Silenced (5 page)

“She’s twenty-one.” And that was what terrified Ivy. What about when these lost girls made it to adulthood? When there were fewer chances for help? Would there be a real future for any of them, when they were constantly chased by the past?

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll call it a halfway house, for lack of a better name. She can go to college, find something she likes to support herself. You can too.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “I want to be left alone.”

“No you don’t.”

Then she walked away.

*   *   *

It had taken Ivy two weeks before she called Jocelyn, and it was after Amy had sneaked out to meet up with her new “boyfriend.” Ivy saw her falling into the same destructive patterns because Ivy couldn’t get her into school. She had no real authority over Amy; Amy knew Ivy would never kick her out of the house or turn her in to the police, so those threats never worked. A parent had to be willing to follow through. But Ivy wasn’t a parent. She was a twenty-year-old call girl who’d been on her own since she was Amy’s age.

Jocelyn arranged a call with Amy’s mother, no strings attached.

Her mother’s tearful emotion could be felt over the phone lines.
“Amy, I love you so much. I miss you. Tyler misses you. Please come home. I’m sorry I didn’t see how much pain you were in when your dad died. I was selfish, thinking only I was grieving. That only I could miss him so much. I was wrong.”

Two days later, Ivy let Jocelyn take Amy. She decided not to go with her. She didn’t want to, or need to. She’d heard the truth in the mother’s voice: Amy was both safe and loved.

And that is all anyone, child or teen or adult, wanted.

*   *   *

Ivy checked on Maddie and Sara; they both were sleeping.

She tried Kerry again, but there was still no answer. Why hadn’t Kerry checked in? Where had she gone? Why wasn’t she answering the phone?

Ivy wanted someone to talk to, someone she could trust. Kerry, like Ivy, would do anything necessary to protect her sister. Maybe she’d ditched the phone, fearing it could be traced somehow. But wouldn’t she have let Ivy know that she’d picked up a new phone?

While she was thinking about Kerry, her phone rang, and she jumped on it. She almost answered it, but her eye caught the caller ID. She recognized the number, but it wasn’t Kerry.

She silenced the phone.

For all she knew, the man she knew as Sergio had tried to kill them that morning. Or he’d want to when he found out both his money and the disks he’d paid for had been destroyed in the fire.

CHAPTER FIVE

Wendy James lived in a small but pricey condo on the edge of the park where she’d been killed.

Noah and two DC cops cleared the apartment first, then Lucy entered the immaculate one-bedroom apartment. The blinds were drawn, and Noah walked over to open them, letting in bright, morning light. The city view would be breathtaking during the sunrise, Lucy thought, though the full wall of windows made her uncomfortable. A number of office buildings had line of sight into this condo. Anyone with binoculars or a good camera lens could see inside.

A small patio off the living room was accessible by a sliding glass door. The patio had no plants—only a small iron table and two matching chairs.

A white cat with orange spots ran over to Lucy, meowing loudly as he rubbed against her legs. She squatted to pet him. “I’ll bet he’s hungry,” she said.

“I didn’t peg you for a cat person.”

“Never had a cat. My dad was allergic. We should find a neighbor to watch him until we locate Wendy’s family.”

“The computer tech is going through her hard drive and Stein is on his way.”

Lucy said, “Do you think Slater’s right? He’d take the case just because it’s high-profile?”

Noah looked at her with an odd expression. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve stayed out of office politics.”

“I thought it best to keep my head down, considering my position here is unusual.”

“Stein’s a smart guy, but Slater’s right. You took pictures of the body on your phone, right?”

“Yes. I know the forensic photographer will have better shots, but I wanted them for reference.”

“It’s not a problem. Give me your phone.”

She did, not sure what he had planned. He scrolled through the dozen photos she’d taken, then his lips turned up. “This is great.”

He’d brought up a close-up of the victim’s arm that had been half-eaten by the dogs.

She trusted Noah had a plan, because she wasn’t giving up this case.

The other agents cared about solving the murder, and both Noah and Matt Slater were good at their jobs. But Lucy cared about Wendy James. The twenty-five-year-old blonde had made some bad choices, and unfortunately, the people in this town would remember the affair more than they’d remember a young woman was dead. It would all be about Congressman Crowley—what her murder would do to his career, what his wife thought, whether he would resign, whether he would run for reelection, and if his opponent would use the affair and murder against him. And what if Crowley was guilty of more than adultery?

Lucy walked slowly through the condo while Noah talked to the computer tech. Glass was everywhere—round glass dining table with decorative flowers in the center. Glass tables in the living room. Pale gray carpet. The minimal art could have been found in a hotel room, blending in with the subdued coloring. The only brightness came from the sun and the blood-red throw pillows placed squarely on the couch.

The condo had two large rooms—the living/dining combination and the bedroom. There was a small kitchen, extra storage, and a surprisingly large bathroom for a one-bedroom condo. Even in the bedroom, there were no personal pictures. A bookshelf was lined with popular hardcover fiction, none of which appeared to have been read. Even in the bathroom, where most women left makeup and toiletries scattered on the counter, there was very little at first glance.

“Does she even live here?” Lucy wondered out loud.

Noah glanced around again. “Yes.”

“It’s sparse. Nothing personal.”

“Minimalist. I’ve been in my apartment for nearly four years and it looks pretty much like this.”

“That’s because you work twelve-hour days.”

“Or maybe because I’m orderly.”

Lucy put on her gloves and opened the medicine cabinet. She found two prescriptions, one for birth control pills, one for Valium. The Valium had been refilled two weeks ago, but at sight Lucy didn’t think more than one or two were missing. The birth control pills came in a six-month supply. The box was in a drawer. There were two months left.

Wendy kept her extensive makeup collection in two drawers, well-organized with separate trays for each type of product—eye shadow, lipstick, brushes, mascara. A cosmetics bag in the bottom drawer had a complete but minimal set of supplies.

Her toilet paper was stacked in neat rows under her sink. Feminine products were in separate trays. There were no extraneous boxes, each drawer was lined and clean. The shampoo, conditioner, and soap were lined up in the shower, labels facing out, perfectly symmetrical.

“She’s severely OCD,” Lucy said to herself. Lucy wasn’t a slob like her sister Carina, but she wasn’t this anal about her personal space. She lived in tidy clutter. Living like this would drive her as batty as living in a mess.

“Did you say something?” Noah asked as he stepped into the bathroom.

“I think I know the victim a bit better.” She pointed out some of the personality traits. “Meticulous to the point of sociopathic.”

“Sociopathic?” Noah questioned.

“A disorder. Not crazy or psychopathic, but she has some definite neuroses.”

“I like it.”

“Do you keep your drawer this neat?” She opened the makeup drawer.

“No, that’s a little extreme, even for a military boy like me.”

“Anything on the computer?” she asked, stepping into the bedroom.

“Not yet. We can’t find her cell phone and she has no landline. A purse was hanging in the closet with a wallet, but no driver’s license. Her car—a late-model Camaro—is in the garage. The keys we recovered at the crime scene match the car and the apartment.”

“There was no personal identification on the body, correct?”

“Nothing found so far.”

“I always take my ID and phone when I run.”

“The only thing the canvass found was a small can of Mace and keys. Could have fallen out of her pocket during the attack.”

“Or she tried to stop her attacker, but couldn’t get to it fast enough.” Mace was a great defensive tool, but only with proper training. Not only did the potential victim need to know how to use the spray effectively, but she should also have advanced self-defense training to learn to be more aware of her surroundings and potential threats. Lucy, who was hyperaware of what went on around her, was sometimes guilty of complacency while running. It was easy to get lulled by the comfortable rhythm of a steady pace.

“The crime scene didn’t feel like a robbery,” Noah said.

“Did you find anything in the drawers or closet?”

Noah averted his eyes, but Lucy picked up on the subtle tension and looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Clothing, personal items. There was an overnight bag in the closet packed with marital aids.”

It took Lucy a second to realize what Noah meant. “You mean sex toys?”

He nodded.

“Why are you acting surprised?” She hoped he wasn’t walking on eggshells because of her. “Wendy James was an attractive twenty-five-year-old woman having an affair. It’s reasonable to assume she had an active sex life.”

She walked out of the bedroom, realizing she wasn’t comfortable talking about sex toys with Noah. Murder, sexual assault, forensics, psychology—no problem. But Lucy couldn’t joke about sex like many cops did. She blamed her past, and wished she could just be normal. Or at least
act
normal. Put on a show, pretend she was just like everyone else.

But she wasn’t. While she was certainly less experienced on a homicide investigation than either Noah or Slater, she looked at the crime scene far differently than most cops. And here, Noah methodically searched and assessed what he saw, but Lucy pictured Wendy living here. If she really had.

Of course she did. She has a cat. Makeup. Medication.

Something she said to Noah came back to her. When he’d said his apartment was just like this, she’d been flip that he was never there because he worked so much.

She turned around, almost ran into Noah. “Excuse me.”

“What are you looking for?”

Frowning with concentration, she went through each drawer in the closet, every article of clothing. The suitcases. She went back to the bathroom, looked through the drawers again.

“How long did her affair with Crowley last?”

“According to the media, a little over a year.”

“And he’s never been here?”

“I have no idea,” Noah said. “They could have stuck to hotels.”

“More likely for him to be recognized going into a hotel in DC, don’t you think?”

“What’s your point?”

“She’s here, but she’s not. She doesn’t work here, she doesn’t bring men over here—there is
nothing
in her bedroom, closet, or bathroom that is masculine. No forgotten shampoo, socks, tie.”

“You said she was OCD.”

Lucy didn’t realize that Noah had heard her talking to herself. “I suppose … but no pictures? No mementos? How long has she lived here?”

“The manager is pulling her records and security tapes.”

They walked back to the living room and Josh Stein stood in the middle, his lips a tight line. “Slater told you I would be here, and you’re already done with the search? This is my case.” He glanced at Lucy, but addressed Noah. “I don’t think you understand the sensitive nature of our pending investigation.”

Next to her, Noah straightened his spine, the tension rolling off him, but physically she hardly noticed the difference in his stance.

He put his hands out, palms up. “It’s yours, absolutely. Slater called in the tech team to access the computer, we needed to secure the apartment and do a cursory search.”

Stein seemed irritated that Noah hadn’t argued with him. “Find anything?”

“She’s a good housekeeper, and she likes her sex toys.” Noah gave Stein a wry grin. Lucy had never seen him joke, but she could see the humor wasn’t in his eyes. Josh Stein, however, didn’t seem to notice.

“I’d expect no less from someone like her.” He chuckled and glanced around the spacious living room.

“S—” Lucy stepped forward, furious, but Noah stepped in front of her and cut her off immediately.

“Kincaid,” he said sharply, “find a neighbor who will take the cat.”

She bit back her anger and walked out without comment.

She stood in the hall a moment to calm down. Someone like
who
? It took two to have an affair. Two to play sex games. Why was it always the female who was ridiculed and blamed? Alan Crowley was just as responsible for the affair, and he was solely responsible for the lies he told to cover it up. Would Josh Stein be making cracks about Crowley if he’d been the victim?

And Noah had started it.

I’ll handle Stein.

Lucy breathed deeply, held it, and slowly let it out. Noah had never been crude, it had to be part of his plan. If Stein cut them out, the case would be all about political corruption, not the brutal murder of a twenty-five-year-old secretary.

Lucy knocked on each door on Wendy’s floor, but no one answered, not unusual for mid-morning on a weekday. She went downstairs to the security office to see if they could house the cat until next-of-kin came to pick up her belongings. She reached into her pocket to text Noah, then realized he still had her phone.

“Agent—?” The manager, a sixty-year-old woman with gray hair and sharp blue eyes, questioned Lucy.

“Lucy Kincaid,” she said, extending her hand.

“Betty Dare.” She handed her a tape and file. “Here’s the information your partner requested.”

“Thank you, Ms. Dare. Ms. James’s cat—would you be able to care for it until her family arrives?”