Kill Zone: A Lucy Guardino FBI Thriller (5 page)

Her heart lurched at the sight of Mina’s bedroom with its teenaged-girl-blossoming-into-womanhood mix of stuffed animals and photos of pop icons torn from magazines and pasted together into a collage of young male  hunkiness. Lucy wondered how Mina's parents felt about that—or about the collection of religious and philosophical books lined up on her desk including a Christian Bible, the I Ching, and a Torah. She saw a typical teenager exploring their options and boundaries, not unlike her own thirteen-year-old, who pushed those boundaries every chance she got.

Would parents raised in a fundamentalist atmosphere see it that way? Or would they see Mina’s small rebellions as betrayal?

Walden caught up with Lucy as she rifled through Raziq’s desk in the downstairs study behind the dining room. Burroughs had a warrant to search the entire crime scene for physical evidence, so anything in quasi-plain sight was in bounds. Anything she happened across that wasn’t in plain sight, well, it might not be evidence but if it could give her any insight as to why Mina was targeted, and if Raziq’s past in Afghanistan had anything to do with it, then at least it was a starting point.

It was one of those many gray areas when an investigator was expected to use their "best judgment" even though the ultimate decision would be made much later by the pundits in the press and lawyers arguing before a judge. That's when the breakthrough that "blew the case wide open" could just as easily turn into the fuckup that "sank it all." Hindsight was a bitch.

“Any word from Agent Haddad?” she asked Walden as she paged through Raziq’s passports. Turned out he and his family were Pakistani citizens but Raziq alone also had an Afghan passport. Paperwork in that corner of the world was less regimented than here. Made her wonder what documents might be inside his safe.

“The DEA duty agent says he hasn’t returned his messages.”
 

“How about the neighbors?”

“Quiet family, kept to themselves, only disturbances were when the daughter and father got into it. Once after her boyfriend dropped her off, and once when the daughter was attempting to leave and the father physically restrained her.”

“Mina was how old?”

“Fifteen. Enrolled at the Schenley Academy over in Highland Park.”

“Nice school. Expensive.” She glanced around the study again, searching for insight into its owner.
 

Like the living room, it was filled with tasteful handcrafted furniture, and a variety of expensive-appearing pieces including a mahogany display rack that held an assortment of antique guns and swords. Family heirlooms or trophies of war, she wasn’t sure. Maybe bought on eBay. She needed more on Raziq to see how deep his roots went. It said a lot that a man in his position had left his home country—countries—so easily. Big question was why?

“What about the mom?” she asked as she twirled a curved ceremonial dagger, balanced its intricately carved hilt across her fingers.

“The neighbors never see her except when she’s coming or going. Doesn’t drive, uses a car service when she goes out. They’re not sure if she speaks English or not.”

“Isolated.” She thought about that. Stared at the computer monitor hooked into the security system. Tons of bells and whistles yet no help since it hadn’t been on during the attack. The setup was pretty fancy and expensive for the neighborhood or a modest, unassuming house like this. More paradoxes. “Cultural? Or because Raziq is afraid of someone?”

He shrugged, studying an antique map hanging on the wall.  “We working this with Burroughs? How about the DEA, stepping on their toes?” His voice held a tone of caution. With good reason. Walden knew a clusterfuck waiting to happen when he saw one.

Lucy didn’t answer him. Instead she propped herself up on Raziq’s desk, the dagger still in her hand. “No pictures of his family. Out in the public area they’re arranged like trophies. But here, in his inner sanctum,” she gestured with the dagger, “nothing of them. He’s surrounded himself with items that prop up his ego and his family isn’t part of that.”

Walden shrugged. “Different culture.”

Maybe. But she’d gotten the same vibe when inside the homes of serial killers and child predators. Living a lie with a public facade very different than who they were in private. She pushed off the desk, returned the dagger to where she’d found it. “I want to talk to Raziq, and before I do I need to learn as much about him as possible. What exactly he did back in the old country, why he came to Pittsburgh, is he working for the DEA, who his enemies are, who his friends are.”

“Only one place to find all that.”

She sighed. “I know. The DEA.”

“What about the girl?”

“Burroughs’ guys will handle that.” Homicide 101, learn everything you could about the victim’s life. “The locals can do a better job of tracing Mina’s footsteps than we can. But this doesn’t feel like a crime targeting a fifteen-year-old girl. This feels like a message. A big, neon light, horse head in the bed kind of message.”

“Speaking of messages,” he said. “There was one from Jenna Galloway on Raziq’s machine. And I found this on the refrigerator.” He handed Lucy a card bearing Jenna’s contact info.
 

Jenna Galloway was a postal inspector who had been temporarily assigned to Lucy’s SAFE team and worked a case with Lucy last month. Morgan Ames, the teenaged daughter of a serial killer, had captured Jenna, almost burning Jenna alive before escaping arrest.
 

Lucy had never told anyone of those last moments before Morgan disappeared when Jenna had her weapon aimed at the unarmed girl’s back, ready to pull the trigger until Lucy stopped her.
 

Turned out Lucy didn’t need to address the issue of Jenna potentially shooting an unarmed juvenile. Jenna had been transferred off Lucy’s squad after failing her psych eval. As far as Lucy knew, Jenna was back working Nigerian mail fraud.

“Why would the DEA be working with the USPIS?” Lucy didn’t wait for an answer.  Instead, she dialed Jenna’s number. It was a good excuse to check in with Jenna, see how she was dealing with being back to work after what she’d suffered at the hands of Morgan Ames.
 

She’d tried to reach out to Jenna a few times since Morgan’s escape, but Jenna had rebuffed her. Lucy had a feeling Jenna resented the fact that Lucy had seen her so vulnerable: first outwitted by a teenager, then almost burned alive before Lucy rescued her. Or maybe she just didn’t like it that Lucy stopped her from shooting Morgan in the back.

“Galloway.”

“Jenna, it’s Lucy Guardino. I’m at a homicide scene. Family name is Raziq. We found one of your cards. The father, Rashid, was flagged by an Agent David Haddad of the DEA. Want to fill me in?”

“Shit. Did you say homicide?”

“Raziq’s daughters.”

“Was it another mail bomb? The first one was a dud—planned that way. A warning. Our profile said this guy would escalate. But Raziq declined protective custody.” That explained the Postal Service’s involvement: investigating and profiling letter bombers was their territory.

“No. Not a mail bomb. Raziq refused to talk to the local police and I haven’t interviewed him yet.”

Jenna grunted. “He won’t talk to you. Maybe Walden if he’s with you. Guy doesn’t trust women. Or local cops. Will only deal with David Haddad.”

“We haven’t reached Haddad yet. He’s the case agent?”

“No. He’s a victim. Both he and Raziq have been getting threats via the mail as well as Internet. We’ve chased leads from Afghanistan to Iran to China. Between the two of them, they have a lot of enemies overseas. Still not sure who’s behind them, but I’m narrowing things down.” She said the last on a superior note as if waiting for Lucy to congratulate her investigative brilliance. Typical Jenna.

“Haddad’s working the case and he’s the victim?” Lucy put the phone on speaker as she and Walden headed through the dining room to the front door.
 

“The threats are my case, my jurisdiction, but Raziq is David Haddad’s pet project. Guy’s providing DEA with tons of info, bringing down smuggling routes across Asia and the Mid East. Besides, you know the DEA. Bunch of hotshot control freaks. I’m lucky David shares anything with me on my own freakin’ case.”

Lucy really didn’t care about the complexities of interdepartmental cooperation as long as they pointed a finger to the animals who’d butchered two young girls.
 

Leaning against the door, she slipped her shoe covers off, her gaze once again caught by the small bloody handprint. “You’d better get over here. Bring everything you have.”

She expected Jenna to balk. But even Jenna knew the murders of two innocent girls took priority over the Postal Service case. “I’m on my way.”

Lucy hung up. “I think it’s time I met Mr. Raziq.”

<><><> 

Jenna Galloway threw her cellphone to the kitchen countertop of her Regent Square loft. Damn, she’d just walked in the door from work and had plans for this evening. Didn’t Saint Lucy know it was a Friday night? There were drinks to be drunk, men to be fucked. Not necessarily in that order.

Swearing under her breath, she glanced around the wide-open living space of the brick-walled loft. She was tempted to keep Saint Lucy waiting. After all, the woman had gotten Jenna kicked off her squad with that rigged psych eval, then had the gall to call and order Jenna to do her bidding, like Jenna was some kind of peon. Never asked,
Hey, how you doing after that psycho-bitch Morgan Ames almost killed you?
Never apologized for dragging Jenna into that damned case in the first place.

Just,
get your butt over here.

But two girls. Dead. She’d seen their picture when she visited the Raziq household last week. Cute kids. She’d warned David and Raziq. Arrogant prick—Raziq, not David. David was okay, just sometimes not as with it as she’d like. No wonder the DEA had him on babysitting duty.

She put her coat back on and re-pocketed her phone. It rang again just as she was grabbing her bag with her laptop inside. The caller ID read: Lucy Guardino. “I said I was on my way.”

A young woman’s voice answered. “Sure you don’t want a drink first? I left one out for you—it’s on your dresser beside your lipstick. Too bad you won’t have a chance to wear the outfit I picked out. I made sure it was easy on, easy off.”

“Morgan.” Jenna bit back expletives along with the urge to hurl the phone against the living room’s exposed brick wall. The bitch was always spoofing familiar numbers to get Jenna to pick up at all hours of the day and night. Last night it’d been a call at three-thirty in the morning, supposedly from Jenna’s mother.

She’d just added a security system—nothing too fancy, she actually hoped to some day catch the darling little psychopath in action—thinking she’d have a few days privacy away from Morgan’s prying eyes and ears and hands all over Jenna’s stuff.
 

“Don’t you ever get tired of watching?” Jenna asked as she walked into the bedroom. As promised, Morgan had left a tumbler of bourbon on the dresser and Jenna's favorite low-cut black dress and fuck-me heels on the bed. “I’d think a girl like you would want to come out and play in person.”

“Don’t worry, you’re on my to-do list. Just not at the top. Besides, I’d miss our little chats.”

Little chats that came day and night, interrupting Jenna when she was working, sleeping, eating. And people wondered why she’d started drinking and picking up men. It was the only way to get Morgan out of her head for at least a little while.

Jenna carried the tumbler out to the kitchen, dumped its contents—who knew what fun stuff Morgan had added?—and rinsed it out before putting it in the dishwasher.
 

“We can chat all you want as soon as I have you behind bars,” she told Morgan in a falsely chipper tone.

It was damned hard work trying to track and trap a psychopath like Morgan. She might not be very old, but she was cunning. A few times Jenna had come close to nabbing her while Morgan was stalking Lucy, but every time Morgan had slipped away.

Saint Lucy didn’t have a clue Morgan was obsessed with her. But Jenna knew Morgan would never let Lucy go—not after Lucy had caught Morgan’s serial killer father and ended Morgan’s fun. Jenna had watched Lucy for almost two weeks before she spotted Morgan. Unfortunately, Morgan had also spotted her and pulled Jenna into her web of deceit.
 

In addition to tormenting Jenna day and night with phone calls and text messages, Morgan invaded Jenna’s home on a routine basis.  She also sent Jenna anonymous photos of Lucy and Lucy’s family, daring Jenna to warn Lucy and send Morgan on a killing spree. 
 

Jenna had forged a desperate pact with Morgan: the teen psychopath looked without touching while Jenna hunted her without telling Lucy the truth about the danger she and her family were in. It was a race to the finish. The only question was: who would be left standing in the end?

“Don’t you feel guilty?” Morgan asked as if she could follow Jenna’s thoughts. “Using Lucy as bait? She’s your friend, right? I never had a friend like that. Her daughter is almost my age, I’ll bet she’d make a good friend.”

“We talked about this,” Jenna said, her tone reminding her of her own mother’s. She hated when Morgan got all adolescent whiny on her, but it was better than when she acted superior and played power games. Everything was a game with Morgan, you just had to understand what the rules were. Playing the game was the only leverage Jenna had with Morgan, which didn’t leave her much in a way of trump cards. “You go near Lucy’s daughter, I’ll end this. You’ll never get near Lucy then.”