Conduit (23 page)

“Would you like some hot tea? It’s
kind of a chilly day out there.”

Emily smiled at Lindsay Alcott. “I would love some tea. Any
kind is fine with me.”

“I had just put the kettle on when you came over,” Lindsay
said. “You look like you take a couple teaspoons of sugar.”

Emily’s smile grew. “You’re very good at this.”

“I wish I could be more accommodating. Ever since...”
Lindsay trailed off and lowered herself into the recliner next to the couch. “Well,
let’s just say that I haven’t had it much together.”

“That’s completely understandable, and you’ve been more than
accommodating.” She leaned back into the plush couch and sorted through her
thoughts about how to approach Lindsay to get the most information from her. Recognizing
Lindsay’s frayed appearance, she settled on casual conversation. Hoping to put
Lindsay at ease, Emily had already opted not to bring a notepad to take notes. Appearing
official in any manner might hinder their conversation.

“You’re not a cop, are you?”

Emily had heard the same question a hundred times. “No, I’m
a private investigator. My firm helps the police out from time to time, and they
asked me to come here and speak with you today.”

Lindsay’s shoulders dropped and she relaxed in her chair. “When
Lieutenant Edwards said you were coming over this afternoon, I was worried it
would be all the same questions I’ve answered before. I’m so tired of answering
the same questions.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t ask you some of the same
questions, but I’m really just here to listen to you. You can talk about
whatever you want, even if it’s not directly related to Stephanie.”

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle jerked Lindsay in her
chair. Her hand landed on her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge since
Stephanie went missing. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back with our tea.” Lindsay
breezed past Emily and into the kitchen.

Emily took the opportunity to roam around the living room.
The house had charming, vintage décor that seemed much older than the two women
who lived there, both of whom were in their late twenties. The small living
room had just enough space for a brick fireplace, allowing occupants to keep
warm during the harsh winter nights.

On the fireplace mantel, Emily examined framed photographs.
The left side appeared dedicated to Stephanie and her family, while the right
side had photos of Lindsay and her family. Pictures of the women together in
various locations sat in the center of the mantel. An exotic beach, the St.
Louis arch, and the Grand Canyon were just a few of their travel destinations
depicted in the photographs.

“We love to travel together.”

Emily whirled around at the sound of Lindsay’s voice. “I can
tell. From the looks of these photos, you’ve been far more places than I ever
have.”

Lindsay placed two teacups with coasters on the glass coffee
table. “We probably could afford to rent a house twice this size, but instead
we save our money and pick another vacation spot. We’re going to Canada in two
months.”

Emily made her way back to the couch. She settled into the
cushions and took a sip of the steaming tea.

Lindsay tugged on her necklace and looked off in the
distance. “Stephanie is so excited to go. She picked out the location, hotel,
everything.” Tears welled in her eyes and her voice softened. “She always does
such a good job planning our trips. We will never stop traveling together, no
matter if we’re both married with fourteen kids each.”

Emily set her teacup on the coffee table. She decided to
change the subject to help get Lindsay’s mind off the fact that she might not
see her best friend again. “Where did you two meet?”

“In high school. She was such a tomboy back then. I was the
girly girl and I kept trying to put makeup and a dress on her like she was my
personal, life-size doll.” Lindsay laughed. “She hated me for it, but even
though we were complete opposites we clicked so well. I knew from the minute we
met that she would be my best friend for the rest of my life.”

Emily crossed her arms, leaned back, and listened to Lindsay
tell stories of their youth for the next half hour. It all seemed very similar
to her own story with Cassie. While neither of them had been tomboys in high
school, once they met it was as if they were destined to become best friends.

The more stories she told of the two, the more Lindsay’s
emotional pain became real for Emily. She couldn’t imagine her life without
Cassie. It would be like losing a chunk of her soul and she would probably
never recover from it.

“Are you going to tell Lieutenant Edwards and Sergeant Brandt
everything we talk about today?” Lindsay asked.

Lindsay’s earlier question about whether Emily was a cop
came back to mind. “Not necessarily. I’ll only tell them things if it’s
relevant to their search for Stephanie. Is there something you want to tell me
that you don’t want the police to know?”

“It’s not related to Stephanie’s disappearance,” Lindsay
said. “It’s stupid, really, and I’m not sure why I would bring it up, except I
feel like I can confide in you.”

Emily moved to the edge of the couch cushion and touched
Lindsay’s arm. “Nothing you tell me is stupid. As long as it doesn’t affect the
investigation like you say, I won’t tell the police anything. If what you say might
help their investigation, I’ll give you the courtesy of letting you know that I
need to tell them.”

“You’re definitely not a cop,” Lindsay said. “They would
never be that good about things like this.” She let out a sigh. “When I met
Stephanie, we were both going through a pretty rough time. She was a stutterer
and had been for most of her life. Even though she went through therapy to help
her, most of the kids in high school knew about her previous problems, so it
was still tough for her sometimes.”

“Kids can be cruel, but it sounds like she has a good friend
in you.”

“She helped me as much as I helped her. See, I’m psychic, in
a strange sort of way.”

The hairs on Emily’s arms bristled and she tried to keep her
composure. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not like those who claim to see the future or talk to
the dead. Those people are just out to steal money from the vulnerable and unsuspecting.
I sense things. At times it’s stronger than others, but it’s always things that
a normal person wouldn’t know.”

The conversation was virtually identical to the one Emily
had with Tara Murphy a few days earlier at the memorial service for Diane
Murphy.

“When I met Stephanie, it was as if a puzzle piece of who I
am snapped into place. Whenever we’re around each other, my psychic tendencies
are much stronger than when we are not together.”

“So, when you said earlier that you haven’t had it together
since she disappeared—”

“Part of that is because of the way she helps my gift
function,” Lindsay said. “I never could understand it, but that’s how it works
for me. Stephanie helped me out in high school as I was trying to figure out
what was wrong with me, so maybe that has something to do with it.”

Emily withdrew her hand from Lindsay’s arm. What she
described was how Emily felt with Cassie and the strength that Cassie brought
to her gift. Even Lindsay’s experiences in high school and how Stephanie helped
her cope with her gift reminded Emily of how Cassie helped her in high school.

In just the past few days, Emily had met two women connected
to the case who were like her. The chances of that happening in even a year were
very slim. That the women were close with two of the killer’s victims couldn’t
be a coincidence.

She didn’t know what it all meant, but there was someone who
could help her make sense of everything. Aunt Susan’s friend, Marta Mendez, had
far more experience with these things than Emily. Not only could she explain
these coincidences, but she could help Emily figure out why the victims called her
name, and how to banish the darkness from her mind before it completely took
over.

At first glance, Officer Betsy
Rogers was a homely girl who seemed to be both unconcerned with her appearance
and unable to restrain an out-of-control suspect. Both assumptions were untrue.
Department guidelines allowed women to wear only minimal or natural makeup to
remain professional, unless an undercover assignment required otherwise. Likewise,
all female officers wore their hair in such a manner that it did not touch
their uniform collars.

Officer Rogers opted for no makeup and a tight bun, and her
appearance reflected the pride of her position within the force. Her small
stature fooled many, but Lionel was well aware that her physical capabilities
far outweighed many of the male officers in her division.

Lionel rose from his chair when Officer Rogers entered his
office with a notepad and pen clutched to her chest. He greeted her, and
gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.” The subtle shakiness in her voice conveyed
her nerves about the meeting and her concern about why he had taken her off her
patrol route mid-shift.

“Officer Rogers, I understand you want to play with the big
boys in homicide after you pass your detective exam.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Most rookie detectives have to pay their dues in other divisions
before coming to homicide. Why should we treat you any different?”

“Sir, my test scores are off the charts. I spent four years
in the United States Marine Corps and earned high commendations. I have a
bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice, which I obtained while a rookie on the
force, and I graduated summa cum laude.”

Lionel smiled. “I didn’t ask for your résumé.”

Officer Rogers relaxed a bit in her chair. “My father was a
homicide detective with the LAPD for ten years. He transferred to the Wichita
Police Department and finished out his career here before he passed away. My
grandfather also was a homicide detective for the LAPD for most of his career
until he retired.”

“I understand your four older brothers are also detectives.
One here in Wichita, one in Omaha, and two in Kansas City. Are they also in
homicide?”

“No, sir. They are still working their way up.”

“And you want to beat them.”

She allowed a small smile. “Yes, sir.”

“So why not go to the LAPD? With your high test scores and
your family history, they would snatch you up without question. They’re far
more prestigious than this small, Midwest town.”

“Sir, Wichita is the largest city in Kansas. That may be
small to the people in Los Angeles, but to me it’s very large and very important.
I was born and raised right here in tornado alley. These are my people and I
intend to stay here until I retire.”

Her words sealed Lionel’s decision to bring her into the
homicide fold. “When do you take your detective exam?”

“In two months and three weeks, sir.”

“I imagine you plan on passing. If you want a run at
homicide, you need a test drive first, but there’s a case on your record I’m
concerned about.”

Her forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Sir?”

Lionel opened the file in front of him and skimmed the
details. “Four months ago, you answered a call to a hit and run. Several blocks
away from the accident, you arrested a woman named Jillian Waters at her apartment
based on witness statements. The pedestrian she hit was taken to the hospital.”
He looked up at Officer Rogers. “Why was she released without being formally
charged?”

She dropped her gaze to the desk.

“Did you want to review the file to refresh your memory?”

“No, I remember the case.” She cleared her throat and
adjusted in her seat. “The man she hit disappeared from the hospital. We had a
witness to the accident, but because Waters fled the scene so quickly, he couldn’t
positively identify her. He only knew the make, model, and color of her car, a
partial license plate number, and which direction she headed.”

“Wasn’t the damage on her car along with that witness
statement enough to charge her?”

“Not according to the D.A., sir.” Her stern voice had an
edge of disdain. “He claimed we needed a victim for it to be a hit and run and
that Waters would just say someone else used her car. He said we couldn’t prove
otherwise.”

“You disagreed with his decision to release her?”

“I felt she could have been put away with the damage on her
car and the witness statement. We could have matched the blood from the broken headlight
to the blood taken from the victim at the hospital and worked with that to get her
to make a deal. The D.A. didn’t like that because Waters lawyered up as soon as
she was brought in. He didn’t want to take the case to trial with such little
evidence.”

“Did you search for the man she hit?”

“For several days. He disappeared into thin air. He gave a
fake name at the hospital and he had no identification on him at the time of
the accident.”

“Did you find it strange he disappeared from the hospital?”

“Extremely, sir.” She leaned in, as if ready to share a
secret. “Truth be told, I wanted to find him not just to charge Waters, but also
to find out why he ran. People only run if they are in trouble or if they are
hiding something.”

“Why didn’t you get a sketch of the victim made?”

“My commanding officer ordered us to stop working the case.
He felt we had better things to do with our time, and he didn’t want to pass it
off to detectives to investigate.”

“Do you always do what your commanding officer tells you?”

Officer Rogers hesitated. “No, sir. I kept looking off the
clock for another week and came up empty. I couldn’t use department resources
to get a sketch made, but I found something interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“At the hospital and in my interview with the victim, he
gave the name John Smith, but when the paramedics asked his name at the scene,
he said it was David.”

Alarms sounded in Lionel’s head, but he wanted to give
Officer Rogers a chance to relay her theory. “What does that mean to you?”

“That his real name is David. He was in shock at the time he
was hit and mistakenly gave his real name to the paramedic. Later, when he woke
up in the emergency room, he lied about his name. To me, it means he was
running from something and may have had a warrant or been involved in some kind
of illegal activity.”

Lionel saw Shawn pacing in front of their office and he
waved him in. “Officer Rogers, this is Detective Sergeant Shawn Brandt. He’s been
my partner for longer than either of us care to remember.”

Officer Rogers got to her feet and shook his hand, clearly
impressed with meeting Shawn. “It’s an honor, sir. You have a great reputation
with the beat cops.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Lionel said. “Most of it is just
rumors.”

Shawn laughed, and Officer Rogers slowly joined in the
laughter.

Once they were both sitting, Lionel turned to Shawn. “Rogers
just shared an interesting theory about the man that Jillian Waters hit. He
gave the name David to the paramedics at the scene, but told the hospital staff
and the officers that his name was John Smith. Rogers believes he gave his name
correctly the first time due to shock, but changed it later because he might be
in trouble with the police.”

Shawn arched his eyebrows. “Rogers has a good theory there.”

Lionel reached under the folder on his desk and held up the
sketch of their serial killer for Officer Rogers to see. Before he could say a
word, her face lit up with recognition. “That’s him,” she said, pointing to the
picture. “That’s David.”

Lionel laid down the sketch. “That’s what we thought. I’m
going to let you run with your theory again. I’ve taken you off your beat for
the next few weeks to work on our task force that’s searching for the serial
killer. Who is your partner?”

“Officer Andre Wilham, sir.”

“I haven’t heard of him. Is he as good as you are?”

“No, sir,” Officer Rogers said with a smile. “But he’s close
and he’ll make a fine detective someday.”

Lionel mused that her answers were getting better the longer
the meeting continued. “I’ll make sure Officer Wilham gets a solid replacement for
a partner while you work with us. I want you to shadow Detectives Aurelio and
Timmons. Do you know them?”

“Detective Aurelio, sir. She’s an excellent role model for
women on the force.”

“That she is,” Shawn said.

“Detective Aurelio will teach you how to follow the rules,”
Lionel said. “Detective Timmons will teach you how to bend them the proper,
legal way. The three of you will get a subpoena for hospital footage from the
time David was brought in until he went missing. The hospital won’t just
release that due to patient confidentiality, so the subpoena will be necessary.
The fact that the sketch of our killer has been positively identified as your
hit and run victim, David, is the primary reason you will give for the
subpoena. It’s also justified on the basis that Jillian Waters was identified
as our killer’s latest victim, and her attack was different than those of the
other victims.”

“He slashed up her face,” Shawn said. “It was personal.”

Officer Rogers scribbled in her notepad as he spoke. “Yes,
sir.”

“You’ll need to scour the security tapes with other officers
until you find him. We need more than just a sketch on this guy and we need it
right away.”

Officer Rogers looked up at Lionel with curiosity.

“He took another girl,” Shawn said in response to her
unasked question. “He’s had her for almost two days now and he could kill her
at any time, if he hasn’t already.”

For the first time since entering his office, Officer Rogers
faltered. Her lips parted, and her bottom lip trembled with shaky breathing.

Lionel leaned forward. “Do not misinterpret our meeting
today, Rogers. It isn’t set in stone that you’re coming to homicide once you
pass your detective exam. This is a test, not only of your detective skills,
but also of your ability to look at victims who have been ripped away from
their loved ones while keeping your composure at all times.”

“Homicide is not pretty,” Shawn said, “and it’s not what you
see on television. Bodies are not always freshly dead and in good condition. Victims
are sometimes extremely young and vulnerable. The one who commits the crime is sometimes
the person you think is least capable of doing so. Next thing you know, you
start having bad dreams, and then the people you love are affected.”

“If you don’t think you can handle it,” Lionel said, “you
can say so and no one will hold it against you. Most officers can’t handle what
we deal with here, yet they still have exemplary careers as detectives in other
divisions.”

Officer Rogers’s resolve returned and she stood up. “Sir, I
am completely confident in my ability to handle everything homicide has to
offer.”

“We’ll see if you still feel that way at the end of this
case,” Lionel said. “Now, go get a subpoena.”

“Thank you, sir.” She turned to Shawn and nodded at him.

As she reached for the doorknob to go, Lionel stopped her. “And
Rogers?”

She whirled around and faced him. “Sir?”

“When you work in homicide, you
always
do what your commanding officer tells you.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir.”