Psychobyte (7 page)

I sank back down to the floor by her head. “Thank you, Terri. Thank you for showing me,” I whispered. My eyes roamed the room looking for a telltale piece of folded white paper. Sure enough, I spotted it poking out from the laundry hamper. Retrieving it, I read, “‘I broke when you looked at me.’”

Troy said, “Another note?”

I jumped. I’d forgotten she was there.

“Sorry,” she said, curtailing the nervous giggle I heard in her voice before she spoke again, “What does it mean?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have evidence bags or shall I get some from my car?”

“My pack,” I said, pointing to the pack by the door. “Main compartment. Please.”

Troy unzipped the pack and held open an evidence bag, then dropped it with the note back into my pack. I resumed a thorough inspection. Clean, tidy, nothing out of place. No sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. No prescriptions of any sort. She had some over-the-counter cold and flu medicines, pain killers and vitamins, but that was all.

There wasn’t even a stray hair on the floor or basin. The garbage bin contained scrunched paper towels. The cabinet under the sink had a roll of paper towels and two different spray cleaners. Neither had much smell. More hypoallergenic cleaning products.

Could that be a link?

It was time to go back to Terri and inspect the wounds on her body. Several stab wounds on her torso. I moved her long blonde hair and found the fatal wound to her throat. A stab, not a slash. That would’ve squirted blood up the walls. Not as much as a stray drop on the white walls. I moved closer and sniffed. The coconut conditioner was still strong. I expected that the amount of water needed to shift a substantial quantity of blood would’ve diluted the coconut a lot more than it was.

Maybe. Something to ask about later.

I leaned in and gave one last inward breath through my nose. Coffee. She drank coffee.

Done, I nodded to Troy, hoisted my pack onto my shoulder, and left the house.

Outside I called Kurt. “I’m at a new crime scene. Would very much like you all to join me.”

“We’re just tidying a few things up at the office,” Kurt replied. “Address?”

I rattled off the address and hung up. While Troy and I waited, I sent some uniforms to canvass the neighborhood. Sometimes people responded better to a uniform than an FBI badge.

Go figure.

Wherever You Will Go

I swallowed, took a breath, and once again led the way into the latest house of death.

“Crime scene four but I don’t think it’ll be the last,” I said as I beckoned to Kurt down the hallway. I stopped near the bathroom door.

“You okay, Conway?” Kurt asked. “I’ve never seen the color drain from you like it just did.”

Concentrate.

“Draining.”

Blood. How much blood would’ve sprayed up the walls of the shower?

“Conway?”

“Let’s do this first, then I have a question.”

“I don’t like how pale you are.”

Ignoring Kurt, I flipped to work mode. “Terri Kane. Twenty-six. Works for DMV. That makes her a state level government employee and she’s blonde with blue eyes.”

Kurt nodded.

“Worked. Made,” Kurt said as he entered the bathroom. “How’d the Unsub gain entry?”

“No signs of forced entry and no open windows. She might have let him in.”

“That’s new.” Kurt turned to face me. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

For a split second, I wondered if he knew how close I was to hurling in a crime scene. “That she knew him or her? I’ve sent uniforms to canvass the neighborhood. Hopefully, someone will know if Terri had a boyfriend or girlfriend or frequent visitor.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Stabbing just feels like a female crime.”

Grasping at straws; I didn’t see a woman. Possible that several incidents with knife-wielding fans of Michael Fisher had clouded my view of women and knives. The amount of force used could easily mean the Unsub was male.

Options wide open. Could be anyone with opposable thumbs. I rolled back to my initial suicide thought. Yeah. Nah.

I saw a male.

“You didn’t see a woman at the last crime scene, Conway.”

“Didn’t see one this time either.”

Crap.

“This time? You saw the Unsub again?”

“Not completely. He covered her face she could only get a partial looksee but it looked like the same guy to me.”

Kurt frowned, lines deepening in his forehead. “You scare me.”

I scare myself.

I shrugged. “How much blood are we talking about?” I faced the shower and the clean white walls. “How much blood would’ve sprayed up these walls?”

“Give me a minute and I’ll do the math.”

“She’s my height.”

“That’s helpful. Looks about your weight too.” A few taps on the calculator on his phone and he had an answer. “Blood will only squirt as long as the heart can pump. The point of no return for Terri happened once she’d lost almost two liters.”

“And that is what in pints?”

“Just over three and a half.”

“That would’ve made a mess.”

My phone rang. My boss, Special Agent in Charge Caine Grafton.

“Caine,” I said and left the room, passing Sam and Lee.

“Where are you?” Caine said.

“Homicide crime scene investigation.”

“We just got an anonymous tip. The tipster asked for the FBI agent in charge of the Ox Road murder.”

“That’ll be me. What now?”

“Another murder.”

He’d broken his pattern. Not good.

“Send the address to my phone.” Gerrard’s mom popped into my head. “While you’re on the line. Have you heard from Noel Gerrard at all in the last few months?”

“No. He’s a friend of Sean O’Hare. If you’re trying to find him, Sean may know where to look.”

I knew they knew each other. But friends? I didn’t know that. I added another note to my phone to check with Sean.

I walked back to Lee and Sam. “Saddle up, we got another one.”

Everyone’s phones went at once. My screen showed an incoming map reference from SA Sandra Sinclair. Kurt emerged from the bathroom.

“Again already?”

“Yeah, Caine rang. Sandra sent us directions.”

Noise from the front door alerted me to an arrival. Two crime scene techs walked toward us.

I nodded at them, held up a hand to tell them to wait, and made a phone call. “Sean, Ellie here. I need more scene guards.”

“How many and where?”

“Two. Sending address now.”

“Okay. Done. Invoice Delta A, your name on it?”

“Yes.”

Out of my budget, just like last time.

“You going to need more today?”

“I think so. Put another two on standby. I’ll let you know in the next hour if I need them.”

“Take care, Ellie.”

“Hang on, have you heard from Noel Gerrard recently?”

“No.” He paused for a tick. “Something I should know?”

“Not sure yet. If you do, tell him to call his mom.”

“Will do.”

The techs who had worked crime scenes for me before were waiting. Carol Higgins and Jerome Sand.

“When you’re done, hand over to the scene guards from O’Hare Security.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carol said.

“The ME is going to be busy today.” I glanced around. “Where is she?”

“On her way, ma’am.”

“Good.”

“Anything specific you want us to look for?”

“Point of entry.” A sigh escaped. “Pay especial attention to the bedrooms, kitchen and bathroom. We need some prints. We really need some prints.”

Carol nodded. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, she was drugged.” I had no doubt in my mind. Her cloudy vision spoke to me of drugs. “I want to know how. She had coffee this morning. Don’t know if it was take-out or she made it. Find out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Maybe someone tampered with her morning coffee?”

“Something for us to look into, ma’am.”

“We’ll leave you to it.” I walked away from her. Kurt, Sam, and Lee caught up with me. I shot Kurt a sideways glance. “Remember the Son of Shakespeare case?”

Kurt nodded. Lee nudged me. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about the cyber café and Mac being drugged,” I replied.

Sam chuckled, a deep throaty chuckle. “He was pretty entertaining, Chicky Babe.”

“Yep, he was, Mr. T!”

The chuckle became a belly laugh.

Kurt joined the conversation. “Ketamine, yes?”

“Yes. In his coffee.”

“And in your toothpaste, if I recall correctly?” Kurt added.

“Yes.” So they told me. “Good memory.”

“You made a lasting impression.”

“Awesome.”

When I grow up, I’ll make less embarrassing lasting impressions.

“Having had some experience with ketamine, Conway, do you think that was the drug used here?”

A hard question which I gave some thought. No. It didn’t feel like ketamine. These victims weren’t capable of anything once the drug took hold. Whatever was used dropped their level of consciousness lower than ketamine. They didn’t not remember, there was nothing there at all.

I shook my head. “No. Not ketamine. Something else. Could sleeping pills be delivered via coffee?”

Kurt nodded.

“Would they make the coffee too disgusting to drink?”

“Probably not. You wouldn’t need a lot and the bitterness of coffee would mask the flavor.”

That sounds plausible. Don’t think I want to try sleeping pills in coffee, though.

“I’ll take your word for the taste.”

“I’ll look into the coffee-pill thing, but I think I remember something similar from a few years ago.”

I plunged my hand into my jeans pocket and pulled out a pen, leaving my glove behind. Fishing out the glove, I tossed it at Kurt. “We should be carrying small.”

He caught the glove and smiled. “Thought you had small black Nitrile gloves?”

“I did. Don’t know where the box went, I’ve been using the latex gloves on scene,” I replied, dragging my notebook from my shirt pocket and losing the second glove.

Kurt chuckled as I threw it at him. “I’ll grab a new box for you from stores when we get back.”

“Thanks, that’d be helpful.”

Troy was waiting outside for me. I stopped to talk to her. Kurt, Sam, and Lee carried on to the cars.

“O’Hare Security will provide scene guards. Can you handle security for our techs until O’Hare’s men arrive?”

“Of course. I just had an update from the surveillance on Sarah Ng’s home. A male approached the residence and knocked on the front door. Officers said he was carrying a clipboard and wearing a power company ID. They intercepted him down the street.”

“Description?”

“Dark hair, six feet tall, translucent skin. Said he looked like a vampire.”

Don’t think we’re looking for anyone with fangs ‒ no characteristic teeth marks on the victims.

“Unfortunate. I’m interested in anyone with dark hair. Did they get details?”

“Yes.” She passed me her notebook. I copied the particulars into mine.

“I’ll do some background on him … tell them thanks.”

“We’ll keep surveillance on Ms. Ng.”

“Thanks, Troy.”

I’d almost reached the car when my phone rang. “Hey, Sandra, got something?” I signaled to Kurt waiting in the car that I was coming.

“Have you seen
The Washington Post
today?”

I stopped walking. “No.”

“You might want to get a copy and look at the In Memoriam page. I just saw it,” Sandra said.

“That’s a helluva way to capture my attention.”

“You’ll love this then. Someone posted a memorial with names under it. The names are Jane, Serena, and Terri.”

“I’ll get a copy and get back to you. Meanwhile, see if you can find out who placed the memorial?”

“I’m on it, O Genie of the Fourth Estate.”

I laughed, hung up, and tugged the car door open.

“Has there been a development?” Kurt asked.

“We need a copy of today’s
Post
. Sounds like our Unsub posted a memorial.”

Kurt located the nearest Seven Eleven and procured a copy. We sat in the car and flipped to the Obits.

“Listen to this, Kurt.” I paused for a moment as my brain and tongue wrapped around the words. “‘Don’t take it personally. It wasn’t easy. Just listen. I broke when you looked at me. Life cracked wide open. Everything that came before. Spilled over the screen. Seeped into the keyboard. Shattered across the desk. Laughter replaced it all.’”

Kurt took the paper and read the piece for himself. “I recognize some of that from the crime scenes over the last few days.”

“Me too.”

He handed me back the folded pages pointing out the names at the end. “Jane, Serena and Terri,”

“I’m not liking that.”

“We need to know when that ad was placed,” Kurt said.

“The newspaper came out this morning. Terri was killed this morning.”

Now we knew for sure the Unsub chose her ahead of time. Nothing opportunistic about these deaths. The killer selected the women for a reason, and I felt certain he knew enough about them to know he could kill them without being disturbed.

It was time to give proper consideration to the crime scene notes. Nothing about the short notes pleased me. Why leave lines from a poem at the crime scenes? For a second it all seemed so obvious and personal. It wasn’t a secret that I once wrote poetry.

Maybe the question should be, why didn’t more killers leave poetry at crime scenes?

“The notes …” The words hung above the dash for a few seconds before collapsing.

“You going somewhere with that or just thinking aloud?”

“Do you think they are for our benefit?”

“It would seem that way.”

“Why?”

“Showing off? Making sure we’re engaged?”

His words hit home. A ploy, perhaps, to make sure Delta A led the investigation? Serial crime is our thing. We’d get the case regardless of any poetry at the scenes. No matter how I tried to explain the notes to myself, it felt personal.

Just Older

“I need to check someone out,” I said to Kurt.

“You could’ve done that while I was driving,” he replied as I reached for my laptop.

No, I really couldn’t.