Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Residence of Richard Vance
Gig Harbor, Washington
Allie watched Gig Harbor's familiar streets pass by her window, some of their names registering somewhere in the back of her mind. She’d ridden her bike down these roads countless times as a kid, escaping to the edges of town where she could pretend her life was normal.
She hadn't ventured into this part of the community in years.
Jason glanced over at her. “You're close to home. How’s Grams doing anyhow? Heard anything from Colorado?”
Allie pulled out her phone and checked for messages. “Not today. She usually calls in the evening.” She put the phone back. “Gladys is in hospice now. Grams says it probably won't be much longer.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
Allie watched the houses slide past. “Grams keeps saying she's fine, but I know it's hard on her to watch an old friend go through that.”
Jason nodded. “When's she coming back?”
“Soon, I think. She doesn't want to leave until...” Allie trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.
“Understandable.”
“Yes, it is,” she sighed. “But I miss her. It’s strange having the house all to myself. I don’t really like it.”
“Well, Victoria’s been wanting to see you, so maybe the two of you can get together.”
A smile pressed into her lips. “Oh, don’t worry about us. We’ve got that covered.”
Jason laughed. “I’m sure you do.”
A minute later, he turned onto Soundview Drive, a boulevard of large homes with pristine landscaping. Allie noted the addresses climbing higher as they drove deeper into the neighborhood toward the Sound.
Jason slowed as they approached a sprawling two-story colonial set back from the road.
White columns framed the front entrance, and the lawn spread out in manicured perfection, not a blade of grass out of place.
Two FBI vehicles were already parked in the circular driveway alongside a Pierce County crime scene van and multiple police cruisers.
Marze’s black sedan sat closest to the house.
The front door stood open, and Marze appeared in the doorway before they'd made it halfway up the steps. As usual, his expression gave nothing away, but Allie caught the tension in his shoulders. “Glad you're here. Come on in.”
Allie paused as soon as she stepped into the foyer.
The house had been torn apart. Books yanked from shelves, cushions thrown from furniture, drawers upended and their contents scattered across the hardwood floors.
Artwork hung crooked on the walls. A ceramic vase lay shattered near the stairs, its pieces glinting in the afternoon light streaming through the windows.
“The house cleaner arrived around noon,” Marze said, leading them deeper inside.
“She found the judge in his study. She's pretty shaken up, but we got a statement from her.
She said she's been cleaning for Judge Vance every Wednesday for the past ten years.” Allie frowned, prompting Marze to ask her what she was thinking.
“Just that the first victim was a prosecutor and the second is a judge. Makes me wonder if this is somehow connected to a case they both worked on.”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Jason said. “We’ll check into that. How'd the killer get in?”
“No sign of forced entry on any of the doors or windows,” Marze told him. “We're still working on that.”
They moved through the living room, past an overturned ottoman and magazines spread across the floor.
Family photos in silver frames lay overturned on an end table.
Allie's gaze swept over the chaos, cataloging the deliberate violence of it.
This wasn't a burglary. It looked more like rage.
Or, she considered, a performance of rage. Something about it all felt staged.
A woman in dark slacks and a blazer appeared in the doorway ahead. She looked to be in her early thirties, with sharp features and auburn hair pulled into a low ponytail. She held a camera in one hand and a tablet in the other.
“Agents Bishop and King,” Marze said, “this is Jill Hayworth, Medical Examiner Investigator with Dr. Winters's office.”
Jill gave them a curt nod, her expression professional and unreadable. “Good to meet you,” she said in a stiff tone.
Allie returned the nod, already missing Tiny's easy humor and familiar presence. She appreciated how he could lighten a grim situation without diminishing its gravity. Jill's cool demeanor felt detached, which was necessary in the job, but it seemed almost too clinical.
“The victim's in the study,” Jill said, turning on her heel. “This way.”
They followed her down a hallway lined with more evidence of destruction. Allie skirted broken glass from picture frames that had been flung to the floor. She wanted to pick them up, but instead, continued to follow Jill. The study sat at the back of the house, its double doors wide open.
Judge Richard Vance lay face down in the center of the room, his arms splayed to either side. Blood had pooled darkly beneath him, spreading across the Persian rug. The back of his shirt was cut away.
Jill crouched beside the body, pointing to the wound with a gloved hand. “Single stab wound to the kidney area. He bled out relatively quickly.”
But it wasn’t the stab wound that held Allie’s attention. Rather, it was the number “35” seared into the flesh of his back. The branding looked identical to what they'd seen on Sterling. The skin was charred and blistered.
“Good god,” Jason said. “Same as before.”
“Same method,” Jill confirmed. “I'm estimating the time of death to the early morning hours. Two a.m., give or take an hour.”
“Anything stolen?” Jason asked Marze.
“Hard to say definitively, given the state of the place, but nothing obvious. The televisions are still here, and his computer is still in its case over there.” Marze gestured to a leather messenger bag propped against the desk.
“His wallet was in his pants pocket with cash and credit cards intact.”
“And that’s a nice timepiece,” Jason commented.
“So the tossing wasn’t about theft,” Allie said, “just like it wasn’t with Sterling.”
“Doesn't look that way,” Marze said.
Jason moved to the French doors that led to a small patio. He tried the handle and tested the lock mechanism. “It’s secure, and there don’t seem to be any scratches on the frame either. No surveillance system?”
Marze shook his head. “Judge Vance lived alone after being widowed two years ago. He had one daughter, who lives in Paris. He retired a couple years before his wife died and seems to have kept a quiet life since then.”
Allie studied the chaos surrounding the body.
On the desk, a photo of the judge with a younger woman—his daughter, most likely—lay among the scattered papers.
The smiling faces contrasted sharply with the violence in the room and the branding of the man’s flesh.
Two different emotional states, she thought.
The search seemed frantic and angry, while the branding was precise.
And the death was caused by a single blade wound, not multiple stabs of someone enraged.
“Maybe he was looking for something?” she proposed.
Marze turned to her. “The killer?”
“Yeah. He did the same thing at the cabin. He went through everything.”
Jill peeled off her gloves. “I've documented everything I need here. Dr. Winters will want to see him as soon as possible. I'll coordinate with the morgue for transport.”
“Thank you,” Allie said, though Jill had already turned away, focused on her tablet.
They stepped back into the hallway, giving the crime scene techs room to work. Allie crossed her arms, trying to think. “We need to cross-reference Sterling and Vance's cases. Find out where their work overlapped.”
Marze nodded. “Already on it. You already have Jim MacKenzie pulling Sterling's case files, and the courthouse is doing the same for Vance. We'll have lists by tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow.” Allie heard the frustration in her own voice.
“We work with what we've got,” Marze said plainly. “Right now, that means being thorough. Missing something because we rushed won't help anyone.”
Allie knew he was right, but the knowledge didn't ease the sense of urgency pressing down on her. They had two victims in less than a week, and both were powerful legal professionals.
They walked back through the ravaged house, past all the destruction the killer had left in his wake. Outside, the afternoon sun felt too bright, a little too normal against the darkness they'd just witnessed. Allie paused on the front steps, welcoming the fresh air as it worked to clear her head.
The weight of what they were dealing with settled fully over her now.
An Assistant U.S. Attorney and a District Court judge were both dead, branded like cattle.
Those numbers had to mean something. And now they knew Sterling’s murder wasn’t isolated, and that meant the person responsible was already planning his next move.