Last Words Page 7

  Connor’s house in the woods had come as a surprise to Mia. From the outside, it looked like any other bungalow built in the 1920s or ’30s. One and a half stories of ugly yellow stone in stucco, it had a wide front porch and a bow window on either side of the front door, windows in the eaves on each side of the second floor. The high ceilings and open spaces inside were atypical, however, and Connor had opened up the interior even more by removing a wall between the dining and living rooms to make one large space. He’d remodeled the kitchen-who knew her cousin was a gourmet cook?-enlarging it to include a builtin banquette in one corner and adding a work island in the center of the room. Off the kitchen was a screened porch. There were two bedrooms and a bath on the first floor, which Connor used, and a large bedroom, bath, and sitting room on the second floor which served as guest quarters. In this case, Mia was the guest.

  The biggest surprise awaited outside, where a year ago Connor had an Olympic-sized pool installed. He’d told Mia he’d had it built so that when he was home, he could swim laps to stay in shape any time of the day or night, though she could count on one hand the number of days he’d spent at home since she moved in. Mia suspected she’d gotten more use of the pool than Connor had.

  She pulled into the driveway, pleased that there was enough daylight left to enjoy a quick swim and still have time for a leisurely dinner before she had to turn her attention to the file she’d brought home from the office. She’d just completed work on a case and wanted to take one last look at her reports before turning them over to John Mancini, her boss, in the morning.

  She parked her car, then emptied the mailbox of that day’s offerings-a magazine and two bills amid the junk mail-and followed the flagstone path to the front door. Once inside, she went straight to the kitchen, where she dumped the mail on the counter and poured herself a glass of chilled wine. She leaned on the top of the island and flipped through the magazine idly, barely noting the contents. She turned on the air conditioning to cool off the first floor, then went upstairs to change.

  The second floor accommodations were more than adequate for a long-term visit. The closet was large enough to hold Mia’s clothes and the sitting room made a great little office. The bedroom windows looked out over the backyard and there were skylights overhead through which she watched the stars. She wondered who might have helped Connor sketch out the renovations for the space when he’d had the house remodeled. She just didn’t see her cousin in the décor at all. At least, not the Connor she knew.

  She stepped out of the suit she’d worn that day and hung it over the back of a chair with the other garments that had a date with the dry cleaner. She’d been in meetings most of the afternoon and had spent way too much time seated, which resulted in multiple wrinkles in both the jacket and the pants. She pulled on a one-piece swimsuit and slipped into sandals, then went back downstairs. In the kitchen she refilled her wineglass, and grabbed a towel from the back of a chair as she passed through the screened porch. Once outside, she lowered herself into a lounge and sipped her wine. The sun had dropped behind the tree line at the back of the property and spread color through the trees.

  Perfect, she thought. This is the perfect way to slough off the day. A little wine, a beautiful sunset, a refreshing swim.

  She put the glass on the ground next to the lounge and leaned back, closed her eyes and tried to think pleasant thoughts.

  What was it the characters in Peter Pan used to say? Think good thoughts…Christmas. Candy…

  Christmas was half a year away, and Mia never did acquire a taste for candy. Except truffles and the occasional chocolate that came in a gold foil box. But pleasant thoughts could not overshadow the other things that ran rampant in her mind. She sat up and reached for her wineglass, drained it, and decided perhaps a swim would help clear her head of the images of the three little boys they’d pulled from a drainage ditch a little more than a week ago.

  She set the glass on the table and walked to the edge of the pool and dove in. The warm water washed over her, head to foot, and enveloped her. She swam laps until her arms hurt, then floated on her back watching the stars appear. So much brighter here than they were back in Arlington.

  Bless Connor for having offered her his home.

  She got out and toweled herself dry, then went back into the house and returned with the bottle of wine and a plate of crackers and cheese.

  I’ll just have my own little cocktail party. She smiled as she placed the wine and the platter on the table next to the lounge. She refilled her glass and ate some of the cheese standing up. She took a few more sips of her wine before returning to her place on the lounge, where she finished the wine and closed her eyes.

  Can’t wait until I can close this case. God, I hope I never have to face another family like the Jenners, give them the kind of news I had to give them. Poor babies…

  She shivered and opened her eyes. For days she’d been trying to wipe out the vision of the three boys, ages two, three, and five, who’d wandered away from their home and ended up in four feet of water in a ditch hundreds of feet from the back of their thirty-acre property. How a two-year-old had managed to walk that far, she’d never know, but the evidence all indicated that they hadn’t been abducted and drowned. Rather, it appeared they’d gotten out of their yard while their mother was out front planting marigolds around the mailbox and chatting with a neighbor. Piecing it all together, it looked as if the boys had decided to take advantage of her inattention to explore a bit on their own, and had walked off into the woods at the rear of their property. A quarter of a mile on the other side of the woods, the ground sloped down abruptly, ending in a retention ditch. The sides of the hill were clearly scarred with gouges made by the boy’s feet as they slid down to the water below.

  Mia rubbed the palms of her hands against her eyelids until all she could see behind them was white light. Better than the faces of dead children, she told herself as she settled on the lounge and lowered the back until she was almost prone, and then wondered if this was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

  “I’m not a quitter,” she said aloud.

  She was second generation in the FBI, and she wasn’t going to be the first one to quit. Well, her brother Grady had that honor, but he hadn’t quit because he couldn’t take it. And her brother Brendan…well, the less said about him, the better. Once there’d been seven of them…seven, she reminded herself. Seven Shields, not counting her father and her Uncle Frank, both of whom had retired. The four in Mia’s family and Uncle Frank’s three sons, Connor, Dylan and Aidan.

  Of the seven, there were now only four. Mia and her brother Andrew, Connor and his brother Aidan. So much for the dynasty her father had once been so proud of.

  That she, the only girl in the family, had followed the others into the Bureau had been a point of pride for Mia. She’d worn the badge for nine years now, but recently had begun to question her decision to join. Her career choice was only one of many things she questioned lately.

  Until she woke, slightly disoriented with a pounding head, Mia hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep. From somewhere nearby there was a rustling sound. She jumped nearly out of her skin as the small table next to her crashed to the ground, sending the wine bottle and the glass to the grass along with the plate and the remaining cheese.

  In the shadow of the porch lights, she made out the silhouettes of several furry creatures who were busy with the cheese and the box of crackers.

  Raccoons.

  She backed away as slowly and as quietly as she could, doing her best not to draw their attention, fighting an urge to run like hell, until she reached the porch. Once there, she sprinted up the steps and through the door. From the screened porch she watched the young raccoons who, she realized, had no interest in anything other than the tasty treats they’d found.

  Lucky for me, Mia thought, Momma isn’t with them, though she’s probably close by.

  She stood at the screen and watched the animals chow down on
her snack and wrest the cork from the wine bottle, spilling the contents on the grass.

  “Thanks, guys, that was a nice chardonnay,” she yelled.

  After they’d eaten everything, shredded the cracker box, and licked out the wineglass, she said, “You’re welcome. Do stop by again.”

  Eventually the raccoons lost interest in the backyard, and wandered off into the woods. As amusing as the incident had been, Mia wasn’t oblivious to the fact that it could have been a dangerous encounter.

  Not to mention the fact that anyone coming into the backyard finding her asleep in her bathing suit in the middle of the night might have had more on their minds than eating her snacks and drinking her wine.

  What the hell was I thinking? She chided herself as she locked up the house. Falling asleep in the backyard is just plain stupid. The fact that the entire back of the property was enclosed by a secure privacy fence made it no less stupid. She shook her head, wondering at her carelessness, and locked up the house.

  The clock on the small chest next to her bed read one o’clock.

  Jesus. She shook her head again. She’d been in the business long enough to know the kinds of things that could-and did-happen to careless women.

  No more cocktails by the pool for me. At least not by myself.

  She showered and slipped into a nightshirt and got into bed. As she turned off the light, she noticed the light on her cell phone, which she’d left on the bedside table, was blinking. She picked it up and looked at the number of the last call.

  Shit.

  She picked up the phone and listened to the message her boss had left for her hours earlier.

  “Mia, John. Call me whenever you get this message, doesn’t matter what time it is. It’s important. There’s a new case we need to talk about…”

  7

  Mia watched the boats out in the harbor from the conference room window in the St. Dennis police department. It was a perfect July day, with the clearest of blue skies, low humidity, and temperatures in the mid-eighties. What an incredible view, she thought as a large sailboat entered the harbor, its sails at half-mast. How does anyone get any work done around here?

  She rested her elbows on the windowsill and tried to keep her impatience in check. The conversation she’d had with John last night had been short and sweet and to the point.

  “Female vic found encased in plastic, left in the backseat of the police chief’s car, second such victim found in three days. Chief of police has requested assistance. You’re the closest agent to the scene. First thing in the morning, you’re there. Good luck-it’s your baby now.”

  Or would be, if the chief of police would have the courtesy to show up.

  She drained the cup of coffee the dispatcher had brought her when she first arrived over a half hour ago. It was cold and not so bad, as cop coffee went, but her stomach was leaning toward slightly upset and she could have used a Coke.

  She’d been told that the chief was in a meeting off-site, but was expected to arrive any minute. She hoped it would be soon. She pushed aside the coffee and stepped into the hall.

  “Excuse me,” she called to the dispatcher.

  He turned to her, the phone in his hand.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I was just wondering if there was a soda machine…”

  “What’s your pleasure?” He hung up the phone.

  “I’d kill for a Coke.”

  “Can okay?”

  “Whatever form it comes in is more than okay.”

  “Right through that third door you’ll find the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever you want.”

  “Thank you. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Not at all. I’m sorry you’re having to wait so long.”

  Mia found the kitchen and the promised cold can of soda. She popped the lid and took a long drink. Better than coffee for an upset stomach, she told herself as she returned to one of the uncomfortable chairs in the conference room. Yesterday’s local newspaper was there on the table; she scanned the headlines.

  ALL WRAPPED UP! shouted the front page of the tabloid paper. Body wrapped in plastic left for anguished parents! Ballard woman suffocated!

  No wonder everyone’s panicking, reading crap like this. What moron gave out all that information to the press?

  She folded the paper and tossed it to the opposite end of the table in disgust.

  “…waiting for you in the conference room,” Mia heard the dispatcher say.

  “Great. Give him some coffee and tell him I’ll be in in just a second.”

  “Ahhh, Chief-”

  “Be right there, Garland. Gotta take this call, I’ll make it fast…”

  Why did they always expect a guy? She shook her head. Women had been in the FBI for years, and yet people were still surprised when the agent they were expecting wore a skirt. Or in her case, well-cut black linen pants and a crisp white shirt.

  His entrance into the room caught her off guard.

  If he was surprised to find that Agent Shields was a woman, he hid it well.

  “Agent Shields, I’m Gabriel Beck.” He approached her with an open hand and a weary smile. “I apologize for making you wait. I see someone’s brought you a drink. Can I get you a refill?”

  “No thank you.” She took his hand and gave it the firm shake she reserved for those times when she felt she needed to assert herself. She fished her credentials from her bag and handed them over. “I’m sure you’ll want to look these over.”

  He did. When he was finished, he handed them back and took the chair directly opposite hers.

  “You’ve been brought up to date?” He asked.

  “Only by the local paper.” She pointed to the end of the table.

  “That was a pretty bad piece.” He shook his head. “You wonder what people are thinking when they write crap like that.”

  “They’re thinking about how many papers they’re going to sell.” She folded her arms on the table.

  “I’m sure they had a banner day, then.” He leaned back in his chair. “I had a long talk with your Agent Mancini yesterday afternoon, I assumed he passed on everything we talked about.”

  “He told me about the two bodies that were found, how they were found, and where. Both victims were from towns nearby, is that correct?”

  He nodded. “Right. The first was found on the front porch of her family home, the second was found here, in the backseat of my car.” He added wryly, “My personal car.”

  “Nice touch on his part. How’d he get the car open?”

  “Apparently I’d left it unlocked.”

  “So he just walked onto your property in the middle of the night and dumped the body in your car and no one heard or saw anything?” she asked.

  “Not a thing. It had to have been between the hours of one and five in the morning. I was downstairs reading until a little before one, and I was up again at five. I try to run four mornings each week. I left the house at ten after five and got back around five forty-five.”

  “And you didn’t notice anything at all?”

  “The car was parked behind the house, in front of the garage. I left and returned through the front door. It wasn’t until I was leaving for a meeting around seven thirty that I found the body.”

  “The car’s been impounded?”

  “The lab people are still working on the bare amount of trace our people were able to recover. The killer had apparently hosed down the plastic to remove anything that might have clung to the wrappings before he put her into the car.”

  “Fingerprints?” she asked.

  “Not a one.”

  “Careful, wasn’t he?” She tapped her fingers on the table. “And thorough. Not taking any chances at all. But that’s a brassy move, leaving her for you to find. She was from St. Dennis?”

  He shook his head. “No. She was from a nearby town, Cameron. At least, we’re thinking she was. A young woman named Mindy Kenneher went missing there a few weeks before the woman who’d been found on Sunday n
ight. I’m expecting to hear back from the ME any time now. I was meeting with the chief of police from Cameron when you arrived. He was on his way to the morgue to take a look at the body.”

  “He hadn’t seen her yet?”

  “The ME spent hours with the remains yesterday and last night. The condition of the body apparently made it very slow going. As hot as it’s been this past week, decomposition accelerated inside the plastic. She-the ME, Dr. Reilly-is very thorough. She’s taking her time with this.”

  “It’s my understanding there was a tape found with the first body,” she said. “Was there one with the second as well?”

  “Yes, but because of the breakdown of bodily fluids inside the plastic, the tape was saturated and has been compromised. Agent Mancini said the FBI labs could work on that, see if they could improve the quality. Unfortunately, right now it’s inaudible.”

  “I’m sure we can help with that. Any chance I can listen to the tape that was found with the first victim?”

  “The chief in Ballard has that; I’ll have him make a copy. And I’ve already requested a copy of his file, and the file from Cameron. We’ll get you whatever you need.”

  “Chief, why do you suppose he left the body for you to find?”

  “Beck,” he told her. “Everyone calls me Beck. And I don’t know why he picked me, except for the fact that I attended the press conference Chief Daley held over in Ballard the other day. There were four of us, police chiefs from four communities. Five all together, including Daley.”

  “Why were you all there?”

  “Mostly to let our communities know we were going to work together to solve the case.” He made a face. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. In retrospect, not so much.”

  “Because he-the killer-may have felt threatened? Maybe thought you were ganging up on him? Or then again, judging by his response, maybe he’s playing with you. Maybe he saw the whole thing as a challenge? ‘You guys think you’re so smart, well, I’ll show you. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’”