All He Takes, page 8
“And who else has access to the code?”
“Just her and my wife. But as I told the cops outside, my wife is currently in Paris.”
“Any idea why Jenna may have come back?” Vivian asked.
“None. There have been a few times where she left something here by accident. But she has always texted or called to let me know she was coming back by.”
The tension in the room ratcheted tighter. Vivian watched Jenna moving with a purpose down the hall until she was out of sight.
“What’s at the end of that hallway?” Vivian asked.
“A bathroom and a stairwell.”
“Does that stairwell lead to the cellar?”
“Yes.”
They watched the footage creep by, waiting for Jenna to reappear in the frame, but it never happened.
“Mr. Barker, what’s her full name?” Sterling asked.
“Jenna Caldwell.”
“Age?”
“Um…I’m not sure. In her thirties.”
Sterling’s brow furrowed, and Vivian noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor. Something clicked, and he reached for his phone with a haste that spoke volumes. His fingers flew over the screen, pulling up the files for Sarah Johnson’s case.
“What are you looking for?”
“That name…Jenna Caldwell. It sounds familiar.”
As Sterling searched, the footage on Barker’s screens continued to show empty halls. According to the sped-up footage, more than an hour had passed since Jenna showed up at 12:18. “Mr. Barker,” Vivian asked, “are the front door and cellar exits the only way out of the house?”
“Yes. Well, there’s a fire escape off of the balcony on the second floor but I’ve never used it. Why?”
“Because if she came in through the front for an innocent reason—let’s say she left something behind like you said she’s done in the past—then she would likely exit the same way, right?”
“Right…”
The shock on his face told Vivian that he understood what she was getting at—that perhaps Jenna had exited through the cellar door. And if that was the case, it was incredibly suspicious, given what had happened down in the cellar sometime between 2:30 and 3:00.
“Got her,” Sterling said out of nowhere.
Vivian looked at Barker’s monitors, thinking Sterling had seen Jenna on one of the feeds. But no…they were all still empty as they caught up to real time. She turned to Sterling just in time to see him holding out his phone for her.
“Jenna Caldwell, right there in Sarah Johnson’s report.”
“Why?” Vivian asked.
“Because she’s listed as a former employee of the jewelry store that used to occupy the space. Employed there as a cleaner.”
They exchanged a silent glance that communicated volumes. And with the halls still empty on the screens in front of them, the silence and the lack of new footage seemed to give them all the answers they needed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The city seemed to hold its breath in the predawn darkness as Vivian and Sterling arrived outside a modest apartment complex—the sort that looked like rows of townhouses. The address, hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper by Jacob Barker, now led them to the door of Jenna Caldwell. The building was the sort that often went overlooked, hidden in the shadows of nicer, grander buildings on the neighboring blocks.
Vivian’s watch showed 5:45 AM—ungodly early, but she supposed murder investigations didn’t adhere to courteous hours.
Sterling took the lead, his hand wrapping firmly around the brass knocker, letting it fall heavily against the wood. The sound shattered the stillness, as ominous as a gunshot in the dark quiet. After a moment that stretched too long, Sterling knocked again, harder this time. Another twenty seconds passed before a voice sounded out from the other side of the door.
“Yes? Who the hell is out there?” a sleepy female voice asked. She sounded angry rather than scared.
“Police,” Sterling said. Vivian almost asked him why he’d lied but then figured more people would know what police entailed rather than Interpol.
Slowly, hesitantly, the door creaked open. A middle-aged woman peered out, her hair tousled, eyes bleary with sleep. Her sharp features were softened by confusion and the vulnerability of being woken so abruptly.
“Are you Jenna Caldwell?” Sterling asked.
“Yes,” she responded automatically. “You…you’re the police?”
“Interpol, actually,” Sterling said, flashing his badge. “We need to ask you some questions about your work at Mr. Jacob Barker’s house.”
“What?” she asked, clearly baffled. Either despite or because of the clear confusion, Jenna opened the door wider. “What about Mr. Barker?”
“Someone was murdered in his cellar tonight,” Sterling said. “And it’s the third murder of its kind in six days.”
Murder seemingly had a way of snapping people to attention. Jenna’s posture straightened, her eyes now wide awake and appalled. “Murders? I don’t…why would you need to speak with me? Do you think Mr. Barker did it? Because if you do, I can tell you right now that—”
“Three murders, Jenna,” Vivian interrupted, watching the woman carefully. “And we can link two of them to locations you’ve been employed.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jenna protested, her denial quick and sharp.
“Then perhaps you can explain why you returned to the house after midnight?” Vivian’s question hung in the air like a challenge.
Jenna’s mouth opened, then closed, her initial outrage faltering. She glanced away before answering. “I thought I left my phone there,” she said finally, a plausible excuse, yet something in her tone didn’t sit right with Vivian. “Down in the cellar. I almost decided to leave it for the night but if I did that, I figured my boyfriend would freak out if he called and I didn’t answer.”
“Left your phone?” Sterling echoed, skeptical but intrigued by the woman’s sudden shift from indignant to evasive.
“Yes,” Jenna insisted, nodding vigorously. “In the cellar, like I said. I was cleaning it earlier, and I must have…” Her voice trailed off as if the gravity of her situation was beginning to sink in.
“Was it there?” Sterling asked.
“Yeah, it was.”
“So you got it and came back home?”
Vivian took note of Jenna’s reaction. It was a sliver of hesitation, a crack in her otherwise composed demeanor. Vivian had seen that look before—the realization that a lie might not hold up under scrutiny.
“May we come in, Jenna?” Sterling asked, his politeness tinged with authority.
Jenna hesitated again, her gaze flickering between the two agents standing before her. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she stepped aside and allowed them in. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t offer to put on a pot of coffee,” she said in a snarky tone.
The front door opened onto a small but quaint apartment. The kitchen and living area were connected; a bathroom and single bedroom were both located along the living room’s right wall. And that was everything.
“Jenna,” Vivian began, “let’s talk about your work history. You’ve been in the cleaning business and homes for how long?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her tone still filled with annoyance. “Maybe fifteen years. Started with just small offices but then got into residential.”
“How long have you been working for Mr. Barker?”
She thought about it for a moment before answering. “Seven months, I guess. Maybe eight.”
“He says he provided you with a key and that he always keeps you updated on the code for the front door, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“He must really trust you, then.”
“He does.”
So far, no one had sat down. Jenna was standing at the area that connected the kitchen and living room while Vivian and Sterling still stood just by the front door. Jenna studied them closely, her eyes narrowing as understanding finally sank in.
“You…you don’t want to ask about Mr. Barker, do you? You think I had something to do with this murder?”
“Three murders,” Vivian corrected.
“That’s absurd!”
“How familiar are you with Mr. Barker’s cellar?”
“Very.”
“Did you know about the vault?” Sterling asked.
Yes. I knew it was there, but I’d never been inside. No reason to.”
“Can you tell us about the jewelry store you worked at before being employed by Mr. Barker?”
“Likins Jewelers,” she said. “Owned by an older gentleman by the name of Gabe Likins.”
“And how long did you work there?”
“Not long. Three or four months.”
“Why so short?” Vivian asked.
The rapid-fire questions were starting to get to Jenna. She was blinking rapidly, her eyes darting back and forth between Sterling and Vivian. Vivian could see the frustration boiling up; she just couldn’t tell if it was due to guilt or having been stirred awake so early. Or maybe both.
“I don’t appreciate this,” she barked. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Vivian stepped forward before she was aware she was going to do it. Apparently, she’d slipped into some sort of autopilot she didn’t know she possessed.
“Here’s the deal, Ms. Caldwell…here’s what Agent Sterling and I are looking at. We have three murdered, mutilated women. Two of their bodies were discovered in locations you have worked at in the past year. Both of these locations were also the site of robberies—heists, if you will, where expensive items were taken. And then last but certainly not least, we have you on security cameras going into Mr. Barker’s house after midnight—which he tells us is very irregular for you. What’s more…you’re never shown as going back out the front door. And that leads us to believe you left through the cellar. You know…after you got your phone.”
“So?”
“So…the dead woman in the cellar was killed sometime between two and three in the morning. So when you toss that into this already suspicious equation, there’s a lot of fingers pointing at you.”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed as she studied Jenna, watching as she absorbed everything that had just been said. Her words hung in the air, an accusation wrapped in cold logic.
“Are you arresting me?” Jenna’s tone was defiant, the question unexpected and almost a challenge. But Vivian could hear the undercurrent of fear.
“If you come with us now and answer some questions, it’ll be peaceful,” Sterling said. “Just a ride to the local FBI office and a long chat. Or you can refuse and make it difficult and we’ll just come back in about an hour or two with a warrant, handcuffs, and even more reason to suspect you.”
Vivian felt a small swell of pride. Between the two of them, they’d just packed a very heavy one-two punch. Jenna swallowed, her gaze flitting from Vivian to Sterling and back again. The defiance in her eyes waned, replaced by something that looked like resignation. Or was it calculation?
“Fine,” Jenna finally said with an angry sigh. “I’ll come with you. Can I at least get dressed first?”
“Absolutely,” Sterling said. “We’ll just stay right here if that’s okay.”
Vivian didn’t miss the way Jenna’s jaw was set tight as she turned toward the bedroom, or the bit of force she put into the motion when she closed the door.
“Damn good work,” Sterling whispered when they were left alone. “You keep it up and you’ll make a fine agent yet.”
Smiling, Vivian said, “We were just starting to get along, Sterling. Why would you insult me like that?”
Both grinning, they stood in Jenna Caldwell’s living room, waiting for their second suspect to come back out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The halls of the FBI building were as quiet and sanitized as a hospital. After they escorted Jenna Caldwell to an interrogation room, there was very little activity within the lower halls. It made it that much easier for Vivian and Sterling to speak in hushed tones just a few feet away from the room where Jenna was being held.
“I think we might be on to something here,” Sterling said.
“Enough to formally release Marcus Belmont?”
Sterling considered it for a moment before shrugging. “Maybe. I’d like to get more details from Caldwell before we make that decision.”
“Can I ask a question that might make me sound like a rookie?”
“You are a rookie. But ask anyway.”
Vivian rolled her eyes, finding that she and Sterling had somehow slipped into a comfortable camaraderie much faster than she would have expected. “We stayed at Barker’s house for maybe twenty minutes. And only five of that was to observe the body. Shouldn’t we go back?”
Sterling shook his head. “That’s a job for the FBI and local PD. The body was clearly the result of the group we’re going after. For Interpol—on a case like this—it’s all about getting to the root of that group. Crime scenes come and go along the way, but we have to always be on the hunt.”
Vivian knew this made sense, but she didn’t like the way it made her feel. She felt Sterling was being almost dismissive, as if these dead women didn’t deserve the proper time and energy from Interpol.
“Now,” Sterling went on before she could push the issue further, “I think I’d like for you to go in there and question her alone.”
“What? What sense does that make?”
“Who better to crack a thief than a thief?” He smiled and added: “You seemed to really get to her back at her place. I think we work with that. Grill her the way you would another thief you were trying to serve up to the authorities. Pretend she’s competition.”
Damn, he does make a good point, she thought. “You understand that I’ve never actually interrogated anyone, right?”
“I know. Consider this getting thrown into the very deep end.”
“Gee, thanks.”
But the more she considered it, the more the idea appealed to her. She had not been at Quantico long enough to study this end of things, so it would all be new to her. She had, however, been in Jenna’s shoes many times before.
“I’ll be watching next door through the feed. I’ll come in if I think you’re slipping.”
Vivian nodded and then turned to the door before her confidence had time to wane. She opened it and stepped into the too-bright lights of the interrogation room. Jenna Caldwell sat at the table, her eyes tired and filled with a range of emotions. Vivian closed the door behind her with a soft click and approached the table. She took the chair opposite Jenna and simply stared at the woman for a moment, sizing her up.
“Jenna,” she began, her voice silk over steel, “how did you get started as a cleaner?”
Jenna looked almost amused at first, as if she thought this was a strange opening question. “Needed the money,” Jenna replied, her voice as sterile as the room itself. “It’s easy work if you have the right stuff and if you do a very good job, people notice. I got lots of jobs through word of mouth at the beginning.”
“How’d you get the job with Likins Jewelers?”
“Same way,” Jenna said, stopping a moment to think it through. “In that case, I believe it was the sister of a client who was dating the son of the owner of the store…something like that.”
“Any idea why the store went under?”
“Bad economy, people stopped buying luxury items,” Jenna said, each word measured, her expression unreadable.
“Sounds plausible,” Vivian mused aloud, noting the guarded posture, the too-careful responses. There was more here, she was sure of it. Jenna was good, but Vivian knew a liar when she saw one—even a good one. Sometimes, especially a good one.
Vivian leaned back slightly, her gaze steady on Jenna, who sat across the table with folded arms and a facade of indifference. “I’m curious about something,” Vivian said casually, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off the metal table. “Exactly how much did you know about Mr. Barker’s private collection? The little treasure vault beyond the wine cellar in his house?”
Jenna’s mask faltered for just a moment, eyes widening ever so slightly. It was enough. A crack in the armor. Vivian filed away that slip—an involuntary response worth more than a hundred lies.
“Well, I never had much interest in his personal matters,” Jenna answered, the pitch of her voice a hair higher than before. “I mean, I knew it was there because he mentioned it from time to time.”
“But you never went into the vault?”
“No.”
“Let me share something with you,” Vivian continued, folding her hands in front of her. She was surprised at how comfortable this was and was really leaning into it. “I’m a very good thief. The best, some might say. It’s why Interpol reached out to me, to have me help them with this very difficult case.” A flicker of curiosity crossed Jenna’s expression, and Vivian pressed on. “We’re after a group of thieves—ones also responsible for killing women. Brutally.”
She let the words hang between them, heavy with implication. Jenna’s eyes were now sharp, focused, the fear momentarily replaced by something else. Vivian thought she might be panicking, trying to reorganize her rehearsed lies.
“See, I know how a thief operates,” Vivian said. “The patterns, the tells, the rush. And it’s an occupation where, once you get very good at it, it’s quite easy to identify someone else who practices the same trade.”
Jenna swallowed, her posture stiffening. She was caught in the spotlight now, the truth a tangible presence pressing down upon her.
“Thief or not,” Jenna finally managed, her voice cool but lacking its earlier confidence, “you have nothing on me. This is all utterly ridiculous.”
“Or maybe we’re just getting started,” Vivian teased. She watched Jenna closely, looking for more cracks. Jenna held her gaze, but Vivian saw it—the slightest tremor, the unspoken acknowledgment.
Vivian let the silence fester, the room’s stark white walls closing in. Jenna Caldwell sat across from her, hands clasped tightly on the table. Vivian was determined not to break the silence—to let Jenna’s unease do the talking. And after another twenty seconds or so, that’s exactly what happened.
