Silenced

Lucy had studied killers of all stripes in both criminal psychology coursework and on her own. Her life had brought her face-to-face with evil many times: her cousin’s murder when they were seven, her brothers and sister in law enforcement talking bluntly about their jobs, when she was raped at eighteen. Then years of schooling and internships studying crimes and criminals. She had a gift-or a curse-for getting into the heads of both killers and victims.

This killer was taunting someone, but the message didn’t seem to be directed at police. It was almost an internal thought on his part, a private joke.

Six blind mice.

The children’s rhyme only had three mice, so six seemed especially important, a signal to law enforcement or a threat. A rat could mean the victim had said something to police. Children’s rhymes were singsong, and in this context seemed taunting. Why cut off the tail?

Lucy played the song in her head.

Three blind mice, three blind mice

See how they run, see how they run

They all ran after the farmer’s wife

Who cut off their tails with a carving knife

Did you ever see such a sight in your life

As three blind mice.

Did the tail have any significance to the killer? Or did he cut off the tail just because of the song? Had he planned to kill the rat, did he bring it with him, or was the act an afterthought? Did he intend to mislead the cops, to cloud the motive?

The scene didn’t feel like a serial killer to Lucy, but she couldn’t articulate why. No rape. No rage. Clean kill, a message. Uncovering why Nicole Bellows was killed would lead them directly to the killer, Lucy was certain about that.

The killer didn’t rape his victim. They may have had consensual sex, and Lucy wanted to go to the morgue to get a jump on any potential evidence. Time was always a critical factor in a homicide investigation.

Noah approached Lucy. “Don’t contradict me in public.”

Lucy’s stomach flipped. He was still angry with her. She needed to make this right. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I know you care, I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t.”

“It stung,” he said simply, then moved on. “You told Detective Reid that we can handle the case. It’s not your call.” Noah was stern. “Just remember, I’m the FBI agent, you’re the analyst.”

His words were true, but he’d never been so harsh. He’d always treated her like a partner, not a novice.

“I understand,” she said, hoping she kept the hurt from her tone.

He continued. “You’re going to be liaison between Genie Reid and me. You want this, you got it. If there’s anything that points to a serial murderer, any verified leads, we’ll reassess whether we officially step in. But right now, this is a DC metro case and we’re observing.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Josh Stein wants you off Wendy James, and this is the only way you’re not going to be chained to your desk for the next three weeks. I’m going to talk to Detective Reid and make sure she’s satisfied with this arrangement.”

He strode away and spoke quietly to Genie.

She wished she could take it all back. She didn’t want to work with the DC police, she wanted to work with Noah. She’d already learned so much from him, every day she felt she was better prepared not only to start the Academy, but to be an agent. When they had downtime, he told her what to expect in classes, some of the tricks, how to maneuver through the bureaucracy. Though her sister-in-law was an instructor at Quantico and also helpful, Kate had been a recruit fifteen years ago. A different time, a different program. Noah graduated less than four years ago.

Their friendship had just taken a big hit, and it was her fault. She had to find some way to repair the damage.

Genie and Noah approached. “Welcome aboard,” Genie said. “Agent Armstrong says you’re with me, and I’m glad for the help, even temporary-you’re still deputized, right? He said you’d come from the Arlington Sheriff’s Department?”

She nodded, wishing she knew what Noah had said to Genie about her. “I worked there a year ago, yes.”

“And you worked at the morgue, too? Then you get to head down there and talk to the coroner when we’re done here, because I hate that place and I’m glad to have someone to pass it off on.”

Genie continued. “My guys found a backpack with blood in the trash. We’re comparing it to the vic. Also, the CSU says the door wasn’t forced. The lock was easy to break, and the killer used bolt cutters on the chain. The doors are so weak he could have kicked it in.”

“But that would have made noise,” Lucy said. “If he had to break in, that means he wasn’t a john. He goes in quietly, so as not to wake his victim, closes the door, turns on lights?” She glanced back at room 119’s window, noted that she could almost see through the flimsy curtains. “Probably enough light from outside.”

“Good guess. And the switch by the door is broken. Only the lamp on the nightstand works.”

“So he comes in, grabs the victim off the bed, and kills her.”

“Or she hears something and gets up-” Noah suggested.

“But he’s already inside, grabs her and kills her before she can scream.”

“Either way,” Genie said, “it was fast. He went in with a purpose.”

“He had to have known her.” Lucy frowned, looking over at the room, but not focusing on any detail. “I don’t know.”

“Explain.”

“It’s not random. She was a target.”

“Target?” Noah said. “Interesting choice of words.”

“He meant to kill Nicole Bellows, not just any prostitute.”

“Possible,” Noah said, “but that’s for you to run down.” He glanced at his watch. “Are the managers here? I need to get to a briefing.”

“In the office.” Genie waved her hand in the general direction.

“Any cooler inside?” Lucy asked, pulling her sticky blouse from her skin.

“No.”

Genie was right. The motel lobby’s air-conditioning was no more effective than the motel room’s.

The manager had a small office behind glass. Posted inside the glass was a sign with their rates: $25/hour; $69/night; $249/week. Maid service was an additional $20/day.

Genie motioned for the two managers to come out of the room. “I swear, these two are idiots,” she muttered.

The night manager, Ray, was dark, wiry, and disheveled, with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. The day manager, Buddy, was twice the size, but deferred to Ray.

“Buddy says room one-nineteen got whacked?” Ray said. He stared at Lucy through half-lidded eyes. She resisted the overwhelming urge to look down and make sure her blouse was buttoned.

Genie stepped forward before Noah could say a word. “Who you trying to impress, Ray? Whacked. Shit, you’re pissing me off. Took you fucking long enough to get in. Buddy called you three hours ago. Probably called you before he called us. Makes me think you have something to hide.”

“Hey, Genie babe, we go way back, no need to get all hostile.”

“You ‘babe’ me again, I’m taking you to jail and losing the paperwork.”

“Shee-it, Detective, you got no sense of humor.”

“What I have is a dead girl, I want to know who did it. Do I need to ask for security tapes?”

“Ask, but I don’t have any. You know that.”

“Nice fucking place you run.” Genie said. “When did Nicole Bellows check in?”

“Nicole? She didn’t give me that name. Gave me N. Smith.” He chortled. “But I recognized her.”

“Recently?”