Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) (5 page)

He flicked it back off, and he and Donovan looked at one another in the sudden silence. “Was this music turned on or off when the first responders arrived?”

“Off.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“
I
was the first responder, along with Officer Mason. We were called out on an intruder alert. The music wasn’t playing then. You think the perp turned it off?”

“Someone called in an intruder alert?” This was news to him. He’d received the barest of details before he’d jumped into some tiny turboprop aircraft that had dumped him at the closest airfield.

Erin shifted uncomfortably. “Since Drew Hawke’s arrest we’ve had a spate of false reports from this address. We responded as we always do, but we didn’t take it too seriously. A third housemate arrived home when I was on the doorstep. She let herself inside. Found the bodies.” And Donovan was beating herself up over not breaking down the door the moment she arrived.

“You thought they were prank calling?”

“Not prank.” The expression on her face wasn’t bitterness, but it was a close cousin—regret. “They were deliberately provoking the police, but my chief wanted us to go easy on them.”

“Because their parents are loaded?”

Her blue eyes flashed. “Because I’d arrested one of their friends, and they seemed genuinely distressed by events. They were going through a bad time.” She released an unsteady breath. “And their parents are loaded.”

He looked at the body on the bed. She’d definitely gone through a bad time tonight. Had the fact they’d made a habit out of crying wolf gotten them killed? Or had the killer chosen them for some other reason—like being Drew Hawke’s girlfriend?

“You think the Hawke conviction is solid?” he asked, testing the waters.

If Erin’s teeth clenched any tighter together, her jaw would break. “It isn’t up to me to decide. I just provide evidence—”

“Cut the bullshit, Erin. Do you think Hawke did it or not?”

Her eyes flashed blue mercury. “Yes. Yes, I think he was guilty of raping those two women, and probably two other cases that weren’t prosecuted last year. But not because I have some vendetta against football players, which is what the papers keep spouting. It’s what the victims and the evidence told me.”

DNA in the form of a hair, witness testimony, even polygraphs. The case had seemed solid, but he needed to look at every detail. Darsh turned away and played the music again. He lowered himself into Mandy’s rickety chair, ignoring the way it creaked under his weight. Then he turned to face the monitor with his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Would Mandy have heard someone coming through her bedroom door with her music this loud? Would she have seen his reflection in her screen?

Or had the UNSUB burst in and quickly overpowered her, and then turned the music up to cover her screams? That didn’t make sense given there was another girl in the house—unless the other girl was already dead.

He pressed “pause” again. “Walk up behind me,” he instructed Donovan.

She did as he asked, but he didn’t see much of a reflection against the white background of Mandy’s Word file.

He glanced around the girl’s room, taking it all in, trying to imagine her sitting here just a few hours ago, more worried about an essay than the predator who had her in his sights. There was no sign of a struggle. The room was neat. Clothes folded. Darsh got up and checked the clothes hamper. Almost empty after the Christmas break. The way the UNSUB had arranged the body suggested remorse, but he hadn’t covered the face, which would have suggested the killer knew the victim.

“He caught her by surprise, didn’t he? She was listening to music, working on a paper, and he crept up behind her.” For one unguarded moment, anguish ravaged Erin’s features. She thought she’d misjudged the situation, and now she had two dead girls on her conscience. “She never stood a chance.”

Darsh forced himself to ignore her. “I’d like copies of Mandy’s schedule and all her social media accounts and email. You have her cell phone?”

“Cell was on the desk. Harry Compton, the other detective in Forbes Pines”—
wow,
two
whole detectives
—“took it when he went to find contact information to inform both sets of parents.”

Darsh didn’t envy Harry that task on any level. Working with dead people had its merits.

Erin’s lips pressed together as if keeping her emotions tightly under control.

Did she ever smile anymore? The way she’d smiled at him in that bar?
The memory of it blazed through his brain until he shut it down. The fact that she was attractive and good in bed was not in question here. The question was, was she a good cop? He’d ask Brennan to do a little digging into her background and performance evaluations. See if she had a history of making mistakes.

“I’ll make sure you’re sent copies of everything we find,” she told him as if he was going anywhere soon.

He ignored the supposition. Frankly he had no idea how long he was going to be stuck here, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t praying for an emergency situation that needed his immediate attention anywhere other than Upstate New York. “Tell me about the other victim.”

“Cassie was a junior majoring in sports psychology. Head of the cheerleading squad. Twenty years old.” She grimaced. “She thought I was Satan’s bitch.”

“But you still think it’s appropriate to work her murder?” he asked quietly.

The straightness of her spine was matched only by the sternness of her expression. “Unless I’ve become a suspect, Agent Singh, I’m the best hope she has of finding justice.” Her gaze met his in a direct challenge. “She annoyed me because she wasted police time, and we’re all busy enough without that bullshit. But I understood her position. I never felt any animosity towards her.”

“The chance of this being a random murder is pretty slim, which means someone targeted Cassandra Bressinger because of the Hawke connection. There’s no way this isn’t a conflict of interest,” he argued.

“Not true,” she said vehemently.

“You don’t think you’re too close?” he suggested.

“Too close?” If he hadn’t been watching her lips so intently he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle way they tightened. “We’re talking about facts and witness statements. The Hawke case was never personal to me. I know it better than anyone.”

“You must have gotten pretty friendly with the victims.”

Pain flickered in her gaze. She rested her hands on her hips, revealing her nipped-in waist and a Glock-22 strapped to her side, and he stopped looking at her eyes. Lord have mercy. He was a sucker for a woman with a sidearm.

Had she done it on purpose? Distracted him away from a moment of vulnerability.

“There was never any doubt the women were raped, Agent Singh, so naturally I felt sympathy for them. It was the identity of the attacker that was in question. We found hair that linked back to Hawke, and the women reported it was Drew Hawke who raped them. They each took polygraphs when challenged by the defense and passed with flying colors. Excuse me if that doesn’t sound like a slam-dunk.”

They stared at one another for a few seconds. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by Donovan’s passion for her cause—he knew exactly how that passion translated into other areas of her life, and that wasn’t good for his objectivity. He turned his gaze back to the bed and then stretched out his stiff neck. Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about Donovan’s capacity to do her job. He should just concentrate on doing his own.

They headed across the hall to another bedroom with blue-painted walls and flowery drapes closed against prying eyes. The whole house was quiet now, not even the murmur of ghosts.

The victim was stretched out in a way that exposed her genitalia. Had the UNSUB imagined the cops seeing her like this? Had he thought about shocking Detective Donovan when she walked in the door and saw the degradation? Darsh ignored the part of his brain that wanted to hurt for the victim and concentrated on what he was here for. Getting into the mind of a killer.

Mandy Wochikowski’s death had been clean and sanitary, whereas this one was violent, demeaning, and graphic. She’d been beaten. There was a definite sexual component to this assault. The lack of clothes, the overt sexual display. The mattress was bare. He peered closer at her blue jeans on top of the pile of bedding in the middle of the floor. The denim was ragged where they’d been cut with what looked like scissors. The fact her clothes had been cut off her body suggested the killer needed to subdue and restrain her before stripping her—hence the beating to the face? Would Mandy have heard the struggle in here if the doors were closed, and she was listening to loud music?

Probably not.

He looked around. “Did you find any scissors?”

Donovan shook her head; her silence speaking volumes.

Mandy’s murder had seemed almost like an apology. This one…the UNSUB had clearly been punishing Cassandra Bressinger, and had fun doing it. Darsh eyed the knots and blue climbing rope that tied her limbs to each corner of the double bed. It had been a long time since he was a boy scout, but some of the knots looked familiar. “Is the rope from the house, do you know?”

“I didn’t see it anywhere, but I haven’t talked to the other roommates yet.”

He had a feeling the killer had carefully planned this murder, so he’d probably brought the rope and scissors with him. The rope might be the best physical link they had to this guy. Had Cassandra been the original target and Mandy collateral damage? Or had he planned to tie up both girls, maybe even all four of them, but had been interrupted by the cops before he could do his sadistic shit to Mandy?

Had he lost his nerve? His arousal? Maybe killing someone hadn’t felt how he’d expected it to feel. Too messy. Too ugly? Maybe he hadn’t meant to kill the woman at all. Maybe the UNSUB had pushed the strangulation factor too far and cracked the hyoid bone. Cassie’s attack had been intentional, but maybe her death had been an accident.

“Who made the call about the intruder?” he asked.

“I haven’t listened to it yet. It’s first on my to-do list as soon as I get back to the station.” Donovan showed clear signs of exhaustion, but there was no way she’d leave until he did.

“Make sure those knots are preserved when the ropes are removed.” Knots could be very specific to offenders. “You have photographs of everything?”

She nodded.

“I want the rope and knots sent to Quantico for analysis.”

Cassandra’s wrists were bloody and raw where she’d fought her bindings. She’d been alive long enough to struggle. Then again, why tie her up at all if he didn’t want her alive for the main event? Darsh peered closely at the victim’s unpainted nails. Then he leaned closer, drawn by a hint of a scent that didn’t fit.

“Smell her hands,” he told Donovan.

The detective leaned closer and sniffed. Her brow crumpled. “Bleach?” She swore.

Bleach destroyed DNA. Cassandra had probably scratched the guy.

“I’ll go tell the techs to check the Clorox bottle for prints.”

When she came back, he asked, “How similar is this to the method that Drew Hawke was convicted of using?”

Donovan cleared her throat. “No bleach was recorded as being used to clean the bodies. He used a yellow nylon rope to tie up his victims, but we never saw the knots because the victims were either untied or managed to free themselves after he left.”

It was a difference possibly tied to the escalation, but still the crimes were remarkably similar. “The victims reported they were tied to the legs of the bed, correct?”

“Spread-eagled. Yes,” Donovan said quietly. “He crept into their bedrooms in the middle of the night. Injected them with ketamine, gagged them and then tied them to the four corners of the bed where he raped them repeatedly. I haven’t seen any injection sites on these victims, but we’re waiting on the medical examiner.”

“Ketamine
and
rope restraints?”

She nodded.

“Isn’t that a little excessive for a large male athlete who probably outweighed them by a hundred pounds?”

Her lips pinched. “I’m just telling you the facts. I didn’t get inside his head.”

No, that was his job, as she’d meant to remind him. He checked his watch. It was nearly five AM. “Does it usually take this long for the ME to arrive?”

“The chief wanted the State Medical Examiner involved in this investigation from the start, and they’re based in Massena about an hour away. There was a snowmobile accident last night and three people died—two children and their father. ME’s been tied up with that case, otherwise you’d have missed your chance to see the bodies in place.”

“As least the temperature here is the same as the morgue.” If not colder. “Any other similarities between the other cases?”

If she knew he was testing her, she didn’t show it.

“The pattern of bruising around the throat on Cassie is similar, although the other girls obviously survived. The fact it looks like she was violently raped? Yup, that’s the same.” Her gaze was sharp and penetrating. “And the bottom sheet is missing.”

He looked at the pile of bedclothes tossed on the floor. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “That information came out at Drew Hawke’s trial. No one knows what happened to the sheets, but it seemed likely Hawke took the bed linen to try to reduce physical evidence tying him to the crime.”

Rather than as a trophy. The fact this killer had done the same thing…

“So this UNSUB arrived with a murder kit and took even more stuff when he left.” Prepared. Experienced. Disciplined.

“So why not take the rope, especially if the girls were dead?” Donovan voiced one of the things he thought was inconsistent.

“You have people searching nearby dumpsters for physical evidence?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t sound optimistic. “Every dumpster in town. I called the garbage company and had them halt collections until we’re done. But I don’t think he’ll dump the sheet anywhere obvious. He’s probably already burned it.” She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and huddled into its warm depths. Darsh wished he’d thrown on something more substantial than a T-shirt and windbreaker before he’d started out. There was no snow on the ground in Boston.