‘That’s a dangerous part of town.’
‘It’s not bad during the day.’ Joseph watched a homeless man shuffle into an alley, a bag slung over his back. Probably all he owned in the world. ‘At night it can get dicey.’
‘That’s why Ford went. So that Kimberly wouldn’t be out alone after dark.’
‘I take it that you haven’t heard from him.’
‘No, but I did just get a call from Andrew, the other student intern who Ford was supposed to drive to work this morning. Andrew called Kimberly’s dorm and she’s not there either. Her roommate said she never came back last night.’
Some people might think it odd that a CEO would take such an interest in the business of a college intern. Those people hadn’t met his dad. Carter Industries was a giant in the manufacturing world, but Jack Carter was a scientist at heart and research was his life’s blood. Interns generated a lot of new ideas and his father made it a point to listen to each one. That he’d know Ford Elkhart by name was to be expected.
That he’d care so much about the kid’s safety . . . well, that was his dad. That there was a family connection hadn’t hurt. Joseph’s adopted brother Grayson was Daphne’s boss and her friend. That made Daphne and her son like family.
That Ford shared Jack’s interest in research had sealed the deal. Jack loved his four children unconditionally, but none of them had any interest in the family business.
Joseph’s oldest sister, Lisa, ran a catering company with her husband. His middle sister, Zoe, was a police psychologist, and his youngest sister Holly . . . well, Holly worked for Lisa. An adult with Down syndrome, Holly grew more independent with every year that passed, but she would never take the reins of Carter Industries.
Joseph was probably his father’s biggest disappointment. He’d actually earned a degree in electrical engineering, only to join the FBI. His passion had never been wires and widgets. But Ford’s was, and his dad had become fond of the kid.
‘They probably checked into a hotel,’ Joseph said. ‘They’re twenty-year-olds and he’s rich. Maybe the movie gave them ideas they wanted privacy to try.’
‘No, Ford’s been signed up to use one of the new robotic devices and this morning was his turn in the lab. It’s all he could talk about. Something’s not right here. I feel it.’
Joseph felt it too, that buzzing on the back of his neck that signaled trouble. ‘Has anyone contacted the parents of either kid? Maybe they went home.’
‘I’ve tried to call Daphne, but it goes to her voicemail. I don’t have numbers for Kim’s parents, but Andrew said they lived near Philly.’
‘I’ll contact the university for the girl’s parents’ info. Ford’s mother is with the State’s Attorney’s office, right?’ Joseph asked, as if he didn’t know exactly where she worked.
His father took a moment before answering. ‘Yes, Joseph,’ he said in a way that let Joseph know his coy move hadn’t fooled the old man. I never could.
‘I’ll call Grayson.’ It was through one of his brother’s court cases that Joseph had met Daphne in the first place. ‘He’ll track her down.’
‘I already called Grayson, and got his voicemail, too. Seems they’re both in court. It’s that big trial that’s been in the news.’
‘The Millhouse boy,’ Joseph said flatly. He’d been following the case, Daphne’s first big solo trial since she’d been promoted to Grayson’s old job. Reggie Millhouse, a high school senior, was accused of murdering a middle-aged married couple whose Mercedes had broken down on the side of a lonely road.
The case was top of the news because the married couple was black – and Reggie had ties to a local white supremacist group.
‘The news said that the jury’s reached a verdict,’ his father said. ‘City’s gonna pop.’
Because the evidence was mostly circumstantial and tempers raged on both sides. Whichever way the jury decided, there would be an outcry. Outside the courthouse was not the safest place to be today. Inevitably, that’s where the protesters would gather.
If Daphne’s son had disappeared on the eve of an important verdict . . .
‘You’re quiet,’ his father murmured. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘It could be coincidence.’ Joseph prayed it was. ‘I’ll head over there, wait for his mother and Grayson to come out of court.’ He started walking to his Escalade. ‘Let’s not borrow trouble until we know for sure that the kids are really missing.’
‘That’s wise. I have Kim’s car’s make and license plate. She visited Ford here at the office for lunch a few times, so it was on file at the guard shack. Her full name is Kimberly MacGregor and she drives a ten-year-old Toyota Corolla. Blue.’
‘Fine. I’ll call you if . . . Wait.’ Joseph turned, looking back to the five cars parked between Ford’s SUV and the alley into which the homeless man had gone a few minutes before. Joseph started to run, abruptly stopping at the last vehicle in line.
‘What is it?’ his father demanded. ‘Joseph?’
Joseph stared at the blue Corolla. There was a dark brown smear on the passenger door handle. Dried blood. Heart sinking, he crouched by the door where he saw two more smears, hand-shaped, woman-sized.
‘Read me the license plate number.’ His father did and it was a match. ‘I found the girl’s car.’ The blood he’d keep from his father, for now. ‘I’ll call you when I know—’ A shrill scream from within the alley cut him off.
‘What was that? Joseph, answer—’
Joseph ran to the alley entrance. The homeless man was running in the opposite direction, hands empty. Something had scared him so badly that he’d dropped his sack.
‘Call you back,’ Joseph said curtly, dropping his phone into his pocket as he started after the man. But halfway into the alley Joseph stopped short.
A pair of feet wearing bright red socks stuck out from one end of a pile of flattened boxes, reminding Joseph ridiculously of the witch’s red shoes sticking out from under Dorothy’s house. Except the feet were big. A man’s feet.
Grimly, he stepped around the pile of boxes, then let out a relieved breath. It wasn’t Daphne’s son. It wasn’t anyone Joseph knew. But the man was unquestionably dead, the cause of death most likely the slit across his throat that went ear to ear.
Joseph swallowed hard. The victim’s head clung to his body by about two inches of flesh on the back of his neck. He’d seen his share of slit throats in the course of his career, but this one . . . it was damn near decapitation.
No wonder the homeless guy took off. The sack he’d left behind sat a few feet from the victim’s head. A pair of running shoes had rolled to the pavement. The shoe size looked to be a match for the dead man’s feet.
That’s cold. Stealing the shoes off a dead man. It appeared that the homeless guy had started to pull boxes off the victim when he’d seen the head and bolted.
About half of the victim’s torso was uncovered. He was a black male, mid thirties. About six feet and broad-shouldered. He wore a leather jacket, unzipped, and under it a grey sweatshirt with three big black letters.
The middle letter was a P, visible where the jacket parted. To the left of it was what looked like an M. To the right . . . It was a D. Joseph sighed quietly. Aw, hell.
MPD. Metro Police Department. This guy’s a DC cop.
Joseph crouched next to the victim. Carefully he probed the man’s chest through the sweatshirt. And felt something hard. On a chain. In the shape of a shield. A DC cop killed in the line of duty.
‘Goddammit,’ Joseph muttered, dialing his cell phone as he came to his feet. The murder of a cop was enough of a loss. That the victim had been on duty made it that much worse. That the victim was Joseph’s own age . . . It hit damn close to home.
‘Special Agent Lamar, VCET.’
Supervisory Special Agent Boaz Lamar headed the Violent Crimes Enforcement Team, a joint task force staffed by Baltimore city and county cops and the FBI. Bo and Joseph went way back in the Bureau ?
?? Bo had been one of his trainers, when Joseph had been a newly sworn agent.
Three years ago, Bo began preparing for his retirement and had asked Joseph to transfer from the domestic terrorism unit into VCET, with the plan being Joseph’s eventual promotion into Bo’s job. For reasons of his own, Joseph had declined, then and every other time Bo brought it up.
Until nine months ago when everything changed and, again for reasons of his own, Joseph accepted Bo’s offer, surprising everyone. When grilled by his family, he’d said he needed a change. When grilled by his bosses, he’d said he wanted to stick closer to home. Neither was a lie. But the real reason he kept to himself.
It had been a damn good reason nine months ago. Six months of paperwork and red tape later, Joseph had his transfer, but his real reason wasn’t actionable anymore.
Because he’d waited too long and Daphne had chosen someone else.
Sometimes life’s a bitch that way. He looked down at the body. He was pretty sure that Mr Red Socks would agree, whoever he was.
‘Bo, it’s Joseph. I need CSU and the ME at this location. I’ve got a definite murder and a possible abduction with two missing persons. One is Ford Elkhart, the son of the state’s attorney on the Millhouse case. The other is Kim MacGregor, his girlfriend.’ Joseph dreaded the fear he’d see in Daphne’s eyes when he told her. ‘This dead guy was a DC Metro cop. Somebody all but separated his head from his body.’
Bo exhaled. ‘Text me his face and we’ll contact MPD to get an ID started. I’ll get a team together and out to you within fifteen.’
Tuesday, December 3, 9.57 A.M.
Most excellent. Mitch Roberts’s customer was waiting, just where he was supposed to be. It’s nice when people follow instructions.
George Millhouse wasn’t waiting very patiently, though. He paced back and forth, checking his watch every five seconds. Which, had they been in a less secluded place, would have been a dead giveaway. Fortunately, I planned for this. George’s frantic pacing would be seen by no one.
Mitch slipped into the alley, much like he’d slipped into the one down by the movie theater the night before. Except there’d better not be any surprises like there were last night. He didn’t like surprises in general, and that cop had been a nasty shock.
Mitch grinned to himself. And then the cop had gotten a nasty shock. It all worked out very well, actually. Better than the original plan. ‘Hello, George.’
George spun around, relief filling his eyes, followed by fury. ‘Doug. Where have you been? I’ve been waiting here for an hour. I’m going to be late.’
Using one’s real name when selling illegal weapons would have been downright foolish, so Mitch had introduced himself to the Millhouses as ‘Doug’ months ago. It had become something of a nickname during the years he spent in prison, so every time he heard one of the Millhouses call his name it rekindled his anger, reminding him that there was someone he hated even more than Daphne Montgomery.
Not that Mitch needed any reminders. He wore his anger like a second skin, his revenge a painful thirst that he could never satisfy. Until now. Everything was finally coming together and furious George here was an important piece of the plan.
Mitch kept his voice mild. ‘What you’re going to be is arrested if you don’t calm down. You look like you did the murder, George.’
George’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you didn’t bring my package, I just might.’
Were I not armed, I’d be nervous. George was a big sonofabitch, yet still smaller than his brother Reggie, who was a fucking King Kong. The jury had seen Reggie that way, too. Which was why George was so anxious to get this delivery.
‘Tsk, tsk, tsk. George, how many times do I have to tell you to hold your temper?’
George ground his teeth. ‘Did you bring the knife?’
‘Of course I did.’ With a few modifications. ‘Did you bring the brace?’
George held out a plastic grocery bag. ‘Yeah. I did.’
Mitch frowned. ‘Have you been wearing it?’
‘Yes. Every goddamn day of this trial. Now hurry. I need to get to the courtroom.’
Mitch took the wrist brace from the bag and winced. Yep, George had been wearing it all right. Every day. During which he’d never washed his arm. The brace was ripe.
‘Do me a favor, will you, and slip the plastic plate out of the brace. The one that supports your wrist.’ George obeyed, carelessly leaving his prints all over the plastic. Like taking candy from a baby, Mitch thought as he produced an identical-looking plate from his pocket. Unlike George, he wore gloves, ensuring the only prints the cops would find would be George’s. ‘This is your knife.’
George’s face darkened. ‘That? That piece of shit plastic? That’s what you’ve been promising us?’
‘Watch. This plate slides apart – it’s two layers.’ He took the pieces apart, but George was not impressed. Idiot. This was top-of-the-line polymer construction.
‘It’s plastic,’ George said flatly.
‘But it’s no piece of shit. The edges of the bottom layer have been sharpened to a fine edge. It will easily slice skin and muscle.’ Which it had done the night before. Stupid cop. Sneaking up on me. ‘If you use enough pressure, it’ll cut through bone. Connect the pieces like this.’ Mitch snapped them together. ‘This other piece isn’t sharp. Therefore it is the handle.’ He said it like he might to a kindergartner.
Giving him a dirty look, George crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Prove it.’
I should prove it on you. But that wouldn’t suit his goal. Mitch looked around the alley, spied a bicycle tire. He picked it up and tossed it to George, who dropped the original dull fingerprint-riddled plastic brace so that he could catch it.
‘What the fuck?’ George exploded. ‘I gotta go to court. I might be on TV and you almost messed up my suit.’
‘If you hold the tire, you’ll know how much pressure I’m using to cut it.’ The knife easily sliced through the tire and George’s irate disbelief became greedy delight.
‘Give it to me.’ George opened his backpack. ‘Small bills, just like you asked for.’
‘Very good.’ Just to mess with him, Mitch began to count the cash.
George growled. ‘If I miss the verdict, I promise you will be a very unhappy man.’
‘I don’t want to be unhappy.’ Mitch unsnapped the handle from the blade, fitted the plates together and slid them into the brace. ‘There you go.’
‘If I get caught with this thing, you’ll be even unhappier.’ With that, George shoved the backpack at him and took off, fastening the brace to his wrist as he ran.
Actually, if you get caught I’ll be exceptionally happy, you inbred dick.
Once alone, Mitch emptied the backpack, dumping the cash into the plastic grocery sack. He scooped up the legitimate plastic brace plate that George had dropped, put it in the backpack, and tossed the backpack behind a Dumpster, his plan on track.
The cops would inevitably find the weapon he’d just sold to George, either because George got caught in security or because the Millhouses’ crazy Plan B actually worked and they ended up using it in the courtroom.
Regardless, Baltimore PD’s CSU expert would be so excited – because in the crevice where the handle met George’s blade, they’d find blood that matched a certain dead DC Metro cop. George and the whole Millhouse clan would be on the hook.
Sweet. One more thing to do and he could go home. Mitch took Ford Elkhart’s iPhone from his pocket and slid the SIM card he’d removed the night before back into place. Turning it on, he checked Ford’s texts. There were several, including two from somebody who appeared to be Ford’s boss, asking why he hadn’t shown up at his job.
Mitch had been surprised to find Ford had a job at all considering he was mega-rich. Granted, it was a nerd desk job, but the kid put in twenty hours a week. On top of his studies and sports and his girlfriend, he kept busy. Hard to find time for his mama.
Who would be in court, waiting for that jury
verdict. I’m so damn tired of hearing about that verdict. But the Millhouses couldn’t have come along at a better time. All the trash talk aimed at the prosecution gave him one enormous decoy to hide behind.
I want Montgomery to suffer. I want her to die. But I won’t get caught. Prison was not for the faint-hearted, which he knew first-hand. Much better for the cops to think the Millhouses were behind his evil deeds. Much better if no one suspects me at all.
Except for Daphne, of course. She needs to know that I’m the one holding the gun to her head. Just like she held the gun to my mother’s.
Ford’s phone held no new texts from his mother. Old texts asked how he was, how was school. Ford’s responses were brief, so the text Mitch had in mind would fit right in.
Good luck, Mom! he typed, then removed the SIM card and turned off the phone. The cops would soon start hunting for Ford. When they checked his phone records, they’d think he’d sent a text from this very spot.
Unfortunately, all they’d find when they got here would be George Millhouse’s backpack – and one plastic wrist brace plate with George’s fingerprints all over it. The same shape as the blade George is smuggling into the courthouse at this very moment.
I love it when everything comes together. Now he could go home. He’d first check on the girls, make sure they hadn’t died from exposure or blood loss during the night.
Then I have to sleep. He should feel tired after driving so many hours, but he didn’t. He felt juiced. On the verge. The plans he’d spent months constructing in painful detail were about to come to fruition. It was as if he’d spent months setting up dominoes in intricate designs and now stood poised to nudge the first one down. It was going to be one hell of a show.
And so even though he wasn’t tired, he’d make himself sleep. He needed to be well rested so that he didn’t miss a single moment.
Tuesday, December 3, 10.10 A.M.
Assistant State’s Attorney Daphne Montgomery glanced at the clock on the wall for the tenth time in as many minutes. The door to the jury deliberation room remained firmly closed and the tension in the courtroom seemed to double with every sweep of that slow-moving minute hand. What the hell is taking them so long?