Psychobyte (36 page)

Not to mention a shower full of trophies.

I guessed his team had instructions when it came to collecting things from crime scenes or they sent photos back to him and he chose what he wanted.

“Where’s your phone?” I asked, all smiles and politeness while looking around the room. “Never mind.” I picked it up off the dining table and flicked through his photo folders. Finding photos of shower caddies, I showed Kurt. “Familiar?”

“Yes,” Kurt said. He took his cuffs off his belt and told Emilio to turn around.

On our way back to the office, Sandra called.

“I’m having trouble getting through the encryption. I’ve got a couple of techs from Cyber coming in to help me. We’re going to need more computer power.”

“Whatever you need …”

“Thank you, O Shiner of the Light.”

Homebound Train

At eight on Wednesday morning, Kurt thumped a newspaper onto my desk. I’d been finishing off the paperwork for the case since six. We had one more arrest to make and it was case closed.

“Something upset you?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

“Read, you’ll see.”

“Do I have to guess the page or will you help me out?” The look on his face told me all I needed to know. Horror trickled through my veins as I turned to the obituary page. No missing what had upset Kurt.

Right in the middle of the page was a poem dedicated to Violet Cramer, Jane Daughtry, Serena Sorenson, Terri Kane, Karen Fredericks, Michelle Andrews, Phoebe Childs, Ashley Stewart, Sidney Churchill, Jodie Norris.

And me.

“Nice and cheery, isn’t it?” Kurt said as I looked up from the newspaper.

“Yeah, it’s lovely.”

“No signature,” Kurt said. “But it seems to be the finished poem. You were right about it not being finished before.”

That’s comforting. Not.

“Do we know who placed this in the paper?”

He shook his head. “It was done over the internet via the newspaper’s website and paid for using Jodi Norris’s credit card, yesterday afternoon.”

“Nice that they included me. That means whoever placed this was involved in the art gallery.”

Who else would know I was there?

“I’d imagine so,” Kurt replied. “I want to increase security just until you are safely married and off on honeymoon.”

“Armed guards already sit outside my home and Mitch’s house,” I said.

“No, you
did
have armed guards. Once we closed the case they were removed.”

“Okay, do it then. Use uniformed FBI. Make sure they have marked cars.”

I didn’t believe those words came from my mouth. Judging by Kurt’s expression, he didn’t either.

“Who are you?” he asked, leaning over the desk. “And what did you do with the real Ellie Conway?”

I smiled. “It’s me. I might have a bit more to be cautious at the moment. I’d kinda like to make my wedding and you know … do the whole family thing.”

Just not sure about the twins thing. That needed more time.

Kurt nodded. “I think you’ll make a great mom.”

“I think you’re talking shit, but I know Mitch will be a great dad.” I folded the newspaper so the poem was visible. “We need to find out who did this. Did anyone pick up the Lette kid, Kristopher?”

“Not yet. But everyone is looking for him.”

“He signed half the poem in an email, as far as we can tell it was actually him, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Chances are …”

And just like that, I was transported to an office I recognized. Chance smiled at me from across his desk.

“Really?” I said, sitting in a chair and shaking my head.

“Fun, ain’t it?”

“Not so much, Chance. Do you know where Lette is?”

“Find the mother, you’ll find the son.”

Find the mother.

“Of course. Thanks, Chance.”

“Take care, Ellie.”

Kurt was staring at me when I looked up.

“Problem?”

“Your eyes went black. You weren’t here.” His arm swept around the room. “Where were you?”

“Chance’s office.”

Too much truth is a bad thing but it was too late to take it back.

“Mentally hilarious. I stand by my diagnosis.”

“Thanks.”

That was all kinds of comforting.

“Did Chance have something to say pertaining to this case?”

“Yep. He said if we find the mother, we’ll find the son.”

“And she is where?”

“No idea, but I bet Dad knows.” I reached down and pressed the speaker button on my desk phone then input Dad’s number into the keypad.

He answered on the fifth ring as I was about to give up. “Ellie?”

“Dad. Where is Rosanne?”

“George Washington hospital.”

My heart sank. “Serious?”

“She’s not going to get any better, Ellie, if that’s what you mean. She’s as good as can be expected.”

She seemed okay last time I saw her. I looked at Kurt. “We need to talk to her.”

“You better make it today then.”

Dad gave me the information necessary to find her room. I hung up.

“Kurt, she was okay the other day …”

“Yes. Brain tumors can be unpredictable. It was only a matter of time. Let’s go. Her son is probably with her.”

My phone rang. “Sandra, good news?”

“We’re in. We have names, we have connections, we’ve got it all.”

“Tell me …”

“Perfect Storm is a forum where people looking for like-minded souls come together.”

It almost sounded pleasant.

“And?”

“Delving into the depths and subforums off the main branches we found Hank Creole. Hank can’t post on the forum himself, prison computers can’t access the Deep Web or Darknet. Someone called Grekov and someone called Kristopher post on his behalf.”

Grekov, the Russian. “Putting you on speaker, Sandra.”

Sandra continued, “Herrera and Fallon found their way to the forum together. They caused quite a buzz and there was a lot of talk about whether they should be allowed to stay because of their occupations. Fallon offered her services, which went a long way to gaining the trust of Grekov and Lette. Together she and Herrera chose the victims. Grekov and his nurse did the killing. Lette painted fabric and created art.”

“Any more?”

“This is a web of revolting threads. Stevens was brought into the group by Fallon when Lette said he needed someone to sew for him.”

“How did Fallon know Stevens?”

“She didn’t to start with. She advertised for a sewing machinist in a local newspaper.”

“They discussed that in the forum?”

“They did. It’s the place where they all got together and discussed distribution, art galleries, sales, and the next victim.”

“Was Stevens on the forum?”

“Yes, but not often, she was an employee.”

“Any mention of Christine Locke?”

“Yes. Lette wanted AB negative blood. He suggested Phoebe Childs because he knew she had AB negative, he didn’t offer up Christine because her eyes are brown and she didn’t fit the criteria when it came to career.”

“Excellent work, Sandra. Thank you.”

“I’d say you’re welcome but I feel I need to go scrub my eyeballs now.”

On the drive to the hospital, questions circled in my head. Would I arrest him in front of his dying mother and remove him from her side? Maybe. Would I arrest him and let him stay until she passed? I had no clue.

We walked to the wall of elevators inside the hospital foyer. A few minutes later we both walked into Rosanne Lette’s room to find her son by her bedside.

“Kristopher Lette?” I said, showing him my badge.

He nodded. “What do you want?”

“To give you a medal, what do you think I want?”

He shrugged. “How would I know?”

Rosanne mumbled incoherently.

“Step outside,” Kurt instructed.

“No. I’m staying here.”

“All right then, we do this here,” I said.

Kurt took cuffs from the case on his belt. “Stand up.”

Lette stayed where he was. I smiled at Kurt. He stepped forward and snapped one cuff on Lette’s left wrist, then attached the other cuff to the bed rail.

“You’re under arrest.”

“What for?” he snapped. “I’ve been here since last night. What did I do?”

“You’re under arrest for your involvement in the murder of ten women,” I said with a smile. I can be nice when I arrest people. “We already have your buddies.”

“That’s crap,” he squawked, rattling the cuff against the bed.

“No. It’s really not. Your exciting gallery display of blood-drenched and forensically designed articles and the things you sold to some boutiques here in D.C and Northern Virginia mean you are someone we very much want to talk to regarding the exsanguination of ten women.”

He rattled the cuff against the bed rail again.

“Settle or we take you now,” Kurt warned. “Just give me a reason …”

Kurt and I left the room. We could see Kristopher Lette from the viewing window.

“What do you want to do?”

“Leave him for now. Let’s get someone to babysit him. I don’t want to stay.”

Kurt made a call to Sam. He and Lee offered to sit with Lette until we could set up a roster of uniformed agents to take over. As soon as his mother died, we would take him in and the games would begin.

Here Without You

The peppery scent of his cologne released from the fabric of the shirt as I slipped my arms into it and fastened a few buttons, successfully stopping it sliding off my shoulders. I glanced at the bed. He stirred, his eyes flickered under closed lids.

With a smile I went to the kitchen and opened the windows, letting the fresh morning breeze flow over me. A shiver ran up my spine as the cool wind spiraled down my body, touching bare legs. Glad of his shirt, I made the coffee.

The aroma of the freshly ground beans filled the air. For a moment, I wondered how smart an idea morning coffee was.

What’s the worst that could happen?

I made coffee and found some roasted pecans in the cupboard. Deciding to let Mitch sleep a bit longer, I took a cup of coffee and a bowl of pecans to the living room. Comfortable on the couch I ate pecans and laughed to myself as I read Dilbert cartoons online.

Engine noise from a boat outside drew my attention away from Dilbert. I watched the water ripple on the Sound in the wake of a large white launch. The sun reflected bright rays off the water’s surface. I knew why Mitch bought this property in New Zealand years ago. He’d found paradise. Mahau Sound was peaceful and stunning all at once.

Reaching for my coffee, I found it was lukewarm; the sea was quite a distraction. I abandoned all thought of coffee.

“Whatcha doing?” Mitch’s voice made me jump. He laughed. He leaned on the doorframe, hands in his pockets, a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes. I had the impression he’d been there a few minutes.

“Eating nuts, surfing, and watching boats,” I replied, putting another salted pecan in my mouth. “You want some?” I chewed the nut. Pecans reminded me of brains, if brains were slightly salty, yet crunchy and tasty.

“We still talking about pecans?” Mitch said with what was possibly the most innocent expression I’d ever seen on his face.

It needed work.

“Not necessarily.” A smile settled on my lips. “Thought you were tired?”

“That was then, this is now,” he replied with a cheeky grin. “I’m rested now.”

I don’t need much encouragement. I closed the screen on my laptop, placed it on the couch, and stood up.

Mitch smiled as I covered the distance between us with three strides.

“Don’t let me interrupt …” he said as I neared him. “We’ve got another week of vacation here … that’s one hundred and sixty-eight hours … so if now’s not good for you …”

“Shut up,” I murmured, kissing him while wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Morning, Mrs. Iverson,” he said in my ear. “My shirt looks good on you.”

I’d like to thank the following people for the reasons mentioned.

Rebekah ‒ for never being too busy to read for me, for your observations, laughter, style, fearlessness, and for being my daughter.

Geoff ‒ for never forgetting, for the best smile ever, and for being my Knight of the Order of Chrome.

Caoilfhionn ‒ for lively discussions about writing and for your humor.

Breezy ‒ for singing, always, and your big heart and Sagittarius ways.

Doug Whitlock ‒ because he is never surprised by my medically related questions, doesn’t think I’m a serial killer, and makes me laugh so much I have a keyboard protector on my Macbook.

Special thanks to Jayne at Rebel ePublishers.