealth won, and Mr. Santiago is going to prison until I win the appeal.”
“Benny Santiago has a long memory,” Julia said. “What better way to get back at the girlfriend who talked too much than to have his attorney kill her? What better way to rattle me than to kill her like the Hangman?”
Novak admired Julia’s cool, direct tone. He knew this case was emotionally charged for her, but her theory was logical and on point.
Monroe was silent for a moment before responding. “These theories are interesting, but I don’t have any more time to waste on conjecture.” She rose. “Thank you for stopping by.”
Novak remained seated, willing to run with Julia’s theory. “Now that I know where to dig, there’s going to be no stopping me. I’m going to prove you had Lana Ortega killed.”
Monroe’s gaze sharpened. “I did not have that woman killed.”
“The evidence is telling a different story,” Julia said.
Monroe pointed a manicured finger toward the door. “You need to leave now.”
Novak relaxed back into his chair as if he had all the time in the world.
“Who left the rope outside my house? That you or the person you hired to be the Hangman?” Julia asked.
Monroe reached for her phone. “I’m calling security.”
Julia rose slowly. “I’m coming back with a warrant.”
Novak, taking his lead from Julia, stood. “Looking forward to seeing you again, Ms. Monroe.”
They were escorted back to the main lobby and rode the elevator to the first floor. Outside, the air was crisp and the sky a vivid blue.
Julia exhaled as she reached for her cigarettes. “Do you believe her?”
“She’s a hard one to believe,” Novak said.
“I hope it isn’t true. If she hired someone to copycat the Hangman, that means Jim could still be guilty.”
“Or maybe she took a page from her former boss’s playbook.”
Julia studied him. “You think the Hangman was hired to kill those women?”
“Everyone who was murdered had talked to your father. A man like Popov would have assumed they’d snitched on him and shown no mercy.”
“But it could still be Jim.”
“If it had been Jim, Monroe is the type of shark who would have found a way to use that information for leverage against you by now.”
Julia nodded. “I’ve watched her in court. She painted Benny as a choirboy and tried to make me look unstable. She suggested Jim killed himself because he failed to catch the Hangman.”
“And that adds weight to your theory. Monroe reminds everyone that the Hangman escaped justice so that when she had Lana killed in the style of the Hangman, no one would question her or Santiago,” Novak said.
They walked to the car, and when they closed the doors, Novak scanned his messages. One from Riggs reported more credit card information on Lana Ortega.
Novak summarized the contents to Julia. “Lana’s credit card charges show she visited the same bar a dozen times during Benny’s trial. The place is called the Edge and is located six blocks from her downtown hotel. I know it. Mostly folks on business travel with extra cash and a wandering eye.”
“We’re close. Let’s have a look.”
It was midmorning, and when they pulled up in front of the Edge, there were few cars parked in front of the brick building. Inside, the round tables and booths were empty. With the lights on, all the scars showed. It would take dim light and a lot of alcohol to create charm here.
He knocked on the bar. “Hello?”
“What can I do for you?” The gravelly voice came from a gray-haired man wearing jeans, a black shirt, and boots. He looked like he would have a Harley parked out back.
Novak held up his badge and introduced himself and Julia. “I’m working a case.” He liked to avoid the word homicide at first. People had a way of shutting down when he did. “Have you seen this woman? Her credit card receipts said she recently spent a bit of time here.”
He looked at the picture. “Sure. That’s Lana. She’s a fun girl. Always has the guys sitting around her laughing or lusting. She’s good for business. I sell more booze the nights she’s around.”
“Did she spend any time with any one man?” Julia asked.
“She had a lot of men around her,” he said. “Like I said, she’s hot, and men like that look, especially if they’re trashed.”
“She was here a dozen times according to her credit card receipts. Any reason in particular?”
“Some of the regulars noticed her. She received lots of attention, and she liked it. Some tried to score, but she wasn’t interested. Is this about the other cop?”
“What other cop?” Novak asked.
“He sat beside her on two different nights while I was bartending. The cop said he was working on a case and needed her help.”
“What case?”
“I didn’t catch what he said. But I did hear her call him Jim once or twice.”
“Jim?” Julia asked. “Anything about Jim that you recall?”
He pulled in a breath. “What’s going on here? Why do you cops care about Lana?”
“Lana was murdered the other night. I’m looking for her killer.”
The bartender tensed. “And you think this cop did it?”
“I’m not sure he was a cop,” Novak said.
“I saw his badge. And I’ve seen enough badges and cops to know when I see the real thing. He was a cop.”
“And his name was Jim?” Julia repeated.
“Yes.”
Novak opened his notes and scrolled through the pages. “Do you have s
urveillance footage from Monday night?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He turned a page. “I have Lana’s last credit card visit here on Monday night at ten p.m. Can I see it now?”
“Sure. Come on in the back.”
Novak followed him into an office. He opened a cabinet where the surveillance equipment was stored. The bar owner punched a few buttons on the computer and selected the 10:00 p.m. time stamp. In the far left corner of the image sat Lana at the bar.
“Can you back it up?” Novak asked.
“I have a thirty-day storage backup, so I can make you a copy of all the nights she was here if that will help.”
“That would be great.”
“Give me a second.”
Fifteen minutes later, Novak had digital footage covering seven separate nights.
“I found your guy,” the bar manager said. He selected a Thursday night and hit “Forward” to the spot where Lana sat at the bar. She was laughing with another woman, a martini glass raised to her red lips. Blond hair was teased high and fell over her bare back in a cascade of curls. The woman beside Lana, a dark, smoky brunette, wore her hair loose around her shoulders. Her black dress plunged deep in the back.
“Do you know the woman Lana is talking to?” Novak asked.
Julia leaned in and studied the image, frowning but silent.
“I do remember her. Set of tits that every guy in the bar noticed. She called herself Bonnie. Those two acted like old friends and were pretty wasted.”
Novak watched the video feed of a man approaching the bar and sitting to the right of Lana. His back was to the camera.
“That’s your man,” the bar manager said, tapping the screen.
Novak watched as the man ordered a mixed drink and within a few minutes was talking to Lana. She grinned at him. Bonnie was also engaged in the conversation. The man was careful to keep his face turned from the camera so that it never captured a good view.
“Have any idea what they were talking about?” Novak asked.
“No. I was slammed with customers, but I could see all three of them were having a good time. They ended up leaving together. I figured the ladies had set up some kind of date with him.”
“Do you have credit card information on Bonnie?”