Psychobyte

by Cat Connor

  “We going somewhere?” Lee asked.

  “Yeah. Nah. You stay, I won’t be long. Sandra will have that media briefing set up soon. If I’m not back, start without me.”

  “Chicky?” A flash of panic crossed his face.

  “I’ll be back in about an hour. Hold the fort until then.” I winked and left.

  The shadowy edge of the dark city required me to be alert as I walked down the street. It was Friday night and it felt like the city was going supernatural on my ass. No sign of demons lurking in alleyways but I knew they were there.

  Their red eyes burned into me and I wished the Winchester boys were with me as I hurried past another deep alleyway. Could’ve sworn eyes were watching as I crossed the street.

  Outside the building where Charles Locke lived, I pushed the supernatural crap away and opened the door.

  People. I deal with people. Flesh and blood. If it bleeds, I can kill it.

  I felt my eyes roll as soon as the thought manifested.

  I knocked on his apartment door. Shuffling noises approached the door then stopped. I stepped to the hinge side of the door and knocked again. The movement sounded again. Locks released. The handle turned. The door opened fully, revealing a man in his late sixties.

  “Charles Locke?”

  “Yes. How can I help you?”

  I produced my badge. “I’m Agent Conway. Are you related to Charles Locke Junior, last known address Reston, Virginia?” He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  Not keen on the association perhaps.

  Locke’s voice shook as he spoke, “He’s a disgrace.”

  “I take it you knew he hurt Christine?”

  “The things he did to the beautiful girl he married. I hope you catch him, Agent.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “I’ll never forgive myself for not working it out earlier and stopping him.” His head shook. “Hot-headed idiot.”

  “A lawyer?”

  “Yes. You’d think he’d know better but all he knew was how to hide evidence and silence people.” Locke paused, looked me right in the eye and said, “He wasn’t raised like that, Agent.”

  I knew enough to know he was probably telling the truth; some men are just idiots no matter how much love they’re raised with.

  “You don’t know where he is?”

  “No.”

  “Haven’t heard from him?”

  He shook his head. “I’d be the last person he would contact. His lawyer pals would hear well before me.”

  I wrestled one of my cards from the back of my credential wallet and handed it to him. “Just in case. Or if you think of something.”

  Locke rocked his weight from foot to foot. “Why are the FBI keen on finding him? Isn’t it a police matter?”

  “It is a police matter,” I replied with a shrug. “I just found out what he did. Christine’s sister is a friend of mine.” I didn’t want to say was a friend.

  Hard to think of her in the past tense.

  “So it’s personal …”

  Yeah and nah. I don’t like assholes.

  “I don’t like people who think they’re above the law.”

  “Good luck with your investigation, Agent.”

  I’m not done with you yet.

  “You know a couple of people I have come across recently, Mr. Locke. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”

  “Come on in, no sense standing in the hallway when there is a perfectly good table we could be sitting at.”

  I nodded and followed him through the door into a tidy, clean, modern apartment.

  Locke pulled a chair out from the dining room table and invited me to sit. Nice to come across good manners. A twinge started up in my gut. The man who walked freely across the apartment ahead of me was at odds with the shuffling noises I’d heard approach the door when I arrived.

  Curious.

  “Do you live here alone?”

  A frown creased his already heavily lined forehead.

  “I do. My wife passed away three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” The twinge continued. Odd. Ignoring it, I carried on. “Mr. Locke, your name came up on two Facebook friend lists. I just want to clarify your relationship with the women who own those accounts.” I flipped my notebook open. “Serena Sorensen, how do you know her?”

  He rested on his elbows, his fingers steepled, just touching his lips. A knot formed in my stomach.

  He moved his fingers forward as he spoke, “I met Serena at a writing workshop.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “George Mason University. About six months ago now.”

  “You became friends?”

  He smiled. “No, not really. She sent me a few short stories to have a look at, there was nothing more to it than that.”

  “How about Michelle Andrews?”

  Locked nodded. “Same workshop. Nice girl, Michelle. She wanted me to read some of her writing.”

  “And did you?”

  “I did. It was very dark. Disturbingly so.”

  I made a note. Might be worth finding her stories and having a look.

  “Did you see either of the women outside of the Workshop environment?”

  The steepled fingers returned. The knot in my stomach tightened.

  “I thought I saw Michelle from a distance about three weeks ago. She was coming out of a store here in D.C.”

  “Apart from that instance?”

  “No. Haven’t heard from either of them.”

  I stood up, put my notebook in my pocket and shook Locke’s hand.

  “Thank you for your help. If you think of anything, let me know.”

  “I will, Agent.”

  Locke showed me out. Standing on the street in the glow of the building’s security lighting, a creeping sensation moved through my body. Eyes. I glanced up and noted two security cameras.

  Definitely being watched. Maybe the monsters weren’t just in the dark city alleyways.

  It was hard to shake the sense of eyes watching as I walked back through town to our building. Something was off with Charles Locke. My gut said he was withholding and it was about Serena and Michelle more than his son. There would be another visit to Mr. Locke, of that I was sure.

  Twenty-One

  Hand Of Fate

  Lee was still in my office, waiting for me.

  “How’d you get on?” he said as I sauntered through the door and dumped my stuff on my desk.

  “Charles Locke senior is withholding. Doesn’t think much of his son – pretty sure he’s telling the truth in that regard. I’m not convinced he hasn’t heard from him. Also, I have the feeling he’s holding back when it comes to Serena and Michelle.”

  “I’ll take a look into their backgrounds. Fresh eyes.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  My desk phone rang. I hooked the receiver into my hand and listened.

  “We’re all set down here for the media circus,” Sandra said. “Your friend Rosanne Lette hasn’t shown or replied to the invitation.”

  I wondered why. Calling her my friend was an overstatement. Rosanne Lette irked me.

  “I’ll give her a call,” I said. “See you down there in five.”

  The receiver slipped from my grasp and crashed into the shiny desk surface. A little bit of the broken plastic shot across the room, narrowly missing Lee.

  “What happened there?” Lee reached for the receiver and inspected the damage.

  “Dropped the phone,” I replied with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

  “Just the case, nothing important. Not like you to be clumsy.”

  I shrugged. “Let’s hope I don’t have to draw my weapon … could get messy.”

  Lee didn’t laugh. The expression on his face told me he was adding things up and not liking the answer.

  “There’s something going on with you,” he said with care. “Is there something Delta need to know?”

  My head shook without my bidding. “You’re adding
two and two and trying to make six, it’s not going to work. Just tired.”

  Lee leveled a stare at me. “I don’t think so.”

  Time to change the subject.

  “I need to call Rosanne Lette then we’ll go down and deliver this brief.” I looked at the broken phone receiver and opted to use my cell.

  She answered on the fourth ring. Traffic noise flowed past her voice making it hard to hear her words. Bluetooth can be a real pain in the butt sometimes.

  “It’s Ellie Conway. You coming to the media brief?”

  “I’m on my way,” she replied. “Almost there.”

  “Good. See you soon.” I disconnected the call and pocketed my phone.

  “Ready?” Lee asked from the doorway, holding the door for me.

  “Yep.”

  An hour later I was back in my office. The briefing went as well as could be expected considering the topic. Journalists were warned not to sensationalize the murders, though I wasn’t green enough to believe they’d listen to instructions.

  The next news broadcast would send waves of panic through the beltway and there wasn’t a lot I could do about it. People had to know. Owen was on the warpath and wanted the public informed.

  It might make it harder for the Unsubs to hunt out victims or maybe give the next victim a fighting chance. I wanted to tell women to prepare their coffee with fresh ground beans and not leave their coffee sitting anywhere before drinking it because I believed the victims ingested sedatives with their morning coffee.

  That thought implied someone was in their homes before they made their coffee in the morning. Instilling panic was less than helpful. Throwing a spanner in the works regarding the coffee and sedatives might cause more victim suffering but not fewer deaths.

  Catch-22.

  “Conway?”

  My eyes flicked to the doorway and Kurt. “Henderson?”

  “Did you get time to talk to Rosanne privately?”

  “Nope. You?” A spark of something flitted across his eyes and I knew he had. “What did she say?”

  He stepped into my office and shut the door.

  That good.

  “Your dad is seeing her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Serious?”

  “I dunno.” He’d never brought anyone to a family occasion before, so, serious had crossed my mind. “Maybe.”

  “What has your dad told you about her?”

  A sigh escaped. Just tell me already. “Fishing expedition? Really?”

  “Conway …” He lowered himself into the chair in front of my desk. “Answer the question.”

  “He’s told me nothing. He’s been walking around with a grin on his face for months and out a lot. But he’s told me nothing. I had no idea he was dating Rosanne until she turned up at Mitch’s folks’ place.”

  “They’ve been seeing each other for nearly six months.”

  Jesus! How did I not notice?

  A phone screen popped into my head, Mitch’s name glowed. Yep, sidetracked. Caught up in my own world as usual.

  “Okay, what else?”

  “There’s something not right about her.”

  “Tell me something I haven’t figured out …” Secrets. Everyone has them but hers felt dark and brooding.

  “I watched her during the briefing and before I had a chat. She’s sick, Conway.”

  Hang on. Back up the bus.

  “She’s what now?”

  “She’s sick.”

  “What sort of sick? She got a cold, Ebola, plague?”

  Kurt arched an eyebrow. “Love how you jump from a cold to Ebola and the plague. It’s not that kind of sick. She’s not contagious.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Do you want to know?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “She has a brain tumor.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Something seemed off. So I paid more attention and noticed she had trouble with balance. She also displayed weakness to the left side of her body.”

  I gave him a long look. “Could’ve been a migraine …”

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t, Conway. I spoke to her. I asked.”

  I could imagine that conversation. Bet it was uncomfortable.

  “Fatal?”

  “That’s often how it goes with cancer.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  I wondered if Dad knew.

  Probably. She wasn’t exactly going to be around long term. Not about to be my new mommy then. It occurred to me that I didn’t have any feelings regarding that. Nothing.

  “I’m sure she probably said something similar when she was given the diagnosis two weeks ago.”

  My eyes met Kurt’s.

  “Two weeks ago …” This was bad. “That changes things. She’s only just found out. She and Dad have been seeing each other for almost six months. He’s invested.”

  “You didn’t know about her?”

  “That doesn’t mean much.” I shrugged. Work-life balance has never been easy for me. I tended toward eighty-five percent work and that didn’t leave much time for life. What time for life I had was spent with Mitch.

  “We really need to work harder on injecting some balance into your life, Conway.”

  That would happen all by itself soon enough but I didn’t feel the need to share my thoughts.

  At a quiet knock, my eyes flicked to the closed door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  The door opened, Lee stepped inside. “You want it shut?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, Kurt and I are done.”

  Kurt’s right eyebrow rose. “You sure?”

  “Unless you have some more information regarding Rosanne Lette and her son?”

  He shook his head.

  “Chicky, I finished looking into Charles Locke and his relationships with Serena and Michelle,” Lee said, placing a manila folder on my desk. “Found something else too.”

  I flipped the cover of the folder open and skimmed the pages inside. Locke and the girls met at a writing workshop as he said. At the last page, I stopped and looked at Lee.

  “Wow,” I said. “Just wow.”

  “How do you want to proceed?” Lee watched as Kurt reached for the file and spun it around to read.

  Familiar feelings crashed into each other as an order I’d given on another occasion hit me with full force.

  “Sweep all the crime scenes for cameras and audio surveillance equipment.”

  “Have we released any for clean-up?” Lee didn’t look at me as he scrolled through a screen on his phone.

  “No.”

  Kurt placed the file back on the desk in front of me. “He was a surveillance system expert. Ex-military.”

  “And now he’s a maintenance man …” Lee said, tapping his phone screen. “And we have seven victims and the only way the Unsubs could’ve killed as they have, is with the benefit of surveillance and pre-planning.”

  We heard his phone dialing then ringing, followed by a brief conversation. Moments later, Lee pocketed his phone and turned to face me.

  “And?” I inquired.

  “A team will go scene to scene with RF detectors and conduct a hands-on thorough search.”

  “Good.” I stood up and surprised myself with my own words. “Come on, we’ll check Phoebe’s place ourselves.”

  Kurt rose to his feet. “You don’t need to, Conway. Go home. Get some sleep.”

  “You’re wrong, Kurt. I do. There’s something we’ve missed. I’ve missed.” I scooped my stuff up. “You coming or not?”

  Something to do with Lette and Locke. I was sure there were answers in that house.

  He hooked my keys from the objects in my hands with one finger. They jangled in midair as he tossed them up and caught them in his palm. “I’m driving.”

  Suited me.

  “Where’s Sam?” I said as I joined Lee outside my office.

  “Coming. He was in the bullpen looking for anything else to connect the victims.”r />
  I heard heavy footsteps behind me, followed by Sam’s deep, “Chicky Babe. Lee said we’re going to Phoebe’s?”

  “Yep.”

  Lee excused himself to get his bag. His bag contained a state of the art zillion dollar RF detector. His favorite accessory.

  Forty minutes later we stood in the hallway of Phoebe’s house.

  “Phones off,” Lee said, taking his toy from his bag. “I’ll go room by room.”

  “Okay. Sam, go with Lee,” I said. We all switched off our phones and put them away.

  Kurt waited silently beside me. Lee and Sam disappeared into the first room off the hallway. I closed my eyes and let the memories created in Phoebe’s new home filter through me. When I opened my eyes, the hallway flattened. Lines blurred. Black outlines appeared. Colors changed. Muted reds, browns, and yellows over creamy white. Familiar. My life became a comic strip. Or maybe a graphic novel. A page at the end of the hallway turned, revealing a new scene. Christopher Chance stepped through a doorway. He waved. We met in the middle of the hall.

  “Chance.”

  “Ellie,” he said with a dimpled grin. “You figured the camera thing.”

  “Yeah. I missed something here, didn’t I, Chance?”

  “Come with me.” He held out his arm, encouraging me to walk with him. We entered Phoebe’s bedroom. The black lines surrounding the floor rug melted into the carpet, photo-perfect order restored. Chance stood next to me and said, “What don’t you see?”

  My eyes roamed the room, taking everything in. The gray and pale pink décor, the jewelry box on her bureau, the clock on her nightstand. I looked closer at the clock. No alarm set. The room tidy. Bed made. I turned down a corner of the quilt. No blankets, no sheets.

  What don’t I see? Life. There is no life in here.

  “Life,” I said. “She didn’t use this room.” I wondered if she had used it at all since moving in. The room felt devoid of all human occupation.

  So where did she sleep?

  I left the room, followed by Chance. The next bedroom felt the same. There was no life here. I checked the last bedroom, it was set up as a home office. Again, no left-over personal impressions.

  How come she died in the shower of a house she wasn’t living in?

  I followed Chance into the bathroom. Thick black lines outlined the faded comic-strip coloring as the room flattened on creamy pages. Chance opened the drawer containing the perfumes.