Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1) (7 page)

With her tablet perched in her lap, Cameron sat in the living room window seat to study Jane Doe’s case file on the Pennsylvania State Police’s secure online database. Irving was stretched out across a sunray beaming through the window.

Since the victim in Nick Gates’ case was an unidentified Jane Doe, Cameron had to first obtain the case file number from her lieutenant at the homicide division of the Pennsylvania State Police. Only then could she use her remote login to find the case details online. As she had suspected, since Nick’s death, no one had made any further attempt to identify Jane Doe or find out how she had ended up on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

The only picture of the young woman in the case file was a head shot of her body in the morgue. Through the bluish cast to her face, Cameron could see that she had high cheekbones and a delicate straight nose. Her long, curly, ash-blonde hair fell past her shoulders. She had a slender build. In life, she would have been an attractive, even pretty, woman.

Cameron moved on to the medical examiner’s report on cause of death. It listed multiple broken bones—including a broken back. Her lungs had been punctured by broken ribs, and she had a ruptured spleen. The cause of death was massive internal bleeding. In the medical examiner’s notes, he said her injuries were not consistent with being hit by a car but, rather, he speculated she had jumped or been thrown from a vehicle moving at a high rate of speed. Bruising around her wrists and ankles, indicating that she had been bound, caused Nick to conclude that she had been kidnapped and jumped from her abductor’s vehicle on the turnpike in an effort to escape.

But no one came forward to claim her—even after Nick went on national television to plea for information.

Cameron continued reading through the medical examiner’s notes. To her surprise, she found that he noted that Jane Doe had an extended uterus, indicating that she had recently given birth, within two weeks of her death.

That’s right.
Cameron recalled Nick mentioning that.
She was someone’s mother. Where is her baby?
The thought of someone kidnapping Jane Doe to steal her baby crossed Cameron’s mind.
Could the baby be the “she” that Jane Doe was talking about when she died in Nick’s arms? Had to be. But then, she claimed “she’s safe.” Maybe she wasn’t stolen after all, but the kidnapper wanted to steal her.

Shaking her head in a vain attempt to sort the possibilities, Cameron returned to the case file. She needed to find out where Nick had left off in the investigation before his death. They had checked for her fingerprints in AFIS, the national police fingerprint database, but found no match. The police had released her picture to the media throughout the Ohio Valley, but no one came forward to identify her.

Cameron recalled how nervous her late husband had been when a national crime-stopper show had interviewed him to profile the case. It was his first and only introduction to the media. While they received some tips, none panned out.

Then Nick was killed and the case went cold.

Keeping in mind that thirteen years had passed since Jane Doe’s tragic death, Cameron checked the medical examiner’s report to see if they had kept samples of her DNA. Over a decade earlier, the national DNA database index system was still in its infancy.

Cameron picked up her cell phone to call her supervisor when she saw Joshua leaning in the doorway, with one ankle crossed over the other. He had his arms folded across his chest.

“How’s it going, handsome?” she asked.

“How’s it going with you? Find anything new about Jane Doe?” He sat down across from her. While the window seat was spacious, it was a cozy fit. He placed her feet in his lap and massaged them.

Displaced, Irving launched himself out of the window seat. After hitting the floor, he shook himself, and smoothed his fur. Shooting a glare with his emerald eyes in Joshua’s direction, he sauntered out of the room.

“Jane Doe had a baby less than two weeks before she died,” Cameron told him. “
That
was what really got to Nick. He didn’t want some kid growing up thinking that his mother had taken off and abandoned him … or her.”

“Any sign of sexual assault around the time of death?” Joshua asked her.

“None,” she replied. “The medical examiner took samples of her DNA, but I see no record of it being put in the national DNA index. Possibly, if she had been abducted or reported missing from someplace where they did put samples of her DNA in that database, we could get a hit now.”

“If,” Joshua pointed out.

“It’s worth a shot.” She pressed the button to turn on her phone.

“We still don’t know if the hit made on Nick has to do with this Jane Doe,” Joshua reminded her.

“I know that, hon,” she replied. “But it’s the only lead we have until I get to talk to Sal Bertonelli.”

“You do realize that it is unlikely that the FBI will allow you anywhere near Sal Bertonelli,” Joshua said. “He’s a very important witness against some of the top people in organized crime, who have already put out contracts on him. The feds aren’t going to risk their case to—”

“Find out why they wanted to kill a lowly state trooper,” she finished with a healthy dose of bitterness in her tone.

“Nicolas Gates’ murder case is important,” he said.

“But not as important as the big wheels in organized crime.”

“Cam,” Joshua said in a gentle tone, “I understand completely how you feel, but as a prosecutor—”

“Lawyer.”

In spite of the derogatory tone in her snap, he chuckled, “Lawyer. When it comes to justice, sometimes, we have to choose our battles. Maybe this hit against Nick will be what the feds need to bring down the mob or the drug cartels. It’s been known to happen. But, when you consider the evil that these people deal in, the multitudes of lives that they have ruined—drugs, prostitution, dealing in illegal arms—”

Cameron practically jumped to her feet. She reacted so quickly, that the heel of one of her feet hit Joshua in the groin. After uttering a gasp, he asked, “What did I say?”

“Prostitution,” she said. “The ME puts Jane Doe’s age at late teens to early twenties. She was pretty and had ligatures on her wrists and ankles.”

“Possibly, she was abducted to be forced into prostitution,” Joshua said.

“Got pregnant—”

“If she got pregnant they would have forced an abortion on her and then put her back to work,” Joshua said.

“She was white,” Cameron said. “White babies bring in a lot of money. They could have decided to let her have the baby, sold it on the black market, and then put her back to work. By that point, she probably thought jumping out of a speeding car would be better than going back to work.”

Joshua sighed. “We have a lot of theories but nothing concrete.”

“That’s why I need to talk to Sal Bertonelli.”

“I made some phone calls,” he said. “I tried to call in a few markers that some friends in the FBI owe me.”

A wide grin filled her face. “And …”

“I’m not promising you anything,” he said. “I just want you to understand that if I can’t get you in to see him, it’s not because the government doesn’t value the life of a patrolman over bringing down major hitters in organized crime or drug dealers. It’s just that Sal Bertonelli is such a valuable asset in achieving an indictment against these so-called people that they don’t want to risk it.”

“I do understand,” she said. “And it is because bringing down these guys has such a high priority that Nick’s murder can become so low on their list that they can completely forget about it.” She tapped her keyboard. “The only way we are going to find out who ordered Nick to be killed is if we investigate it ourselves.”

Joshua opened his mouth to respond only to be cut off by the chimes of her cell phone. After checking the caller ID, she grinned. “Washington, D.C. Maybe they got an answer.”

“Be nice,” he ordered.

“I’m always nice.”

“Until you hear the word ‘no.’”

With hope in her voice, Cameron brought the phone to her ear. “Hello …”

“It seems your husband has some juice,” Special Agent Peter Sanders of the FBI replied to her greeting.

Sitting up, Cameron grabbed Joshua’s hand and shot him a smile. “What kind of juice?” Her voice oozed with innocence.

“You’re getting in to see Sal Bertonelli,” the federal agent said. “It will be only one meeting in Washington, D.C. Ten minutes—not one minute more. The U.S. Marshal’s office will set up the meeting. You’re going to have to understand, in order for this to go down, to keep our witness safe, we can’t prearrange the time and place. All I can tell you is to be in Washington, D.C., by the day after tomorrow and be ready to meet with Bertonelli when we call.”

“I’ll be there.”

After disconnecting the call, Cameron threw her arms around Joshua with a squeal, holding him tight while kissing him fully on the lips. “You did it! Your markers came in. We’re going to get to question Bertonelli.” She gazed into his eyes. “You really do understand what this means to me.”

Joshua brushed his thumb across her cheek. “It’s important to you. That makes it important to me.” He sighed. “I wish I could go with you.”

Her smile faded. “I want you to go.”

“I can’t,” Joshua said. “The judge on the Franklin case won’t give us any more continuances. I have to be in court and ready to go. If not, he’ll declare a mistrial and I can’t risk that.”

Tears of anger seeped into her eyes. “Once again, Nick’s murder—”

“Don’t even go there, Cam.” He cupped her chin in his hand and held her gaze. “I called in a lot of favors to get you face time with Bertonelli. Even if I can’t be there in person, I’m keeping my promise. You aren’t going to do this alone.”

“Josh, I am a trained homicide detective—”

“I’m not going to let you go charging into Washington like a female wrecking ball.” Joshua stood up. “You’ll not only ruin any chance of getting justice for Nick, but you’ll also blow the feds case against the cartels and Russians out of the water. There’s too much at stake on both sides. So I’m sending in someone skilled in the art of diplomacy to accompany you.”

With her glaring at his back, he left the room to make another phone call.

Chapter Seven

Hearing the impact of a vase hitting the other side of the wall in Murphy’s office and shattering to the floor, Special Agents Perry Latimore, Susan Archer, and Deputy Chief Boris Hamilton exchanged smirks. They heard Hillary’s voice uttering a curse directed either at Murphy or his commanding officer.

“You’d think the Pentagon would have thicker walls,” Perry said.

Bringing up the information that he had collected on his tablet and connecting it to the smart white board filling the side wall of his office, Murphy showed no indication that he heard the crash coming from Hillary Koch’s office. “She just got off the phone with my CO,” Murphy said while keeping his eyes on the tablet. “Today’s a quiet day.” He rose up from behind his desk. “You should have heard her the day she found out one of her boyfriends was going back to his wife.” He lowered the light for them to see the information from his tablet on the screen.

Images of five victims with their names and ages listed below them filled the computer screen. With a laser pointer, Murphy ticked off the names and basic information on each one. “Donna Crenshaw was a petty officer at the Navy Yard. She worked in supply. She was single, thirty-four years old—leaves behind a thirteen year old daughter.”

“Divorced?” Agent Susan asked.

“Never married according to her personnel record,” Murphy said. “We’ll want to look into if the father was involved in the child’s life to eliminate the motive being a custody issue.”

“Where’s the daughter now?” Susan asked.

“She should be at the police department,” Murphy said. “I’m going to go question her after we’re done here.”

“I’ll go with you,” Susan said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Murphy said. “I can handle it.”

“Protocol calls for female witnesses, especially minors, to have a female agent be present at all times during questioning,” Deputy Chief Boris Hamilton said. “That means Archer has to go.”

“Then I guess you’re going with me, Archer,” Murphy said.

“Are any of the other four victims connected with the navy?” Boris asked with a stern expression on his weathered face. “Their husbands …”

“Crenshaw’s the only one,” Murphy said.

Rising from his seat, the deputy chief scanned the images of the women and their ages.

Donna Crenshaw was thirty-four years old. Estimated time of death was seven-thirty to eight-thirty. Shot five times.

A widow, Francine Baxter, the homeowner, was fifty-seven years old. Killed between five-thirty and six-thirty. Shot twice. Once in the back. Second to the head.

Seemingly poisoned, Colleen Davis, age twenty-eight years old. Unmarried, she was an elementary school teacher and was an authorized Cozy Cook dealer. Thirty-two year old Maureen Clark was a housewife with one young son. Her husband, Colonel Lincoln Clark, was in charge of the Third Infantry Division when they invaded Iraq.

“An army colonel?” Perry asked.

“Colonel Clark is twenty-years older than his wife,” Murphy confirmed. “They’ve been married for nine years.”

The fifth victim was forty year old Hannah Price, an engineer. She and her husband, also an engineer, had been married for close to twenty years and had two teenaged children.

“Age-wise and profession, they’re all over the map,” the deputy chief said.

Perry started to say, “If the petty officer was just collateral damage—in the wrong place at the wrong time—”

“The killer spent at least two hours in the house waiting for Crenshaw and then shot her five times,” Murphy said. “Plus, she had texted the host that she was running late. The killer replied that they were waiting for her—”

“How do you know it was the killer who replied?” Perry asked.

“Do you use shorthand when you text or do you spell out every word?” Murphy brought up a screen shot of Donna Crenshaw’s cell phone with the text stream displayed:

Mtg set 4 7pm tomorrow. Pls come. Important. We need U if we R 2 stop him.

Running late. Accident has Route 7 @ standstill. B there ASAP. Count me in.

No problem. We’re waiting for you. Front door is open. Just let yourself in.

Using the laser pointer to run under the first text word for word, Murphy explained, “The first text came from the host of the party, Francine Baxter, on the day before the meeting. Notice that she uses text shorthand. Meeting is shortened to m-t-g. Instead of spelling out ‘for’ she uses the number four. Please is abbreviated. The next text was from Crenshaw to Baxter after seven o’clock. The medical examiner says Baxter died between five-thirty and six-thirty.”

“So Baxter was already dead when Crenshaw texted that she was going to be late,” Boris said with a nod of his head.

“And the killer replied,” Murphy said, “telling her to come right on in—they were waiting … to kill her. If Crenshaw wasn’t the target, why did the killer reply for her to come in, and then wait to put five bullets into her to make sure she was dead?”

“The killer wanted Crenshaw dead,” Boris said. “She was the target.”

Susan said in a breathy voice, “And he killed four other women to get to her? You’d think there would have been an easier way—less bloodshed.”

“I’m suspecting he wanted all of them dead,” Murphy said. “Did you read the text that Baxter had sent to Crenshaw? Clark and Price both told their husbands that they were going to a Cozy Cook Party. That was a cover story. Baxter texted Crenshaw that it was a meeting to plan to stop someone.”

“They were all targets,” Boris said.

“But they needed Crenshaw in order to stop him, whoever he is,” Murphy said. “The answer lies with her and since she’s navy, that makes it our case.”

“Our prime suspect is going to be this ‘he’ they were planning to stop,” Boris said. “I’ll go talk to Crenshaw’s boss at the Navy Yard.” He turned to Special Agent Perry Latimore, who was already on his feet.

“I’ll go search Crenshaw’s house and take a look at her computer,” the agent said.

Feeling his cell phone vibrate on his hip, Murphy checked the caller ID, which read “Dad.” “I need to take this,” he said.

Having a number of investigations under their belts, the team was already coordinating the investigation without him.

“I’m going with Lieutenant Thornton to talk to the victim’s daughter,” Susan said. “If we’re lucky, the daughter may have something useful for us.”

“We need to schedule interviews with the families of all of the victims,” Boris was saying when Murphy stepped out into the hallway and made his way to the break room. “Latimore and I will divvy those up.”

Murphy brought the cell phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“How’re things going?” Joshua asked in a forced upbeat tone.

Murphy turned into the doorway of the break room to find Hillary Koch attacking a bag of potato chips that refused to be opened. Uttering a loud obscenity, she tore it open with a vengeance to send chips flying in every direction and raining down to the floor.

“Great.” Murphy spun on his heels to head halfway down the corridor to his office and leaned up against the wall. “What’s going on there?”

“Cameron is coming out to Washington tomorrow,” Joshua said. “The feds uncovered evidence that Nick, her late husband, was a contracted hit. They’ve agreed to let her question the killer. I can’t come with her because I’ve got this case and—”

“She can stay with us,” Murphy interjected with a grin. “No problem. She’ll be our first official house guest. And I’ll go with her when she goes to question this slime bucket. Don’t worry, Dad, we’ll take care of Cameron.”

“Call Jessica and—”

“Jessica won’t mind,” Murphy said. “She loves Cameron.”

“Murphy,” Joshua replied, “do you have a comfortable bed in your guest room?”

“Why? Does Cameron have a bad back?”

“No,” Joshua said with a laugh, “I meant for you.”

“What do you mean?” Murphy turned away when he saw Hillary come out of the break room. When her eyes met his, they narrowed into falsely lashed slits. Clutching a big bowl filled with potato chips to her chest, she rushed passed him.

“You haven’t been married for very long,” Joshua said, “and clearly you have a lot to learn.”

“Dad, I grew up in a house filled with brothers and sisters. I got along fine with Tracy and Sarah … most of the time.”

“Sisters are different from wives,” Joshua said. “Jessica is your
wife
. She is your
partner
in life. She is not above you, but you aren’t above her either. That house is your home—both of yours. Rule number one for a happy marriage, don’t invite people to come stay with you—especially your in-laws—without first checking with your spouse. Cameron is Jessica’s mother-in-law. I love Cameron with all my heart, but I’ll be the first to admit—she is not the easiest person to live with.”

Joshua sighed. “I had to learn that lesson the hard way. Your mother and I were married only two months when I invited one of my navy buddies to some stay with us after his wife kicked him out. Your mother was pregnant with you and J.J., and having morning sickness, and we didn’t have a guest room in our one bedroom apartment. Let’s just say my next investment after that was in a very comfortable sofa.”

The mention of his mother’s pregnancy with him and his twin brother reminded Murphy of Jessica’s mention of a surprise. “That’s right. Mom got pregnant right away after you two were married.”

“Your mother was happiest when she was pregnant.” Joshua concluded his fatherly advice with an order. “Call Jessica and check to make sure it’s okay for Cameron to come stay with you and that you can get off to go meet this hit man with her, and
then
call me back.”

Click.