Silent Graves (6 page)

Chapter 10

The room around her kept getting darker—or was it her vision? Her headache’s intensity had ratcheted to the point of unbearable pain. Her thoughts didn’t line up, no matter how hard she tried to concentrate. The chill had become a familiar backdrop, tinged tepid. Its warmth encased her body, enshrouding it in calmness—it was her body preparing for death.

Tears fell down her face, past her forehead, to the concrete below. Before, she could hear the soft tap as they made impact. Now she knew their destination without the auditory confirmation.

She couldn’t remember how long she had been down here but figured it had been days. Days of endless rape by a man she thought she knew.

A stab of pain burrowed into the back of her head, and, with it, her vision went black. Within seconds, everything turned dark.

Outside of Woodbridge, VA

Jack and I headed to talk to Melanie Chase’s husband from nineteen seventy. He was seventy-one now and, according to records, he had re-married and resided in a small community just outside of Woodbridge.

“We’re here from the FBI, Special Agents Harper and Fisher.” Jack showed his creds, but it wasn’t really needed.

The woman at the door had a petite frame and trusting eyes. She smiled warmly. “You’re the one who called and said you were coming. Come in.”

She led us to the living area.

“Jed, the FBI’s here.”

Jed Chase sat, reclined in a sofa chair. An oxygen tank was beside him, its mask on the side table with an ashtray and a package of cigarettes next to it.

I struggled not to glance over at Jack. Did the habit have man wanting to reach from their grave for a few puffs?

Jed’s face was wrinkled, and his white hair held a yellowish tinge. His hand gripped the arm of the chair. His fingernails were stained from nicotine. His blondish eyebrows appeared nearly transparent against his pale skin.

 “Yeah, I see ’em, Anna.”

She waved a dismissive hand at him and smiled at us again. “Go ahead, take a seat where you like. Would you be interested in some tea?”

“Anna, they won’t be here long. They’ve wasted a trip.”

“Nonsense. We have them as guests in our home, they get tea.” She addressed us. “I’ll be right back.”

Jed rolled his eyes and let out a haggard breath. “Health ain’t what it used to be.” He referred to the apparatus situated beside him. “Emphysema.”

“We want to ask you a few questions about Melanie,” Jack started. “We’ve read the reports, and your interview with Detective Patton.”

“Then I don’t know what else to say. Like I said to Anna,” he paused for breath, “your trip’s been wasted.”

“Can you tell us what Melanie was like the last time you saw her?” I asked.

Jed’s head turned to me. “She was stressed out. Said she had all these reports due at work.”

“But she quit the week before.”

“I’m only telling you how it was.”

Jack leaned back into the sofa, hooked a finger on his shirt pocket and dropped his hand. “We know that she quit. It’s been testified to by her boss.”

“I don’t believe a word of it. Maybe they killed her. Maybe they’re trying to cover it up.”

Melanie Chase worked for an accounting firm as an intern at the time she went missing. Everyone had been cleared.

“They were interviewed at length,” I said.

“But you’re not there reconfirming their statements. You’re here and that makes me—” He wheezed, and it had him reaching for the oxygen. After a few seconds, he took it down. “Makes me mad. You come into my home after all these years questioning me? I loved her. There’s no woman I’ve loved more.”

Anna came into the room holding a tray with a teapot, four cups, sugar, and milk. Her steps slowed, and I sensed she had heard her husband’s words. She was rather quick to resume her pace, though, so maybe this wasn’t news to her. She was used to being second place—even if it were to a dead wife and a haunting memory.

She put the tray on the coffee table, prepared her cup, told us all to make our own as we liked it, and sat in another reclining chair. Maybe her husband’s comment had thrown her off a little because the energy in the room tingled between the couple, and it wasn’t until she sat that she shot back up to make a cup for him.

“Anna, she is the spark in my eye now—the reason I don’t just curl up and die.” He pointed to the oxygen tank. “But Melanie…I want to see justice for her. Something horrible happened to her. Her life was stolen—and our future.”

I thought back to the file. “You never had kids.”

“Never got to that point. The killing bastard took that from us.” He lifted the oxygen mask again for a few hits.

About twenty minutes later, Jack and I excused ourselves from the Chase home. We sat in the SUV in their drive talking the situation over.

“They didn’t have kids either.” I made the quick summary. “It definitely seems to be a solid connection with the victimology.”

“We knew that from the file before we went in, but what did we learn?”

“That the man’s a bitter coot who takes his new wife for granted.”

“Kid, get serious. Something useful.”

I’m not sure why, but being called Kid in that moment made the realization hit.

“He said that she was stressed that morning.”

“Keep going.”

Sometimes I wondered if he already knew the answer but was testing to see if I knew how it fit together.

“Amy Rogers’s hair stylist had commented on the same thing.”

“Continue.”

“Both women were stressed and in a hurry for something. For what? For the same reason? For a different reason?”

Jack didn’t speak so I carried on. “Both husbands claimed their wives had never cheated on them. I’m starting to believe that’s a bunch of BS.”

Jack lit a cigarette and expelled a puff of white smoke. “It could be to save face. Maybe they did know, but they’re not sharing it with us.”

“Even in light of an open investigation? We don’t know if Rogers is dead yet.” I stopped talking. I didn’t know all the answers. I was trying to piece things together the best I could.

The onboard system in the SUV rang.

Jack connected the call. “Harper and Fisher here.”

“Jack, it’s Nadia. There’s been another abduction. Her name is Sydney Poole, but that’s not all. One of the missing women, from three months ago, her body was found.”

Chapter 11

The Department of Forensic Science

Richmond, VA

Wednesday morning

“How do I look? Do I look okay?” Trent straightened his tie.

Hanes shook his head. “It’s not prom. It’s the FBI. Cool it.”

“How can I when I put all this together? I’m the reason—”

“Audrey Phillips discovering the remains of Nina Harris, that’s the reason.”

“Let’s not forget the missing Rogers lady. Also, let’s remember I’m the one that connected it before they did. I’ve been studying these missing women cases for months, years even, tying them together and recognizing how they were connected.”

“Is there some reason you are talking so loudly? I could hear you down the hall Officer Stenson. Is your sergeant not missing you back at Dumfries PD?”

Chief Nathan Steele came toward them, his stride centered and determined. The loose skin below his brows hooded his eyes and gave him an untrustworthy appearance. His hair was light on the top of his head with fine baby hair on the crown surrounded by a wreath of brown.

“I wanted to thank you again for referring the case to the FBI,” Trent said. He had been able to secure the day off. He told his sergeant what he was doing and the man just shook his head.

“Referring?” Steele laughed. “All we did is report this case. They were already working it, really, with the Rogers woman missing.”

“They were already working it?”

Steele’s eyes went from Hanes back to Trent. “Are you hard of hearing?”

Trent took a deep, steady breath, attempting to calm himself, to cleanse his system. He didn’t need to mouth off to the top guy and blow any chance of a transfer and of making rank.

“Your lack of knowledge may be why you’re an officer. We do the real work.”

Hanes turned to Trent and his eyes read of an apology.

Trent wasn’t sure why his friend was sorry for Steele’s demeaning attitude. He also didn’t understand why Steele was determined to sweep in and claim credit for the connection. It’s not like he was the one that pieced things together or made the request to call in the FBI. If they had waited on him to “do the real work,” how many women would die? How many more would go missing?

The anger boiled in his system, but he had to abate it. The only calming thought was shit floats.

The FBI agent, who went by the name of Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper, wore his confidence well. He had seen a lot. Trent saw it in his eyes. They always disclosed the truth. People could tell you whatever they wanted to spew off, but the truth was hidden within the pupils.

They were all in a conference room at The Department of Forensic Science in Richmond.

Steele settled back into his chair. “Serial crimes are not our job. It’s that of the FBI.”

“Hmm.”

Trent wanted to smile but was hesitant of basking in this. Steele had, in effect, admitted negligence. He liked this guy Harper.

He assessed the rest of the team who had come with him. There were two men. One was a guy who didn’t appear much older than Trent. He had light red hair and eyes that jabbed about the room, taking in everything. The other man was intelligent, possibly even a genius. Again, it was in the eyes. They assessed and analyzed.

Then there was the woman. She was trim with red hair that reached past her shoulders. Her hair was more fiery-colored than the guy’s and fell in soft curls that framed her face.

She caught him looking at her and smiled. Trent returned it.

“Why do you say it like that? Hmm?” the chief asked.

Trent caught the smirk on the male redhead.

“We have two missing women to save who need our focus.”

Trent loved how the Supervisory Agent didn’t ask for things—he demanded them—but the finesse with which he carried it out, at word value only, initially came across as a proposal. The mental fortitude behind the statements cemented them as directives.

Trent knew who he wanted to be when he grew up. The thought made him smile in his mind. “Two missing women? Someone besides Rogers?”

Harper turned in his direction.  

Trent smiled awkwardly.

“I understand you’re the one who connected the recent body to the missing women cases?”

Trent nodded. “I knew that something was up—just the sheer number of missing women in the area. I’ve been looking into them for years.”

Harper scowled.

“But what am I supposed to do about it? I’m just an officer.”

Harper’s face contorted, as if he caught the smell of rotting flesh.

Trent should have stopped at “for years.”

“Well, I’m not just an officer. I am a member of Dumfries PD. They let me sit in today because I have some knowledge of the missing women cases. That’s why I knew Nina Harris. Someone had to care about these women.” He wasn’t sure why he was compelled to impress the man or had the impulse to ramble.

“You’re excited because you were able to connect a missing woman to a body, or are you’re excited because another has gone missing?” Harper’s eyes went through him. “For certain, one woman has lost her life. It’s up to us whether another two do as well. This is not even mentioning all those other women who may have been saved if we had acted sooner.”

Trent’s tongue went thick. “You said two women?”

“Yes. The husband owns a prestigious law firm in Washington. His wife was last seen the day after Rogers was reported missing. Her name is Sydney Poole.”

Trent leaned across the table. “When did you find out about…” His words stalled under the SA’s glower.

“You leave that worry to us.” Harper turned to Hanes. “We’d like to start with seeing the body of Nina Harris and then the crime scene.”

“What kind of person do you think is capable of something like this?” Trent asked. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

“Based on the statistics we’ve already gathered, the unsub is a male, likely in his early to mid-thirties—”

“That’s the ripe age for a serial killer.”

The agent’s staggered exhale disclosed that he wasn’t impressed with being interrupted. “He likely fits into society and holds a job.”

“You know all that already?” the chief asked.

“He’s attracting beautiful women with successful husbands. The fact that he fits in is an easy conclusion. There’s no doubt he’s also a ladies’ man—probably more popular with them than his male counterparts. He may feel incompetent in the presence of his peers. With women, he has the power and control.”

“He binds them,” Trent added. He knew this much from Nina’s body.

“Yes, to reinforce that they are to be submissive to him. He takes their fight away because he has a God complex.”

The genius agent at the end of the table contributed. “You see, he’s been at this long enough, he believes he’s getting away with it, and will continue doing it.”

Trent knew he had to get their names down. He remembered the guy’s in charge and the woman’s—Paige Dawson. She smiled at him again and he returned it.

Harper didn’t miss the interaction as evidenced by the slightly narrowed eyes. “He won’t stop until someone stops him, and that’s what we intend to do.”

“Should we be arranging for a press release on this? Warn the women in the area? I think something was on the radio after the Rogers woman went missing,” the chief said.

“There’s no need for an official release at this point. We cannot tell women what to be on the lookout for until we have more evidence and facts to support a profile. We also don’t want to cause undue panic. It seems these women are targeted and specifically chosen.”

“Right. They have wealthy, successful husbands.”

“Only in the two recent cases. This dates back decades.”

“Decades?” Stenson knew his eyes widened. He only knew about the women from the last six years.