Love Me to Death

TWENTY-FIVE

When Lucy was done telling Dillon and Kate everything she knew about the parolee project, Kate swore and Dillon stared at his sister with his deep-thinking gaze. But Lucy didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, and she felt so tiny she wished she could go to bed and hide under the covers. She hated that she’d been caught in the middle of something like this—that it might have been Fran using her, she didn’t even want to think about it.

“Say something!” she finally said.

“This is fucked,” Kate snapped.

Lucy had to agree with Kate, but right now Dillon’s opinion meant more to her. It always had.

“Dammit, Dillon, tell me I was a stupid idiot, say something!”

Dillon’s expression softened. “You’re not stupid, Lucy.”

“Naïve, then.”

He shook his head. “I’ve interviewed hundreds of convicted criminals. And there were some I knew, if they ever got out on the streets again, they’d rape or kill. I knew it here.” He punched his stomach. “But there was nothing I could do except testify to make sure they stayed in prison for their maximum sentence, and hope—pray—that they’d die before they were released.”

“I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t know,” Lucy said, her chest tightening. “You can’t believe I did!”

“Of course I believe you, Lucy.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I can easily understand how someone could plan such an elaborate project. It would be someone with a strong moral center, and because of circumstances—probably a traumatic event—they’ve twisted that morality to justify murder.”

“The vigilante syndrome.”

Dillon nodded. “When the system fails, someone has to uphold justice.”

“So someone is killing for what they consider noble reasons,” Sean said.

“And they’re smart—they’re not targeting all parolees, but they’ve selected a choice few. That takes restraint, intelligence, premeditation … but who they’re picking is important.”

Sean asked, “What about opportunity?”

Dillon shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s premeditated. Vigilantes have a strong sense of right and wrong, but what they think is right and wrong is viewed through distorted lenses.”

Lucy added, “They think the world is in anarchy, law enforcement and the criminal justice system ineffective. They justify their actions—they are simply doing what the government can’t or won’t do.”

“They justify murder,” Kate said. She rubbed her eyes. “Damn, I can almost understand that. I would have killed Trask to stop him.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Dillon said, “and you know it. Trask was a killer evading authorities.”

Lucy said, “There are many law-abiding citizens who aren’t violent, though they have some traits in common with vigilantes. They fight nonstop for tougher laws, swift penalties, strengthening of the death penalty, more resources for law enforcement.”

Dillon concurred. “They strongly support restrictions on freedom in the name of public safety, and often report friends and neighbors who they think are breaking the law. They don’t have the psyche to kill.”

“But,” Lucy said, “those with a strong sense of vigilante justice coupled with the ability or psyche to take a human life, usually because of violence in their past, can cross the line.”

Did that make Lucy more likely to kill in cold blood? She’d killed Adam Scott because he’d hurt her, he would have killed her, and he would not have stopped with her. She tracked parolees because they should stay in prison for their crimes. Was she on the path of developing such a twisted sense of justice that she could justify cold-blooded murder?

A chill ran through her body, cold goose-bumps rose on her flesh. Sean looked at her, but didn’t say anything.

Dillon leaned forward, his expression intense, so wrapped up in his own analysis he didn’t notice Lucy’s discomfort and self-appraisal.

“They have taken their crusade beyond the law, and almost to the people themselves. Because really, would most people shed a tear for a child molester who’s killed in a hit-and-run? Or a rapist who’s shot to death in an alley?”

Sean said, “Then why not just declare war on the worst of the lot and kill them all?”

Dillon said, “Public relations. Motive. Opportunity. Vigilantes don’t want to be stopped. Also, the targets have some meaning for them personally. They may be targeting an area—for example, criminals who get off on a technicality in one jurisdiction—or they may be targeting individuals who committed a specific crime, like child molesters.”

Lucy cleared her throat. “I ran all eight victims, and I can’t see a commonality.”

“Do you mind if I look?”

Lucy handed over her files. “I used my program; maybe there’s a flaw in extrapolating the data. I thought—”

Dillon glanced at the files. “Your program is brilliant, Lucy. It’s the best thing I’ve seen that melds science with psychology.” He tapped the first page. “I already see the problem.”

“What?”

“Take out Prenter.” He handed her back the files.

She stared. At first she didn’t see anything because the report had been run with Prenter’s data and stats. She’d need to rerun everything without Prenter, and then …

“Oh!”

“You see it, too.”

“Yes. All seven were convicted of molesting a minor female they knew.”

“It’s more than that. The rapist had authority over their victim. A pastor. A stepfather. A father. Two uncles. A teacher. Prenter doesn’t fit the profile. When you take him out, it creates a pattern.”

“But we can’t take him out because he was killed in the same way—meaning he was on parole and targeted by the WCF.”

“I didn’t say I had all the answers, but I think whoever is selecting the parolees to target is focusing on convicts who committed a crime similar to one perpetrated on someone they loved.”

Kate said, “Prenter was in a position of authority as well—he was a teaching assistant who raped a student.”

“Not a minor student,” Dillon said. “Sara Tyson was nineteen, correct?”

Lucy nodded.

“She was still young,” Kate said.

“And,” Lucy said, “there is the victim they couldn’t tie to him, his ex-girlfriend who’s in a coma because of a near-lethal dose of homemade X. Anyone who was involved in Prenter’s case knows about her. But it was never allowed into the court record.”

“How do you know it’s not in his official records?” Kate asked.

“WCF has backgrounds on all the predators we identify and monitor. But—” She frowned.

“What?” Dillon prompted.

“He was seventeen at the time. His juvenile record is sealed, and the judge refused to unseal it during his trial.”

“Then how do you know about the girl in the coma?” Dillon asked.

“From my briefing at WCF. Fran has a lot of contacts—she could have spoken to the original investigating officer in his hometown. Or even the D.C. detective in charge, because they would have uncovered it in the course of investigating Sara Tyson’s charges.”

“He’s different,” Dillon said. “Something about Prenter doesn’t fit the other parolees, though maybe you’re right and it goes back to his first victim.”

Sean looked at Kate. “You might want to leave the room.”

She glared at him. “Why?”

“I bugged Fran Buckley’s office. It’s a digital bug; everything is sent to a blind server that I can retrieve. I don’t actually need to listen live.” Sean glanced at Dillon. “It’s a gray area.”

“I believe it’s illegal,” Dillon said.

“It is illegal!” Kate exclaimed.

“I’ll dispute that. I’m not stealing corporate secrets, nor am I using these tapes to incriminate her in a criminal investigation.”

“It’s fruit from the forbidden tree,” Kate said.

“All the more reason for you to leave the room,” Sean said pointedly.

Lucy bit her lip. She hadn’t seen Kate this angry in a long time. Her sister-in-law stood abruptly and left. A moment later her office door slammed shut.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said to Dillon, “but someone is setting me up, and I couldn’t sit by and let it happen.”

“Kate knows that,” Dillon said. “She’s not angry with you. I think it’s the situation—she hates when an investigation gets out of control. She finally has her life back. She doesn’t want to cross the line again. The FBI isn’t big on second chances, and third chances? Forget it.”

“I don’t want to put Kate in a difficult position,” Sean said, “and I didn’t want to bring her in at all until we had something.” Sean caught Lucy’s eye. “You okay with this?”

She nodded. “Play it.”

Sean turned up the speaker on the laptop and cued the recording.

A moment later, Fran’s voice came through surprisingly clearly. She was talking to Gina, her assistant, about following up on donor commitments from the fund-raiser.

Then Fran was on the phone with someone—they heard only her end of the conversation, but it sounded like it was the hotel manager of the event and they were settling some details. Sean fast-forwarded, then said, “This is about seven minutes after the assistant left.”

On the recording, a door closed. “Do you have a couple of minutes?”

It was Cody.

“Of course,” Fran said. “Is something wrong?”

“You could say that. Brad Prenter is dead.”

“I know, I read about it—”

“I think you know more about it.”

Lucy sucked in her breath. Sean took her hand and squeezed.

“Cody—”

Cody sighed loudly enough for the recording to pick up the sound. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Tell me what happened. I really don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“Someone used Lucy’s chat account—the same account she used to talk to Prenter—to send him to Club 10. He was shot and killed a block away.”

“That couldn’t have happened.”

“But it did. I have proof. At first—God, Fran, at first I thought it was Lucy, because it was her account and I know how meticulous she is. She’d never give out her password. And she was so focused on Prenter because of the girl in the coma. She’d told me when Prenter was first added to our list that Evelyn Oldenburg never got justice.”

“Lucy?”

“I thought she was working with someone.”

“You didn’t accuse her—”

“I feel like shit. I can’t believe what I said to her, but she didn’t have anything to do with it. Not just because of what she said, but she just wouldn’t. I should have known from the beginning, but I got sucked in by the evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“The police found a message on Prenter’s cell phone that had been forwarded from Lucy’s ‘Tanya’ account that sent Prenter to Club 10 instead of the Firehouse, where my partner and I were waiting for him.”

“I’m still not sure what you think happened.”

“Someone used Lucy’s online identity to send that message to Prenter.”

“You mean someone from WCF sent him to that bar.”

“And killed him.”

Silence. A long moment later, Fran said, “You’re accusing one of my people of murder?” She sounded both angry and upset, though her digital voice, without benefit of facial expression, also sounded flat.

“Yes, I am.”

“I don’t know what to say.” A chair rolled on hard plastic. “I don’t believe it.”

“We need to go through everyone’s background reports. I think someone here has a connection to Prenter and took advantage of WCF to kill him. Someone with sharp computer skills, because this individual also went in and completely erased Prenter’s chat account. Gone. The only reason I found this message is that it had been automatically forwarded to Prenter’s personal email, which was on his BlackBerry. It’s in the police report.”

“Do the police think that someone at WCF is involved? Or Lucy?”

“No—they don’t even think it’s connected. They’re focused on finding the man and woman he argued with in the alley.”

“Fill me in—I’m not up to speed on this case.”

“Prenter told the bartender he was waiting for a woman he’d hooked up with online. About forty minutes after he arrived, a girl came up and hit on him—the bartender said she’d come in with another guy, but they fought and he left. They talked for a while, left about fifteen minutes later. The girl’s boyfriend confronted them in the alley, according to a witness, and the girl left with her boyfriend. Less than five minutes later, Prenter was shot and killed next to his car. Four bullets.”

“Robbery?”

“His wallet was taken. Not his Porsche—and he had his keys in his hand.”

“Maybe the shooter got scared. Heard someone.”

“And not take the fastest available transportation? Leave on foot? I don’t think so. I think the wallet was taken to cover up a hit. I think Prenter was intentionally targeted, and whoever did it had access to our computers.”

Fran said, “Our charter isn’t a secret. It’s not like we broadcast what we do to the world, but we don’t keep it to ourselves, either.”

“Shit.” Cody was walking—pacing—the room, his voice getting louder and fainter as he moved away from the bug. “Fran, this is serious.”

“I agree. Let me look into it. I’ll be discreet, of course—I’ll have Gina pull every computer log from every computer and we’ll see who logged into the chat room to send the message after Lucy logged out on Wednesday afternoon.”

“That’s good, but I think you need to review the background reports again, find out if there is any connection to Prenter.”

“I will.” She paused. “You said you told Lucy?”

“I had to—she’s the one who asked me to look into Prenter’s murder in the first place.”

“Lucy?” Silence. “Why would Lucy ask you to look into Prenter’s murder?”

“She saw the article in the paper, then pulled his autopsy report. She said it looked suspicious. I was placating her at first, but when I read the file I realized she was right. This whole thing is suspicious.”

The door opened and Cody’s voice sounded as if it was in a tunnel. “I’m sorry, Fran. If you find out who, we’ll handle it internally.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

The door closed firmly.

“Damn,” Fran said.

There was complete silence.

Dillon said, “There’s something wrong with that conversation.”

Sean nodded. “No mention of going to the police. Fran’s first reaction, I’d think, after disbelief, would be to inform the authorities.”

Lucy disagreed. “The parolee project is in a gray area. It’s not technically entrapment, but Fran didn’t want it getting out to the public because of the potential for bad press. Her entire life is WCF. If she thought someone on the inside was using the organization for their own agenda, I don’t know what she would do—except everything she could to protect the group.”

“But this is murder,” Dillon said.

The digital recording registered a loud noise, then files slamming and papers ruffling.

Fran’s voice, “Dammit, where is it?” More movement, a loud, long sigh of frustration. “I just don’t believe this.” Sounds of the filing cabinet opening, a furious perusal of papers, then silence for a good two minutes. Lucy thought Fran had left, then there was a jingle of keys, followed by a door slamming shut.

Sean looked at Dillon. “I should have found a way to bug her purse.”

“Not Fran,” Lucy said, not wanting to believe it. She looked at Dillon.

“You think it’s her, too,” he said quietly.

She nodded, blinking back tears. “It’s what you said earlier—about why vigilantes target certain criminals. Fran’s younger sister was repeatedly molested by their uncle. They lived in virtual poverty, their mom worked two jobs, Fran worked nearly full-time in addition to school so she could save money for college, and no one knew what a sick pervert the uncle was.”

“Most repeat child molesters are well versed at keeping their victims quiet,” Dillon said. “A combination of treats and threats, and by the time the child outgrows both, they are made to feel so guilty—convinced that they are to blame for the abuse—that they never talk about it. How did Fran find out?”

“When her sister was strangled by the uncle. The day she started her first menstrual cycle, he raped and killed her. He told the police she’d lost her innocence and he had to stop her from turning into a whore.” Lucy spoke matter-of-factly, but the case bothered her deep down in a place she kept sealed.

“There’s another difference in these targets,” Dillon said, looking at Lucy’s spreadsheet.

“Right—they’re spread out. No two in the same city.”

“Or, if you look at it another way, Prenter is the only local parolee who was killed. That’s one more reason Prenter doesn’t fit with the others.”

“You mean different killer?” Sean asked.

“No, same killer. Or same group—I’m certain there are at the minimum two killers, but most likely three or more people involved, for a conspiracy this large. They targeted Prenter for a different reason, otherwise they wouldn’t have risked hitting so close to home—not just D.C., but a personal hit. We need to look at all his victims. I think one of the people involved is related to one of his victims. When he got out, that individual used their position in the group to put Prenter on the list, even though he didn’t fit their profile.”

“I’ve looked at the victims,” Lucy said. “Nothing jumps out. I asked Sean to look deeper.”

“Good,” Dillon said.

“We need to talk to Cody,” she said. “He’ll help, tell us everyone he spoke with. Maybe something will ring a bell.”

“Lucy,” Sean said sharply. “Cody has other problems. He’s stalking you.”

“Maybe he didn’t mean to make the message sound so disturbing.”

“And what about all those times you thought someone was watching you? That didn’t freak you out?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do not make excuses for that man!”

“Ease up, Rogan,” Dillon said.

Lucy shook her head. “Sean’s right.” She had to accept the fact that Cody had tried to scare her. “Cody followed us from church to brunch to the ice-skating rink—I didn’t tell him where we were going because I didn’t know. It’s just so hard to put him in the role of a bad guy.”

“Did he call you back?”

She shook her head. “I’ll track him down tomorrow morning.”

“Not alone,” Sean said.

She glanced at Sean. She understood that he was worried and being protective, but the tension coming off him was palpable. He’d been so understanding earlier, but now he was acting just like her brothers.

She raised an eyebrow at him and, keeping her voice cool, said, “I don’t have a death wish, Sean, and I already have four overprotective brothers—I don’t need another one.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate your concern, though, and I promise I won’t cut him any slack, okay? But I think Dillon should come with me when I talk to him. Less testosterone.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dillon said, lightening the conversation.

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”