Operation Xoxo

As he merged into the interstate traffic, his cell phone vibrated, rattling against the hard plastic cup holder. He risked a glance down at the caller ID.

Cain.

Great. What did he want?

Paul slid the phone open. “Fletcher.”

“Did you hear about the body they found in Breuer?” Cain asked.

“Yes.” Paul held his hand steady, not in any mood to talk with Cain, but unwilling to show his hand. “Are you finished with that stack of background checks?”

“I’ve made some headway. I just wondered if you wanted me to look into the Breuer case.”

“Not yet. It’s a local issue at this point. Until the local officials invite us in, it’s in their ballpark. We have no jurisdiction.”

“Right. But we could offer our services. Up to them to refuse.”

Paul squashed his irritation. The man really was hungry for something interesting. “Not yet. Tell you what, why don’t you get with Alvarez on the government fraud case. I’ll call and let him know you’ll be assisting.”

“I’d rather help out with the Breuer case.”

“Not on your radar, Cain.” So his voice was a little too sharp. Cain was starting to get on his nerves.

“Yes, sir,” Cain answered, his own response prickly.

“We’ll talk in the morning when I get to the office.” Paul could swear he heard muttered curses, but he couldn’t be sure as a tractor-trailer rig chose that moment to roar past him on the interstate.

“Roger.” Cain clicked off.

He’d been giving Cain the benefit of the doubt since he’d arrived in the San Antonio office. But if his attitude toward his new boss didn’t improve soon, Cain would have to be dealt with. Either they’d get their differences out in the open and start over, or Paul would recommend a transfer for Agent Cain.

In the meantime, he had a case to work, even though he wasn’t supposed to be working it.

HE PULLED INTO the coroner’s office five minutes to five. The front door was still open and he slipped inside, quickly making his way to the examination room where he met Gordon Smithson, the county medical examiner.

“Dr. Smithson, I’m Agent Fletcher.” He nodded toward the woman lying on the table. He jammed his hands into his back pockets to keep from touching anything and tried to ignore the scent of decaying bodies and formaldehyde permeating the room. “Is this Alice Lauren Pendley?”

“Agent Fletcher. Glad you made it. I was just finishing up my examination of the body.”

The door opened behind him. Mel entered and closed the distance between them. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, then turned a smile toward the coroner. “Special Agent Bradley.”

Smithson returned her smile, showing more animation than when Paul had introduced himself. Mel had that effect on most men. She was engaging without trying. Someone others automatically wanted to confide in.

“Do we have a cause of death?” she asked, her gaze shifting from Dr. Smithson to the body stretched out on the examination table.

Smithson’s attention reverted to the victim. “Asphyxiation. Most probably someone came at her from behind and hooked an arm around her neck. She put up a fight. See the way her fingernails are broken off? She was found naked with Ethernet cable securing her hands behind her back and tied around her ankles. But she was dead before he bound her.”

“Isn’t that overkill?” Mel said.

Paul cringed at her poor choice of words, but the killer had made his point. He was either Stan Klaus or a copycat. Newspapers around the country had printed stories detailing the Dakota Strangler’s methods. A book on serial killers had an entire chapter dedicated to him. Anyone with a sick mind could copy his methods.

What they shouldn’t have been able to do was find his wife.

Unless one of the children had unintentionally let the secret leak out. Brandon was old enough to remember his real name. Luke had been four when his father disappeared: he probably didn’t even remember the man.

Paul made a mental note to ask Brandon. Not that he expected the boy to open up to him. For some reason, Brandon viewed Paul as a threat to his mother.

Paul had little experience with children, but how hard could it be to get the boy to warm up to him? He’d just turn up the old Fletcher charm, as Mel called it. After he stopped by his apartment and packed an overnight kit.

He wasn’t taking no for an answer from Elise. She needed protection. Whether the killer was Stan or a copycat, he definitely had something in mind for Elise Johnson.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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