CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kate stared at the board on their office wall and willed it to tell her the secret.
They’d flown back to Portland after finishing with Ruth Osgood’s scene.
Kate had finally come to terms with the fact that no answer was going to magically reveal itself at any of the scenes, so there was no point in remaining in the field.
Not until Poppy found a candidate for Cox’s next victim.
That was turning out to be more difficult than she anticipated.
No answer revealed itself here. Despite her best efforts, the board remained nothing more than a collection of facts to whom no larger meaning could be attributed so far.
First victim: Paul Delaney, sixty-nine, Knoxville, Tennessee. Object was a silver cufflink in a key bowl placed on a table in his home’s foyer.
Second victim: Ruth Osgood, fifty-eight, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Object was a stone lawn ornament in the shape of a Dalmatian dog placed on the bed.
Third victim: Jordan Prescott, fifty, Louisville, Kentucky. Object was a pocket watch placed on the kitchen counter.
Fourth victim: Karen de Luca, forty-eight, the youngest of the bunch, from Buffalo, New York. Object was a music box on the living room windowsill.
Fifth victim: Gloria Prentiss, seventy-one, Greenfield, Indiana. Object was a brass thimble placed on the bathroom windowsill.
Sixth victim: Warren Schulz, fifty-three, Dayton, Ohio. Object was a ceramic figurine of a cardinal placed on the coffee table.
Kate stared at the board, but they’d already determined the pattern. No further leap of logic waited to steer them in the right direction.
The door opened, and Marcus stepped into the room. He smiled at Kate and handed her a coffee cup with a flourish. “Double-shot cappuccino with whole milk, and a dusting of brown sugar.”
“I didn’t ask for brown sugar.”
“I did,” Marcus replied. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”
Kate sipped the cappuccino. There was definitely brown sugar on top of the foam. Marcus was looking expectantly at her, though, so she said, “Yeah, it tastes good. Thanks.”
He chuckled. “You hate it.”
“I have no feelings about it one way or another,” she replied, “but since I need caffeine.” She took another sip.
“Did you go home last night?” Marcus asked, looking at the board.
“What are you, my mother?”
He laughed again. “How is she, by the way?”
“My mother? She’s fine. Why?”
He shrugged. “Just wondering. You and I weren’t talking for weeks. I wasn’t sure if some new and momentous event had occurred.”
Kate laughed. “No, nothing new or momentous.”
“Well, tell her I say hi.”
“I will.”
They fell silent, and that quickly grew awkward. Kate didn’t want to slide back into the discomfort of weeks past, so she said, “What’s up?”
“Hmm? Nothing.”
“Something’s up. I can tell. What is it?”
“Nothing’s up. I was just… making small talk.”
Kate crossed her arms and stared at him. He held her gaze for a moment, but finally sighed and said, “I just feel bad about the past few weeks. Working with you on the case reminded me that I actually like being around you. I wish things hadn’t gotten so awkward.”
“Well, they’re not awkward now. I mean, they’re awkward right now, but not in general.”
“Yeah, but…” He took a deep breath. “Forget it. We should focus on the case.”
“We should, but we’re going to talk about this later.”
“Sure. Yeah, I know.” He sipped his coffee and looked at the board. “Any thoughts?”
Before Kate could reply, the door opened, and Winters poked her head in.
Her face was lined, and her lips pressed so thin they were nearly bloodless.
For a moment, Kate feared she and Marcus were about to be chewed out for some unknown infraction, but the reason for Winters’ anger became known a moment later when she said, “We got another one.”
Marcus swore. Kate sighed heavily. “Shit. Where?”
“St. Louis, Missouri. The Archdiocese contacted law enforcement when one of their deacons missed mass and didn’t answer the phone. Turns out they were right to be suspicious.”
“What’s the time of death?” Kate asked.
“Coroner says Friday night.”
Right around the time she and Marcus landed in Portland. “All right. We’ll take the next flight to St. Louis.”
Winters nodded curtly, then left the office. Kate and Marcus stood in silence for a moment before shuffling out of the office, leaving their immaculately organized and useless board behind them. Kate could almost hear Cox’s taunting laughter following her.
***
The scene in St. Louis was much like the rest except that Douglas Hale was still in his living room when the two of them arrived.
The police department had left him there as a courtesy so Kate and Marcus could see the scene as it was.
Decomp had started, so the body released a fragrant odor that flared Kate’s nostrils as she moved through the first floor of the large, expensive suburban mansion.
She glanced down at the deep impressions in Hale’s throat and the pool of darker bruising just above his windpipe.
Cox was getting stronger. He was recovering his physically imposing stature and the mad strength that had almost killed Kate on two occasions.
He would be more prepared when they encountered each other again.
“Hey Kate?” Marcus called. “I think I found the object.”
Kate followed the voice to the kitchen and saw a pearl earring on the counter. She recognized it as the mate of an earring resting on the coffee table. The pearl was aimed toward the home’s right side, facing slightly north of due east.
Kate photographed it, then looked at Marcus. “Nothing from the Church?”
“The Archdiocese believes that Mr. Hale allowed Cox inside because the parish priest, Father Thompson, was recovering from surgery. Cox probably claimed that he was there to cover for the Father.”
“Just like at every other location.”
“Yes,” Marcus agreed. “And because he’s a priest, he’s assumed to be a good person.”
Kate looked at the pearl earring. Its presence bothered her. This victim should have been repentant. There should be no stolen object to display.
“Got something interesting in Douglas Hale’s background,” Marcus said. “No criminal record and no sealed juvenile record. But it looks like our boy liked stealing identities.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Really?’
“Yep. About twelve years ago, a colleague of his at Midland Bank sued him for the theft. She claimed he stole her identity to forge her signature and secure a personal loan.”
“Nothing came of it?”
“The case was dismissed due to lack of evidence. The civil suit was settled for an undisclosed amount in exchange for the colleague signing an NDA and waiving her right to a future examination of the claim.”
Kate’s heart dropped. “Did Hale ever come clean about his crimes? Did he ever publicize the settlement?”
Marcus shook his head. His expression was a mix of weariness and anger. “No. And there’s some evidence that he might have stolen other identities in the past but swept it under the rug before it could become a legal matter.”
Her shoulders slumped. Hale wasn’t sorry If anything, he was even less sorry than Gloria Prentiss. Her hypothesis that Cox was telling a story of repentance was wrong. She still didn’t know why Cox was choosing these specific victims or what the objects placed in their homes meant.
“We can talk to the Archdiocese,” Marcus said, “see if they might give us a lead on Cox or maybe clear up what happened with Hale and the colleague years ago.”
Kate nodded. “Sure. Let’s do that.” She nodded at the CSIs politely waiting in the foyer. “Scene’s yours now. Call us if you find anything.”
The CSIs murmured acknowledgment, and Kate and Marcus left to complete their busywork.
And that’s all it was. Busy work. Chasing their tails. Kate was still a rat crawling through a maze, feeling the smoke choke her lungs but with no idea how to escape. Once again, she was at his mercy.
They nearly collided with a police officer on the front porch. The officer took a step back, then said, “Agents? We might have something.”
Kate’s ears perked up. “What do you have?”
“A resident down the street noticed the priest park a Toyota Crown sedan at the end of the cul-de-sac and walk to Douglas Hale’s house.
She remembered thinking it was odd that he parked so far away.
We got a description of the vehicle and tracked it to a rental agency near the airport.
It was rented to a man named Ethan Foster. ”
Kate and Marcus exchanged a look. “Did you get a description for Ethan Foster?” Kate asked.
“Yes. He was described as shorter and muscular with a deep tan and a mustache.”
Marcus frowned. “That doesn’t match Cox’s description. The tan and the mustache could be faked, and he can’t have bulked up between Schulz and Hale.”
“That’s because Ethan Foster isn’t Cox,” Kate said, realization dawning. “He’s Cox’s disciple.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “He’s working with a companion. That’s why there’s no paper trail pointing to him.”
“I’ll call the Field Office,” Kate said. “We need to start looking for Ethan Foster and anyone matching his description. He’s the one renting Cox’s vehicles and hotel rooms. We find him, we find Cox.”
They left the home with an ember of hope still burning. They weren’t in time to save Hale, but they’d found that bit of shed skin Kate was hoping for. They would follow those scales and find the snake.