Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
Leanne spotted Sam Carver in an instant. At nearly six feet tall, she stood out in a crowd, especially one made up of backpack-toting students in pj pants and hoodies. It had been Sam’s idea to meet at a coffee shop near the UT El Paso campus because she lived nearby.
Sam grabbed a pair of coffee cups and turned around, and her face brightened as Leanne walked over.
“Hey! You’re early, too,” Sam said. “What’s happening to us?”
Sam wasn’t a hugger, so Leanne simply smiled as she took one of the coffee cups. “Thanks,” Leanne said.
“Black with two sugars, right?”
“Perfect.”
A kid got up with his backpack, and Sam rushed over to claim a pair of stools at a bar by the window.
Leanne surveyed the room, enjoying the comforting familiarity of the green signage and big leather chairs. When she lived in Dallas, Starbucks had been part of her routine, but she hadn’t set foot in one in more than a year.
“They’re packed today,” Leanne said, taking one of the seats.
“It’s always like this on Saturdays.”
Leanne looked her friend over as she peeled off her coffee lid. Sam had traded her long, honey-blond locks for a platinum pixie cut.
“I love your hair,” Leanne said. “Looks good short.”
“Thanks. I got sick of dealing with it, so I decided to chop it.”
Leanne tore open the sugar packets, amazed that Sam would remember a detail such as how she took her coffee after four years. Leanne hadn’t seen Sam since she’d left Dallas PD for the FBI Academy.
“So, what brings you to town?” Sam asked.
“I had some evidence to drop off at the lab here, so I thought I’d give you a call,” Leanne said. “How’s El Paso treating you?”
“It’s okay.” She sipped her drink, getting lipstick on the rim. “Not exactly Quantico, though. I miss Virginia.”
For as long as Leanne had known Sam, she had had two driving goals: to become an FBI agent and to join the Bureau’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Leanne had been there the night Sam celebrated getting accepted into the FBI Academy.
“You miss it enough to go back?” Leanne asked.
She shrugged. “Miguel loves it here,” she said, referring to her special agent husband. “So, I agreed to give it five years. The things we do for love, right?”
Leanne nodded, even though she couldn’t relate at all. She had never been in a relationship worth making that kind of sacrifice for. The idea of sharing a five-year plan with a guy was even harder to imagine.
“So, what’s up?” Sam set her cup down. “Tell me why you’re really here.”
“I need to hit you up for a favor.”
“I figured.”
“I’m leading a homicide investigation,” Leanne told her. “I think it might be part of a series.”
“How many?”
“Five so far. Possibly more.”
She leaned forward. “Shit, Leanne. Why haven’t I heard about it?”
“These victims are unidentified.”
“All of them?”
“So far. And some of the remains were skeletonized. The cases aren’t making a lot of headlines.”
Sam tipped her head to the side. “So, what’s the link then?”
Leanne took out her phone and tapped open a screenshot of the map she’d made. She slid the phone in front of Sam.
“Those are the recovery sites spread out over three counties.”
Sam moved her fingers over the screen to zoom in. “What’s this highway?”
“That’s the connection. Everything is within a quarter mile of Highway 67 between Fort Stockton and Marfa.”
Sam gazed down at the screen, studying the map, and Leanne’s pulse quickened. Far from looking skeptical, Sam seemed intrigued.
She glanced up. “So…you’re looking for a profile, I take it? Your department wants to bring in BAU?”
“Not exactly,” Leanne said. “That’s the problem. I’m having trouble even convincing my chief that these murders are related, much less that we should consult a profiler. Meanwhile, I’ve got no IDs. No victimology to work with. These cases are at a standstill unless I can develop some kind of lead.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “So, you want me to take a look? Like, on the down-low?”
Leanne reached into her jacket and pulled out a thumb drive. “These are the files I have. Crime scene photos, autopsy reports, whatever I’ve got on each victim. I was hoping you might read through and give me your take.”
“They’ve got me on anti-terror now,” Sam said. “I haven’t done a criminal profile since I was at Quantico.”
“I understand. This would just be, you know, first impressions. Whatever jumps out at you, if anything. And if you don’t have time, I thought maybe one of your BAU contacts might be able to look at it.”
“No, I’ve got time.” She examined the phone again before sliding it back. “I’ll take a crack at it, see if I can come up with anything.”
“Really?”
“Sure. It sounds interesting.”
“Thank you.” Leanne closed her eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
“I can tell.” She smiled and sipped her coffee. “You know, this isn’t at all what I thought you wanted to talk about.” She set her cup down and rubbed the lipstick off the edge. “I figured you wanted to hit me up about the Moriarty case.”
“You’ve heard of that?”
“Everyone has. There’s a rumor around here that some of our public corruption guys are looking into it.”
Leanne blinked at her. “Seriously?”
She nodded.
“But wouldn’t that be the Rangers’ purview? Their public integrity unit?”
“That I do not know. I’m just telling you the rumor.”
Leanne watched Sam’s face, and an uneasy feeling settled over her. In law enforcement circles, rumors tended to have at least some basis in fact. But why would the FBI be involved? It would have to be something extremely unusual. And sensitive.
Sam checked her watch. “Damn, I need to get to my meeting.” She dropped the thumb drive into her bag. “I should get going.”
“Still working weekends?” Leanne asked.
“Always.”
They slid off their stools and walked out, and Leanne held the door for a pair of college girls with backpacks. Both wore ripped jeans and had their hair in braids. Leanne was struck by how young they looked—around the same age as her Jane Doe.
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” Sam said. “It may be a few days, though. My team is swamped right now.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
Sam pulled a pair of sunglasses from her bag and gave Leanne a worried look. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground on that other thing.”
The public corruption thing, she meant.
“But you didn’t hear about it from me,” Sam said.
“Of course. Thanks for the heads-up, though. Maybe it’s only a rumor.”
“Maybe.” Sam slid her sunglasses on. “In the meantime, watch your back.”
Leanne walked to her parking space feeling anxious. How was it that whispers about the Sean Moriarty case had reached an FBI field office in El Paso?
Her phone chimed, and she dug it from her pocket. Josh.
“Hey, where are you?”
She caught the excitement in his voice.
“In El Paso, dropping off that evidence. What’s up?”
“You need to get back here quick.”
She stopped in her tracks. “What happened?”
“We got a hit on those prints finally.”
“You mean—”
“We got an ID.”