Drained (16 page)

Andrews pointed toward the car and began walking. Beth and I followed. As we neared the back of the maroon Honda, I caught a faint smell of death—from experience, I knew bodies didn’t start to smell until they’d been dead for a full day. This one had been killed far earlier than the man. The two patrol officers standing near the rear of the car walked away. Andrews stopped at the trunk and pointed inside.

I looked in. A dead woman with long dark hair lay inside. Her hair covered most of her face except her foggy right eye, which seemed to be focused on me. My eyes went to her arms, looking for needle marks—they were present. The woman wore a small white dress with thin straps at the top and a matching pair of white high heels. She looked ready for a night on the town.

“Poor girl,” Beth said.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Monica Whickham,” Andrews said. “Patrol pulled an ID from her purse there.” He nodded toward the purse lying beside the dead woman.

“And the car belongs to Rebecca Wright?” Beth asked.

“Correct,” Andrews said.

“How did they find her in the trunk?” Beth asked.

“Local PD got a call from the factory about the man. When they arrived on scene, they saw the car here and ran the plates—came back to Rebecca Wright with a note that I had put on the tags to immediately contact myself at the Chicago FBI. It’s how I was alerted so fast. I guess a few of the employees inside said that the car wasn’t there prior to them starting their shift, meaning it was left there within an hour or two of the murder happening. The patrol guys went back to the car and had a better look around, which was when one of the officers saw the keys in the ignition. They went through the car, found the girl.”

“So where did our killer go?” I asked. “And was he planning on leaving Rebecca Wright’s car here?”

“Good question,” Beth said.

“The guy could be local to the area,” Andrews said.

The noise of tires coming down the short street caught my ear. I turned to look and saw a black van with another black Crown Victoria following it.

“That’s going to be our forensics unit and Agent Toms,” Andrews said.

I nodded.

The two vehicles pulled into the parking lot and stopped. The forensics team stepped from the van.

I turned my attention back to Andrews. “So what are we thinking went down here?”

“My take on it…” Andrews paused. “Our guy drove back into this dead-end street to dump the girl’s body in one of the Dumpsters, got seen, killed the witness, and just left everything behind.”

It made sense from what I’d just looked at. I caught another whiff of the body, which made the coffee and muffin in my stomach turn. One would think I would’ve built a tolerance for the smell from years of working homicide and smelling dead bodies. I hadn’t. I rubbed my nose and tried to limit the air I was taking in. “You said the local PD went through the car?” I asked.

“They didn’t print it or anything. Waiting on my guys,” Andrews said.

I nodded and headed toward the driver’s door, and Beth followed. Andrews met the forensics unit and Agent Toms at the trunk of the car.

“We have about an hour or so before we have to head out to make that meeting on time,” Beth said. “I think I’m going to go do a little questioning with the employees. I want to get the timeline nailed down here.”

“Sure,” I said.

Beth walked toward the entrance of the factory while I stayed put and stared through the driver’s-side window of the car, looking for anything of interest. Something protruding from halfway under the passenger seat caught my eye almost immediately—the bottom edge of a brown disposable coffee cup.

“Andrews,” I called.

He came from the trunk area to my side.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Have one of your guys grab that.” I pointed toward the passenger-side floor.

Andrews looked over my shoulder through the window of the car. “Reese, are you gloved up?” he asked.

One of the forensics guys from the trunk area responded yes.

“Open the passenger side and get that cup from the floor,” Andrews said.

The man walked to the passenger side, pulled the door open, and reached in. He grabbed the bottom corner of the cup with his gloved fingertips and removed it from the car. The disposable cup had a white plastic top and a cardboard sleeve. “Empty coffee cup.” He looked at the top. “Lipstick on the rim.” He headed for the trunk.

Andrews and I met him at the back.

“Let me get this in a bag,” Reese said. He knelt, reached into his kit, and pulled a clear evidence bag out. He dropped the cup in and held it up before Andrews and me.

I stared at the cardboard sleeve wrapping the cup halfway up. “Bean Grinders Inc. Where is that?”

“I’m looking,” Andrews said. He held his phone in his hand, searching the location of the coffee shop. Andrews looked at me. “It’s about a quarter mile outside of the radius I had my guys searching. I’m going to give this scene to Toms and go check out the coffee shop.”

“One second,” I said. “What’s going on with your subpoena?”

“It should be at the office. I haven’t even gone in yet this morning.”

“How is it being served?”

“Their legal department is downtown. I’m walking it in and leaving with the information in my hand,” Andrews said.

I thought for a moment. We needed to meet with Andrea Fradet in order to get the sworn statement to get another subpoena. Beth believed having two would be enough to secure subpoenas on each victim. We could get all the information and transcripts from Classified OD in one shot. “Let me make a call quick,” I said.

I pulled my phone and dialed Ball. He answered within a couple rings.

“Ball,” he said.

“It’s Rawlings.”

“I’m just waking up. What’s going on?”

“Another victim and a deceased male that we believe could have been a witness to the body dump.”

Ball didn’t immediately respond.

I continued. “What I need to know is if we have two sworn statements stating that the victims were using the classified site, is that enough to get a subpoena for them to release all the victim’s information to us? That is, if they have it.”

“Two can still be a coincidence. It will end up being a judgment call by whoever is issuing the subpoenas. Three or four, and well, that’s a different story. If you want my opinion, take what you have this second and run with it.”

“All right, I’ll call you back in a bit and fill you in on this scene and where we’re at.”

“Okay,” Ball said.

I hung up.

“Supervisor?” Andrews asked.

“Yeah. Shit, I should have driven myself.”

“Well, what do you need?”

“Ball, my superior in Manassas says take what we have this second and run, meaning if that subpoena is back at the office, it should be served as soon as possible. I’m damn near positive that whatever information we get from Classified OD will lead us to whoever is behind this. I’ll see if Beth can take the meeting with Jasmine Thomas’s friend solo. If she can do that and you can get the subpoena taken care of, I can get dropped at my hotel, get my car, and check out the coffee shop.”

“I’m good with that,” he said.

“Okay, so you have to go to the Chicago office to get the subpoena, correct?”

“Correct.”

“What time do your tech guys show up?” I asked.

“About eight.”

“Can you make sure they get on that tablet, specifically, as soon as they get in?” I asked. “It’s Kennedy Taylor’s. We need to see if there is anything on it connecting her to the classified site.”

“I’ll make sure it’s the first thing they do.”

“Okay. Beth will have to go back to the Chicago office when she’s done in order to get the second subpoena. I’ll meet her there when I’m done at the coffee shop. I’ll give you a call when we’re both there if you’re not back.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to find Toms and let him know this is his scene.”

I nodded and headed for the factory to find Beth.

Brett sat in front of his computer. Though he’d showered and drunk multiple cups of coffee, it had done nothing to lift him from his sleep-deprived state. From Aurora, he’d taken five cab rides, waiting between a half hour and an hour between each pickup. The final ride dropped him two miles from his house, and he walked the rest of the way. The total trip had taken him the better part of seven hours—the travel time gave him hours to think. Brett had decided that he was done for a bit—the need fulfilled for the time being. The killing of the man was messy, and the thought of feds sniffing around was unsettling.

Brett dug his fingers into his eyes and gave them a hard rub. He needed to get his focus.

Brett let out a long breath and accessed his website’s system files to begin the process of deleting anything related to him. The moment he logged in, he noticed a message alert at the top of the screen. He clicked on it.

The message read:
Hey Tom. Been a while. I wanted to see if maybe you wanted to have lunch this week. -Mandy

The corner of Brett’s mouth rose into a smirk. He’d taken the woman out for coffee prior to killing Angela Wormack. When Brett tried contacting her again, she never responded. He’d logged into the website’s message system and saw she was in regular contact with another man. The two had sent each other dozens of messages a day, talking about dates they’d gone out on, enjoying time with each other, and things of that nature.

“Looks like her budding relationship went south,” Brett said.

He scratched at his chin. The decision came quickly—he would leave it to chance.

Brett typed:
Love to, give me a call.

He included the number of the prepaid phone he’d used to call the taxis. If she called, she would die. If she didn’t, she would live.

Brett continued deleting everything related to him across the website. Each different version of his personals ad—gone. Every message he’d ever sent to anyone—gone. The profile he’d used—gone. Any record of his user name—gone.

Brett logged out of the website’s system files and left his home office. He needed to get to work.

Beth had dropped me at the hotel a half hour prior and headed out toward Shaumburg to meet with Andrea Fradet. Since I was going to be in the general area of Skokie, I planned to check out Rebecca Wright’s workplace and speak with some coworkers when I was through with checking out the coffee shop.

My cell phone’s navigation said I was nearing Bean Grinders Inc., driving north on Waukegan Road. The beacon on the app told me the address was on the right before the next main street. I saw the crossroad in the distance but didn’t see any street parking. To my right was a long three-story brick building. I was approaching an entrance that went under the building, where a sign read Public Parking. I slowed from the speed limit to check it out. Businesses were taking up the first floor, and I assumed apartments sat on the two stories above the stores. The sound of a horn startled me. I glanced into the rearview mirror to see the grille of a pickup truck a few feet from the back of my rental. I clicked on my directional to pull into the parking area. The truck following veered around me, and I glanced at him as he passed. The guy waved his hands in the air and yelled what sounded like “Learn how to drive.”

I shrugged it off and pulled under the building. What I’d assumed was a parking structure wasn’t. After going under the apartments overhead, the entrance turned to the left and led to an outdoor parking lot behind the building. I found a spot, grabbed the file I’d brought, and stepped out. I glanced at the screen of my phone one more time and turned off the navigation. I walked back around the complex the way I’d pulled in and found the coffee shop at the end of the row of businesses on the corner. I looked past the outdoor seating and through the windows as I neared the front door. The place was small, but all the seats were full. A huge banner across the window claimed Chicagoland’s Best Coffee.

I pulled the front door open to the sounds of bells attached to the doorframe and made my way to the front counter.

A young woman looked at me with a smile. “What can I get for you? We’re running a two-for-one on baked goods.”

“I actually need to see the manager or owner,” I said.

“Um, okay. Give me just a second, and I’ll get Vanessa.”

“Thank you.”

I stepped from the counter and looked over the offerings of coffee and coffee cups for sale while I waited. A coffee cup that said BOSS on it caught my eye. I picked it up, gave it a look, and smiled. I set it back down and continued browsing. A moment later, I noticed the girl I’d spoken with pointing at me from behind the counter while another woman, a bit heavyset, stood next to her. The heavyset woman approached. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a tan apron over a black long-sleeved blouse. I put her in her early thirties.

“I’m Vanessa, the owner. How can I help you?”

I glanced left and right at the customers in the shop—at least five people within earshot. I reached into my pocket, pulled my credentials, and flashed them to her. “Do you have an office?” I asked.

She looked confused but nodded and waved me behind the counter. I followed her as she turned right and entered a small office. She closed the door at my back. Miscellaneous bags of coffee, merchandise, and supplies filled the room, and the woman’s desk was a mess. A computer monitor had what appeared to be some kind of financial spreadsheet open behind the desk. I didn’t see a guest chair.

She rounded the desk and took a seat. “Sorry it’s such a mess in here. It’s the only room we have aside from the main area, so it kind of has to double as a storage room as well.”

“No problem,” I said. “I figured this would be a little better than trying to speak in front of your customers.”

She nodded. “I have to say, I have no idea why the FBI would be here.”

“We’re conducting an investigation and found a coffee cup from here. We found it in the car that belonged to a victim of a homicide.”

Her face looked troubled. “Oh my.”

“Well,” I continued, “we believe this victim met for coffee with a man prior to the crime being committed. We believe that that meeting could have very well been at your business here.”