Psychobyte (13 page)

His face brightened. He really did like the bag he’d seen.

Not a fan of blood. Seen too much of it to ever find it awesome.

“Did it look as if there was something dripping through it at all?”

“No, just streaks of dark red. Looked like something from CSI. Ya know that show?” Carmine said.

Yeah, I know the show. I kept my opinion to myself.

“Yep, I know it.”

“Not like something in it was bleeding. What’s it called when it’s a pattern of blood?”

“Spatter.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“You ever see anything like that before?” I asked.

“No, never. I wish. I’d buy one. Man, it was cool.”

“Thanks for your help, Carmine. PD will want a word about the stolen cars. I’m prepared to go bat for you but I want you to be honest with PD, okay?”

“I’ll do time …”

“It’s possible. I won’t lie to you.” I opened the file in front of me and scanned the information I had about Carmine Mendez. No arrest record. Surprisingly, no traffic violations either. Apprentice mechanic. Lives with his mom and two younger sisters. The father died in Iraq. Carmine would lose his job if he got a grand larceny conviction. His sisters needed him at home, not in prison. I sighed and closed the file. Mendez. Where’d I heard that name recently? Crime scenes stacked up like playing cards. One by one the cards turned over.

“Carmine, are you related to an Officer Mendez at Fairfax PD?”

“No.”

Sam stepped up.

“Carmine, Supervisory Special Agent Conway will do what she can for you. We need assurance that you won’t associate with losers anymore and that you’ll tell Fairfax PD everything you know.”

Carmine looked up at Sam and nodded. “If they come after me, my sisters and mom?”

“Not on our watch, boy. The FBI has some skill when it comes to protection. Talk to PD. Tell them everything.” Sam pressed his business card into Carmine’s hand. “Anything you need, you call me. Day or night.”

“Why do you care?”

I managed half a smile. Sam did a better job, his lips curled upward and revealed teeth. I flicked my eyes at Sam, he nodded.

“Because, Carmine, we’ve been doing this a lot of years and we’re not too shabby at judging people. You aren’t a bad kid. You did a stupid thing but you’re not bad.” Sam’s large hand dropped onto the young man’s shoulder. “You want out, we can help.”

I leaned across the table. “My opinion … you deserve a second chance and I will try to make that happen. Don’t fuck it up.”

Sam and I left the room. Outside the door, I stopped. “Carmine’s case will be kicked back to FBI. He wouldn’t be worried about his family unless he’s got himself into something big and very messy.”

“Organized car theft, stealing to order, shipping out of State or even the country,” Sam said.

We were on the same page.

I spoke to the uniformed agent near the door and told him to contact Fairfax PD, tell them the car thieves were ready and that PD could use our interview rooms if it made things easier. Made sense, especially as Sam and I thought the case would become an FBI one.

“Do you want to talk to Carmine’s buddy?” Sam asked.

“No need,” I replied.

Chance high-fived me as he passed by.

Follow Me

“Welcome to our Friday,” Kurt said as the morning sun just tipped the trees. He leaned into the car. “You coming?”

“Anything familiar about this address?” I looked at the house hoping it would throw a memory at me.

“Not to me.”

“Maybe I saw it written somewhere.”

“Coming?”

“Sure.”

The driver’s door closed. Climbing out of the car and shielding my eyes from the brightness, I followed him up the driveway, through the house and into another bathroom.

Eight days away from the big day and making zero progress in the case. A fresh victim felt like a massive fail.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw the face of the latest victim.

God, no!

I spun around and ran from the house. Breakfast splattered violently into the garden outside the front door. I gathered my hair with one hand and held it out of the way as the retching continued. Eventually, the spasms stopped and I straightened up. Too fast. A murky fog rolled across my vision, the deepening clouds revolved, gathering speed as they twisted and turned. I felt myself falling forward. Hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back.

“That was nearly,” Kurt said. “You with me?”

“Yep,” I said, my hand closed around cold plastic. I looked down and saw it was a bottle of water. Kurt crouched next to me. Guess he gave me the water.

“Didn’t like your breakfast?”

“Apparently not,” I replied then took a long drink.

“Go easy,” Kurt warned.

Too late. I turned my head, water bubbled up from my stomach and sprayed across the grass.

Great. This is going well.

I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth and tried to smile at Kurt. “All good,” I said.

“Can’t wait for great if this is good,” he said with a frown. “Think that checkup should be moved forward, Conway.”

“Not necessary, Kurt. That was a reaction to the victim.” I swallowed the steadily rising bile. “It’s Phoebe Childs. I know her. She moved recently. That’s why the address seemed familiar. It was written on an invitation to a house warming.”

Kurt stood up, reached out for my hand and helped me to my feet. He didn’t let go straight away, probably smart. I felt like death having a bad day. I could only imagine how great I looked.

“Can you do this?” He flicked his hand toward the house.

“Yep. I can do this.” I sounded more confident than I felt. No one ever expects to recognize a murder victim.

“The minute you want out, let me know,” he said.

“I’ll be okay. Let’s go see what Phoebe has to say.” I moved toward the door. “You can let go. I’m okay.”

Kurt let go my hand but stayed close as we walked back into the house and to the bathroom.

“Phoebe Childs, age thirty-one,” Kurt said. “When did you last see her, Conway?”

“We went out for coffee a month or so ago. She needed an off the record chat, well, more to vent really. A parent she was dealing with was causing issues.”

“A parent?” Kurt questioned.

I bent down and said, “Phoebe, I’m so sorry. Say hello to Cassie for me.” A slight coffee aroma rose from Phoebe. My gut twisted.

Kurt spoke from near my shoulder.

“Conway?”

“Yes, a parent. She’s a social worker with Child Protective Services.”

“Was, Conway,” Kurt said gently.

“Was,” I corrected. “She worked with a friend of mine. After her death, we stayed in touch.”

“Cassandra Smith, right?”

“Yep.”

It didn’t pay to dwell on Cassie’s death. I found her. Kurt tried to save her life. Enough said. I stood up and glanced around the room. A piece of paper stuck out of a closed drawer in the vanity unit. It revealed a sentence, just like the other crime scenes.

“Maybe he liked Phoebe,” I said, passing Kurt the paper. “‘Laughter replaced it all.’”

“That’s not as dark as the other notes.”

The drawer caught my eye again. I pulled it open properly. Perfume. Expensive perfume and lots of it. Perfume boxes four deep and three across, except in one row. The sixth box was missing. I photographed the drawer contents with my phone.

“There’s a gap.”

“A gap?”

“Yeah, look. He might’ve taken the sixth box.”

“Any way to figure out what box number six contained?”

“I dunno.”

What perfumes did she like? All of them by the look of the drawer.

I needed a perfumer. It’s possible a perfumer could fill in the gap based on the selection still in the drawer.

The perfume thing bugged me. The body wash and shampoo thing bugged me too. So did the words and the poetry at the first scene, and the lack of mess. The Republican thing bugged the hell out of me. Didn’t need to ask anyone about Phoebe’s political inclinations. She was a card-carrying Republican. We’d enjoyed many animated discussions about politics because we didn’t share the same political outlook.

I stopped thinking about our lively debates. Too hard to believe someone so engaging and funny lay drained of vitality in her shower. The bloodied messenger bag swam into view. The bag-carrying Unsub bugged the hell out of me. I was bugged.

We waited for the scene guards and crime techs to arrive. Lunchtime came and went. I drank water and ignored the hunger pangs in my stomach.

The medical examiner arrived as the Crime Scene techs finished up.

“Caroline,” I said, walking toward her with my hand out.

She shook my hand. “Another one?”

“Yes.” I put my hand on her arm. “It’s Phoebe Childs.”

“Oh, God,” she exclaimed on a rush of exhalation. “Will you catch this prick, please?”

“I’m trying, Caroline. I’m trying.”

She nodded. “I don’t have enough hands on deck. I’m calling in another medical examiner. I’ve still got three autopsies to do.”

“Let me know as soon as you have anything that’ll help us.”

“You know I will.”

“I hate to ask, but will you prioritize her toxicology screen and stomach contents?”

“Yes.”

Caroline removed the sadness from her expression; in its place, she wore a bland work face. She disappeared inside.

“I need to sit down with all the crime scene photos,” I said to Kurt.

Sitting down seemed like an excellent idea.

“They’re in the system. Office?”

“Yeah.” I stifled a yawn.

“Keeping you up?”

“Let’s just do this thing.”

Any hope of going home early vanished with the thoughts rolling in my head. The day had almost disappeared. I settled the thoughts; they wouldn’t do me or the investigation any good. Six victims and I doubted our Unsub had finished. Something triggered this daily killing of women. I had a feeling the double up was a coordination error. Someone got carried away and killed too soon.

My phone rang. Lobo’s “I’d love you to want me” signaled the call was from Mitch. The music made me smile. I slid my finger across the screen. “Hey. How’s your day?”

“Going okay. You all right, El?” Mitch said.

“Not really,” I replied. “I’m at Phoebe’s new house.”

“Thought you were working a crime scene ...” An almost audible rumble filtered through as his thoughts slotted into place. “Oh, crap, El. Really?”

“Yes.”

“You okay?” He paused then said, “No, you’re not. Wish I could hug you.”

“Hold that thought. I’ll need that hug when I get home tonight.”

“Where are you now?”

“Outside at Phoebe’s. Do you remember when she moved, Mitch?”

“A few weeks ago, I think. Hang on.” I heard his fingers tapping on keys. “She sent an invitation to her house-warming party, this coming weekend. She moved two and a half weeks ago.”

Finally, a time frame.

“Yeah, that party won’t be happening now.”

“There’s something else going on. I can feel a disruption in the force, what is it?” His voice lightened a little. A smile crept in. “What’s going on with you, El? You sure it’s not cold feet?”

Dammit. I couldn’t lie to him but I didn’t want to get into anything yet.

“You know it isn’t. Eight days and we’re officially husband and wife,” I said with a smile. “It’s nothing. I got sick at the crime scene, that’ll be what you’re sensing.”

“Not surprised. You okay now?”

“Yep.” Changing the subject but not too much. “I need to find someone in the perfume industry to talk to.”

“This case related?”

“Yes, I think the Unsub has a thing for a particular scent or maybe one Unsub does.”

Mitch’s breathing changed; I heard a sharp intake of air. “One Unsub?”

“Yeah. I think there are two,” I replied. The theme song for “Three’s Company” soared through the phone and whacked me hard on the ear. I reeled from the opening bars of the late seventies-early eighties TV show. Three? The TV reference was screwy but made sense to me. I’d seen two males. I knew a woman had placed the memorial notice. Two men and a woman, instead of the two women and one man in the television show.

“El? You there?” Worry creased Mitch’s voice, sharpening the edges and sending arrows into my heart.

“I think I’m tired,” I replied. Before I could halt my stream of consciousness, truth started dripping from my mouth. “I’m used to seeing Chance and hearing songs … now my mind has gone old school and brought back old TV shows.” The crazy flowing freely.

“Chance? You need to explain that one, babe …”

“Christopher Chance. Ever read the
Human Target
comics?”

“Yeah, once or twice. So you see a comic book character?”

“Yeah. Nah, I see him as a real person from the
Human Target
TV show … you know, Mark Valley.”

Mitch’s laughter softened the crazy. “Your mind is a fascinating place, El.”

“Isn’t it, though?” I replied, hoping there weren’t any more questions. “I’ll see you when I see you. Hopefully not late.”

“Babe ...”

“Three things.”

“Three things.” The smile sprang back into his voice. “Don’t be too late.”

With a smile, I hung up, pocketed my phone and joined Kurt in the car.

“Office?” he said, turning the key. The engine fired.

“Yes. What time do you think it is in France?”

“Planning a trip, Conway?”

“Needing a perfumer to talk to and France popped into my head as a place where I might find one or two.”

My mind quietened as the journey continued. Where had we come across a perfumer before? I didn’t speak until I walked into my office and saw Lee sitting in a spare chair in front of my desk.

I threw questions into the air hoping he’d catch them. “Who was the perfumer? What company was it?”

Lee sat back in the chair and watched me sit at my desk. “You’re talking about the Hawk case, yeah?”

“Yeah, remember the perfume and pendants? What was the company called?”

“It was cologne,” Lee said turning my laptop to face him. “Men don’t wear perfume.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lee.” I picked up a manila folder from my desk.

A memo from Sandra fluttered to the polished desk surface. I turned it over and read it. Just a note saying she’d printed the photos and had heard about Phoebe. A niggle forced its way to the front: if I didn’t get this case closed quickly, I’d miss the funeral because I’d be on my honeymoon. Not that I thought Phoebe would mind, but I minded.