Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me? Page 5

  Marston, West Virginia, Tuesday, December 3, 10.20 A.M.

  Ford’s nose burned, his eyes watered. So cold. Shithead chem majors left the window open again. Gonna kick their—

  Awareness abruptly returned. The floor was hard and he was freezing. This wasn’t his dorm and the chem majors were not doing another lab in the communal kitchen.

  I’m still tied. Still blindfolded. Still gagged. But the smell was new. He drew a breath through his nose and tried to keep from throwing up. Something had died. Kim.

  No. His mind immediately rejected it. Whatever had died was decomposing. Long dead. Not Kim. So calm down before your head explodes.

  The throbbing pain in his skull had been joined by another new sensation – his scalp burned. He grabbed my hair last night. It felt like he’d yanked out a handful.

  Who was that guy? He blocked the pain and concentrated on what he’d said. ‘I’m back. Did you miss me?’ The memory of that mocking, singsongy tone made Ford’s skin crawl. Do I know him? There was something familiar, but he couldn’t think what.

  Keep going. Come back to him later. Think back before the creepy guy. What happened before that? The alley. He’d heard Kim’s scream. His stomach twisted.

  Don’t think about what they’re doing to her now. But he was. Every sick thing he’d ever read in the news flew through his mind. Please be all right. Please.

  Concentrate. They’d been walking to her car and there was a noise. A sharp crack. Like a gun, but not as loud. And then every nerve in Ford’s body had fired.

  Shit. Sonofabitch tased me. Then hit my head. Then drugged me. Suddenly he remembered the needle after ‘Did you miss me?’ The sonofabitch had drugged him twice! He needed to have a plan before the SOB came back to make it three times.

  Sitting up, Ford scooted on his ass in a circle until he saw light through the blindfold. A window.

  He twisted his body, finally rising to his knees and crawling until he felt a slight warming of the floor that was in the direct path of the sun streaming through the window. Lifting his chin, he felt the sun on his face and held still for a few seconds, absorbing a little warmth before continuing. He’d barely moved a foot more when the floor grew cold once again. Dammit. The window’s high and small.

  He crawled until he hit the wall. It was cold against his cheek. Textured. Concrete block. Not good. Concrete would be hard to break through.

  Ignoring the pain at the back of his head, he rubbed his temple against the wall, vigorously working the blindfold until finally he was free. He could see! Yes.

  He was in a garage, about twenty feet square. Behind a stack of firewood was a garage door. But it hadn’t been used for years if the rusty chains securing it were any indication. Heavy padlocks hung from the chains. Not a way out.

  Ford looked up. Dammit. The window was five feet above the ground and not even big enough for a toddler to escape through. He turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes squeezing closed of their own volition. Don’t want to see what’s causing that smell. He forced himself to look and the breath he held shuddered out.

  Not Kim. Not human. Maybe a dog or a cat. Maybe. But not human.

  To the left of the carcass was a door. He started crawling, then stopped. Behind the carcass were bones. Whoever left that animal had done so before. Many times.

  I’m back. Did you miss me? Ford swallowed hard. What kind of sick freak was he dealing with? The kind that tases people, he thought grimly, then kidnaps them.

  And he’s got Kim. Unless she got away. Please let her have gotten away.

  He crawled to the door, leaned hard against it. It didn’t budge. Worn, Ford pressed his back to the door and slid down to sit. This is hopeless.

  Stop it. He closed his eyes. Get your bearings. You need to cut these ropes. You’ll never get out of here unless you can move. So find something sharp. Anything will do.

  He opened his eyes. Hello. Under a set of plastic shelves was a box cutter. Hopefully it was still sharp.

  He crawled back across the room, slowing as he passed the carcass again. Why was it here? Because it hadn’t been last night. I would have remembered a stench like that. He made himself look. It was a cat. Or had been. But there didn’t seem to be any blood. It was covered in dirt. The cat had been buried, then dug up. That’s just sick.

  The animal wore a collar with a tag attached. The collar was old, but the tag was new. Shiny. Engraved with ‘Fluffy’, in a flowery script. What the hell?

  Consider it later. He needed that box cutter.

  Baltimore, Maryland, Tuesday, December 3, 10.20 A.M.

  Giving Clay Maynard a cursory glance, Special Agent Deacon Novak removed his wraparound sunglasses and walked the alley like he owned it, as was his way.

  Joseph found the man’s way annoying, but Bo Lamar swore that Deacon had ‘skills’. Joseph wondered if Bo counted dramatic flair as a core skill.

  Once he’d explored the scene, Deacon doubled back, crouched down, and studied the body. ‘So who exactly is this guy?’ he asked over his shoulder.

  ‘His name is Isaac Zacharias,’ Joseph said. ‘He was a DC cop, moonlighting as private security for Mr Maynard here, guarding SA Montgomery’s son, who’s missing.’

  Deacon noted the AFID tags. ‘Taser.’ Rising, he lifted his uncovered eyes to Maynard, who flinched, a common reaction when seeing Deacon’s eyes for the first time.

  Deacon knew it and, Joseph suspected, used it to his full advantage. The man was only about thirty, but his hair was snow white and apparently had been for years.

  However, it was his eyes that really threw people off. His irises were bi-colored – both of them. Half brilliant blue and half chocolate brown, each iris looked like two different eyes had been sliced, mixed, and spliced.

  Of course they’re contacts, Joseph thought. Nobody has real eyes like that.

  Deacon lifted his brows to Clay. ‘Not much of a bodyguard, was he?’

  Maynard drew a sharp breath, let it out. His whole body vibrated with anger, but he kept his clenched fists at his sides and his voice to a low growl. ‘This was a good man. A family man. A good cop. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve you.’ He cast an angry glance at Joseph. ‘“For now” is officially over.’

  ‘Maynard was a cop,’ Joseph muttered. ‘This was his friend. Have some respect.’

  Deacon’s odd eyes flickered. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said quietly.

  Maynard just shook his head. ‘Go to hell.’

  ‘Planning on it,’ Deacon replied evenly. ‘So how did SA Montgomery hire you? She find your ad on craigslist or something?’

  Maynard gritted his teeth. ‘She and I are friends.’

  And lovers, Joseph thought, bitter envy welling up. Then swiftly came the shame. They had one man dead and two college kids missing. Who Daphne Montgomery bedded was not his focus. Bringing her son and his girlfriend home – alive – was.

  ‘How did Zacharias come to work for you?’ Joseph asked Maynard.

  ‘I recruited him years ago. We served together.’ Maynard’s gaze dropped back down to the body, pain in his eyes. ‘Rode together on patrol.’

  Damn. Partners, too. Joseph’s resentment ebbed. Maynard may have won who Joseph wanted, but he wasn’t such a bastard as to strike out at a man in pain.

  ‘So this wasn’t his first job for you,’ Deacon said.

  ‘No.’ Maynard swallowed hard. ‘He worked for me each time his wife was pregnant. They needed the money for expenses. Diapers, formula. College funds. Phyllis’s got to be out of her mind by now. She needs to be informed. So does Daphne.’

  ‘Before it breaks in the media,’ Joseph agreed. ‘Deacon, stay here and coordinate with CSU – and get some uniforms canvassing this area. I want to know who was home last night at eleven and what they saw or heard.’

  ‘Eleven?’ Deacon asked. ‘Significance?’

  ‘That’s when the film Ford and Kim went to see was over.’ Joseph checked his phone for messages. ‘Bo
’s put out the BOLO. He attached photos of both of them, if you need to show them around.’ He opened the photo of Kimberly, surprised to see that the girl was Asian. ‘Not what I expected with a name like MacGregor.’

  ‘She was adopted,’ Maynard said quietly. ‘She friended an organization for Chinese adoptees in Philadelphia on Facebook. Her parents are Caucasian, based on the photos she’s posted. She’s got one sister, Pamela, about fourteen, also Chinese.’

  ‘This is why I don’t have a Facebook page,’ Deacon said.

  Joseph shrugged. ‘Makes our lives easier. Who needs a warrant when you’ve got the social network? Questions before I go do notifications?’

  ‘Several. I—’ Whatever Deacon had been about to ask next was interrupted by slamming doors and the appearance of CSU. ‘Stay here, Mr Maynard,’ Deacon said. ‘I’m certain that I’ll have more questions for you.’

  ‘He’s with me,’ Joseph said. ‘Officer Zacharias’s wife will need someone to stay with her. She’s pregnant. We don’t want to make this situation even worse.’

  Deacon had been ready to argue, but closed his mouth when Joseph gave him a pointed look. ‘Okay.’ Deacon shrugged. ‘I’ll keep in touch.’

  ‘Can you wait next to my SUV?’ Joseph asked Maynard, pointing to the alley entrance. ‘It’s a black Escalade, parked on the street. I need to coordinate a few things with Agent Novak before we go.’

  ‘Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.’ Maynard walked away, shoulders bowed.

  Joseph frowned at Deacon, who studied him, bemused. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m trying to figure you out,’ Deacon murmured. ‘When I walked up, you looked like you wanted to rip Maynard apart, and yet you yell at me for not being Mr Sensitive.’

  Joseph blinked, taken aback. ‘I did not look any such way.’

  Deacon’s odd eyes widened. ‘You thought you’d hidden it. Oh, that’s rich. Newsflash, Carter. You didn’t. So what did your boy do to you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Joseph swallowed his annoyance when Deacon made a show of biting back a smile. ‘Maynard works with my brother’s fiancée. My brother trusts him, which means I do too. Maynard didn’t kill Zacharias.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. I’m inclined to agree though. So what did he do to you?’

  Joseph counted backward from ten, grateful for the appearance of a fifty-something woman in white coveralls who carried a tackle-box in each hand, her back bowing under the weight. Barely five feet tall, Dr Fiona Brodie looked too fragile to be carrying her own equipment, but Joseph had learned long ago never to presume to carry it for her.

  Brodie had thirty years with the Bureau, all in forensics. Joseph had known her since his academy days when he’d sat in her classroom studying blood spatter patterns. She reminded him of his mother, possessing that ageless quality that made her appear unchanged. Dr Brodie had joined VCET because she wanted to do something different before retiring. This case should grant that wish, Joseph thought grimly.

  He met her halfway. ‘Dr Brodie. I’m glad you’re here.’

  She stopped at the body and took it all in, her face creasing in a mighty frown. ‘Who touched him? Who removed these boxes?’ She looked over her shoulder, disappointed. ‘Somebody has compromised evidence.’

  Joseph felt compelled to defend himself. ‘It was the homeless guy who found him.’ He pointed to the sack. ‘He stole the victim’s shoes and was scavenging his clothes.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Wouldn’t have been the first time an agent mucked up a crime scene.’ She angled a look up at him. ‘But it would have been the first time you mucked one up. Glad to see you haven’t slipped.’ Her brows lifted, her ire dissipated. ‘Bo tells me that you’re leading this investigation.’

  Well, what do you know? Bo hadn’t actually told Joseph that he was lead on this case, but he’d hoped it was true. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Brodie dropped her eyes back to the body, dismissing him. ‘Then don’t you have something better to do than get under my feet?’

  ‘Yeah, I do,’ he said. ‘Notifications, both to his victim’s widow and the parents of the abducted college kids. It should take me at least an hour.’

  She sighed. ‘I should have him uncovered by the time you get back.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He turned to find Deacon crouching in the middle of the alley, staring at the pavement. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Blood,’ Deacon said. He shined his flashlight at the area. ‘And what looks like hair. What color is Ford’s hair?’

  ‘Blond.’ Like Daphne’s.

  ‘Could be his. Looks like somebody bashed his head into the asphalt.’ He stood up. ‘So what’s the plan, Boss?’

  ‘We start with the Millhouse case. It’s the most obvious connection for now and they were suspected of threatening Montgomery. I’ll get a warrant started for the Millhouse home and business, but I’m not sure we have enough for a judge to sign off.’

  ‘Unless we can prove the threats. Did Montgomery document them?’

  ‘No idea, but Maynard should know. We also need to check out Ford Elkhart’s life, every nook and cranny, just in case this isn’t connected to the trial.’

  ‘Any indication that the kid’s dirty?’

  ‘None whatsoever. But we can’t ignore the possibility that whoever did this had a score to settle with him. Or the girl. Or Maynard, even.’

  Deacon frowned. ‘You said he didn’t do this.’

  ‘I don’t believe he did. Doesn’t mean somebody else didn’t have it in for him. Wouldn’t be the first time a killer struck at his target’s inner circle first.’

  ‘I’ll request cell records and financials while Brodie’s doing her thing,’ Deacon said. ‘Has anyone checked SA Montgomery’s house? Could the kid have gone back home? Maybe the killer knocked him out and he came to later, flagged a cab home.’

  ‘Possible, I guess. Unlikely though, as he would have seen Zacharias’s body. I can’t see Ford ignoring something like that, but I’ll check it out. I’ll call you when I’ve done the notifications. We’ll regroup here.’

  ‘And the girlfriend?’ Deacon asked. ‘Kimberly MacGregor?’

  ‘Family is near Philly. Call the field office up there. Have them send someone out to the parents, then proceed according to SOP.’

  ‘Phone tap, trace all incoming. Just in case this is about the girl.’ Deacon looked up from his notepad. ‘But you know it’s not, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. I know. Later, Novak.’ Joseph hurried to his Escalade, where he found Clay leaning against the front passenger door, looking ill. ‘You gonna be okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s get this over with.’

  Joseph started his SUV. ‘Where’s Zacharias’s house?’

  Maynard’s hands shook as he buckled in. ‘Silver Spring.’

  A forty-five-minute drive. ‘Okay. I’m going to stop by Miss Montgomery’s house first.’ It was about twenty minutes away, in Roland Park, an exclusive neighborhood north of the city. ‘I want to be sure Ford and his girlfriend aren’t there.’

  Maynard’s gaze was fixed out the window, in the direction of the alley. And his dead friend. ‘How do you plan to get into her house?’ he asked tonelessly.

  ‘My brother mentioned that her mother and an aunt live with her.’

  ‘Not anymore. They stay there sometimes, on weekends, but Simone bought a condo in Roland Park, not far from her dress shop. She’s there now. Maggie should be there with her. Maggie’s not Daphne’s aunt, though. She’s an old family friend. She lives at the farm.’

  Joseph knew about Mrs Montgomery’s dress shop. He’d actually shopped there, for his mother. But Maynard knew all the details. Leave it, Carter. ‘We can stop at the dress shop for a key to Daphne’s house.’

  Maynard hadn’t looked away from the window. ‘No need to stop. I have a key.’

  Joseph swallowed hard. Of course you do. ‘That’s convenient then.’

  ‘Ford’s not at the house or Simone’s condo in the ’burbs. I saw Daphne this morning and
she was feeling guilty for ignoring him. She hasn’t seen him in two weeks. I thought he might be at the condo here in the city, but he’s not.’

  Joseph blinked. ‘How many houses does Daphne have?’

  ‘Too many to keep safe,’ Maynard murmured. ‘The condo here in the city is pretty basic. She bought it as an investment, but her old tenant moved out. Now she keeps it for when she works too late to drive home. Ford uses it when he needs to study and the dorm is too loud. It’s next to the Inner Harbor.’

  Whoa. Those places weren’t cheap. Joseph owned a few investment condos there himself. His own apartment truly was basic – just a place to lay his head, it was located close to his family’s home. ‘Those condos on the harbor aren’t what I’d call “basic”. They rent for a couple thousand a month.’

  Maynard turned to look at him. ‘From a security standpoint, I meant. The building provides a lot of the security, so I don’t worry so much about her there.’

  ‘Oh. They’d have a record of Ford coming and going then. Even if he’s not there now, I can call and see if he and Kimberly have been there.’

  ‘They haven’t. I called the desk to ask while you were talking to Novak. Last time the condo was used was last week. Daphne crashed there after working most of the night.’

  Did security tell you that or were you there with her? The question danced on the tip of Joseph’s tongue, but he swallowed it back. ‘What other properties does she have besides her house, her mother’s condo, and the condo on the harbor?’

  ‘She owns a farm in Hunt Valley, twenty acres. That’s where Maggie lives, along with the horses. Maggie takes care of the animals. The farm is the worst, security-wise. Too many entrances and outbuildings.’

  ‘Four properties. But she lives in the Roland Park house?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a Victorian, built in the 1880s. It had no security system until the Millhouses started their threats. I installed one. Anyone comes or goes, I know.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The system sends a text message to my phone.’