He was right; she was beyond beat. She wouldn't be able to contribute squat until she'd logged a decent night's sleep.
"I haven't aired out the cabin."
"I'll do it. I'll drag a chair outside if it makes you happy, while I read and wait for Ed."
"Okay." She headed into the kitchen to retrieve the keys as he brought up the rear with the coffee. "Sheets and blankets are in the closet. Just pull off the dust covers and stuff 'em in the laundry room. Close and plug in the fridge, and in the morning I'll drop off some things to put inside. The kitchen has a few dishes, dry goods and an assortment of soups. The bathroom's still stocked from a witness we were supposed to house a month back, then never did." She located the keys and a spare flashlight in her junk drawer and dropped them in Joe's waiting palm. "The keys are identical. One for you, one for Agent Walker. Call if you need anything else."
"I won't. You sleep. That's an order, soldier."
"Ha." She smacked his arm as he hefted the laptop and Seth's folder. "I don't take orders from grunts anymore. And since I'm now a lowly civilian taxpayer, technically you work for me."
"In your dreams, Holland. You sure you don't want me to set up shop on your coffee table? I can crash on the couch when I've hit my limit of gore."
And take a chance the night terrors would win out for the third night in a row? "Ruger snores. He'd keep you up."
"For Christ's sake, I'm serious. This bastard has a bead on you."
"I appreciate the love, especially since you're the most happily married schmuck I know. But the fact that Andrea Silva isn't a vet lends even more credence to the fact that this guy's fascination with me is recent—and that he's most likely eyeing everyone in my department. As for me, he's done his initial recon; I'll give him that. But he doesn't know what makes me tick, and he sure as hell won't be able to get close enough to include me in his games. He made a critical mistake tonight. Ruger has his scent. If he shows up, Ruger will know it's him, and then I'll know it."
"You just make sure you act on that knowledge. If that mutt alerts, you shoot first and ask questions while I'm mopping up the mess."
"Absolutely."
"Good. Now where's this cabin?"
"If you'd taken the right side of the Y instead of the left when you and Seth screamed up my drive, you'd have gotten there." She accompanied him to the deck and pointed to a generous gap in the floodlit tree line. "The shortcut starts there. My dad felled enough oaks and pines after we moved in to make the path obvious. Just follow the ribbon of leaves and pine needles smack into a split-log cabin a third the size of this."
She waited for Joe to reach the path, then brought her thumb and index finger to her mouth to generate a piercing whistle that had Ruger racing out from the underbrush. She waited as he barreled into the house before locking the doors and checking the latch on his dog flap. Only then did she extinguish the exterior lights.
"Well, I'm good to go. How about you?"
Kate took Ruger's woof as a "yes", and padded down the hall, exhaustion weighing her steps. She retrieved her Braxton PD jacket and backup piece from the bed and tossed them on the dresser. Dumping her phone and 9mm on the nightstand next, she leaned over to draw the covers from her pillow—and froze.
Ruger was right. Despite the impromptu and quite plausible story she'd constructed for Lou earlier that evening, someone had been in her house. In her room.
Leaning over her bed.
The proof was winking up at her.
Her Silver Star. The one some droning, faceless general had hung on her uniform while she was imprisoned at Walter Reed. The same Silver Star she'd shoved in its case five minutes later with that damned Purple Heart and dumped in her duffle bag and, eventually, the trunk in her father's room...where it had remained for the last three and a half years.
It wasn't there now.
It was pinned to her pillow.
10
She woke from her third night terror in as many days. As usual, Ruger was at her side, gently nudging her.
Heart still pounding, Kate buried her face in the Shepherd's warmth as she struggled to slow her ragged breathing. In, out. In, out.
Over and over.
It took a good minute, but eventually her heart began to settle and the panic eased. It was only when she pulled away from Ruger's neck that she realized she was on the floor of her bedroom closet. Not only had the terrors returned, she was sleepwalking.
Good God, not again.
The walks had begun at Walter Reed. She'd woken one night to find one of the nurses assigned to her recovery standing over her, attempting to comfort her as she cowered in the corner of some unknown doctor's office. She'd begged the nurse to keep the incident to herself. Not only had the woman ratted her out, it had happened again and again. A patient lounge, the corner of some dimly lit stairwell, the visitors' bathroom on an upper floor. Soon it had become routine for her to wake anywhere but in her bed.
Her shrink had warned her during their final session that, unless she found someone she could confide in and dealt with what she could and couldn't remember from those eleven hours of captivity, the night walks and terrors wouldn't cease.
But for a while, they had.
Because of Ruger.
They'd slowed to a trickle from almost the moment she'd found the Shepherd lying in a pool of his own blood out behind her cabin. Ruger had insisted on crawling into bed with her that first night after she'd brought him home from the vet. Even then, with his own wounds still raw and seeping, his mere presence had somehow managed to ease hers. Until now.
Was she losing it again? As much as she wanted to deny the possibility, she couldn't.
That goddamned Silver Star.
Kate opened the closet door and scrambled out. Ruger followed, hopping up onto the middle of her bed as she clung to the edge. The medal was on the dresser where she'd dumped it the previous night, its once gleaming surface and attached red, white and blue striped ribbon now smudged with the remnants of black fingerprint powder.
It was devoid of prints.
She hadn't even been able to lift her own, let alone those from the general who'd pinned it to her uniform...much less the killer who may or may not have attached it to her pillow.
Of course, if the killer had been in her house, he would've also had to have been smart and adept enough to maneuver Ruger into another room while he rifled through her footlocker. He would've then had to have been savvy enough to lure Ruger back into her father's room before heading across the hall to pin the medal to her pillow. A man that methodical would've worn gloves.
But then, why wipe the medal clean? Because he was that paranoid about potential evidence?
She prayed so. The alternative suggested she was losing her grip on reality...or worse.
Was she stalking herself?
If she couldn't remember climbing into her closet in the dead of night, much less grabbing an AK-47 upon her escape from that hovel where she'd been raped and using it to slaughter a room full of terrorists, who was to say she hadn't wiped the medal down and pinned it to her pillow? As much as she hated to admit it, the scenario was equally as plausible as a killer entering her house and sanitizing that piece of tin, even though he was already wearing gloves.
Unfortunately, Ruger was the only one who knew for sure if her remaining marbles had shattered completely, and he wasn't talking.
But he was snoring.
Loudly.
Kate eased herself off the bed and padded out of the room. She checked her watch as she reached the kitchen, and groaned. It was barely four in the morning. She poured fresh grounds into the coffee machine and set it to perk before heading for the shower. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well wash the latest slick of sweat from her flesh and plow through any new reports that had been added to the department's files before she reviewed the rest.
Her puttering must've broadcasted her intent, because Ruger poked his nose in the bathroom while she was waiting for the water to hea
t.
Kate scratched his ears. "You need to go out?"
His answering ruff had her turning off the water and detouring to the front porch where she waited for him to do his business. It took less than a minute. She let them inside and locked the door behind them, then returned to the bathroom to resume the flow of water and strip off her sweats.
Ten minutes later she was dressed in a navy blue Braxton PD polo, jeans and boots. Ruger followed her to the kitchen table where she'd already set up her laptop, and stretched out beside her chair to resume his snores.
By the time Ruger woke, her neck had begun to ache.
No wonder. The cuckoo clock across the kitchen had begun to chirp out seven a.m.
Ruger sat up as the bird finished, and cocked his head to the side.
"What is it, boy?"
Several moments later, she caught the rumble of a diesel engine. They had company. Ruger's tail whipped back and forth as he stood to whirl about. Only two people warranted that level of enthusiasm, and she was already here.
Kate closed the laptop and stretched as Ruger headed for the front door, huffing his impatience the entire way.
"I'm coming; I'm coming."
She crossed the living room, unlocked the door and swung it open before their visitor could knock.
"Morning, boss."
Lou frowned over the stack of files and pair of oversized food containers in his arms. "Did you even bother to look through those glass slats?"
Kate grabbed the files before they could slip from the sheriff's arms. "Didn't have to. Ruger could smell that contraband you brought a mile up the drive."
Even if she hadn't caught a whiff of the jumbo bacon and cheddar muffins that were his wife's specialty, there was no mistaking Ruger's dance. His tongue already hanging from his mouth, the Shepherd tracked the container's every move as he waltzed from side to side—regardless of the fact that just one of those lovely little heart-stoppers would have him producing enough gas to fuel a rocket to Mars.
Lou had the grace to flush as he followed Kate to the kitchen. "Sorry. Wasn't thinkin'. With all that's been goin' on, Della's been bakin' non-stop to keep from worryin'. I gotta get rid of the results somehow. If it helps, I got blueberry scones in here too. And I hope you don't mind, but I called the cabin. Agent Walker and your friend will be here in ten. Figured we could get through the mornin' brief outside eye-and-ear range of them damned reporters."
"They're in town already?" On a Sunday?
"They never left. Seen two of the vans parked at the motel on my way here. What are the odds a little roach reunion with their six-legged cousins will have 'em scurryin' outta town by brunch?"
In her experience? She'd prefer to buy a lottery ticket.
Setting Lou's files on the table, Kate headed for the coffee pot. She refreshed her cup and poured one for Lou, adding fresh grounds and a second pot of water before she brought the coffees and a stack of paper napkins to the table. She lobbed a bacon bomb Ruger's way as she sat. She wouldn't be home to smell the results, anyway. "Anything new?"
Lou lifted the uppermost folder from the stack. "Finally got the data on the first two victims' phones."
Kate waved off the file. "I read it a couple hours ago online."
Lou studied her face as she retrieved a scone. "That explains them circles under your eyes. Thought I gave you orders to go to bed."
"I went. Just couldn't stay there."
From the set of his brows, it was clear he'd assumed her sleeplessness lay at the foot of that cross. She didn't correct him. Better he chalk up her insomnia to unresolved issues with her dad, than admit to the sleepwalking and night terrors. Not to mention that Silver Star. Knowledge of any or all of the above would only punch Lou's worry into hyperdrive.
Or he'd have her committed.
Right now, she couldn't afford either.
But neither did she have the patience or the nerves to dip into the anger, regret and guilt that surrounded her father's memory.
The cavalry had come to her rescue once again.
Kate stood and followed an alerting Ruger to the double doors that led to her deck. By the time she had them unlocked, Joe and Agent Walker were stepping out from the trees at the end of the wooded path. Both men waved.
Kate waved back and granted Ruger permission to take the run he was champing to make. He took off like a shot, rounding the far side of the clearing as the men reached the middle. A brief stop to sniff at something, and Ruger was shooting back around to her. The Shepherd was seated—and panting—at her side as Joe stepped onto the deck to offer Kate a morning hug.
She and the BAU agent settled for a handshake and followed Joe into the house.
Her old friend joined Lou at the table. "Morning, Sheriff."
"I told you, son, it's Lou." He tapped the plastic tubs in turn before sliding a napkin to Joe. "Muffins have cheddar and lots of bacon in 'em. The scones are lemon-blueberry."
By the time Kate had poured two additional coffees and carried them to the table, Walker had appropriated her father's seat.
She swallowed the urge to suggest he move to one of the two remaining chairs and resumed her childhood seat.
Kate passed Joe the folder Lou had mentioned earlier. "It's the phone company data from Kusić's and Dunne's cellphones. We're still waiting on Andrea Silva's, but I'm betting we'll see similar results."
Joe frowned. "Let me guess. The phones went out of service near Fort Leaves or their homes around the time they disappeared."
"Yup. And it was near the homes."
"Damn."
She, Lou and Walker nodded in agreement. While they still might be able to glean information about the killer's movements from the nurse's phone, there'd be no further clues from Kusić's or Dunne's, not with the batteries long since removed.
Lou snagged a muffin. "There's somethin' else. I had Nester call his cousin last night and grill her for everythin' else she knew about Ms. Silva. While Silva and her girls were livin' in a modest enough home in Little Rock, the kids have a live-in nanny for after school...and they both attend Pulaski Prep."
"On a VA employee's salary?" Kate let a whistle slip. "Are we sure they're not on scholarship?"
"Yep. Owen woke up the headmaster. Silva paid on time and outta her personal checkin' account."
"So she had extra money coming in too." Based on Pulaski's tuition, quite a bit. Kate retrieved the yellow legal pad she'd been using all morning and turned to a fresh page to scratch out more notes. "So we have three victims: an admin type, a lab tech and a surgical nurse. Two men and a woman. Both men are white and vets; the woman is of Hispanic descent and a civilian. The men work at the same hospital, but all three are current VA employees. All three victims also appear to be concealing something serious enough to cause each to lose his or her job if it came to light—and could possibly send them to jail. Finally, they're enjoying extra income from an unknown and, most likely, ongoing source. Did I miss anything?"
The men shook their heads.
Kate passed the BAU agent a napkin as he reached for one. "Ed, I have to confess. I'm desperately hoping you had a chance to form an initial impression at the morgue."
"I did. The online reports helped flesh it out. I hope you don't mind, but I used the printer in your cabin." The FBI agent opened the folder he'd brought and passed out copies of his assessment. "This is preliminary, of course. But as you can see, I agree with Kate's overall assessment of the scenes. The murders occurred somewhere remote. Housed where the killer could take his time and know he would not be interrupted. He's most likely male, in his mid-to-late twenties to early forties, physically strong, intelligent and highly organized. There does not appear to be a sexual nature to these crimes. I believe the killer is motivated by revenge and is operating off a specific list. This is supported by the fact that his victims are of differing ethnicity and gender, as well as Kate's encounter with the SUV bearing the same tread from the Dunne scene, along with the killer's possible break-in
at this very house last night. Both times he could've attempted to stay to hurt her, but he did not. Like Kate, I believe he's toying with her due to her position as the lead investigator. If he were to kill her, he would lose whatever satisfaction he's experiencing. However, this final element—Kate—may or may not be sexual in nature."
That Silver Star flashed through Kate's brain.
It was definitely not nice to know that if the killer had pinned it to her pillow, it was probably because he'd used it as fodder to help him get his rocks off first. The thought put a whole new light on its cleanliness—and turned her stomach in the process.
Kate shoved her uneaten scone to the middle of the table as Lou turned toward the BAU agent.
"Any idea who we're lookin' for?"
"Not yet, Sheriff. I too believe the possibility exists for a connection to a disgruntled patient or relative. But there is something about the scene that does not fit that theory."
Kate nodded. "The parts." They bothered her too. "The way they were so precisely lined up. Not to mention the almost fanatical lack of blood—and the missing organs. I still think their absence is key. And those goddamned paper sacks." She just couldn't get the "one, to go" feel out of her head when she stared at them.
None of it shouted disgruntled patient.
Joe added his nod to hers. "I agree with everything but the organs. I think this guy left them out because of the mess. Everything is so pristine. Kate, if your ME is right and those bodies were sliced up on the same day, the organs would've started to break down by the time you found all three sets. I think this guy's smart enough to foresee the decay factor, and plan for it. Or rather, to plan for it to not be part of his tidy little display. Ed?"
The BAU agent shrugged. "At the moment, both sub-theories fit. We'll need more to narrow it down."
So long as "more" wasn't another body. Kate reviewed the notes she'd scrawled while Walker had delivered his assessment. A phrase jumped out at her: operating off a list.
List.
Adrenaline spiked, burning through her exhaustion.
The Garbage Man Page 18