A shadowy figure loomed. I wanted to look away but she wouldn’t let me. The pounding in my chest escalated as the figure moved closer. Holding my wrist with her ghostly hand, she guided my palm across the wet glass. As the fog cleared, a dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-skinned male stared back at me. A smile stretched across his thin lips, exposing uneven and yellowed teeth. My stomach twisted. I’d seen him before: Unsub number one. Abruptly, he turned, as if he’d heard a noise. Another male appeared at the shower door. Unsub number two. My vision blurred. A draft blew over me as the door opened. Ashley sank to the floor of the shower. Her hand trailed down my arm as she folded into a heap, leaving me shaking from the cold.
“Conway?”
“Yeah,” I said, but not convinced I spoke.
“You all right?”
Sure. Let’s say I am.
“Both Unsubs were here. It’s the first time they’ve both been at one scene,” I said, ignoring his question, my eyes scouring the room looking for the piece of paper I knew would be there. It peeked out from behind the mirror just above the basin. I pulled it out of its hiding place and unfolded the paper. “‘Close the windows. Draw a line in the sand.’”
“Two lines?”
“Yep.” I knew I’d seen two before. My mind flicked to my whiteboard. Yes. I’d seen two before. “Winchester had two lines as well.”
Kurt took the note from me and bagged it. “You said two Unsubs were here and we have two lines …”
“Yeah, I know, perhaps they started doing this together in Winchester and then went solo.”
“That’s something we should consider.” He made a call to Sam and asked him if we’d heard from the Winchester cop regarding the identikit. I couldn’t hear Sam.
“Put him on speaker … Sam,” I said.
“Yo, Chicky Babe. How can I help?”
“Send the cop the second image. You’ll find it on my laptop. I worked it up the other night.” While supposed to be home sleeping. “Tell him to imagine both men with facial hair. Or if you have time add mustaches to the images. Fairly full and partially concealing their mouths.”
“You saw facial hair?” Sam enquired.
“No. Just a thought. Could be why he hasn’t recognized Unsub One … he’s changed his appearance somehow. I think he’s Greek – mustache seems to work?”
“Sure. Okay. I’ll tweak copies of the images and send them out.”
“Ciao.”
Kurt hung up.
“Conway, you’re scary.”
“So you say.”
Time and time again.
Hardly the most helpful thing to hear. I made my thoughts center on Ashley. Young, pretty, dead. Did she drink coffee? I went back to her body and asked her.
She smiled. “I had coffee this morning.”
I tried to ask her if she prepared the coffee maker the night before but she couldn’t answer any more questions. A bright light opened above her and the essence of Ashley left her body in a thin stream of dusty light.
Ashley has left the building.
“She had coffee,” I said.
“I’ll have the techs do a toxicology screen on the coffee grinds as well as her.”
“How did the Unsubs gain entry?” I asked.
“Backdoor has tool marks on the lock. Police think that was the point of entry,” Kurt said, writing something in his notebook.
I turned slowly, taking in the clean, tidy bathroom and the corporeal shell of Ashley Stewart all at once. “There’s something else we haven’t figured into the victimology … look around, Kurt. What do you see?”
Kurt stood next to me and turned full circle. “The Unsubs aren’t cleaning the bathrooms, they’re already very clean,” he said.
“Like every room in every house we’ve visited thus far. These women are super clean and house-proud.” I looked at Kurt. “This is beyond what you’d expect in homes that are lived in.”
Kurt nodded. “Where would our Unsubs meet women like that?”
“Not all at the same place.” If some support group for over-cleaners anonymous were missing seven people, we’d have heard about it. “I think there is something to one Unsub being in a psychiatric facility or something similar which will account for the gap and geographical difference between Violet and Jane and the rest of the victims.”
Kurt called Lee. “How far did you get on the recent releases from hospitals or rehab units?” Kurt touched the screen of his phone. “You’re on speaker.”
“I have lists of seventeen people from Frederick County, five from Clarke, eighty-one from Loudoun, six each in Warren and Fauquier, forty in Prince William, ninety-seven in Fairfax. All released two weeks before Jane’s death.”
Two weeks. That should allow for stalking and so forth.
“Crap!” I said, doing the math in my head. “Two hundred and fifty-two people.”
“Tell me about it. I’m fifty-five in. How far south do you want me to go?”
“Just work on those for now,” I said. “I want you to go back over anyone you’ve already spoken to and find people who joined support groups for
anything
after their release. Get Sandra to help.” I paused. “I need that list A-SAP, Lee.”
“On it, Chicky.” The call disconnected from Lee’s end.
So they came in the back door, but when?
“Did they sweep for cameras and audio?” I asked Kurt.
“Yes. Same as the other scenes. Surveillance in place.”
“What’s the range on the equipment found?” I talked as I left the room and walked down the hallway looking at the ceiling. Kurt followed me. “What if I were right, Kurt? What if one or both of the Unsubs came in while the victims were at work and stayed until morning?” At the end of the hall, I saw what I looked for: a recessed trap door into the ceiling crawlspace. “What if they were using the crawl space or attic?” I pointed up.
“And they got up there how?”
“If I were them I’d come prepared. I’d have a ladder, supplies, and a way of monitoring the goings-on in the house.”
“We’re going up there, aren’t we?”
Been a little while since we’d been in anyone’s roof space.
“Yep.”
I walked back to the front door and the cop standing guard.
I handed him my keys and asked him to fetch a ladder from the back of the Suburban.
“You FBI have everything,” he said with a grin. “Anything else, while I’m there, ma’am?”
Actually, yes.
“There is a man in my car waiting for us. Tell him we’re sorry and will be with him as soon as we can. Also, there’s a black case about so big …” I held my hands apart about eighteen inches, “… in the back with the ladder. Bring that too, please. Can you manage?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I spun on my heels and rejoined Kurt. “That nice young cop is checking on Petrovovich and fetching our ladder and the black case.”
“Good. Take off your jacket,” Kurt said with half a smile and sparkle in his eye.
“Really?” My right eyebrow arched all by itself.
“Really,” he replied. His smile settled. “I said jacket …” he let his voice fade, “… not clothes.”
“Kurt … something you want to say?”
“Timing,” he said, almost under his breath.
“It’s always sucked,” I said, matching his tone.
His voice strengthened again. Kurt was back. “It’ll be hot up there and you’re still looking pale.”
I did as he suggested.
The cop and ladder arrived. Behind him, I saw a dark leather-coated figure carrying the case and shook my head. Petrovovich.
“Do you need a hand?” the cop asked, propping the ladder against the wall.
“We’re good, thanks,” Kurt replied, his eyes landing on Petrovovich. “You can escort Mr. Petrovovich back to the car.”
“I needed to stretch my legs and the young man looked like he needed help,” Petrovovich explained.
“You can’t be in here, it’s a new crime scene,” I said. “You could contaminate it.” I looked down; he had protective booties and wore gloves. The cop wasn’t stupid, easily swayed but not stupid.
“I won’t get in the way.”
A sigh escaped before I could check it. I couldn’t believe what came out of my mouth next. “Okay, stay, but don’t move from that spot.” I pointed to where he stood. “No wandering off. You stay put.”
“Of course, Agent Conway.”
Why didn’t I believe him?
The cop went back to his post. Kurt extended the ladder and opened it to create a stable A-frame. “I’m going up first.”
Not arguing.
Kurt took the case from Petrovovich and climbed the ladder; resting the case on a rung, he pushed the trapdoor inward. He called down to me from inside the attic, “I think you’re right. Get up here, Conway.”
I put one foot on the first rung and turned to Petrovovich. “Don’t move!” I said then carried on climbing.
Kurt peered out at me as I neared the top. “You okay to climb in here unaided?”
“Of course.”
I climbed into heat that must’ve been ten degrees higher than the house below and surprisingly roomy; Kurt and I could stand, with about a foot of clear space above Kurt’s head at the lowest point of the roof. If it were my house, I’d add folding stairs, bigger windows that opened, and use it as a room.
Sun streamed in through small windows at both ends. The closest window to us illuminated dust, reminding me of Ashley’s essence leaving her body. The hardwood floor ‒ not just joists and insulation - had boxes stacked in neat piles along one area of the outer wall. Ignoring the heat was difficult. It sucked the moisture from me. I knew I couldn’t stay up there long. Murky spots danced in front of my eyes. I blinked them away and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Unsuccessfully.
“Someone dragged something in through the trap door,” Kurt said, pointing to freshly chipped paint and drag marks across the floor. “It’s the width of a ladder.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” I followed the drag marks to an area by an outer wall. “And left it here.” Disturbed dust and low marks on the wall. “Looks like something leaned against this wall.”
“Come over here,” Kurt said from the back corner.
I joined him. He pointed out a dust-free area and a piece of a shiny wrapper.
About two feet away from the cleared area I found an impression in dust. “Look at this,” I said. “Someone sat there.”
Kurt got busy with dusting powder looking for fingerprints. I picked up the small piece of shiny wrapper and bagged it. Shiny, not paper but foil. We could print it. Save the lab and get a quick result.
I handed him the baggie. “See what you can find on the wrapper, both sides.”
Kurt nodded. He prepared a clean work surface then dusted the foil. I carried on looking around. The top few stacked boxes contained Christmas decorations. Kurt called to me. “I got a partial.”
“Yes!”
He photographed it with his phone and dropped it into the app we used. Smartphones are smart and ours connect to our databases.
“Cross something, Conway,” Kurt said, wiping his gloved hands with wet wipes before packing up the stuff he’d used.
Time things started to fall into place.
Petrovovich’s voice resounded through the opening in the floor under my feet. “Agent Conway, soap is missing from this scene.”
Yes, the soap. I saw Ashley holding soap but it wasn’t there. And how did he know?
I shook my head and indicated to Kurt that I was going down the ladder. “I’m taking him outside.”
Placing my feet and left hand firmly on the ladder, I climbed down as quickly as I could.
Petrovovich waited, leaning on the wall. Dark, mysterious, and way too like Misha Praskovya for it to be a coincidence. Every time Misha appeared in my life, shit got messy and complicated. I’ve yet to decide if that’s because Misha is a magnet for trouble or because he’s our friendly Russian FSB counterpart and breezes in when trouble heads our way. I hoped the physical resemblance was all they had in common.
“I told you not to move,” I snarled.
“I thought I could help.”
To his credit, he didn’t look as though he’d enjoyed the experience.
“You did, but, I’d prefer to have been with you when you viewed Ashley,” I said, hoping I kept the annoyance from my voice.
“Ashley,” he said. “That’s her name?”
“Yes.”
“Death does horrible things to a person.”
I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. People need to do as I say; it stops them seeing things they’re unprepared for.
“You learn to see past the death mask and find the person that once was,” I replied, taking his arm and leading him outside. “It’s not a job for everyone.”
Understatement of the day.
Remember
Petrovovich and I sat in the car and waited for Kurt. I swigged warm water from the bottle I’d left in the foot well in an attempt to rehydrate after the drying heat of the attic. Warm was better than nothing.
“Now what?”
“Now, the morgue. I need to see the other bodies,” I replied.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“We found something at this crime scene that we didn’t know before. The other scenes have to be searched again.”
“Do you do that yourself?”
“Sometimes.”
Not this time. I turned the ignition key and pain shot up my arm.
“Jeez!” I zapped my window down. I needed air. Two seconds later I flung open the door and vomited violently into the gutter. My timing, as usual, impeccable. A shadow fell over me before I straightened up. My heart sank and stomach twisted. I didn’t want to have a conversation about what just happened.
“Getting to be a habit, Conway,” Kurt said. He placed a hand on my shoulder as he reached past me for my water bottle. “Here, drink.”
“Thanks.”
Kurt straightened up and rested one arm on the top of the door and one on the roof of the car. I sat in his shadow. His blue eyes watched me with all the scrutinizing power that came with years of medical training and practical application.
“You were right about the heat.” I’d told him he was right and it hadn’t killed me. Who knew? I hoped it would thwart the questions I saw in his eyes.
No questions, yet. There’s no time to get into it. Killers to catch. Wedding to make. Escape in the form of a honeymoon.
“Where to?” Kurt asked, motioning for me to get out of the driver’s seat. “I’m not buying the line about the heat, Conway. I’ll drive.”
“Drama queen. I’m all good.” I climbed out of the car anyway. “Morgue.”