Killing Fear (35 page)

“We don’t know what Jim may have said or done,” Hans reminded him. “He’d obviously been working on it, since he wanted to talk to both of us. Perhaps he called the wrong person. We need his phone records ASAP: from home, his cell phone, and his desk at the lab.”

“Jim is responsible. He wouldn’t have let anything leak.”

“You don’t have to defend him,” Hans said. “I’m not accusing him of anything. Maybe he didn’t say or do anything, it could have been something he
didn’t
say or do that made our killer suspect something was wrong. We don’t know.”

“If Jim had an answer, he wouldn’t have left a message. He would have hunted one of us down,” Will said, trying to alleviate the pang of guilt over Jim’s murder. “We need to backtrack, find out exactly what Jim was doing, what he was working on, who he spoke with yesterday, phone records, everything.”

“Are you going to be okay on this?” Hans asked. “He was a friend.”

“I’m okay.” Okay to work the case, but he’d never get the picture of Jim’s dead body out of his mind. “The Sheriff’s Department is going to handle the evidence. I told our criminalists it was protocol, though we rarely use it.”

“In light of what we’ve been working on, that’s wise. And I can have my people put a rush on the phone records. We should have something in a few hours.”

“But first things first,” Will said. “Maybe the killer made a mistake. He didn’t have a lot of time to clear out Jim’s office. The sheriff’s criminalists may find something we can use.”

“And if that fails,” Will added, “we interview every crime scene investigator who’s been on staff since Anna Clark’s homicide.”

When Will came back to Robin’s apartment it was after four in the morning, but she hadn’t slept much.

Robin had never seen Will looking so weary. He was beyond tired, but more than that his sad eyes registered defeat.

“What happened?”

“Jim is dead.”

“Jim? The same Jim who was in my loft this morning?”

Will nodded.

“I thought—we hadn’t heard from Glenn in two days, I thought maybe he’d left the country.”

“Glenn didn’t kill him.”

“I don’t understand. Was there an accident?”

Will took her arm and moved her to the couch. She sat, taking his hands. “What happened?”

“Jim was killed at his home tonight. I screwed up big-time.” Will shook his head, trying to make sense of the senseless. “That whole thing with Trinity this afternoon, trying to divert Anna’s killer, to lead him into thinking we weren’t reopening the case—it didn’t work. In fact, it may have pushed the killer into action.” He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes. “Jim was a friend.”

Robin squeezed Will’s hand. “I’m so sorry. How do you know it wasn’t Glenn? Maybe he saw the newscast and was angry that the case wasn’t being reopened.”

“We considered that, except that Jim opened the door to his killer. No sign of force. It was someone he knew. Someone he trusted. His home office was cleared out. I don’t know exactly what Jim had with him, but clearly whoever killed Anna thought he’d found something incriminating.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“I can’t. I’ll grab a couple hours later. I need to get down to the station and retrace Jim’s steps. I got word on my way over here that Jim left work early. That guy never leaves early. If someone was watching him, that might seem suspicious. I won’t know until I find out who spoke to him, what he said, what they saw. But what really makes this truly the worst case of my life—I know the killer. It’s someone I’ve worked with, someone I would also open the door to without hesitation. How could I work with a murderer for years and not know it?”

Robin put her head on his shoulder and Will’s hand went automatically to her hair. “I know exactly what you mean,” Robin whispered.

They rested for a few long minutes and Robin thought for sure Will had fallen asleep. She debated waking him, knowing he had work to do, but also knowing he needed at least two hours sleep just to function.

He wasn’t sleeping. He said, “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Me, too.”

He sighed, tilted her head to kiss her. “But I’ll talk to you later, let you know what’s going on.”

She nodded. “Take care of yourself, Will.”

“Sure,” he said without conviction, then left.

For three hours, Will almost forgot about Theodore Glenn. He and Hans worked side by side reviewing security tapes of the time that Jim Gage left the lab, poring over his e-mails, and waiting for preliminary evidence reports. Two detectives, Hazelwood and Dominguez, were working with them. Causey said they could have anyone else they needed.

Carina came in at seven thirty looking as crappy as Will felt. At the same time, Doug from e-crimes ran into the bull pen. “Hooper! I got something.”

“I hope it’s a break.”

“Property owned by North Bay Law Offices in Rancho Santa Margarita. Bought a year ago—the same month that Sara Lorenz began renting out her house downtown.”

Will sent Hazelwood and Dominguez to the bank to meet with the manager regarding the corporate accounts linked to Sara Lorenz and the law firm, then immediately sent a patrol and backup to the house. Will followed with Carina and Hans, calling SWAT to stand by in case they ascertained that Glenn was on the property.

The house was large, on a half acre in the gated community of Rancho Santa Margarita. Will noted that it was on the same street as Bryce Descario’s house. Had Glenn been watching the other night when they stormed that house based on the note Glenn had left for Will?

He glanced at Hans and knew the Fed was thinking the same thing.

Will motioned for four men to cover the back, and when they were in place Will pounded on the front door, gun out.

“San Diego Police Department!”

No answer.

He nodded to the two cops who had a ramming iron to break down the door. He nodded at Carina to go low.

As soon as the door was open, a piercing alarm went off.

“Take care of that!” Will shouted to one of the cops. Gun out, he scanned the entries, staircase, and corners. He motioned for the officers behind him to take different rooms. The first floor was cleared quickly.

“There’s a broken computer in the den,” someone shouted.

Cautious but quick, Will led the way upstairs. Cops fanned out to check each room.

“Detective!”

Will walked down the wide hall to double doors leading into the master bedroom.

Blood spatter grotesquely decorated the room, arcs of blood on the ceiling and walls surrounding the queen-size bed where a woman—who Will imagined had been Sara Lorenz—lay shredded. A knife protruded from the bed next to the body.

“Everyone out until the crime unit clears it,” Will said after two cops searched the room to make sure no one was hiding. He stood in the middle of the room with Hans and Carina. “He killed her in a rage,” Will said, almost to himself.

“It seems very disorganized,” Hans concurred. “Violent. With his other victims it wasn’t as personal. I wonder if she said or did something that specifically upset him.”

“Like threaten to turn him in?” Carina suggested.

“Maybe he thought she had,” Will said. “Or he no longer needed her.” He looked closely at the blood surrounding the body. “She’s been dead for several hours. The blood is starting to dry.”

“It looks like rigor mortis has set in,” Hans said, “though without fully inspecting the body it’s hard to say how long. But at least eight hours, probably closer to twelve. The coroner should be able to give us a good estimate. Were there any other properties your e-crimes team uncovered?”

“No,” Will said. “Not in California. Doug’s searching Arizona, Nevada, and fanning out from there.”

“If this was his only safe place, why kill her and leave?” Carina wondered.

“He’s moving forward on his plan,” Hans said, “whatever it is he’s planned next.”

They slowly walked through the crime scene waiting for the investigators. In the bathroom doorway, Will said, “He showered. He showered right here after killing her.” Towels with blood lay on the floor, and a facecloth tinged with pink hung over the shower spout.

Hans said, “This definitely doesn’t fit Glenn’s pattern.”

“Because of the overkill?” Will asked.

“Because it doesn’t appear that he tortured her, at least not like his previous victims. He stabbed her to death, but it looks like it happened in rapid fashion, few defensive wounds. From everything you’ve told me about Glenn, he doesn’t get angry.”

“Unless he perceives someone as betraying him,” Will said. “Like in court. He lashed out at everyone because he didn’t believe he would be convicted.”

“Therefore,” Hans concluded, “everyone had betrayed him. Everyone lied.”

“Sara,” Will mumbled, “what were you doing with a killer?”

“Will,” Carina said quietly. She stood on the far side of the bed.

He looked and saw what she’d found on the nightstand. An open letter addressed to him.

William:

I had an epiphany of sorts. Perhaps it came from realizing that I, the master manipulator, was being manipulated himself. Or perhaps from the realization that we were both duped.

I didn’t kill Anna Clark. I don’t care whether you believe me or not, at least not anymore. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this and now realize where I went wrong. What about you?

Do you know who killed Anna? Do you know
why? When you find out, take out an ad. In Spanish. Because by then I’ll be fluent.

By the time you read this, I’ll be in Mexico. I wish I could see your face right now.

I will be back. Tomorrow? The next day? Next year? You won’t know until it’s too late.

I’ve decided, William, who will live and who will die.

Aren’t you dying to know what I’m going to do?

Aren’t you dying to know when I’m going to do it?

“He couldn’t have crossed the border,” Will said.

Hans didn’t say anything.

“Hans, you said it was covered.”

“The border is a big stretch of land. If we can’t keep thousands of people from illegally crossing the border into California, it’s doubly hard to keep track of who’s going south. All Border Patrol agents have his photo and description. They are on high alert here and in Calexico and every point in between, but you know as well as I do that it’s easy to cross the border almost anywhere.”

“He’s lying,” Will said. “He’s lying so we let our guard down. Get complacent.” But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure Glenn
was
lying. It would fit in with his sick mind to taunt them and disappear.

“He might be lying. Let me call my people and see what I can find out.” Hans left the room.

“Are you okay?” Carina asked.

“Dammit, Carina, he’s playing with us. The letters, the calls.”

“He wants to put you on the edge, to push you into being reckless.”

“I’m going to get him. He’s going back to prison, Carina.”

Or he’s going to be dead.

Crossing the border had been easier than Theodore had planned. He made sure that a camera caught him because he wanted William to know that he had eluded the cops.

Now he sat in a bar in a small village south of Tijuana and planned what to do.

On his way south he’d driven by Robin’s loft. Early, well before the sun rose.

He’d parked several blocks away, in a car that couldn’t be traced to him. When the cops learned about his connection to Sara Lorenz, they may eventually trace her to his phony law corporation and through that discover the truth about his legal payments. The trail was long and deep, it would take them weeks to put it all together, but eventually they would figure it out. By that time, if everything went according to plan, both Robin and William would be dead and Theodore long, long gone.

If he hadn’t needed the safe house that Sara provided, he’d have left days before. Now he couldn’t go back, but that was okay. He had a plan and it was going to work. The anticipation excited him.

He’d pulled out his binoculars and trained them at Robin’s windows. The lights were on. Can’t sleep, Robin? Scared of the boogeyman? Theodore grinned.

You should be scared. You should be very, very afraid.

When she passed by the window, he could only make out her figure, a dark, curvy shadow against the light. But there was no mistaking that body. He adjusted the binoculars, but the light in the loft made it difficult to see her expression. Frustrated, he left.

All the way down to Mexico he’d remembered her in the loft. Seeing her again made him want to control her. Just like he’d controlled her when she stripped onstage. Robin may never have realized it, but she was focused solely on him every time he walked into RJ’s. She loathed him, despised that he slept with half the girls who worked there. Yet she watched him, knew where he sat in the audience, monitored who he flirted with and how well he tipped the other dancers.

Yes, he had always been in control of Robin McKenna whether she admitted it or not. And now, he still controlled her. She’d hired a bodyguard because of him. She closed her business because of him. She couldn’t sleep because of him. William would tell her he’d disappeared in Mexico and she would change her entire life, her routine, because she’d never know when he would return.

He relished his power over her.

Send her a postcard now and again. Tell her he was coming…picture her as she was now, scared and nervous, watching over her shoulder.

If he had more time, he would stay in Mexico for months. Maybe a year. Wait for Robin to relax. Then—pounce.

He wanted to enjoy her squirming beneath his gaze. He wanted to watch her face while he tortured and killed her lover. He wanted to stare into her eyes as she watched the blood drain slowly from William’s body. To hear her beg. To listen to her pleas.

What would she do, what would she say, to save him? Would she finally admit that he controlled her? That he had the power? Theodore would find out soon.

Impatience clawed at him. He looked around the cheap dive Mexican bar he’d staked a seat in after the old folks dropped him off across the border.
Too easy.