Sudden Death

“But the victim was a homeless John Doe.”

“Exactly. But absolutely killed by the same person, right? Same M.O., same caliber weapon, same method of torture. But everything else was different. John Doe was the only one not killed at his residence or where he was sleeping. He was the only one who wasn’t on the Delta Force team that Rosemont was attached to; he was the only victim who was left in a very public place to be found immediately. And he was the only victim the killer felt a need to communicate to the authorities about. But more significantly, why Sacramento? Why not a homeless guy, or anyone, in another major city? Two victims were in Texas, why not Dallas? Or Las Vegas? Or Los Angeles? Why Sacramento specifically? Why contact Agent Megan Elliott personally?”

Hans suddenly stood up. “They sent the tag to her apartment. We assumed the killers either followed her home or researched to locate her address. It isn’t difficult.”

“Very likely. But why her?”

“She was put in charge of the case.”

“How would he or she know that?” Dillon asked.

Jack slammed his fist on the table. “You’re saying that this psycho woman who wanted to learn how to torture by killing soldiers for this fucking lunatic has Megan’s home address?”

Hans said, “I thought you knew.”

“I assumed it had been sent to the publicly known FBI headquarters, not Megan’s private residence!”

Jack rose from the table. Years of training had made his body rigid, but he couldn’t keep his heart rate down like he did in the field. He leaned forward, fear for Megan’s life making his body cold with barely suppressed rage.

He slid his phone over to Hans, showing him the artist’s rendition e-mailed from Texas. “Do you know that woman? She’s the woman Padre saw Tuesday night before Scout was killed.”

Hans stared at the image, his face ashen. “Yes. She tried to kill Meg twelve years ago.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

A large e-mail was downloading to Megan’s BlackBerry while she and Officer Dodge were stuck in slow traffic in Santa Maria, about midway between SLO and Santa Barbara. Megan was antsy to get a look, suspecting the e- mailed file was from the sketch artist working with Padre. Finally, she thought, eager to put a face on the woman she was certain was Rosemont’s accomplice.

Her phone trilled with a call, and she almost sent it directly to voice mail when she saw the caller I.D. was from Orlando.

“Megan Elliott,” she answered.

“This is Paula Andrews from the Orlando Lakeside Adult Community. I just got your message.”

“Thank you so much for promptly returning my call.”

“It sounded important. I knew the Rubins well.”

“It’s about their daughter-”

The sound of a fist hitting wood radiated through the phone. “Is that woman using Hannah’s name again?”

“So you know of the woman who was living with the Rubins and calling herself Hannah?”

“Yes. I was so upset and angered by the whole thing!”

“Can you start from the beginning? Tell me about the Rubins, and how the woman who claimed to be their daughter got away with it for months.”

“Bernard and Millie were the sweetest people on earth, very private. They didn’t socialize much, but Bernard took Millie for walks every day and it was obvious he loved her dearly. One day, right after Christmas a year ago, Millie comes into the social center with a woman on her arm. Introduces her as her daughter, Hannah. I’d heard Millie talking about Hannah before, but I didn’t know anything about her or why she never visited. But at that point, I’d only been manager for a few months and I was still getting to know the residents.

“Hannah was fabulous. She hung out with the residents, helped them with shopping, and Millie was a changed woman. She still had Alzheimer’s, of course, but she seemed brighter. Happier. The thing is, I liked Hannah. We went shopping together and out for lunch and I considered her a friend. There are not a lot of people my age-forty-five-in the area, so to have Hannah around was a perk.

“But then I saw her driving a new sporty car, and I started worrying that maybe this daughter was using her parents. When she took Millie to the doctor one day, I went to the house and talked to Bernard. Millie was senile, but Bernard was smart as a whip. Rarely spoke a word, but he was all there, you know? So I ask him if he’s okay, if Hannah was taking advantage of his generosity. If it was true, I was thinking I might talk to Hannah as a friend, not in a confrontation, you know? And you know what he says? That this woman wasn’t even Hannah. That one day Millie came home with her and thought she was Hannah. And Millie was so happy that Bernard didn’t want to hurt her. He said, ‘Millie doesn’t have many years left. I want her to have her daughter back.’ He said Hannah didn’t want money, only a place to live because she’d gone through a nasty divorce and needed time to get her life back together.”

“When you found this out, what did you do?” asked Megan.

“I checked up on her. I couldn’t believe anyone was that altruistic. Call me cynical, but though Bernard and Millie were okay financially, they had money in the bank and I thought this woman was a con artist.”

“So was Hannah stealing money from them?”

“I thought so, but Bernard said he was giving her a bit of spending money and had bought her the car. To me, that’s manipulative. Two elderly people who lost their daughter in a tragic car accident get suckered by a woman who doesn’t want to work and is happy to live off their savings. If Bernard had hired her, I wouldn’t have had as big a problem, but Hannah was playing up this martyr role to the hilt. So I confronted her when I found out that she had never been married, and therefore never been divorced. I had also found out she had been a physical therapist in New York and still had an apartment there.”

“Had you hired a private investigator?”

“My dad is a retired Miami cop. He knows people and found the information for me. I just wanted Hannah to leave the Rubins alone, but now I wish I hadn’t done anything.”

“Why’s that?”

“Millie got so depressed when Hannah took off, Bernard said it was as if their daughter had died again. They went into Sunny Day two months later.”

“What happened when you confronted Hannah?”

“I expected tears and an apology, something! I mean, we had been friends. But she simply said, ‘That’s fine, I was leaving anyway’ “

“She said that?”

“She was completely heartless. I said that maybe we could work something out, write up a more formal agreement between her and the Rubins, because I knew Millie was going to be heartbroken without her. But Hannah didn’t care. She didn’t bat an eye. Said she’d be out by that night. Then I find out that she’d had a huge fight with her boyfriend over God knows what. I thought maybe he’d found out too.”

“Her boyfriend, Kenneth Russo?”

“Yes. And then she was gone. And you know what happened to Kenny, right?”

“Yes.” Megan’s heart skipped. “That was a week after Hannah left, correct?”

“Yes. We don’t have crime here. We have a security patrol and gates and until Kenny was killed hardly anyone even locked their doors, everyone was comfortable walking at night. But now? My residents are scared. At night they barricade themselves in, and few people come to my evening events. Friday-night movies and Saturday- night dancing? Attendance dropped in half. It’s just started to grow again.” She stopped talking. Megan was about to thank her for her time, when Paula said, “So did Karin have something to do with Kenny’s murder?”

“We don’t know- Karin?”

“Yes. I told you I found out her real name, right? Karin Standler. A physical therapist from New York.”

Megan didn’t know whether she said thank-you or just hung up the phone. Officer Dodge said something, but