In His Thoughts, page 6
“How often does that happen?” Eve asked, laughing quietly as she pushed the gate the rest of the way open and stepping into the narrow alley of ivy.
“More often than I’m proud of,” Thompson admitted, following Eve closely and leaving the gate open behind her.
“Well, it certainly came in handy now,” Eve said, “Props to you. I’m terrible with delicate stuff like that. I’m more of a blunt instrument, to be totally honest with you.”
Eve pulled her pistol out but only to switch on the tac light, which served in place of a flashlight. She left the safety on. The high-powered beam sprang to life, shining a brilliant blue-white circle on the ground in front of her feet.
Ahead, the white door was once again shut. Eve pointed the beam of her light at the metal, reading the faded sign. She knew what she would find before she even laid a hand on the knob.
Locked.
“Thompson,” Eve whispered, getting out of the way, “You’re up.”
“Somebody came through and locked up after the whole incident went down,” Thompson said as she went to work with her pocket lockpick set on the knob of the white door.
“Right,” Eve agreed, holding the pistol in the proper position to light the lock but keeping her eyes trained on the leafy alley. She wasn’t about to let them be ambushed in this narrow column. “The deputy out front didn’t seem to know anything about it, so I’d say it wasn’t the local authorities that came through and locked up.”
“That means it was somebody else,” Thompson said, her tongue jammed into the corner of her mouth with concentration as she worked on her lock.
"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," Eve joked dryly. Thompson tried to shoot her a dirty look, but all she got was a pistol light in her face.
“Somebody smooth enough to get in and out without attracting the attention of the deputies guarding the entrances,” Thompson went on.
“That doesn’t seem like it’d be too much of an obstacle,” Eve replied with a shake of her head. “How’s it going with that lock?”
“Almost got it,” Thompson replied, and indeed, hardly a second later, Eve heard the lock give way with a spring. Thompson pushed the door open, allowing Eve to shine her beam into the waiting darkness.
The room appeared empty at first, but Eve wasn’t taking any chances. She found the light switch and flicked it on, waiting for the fluorescent tubes to flood the room with pale illumination before moving to clear the room.
“All clear,” she called out, coming around the shelf to find Thompson with her gun out. Eve tucked her own pistol away.
“Whoever locked this place up might have taken whatever it was Cartwright was after if they knew about it,” Eve said, eyeing Thompson’s Glock warily. “Why don’t you put that peashooter away for now.”
"Right," Thompson said with an embarrassed chuckle, quickly switching the safety on and tucking the pistol away. “Sorry again about that. How’s the arm feeling.”
“I’ve been worse,” Eve said truthfully, “You only grazed me. The burn from the point-blank shot is worse than the wound itself."
“It won’t happen again, I promise,” Thompson said.
“Thanks,” Eve said, squaring her shoulders with a deep breath and looking around the shed, eager to drop the subject and return to the search for clues. “So, what do you think he was hiding, and do you think somebody else already got to it?”
“Nothing to do but turn this place inside out,” Thompson replied, "if he kept the shed as clean as his truck, though, I'm afraid we might come up empty-handed again."
“We’ll just see about that,” Eve muttered, picking a shelf and beginning her search. The first one she tried was filled with crates of toilet tissue. Eve opened every single box and peered down the tube of each roll. The toilet paper was innocent. She moved to the next shelf. This one contained similar boxes of paper towels. Eve repeated her process, her thoroughness unflagging.
The agents, working on opposite sides of the room, passed about fifteen minutes in total silence, laboriously going through the contents of the maintenance shed. Eve’s frustration was mounting in the back of her mind, but she didn’t allow it to penetrate far enough to disrupt her concentration. She’d almost made her way through all the rolls of toilet paper and towels. The next shelf contained sealed plastic tubs. She’d have to pull the long tab and break the seal on each one.
Before she could start, however, Eve felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. The sound it made was sure to be audible throughout the whole shed, but Thompson didn’t say anything. Eve heard a shuffling sound as her partner continued rooting through the shelves.
For some reason that Eve herself couldn’t quite fathom, she found that she was holding her breath, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She knew from the vibration pattern that she was receiving a call on her personal line, not her work phone.
Eve slipped the phone out of her pocket, giving the screen a sidelong glance as she silenced the incessant vibrations. She recognized the number displayed on the caller ID, and it made her do a double-take.
The number was that of her former partner, Lucas Hobbes.
Why are you calling me on my personal line? Eve wondered silently, staring at the phone in her hand as if it were an active bomb. And why are you calling me now, at nearly one o’clock in the morning?
The answer sprang into her mind with an anxious certainty that made her head sink heavily in her chest.
It’s about my father.
Eve’s mind reeled with possibilities. Had he been caught? Or did Hobbes just need help on the case? Was he looking for secret guidance? Or probing to find out if Eve’s father had made contact with her?
Maybe he was calling because her father had been killed.
Maybe it was all over.
At that moment, Thompson appeared around the corner of the center shelving island. She peered at Eve, then at the phone.
“Well?” she asked with an innocent smile in the corners of her lips, looking down at the phone and then back up at Eve. “Are you going to get that?”
CHAPTER NINE
Eve declined the call and shoved it down in her pocket, grateful that she had not saved her partner's contact into her personal phone so that only his number was displayed on her phone screen. She didn't like the way Thompson was looking at her, as if waiting to catch her in an elaborate scheme.
“Just a personal call,” Eve replied, “I’ll call back later.”
“Pretty late for a phone call,” Thompson commented. Eve scowled, turning her head away and pointedly refocusing herself on the search.
“Maybe I take my calls later than you, Professor,” Eve replied. She tried to give her words a light, raunchy spin, but she couldn’t remove the barb of sarcasm from her voice. Thompson raised her eyebrows.
“Alright, sorry,” she said, “How’s the search going? Turned up anything suspicious so far?”
“Just a lot of paper toiletries,” Eve replied with an exhausted sigh, “I’m beginning to wonder if we’re wasting our time here."
“What would you suggest instead?”
“We could check out the other crime scene, see if there’s anything around the first victim’s place that ties Cartwright to the second murder. If we find evidence that he was around Macey’s pool, then he’s our guy. If not, we’ve still got him on attempted murder.”
Thompson didn’t answer right away. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully for a long time, shaking her head slowly.
“I just can’t shake the idea that there’s something right under our noses. Somebody already tried to kill me in order to prevent me from finding it, so it must be important. I’m not ready to walk away quite yet.”
“Alright,” Eve nodded, “So we keep searching.”
“You know, if you need to step outside and take that phone call, I can keep up the search here for a few minutes on my own.” Thompson offered. Eve eyed her suspiciously. “You know, if it’s urgent.”
"Thanks," Eve said, straightening up, "I think I will since you mentioned it. Are you sure you'll be alright here by yourself? I won't be longer than five minutes, I promise."
“Don’t worry about me,” Thompson said, patting her gun under her blazer with a reassuring smile that Eve wished she could be reassured by. “I’ll be alright. Don’t go too far, though. It’s not a good idea for us to get separated at a time like this.”
“Right,” Eve said, “I’ll be on the patio, just down this little ivy access alley.”
Eve pulled her phone back out of her pocket as she hurried down the dark alley of ivy vines. The gate was still hanging open when she stepped back out onto the patio. She stood under the shadow of the palms, her face glowing blue by the light of her phone. She redialed the number and held it up to her ear.
“Hobbes?” she asked in a low voice as soon as the line was picked up, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” the voice of her partner, even over the phone, was comforting amidst the trying chaos. “Why should anything be wrong?”
“Well, you’re hunting my father, you’re not supposed to be in contact with me, and you’re calling me at zero-dark-thirty. What gives?”
“Oh, well,” she could sense the gangly agent’s halting awkwardness even without seeing his face, “no, nothing’s wrong. I know we’re not really supposed to be communicating, but I’m not calling to talk about your father’s case.”
“Oh,” Eve was slightly taken aback. “Why are you calling then?”
“I just wanted to check on you, I guess,” Hobbes said. “I know that Deputy Director Pliny thinks that the best thing for you is to keep busy on another case, but I can’t help being worried about you. Are you doing alright?”
Eve smiled in the darkness, glad that there was nobody around to see her blush. Hobbes was a sweet kid, unassuming and genuine – rare qualities to find in FBI agents. The concern that he was showing sounded real. She could imagine the doe-eyed look on his young face.
"Yeah, thanks," she said, still smiling, "I'm doing alright. I think Pliny's right, for what it's worth. Keeping busy with the case has stopped me from thinking about my dad too much."
“I heard you were shot,” Hobbes said, “Are you alright?”
"Yeah, Thompson shot me herself," Eve said with another laugh, "I guess she wanted to save the killer a little time and trouble. I'm doing alright, though; it was just a little graze and a burn."
“Jesus,” Hobbes swore, “Sounds like you’ve got plenty of troubles of your own.” He coughed uncomfortably, then asked, “So, how’s the new partner? You don’t think the replacement is going to become permanent, do you?”
"You mean aside from shooting me?" Eve asked, "She's not awful, just a little green to the fieldwork. Besides, she's really more of a spy than a partner. I know she’s going to report back to Quantico on every move I make during this case.”
“That would put a damper on the relationship,” Hobbes agreed.
"Par for the course as far as my partners go," Eve grumbled, briefly forgetting who she was talking to. She sucked in a regretful breath sharply through her teeth. "Sorry, I didn't mean you. As a matter of fact, you're the first partner I've had in a long time who didn't treat me like some kind of lethal freak because of who my father is. I…really appreciate it, actually. I’m not sure if I’ve ever communicated that to you.”
Silence hung on the line between them for a moment. Then, all at once, Eve was struck by the recollection of where she was and what she was doing. The case at hand wasn't going to wait.
"I'm glad you called me Hobbes," Eve started, "But I'm actually in the middle of an investigation right now, so I'd better…"
“Wait, before you go,” Hobbes said quickly, then halted.
Eve waited for an expectant second before asking, “What?”
Another silent heartbeat elapsed.
“Eve, I need your help,” Hobbes said at last, lowering his voice as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “I know we can’t have you officially on this investigation, but nobody else knows Howard Hope like you do.”
Eve bit her lip. She hadn’t expected this from Hobbes. Usually, the young agent was a rule follower right down to the letter. He wasn't one to cause dissension or take unnecessary risks.
So, Eve reasoned, he must really need my help.
Glancing over her shoulder, Eve ensured that Thompson was not lurking around the gate of the ivy alleyway. She turned back to her face and lowered her own voice to a scarcely audible whisper.
“Alright, but remember, this conversation is not happening,” she hissed back into the phone, hunching her shoulders subconsciously as if to hide her face from an unknown observer. “Tell me what you need.”
“Well, we do have a lead,” Hobbes whispered back, so softly that Eve had to strain her ears to make out his words over the phone, “We’ve got an eyewitness that claimed to have seen Howard Hope in Kansas City, Missouri.”
“Kansas City?” Eve asked, scrunching her eyebrows together.
“That’s right,” Hobbes said, “Somebody called in an anonymous tip. We’ve got our local people on it, and I’m flying in with Tanque first thing in the morning, but so far, we haven't been able to corroborate the eyewitness's story. As you know, eyewitnesses aren't very reliable evidence in court."
“Right,” Eve nodded, “Did they say what he was doing in Kansas City?”
“He was supposedly seen in disguise at a hardware store,” Hobbes replied.
“Hardware store?” Eve repeated the location back, “What was he doing there?”
“Shopping for a new screwdriver? How should I know?” said Hobbes with an exasperated shrug that Eve could hear in his tone. Eve winced, every muscle in her body tightening. Her father was famous for attacking young women and pinning swallowtail butterflies to their skin after stabbing them with tools – ice picks, knitting needles, screwdrivers, et cetera.
Hobbes recognized his faux pax an instant too late.
“Christ, Hope, I’m so sorry,” he stammered.
“Forget it,” Eve growled, “It sounds like you’ve got your investigation planned out. What do you need my help for?”
“Well, I know it’s kind of a shot in the dark, but I wanted to know if you thought Howard Hope would have any reason to go to Kansas City. Does KC have any kind of special significance to your father, or are we running down an anonymous tipline hoax?”
Eve tilted her head back to think. Could she remember her father ever visiting Kansas City? Eve recalled that she had an aunt and uncle on her mother’s side that lived in Kentucky, and she knew there was a cousin living somewhere in Louisiana whom she’d never met, but none of them had ever lived in Kansas City. For that matter, she didn’t think that any of them would shelter her fugitive father.
"I don't think…" Eve started, but just then, she heard a rustling in the ivy just beyond the mouth of the open gate. A moment later, she saw Thompson's head poking around the corner of the gate. How long had she been lurking there before the rustling of the leaves gave her away?
Thompson stepped out, gesturing excitedly for Eve to wrap it up and follow her.
“Sorry,” Eve whispered hurriedly into the phone without using her partner’s name, “I’ve got to go. Best of luck!”
She hung up, quickly stowing the phone away. She strode rapidly across the patio to where Thompson waited.
“Got your phone call squared away?” Thompson asked, brimming with excitement. Eve gave her a sideways glance as she walked up. The Doctor of Criminology was almost bouncing on her toes in her eagerness.
"Sure, it's all sewed up," Eve said, brushing the comment off with what she hoped was a casual smile. She didn't like the idea that Thompson might have been eavesdropping on her conversation with Hobbes.
“Alright, good,” Thompson said, bubbling with anticipation and showing no sign that she knew the contents of Eve’s phone call, “Follow me, then. I found something, and I think you’re going to want to see it.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Oh my god,” Eve’s mouth hung open.
“Right?” Thompson bubbled by her side, “Did I hit the jackpot or what?”
The agents were looking at a pile of orange plastic pillcases that had been dumped out on the floor of the maintenance supply shed. Beside the pill cases sat an opened five-gallon drum with "acetone" printed across the side.
“That’s not acetone,” Eve said, grinning at Thompson and clapping her on the shoulder, “You hit the jackpot alright. Did you check out the labels already?”
“Sure did,” Thompson replied, kneeling down to sift quickly through the pill bottles on the floor. “Take a look.” She pulled one bottle out of the pile and held it up.
Eve accepted the pill bottle, holding it up so that she could study the label under the light of the fluorescent overheads. She read the name on the Rx label aloud.
"Selma Vishni," she said, then turned her eyes on Thompson, who was still squatting by the pile of pillcases. "That's our second victim."
“Right,” Thompson said, picking up another bottle from the pile. “This one is hers too. They all are.”
“All of them?” Eve was astounding, staring with horror at the pile of pharmaceutical pill cases. If the victim was a drug addict, that would change the variables in this scenario dramatically. Was it possible this murder was a drug deal gone wrong, entirely unrelated to the murder of Pamela Macey?
“That’s right,” Thompson replied, “The only difference is they’re not all filled. In fact, I’d estimate that only about ten percent of the pill bottles in this drum were actually filled and capped. The others were all stacked together, separated from the lids. They fell all over the place like that when I dumped the drum out.”
“What does it mean?” Eve wondered aloud, “Do you think she was buying her drugs here? Or was she using the maintenance shed to hide her stash? Maybe she had something worked out with the custodial staff.”
