The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 16

  He started laughing, shaking his head. I peeked past Nick to make sure Randy, about fifty feet away, wasn’t looking. He lifted his head my way for a quick second, then got on his phone and faced the ocean. Good. I didn’t need any more bullshit from him.

  Nick released another chortle.

  “What’s…so…damn…funny?” I said, shoving my other arm into the suit.

  “The irony of it all. Here I am in this position, where every other guy in the Bureau would rather be, or at least ninety-five percent of them.”

  “Are you saying I’m hot, even at age—” I grunted as I pulled up the zipper, creating at least a small wave of cleavage. “How the hell old am I?”

  “You’re thirty-nine. And I’m not saying you’re hot. You’re fit. That’s the PC thing to say.” Then he added under his breath, “Even if I am gay.”

  “Thanks for being my curtain rod.” I gave Nick a wink and rejoined the boys under the heavy lights as snow began to fall in buckets.

  “Three minutes in the water. That’s all I’m giving you,” the dive-team lead said. “You’re not equipped to handle these conditions.”

  “The moment you’re out, we’re cutting off the ankle weights and pulling the body,” Randy said as I waded into the water. “I’ve got two examiners from the ME’s office landing on the other side of the island right now.”

  Wasting no more time, I pulled the snorkel over my head and dipped my body into the churning water. I could feel the rush of the current almost immediately. I kicked my flippers three times and moved closer to the body, fully illuminated by the underwater lights. The setting seemed otherworldly. The current tried to pull the man out to sea, but then the twine around his ankles suddenly reached its limit and whipped the body back toward the shore.

  That was when I got the view of a lifetime. His gnawed nads.

  I couldn’t help but stare at the mangled flesh. Any body part in that condition would make a person, even a law-enforcement veteran, flinch. But when the body part was the male sex organ, it meant a whole other level of something, assuming it wasn’t a shark doing the chewing.

  A human performing this act of brutality wasn’t just barbaric. It was an act of passion or pain, or maybe both. And not necessarily toward the victim, although we couldn’t rule it out.

  I heard a garbled voice and turned to see a diver holding up one finger. One minute.

  I nodded, giving him the thumbs-up.

  Peeling my eyes off the remaining flesh, I circled the floating cadaver, looking at the craftsmanship of the funnel made from duct tape. Whoever made this was a DIY guy, or girl, if I were to keep the perp pool completely open at this point. And that person had a specific purpose in dumping this body here, at this exact location. Why else choose this location?

  One more quick look, and I found the rings dangling near his face. Three of them. Even in the water, I could see a single emerald-cut diamond on one ring as big as a car headlight. Another ring sparkled against the lights, diamonds surrounding it entirely. The last one was a simple band, probably platinum, but much larger. A man’s ring.

  I felt a bump on my wounded shoulder and let out a gasp. The diver didn’t know what he’d done. I nodded and followed him to the surface.

  Once out of the water, I asked Nick to serve as my cover again, and I changed back into my dry clothes in record time. Then he and Randy kicked their shoes against a tree to remove the caked mud, saying they didn’t want their toes to get frostbitten. Despite being wrapped in my coat, I stood on some rocks, my teeth chattering, watching the divers sever the twine and carry the body to a makeshift table.

  Randy got another up-close view of the mangled male parts. He turned and put a hand to his mouth.

  “Did you ever find out who this was?” I asked over his shoulder.

  Macho Man held up a finger without turning around. Then it hit me—he looked like one of the Village People. I decided to keep that comment in my back pocket and pull it out when I needed a verbal trump card.

  Nick stumbled over a few rocks and made his way next to me.

  “Move closer,” I said.

  He nestled against my good shoulder. “You cold?”

  “And you’re not?”

  I noticed the buildup of snow had formed a tuft on the top of his head. I would have chuckled if my face wasn’t frozen.

  I reached up and messed his hair. “You were starting to look like a snowman.”

  “Happy New Year,” he said in a strange, high-pitched voice.

  He could see my confused expression.

  “You know, Frosty? Oh, I forgot, you don’t watch those annual Christmas specials.”

  I paused, then decided I had nothing to lose. “Why don’t I?”

  “All work and no play.”

  Even at Christmastime, I’d apparently put work in front of the kids. I wondered what they thought of my choices. Something else to deal with. An anxious feeling was growing in the pit of my stomach as I came to grips with the aftershock of my crash, trying to understand the decisions I’d made in my previous life while still living my current life. Thus far, the regrets were piling up faster than a mountain of Boston snow.

  I blew warm air into my hands and watched the MEs hover over the body, and my inquisitive mindset quickly returned. I turned and found Macho Man spitting into the ocean.

  “Gross. You actually tossed your cookies again?”

  “Yeah. Whatever,” he said, wiping his mouth while moving up next to Nick. He looked at the ME’s table, then turned to face us, or more importantly, to face away from the naked man with his dick bitten off. Randy set his feet while staring down Nick and me, then flipped a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re dealing with a sick motherfucker. I don’t want to see this kind of crazy shit again.”

  I wanted to ask if his declaration was as much personal as professional, but again, I kept my thoughts to myself.

  “Ditto,” Nick said.

  Randy put a hand on Nick’s shoulder and started to put one on mine, but he apparently thought better of it and dropped his hand to his side. “If this kind of thing leaks to the press, shit will hit the fan, and once it does, it will spray everyone within range. I’ll have everyone in DC up my ass.”

  “No one wants to go there…uh, I mean, no one wants it to get that far.” I glanced down as I shuffled my shoes in the rocks, feeling the searing heat from a pair of eyes. I prepared myself for a verbal jab. But it never came.

  Randy cleared his throat. “We’ve got two dead guys in two days. Same basic MO, but there are some differences. One big, obvious difference.”

  I couldn’t hold back. “Not sure how big it was.”

  Randy paused his movement, but didn’t bother responding to my snide comment. Probably for the best. “So what do we have to work with here?” he asked.

  “For one, Barden’s wife,” I said. “She’s not your normal grieving widow. I can see resentment under there, and for good reason.”

  “But that’s an opinion. What evidence do you have to support it?”

  “Nothing yet. Need to verify her alibi, check her social-media posts, talk to her close friends. And it would be easier if we could inspect her cell phone and her records with her provider.”

  “You need a warrant. I’ll get it. Next,” Randy said, tapping a finger on the opposite hand.

  I froze for a moment, shocked to hear his helpful input. Then I said, “Need the final toxicology report on Barden.”

  He looked over his shoulder for a brief second then turned back to us. “You’ll have it by tomorrow morning. Using the local resources, since we have to wait for official feedback from Quantico. Okay…next.” He rolled his arm like a movie director.

  “For now, if we’re to assume the same perp is responsible for Barden and this guy, then we need to look for possible connections,” Nick offered.

  I stepped in. “Or similar routines or behaviors…or personalities even. This killer has a grudge. Now, why he, or she, escalated the violence on
this one here, who knows? It’s disturbing. I’m wondering about their mental state right now. But that may not be a bad thing.”

  “What the hell are you thinking, Alex?” Randy said.

  “If they’re active in society and not a complete recluse, their behavior might be bizarre enough to stand out. People remember that kind of thing. But to narrow down the pool of suspects and who they touch on a daily basis, that could take time. Right now we’re not close. Need the details on vic number two first.”

  My nearly frozen mouth had affected my speaking ability. “I said vic, with a v,” I clarified.

  Both guys nodded, and we moved on.

  “Name is Rick Lepino, an insurance salesman, and get this, he’s from Weston.” Randy shifted his eyes between Nick and me.

  Obviously this was important, but I had no idea why. “Sorry, but that’s one fact that hasn’t been reloaded into my memory bank.”

  “Weston is where the rich folks live,” Nick said.

  “I thought that was Beverly.”

  “Beverly has money, but not like Weston. Highest per-capita income in the greater Boston area.”

  “Barden was loaded as well,” I said as much to myself as the others. I took another glimpse back to the illuminated portion of the ocean, hoping more theories would float to the top of my mind.

  “Married, I’m assuming?” Nick asked.

  “According to county records, yes. Wife Jeanne and two sixteen-year-old daughters.”

  I winced. “Twins. Shit. He’s probably aged a bit in the last few years.”

  “If he’s like Barden, he’s a player. May not have spent much time at home. Put everything on his wife,” Nick said.

  “That’s what you need to verify,” Randy said. “But very quickly you need to start building a suspect list. If you need any help on research, any manpower at all, I’ll give it to you. I’m no mind reader. You have to ask.”

  I said, “I have no problem asking.”

  “You’ll visit with Lepino’s wife first thing tomorrow?”

  “We’re on it.” Nick said.

  More movement behind Randy as the MEs began to bag the body.

  Randy kept his eyes on us. “I’m thinking we’ve got twenty-four hours, thirty-six max, before we get pushed to the side and the boys from DC come in and start doing our jobs. After that, all bets are off.”

  “Like Nick said, we’re on it.” I could sense a natural competitive instinct somewhere inside me, coupled with an almost insatiable desire to find the sick prick who was flaunting his dirty business. But Randy was playing political chess, trying to predict the next move so he could ultimately cash in. I guessed a hefty promotion was within his sights.

  We made our way back to the western shore and waited to board a boat for the mainland.

  I rattled off a number of tasks that needed to be completed over the next twenty-four hours. Just saying them out loud made them seem impossible to accomplish. Nick pulled out his phone and tapped a contact.

  “Who you calling?”

  “Your go-to guy.”

  “I have a go-to guy?”

  “Yeah, an intelligence analyst who’s eager as hell to learn, but doesn’t mind doing the dirty work. He’s smart. Jerry will let us use him, even if he’s on another case.”

  “But Jerry’s technically not our SSA for this investigation.”

  “True, but he’ll let it go through. He’ll avoid any pissing match he might have with Randy. The case is too high profile, and he knows you’re running on about two and a half cylinders.”

  I didn’t know it was that obvious, but I kept my mouth shut on that topic.

  “Phone signal isn’t worth a crap. I’ll put the kid on speakerphone once we’re in my car. Then we should be able to make some headway.”

  The roar of the outboard motor grew louder as the boat arrived at our location. I touched my wet hair. It felt like an enormous icicle. My fingers tried to pry through the matted mess, but part of me wondered if it might crack into a million pieces.

  Once on board, I huddled behind the driver, and Nick huddled against me.

  Raising my voice over the engine noise, I said, “I’m guessing this young agent either looks like Shrek or has the social skills of a three-year-old.”

  “Hardly. Think Brad Pitt, but when he was younger and had longer hair.”

  I turned to look at Nick, and my frozen hair actually slapped my face. “We’ve got a hippie posing as a federal agent?”

  “The Bureau knows we’re in the twenty-first century.”

  I was intrigued.

  14

  After eating a cold plate of spaghetti—during which time I replayed the sniper shooting and the second ring-murder crime scene, and even managed to start developing a mental profile of the killer—I pulled myself up the stairs. I was bone tired, but when I’d walked in the door earlier, Mark had agreed to have a conversation this evening. For the first time since I’d awakened from my crash, he’d also given me an indication that we had a bond. Without me saying a word, he’d noticed my bandaged arm. He asked me questions, sounding legitimately concerned. Then a caring hug, followed by an authentic wink, and a promise for us to chill and talk in our bedroom.

  My body responded in a freakish way. Despite the physical exertion and mental fatigue, I sensed a building desire for Mark, the need for a release. The kind shared with an intimate partner.

  Shuffling down the second-floor hallway, I noticed under the crack of the door that Luke’s room was dark. No surprise since the grandfather clock in the living room would soon strike midnight. I crossed to the other side of the hall and spotted light seeping out from Erin’s room. I put a hand on the doorknob, but I didn’t turn it. I was curious how her day had gone, if she’d been able to stay above the fray of teenage social drama. Uncertain if she’d be receptive to my questions, especially if she was in one of her infamous moods, I lifted my hand from the knob as if it were on fire. My confidence as a mother was obviously still a work in progress.

  Ambling into the bedroom, I expected to see Mark lying on the bed, waiting for me. But he wasn’t. Then his head popped up from the other side of the bed frame. “Hey,” he said with a breathy tone.

  I angled past the bed and saw him doing push-ups, his chest bare. Was he actually pumping up his muscles in anticipation of our expected roll in the hay?

  “Need to get ready for bed,” I said as a burst of energy flooded my veins, and I pranced into the closet looking for something sexy to slip on.

  I tapped a finger to my lips while eyeing my choices. Apparently, sexy lingerie had not been a priority before my crash. Maybe I’d stashed something alluring in a private place, where he couldn’t see it, waiting for just the right moment to surprise him.

  That would only work if I could recall where I’d hidden it. If it actually existed, of course.

  I found a long, white T-shirt with “Georgetown University” written on the front. Possibly another connection, but it didn’t mean much to me. I ran my hand inside the shirt. It was so worn and tattered I could see my skin through it. I bit my lower lip and decided against it. Cheap and trashy wasn’t the look I was going for.

  I didn’t need him falling asleep at the wheel, so to speak, so I called out to the bedroom. “I’ll be out there in just a minute.”

  Was that a grunt in return?

  “Crap,” I said, shoving aside hanger after hanger. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a burnt-orange nightshirt with little slits up the sides.

  “Has promise,” I murmured, holding it up. Another college logo—the Longhorns. There was the University of Texas again. The shirt was sleeveless and had a decent V-neck. I slid the bottom part of the V between my teeth and yanked. It ripped just enough. Then I grabbed both sides and pulled the V apart, ripping it down the middle another three or four inches.

  “Just enough for my perky puppies.” I giggled and slipped it on. Sneaking into the bathroom, I added just a bit of mousse to my hair and walked through
a mist of perfume. “Hey there,” I said, walking out of the bathroom.

  “Hey,” he grunted back, not lifting his eyes.

  He was sitting in bed, wearing metal-rimmed glasses, reading through a pile of papers held together by a paper clip. An open laptop purred off to his side. He was still shirtless, and I took a moment to ogle his chest and shoulders.

  I cleared my throat as I leaned down to grab a pillow off the floor, pausing for a moment at the optimal peek-at-my-cleavage moment. His eyes stayed focused on the paperwork. With a sigh, I threw the pillow on the bed. “Can you get the light?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Ah, he wants the mood to be just right. I looked around for a candle and a lighter, and even opened my nightstand, but only found a worn Lisa Gardner paperback, pens, a notepad, and a set of keys. I turned off my bedside lamp and plopped a leg on the bed.

  “No, I need you to turn on the floor lamp over in the corner.” He held up his glasses. “My eyes aren’t quite as good as they used to be,” he said with a chuckle, apparently still not noticing my sultriness.

  I did as he asked then plopped onto the bed, pulled out the book, and read a few pages of the Gardner tome. A few seconds later, the grandfather chime echoed throughout the house. I let out an exhaustive breath.

  “Something on your mind?” he asked.

  “I thought we were going to talk. We haven’t had an adult conversation since my crash. I’m just trying to piece together my life and those who meant something to me,” I said, staring at the ceiling.

  His hand touched my bare shoulder. I reached for it, but he took it away.

  “Okay, let’s talk.” He tossed the paperwork toward the end of the bed.

  For a moment, I felt like the sophomore who’d just been asked to Homecoming by the senior quarterback. It was nice to be noticed by my husband of…

  “How long have we been married?” I sat facing him, cross-legged, my pulse showing a bit of life.

  He gave me a genuine smile. “Fifteen years and three months.” He pushed his laptop farther away, tossed the packet of paper on the bedside table, removed his glasses, and faced me, also cross-legged.