Wren Delacroix Series Box Set Page 24

  “Earlier than that,” said Reilly. “Around 4:00 in the morning.”

  “I was getting out of bed and getting into the shower,” said Ned.

  “Anyone can confirm?”

  “Well, my wife woke up briefly when my alarm went off,” he said. “She usually does. Oh, and I stopped to get gas on my way in to work. I have the receipt for that. I keep them to itemize for taxes, you know. I can get a copy of that made for you.”

  “Great,” said Reilly.

  The principal folded his arms over his chest. “So, you’re saying I’m a suspect, then? But what reason would I possibly have to do this?”

  “In these sorts of killings, reasons aren’t so straightforward,” said Reilly.

  * * *

  Reilly and Wren walked down the hallways of the school to look for the janitor, a James Thorn.

  “The principal couldn’t have done the video,” said Wren. “He was reporting the murder while it was being uploaded.”

  “And if it were only one killer, that would be enough to eliminate him,” said Reilly.

  “Damn it. This theory of mine makes everything more complicated.”

  “Yeah, but if it’s the right theory, that’s all that matters,” said Reilly. “We don’t want to waste time going after the wrong sort of person.”

  Wren pointed. “Didn’t he say that the janitor was working on a spill in the teacher’s lounge?”

  “Right,” said Reilly.

  Wren pushed open a door marked, Faculty Lounge.

  A man was inside, pushing a mop around on the floor. The lounge had a big table, flanked by ten chairs. There was a microwave and a sink and a refrigerator on the far wall.

  “James Thorn?” said Reilly.

  The janitor looked up. “Uh, yeah? That’s me.”

  Reilly crossed to him, holding out his hand. “I’m Detective Caius Reilly. This is my associate, Wren Delacroix. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”

  James leaned on his mop. “This is about that dead girl, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Reilly.

  “I thought so,” said James. “That other lady called me and asked questions about guns. The thing is, I don’t even own any guns. It’s my brother who has that handgun, and you can ask him. I never borrowed it from him or nothing. So, I told her that, but she said that someone would probably be in here to ask me questions.”

  “It’s just routine,” said Reilly.

  “Yeah.” James licked his lips. “Look, she was a real nice girl, Bristol. I used to see her in the mornings, because I’d be coming in to start my shift, and she’d be coming back from her run. She went into the girls’ locker room and took a shower every day. I always had to wait to go in there and mop. I didn’t mind or anything. She was real nice.”

  “Wait, you saw her every day?” said Wren.

  “Yeah,” said James.

  “Where were you the day of the murder?” said Reilly.

  “Same as always, I was here, getting ready to start my shift,” said James. “But Bristol never showed, and so I started doing my cleaning early. I figured she was sick or something. That had happened before.”

  “Did anyone see you mopping?” said Wren.

  “Well, no, ma’am. I don’t tend to see anyone here that early. No one except Bristol. If she wasn’t there, no one would have seen me.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that you don’t have an alibi,” said Reilly gently.

  “I didn’t kill her,” said James. “I’d never do something like that. She was real nice. Pretty. Sweet. I mean, who would do something like that? You’d have to be really, really messed up. I heard they shoved something in her. A handle or something?”

  “Could have been like that mop handle,” said Reilly softly.

  James dropped the mop like it burned him. “No! I would never do something like that.” He shook his head. “You gotta believe me. Look, you call my brother, you ask him about that gun. Please.”

  * * *

  “He’s completely guileless,” said Wren, “but then… you know, I got the same kind of impression about Major.”

  “Right,” said Reilly.

  “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would be making videos and putting them on YouTube,” said Wren, “but it’s possible that he compulsively committed the crime. Can we get a warrant to look at the mop and broom handles, see if the wooden splinters match what was found in the victim’s body?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Reilly. “I’ll get one of the uniforms to start on the paperwork when we get back.”

  “It’s a shame we couldn’t talk to that teacher,” said Wren. “You think it means anything that he was out sick today?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Reilly, “but it could.”

  “And the boyfriend,” said Wren. “He wasn’t there either.”

  “Because he’s grieving,” said Reilly. “Which, you know, it’s fresh.”

  “I do feel like this is a crime that might have been committed by someone young, by a teenager,” said Wren. “But a guy killing his girlfriend? That doesn’t quite feel right.” She looked out the window at the scenery streaming past. “You’re dying to ask me about the profiles.”

  “I am not,” he said, smiling. “I said no pressure. I meant it.”

  “Liar,” she said.

  He chuckled. “Well, you getting anywhere with that?”

  “Trust me, when I get somewhere, you’ll know.”

  “Ooh, sorry. Didn’t mean to get under your skin, Delacroix.”

  “I hate you,” she said, but she was laughing.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As it turned out, Janessa hadn’t changed the passwords for her credit cards. Reilly’d had access to them when they were married, even though they were in her name, because he’d paid them off. She worked part time but Reilly tended to handle most of the bills. She did pay for the groceries out of her own pocket, and some things for Timmy too, but otherwise, it was all him.

  It would have been pretty cheeky of her to put receipts for hotels and things on those credit cards, but he went through them anyway.

  Then he found he could log onto her email as well. She hadn’t changed passwords on that either. Janessa was one of those people who used the same password for everything. If he could log into one thing, he could log on everywhere.

  He searched her email for other credit cards, ones he hadn’t known about, but Janessa didn’t have anything like that, and it wasn’t because she’d deleted the emails. She had notices of statements from the other credit cards.

  He logged off, feeling a little guilty for going through her personal information like that. He was also feeling deflated.

  This whole thing, it was ridiculous. No matter what he’d said to Janessa, he didn’t want to go back to a legal battle. It didn’t matter that she’d been sleeping with this guy while they were married, not really, because it wasn’t going to change anything.

  He didn’t have it in him to go through any more fighting with her.

  It was only, in the moment, he’d been angry. A bright flame of indignation. But he was pretty sure it was burned out now, and he was done with this.

  He clicked over to his own email account, and there was a message from Lopez asking when he was going to schedule his inservice with the department psychologist considering he’d shot and killed a man in the field.

  Well, except he hadn’t shot and killed anyone. Wren had done it. And she was fine.

  Damn it.

  What the hell was he going to say to the stupid shrink? And when the hell was he supposed to find time to do that, considering he’d just caught another serial killer case?

  He shot an email back to Lopez, saying that he was crazy busy right now, how far could they push it back? He also said he was feeling fine, no worries.

  He sent the email and then wondered if he should have said the thing about being fine. Were you supposed to be fine after you shot and killed som
eone?

  Well, but Kyler Morris was a murderer who’d just shot his wife in cold blood and had been about to shoot Wren, so he’d deserved it.

  Man.

  Was Wren fine?

  Reilly hadn’t really talked to her about it, but he wasn’t sure how to bring it up. It was funny, because—in some ways—he felt incredibly comfortable with Wren, and she’d fit right into the task force as if she belonged here. But in other ways, he felt like he tiptoed around her. He never wanted to bring up things about her past. Her mother. The fact she’d been brought up in a cult. Her weird history with Hawk Marner, which might have included being molested as a ten-year-old and now she was getting coffee with him, and what the fuck was that?

  Yeah, great. Wren Delacroix had been through hell. The weight of her past had made her crack before. She’d dropped out of the FBI Academy and imploded her life, as she’d put it. So, perfect, now she’d killed a guy. Like that wasn’t going to put pressure on her?

  He left his office to go looking for her, but she wasn’t in her office.

  “Looking for Delacroix?” said Maliah.

  “Uh, yeah,” he said, and now he felt guilty for having been stalking Janessa during work, instead of trying to crack this case.

  “She left,” said Maliah. “Said something about needing a change of scenery to clear her head. She’s still trying to work up a profile.”

  The profile. Fuck. He’d been joking about putting pressure on her about that, but here she was, trying to deal with everything that had happened. How could he have forgotten about the fact she’d killed Morris? He shook his head.

  “You doing okay, Cai?” said Maliah.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said.

  He went back to his office and fished out his phone. He dialed Wren’s number.

  It went to voicemail.

  He sighed.

  He needed to talk to her. He needed to apologize. He needed her to take it easy on herself.

  * * *

  Wren had been out in the woods, huddled into her jacket, trying to make heads or tails of the profile. She thought maybe that moving around would help her get her head around it, but the more she walked, the more confused she felt.

  At first, she thought that expanding the crime to two killers would make things easier, but now she felt as though it simply introduced more questions than it answered. She couldn’t figure anything out.

  Even being outside, walking under the autumn afternoon sun did nothing to help. It was colder these days than it had been even a week ago, as if the last blush of summer had truly been abolished.

  She trudged back to her cabin and found her phone. She’d gone walking without it so that she wouldn’t have any distractions. There was a missed call from Reilly, a missed call from her father, and a voicemail.

  She dialed the voicemail, a little anxious. Was there another body? Had she missed hearing about it because she’d been walking and trying to figure out the profile?

  The thing was, they were a little ahead of the game here with this killer. It usually took a while for a pattern to become established and for people to realize that a serial killer was at work. Serial killers also had long cooling-off periods, especially when they were first starting out.

  A killer might fantasize about killing for a long time, and the desire for it would build up in him until it burst and then he actually did it. That kill would sustain him for a long time. The memory of it would be enough. He might even take trophies or souvenirs and get them out to allow himself to relive it over and over again. It would be potent for a long time. He wouldn’t need to kill again until the urge built back up.

  So, it could be a very long time before this killer killed again.

  Then again, with a killer who was so public about his intentions, maybe not.

  Truthfully, the way the scene had looked, Wren wouldn’t have been surprised if the killer weren’t a spree killer, who might have simply snapped and would now go on a rampage. However, enough time had passed that it probably wasn’t that.

  Anyway, they might have some time before they had another body on this case. If they could figure out who had done it and why, they might be able to stop him before he ever killed again. She hoped so.

  The voicemail was from her father. He wanted her to call him back. He had “news.”

  She dialed his number and went to curl up on her bed in her bedroom.

  “Wren!” said her father when he picked up the phone. “I’m so glad you called me back.”

  “Dad, come on, are you ever going to get over the fact that I avoided your calls for a few weeks?”

  “Worst weeks of my life,” said her father. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I texted you a few times to tell you that I was alive.”

  “And that was it,” said her father. “For all I knew, some crazy man had you and he was using your phone to text me.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t think of that. I should have.”

  “You’re the reason that I thought of it. You remember that case you told me about where the guy had his girlfriend’s phone, taking pictures and posting them to Instagram for weeks?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Really sorry. Really.”

  He sighed. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  She laughed. “No? You didn’t just call to bitch me out?”

  He laughed too. “I have news.”

  “Yes, so you said in the voicemail.” She stretched out against her pillow. “Tell me everything.”

  “I’m getting married!”

  She sat up straight. “No way. Really? Paul finally popped the question, or did you ask him?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t really like that. We were talking and we just decided we’d do it,” he said. “We both got engagement rings.”

  She laughed again. “Oh, awesome. Take a picture, Dad. Send it to me.”

  “I can’t figure out how to do that while I’m on the phone with you,” he said.

  “Fine, send it after.”

  “It’s not a diamond,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “We both got turquoise,” he said. “It’s very tasteful. We’ve picked out the matching wedding bands, too, but we aren’t wearing those yet, of course.”

  “Ooh, I like. I’m so happy for you, Dad, that’s really great.”

  “I’m happy too,” said her dad. “And I want you to come home for the wedding.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, of course.”

  “You’re not going to blow this off?”

  “I wouldn’t miss your wedding!”

  “Well, you won’t come home, and I saw on the news that they arrested the man killing those girls.”

  “It was Major Hill. You remember Major, right?”

  “I don’t remember all those kids’ names,” said her dad quietly. “I try not to think back on my time at the FCL. Not very many good memories.”

  “Right,” she said. “Of course.”

  “Anyway, you’ll just need to let me know if you’re bringing a plus one,” said her dad. “We need to know for the caterers.”

  “No,” she said. “It’ll just be me.”

  “You don’t have to decide yet,” said her father. “But soon. We aren’t waiting a long time for this. It’s going to be a simple ceremony, and it’s not going to be elaborate. So, it’s only a few weeks out. If you change your mind and find some dark horse contender to bring to the wedding, let me know.”

  “Dad, seriously, there’s no one,” she said. She thought of Hawk, of course, but he wasn’t the kind of guy that came as a plus one to her father’s wedding.

  * * *

  “Hey,” said Reilly, looking up from his beer. He was sitting at the bar at Billy’s. He almost hadn’t come here, afraid of running into Maliah, but then he’d decided he didn’t want to be alone, so he’d come in.

  Wren was standing over him. “Hey.”

  “You, uh, how are you?”

  �
�Fine.”

  “Good.” He smiled at her.

  She twisted her hands together. “I wasn’t going to come here. I was afraid I might run into…”

  “Me?”

  “No, not you. It’s fine to see you.” She smiled. “Hawk or something, I guess.”

  “Right.” Reilly furrowed his brow. “Look, I promised myself I wouldn’t say anything to you, but…” He had decided that forcing her to have a a conversation about her childhood experiences would be abusive too. If she wanted to talk about what happened, she could bring it up. But now, with her and Hawk together, he couldn’t be sure she wasn’t in trouble again. “I guess if that man is, you know, manipulating you in some way, hurting you—”

  “Whoa,” she said. “What the hell? Where would you get that idea?”

  He licked his lips, considering. “You know what? Forget it.”

  “You don’t like him,” she said. “I get it. And I thought he was a serial killer too. But he’s harmless.”

  “So, you’re, uh, getting coffee with him?” Reilly raised his eyebrows. “Even though it was easy for you to think he was a serial killer?”

  Wren’s lips parted.

  The bartender came over right then and asked for Wren’s order. Wren ordered a beer. The bartender got it out of the cooler.

  Reilly decided not to bring the subject back up. Wren was a grown woman. She was tough. She knew how to get help if she needed it, and she probably didn’t need it. She could take care of herself. At least he hoped she could. He cleared his throat. “Not to keep in on heavy subjects, but, um, I thought maybe we should talk about Kyler Morris.”

  Wren settled down on a bar stool next to him. “What about him?”

  “I just, you know, how are you doing with that?”

  “Fine,” she said into her beer bottle. “Really fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Why are you bringing this up?”

  “Well, since I took the fall for it, I’ve got to go see some shrink,” he said. “I, uh, it just made me realize that if you needed to talk to someone, you didn’t have that. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “It, uh, you know, I don’t think about it.” She took a drink of her beer. “I mean, he was going to kill me, and it happened so fast. I fired on instinct.”