Heart of a Killer

by Yolanda Wallace

  “What happened?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length.

  She stared into his bright blue eyes until the concern she saw emanating from them made her look away. She shook her head and tried not to cry. “I don’t know. We were talking about the JapanTech conference and I got up to grab us a couple of beers. When I got back, she was—She was—”

  She tried, but she couldn’t get the words out.

  “That’s okay,” Luke said, drawing her into his arms again. “You don’t have to say it. I can figure out the rest.” He glanced at the bullet hole in the window and the darkening stains on Charlie’s desk. He swallowed as if he were trying not to vomit, then he hastily looked away. “I’ll call someone and have them clean up this mess.”

  “Don’t bother,” she said when he started to pull his cell phone out of his pocket. “I already have someone on standby. They’re just waiting for the all-clear from the police so they can get started.”

  “I should have known you had already jumped into crisis mode. What can I do to help?”

  Though she and Luke had never been besties, she longed for someone to confide in. For someone to lean on. “Talk to me. Help me try to make sense of this.”

  He led her to a nearby chair and sat across from her, holding her hands in his. “Do the police have any idea who did it?”

  “How could they? No one we know would do something like this. And if we did, what possible motive could they have?”

  Luke shrugged. “When something like this happens, you always hear about people having secret lives. Maybe Charlie was into something she shouldn’t have been.”

  Brooklyn almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. “Charlie might have pushed boundaries from time to time, but she never went past them. She had a wide variety of interests, none of them illegal. Nothing, in other words, worth losing her life over.”

  “Perhaps she flirted with the wrong woman.”

  “That deserves a drink in the face at most, not a bullet in the head, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged again. “I’m grasping at straws here.” His frustration mirrored her own.

  “So am I. I can’t imagine coming to work and not seeing her holding court.”

  “She was one of your best programmers. What are you going to do about the projects she was working on?”

  “Assign them to someone else or take them on myself, I suppose.”

  Without Charlie around to distract her, she would have plenty of time to devote herself to work. Finding motivation—and inspiration—however, could prove problematic.

  “My team’s still struggling with the cell phone program,” he said. “How close is yours to coming up with a finished product?”

  She welcomed the chance to talk shop rather than continue discussing Charlie’s unfortunate demise.

  “Are you talking about the app that allows users to access the information on password-protected cell phones?”

  “Government agencies would pay dearly for the technology, which would allow them to pull info off of suspects’ phones and computers after crimes are committed.”

  “We shelved that project months ago.”

  Luke looked shocked. “What? Why? The first company that creates the program will practically have a license to print money. I thought BDV would be the one that hit the jackpot. Charlie told me over drinks one night that you were almost there.”

  “We were, but I couldn’t reconcile the privacy concerns if the technology ended up in the wrong hands or was used in ways other than originally intended.”

  “You opted to turn down millions—no, billions—of dollars in order to stand behind your principles?”

  “The choice wasn’t as hard as you’re making it seem.”

  “For you maybe. What did the rest of your team say?”

  “A few disagreed with my decision, but the vast majority were onboard. As was so clearly reinforced tonight, money isn’t everything.”

  She glanced at the police personnel wandering around the office. Their number had dwindled from over a dozen to little more than a handful. Soon they would all be gone, leaving her alone. Leaving her wondering what the hell she was going to do next. What she was going to do without Charlie.

  “Let me take you home,” Luke said. “You need to get out of here.”

  Brooklyn felt the thin threads of her temper begin to fray. “I wish everyone would stop trying to tell me what I need and let me figure it out for myself.”

  Luke held up his hands to indicate he meant no harm. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I appreciate your efforts, but I’m not made of glass. I don’t need to be handled with kid gloves.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry if I overstepped.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then slowly rose to his feet. “Give me a call if you need anything. Day or night, I’ll be there for you if you need me.”

  She thanked him for his offer, but after losing her best friend, the only person she planned to depend on from here on out was herself.

  Chapter Six

  Santana should have known the Evans job was too easy. She hadn’t had to perform any reconnaissance for the hit because all the information she had been told she needed was included in the dossier she had received when she was given the assignment. Evans’s list of personal contacts was missing, but her home and work addresses and her favorite hangouts were there, along with a list of her most frequent comings and goings. Santana could have kicked herself for choosing to rely on someone else’s intel rather than gathering her own. Yes, Winslow had wanted the job completed as soon as possible, but if she had taken the time to perform even cursory research, she would have known that BDV Enterprises, the company Evans worked for, was owned and operated by the woman she had met on New Year’s Eve.

  Olaf had a name, and her name was Brooklyn DiVincenzo.

  “I’ve officially made your acquaintance, Brooklyn, but it’s not nearly as much of a pleasure as I had hoped it would be.”

  She pulled up a website on her laptop as she continued her search. Befitting someone of her status, Brooklyn had a prominent social media presence. Santana scrolled through posts both professional and personal in nature. Charlotte Evans appeared in several of them, providing visual evidence of their relationship. Their bond was apparently platonic but obviously extremely close. That explained Brooklyn’s dramatic reaction when she had discovered Charlotte’s body.

  Santana took a sip of whiskey from the cut crystal glass sitting on the coffee table, but the alcohol didn’t help her swallow her guilt. Even though she hadn’t performed the hit, she still felt responsible for Evans’s death. She was determined to find out who had actually pulled the trigger and, more importantly, who had paid them to do it. Winslow had told her to let the matter drop, but she was just getting started.

  As she stared at the computer screen, she barely resisted the urge to caress an image of Brooklyn’s face. The photograph showed Brooklyn smiling and happy. She looked as she had in Tokyo. Open. Honest. For lack of a better word, carefree. She looked nothing like the terrified woman Santana had seen through her rifle scope a few hours earlier.

  “Stick to the objective,” she said, admonishing herself.

  She ran a hand through her hair, which was still wet from the shower. The clothes she had worn when she witnessed the hit on Charlotte Evans had been washed and were now tumbling in the dryer. Tomorrow, she would get rid of them and discard the fibers that had collected in the lint trap. Some might say she was being overly cautious, but in her mind, there was no such thing. She was too close to finally earning her freedom to spend the rest of her life locked in a cage.

  She refilled her glass, then returned to the task at hand.

  She started by gathering the information she hadn’t been provided, and she had foolishly chosen not to obtain, given Evans’s low profile. If she had taken her usual steps, she would have spotted the connection between Brooklyn and Charlotte before the hit was carried out. She might not have been abl
e to prevent Charlotte’s murder, but perhaps she could help solve it.

  Neither Brooklyn’s nor Charlotte’s social media profiles raised any obvious red flags. Both seemed relatively straightforward, painting them as smart, independent women who liked to work hard and play harder. Brooklyn’s emphasis was more on work, Charlotte’s on play. Even though there were plenty of pictures of Brooklyn attending an array of social events in a plethora of exotic locales, her posts appeared to be designed to promote a professional agenda rather than document a good time. Based on the numerous photos of her and her friends playing beer pong or lining up tequila shots while they mugged for an ever-present camera, Charlotte left her professional agenda behind once the work day was done.

  Santana closed the website and tapped a finger against her lips. It was becoming increasingly obvious to her that this was a problem she wouldn’t be able to solve from afar. She would have to do it from the inside.

  She reached for the napkin she had thankfully convinced herself not to throw away. The phone number that had been written on it was slightly smudged but still legible. She grabbed a burner phone she had activated but never used and entered the numbers on the keypad.

  The phone rang so long she began to think the call was going to go to voice mail. She didn’t want to leave a message, but hanging up and calling back would have felt like an act of desperation. This was no time to panic. She had to play it cool. She nearly sighed with relief when someone finally answered.

  “Hello?”

  The voice sounded curious, confused, and a bit uncertain. No surprise, given the events that had taken place tonight. Trying to sound reassuring so she wouldn’t cause further alarm, Santana made a studied effort to keep her voice calm.

  “May I speak to Olaf?”

  * * *

  The sound of her cell phone ringing drew Brooklyn’s attention away from the macabre scene taking place outside her office. She was grateful for the distraction.

  Mentally preparing herself to act as grief counselor to Charlie’s heartbroken parents or one of her stunned employees, she reached for the phone. She didn’t recognize the number printed on the display and the caller was listed as unknown. She never answered calls from numbers she didn’t recognize because she didn’t want to waste either her time or her data dealing with robocalls from random companies trying to sell her products she didn’t want.

  “My credit record doesn’t need repairing, I’m not interested in a timeshare, and I’m not in the mood to hear I’ve won some stupid contest I didn’t even enter.”

  She started to press the Ignore button, but she thought better of it at the last second. The timing of the call was most likely a coincidence, but perhaps it had something to do with Charlie’s murder. Was the killer reaching out to her to make sure he had finished the job? Or, even worse, was he calling to let her know he was just getting started?

  She had to admit the idea sounded farfetched, but so was the notion that someone would want Charlie dead. She swallowed to lubricate her suddenly dry throat, then pressed the Accept button and slowly brought the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “May I speak to Olaf?”

  Brooklyn didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved that her fears had proven to be unfounded. She settled on feeling embarrassed for allowing her imagination to run wild.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, deciding to limit her brainstorming to new technology rather than conspiracy theories. “You have the wrong number.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, you—” The caller’s voice caused Brooklyn to flash back to New Year’s Eve. To the evening she had spent flirting with a mysterious woman who had ridden to her rescue like a knight in an Armani suit. “TDH.”

  “One and the same.”

  TDH’s voice was even more intoxicating than Brooklyn remembered. Hearing it purring in her ear made her lightheaded. Or perhaps the physical and emotional fatigue she had been ignoring was finally beginning to settle in on her.

  “You told me if I ever found myself in New York, I should give you a call. As it happens, I’m in town for a few days so I decided to take you up on your offer. Is this a bad time?”

  Brooklyn glanced at the police personnel inspecting what had once been Charlie’s workspace but was now a crime scene. “You could say that.”

  “I’m sorry.” TDH sounded taken aback. She probably wasn’t used to having one of her overtures turned down. And who could blame her? The woman was flat-out gorgeous. She probably had women throwing themselves at her feet constantly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No,” Brooklyn said quickly so TDH wouldn’t be tempted to end the call. She could use a touch of normalcy while she tried to deal with a situation that was as far from normal as it could get. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Are you sure? You sound like you’re in the middle of something.”

  “I am, as a matter of fact,” Brooklyn said with a rueful laugh. “A police investigation.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Brooklyn laughed again. Luke’s visit had made her feel worse instead of better. Talking to TDH, on the other hand, somehow made the situation feel less dire. Funny how a stranger could offer her the comfort her friends had thus far been unable to provide. “You sound as shocked as I feel.”

  “What happened? Are you allowed to say?”

  TDH sounded empathetic. Like she could relate to what Brooklyn was going through. Brooklyn didn’t want sympathy. What she needed was understanding.

  “A friend—my best friend was murdered.”

  Her voice caught when she finally said the word. Thinking it allowed what had happened tonight to remain an abstract concept. Saying it out loud made it real.

  “Her name was Charlie,” she said, finally beginning to feel the loss. “Charlotte, actually, but she hasn’t answered to that since she was ten. We met at a computer camp half a lifetime ago. She and I were the only girls in attendance that year. The number of women in the tech industry is so small it often feels like the members of my staff and I are still the only girls who’ve managed to crash the boys’ club.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear you’ve experienced such a tragedy. You said your friend was murdered. That sounds intentional. Was she targeted, or was she the victim of some random act of violence?”

  Brooklyn didn’t feel like telling the story for the umpteenth time that night and TDH probably didn’t want to hear all the gory details anyway so she decided to be intentionally vague. “No, she was here. In the office. We were alone when it happened.”

  “You were in the—Wait. You’re not you still there, are you?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, I am. I’m waiting for the police to wrap things up. Then I can finally head home and try to put this day behind me. Eventually, maybe everything will start to make sense. At the moment, I can’t wrap my head around any of it.”

  “That’s understandable. You’ve been through a lot tonight. Do the police have any suspects?”

  “No, it’s too soon for that. Right now, they have more questions than answers. As for a motive, that’s nonexistent.” TDH fell silent so Brooklyn tried to fill the void. “I’ll bet this isn’t the conversation you were planning to have when you reached out to me, was it?”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  Brooklyn thought she couldn’t feel more depressed than she already did, but TDH’s response made her heart sink even lower. “I appreciate your honesty. So I’m assuming this is both hello and good-bye?”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  Brooklyn shrugged, then remembered TDH couldn’t see her. “We had fun in Tokyo. When I gave you my number, I was hoping for more of the same. I’m sure you were, too. I wouldn’t blame you for bailing. You didn’t sign up for all this drama.”

  “Neither did you.”

  The statement was so unexpected Brooklyn didn’t know how to respond.

  “I think it’s safe to say you’ll have a great deal of unplea
sant things coming your way over the next few days,” TDH said. “If it gets to be too much or if you simply want to talk, give me a call. You have my number.”

  “Yes, but I still don’t have your name,” Brooklyn said before she realized TDH had already ended the call.

  She smiled as the disconnect signal beeped in her ear. A few minutes ago, she had felt hopeless. Now she had something to look forward to.

  She was tempted to ask if life could get any stranger, but she didn’t dare because she was afraid to hear the answer.

  Chapter Seven

  Santana felt like an intruder in Brooklyn’s life. Like a cat burglar who had broken into her apartment and stolen all of her most valuable possessions while she slept. Their brief conversation had confirmed what she already knew. Charlotte Evans’s family and friends had no idea who wanted her dead or what their motive might be. Unfortunately, neither did the police.

  Given Evans’s lack of name recognition, solving her murder would most likely be deemed low priority. If authorities didn’t find the culprit within forty-eight hours, chances were they never would. The matter would be added to their already long list of unsolved cases, and the detectives tasked with solving the crime would perform routine follow-ups every few months or so to see if they could discover something new. By then, the trail would be cold, potential witnesses’ memories would have grown fuzzy, and the killer would be long gone. If they weren’t already.

  By rights, she should already be halfway across the Pacific by now. Instead, she had chosen to remain in New York. Why, exactly?

  She was not only curious about the circumstances of Evans’s murder. She was curious about Brooklyn, too. About the effect her best friend’s death was having on her. She had sounded strong when Santana spoke to her on the phone. Had she remained that way once the initial shock wore off or, more likely, had she fallen apart? When the tears finally came, did Brooklyn have someone to comfort her, or had she chosen to be alone with her grief?

  Santana hadn’t heard from her since their initial phone call. When she had offered to provide a sympathetic ear if Brooklyn needed one. Tellingly, Brooklyn hadn’t reached out to her. She was used to keeping people at arm’s length, not the one being held at bay.