Dead End Read online

  He laughed.

  “Anyway, it’s done. Don’t give it another thought.”

  “Must have made things uncomfortable for the new guy.”

  Ah, she thought. That’s what this is really about.

  “Evan was fine with it.”

  “That why he left early?”

  “He’s a homicide detective, Connor. He got a call…”

  “Oh. Okay. Just wanted to make sure we didn’t somehow mess that up for you.”

  “Not at all. As a matter of fact, he’s made an incredibly generous offer.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He thinks we should take another look at the circumstances surrounding Dylan’s death.”

  A long silence followed. Finally, Connor said, “Why would he do that?”

  “He understands that something inside me will be unsettled as long as Dylan’s killer has gotten away with his murder.”

  “And he thinks he’s going to be the one to solve it? Is he aware that it’s been investigated more than once? That we’ve all looked into it?”

  “He knows all that, Connor. And he’s not going into this thinking he’s going to show anyone up, or that he’s going to take one look at the file and say, ‘Aha! I know who the killer is!’ I think it’s his way of showing me that he respects Dylan’s memory and wants to give it his best shot.”

  Another silence.

  “He must be quite a guy, this homicide detective of yours.”

  “He is, Connor.”

  “Then tell him if he needs anything, if he has any questions, to talk to me.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  “Listen, I have to run. You take care, Annie, and remember, if you need anything…”

  “I will. It was great talking to you, great seeing you on Friday.” Her emotions unexpectedly got the better of her and she felt her throat tighten. “You take care, Connor, wherever you are, whatever it is you’re doing. You take care of yourself.”

  “Will do. See you, Annie…”

  She dropped the phone into her purse and bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t help but worry about him. She always did. For men like Connor Shields, there was no telling where or when-or from whom-the danger might come.

  A finger of cold crawled up her neck, and she shivered, then shook it off. Connor had faced a thousand dangers during the ten years he’d been with the Bureau. Surely he’d emerge from whatever obscure corner of the world he was now in, unscathed as always. She wondered what it was that made him thrive on the danger, that kept him accepting the most perilous assignments.

  That well’s too deep for me, she told herself as she passed a tractor trailer when the road expanded from two lanes to four. Leaving Connor’s psyche for another day, she slipped a cassette into the dash to play back a taped session of a lecture she’d given to the last group of agents-in-training to refresh her memory. She had less than an hour before she was to speak, and needed to focus now on her speech.

  Annie tucked away all thoughts of Connor and Dylan and even of Evan. She had work to do.

  5

  Luther Blue checked his Rolex and decided that it was none too early to make a call. If he was up, everyone should be up.

  He dialed and waited.

  “Shields.”

  “I know who I called, thank you,” Luther said dryly.

  “What’s up?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Tell me what I want to hear.”

  “It’s too early to play games, man.”

  “Tell me if I’m going to run into your cousin Connor when I arrive at headquarters this morning.”

  “No. No, you definitely will not run into Connor.”

  “So you are telling me you took care of the problem?”

  The pause was just a beat or two too long.

  “You didn’t do it, did you?” Luther tried to keep his temper under control.

  “I honest to God haven’t had an opportunity.”

  “A good agent doesn’t wait for opportunities. He makes them.”

  “Look, he was around this weekend, but the entire family was there. My dad, his dad, my brothers, my sister. He was never alone. There was just no chance to-”

  “This is just more of the same to me, Shields. I’m really tired of hearing it. As far as I’m concerned, you created this problem, one, by bumbling into him in that alley down in Santa Estela-what, two fucking years ago? And two, by not taking care of him right then and there.” The anger began to build. “You’re telling me in two fucking years, there wasn’t one time you could have taken him out?”

  Silence.

  “Shields?”

  “I heard you, man, I-”

  “You’re just so much bullshit, you know that? Do I need to remind you who works for who here?”

  “No. No reminder necessary.”

  “Then tell me how you’re so certain I won’t be coming face-to-face with him at any time soon?”

  “He’s out of the country.”

  “Where?”

  “No one knows, except maybe the guy he reports directly to, and the Director.”

  “So how do you know he won’t be around?”

  “I talked to him yesterday. He said he’ll be gone for at least three, probably closer to four, weeks.”

  “Did he say anything about that deal in Santa Estela?”

  Another pause.

  “Shields?”

  “Not recently.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “He asked about it when I saw him the first time, maybe a month, two months after that night. The night he saw you. I told him it had been taken care of. That everyone had been arrested and the authorities were ID’ing all the kids to send them home. He was concerned about that.”

  “He never followed up?”

  “Why would he?”

  “Oh, maybe if he saw me walking through the office, it might shake his memory.”

  “I told you. You’re not going to run into him. He’s gone for probably a month.”

  “You don’t seem to understand my situation here, Shields. I am at a real disadvantage. I don’t know what this guy looks like. I could be standing next to him in an elevator, or passing him in the hall, and he could be remembering me, and I won’t even know it. You have any idea of how vulnerable that makes me?”

  “He’s never seen you at HQ, he’d have said something to me, but-”

  “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder, you understand me? I’ve spent the last two years looking over my shoulder, and I’m goddamn tired of it. Every new assignment here in the States, I’m holding my breath, wondering who I’m going to be working with, who I’m going to run into. Well, I’ve been reassigned back here for a while. I do not want to have to be concerned about this again.” Luther took a deep breath, tried to calm himself. He knew that when he got really upset, his voice had a tendency to grow shrill. He hated when that happened. “When he gets back here, I want him taken out. No ifs, ands, or buts, you hear me? No excuses. Take care of him. I’m done with this shit, Shields.”

  “Okay, I hear you.”

  Luther checked the date on his watch. August 9.

  “I want him gone within a week of his stepping foot off the plane, hear?”

  “I heard you.”

  “Hear this.” In spite of his best effort to maintain control, Luther could feel the anger, the need for control, rising in him rapidly. “By the fifteenth of September, one way or another, there will be one less Shields on the federal payroll, and frankly, at this point, I don’t care which of you it is.”

  He hung up before the agent could respond.

  Dumb son of a bitch. It’s that old, blood-is-thicker-than-water crap. Connor Shields was lucky he was out of reach right now. For two cents, Luther would take care of him himself. If he knew where he was, and what he looked like.

  Luther had connections everywhere. Unfortunately, he didn’t know where Connor was. He’d ju
st have to be patient and wait for Connor to come to him.

  Patience was not one of Luther’s virtues.

  He sipped at his coffee, then put the cup down slowly and forced himself to concentrate on the breathing exercises they taught him in anger-management class. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn’t.

  Today it did. When the waitress returned to ask him if he’d like another cup, he smiled and declined like a gentleman.

  A gentleman who, at midnight tonight, would receive a fresh shipment from a very small, very poor Central American country where the chief export was its children, and its import was the money sent back by the workers who had fled illegally to the United States to work as laborers.

  Luther took out the wish list he’d compiled from his roster of usual clients and studied it carefully.

  Four of the older girls, between the ages of ten and twelve, were to go directly to a lovely Tudor-style house in a northern New Jersey suburb. At this most unlikely-looking brothel, they would replace four girls who were being sent to a house outside of Philadelphia, where they would be traded for four girls who would move on to D.C.

  “Keep ’em moving, keep ’em confused,” he told the owners of the houses. “And keep the product fresh. Make sure there’s always something new. That’s the way to build up that repeat business.”

  And when the girls reached their midteens, worn out in mind, spirit, and body?

  “You just dispose of them. You can’t send them back to their families.” He’d given this speech to all of his customers at one time or another. “Look, you got a cop or two on your payroll, right? Of course you do. Now, if I were you, when the girls just don’t have it anymore, when they start losing that fight, I’d give ’em to the cops, a little reward for their loyalty. When they’re done with the girls, they can take care of them. Trust me, no one knows how to get away with murder better than a cop.”

  He drained the coffee in the cup and left a ten on the table with the bill for his breakfast. Once outside in the swelter of an early August Virginia morning, he paused and took a deep cleansing breath, just as he’d been instructed to do.

  To have a good day, keep the anger at bay.

  It had become his mantra. Not that it always worked, but today, it was good enough to take the edge off. He got into his car and prepared for his meeting.

  Then it was off with the Rolex, on with the Timex.

  Damn, but he loved that gold watch with the diamonds, loved the feel of it on his wrist, loved the way it looked, so classy, so expensive. With a sigh, he dropped it into its box and placed it in his briefcase.

  He had yet to meet the FBI agent who could afford a watch like that. The watch, the house in Myrtle Beach, the condo in Manhattan, the apartments in Paris and London-all real estate in his mother’s name, of course-the new Jaguar… who could live like that on what the government paid?

  He wondered idly how his good friend Agent Shields spent his share of the money they’d made since he’d recruited him three years ago. He hoped Shields was as smart about it as he himself had been. Maybe he should have a chat soon, find out where it was stashed. In the unfortunate event that something should happen to his good buddy, shouldn’t someone know where to find the cash?

  After all, in their line of work-legitimate as well as illegal-an untimely accident could occur at any time.

  And as far as Luther was concerned, Connor Shields was headed for an accident, as soon as he’d taken care of one little loose end.

  Maybe sooner.

  6

  Annie sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, the contents of the thick file stacked around her in piles. Police reports here, photos of the crime scene there, autopsy report and photos on the edge of the coffee table.

  In her hand she held the master list of the contents of the file. She’d read through the reports of Dylan’s death many times, but this time she thought she’d put them in the same order in which they appeared on the list. It would be easier for Evan, who’d be taking his first look at the records this weekend. It would go a lot faster if he could just follow along and check off each report as he read it. Unfortunately, the file had been taken apart and read by so many people over the past two years, nothing was where she’d expected it to be.

  The photos were easy to put in order. They were numbered in chronological order. The witness statements were a little more challenging. It seemed that few of them had been returned to their rightful place.

  No time like the present, she told herself as she proceeded to search the file for the first report on the list. She found it near the bottom of the stack. She checked it off, then went on to the next. Three hours later, she had most of the reports where they should be. There were three, however, she’d not been able to find.

  One was a report attributed to Connor Shields. She frowned, trying to recall if she’d previously seen a report from Connor in the file. She didn’t think she had. And why would there have been a report from Connor? Hadn’t he been out of the country at the time of Dylan’s death?

  If he hadn’t been there, hadn’t been involved, what could he possibly have contributed to the investigation?

  She was tempted to call and ask him, then thought better of it. Who knew where he was, or with whom? Better to send an e-mail that he could read at his leisure.

  She opened her laptop and typed her message.

  TO: CShields00721

  From: AMMccall00913

  RE: Report

  Hey, Connor-Just a quick question. Brought Dylan’s file home tonight, it’s all out of order (too many hands in this pot over the past couple of years)-quite the mess. Started trying to organize, using the master list as a guide. Found all but three items in file, including a report that was attributed to you. Could I ask you about the nature of your report? Do you remember? Did this reflect directly on the op, or did this deal with identifying Dylan at the M.E.’s office, maybe? Am confused, since I was not aware you had been involved in this op in any way.

  Just curious-would like to tidy up the file, as well as try to find some closure. I guess we all would like that.

  Annie

  She turned her attention back to the file and its master list, which continued to guide her in her quest to put the file in perfect order before sharing its contents with Evan. Some minutes later, she heard the ping that announced incoming email. She leaned over the computer to see who the correspondence was from and was surprised to see that Connor had responded so quickly.

  To: AMMccall00913

  From: CShields00721

  Re: Yours

  Hey, Annie-You’re sure that report isn’t stuck inside another folder or something in the file? Definitely turned it in. Didn’t contribute a whole hell of a lot to the investigation. They just wanted me to confirm that I had been pulled from the op at the last minute and that Dylan substituted for me and why-how that whole thing had been set up. All before-the-fact stuff. Nothing that shed any light on the events later that night.

  Anything I can help you with, any other questions, I’m here.

  Connor

  Annie read the e-mail, then reread that one line over and over. They just wanted me to confirm that I had been pulled from the op at the last minute, and that Dylan substituted for me and why-how that whole thing had been set up. All before-the-fact stuff…

  Annie stared at the screen. Connor had originally been part of this operation? Dylan had been sent at the last minute as a substitute for Connor? Why had she not heard this before?

  Or had she? In the dense fog of confusion and pain she’d been trapped in for weeks after Dylan’s death, had someone mentioned this?

  Maybe.

  She doubted it, but then again, there was much from that time she couldn’t remember. She was hard-pressed to remember Dylan’s funeral, had little recollection of the viewing, and none whatsoever of the graveside services, though certainly she’d been there. Maybe someone had mentioned that Connor originally had been slated for this assignment,
and the information had been lost in the midst of her grief. She couldn’t honestly say she hadn’t been told. On the other hand, she couldn’t say she had.

  She drummed her fingers on the side of her laptop, trying to determine the importance of this new information.

  She dialed Evan’s number and was grateful that he picked up on the second ring. She told him about the e-mail from Connor, then said, “I’m trying to decide how-or if-this changes things.”

  “I guess the only way to answer that is to know what else Connor had been involved in back then.”

  “You mean, if he’d been involved in something someone might have wanted to kill him for?” She laughed roughly. “That’s every assignment Connor’s ever been on.”

  “Look, why not just ask him if there was anything going on back then that sticks in his memory.”

  “Even if there was, he wouldn’t be able to tell me.”

  “Maybe not, but maybe it’s something he can look into himself. You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

  “True. Maybe I’ll just e-mail him…” She opened her laptop and debated on how best to put forth the question.

  “Good idea. Bring it all with you this weekend and we’ll toss it around a little more.”

  “How’s your case going?”

  “Not well.” His voice dropped with something more than disappointment. “In the past week, we’ve had three victims. I was going to call and ask for your opinion on this. Have you ever known a serial killer to target different types the way this guy is? I mean, two distinctly different types of victims? This guy is going back and forth between the pampered and privileged to girls who haven’t even been reported missing a week after we’ve found their bodies. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “It is odd. And no, to answer your question, I’ve never heard of a case like this one.” She pondered the facts he’d given her. “Maybe I should take a look at the files while I’m up there this weekend. Can you get me copies of all of them? It will give me something to do while you look over Dylan’s file.”

  “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine?”

  “Something like that.” Annie smiled.

  He laughed.