Blood of Eden (13 page)

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Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Eden
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Back at the car, I sank into the passenger seat and gently pried my shoes off my swollen feet. “We have absolutely nothing. Not a single clue. Damn it.”
“It was worth a shot.” Gabe gave me a little nudge on the shoulder. “You're letting this case get to you.”
“Do you think Fischer found anything at the lab?” I asked, ignoring his comment. He was right. I was letting the case get to me.
“I'll call him and find out.”
I sat and tried to get the blood flowing to my toes while Gabe called Fischer. Before Fischer had even answered, I watched Julia sprint out of the house, alone, drop a duffel bag in the backseat of the car parked in the street, and drive off.
Where'd she leave the boy? Or had I just imagined she'd had company?
“Was it me, or did you think she had company?” I asked, figuring Gabe hadn't gotten Fischer on the line yet.
“I bet she sneaked him out the back door. Probably guessed we'd be watching the house.”
“Hmm, maybe.”
“Obviously, you've never sneaked a boy into your house?”
“No comment.” It was beyond awkward talking about this with Gabe. My face felt like I'd been sunbathing on Mercury. “What's going on with Fischer?” I asked, intentionally steering our conversation back to safer territory.
“I'm not getting an answer.”
“Damn.”
He shoved the key into the ignition and cranked it.
“Where do you want to go next?”
He shrugged as he shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. “I don't know. Anywhere but back to the office.”
“Okay.” I scooped up the file and started flipping through the pages inside. “It's getting late, but I guess we could try to finish up what JT and I started this morning.”
“Okay.” Gabe looked my way after stopping the car at a light. “Where to, then?”
“We were tailing Laura Miller's trail. She'd stopped at the Einstein Brothers Bagels a short distance from where she'd collapsed. We've already been there. Our next stop was where she was found.”
“Then that's where we'll head next. We'll just keep going all night, until something comes up.”
“
If
something comes up.” I sighed, knowing it was going to be one long night.
The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.
—Albert Einstein
10
We didn't know her name yet. Didn't know whether she was a mother, or a sister, or a wife. It was safe to assume she was a daughter, and a friend. She was a person with a life, and goals, and dreams. Well, she had been.
Now she was dead.
I was pissed.
We had failed.
And all thoughts about JT hiding evidence from me were shoved aside.
This was not the time.
The son of a bitch had done it again, killed yet another woman. All we needed for proof: those two little puncture wounds on our latest Jane Doe's neck.
I wanted to kick something. I wanted to scream. I wanted to wrap my hands around the killer's neck and wring the life out of him or her. I wondered if I'd ever get the chance to look her in the eye and ask her why she'd done it. Why she'd stolen four women's lives. Try as I might, I couldn't understand it. What had these women done to deserve this? Had they done anything at all? Maybe they'd been at the wrong place at the wrong time and she'd seen her chance and taken it.
As I studied the corpse, I didn't throw up this time. Maybe I was too furious to get sick. That could be the key. This scene was no less gruesome than the last. The victim had collapsed outside of a hair salon. JT was talking to a witness. Gabe was with Peyton somewhere close by. Fischer was talking to the lead detective.
Thankful I'd taken the time to change into a fresh set of clothes—and, more important, more comfortable shoes—after dragging all over Baltimore last night with Gabe, I squatted down to get a closer look at the body.
Right away, I noticed the bright red pinpoint spots on the woman's legs. The medical term—petechiae. There was also dried blood around her mouth. My guess: this victim had also died from dengue shock syndrome, resulting from an undiagnosed case of dengue hemorrhagic fever. The incubation period for dengue could range from three to fourteen days, but the average was four to seven. I assumed the difference explained the delay in the victim's death, and underscored the fact that nobody could anticipate when any individual would become ill from any infectious disease. Too many factors came into play. I was beginning to believe the first three victims dying within forty-eight hours of each other was a fluke.
But that brought up another question. Why would the killer use a method that was so difficult to control?
“Are you okay?” JT asked behind me.
I stood, turning to face him. “Yes. I think I'm getting the hang of it. Thanks.”
“I didn't get a chance to thank you last night. For staying at the hospital with me yesterday.”
“Hey, it's okay.”
“No. I mean—sure, you were doing what Peyton asked you to do. But maybe if you'd gone on without me ...” He motioned to the victim.
“Don't go there, JT. There's no sense in making those kinds of assumptions. Besides, Gabe and I went back to Baltimore last night. We were out all night, tracking the movements of all three victims before they died. We found absolutely nothing. I had hoped ...”
JT's touch on my arm was soft, fleeting, but it was enough to make me meet his gaze. Our eyes locked, and I saw the frustration and anger I could hardly contain mirrored in his expression. “We all feel the way you do.”
I blinked, almost certain I was going to cry. It was the exhaustion. The stress. I could normally handle pressure. In fact, I excelled under it. But this was a different kind of stress. It wasn't about test scores or competition. It was about life and death.
I crossed my arms and chewed my lip. “When I applied for this job, I thought it was going to be so different.”
“Yeah, you'd be filing, pouring coffee.” JT winked.
“No, I thought the clues would be easier to identify, and the cases easier to solve. I feel so stupid, having assumed it would be anything like books, television, or movies. How ridiculous.”
“We all think that way in the beginning. I came into the FBI believing I would be the guy who would crack open every case that landed on my desk. So did Fischer. And Peyton.”
“Maybe.” I glanced around. Everyone was busy, collecting evidence, analyzing it. Except for me. I was staring at a dead woman, feeling helpless, and useless. “I'd better get going, find out what Chief Peyton wants me to do next.”
JT set a hand on my arm. “Don't let it get to you, Skye.”
“I won't.” I hurried to Chief Peyton. The lead detective on the case was just leaving her as I stepped within listening distance. “Chief, it looks like everything here's wrapped up. What would you like me to do next?”
“I'd like you to go home, get a shower, and get some sleep,” she said as she motioned toward Fischer.
That wasn't what I'd been expecting. “I'm fine.”
“You're exhausted.”
“Sure, okay. Maybe I'm a little tired, but I can still work. I want to work.”
Peyton shook her head and looked me straight in the eye. “Skye, you need to learn to pace yourself. If you don't, this job is going to take everything from you. Your friends. Your family. Your life.”
“But there isn't much time—”
“That's for me to worry about. Not you. Got it?”
Reluctantly, I acquiesced with a nod.
“Be back at”—Peyton checked her watch—“three o'clock.”
“Okay.”
“And take Wagner with you.”
“Will do.”
Feeling a little like a scolded kid, I went in search of Gabe. I found him inside the salon, talking to the receptionist. The moment he saw me, his expression darkened. I gave him a little wave, and he excused himself.
“What's up?” he asked.
“We're being sent to our rooms, so to speak.”
“What for?”
“For our own good, it seems.”
“Bullshit.” Gabe clenched his jaw so tightly, his lips turned white.
“I'm not happy about it either, but I'm not going to argue with the chief.”
“If you won't, I will.” Gabe strode off, looking like a man who was ready to tell his boss what he thought. He returned less than five minutes later, looking like a very different man. He grumbled something I couldn't understand and motioned for me to follow. “I'm parked this way.”
He didn't say two words as he drove back to the FBI Academy. He pulled his car up behind mine, parked in the lot, and rammed the gearshift into park.
“See you later.” I gave him a weak smile, scooped up my laptop case, and dragged my exhausted body out of the vehicle. His wheels skidded a little on the pavement as he pulled away.
I returned home to a quiet apartment. A quiet apartment that reeked of chemicals. Thanks to Katie's latest experiments, the smell of burned this and distilled that generally didn't bother me. But this stench did.
And so did the bazillion dead bugs littering every horizontal surface in the place. Floors, tabletops, kitchen counter, shelves ... my bed.
Urgh.
So much for crashing for a couple of hours before taking a shower and heading back to work. There was no way I was going to sleep in a bed full of dead insects. Blech.
Surely, Katie hadn't slept here last night. Probably taken this ... infestation ... as an excuse to spend the night with her boyfriend. I checked her room. I was wrong.
Awakened by the sound of her bedroom door opening, Katie lifted her head and blinked at me. “Sloan?”
“What happened here?”
“Fireflies.”
“Fireflies?” I echoed. I'd never heard of a firefly infestation.
“Yeah. I went out for a while yesterday, and when I came home, just after lunchtime, there were hundreds of them in here.” Katie sat up. Her hair looked like she'd combed it with a cake beater. “So I set off some bug bombs.”
I looked down at the carpet. “Looks like they did the job.” “Yeah, they did. I wanted to make sure I got them all, so I bought some extras.” Katie stretched, yawned, and slowly crawled out of bed. She winced as she stood, then rubbed her temples. “Damn it, I have another migraine. I hate PMS.” Katie got a two-day migraine every single month, like clockwork. Every month, she suffered. And every month, I suggested she go see a doctor to get something for the pain. The over-the-counter stuff didn't touch it.
“That time already?” I asked.
Katie heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Yes.” She padded barefoot toward me. “Gotta pee, then eat, so I can take something for this fricking headache.”
“I think I'll start by stripping my bed ... after I consume a gallon of coffee.”
At the bathroom door, Katie paused. “Did you stay up all night?”
“Yeah. This case is pissing me off.”
“Sorry, hon.” Katie gave me a sympathetic smile, then shut herself in the bathroom to take care of business.
I headed to the kitchen, realized everything—even the sink—was covered with deceased
Photinus pyralis.
I decided a coffee run was much needed and headed out. I returned from Einstein Bros. to find my mother standing in the middle of my living room, her mouth gaping, and Katie frantically vacuuming the couch so Mom could sit before she fainted.
I shuffled in circles for a moment, looking for a clean, flat surface upon which to set the coffee and bag of bagels before using my elbow to rub a clean spot on the sofa table. As soon as I had my hands free, I went to my mother and supported her as she tiptoed across the floor to the now bug-free zone.
“What in heaven's name?” Mom asked when she was safe on the couch.
“We had a little infestation.” I handed her a coffee.
“Are they ... roaches?”
“No, fireflies.” While Katie helped herself to a bagel, I went to the kitchen for a paper plate and knife. Thankfully, there weren't any dead insects inside the cupboards, and Katie had taped plastic bags across the front, to protect our dishes and food. I put the bagel I'd intended for myself on the plate and handed it to my mother, along with a package of cream cheese. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” Mom pushed the paper cup of coffee away. “That coffee's terrible. Much too sweet. I've told you that before. Why you keep buying it, I'll never know.”
I smiled and took a sip. In my book it was perfect, as usual. “Can I get you something else?”
“No, no. That's okay. I didn't come here for breakfast.”
“Okay. I'm just going to get started. We have a lot of cleaning to do, and I need to get back to work in a few hours.” I took a few healthy swigs of coffee, then went in search of some cleaning gear. “Was there some reason for your visit today, Mom?”
“No, not really. I just hadn't talked to you in a couple of days, and you know how worried I get when you don't call.”
Using a dry washcloth, I cleared the bookshelf under the window of all the dead critters. “Sorry about that. I've been a little busy.”
“How's the job going?”
“Okay.”
“That's it? ‘Okay'?”
“I can't say much more. I will say this.” I dunked a second washrag in a bucket of Murphy Oil Soap and wrung it out. “The job is a lot harder than I expected.”
“Hmm.” My mother munched on the bagel. “I think that's a very good thing. You're being challenged.” She glopped some more cream cheese on the top of the bagel before taking another bite. “I've been thinking about getting a job myself.”
“Really?” My mother hadn't worked in decades. I couldn't remember the last time she'd held down a job. So to say this was a surprise was a bit of an understatement.
“Yes, really. My mind needs stimulation. I need a challenge. Something to make me think.” She stuffed the last bit of bagel into her mouth and nodded. “Yes, make me think. That's exactly what I need.”
Having finished with the bookshelf, I moved on to the sofa table, using the dry rag to dust the insects into a small trash can before wiping it down with the wet one. “What kind of job would you like to find?” I asked, deciding there was no harm in encouraging her.
“Oh, I don't know. I could check with a few of the local community colleges—see if they're hiring for the fall semester.”
“You mean, you want to teach?”
“Sure, why not? I am qualified.”
That she was. But she'd always said she would never teach at a college, not even if her life depended upon it. Her reasons had never been clear to me, but it didn't matter much, anyway. Her medical condition had kept her out of the workforce, collecting SSI, since I was a kid.

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