Criminal Behavior--A Thrilling FBI Romance Page 9

  “There’s careful and there’s paranoid.” Addie nodded toward a side street. “Naomi’s house is just down that way.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s the white one-story on the left.”

  Addie glanced at him but said nothing. She had been right, of course. He’d already been by Naomi Quinlan’s house once and walked the crime scene twice, and he would keep coming back until he had his answers.

  The cottage was protected from the street by a fence and a garden of tropical foliage. Morning glories wound around the wrought iron posts and Ethan could smell jasmine, a scent he would always associate with Charleston even though the vine was not uncommon in Prince William County, Virginia, where he now lived.

  “Maybe we should have come in the back way,” he said. “There’s an alley that runs behind the house.”

  “The problem with coming in through the back is that if you’re seen by the neighbors, you look mighty suspicious. Someone could call the police. Or worse, shoot you.”

  “We could always come back after dark,” he suggested.

  “And then what? We just break in?”

  “What did you think we were going to do?”

  Even from behind her sunglasses, he could feel the power of her focus. “I don’t know, Ethan. I guess I’m just trying to convince myself there’s a line I still won’t cross.”

  That got to him. It brought home all over again what she had risked for him in the past and what he was asking of her now. “Go back to your car,” he said. “I’ll handle things here.”

  “Too late. We’ve been spotted.” Addie gave a slight nod to the house next door.

  Ethan’s gaze swept the neighbor’s garden until he spotted an older woman kneeling in front of a flower bed. She was nearly hidden by a thick hedge of rosebushes, but he had no doubt she was thoroughly checking them out beneath the wide brim of her straw hat. After another moment of covert observation, she stood, peeled off her gloves and came over to the fence to call out to them.

  “Excuse me! Are you looking for Naomi? I’m afraid she isn’t home.”

  “We were just looking at the house,” Ethan said as he shot Addie a glance. They walked down the sidewalk to the neighbor’s yard. She came through the gate to meet them, pausing to brush off the knees of her work pants.

  “Did one of the agencies send you over? I’m surprised they’re showing the place so soon. Naomi’s barely cold, poor thing, and no one’s been by to clean out her things. But I retired from real estate years ago. Business is done differently these days, I expect.” She pushed off her hat, letting it hang down her back by the chin strap. Her face was round and flushed, her eyes beady and avid. “You heard about the accident, no doubt.”

  “Yes.”

  “Such a tragedy for someone so young.” The woman’s birdlike gaze vectored in on Ethan.

  “You knew her well?” he asked.

  “I don’t know about well, but we were neighbors and I suppose you could say we were friends. I sold her aunt this house years ago, along with a number of rental properties all over the city. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m Ida McFall, by the way. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place ever since the accident. One can’t be too careful these days.”

  “That’s smart,” Ethan said.

  Her head tilted slightly, and the beady eyes deepened with suspicion. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Ethan Barrow.” He held up his credentials. “I’m with the FBI. This is Detective Kinsella with the Charleston PD.”

  Ethan didn’t know what he had expected in the way of a reaction. A badge and credentials often put people on the defensive even when they had nothing to hide. But Ida McFall’s face instantly transformed. Her wariness faded, replaced by a look of genuine incredulity. “Oh, my word, you’re him, aren’t you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Naomi’s FBI agent.” She took off her hat and fanned herself for a moment. “Forgive me, but this is a bit overwhelming. She spoke of you in such glowing terms that I wondered if she’d made you up, especially when you were so conspicuously absent after her death. I’m sorry I doubted you. I blame Naomi’s wild imagination and her tendency to exaggerate. Sometimes I couldn’t tell her fantasy life from her reality. Writers.” She shook her head.

  “Naomi told me she was a genealogist.”

  “She taught genealogy at the community college, but her passion was writing. She gave me the impression you were working on a project together. She implied the two of you had become close.” Ida McFall’s expression turned coy. “She was certainly taken with you, Agent Barrow, and I can see why.”

  Ethan exchanged another glance with Addie, who lifted a brow. She had pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, and even though her expression remained composed, he had an inkling of her thoughts. Had a woman with a secret, perhaps even a fantastical agenda, baited him into coming to Charleston? Was his search for the DNA match nothing more than a wild-goose chase?

  “I think you’ve misconstrued our relationship,” he told Ida. “I barely knew Naomi Quinlan.”

  “And yet here you are,” she said. “You came, exactly as Naomi predicted you would. And if she was right about you, I have to believe the other things she told me were true as well.”

  “What other things?”

  “That she was in danger. That powerful people were out to get her because of damaging evidence she’d dug up. She warned me that she was being followed. She said someone watched her house at night, but I thought she was imagining things. I never saw anything suspicious. Even after I learned of her death, I tried to tell myself it was just an accident. Naomi’s head was always in the clouds. Perhaps she was distracted that night and didn’t see the car coming. Now I know the danger was real. Naomi was murdered. The driver of that car deliberately ran her down. Thank God you’ve come, Agent Barrow. Someone has to get to the bottom of that poor girl’s death.”

  “I’m sure the police are doing everything they can to find the driver,” Addie said.

  “I wish I shared your confidence.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It’s been two weeks, and as far as I can tell, nothing has been done about Naomi’s case. Either she isn’t a priority to the Charleston Police Department or something fishy is going on.”

  “Fishy how?”

  “You tell me... Detective Kinsella, was it?”

  A frown flitted across Addie’s brow at the woman’s disapproving tone, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

  “Detective Kinsella and I will do everything we can to find out what happened to Naomi, but we’ll need your help,” Ethan said. “Anything you can tell us could be useful. Please don’t hold back. Despite what you seem to think, I know virtually nothing about her life. We exchanged a handful of emails, and that was the extent of our interaction.”

  Ida’s assumptions remained steadfast. “Sometimes the most powerful connections are forged through the written word. I corresponded for years with a man I never met. Over time, we developed a bond that became unbreakable. I only mention that relationship because his letters to me inspired Naomi’s book. I can’t help wondering if there’s a connection to her murder.”

  “What was his name?” Addie asked, with an odd note in her voice.

  The older woman’s chin came up in defiance. “Orson Lee Finch. Yes, that Orson Lee Finch. We shared a love of gardening and rare plants, and I make no apology for our friendship. Mr. Finch was a kind, thoughtful, gentle man, and quite refined for someone in his circumstances. I don’t believe him capable of the brutal murders they claim he committed. In fact, I would sooner think the FBI profiler killed all those women.”

  Chapter Seven

  Ida McFall’s association with the notorious serial killer caught Ethan by surprise, but judging by Addie’s satisfied nod, she had already intuited the identity of the woman’s pen pal. Ethan
gave an answering nod, indicating that she should take the lead while he remained silent. He might feel compelled to defend his father, and the last thing he wanted was to stifle Ida McFall’s candor.

  He studied the woman surreptitiously while Addie questioned her. Apparently, Naomi had neglected to tell Ida of Ethan’s relationship to James Merrick, and he had to wonder if there was a reason for that.

  “Do you still have Finch’s letters?” Addie asked.

  “I gave them to Naomi. I suspect she hid them somewhere in her office, along with all her notes. She wasn’t just frightened for her safety. She was paranoid someone might try to steal her work. Dozens of books have been written about the Twilight Killer and his nemesis, James Merrick, but Naomi was certain her new evidence would give the story a twist.”

  “Did she tell you the nature of this new evidence?”

  “Only that she suspected the police had been involved in covering it up.”

  Addie’s voice sharpened. “Covering it up how?”

  “I don’t know. She never gave me the details. But I know she didn’t trust the police. With good reason, it seems.”

  Addie ignored the inference. “Did she name names?”

  “No, but a detective came around asking questions a few days after Naomi’s death. He was courteous enough, but there was something about him that made me uneasy.” Ida paused thoughtfully. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, exactly. All I know is that my instincts are rarely wrong. I think he may have been looking for Naomi’s evidence. I’m certain he was fishing for something. He said he would be in touch, but I never heard back from him.”

  “Did he tell you his name, show you his identification?” Addie asked.

  “I remember he had a badge. He was an older gentleman. Around my age, I would guess. Well dressed and handsome with salt-and-pepper hair. He wore those mirrored sunglasses that made him look like a pilot.”

  “But you didn’t catch his name?”

  “If he said, I’ve forgotten. He didn’t stay long. He claimed his visit was just a routine follow-up. Wanted to know if anyone had been in and out of Naomi’s house. I told him no, not that I’d seen.”

  “You said Naomi was worried about someone stealing her work,” Addie said. “Was there anyone in particular that concerned her?”

  “Besides the police? Her aunt, Vivian DuPriest.”

  Addie looked taken aback. “Wait. Do you mean Vivian DuPriest, the author?”

  “Yes, she’s the one. Do you know her work?”

  “Not personally, but when I was a kid, my grandmother used to read all her books.” Addie turned to Ethan. “Years ago she worked the crime beat for the paper, but she was better known for her true-crime page-turners.”

  “She was very successful,” Ida said. “Not that the DuPriests have ever wanted for money. Naomi came from the poor side of the family. Vivian took her in after her parents died and gave her a job as her assistant. Mostly she ran errands. But they had a falling-out sometime back.”

  “What about?” Addie asked.

  “Vivian accused Naomi of trying to ride her coattails to fame and fortune, but I think she was secretly afraid someone younger and more ambitious would overshadow her. Vivian always had a bigger-than-life persona to go with her outsize ego, but after the incident, she wasn’t able to produce, and her readers eventually abandoned her. She became a recluse, seemingly content to live off her past glories—until Naomi started to write. That’s when the trouble started. There was an ugly dustup, and Vivian kicked the girl out.”

  “How did she end up next door to you?”

  “As I said, Vivian owns the house. Setting her niece up in one of her rentals probably helped assuage her conscience.”

  “You sound as if you know Vivian DuPriest pretty well,” Addie said.

  Ida shrugged. “Not that well, but I met her long before I knew Naomi. Vivian is the one who introduced me to Mr. Finch.”

  “How did that come about?”

  “It was happenstance, really. I had an elderly relative who lived across the street from the DuPriest home. When he fell ill, I used to help care for his garden on weekends. Vivian would sometimes stop by to chat about the plants. I was having trouble with the gardenias, and she told me I should write to Mr. Finch and ask for his advice.”

  Addie glanced at Ethan. “You didn’t think that an odd suggestion?”

  “I was stunned at first. I could hardly imagine such a thing. But Vivian had been to the prison to speak with him, and she was impressed by his intelligence. Perhaps intrigued is a better word. Whether she believed him guilty or not, I couldn’t say. She was quite cagey in that regard. After a while, I became excited about the notion of a secret pen pal, and so I sent off a letter before I could change my mind. He answered right away.”

  “Did you ever go see him in person?”

  “No, I never did.” She sighed. “I suppose I didn’t want the reality of his situation to interfere with our friendship.”

  Addie flashed Ethan another glance, and he nodded that she should continue. “Did you share the letters with Vivian?”

  “At first. Then her parsing became too intrusive. She wanted to dissect his every word.”

  “But you gave the letters to Naomi.”

  “By then a lot of time had passed. I was no longer as emotionally connected to our correspondence as I once was.”

  Ethan had remained quiet for the exchange, but now he said, “You mentioned an incident. What happened to Vivian DuPriest that she was no longer able to write?”

  “It was her habit to go out walking alone at night. She called it her thinking time. Someone attacked her near her home and left her for dead. She had a long and painful recovery, both mentally and physically. The assault changed her whole personality. She rarely left her house and was never able to write again. Her last book remains unfinished to this day.”

  “Was she writing about Orson Lee Finch?” Addie asked.

  “About the Twilight Killer case, yes. How did you know?”

  “Just a guess.”

  Ida lowered her voice as she glanced across the garden to Naomi’s house. “Do you think there could be a connection between her attack and the hit-and-run that killed Naomi?”

  “As you said, a lot of time has passed,” Ethan hedged. “Did Naomi have many visitors? Did she ever mention having problems with anyone?”

  “Aside from Vivian? She mostly kept to herself.”

  “What about a boyfriend?”

  “No one serious. No one that I knew of, at least.”

  “Do you think her aunt would allow us inside the house to have a look around?”

  “No need to bother Vivian. I can let you in. Naomi gave me a spare key so that I could feed her cat while she was away. Take as much time as you need. All I ask is that you leave everything as you found it. The idea of strangers invading Naomi’s privacy makes me uncomfortable.” She paused with a smile. “But I don’t think she’d mind you going through her things, Agent Barrow.”

  * * *

  “TALK ABOUT A TWIST,” Addie said as they stepped inside Naomi’s foyer.

  “The pen pal thing? I didn’t see that coming.” Ethan closed the front door and took a quick survey of their surroundings. It was an older home, with long windows and walled-off spaces. The foyer led directly into the living area, and through open doorways he glimpsed the dining room and kitchen. The bedrooms would be off the narrow hallway to the left. From what he could see, the furnishings were sparse and serviceable. That was good. The lack of clutter would make their search easier.

  He filed away his impressions and turned to glance out the front window. Ida McFall dawdled at the garden gate, staring back at the house. She had her phone to her ear, but the brim of her hat obscured her expression. There was something about her demeanor that niggled. Ethan couldn’t shake the notion that the
woman wasn’t as helpful as she wanted them to think. Like everyone else he had spoken to lately, Ida McFall might have her own agenda.

  Addie came up beside him at the window. “Who do you suppose she’s talking to?”

  “No clue.”

  “What do you make of her, anyway?” she mused. “She sure was chatty.”

  “Maybe a little too chatty,” Ethan said.

  “My thoughts exactly. But it could be a simple case of nerves. People react differently to law enforcement. Some clam up, while others can’t spill their guts fast enough. And people her age sometimes get lonely. All they want is a captive audience and a sympathetic ear.”

  “That’s a generous assessment considering her attitude toward cops.”

  Addie shrugged. “If I took offense every time someone disparaged my job, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the mornings.” Her gaze narrowed as she stared out the window. “I have to say, though, it does seem awfully convenient that Naomi Quinlan’s next-door neighbor once had a direct line of communication to Orson Lee Finch.”

  “Not really a coincidence if her letters were the inspiration for Naomi’s book. Sounds like all three women had a connection to Finch.”

  Addie folded her arms. “About that book. She never mentioned to you that she was writing about Finch or your father?”

  “Not once. She always presented herself as a genealogist.”

  “Would it have changed anything had you known? Would it have made you more suspect of her motives?”

  Ethan thought about that for a minute. “Probably. But I would have come, anyway.”

  Addie nodded. “I figured.”

  “Does it change anything for you?” he asked.

  She gave his query the same consideration. “Not really. Because no matter what her motive was in contacting you, we’re still looking for the same thing.”

  “The truth?”

  “The truth, yes, but more specifically, that DNA match. If it exists.” She turned back to the foyer. “Where do you want to start?”

  “We should split up to cover more ground. If Naomi went to the trouble of hiding Finch’s letters and her notes, we can assume she concealed the DNA results as well. My hunch is, she put everything on a thumb drive.”