A Glimpse of Evil (26 page)

But my savior was out of patience with us. “I’m done answering questions, Ms. Fusco. When you want to open up to me, I’ll open up to you.”

Candice pressed her lips together, clearly frustrated. “Thank you again for your time, Lieutenant. We’ll stop bothering you now and let you get back to washing your car.”

Once we were safely out of earshot, I pressed Candice to consider being straight with Antoine. “What do we have to lose?” I asked her as we got in the car.

She didn’t answer me right away, and I thought it was mostly a pride thing for her. Other than me, she hated working a case with someone peering over her shoulder. It’s what prompted her to leave the big firm she used to work for and hang her own shingle. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “But I’d prefer to have him butt out and work this case with just you and me.”

“Okay, but at some point we’ll have to fill him in.”

Candice smiled. “Right,” she agreed. “The moment we haul Keisha’s killer in, I’ll personally place that call.”

The next few days held little in the way of progress. There wasn’t much we could do until we heard from Genevieve, so after a few days of waiting for the phone to ring, Candice placed several calls to the St. Louis PD and county morgue to try to track down Fontana Carter, and when that seemed to go nowhere, she did another search of public records to see if there were any more possible victims from our killer that maybe we’d overlooked.

“Whoa,” she said as she sat on the love seat opposite me in her condo.

“What?”

Candice swiveled her laptop around so that I could see the screen. The face peering out at me was another adorable little girl with a slight overbite and almond-shaped eyes. A cold prickle tingled my skin. To my mind’s eye her image was flat and two-dimensional. “Who is she?”

“Essence Jackson,” Candice said. “A missing-persons record was filed with the Dallas police on October tenth, of last year.”

“Did it go to the FBI?”

Candice moved her laptop back to face her. “I doubt it. She’d turned fourteen two months before she went missing.”

I cocked my head. “Why does that matter?”

“Children who disappear under the age of thirteen are considered critical missings, and protocol dictates that the FBI is looped in. But if they’re fourteen or older, they aren’t considered critical and are handled only by the local PD. I missed this one somehow in my first search.”

I got up and went over to sit next to Candice. “She’s a little older than the other girls,” I said.

Candice nodded. “Yeah, but look at her, Abby. She looks younger, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” I agreed. With those big doe eyes, Essence didn’t look a day over twelve.

Candice then read some of the details out loud. “Essence Jackson, age fourteen; missing since the evening of October sixth.”

“Why did her parents wait so long to report her missing?”

Candice’s eyes darted across the screen. “She lived with foster parents, and according to this, she’d run away from their home on several previous occasions, but had always come back within a few days. It sounds like it was a difficult relationship.”

“Well, if you’re wondering, Essence is no longer with us,” I said sadly.

Candice’s shoulders slumped. “Same guy?”

I closed my eyes and focused on her energy. “I think so.”

Candice shut her laptop and got up to fetch her purse. Retrieving her notepad, she walked back to me and sat down again. “We need to map this out,” she said, and began jotting down names and dates. “So far, we know that Patrice was murdered in March of oh-eight and Keisha was murdered in May.”

“Then Fatina was murdered in January of two thousand nine.”

“And now Essence in October of last year.”

“He’s still killing,” I said. I’d hoped that since Fatina had died over a year ago, maybe the serial killer had been imprisoned on another crime or even killed himself. Essence’s death was evidence that, as of the previous October at least, he was still out there.

Candice sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. “We’ve got to find this guy, Abby.”

“Did you call Genevieve?”

“This morning. A small electrical fire burned through a section of the church’s basement over the weekend. They put the fire out quickly, but Genevieve told me she’s had her hands full for the past couple of days. She did promise me she’d get to our list soon though.”

“Maybe you could call her again and beg her to make it a top priority?”

Candice nodded. “I think I’d better.” Candice then checked her watch and made a face.

“What?”

“I have to go.”

“Got a date?” I asked hopefully.

“Brice and I are having dinner tonight. I’m making his favorite dish and I’m planning to declare my undying love and devotion to him, or something slightly less ridiculous.”

My eyebrows rose. “Can it be that Candice Fusco is finally stepping up to that plate?”

“Someone’s got to,” she said, tucking her laptop into its case and gathering the rest of her things.

I thought I’d give her a little encouragement, so I said, “Speak from your heart and you’ll be fine. Just tell him how you really feel, and the rest will take care of itself.”

“You’d better be right about this,” she warned playfully. “If he tells me at the end of tonight that he just wants to be friends, I’m gonna come lookin’ for you.”

I laughed. “I’m perfectly willing to have you take that chance. Now get out of here and go make that dinner!”

As soon as I’d closed the door behind Candice, Dutch called. “You got a minute?”

“Sure, cowboy. What’s up?”

“Can you come down to the office?”

I eyed the clock. It was quarter to three. “Um . . . sure. Want to tell me why?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

On that cryptic note I was left to pull my awful-looking hair into a scrunchie, slather on far too much makeup to distract from the bad hair, pout fiercely at my reflection, and dash out the door.

When I arrived at the office, I found that little had changed since I’d been there last—except that there was a big old “9” on the whiteboard under number of cases solved. I smiled in satisfaction that not only had we met the goal set forth by D.C. and by Brice, but we’d pretty much blown those numbers right out of the water in less than a month.

Dutch waved at me from Harrison’s office and my smile vanished. With a little dread I saw that the blinds were closed. “Uh-oh,” I muttered, walking forward with a pounding heart. I’d never been fired from a job before, and I expected that’s what this was probably about. Either IA had determined that Rodriguez and I were at fault, or Brice had discovered that Candice and I were investigating an FBI cold case on our own.

When I entered Brice’s office, I was surprised to see Rodriguez already there, looking just as nervous as I felt. “Hey,” he said when he saw me. “Heard about that close call you had in Dallas. You okay?”

I sat down in the chair on his left and squeezed his good hand. “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Thanks so much for asking.”

“How’s the scalp?” Brice asked from behind his desk.

“Ready for a shower,” I admitted. “Only a few more days before the staples come out.”

Dutch closed the office door and took a seat next to me. I could see that a single file had been placed on Brice’s desk. With Rodriguez’s presence, I assumed it had to be IA’s findings.

“We’ve called you both in to let you know that the Internal Affairs investigation has been completed, and while they did find fault with you, Agent Rodriguez, for taking an untrained civilian employee to a possible crime scene, they have determined that you could not have foreseen that, given the lack of information from the original investigation. Your old partner admitted that when he followed up with the garage owner, he left out of his notes the fact that Clady’s son had been the one who’d towed the kids’ car and then dropped them off at the motel. Your old partner had also failed to do a background check on Darrell. Therefore, you had no reason to suspect anyone at Clady’s—especially given that you didn’t know previously Russell had a son.

“Further, given that you, Ms. Cooper, have had no firearms training whatsoever, the fact that you were so effectively able to take out the assailant is a commendable accomplishment. IA is making sure to note this in your file.”

I realized I’d been holding my breath and I let it out slowly, but I was still a little unsure what all that meant. “Soooo,” I said slowly, “are we off the hook?”

Brice winked at me. “Yes. You two are officially off the hook. And you, Ms. Cooper, are up for a commendation from D.C.”

“I am?”

Dutch reached over and gave me a gentle squeeze to my shoulder. “Congratulations, Abby,” he said softly.

I shook my head, as if I could rattle some sense into it. “Does this mean we can go back to work too?”

“It does,” Brice assured me. “I realize we’ve called you in on short notice, so if you would prefer to start back with us the day after tomorrow, that’s fine by me.”

“I’d like to put in a couple of hours today, sir,” Rodriguez said. I could only imagine that he’d probably gone a little stir-crazy at home.

“Of course, Agent Rodriguez,” Brice said, and turned expectantly to me.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” I asked. I’d been unprepared for this little turn of events, and there were some errands that I had to run.

Harrison smiled. “Certainly. We’ll see you tomorrow around eight thirty, Ms. Cooper.”

Dutch walked me out and gave me a big ol’ hug in the hallway. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered into my ear.

“For what?”

Dutch seemed surprised by my question. “For everything.”

“Everything?”

Dutch grinned. “Have you seen the whiteboard, Edgar? We’re solving cases right and left in there.”

I blushed. “You coming home for dinner?”

Dutch wiped his face with his hand. “Wish I could, dollface, but there are a couple of cases I’m working and we’re still trying to sort through all the possible connections.”

“You mean the one with those three dead guys we were talking about the other day?”

“Yep. Sure could use your input on that tomorrow.”

“Absolutely! I promise to help you guys out first thing.”

Dutch wrapped his arm around my shoulders and walked me to the door at the front of the office. “Any luck with the missing girls?” he asked before seeing me off.

“We have some intel we’re waiting to hear back on. It’s a long shot, but if it pays off, it could be gold.”

“Just make sure Harrison doesn’t hear that it’s one of our cases.”

“If the lead comes in, how about I tell you what we’ve found and let you take the case back?”

Dutch’s eyebrows rose. “Is Candice going to be okay with that?”

“Probably,” I said. “I mean, I’ll ask her, but I think if I phrase it right, she’ll agree that it’s better than telling Brice we’ve been working one of his cases behind his back this whole time.”

Dutch gave me one last hug, promising that he’d try not to be out too late, and I left to run errands.

 

Later that night around nine I got an odd text from Candice. It read simply that she was off our case until further notice, and that she’d catch me up on the details the next morning.

I sent her back a note asking if she wanted to talk because I had a strong sense that something upsetting had happened to my friend. She waited nearly an hour to reply and it was only two words: “Not now.”

To add to the confusion, around ten o’clock just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard the front door open and thought it must be Dutch, but another voice told me he had company.

I waited for him to come upstairs and he confirmed that he’d brought someone home with him. “Are you okay with Harrison crashing at our place tonight?”

I sat up and stared at him. “You brought Brice home?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He and Candice had a major fight and the poor guy was ready to camp out on his couch at the office.”

I blinked several times, trying to catch up with this sudden turn of events. “Uh, sure,” I said. “Of course it’s okay with me. And put him in the spare bedroom at the end of the hall. I just washed the sheets in there, actually, and there are fresh towels in the closet.”

“He’s good on the couch,” Dutch replied, and I gave him a stern look.

“Oh, for cripe’s sake, Dutch! He’s
not
sleeping on that lumpy couch.” When Dutch blinked dumbly back at me, I rolled my eyes and got up to grab my robe.

After heading downstairs, I found my boss sitting like a dejected little kid on the edge of the sofa. “Hey, Abby,” he said when he saw me.

“How you doin’?”

“Been better.”

I turned to Dutch, who’d followed me down the stairs, and scowled. “What?” he asked defensively.

“Can’t you see the poor man needs a beer?” Again I got nothing but a few blinks from him, and impatiently I hurried into the kitchen to retrieve a brewski. After handing it to Brice, I said, “There’s a room upstairs that’s all made up, sir. Why don’t you go on up and you can stay as long as you like?”

He smiled gratefully. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble. Really, I can crash on your couch and be out of your hair in the morning.”

It was then that I noticed the duffel bag next to him on the floor. I stepped forward, grabbed it, and turned to the stairs. “Don’t be silly,” I insisted. “You’ll be much more comfortable upstairs. And I mean it when I say you can stay here until you figure things out.”

I glanced back over my shoulder and saw the way Dutch and Brice were exchanging dumb blinks back and forth. “I’m not taking no for an answer, sir,” I said firmly.

Brice gave me a half smile. Standing up, he saluted and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s more like it.”