Chapter 4
August Kaminski, a wound in Jane’s psyche that refused to heal.
They hadn’t found much against the guy when they’d been investigating DEA Agent Dan Simmons’ death.
Kaminski didn’t raise any major flags. He worked behind the scenes, so pinning anything to him was impossible.
His name had appeared in an organ theft ring in Las Vegas a few years ago. Again, he couldn’t be tied to the crime. In Seattle, he and his family owned a string of restaurants and strip clubs, all legal.
The Kaminskis paid taxes and had no ties to organized crime despite word to the contrary from old Mazzuca informants. Unfortunately, those informants kept winding up dead.
Jane had kept an ear out for any mention of August Kaminski, but she’d heard nothing. No one had seen or heard from him in months. As if the guy was a ghost.
“Why are you asking about him?” she asked Matthew.
He stared back at her, his gaze intent. “Does the name Rook mean anything to you?”
“Rook? Like the bird or a chess piece?”
“I don’t know. Either. Both.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t heard that name before, no. Is it connected to Kaminski?”
“I have no idea. But let me know immediately if it pops up. And Jane?”
“Yes?”
“We never had this conversation. No one but you and me is talking about this.”
She frowned. “You suspect another mole in the Bureau?”
“I hope not.” He let out a weary breath. “I’ll tell you more when I can. Now let’s forget I said anything about Kaminski. Tell me what you’ve been working on.”
Though she wanted to continue their discussion, she could tell Matthew didn’t intend to say more.
So she filled him in on a few cases that hadn’t been moving much.
“And of course, the home invasion case I was asked to look into before you left. We have two now, and I have a feeling we’ll have more. ”
“Not good.”
“No. The killer was beyond brutal with the families. He didn’t spare the children, but the pets are missing.
We did recently learn he cleaned out the first family’s millions.
All bank transfers and crypto movement.” Was movement even the right term?
She needed to talk to their cyber people about a few things.
Thinking along the same lines, Matthew said, “Interesting. Are we talking cryptocurrency investment fraud? Cybercrime?”
“I’m not sure. So far, two millionaire CEOs and their families have been killed. I don’t know what connects them other than they both had money. But we’re looking. The last one was two weeks ago.” She knew, deep in her gut, their killer would strike again soon. If he hadn’t already.
“Good luck with that.” Matthew’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it. “Shoot. I need to head back.”
“Yeah, me too.”
They stood and left. Before they parted, Matthew said, “Dinner this Sunday, six, my place?”
“Ah, yeah.” She smiled, feeling awkward and annoyed by her awkwardness. “Text me your address.”
“Will do.” He smiled warmly before leaving.
She drove back to work, excited about Sunday and telling herself not to be.
Jane had dated before. At thirty-one, she’d had her share of boyfriends, though they rarely lasted. She didn’t have time for nonsense, and being a “challenge” wasn’t her idea of forming a lasting partnership with someone else.
Frankly, she took more enjoyment from her job.
Which was why she had so much trouble letting go of the notion that August Kaminski remained at large, untouchable.
She’d spent a lot of time reviewing what she knew about the man—which wasn’t much. That he could go for so long without anyone tying him to his alleged crimes rang a lot of warning bells.
He had connections and power. A dangerous combination in a criminal.
On her way back to work, she picked up a call from Jenn. “I’m heading back to HQ. What did I miss?”
“Not much. Greg’s back. He officially called this morning’s case a waste of time. Said you’re right, it was teenage hormones gone awry.” Jenn chuckled. “He literally said ‘awry.’ It’s like the guy’s swallowed a dictionary.”
“I’m impressed you know what that is.” Not exactly true, as Jenn had a broad vocabulary. But she had no love for grammar. Jane often helped her edit her reports.
“Ha ha.” Jenn paused. “Hey, can you pick me up a sandwich from the corner bodega near Louie’s?”
“I guess.”
“And grab Greg one too. He says you owe him for pissing off the detective in charge then disappearing.”
“How did I piss him off? The guy ran his case his way. I did nothing.”
“Except rub his nose in the fact that he should have shifted focus to the witnesses.” Jenn chuckled. “Greg told me Grimshaw somehow got wind of the altercation.”
“Altercation? I just told the guy what he needed to know.” Jane bit back a groan. She’d just had a decent sit-down with her boss. “I didn’t rub anything anywhere.”
“Greg said the detective was more annoyed with your tone.”
“I’ll give him tone.”
Jenn laughed. “We’ll be waiting on lunch.”
As Jane circled to grab their food, she reviewed her words to the clueless detective who should have looked deeper than the surface. Tone? Was telling the truth now the same as having an attitude?
She came to the realization that she didn’t care. She’d helped with his case then left him to it. If he had a problem with that, that was his business. She had more important things to worry about.
Like August Kaminski and this Rook character.
Just what had Matthew found out?
* * *
At 15:00 on Wednesday afternoon at a lovely home in the Denny-Blaine neighborhood, Jane stood back so the forensic techs could finish processing the scene in the dining room.
The five-thousand square foot home sat across from Lake Washington. The dining room had two sets of French doors on one wall, overlooking a rectangular pool that put her in mind of the clear waters of the Caribbean.
Herringbone-patterned patio tiles made a path bordered by Japanese sweet grass, bamboo, and an abundance of poppies, painted daisies, black-eyed Susans, and other plants Jane couldn’t identify.
The flowers mingled in an artful array and accented the back courtyard.
A private spot of paradise in the affluent neighborhood.
Just across the street, the lake beckoned with glittering water under a smiling sun and gorgeous, cloud-free sky.
The family, centered around the table, had dead eyes only for each other.
The glass doors in the room remained closed, sealing the deceased inside with cold air blowing through the vents. The scent of death seeped into everything.
The air conditioner kept everyone uncomfortably cool. Even the poor maid, who’d been diced into pieces in the kitchen, her body cubed as if an appetizer for the murder that followed.
Jane thought about the description and shook her head. No, not an appetizer.
Dessert.
She studied the family. The boy had stumps where his feet should be, pools of blood under his chair. Streaks led from his seat at the table to the stairs and up to the second floor.
The killer had cut out the girl’s tongue before slicing into her neck.
She’d bled out at the table, much of it collected in a large soup bowl on top of her plate.
The father was missing hunks of flesh, his ears, and several fingers and toes.
A mess had been found in his study, along with intestines that likely belonged to his wife.
In addition to the single stab wound to the wife’s chest, she had a gaping wound across her abdomen.
The dog remained missing, like in the other two cases. This time, however, Jane knew where to find it. A small urn labeled “Cookie” and a pile of ash sat by a dog bowl on the floor.
The entire family together, sharing a last meal.
The dead maid didn’t fit.
Next to Jane, the first detective on the scene fiddled with the booties on her feet.
“The neighbor found them today. The wife didn’t meet for their scheduled Wednesday brunch,” she repeated, since both Jane and the detective had interviewed the traumatized woman earlier.
“But did the killer plan for the neighbor to find her today, or was it a happy coincidence?”
“Although the coroner won’t give an exact time of death yet, he said they’ve been dead for more than twenty-four hours.
The other families died on a Monday. I’m thinking these murders happened Monday as well.
” When Jane had been miles away, watching a teenager make a huge mess out of his relationship with his girlfriend.
“Well, the witness seems on the level. She’s still shaken up. I couldn’t get anything more out of her.”
“She said she hadn’t touched anything, right?”
“Nothing. I asked her again to verify, and she said she saw them not breathing, saw all the blood, left the house and called the police.” The detective scowled at the staged scene. “This is beyond a killing. Looks like the killer tortured them.”
“The father and wife, yes. The son maybe.”
“Excuse me, Detective Bowman,” a tech said as he scooted by.
Bowman ignored the tech as she moved out of his way. Her voice rose. “Maybe? He’s missing his feet.”
“He might have been a bad boy.” That made sense, considering what the killer had done to the daughter. “Look at the girl. She had to be disciplined to be quiet. He only took her tongue, the cut to the throat deep and quick.”
“Okay. But I’m reserving judgement on the boy.”
“I bet he tried to run, so he lost his feet. There was a blow to the back of his head that knocked him out while he bled to death.”
“Oh, I hadn’t seen that.”
Jane nodded. “The boy ran and lost his feet. His sister wouldn’t stop crying or shouting and lost her tongue.”
Bowman cringed. “And the mother?”
“A message to the husband. Talk or I’ll eviscerate her.”
“Which he did anyway.”
Jane frowned in thought. “The stab to the wife’s heart would kill her quickly.
But the wound to the belly made a mess and would cause real pain.
Maybe the killer was making a statement to the father.
Give me what I want or the whole family gets it.
So he tortured the wife before killing her with a stab to the heart. ”
“He killed everyone anyway.”
“Because he likes it.” Jane shook her head, feeling it in her gut. “This guy isn’t going to stop until we stop him.”
“Just one guy, hmm? Not a team?”
“No. This reads as one perpetrator. The mess is too specific. The killing too organized.”
“I agree.” Bowman paused. “Organized?”
“Yeah. He wanted information. We need to see what’s missing.”
“I wonder if he got what he was looking for.” Bowman took a step back. “I’ll be right back. I need to talk to one of my guys again.”
She left, and Jane moved back to the kitchen island.
The maid’s cubed remains had been left on a silver tray, the rest of her a mess next to the pantry. The presumed knife used to cut her lay next to her on the counter. Cleaned and dried and propped next to the bowl of wilting vegetables that had yet to be chopped.
Jane noticed the pantry door ajar. “He saw her hiding, grabbed her, took his time. The family went too quickly.”
Yes, that felt right. She moved through, careful of the evidence markers and tape left by forensics, who continued to process the scene, though only a few techs remained behind.
“We’re taking them now, Agent Cannon,” the lead informed her.
Jane stepped out of the way and watched as the bodies were bagged up and moved.
It took another hour before everyone cleared out except for Jane, Detective Bowman, and two officers.
Jane couldn’t stop staring at a painting in the Strand family’s study. She couldn’t say why it bothered her. A watercolor of a sailboat on the coast of a picturesque villa, matted and framed and looking like it must have cost more than she made in half a year.
“What are you looking at?” Detective Bowman asked.
“What do you see when you look at this?”
“Someplace I’d rather be right now.”
“Yeah, but what else?”
Bowman frowned. “I’m not sure. I don’t see anything but a large painting I can’t afford.”
Jane smiled, having sensed the source of her unease. “Ah ha. There. See it?”
“See what?” Bowman moved closer, studying it.
“It’s been moved.”
“It has?”
Jane pointed to a smudge, where the painting had been shifted against the wall. A faint scratch.
“How the heck did you see that?”
Jane pulled the picture off the wall but didn’t find a safe behind it, as she’d been expecting. Nothing to indicate the painting meant anything more than to be appreciated as a pretty piece of art. Except as she studied the back, she saw a slit in the dust cover tucked against the frame.
Still gloved up, she carefully reached in and pulled out a small, thin notebook.
Detective Bowman grinned from ear to ear. “Hot damn. I think you just found what we in the business call a clue, Agent Cannon.”
Eager, Jane opened it up. A lot of dates and codes and names she didn’t recognize.
The next page provided another list of names.
And all three dead families were on it.