Kiss Me, Kill Me

NINETEEN

Sean’s cell phone rang when he stepped out of the shower. He grabbed it, not recognizing the number.

“Rogan.”

“This is Trey Danielson.”

Sean quickly dried off as he said, “Where the hell have you been? I called you half a dozen times and told you to get your ass back to Woodbridge.”

“I got the messages, but you don’t understand.”

“Explain yourself.”

Sean wasn’t in the mood to listen to Trey’s excuses, but he didn’t want the kid wandering around New York causing problems for him while he searched for Kirsten.

“I should have stopped her last summer. I knew what she was doing, and I was more angry than anything, and hurt, and I said things I shouldn’t have. I turned my back on her, and now she’s in trouble—”

Sean cut him off. He forced his voice to be calm. “I understand what you’re saying, Trey, but consider that you are the only person Kirsten has contacted since she disappeared. She trusts you. I’m in New York and I’m not leaving until I find her.”

“Neither am I.”

“Trey, there are a lot of things going on that you don’t know about. I can’t have you getting in the middle of it.”

“But I found something. That’s why I’m calling you.”

Sean slipped on his jeans and left the bathroom. “What did you find?”

“Her phone.”

Sean caught Lucy’s eye and mouthed Trey.

“You found Kirsten’s phone. How?”

“Some guy called me. Said he was working his way through her speed dials. I was number three.”

Sean didn’t know what to think. “What’s his name?”

“Ryan.”

“Ryan what?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want his address.”

“I’m in this for the long haul, Sean. I need to find her.”

“Give me his address.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“You don’t know who he is or if he knows something about her disappearance.”

“I called you, didn’t I? I’ll admit, I’m nervous, okay? Her message freaked me out. It’s not like her! But if I have to talk to him myself, I will.”

Sean hit the hotel-room desk with his palm. “I’m on my way,” he said through clenched teeth. “Where?”

“I’m at a Starbucks near his apartment. Third and Sixty-first.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in less than thirty minutes.”

Sean hung up and told Lucy, “Someone found Kirsten’s phone and called Trey because he was on speed dial.”

He finished dressing and said, “Do you want to come?”

She shook her head. “While you were in the shower, Suzanne called and said they’d arrested Wade Barnett and she was about to go out with a search warrant. He admitted to knowing Kirsten by her screen name Ashleigh, but denied knowing anything about the Party Girl site.”

“He’s lying.”

“Probably. He’s now admitted knowing all four of the Cinderella Strangler victims, but denied killing them, and says he hasn’t seen Kirsten in two months.”

Sean sensed that Lucy’s mind was elsewhere. “What’s bothering you? Something is on your mind.”

“I want to know more about him. I read all the newspaper articles yesterday, about his background, and his efforts to preserve some of the historical buildings—”

“Lucy, some bad guys aren’t one hundred percent evil. It doesn’t mean he isn’t a killer.”

She frowned and pursed her mouth. “I know that. And if he was using the Party Girl site for cybersex or real sex, then he’s a jerk. And he could be a killer. But, well, I don’t know that he’ll fit the profile.”

“Hold it—you told Suzanne yesterday that there wasn’t enough information to come up with a profile.”

“There wasn’t because they didn’t know whether it was sexually motivated or not.”

“Why does that make a difference?”

“On Jessica Bell’s autopsy report it stated that she hadn’t had sex for several hours, or longer, before she was killed.”

“Maybe he was interrupted.”

“None of the girls had torn clothing or any indication that they fought off an attack.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was all up on the board in the office.”

“I didn’t catch that.”

“It helps that I’m used to reading police reports.”

“Well,” Sean said, playing devil’s advocate, “Wade knew the victims. They may not have thought they were in danger.”

“But why? Maybe that’s what’s messing me up. They all had sex with him, at least online—”

“Maybe they were fine when it was online, but not when it was physical, and he snapped.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off.”

“It’s okay. I’m just thinking out loud. You need to go and meet Trey. I’m calling Hans, and maybe he’ll see where my thinking is wrong.”

Sean stepped forward and kissed her. “Lucy, don’t assume that you’re wrong.”

“I don’t know what I think, but Suzanne is now positive Wade is guilty.” Yesterday, Lucy was as well. But the more she thought about the method of murder, the more she felt that she’d jumped to a faulty conclusion.

“I thought he was innocent until proven guilty?”

“That’s the courts. Cops don’t arrest you unless they believe you’re guilty. She’s probably right.”

Sean kissed her again. “Trust your instincts, Lucy. Talk to Hans. Tell him I said hi. I’ll let you know what I learn from the guy who found Kirsten’s phone.”

Lucy called Hans, but it went to voice mail. She and Sean had gone to the hotel’s gym first thing in the morning, so she couldn’t run again. She didn’t want to be in the hotel all day. Maybe she should have gone with Sean.

But something was bothering her about the murders.

“This isn’t your case,” she mumbled to herself. And Suzanne Madeaux seemed to be sharp. Lucy liked her; Suzanne reminded her of her sister-in-law Kate. Straightforward, confident, smart. Maybe a little rough around the edges, like a tomboy who hadn’t accepted that she’d grown into an attractive woman. When Suzanne had called earlier, she’d invited Lucy and Sean out for dinner to celebrate Wade Barnett’s arrest. And maybe they would go, but Lucy didn’t feel right celebrating anything while Kirsten was still missing. Or while she had doubts.

Her cell phone rang, and she saw that it was a private 202 number. “Hello,” she answered.

“Lucy, it’s Hans Vigo.”

“Thanks for calling me back so quickly.”

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“I’m in New York with Sean—”

“Noah clued me in on the runaway you’re looking for.”

“Good.” She thought it was odd that Hans and Noah were talking about the case—they didn’t even work in the same office—but she didn’t say anything. And now that she was talking to Hans, she didn’t know exactly how to bring up her concerns. “There’s a related investigation, the Cinderella Strangler who suffocated four young women, and I suggested that the agent in charge of the case contact you directly for a profile.”

“Of course, but the BSU staff is more than capable. I vouch for all of them.” Hans had been one of the early agents involved with the Behavioral Science Unit.

“Well, I don’t know anyone else but you,” Lucy said. “Sorry, I know you’re really busy.”

“There had to be a reason you thought of me. What is it?”

“It’s probably not even important anymore. Agent Madeaux arrested a suspect this morning and already got a search warrant.”

“Yet you called.”

Lucy sat at the hotel-room desk and stared at her notes from the past week without really seeing them. She felt like an idiot. What was she doing second-guessing a smart, seasoned agent like Suzanne? Wade Barnett had lied to the police about knowing those women. Someone had taken down the Party Girl site—and according to Suzanne, they’d spoken with Barnett Thursday morning. Sean said it would take at least twenty-four hours if Barnett wasn’t serving the site himself. “Never mind.”

“It’s always good to hear from you, Lucy.”

He was going to hang up. She blurted out, “Sean told me he talked to you about my application. I haven’t told my family.”

Hans said, “Neither have I, Lucy.”

“I would never have asked you to look into it. I know why I failed.”

“You do?”

“You told Sean I might be too controversial. I don’t think that’s it. I think—” She hesitated, then said, “I wanted it too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking about this since I got the letter. One of the questions they asked was why I hadn’t settled on a career. I knew that the FBI had become a place for second careers—so few people are recruited out of college anymore, unless they have a special skill. But I said that I had always wanted to work in the Bureau, that everything I did was self-training—working in the morgue, working for the sheriff’s department. But the female panelist commented that I didn’t have a passion for anything.”

Lucy continued, her words tumbling out. “I kept talking because I was worried that they thought I was too cold or hardened or something. I rambled about my passions—for stopping sexual predators and working in cybercrime and everything I wanted to do to protect the innocent, and I said too much. Either they thought I was playing them, or that I was radical.”

“Lucy, don’t overanalyze—”

She interrupted, “The rest of the interview went so smoothly! Nothing stood out. Except—if it wasn’t wanting it so badly that I panicked, then it’s only because of one other thing.”

“Adam Scott.”

She said, “I killed an unarmed man.”

“There were extenuating circumstances.”

“I shot him six times. And I would do it again. And those two facts are in my record, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

Hans didn’t say anything.

Lucy said, “I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking I could end up just like Fran Buckley.”

Fran, a retired FBI agent, had been her mentor at WCF, the victim’s rights advocacy group Lucy had volunteered with for three years. But Fran’s illegal activities had shut WCF down and caused the FBI untold problems from which Lucy was certain they were still reeling.

“The Bureau likes to believe they always make the right hiring decisions,” Hans said. “But in any business, government or private, there are always rotten eggs. I had one who worked for me and I didn’t see how psychopathic she was. No one did, until she shot her partner and left her for dead.

“You may be right,” Hans continued, “on either theory. I don’t know. I told Sean I would discreetly look into your application, but if you want me to pull back, I will. Whatever you want me to do, I hope you’ll still appeal the decision.”

“I haven’t decided. I wasn’t going to, but—”

“You still want it.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll have to fight for it. But you’re more than capable.”

“Thank you.”

“Now what did you really call me about?”

Lucy said, “It’s how these girls were killed. The killer either didn’t have sex with the victims or it was consensual. The last victim hadn’t had sex recently. No sign of physical trauma, no defensive wounds on any of the victims, and they were all suffocated with some sort of plastic bags—which were then removed and taken by the killer. Their bodies weren’t moved after they died—the killer suffocated and dropped them right there. No postmortem abuse, either. The killer took one shoe—hence the moniker ‘Cinderella Strangler.’ ”

“Did the killer tie the bag around the victim, or hold it in place?”

Lucy thought back to the autopsy report she’d read. “There were no ligature marks or anything to indicate rope or tape was used to hold the plastic in place. There was some bruising, but not in a strangulation pattern. I didn’t see photos of bruising, but the coroner wrote ‘inconsistent with strangulation.’ ”

“Bruises likely left from how the killer held the bag.”

“The victims weren’t restrained, but they were drugged. And because they were all at raves, the drugs were most likely taken voluntarily by the victims. All the victims left the party and no one has come forward to say they saw anyone in duress. There aren’t a lot of witnesses—though my missing teenager may have seen something when the last victim was killed. She wrote something to that effect in a convoluted message she sent her ex-boyfriend.”

“But you said the FBI made an arrest?”

“Yes. Wade Barnett. I haven’t met him, and maybe if I do these doubts won’t linger—”

“They had good cause to arrest him?”

“He lied about knowing the victims; he lied about having a physical or online sexual relationship with the victims. He then admitted it, but of course denies killing them.”

“It sounds like sex was consensual?”

“Yes, it appears so. Of course there are many cases where a killer has a relationship and, in anger or because the victim cuts it off, he stalks or kills her. But four times? And then there’s the method. This killer is cold. He or she puts plastic over the heads of their victims, who are so drugged they hardly fight back, and then waits. Five to seven minutes before the victim is dead. That’s a long time to watch someone die. More than that—there are no premortem injuries consistent with the victims being on the ground while they were dying. I was looking for cuts from glass or rocks that might have indicated the victim fighting from a prone position. But if the killer didn’t use a rope to tie the bag—”

“He used his hands.”

“Right. To hold the bag in place.”

“Which suggests that the victims were upright and the killer held them while they died. That’s a very intimate way to kill.”

“That’s what I said!” Lucy exclaimed, excited that Hans saw the crime the same way she did.

“Which could in its own way be a sexual murder, even if the killer didn’t attempt intercourse.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Did you realize what you said before?”

“That I didn’t think about it as a sexual crime?”

“No. You said he or she in reference to the killer.”

“I didn’t notice. Considering the victim profiles and the intimate aspect of the crimes, of course the killer would be male.”

“I think I know what has been bothering you about the murders,” Hans said. “It’s that the victims were suffocated. Suffocation is traditionally a more feminine method of murder. Along with poisoning, it is more common among female killers than male killers.”

“Wade Barnett is a good suspect,” Lucy said, weighing Hans’s comments. She hadn’t considered a female killer; why was that? But the manner of death had caught her attention and wouldn’t let go.

“Is there any physical evidence connecting him to the murders?”

“Not that I know about. But the investigation isn’t over. The FBI has a search warrant, and lying about knowing the victims is a big red flag.”

“People lie for many different reasons.”

Lucy asked, “Do you really think that a woman could hold someone for the seven minutes it takes for them to die? Then coldly remove the bag, drop the body to the ground, remove one shoe, and walk away?”

“Yes,” Hans said without hesitation. “Female killers can be just as cold-blooded and merciless as their male counterparts. Was there any bruising on the torso?”

“I don’t know. I only saw the one autopsy report.”

“If you consider that the victims were, in a sense, poisoned with drugs—even if they took the drugs willingly—which made them compliant, then were suffocated, without any sexual component, that makes it even more likely to be a female killer. I wouldn’t rule out the current suspect, of course, but I’d hesitate to bring the case to the U.S. Attorney without solid physical evidence tying him to the murders.”

“Suzanne Madeaux is a smart agent,” Lucy said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But it’s been on your mind. I’m glad you called. How long are you staying in New York?”

“I don’t know. Sean said until we find Kirsten. And maybe when we do, she’ll be the eyewitness we need to indict Wade Barnett.”

Or point them in a completely different direction.