Web of Secrets (Agents Under Fire) (23 page)

“You have something?” Connor asked as he joined her.

She relayed the story while lifting out the blue folder labeled with a big B. Pressing it open on the file boxes, she withdrew three photographs that were printed from a computer on aged paper. She forced herself to look at the pictures.

One caught and grabbed her attention.

Van Gogh
. Just as she’d seen him, but without the scars.

“He retouched it,” she whispered as the sight of him after all these years stole her breath.

Her knees gave out and she dropped the pictures to grab the box for support. They fluttered away and sank to the cold concrete floor.

Connor retrieved the photos, staring at them for the amount of time it took for Becca to catch her breath and gain control of her emotions.

“How would Molly have gotten a picture of Van Gogh?” he asked.

“Likely from him,” Becca said, still not believing it herself.

“How?” Connor sounded as shocked as she was.

“Molly met him on the Internet. It was all my fault.” Becca’s voice fell off and she took another deep breath before continuing, “Back in those days, the Internet wasn’t a big deal. Most people didn’t have it, but our foster dad did. He worked in IT and encouraged my interest in computers. I loved going online and finding new things. That’s how I discovered chat rooms where Molly and I hung out all the time. She started chatting with this guy who said he was our age and they flirted. I thought it was harmless, but it was Van Gogh. Of course, we didn’t know that at the time. When I wasn’t around, she must have exchanged pictures with him.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “But you were friends. Why hide it from you?”

Memories of a ferocious argument with Molly flooded Becca’s mind. “He asked Molly out and I told her it wasn’t safe to meet him. She told me she wouldn’t go, and said she’d stopped talking to him. But she didn’t.” Becca stared at the photos in Connor’s hand. “I didn’t know she had a picture of Van Gogh. And I had no idea her hiding place was in the house.”

“You make it sound as if having a hiding place like this is normal.”

“It is. Foster kids steal from each other for all kinds of reasons. Parents take stuff too. So we all had secret hiding places, usually away from our current home. We never knew when we might be moved and wanted to have access.”

“But Molly never told you where she hid things?”

Becca shook her head. “As much as we trusted each other, even we didn’t share our hiding spots.”

Connor stared at the photo. “I can see the resemblance to your drawings, minus the scars.”

All she could do was nod.

“This is good, then. We can scan the picture and run it through the DMV facial recognition database.”

“But we might run in to the same problem we had with Danny’s picture.”

“I’m sure Jae or one of the other geeks at your office will make it work.” Connor smiled. “With luck, we’ll finally get Van Gogh’s name and address.”

She nodded again, but couldn’t move. Connor was right. They had a lead, the best lead they’d come up with so far. Odds were good that Van Gogh’s picture would be in the database.

She should be celebrating, but she couldn’t get over seeing Van Gogh’s face again, even in a photograph. Right. A mere picture.

What was going to happen when they found him? When she had to look into the depth of his hollow eyes? See him? Smell him?

Would her heart stop? Would she stay strong to give Molly the revenge she deserved?

Becca had no idea. Only time would tell.

CONNOR STOOD NEXT to Becca as they peered over Jae’s shoulder. She used top-of-the-line scanning software that he knew his office didn’t possess. Soon, Van Gogh’s face filled her monitor.

Becca gasped and grabbed the back of Jae’s chair. Connor wanted to steady her, but she’d been giving a “hands-off” vibe since they got back from the storage unit and he wanted to respect the way she wanted to handle this situation.

Besides, Connor could barely wrap his mind around the fact that they were looking at an honest-to-goodness picture of Van Gogh instead of drawing. They’d made a huge discovery and yet, it was shadowed for both of them by Becca’s secret.

“He’s not
that
freaky looking,” Jae said and looked up at Becca. “Maybe the eyes are kinda vacant, but other than that, he’s not that bad.”

“These photos have been retouched. He has significant facial scarring,” Connor told Jae so Becca didn’t have to explain her shock and reveal her secret. “We’ve seen sketches and know what he really looks like.”

“Gotcha,” Jae said. “Okay, shooting off the image to our contact at DMV.” She clicked “send” on her email.

Once Connor had told his lieutenant about the photos, Vance had wasted no time in getting permission from the DMV supervisor for one of their tech people to run Van Gogh’s photo through their facial recognition program.

“How long until we know anything?” Connor asked.

“Our DMV contact’s standing by for my email. He promised to do the search then get right back to me.” Her computer soon dinged, and she jabbed one of her ragged fingernails at the screen. “See, he’s acknowledged receipt of my email. Now we just wait.”

Connor stood there, hearing the “Final Jeopardy” music ticking down in his head. He couldn’t stand still, so he started pacing, something he never did. He was normally far more calm during an investigation, but this thing with Becca had him all tied up in knots.

He looked at her. She’d moved to a table and sat rigidly in a chair, her shoulders in an uncharacteristic slump. He doubted she even remembered he was in the room, when he was aware of her every breath. She’d hurt him when she’d admitted that she wouldn’t have told him her secret. In his head, he understood her reasons. She deserved her privacy. And she hadn’t let it impede their investigation in any way. But . . . man, he wished she’d wanted to tell him.

“We got several matches,” Jae announced.

Connor tore across the room, but Becca beat him to the computer.

“Relax,” Jae said. “I’ll project them on the screen so you both can see them clearly.” She tapped a few keys, then sat back as the projector came to life and lit up a large wall screen. “If what you said about the scars is true, the last one’s our guy.”

Five photos appeared on the screen, and Connor ran his gaze over them, zeroing in on number five.

“It’s him,” Becca said in voice low. “It’s number five. Reginald Zwicky.”

“Yeah, he matches the sketches all right,” Connor added, but right now, he was more concerned about Becca. She looked like she might drop again. Not that he blamed her. Zwicky’s scars, added to that empty look Jae had mentioned earlier and left him looking totally creepy.

“What a dweeby name,” Jae said. “He doesn’t sound like a serial killer to me. I have to admit, though, he looks like one. That long hair and intense stare.” Jae tapped her forehead. “Looks like he’s not all there, if you know what I mean.”

“What can you tell us about him from the DMV record?” Connor asked to keep them on task.

“He drives a ’64 Volkswagen van. Blue. Lives in the Eastmoreland neighborhood.”

“Pricey,” Connor said.

“This record is seven years old, so the address might have changed. Let me check.”

“Can you also run him for priors?” Connor asked.

Jae responded by typing Zwicky’s name and date of birth into the computer. “He’s clean. No arrests. Not even any tickets. The address is the same, of course. And he’s up to date on his car insurance.”

Becca shook her head. “How does a serial killer have the wherewithal to remember to do normal stuff like that? I mean, he strangles a girl, then goes online to pay his car insurance? Crazy. Just crazy.”

“Zwicky’s lived at the current address since he applied for his learner’s permit in the nineties,” Jae noted. “Let me check property records to see if he owns the house.” Her fingers flew over the keys. “Looks like he inherited the house from a Rowena Zwicky about six months ago.”

“His mother, I presume,” Connor said.

Becca shivered. “He talked to his mother all the time. It was really creepy.”

Jae shot a questioning look at Becca. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“If Zwicky is our guy,” Connor said, to draw Jae’s attention, “it looks like the date of his mother’s death might have set off his recent killing spree.”

Becca nodded. “Go ahead, Jae, and email me the details we’ll need for a warrant. Then work your magic in the cyber world to find any leads on Zwicky, his mother, and the address while we plan his takedown.”

Jae nodded and went back to her computer.

Becca faced Connor. Her expression was once again all business. “Let’s get those warrants going.”

She headed for the door, and Connor trailed after her down a maze of hallways leading back to her work station. She dropped into her chair. “I’ll gather the data you’re going to need to request the warrant.”

“So you’re giving me the arrest, huh?” He tried to joke, but it came out flat.

“It’s your case. I’m just consulting.”

She responded in such a defeated tone, his heart creased with her pain. “I’ll update Sam while you do that. Just so you know, I have to tell him.”

She looked up at him, her eyes haunted, and her expression broken.

Aw, crap.

With one look, she got beneath the resolve he’d set only moments ago. “Sam has to know how we came upon this information. Otherwise, he won’t be able to procure the resources we need to apprehend Zwicky and search his house.” Connor hated seeing the disappointment in her eyes. “Sam will keep the source to himself.”

She shook her head. “No he won’t. He can’t. Your lieutenant will need to know. And Sam will tell Kait, and then she’ll tell Nina.”

“Sam keeps professional things from Kait all the time. Your story will go no farther than Vance.”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter. Tell whoever you think needs to know.” She turned back to her computer, effectively shutting him down.

The urge to help her work through these emotions was strong, but she obviously didn’t want him around. So he went down the hallway to a breakroom he’d spotted earlier. He dialed Sam, keeping his eye on the door to prevent anyone from overhearing him.

“Hey, man, glad you called,” Sam said. “One of the names on that list from Willow, a Karen Erickson, looks like a promising lead. She was fostered like the others, and her height is close to that of Jane Doe One. I’ll be talking to her foster parents in an hour or so.”

“Good.”

“Good? That all you got to say, man?”

Connor should be excited about identifying another girl, but his mind was focused on Becca and Zwicky at the moment. “I’m kind of busy with a lead of my own.”

Connor provided the details for Zwicky and explained what had happened to Becca.

“Oh, man . . . dude . . . that’s rough,” Sam said. “She sure hid it well.”

“She’s gathering all the electronic information we’ll need for the warrants,” Connor said, trying to keep the conversation on track so Sam didn’t figure out how deeply Becca’s pain was hitting him. “And I’ll request them as soon as she’s done. I was hoping you’d coordinate an arrest plan with SWAT. With any luck, we’ll finally have Van Gogh behind bars before the day is over.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

BECCA HAD BEEN tempted to race right over to Zwicky’s house. But if they wanted to successfully arrest him, it would require planning and strategy, so it was two hours later before they pulled up to his house. She stared at the cute craftsman painted white with blue trim. She had been blindfolded when Van Gogh had taken her captive and when she’d taken off that night. The last thing she’d thought to do was stand and look at the house. The place looked inviting and safe, much like similar houses lining the street. Safe. Right. If Van Gogh lurked inside, it was anything but safe.

She swallowed hard and fought off her memories of the time in his basement. She started shaking and couldn’t stop.

“Aw, honey, don’t.” Connor rested a warm hand on her icy one. “This is too difficult for you. Maybe you should wait in the car.”

“There’s no way I’m hiding like a scared little girl.” She jerked her hand free and shoved the door open, glad for the chilly breeze rustling through the trees and cooling her face.

She had to see Van Gogh—Zwicky—or whatever his name was, arrested. Personally. She had to be standing right there beside him and slap the cuffs on his wrists. She stood by Connor’s car and waited for the SWAT team to file out while a trio of officers scurried toward the back door. One of the officers glanced into the garage window and shook his head. So, there was no van in the garage and it wasn’t on the street. Maybe Van Gogh wasn’t home.

No.
She refused to believe it. He had to be there. This had to end. Here. Now. It just had to.

The SWAT team marched up to the front door painted a bright red. The team was dressed for battle in their drab green gear with helmets and tactical vests, their shields up, rifles drawn, and sidearms strapped to their legs.

She and Connor wore vests, but they couldn’t withstand the same caliber of gun as SWAT, so they hung back. Connor kept looking at her, checking on her. She appreciated his concern, but wouldn’t give in to it.

The team leader pounded on the door and announced their presence. They waited for a few beats longer, then the leader made a louder announcement. A few more beats later, he signaled for the team to use the battering ram to break open the door. They entered cautiously, spreading out and scattering like well-organized ants.

Becca took off for the back of the house, where, if they were in the right place, she’d find the door to the cellar. Connor caught up to her and grabbed her elbow. “Slow down and be careful. You’ve survived too much to let him plug you with a bullet.”

“Are you kidding? He’s not brave enough to shoot me. He has to torture and maim under the cover of darkness.” She shrugged off Connor’s hand and found the basement door right where she thought it would be, near a landing with another door leading to the backyard. She made her way down the steps. Despite her urge to charge ahead, she heeded Connor’s warning and moved cautiously. She crossed through a family room that she’d run through sixteen years ago.

“This is it.” Terror washed over her, but she kept her cool. “I recognize the room and the basement layout. Even the furniture. We’re in the right house.” She gestured at a closed door. “He held us in the utility room behind that door.”

She was suddenly aware of the smell of bleach.

“You smell that?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, I do.”

Her heart racing, she ripped the door open and peered around the corner. Then, checking the other direction, she stepped in.

“Clear.” She felt faint as the familiar room sent memories flashing through her mind.

The table. The knife. Molly in shackles on the floor.

She forced herself to make a complete circle and take in every inch of the room. “The table’s gone and he’s put down new flooring. The walls have been painted, too. Otherwise, it’s the same.”

Connor stood at the doorway, surveying the space. “It’s clean. Too clean for a utility room.”

“You think he killed the other girls here or at the fabrication plant?”

“Hard to tell. He’s used bleach at both locations. He could just have a fascination with bleach. But I didn’t smell it upstairs, so I’m thinking he was trying to hide blood evidence down here, too. If there’s any blood still left, Dane will find it.”

Blood. Her blood. Other girls’ blood. He needed to pay. “Dane’s good, but I’d like to call in our Evidence Recovery Team, too. Dane knows Henry Greco, and he’s our best, so I’ll ask for him.”

“I’m good with that. But I need to check with my lieutenant first.”

“No,” she said defiantly. “I don’t care what he says. I’ve toed the team line on everything so far. I’m not doing it here.” She set her shoulders in a straight line and eyed him, expecting him to be angry.

He smiled. “I’m glad to see the old Becca Lange resurfacing. For a while there, I was afraid she was gone.”

She’d been thinking the same thing. “Then you’re good with Henry?”

“Call him, and I’ll arrange for Dane. But not until we find out if Zwicky is hiding out like a little sissy in a closet upstairs.”

“Agreed,” she said and started for the stairway.

On the main level, the team leader informed them no one was home.

“We need to get uniforms and agents canvassing the neighbors and make sure we have someone watching for the return of Zwicky’s van,” Becca said.

“I’ll get the uniforms on it.” Connor stepped away.

Becca dug out her phone. She first arranged for Henry, then Taylor, who could not only help out on the neighborhood canvass, but learn a lot in the process. Or maybe Becca just wanted someone here from her own team for emotional support. It was support she’d like from Connor, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. At least he didn’t seem to be angry that she’d kept her true identity from him.

That earned him additional brownie points, but she couldn’t even think about him as anything other than a detective until this was over. She also couldn’t keep her secret any longer. She’d tell Taylor the truth when she arrived. As soon as they finished processing this scene, Becca would also phone Kait and Nina and tell them, too.

Connor walked in the door as she was stowing her phone. “We’re set. Dane’s on his way and so is my lieutenant.”

“Ditto for Henry and Taylor,” Becca said. “I’d like to do a walkthrough of the rest of the house.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offered.

She nodded and glanced around the living room decorated in a muted beige. The house had a normal exterior and a normal interior, too. The creep fit into the neighborhood just fine, the way many sociopaths did. It made them hard to apprehend.

She approached a long hallway with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The first room held a desk and four computers as well as a laptop, an Apple desktop, and two Windows machines, both generic cases indicating Zwicky had built them himself. She glanced at a bulletin board, suddenly realizing it held her picture. She didn’t say anything, but when Connor caught sight of it, he growled something that she couldn’t make out.

Then Becca’s gaze lighted on the picture next to hers. “It’s Molly’s daughter, Haley. Oh, no . . . please no. He’s going after her.”

“No, he’s not,” Connor snapped out and grabbed his phone. “I’ll have a team at her house in a few minutes.”

He paced a few steps then demanded to have a patrol car go to Molly’s address and explained his reasons. “Call me back the minute we confirm Haley is okay.”

Becca didn’t have Finn’s number or she would have called him herself. Though she was anxious, there was nothing to do but wait until she heard back from the officer who was on his way to their house.

Becca turned her focus to the desk and studied schematics for an automobile computer system. “Looks like he’s a software engineer working in the auto industry.”

“Odd that Jae didn’t find any employer in her search,” Connor said.

“Computers make sense, though,” Becca replied as she moved on to the next room. “He met Molly online at a time when few people were into computers.”

She stepped into a larger, tidier bedroom that was sparsely decorated. It smelled like arthritis cream mixed with garlic.

Becca’s stomach wrenched. The odor had clung to Van Gogh’s clothing, and the memories she’d been battling came racing back. Panic followed. A small cry of distress escaped her lips. She clamped a hand over her mouth and took a step toward the door.

Connor came to stand next to her. “What is it?’

“The smell. It’s how he smelled. His clothes. His body. He reeked of it.” She forced her shoulders back and continued to the closet where she found women’s clothing.

“His mother’s room,” Connor said.

The bedroom creeped Becca out. “He’s holding on to her things.”

“You said he talked to her a lot.”

She nodded. “He always mentioned something about cleansing, saying he was trying to cleanse us. It never made any sense.” She frowned.

“What?”

“Molly kept pushing him on it. Asking question after question. It made him mad. I figured he would take her life first just to shut her up.”

“But he came for you instead.”

She nodded.

“You never said how he managed to abduct both of you at the same time.”

“He didn’t. Not really anyway.” She looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Molly told me she wasn’t chatting online with him anymore, but I knew she was and was planning to meet him. When she snuck out of the house, I followed her to make sure she was safe.”

That night came back in great clarity. The darkness. Van Gogh’s creepy face peering at her through the fog. The terror in Molly’s eyes.

Her mouth and throat dry, she swallowed hard before she could continue. “They met in the parking lot of an old abandoned theater. By the time I caught up to her, he had her wrists in handcuffs and a knife to her throat. I lunged anyway. He threatened to kill Molly if I didn’t come with them.”

Connor watched her for a moment, evaluating and weighing her story, she supposed. “So he hadn’t planned to take you, then?”

“No.”

“Which is probably why he wanted to get rid of you first.”

“Maybe.”

“So how did you get away?”

Becca shivered and crossed her arms. “He had me on the table. Here, in the basement. The very table we found Molly resting on. He’d somehow failed to close my cuff tightly and left the key on a nearby shelf. He started to cut my ear, and Molly called out to him. She told him she’d sleep with him if he let me go. She—”

“But he didn’t try to assault either of you sexually before that,” Connor interrupted.

Becca shook her head. “He never even mentioned sex. But when Molly brought it up, he came to life for the first time. He went to her, and that’s when I discovered my cuff was loose. I wiggled it until I freed my hand and could grab the key. I started for him, planning to attack him, but Molly shook her head and motioned for me to go. I figured she was worried that if I tried to attack him, he might overpower me again. So I went for help.”

The memories assaulted Becca. She had to stop again and take a deep breath. In and out. In and out.

Connor rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, honey.”

The warmth of his hand and his soft voice, touched her to her soul, and she wanted to give in to her emotions, but that would get them nowhere.

She pressed her hand over his. “The rest you know and I’m tired of rehashing the past. I need to
do
something.”

She squeezed his hand then stepped to the door. Connor padded behind her. She entered the next bedroom. Van Gogh’s room. Organized and utilitarian like his mother’s. The same smell lingered, but it wasn’t as heavy.

Connor’s phone rang and he answered.

“Okay, I want someone sitting on the house twenty-four-seven until we locate the suspect.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Haley’s at home and she’s fine. So is her brother Todd, in case you wanted to know, though it would be odd for Van Gogh to go after the kid.”

“Thank you for arranging a protective detail for them.”

“When we get done here, I’ll talk to Vance and make sure we have the best officers assigned to their watch.”

Becca nodded her thanks and scanned the space before going to the closet. The hangers, filled with threadbare shirts and jeans, were spaced evenly apart as if he’d taken a ruler to them. So far, Van Gogh was presenting as obsessive and orderly, just like his profile had predicted. Except for the large gap that appeared in the middle of the hangers.
Odd.

She felt Connor come to stand behind her.

“Something’s off about these.” He reached over her shoulder and separated the clothes even more.

The overhead light shone on the back wall, revealing a secret door.

“A safe room.” Becca jerked out her gun.

“Stand back, and we’ll see.” Connor drew his weapon.

She wasn’t going to give him first crack at arresting Van Gogh. She pressed the door. The spring lock gave way, and it opened into a small space. No light. No movement.

“Cover me.” She dug out her phone to shine a light in the space, running the beam over the walls. No Van Gogh, but guns. Walls filled with them. Organized by category. Handguns. Rifles. Automatics. Semis. There was one whole wall devoted to knives.

She stepped into the small space and saw an old photograph of a man framed and hung on the wall. He looked like Van Gogh, minus the scars. His father?

Connor joined her and stared at the walls, a deep scowl on his face. “Check out the empty slots.”