Stalked (5 page)

“What's in the folder?” Reva asked, and started to open it.

Lucy put her hand on the cover. “Reva, I can't share. It's a case file—an old case—that Agent Presidio gave to me. I promised to keep it confidential.” She hadn't, he hadn't even asked, but she didn't want to have to explain why she was looking at it.

“Anything to do with Kean pulling you out today?”

“Knock it off, Reva,” Margo said.

Lucy sighed and gave them a bit of information, mostly to keep Reva from getting even more nosy. “It involves a case I was involved with a few months ago in New York. An agent I worked with needed some information, said it couldn't wait.”

Margo diverted the conversation back to the firearms test tomorrow, and Lucy quickly finished eating. The three of them cleared their trays, and both Lucy and Margo grabbed an apple and granola bar for the morning. They'd gotten in the habit of running together at dawn, and neither liked to run on an empty stomach. They'd tried to get Reva to join them, but she wasn't a morning person.

Their rooms were on the second floor of the Madison Dormitory. When the Academy was at full capacity, there were two new agents to a room with a large bathroom connecting two rooms, so four agents had to share. But because of the budget freeze, instead of more than one thousand recruits passing through annually, it was less than half that now, and they had closed down Washington Dorm. Everyone had their own room and only had to share the adjoining bath with one fellow new agent. Lucy and Margo shared, while Reva was at the end of the hall with Alexis.

“Run at six?” Margo asked as she opened her door.

“Sounds good.” Lucy went to her own room. She opened the door and found Kate sitting at her desk. One look at Kate's expression, and hope that she'd come to explain what happened with Laughlin earlier disappeared.

Lucy dropped Tony's file on her nightstand. “Kate—tell me what happened.”

Kate stared, as if having an inner battle about what to say.

“What's going on?” Lucy pushed.

“Stay under the radar and away from Laughlin.”

She sat down on her bed and leaned forward. “Why?”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

She was lying, and Lucy called her on it. “It has everything to do with me. And
you.
Tell me, Kate.”

“Trust me, Lucy.”

“I always have.”

Kate sagged in relief. “Good. Just get through the next couple months and all will be fine.”

But Lucy wasn't willing to drop it that easily. “I trust you, Kate; you need to trust me. Tell me what's going on with Laughlin.”

Kate stared at her, stunned that Lucy had called her on the carpet. Secrets had burned Lucy in the past, she wasn't going to be kept in the dark.

“I can take it, Kate. My imagination is going to create far worse scenarios. Tell me what was going on in your office. What were you and Laughlin arguing about?”

“Let's just say there are people here who will look for any reason to expel you. Keep your nose clean.”

“He wants me out of here?”

“It's complicated. I can't go into detail.”

“You mean you
won't
go into it. Don't I deserve the truth?”

Kate stood. “I'm sorry, Lucy.”

“Kate—”

Lucy wished she hadn't sat down, because now Kate towered over her. “You wanted to get here on your own merits, but nothing is done in a vacuum. It doesn't matter if you're J. Edgar Hoover's granddaughter or the prodigy of Eliot Ness, people have long memories, and some people want to tear down more than lift up.
Never
forget it. It's politics, Lucy, and if you want to survive you'll blend in. Being right or intelligent isn't going to save you. Being
smart
might.”

“Keeping me in the dark isn't going to help, either!”

Kate walked out, firmly shutting the door behind her.

“Dammit!” Lucy walked over to the door, ready to go after Kate, then rested her forehead on the frame. She needed answers, and Kate wasn't going to give them to her yet.

But she knew the one person who could find them.

She strode over to her bag and grabbed her cell phone.

Sean answered on the second ring. “Lucy, I just walked in and was going to call you. You must be psychic.”

“Maybe I am.” She sat at her desk and rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “I need a favor.”

“It's not a favor when it's for the woman I love. What do you need?”

“I think I may have rubbed one of my instructors the wrong way, and I have no idea how or why. I don't know anything about him, other than his name is Rich Laughlin and he's an SA out of the Detroit field office. I can't risk asking—”

“I know exactly what you need, and I'll get it without tripping any alarms.”

Always, she could depend on Sean. “You're amazing.”

“Luce, why not talk to Kate?”

She sighed. “Because Kate knows why and she won't tell me.”

“She knows this guy is harassing you?”

“I wouldn't say harassing, more … closely observing.”

“I already hate him.”

“Kate doesn't like him, either, which makes why she's being so tight-lipped about him even more strange. I want to keep this quiet for now. When we learn something, I'll talk to her.” The tension of the day dissipated. “How was Sacramento?”

“Same old. I'll tell you about the job when I see you this weekend—I
am
seeing you.”

It wasn't a question. “As far as I know, I can leave.”

“I hear a ‘but' in your voice.”

“It's about me not making waves.”

“Is that what this Laughlin thing is?”

“Something Kate said. But, no matter what, I'll find some way to see you.”

“It's been nearly four weeks, Lucy—I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” She bit her lip, needing to tell Sean about the dead writer but not quite sure how to explain it. “There's something else that happened. Remember that reporter who called me before I reported to Quantico?”

“Rosemary Weber. Of course I remember her. She upset you.”

“She was murdered last night. Suzanne Madeaux called me.”

“Why are the feds involved?”

“Because Weber was writing about a federal investigation.”

“Did Suzanne tell you why she gave Weber your name?”

“She said she didn't. I believe her, Sean. I should have asked her four weeks ago.”

“Does she know who spilled the beans about you? Because Weber never called me.”

“Suzanne promised to research the leak. Tony is heading to New York to consult with Suzanne and the NYPD, and I'm sure he'll fill me in when he returns. My supervisor has forbidden me from following up with Suzanne without her permission.”

“You focus on getting your badge. I'll call Suzanne and let you know what I learn.”

Lucy smiled. “Thanks.”

“Thank me in person, this weekend.”

 

CHAPTER SIX

New York City

Suzanne was ten minutes late to the restaurant and Joe DeLucca was already there—with two cold bottles of beer in front of him.

She grabbed the full beer. “Thanks.”

“I knew you'd come.”

“Maybe I'm a figment of your imagination.”

“I ordered our pizza.”

“I became a vegetarian.”

Joe laughed, thin lines framing his eyes. A familiar flutter spread through her body. Suzanne didn't want any of the old feelings. She didn't want to remember how much she'd once cared.

She stared at him. “How's Stephanie?”

He scowled. “Don't.”

“Same old, same old.” She drank a long swallow of beer. “Okay, sorry. Ex-wife is off the table. But this”—she gestured between them—“is work only, Joe, nothing more.”

“Seeing someone?”

“More or less.” Less right now. For the past year, she'd hooked up with her best friend and sometime lover Mac whenever she wanted company. Mac was safe, trustworthy, and wanted nothing more from their relationship than she did. But as time passed they'd become better friends and less lovers. Which was also fine with Suzanne. She was too busy to stress over the whole
he loves me, he loves me not
thing. She got over it a long time ago.

Joe didn't blink. “You're lying.”

“Any news from the M.E.?”
Keep it business, Suz.

“Autopsy's in the morning. One visible stab wound, narrow weapon—like an ice pick.”

“
Like
an ice pick or actually an ice pick?”

“Impatient, as always. We'll know more in the morning. You can observe if you want.”

“Nope.” She had no time to hang around the morgue, and depending on who was running the case, it could take hours. “Security cams?”

“The only useful tape showed Weber in her car, alone, entering the parking lot.”

“Killer was on foot?”

“Possibly. We have the tape of everyone driving in, but it'll take days to go through all the faces, and unless we get some info to narrow the parameters that's not my focus. However, I have a couple rookies going through everyone who left the stadium thirty minutes prior to time of death. Because the game was close, not many people left early.”

“Good idea.” She paused. “I don't think the killer was at the game.”

“Based on?”

“If you're right and she was killed by someone she knew, someone she planned on meeting at the stadium, why would he buy a ticket?”

“Maybe it's someone who was there with others and slipped out to kill her, goes back in, and sits with friends. Alibi.”

“I hadn't thought of that.”

“I must be more devious than you.”

“Sometimes.” She sipped her beer. “Did you print the car?”

He stared at her.

“Of course you did. Sorry.”

“So far, nothing. Just Weber, her sister, and Weber's research assistant. Crime techs are looking for trace in the vehicle. Talked to the sister—they lived in a town house on the Upper East Side, inherited from their deceased parents. Bridget Weber, forty-three, divorced. Ex-husband some schmuck who works for the governor in Albany. Sister is an interior designer. Seemed upset, but she does get half of her sister's estate.”

“Sizable?”

“The town house has right of survivorship, so that's free and clear. My techs are going through financials; she's probably looking at a quarter mil when all's said and done.”

“Life insurance?”

“Small policy—both sisters had a hundred thou, sister said to cover any expenses related to their demise.”

“Other half of the estate?”

“Donation to her alma mater, Columbia University. Which brings me to the assistant, a grad student at Columbia who's worked for the deceased only a few months. Seems she gets a new grad student for every project, becomes part of their thesis or some such thing. I talked to the faculty advisor and he's hooking me up with her new assistant tomorrow.” Joe grinned. “Want to join me?”

“I have another two dozen calls to make, and I hate the phone.”

“It'll be fun. Old times.”

They'd met on a case five years ago when Suzanne was first assigned to the Violent Crimes and Major Offenders squad in New York City. They worked well together. Played well together, too.

She didn't smile. “Not old times.”

The pizza arrived, authentic Italian according to Joe. Suzanne didn't care—it was simply the best pizza in Brooklyn. They ordered two more beers.

“So was I the only one working today?” Joe said between bites.

“I spoke to half the people from the files you sent over—focusing on those she's interviewing for the Cinderella Strangler case. So far she seems to be in research mode—I have the file with me so I can go through it tonight and try to figure out what her strategy was. She called our civilian consultant from the case, but Lucy said she told Weber she had no comment on the case.”

“Lucy who?”

“Kincaid. She's a recruit going through the Academy. Her involvement wasn't made public, but someone told Weber, someone who had enough information to make me think it's one of mine, or one of yours.”

“Is she a suspect?”

“Kincaid?” Suzanne snorted. “No. And she wouldn't talk without clearing it through proper channels, just like I would have had to do. But she doesn't want the book written, wouldn't talk to any reporter.”

“She doesn't want the book written, but she's not a suspect? What am I missing?”

“I told you, she's at Quantico. And I know her. She didn't do it, but to make you happy I'll verify her alibi.”

“Appreciate it.” Joe finished off his first slice and grabbed a second.

“I dug deeper into Weber's files and went back to her first book about the Rachel McMahon kidnapping and murder, out of Newark. Fifteen-year-old case.”

“That was before my time—I was still at SUNY.”

“And I was still in Louisiana. But I knew one of the agents assigned to the case, so thought I'd start at the beginning. SSA Presidio, out of Quantico. He's a profiler and is coming up to help.”

“Profiler?” Joe shook his head. He'd never been one to listen to shrinks. “I forgot to mention, the ring the victim wore is worth over fifteen thou. It's looking more and more like a robbery.”

“You said it didn't feel like a robbery.” Suzanne grabbed her second slice before Joe ate the whole pie.

“You're right—but with a ring worth that much, I have to follow the angle. Besides, I don't like profilers. Good detective work solves more cases than shrinks.”

Suzanne used to agree with Joe, but after working with Lucy Kincaid she'd somewhat changed her opinion. She saw value in understanding the psychology of criminals.