Wren Delacroix Series Box Set Page 29

  “What about Tobias?” she said.

  “He’s still on the board,” said Reilly. “But, you know, in our last case, I feel like we had too many viable suspects. There were all these people that ticked boxes, and I felt like it could have been any of them. This time, I feel as though we haven’t found one suspect that I truly feel is right for this.”

  Wren sighed.

  “You don’t agree?” he said.

  “No, I guess I can’t. I feel like, without a profile, I can’t determine whether anyone fits the crime or not.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”

  “You know, I haven’t been doing profiles for that long, but I feel like it’s gotten twined up in my own identity. And now that I can’t do it anymore, I don’t even know who I am.”

  “You’re Wren fucking Delacroix,” said Reilly.

  She shook her head, snorting. “Right, of course.”

  “No, I’m serious. Profiling is not the sum total of you,” he said. “You, uh, you want to hit up the Daily Bean on our way back to headquarters?”

  “Heck, yeah,” she said.

  “What are you going to get to drink? You gonna try that sea salt thing again?”

  “I don’t like to do repeats,” she said. “I might try a new flavor combination in my latte. Maybe mint and cinnamon.”

  “Yuck,” he said. “That doesn’t go together at all.”

  “Well, you say that,” she said. “But you don’t know, because you’ve never tried it. It might be amazing. I’m going to find out, okay?”

  “Knock yourself out,” he said. “But that sounds disgusting.”

  * * *

  “So?” said Reilly, eyeing her. “Disgusting, right?”

  “No,” she said. “Not disgusting.”

  Reilly noticed she wasn’t drinking as much of it as she might usually be, however. They were back in headquarters, and they had just stopped into the bullpen to check on the progress of the uniforms.

  Marjorie Jaid hopped right up when they came into the room.

  “Jaid,” said Reilly. “You got updates on anything for me?”

  “The stolen handgun?” she said.

  “Yeah?” said Reilly.

  “Checks out. I’ve got the police report. It was taken before the murders started.”

  “Hmm, so that makes it harder for Noah Adams to be our guy,” said Reilly. “What about, uh, those alibis you’re checking into?”

  “Um, right,” said Jaid. She turned to one of the other uniforms. “Officer Tooms here, he’s been calling to try to verify this list that Noah Adams gave us, but mostly striking out. People don’t even know who Noah is. They also don’t know Megan, either.”

  “So, what do you think that means?” spoke up Wren. “Is he lying?”

  “I don’t know, could be,” said Jaid. “But it could also be that we’re just hitting these places at the wrong times, because the people we’ve been talking to have told us they don’t work the shifts that hit around 8:00. If I thought our department would kick in some overtime, I’d be happy to stay and call around that time.”

  “Oh, don’t count on that,” said Reilly.

  “I didn’t figure so,” said Jaid. “Look, I might be able to stay later one night later next week.”

  “Next week?” said Reilly. Then he cocked his head to one side. “How long have you been here with us?”

  “Oh, I’ve been trading with people to stay,” said Jaid. “I don’t know, I like it here. Anyway, I should be here next week, and I might be able to stay later. I just have to work things out with my babysitter.”

  “Look, you don’t have to do that,” said Reilly. “But I really appreciate it. If I could find a way to keep you on here full time, I would.”

  “Really?” said Jaid, beaming. “Because I would—”

  “You’re back,” interrupted a voice.

  Reilly and Wren turned to see Maliah in the doorway to the bullpen.

  “There’s another video,” said Maliah.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The screen was very dark, illuminating only the barest outlines of trees and the night sky. Mostly what came through was the distorted voice of the killer. His hooded sweatshirt was swallowed almost entirely by blackness. He was trudging through the woods, addressing the camera.

  “I have reached a point of satisfaction,” he growled. “I have slaked my bloodlust and found what I sought. Now, I must go into a period of hibernation, quiet and still, like a caterpillar goes into a cocoon. When I return, I will have transformed. I will be a better and more efficient killer. I will stalk new victims. For now, I bow to the memory of the killers in the tri-state area who have come before me, and I vow to do their memory homage.”

  The screen went to that big K letter.

  The video ended.

  “Is there a body?” said Reilly.

  Maliah shook her head. “Nothing reported, not that I can see, at least from what I have access to. But that doesn’t mean anything. For me to find things electronically, reports have to be filed, and maybe this hasn’t been filed yet.”

  “The video’s never come out before we found a body before,” said Reilly. “He’s changing his pattern.”

  “What pattern?” said Wren. “As far as I’m concerned, we have two vaguely connected homicides.”

  “Wait, you don’t think it’s the same guy?”

  “It’s the same guy making the videos,” said Wren. “I guess it has to be the same guy doing the killing, because he wouldn’t have known about the bodies otherwise. And in the last video, he was there with the body.”

  “He could have been with the body this time,” said Reilly. “He was out in the woods. We need to have people combing the woods.” He left the office to go and call the police.

  Wren stayed behind.

  Maliah surveyed her. “You got something to say?”

  “No,” said Wren. “None of this makes any sense at all. Did you hear what he said? That his bloodlust had been slaked and that he was going into hibernation? That’s bullshit. Killers don’t do that. The more they kill, the more they want to kill. It’s like a drug, and they build up a tolerance. They need to kill more frequently to get the same high. They don’t go on hiatus.”

  “Yeah,” said Maliah. “Well, that would be your area of expertise.”

  “Something about this whole case is off,” said Wren. “Something big.”

  Maliah leaned back in her office chair. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

  “Never mind.” Wren left Maliah’s office and went to Reilly’s.

  He was on the phone.

  She listened while he told them to check YouTube. Then he got put on hold. He moved the receiver of the phone away from his mouth. “I’m on hold. Can I do something for you?”

  “Something about this isn’t right,” said Wren. “I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s wrong. It’s all wrong.”

  “Okay,” said Reilly.

  “I just… you agree with me? There’s something we’re missing here?”

  “I guess so,” he said. “Otherwise, we’d know who did it.” He put the receiver back to his ear. “Yeah, I’m here. It’s Reilly…. No, I’m not saying that, exactly. I’m saying that there could be, though… Well, the woods around the school seems like the place to look, don’t you think? Everything else has been on the campus of the high school.” He waited. “Yeah, okay, call me back.” He hung up the phone.

  “So, I take it they haven’t found a body?”

  “They’re putting together a team to comb the woods.”

  “Should we go out there?” she said.

  “Might be a late night,” he said.

  “If they find the body, we’ll just have to go out there anyway.”

  “True,” said Reilly. “All right, let’s go.”

  * * *

  Four hours later, every inch of the woods around the campus had been searched, along with every room in the school. They’d secured help from th
e faculty and staff of the school. Everyone in the community was pretty horrified by the tragedy that was unfolding in their town. They all wanted to help.

  But there was no body. Nowhere in the school.

  Tomorrow, the police would be expanding their search to the surrounding areas, but Reilly and Wren headed back home. Wren asked Reilly if he wanted to get a drink with her, but he said he was going straight to bed.

  He dropped her off at Billy’s.

  Instead of driving home, though, he drove to Janessa’s. He got there and he didn’t go inside. He sat out at the end of the driveway, and he looked at the house. This used to be his home. When he’d bought it, he’d imagined growing old there, kids playing in the yard, a whole life. The driveway was long and winding, surrounded by trees that blossomed in the spring—big, pink flowers.

  Nothing had gone the way he’d imagined it.

  They hadn’t had any more kids, even though they’d planned on it and bought this big house with room to grow. Right around when it was time to start trying, when Timmy was a year and a half old, that was when it was starting to become clear something wasn’t right with him. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t making noises. He wasn’t cooing. He wasn’t pointing or interacting with adults.

  He remembered the arguments he’d have with Janessa about whether or not it wouldn’t be a good idea to lean into getting some kind of diagnosis. The doctors themselves were very hesitant about everything. At this point, they kept saying, “Let’s wait and see.”

  Eventually, they referred Timmy to a program called Birth to Three, in which speech therapists came into the house to help Timmy. They would be there for an hour once a week, and most of that time was spent in trying to get Timmy’s attention or interest him in interaction, which was next to impossible. They strapped him down and tried to entice him with sweets and bubbles, trying to get him to make sounds and be rewarded for them.

  Timmy’s progress was slow.

  When he was three years old, there was a crazy breakthrough, and he suddenly started babbling nonstop. Unintelligible stuff, but he seemed to be talking. Only a few months later, they realized all he was saying was lines from Thomas the Tank Engine.

  Reilly still remembered the despair of it, how there had been hope. Because three years old wasn’t too late to start talking. He’d thought that maybe Timmy would catch up with his peers and that he’d be playing baseball with other boys in a few years.

  And then, realizing that Timmy wasn’t getting anywhere.

  It had hit both him and Janessa pretty hard. He knew she’d been crushed by it. Devastated.

  Years passed, and Timmy’s speech got clearer, but he never really started to speak on his own. He just regurgitated things he heard. He slipped further and further away from them, and they stopped trying so hard to reach him.

  Reilly grimaced.

  He waited in the driveway for a little longer. He knew it was Timmy’s bedtime and Janessa would be busy giving him a bath and tucking him in.

  When enough time had passed, he pulled the car up to the house and got out. He went to the front door and knocked.

  Janessa opened the door a few moments later. “Caius?” A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

  He pushed past her into the house, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It always disturbed him how everything looked the same in here. The only thing different from when he’d lived here was that there were no longer any framed photographs of him on the wall.

  “Listen, you can’t just barge in here,” she said.

  He turned on her. “You’re having another child so that you get another shot.”

  “What?”

  “Timmy came out broken, but this time, you’ll have a normal kid, one that’ll be easier to love. And then Timmy will be relegated to some back room to rot away, watching his freaking videos, and you’ll continue to refuse to get him the help he needs.”

  She gaped at him. “Get out.”

  “No,” he said. “I think we need to get a real diagnosis for our son. I saw a guy today who could talk. He even was able to have a job for a little while. The job was a little much for him, and he couldn’t stay there, but there could be hope for Timmy. And you’re wasting all your hope on this new baby that you’re going to have. You’ll just move on and have another life.”

  “Caius,” said Janessa. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You always wanted a do-over.”

  “I did not,” said Janessa, shaking her head. “I didn’t want anything other than our perfect, beautiful boy. I love him. I spend every single day with him. How dare you—”

  “He’s the failed experiment,” said Reilly. “This baby will be the baby you always wanted.”

  “He’s not a failed experiment.” Janessa was shaking. “Maybe that’s what you think of him.”

  For some reason, the words felt like a slap to the face.

  So, when Janessa pointed at the door and said, “Get out of this house,” he left. He slunk out back to his car, which he drove down that long, winding driveway, away from the place that had been his home, and out to a world in which no place was home.

  * * *

  Wren looked up to see Reilly come into Billy’s after all. She waved at him from her bar stool.

  He came for her, lumbering through the bar looking as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fell into a bar stool next to her. “Hey, Delacroix.”

  “Hey,” she said. “I didn’t think you were coming out.”

  “Neither did I.” He turned to signal the bartender, who caught his eye and brought over the beer he usually drank. Reilly handed over his credit card to start a tab. He took a long drink of his beer.

  “You okay?” said Wren.

  “No,” said Reilly.

  She nodded. “I guess you don’t want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head, taking another long drink from the bottle.

  She took a drink too.

  They sat next to each other, in silence, for a while.

  Reilly spoke up. “Where’s Marner?”

  “I don’t know. We’re not really together like that.”

  He raised his eyebrows. He didn’t believe her.

  “I mean, it’s, you know, casual. I don’t keep tabs on him.” She felt hot bits of embarrassment enveloping her as she said this, but she didn’t know why. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to define her own relationship? Why should she be ashamed? Was it because it was Hawk? She sighed heavily.

  “I went to see Janessa.”

  “That’s your ex, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I take it that didn’t go well?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You having second thoughts about being apart from her now that she’s moving on? You want her back?”

  “No.” Reilly drank some beer. “No, of course not. That’s not what it’s about.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I’m jealous,” he said. “I’m jealous that she gets to have another baby, and that she gets a shot at having a normal kid, one that can talk to her and hug her and tell her what he wants for breakfast. She gets another shot, and I want another shot too.”

  Wren licked her lips.

  “And I feel guilty for wanting that, because it’s a betrayal to Timmy. Because he’s my favorite person on earth, but I don’t even feel like I really know him. I feel like I can’t know him. I always wanted to be a father. I had ideas of what kind of father I could be. But I can’t be that kind of father if I have the kind of kid that I have. And I guess I’m still angry about that.”

  Wren didn’t say anything.

  Reilly peeled off the label of his beer in one quick movement. It shredded it, leaving behind half the label and half white residue.

  “You know, I don’t know anything about having kids,” she said. “But I do know that you can’t always control what you feel. You just feel it. You can control how you
deal with that feeling, but the feeling itself, it just happens. It’s okay to feel whatever you feel. So, I think, what you feel about your son, it’s okay. You don’t need to feel guilty about it.”

  “Oh, that’s an easy thing to say, but—”

  “My mother was pretty much a terrible parent,” said Wren. “And if I found out that she felt guilty about how she treated me, guess how much that would change things for me?”

  “Uh…”

  “Zero change,” said Wren. “I never needed guilt from my mom. I just needed her to make better choices.”

  Reilly gripped his beer. “Look, I don’t know if I make the greatest decisions—”

  “You’ve got be doing a thousand times better than my mom,” said Wren.

  He snorted.

  She laughed. “And look how great I turned out, right?”

  He downed the rest of his beer.

  She took a long drink of hers.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It took five days for the body to be found, and when they did, it was all the way out in the woods near I-70, practically in Frederick. The location of the body would have typically meant it was out of the jurisdiction of the tri-state task force, but the Frederick police decided to cooperate with them. They were pretty clear about being in control of the scene, though. It wasn’t anything like the crime scenes in the more rural areas. These guys had a tighter ship going on.

  Both Reilly and Wren had to sign in, and they had to be escorted to the scene by another detective. His name was Ford. He had a first name, obviously, but they never did find out what it was.

  Detective Ford wore a long trench coat, like Columbo or something, and he was mostly quiet. He would stand behind Reilly and Wren ominously while they looked over the scene and the body, listening to everything they said but rarely saying anything himself.

  The scene was pretty similar to the first scene. The girl was naked, face down on the ground in the woods. Her body was dirty and streaked with blood. She’d been shot in the back of the head.

  The bullet could have come from the same gun, but like all the bullets thus far, it wasn’t in great shape for analyzation, so they hadn’t been able to determine specifics from it.