On the Count of Three, page 17
When I was done showering, I changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, ready to crawl into bed. I picked up my phone and checked the time—just after midnight—and I noticed Becky had replied to my message.
Nightmare day of my own. Can we talk?
It was sent about an hour ago; immediately after my message to her. She might not even be up now. I sent a quick text to see, and my phone was ringing seconds later.
“Hey.” She sounded exhausted.
“Bad days all around, I guess.” I hoped for her sake she couldn’t trump mine. After all, I was working with a brownnose cop on one hellish case. “Ladies first.”
“It’s my brother, Sam.” She sighed, and I felt for her. She’d only mentioned her brother a couple times in passing, and it was never paired with good news.
I dropped onto the bed. “Let me guess. He wants more money?”
A deep exhale came over the line. “When else does he reach out? And he’s trying the whole guilt-trip thing again.”
“Because it’s worked for him in the past. You have to learn how to tell him no and mean it.” I found myself getting agitated just thinking about this guy. I’d never met him, and if I ever did, I couldn’t be held responsible for my mouth running off.
“Easier said than done. He’s family,” she said defensively, as if I were slime for telling her to stand up for herself. I never understood why women shared their problems if they didn’t want solutions.
After a moment of silence, she said, “Since we’re on the topic of family… Are you going to see your parents while you’re in Florida? You probably should.”
Maybe Becky’s response had come from disliking my advice, but now that the roles were reversed, I could understand Becky’s cool reception. “I’m working a case.”
“When it’s over,” she clarified.
“I’m in Miami. They’re in Sarasota.” If the job excuse didn’t cut it, surely the distance would.
“You’re closer there than you are when you’re in Virginia.” She said it with a smile that traveled over the line.
I found myself smiling, too. “Can’t put anything past you.”
She laughed, and I loved the sound. I missed her more than I’d realized. Maybe I was overreacting to the whole being-exclusive thing, to waking up on a slice of my king-size bed and to her toothbrush in my holder. There were worse things in life.
“What’s the case?” she asked, her voice turning husky as the late hour seeped in.
Speaking of worse things…
“A woman’s missing, and we think a serial killer might have her.” I couldn’t share all the gruesome details with her. It was an open case, but she was a police officer, and I felt comfortable sharing the basics with her. I knew she’d keep them to herself.
“Any leads?”
“Two steps forward, one back.”
“Playing it vague, I see.”
I detected another smile. “I have to withhold some things,” I said.
“Uh-huh. So how long do you think you’ll be gone?”
That question made an imaginary restraint tighten around my neck as if I were being yanked back to Virginia by a leash. “Not sure.”
“Well, keep me posted and call when you can. I like hearing your voice.”
“You’re such a sap,” I said.
“You know you love me. Let me hear you say it again,” she requested lightheartedly.
It felt like I had been backed up against a wall. “If I say it too much I’ll wear it out.”
“Huh.” She paused, the silence building over the line. She then added, “I think we need some time together. I feel like we’re growing apart.”
Hearing her say that speared my heart. As much as I wanted to fight the speed of this relationship, I did care about her. I even loved her. “Everything’s fine,” I promised her. “When I get back, we’ll spend some time together, do something fun.” I wasn’t going to touch on the fact we needed to talk as just saying that would create unnecessary drama.
“I’d like that.” Her words were hopeful, but her tone was flat.
“And I do love you, Becky.” The sentiment slipped out.
“There you go. Now that wasn’t so hard. I like hearing it,” she said, sweet and sexy. I imagined the small line forming between her brows the way it did when she was being seductive.
“But if I said it all the time, you’d get tired of it.”
“Without sounding like a sap, we could always try it.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love—”
Becky laughed, interrupting me. “You’re such a brat.”
“Me?” I gasped, playing it up. “I didn’t even get it out a full five times, and you shut me down.”
“Fine, you win,” she consented. “You don’t have to say it all the time.”
“Just know that I do.” And I meant it.
“I love you, too. Oh, and you should at least call your parents.”
“And you should tell your brother to take a hike.” I was smiling when I hung up. I could certainly do a lot worse than Becky.
I should have just plugged my phone in to charge, but I was tapping it against my thigh. Was I seriously considering calling my parents now? Sure, they might be night owls, but that wasn’t the point.
“Urgh.” I dialed their number.
Pops answered on the fourth ring, and he sounded groggy.
“Pops, it’s—”
“Brandon? What are you doing calling so late?” My mother had hopped on another extension.
“You were asleep?” I asked them.
“We were,” Pops answered gruffly, obviously displeased to be pulled from his slumber.
“Sorry. I thought you guys stayed up late.” We weren’t in touch every week anymore, but apparently there was more distance between us than I’d realized.
“We haven’t for a while now,” Mom said. “What’s up, sweetie?”
“Just called to talk.” Maybe it was best not to mention that I was in Florida. There would be less obligation that way.
“Call back in the morning, hon,” she said, her voice muzzy from exhaustion.
I didn’t have the heart to point out that it technically was morning. “Tomorrow night would be the soonest. I’m working a case.”
“You’re always working a case.” Pops’s judgment was clear.
“I’m in Florida working a case.” I slapped a palm against my forehead. What had I been thinking saying that? Was it about standing my ground or peacocking my importance, letting Pops know I was around but not available? Elusive, just out of reach.
“Then get over here for a visit,” she said. “But tomorrow.”
“As I said, I’m working. And I am in Miami.”
“Still, you’re in Florida. Finish up your case and come by.”
“He’s too busy being important,” Pops said to Mom.
I rolled my eyes.
“Have you taken any vacation time since you joined the FBI?” she asked me.
Fine, I’d shock them both. “I’d love to see you, Mom.”
“Then you’re coming?” Mom sounded hopeful and awake now. I felt bad for making her both those things.
“I’ll do my best.”
“You talk to that boss of yours or I will.” Mom’s mind was set, and I imagined her facing off with Jack. I’d like a front-row seat for that event. My bet would be on Mom.
“I’ll see what he says,” I started, “but I’m not even bringing it up until this case is solved.”
“And how long’s that gonna take?”
“I don’t know.” I was starting to wonder if Pops was still on the line, but the sound of his breathing gave him away.
“Well, we’re going to hang up now. You get some sleep, and hurry up and solve this case. Then you come see us,” my mom said. “Night. Love you.”
Click.
I stared at my phone as if it had betrayed me, and now I felt as awake as Mom had sounded. I reminded myself it was best not to dwell too much on what had just happened and try to get some sleep.
I put my phone on the nightstand, turned out the light, and got under the sheets. I’d expected thoughts of visiting them to keep me awake, but rather, it was Mom’s closing words, Hurry up and solve this case, that had me tossing and turning. If we didn’t hurry, Kelter was as good as dead.
-
Twenty-Nine
Death was everywhere. Nothing had changed except for Zach’s perspective. Sometimes it felt as if happy endings were very few and far between and fate was nothing but fickle and random. Even the poor woman who went in for heart surgery hadn’t survived a “routine” operation. He hated thinking of life in such a negative way, but ever since he realized this could be his last case, he was looking at everything differently. The fact that he and Paige were on the way to an autopsy wasn’t cranking up the positivity. And he hated feeling that way, even on a small scale. He had so much to be thankful for—good friends, Sheri, their baby.
Zach crept the SUV forward and tapped his hand on the steering wheel. This morning’s traffic was a nightmare. They’d hardly moved in the last fifty minutes, and it would be nice if he and Paige got to the morgue before nightfall.
Move forward two feet. Wait ten minutes… Move forward two feet. Wait ten minutes…
Paige reached for the radio knob. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Maybe some music will make all this less painful.” He gestured out the windshield at the BMW whose bumper was inches in front of them.
She tuned in to a rock station and turned the volume low enough to easily talk over.
They rarely listened to music while working a case, even on the road, but sometimes diversions for the mind worked wonders for a case. And music was fine with him anyhow, as he had a lot to think about. Where was he going to find the strength to leave the team?
“How did you make out with Sheri last night?” Paige asked. “What did she say when you told her you are thinking about leaving the BAU?”
“I didn’t tell her.” He’d called Sheri last night, just as he’d promised, but left the topic of work off the table. He had a feeling she’d try to talk him into staying or, worse, feel responsible for him considering a desk job. The last thing he wanted was for her to shoulder that responsibility. If he left, that would ultimately be his decision and all on him.
“Oh.” Paige paused. “Have you made up your mind?”
He was relieved Paige didn’t get into how he should have bared his soul to Sheri. “Not yet.”
“There’s still a chance you’ll stay, then?” A subtle smile. “I still think you should talk it out with her.”
“It’s really my call.” He glanced over at her, and she pursed her lips. Her gaze chastised him.
“You’re going to be married. It’s best to—”
“It’s my career, Paige, not Sheri’s.” His words came out sharper than he’d intended. He’d been naive to think she was going to let the matter go.
“Of course it is,” Paige said.
Zach wasn’t sure what to make of her response. Was she agreeing with him or harboring underlying judgment that he should discuss the matter with Sheri? He couldn’t bring himself to worry about what Paige was thinking too much; he had enough going on in his mind as it was.
They got to the morgue and met up with Lily. Dominick Banks’s corpse was lying on a metal slab, naked and prepped for autopsy. Lily was in a full apron and had on a hat with a face shield.
“You two ready for this?” Lily asked them, almost as if she didn’t think they’d been through the process before. Zach had lost count of how many autopsies he’d attended.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Paige said.
Her response pretty much mirrored Zach’s feelings on the matter. It wasn’t his favorite thing to watch, that was for certain, but it was a necessary step in an investigation. Sometimes small things came to light under the scrutiny of an ME during a preliminary and throughout an autopsy that helped collar killers. It was best that they were present so they could respond to any potential leads sooner rather than later.
“I’ve already conducted a preliminary and collected some evidence from the body,” Lily began. “Given the shape of the contusions on the neck, I’d say he was strangled by hand. Based on their size, I was able to approximate the span of the killer’s hands and from there estimate height.” Lily held her head a little higher when she said, “Six three or thereabouts.”
That lined up with their unsub to within an inch.
Lily continued. “Usually I fill in detectives on fibers and trace after I’ve finished up, but did you want to know now?”
Zach bobbed his head. “Now would be good.”
“All right.” Lily glanced at the body, seeming eager to get started on the autopsy. She looked back at Zach. “A fiber was pulled from the deceased’s hair. It will be going to the lab, but I’d say it was a carpet fiber.”
Banks had been lying on his hardwood floor. “From where?”
Lily smirked. “That’s for you and the lab to figure out, but I’d say that it came from a low-pile carpet.”
Zach’s gaze went to the lividity showing on Banks’s side and the fact that he hadn’t spent his first few hours of death supine. Zach deduced that the killer likely had to conceal the body while returning it to Banks’s home and staging it. Unless he drove around town with Banks’s corpse in the front passenger seat playing out Weekend at Bernie’s. “Could it be carpet fiber, say, from the trunk of a car?” Zach asked.
Lily looked at him and nodded. “Sure, I would think that’s possible.”
Zach turned to Paige. “The unsub did put him in the trunk after he killed him.”
“If that’s the case, he would have needed to be there for a couple of hours,” Lily said, “for the lividity to form the way it did.”
Zach nodded. “Can I see the fiber?”
“Be my guest.” Lily grabbed a small plastic evidence bag from a table. Inside, the fiber was tiny and charcoal gray.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” Lily replied, putting the bag back on the table.
“What else? You mentioned trace?” Paige asked. “Did you pull DNA from under his nails?”
“Possibly. I’m not sure yet. I can tell you that he didn’t fight back, though.” Lily’s face fell. “But there’s something else.”
Paige glanced at Zach and back to the ME.
“I don’t see this often, thank goodness. It turns my stomach like nothing else. I can handle mangled corpses of any shape or size, but this…”
Zach could imagine that Lily had seen it all in her career, and for this finding to upset her, it had to be revolting.
“There’s evidence that the body was sexually assaulted.” Lily put a hand over her stomach. “And I’m talking about…”
“After death?” Paige blurted out.
Lily pressed her lips together, pointed a finger at Paige, and nodded.
None of them said a word for a few minutes. Necrophilia was a whole other layer of their unsub to unravel. What had pushed him to that? Zach was aware of the textbook answers: the love maps that formed early in life. Role models in a child’s life helped teach what was and wasn’t accepted sexually, what was considered normal and healthy and what was considered deviant.
“See? It turns the stomach.” Lily let her hand fall from where she’d been rubbing her gut. “I don’t know what it was done with yet, but there was a pointed sculpture taken from the deceased’s home. It is being tested.”
“A foreign object?” Zach asked. Typically, that could indicate erectile dysfunction or castration, but their unsub had a girlfriend.
“Yes. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather just dig in.” She motioned her head toward the cadaver.
Zach gestured for her to go ahead, despite being queasy himself now.
Lily sliced into Banks, making the Y-incision with skill and precision. She lowered her face shield and armed herself with a bone saw. “Too bad we’re nauseated. I’m about to serve up a couple of ribs.” She attempted to smile at her joke, but the expression fell short.
“Oh, it’s too early for ribs anyway,” Paige said, playing along.
Zach and Paige stayed and watched the entire autopsy, but compared with the news Lily had delivered before starting the process nothing enlightening was found. They thanked Lily and headed back to the SUV.
“What do make of all that?” Paige said, buckling her seat belt.
“Safe to say our unsub likely had a very traumatic childhood,” Zach said. “He experienced abuse in some way when his love map was forming.”
Paige nodded. “You think he was sexually abused?”
“Dr. John Money first came up with the love map theory in the eighties,” Zach said, probably unnecessarily because when the theory was first proposed had little relevance to its implications.
“Well, I’m aware that all of us learn what relationships are from those closest to us—mostly from our parents.”
“Right. That was Money’s theory. Our parents, to start with, provide us with an inner gauge of how relationships should work, the appropriate conduct and so on when it comes to sexuality,” Zach explained. “Our love maps are formed as children and continue to develop as we grow older. When a child is sexually abused, it taints their view on sex, love, intimacy, and lust. Statistics show that such children are at risk of developing bizarre sexual fantasies later in life.”
“Like necrophilia,” Paige replied.
“Just one of the ugly possibilities.”
“Probably one of the ugliest.”
