by Terri Reed
“Was each victim found in a hotel room?”
“Yes. These two women.” She touched two photographs. One of a pretty brunette in her midtwenties and the other of a striking African-American woman in her thirties. “They were at airport bars but didn’t have hotel rooms registered in their names at the hotels they were found in.”
Sami tapped the brunette’s picture. “Melissa Duncan worked as a flight attendant for an airline. She was last seen in a Boston airport bar having a club soda between flights. When she didn’t show up for her shift, the airline contacted the authorities.
“The airport was searched, but she was nowhere to be seen. No one remembers seeing her leave. The airport security video showed her having a drink, then using the women’s restroom. But she never came out. Or if she did, the camera missed her exit.
“Her body was found five days later in a hotel room in DC that was registered to—” Sami walked down the line of photos and stopped “—Carol Crosby. Who in turn was discovered two weeks later in a cabin on the outskirts of Tulsa.”
“The perp kidnapped Carol Crosby from her hotel and somehow transported her across the country to Oklahoma. That’s risky.”
“I’m not sure where he abducted Carol from. It could have been the hotel or a nearby location. However, the cabin was a vacation rental that had been rented to Maureen Forbes.” She pointed to the photo of a sixty-year-old woman with graying hair. “She was found in a motel in Dayton, Ohio, before Carol’s body was discovered.”
Drew’s gaze darted back to the map. How had the perp moved so easily and so quickly between points?
“Eight deaths that I can confirm as Birdman’s because of the bird symbol left at the crime scenes. Or rather nine now with the one in Phoenix. And if there is a murder victim in California who turns out to be his handiwork, then ten.”
The scope of the madness boggled his mind.
She moved to stand in front of a photo of a smiling blonde woman. She touched the photo. “Lisa’s body was found in a hotel in Chicago. She was supposed to be in Boston. But the last time anyone saw her was in a restaurant at the Portland airport eating a bagel.
“She didn’t board her plane. She didn’t board any plane that I can find a record of. Yet somehow she got from Portland to Chicago in a shorter amount of time than it would take someone to drive her there.”
“What a strange and twisted puzzle.” And he could see how she had become obsessed with finding the killer. But he didn’t think it was healthy for her to be surrounded by the constant reminders of her friend’s murder. “Does your boss know what you’re doing? How much time and energy you’ve put into this?”
“Yes.”
“And when this case ends?” Drew asked. “Then what will you do to occupy your time?”
She gave him a sharp glance. “I can’t think that far ahead. I need to stay focused on the here and now.”
Hence why she had no time for romance, as she’d stated earlier. “Your family must worry about you.”
“Yes, they worry. I don’t think my dad would have taught me self-defense if he’d known I’d go into law enforcement. But I think my path was inevitable.” She walked into the kitchen.
He followed. The kitchen was narrow, with the sink and cupboards along the outside wall, while the big appliances were squished into the corner. “What do you mean?”
She washed her hands at the sink. “When I was eight, my mother and I were held hostage during a bank robbery.” As she spoke, she made a salad—ripping lettuce leaves, chopping carrots, crumbling feta cheese, tossing it all with a vinaigrette dressing. Her hands were steady, her movements economical. “One of the robbers grabbed me, using me as shield when the police arrived.”
He leaned against the counter. He couldn’t believe how calm she sounded. Only the slight pursing of her lips tipped him off that she wasn’t as detached as she wanted him to believe. His heart ached with the thought of how young she’d been and what could have happened. “That must have been terrifying.”
“It was. The stuff of nightmares.” She retrieved two small plates. “Can you get two forks out of that drawer?” She gestured to the drawer he blocked.
He grabbed the forks. “That experience prompted you to join the FBI?”
“That and my father teaching me how to shoot.” She smiled with obvious affection for her father. “He was a proficient marksman during his army days. In college I studied criminal justice. I was thinking more along the lines of judge than agent, except the thought of law school didn’t appeal. So I applied to the academy and was accepted.”
“I’m sure he’s proud of you.” He dug into the salad with relish. The dressing was mild and tasty, the lettuce fresh and the cheese salty on his tongue.
After a few moments of silence, she pointed her fork at him. “Tell me about your mother.”
He nearly choked on the bite of food in his mouth. He swallowed. Centering himself, he said, “She left my dad and me when I was twelve.”
Empathy tinged her blue eyes. “That’s rough.”
“Yes, well, we did okay.”
“Do you talk to her?”
“Occasionally she’ll call. But for the most part, no. She walked out on us. There hasn’t been much to say.”
Sami leveled him with a pointed look. “She’s your mother. Give her some grace.”
He huffed out a frustrated breath. “Easier said than done.”
“You haven’t forgiven her.”
His gaze dropped to the remains of his salad. “I try. I’ve prayed but when I think of the way she destroyed our family, all I feel is anger.”
Sami curled her fingers over his. Her touch was soft and warm and made tenderness swell within his heart.
“I feel the same about Lisa’s death. I don’t want to blame God but I get so angry—” She licked her lips.
The need to lean toward her and kiss her punched him in the gut like a physical blow. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I guess we both need to figure out how to forgive and let go.”
She nodded.
Sami’s cell phone rang. She pulled her hand away to fish the device out of her pants pocket. “Agent Bennett.”
Her face paled as she listened. “Did you find anything at the scene that seemed out of place?”
“A matchbook,” she said, clearly repeating what she’d been told. “Was anything written on it?” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “I see. I’d like a copy of the police file sent to the FBI office in Portland, Oregon.” She gave the caller a fax number.
She hung up. “They did find another victim at the hotel in California. Female. Strangled with a pair of nylons. The body was defaced like the others, this time with what they believe to be an ice pick. The medical examiner estimates she’s been dead for at least forty-eight hours.”
Drew’s heart sank.
“The matchbook found at the scene was from a hotel in Victoria, BC. The Grand Hotel. A yellow bird was stamped on the inside cover with the number twenty-three.”
Fury burned in his gut. The killer was leading them back across the international border. “I’ll call the Victoria PD.”
“I need to go there now.” Sami moved past him.
He caught her by the elbow. The feral, almost haunted look in her eyes worried him. “It will take us too long to get there. If Birdman is there, our best option is to send in the local police. They can roll within minutes.”
“I hate not doing anything,” she said. “He’s out there killing and taunting me because I’m the one who noticed the murders were connected. What possible motive does he have for murdering these women? For killing Lisa, who was the sweetest, most caring person I’ve ever known?”
Sympathy stirred tenderness in him. “We won’t know until we catch him. We have to have faith that we will.”
Her lips twisted with doubt and she shook off his hand. “Easier said than done.” She repeated his words back to him.
Allowing her space, he took out h
is cell phone and called the Victoria Police Department to explain the situation. He requested that officers be sent to the hotel as quickly as possible.
“They’ll call back,” he assured Sami after he hung up.
She nodded. “I have to be missing something.” She walked into the dining room. “There has to be a clue here that I’ve overlooked.”
This was taking a toll on her, eating away at her. He doubted she’d overlooked anything but he’d give everything a second glance. “Do you have the autopsy reports for each victim?”
Glancing at him, she shook her head. “I don’t have copies but I have spoken to each medical examiner.”
“I’m just wondering if any of the women had defensive wounds.”
Sami sighed. “I’d thought of that, too. Especially with Lisa. She was a fighter. But there was no bruising on her hands to indicate she’d fought back. No DNA under her fingernails.”
“Tox screens?”
“He used chloroform. The medical examiner believes our unidentified subject makes his own batch to use for drugging his victims because the ratio between chemicals has been inconsistent. Apparently, chloroform can be made with bleach and alcohol. So not only does it knock the victim out, the mixture burns the skin and membranes of the nose. Not that our killer cares. He then somehow transported them to the kill spot.”
Drew turned to the map again. “What do all the cities have in common?”
Sami joined him. “Highways. Airports. Tourist trade. Hotels.”
“Okay,” he said. “Who would most likely travel easily through these cities?”
“Business travelers,” Sami said.
“But would a business traveler have the means to transport an unconscious woman from place to place?”
“Hmm. How about truck drivers? We see a lot of illegal immigrants coming across the southern border trapped inside cargo trucks.”
“True. But the timing wouldn’t work. Right? A truck is a slow way to go. He needs to move his victims from point A to point B rapidly.”
“He found several of his victims at airports,” she started to say.
He swiped a hand through his hair. “Our unidentified subject could work at an airport, say as a baggage handler. He targets a victim, renders them unconscious and somehow puts them in the cargo area of a plane. Then someone on the other end receives the victim?”
Sami shook her head. “That would mean there was a team of murdering baggage handlers working together. I don’t buy that.”
“Yeah, that’s a bit far-fetched.”
The landline rang. Sami went into the kitchen to answer the call. “Hello?”
“There’s a surprise for you in your bedroom,” the breathy voice whispered in her ear.
A shudder of fear worked over her flesh. “Who is this?”
The line went dead. Sami dropped the phone and swallowed back the panic clawing its way up her throat.
Drew stood in the doorway. “Sami?”
She reached for her weapon. “The killer. He said there’s a surprise for me upstairs.”
Unholstering his sidearm, he beckoned her to him. She nodded with grim determination. Together they made their way up the narrow stairwell leading to the second floor of her little home. The sense of violation crowding her chest unleashed rage that heated her skin. At the top of the landing, she motioned toward the right and led the way to her bedroom, grateful to not be alone.
Sun poured in through the overhead skylights. Her dresser and nightstand were undisturbed. But the rose-colored wall behind her bed had been defaced with a crudely drawn bird, the same bird that Birdman left as his signature. The red paint—blood?—dripped down the wall.
Her gaze fell to her pillow.
An ear.
She spun away. The irony of the offending gift he’d left on her bed was clear. Birdman had been listening.
Was he still in the house?
She dropped to the floor and checked under the bed while Drew opened the closet. Nothing.
There were two more rooms on this floor. The bath and the guest room.
Leading with her gun, she made her way out of her bedroom. At the bathroom she took a position on one side of the door while Drew took a position on the other. She pushed open the door and reached in to flip on the light switch. Drew entered, checked the shower and returned a second later to mouth, Clear.
She nodded and pointed. The door to the guest room was ajar. With two fingers she gestured for Drew to take a position on the right side of the door, while she took the left. He toed the door open all the way. They entered but the room was empty.
“He was here,” she ground out in a harsh whisper. “Could he still be?”
Drew stared down the stairwell. He didn’t have to answer; she could read his expression. Her stomach churned. While they’d been in her room, had Birdman slipped downstairs? Was he waiting to pick them off as they descended? Or was he long gone and they were chasing their own fear?
Her instincts clamored for caution. With Birdman anything was possible.
Drew moved first, slowly going down the staircase with his gun ready. Sami followed suit. At the bottom of the stairs, they peeled off. She went toward the kitchen, while he moved into the living room.
She opened the pantry. No one lurked among her dry goods. The back door was closed but the lock wasn’t engaged. She opened the door and went out to her small backyard. Her patio furniture appeared undisturbed. She checked both sides of the house and came up empty. She went back inside.
“Clear,” she called out as she made her way to Drew.
“Clear,” Drew repeated.
They met at the bottom of the stairs.
“He probably was long gone before we arrived,” Drew said. “Do you have an evidence bag?”
She took a bag from her pocket. “Will you…?”
He nodded and took the bag.
Grateful to not have to deal with the “surprise,” she said, “Thank you.”
While Drew went back upstairs, she used her cell phone to call the FBI field office in Portland.
Keeping her nerves at bay by sheer will, she filled her boss in.
“A forensic team will be there shortly. And we’ll see if we can trace where the call to your house phone came from,” Special Agent in Charge Rob Granger said. “I want you to come in where we can protect you. It’s time to make this an official case.”
It would take time they didn’t have to assemble a task force now. She had a more pressing issue that needed immediate action. “Sir, I’m working with Inspector Kelley from the RCMP.” She moved into the living room. “I’m requesting permission to officially accompany him to Victoria, BC, where I believe the next murder victim will be found.”
Her gaze fell on a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the coffee table. She hadn’t noticed it when they’d arrived. She bent to inspect the parcel and froze.
A tiny yellow bird had been stamped in the right-hand corner.
The hand holding the phone to her ear dropped to her side as various scenarios shuffled through her mind. The box could hold another body part. Or another clue. Or…a bomb.
The last thought caught and held. She backed away from the coffee table toward the front door. “Drew! Hurry! We need to leave now!”
His footsteps thundered down the stairs. “What’s happening?”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him out the front door just as there was an explosion.
And her house went up in flames.
SIX
The world exploded in a cacophony of deafening noise, flying debris and flames. Heart slamming against his ribs and alarm flooding his veins, Drew grabbed Sami in a bear hug to shield her from the worst of the blast and dived for the lawn.
They landed with a jarring thud. Her yelp echoed inside his head. Heat from the explosion battered his back. Something sharp jabbed into his torso. He winced and sucked in a shocked breath. Smoke burned his lungs. He coughed, ducking his head close
r to the ground for fresher air.
With his ears ringing, it took a moment for him to realize the shrill sound he heard was actually emergency vehicles. No doubt the neighbors were bombarding 911 with calls.
Slowly, he eased off Sami and felt a stinging sensation in his back, but his focus was on her. She lay unmoving on the ground. Blood matted her blond hair near her temple, and her eyes were closed. A whisper of panic sounded in his mind along with an unspoken prayer. Please, God, let her be okay.
He checked her pulse. Strong.
A measure of relief allowed him to push aside his panic to assess her injuries. She appeared unburned, and he saw no shrapnel piercing her body. Gently, he brushed aside a clump of hair to reveal a gash on her scalp near her hairline.
“Sami?” He gave her a slight nudge.
Her eyes popped open. She blinked, her gaze clearing. Then she scrambled to a sitting position.
“Whoa, slow down,” he advised. “Take it easy. You hit your head.”
She reached up to finger the gash and winced. “What happened?”
“Your house exploded.”
With a pained groan, she turned to stare at the flaming remains of her little house. “There was a package on the coffee table.” Her voice quivered. “It had a drawing of the bird.”
Drew rocked back on his heels. “I don’t recall seeing a package when I went into the living room.”
Which meant Birdman had been in the house when they arrived. He’d left the package when they’d gone upstairs after his phone call. Was the explosive on a timer or remotely activated? Could the killer be watching them now?
Drew scanned the area. Police were already on scene. Two hustled toward them while others blocked off the area with tape and barriers. The sidewalks were crowded with the curious. Homeowners? he wondered. People on foot from the more traveled streets surrounding the block wanting to see what happened? It wasn’t every day a house exploded in such a quiet urban neighborhood.
Could one of the many faces staring at them be the man Sami dubbed Birdman?
The first cop to reach them asked, “Are you hurt?”
Pointing to Sami’s bleeding head, Drew said, “We’ll need paramedics.”