CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Nineteen names down, and Ella's eyes felt like someone had rubbed them with sandpaper. The FALCON database's numbers and names had begun to blur together into an incomprehensible mess. Ella had no idea how Luca went through 80 names on his own, all before she even woke up.
She was midway through searching through the nineteenth name in her stack: Gary Whitmore. His collection of Civil War memorabilia had been valued at $850,000 last year. Like clockwork, three months after the appraisal, he'd donated a Confederate officer's sword to the Virginia Military Institute. Claimed value: $125,000.
Another collector playing the system like a finely-tuned violin.
She threw the paperwork onto the NOT A POTENTIAL VICTIM pile . Nineteen down, one to go. Every single collector she'd checked had followed the same pattern - get the appraisal, donate a piece, write off the taxes. Regular as sunrise, predictable as death.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she pulled up the final name: Sally McDermid, collector of antique medical instruments. According to the CVG records, McDermid had amassed over three hundred pieces dating from the 1800s to early 1900s, including bone saws, trepanation drills, and something called a ‘tobacco smoke enema’ that Ella didn't want to know the specifics of. Total value: $2.1 million.
And there it was - right on schedule. Six months after appraisal, she'd donated a complete set of 19th-century surgical tools to Johns Hopkins Medical Museum. Claimed value: $275,000 off her tax records for the following year.
‘Damn it.’ Ella threw the paperwork across the desk. ‘That's my whole stack. Every single one of them donated.’
Across the table, Luca looked up from his own stack of misery. ‘Hate to say it, but same here. We’re in the most generous city on earth, apparently.’
'No wonder there are potholes everywhere. The city doesn't have enough taxes to pay for repairs.'
‘What if...’ Luca hesitated, choosing his words carefully. ‘What if our guy's done? What if Joseph was his grand finale and now he's rode off into the sunset?’
She pushed back from the table. It wasn’t an impossibility, but it went against everything she knew about this type of offender. ‘He wouldn’t. He’s got a taste for it now, and there’s no way he’d go from flaying kin to completely disappearing. Addicts never want to quit, and the thrill he gets from killing is more intense than any drug.’
‘So, what now? Pray forensics find something?’
Ella pressed her palms against her eyes until colors burst behind her lids. Think, damn it . There had to be something they'd missed.
‘What about other collectors who aren’t in the system? These pure collectors might not get their items appraised at all, right?’
‘But if they didn’t get them appraised, the killer wouldn’t know they exist. Our guy has to be finding his victims through the Curated Value Group.’
She pulled herself close to the desk and pressed her head against the wood, the same position she'd slept in for five or six hours. The strain in her neck returned, and she was quickly reminded of her dream of being caged in Austin Creed's basement.
Austin Creed. The most famous serial killer in the world right now.
Why did he keep coming to mind?
She thought of his victims, his sneer, his hybrid taxidermy creatures she’d seen in his underground den. Owls with deer antlers. Dog heads with marbles for eyes. Rats tied together by their tails.
Oh hell.
Then it hit her like a bullet train. Just yesterday, she'd seen that that menagerie of oddities and abominations. And smack in the center, presiding over it all with its nails for a crown.
'The squirrel.' She breathed it like a prayer and a curse, all tangled up together. 'Hawkins. Vanessa Blackburn's squirrel.'
Luca looked at her like she’d finally gone insane. ‘You’re going to have to unpack that one for me.’
Ella smacked her palm on the desk, sudden urgency electrifying her nerves. ‘In Vanessa's office. She had one of Creed’s taxidermy things. You saw it.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Vanessa said she was a collector herself. Her office was full of crap. What if she’s one of our pure collectors?’
Luca scratched his stubble. ‘Then wouldn’t her name be in these files?’
‘Her name is all over these files! I’ve read it twenty times.’
‘I suppose… I mean, if our unsub has connections to Vanessa’s company, then surely he knows Vanessa’s personally. He wouldn’t need to learn about her through these files.’
‘Yes!’ Ella was already typing her name into FALCON. ‘Now, we just need to see if Vanessa really is pure, because if she is, she wouldn’t have donated any of her collection anywhere.’
Luca rushed around to Ella’s side of the desk. ‘Come on, come on.’
She punched the details in, scrolled through several Vanessa Blackburns in Virginia, then found one based in Chesapeake. Ella’s gut knotted when she found one tax return filed under Vanessa’s name.
‘Ugh. She’s on the database. That means she’s made a sizable donation somewhere.’ Ella pushed away from her laptop. ‘Dammit, thought we had something there.’
‘Wait, wait.’ Luca leaned in and took the reins. He pointed to a black tick beside Vanessa’s name. ‘This isn’t Vanessa Blackburn’s tax return. This is last year’s tax return for the Curated Value Group. It just came up because Vanessa’s name is attached to it.’
The fire in Ella’s gut had tapered, but there was still some heat there. ‘Why are the Group’s tax records on here?’
‘Dunno. Let’s see.’
Luca worked his magic while Ella could just sit back and watch. In that moment, it hit her like a bullet to the chest - just how damn lucky she was to have him. Not just as a boyfriend, but as a confidant. Strange how someone could become so fundamental to your existence without you noticing. Like oxygen or gravity - you never thought about it until it wasn't there.
The past 24 hours crystallized in her mind: Luca breaking into Thorne's office, taking down their suspect at U-Stor, working through the night while she drowned in her own obsessions. She'd been so caught up in her jealousy, so desperate to prove she was still the top profiler, that she'd nearly missed what was right in front of her.
And that was a partner who matched her step for step and endured her eccentricities with reason. Yes, he made jokes at the worst times, but beneath that gallows humor beat a heart too big for his chest. He was the kind of partner who'd risk immolation to take down a suspect, then shrug it off like it was just another Tuesday.
If not for Luca Hawkins, she probably have missed the tax connection while she lost herself down another rabbit hole of criminal psychology. She struggled to admit it aloud, but watching Luca work reminded her why she'd fallen for him in the first place.
She owed him more than she could ever repay. But she'd spend a lifetime trying, if he'd let her.
‘Huh.’ Luca said. ‘Well, that's...not what I expected.’
Ella snapped back to the present. ‘What's up? Find something?’
‘More like a whole lot of nothing.’ He jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘These tax records are clean. Profits, margins, operating costs. It all looks… normal.’
Ella leaned in and scanned the columns of numbers. He was right. For a small appraisal firm, CVG pulled in decent numbers. A few hundred grand in fees each year, with operating expenses hovering around 60% of gross. Respectable, but hardly the work of white-collar criminals.
‘Looks like Vanessa runs a tight ship,’ she murmured.
‘Tight as a duck's ass.’ Luca scrolled further, then paused. ‘Hello, what's this?’
He tapped the screen. A small notation, easily missed among the reams of digital paperwork.
But there it was, in innocuous black and white:
Return flagged - discrepancy noted by filing CPA, Lawrence Winters.
‘Lawrence Winters.’ Luca rolled the name around his mouth like he was savoring a fine wine. ‘Lawrence Winters. Why do I know that name?’
‘Sounds familiar, actually. Who is he?’
‘The accountant who filed the CVG’s tax return.’
‘CVG have their own accountant?’
'No, they don't. Warrant only mentioned three employees, only one of which was male. Vanessa must have just hired one.'
‘Lawrence Winters.’ The name crawled across Ella's tongue like something rotten. Her hands shook as she leafed through her paperwork pile. She'd seen that name somewhere already, buried in the avalanche of tax returns and fraudulent donations. Her fingers found what they wanted buried beneath Sally McDermid's medical curiosities.
‘Got you, you son of a bitch.’ Her finger stabbed down on Sally McDermid's return. ‘Lawrence Winters filed her taxes. Same guy.’
That spark in Luca's eyes - the one that meant his brain was connecting dots faster than his mouth could keep up. ‘Shit me. Hold that thought.’
He dove into his own stacks of paper, pulled out each client file one by one and discarded them. He tossed papers left and right until he finally snagged the one he wanted.
‘Ell, look. Eleanor Calloway’s file.’ He flipped to the back page. ‘Look who signed off on the final value of her doll collection.’
She leaned in closer and clocked the scrawl on the dotted line: L. Winters.
Ella's heart picked up tempo as Luca reached for the next file. The puzzle pieces were clicking together with the particular violence of bones snapping into place. ‘What about the others?’
Luca scrambled for the next file and then slapped it on the desk. Again, on the back page, the same signature: L. Winters.
‘Please tell me...’ Ella started, but Luca was already pulling out Joseph Carpenter's file with the grim satisfaction of a coroner finding cause of death.
'The holy trinity is complete.' He tapped Carpenter's tax return, where Lawrence Winters' signature sprawled on the final page like a death warrant. 'Our friendly neighborhood number-cruncher had his fingers in all three pies.'
The truth crystallized in Ella's mind with startling clarity. This man – this accountant – was the only thread in this whole mess that weaved through Vanessa’s company and all three victims.
‘He must be Vanessa’s accountant. He files her company’s tax returns and processes any payments between CVG and their clients.’
‘And he’s been playing both sides. Helping these collectors file their tax returns and helping out Vanessa.’
Luca said, ‘Which means he has access to this paperwork. Vanessa would just send him everything to make sure it’s all above board. God, I send my accountant some seriously confidential stuff.’
‘Perfect cover.’ Ella breathed. ‘Who remembers their accountant's face? Who questions the guy who makes the numbers dance? He's practically invisible.’
‘Check him.’
Ella pulled her chair up to the desk and began assaulting her keyboard. She punched in the name while her mind painted pictures of their quarry: Lawrence Winters, keeper of secrets, counter of other people's treasures. The man who might just be turning collectors into pieces of their own collections.
But the screen blinked back empty.
No address. No employment history. Not even a driver's license or social security number.
Just a name without a face, floating in digital limbo.
‘What the…?’
Ella refreshed the page, half-convinced it was a glitch.
But the result remained unchanged. Lawrence Winter’s managed to exist in the spaces between official records.
Luca said, ‘How is that possible? This guy's an accountant. He's got to have a paper trail a mile long.’
‘Not if he's been careful. Not if he knows how to cover his tracks.’
Luca glanced at the clock. ‘It’s after midday. It’s been over 24 hours since he killed Carpenter. We need to find this guy now, or we could have another body before nightfall.’
Ella saw it all crystal clear. Lawrence Winters. He’d watched his victims through their tax returns, their appraisals, and learned which ones were true believers and which ones were just playing the game. The pure collectors versus the profiteers. He’d hid behind columns of numbers and studied his prey through the lens of cold mathematics. Learning their habits, their schedules, their obsessions.
She grabbed her cell and scrolled through her recent calls. She jabbed the one she’d dialed ten times yesterday.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
‘Pick up, for God’s sake.’
A voice interrupted the fourth ring. ‘Curated Value Group, how can I help you?’
‘It’s Agent Dark with the FBI. I was at your place yesterday.’
‘Ah yes, of course, how can I-.’
‘I need the address of Lawrence Winters, your accountant, right now.’
A pause stretched thin. ‘I'm afraid I don't have access to contractor records. Those are kept-’
Ella's free hand curled into a fist. ‘Then put me through to Vanessa.’
‘Miss Blackburn isn't in the office today.’ The receptionist's voice carried that particular flavor of corporate stonewalling that made Ella want to reach through the phone and shake answers loose. ‘She's conducting an on-site appraisal.’
‘Where?’
'I'm not authorized to'
‘Federal agent,’ Ella snapped. ‘Three people are dead. You want to be the one who helps make it four?’
A beat of hesitation, and then: ‘She's at home.’
‘Address. Now.’
‘1847 Riverside Drive.’ The receptionist's professional facade cracked slightly. ‘Is... is everything okay?’
‘Yes, but do something for me. If Vanessa or Lawrence Winters show up at your office, call us immediately, right? Ask for Agent Dark or Hawkins.’
‘I... yes, of course.’
Ella hung up and turned to find Luca already shrugging into his jacket. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Vanessa’s place. If she’s a pure collector like we think, then she could be the next target. We need to move fast.’
Their killer worked on a schedule tighter than a noose - one body per day, each one a carefully crafted message to the world. If Lawrence Winters was their collector of collectors, he'd already be hunting his next masterpiece.
And Ella refused to catalog another body today.
‘Time to end this, Hawkins, but something tells me this guy isn’t going down without a fight.’