had been serving as her partner for the last year, riding along on this little experiment between her and the FBI.
“It’s DeMarco,” she said. “I need to get travel details.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to clear it with me.”
What she didn’t say but felt deep in her heart was: Then why do I feel like I have to?
It was a question she did not feel like wrestling with at the moment. And, as she had been doing when presented with questions like this over the last few months, she turned her attention to work. With a sting of guilt, she answered the call.
“Hey, DeMarco. What’s up?”
CHAPTER TWO
Both Kate and DeMarco had managed to grab a bit of sleep on the red-eye flight from DC to Chicago. But in Kate’s case, it had been a very broken nap at best. When she stirred awake during descent into Chicago at 6:15, she didn’t feel very rested. Her thoughts instantly turned to Melissa, Michelle, and Alan. The guilt slammed into her like a brick as she had watched Chicago appear in the soft light of dawn through the plane window.
She spent that first moment in Chicago hating herself. It got better as she and DeMarco made their way through the airport and to the rental car desk.
Now, as they drove into the small town of Frankfield, Illinois, the guilt was still there but little more than a ghost in her head, rattling chains and creaking floorboards.
DeMarco was behind the wheel, sipping on Starbucks she had picked up in O’Hare. She glanced over at Kate, who was looking out the window, and nudged her.
“Okay, Wise,” DeMarco said. “There’s a big fat elephant in the room and it stinks. What’s going on? You look miserable.”
“We at the let’s-go-deep level yet?”
“Weren’t we always?”
Kate sat up and sighed. “I was babysitting Michelle when I realized I missed a call from Duran. I had to bail. Worse than that, I left her with Alan because Melissa and her husband are going through some stuff. It’s kind of eating me up.”
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” DeMarco said. “But you could have just told him no. You’re not under a strict contract or anything, right?”
“Right. But saying no isn’t as easy as you’d think. I fear I’m putting too much into this. I think it’s how I’m finding my purpose.”
“Being a grandmother isn’t enough purpose?” DeMarco asked.
“Oh, it is. I just…I don’t know.”
She trailed off here and DeMarco let her have her silence…for a moment. “So, this case,” DeMarco said. “Looks pretty plain, right? You read the files?”
“I did. And it does seem pretty cut and dry. But with no leads or clues or even the slightest suggestion from local law enforcement, it’s going to be a challenge.”
“So…the latest victim was a fifty-four-year-old woman. At home alone two afternoons ago. No signs of forced entry. Discovered by the husband when he arrived home from work. Looks like it was brutal strangulation that cut deep into her neck.”
“And that might be the smoking gun right there,” Kate said. “What the hell do you strangle someone with that has the ability to also saw into your neck?”
“Barbed wire?”
“There would have been more blood,” Kate commented. “The scene would have been beyond gruesome.”
“And the reports say this place was pretty clean.”
“So that explains why the local PD is having such problems. But there has to be some starting place, right?”
“Well, let’s find out,” DeMarco said, slowing the car to a crawl and nodding ahead and to the right. “We’re here.”
There was a single policeman waiting for them when they pulled into the U-shaped driveway. He was sitting in his patrol car, sipping on a cup of coffee. He gave Kate and DeMarco a polite nod when they approached his car. He was dressed in uniform, and the star-shaped badge indicated he was the sheriff. If Kate had to guess, he would not be holding that position for much longer. He was easily pushing sixty; it showed the most in his brow and the almost completely gray sheen on his hair.
“Agents Wise and DeMarco,” Kate said, showing him her badge.
“Sheriff Bannerman,” the aging policeman said. “Glad you could make it up here. This case has us baffled as hell.”
“Care to walk us inside and give us the details?” Kate asked.
“Of course.”
Bannerman led them up the wide stairs onto the minimally decorated porch. Inside, the house was equally minimalist, making the already huge house look even larger. The front door opened onto a tiled foyer that gave way to a wide hall and a set of curved stairs leading to the second floor. Bannerman led them down the hallway and to the right. They entered a spacious den, the far wall occupied by a single enormous built-in bookcase. The den itself held a single elegant couch and a piano.
“The victim’s office is right through here,” Bannerman said, leading them through the den and into an area tiled in the same fashion as the foyer. A simple desk sat against the far wall. To the right, a window looked out onto a keyhole garden. A large vase of cotton plant fragments sat in the corner. It looked simple and was clearly fake, yet it fit the room nicely.
“The body was discovered at her desk, in this very chair,” Bannerman said. He was nodding toward a very plain-looking desk chair. But it was the sort of plain that would usually boast a steep price tag. Just looking at it made Kate’s back and backside feel comfortable.
“The victim was Karen Hopkins, a local for most of her life, I believe. She was working when she was killed. The email she never finished was still on the screen when her husband discovered the body.”
“The reports say there were no signs of forced entry, is that right?” DeMarco asked.
“That’s right. In fact, the husband told us all the doors were locked when he got home.”
“So the killer locked up before he left,” Kate said. “Not unusual. It would be a surefire way to try to throw off any investigation. Still, though…he had to get in somehow.”
“Mrs. Hopkins is the second victim. Five days ago, there was another. A woman of about the same age, killed in her home while her husband was at work. Marjorie Hix.”
“You said Karen Hopkins was working when she was killed,” Kate said. “Do you know what she did?”
“According to the husband, it wasn’t really a job. Just a side hustle to make some extra cash to speed up retirement. Online marketing or something like that.”
Kate and DeMarco took a moment to look around the office. DeMarco checked the waste bin by the desk and the few pieces of paper in the small tray at the edge of the desk. Kate scanned the floor for any possible fragments, finding herself once again standing by the vase of fake cotton. Almost instinctively,
