Criminal Behavior--A Thrilling FBI Romance Read online

What she couldn’t figure out was how he’d managed to follow her to and from Naomi Quinlan’s house without her or Ethan spotting him. Addie had been careful leaving home that morning, taking a circuitous route out of the neighborhood and then cruising through the downtown streets at a sedate pace while she kept an eye on her rearview mirror.

  She was certain she hadn’t picked up a tail, and yet someone had managed to track her and Ethan’s whereabouts. The police hadn’t arrived at Naomi’s house out of the blue. Someone had known they were there. If Gwen Holloway was responsible for alerting the cops, had she also sent someone to attack Addie?

  Ethan’s paranoia was starting to rub off on her, she decided. More likely, her initial assessment had been correct. The man in the alley was one of those fanatical people who did creepy things like write letters to a dead woman’s daughter. Only he’d taken the fixation a step further. His behavior had everything to do with Twilight’s Children and nothing at all to do with Gwen Holloway. Addie and the other victims’ children had always attracted their share of crazies. People were fascinated by serial killers and had been since the term was first coined. That same grisly captivation had propelled profilers like James Merrick to near rock-star status until his downfall had blighted the unit.

  Addie paused on the street to glance behind her. She didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. No covert stares or sidelong glances. The pedestrians on the street paid her no attention at all, and yet she couldn’t shake the notion that her stalker—as she had now come to think of him—was nearby. That he watched her in amusement from the safety of a shop window or from a shady park bench.

  The day was steamy, and yet Addie’s blood ran cold. She felt exposed on the street and vulnerable in a way she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t so much that she feared for her physical safety. She knew how to handle herself. But she experienced a deeper dread. A festering premonition that old secrets were about to be exposed and her life might never be the same.

  A breeze rippled through the leaves, sounding like whispers.

  It’s time you learn the truth.

  The truth about your mother.

  A squad car cruised by, and Addie turned her face away, pretending to study a clothing display in a window. Once the car was out of sight, she left the shade of the awning and crossed the intersection at the light. The streets were quickly filling up. Tourists meandered while locals bustled to work or to brunch. Addie kept to the fringes of a sightseeing group, breaking off at the next corner to head back to her vehicle.

  She drove straight to police headquarters and entered through the public door, sending her bag and weapon through the metal detector as she presented her ID.

  The place was quiet for a weekend morning. She said hello to another detective as she made her way to her desk. He glanced up from his paperwork, bored and eager for a distraction. “Thought you were on vacation, Kinsella.”

  “I was. Came back early to clear a few things off my desk before Monday morning.”

  She kept her gaze averted as she sat down at her desk. The last thing she wanted was aimless chitchat. She waited for the detective to return to his work, and then she turned on her computer and entered her password at the prompt. She typed Naomi Quinlan’s name in the search bar and glanced around anxiously as she waited for the file to load. The phone on her desk rang, and something—maybe intuition, maybe a movement at the corner of her eye—drew her gaze to the second floor as she picked up the receiver.

  She spotted the deputy director gazing down at her as she identified herself to the caller.

  He had a cell phone to his ear and nodded when he saw that he had her attention. “Come up,” he said into the phone. Then the line went dead.

  Addie replaced the receiver, turned off her computer and stood. The detective watched her curiously as she walked past his desk. By the time she’d climbed the stairs, David Cutler had disappeared into his office. He stood at the window, a tall, proud man who had devoted his life to public service. Addie had always thought of him as ageless, but now she noticed a slight stoop to his shoulders and the shimmer of more silver in his hair. Little wonder, she thought. The job eventually took a toll on all of them.

  He didn’t turn as she hovered in his doorway. He seemed so deep in thought, Addie was reluctant to interrupt him, but finally she said, “You wanted to see me?”

  He motioned her in but remained at the window for another moment before he took his place behind his desk. “Have a seat.”

  Addie told herself she had no reason to feel anxious. She’d done nothing wrong, and she’d known the deputy chief for longer than she could remember. He had been there for her when her mother was murdered, when her grandmother had died of natural causes and all the years in between. He’d been guardian, mentor and champion all rolled into one. That he matched the description of the detective who had gone to see Ida McFall meant nothing. The very idea that he might be responsible for a police cover-up was ludicrous. David Cutler remained the finest man Addie had ever known, and she suddenly felt fiercely protective of him.

  He sat back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m getting too old for these hours.”

  “It’s the weekend,” Addie said. “Why aren’t you home cutting the grass or watching a ball game?”

  He placed his palm on a stack of paperwork and lifted his hand. “The reports were this high when I came in earlier. Can you imagine what that pile would look like if I waited until Monday?”

  “There’s always going to be paperwork,” Addie said. “You look tired. You should think about taking some time off. Maybe go up to the cabin. The lake is beautiful right now.”

  He gave her a pained smile. “You’ve been talking to Helen. Not that either of you has any room to criticize. Her hours are as long as mine, and here you are back from your vacation early. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I had some loose ends to tie up before Monday. Nothing that can’t wait, though, if you’d like to grab lunch.”

  “Another time,” he said with sigh. “I’m glad you came in today. Gives us a chance to talk.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  A frown flicked across his brow as he picked up a pen from his desk, absently weaving it through his fingers. “Did you know Ethan Barrow is in Charleston?”

  “He came by the Gainey house yesterday. I was surprised to see him. Actually, stunned might be a better word.”

  “You didn’t know he was coming?”

  “Not a clue. I hadn’t seen or heard from him in ten years.”

  “No phone calls, no email? No correspondence at all?”

  Addie cocked her head. “None of the above. Why the third degree?”

  “He came to see me, too.” He cast her a glance before returning his attention to the pen. “It was a strange meeting, to say the least.”

  “Why? What did he say?”

  He hesitated. “He wanted to talk about the night your mother died.”

  Addie sat up in her chair. “What about that night?”

  Another frowned flickered as he contemplated her question. “I don’t think we need to get into that right now. I thought you should know that he’s in town and apparently still laboring under the misconception, or outright delusion, that James Merrick is an innocent man.”

  Addie tucked back her hair. “You don’t think there’s a slight possibility he could be right?”

  “Don’t tell me he’s suckered you back in already.” He gave her the longest stare, one of those censuring looks that made Addie feel like a guilty teenager. “Let me guess. He’s found new evidence.”

  Addie tried not to fidget under the spotlight of his glare. “He did mention something to that effect.”

  “Did he also mention the nature of this new evidence?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but something in David Cutler’s eyes—a cold, hard
gleam—reminded her of Ida McFall’s misgivings about the detective who had come to see her. I think he may have been looking for Naomi’s evidence. I’m certain he was fishing for something.

  What if the man Ida had spoken to was no longer a detective, but the deputy chief? Her description matched. It might also explain why he hadn’t given her a name. But why would the deputy chief take an interest in Naomi Quinlan’s hit-and-run?

  Addie didn’t like the direction of her thoughts. She didn’t like the worrisome doubts that were starting to burrow beneath her affection for David Cutler and undermine her faith in him.

  “You should probably talk to him about it,” Addie said.

  “I’m asking you.”

  She shrugged. “All I know is that a local woman contacted him. Apparently, she was writing a book about the Twilight Killer case and had turned up something in the course of her research. Before he could come to Charleston to meet with her in person, she was killed in a hit-and-run. Could be just a coincidence. Or maybe she really was onto something. We may never know. Anyway, her name was Naomi Quinlan. I caught the call the night she died, but by the time I arrived on the scene, Detective Yates had assumed control. Since I was in the middle of a transfer, I didn’t raise a stink about turf. But the timing of her death is curious, to say the least.”

  “I hope you’re not implying that Detective Yates or anyone else in this department had something to do with that woman’s death.”

  His conclusion surprised Addie. “I’m not saying anything of the sort. I meant just what I said. Naomi Quinlan contacted Ethan about her research, and then she turned up dead before he could meet with her in person. The timing is curious.”

  “Does any of this really surprise you, Addie? Ethan Barrow has a nose for trouble.”

  “I know that. But he only arrived in town two days ago. He can hardly be blamed for Naomi Quinlan’s hit-and-run. And even though I may not agree with his methods, I can’t fault him for wanting to clear his father’s name.”

  “You’re still defending him.”

  His accusatory tone rankled. Addie waited a beat before she responded. “Seeing his side of things doesn’t equate with defending him. A child, no matter the age, needs to believe the best about a parent. I’m no different. I know my mother wasn’t perfect, but I still like to think that she loved me more than anything. That I was the most important person in her life.”

  “She did. You were.”

  Addie smiled. “I may remember more about my mother than you think.”

  His expression darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” She paused with another shrug. “Funny thing about those memories. Most days I can barely recall what she looked like, and then I’ll smell a flower or hear a song and it’s like she’s right there with me. Helen and I were talking about this just yesterday. Out of the blue, I remembered a whole conversation from the night my mother died.”

  His demeanor never changed, but Addie sensed a sudden tension. “What conversation?”

  “I overheard you and Helen talking in the hallway outside my bedroom. She was very upset. She wondered how she would tell me what happened. You told her to let me sleep, that the news could wait until morning.”

  “You talked to Helen about this?”

  Addie nodded. “I’m afraid I upset her. She always looks so sad when my mother’s name is brought up.”

  “She was very fond of Sandra. We both were. I don’t think either of us has ever really gotten over the loss. She was such a vibrant person. A big believer in living life to the fullest. I still think of her as a bright star gone dark too soon.”

  “That’s a lovely sentiment.” Addie studied his expression. Despite his gracious words about her mother, he suddenly seemed pensive and unsettled.

  “It’s true,” he said with a sigh. “Sandy could walk through a door and light up a room.”

  Sandy. Something in his voice shifted when he said her mother’s name. Addie hadn’t heard anyone refer to Sandra Kinsella by her nickname in a very long time. “Tell me about the night she died.”

  He flicked her a troubled glance. “So you can convey whatever I say to Ethan Barrow?”

  His rebuke stung, although Addie supposed she deserved it. She’d thought—hoped—they’d long ago moved past her betrayal. “I would never do that, but you only have my word. If I haven’t proved my loyalty and dedication to you by now, I guess I never will.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a cheap shot.”

  She nodded her acceptance. “I understand why you have reservations about Ethan Barrow, but this isn’t about him. What happened to my mother changed my life. Her murder changed us all. You said yourself you and Helen have never gotten over it. Hearing about that night might help me understand some of my unresolved issues.”

  He stared down at his desk, looking as if he would rather be anywhere at that moment than in his office with Addie. She understood what she was asking. Digging up the past pained her, too, but too much had been swept under the rug for the sake of sparing her feelings. She needed to hear a firsthand account of that night.

  He glanced up with a deep scowl. “This won’t be easy to hear.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re sure you want this?”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze dropped back to the desk. “I worked late that night. Not unusual back in those days. These days, either, for that matter. My partner and I had gone out for a beer and a bite to eat after our watch. He went home to his family, but I came back here to have another look at a case file. You always think you’ve missed something. Just one more glance at the crime-scene photos or another reading of the eyewitness statements and you’ll find that elusive piece of the puzzle.”

  Addie nodded, though he barely seemed aware of her presence now. She studied him furtively, wondering what had caused the deep furrows in his brow and the new creases around his mouth and eyes.

  “Helen called around two in the morning. I’d fallen asleep at my desk, and the phone woke me up. She was very upset. Almost hysterical. She said that Sandra had promised to pick you up before ten. You had a doctor’s appointment first thing the next morning, and she didn’t want to have to come by our place to get you. When she didn’t show, Helen was certain something had happened. I reminded her that your mother wasn’t always the most reliable, that she was probably out with friends and time got away from her, but Helen wouldn’t be calmed.”

  “Why did she wait so long to call you?”

  “We were both burning the candle at both ends. Helen had just started her practice, and she was under a lot of stress. She’d fallen asleep on the couch watching the news. When she woke up and realized she hadn’t heard from Sandra, she became frantic.”

  “And I slept through it all,” Addie murmured.

  “She had no reason to wake you. We were still hoping for the best. Helen stayed with you while I went out looking for Sandra. I can still remember how quiet the streets seemed that night. Almost ghostly. The clouds had moved out, and the moon was up. It cast the strangest glow over the city. Not soft and misty as one tends to think of moonlight, but cold and harsh and so brilliant it seemed as if you could peer into the darkest corners and find evil staring back at you.”

  Addie shivered at his description, at the distant look in his eyes and the tinge of dread in his voice. She could almost imagine herself in the car with him, riding shotgun as they searched for her murdered mother.

  “You and Sandy lived in a little house just north of Calhoun. Your grandmother had bought the place after you were born so that you could have a proper home. That same house on that same street would cost a small fortune these days, but back then, people like us could still afford to buy downtown. Helen and I lived only a few blocks over.”

  “I remember that house,” Addie said. “I still drive by now
and then.”

  “It was dark when I arrived. I got out of the car and knocked on the door. When no one answered, I circled around to the back and searched the yard. I kept telling myself there was no reason to worry. Sandy always lost track of time. She was out having fun and would apologize profusely in the morning when she came to pick you up. But deep down I knew something was wrong. I could feel it in my gut. You work cases for as long as I have, you develop a sixth sense.”

  Even though Addie knew how the story ended, she found herself pressing forward, gripping the armrests of her chair as she shivered. “What did you do?”

  “I got back in the car and drove through the neighborhood looking for her. I found her two blocks over. She was in a narrow alley that ran between two streets. You may remember it. Your mother always loved taking those shortcuts. She said those alleys were Charleston’s secret passageways. Not everyone knew about them.”

  “We used to go out on Sunday afternoons looking for them,” Addie said.

  He gave a vague nod. “If I hadn’t already been on alert, I might not have seen her. She was just a shadow within a deeper shadow. When I moved in closer, though, I saw the blood. The puddle had already started to congeal. She had been there for a while.” He seemed to catch himself then and glanced up to gauge her reaction.

  “Go on,” Addie said. “I want to hear the rest.”

  “It’s not something a daughter needs to hear about her mother.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “She was posed. Arms folded over her chest, hair fanned out around her face, clothing arranged just so. That kind of attention to detail takes time, and yet no one had come out to investigate or called the police. No one saw or heard anything. I still ask myself how that could be. Not a single witness saw her die. Not a single person heard her scream.”

  “It was late. You said yourself the streets were empty.”

  “Yes. When I realized how she was posed, my first thought was that we’d made a terrible mistake. We’d arrested the wrong man. Orson Lee Finch was in jail awaiting trial, but how could he be guilty of all those other murders when the Twilight Killer had struck again? Then I noticed subtle differences in the way the body had been laid out. Sandy’s left arm was folded over her right instead of the other way around. The hair was different, too, and the clothing. Discrepancies so slight only someone who had spent hours scrutinizing crime-scene photos from Finch’s spree would have picked up on them. It was like the killer wanted me to find them. Like those clues had been left just for me.”