In His Thoughts, page 2
“What?” Eve’s eyebrows shot up, “But you’re my partner. They can’t do that!”
“They can,” Hobbes said, “And the Deputy Director said he needed me because I worked on the SPHYNX case, so I’ve got first-hand knowledge of Lily Hope’s existence and activity.” The young agent sounded as if he were reading off of cue cards.
“First-hand? You were tied up and drugged to the point of madness for most of the time,” Eve growled insensitively. “It was Melborn and I that cracked the code and figured out how to use the SPHYNX de-encryption key to save your ass. You didn’t even think my sister was alive until she was helping us save your life.”
“Eve,” Hobbes held up his hands, “You know this isn’t my call to make. I’m not claiming I know your sister better than you do. Now that I know she’s alive, I’m going to do everything in my power to keep her that way by making sure that Howard Hope remains safely behind bars. If he somehow found out that Lily has resurfaced in your life, he might be out to finish what he started all those years ago.”
“You’re wrong,” Eve said, shaking her head angrily, “You’re so wrong. See, this is exactly why I should be on the case.”
“It’s a conflict of interest,” Hobbes said, “If the FBI lets you anywhere near this case, we run the risk of the evidence we collect becoming inadmissible in court. You have to trust that we’re on your side. I’m on your side.”
The sinews of Eve’s jaw worked with frustration, but she knew he was right. Any defense attorney worth their salt would get the case thrown out as a mistrial if it came to light that the lead investigator was the defendant’s daughter.
“So what the hell am I supposed to do?” Eve asked.
“I’d recommend an extended R&R,” said the familiar baritone of Deputy Director Pliny from behind the agents’ backs, “if I weren’t positive, you’d spend the time tracking down Howard Hope yourself.” He gave Eve a sympathetically knowing look. “Thank you, Agent Hobbes. Please join Agent Tanque in Conference Room H. I’ll take it from here.”
"I'm sorry, Eve," Hobbes said hurriedly, "I'll do my best for you and for your family." With one last sorry look over his shoulder, the young agent turned and walked away, following the Deputy Director’s orders.
“Is there any sign of him?” Eve asked, turning on the Deputy Director. Pliny’s gravely stoic expression did not change an iota. He gave only the subtlest shake of his head.
“Not that I could share it with you if we'd made a discovery, but no," he said in a low voice as if he didn't want to be overheard. “There’s no sign of him. Tanque is pulling his hair out, not that he’d ever let on as much. Come with me into the office; I have a new assignment for you."
Without another, Deputy Director Pliny turned and started back down the hall. Eve had no time to protest. With a sigh, she followed the old soldier through the doorway of his office.
The scar-faced man was still standing by the side of the desk. He’d hardly moved a muscle during the meeting, and now he stared with grim silence as Eve followed the Deputy Director into the room. Pliny shut the door.
“Agent Hope, meet Deputy Director William Fitzgerald of the FBI’s General Counsel Division. Deputy Director, this is Special Agent Eve Hope, one of the Serial Homicide Division’s finest.”
“It’s a privilege to meet you in person, Agent Hope,” the man said, reaching out to shake Eve’s hand. His fingers were soft but cold. "I'm familiar with your profile and case history. You've got an impressive record."
“Thank you, sir,” Eve said politely, but her internal alarms were going off. Flattery from the brass almost always meant trouble.
“Have a seat, please, Agent Hope,” said Pliny, “I’m sure this must be a difficult time for you, between learning that your sister was alive and your father’s escape from Red Onion Supermax, it would be understandable if you felt somewhat overwhelmed by your personal emotions.”
“My personal emotions are of no consequence to this case,” Eve replied flatly.
“Your self-awareness notwithstanding, you understand why the FBI cannot allow you to be involved in your father’s investigation?” the scar-faced deputy director asked. Eve nodded.
“I do, sir,” she said, “Although I don’t understand why it’s essential for me to be kept in the dark about the progress of the case.”
“There’s been very little progress to report,” said Pliny, giving Eve a sharp look. The Deputy Director of General Counsel’s eyes seemed to deepen as he observed Eve’s face with critical expertise and an unreadable poker face.
“It’s the FBI’s position that all members of the Hope family – including you – should be excluded from the investigation for reasons of security. We can’t run the risk of anyone letting Howard Hope know that we’re coming. Family members are excluded from cases like these by strict policy, no matter the circumstances.”
“You think I’d leak the details of the investigation to my father?” Eve’s voice rose incredulously, “Sir, with all due respect, if I knew where my father was, I’d be dragging him back to prison myself, not helping him escape.”
“Your personal loyalty isn’t in question, Agent Hope,” said Pliny, somewhat more gently than the rigid counselor to his left. “However, the Deputy Director is right, you are not to be anywhere near this case until Howard Hope is in custody again. Is that understood?”
“It is, sir,” Eve replied.
“I know that it will be difficult for you not to investigate your father’s prison break for yourself, but I’m afraid you must trust us in this matter. It’s in everybody’s best interest, including your own.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Eve demanded, briefly forgetting herself. She flinched and apologized. “I’m sorry, sir. Forgive my outburst. But I can’t just sit here on my hands – it's not in my nature. I've got to be doing something useful, or I'll go insane."
“I understand, Agent Hope,” Pliny said, “And you won’t be sitting around twiddling your thumbs. It’s the FBI’s position that the safest place for you to be is at work on another case. That’s why I’m temporarily assigning you to be partnered with Special Agent Thompson. The two of you will work together, and Thompson will report back to me.”
“You should be aware,” Deputy Director Fitzgerald put in coolly, “that Agent Thompson will be reporting on your condition as well as the status of your case.”
“You’re assigning my partner to spy on me?” Eve asked, her eyebrows knotting together in exasperation.
“The FBI can’t take any risks with the Swallowtail Killer,” Pliny said, looking more awkward and boyish than Eve had ever seen him. “Especially now that we know Lily Hope is alive…well, we just can’t afford to take any unnecessary chances.”
“We will be watching all members of the Hope family closely until Howard is behind bars again,” Fitzgerald went on with the faintest hint of a scaly smile in the corners of his thin lips. “It should go without saying, Agent Hope, but it’s my duty to inform you that if we receive any report that you’ve been tampering with your father’s investigation, it will result in your immediate arrest and the termination of your Special Agent status and clearance within the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Do I make myself clear, Agent Hope?”
“Crystal clear, sir,” Eve said, chewing back the hot-tempered retort that was bubbling in her gullet.
“Very good,” Pliny said, putting his palms down with finality on the desk, “With these unpleasantries dispensed, Agent Hope, you are dismissed. Your new partner will be waiting for you on the plane with all the case files. Put your father out of your mind if you can. The nation’s innocent citizens need you sharp.”
***
Eve stepped through the door of the private jet and heard it shut behind her. Through the thick barrier of the pressure-sealed door, she could hear the ground crew calling muffled instructions to each other over the loud winding of the turbines.
Thompson was already seated facing the opposite way when Eve boarded. She could only see the top of the agent's dirty blonde hair over the top of the headrest.
Whoever this new guy is, Eve thought, her quick mind already assessing her hired babysitter as she approached, he isn't very tall. Hopefully, I'm not dealing with a Napoleon complex on top of everything else.
“Special Agent Thompson,” Eve called out like a gunslinger in the center aisle of the grounded jet, “I’m Eve Hope, your new partner.”
The agent didn’t move from the seat right away. As Eve advanced another step, she could see that the case files were already spread out across the table between the seats. Thompson was already hard at work. Eve’s scowl deepened.
"Special Agent Hope," said a high, flutelike voice from behind the seat, "It's an honor to be working with you."
CHAPTER TWO
The agent that stood up from behind the seat was taller than Eve had guessed, a full head and shoulders taller than Eve herself.
Thompson was a pale, slender, strikingly beautiful woman with wide blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that she wore tied back in a low bun. Her suit was grey, the blouse underneath a light, minty blue. The hand she held out was strong but soft. Eve shook it, somewhat taken aback and somewhat relieved.
“Pleased to meet you,” Eve said, “I’m afraid the Deputy Directors didn’t tell me much about you, but it’s always refreshing to meet another woman in the field.”
“Tessa Thompson,” the agent re-introduced herself with a smile, “In another life, I was a professor of Criminology at Branting University.”
“What happened to that life?” Eve asked. The woman’s smile faded away.
“It ended,” she said simply, turning her eyes to the porthole window of the jet, which was now taxying to the runway. “And my life of chasing killers began.”
A moment of silence elapsed between the agents, each plunged in their own thoughts. Then, suddenly, Thompson seemed to snap back to the present moment. She shook herself like a dog coming out of the water.
“And speaking of, we’ve got quite a case unfolding in front of us,” Thompson said, tapping her nude-painted fingers on the tabletop, directing Eve’s attention to the case files spread across the table. “It was handed over to me this morning, so I’ve only just started digging into the details. So far, we’ve got two people dead in two weeks. That’s a lot for a little town like Callo, Vermont.”
“Hmm,” Eve mused, her eyes devouring the information laid out in front of her. She saw photos of two women, one Caucasian and the other Indian. Eve glanced at Thompson. “Other than the timeline, have you been able to draw any connections between the victims?”
“Both women,” Thompson said, “Both had families. Both lived in the same little white picket town.” She clicked her tongue wistfully. “Take a look for yourself.”
Eve picked up the first victim’s dossier. The woman’s name was Pamela Macey, age twenty-nine. Her corpse was identified by her employer, Hugo Watson. The occupation line of the file identified Macey as Watson’s Executive Assistant. She held a bachelor’s degree in communications from Penn State and…
Eve paused, her frown deepening as she read the intel again.
She was a new mother. Pamela Macey was survived by her ten-month old daughter, Tania Macey. The child’s father was not identified. The girl was an orphan.
Eve reached for the second dossier, her eyes scanning the lines quickly. Selma Vishni, age fifty, independent owner of a flourishing real estate firm with an office on Main Street. Eve could see the woman’s white-picket dream laid out in her career summary, the quaint homes and tidy profits. The happy families.
Selma’s corpse had been identified the day prior by her husband, Sankar Vishni. Like the other victim two weeks prior, Selma was the mother of one, although that seemed to be where the similarities stopped. While Macey’s child was hardly more than an infant, Selma’s son Arijit was seventeen.
Eve closed her eyes.
“He’s targeting families,” she said, half to herself, “Small, tightly knit family units. First, a single mother, now the mother of an only child. If I had to guess, I’d say that our killer has deeply ingrained issues with intimacy, probably dating back to some early childhood trauma.”
“That’s kind of a big jump to a very specific conclusion,” Thompson said. There was a note of pity in her voice that made Eve look up sharply. “Agent Hope, I know you’re going through a lot with your own family right now, but I hope that I can trust you not to let that influence your analysis of the case in front of us.”
“Of course,” Eve said acidly, “I'm drawing my reason only from the documents before me, Agent Thompson. The hypothesis is a critical part of the deductive process. I'm sure you taught that in the classroom. It doesn't change out here in the field.”
“Point taken,” Thompson said, “Still, the fact that the first victim, Macey, was a young single mother while the second, Vishni, represents an older traditional family unit leads me to believe that the killer is fixated on something else when choosing his victims.”
Eve narrowed her eyes, looking back and forth between the victims’ files.
“Both women were found in pools,” she pointed out after a moment, “Although not the same pool. Selma was found in a public swimming pool early this morning, while Macey’s body was discovered in her private swimming pool in the backyard of her home. The notes from the Medical Examiner say she drowned sometime between ten p.m. and twelve a.m.” She looked up across the table at Thompson, her eyebrows knitting. “It’s a little odd that a young single mother would own a house with a swimming pool, don’t you think?”
“Why’s that?” Thompson raised an eyebrow.
“Houses with pools are more expensive for one thing,” Eve said, “Macey was supporting a new baby and probably still paying off her student loans, all from an assistant’s salary. Add a mortgage and pool maintenance on top of that – there’s a piece missing from this puzzle. Besides, she would have to leave the baby alone every time she went swimming.”
“Maybe she wasn’t alone,” Thompson said. “That would mean the killer is somebody she knew and trusted enough to watch her baby while she went for a dip.”
“Possible,” Eve said, “Or maybe she was killed some other way, and her body was dropped in the pool in an attempt to throw us off the trail. Hopefully, the Medical Examiner will be able to tell us more details when we land. Without next of kin to handle Macey’s funeral arrangement, there’s a high likelihood that her body is still in the custody of the county coroner’s office.”
***
Eve pulled to a stop in front of a low, single-story, whitewashed building with the words Callo County Coroner painted in faded lettering across the front. The sun was high, cutting through a dense layer of overcast in the late-morning sky as the two agents emerged from the non-descript Ford Focus that had been waiting for them when they landed.
“I guess this is the place,” said Thompson, removing a pair of sunglasses from her face and stowing them in her blazer pocket as they crossed the pavement. “Could have fooled me. This rinky-dink establishment looks more like a defunct feedstore than a government building.”
Inside, they were greeted by a man in a white lab coat with no hair and hardly any eyebrows. He had tiny, twinkling blue eyes hidden deep in the folds of hooded sockets and a thin, skeletal face that looked as if it didn’t get much natural sunlight. He blinked at the agents rapidly through a thick pair of spectacles as they produced their badges.
“I’m Special Agent Hope, and this is my partner, Special Agent Thompson, FBI. We’re from the Serial Homicide Division, and we’re here because the FBI believes that the same person is responsible for the death of both the women who have come across your slab in the last few weeks.”
“Of course,” said the man, “I’m Spencer Brusse, coroner for the town and county of Callo. The Bureau alerted me that they would be sending two of their best agents to investigate this terrible tragedy. They didn’t mention you would be two of their best-looking agents as well. The pleasure, ladies, is mine, I assure you.”
They looked in stone-faced silence at the awkward little man, then at each other. The expression on both of their faces said the same thing: What’s wrong with coroners?
“Why don’t you show us to the bodies, Mr. Brusse,” said Eve, maintaining a neutral tone as she reminded the coroner of the case at hand.
“It’s Doctor, actually,” the coroner muttered, his feelings hurt as he turned and led the agents away, “Not that I get any of the respect the title deserves.”
“Tell me about it,” said Thompson from behind, rolling her eyes.
“We’re not used to murders in Callo, I have to say,” Brusse announced, pausing in front of a door to punch a password into a keypad before holding it open for the agents to enter. “It’s a quiet town, although it’s getting less so by the day.”
“What do you mean by that?” Eve asked, turning to look at the coroner as he followed them into the chilled autopsy room, shutting the heavy door behind him.
“This town is on the boom,” he replied, crossing the room with swift, purposeful steps towards the wall of cold slabs. “Ever since that delivery conglomerate set up their new national dispatch center on the outskirts of town, it’s been nothing but development and gentrification.”
“How do the citizens of Callo feel about that?” Eve asked.
“It’s a mixed bag,” the coroner shrugged, “Some of the townsfolk – mostly the younger crowd – think that it’s the way of the future like that Callo is going to grow up into a middle-sized city. Then again, the other half lived here because they didn't want to live in a major city. To them, large-scale commercial development moving in is a harbinger of trouble.”
Brusse seized the handle of the first slab and pulled it out of the wall. The corpse that came out with it was uncovered – the toe tag read “Pamela Macey.” He looked up as casually as if he’d pulled a book off the shelf.
