Psychobyte (3 page)

“Do you want to speak with Jane Daughtry’s parents? Troy called, said she’d informed the parents of Jane’s death and they’d like to talk to you.”

“Yes. Can you arrange that?”

“Will do.”

“Set it up. I’m on my way back now.”

Whataya Want From Me

Dusk eased over the city as I sat at my desk reading the case file from the Winchester suicide. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my ankles and resting the heel of my left boot on the edge of my desk.

Everything I read told me Winchester was linked. I compared the photo of that note to a photo of the note I found in Jane’s bathroom: close enough that I would say the same person wrote them. The Questioned Document lab would be able to tell us for sure.

Why kill one woman in Winchester then the next in Fairfax? That’s quite a wide geographical gap.

I placed the photos of the victims next to each other on the screen. Similar in appearance: blonde, slim, fine features, blue eyes. Planting my feet on the floor, I scrolled through the case file, trying to find what the Winchester woman did for a living.

“Violet Cramer worked for …” I said to myself as I searched the file, “… the National Park Service, as a park ranger.”

A link beyond a similar appearance and a government job didn’t show. Time to hit social media and see what that turned up. Fifteen minutes later, I knew both women had Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts. Neither featured on the other’s friend list but they did have two friends in common on Facebook and followed about two hundred of the same people on Twitter. I puffed air into my cheeks and let it out slowly. Truth be known, I probably followed about a hundred of the same people on Twitter. Still, I needed to double-check any overlap.

Time-consuming.

I hauled myself out from behind my desk, left my cell behind, and wandered out into the bullpen in search of coffee.

Lee and Sam were working, both on phones. I’d asked them to track down Jane Daughtry’s boyfriend. Kurt was nowhere to be seen.

Sandra waved at me from her desk. “Can I help?”

“When you spoke to HR, did they have anything that could relate to Jane’s death?”

Sandra pulled up files and scanned the contents on her screen. “Her team leader said she’ll be very much missed.”

“You think she’s still in?”

“Doubt it.”

“I’m going to take a look at Jane’s desk. I won’t be long.”

I hurried over to HR. Peering through the glass main doors, I coldn’t see anyone at the reception desk. Dim lighting bathed the area with a yellowish tinge. I swiped my card to open the door. Nothing.

Damn.

I called Caine. “Hey, it’s me, I’m on HR’s floor. There’s no one around. I need to look at Jane Daughtry’s desk.”

“You want me to authorize that?”

“Please.”

“Logging you on the floor now with SAC approval. You got five minutes.”

“Thanks.” I swiped my card again. The light flashed green. I pushed the door open. No sounds of life came from the offices along the hallway.

Scooting around the reception desk I searched for an office plan. I found it stuck to the interior of the Fire Warden’s cupboard. Daughtry, office seventy-four and Herrera across the hall in seventy-five. Time ticked on. I hurried. Opening the door to Daughtry’s office revealed a tidy work environment. I pulled her top desk drawer. Locked. Nothing but pens and stationery in the second drawer. No personal things. Her wastepaper basket revealed nothing.

I looked at the walls. She’d hung her degree and a diploma, both framed. Time to go. I zapped my card to leave. The heavy glass door closed behind me as I hurried back to our floor.

“Anything?” Sandra said, looking up as I walked toward her.

“Nothing stands out. Might stretch my legs and head for the Firehook. You wanna come with?”

She nodded. “Good idea. Jane’s parents won’t be in for a minimum of an hour.”

It would be at least two hours before I’d be on my way home, all going well.

I ducked into my office, pulled on a jacket, shoved my cell into my jeans pocket, fished my wallet from my bag and stuck it in my jacket pocket. All set.

Sandra and I walked down the corridor to the stairs. Running down, we hit the door into the foyer at the same time. Our laughter echoed around the cavernous room. The agent at the desk glanced up, smiled and went back to monitoring the screens in front of him.

“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?” Sandra said.

“I think so.”

“You all set for the wedding?”

“As much as we can be.”

“Did you write your own vows?”

“Yes, we did. That’s a lot harder than it seems.”

Sandra smiled. “Two weeks. Exciting.”

“Two weeks.”

One big family dinner before the big day and I was glad it wasn’t tonight. When was it? Three days until the dinner and the last minute prep is sorted. Then I could relax. A small laugh escaped. Yeah, right. I could relax once on the plane leaving the country for our honeymoon.

Sandra nudged me. “Are you going to take his name?”

“Yes.” The speed with which this fell from my lips surprised me. I didn’t take Mac’s name but I’m taking Mitch’s. Funny how life changes.

Sandra bought coffee; I went with hot chocolate and we walked quietly back through the darkening streets. Nice to feel safe in D.C. again. It can take a while to get that sense of security back after things explode around you. This was my city and life wouldn’t leave it in ruins.

Thirty minutes shot by in the blink of an eye. Mostly sucked up by social media, scouring each woman’s overlapping followers for any real connection. I’d broken the two hundred into groups of fifty. Sandra knocked on my door just as I’d finished the first fifty and found nothing significant.

“Yes?” I said as Sandra poked her head around the door.

“Mr. and Mrs. Daughtry are here.”

“Thanks. Show them in.”

I stood up, wiped my hands down my thighs and met the nice looking couple in their mid-fifties in the middle of the room. Handshakes all round.

“Please, have a seat,” I said, holding my hand out to the couch in the corner.

“How can we help you find out what happened to our daughter?” Mr. Daughtry said, taking his wife’s hand.

“Tell me about Jane. What was she like as a child?”

He frowned for a second then smiled and nodded. “Happy. She was a happy kid. Liked to sing a lot.”

Mrs. Daughtry laughed at a memory. “She was always singing. We thought she’d be a singer but as she grew older, she developed a love for numbers.”

“And that led her to the FBI?”

“Yes,” Mr. Daughtry replied.

“She didn’t want to be an agent?”

“No.”

“Did she carry on singing?”

Mrs. Daughtry said, “Yes, at family events. She wanted to audition for
American Idol
a few years ago but never did.”

“Do you know why not?”

“She was still in college when she thought about auditioning. I think her workload was quite high. Her degree was important to her.”

“Boyfriends?”

“She didn’t talk much about boys,” Mrs. Daughtry said. “Except for Matthew. She adored him.”

“Do you know why they broke up?”

“She never said much about the breakup.”

“Have you spoken to Matthew?” Mr. Daughtry wanted to know. “We never met him, but she talked about him all the time before they broke up.”

“I haven’t spoken to him yet. But I will … he’s next on the list.” I considered how to ask about him without causing the parents concern.

Lightly. Tread gently.

“I’m hoping that between you two and Matthew, I can get a clear picture of the woman Jane was. Also an idea of anyone in her life I should be aware of.”

“Matthew would probably know more than us,” Mrs. Daughtry said. “He would know her friends. I don’t think Jane stayed in touch with many of her old high school friends. None of her friends attended George Mason University.”

I wrote George Mason in my notebook. “Are you staying in The District tonight or heading back to Maryland?”

Mr. Daughtry said, “We’re going home. We have arrangements to make for … Jane.”

An hour later I was no closer to learning anything from her parents that struck me as a jumping point for the investigation, apart from the ex-boyfriend and that she went to George Mason in Virginia. But I did know she’d been a much-loved daughter. I gave the parents my business card and escorted them out.

Into The Night

My phone rang at seven in the morning. Welcome to Tuesday. A warm arm snaked around me and pulled me back under the covers. I listened to the caller tell me there was a new crime scene, possibly linked to yesterday’s.

“Send the address to my cell, I’ll be there soon,” I said and hung up. I dropped the phone over the side of the bed and curled into Mitch. “I have to go.”

“Soon,” he said, kissing my neck as his fingers caressed my thigh. Warmth trailed slowly upward across my hip and onto my stomach. For a split second, I saw our future: bright and happy. Everything I’d denied myself thus far in life.

“Hey,” he said. My eyes opened as his thumb brushed moisture off my cheek. “What’s wrong?”

I smiled and brushed away another rogue tear. “I just …” My voice crumbled. I tried again. “I just never knew I could love anyone as much as I love you.”

He leaned over, his warm lips touched mine. No words. His kiss grew firmer and deeper. I wrapped my arms around his neck. Safe. Loved. Protected.

Mitch placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me and a fork in my hand. Orange juice, coffee and eggs. Breakfast.

The radio announced traffic building up on the Beltway. I pushed the eggs around my plate. Mitch talked about the day ahead of him. Meetings, contracts, tenders, and all the things he was working to resolve before our wedding and honeymoon.

“You’re quiet,” he commented, refilling his coffee. “And slow. You’re usually on your second cup by now.” He replaced the pot and ate more eggs.

I pushed another forkful of eggs around my plate.

Mitch looked up from his breakfast. “Not into eggs today? I could make you some toast?”

“I’m not very hungry.”

Everything stopped. I saw my words flashing neon pink, orange, and green, as they hung over the table. Mitch lowered his fork, letting it rest on the edge of his plate. I watched him thinking. The words slipped from the still air and splashed into my OJ and coffee.

He smiled.

Life began again.

“I’m not surprised. You’re working too hard.” His gentle tone tugged at my heart. “Eat a little?”

I forked scrambled eggs into my mouth and willed them down my throat. Counting in my head to distract myself and not touching the juice or coffee. That really would be pushing my luck. In less than twenty-four hours coffee had gone from being my drink of choice to a roasted bean concoction from the devil himself.

Mitch touched my hand. “What you said this morning – was the nicest thing you’ve ever said.”

I grinned. “Yeah, I kinda got that from your, ah, reaction.”

“And she’s back ...” he said with a laugh.

“And she’s gotta catch a killer.” I stood up. Breakfast settled.

“Take care out there today,” Mitch said, hugging me tight.

I wished I could stay wrapped in his embrace or take his hug with me. Tears threatened.

What on earth?

Burning Bridges

Another bathroom and a new, yet familiar crime scene; neither of those things ideal. My mind skipped over the lifeless body of the latest victim. My eyes scanned the room. The great start to the day overshadowed by death. Stepping back to the doorway, I made a call.

“We’ve got another crime scene,” I said as Kurt answered his phone.

“Same?”

“Yes.”

“Send me the address and I’m on my way.”

I texted the address to Sam, Lee and Kurt. Meanwhile, Serena Sorensen needed someone to talk to. Dropping my pack on the floor, I crouched down by her head.

“I’m sorry this how your life ended, Serena.” She said nothing. “I’ll need your help to find the person who did this.”

Serena didn’t make a miraculous recovery to aid me in my quest. Her cloudy eyes stared at the shower wall and gave nothing away. I scrunched lower until our heads were level and looked around the room. A small piece of white poking out from the woven cane of the laundry hamper alerted me to a possible note. I stood up, with care. Not feeling a hundred percent I knew that standing up too fast wouldn’t help. The thought of having to explain how I contaminated a crime scene was less than appealing. From my pack, I took an evidence bag and pair of disposable forceps. With care, I extracted the piece of folded paper from the weave.

Same writing as on the previous note at the last crime scene.
‘It wasn’t easy.’

Bagging the note, I hoped that meant she fought back. A quick visual inspection of her arms didn’t show defensive wounds; two fingernails were broken and jagged. No water on that hand. Chances are DNA might be under the broken fingernails. Using a larger paper evidence bag, I slipped it over her hand, securing it at the wrist with paper tape.

“Serena, I’m going to leave you for a little bit,” I said. “Try not to dislodge that bag, yeah?”

Probably a good thing she didn’t respond.

A police officer waited by the front door of the apartment. “Ma’am?”

“Secure the scene, officer. No one but FBI goes inside the building.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll be back.” I gave him a quick nod of encouragement and left him standing guard.

Waiting in my car for Delta, my phone rang. Mitch’s photograph beamed at me from the screen.

“Hey,” I said, catching sight of my reflection in the rearview mirror. Pale. I plastered a smile on my face hoping it would make a difference.

“Thought I’d see how it’s going?”

“It’s going. Just waiting on the team. Same Unsub struck again.”

“You okay?”

“Yep. Trying not to let this ruin my day.”

“Certainly started well …”

“Hold that thought … it might end well too.”

“I like the sound of that.” Mitch’s voice sounded a little husky all of a sudden. “Call me later?”