Winter Black Box Set 2

by Mary Stone

  “He’s been stalking me?” Noah echoed, his voice incredulous.

  “Yes. Seventy-seven percent of the information on that flash drive was deleted, but there are a whole lot of pictures still left. Pictures taken at our complex.”

  Noah snapped his wide-eyed stare from her to Dr. Ladwig. “What? Dude, why? What the hell?”

  “Am I under arrest?” Dr. Ladwig grated. There was an unmistakable glint of indignation in his green and amber eyes, but behind the anger was a sentiment Winter had expected less.

  Fear. Genuine, unabashed fright.

  “You’ve been stalking a federal agent.” Silver flashed as Noah produced a pair of stainless-steel handcuffs.

  When Dr. Ladwig spoke again, the word came from between clenched teeth.

  “Lawyer.”

  Weeks had passed since I performed Jensen Leary’s autopsy. Weeks without so much as a new hypothesis. Robert had done a piss poor job of locating the second patient he’d seen with the same brain abnormality as Patient Zero, and I was back to the starting line.

  I’d decided to let some time pass after the body of Jenson Leary was unearthed at the edge of the city, but the monotony of the last month and a half had finally ground away my last nerve.

  If they’d figured out anything from Jenson’s body, I’d have heard about it by now.

  After all, thirteen years had passed since they discovered Megan Helfer, and they were no closer to uncovering her identity.

  I did my due diligence to ensure the bodies wouldn’t be traced back to me. Even if they were identified, the trail would lead back to Catherine Schmidt, not Sandra Evans. The change in identity had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, but not a day went by when I wasn’t glad I’d done it.

  Catherine had been slapped with a hefty malpractice suit after one of my patient’s parents found the little tracking device I left in their son’s abdomen.

  The slip-up was entirely on me. I had decided to try a new spot for the implant in hopes that there would be less risk of discovery. As it turned out, the complete opposite was true.

  But I owned my mistakes. I learned from them, and I never made the same error twice.

  With a sip from a glass of homemade iced tea, I refreshed the webpage. There were two of them nearby, one within a two hour drive, and the other right here in the city of Richmond.

  It seemed convenient to go for the young woman in town, but I’d learned long ago that convenience was rarely, if ever, convenient. If it was too good to be true, then it wasn’t true.

  Though I never truly forgot any of the children on whom I performed surgeries, this young woman occupied a special part of my memory.

  She had been handed over to the state while in a medically induced coma, and not long after she was discharged from the hospital, her mother had overdosed on heroin and died.

  But despite the turbulence of her upbringing, there had been a spark in Autumn Nichols’ eyes that I seldom saw in someone her age.

  She was resilient, and someday, she’d make it out of her little corner of hell.

  I knew it then, and now, seventeen years later, she’d proven me right. She was a Ph.D. student in a track of study that was one of the most competitive graduate programs in any school. Forensic psychology.

  No, I didn’t want Autumn.

  Not yet.

  I still hadn’t progressed far enough in my research, and I didn’t want Autumn to die. I wanted her to be a success story, to present her to academic circles as a prime example of how brilliance could shine through the gray sludge of adversity.

  I could make the drive.

  As I set my glass of tea on a cloth coaster, the front screen of an archaic flip-phone lit up. The device buzzed an annoying dance on the glass table, but I scooped it up and opened it before the second ring.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “It’s me,” replied a familiar, gruff voice.

  “Mr. Parker.”

  I kept my response as cool and composed as always, but the truth was that the man set my teeth on edge. He was a pretentious asshole, and every time I was forced to deal with him, I liked him a little less.

  “They’ve got the psychiatrist in custody,” the man started. “You’re going to want to lay low, Sandra. I just got a call from Ladwig. He hasn’t said anything to the Feds, not yet.”

  My tongue felt thick in my mouth as I echoed, “Not yet?”

  “They’ve got something. I don’t know what it is, but they’ve got something solid, something they can hang their hat on. We need to get their eyes off you, and we need to do it permanently.”

  “You’re going to have him take the fall for it?” she surmised, her voice flat. “He’s got the information I need, Mr. Parker.”

  “And he’ll still be able to get it to you when he’s in a prison cell.” Parker’s response left no room for debate.

  “A prison cell? That’s not like you, Mr. Parker.”

  “For now.” His response was cryptic, but its meaning wasn’t lost on me.

  Robert Ladwig was about to confess to the murder of Jensen Leary. And then, after he’d given us all the useful information he possessed, he would die.

  “Why am I still with you?” Autumn asked.

  Locking the screen of his phone, Aiden turned to regard her.

  The shadows beneath her green eyes had become more prominent as the evening wore on, but she had gone through some effort to keep the disheveled look at bay. Her ponytail was neat, and her subtle cat-eye eyeliner had not so much as smudged.

  “You’re still with me because there was a serial killer tracking you for seventeen years,” he answered after a brief spell of quiet. “Sorry to say, Ms. Trent, but you’re going to be seeing a lot more of us from now on.”

  “Motherfucker,” she muttered under her breath. “I just got out of the hospital. I just had surgery a few hours ago. Isn’t there some kind of law against keeping me in the waiting room at the FBI building for an unspecified amount of time?”

  He flashed her a sarcastic smile. “You’re the one with the Juris Doctorate. You tell me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got the tracking device now, don’t you? I don’t really see what else you need me for.”

  “We’ve got it,” he confirmed with a nod. “But that doesn’t mean you’re in the clear. They’ve been watching you for a long time, and they not only know where you live, but your daily routine, probably down to the minute. The plan is to leave it on in hopes we’ll draw them to us. Not you. But still…” He left the statement unfinished and glanced back to her.

  With a resigned sigh, she leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs. “But still, they’re a serial killer with a medical degree, and they’ve been stalking me for seventeen years. How long am I going to need a babysitter, then?”

  Now, it was his turn to sigh. “I don’t know. I’m waiting to hear back from Agent Dalton and Agent Black. Hopefully, their lead gave them something worthwhile.”

  “And I’m just stuck here waiting until they get back?”

  “I’m here too,” he reminded her, tapping an index finger against his chest for emphasis.

  “This is your job. You’re getting paid for this.” She crossed her arms over her zip-up hoodie.

  “Well, yes and no. I’m salary, so, not really. It’s not like I’m getting overtime for staying past four.”

  “Then why are you just hanging out in the waiting room with me? Don’t you have some super secret FBI stuff you ought to be doing right now instead of babysitting a witness? I figured this would be above your paygrade, SSA Parrish.”

  “This case…” He waited until she met his gaze. “It started thirteen years ago. A colleague and I worked it, and we couldn’t even figure out who our victim was. It got shelved until Jenson Leary turned up outside town. I don’t think there’s any way that Jane Doe and Jenson are the only two people this person has killed. Based on the precision and how damn thorough they were, they aren’t new to this.”

/>   Autumn lifted her chin. “I think that’s pretty clear.”

  “We might have that tracking device now, but I’m not willing to bet that’ll be enough to stop them from searching for you. That’s not to say I doubt another agent could do this, but I’m here to see this through. And right now, it looks like that means ‘babysitting a witness.’”

  In the silence that followed, her green eyes remained fixed on his. For the most part, he had been truthful in his explanation. Her dry sense of humor and her good looks were just an added bonus.

  There was no doubt that Autumn Trent was a beautiful woman, but he had to wonder if he felt so drawn to her because she reminded him of someone else. Someone who, with each passing day, seemed to drift farther and farther away.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “But, just a fair warning, I’m probably going to keep pissing and moaning until I get some food. I haven’t eaten at all today.”

  He pushed aside the doubts about Winter—doubts about himself—to offer her a slight smile. “Then, while we wait for them to get back, let’s go get some food.”

  29

  Aside from asking Robert Ladwig if he wanted something to drink, neither Noah nor Winter had spoken a word to the man since his arrival in the FBI building. For two hours, Ladwig was alone in an interview room while he waited for his lawyer. And for most of those two hours, Noah and Winter had watched the man from behind a pane of one-way mirrored glass.

  They’d stepped away after the pricey defense attorney arrived, and at least another twenty minutes passed before the man indicated that his client was ready to talk to them. Their case was almost entirely circumstantial, and the successful interrogation of Robert Ladwig was the only way to lend weight to the evidence they did have.

  The interview had to be flawless.

  In an effort to maintain impartiality, Winter had suggested that Noah and Bree take over. She and Aiden Parrish would watch the exchange to provide backup and ensure no aspect of Ladwig’s dialogue was overlooked.

  As soon as the SSA came to mind, a flicker of movement from the open doorway snapped Noah’s attention away from the one-way glass.

  Fluorescence from the hallway caught the silver band of the man’s pricey watch as he raised a plastic baggie for them to see. Though Noah’s first inclination was to mentally berate Parrish for the absurd amount of money he’d undoubtedly spent on the timepiece, he stopped himself. Watches had never caught Noah’s interest, but his granddad had a whole collection, and any one of them could rival the value of Parrish’s.

  “What’s that?” Bree’s query drew him back to the dim room.

  “A GPS tracking device,” Aiden answered as he set the bag on top of a wooden table. “It’s what our perp used to keep tabs on their victims.”

  “Shit,” Noah muttered. “Where’d you get it?”

  Parrish’s blue eyes flitted from him to Winter and then Bree before he answered. “From your friend, Autumn.”

  “What?” he and Winter asked simultaneously.

  Aiden ignored their outburst. “There’s only one person who could’ve put it there, and that person wasn’t Robert Ladwig. That means that at the least, Catherine Schmidt is or was a co-conspirator. Your theory still holds. He might have worked with her and then killed her after she lost her usefulness.”

  A determined glint in her dark eyes, Bree pushed herself to stand and glanced over to Noah.

  Wordlessly, he nodded.

  Showtime.

  Rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, Noah followed Bree to the interrogation room. She rapped her knuckles against the metal surface as she pushed open the heavy door. With a wide smile that was mostly feigned, Noah nodded a greeting to the psychiatrist and his lawyer.

  For the first time since they’d seen him that afternoon, the man looked worried. Until now, his visage had been cold and steely, and he hadn’t so much as twitched when he was handcuffed.

  Maybe his attorney had gone over the situation, and he’d realized he was cornered. But was he cornered?

  Not even close, Noah thought.

  They had found barely enough to arrest him, much less press charges. Sure, he had hired a private investigator to follow Noah around for the better part of six weeks, but that was hardly illegal. After all, Noah had provided false contact information, false insurance information, and false medical information to Dr. Ladwig.

  Hiring a PI to figure out why Brady Lomond had falsified all those records was well within the realm of possibility.

  But Noah knew there was more to the story. He knew there was something they’d missed, a detail that would put all the little pieces together like a damn puzzle, and he knew that Robert Ladwig was involved.

  When he turned his attention to the lawyer, the feigned amiability vanished from Noah’s face. The man was well-dressed—his tailored suit had likely cost as much as Parrish’s—but that was where any resemblance to a white-collar professional ended.

  Though he was seated, Noah could tell the man stood close to his six-four. His lean frame filled out enough of the expensive suit to show that he kept in peak physical shape. Jet-black hair was brushed straight away from his face, and then there were his eyes.

  They were dark brown, and they brimmed with the same malicious cunning he would have expected from Charles Manson or Jim Jones. Even as he looked away from the unnerving sight, he tensed at the cold caress of a shiver that threatened.

  “Evening, Dr. Ladwig.” He forced the agreeable expression back to his face. “I know we’ve already met, but I’m Agent Dalton. This…” he paused to gesture to where Bree stood in one shadowy corner, “is Agent Stafford.”

  “Agents,” the lawyer said. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Chase Parker, and I’ll be representing Dr. Ladwig.”

  “Then you know why we’re here, right?” Bree’s voice was as sweet as her smile was condescending.

  Chase nodded. “I do.” He turned to Robert Ladwig with an expectant look. “We’ve discussed it, and my client and I would like to make a deal.”

  Noah could hardly keep the stupefied look at bay. “A deal?” he echoed after the stunned silence. “What kind of deal?”

  “A plea deal.” The lawyer’s smile was full of teeth. “A full confession in exchange for a guarantee that the death penalty is off the table.”

  This didn’t make any sense. There wasn’t enough evidence to frighten a competent lawyer into a full confession, not unless…

  The flash drive. Ladwig might have made a valiant effort to erase the data, but the Bureau’s tech department would be able to restore the majority of the information.

  “All right.” The clatter of the chair legs against tile followed Bree’s laconic agreement.

  As Bree sat at Noah’s side, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an important aspect of the case they were missing. Something with the lawyer was wrong, something with Ladwig was wrong, something with this whole damn investigation was wrong.

  “Let’s hear it.” Bree’s composure hadn’t faltered.

  Coughing into one hand to clear his throat, metal clattered against metal as Ladwig rested his arms atop the table. “Jenson Leary.” His green and amber eyes shifted from Noah to Bree and back. “And Megan Helfer.”

  He could almost hear Winter and Aiden scramble to check Ladwig’s statement for accuracy.

  And sure enough, as Ladwig continued on, there were aspects of his story that hadn’t been released to the public. Information only the killer could have known, such as both victims’ history of head trauma, the missing brains, and the precision with which they had been cut apart.

  His alleged motive was straightforward enough: scientific curiosity.

  Though he’d hesitated when they brought up his relationship with Catherine Schmidt, he admitted that her work as a neurosurgeon had been behind the need to know more about the inner workings of human brains. He’d listened to her talk about changes in personality after damages to different lobes, and Ladwig had becom
e obsessed with the idea that he could correct deviant behavior with the right surgical procedure.

  Noah pointed out that scientists at the beginning of the 1900s had already come up with a specific surgery to alleviate criminality. A lobotomy.

  At the mention of the draconian method, Ladwig only scoffed.

  He hadn’t wanted to give his patients a lobotomy. He wanted them to come out of the procedure as functioning members of society, not drooling messes. When the psychiatrist speculated on the barbarity of a lobotomy, Noah almost laughed aloud.

  As the recount drew to a close, he and Bree exchanged glances. He didn’t miss the wariness behind her dark eyes.

  “All right, gentlemen,” Noah said, tapping his palm against the stainless-steel table as he stood. “This is quite a bit of information, so if you’ll excuse us for just a second.”

  Ladwig followed their movements with his eyes, and try as he might, Noah couldn’t get a read on the man’s emotional state.

  Robert Ladwig was like a brick wall. Maybe he was a sociopath.

  Noah had no substantive reason to doubt him, especially when he considered all the details Ladwig had revealed about the two murders.

  Before he and Bree even stepped into the adjoining room, Parrish was already shaking his head. Winter sat at the table in front of the one-way mirror, her lips pursed, blue eyes fixed on the psychiatrist and his lawyer.

  “What?” Noah asked.

  “I don’t believe him.” Parrish reached out to grab the baggie with the coin-sized tracking device. “He didn’t say a single word about this. Not even a vague mention of it when you two asked him how he found his victims. Seems like an important piece to leave out, don’t you think?”

  “A little,” Noah said through gritted teeth. As much as he was loath to admit, the man was right. He usually was.

  “We’ll ask him about it,” Bree decided. “You said that’s from Autumn, right?”

  “Right.” Parrish nodded. “Ask him about the tracking devices he planted in his patients’ heads.”

  “That was in Autumn’s head?” Noah’s eyes widened as he looked back up to Parrish.