The Cleaner (Born Bratva Book 4) (9 page)

Cop Killer

I tread cautiously along the side of the house. I’m wearing men’s shoes that are three sizes too big – all the better to throw off the cops. I am probably the least likely person they’d ever expect to abandon society’s rules and expectations like this. But that’s okay because by the time I’m finished here tonight, there will be no denying the truth: there’s a cop killer on the loose in Louisville.

My copy of Linda’s house key works perfectly. I open the front door and cross the foyer to the hallway, repeating the choreography I perfected during my last visit so as to avoid any creaky floorboards. I know every inch of this house. I do a cursory search of the living room and kitchen, with no success. But that’s okay. After I complete the task at hand, I’ll be free to search more thoroughly for the lock box I entrusted to her all those months ago.

Only she and Karen ever knew of the box’s existence and they never did know its contents. It wasn’t safe to keep the manuscript and journals with me in my former life so I gave them to Linda for safekeeping. I had no privacy back then, only relentless thoughts and fears swirling around in my brain. Writing them down was the only way to quiet my mind. I’m baffled and more than a little frustrated that I haven’t been able to find my notebooks – no way is Linda clever enough to hide them from me. She must have hidden them somewhere else, dammit. But those are my thoughts and feelings laid bare on those pages. I’m in control now, and I’m taking back what’s mine.

At the end of the hall, I pause and place my hand flat on the master bedroom door, savoring the moment.
I’m nobody’s victim. Not anymore.
The door is ajar so I push it open, just enough for me to slip inside and approach the bed. I can make out her silhouette where she lies on her side, curled into a ball like a child, facing the door. The air around me begins to feel heavy as my body thrums with anticipation.

Steady, rhythmic puffs of air escape from her lips as she sleeps. I shake my head in contempt, marveling at the blissful ignorance that lets her sleep so soundly. She has no way of knowing that all hell is about to break loose, that her life as she knows it is already dead and gone.
Bye-bye, Linda
.

I grip the syringe, striking decisively when I jam the needle into her neck. Her eyes fly open and I savor her brief look of recognition and horror as I depress the plunger with my thumb, releasing a powerful paralytic drug into her veins. Her muscles go lax and her expression goes blank. The SUX I mixed with the tranquilizer does its job and she can do nothing but stare up at me helplessly.

“Linda, you look like you could use a little help,” I scowl with mock seriousness. “But you can’t even yell for help, can you? See, here’s the thing,” I continue conversationally from where I sit on the edge of the bed. As the drug takes hold, she’ll suffocate within a few minutes, so I settle in for a little girl talk. “I needed help, remember? I asked you and Karen for help – I fucking begged for help – but you didn’t lift a finger to help me, no one did!”

I cap the needle and stow it in my pocket. “So, you see, my friend, what goes around really does come around. It only seems fair that you aren’t able to lift a finger tonight to help yourself.” Adrenaline blasts through my veins, raising goosebumps on my arms as I pull the knife from my pocket.

“I bet you’re wishing you’d brought that K9 home with you after all. Too bad,” I hiss as I drive the blade home again and again.

Natasha

“Shh, be quiet and get up, baby. Throw on some jeans and a t-shirt. I’ll tell you what’s up when we get to the car.” Nikita nudges me repeatedly until I finally sit up in bed and huff indignantly.

“Seriously, Nik, what the fuck is with you?” I grumble as I scrub my hands over my face and try to wake up.

“There’s no time to talk,
malysh.
Move, now.”

I shuffle into the bathroom and don’t bother looking in the mirror. At this ungodly hour of the morning, I really don’t give a shit what I look like. I brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair and throw on some clothes before joining Nikita in the bedroom. I snatch the travel mug of coffee from his hand and grunt my thanks with a scowl as we venture out to the car. We’re cruising along the downtown streets as he fills me in.

“This time they’ve called you directly to the crime scene. Blood and gore, no waiting.”

“Oh, hell yeah!” I’m wide awake now, anxious to see where this is headed.

“The FBI is in on this now,” he says, glancing over at me quickly as he maneuvers through the streets of Louisville. “You haven’t met Agent Turner. I have. Trust me, they aren’t going to be happy about either of us being on scene.”

“They?”

“He and his partner, Agent Rene Murphy. I’m telling you, the best thing you can do is just listen. Don’t speak unless they ask you a direct question -- and under no circumstances do you say anything about us getting the computer and the notebooks.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, you know. I learned how to keep my mouth shut when I started working for your family.”

“Good girl.”

“Been a long time since you said that,” I purr as I lean my head back against the head rest and run my hand up his thigh.

“It’s been a long time since I tied your ass to my bed. I think I’m overdue for some kink, don’t you? One other thing, I get the impression that this is a pretty gruesome crime scene.”

“Like I said, not my first rodeo. Your father is a sadistic bastard, you should see some of the messes he makes. Brutal, absolutely brutal.”

“I can’t hear you…”

We both know when it comes to his awareness of his father’s criminal activities, it’s on a need-to-know basis. It’s probably why Glazov has us assisting the authorities with this case. I’m certain Nikita will be deeply involved in Glazov’s Russian diamond venture. It will be good for him to work beside his father on a legit business venture. Glazov may very well find that he can make more money dealing in diamonds instead of guns. In the meantime, having Nikita and I forge positive relations with law enforcement can only help.

When we pull in, I see two strangers who must be the FBI agents Nikita was talking about. They waste no time confronting us as soon as we get out of the car.

“I’m not sure why the governor saw fit to bring in the Glazov clan on this, but that’s his call. Just know that I’m watching you. One hint of this case being jeopardized by either of you and I swear you’ll end up under the fucking jail.”

Nikita’s expression is stoic when he speaks. “I can assure you that neither I nor the forensic specialist the governor has requested have any criminal ties to this case, or any other case for that matter.”

He almost looks like he’s indignant at the suggestion of
criminal activity
. Damn he’s good. If I didn’t know better, I might think the man is a straight-laced, law-abiding citizen.

“On the other hand,” Turner mutters, “the governor assures me she’s damn good.”

A surge of pride courses through me. I could go straight if I wanted to. Hell, I’d probably fit right in. But what fun would that be?

I brace myself for what I’m about to see as we follow the agents through the house. As soon as we enter the bedroom it’s obvious our serial killer’s taste for violence is escalating. Jesus. This is on a par with the aftermath of any Bratva scene I’ve ever cleaned. I take a deep breath and approach the medical examiner. In a surreal gesture of professional etiquette, given the circumstances, he introduces himself. I immediately know I’m going to like him.

“Natasha, right? I’m Herb Foster. I’d shake your hand but, well…” he says as he holds up his bloodstained, gloved hands. “Grab a pair of gloves and let’s get to work. It’s just you and me, kid. This is a high-profile case as you already know. Feel free to chime in.”

I follow his gaze to a point above us where the body is gruesomely suspended from a hook on the wall.

I think out loud, “She was alive when he gutted her; there’s too much blood for it to be post mortem. No defense marks, so she was subdued in some way. Didn’t cut her throat this time. He skinned her instead. The cause of death was probably that stab wound between the second and third rib which more than likely punctured the heart. He used a different knife to gut her, though, probably a sling blade or something meant for large prey.”

Though what I’m seeing is gruesome, it isn’t the most troubling thing about this case. The writing on the wall is the thing that draws my attention more than anything.

Dead bitch!

Cop Killer

“That’s his signature.” We all look up as a grim, uniformed cop speaks. “We were just discussing this week how she didn’t feel safe in her own home. She was convinced some small objects had been moved around in her house.” His Adam’s apple bobs noticeably as he puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the ground, composing himself. After a long moment and a deep breath, he continues, “I, uh, told her she was just being paranoid. And I suggested she take a K9 home with her, to help her feel more secure at night. She didn’t, though, and I’ll always wonder if it would have made a difference.”

The statement catches Agent Turner’s attention. “Is there anyone who could corroborate what she told you about her suspicions that someone had been inside her house?”

“Well, yeah, maybe. But the only other person she would have ever discussed something like that with is dead. She and Karen were close.”

Agent Murphy speaks up for the first time. “The first murder suggests that the killer has ties to law enforcement. This one does nothing to dissuade me from that theory. This victim was close friends with the first victim; that has to account for something. This is starting to feel personal, like a vendetta. ”

Her partner stares up at the body, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed. “Well, if it’s personal, then that means the killer’s more likely to make a mistake. When he does, we’ll be ready. For now, though, it looks like the governor may be on to something. It’s possible our killer is a cop or someone with ties to law enforcement, and now he’s killed two cops who were best friends. I don’t have a clear motive yet, but pieces are starting to fall into place.” He slowly shakes his head and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, muttering to himself, “Why would he target these two women? What did they ever do to him?”

“You know,” I say on a long exhale. “We’ve been assuming the killer is a male. I’m not so sure.” I don’t know if it’s my words or just the sound of my voice that does it, but I’ve drawn the gaze of everyone in the room. I clear my throat and forge ahead, “I think we could be looking at a very personal vendetta among friends, or maybe among people who used to be friends. So we’ve got to take a step back and think about who would go to such lengths to settle a score by targeting these two close friends?”

Agent Murphy nods sagely and murmurs, “Another friend, that’s who.”