[Brandon Fisher FBI 05.0] Violated

by Carolyn Arnold

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  Chapter 33

  I DIDN’T SLEEP WELL AT ALL, but it was kind of hard to after the conversation—confrontation?—I’d had with Paige. I was struggling enough with why she had contacted me instead of Sam without her bringing up the subject. But we had a job to do, and I was going to see it through.

  I focused on last night’s group discussion. It had led to the conclusion that the killer’s motivation started with a rough childhood full of sexual confusion, only amplified by rape and a sexually transmitted disease.

  I was about to head down to the lobby when there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Jack and glanced to the clock.

  5:30.

  I was really ahead of schedule today. We weren’t supposed to meet in the lobby until six thirty. So why was he here?

  He eyed my outfit and met my gaze, seemingly surprised to find me already dressed for the day. “There’s been another murder.”

  Another murder? Just the way he’d said it, this wasn’t a case Nadia had found in a search. This was a fresh homicide.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” he said. “The victim is Clive Simpson.”

  “Simpson?” I hadn’t seen that coming. Was the unsub feeling threatened by us? Simpson’s murder could be confirmation that we were getting too close for her comfort.

  I stepped into the hall and closed my door. “How did you find—”

  “Detective Grafton called me about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Why did he call you?”

  Jack made eye contact with me. “He knew we were talking to Simpson yesterday.”

  “How did he— He was following us?”

  “He was, but he’s aware of the DNA match between Hall’s and Malone’s cases now,” Jack said.

  “Then he knows Paige didn’t kill Hall,” I stated the obvious as we loaded onto the elevator.

  “The crime scene is still being processed,” Jack went on. “Simpson’s body hasn’t even been removed yet.”

  “Where was he found?” I asked.

  “His house.”

  Like Malone.

  I swallowed a mouthful of pasty saliva. “Was his—”

  “Yep.”

  I was going to be sick. It was one thing seeing the photographs, but it would be another to witness the mutilation literally in the flesh. I’d have to pare it down to a black-and-white focus on the facts. “Who found him? The sun’s just come up.”

  “It was called in at about four thirty this morning, and—”

  The car dinged its arrival to the lobby.

  Paige and Zach were facing the elevators and standing only about ten feet back from the doors. Paige’s gaze darted around, looking at everything but me.

  “Let’s go.” Jack pointed toward the hotel exit and headed toward it. We stepped in line with him.

  As we walked, I realized I still didn’t know who found Simpson. I’d have to ask again on the way there. I also didn’t want to point out what Jack had likely already realized: Grafton waited a half hour before calling in Simpson’s murder to Jack.

  Jack had us take both rental cars because, as he had said, “Who knows where this day is going?”

  That statement could pretty much sum up my existence since I’d joined the FBI.

  SIMPSON’S HOUSE WASN’T FAR from his bar, but it was still a drive. It was likely our unsub had transportation of her own to be able to follow him to his house. Of course, it was possible she’d looked up Simpson’s address and took public transit there.

  Jack had filled me in on the details of the murder as he drove. Clive Simpson was found by his girlfriend, a woman in her late forties. According to her, it wasn’t unusual for her to show up in the wee hours for a booty call before her shift at Walmart. Apparently age had no bearing on the use of that terminology, which I thought better suited twentysomethings.

  Police cruisers cordoned off the street, and people were turned away if they tried to enter unless they were residents. Jack and I were cleared to continue by a young officer who looked like he was barely old enough to shave. Crime scene tape had been tied to stakes along the front of the property and was fanning in a breeze. A forensics van was parked at the curb, along with one for the coroner.

  We showed our credentials to an officer stationed at the edge of Simpson’s property, and he permitted us access. We had just stepped past the tape when Grafton opened the front door.

  “I’ve got people over at the bar, too, so we’ll see if that can provide any leads,” Grafton said, getting right down to business.

  “This case is the FBI’s,” Jack stated.

  “Uh, yeah, I know, but—”

  “That means we’re in charge.”

  Grafton’s cheeks went red, and he nodded. “Just tryin’ to help.”

  Paige and Zach pulled up then and parked behind our rental.

  Grafton’s gaze slid behind me, and I assumed he was looking at Paige. There even seemed to be something apologetic in his eyes.

  “What are your initial thoughts?” I asked Grafton, trying to take his focus off Paige.

  “Where is he?” Jack demanded, sidestepping my question. He took the lead through the front door.

  “His bedroom. It’s up the stairs and to the right.” Grafton followed directly behind Jack; Zach, Paige, and I took up the rear.

  What we gathered about our unsub so far was that she contemplated her actions before carrying them out. As a result, I’d wager that our unsub was already in the house when Simpson got home.

  “Were there signs of a break in?” I asked Grafton.

  He nodded. “The back door. But whoever did this knew what they were doing. There was only a faint indication—a little paint scraped from the doorframe and small scratches on the brass lock.”

  “Make sure to swab for trace. Have you talked to the neighbors yet?”

  Why am I the only one asking questions?

  “Officers are canvassing now. Simpson’s closest neighbors were asleep at the time and don’t recall hearing anything suspicious.”

  I would ask if Simpson had been drugged, but it was too soon to tell. Besides, if the killer had adhered to her regular MO, Simpson would have been conscious when she’d attacked him. “Is the back entrance secluded?”

  “Yeah. Simpson has a six-foot privacy fence around the backyard.”

  I nodded, stepping onto the upstairs landing. The smell of death washed over me now. Simpson hadn’t had much time to decompose, but he would’ve lost control of his bowels when he died. In addition to the stench of shit was the metallic smell of blood. I mentally prepared myself as I stepped through the doorway into Simpson’s bedroom.

  The coroner—a gray-haired man with round glasses—was working over the body and paused to acknowledge Jack with a bob of his head. The investigators around him were snapping shots of the scene. But my attention wasn’t really on them. It was on Simpson.

  He was naked on the bed. Excrement stained the sheets. Blood was everywhere. Like Malone and Hall, his genitals were mutilated and his penis severed. A pill sat on his abdomen alongside the word GUILTY, which had been written in blood. Also unlike the previous two cases, Simpson’s femoral artery was slit.

  Bile hurtled up my throat. It took all my willpower not to expel it. The smell was overwhelming, but there was no way I could leave. Paige and Zach were behind me and Jack was right there, too. It was bad enough that I had vomited at a crime scene in the past. The last thing I needed was to be responsible for contaminating this crime scene.

  I briefly closed my eyes before taking in Simpson. Again, a wave of nausea swept over me.

  “Was Simpson urinated on?” Jack asked Grafton.

  “No.”

  Jack tapped the pocket that held his cigarettes. “Did you look at Simps
on’s background?”

  “Yeah, no record.”

  I swallowed and tried to center myself.

  Focus on the facts…

  I turned away from the body. “We should speak to the girlfriend and see what she has to say about Simpson. Malone didn’t have any assaults on his record, either, but apparently that didn’t mean anything.”

  Zach nodded. “Our unsub knows more about her victims’ lives than any database.”

  “We were able to talk to the girlfriend a bit before she was hauled off in an ambulance.” Grafton paused, looking around at us. “When we first arrived on scene, she was passed out in the hallway. It turns out she can’t stand the sight of blood,” he explained. “She swears Simpson was an upstanding guy and said she can’t think of any reason why someone would do this. As for Simpson’s records, all I really got was that he owned and operated Wild Horse for the past six years. There wasn’t even a mark on the company’s records. He operates in the black, and his personal credit is clean.”

  “Time of death?” Jack asked.

  The coroner, who hadn’t really paid us much attention so far, turned to us now. “Based on liver temp, I’m placing death between two and four this morning.”

  “So he wasn’t dead long before his girlfriend found him,” I said, stating the obvious. “He would have just closed up the bar and come home. The unsub likely was already inside the house waiting for him.”

  Grafton turned toward the four of us, gesturing us to the hallway. “What are you guys thinking?”

  “You’re aware that Hall and Malone were connected,” Jack said. “But you might not know that it’s Simpson who connects them.”

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  Chapter 34

  GRAFTON ANGLED HIS HEAD AT what Jack had said about Simpson connecting Malone and Hall. “How’s that?” he asked.

  Jack told him both Malone and Hall were customers of Simpson’s and that he saw a woman with long, dark, curly hair around both men. I was surprised by how much Jack was sharing, as he usually withheld more.

  “So you’re thinking it was a woman?” Grafton slipped a glance to Paige. “But that doesn’t fit with—”

  “The unsub we’re looking for has an intersex condition,” Zach explained. “Physically, this person is both male and female but identifies more with the female gender. She has the full-developed parts of a man, but inside, she feels like a woman. So for all intents and purposes, our unsub is female.”

  Grafton’s mouth was slightly agape.

  “We think that she was raped,” Zach said.

  “You believe that Malone was his…er, her first murder?” Grafton asked while facing Zach.

  “It seems likely.”

  Grafton’s phone rang, and he stepped down the hall to take the call.

  “Assuming this is the same killer—” Zach began.

  “Assuming?” I interrupted. “It seems quite clear.”

  The team turned to me, and I had to explain myself. While there were clear differences, it had to be the same killer. “Well, it seems obvious, doesn’t it? The mutilation of his genitalia, the pill on the abdomen, the severed penis. Then there’s the woman who keeps popping up. It’s possible our unsub knew that we spoke to Simpson.” I turned to Jack. “I didn’t see anyone following us, though, and the bar was empty when we were there.”

  Yet, we didn’t see Grafton, either…

  “Simpson was on her hit list regardless of our involvement,” Jack said.

  “There wasn’t much time between the body being found and the time of death. I believe she sliced his artery to speed up his bleeding,” Zach theorized, leading us down another avenue to explore.

  “So she was aware that Grafton’s girlfriend would show up at four thirty.” Paige rubbed her arms.

  Grafton was still talking on the phone, standing down the hallway, his back to us.

  “Why Simpson, though?” I asked. “We figure that Malone and Hall were rapists and targeted for that reason. Was Simpson one, as well? He did manage to keep a girlfriend…”

  “It wouldn’t be a first for a rapist to have a girlfriend or wife,” Paige said coolly. “And obviously, he was guilty of something given what the killer put on his chest.”

  I had to give her that…

  Jack patted his shirt pocket for the second time in the past ten minutes. He was definitely craving another cigarette.

  Grafton cleared his throat as he slipped his cell phone into his pocket and approached us. “CSU found ledgers at the bar going back sixteen years.”

  I instantly remembered the notes Simpson had shown us the day before. He’d said they were to keep track of his memories after Malone’s murder, but maybe it was more than that.

  “What kind of ledgers?” Jack asked.

  “It looks like Simpson extended tabs to several men.”

  “Only men?”

  Grafton nodded.

  Taking another stab in the dark, I said, “Let me guess. Ferris Hall was on that list.”

  “How did you—”

  “And Kyle Malone?”

  Grafton appeared dumbfounded. “Uh, yeah.”

  Was it a coincidence that two people from that list and the person who had managed it had been murdered? I didn’t think so. As an agent, I wasn’t taught to believe in or accept coincidences. I sensed the rest of the team was thinking the same thing as we shared glances. The eye contact with Paige was brief but communicative regardless. Assuming our unsub was aware of the ledger’s existence, we both knew it was a hit list.

  “Have your people scan and send the ledgers to Nadia Webber.” Jack pulled a card from his pocket and extended it to Grafton. “All her information is there.”

  “All right.” Grafton sounded disappointed to have lost this case to us.

  “We’ll also need to find out where Simpson was before Wild Horse,” Jack said, looking from me, to Zach, to Paige. “I’ll have Nadia handle that. We have sufficient evidence to conclude the three murders are connected, and I have a feeling there will be more. It’s possible there already are. I think our killer might know about that ledger and be using it as her hit list,” Jack said.

  Apparently, it wasn’t just Paige and me thinking that way.

  Grafton blanched. “And the motive?”

  “All that seems absolutely certain is that the victims being chosen are guilty of or somehow connected to rape.”

  “As I said, though,” the detective responded, “Simpson’s record is spotless. Not even an accusation that he raped anyone.”

  “Simpson has the word guilty on his chest in blood. I’d guess he was involved somehow with the rapes that happened or rapes that were occurring,” I said, expanding on my internal brainstorming.

  Grafton nodded. “He extended credit for booze knowing what his patrons were doing with the drinks.”

  “That’s a large assumption.” I turned to Jack. “Simpson didn’t mention anything questionable about Malone or Hall when we spoke with him.” The revelation hit me like a smack to the side of the head. “But then again, why would he if he were somehow involved with what they were doing?”

  “What are you thinking, Brandon?” Zach asked.

  “Our killer labeled Simpson guilty, and we have this ledger. I don’t believe it was just for supplying alcohol. All bartenders do that. What if Simpson supplied the date-rape drugs?”

  Paige nodded. “So Simpson would spike the drinks…”

  “And the women wouldn’t have had a clue,” I finished.

  “Except one obviously did,” Paige ground out.

  “We need to search Simpson’s bar and house top to bottom for drugs,” Jack said to Grafton, who picked up his phone and called his people at the bar again.

  “Now what about the money that was transferred? We k
now funds were taken from Hall but we need to see Simpson’s computer.” Zach set out down the corridor, and we followed him to a second bedroom that had a desk and a laptop.

  Zach took a seat behind the computer and quickly accessed it. There was no password to log on to the laptop itself, and Zach got to work, repeating the same process he’d used on Hall’s computer.

  “Simpson had a SecureIt account, too.” Zach proceeded to enter the password information from SecureIt, and in seconds, he had access to Simpson’s banking.

  A look at the account history showed a transfer today for three thousand dollars.

  “Just like with Hall,” Zach said.

  Grafton entered the room. “What was like Hall?”

  “Another money transfer.” Jack pointed to the transaction on the screen, and Grafton followed the direction of Jack’s finger.

  “Then we hunt them down, right? We find their name and address just like with Hall. Speaking of, did that lead anywhere?”

  “It’s in progress,” Jack said, pulling out his cell phone. A few seconds later, he spoke into his phone. “How are you making out with tracking the money transfer from Hall’s bank?” Jack’s eyes skimmed over the four of us as he listened to Nadia’s response. Then he directed her to look at the transfer from Simpson’s account and check out his employment history.

  About a minute later, he hung up. “A few things,” Jack began, looking at his team. “Nadia confirmed that no money was stolen from Malone’s bank accounts, and she had an update regarding the funds transferred from Hall’s account. She has the receiving bank’s information, as well as the account holder’s name and address. Name is Leslie Shaw. Both her and Golden State Bank and Trust are in Los Angeles.”

  Grafton led the way out of the room. “Then let’s go.”