by Tee O'Fallon
Needing to be more comfortable, she changed out of her dress and into jeans and a light blue sweatshirt. No sooner had she settled back onto the bed to find something—anything—on TV to keep her mind off Dayne, when her cell phone rang. It was Agent Shanahan.
She swiped to answer the call. “Beth, is everything all right?”
“No, Miss Vandenburg.” Beth’s voice held a note of urgency. “Hakeem just told me there’s a fire outside the castle. On the northwest corner. I’m going outside to check it out. Stay here.”
Kat bolted from the bed, upsetting Angus who pranced worriedly to the edge of the mattress. With the phone still pressed to her ear, she ran to the other window and yanked back the curtain. “Oh my god!” Flames shot from one of the hedges. Smoke billowed and blew past the window.
She flung open her closet and shoved her bare feet into a pair of Ferragamo flats. With her heart racing, she picked Angus up and hastily made her way down the stairs. The pup wriggled and struggled in her arms. At nearly twenty pounds, she had to set him on the floor.
The keypad on the wall by the door blinked green. Beth must have deactivated the system, and since the fire was completely outside the castle, the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off. Yet. She hoped it didn’t come to that.
Kat peered out one of the windows to see flames licking higher. She was about to call 911 when her cell phone rang again. It was Hakeem, the outside guard.
“Miss Vandenburg,” came Hakeem’s worried voice. “I know the castle is made of stone, but you’d better play it safe and come outside. I’ve already called the fire department.”
“Thank you.” Through the window she glimpsed flames spreading to Walter’s beloved hydrangeas. Even with the wet spring season, the shrubs were catching fire quickly. Through the thickening smoke, she searched for Beth but didn’t see her. “Where’s Agent Shanahan?”
“She’s with my partner,” Hakeem answered. “They’re hooking up the garden hose. Please, hurry. The fire’s getting worse.”
“C’mon, Angus.” Her heart raced as she flung open the door. They’d be fine. The fire department was only two miles away.
The puppy bounded down the front stairs, barking his head off. “Angus!” She chased after him, worrying the little guy would get run over by a fire truck if she didn’t corral him quickly. “Beth? Hakeem?” As she rounded the corner of the castle where Angus had disappeared, a wave of heat and smoke hit her in the face. A chemical smell raked at her nose and throat, making her cough. Gasoline.
“Angus!” she screamed, staggering back. Where is he?
Barking drew her attention to the grass near the edge of the adjacent tree line. Angus’s tail whipped back and forth as he sniffed something on the grass. Was that—?
The security guard lay face down, unmoving. And was that blood on the back of his head?
She touched her fingers to the young man’s head and they came back sticky with blood. “Hakeem!” she cried. “Hakeem!” She slid her fingers to his neck, searching frantically for a pulse. While she waited for the telltale thumping of life, something else caught her attention. Beth and the other guard lay ten feet away, also face down in the brush.
Fear snaked up her spine. That hadn’t been Hakeem on the phone. No one had called the fire department, and no one ever would. Beth and the guards were dead, the fire intentionally set. To get me outside.
Leaves crunched behind her. Too late, she realized her mistake.
She’d played right into the killer’s hands.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Carolyn Mauser’s gray Nissan sat in the driveway. A lamppost in the adjacent yard illuminated the tag number—NJ C24-BMV—and the sizeable dent in the left side of the rear bumper.
They still didn’t know for sure if this was their guy, but every fiber of Dayne’s being said it was. They needed more than just a similarity to a photo and a sketch. Like hard evidence that would stand up in court.
He parked on the street in front of the house. Nine eighty-five Oak Court. Paulson pulled up behind him.
Remy snorted, pacing behind back and forth in the kennel. “Blieb.” His dog shoved her head through the window, uttering an unhappy whine. He gave her a quick scratch behind the ears then joined Paulson on the sidewalk.
“How do you want to play this?”
“By ear.” He tugged a flashlight from his belt, stopping to shine it through the garage window. Aside from two bicycles, several storage bins, and some garden tools, the garage was empty. The other vehicle registered to Carolyn Mauser, a blue Chevy Equinox, wasn’t there.
He jerked his head up. A blue Chevy Equinox. Like the one he’d seen two weeks ago on the street corner near Amy Thorpe’s house. He’d thought it had been sitting at the stop sign too long. Coincidence? Damn, but he should have gone with his gut right then and there. If his mistake got Kat killed, he didn’t know if he’d survive it.
He pulled his creds from his back pocket and continued up the walk. “Let’s just get our feet inside the door, first.” He pressed the doorbell. A gong sounded and a moment later, the curtain covering one of the door’s glass side panels shifted.
A woman’s face appeared, and she eyed them warily. Not that Dayne could blame her. It was eight o’clock on a Sunday night. He and Paulson held up their badges. Slowly, the door opened.
“Can I help you?” Carolyn Mauser looked like her DMV photo and description, about five-three, blond hair, and blue eyes. She wore a blue skirt and tan sweater. A gold cross hung from a chain around her neck.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dayne said, taking in the large wood crucifix on the wall behind her. “I’m Special Agent Andrews with the FBI, and this is Detective Paulson with the Orangetown Police Department. Is your husband at home?”
She shook her head. “No. Christian is working tonight.” On a Sunday? He and Paulson exchanged looks. “He’s an accountant,” Mrs. Mauser added quickly. “It’s tax season, and he’s been working almost every night for the last two weeks. Can I ask what this is about?”
“Is your husband’s office located at the Sylvus Corporate Center in Englewood?”
“Why, yes.” Carolyn’s blond brows furrowed.
Check. One more piece of the puzzle snapped into place. Now they could connect Christian Mauser to one of Becca’s last known locations, but it still didn’t connect the guy to her or Amy’s murder.
“Is this about the car accident?” Carolyn asked.
“Yes, it is,” Dayne lied, nodding emphatically and hoping Carolyn didn’t pick up on the fact that most law enforcement officers wouldn’t be investigating a simple motor vehicle accident on a Sunday night. He had to keep the conversation going. Anything to get inside the house. “May we come in? We’d like to get some more details.”
“Of course.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside. Two teens, a boy and a girl, sat at the kitchen table, staring at their laptops. They looked up questioningly as Dayne and Paulson came in. “Mary, Seth…please go upstairs while I speak to the officers.” Wordlessly, the teens closed their laptops and went upstairs. “We can sit in here.”
They followed her into the living room. Along the way, Dayne noted several framed family photos on the wall, including a wedding portrait of a younger Carolyn Mauser and a heavyset, clean-shaven man with brown hair and blue eyes. Not brown eyes.
Christian Mauser’s DMV description said the man had brown eyes. Kat said her attacker’s eyes were brown but murky, the way someone’s eyes might look if they wore colored contacts.
“I’m actually happy you’re here.” Carolyn sat on the sofa, indicating two armchairs. Dayne sat in one, Paulson the other. “The insurance company has been giving us so much trouble over our claim, and the accident wasn’t even our fault.”
“How so?” Paulson took out a notepad.
“We were sitting at a traffic light and were hit from behind. The other
driver’s insurance company actually thinks we had something to do with the accident.” Carolyn fingered the cross around her neck.
“Why is that?” Dayne asked.
“I suffered a slight case of whiplash and went to the doctor. Our next-door neighbor is an injury lawyer and suggested we make a claim of pain and suffering against the other driver’s company. My husband didn’t want to make a fuss, but I pursued it anyway. As soon as I began making inquiries, the other insurance company started asking all kinds of questions. They didn’t believe my injury was real. They think we’re part of some insurance scam and working with the people who hit us in order to make a false claim.”
Check, check. Becca had been working for an insurance company investigating scams such as the one Carolyn had just described. Another connection between Becca and Christian Mauser. It still wasn’t enough.
“Did your husband receive any injuries from the accident?” Dayne asked, still trying to keep the conversation going until something else pinged, because he knew he was on the right track here.
“No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Aside from being extremely annoyed, that is. Ironically, he recently broke his nose, but not from the accident.”
He stiffened. Kat said she’d hit her attacker in the nose with a palm strike. Maybe even broken his nose.
“How did he break it?” He flicked Paulson a quick look, taking in the detective’s equally rigid posture.
“Someone opened a door on him at work.”
“When was this?” Paulson asked.
“Almost two weeks ago.”
Triple check. Dayne gave a mental fist pump. The timing was right. They had their man. He was sure of it.
Carolyn’s eyes narrowed. “What does this have to do with the accident?”
“Probably nothing,” Dayne reassured her in a calm voice. Inside he was anything but calm. “The insurance company may try to make it seem like too many injuries in one family and in such a short time period is suspicious in nature.”
She nodded. “Ah, I see.”
“In the interest of time,” Paulson added, “perhaps we could speak directly with your husband. Would you mind calling him?”
“As I said, he’s at work.” Carolyn frowned, and Dayne worried how far they could take their subterfuge before she caught on and kicked them out. “He doesn’t like me disturbing him at the office.”
“It’s important,” Dayne added. “Anything you can do to help us facilitate things would be greatly appreciated.”
Again, she fingered her cross. “Well, all right.” She rose and went into the kitchen.
He and Paulson followed her to listen in. She removed a remote phone from a receiver on the kitchen wall, pushed a button then held the phone to her ear. While they waited, Dayne studied the wedding photo on the wall outside the kitchen.
“What are you thinking?” Paulson whispered.
“If this is Christian Mauser—and I think it is—he lied to the DMV. He could have lost weight, but he can’t change his real eye color.”
“He’s not at his desk phone,” Carolyn called out. “I’ll try his cell.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mauser,” Dayne replied, then lowered his voice. “It’s still not enough.”
“I agree.” Paulson nodded then tucked his pad and pen into his jacket pocket. “We need more.”
“He what?” Carolyn’s voice rose. “That isn’t possible. I saw him leave for work every day.” Dayne and Paulson joined her in the kitchen, taking in her stricken expression. “Thank you, Adam.” She returned the phone to its cradle. For a moment, she didn’t say anything but remained staring at the wall. Finally, she turned. “I couldn’t reach him, not at the office or on his cell phone, so I called Adam. He and Christian share an office. Adam said Christian has been calling in sick every day for the last week. He hasn’t been to work, day or night.”
“Did he come home last night?” Dayne asked.
“Yes.” She nodded, the worry in her eyes deepening.
“Have you seen him tonight?” When she shook her head, warning bells shrilled in his mind. As much as he wanted to cut to the chase, they needed to tread carefully, or they’d lose her cooperation and miss out on getting the evidence they needed. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“This morning. At breakfast.”
Gently, he urged her into the hallway outside the kitchen. “Is this your husband?” He pointed to the wedding photo. “He looks very different from his driver license photo.”
She touched the frame. “He’s lost over a hundred pounds since we were married.”
“DMV records indicate he has brown eyes.” Dayne pointed. “In this photo, his eyes are blue.”
“He wears brown contact lenses. He has an acute sensitivity to light.” Her lips twisted, and her expression turned to one of confusion. “I didn’t know he told the DMV he had brown eyes. He probably did that because he always wears his contacts.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” And to hide his identity. “Where are you from, Mrs. Mauser?”
“Minnesota.” The skin over the bridge of her nose wrinkled. “Why?”
“Where is your husband from?”
“Minnesota. That’s where we met.”
“Did he ever go by any other name?”
“No! What is going on here?” She looked from him to Paulson, her eyes narrowing. “What are you not telling me?”
He and Paulson exchanged looks, one that said they were running out of excuses. And running out of time. Christian Mauser was on the loose and no one knew where he was.
Time for the Hail Mary.
“Mrs. Mauser, what I’m about to say may come as a shock. Trust me, we wouldn’t say it if we didn’t think it were true.”
“Oh god.” She slid the gold cross back and forth along the chain. “Please, just tell me. Is he dead?”
“No.” He shook his head. “But we need your help and we need it fast. We believe that your husband may not be who he says he is.”
Her jaw dropped. “What do you mean?”
“Do you have something of his we could borrow? A hairbrush, a toothbrush, something he touches every day?” Something with DNA or fingerprints.
“I don’t understand this.” Her grip on the gold cross tightened, her knuckles whitening. “I need to call Christian again. I need to talk with my husband.”
Dayne exhaled a tight breath but let her go. They waited while she dialed. A minute later, she returned, her face paling more by the second.
“He’s still not answering. I don’t know what to do.”
“Mrs. Mauser…Carolyn. Please.” He used her first name to establish a more personal link she might respond to more readily. “We’re looking for someone. Someone dangerous, and we’re running out of time. We need your help, and we need it now. If the person we’re looking for isn’t your husband, then his fingerprints and DNA will definitively rule him out as a suspect.” It was him. Dayne knew it.
Carolyn’s eyes flicked back and forth. “He’s a God-fearing man. He’s active in the church. We both are. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. I know it. I know it in my heart.” The chain around her neck tightened then broke. The gold cross fell to the floor with a ping.
“Please, Carolyn. With your help, we can rule him out within twenty-four hours. By the time he gets home, this could all be over.”
Yeah, with my hands around the fucker’s throat.
Her eyes took on a faraway look as she processed the implications of what he’d just said. He wanted to press harder but worried they were about to lose her.
“O-okay,” she whispered.
He cast a quick look to the crucifix on the wall. Thank you, Jesus.
Her gait was unsteady as she led them upstairs then through the master bedroom into the bathroom. She opened a drawer and pointed. “That’s his, and so i
s the toothbrush in the cup.”
Dayne grabbed two tissues from the box on the vanity, one for the hairbrush and one for the toothbrush. He handed one tissue to Paulson, who went for the toothbrush, while Dayne took the hairbrush.
“Thank you, Carolyn.” He nodded to Paulson. “We’ll get you a property receipt.”
Minutes later, they placed the items in separate evidence bags Dayne dug from the back of his SUV. Paulson filled out a property receipt, going back inside the house to give it to Carolyn Mauser. While Dayne waited for the detective to return, he tried calling Beth Shanahan and the security guards on duty outside the castle and the Canine Haven. Nobody answered. What were the chances of none of them answering at the same time?
He tightened his hand around his cell and punched up Kat’s number. It went to voicemail.
“Mike.” He grabbed the evidence bags. “Get these to the nearest lab and run them for prints. Call me if you get a hit. I’m heading to the castle. No one’s answering there.”
“You got it.”
“And send patrol cars to the castle and the Canine Haven. Tell them I’ll meet them there.”
He pounded to the Interceptor and fired up the engine. Please don’t let me be too late. Two seconds later, he was peeling rubber up the New Jersey Turnpike.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Before she turned around, she knew. It’s him.
The killer.
An uncontrollable shudder swept through her body, and her heart began thudding painfully in her chest. Cold, stark fear prevented her from getting a single one of her body parts to move. Sucking in a deep breath, she started to turn when he grabbed her hair and yanked. Hard.
Excruciating pain radiated through her skull as he dragged her backward, twisting her hair tighter. She screamed, flailing her arms and clawing at his hands, but it was no use. His grip was too tight.