So Simple, page 5
Michael hung up a moment later. She could tell already by his demeanor what he was going to say.
“Alibi checks out. Had to twist Denner’s arm a little bit, but yes, they’ve been sleeping together. Miller was there yesterday afternoon and spent the night.”
Faith sighed. “All right. Well, we’ll kick Miller loose then.”
They released Miller and endured his repeated accusations that they had ruined his life, then headed back to the hotel.
They spent the drive in silence. After over ten years with the FBI, Faith was getting no better and handling disappointment than she was as a rookie. You could tell yourself over and over that this was normal, that the first lead rarely worked out and part of detective work was continuing to pull at threads until one of them unraveled, but the problem with that was that it usually took another victim or two before that thread was revealed.
Maybe they would have time. This killer had waited three months between victims. Maybe he was a slow mover. Maybe they would get lucky.
Maybe.
CHAPTER FIVE
The two agents were in a somewhat better mood after a night’s rest, and that mood improved further over breakfast when Faith got a call from the Boss.
“Bold.”
“The roommate just landed,” the Boss answered. “Ten minutes ago. My name's Delilah Rodgers. We're tracking the car through her satellite navigation system. She's heading for the house."
“Wonderful,” Faith said, “we’re on our way.”
The roommate obviously couldn’t be the killer because she was overseas when Rebecca Green died, but she could give them valuable information about Rebecca that might help them discover the killer. Michael quickly shoveled the last few bites of eggs into his mouth and followed Faith and Turk to the car.
They reached the house just as the sun pulled free of the eastern horizon. Faith saw a small hybrid coupe in the driveway. Delilah Rodgers had already arrived.
Turk bolted from the car and rushed to the front door when they arrived, and Faith frowned and hurried to keep up. "What is it, boy?"
He looked at the door and whined plaintively. “What do you smell?” she asked.
Michael reached them and knocked on the door. Faith heard Luna’s panicked barking inside, and a moment later, Turk answered. After a moment, Luna barked again. She seemed far calmer to Faith’s trained ear.
The door opened, and a petite young woman with thick glasses poked her head out. “Hello?”
“Good morning,” Faith said, “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold with the FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince, and my K9 unit, Turk.”
A soft nose poked out from between Delilah’s legs, and Turk poked his nose through to touch Luna’s. Delilah carefully sidestepped around both dogs and smiled down at Turk as he stepped forward to nuzzle Luna. Luna relaxed greatly after the contact, and Delilah said, “That’s so cute. I’m glad you brought a friend for Luna. She’s been so upset.”
Tears welled in the young woman’s eyes, and Faith said, “I imagine both of you have had a hard time.”
Delilah’s lip trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. “Yes.” She took a wavering breath and said, “Yeah, it’s a bad time, for sure. I’m Delilah, by the way. I’m Rebecca’s roommate. Was Rebecca’s roommate. I’m assuming you’re here to ask me questions?”
“Yes, please,” Faith replied.
Turk and Luna were now huddled together in front of the couch, watching the TV. Delilah smiled at them and said, “We’ll let the puppies have the couch. We can talk at the kitchen table. Do you guys want some coffee? I was just brewing some.”
“I’ll take some,” Michael replied, “thank you.”
Faith declined, and the two agents followed Delilah into the dining room. While Delilah brewed the coffee, she said, “I just hate that I wasn’t here. I know it’s silly, but if I were here, I feel like maybe we could have stopped him. Or at least gotten help.”
“You can’t let yourself feel guilty about something you can’t control,” Faith said.
Delilah met her eyes, and Faith could tell she saw through to Faith’s own grief. “It’s never that easy, is it?”
“No,” Faith admitted. “It’s not.”
Delilah returned with hers and Michael’s coffee. Michael sipped gratefully, but Delilah just clasped her mug in her hands, as though pulling in the warmth from the brew would drive away the grief she felt at the loss of her friend.
“How long did you know Rebecca?” Faith asked.
“Three years,” Delilah replied. “We met on orientation day. We were both nervous, shy and kind of dorky. I think we just kind of meshed because everyone else was being loud and excited, but we’re more quiet.”
“Did she have many other friends?”
“A few. Mostly people in our study group. All girls, though. No one who could have done…” her lip trembled, and she sipped her coffee to keep from crying. “She did have an ex-boyfriend, Tyler, but he was out of the country too.”
“With you?” Michael asked.
She stiffened. “No, not with me.”
Michael lifted a hand apologetically. “I’m sorry. I had to ask.”
Delilah relaxed slowly. “It’s okay. I just… well, she really liked him, but he was just in it for one thing, if you know what I mean.”
Faith smiled sympathetically. “Yes, I know. You said he was out of the country. You’re sure?”
“Well, unless his new girl is photoshopping him into all of her social media posts, I’m sure.”
“Can you show me some of those posts?”
Delilah opened her phone and showed Faith images of a smiling blonde woman standing next to a skinny, pale-looking guy with freckles and glasses underneath a mop of unkempt hair. The guy offered a gap-toothed smile to the camera, but his eyes were focused on one thing. Well, two things.
Anyone could use a baseball bat, but there was no way this scrawny kid was breaking down that heavy maple door. Speaking of which.
“Who fixed the door?” Faith asked.
“The property manager. We’re renting this house, not owning. The property manager texted me while I was on the plane. I had the airline’s wifi, so I was able to receive the text.”
“Do you know who your property manager hired to do the work?”
“Mrs. Shea. I think it’s his mother or something. She’s old, but she’s good with tools and stuff.”
Faith and Michael shared a look. So much for that lead.
Luna whined softly, and Faith and Michael turned to see Turk’s head resting over hers in the same position in which he comforted Doris the day before. Delilah turned to them and smiled tearfully. “Rebecca was afraid of dogs,” she said.
“Really?” Faith asked. “Why did she adopt Luna?”
“Well, Luna was more afraid of her than she was of Luna. I think Rebecca, I don’t know, saw something in her that reminded her of herself. I still remember how happy they both were when they came home. As soon as Luna saw the house and realized that Rebecca and I were nice, she became so excited. It was like she was an entirely different dog. Rebecca too. She wore her hair up, she stood straighter, she smiled more. I thought my friend was finally coming out of her shell. Then…” she lifted her hand and let it fall. “Some people are so cruel.”
“Yes,” Faith agreed. “Thank God for dogs.”
“Yes,” Delilah agreed. “Thank God for dogs.”
They left Delilah and Luna seemed in better spirits after the brief encounter with Turk. Faith knew it would take a lot longer for the dog to truly heal, but she hoped that Turk had helped her through the worst of it.
That, unfortunately, was the only positive outcome of the visit. The two of them left with no new leads and no direction to go in.
“Well, that sucked,” Michael said irritably as they walked to the car. “So what do we do now?”
“I think we need to focus on the dogs. I know you didn’t believe me earlier, but the more we look into this, the more I think that the dogs are the key.”
Michael shrugged. “Hell, I’ll take anything at this point. Just as long as it’s not another dead end.”
Faith called Leah at the Moorhead Animal Home, and when she answered, Faith asked, “Hey, Leah. I have a quick question for you about Doris.”
“Sure. Poor girl. She’s eating now, at least, but I still can’t get her to play. I’m going to see if she’ll take a roommate. I have a gentle old blue tick hound who’s kind like your dog. Maybe he can get her out of her shell.”
“I hope so,” Faith said. “Can you tell me where Doris was housed before Amanda Milleson adopted her?”
“Right here at the home,” Leah replied. “We were all so excited when Amanda adopted her. Poor Doris was always such a happy dog. I hate to see her like this.”
“Yes,” Faith agreed, “Me too.”
“Was that all you needed?” Leah asked.
“For now. I’ll reach out if I need anything else.”
“All right. I don’t suppose you know anyone who might want to adopt Doris. She's a good dog. In the right hands, she's just as playful and energetic as any Labradoodle. She just needs a loving home."
Faith’s heart broke, but she said, “No, I’m sorry. I’m not from this area.”
Leah sighed. “That’s all right. I just thought I should ask.”
After Faith hung up, Michael asked, “You don’t think Delilah would take her?”
Faith shook her head. “Even if she wanted to, I don’t think she could afford it. She’s going to have a lot on her hands just keeping up with rent and taking care of Luna.”
“Right,” Michael agreed. He sighed. “I wish I lived out here. I’d adopt her in a heartbeat.”
“I thought Ellie didn’t like dogs.”
“She’d be fine with a quiet little dog like Doris. It’s just the scary dogs she has a problem with.” He glanced sideways at Turk but quickly looked away.
Faith looked at Turk and smiled softly. “Yeah, that was my fault, huh boy?”
Shortly after Michael and Ellie moved in together, Michael invited Faith and Turk to dinner. Faith suspected Ellie of being the copycat killer at the time, and Turk picked up on her energy and behaved very aggressively toward Ellie, which further deepened the rift growing between her and Michael. They had repaired that rift since, but further interactions had done nothing to improve things between Faith and Ellie or between Turk and Ellie.
Faith turned her thoughts back to the case. “I think we’re on the right track now,” she said, “I think we have to look into the dogs. I still don’t know how exactly they’re related, but I’m sure that it’s key to this case.”
“Works for me,” Michael replied. “Like I said, I’ll take anything at this point. Where to next?”
“I think we check out the first crime scene, Amanda Milleson’s house.”
“Good idea,” Michael replied.
Faith called Fargo PD and got the address, an old farmhouse a few miles outside of town. As Michael changed direction and headed to the farmhouse, Faith allowed herself a moment of hope. They had a ways to go before they could solve this case, but that was always how things happened. They flew blind for a while, but eventually, they found the light.
One step at a time, she told herself.
CHAPTER SIX
The killer drove his truck steadily through the night, one hand on the wheel in the twelve o’clock position, the other on the shifter knob. The old diesel engine rumbled, a deep, throaty sound like the growl of an animal. The truck’s headlights sliced through the darkness, bathing the neighborhood in soft yellow light. This part of Fargo didn’t have many streetlights, but the headlights were enough to reveal any details the killer cared to know.
Not that he was concerned with many details. He couldn’t care less about most of these people.
The radio played an old country blues song, a favorite of his, where the singer mourned that he was so lonesome, he could cry. That was a sentiment with which he could identify.
Not that he cried about it anymore. That wasn’t how he reacted to loneliness these days.
Still, he enjoyed the sound of the old crooner’s voice over the truck’s tinny speakers. The sound was timeless. It was the sound of America, the sound of a time when anything was possible, and the open road promised freedom and adventure. He wasn’t much of a traveler himself, but he could feel like one for a minute, and that was enough for him.
He pulled to a stop across the street from the one home whose details he did care to know. The porch light was on, providing him enough light to see through the open window to the living room. He pulled out his binoculars and stared through the lens at the woman inside.
Trisha Sinclair, Esquire. He chuckled at that. Esquire. How arrogant did you need to be that you had to give yourself a title? He shook his head and adjusted the focus until the image inside was clear.
Trisha knelt on her living room floor, a wide smile on her face. She wore a v-neck t-shirt, and the pose she was in currently afforded him a generous view of what was underneath the shirt. She was a beautiful woman, but he didn’t care about that. Sex was a band-aid for loneliness, not a cure. He wasn’t looking for a band-aid.
A border collie leapt into Trisha’s arms, and she fell backwards, laughing as the pup licked her face exuberantly. She wrapped the dog in her arms and squeezed tightly, her face beaming with joy.
That was a cure. Right there. He would love to have a hug, a real hug, one given because the giver actually enjoyed his presence.
But hugs weren’t for him. Oh no. What was he compared to a dog? A flea-bitten, mangy little cur? Of course, dogs were more important than he was!
Trisha stood and led her dog toward the back of the house. He waited until he saw a light come on in the backyard, then turned his binoculars toward Trisha and the dog as they pranced out of the house onto the lawn. The backyard fence was low enough that he could catch a glimpse of Trisha, though he couldn't see the dog. Based on the way Trisha laughed and ran back and forth, he guessed the dog was chasing her.
So beautiful. So fun. So innocent.
His lips curled down into a frown. It had been a long time since he had been innocent.
He watched them play a while longer, then left them to their fun. Let her enjoy it for as long as she could. She would learn soon enough that her affections had been misplaced.
He swung the binoculars slowly in a wide arc, looking for anything else useful. He found it a moment later. A piece of blue fabric torn off of the cheap leashes the shelters gave new dog owners. It was stuck to the bushes that lined the front lawn of the house in lieu of a fence. No doubt, Trisha's precious collie had gotten inquisitive and ended up tangled in one of the bushes. No doubt Trisha had immediately comforted the stuck pup and told it everything was going to be okay. She had probably given it a treat and held it while its beady, vapid canine eyes looked up at her with an expression as stupid as it was affectionate.
He'd had enough of this. He noted Trisha’s address, then continued down the street toward home.
As his anger faded, he felt a touch of guilt. He couldn’t blame the dog for Trisha’s behavior. Dogs were, unfortunately, very stupid animals. They didn’t know any better. They only knew how to love and be loved. They couldn’t tell the difference between real love and self-gratification, between kindness and possessiveness. They only thought their humans loved them as fully and completely as they loved their humans.
It wasn’t the collie’s fault that Trisha Sinclair was a fool.
He reached home and pulled the big truck carefully into his garage. He had spent a pretty penny expanding the garage to fit this vehicle along with his other projects, but he was glad that he had.
When the garage door closed behind him, he left the vehicle and headed inside. He had thought of keeping his most important project in the garage, but the storm the past winter had caved in three of his neighbor’s garages, so he didn’t want to risk that. Instead, he kept it in his basement.
He headed there now. He picked up a thumbtack and searched for Trisha’s exact address on the large map he had spread across the table. He pushed the tack in, careful not to exert too much pressure and wrinkle the map.
That done, he looked around his room. The remains of memories hung all around him: Photos of those he had killed, pieces of fabric from other cheap leashes that had torn, and extensive notes about each of the dogs these people had adopted.
He wasn’t sure yet what he was going to do with this information, if anything. He just liked having it. It reminded him that he wasn’t beaten yet. He was hurt and bruised and left alone, but he was still here. He was fighting back.
He ran his hands lovingly over the fabric he had taken from Amanda Milleson’s house. Amanda, the social worker who cared more for the stupid mongrel she had adopted than the children she was supposed to be helping.
He reminded himself that it wasn’t the dog’s fault and opened the box he kept under the table on which the map was spread. The mementos here weren’t of people he had killed but dogs who had died—not at his hand, but almost certainly at the hands of those who should have loved and protected them.
His anger calmed as he sifted through the photographs. These innocents were worse off than he was. They couldn’t protect themselves like he could protect himself. They couldn’t avenge themselves like he could avenge himself. They were truly helpless.
But he wasn’t. He could act. He could punish people whose priorities blinded them to what was truly important.
He set the box down and replaced it carefully, then headed to bed. As always, his sleep was deep and untroubled. Why wouldn’t it be? He was only bringing evil people to justice after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amanda Milleson’s farmhouse looked exactly like one might expect a scene from a murder mystery to look: dark, foreboding, ominous and abandoned.
_preview.jpg)
