by Cat Connor
“You wanna go talk to Herrera?”
“Yeah, let’s drop in because we’re in the area to see how he is after losing his colleague and let him know we’ve made arrests in the case.”
Kurt laughed. “Clever.”
“Sandra said a few days ago that he’d made inquiries about the case. I told her to tell him we were doing all we could.”
Kurt smiled. “Standard company line.”
My phone rang. Sandra.
Uncanny.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, tapping the speaker icon on my phone. “And you’re on speaker.”
“Jane Daughtry’s team leader dropped off a greeting card. They were packing up her office and found it. It’s from someone called Emilio who professed his love for Jane and said he liked Black Amethyst and hoped she did too.”
My heart rate slowed. I knew that wasn’t random. Cogs clicked as they turned. She did like black something but not Black Amethyst. Her taste was more expensive than that.
“I know what that is …”
“A range of products from Bath and Body Works?”
Conjuring images of the first Fairfax crime scene, I put myself back in the shower with Jane.
What was missing? Shower gel.
“Yes. Check they do shower gel?”
“They do.”
Petrovovich was right.
“Was the card from Emilio Herrera?”
“Cannot confirm but the team leader said it looked like Herrera’s handwriting.”
“Anything else about the card?”
“Sending you a photo of the handwriting now. It was at the bottom of a locked drawer.” My phone buzzed in my hand as the image from Sandra arrived.
I opened it as she talked. “Colleagues knew they carpooled together but apparently Jane was looking for someone else to either join the carpool or to carpool with her alone.”
I read the words on the photograph. My mind compared the handwriting to the notes from the crime scenes. I couldn’t be sure.
“Thanks, Sandra. We’re on our way to Herrera’s now,” Kurt replied.
“Bag the card, Sandra, and send it for analysis. Have them compare the writing to all the crime scene notes,” I said. “Anything from the Darknet?”
“I’m throwing everything I have at it, this is some impressive encryption. Stay safe,” Sandra said. The screen went black as the call ended.
Kurt and I looked at each other. His eyes mirrored my feelings with regard to Herrera.
Jilted wannabe lover.
“We’ll wait here unless you need an escort,” Andrews said.
“We should be good, if we rock up with SWAT he’ll be suspicious. On our own, he’s less likely to act up,” I said. My words tumbled around the ground in front of me picking up dirt and leaves as they rolled to the curb.
The words that took the longest to fall into the gutter were ‘less likely to act up’.
Forty
Nobody Takes Me Seriously
Herrera’s red Ford stood in the driveway of his home. We pulled up at the end of the driveway. Blocking him in. I checked my weapon. Wearing a holster on the left felt awkward. Part of me hoped that would serve as a warning or a reminder to keep my emotions in check when next faced with an asshole.
No guarantees.
My emotions had never been closer to the surface.
“Let’s go say hello,” Kurt said and climbed out of the car. He straightened his tie and adjusted his suit jacket. I joined him on the sidewalk.
“Smile and relax,” I said in a half-whisper. “Friendly, friendly, friendly.”
Kurt glanced at me as we walked up the driveway to the front door but said nothing. I knocked.
Emilio Herrera’s smile lit his face. “Agent Conway, what brings you out here?”
“We were in the area and wanted to see how you were doing.” I returned his smile with less enthusiasm.
“The whole department misses Jane,” he replied, swinging the door open wider. “Come in.”
“Just for a minute or two, we’re on our way back to the office,” I said, stepping over the threshold and hoping there was something in plain sight that would give me cause to get a warrant and justify the sick feeling I had about his car being on Fallon’s street.
Herrera showed us into the living room. “Please, sit,” he said, gesturing at a large sofa.
“Won’t be here long,” I replied. “Just making sure you’re coping and thought you’d like to know that we’ve made some arrests.”
“That’s good,” he said, still smiling. “Yes. Very good. Closure for the families is very important.”
“Yes,” Kurt said. “One of the arrests was only two blocks from here.”
Cunning. Calling Fallon an arrest.
“Really?” Surprise registered on his face.
I watched Herrera as Kurt talked.
“Yes. She is a police detective,” Kurt added. “Always upsetting when one of our colleagues is involved in violent crime.”
Herrera’s smile changed; it slipped, morphing into more of a smirk. Kurt talked. I listened and observed while I tried to think of a way to look through the house. Bathroom. The urge to pee grew stronger by the second.
“Sorry, Emilio, but could I use your bathroom?” I said, interrupting their conversation. When he didn’t immediately say yes and point me in the right direction, a little red flag flew at half-mast in my mind. “Bathroom?”
“I’m sorry. It’s, ah, not been cleaned this week. My cleaning lady is … on vacation.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“No,” he said. All trace of his smile disappeared.
Who stops people using their bathroom?
Kurt looked at me then at Herrera. He stepped closer to Herrera, dropped his voice to a conspiratorial tone and said, “Agent Conway is pregnant. If she needs the bathroom, she needs the bathroom.”
Herrera faltered. I could see his thought process on his face. Caught between a rock and a hard place. If he said no again, he’d look like an asshole and raise too much suspicion but if he said yes, I’d see whatever it was he didn’t want me near.
“Sorry, Agent Conway, how rude of me. Of course. Down the hall second door on the right.”
“Thank you,” I said and hurried away leaving Kurt to spend more time chatting with Herrera.
The hallway doors were all open. Handy. I glanced into the first room I came to. Master bedroom by the look of it. Nothing out of place or of interest in the open. Opposite, another bedroom, possibly a guest room; nothing stood out. Next to that, the bathroom.
I knew immediately why he didn’t want me in there. I could smell blood from the doorway. I closed the door, used the toilet, washed up and then checked out the laundry hamper sitting next to the shower. The smell hit me hard when I opened the lid. Peering inside I saw bloody clothes.
Dropping the lid didn’t do a lot to contain the smell. Saliva filled my mouth and I swallowed hard in an effort to stem the churning in my stomach. Bloodied clothes were an amateurish mistake. I didn’t know if he was stupid, or confident we wouldn’t link him to the murders.
My curiosity insisted I check out the shower. Three shelves on the far wall of the spacious shower contained assorted body washes, soaps, shampoos and conditioners. I checked the rest of the bathroom. Very male orientated. No makeup, nothing I’d associate with a girlfriend or wife. I took another look at the shower shelves and snapped a photo with my phone and sent it to our perfume expert.
One bottle stood out. Purple with a silvery lid. Black Amethyst. I was dying to know what the shower gel smelled like straight from the bottle and had a feeling there’d be base notes of patchouli among other things.
My phone beeped quicker than I expected. A text message congratulating me on finding all the missing items from the victims’ showers. The only thing missing now was a bottle of perfume and I had a feeling we’d find that at Troy Fallon’s place, somewhere.
I texted Kurt: Herrera
is involved. Laundry hamper full of bloody clothing and all the missing items from our victims’ showers on the shelves in his shower. Found the Black Amethyst.
Kurt’s reply was fast and short: Bastard.
I left the bathroom door open and rejoined Kurt and Herrera. One of them didn’t look happy.
“Emilio, thank you for the use of your bathroom. I feel much better,” I said with a smile. “A little tip … when you murder someone, wear coveralls and dispose of them before you get home. Nothing screams amateur like a laundry hamper full of bloody clothing.”
Not to mention a shower full of trophies.
I guessed his team had instructions when it came to collecting things from crime scenes or they sent photos back to him and he chose what he wanted.
“Where’s your phone?” I asked, all smiles and politeness while looking around the room. “Never mind.” I picked it up off the dining table and flicked through his photo folders. Finding photos of shower caddies, I showed Kurt. “Familiar?”
“Yes,” Kurt said. He took his cuffs off his belt and told Emilio to turn around.
On our way back to the office, Sandra called.
“I’m having trouble getting through the encryption. I’ve got a couple of techs from Cyber coming in to help me. We’re going to need more computer power.”
“Whatever you need …”
“Thank you, O Shiner of the Light.”
Forty-One
Homebound Train
At eight on Wednesday morning, Kurt thumped a newspaper onto my desk. I’d been finishing off the paperwork for the case since six. We had one more arrest to make and it was case closed.
“Something upset you?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“Read, you’ll see.”
“Do I have to guess the page or will you help me out?” The look on his face told me all I needed to know. Horror trickled through my veins as I turned to the obituary page. No missing what had upset Kurt.
Right in the middle of the page was a poem dedicated to Violet Cramer, Jane Daughtry, Serena Sorenson, Terri Kane, Karen Fredericks, Michelle Andrews, Phoebe Childs, Ashley Stewart, Sidney Churchill, Jodie Norris.
And me.
Addiction.
Don’t take it personally
It wasn’t easy
Just listen
I broke when you looked at me
Life cracked wide open
Everything that came before
Spilled over your screen
Seeped into the keyboard
Shattered across the desk
Laughter replaced it all.
Don’t take it personally
It’s not easy
Just listen
I watched you fade away
Retreat behind your walls
Taking the light with you
Lock the doors
Close the windows
Draw a line in the sand
Laughter begins to wane
Don’t take it personally
Life isn’t easy
Just listen
Trapped behind the line
Powerless to breach the doors
With a broken heart
Fresh tears fall
Everything that came before
Lies fragmented on the floor
Laughter consumed by pain
Unable to walk away
Addicted to you.
“Nice and cheery, isn’t it?” Kurt said as I looked up from the newspaper.
“Yeah, it’s lovely.”
“No signature,” Kurt said. “But it seems to be the finished poem. You were right about it not being finished before.”
That’s comforting. Not.
“Do we know who placed this in the paper?”
He shook his head. “It was done over the internet via the newspaper’s website and paid for using Jodi Norris’s credit card, yesterday afternoon.”
“Nice that they included me. That means whoever placed this was involved in the art gallery.”
Who else would know I was there?
“I’d imagine so,” Kurt replied. “I want to increase security just until you are safely married and off on honeymoon.”
“Armed guards already sit outside my home and Mitch’s house,” I said.
“No, you did have armed guards. Once we closed the case they were removed.”
“Okay, do it then. Use uniformed FBI. Make sure they have marked cars.”
I didn’t believe those words came from my mouth. Judging by Kurt’s expression, he didn’t either.
“Who are you?” he asked, leaning over the desk. “And what did you do with the real Ellie Conway?”
I smiled. “It’s me. I might have a bit more to be cautious at the moment. I’d kinda like to make my wedding and you know … do the whole family thing.”
Just not sure about the twins thing. That needed more time.
Kurt nodded. “I think you’ll make a great mom.”
“I think you’re talking shit, but I know Mitch will be a great dad.” I folded the newspaper so the poem was visible. “We need to find out who did this. Did anyone pick up the Lette kid, Kristopher?”
“Not yet. But everyone is looking for him.”
“He signed half the poem in an email, as far as we can tell it was actually him, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Chances are …”
And just like that, I was transported to an office I recognized. Chance smiled at me from across his desk.
“Really?” I said, sitting in a chair and shaking my head.
“Fun, ain’t it?”
“Not so much, Chance. Do you know where Lette is?”
“Find the mother, you’ll find the son.”
Find the mother.
“Of course. Thanks, Chance.”
“Take care, Ellie.”
Kurt was staring at me when I looked up.
“Problem?”
“Your eyes went black. You weren’t here.” His arm swept around the room. “Where were you?”
“Chance’s office.”
Too much truth is a bad thing but it was too late to take it back.
“Mentally hilarious. I stand by my diagnosis.”
“Thanks.”
That was all kinds of comforting.
“Did Chance have something to say pertaining to this case?”
“Yep. He said if we find the mother, we’ll find the son.”
“And she is where?”
“No idea, but I bet Dad knows.” I reached down and pressed the speaker button on my desk phone then input Dad’s number into the keypad.
He answered on the fifth ring as I was about to give up. “Ellie?”
“Dad. Where is Rosanne?”
“George Washington hospital.”
My heart sank. “Serious?”
“She’s not going to get any better, Ellie, if that’s what you mean. She’s as good as can be expected.”
She seemed okay last time I saw her. I looked at Kurt. “We need to talk to her.”
“You better make it today then.”
Dad gave me the information necessary to find her room. I hung up.
“Kurt, she was okay the other day …”
“Yes. Brain tumors can be unpredictable. It was only a matter of time. Let’s go. Her son is probably with her.”
My phone rang. “Sandra, good news?”
“We’re in. We have names, we have connections, we’ve got it all.”
“Tell me …”
“Perfect Storm is a forum where people looking for like-minded souls come together.”
It almost sounded pleasant.
“And?”
“Delving into the depths and subforums off the main branches we found Hank Creole. Hank can’t post on the forum himself, prison computers can’t access the Deep Web or Darknet. Someone called Grekov and someone called Kristopher post on his behalf.”
Grekov, the Russian. “Putting you on speaker, Sandra.”
Sandra continued, “Herrera and Fallon found their way to the forum together. They caused quite a buzz and there was a lot of talk about whether they should be allowed to stay because of their occupations. Fallon offered her services, which went a long way to gaining the trust of Grekov and Lette. Together she and Herrera chose the victims. Grekov and his nurse did the killing. Lette painted fabric and created art.”
“Any more?”
“This is a web of revolting threads. Stevens was brought into the group by Fallon when Lette said he needed someone to sew for him.”
“How did Fallon know Stevens?”
“She didn’t to start with. She advertised for a sewing machinist in a local newspaper.”
“They discussed that in the forum?”
“They did. It’s the place where they all got together and discussed distribution, art galleries, sales, and the next victim.”
“Was Stevens on the forum?”
“Yes, but not often, she was an employee.”
“Any mention of Christine Locke?”
“Yes. Lette wanted AB negative blood. He suggested Phoebe Childs because he knew she had AB negative, he didn’t offer up Christine because her eyes are brown and she didn’t fit the criteria when it came to career.”
“Excellent work, Sandra. Thank you.”
“I’d say you’re welcome but I feel I need to go scrub my eyeballs now.”
On the drive to the hospital, questions circled in my head. Would I arrest him in front of his dying mother and remove him from her side? Maybe. Would I arrest him and let him stay until she passed? I had no clue.
We walked to the wall of elevators inside the hospital foyer. A few minutes later we both walked into Rosanne Lette’s room to find her son by her bedside.
“Kristopher Lette?” I said, showing him my badge.
He nodded. “What do you want?”
“To give you a medal, what do you think I want?”
He shrugged. “How would I know?”
Rosanne mumbled incoherently.
“Step outside,” Kurt instructed.
“No. I’m staying here.”
“All right then, we do this here,” I said.
Kurt took cuffs from the case on his belt. “Stand up.”
Lette stayed where he was. I smiled at Kurt. He stepped forward and snapped one cuff on Lette’s left wrist, then attached the other cuff to the bed rail.