When things get personal, that’s when everything goes sideways…
It was why Paige was in this mess to start with. If agents let their actions become personal, motivated by emotion, things always went wrong. Emotions needed to be compartmentalized. It’s why he had succeeded in his career, first as a soldier and now as a supervisory special agent. While emotions were intrinsic to the human race, he had yet to figure out their true purpose. From his standpoint, all they caused was friction, from the slightest disagreement to world wars.
Jack clenched his jaw. He hated to think that Paige had spent the night behind bars, but there wasn’t anything he could have done about that. If she had acted more logically, she would have called the police when Hall didn’t answer the door. Heck, she wouldn’t have been at his house in the first place if logic had been guiding her.
She was supposed to be on vacation. When the hell had the line between relaxation and work become so blurred for her?
But whether he liked to admit it or not, he had a soft spot for Paige. Ridiculous, really. And it had nothing to do with the fact that she was in a career heavily dominated by men or that she was the only female field agent on his team. He’d had women report to him before, but he never had a bond with any of them like he did with Paige. And there was no way in hell he’d let her go to prison for a murder she didn’t commit. Spending a little time in a cell to learn a lesson, though? Well, he didn’t really have much choice but to allow it at this point.
And he’d dragged his entire team into this with him, all the way to California. To make matters worse, he may have exaggerated things to the FBI director to make him believe there was a solid reason to think the murder was the work of a serial killer. In fact, at the time, he didn’t know of any other victims besides Hall. Maybe Jack had even acted out of emotion this time…
He stepped into the coroner’s office and was given directions to the morgue. The door swung wide as he pushed his way through.
“What have we got?” He didn’t care about greetings and introductions. It was time to get to the point. And to get this over with. The longer the case was focused on Paige, the longer the real killer was free.
“Wow, Agent Harper. All business this morning, I see,” Grafton said. He was standing with Detective Mendez next to the gurney. On the other side of the gurney was a gray-haired man with round spectacles perched on his nose. They gave him a comical appearance and reminded Jack of Geppetto from Pinocchio.
Geppetto stepped closer to Jack, his hand extended.
Jack stared at the man’s hand for a moment before taking it.
“FBI Special Agent Harper,” the coroner spoke on Jack’s behalf, not bothering to give his own name.
Jack took his hand back and pointed to the body of Ferris Hall lying on the gurney. “The autopsy?”
Death had turned his skin bluish, except for the deep maroon that stained his pubic region, and decomposition had made his abdomen swell. His eyes were milky and open.
“Those feds are all business,” Geppetto borrowed from Grafton’s earlier words and went back to the gurney, seemingly undeterred by Jack’s disinterest in establishing any sort of professional comradery. The man even had a bounce to his steps. He was too happy considering he worked with the dead.
The autopsy would start with the external examination and then proceed to the internal. Each step and its findings would be cataloged in detail along the way. Most medical examiners and coroners Jack encountered recorded themselves as they worked through the process, and then they—or their administrative staff—typed it up afterward.
Jack would be staying for as long as it took to get solid answers. If that required him to stay for the entire autopsy, so be it.
“I’ve already conducted the external, and we have some forensic findings,” Geppetto began. “The victim was alive when the killer…uh…um…sliced and diced.” He shoved his glasses up his nose with the back of his thumb.
“And?” Jack pressed.
“You must be used to so much worse working with the FBI,” the coroner said.
“Back to the evidence, please.” Jack’s tone carried impatience. “What about the urine? Was the killer’s sex determined? Was a full panel run on it looking for drugs, DNA?”
“DNA?” Grafton shifted his stance and put his hands in his pockets. “That’s not typically in urine.”
Geppetto raised a hand, his index finger pointing up. “If there are any epithelial cells in the urine, it indicates poor health.”
Jack stared at the coroner. “So were the tests run?” It was a full-time job just keeping this guy on track.
“Not for DNA, but they can be.”
Jack nodded. “Have it done.”
The coroner nodded. “Now, the victim was bound with handcuffs.” He lifted one wrist, then the other, noting the bruising. “The presence of the contusions show that he was alive and fighting.”
“Was he drugged at all?”
“The tox panel is still in progress. As you know, they take a bit of time. Well, maybe not for the FBI.” Geppetto paused in some sort of reverent admiration.
Jack pointed to the body. “What else?”
“Lipstick marks were found on his face, around his mouth. It matches the tube that was found on scene. No DNA to pull, though.”
Of course there isn’t…
Geppetto walked a few steps. “There was irritation to the victim’s face. No blood, but hairs were pulled with good force. A residue was left behind, and it’s tested positive for duct tape adhesive.”
Just like Malone…
Sex of the killer aside, Malone’s and Hall’s murders had too many similarities to not be connected. They were killed within a twenty-minute driving distance of each other. They were each found with a Rohypnol pill on their abdomen, and both men were bound and duct-taped, urinated on, mutilated, and left to bleed out.
“Did Ferris Hall have HIV?” Jack asked. The three men looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.
Grafton cocked his head to the side. “Why?”
“Please just answer the question,” Jack said to Geppetto.
“A blood test wasn’t done to confirm that, but again, we can do one.”
“Why?” Grafton repeated.
“I’ll let you in on something,” Jack said. “I don’t think you’re looking at an isolated incident here.”
“Then what exactly are we looking at, Mr. FBI?” Grafton taunted.
Jack disregarded the obvious disrespect. “We have reason to believe that whoever killed Hall has killed before.”
“A serial killer?”
“Based on the MO and the level of violence, I’d say yes.” He wasn’t going to mention that they didn’t have a third body yet.
Grafton smirked knowingly, as if he’d read Jack’s mind. “But you don’t know for sure.”
Jack let things remain quiet, then added in a calm voice, “Are you willing to take the chance that one is roaming your jurisdiction?”
Grafton let out a deep breath. “If I agree to release her—”
“I’ll vouch for her.” Jack stepped toward the coroner and handed him Nadia’s card. “Forward a copy of the final autopsy results and all the forensic evidence to this woman.” Then Jack strode toward the door, addressing Grafton over his shoulder. “You coming? You need to release Paige and let my team into Hall’s house.”
-
Chapter 18
WHILE JACK WAS AT THE AUTOPSY, Zach, Sam, and I were headed to talk to Tyler Abbott, one of Malone’s friends. Jack figured it was best that we find out as much about Malone’s lifestyle as possible. We also needed to strengthen the connection between his murder and Hall’s. Conveniently for us, Abbott lived in Valencia and we had called ahead to make sure he was home and expecting us.
“How do you think he’s making out?” Sam seemed nervous, almost jumpy. I knew that by he, Sam meant Jack and the autopsy.
“I’m sure he’s getting some answers,” I said.
“That would be a welcome thing.”
I looked back at him. “We’re doing everything we can.”
His jaw clenched, and he looked out the window.
I got the distinct impression his mood had nothing to do with us and what we were or were not doing, but rather that Paige was mixed up in this mess to start with. The fact that she left him two nights ago had to be bothering him, too. I know that it would me.
Zach pulled into the lot for the five-story apartment listed as Abbott’s address.
Sam followed me and Zach into the building, and he struck me more as a useless appendage that needed to be cut off. He was here in body, but his mind seemed distant.
“Just remember, be quiet in there,” I said to Sam as I knocked.
“Yep, sure. Quiet as a mouse.”
Abbott opened his apartment door without a word, stepped aside, and gestured for us to enter. He had long, wavy hair and full facial hair and resembled many depictions of Jesus.
“I’m Agent Miles with the FBI, and this is”—Zach gestured to me—“Agent Fisher.”
“Yes, I know who you are.” Abbott’s eyes drifted to Sam. He must not have been made aware that three people would be coming to see him.
“Detective Barber,” Sam offered, obviously catching the question enclosed in Abbott’s gaze.
So much for the man keeping quiet.
“You wanted to talk about Kyle?” Abbott asked, his eyes on me.
“We do. Do you have someplace we can sit?” I took the time now to look around his apartment. It was compact but tidy and organized. The way the surfaces shone, I would guess the place would pass a white-glove test. There were glass jars, incense, and a large golden Buddha in the one corner of the main sitting room.
“Sure. This way.” Abbott talked so slowly it was as if he was in no rush at all, and he seemed to float across the floor. He took us closer to the Buddha, where there was a sofa and a couple of chairs. There was no television in the room.
“TV is a distraction for the mind, from one’s true self. I prefer to read or meditate.” Abbott must have picked up on the way I was taking in the room, but with the chills racing down my spine, I wondered if he’d actually read my mind. He smiled and gestured to a chair. “Please, sit.”
I sat where he’d suggested, and Zach and Sam sat down, as well, but on the couch. Abbott remained standing.
“What is it you would like to know about my friend?” His phrasing almost seemed to indicate he believed Malone was still alive.
Zach looked at me to lead the questioning, and Abbott looked from Zach to me, following Zach’s gaze.
“We’d like to know a little more about what he was like,” I started.
“Is the FBI looking into his death?”
“You could say that.” I watched him, wondering what would make him say that when it seemed obvious by our visit here.
“He met with a violent end.” Abbott’s voice was still calm, but he was shaking his head now. “But what one puts out does come back to them.”
“So you believe he was violently murdered because of karma?”
“I believe that our actions have consequences,” he corrected.
“Interesting standpoint coming from a friend.” I assessed his eyes, but it was like peering into glass: nothing to see but a reflection.
“Please don’t misunderstand me. I was lost for some time after his passing. But I have come to a new way of thinking. I have become awakened, you could say.”
“Well, in your awakened state, what did he do to deserve such severe consequences?” I wasn’t buying into the becoming-awakened thing, but the guy was certainly different from most people.
Abbott’s eyes seemed to return to normal, and again the shivers shot through my back. It was almost as if the man who had been with us up until now was someone else entirely. Possessed? Creepy, regardless, and I couldn’t wait to get out of this guy’s apartment.
Abbott took a seat in the chair next to the Buddha and steepled his hands in his lap, the tips of his fingers pointing toward the middle of the room. “Kyle did things I was never proud of. He took liberties with people he shouldn’t have.”
“If you didn’t agree with the way he lived, why were you his friend?” Sam asked.
I turned to face him. What part of being quiet didn’t he understand?
Abbott looked at me, as if he wondered if he should respond to Sam, but I nodded for him to do so. It was going to be my next question anyhow.
“He was a lost soul. He’d always liked men, no matter what his parents wanted.”
So Malone was homosexual. But Hall, from what we knew, was heterosexual. So what connected them? What about them attracted the same killer? It was a glaring—and irritating—question that needed an answer. And one we had to get sooner rather than later.
Zach and I made brief eye contact.
“They were religious?” I asked Abbott, making an assumption.
“Not really, but they cared about other people’s opinions way too much. I think it was because of them that Kyle went above and beyond.”
“How did he do that?”
“His lavish lifestyle, his many lovers. His parents had money, and Kyle was used to that. When they cut him off, he did whatever it took to make money, including prostituting himself.”
Abbott’s words sank in my gut. This opened up a lot of potential motives for his murder. Maybe someone didn’t want to pay for services rendered, and the situation got violent. Maybe the killer wasn’t so much retaliating for rape but rather perpetrating a hate crime.
I nodded to make him think he’d given us info we already had. “We know he had HIV.”
“Yeah.” Abbott answered. “The way he lived caught up to him in a big way. First, the disease. Then, his murder.”
“Did you tell all this to the police when they talked to you the first time?” There wasn’t anything in the record mentioning that Malone was gay, that he slept around, or that he prostituted himself. If there had been, we wouldn’t even have needed to come here.
“I didn’t.” Abbott shied away from my gaze.
“And why not? It could have led to his killer.”
“I was in a different place then. Usually, I was high as hell. When I found out about Kyle, I didn’t sleep for days from being strung out. I didn’t want to accept that he was gone.”
“Why not come forward once you became awakened?” I didn’t mean to mock him, but it had just slipped out.
He narrowed his gaze at me. “I thought about it, but after all these years? I mean, who was going to believe me? Besides, I really don’t think any of his customers did this to him.”
“How would you know?”
“Oh, I don’t know, but with everything that was done to him…” Abbott paused, emotion showing in his eyes for the first time since we’d been here. “And he didn’t have a pimp or anything. Kyle managed himself.”
“Why do you think it wasn’t a customer?” We needed more, as based on the information presented, I had no reason to conclude a customer wasn’t involved.
“I think it was someone he took liberties with. You remember me saying he took liberties? Well, I meant with people’s space.” Abbott opened his arms to encircle himself. “With their bodies.”<
br />
“So he raped people?”
“I don’t like to speak ill of my friend.” Abbott fell quiet and looked around the room. “He might even be here now.” Abbott closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. “Yes, yes, I feel him.” His eyes shot open, and he was grinning as though he had won the lottery.
Yep… Get me out of this place now!
“Did he rape anyone that you know of?” I repeated and added, “Did he use date-rape drugs?”
“I’m pretty sure he did rape people. I don’t know about the drugs.” Abbott’s eyes glazed over the way they had been when we’d first arrived here. “Yes, he did rape people, but he’s sorry for that.”
“Does he know who killed him?” Sam spat out.
Seriously? He was buying this? I shot him a glare that I was surprised didn’t light the couch on fire.
Abbott looked at Sam and shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”
That’s because it—whatever it is—doesn’t work. Talking to the dead? Really? It’s not like I’ve never heard tell of it. You could just say I wasn’t a believer.
I slapped my hands against my thighs and stood up. “All right, I think we have all we need for now.”
Abbott looked pulled out of his thoughts, his expression contorted, his eyes muddled with various emotions all at once.
“Thank you for your help.” I headed for the door at regular walking speed but would have happily run the hell out of there.
Zach and Sam followed me, and we met up in the hall. But there was no way I was hanging outside this man’s apartment. For one, it still wasn’t far enough away from him. And two, Abbott or anyone else didn’t need to overhear our conversation.
[Brandon Fisher FBI 05.0] Violated Page 9