Deep Dark (18 page)

CHAPTER 20

Laney reached for the alarm, but he caught her wrist.

“Get the fuck off me.” She yanked her hand away and lurched back, bumping against the wall.

“You're sure as hell not my sister. Who are you?”

Laney pressed herself against the wall and stared at him. It was the guy from the waiting room. Scream's brother.

“What's your name?” he demanded.

“Delaney Knox. Who are you?”

“James Gantz.”

He stepped closer. He was even taller than Scream. He was thin, too, and had blue eyes, but the resemblance stopped there. With his overgelled hair and perfectly tailored suit, he looked slightly less subversive than his brother.

“How do you know Edward?” he asked.

Laney reached around him and pressed the ground-floor button before the doors could pop open again. “We're friends.”

He stared down at her.

“We worked at the Delphi Center together.”

He seemed to take this as proof of her legitimacy, and his posture relaxed. He ran his hand over his hair, and she saw that his eyes were bloodshot.

“How's he doing?” she asked. “They wouldn't tell me much.”

The elevator stopped, and he held the door open as she stepped out. He glanced around, then ushered her out of the traffic flow to a spot beside a gift shop that sold balloons and teddy bears.

“I honestly don't know.” He planted his hands on his hips. “The doctor said the surgery went okay, but then he took a turn this morning. They think it's his kidney.”

Laney bit her lip.

“So . . . are you his girlfriend?”

“Friend.”

He looked down at her, and she could tell he didn't buy that. “Do you have any idea who would want to shoot him?”

“No.”

He sighed. “The FBI doesn't, either.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I've been in town about three hours, and they've already interviewed me twice.” He shook his head. “I know my brother was into some shady stuff, but . . .” He looked away.

“But what?”

“He's smart. I thought he knew not to get mixed up with anyone dangerous.”

A toddler skipped past them into the gift shop, followed by a woman pushing a stroller. James paused to watch them, and Laney took a moment to study him. He looked exhausted, like maybe he'd been up all night.

“Are you the brother who lives in Houston?” she ventured.

“How'd you know that?”

“He mentioned it.”

“I drove in as soon as I got the call.” His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket to check the screen, then tucked it away again.

“So, Delaney . . . you know what Ed was working on lately? The FBI seems to think this might have something to do with his company.”

“I don't really know.”

“I talked to him Wednesday, but he didn't say anything about it. Not that he would tell me.” He gave a wan smile. “He never talked to me about his work. Computers are his thing, not mine.” He paused for a moment, looking at her. “They said they interviewed a female witness last night. I assume that's you?”

“Who said?”

“The police.”

She hesitated, unsure of what to tell him. “I didn't actually see it happen. I was back in the office.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then glanced at the window display beside him where there was a row of teddy bears wearing T-shirts that said “Get Well Soon!” His eyes teared up, and he turned away.

“Would you mind if I got your phone number?” she asked. “In case I need to get in touch.”

He cleared his throat. “Sure.” He tugged a business card out of his wallet and handed it over. The card said he was a senior sales associate for a software company she'd never heard of.

Computers are his thing, not mine.

Laney glanced up. He didn't seem to catch the irony. And she realized he reminded her of Ian Phelps from ChatWare, yet another software salesman who knew nothing about computers. Unlike Ian, though, this guy didn't seem like a total prick.

“You know, he'd been throwing around money lately,” James said. “I don't know what he was doing, but I should have pressed him on it. I should have asked questions.”

“Maybe it's better you didn't.”

His brow furrowed, and she regretted saying it. His phone buzzed again, but this time he didn't pull it out.

Laney slid the card into her pocket. “If I hear anything new, I'll give you a call.”

“Same goes.” He offered her his hand. “Nice to meet you, Delaney. You take care of yourself.”

•   •   •

Mia Voss didn't look old enough to be one of the nation's foremost DNA experts. Probably the freckles, Reed thought as he followed her into a conference room. The ponytail didn't help, either.

Then again, everyone seemed young to him these days.

Reed and Jay took chairs around the table as the doctor sat down and flipped open a file.

“I completed your tests. The results were a bit complicated, and I wanted to walk you through everything.” She straightened her papers in front of her, and Reed ID'd her as an extreme type A. Not a bad quality for a forensic scientist whose work could determine people's fates.

“First of all,” she said, “I haven't finished analyzing the duct tape yet. However, I was able to finish the lightbulb you all sent in, and I can confirm that the material on it is, in fact, blood.”

Jay looked at Reed. “She was right.”

“Who was?” Mia asked.

“Our CSI.”

“I can also tell you that it's a good thing you sent the evidence to us. We're dealing with a small sample of very low quality, so I had to use some advanced techniques to develop the profile.”

“Such as what?” Reed asked.

“I'm sure you're familiar with STR testing.” She glanced from Reed to Jay. “Short tandem repeats. Those are markers on the DNA strand. I used a technique called miniSTR analysis because I had so little material to work with, and some of it was degraded.”

“Any idea why?” Jay asked. “I mean, we think the perp unscrewed the lightbulb just a day or two before Isabella Marshall's murder. Not too much time has elapsed since he touched it.”

“Yes, but I'm talking about the material he
deposited
on the lightbulb. That material is much older and, as I said, degraded. It could be a lot of factors—­humidity, ultraviolet light, bleach. It all depends on the circumstances. You're operating under the assumption that this material rubbed off from gloves worn by the perpetrator?”

“We think he uses a murder kit,” Reed told her. “He brings certain items to the crime scenes—condoms, duct tape.”

“The murder weapon,” Jay added.

“So, if that's the case,” she said, “you're theorizing his kit includes a pair of gloves.”

“He has a favorite hammer,” Jay said. “We figure, why not gloves, too? This guy's pretty particular.”

“Well, however this sample got deposited—and a glove worn by the killer is a definite possibility—it's old and low-quality, but it
is
blood.”

“Whose?” Reed asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“Not Isabella Marshall's, I can tell you that.” She consulted her notes. “Preliminary testing indicates that this profile is consistent with a sample submitted by the Clarke County Sheriff's Office. The sample is from a woman named Olivia Jane Hollis.”

Reed looked at Jay. Veronica had been right again. Reed's pulse was thrumming. It was a major break, and suddenly, his crap morning was looking a little better.

“Her DNA was entered into the database two years ago, shortly after she went missing,” Mia said.

“Then you're essentially telling us he wears the same gloves all the time,” Jay summarized. “Including when he scopes out the place ahead of the murder. And with Isabella, he got a previous victim's blood on her porch light when he unscrewed it.”

“I'll leave you guys to determine a plausible scenario,” she said. “I'm simply relaying what the evidence says, which is that blood from Olivia Hollis is on the lightbulb in question.”

“Since you haven't mentioned it,” Jay said, “I guess it's too much to hope that there's any other DNA on that lightbulb? Like maybe some male DNA that could belong to the killer?”

“Unfortunately, no. I ran a standard amelogenin procedure, used to determine sex. The genetic material here came from a woman.”

“Damn,” Jay muttered.

“Sorry.”

“No, don't be.” He looked at Reed. “It's the best break we've had. It connects the two crime scenes, which puts us at three, and that makes it official.”

“Official?” She looked at Reed.

“Three connected murders,” he said. “We're dealing with a serial killer.”

CHAPTER 21

It was just like at Urban Grounds, only this time Laney saw him coming. She was standing in the Delphi Center's lobby coffee shop, and Reed walked right up to her as she collected her extra-large no-whip latte.

“Can I talk to you?” He darted a glance at Ben, who quickly took the hint.

“See you upstairs, Lane.”

She watched Ben leave and felt a twinge of panic. She stepped away from the bar into a quieter corner of the store.

Reed gazed down at her, looking perfectly calm. “You disappeared,” he said.

“I had to get to work.”

“So did I.”

She stared up at him, at a loss for a comeback. Her heart was racing now. She hadn't thought this through. She'd known she'd run into him, but she hadn't expected it to be so soon.

His eyebrows tipped up. “That's it? We have amazing sex all night and then you sneak out at six in the morning?”

“What else did you want?”

He stared down at her for a long moment. Then he looked away and shook his head, laughing, although he didn't look like he thought anything was funny.

“What else? Okay.” His gaze locked on hers again. “For starters, how about we finish the conversation we were having?”

The conversation about Scream, he meant. The one they'd been having when she crawled onto his lap. She thought of his mouth and his hands, and her cheeks flushed hot at the memory.

“We were talking about Edward,” she said.

“About what you were doing at his place when he got
shot
, yeah.”

Laney wanted to duck out of this again, but she was all out of tactics. And he'd see right through her anyway. He was way too perceptive and always homed right in on the slightest lie or misdirection.

“You have to promise me you won't share this with the FBI,” she said.

“I can't do that, Laney.”

“You have to promise to try.”

He folded his arms over his chest and watched her. Finally, he nodded.

“I told you how Scream finds back doors into places. He's really good at it.”

“Better than you?”

“Yes.”

She glanced around the coffee shop, but the midmorning rush had subsided, and they had the place mostly to themselves. She lowered her voice anyway.

“I asked him to help me with Mix,” she said. “I told you how I redesigned their security last fall? I wanted him to see if he could penetrate it. Because someone obviously did.”

Reed's jaw tensed. “What'd he find out?”

“Nothing.”

He looked surprised.

“But that helps us, too,” she said. “It confirms what I already thought, that Mix's security is tight. Which means whoever managed to breach it knew what they were doing because there was no back door, not after my team and I overhauled everything.”

“So how did he get in, then?”

“We didn't get that far.” Her stomach clenched as she remembered the muffled gunshot.

“And this is what you were talking to him about when you went over there?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sure you have a theory. What is it?”

She nodded. “Well, in any system, people are always the weakest link. My idea is that the killer used social engineering. That's basically penetrating a system through human contact.”

“You're saying it's an inside job?” His gaze narrowed. “We've already looked at all their employees.”

“Not an inside
job
, necessarily, but I think he used an insider. He could have used a phishing scheme to get a high-level employee's password. Or he could have covertly entered the building. Or maybe he got hold of someone's computer and tampered with it to give himself a portal. If he was clever enough, he could use someone to gain access without them even knowing it happened.”

“Let's assume he's clever enough. Now what?”

“Now . . . we have to check it out. Confirm. If we can find out who he used, and how, that should tell us something about who he is. We might even get an ID.”

“
We
aren't doing anything. You're not on this case anymore, remember?”

She just looked at him.

“Have Ben do it. Or Mark,” he said. “But I don't want you involved.”

“I'm aware of that.”

“You're aware, but you plan to ignore me, right? God damn it, Laney.”

She didn't bother answering. She figured her silence was answer enough.

•   •   •

“Not happening. We're not involving the FBI.”

Reed looked at his lieutenant across the conference table and clenched his teeth. It wasn't the answer he'd wanted, but it was what he'd expected.

“Sir.” Jordan cleared her throat. “I'm not sure you're seeing the implications—”

“I see just fine,” he snapped. “And I'm telling you no. Everything's circumstantial. It's not enough.”

“With all due respect, sir, what more do you need?” Jordan asked. “April Abrams's and Bella Marshall's murders are obviously connected. And now we have DNA evidence linking them to Olivia Hollis. That's three victims.”

“And probably more,” Reed said. “The Delphi Center's profiler believes he started well before now, maybe years ago. He believes he's pursuing a
list
of women, monitoring multiple targets.”

“No FBI,” Hall said firmly.

“What about ViCAP?” Jay asked. “If we could at least run it through their database of violent crimes—”

“No is no,” Hall said. “I don't want the feds involved. Period. So far, we have two homicides in this city”—he
looked at Reed, as if daring him to contradict him—“which is more than enough trouble. We don't need to go advertising the fact that there's a serial killer out there. The last thing we need is the FBI swooping in here and setting up some task force and creating a media circus. And that comes straight from the chief.” He crossed his arms and stuck out his chin, looking remarkably like Reed's five-year-old nephew when he didn't get his way.

Reed's temper festered. This went beyond turf wars. Hall was protecting someone. Was it Mix.com or one of its executives? Or was this whole thing coming down from Aguilar, and the chief was protecting someone? Much of Austin's economy was based on the rapidly growing tech sector, and there were some pretty cozy relationships between the business community and city hall.

“We done here?” The lieutenant shoved back his chair and stood, looking directly at Reed. “We'll meet same time tomorrow. And by then I want a list of viable suspects.”

Hall walked out, leaving his top three detectives staring after him.

“Anyone want to explain the stick up his ass?” Jordan asked.

“Got me,” Jay said.

She looked at Reed.

“No idea.”

But he planned to find out.

•   •   •

Veronica stood back to admire her work. The virtual crime scene was perfect, down to the damaged wooden
finial at the top of the stair railing. She glanced up and down the hallway checking for inaccuracies, but the computer-generated image had everything. Only a few minor details, such as the fine dusting of sawdust on the floor and the smell of primer that permeated the air, hadn't been captured by the computer. But structurally speaking, everything was true to life.

“We ready, Veronica?”

She made a few adjustments, refusing to be hurried. Reed had been tapping his foot since he got here.

“It doesn't have to be perfect.”

She looked up. “Are you doing this, or am I?”

Reed glanced at Jay, and Veronica read the message loud and clear. Yes, she was in a snippy mood, but they could just deal. She was having a rough week, and she was fed up with overbearing detectives who wanted everything yesterday and didn't see fit to tell her what was going on.

She made a final adjustment to the brightness of her image. “Okay, come take a look,” she said, pivoting the computer on the portable stool she'd set up in the hallway outside Gantz's apartment. “See the chip in the doorframe there? Based on that and where the bullet entered the victim, we've been able to calculate the bullet trajectory.” She tapped a few keys, and a red line appeared on the screen. The detectives eased closer.

“You sure that's accurate?” Reed asked.

“Are the measurements you gave me accurate?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it's accurate,” she said. “The victim is six-one, half an inch taller than that when you count the shoes he was wearing at the time of the shooting. So the bullet was fired from here”—Veronica pointed to a spot
on the screen—“and followed the path delineated here, chipping the doorframe and then grazing the victim's cheek, shattering the bone before becoming lodged in the wall.”

Reed and Jay looked back at the spot where the shooter would have been standing.

“So he was sheltered behind this corner,” Jay said.

She nodded. “That's my take.”

“He probably knocked on the door, moved back, and waited for Gantz to step out, then fired the shot,” Reed said.

“Based on the blood spatter, it looks like Gantz stumbled backward, probably clutching his face as he fell,” she said.

“That's when he closed in for the second shot to finish him off,” Jay said.

“And that's where it gets interesting.” She opened a new screen showing a different view of the hallway, this one much closer to the victim's door. “For the second shot, he stood about ten feet back and pointed the gun downward. That's consistent with the entry and exit wound you gave me.” She glanced at Reed to confirm. “And you're sure those measurements are correct?”

“Talked to the surgeon myself.” Reed walked over to the place where the shooter would have been standing for shot number two. He glanced at Veronica. “Your software program puts him here.”

“That's right.”

Reed's back was flush against the wall of the hallway. He unholstered his service weapon and pointed at the now empty spot in Edward Gantz's apartment. Veronica walked over with her laser pointer and used it to create a line from the muzzle of Reed's gun to the
gouge on the floor where she'd recovered the slug after it passed through the victim's body.

“Lower.” She adjusted his arm. “See? Which tells us he's shorter than you are. What's your height, six-two?”

Reed didn't answer, evidently lost in thought.

“Something's funny,” Jay said.

Veronica nodded. “I agree.”

“You'd expect him to walk right in there, stand over the guy, and finish the job,” Jay said. “Instead, he stays out in the hallway.”

“Also, he missed his first shot,” Reed said. “He's hiding behind a corner waiting, his target steps into the hallway only fifteen feet away, and he basically hits him with a flesh wound.”

“So we know it wasn't a very good shot,” Veronica said.

“It was crap.” Reed walked back to the spot in the hallway where the first bullet had originated. “Go back to the first view again.”

Veronica pulled it up on the screen.

“See that?” Reed pointed. “Let's say he's standing here aiming at the target in the doorway. He's using the wall for cover.” Reed held out his gun one-handed to demonstrate. “Either he aimed for the center body mass and the gun jerked up when he fired it, so he hit the guy's face. Or he was trying for a head shot, but his aim was off and he only grazed him. Then, instead of finishing him off up close, he stands out in the hallway.”

“Even though he used a suppressor, this is no professional hit,” Jay said. “This guy's an amateur. Everything about this shows hesitation.”

“Exactly.”

“So that puts a crimp in the feds' theory.”

“What's the feds' theory?” Veronica asked.

Reed darted a warning look at Jay, but Jay answered anyway. “Feds think this was some kind of corporate-espionage thing, that Gantz probably pissed off someone powerful. But in that case, you'd expect a professional job.”

“Well, what else would it be about?” She looked from Jay to Reed. “No drugs or cash stashed anywhere, and believe me, we turned the place inside out. And the victim isn't even moved in yet, so there wasn't much furniture to search. Our canine team was in and out of here in no time.” She waited for him to offer another explanation. “If this isn't about drugs or money, what's it about?”

“Who knows?” Reed said with a shrug, and Veronica felt her annoyance returning. He was keeping his theories to himself.

Maybe this whole thing had to do with Reed's girlfriend, who happened to have been on the scene when everything went down. She was part of it, Veronica would bet her right arm.

Jay pulled out his phone. “I told you last night this thing was screwy,” he said.

But Reed didn't answer. He walked over to the doorframe again, and the crease in his brow deepened. “And you're sure about these measurements?” He glanced at Veronica.