Authors: Stephanie Whitlock
“You just said accused, he wasn’t convicted? How is the case considered closed?” She turned and began adding Patricia’s information to the wall. She was one of them, regardless of what the file said.
“Apparently he committed suicide before the trial. He left a note where he confessed to her murder. There were details in it that only the killer would know, so that was that.” Elizabeth could tell from his tone that he was speaking from memory, not the information in the file.
“Is there anything else? 2007 was just a few years ago, maybe we can talk to the detective? See if he remembers anything else?” Despite the fact that her back was too him, she could feel him tense. Turning slowly, she found a blanched look on his smooth, angular face that stilled her blood. “What?”
“We
could
talk to the investigating detective, but I’m not sure he will want to talk to us...” The tension in his voice, the thinning of his mouth, the panic in his eyes made the answer crystal clear.
“Oh, no. Moreano?” All he could do was nod.
Great
. An hour ago she suspected him of being the murderer, and now she needed his help to catch him.
Elizabeth stood nervously shifting her feet outside Moreano’s office door. How was she going to face him? Deciding to mimic her tone from earlier and pray he was still in a forgiving mood, at least when it came to her, she turned quickly and knocked on the door. Though the small window, she saw his eyes flick up to her. A sudden, fleeting, and disturbingly pleased, smile flashed across his face before it turned once again to stone. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
“Sir, we were doing some research and we came across a case you worked back in Carthage. I was wondering if you could fill me in on some inconsistencies.” Seeing his face turn sour, she added a little more detail to her question. “It’s the Patricia Alexander case. You were the lead detective and, well, it says you caught the guy, but it’s a perfect match to our cases. How is that possible?” She almost fled the room. The more information she revealed she knew the darker the rage became in his round face. His black eyes began to glint wildly as his hands tensed into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. Fear coursed through her veins.
“What kind of research are you and Barrow doing that you even found that case? It’s closed, end of story. That maniac even confessed in a suicide note!” He was screaming at her, literally screaming. She had thought the yelling from earlier was as loud as he got, but she had been horribly mistaken. Her ears threatened to bleed as she shrunk away, backing toward the door and the safety of the hallway.
“I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to imply that you made a mistake, it’s just, well, there was that sixth sample found in my apartment and we had the lab run it through C.O.D.I.S. last night. Several cold cases got a hit, one of them was that murder six years back in up state New York. Since you worked the case we were hoping you could tell us a little more than the file.” Her drawl, something she hid strenuously from everyone but Matt coated her words. It was no use, she was simply to shaken to concentrate on something so simple. Her hand clasped the door knob behind her back, ready to wrench it open and flee if he started to move toward her. While she was now convinced that he was not the killer, he was still a dangerous man with a fascination for her that bordered on obsession.
As if he could see the panic in her, feel the danger building in himself, he seemed to calm slightly, though his face remained the color of blood. “Ah, I see. Well, I can assure you that the case I
solved
in Carthage is not related to our serial. I also think that perhaps relying on cold case D.N.A. to solve a recent murder is reaching, wouldn’t you agree? Now, if you don’t mind, Cord, I’m very busy.” As if what he said would answer all of her questions and put her mind at ease, he waved his hand at her in dismissal. Gripping the knob tighter, she took a deep breath and asked one final question. She knew he very likely would shout again, perhaps even lash out at her, but she had to know.
“Sir, one last thing.” His eyes flicked up at her. Warning and rage glowing in their coal depths. “Was his suicide note handwritten or typed?” He blinked at the question, his expression shifting to confusion.
“Typed, I think. Why?” He stared through her with questioning eyes. She couldn’t stand the way it made her feel. Wrenching the door open behind her, she moved slightly toward the opening.
“Just curious. Sorry to have disturbed you, Captain.” Smiling weakly, she nodded and ducked down the hall, pulling the door closed behind her. On Light feet, she rushed back down the hallway to the safety of the bullpen, terrified he might follow her. As she came around the corner, every face turned to greet her. Some bore stunned looks while others showed more than a little concern and sympathy. Matt’s face was full of fear. It became suddenly clear to her that his screaming rant had echoed through the whole of homicide, allowing all of her colleagues to share in her moment of insult. Blushing slightly, she ducked her head and steered for their small corner, focusing solely on the terrified look on Matt’s familiar face.
“Are you okay?” He could barely whisper the words as she slid into her chair, cupping her face in her hands. He had heard the screaming, feeling every deafening syllable rip through him and fearing for her safety. “Liz?” He wanted to reach out to her, pull her into his chest and kiss the top of her head, the way he had comforted her after her nightmare. After all, that experience was probably as terrifying as this one. Perhaps this had been even worse, it was real. Chancing a little contact, he reached across and touched her wrist lightly with his fingertips. As he traced the curve of her pulse point, she raised her head a bit, but it wasn’t fear on her face, it was frustration.
“Matt, I can’t help it. I am sure he’s the guy. He just lost his mind. Not because he might have been wrong six years ago, but because we found that case at all. He pretty much told me to drop the cold cases completely. Then he insisted,
insisted
, that the sex offender guy was the murderer, despite the obvious connection. All I really got out of him was that the suicide note was typed, which means it could have been written by someone else.”
“Like the real killer.” Matt could see it now. The real killer jumping at the chance to get free of the guilt. The public had already singled out the guy, all he had to do was take away the doubt and any chance for the accused to defend himself. Staging a suicide probably seemed obvious and convenient. “Okay, so our guy framed a pedophile for his last murder so he could get away, but that doesn’t mean it was Moreano.” She looked at him pleadingly and for one brief moment he wanted to believe her, if for no other reason that to be on her side, but he knew it wasn’t true. “I think maybe you just caught him off guard. That case basically created his career. It meant a transfer and a promotion to here, and now he’s like the third highest ranked cop in this building. Wouldn’t you be defensive if someone suggested that your biggest case might have been bungled?” She seemed to hear his words, understand them, then ultimately accept them. He watched as she nodded slowly, coming to terms once again with the sad truth that Moreano couldn’t be their guy.
“Well, that was a dry hole I guess. Do you want to switch gears and look into why he had to flee Florida?” Her voice was weak. This day had seen so much stress piled atop their shoulders, and it was supposed to be their day off. For one moment he wished she hadn’t notice the calendar. That he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom when he had left to go feed Bucky. If he had perhaps they would still be there, snuggled together in his bed, warm and tangled, and happy.
It would only have delayed this moment
. The though pinched his nose. Moreano would have still yelled at them on Sunday. They wouldn’t have known that the next murder was going to happen on Thursday. Mark and Aggie wouldn’t be flying away to France, and safety, and they would still be sifting through the tragic files lingering on his desk. He only wished the files were more complete, had more detail.
“If only we could talk to all the detectives. Maybe we could pool all the information together, find more similarities.” Reaching for Angelica’s file, he opened it and searched it once again. Finding what he was after, he turned in his chair and rose up in front of the board. Below her information, he added a name, Namoore.
“Who is that?” Elizabeth had watched him lazily, still reeling from her ordeal.
“The detective. 1979 was thirty some odd years ago, so he’s probably dead or something, but we can at least call Anaheim and see if we can reach him.” Returning that file, he lifted the next, thumbing through the pages to find the information he sought. Under Danielle’s column he wrote the name Amnoore. Skipping the third file, he wrote Pannel under Elizabeth’s details and Moreano under Patricia’s. Taking a step back to look at the board again, he was surprised to find Elizabeth beside him, extending her hand at him for the marker. He looked at her questioningly as he gave her the expo, and took another step back. She had apparently followed his lead and looked up the New Mexico detective’s name in the articles. Adding Oromane to Phoenix’s data, she turned to face him.
“Do you see what I see?” He blinked at the names. The chances of what he saw were astronomical. Two names, maybe, but four names, all connected to the same serial with the same letters?
“It’s like some sick game of boggle. Every one but yours. I would call it a coincidence, but I’d be lying.” He flipped his coat away from his hips as he sank his hands into his pockets. This case just got weirder, if that was possible. Elizabeth’s face went wide as she hurriedly rounded the corner of her desk and bent over the keyboard, apparently too excited to sit down.
“Pannel said something in his e-mail that bothered me....here. He says that he wasn’t supposed to be the detective on my case, it wasn’t his turn. Maybe my detective was supposed to fit that pattern too, but something happened, screwed it up.” Matt watched as she immediately reached for her cell phone and began to dial. He knew she was calling Pannel again. Turning to face her, he removed his hands from his pockets and pressed his knuckles firmly down into his desk, eagerly poised to listen to the conversation she was about to have.
“Captain Pannel, it’s Detective Elizabeth Cord again. … Yes, sir, the file came through just fine, thank you. I was actually calling because of something you wrote in your e-mail, not in the case file. … Yes, actually, what did you mean you weren’t supposed to be the detective? What happened? Who was?” Matt watched as her face changed several times, from confusion to curiosity, to elation. As excited as she seemed to be at the information she was receiving, he could not share her enthusiasm. She was giving him nothing to be excited about. After a few more awkward moments of infuriating silence, she spoke again. “Thank you so much Captain. That information is very valuable, I assure you. … Count on it. The second we know something you will be my first call, I promise. ...You too.” She hung up the phone beaming from one ear to the other. “Roemano, the detective that should have landed my case was named Roemano, R-o-
e
-m-a-n-o.” Before Matt could turn and add the tantalizing detail to the board however, she spoke again. “What’s more, I know why he couldn’t work my case. He was fired the day before. Apparently he was pretty new to the department and when they ran his references he had lied about them. They sacked him and were getting ready to arrest him, but he fled town.” Matt was astounded. Turning back to the board he added the name and then leaned against his desk. Elizabeth’s slender body slid in next him, dangerously close to his side, as they stood staring at the breakthrough before them.
“I know our guy is meticulous, but really? He went searching for the perfect girls, with the perfect talents, with detectives on deck that fit his spelling requirements? That’s just a little much, even for him.” Matt was truly intimidated. If it were true, this was by far the most cunning, patient killer he had ever encountered, even heard about.
“Maybe not. I know you keep telling me to drop it, but I can’t. I just can’t, Matt. What if he didn’t look for detectives that fit his needs, but became the detective he needed. What if
he
was the detective in each case. All but mine, because he got caught in his lies. That would explain why my attack was rushed, sloppy. He was going to be arrested soon and he needed to get away, but he couldn’t leave without me. He had already waited nine years to find me.” He looked down at her up turned face. The urgency there was intense. She desperately needed him to believe her. If it wasn’t for what he knew to be true, her argument would be sound, logical, but it just couldn’t be.
“Elizabeth, we’ve been over this, it can’t be
him
.”
“Why not? Do you
know
he gave a sample two years ago? Did you see him do it? What if he gave a false sample in place of his own? He’s smart enough to do that, right? Why can’t you at least concede the possibility that I might be right?” There was pain in the final words. His doubt was actually hurting her. He realized too slowly that she needed him and he was failing her. Sighing, he nodded slightly.
“Your right. I don’t know
for sure
that he gave a sample. But I still don’t think he should be our only suspect. All roads, remember?” Looking back at her, he was pleased to see that her pained expression had eased. His willingness to at least consider Moreano a suspect assuaging her tension. Together they turned back to the board, staring at the information, looking for anything they might have missed.
Elizabeth nearly jumped out of her skin as her phone rang. Answering the call, she was told by the desk clerk in the lobby that a carrier had just dropped off a package for her. Her blood ran ice cold through her veins, fearing a gift from the killer was awaiting her just downstairs. Making her comment to Matt about him not being fool enough to come after her at the station a lie. She couldn’t breath. Her panicked expression glared at Matt for help as she struggled to suck air into her seizing lungs. Then, the desk clerk said something that nearly had her laughing out loud. All that apprehension and it was only the files she had asked for from Uncle Mark arriving. Hanging up the phone, she smiled across the desk at Matt who was now more confused than ever. “Our real estate files are downstairs.” She smiled warmly as he gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m going down to get them.” Liz was already halfway across the bullpen when she heard him call out for her to wait. Turning slightly to glance over her shoulder, Matt was trotting after her, tucking his badge back over his belt.