Little Belle Gone (32 page)

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darter from the page before her to the board spreading over the wall just behind Matt, who sat face down, buried under the mountain of paperwork she had given him. “Namoore. Matt, the owners of the Hamptons house were Estel and Harold Namoore. Same as the name of our first detective, Angelica’s case. Do you remember what Alex told us? That the previous owners lost it to foreclosure a couple years ago, then they died of old age? What if...what if our guy is their son? I mean, the age would fit. He’s got to be in his late fifties, maybe even early sixties, if he started killing thirty four years ago, right?”

Matt had looked up from the depressingly massive mountain of meaningless names and addresses piled before him when Elizabeth had started talking. At first he had been grateful for the interruption, but as she continued he could feel the excitement and nervous energy begin to radiate through them both at the prospect. He wanted to warn her not to get her hopes up, but it would make him a hypocrite. His rational mind was clinging to the concept of coincidence, but only by a thread. The idea that they had found a murder in that house, committed by their killer and the owners names matched that self same killers first victim’s lead detective was beyond the realm of mathematical coincidence. Again, he was left with either the most methodical and detail oriented killer that had ever existed, or Elizabeth was right.

“Wow...that’s huge. To tell the truth, I was starting to think this whole endeavor was going to give us nothing. I guess that would explain why he picked that house. Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with your Uncle Mark at all. He is picking places that have meaning for you and him. I guess that means I can give up on this then!” His smile was a little too quick as he shuffled the pile of papers back into some semblance of order and stuffed them haphazardly into their original container. As he freed himself of the mundane task, he continued, musing over the coincidence of it all. “I just can’t get over the fact that he, a man born some forty years before you, just happens to be from the town where your only living relatives live. That you ended up growing up in the same place that he did, and then ended up running right into him, here, all over again... “His musing voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn suddenly to something beyond Elizabeth. Matt couldn’t believe his eyes. Jack Arrons was coming around the corner from the elevator. Jack never came up here, preferring to visit with detectives in his labs or his office. When Jack stopped for a second, scanned the room and, after finding Matt and Liz in the corner, started moving again, his heart skipped a beat. The look on Arrons’ face was stern and foreboding and the file in his hand was most assuredly a D.N.A. report.

Standing, Matt moved swiftly to intercept Jack before he could reach their little space. He knew the D.N.A. didn’t match their killer, but right then he was far more afraid that perhaps it had come back to Moreano. The look in Jack’s eyes was too familiar for him not to know it immediately. It was anger mixed with irritation, a look Matt had learned well his first year as a detective. Only three years ago, he had been on the receiving end of that look whenever he failed to fill out a form properly, or seal an evidence bag with the proper initials, dates, and reference numbers. Above all else, Jack Arrons was a stickler for the rules, a very by-the-book sort of cop, and he had done all he could to train Matthew. After a time, they had become relatively good friends. Jack had been a homicide detective for almost ten years before transferring to the crime lab and he did everything he could to help Matt adjust to the stressful and adrenalin-filled life that he would face. All of that advice had come at a price. He could be abrasive, to say the least, when something was done incorrectly and he had a tendency to hold onto mistakes for long periods of time. Matt approached his friend hurriedly, trying to stall his progress, give Elizabeth a few more moments of peace. He could only pray that all he had come to discuss was the negative results.

It wasn’t until he drew upon him that Matt realized the look he was casting over his shoulder was far more stern that he had originally thought. Arrons looked positively incensed, and Matt’s stomach turned in fear. If he had run the sample and come back with not just a “no match,” but a match to Moreano, this could go very badly. Matt’s only reassurance that Elizabeth wasn’t yet in serious trouble was that there was not an Internal Affairs officer trailing behind him with that self-righteous smirk they always wore, as if destroying a cop’s career was something to be monumentally proud of. Reaching out a hand and clasping Jack’s shoulder, Matt stammered, “Jack! What brings you up here?” Without so much as a sideways glance, Arrons stepped out of his grip and continued on toward his target, who was only now standing to receive him. Matt would not be so easily ignored. Returning his hand to the older man’s shoulder, he applied a little force and actually turned him around slightly. Arrons blinked at him, utter surprise scrawled across his face, as if he hadn’t even known Matt was there. Righting himself, he continued his mission.

“Matt, I’m sorry, but I can’t chat right now. I need to educate your partner on proper sample submission.” With that, he was out of arm’s reach and all Matt could do was trail after and pray that this would not end with Elizabeth needing to call a union representative or a lawyer. Elizabeth, who seemed to know that Arrons was there to see her, though clearly unaware of the lecture heading her way, took several sure steps toward him, closing the gap in seconds.

“Detective Cord, I think that we need to have a little discussion about proper sample submission protocols. It seems that you successfully found the one new tech in my lab and managed to convince her to run a D.N.A. analysis on a skin sample with nothing more than ‘John Doe’ and your name attached to it. The results are meaningless without the data on the submission form! Where did you come in contact with the source? How did the transfer take place? Was there an altercation? If so, where is the report on that? Do you know where the
source
can be found? I need this information if I am to have my people pursue this hit!” Matt had been on the verge of rage as Jack had begun, but as he listened to the tirade of questions that Jack unloaded on Elizabeth, he had come to a rather startling conclusion. Jack wasn’t angry because she had wasted the labs time and resources running a negative, and it wasn’t because she had subtly managed to accuse her boss of being a murderer, but because the sample was a hit and they couldn’t race onward with it. He wanted to know everything she did about the John Doe, not if she knew how much trouble she was in or that accusing her superior could get her fired. Matt was now positive that Jack had no idea that the sample even came from Moreano. What was more, he felt a lurching mixture of pride and regret as the truth of Elizabeth’s suspicions broke over him. She had been right. Moreano was indeed their killer! Unable to contain his eager excitement any longer, Matt blurted out, “It was a match! Right? To our sixth sample, to our serial killer!” Arrons turned to face him for the first time since he pulled free of his grasp. He seemed almost aggravated that Matt was still there, flushed and frantic for more information.

Arrons handed him the file and then turned back to Elizabeth, saying, “Yeah, and I want to know how you got your hands, or, more specifically, your fingernails, on our killers D.N.A. Not just that, I want to know why you didn’t file a proper report if you thought that’s what you had. If you had fought with him you surely would have filed a report about it, so … what? Did you bump into a strange man in the lobby and decide to have the lab waist time, resources, and a technician on a whim you had that he
might
be our guy?” He glared at her. Even from where Matt stood, looking over the report, he could feel the electric excitement in Arrons frame. “If you have a solid suspect I want to know! Now!” Elizabeth stood frozen to the spot. Matt watched as her face transformed from fear, to excitement, to horror. She had been so sure, then he had made her doubt, shattered her theory, only to have it vindicated though such a chastising lecture. The up and down journey of it all had left her unsteady and floundering for words. A state Jack apparently had no sympathy for. “
Well?
”

Matt couldn’t stand the pallid color that was consuming her lovely face any longer. Stepping between them, he turned on Jack and said, “Yes, we know who the sample came from. No, there was not a report filed because there was no altercation, and yes, we will tell you everything you want to know. But you have to promise to hear us out before you say another word.” Matt reached his left hand behind him, and was rewarded with hers as Elizabeth reached for it greedily. Her hands were trembling, though from fear or excitement he couldn’t tell. From the flutter of surprise that flashed across Arrons face, Matt knew that he had seen the exchange and recognized it as the intimate act that it was. He wasn’t surprised, after all Arrons was one of the most observant men he had ever met. At any other moment he might have been concerned, but right now it was the least of his worries, discovery of their relationship a mere professional trifle that no longer seemed to warrant concern.

Turning, Matt guided Elizabeth and Jack around his desk to the board they had so painstakingly arranged. After having to insist twice that Jack take a seat, and reluctantly releasing his death grip on Liz’s hand, Matt walked Arrons through everything they had discovered or deciphered. He had to stop twice to prevent Arrons from bursting forth with questions, reminding him that he had promised to let him finish first. Elizabeth had broken in and taken over four times when Matt could not seem to explain what they had found with enough clarity to alleviate the confused look in Arrons’ eyes. The whole exchange ended nearly thirty minutes later with Liz explaining her growing suspicion that morning. She tried to explain her rash decision to collect a reference sample from Moreano, just to be sure. And why she felt compelled to give such a cryptically small amount of information to the technician.

Arrons took it all in, and when they were finally finished he sat, jaw tight, staring at the the two of them, and the board behind them. “And you two are sure that all of this information is accurate?”

Matt sighed slightly in frustration. “Yes! Most of it came from your C.O.D.I.S. reports, Jack. The information they didn’t have we got from the local newspapers online, but really we only needed that for their talents and the New Mexico murders. Even without that data this is still a compelling case!” Matt could feel his body starting to vibrate with anticipation. He wanted to finish this, to feel the freedom of not having to fear every moment for Elizabeth’s safety, or sanity. “What I don’t understand, is how he didn’t pop up when you ran the sixth sample in the first place. Every cop in the department was asked for a D.N.A. sample two years ago. Surely he’s in the system.” Matt couldn’t believe the look that washed over Arrons’ face. He had never seen the man look truly befuddled.

“He didn’t, I mean, we never managed to find a good time to collect one from him. Eventually it just fell off the plate. He is on a list of about fifteen department higher-ups that haven’t come in yet to give us that sample. In truth, its probably been over a year since we even asked.” Seeing the disgust well up in Matt’s eyes, Arrons continued, “The samples were voluntary after all. It wasn’t mandatory at the time, like it is now for new hires.” The three sat silently staring at each other, the board, the ground, an awkward thickness spreading between them, before Arrons spoke again. “Well, we need to collect a proper sample from him. Then we can officially confirm his gui....” His voice broke as he shot from Matt’s desk chair and tore across the bullpen at breakneck speed, nearly knocking over another detective as he raced. Matt and Elizabeth only hesitated a moment to exchange a look of confusion before doing their best to catch up to him. They watched him round the corner and head down the hallway for Moreano’s office.

Matt called after him, “He’s not in there. He left over an hour ago. Didn’t say where he was going, but we saw him get on the elevator going down.” Arrons looked over his shoulder, frustration and anticipation warring in his eyes, before he straightened and continued. Reaching Moreano’s office door, he turned the handle and slid into the utter darkness. Despite the fact that it was still early afternoon, his office was in the building’s interior and reached a state of near cave dark when the lights were off. Flipping the switch, Arrons gasped, followed quickly by Matt and lastly by Liz’s faint shriek. For the most part, Moreano’s office looked completely normal. A few file folders scattered on the corner of his oversized oak desk, a half-empty cup of cold coffee waiting to be taken to the break room and refilled. He had even left his department e-mail open on his desktop which had apparently woken from sleep state when they entered the room so quickly. There was only one thing within to indicate the their Captain was not simply gone to lunch, and Matt did his best to shield Liz’s eyes from it. But it was too late. The message was written to large and too bold for her not to have seen it as he shuffled her out into the hallway. If Arrons had held any doubt that Moreano was their killer, it was now gone. Scrawled on the wall behind his desk, in blood obtained from some mystery source, was a message meant for Elizabeth. Meant, no doubt, to shatter her spirit and leave her broken.

So you have found me little Belle doll.

Now you have to catch me!

Matt couldn’t stand still. Between rage and grief, he staggered around the office and back out into the hallway. Elizabeth looked positively dreadful. Her ivory skin had turned peeked and looked not unlike the flesh of bodies he had seen pulled from the river. He couldn’t stand to look at her like that, but he had no idea how to relieve the sheer panic and terror she was facing. It was one thing to suspect him and another to hear confirmation from a lab. But to see the truth, written in his handwriting for all the world to see, was more than her weakened spirit seemed able to cope with.