Deep Dark (20 page)

Fear crept into her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I believe Gantz's attacker knows about you. I be
lieve he knocked on Gantz's door intending for him to think it was you. I believe that person planned to kill Gantz
before
you showed up to hear about whatever Gantz knew. And then, when the shooter entered his apartment looking for any evidence of it, he was surprised to find you already there.”

Her face was pale, her eyes big with dread. But she didn't look surprised.

She'd known this or at least suspected it. All he was doing was confirming her fear that someone was spying on
her
communications. And that she was a key reason her friend was near death right now. He saw the pain on her face, but there was no getting around it, and it was better this way, like tearing off a Band-Aid.

Or a strip of duct tape.

“I asked you to back off this case, Laney. But you didn't. I told you it was dangerous, and you ignored me. Now I'm not asking you, I'm telling you.” He leaned forward. “Stay. The fuck. Away from this.”

Something changed in her eyes. He watched it happen. The fear he'd been using to help drive home his point morphed into something else.

Defiance.

“You need me on this case, Reed, and don't act like you don't. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even know about Mix.”

“This thing goes way beyond that.”

She scowled. “How?”

“Think about it, Laney.” He stared her down, determined to get through to her. “What is the
one
thing that all these crimes have in common, including what happened to you and to Gantz? And it's not a dating site.”

She just looked at him.

“This person is a hacker. Your boss said it himself—he inhabits the darknet.” Reed waited a beat. “
So do you
. Look at your job. Look at how you got that job in the first place. Don't you see it?”

“See what?”

“You and this UNSUB operate in the same world. You crossed paths with him somewhere. You were one of his early targets, and you were lucky to survive that time, but now you've caught his attention again.”

She was trying hard not to react, but he could tell his words were having an effect. He was scaring her, and he meant to. She was so damn headstrong, and he needed her to hear him.

“What do you expect me to do, Reed? Just walk away?” She sounded angry now. “This investigation needs me, and we both know it. Who are you going to get to do what I'm doing? Jay? Paul?” She shook her head. “You don't have the resources to find this guy. You don't even know where to look.”

“Wrong,” he said. “As of this morning, we've confirmed we're dealing with a serial offender. We can get FBI resources. We can use Quantico.”

She sneered. “Right. Your chief—the same guy who's been trying to downplay this—is now suddenly willing to call in the cavalry?”

“It might take some convincing, but yes, he will be.” Reed planned to make sure of it. “So we don't need your help anymore, Laney. You or the Delphi Center.”

The look in her eyes chilled. Her mouth compressed into a thin line.

This date was going south fast. But it had never really been a date. From the moment he'd walked in here,
he'd been working her into a corner, trying to force her to listen to him.

She picked up her purse.

“So that's the end of the conversation?”

She glared at him. “Nothing I say is going to change your mind, so why bother?”

“Laney, you know I'm right.”

She pulled her wallet, and his temper heated.

“That's it? Things get uncomfortable, so you're leaving again?”

The
again
part pissed her off. He could see it.

She slapped some bills on the table and stood up. “You do your job, Reed. And I'll do mine.”

CHAPTER 23

After Laney left him high and dry at the bar, he returned to the station house, hoping to work out his frustration on a mountain of reports. No dice. Around midnight, he drove home to his empty house, where his bottle of Jack was still out on the counter and Laney's ice cream spoon sat beside the sink. He ignored everything and went to bed, but her scent was all over his sheets. Finally, he gave up on sleep and parked himself on the couch, where he watched ESPN and was luckily spared a recap of his investigation on the local news. He figured his luck wouldn't last long, though, probably not past the morning staff meeting.

When he arrived at work and saw Erika in the lobby, he knew he'd been right. She strode over and greeted him with a perky smile.

“Good morning, detective.”

“Hi.”

“That's it? ‘Hi'?” She batted her lashes at him. “How about a little thanks for the present I gave you yesterday?”

“Thanks.”

She followed him toward the elevators, and he halted. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have around other people.

“Why are you here, Erika?”

“I've got a meeting with the chief.” She tipped her head to the side and smiled. “How's your little girlfriend?”

Little
. Erika was six feet in heels, which made her a head taller than Laney. But she was referring to age.

“Who would that be?” He checked his watch.

“The pretty young techie I met back at the crime scene?”

Reed just looked at her. Had she actually
met
Laney? Reed hadn't seen it. But then, he hadn't been around Laney every second. He made a conscious effort to give her space when other people were around, something he seemed incapable of doing when they were alone.

“Did you need something?” He checked his watch again. “I've got a meeting in five.”

“So do I. I just wanted to mention, that nice media diversion I kindly provided for you? That's not going to last.”

“I'm aware.”

“You might want to think about getting some actual suspects together. You know, before the case goes cold? We've got classes resuming at the university in two weeks.”

“It's on my calendar, honey. I'll be sure to have things all wrapped up by then with a nice red bow.”

“Stop being a smartass. I'm simply reminding you of the time frame. The mayor wants an arrest before school starts.”

“Yeah? Well I've got three dead women to think about, so I've got a different time frame. I want an arrest before he does it again.”

She watched him steadily. Shit. He'd just confirmed her suspicions. And she knew him too well for him to gloss over it.

“That's off the record,” he said.

“You're telling
me
that? Like I'm some reporter?” She shook her head. “You're really amazing, you know that? I'm trying to help you. You guys are in some serious shit, Reed. You don't have anything, do you? Not even a suspect.”

“Erika.” He sighed. “Our team's busting ass on this thing, working around the clock.”

“I'm sure you are.” She gazed at him with fake sympathy. “Really, I can see it. You look tired, Reed. I'm sure it's tough keeping up with those young members of your
team
, isn't it?” She smiled sweetly. “But hey, good news for you—they have a pill for that.”

Fuck the elevator. Reed took the stairs. He reached the bullpen and nearly bumped into Veronica charging out of the break room.

“Whoa. Where's the fire?”

“Have you seen Hall?” she asked.

“No. What's wrong?”

She cast a furtive look over Reed's shoulder. “I just got the ballistics report back on that shooting,” she said in a low voice.

“And?”

“It isn't good.”

•   •   •

Reed ushered her into an interview room and closed the door.

“You've got two minutes,” he said. “Spill.”

Veronica's pulse was racing. Her stomach was in knots. She hated being the bearer of bad news.

She took a deep breath. “I recovered two slugs from
Gantz's apartment building, one from the wall and one from the floor. Based on the witness's statement, the weapon used had a suppressor.”

“And?”

“One slug yielded zip.” She sliced the air with her hand. “Totally deformed. The other one was usable. I photographed it myself using microphotography, and the rifling marks looked good. Then I sent it to the Delphi lab. And the shooter picked up his brass in the hallway, but we recovered cartridge cases in the stairwell from the shots fired at Delaney Knox. I sent those to Delphi, too.”

His eyebrows arched impatiently.

“We got a hit.” She swallowed. “This gun's in the system.” She opened the file and read the words. “A Sig P226 nine-millimeter. It was used in a drug shooting back in 2012.”

Hope sparked in Reed's eyes. “That's a good lead.”

“No, wait. There's more.” She glanced down at the report again. “The weapon, along with an Osprey forty-five suppressor, was recovered from the apartment of a previously convicted dealer, Carlos Garza, just last fall. He's been charged with murder two, plus possession with intent to sell. He's in lockup now awaiting trial.” She glanced up, and Reed was frowning.

“
Awaiting
trial.”

“That's right.”

“So the gun—”

“Should still be in evidence right now, yes.”

But clearly it wasn't.

Unless there was some mix-up and the gun had been misidentified.

Reed stared down at her. “You're sure—”

“I'm not sure of anything! I'm just telling you what the report says.” She held it up. “But if this isn't some mix-up, then we've got a serious problem. A weapon from our evidence room somehow managed to end up back on the street. Hall is going to go apeshit, and I have to tell him about this.”

“Forget Hall. Aguilar is going to go apeshit.”

“You're saying I shouldn't tell the lieutenant?” She instantly felt guilty for even suggesting it. She was desperate to avoid an unpleasant conversation.

“Don't tell Hall,” Reed said.

“You want me to go over his head?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She stared at him.

“I don't trust Hall,” he said bluntly. “He's been acting strange.”

The knot in her stomach tightened again. Whatever this was, it was going to be bad, and she was right in the middle of it.

“You're worried,” Reed said.

“Uh,
yeah
.”

“I'll do it.” He nodded at the report. “I'll take it to the chief.”

“No, I'll do it,” she said. “I submitted it, right? It's my job.”

•   •   •

Reed watched his lieutenant's body language as he took a seat at the end of the table.

“So where are we on suspects? Novak?”

“You mean the Abrams homicide?”

“Let's start with the law student, Isabella Marshall.”

“We had her ex-husband, Michael Spencer, in for an interview yesterday. So far, his alibi checks out.”

“What about his financials?” Hall asked.

“She didn't get much in the divorce,” Jordan said, “but there was nothing much to get. The marriage only lasted two years. He told us they didn't really keep in touch, and the family corroborates that.”

Hall didn't look happy. “Anyone else?”

“An ex-boyfriend,” Jay said. “Her sister told us he was bothering her six months ago, so we checked him out.”

“And?”

“Guy says he was in Reno on a business trip. We confirmed it with the airline.”

“Okay, what about the Abrams woman? Any suspects?”

Reed consulted his notes. “So far . . . we have Ian Phelps. Again, the alibi seems to hold. He was captured on surveillance video leaving his office building at one fifteen
A.M
. the night of the murder, so the timing is tight but not impossible. Another person of interest is Dmitry Burkov.”

“Who?” Hall asked.

“A local computer expert who has a rap sheet. He and April have some mutual friends, and he has the skills to hack into a website like Mix. Problem is, I checked him out, and his supervisor tells me he was at work on the night of the murder.”

“We should look at Phelps again,” Jay said. “Did Paul copy you on his email?”

“No. What?”

“Just a sec.” Jay got up and left the room, and Reed checked his phone. No email from Paul.

A second later, Jay was back with the man in tow.

“Tell them about the secret account,” Jay said.

Paul glanced around the room. “I, um . . . you remember the notebook computer recovered from April Abrams's car? I've been going through the browser history, and I found a second email account. On Gmail. She had some exchanges with Ian Phelps.”

“When?” Reed asked.

“Starting last summer until a month ago, I think it was. So about eleven months. Then she started getting delivery notices, so it looks like he closed his account down.”

“Is this guy married?” Hall asked.

“He's got a fiancée,” Reed told him. “But he denied having any kind of romantic relationship with April, so I'll need to check this out.”

“I don't get it,” Jordan said. “What's Phelps's connection to Isabella Marshall? And Olivia Hollis?”

“Maybe none if the crimes are unrelated,” Hall said hopefully. He looked at Paul. “What's on the emails?”

“Mostly setting up dates and times to meet. Nothing explicitly sexual, but they point to a relationship.” He paused. “I can print them out if you like.”

“Do it,” he said, and Paul scuttled out of the room.

“It doesn't really add up.” Jordan looked at Reed. “Can we talk to Delaney Knox? Find out if Ian Phelps has anything to do with this dating site?”

“I'll ask her.”

“The connection to Mix is flimsy,” Hall said. “There are probably thousands of local people on that site. Seems to me it's more likely a jealous-mistress scenario. Maybe April Abrams threatened to go to Phelps's fiancée and he wanted to get rid of her.”

“Wait, back up,” Veronica said. “Why are we ignoring the physical evidence?” She opened the file in front of her and tapped her finger on a report. “We have DNA telling us these crimes were committed by the same perpetrator. It's a serial offender.”

“We don't know that,” Hall said. “It's circumstantial. We don't have proof.”

“I'm sorry, but . . . what more proof do you want, sir?” She pulled out a pair of crime-scene photos and slid them across the table. The pictures showed two young women on the floor with their skulls smashed in. “We have the same MO, the same murder weapon, and DNA linking the crime scenes together. Isn't it time to get some help from the FBI?”

“She's right,” Reed said. “Instead of running away from this thing, the chief should view it as an opportunity.”

“An opportunity for what?” Hall demanded. “To announce that there's a serial killer running around targeting young women through social media? We'll start a panic. And what do you suggest we do while we look for him, shut down the Internet? That's not a plan.”

“But we've got DNA evidence of something that spans multiple jurisdictions,” Reed said. “We need to bring in outside resources.”

“We have. We've got that cyber unit, those people at the Delphi Center.”

“Yeah, they gave us a profile,” Jay said. “It says we're looking for a middle-aged white guy with a history of depression. I could have told you that. As a kid he was probably a bed wetter who liked to torture animals. Where does that get us?”

“The profiler thinks he's been doing this for a while,” Reed said, “so we really need ViCAP. We might be able to dig up something where there's a similar MO. Maybe even a case where DNA or prints were recovered.”

“No FBI,” Hall said. “I repeat:
no feds
. That's from the chief. So quit bitching about it, and roll up your sleeves and do some old-fashioned detective work. Go through the interviews, the alibis. We're bound to have missed something. Work our list of suspects.” Hall stood up, effectively ending the meeting. “This Phelps guy lied to us, which means he's hiding something, so find out what it is. As of now, he's our prime suspect.”