Going Gone (13 page)

He started walking toward the donation site with a packet of diapers in each hand, daring her to look up. She was standing near the doorway talking to a uniformed police officer as he walked up and got in line.

He liked hearing her voice. It sounded calm and full of confidence, but he would change that. She would be begging him for mercy—if he decided to let her talk. He kept thinking about the movie he’d seen, and pictured what it would be like to watch her hang. When she disappeared, they would be looking for her body to wash up in the Potomac like all the others, but she wouldn’t be there. She would be swinging from the rafters in some long-forgotten building. By the time someone stumbled onto her body, her flesh would have rotted away and her skeleton would be in pieces. The possibility even existed that they would never find enough to bury, which would suit him just fine. He liked the thought of them never finding the body, and of Cameron Winger spending the rest of his years wondering what had happened to his girl.

* * *

Laura glanced up as the policeman walked away. The line of donors kept growing, which was amazing this early into the setup. The announcements had just gone out through the media, and yet here they were. It was times like this that reminded her of the good in people. She walked over to the line to make sure her volunteer wasn’t overwhelmed.

“Hey, Sue...do you need anything?” she asked.

Sue turned around and whispered in her ear, “I could use a potty break.”

Laura smiled. “Go. I’ll handle things until you get back.”

Sue rolled her eyes in mute appreciation, handed Laura her iPad and bolted.

Laura stepped up, smiling at the next person in line.

“Hello, what have we here? Oh, this is great! Mini bottles of shampoo.”

The man shrugged as he handed her the plastic bag he was holding. “I travel a lot.”

Laura laughed. “I definitely can relate. This is wonderful, and we’ll put them to good use.”

“I’d like to donate a hundred dollars, too.”

“That’s very generous. Just a moment and I’ll give you a receipt for your tax records.”

“No, no need for that,” he said, and moved on as the next person in line moved up. In the process, two more volunteers showed up to help with the donations, which made the line move faster.

* * *

When Laura Doyle stepped up to take donations, Hershel flinched. This wasn’t what he bargained for. He didn’t want to see her face-to-face, not yet. She’d already seen him at the stoplight. What would she think if she saw him here, as well? Suddenly he was nervous again, which made him reconsider the recklessness of what he was doing. While he’d been basking in retirement, it appeared that he had also lost his edge. He was making bad decisions and pushing himself in a public way that he hadn’t done before. Either he left the diapers at the curb and walked away, which might cause more attention than he wanted, or he stood his ground and faced her. If he did and wound up talking to her, he would have to disguise his voice, too.

But then the arrival of the extra volunteers made the line move faster, which was good. Now there was just a one in three chance he would draw her.

One by one, the people ahead of him made their donations and left, all while his heart beat faster. He was making bets with himself as to who he would end up talking to when all of a sudden it was all bets off, and he was up next. The diaper packs he was holding suddenly became heavier, and his legs felt weak. To his chagrin, it appeared Laura would be it. And then the woman she’d been talking to stopped and backed up to talk to her again, and that was what saved him.

One of the other volunteers waved him up. He donated the diapers and then glanced sideways as he turned to walk away. Laura was looking straight at him.

He nodded politely and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie as he headed back to his van. He didn’t have to turn around to know she was still looking at him, because he could feel it. Once inside the van he looked back, but she wasn’t there. Did that mean that she’d ID’ed him and was calling the police? She would know what he was driving. Why had he done this?

His thoughts were spinning as he sped away. His first instinct was to switch license plates with another vehicle, but then he stopped. No. He’d done that time and again before, and was sure they were on to that now. He needed to get rid of this van altogether and get something else to drive. Then he realized Lucy Taft would still know what he’d driven before. Whatever new car he chose, she would notice the change, so he would have to develop a lie for that. He’d lied a lot as a child, and every time he got caught in one, his mother had wagged her finger and made him repeat, “Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” She’d made him say it ten times, after which she washed his mouth out with soap. Obviously the punishment never took. His whole life was one very big lie.

* * *

The moment Laura saw the man in the dark hoodie, she felt uneasy. Maybe it was the black clothes and dark glasses, and the fact that she couldn’t really see his face, but he seemed familiar. As soon as Sue returned, Laura went back into the church. But every time there was a lull in the work, she thought of him again. By the end of the day she decided he just looked like someone she knew and forgot about it. Then, to make her evening even better, Kevin volunteered to stay on-site, and she headed home, glad for the reprieve. It wasn’t until she braked for a red light that it dawned on her why the man in the dark hoodie had looked familiar. He’d been sitting beside her in his van at a stoplight the day before. That was it. Just a stranger she’d seen in passing who’d come to donate to the shelter. She laughed at herself and the fuss that she’d made and headed for a supermarket to pick up some things for dinner.

Washington, D.C., police department

Detectives Ron Wells and Sam Burch were desperate to find a solid connection between the deaths of Patty Goss and Megan Oliver. The women’s careers didn’t connect. They didn’t know each other. They didn’t have memberships at the same gym or go to the same church. All they knew was that they were both in their late twenties, had dark hair, lived in Reston and worked in D.C.; they had nothing in common.

Plenty of people died in D.C. on a weekly basis, so had it not been for the Taser marks, the fact that they had both died from strangulation and their bodies had been pulled out of the river, there would have been no real reason to assume the murders were connected.

For a while, the media had been all over their deaths, but when Charles Trent went missing, that changed. Now it was all about the handicapped lawyer, well-known in the area for taking cases against people and corporations who abused their power. The fact that he’d just won a big case against a drug corporation in the morning and gone missing the same night put the drug company in the headlights.

A Detective Jenkins from D.C. Homicide caught the case. Trent had plenty of enemies to choose from, and Jenkins was working the list of suspects, with help from fellow detectives in the department.

* * *

Lucy Taft hadn’t been able to get the creepy feeling she had about Paul Leibowitz out of her head. If she had a way to do it without causing a scene and ticking him off, she would give back his money and tell him to get lost. But after the brief conversation they’d had this morning, she was a little afraid to challenge him.

So, taking a leaf from her dearly departed William Harold’s book, she opted to get him on the authorities’ watch list and made a call to the D.C. police, asking to speak to whoever was in charge of the murder cases of Patty Goss and Megan Oliver. Her call was transferred, and she waited through two rings before it was answered.

“Homicide, Detective Burch.”

“Detective, my name is Lucy Taft. I am a longtime resident of Reston, and I might have information about those women who were murdered.”

Burch sat up in his chair and reached for a pen.

“Yes, ma’am. What’s your address and a phone number where you could be reached?”

She gave him what he asked for as Burch made note.

“So what information do you have?” he asked.

Lucy settled in her favorite chair and put the phone in her other hand. If she held things too long with the left one, her hand would inevitably begin to shake.

“Since my husband passed, I have a garage apartment I rent out, and I recently rented it to a middle-aged man from out of town. He paid cash up front for two months, even though he said he wouldn’t be here that long, and my husband always said not to trust a man who pays for everything with cash.”

Burch rubbed the bridge of his nose against the disappointment. He could already tell this wasn’t going anywhere.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “He stays out late at night. I make notes. And every time a woman goes missing, he comes home late the very same time. He was even out late last night, and I heard a lawyer went missing.”

Burch frowned. “Ma’am, one thing has no bearing on the other. Have you see him do anything illegal, or overheard him talking to someone about the murders?”

“No, but I’m telling you something is fishy about him. Why, just this very morning he came up to me in my garden, and I felt threatened, very threatened, by the way he behaved.”

“Did he try to harm you?”

“No, but I was holding my gardening shears. I think he was afraid.”

Burch sighed. “If he
is
afraid of you, then why do you think he’s the one committing these murders?”

She spluttered, then frowned. “You don’t believe a word I’m saying, do you?”

“It’s not that, ma’am,” Burch said. “It’s just that we need more than the fact that he comes home late to accuse a man of murder. So unless you witness something, there’s nothing we can do.”

“You could follow him,” she said. “If you did, you would find out what he’s doing. I’m sure it’s illegal, whatever it is.”

“There’s nothing illegal or even suspicious about what you’ve told me, ma’am, and I’d have to have a better reason to stake out a citizen than just the fact that he keeps late hours.”

Lucy sniffed. “Fine, then. You’ll see. Mark my words, I know he’s bad.” She hung up, disenchanted with the police department, thanks to their lack of interest. “I should have known better. If this happens again I’ll just call one of the boys. They’ll know what to do.”

She glanced at the clock and then rang the bell for Mildred.

“Yes, ma’am?” Mildred said.

“Mildred, I’m a little stressed right now. Would you please bring me a glass of my favorite merlot?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

Lucy leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. All this drama had worn her out.

* * *

Back at the P.D., Burch hung up the phone and shoved his hand through his thinning hair.

“That was a monumental waste of time,” he said as he got up to refill his coffee cup.

Wells had just received a copy of Megan Oliver’s autopsy and was pinning some new information to the murder board. He heard frustration in his partner’s voice.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Burch shrugged.

“Oh, some old lady in Reston claims her renter is acting suspicious and thinks we should follow him to see where he goes at night.”

Wells frowned. “Is she saying he’s connected to the murder victims?”

“She says that he comes and goes at all hours, and has come in late both times one of our murder victims went missing, and since he was out late last night, too, she also blamed him for Charles Trent’s abduction. I told her staying out late wasn’t against the law. She got pissed and hung up on me.”

“Does he live in her house?” Wells asked.

“No, a garage apartment,” Burch said.

Wells shrugged. “Then obviously she’s up late, too, or she wouldn’t know what time he comes in. Sounds like a busybody with too much time on her hands. Still, treat the call like we do every other tip. You never know what might happen.”

Twelve

H
ershel left the Methodist church intent on looking for used-car dealers in D.C. He pulled over to check the Yellow Pages app on his iPhone, found several addresses and then started driving.

He was disgusted that he’d put himself in this position and tried to think of another way to solve this problem without trading cars. The only thing he could come up with was just to kill Laura Doyle now and leave, but then he wouldn’t be playing the game with the Stormchaser team. He wanted to win the game and make the FBI look bad, or he wouldn’t have his revenge.

Once he got into the city he quickly found the first car lot, but he didn’t like what he saw there and never pulled in. He needed a van, but all the ones they had there were junkers. He couldn’t be driving something prone to breaking down with a body in the back. It wasn’t until he drove past the fourth dealer that he saw what he was looking for.

The salesman came out of the office with a spring in his step and a smile on his face as Hershel pulled up and got out.

Hershel knew the drill. He would let the guy talk. No need to draw attention to himself by being rude. There were three—a white one, a beige one and a black one. He was thinking black. It would easily get lost in the shadows on dark nights.

“Welcome to Roberts Used Cars. I’m Roy. What are you looking for today? Car? Truck?”

Hershel shook the man’s hand. “Paul Leibowitz. I want another van, but I’m looking to trade up.”

Roy beamed. “We have three nice vans on the lot. Now, my personal recommendation would be the beige one. It’s the newest and—”

Hershel was focused on the dark one. “Since the one I’m driving is white, I wanted a change. I think I’d rather look at the black one,” Hershel said.

Roy rubbed his hands together. “Sure thing, but let me go get the keys to all three, just in case.”

Hershel walked toward the black van as the salesman ran inside. He liked that this van sat a little higher off the highway. It would make a difference driving over rough roads to get to his dump site. It was a shame that he had to change vehicles now when he only had one more to grab before Laura Doyle, but necessity demanded the switch. He would sell this one before he left the States, and that would be that.

The tires had plenty of tread left, and he didn’t see any dents or dings. There was a scrape on the back bumper, but nothing bad. He was guessing it was five or six years old. The one he was driving was eight years old. Not a big difference in money.

He was looking through the rear window, checking to see how much room was in back, when the salesman returned.

“Here you go,” Roy said, handing the keys to Hershel. “Let’s take her for a ride.”

Hershel climbed in behind the wheel, adjusted the seat to his shorter leg length and checked all the controls before he started the engine. The engine turned over like a charm and ran smoothly.

“Nice and quiet, right?” Roy said.

“Not bad,” Hershel said, and buckled up.

They drove out of the parking lot and down the street, with Roy talking faster than the speed limit. He was getting on Hershel’s nerves, but he let him talk. It saved him from having to answer.

Hershel drove around for about five minutes and then headed back to the lot. As he did, Roy finally stopped talking and began watching him like a mongoose staring at a cobra, waiting to make his strike.

Finally Hershel spoke up. “What was the price of this one again?” he asked, and watched Roy’s eyes narrow as he named the price.

“Well, obviously that’s without trade-in,” Hershel said.

Roy blinked. “I’ll have to check the Blue Book to get the going price on your van.”

Hershel pulled back into the lot and parked beside his van.

“Let’s go inside and talk,” he said.

The salesman smiled. This was going to be the easiest sale he’d made all week. Sometimes it happened like that.

It took nearly an hour to finish the paperwork, but when it was over and all Hershel’s belongings had been put into the new van, he drove off the lot, pleased with the outcome.

He went straight to the DMV, put the new tag on the van and then drove to a Lowe’s home improvement store. As he walked inside, he paused to take a deep breath. He could smell new wood, and the faint odor of paint and glue. Stores like this made him want to build stuff, but that way of life was behind him. He grabbed a shopping cart, paused a moment to get his bearings, then headed down the aisles. He was looking for step stools and spools of rope. What he wanted was a flimsy stool and thin nylon rope, something strong enough not to break, but thin enough to cut right into the flesh if a body hung there too long.

* * *

It was after dark by the time Laura finished shopping and started home. Since Cameron wasn’t home yet, she didn’t hurry. She was exhausted, but happier than she’d been in months. It made her realize how much she’d missed working on-site, although she knew if this wasn’t happening in her hometown, her opinion would be different. She didn’t want those long stretches away from home and Cameron anymore; plus the extra money that had come with her promotion was nice, too.

She thought about Tate and Nola, and how coincidence and a killer had turned their sad past into an amazing future. Jo and Wade’s news was exciting. They had a baby on the way. She could envision their lives through the ensuing years, raising their children together and sharing both the good and the hard times. The dream was something to build on if they could just put Hershel Inman behind them.

The motion-detector light on the porch came on as she pulled into the drive. The sky was overcast again. Fearing rain, she drove toward the back of the house and parked beneath the portico. She sorted out her house key, grabbed the groceries and got out. The air was cold and damp as she unlocked the door and went inside. With a click of the lock and a flip of a light switch, she was home.

She set the sacks on the counter and turned up the thermostat as she went, depositing her work things in the office and her coat in the hall closet. After a quick change into something more comfortable, she went back into the kitchen, turned on the television and got to work making dinner.

Within the hour the wind started to blow. Laura turned the burners down, covered up the food in the pans and then went to the living room to look out the windows. A metal bucket was rolling down the street, an artificial flower arrangement still in it. She recognized it as part of her neighbor’s autumn porch decorations. She thought about going outside to chase it down and then decided against it, since it was already on the next block and still rolling.

She stepped out onto the porch for a bit of fresh air, then immediately wrapped her arms around herself against the wind’s blast. Lord, it was cold, but surely too early in the year for snow. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was back in school again, waiting with Sarah on the covered porch for their daddy to come home from work and take them to the football game.

She could hear a dog barking, probably at the rolling bucket, and there was a television playing too loud, most likely belonging to her neighbor across the street who was almost deaf.

Even though the night was dark and miserable, she didn’t feel threatened. She’d grown up on this street. She knew its sounds and the people who made them.

The first sprinkles began to fall just as she saw car lights turn down her street. Cameron! When he turned up the driveway, she went inside and ran through the house to the back door, knowing he would have pulled up under the portico, as well.

He was all smiles as he came in with the cold. “I’m so glad to see you,” he said, dropping his stuff on a nearby chair as he swung her off her feet.

Laura wrapped her arms around his neck. Cold lips, warm heart, her granny used to say. She sighed as Cameron kissed her, but when he turned her around and pinned her back against the wall, passion went from zero to flight within seconds.

She slid her arms beneath his coat.

He groaned. “Can dinner wait?”

She nodded, her pulse pounding, her knees growing weaker by the moment. She wanted to be naked beneath him in the very worst way, and she could tell he felt the same. His heartbeat pulsed beneath her palm, and the throb of his erection was hot against her belly.

All of a sudden she was in his arms and on the way down the hall to her bedroom. The room was dark; only the night-light in the en suite bathroom gave off a dim glow, but they didn’t need to see to know what to do.

Shoes came off. Clothes went flying.

Cameron put his hand in the middle of her chest and pushed.

She fell backward onto the bed, and seconds later he was between her legs. Hard muscle wrapped in silken skin pulsed within her. She sighed and closed her eyes as he began to thrust. There was no hesitation about what he wanted or in case it was too soon. When she wrapped her legs around his waist he fell deeper into the heat and kept pumping until the room began to spin.

Overwhelmed by the heat of their lust, Laura came first. Flooded by the sudden burst of her climax, she swallowed a soft moan.

Cameron continued to pound the swollen nub between her legs until he felt the tremor of her muscles contracting around him and let go, spilling seed into the heat without thought of what might grow. At that point, nothing mattered but the ride.

Time ceased.

Laura was motionless beneath the weight of his body, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs still locked around his waist.

Cameron couldn’t move. The passion they shared was tinder dry and caught fire with little more than a touch.

He brushed his lips across her mouth and then whispered against her ear, “Are you okay?”

She sighed. “I am now.”

He tucked his cheek against the curve of her neck and smiled.

* * *

It was long past sundown when Hershel finally drove home. He made a point of waiting until dark to go back because he didn’t want to deal with any of his landlady’s questions about his new ride.

He’d picked up fresh bread and lunch meat to make sandwiches, as well as a couple of honey buns and a six-pack of beer. He wasn’t in the mood for takeout, and this was his idea of cooking.

The upstairs lights were off at the Taft house. He took the turn up the drive with his headlights off and drove the rest of the way in the dark.

He grabbed the groceries as he got out, locked the door to his new van and headed up the steps. At the landing, he turned and looked up at her window. He thought he saw the curtain move. but couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, I’m home, you nosy bitch.”

* * *

Lucy had turned off the television and the lights, and had been in bed less than five minutes when she heard a car drive past her window. She glanced out, thinking it would be Leibowitz. But when she saw the unfamiliar vehicle driving toward the apartment without headlights, she frowned.

“What’s going on here?”

If someone was planning a robbery, she was going to have to call the police.

The driver parked where Leibowitz always parked. When the driver got out carrying a bag, she recognized her renter and relaxed. So he’d traded vehicles. That was interesting. She couldn’t see the plate number in the dark, but she would deal with that tomorrow. She stepped away from the window before he turned to look up, made a note about the new car in her journal and then went back to bed. She didn’t know what was going on, but she’d spent enough years with a man who’d lived his life as an international spy to know when something wasn’t right.

* * *

The rain continued to fall long after Cameron and Laura had gone to bed for the night. The clock ticked loudly, the only sound to break the silence, while the lemon-scented dishwasher soap wafted faintly throughout the house. Laura slept curled up on her side with Cameron spooned against her back, his arm lying loosely around her waist. Even in sleep, he continued to protect her.

* * *

The next morning a police helicopter was flying over the Potomac, tracking a D.C. car chase in progress, when the pilot spotted what looked like a body. After all the rain from the night before, it was moving swiftly downstream.

Within a couple of hours the case of the missing lawyer had come to an end. Charles Trent was no longer missing, and his case had been handed off to Homicide, but it wasn’t until the medical examiner saw the Taser wounds on the body and the strangulation marks around his neck that he realized they’d just gotten a third body with the same cause of death. Now everyone could say what they’d all been thinking. They were dealing with a serial killer. He made a quick call to Detectives Wells and Burch, which shot every theory they had on the women’s murders straight to hell.

* * *

Wade was the first to find out the lawyer’s body had been recovered from the river, and after following a hunch, he called the M.E.’s office to ask if there were Taser or strangulation marks. The affirmative response sent a cold chill up his spine. There was only one way this was heading. He called Tate.

The phone rang three times before Tate answered.

“Benton.”

Wade could tell his partner was distracted, and this wasn’t going to make things better.

“They found another body with the same cause of death,” he said.

“Who? I didn’t know another woman had even been abducted.”

“It wasn’t a woman. It was a man, that lawyer who went missing.”

“Charles Trent?”

“Yes.”

“Taser
and
strangulation?”

“Yes,” Wade said.

Tate sighed. “Does Cameron know?”

“I called you first.”

“Okay, we’ve let this go long enough. I need to notify the director. I’ll call you both back as soon as we’ve settled a few things. The D.C. police need to know what we know.”

“They won’t like us messing with their cases,” Wade said.

“It won’t be the first time feathers got ruffled,” Tate said. “You call Cameron. Tell him to wait for my call.”

“Will do,” Wade said, and disconnected, then called Cameron.

Cameron was in his office doing research for a fellow agent when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID before picking up.