Terrorbyte (10 page)

“A copy of our book?”

“I'll bring it.”

I paced the room moving ever closer to the motel bed with each pass. “Would you bring my charm bracelet?” Would that protect me from whatever evil was running about killing and leaving parts of my poems? I had no clue but it sure couldn't hurt.

“Anything else?”

“I think that'll do it.”

“And everything's okay?”

I bit back a smile. “Yeah, everything's okay.”

“Luv ya, babe. Will be with you in a few hours.”

“Love you, too.”

I hung up and flopped back on the bed still holding the phone in my hand. Countless thoughts fought for priority inside my tired mind. I drifted off to sleep while watching them all struggle. In my dreams, I held a crazy hope that answers would materialize as if by magic and be waiting for me upon waking.

A loud banging at my door startled me from sleep. I stumbled getting up off the bed, tripping over a pair of shoes.

I kicked them out of my way. The banging continued.

I stood a few feet from the shoes, staring at them. Kicking them should've hurt. Why didn't it? My eyes flicked to my feet; I was still wearing running shoes. I must've been tired to fall asleep with shoes on. Another loud bang made me hurry to the door.

Images of the bloated Russian with his bouffant hairpiece caused a shiver to run down my spine. Peering through the peephole, an eyeball peered back at me. The handle turned in my hand and the door swung open, letting Lee in.

“Took your time,” he said, pushing the door shut behind him. He carried a brown paper bag in one hand; his jacket bore wet patches on the shoulders and his hair was damp.

“I was asleep.” I wasn't apologizing, I was stating fact.

A giant grin spread across Lee's face. “I thought you would've been researching.”

“I will be.”

The delicious aroma of one hundred percent Arabica beans wafted from the bag he carried. I snatched it. It smelled so good as I unfurled the top. Inside I discovered two coffees. “Yes!”

Lee grinned. I didn't think he could grin any wider than he had already; I was wrong. “Do I know how to treat you or what?”

I took a cup and passed him the bag. “You're good.”

We sat at the small table under the window on the far wall and drank our coffees in silence. After my last swallow I rocked back on the steel-framed chair and asked, “So did you come by to bring me coffee, or do you have another reason?”

“One block over from the first crime scene is another one.”

I took a slow breath. “When was it discovered?”

“Half an hour ago. A neighbor grew suspicious and called it in. Apparently no one has seen the victim in three days.”

“So this could be before Julie Trevalli was murdered … and well before the Northern Virginia murders.”

“Absolutely.”

“You been over?”

Lee shook his head. “I got coffee and came here, thought we'd go together. We've got a weather situation out there.”

And I knew I was having an eyebrow situation in here. I could feel my right eyebrow arching. “A weather situation?”

Lee's amusement resounded from deep in his throat. “I sounded like a dork, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” I tried to control my smirk. “Do explain this weather situation.”

“Another storm warning. Hurricane Josephine expected to come inland at Virginia Beach within the next four hours. Already we have high winds and torrential rain moving up the state … tornado warnings in four counties.”

“How bad is it going to get?”

“Worse than last month's.”

How long had I been asleep? Mac hadn't mentioned another storm or tornado warnings. He shouldn't be on the road.

“Roads open or closed?”

“Coastal roads are open for evacuation purposes only. Main routes are open but being monitored closely.”

I chewed my lip as I considered the news. “Okay, so it's just us then. You, me and Sam.”

Lee nodded. “Until the weather clears it's just us.” He smiled. “And Mac.”

How did he know?  “How?” I asked.

“Caine called me, said Mac was coming on down.”

Mystery solved.

I stood, stretched, then pushed my chair in. “We best get over to the latest mess.”

“Hope you have a decent jacket.”

I looked down to find I was still wearing old sweats. I grabbed some clothes and hit the bathroom. It didn't take long to have a quick shower, dress, brush my hair and attempt to look like I hadn't been asleep all afternoon.

As soon as we stepped foot into the parking lot I understood why Lee had enquired about my jacket. Rain bucketed from the sky. I almost missed Mac's arrival with all the water driving into my face.

Mac met us by Lee's car. He gave me a quick hug, followed by a scrutinizing look. To which I replied, “I'm okay. Can we go?” My words swirled away in the wind. Rain splashed against my face, stinging my eyes. A person could drown in this weather. “Now?”

He swung open the car door, holding it firmly against the buffeting wind while I climbed into Lee's car. The door slammed the minute Mac let go. Sheets of water poured down the car windows.

“Is this the weather issue you spoke of, Lee?” I asked, as the window wipers worked frantically to clear the windscreen.

“It's definitely weather,” he replied. “Buckle up, this could get interesting.”

It was almost a relief to reach the crime scene, only ‘almost' because I knew what was in store. We entered the apartment complex together; dripping puddles onto the foyer floor. Two police officers stood on one side.

Lee spoke to one. “Can we drop our jackets by you two, please?”

The cop nodded. “Sure.”

We left our wet jackets in a pile under the watchful eyes of the two young police officers.

“Crime scene that way?” I asked, pointing down a communal hallway.

Both officers nodded.

As I walked along the hallway, it began to feel like all the other buildings we had been in recently: oppressive, painful, way too dark.

A uniformed officer greeted us at the apartment door. “Special Agent Conway?”

“Yes. Do we have an ID on the victim?”

He read from his notebook. “A neighbor told us the apartment is leased to a Sophie Gendell, a thirty-four-year-old mother of three.”

“Locate those children.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I took a breath before going in. I wanted to hold it as long as possible, knowing the air inside the apartment would reek of bourbon, blood, and decomposition, all built on a thinning layer of chlorine.

The note was stuck to the cabinet above the meticulously penned first line of the poem. It was the first thing I saw when I walked into the room.

“I'm not loving this note,” I said. I tried to exhale more than I inhaled. It was tricky. “Nice that I didn't have to go looking for it though; that was real considerate of our Unsub.”

Lee and Mac stepped up beside me. Mac read it aloud, “‘You could be a carrier, Conway.'”

As I saw it there were two choices: freak out at the note or get on with the job. The job won. More exactly the serene look on the face of the victim won. It wasn't the first time I had a sense that the victims didn't die screaming. That was something worthy of more thought. I stepped back and absorbed the ambience of the room. I pushed away the overriding smells from the bourbon, blood and none-too-fresh body.

The kitchen was clean. Countertops scrubbed. Dishes washed and put away. I opened a cabinet. Tidy. Boxes of cereal in a row. There were notes on the fridge, stuck by colorful magnets. Reminders for swimming lessons, soccer practice, hair appointments, the dentist. Then there was a photograph of the victim laughing with her children.

This woman was a mother. I got a sense of love for her children. And now she lay on her back in a pool of bourbon and congealing blood. Lines from my poem were written around her kitchen cabinets in black pen.

Flashes went off as the photographer did her thing. They reflected oddly in the thick blood pool, casting unusual patterns, swirls and brilliant spots of light with radiating beams. For a second I thought the victim would have liked the pretty patterns. The gold ribbon around her neck made the whole scene appear oddly festive.

“What do you think that means?” Lee muttered, sidestepping to get out of the photographer's way.

“It means this is becoming more personal,” I replied. “Or it began personal and we're looking at it out of sequence.”

My mind wandered back to a conversation with Mac in our home, the night of the fundraiser. The night he talked of children and I reminded him that our gene pool needed cleansing. Crime scenes with chlorine; notes suggesting cleansing; I am a potential carrier of mental illness. How could the Unsub know that?

“Timeline?”

“We can't be sure until forensics get back to us. But so far, this is looking like the first. So Sophie Gendell is victim one, then Julie Trevalli in Richmond, then Christine Campbell up in Alexandria and Laura Amos in Herndon.”

I nodded. “How many days between Sophie and Christine? Just a guess, Lee.”

He rocked on his heels, lines of thought working themselves into his forehead. “It's warmish, so maybe only a few days. No more than four, I'd say.” The lines smoothed as he smiled at me.

“Four sounds about right.” Satisfied that the Unsub didn't somehow overhear a conversation in my home, I turned my attention back to Sophie Gendell. This was not how someone's life should end. I knelt down next to her, carefully avoiding the blood and bourbon mix. I leaned as close as I could to her face and breathed in.

Chlorine.

I whispered, “I'll find the person responsible so you can rest in peace.”

Mac's hand reached down to help me stand. “Did you say something?”

I straightened my jacket and shook my head. I noticed how none of us wanted to mention the new addition to the crime scene: an extra gold ribbon lacing the victim's mouth shut and tied off in a perfect bow.

What's with the fuc'n bows?

He'd taken time and care over this crime, more time than he'd taken at any of the others. There was an entirely different feel to it. But I couldn't explain that in an evidential way. Everything pointed to this being the first murder. This is where it started. A series of small electrical impulses caused my spine to tingle and the watching began. Eyes were following me yet there were none to see.

Two hours later, we were on the road. Midnight had been and gone, but it failed to take the horror with it. Tuesday wasn't shaping up to be much better than Monday.

Lee and Sam were a half hour ahead of us because I'd stopped at the cemetery to visit mom. Amidst torrential rain and frenzied gales, I slogged through the darkness and located her gravestone; I confirmed she apparently was still in the ground. It wasn't really a visit; it was more like a curfew check. I conducted them periodically. It made me feel better knowing where she was.

We headed back up north. I hadn't intended leaving Richmond so quickly but the growing storm made delaying travel impossible. I hoped I'd garnered enough information from the crime scenes in Richmond to help our investigation. Poor Mac: packed a bag and drove all the way down to help out with the investigation, only to drive all the way back a mere couple of hours later. Such is life within team chaos.

A familiar tugging in my gut made me very aware of one similarity between Jack Griffin and this new sicko. He seemed to like to travel, to spread his crime scenes over a wide area. I restricted my thinking to the one similarity, because it was easier for my brain to digest. Any contemplation about these murders being personal would overload my delicately-balanced psyche.

My fingers played with the charms hanging from my bracelet and lingered on a small silver angel. Had I thanked Mac?

“Thanks for bringing this down for me.”

“You're welcome. Why did you want it?” Mac asked, flicking the windscreen wipers on to high.

“Not sure, it just makes me feel better, I guess.” I knew exactly why I wanted it. Each charm was bought for me by my father. Every time he went overseas the first thing he did was find a jeweler and buy me a silver charm. He carried the charm in his top pocket while he was away and put it on my bracelet when he got home. He always came home safe and sound. If one charm at a time protected dad, surely the whole bracelet had more power?

I didn't want the evil to get me.

An hour into our journey, with a murky, gloom-filled, wet dawn well on its way, rain was coming down in sheets. Twigs and small branches tangled in the windshield wipers.

“What's that?” Mac pointed up ahead. I thought I could see a red glow but couldn't make it out clearly. The wipers were going flat out and still I couldn't see much past the hood. Squinting into the dim light didn't help.

Suddenly I knew what it was.

“Tail lights!”

Mac's foot hit the brake. We both lurched forward, seat belts locked. The car came to an abrupt stop.

Offering a silent prayer to the ABS god, I hit the hazard switch at the same time as Mac. I grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and swung my door open. My clothes were drenched through within seconds. The sodden fabric clung to me as I hurried to the shape, which I'd determined was a car wrapped around a tree. I heard Mac call out from close behind me. “Ellie!  You want road flares?”

I turned into the sheets of driving rain hoping my voice would carry sufficiently. “Good idea, grab them!” I yelled.

I reached the car and my wet hands slipped on the door handle as I struggled to open it. I kept slipping, almost going under the car several times. The ground seemed to be a giant mud slick. It was sucking at my boots and trying to pull me under.

I tugged at the door again. It wouldn't budge. I shone the flashlight in through the window. I could see someone inside and that the air bag had deployed and collapsed. An awful thought crept up on me: it could be Lee.