Truth & Lies: A Queen City Justice Novel (16 page)

“Excuse me?” Dana asked, her mind still more than half in Emilie’s lab.

“A video from Anka. After she went back to Dream Come True. She dropped it in the mailbox. I think I still have it somewhere.” He turned toward a small rolltop desk in the corner of the room. After removing a key ring from his pocket, he opened the latch on the rolltop and slid it up.

By the way her eyes tracked her husband’s movements, the new Mrs. Monroe seemed particularly interested in the contents of that desk. Donald pulled out a paper sleeve containing a CD or DVD. He handed it to Dana before sliding the rolltop down and relocking the desk.

“It was the strangest thing. I was the one who insisted that she return to Dream Come True. I have no idea why she felt it necessary to tell me that she’d moved on, that she was out of my life. I’m not even sure why I kept it, but it should prove that I had nothing to do with her disappearance,” he said.

Dana kept hold of the paper sleeve by the very corner, careful not to touch anything that might destroy fingerprints.

She met Eric’s eyes again. She knew as well as he did they didn’t have enough to bring him in, and they weren’t likely to get more out of him here. She pulled a business card out of her wallet and handed it to him. “If you think of anything else, or can remember where you were on those days, please let us know,” she said.

The both spoke as soon as they shut the doors of the car.

“Do you think he’s the one?”

“What a creep!”

Dana carefully set the disk on the seat between them until she could grab an evidence bag out of the trunk, which she hadn’t wanted to get into while sitting in the Monroes’ driveway.

“I just want there to be something on this disk that leads us to the guy and finishes off this case. Then I’m going on vacation.”

“Wow. You are really down. Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Just drive, Thompson. Leave the psychoanalysis to the experts.”



Wednesday, December 3—10:30 a.m.

Cincinnati FBI Field Office, Kenwood Neighborhood, Cincinnati, Ohio

“Agent Sherwood? Dana and Eric are back. They would like to see you.”

Dana could hear his voice from the hallway. “Send them in.”

Dana opened the door, and she and Thompson stepped in to report.

“What do you have?” he asked.

“A video disk from one of the missing girls: Anka Pierovich.” They explained how they came to have the disk and their impressions of Anka Pierovich’s former fiancé.

“So where’s this disk now? Have you seen what’s on it?”

Eric spoke. “We took it down to the lab to get them to run it through fingerprinting and trace first. They promised to do it first thing and run it back up here as soon as they were done.”

“I’d guess we have about enough time to grab a cup of coffee,” Dana said. “I’ll get set up in the war room.”

Moments after Sherwood arrived, one of the lab techs, Skip Davidson, skidded in. Dana hadn’t seen Skip this motivated since one of the other lab techs added Red Bull to his usual herbal drink. That had been an interesting day.

Normally Skip reminded Dana of Marvin, the depressed robot from
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
. Or maybe Eeyore from
Winnie the Pooh
.

“Here’s your DVD. I got two fingerprints off the disk. They came back to Donald Monroe, so no big surprises there.”

Emilie took the disk from him. “However…?” she prompted.

The kid looked like he was about to burst, so there had to be more. Let it be something good.

“I got a partial off the inside of the plastic window of the envelope.
Not
belonging to Monroe. I’m running it through AFIS. I’ll let you know if I get a hit. It’s pretty small, though. Not enough for a ten-point match. And it’s a loop, probably from an index finger, which means it’s going to bring back a lot of possibilities.”

He sighed long and dramatically. Well, at least he was back to his normal self.

“Thanks, Skip,” Emilie said, dismissing him before he could get out of control as she tucked the disk into the drive of the war room laptop.

Thompson and MacQuaid came sailing in moments later.

“Here we go,” said Sherwood.

Everyone’s focus locked onto the projection screen. A tall, slender woman with dishwater-brown hair and blue eyes came on the screen. She looked just like her passport photo. There was no mistaking this woman for anyone but Anka Pierovich.

She was seated in front of a camera. Her hands appeared to be folded in her lap, but Dana was uncertain if that was the case, as the camera’s view stopped a few inches below her breasts. There was plenty of room above her head—she wasn’t taking up the entire screen—and she didn’t know if that was a deliberate choice on the part of the cameraman or just the way the camera had been set up.

Her voice trembled a bit as she spoke. Dana wouldn’t want to guess if it shook because Anka was discussing a painful subject or because she was afraid, but her gut said the latter.

On screen, Anka told Donald Monroe that she was no longer interested in him and that she’d found someone new. She didn’t give that person’s name.

“Is anyone else underwhelmed with the level of passion in her voice about this new guy?” Dana asked as the video ended.

“Impressions?” Sherwood asked.

“She was forced to make that,” Eric said.

“What makes you think so?” Dana thought he was right, but it was a gut reaction. She’d rather have some sort of facts backing that feeling.

“She kept looking at the cameraman for guidance. Did you see the shadow on the wall?” He took a laser pointer someone had left on the conference table and pinpointed the wall behind Anka and to her left. “Emilie, back this up about fifteen seconds and then play it in super-slow-mo.”

The video began again, each frame staying on the screen eight times as long as usual. The sound was warbly and off.

“Watch here as she finishes each sentence. She looks up to see if that’s enough. The shadow looks like he might be using his hand like this—” He demonstrated with a straight-wristed circular motion, a common sign for
Go on, tell me more
“—until she continues.”

“You’re right,” Sherwood said. “I didn’t see it before. Good eye.”

“Anyone else?”

Kier jumped in. “I think her wrists are bound in her lap. Notice how she moved her shoulder like she was stretching it out, but her hands didn’t come up?”

“She’s been crying,” Dana said. “Puffy, blotchy skin around her eyes.” She recognized the symptom from her own bathroom mirror just this morning.

“So we’re all in agreement that this was staged, right?” Sherwood asked.

Everyone around the table nodded.

“Anyone want to guess why?”

There were no takers.

“No wrong answers here, people. Just give it your best shot.”

“A: It’s Monroe and he wants us to believe that she went off with someone else after he did her in, or B: It’s someone else who didn’t want anyone to come looking for her,” Dana said.

“What’s your gut tell you?”

“Monroe’s an idiot. I don’t think he’s smart enough to set something like this up without getting caught. On the other hand, he handed this video over really easy for a guy that was dead set against us looking through his calendar. That seemed really suspicious.”

“I agree.” Andrew sighed. “Let’s check him out and see what we can find. If it appears that he’s not the killer, I’m sorry, Dana, but you’re going to have to go back undercover.”

“What? Oh no. That’s not going to work. Deck Murphy wouldn’t let me back in his house if I were holding a Publisher’s Clearinghouse check.”

“Leave Murphy to me. You just find out what’s up with Donald Monroe.”

Chapter Twelve

Wednesday, December 3—1:00 p.m.

Oakley Neighborhood, Cincinnati, Ohio

Deck was having one hell of a shitty day. To think, it had started so well too. At least until he realized what a dupe he was. Christ. You’d think he’d learn one day.

Never trust anyone.

Even cute foreign girls with dimples and freckles.

He sat on a folding chair in the living room, trying to find the energy to pick up the paint roller again. Ryan would be thrilled with all the balancing homework he was doing. He hated to admit that it was working too. That would be giving Dana too much credit.

He glanced at his watch. He’d called his captain and told him what had happened. Rupert had told him to hang tight at home until after he’d spoken with the FBI.

Deck sighed, feeling some of his ire die down when he remembered the devastated look in Dana’s eyes that morning. If she was telling the truth about being undercover—and he had no reason to believe
that
was a lie—then it wasn’t like she was lying for the sake of it.

It was just that she was so
good
at it. How could he ever believe another word she said?

The doorbell rang, and he felt renewed anger surge against hope. She’d better not be coming back here…

Unless it was to take her dog. Hvala yapped as the bell chimed again. “Shut up, angry naked dog,” he said without any rancor. Hvala put his hind quarters on the ground and looked up at Deck.

He threw the door open with a barked “What?”

A man wearing a dark blue suit stood on his porch. Another Fed. He’d bet his retirement on it.

“Deck Murphy?”

“You know I am.”

The man pulled out a badge and flipped it open. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Andrew Sherwood with the FBI.”

“Did Dana send you? You can tell her to kiss my—”

Sherwood raised his hand, palm out. “Easy there. Dana didn’t send me. In fact, she’d put me at the top of her hit list if she knew that I was even here.”

Deck stared him down, refusing to say anything.

“Can I come in?”

Reluctantly, Deck eased back, and Sherwood stepped inside.

“Did Dana tell you that she asked to brief you on what’s going on?”

He shrugged. She hadn’t said she’d asked specifically, only that she wasn’t supposed to tell.

“It was my decision for her not to. There’s a serial killer on the loose in Cincinnati. It is of the utmost importance that we catch him and
now.
”

What could he say to that?
But I wanted her to be what she claimed?

“Can you verify where you were on Thursday, November twentieth, around nine thirty in the morning?”

“
Christ,
you can’t really believe I’m a suspect?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Nine thirty? I would have just come on shift and I would have been in the daily departmental stand-up meeting or would have just gotten out. Why?”

“Someone named Murphy notified one of our suspects, Michael Milton, that he was under investigation by the FBI.”

“I did call Michael Milton, but he wasn’t in the office. I left a message for him, but never heard back from him.  I was following up on a ghost lead.” Deck pulled his cell out of his pocket and handed it to the agent. “Press and hold four—It’s a speed dial to my station. Ask for Captain Rupert. He can verify.”

Sherwood did just that. After explaining the situation, he asked one question. “Did Deck Murphy have any further contact with Michael Milton after his initial message?” There was a pause while Rupert spoke. He would be hearing about this when he showed up at the station later, he knew it. “Thank you, Captain. We’d like to bring Murphy onto a joint CPD-FBI task force. Would you have a problem with that?”

As Sherwood and Rupert briefly worked out the details, Deck felt his pulse kick up a notch. The idea of being able to figure out the human-trafficking ring and not being trapped behind his desk doing what amounted to busy work made him practically want to kiss the agent.

Well, not really. But the day might actually be looking up.

Sherwood snapped the phone shut to cut the call and handed the phone back.

“I need you to let Dana come back,” Sherwood said.

So much for the day looking up. Deck shook his head, even as some part of him that he didn’t want to acknowledge jumped up and down for joy. “No. As much as I appreciate you wanting me to be part of this investigation, I think that’s a really bad idea.”

“
Please
,” Sherwood said. Deck got the impression, from the way the other man’s voice cracked and he couldn’t seem to find a place to put his hands, that begging wasn’t in his usual arsenal. “I need her to stay undercover. We think we may be on to a way to draw the killer out.”

“Using Dana as bait?” As pissed as he was with her, he didn’t like the idea of her being in harm’s way.

“If necessary. It should just be for a couple more days.”

“Why isn’t Dana the one asking?”

“She thought it was a lost cause.”

“It is,” Deck said, even as he realized that he was going to cave.

Sherwood raised an eyebrow, and Deck didn’t like that he was this transparent.

“You’re not willing to let her stay in your guest room for the sake and safety of countless women?” Sherwood asked, laying it on a lot thicker than he had to. “Huh.” He shrugged. “Your jacket painted you as being a lot more patriotic than that. Semper Fi, buddy. I’ll let Rupert know you’ll be back at the station for your next shift.” Sherwood turned around and started for the door.

Deck sighed. That bastard played dirty. Even though he knew he’d been manipulated by a master, he gave in. “Fine. Send her back.”
Jesus.

“The Bureau thanks you. And so do I.”

“I don’t want your thanks. Just get her back out of here as soon as you can.” Hvala walked up and sat at Deck’s feet. “And tell her that when she leaves next time, she’s taking her damned dog with her.”

As parting shots went, it was kind of lame. A grin caught one side of Sherwood’s mouth before he wrestled it under control.

“Got it. I’ll be sure to tell her that. Expect her later this evening. She can fill you in on all the case details. If you have any problems, you can give me a call.” He handed over a business card.

As Deck shut the door behind the agent, he realized he was pretty much doomed. He was actually looking forward to her return.