The Numbers Killer Page 7

  Murphy narrowed his eyes. “What partner, Heslin?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t really, I don’t have a . . . a partner.”

  With a deep frown, Murphy pointed at Rivera. “They probably mean you.”

  Rivera shrugged as a flush of red colored his cheeks.

  Still frowning, Murphy slid the note into an evidence bag and held it out for Rivera. “Give this to forensics when they get here.” He turned to the Sheriff. “I want my agents to talk to this couple’s family first.”

  “All right.” The Sheriff didn’t look happy, but he agreed.

  Murphy pointed a finger and moved it from Rivera to Victoria. “Find out why someone says this man is a cheater. Find the connection to the Butler case.” The SAC left without looking back.

  Victoria stared at the corpses, an unsettled feeling growing inside her stomach. She didn’t want to be the focus of anyone’s attention, especially not a killer’s.

  Chapter Nine

  Forensics arrived shortly after Murphy left. They scoured the scene for fibers, hairs, footprints, anything that might be meaningful to help them hunt down the killer and send him to prison. They finished with the dogs as the rain began—wiping out any last traces of evidence—and handed them over to Victoria. With the two dogs leading the way, she headed back to the parking lot leaving the forensics team and the Sheriff behind.

  Rivera started after her but stopped and wheeled around. “Be right back, I’ll catch up to you.” He took a few steps back to the crime scene. “Sheriff, can I speak to you for a sec?”

  The Sheriff walked over. “What?”

  Rivera lowered his voice so no one else could hear. “Think you and your men can not drool next time Agent Heslin is present? Let's try to be professional here. I’ve got new shoes. I hated getting your slop on them."

  “Hey, now, we didn't—"

  Rivera glared at him. “No, I'm sure I imagined it. And now that we've had this nice little chat, I'm sure I won't imagine it again.”

  “Yeah, I'll talk to the men.” He held out his hand. “I didn't get your first name.”

  "Agent."

  Rivera walked away without shaking hands and caught up to Victoria. Her blonde ponytail swung back and forth from shoulder to shoulder as she walked. Her movements had the athletic grace of a long-distance runner. She hopped over the ditches in stride, climbed over the large rocks and bulging tree roots effortlessly.

  The note addressed to Agent Heslin was bugging him, like he’d been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. He’d done nothing wrong—wishful thinking didn’t count—yet he had the sudden urge to confess. For all he knew, he wasn’t even the partner the note mentioned. He had to drop his paranoia. It might send them down the wrong track of thinking. If Victoria had a partner, it wasn’t him.

  From ahead on the trail, Victoria interrupted his thoughts, her voice kind and gentle.

  “What’s that?” He called out. “What did you sa—”

  Victoria was leaning over, talking to the dogs.

  “Oh.” He frowned, continuing down the path, his cheeks suddenly warm.

  She straightened again. “We’ll be talking to your family soon. And we’ll get you some water.”

  Rivera couldn’t help but smile. “What kind of dogs are they?”

  “I don’t know. Mutts. I think one is part Boston Terrier, one looks part Labrador.”

  They settled the dogs into the back seat of the FBI vehicle and buckled up. “Glad you don’t have to babysit the witnesses tonight?”

  Victoria stared out the window. “Sure. I mean, yeah, I’d rather be home than watching someone else sleep.”

  Rivera sneezed once and then twice more in succession. He opened his window all the way and leaned his head toward the fresh air.

  “Told you.” Victoria smirked.

  His stomach growled. “Want to grab some dinner? We passed a burger place on the way.”

  “No. I’m not hungry.” She exhaled loudly. “Their lives revolved around those people.”

  “What?” He furrowed his brow. “Whose lives?”

  “The dogs. They just lost everything. Their little world was just tossed upside down, and they don’t understand what happened.”

  “Neither do we. Too bad they can’t tell us.”

  “Did you know, they’ll never forget the voice or scent of whoever harmed their people. Never.” She rifled in her bag and offered Rivera a tissue. Bella, the little black terrier, was still panting. Victoria held out her hand. He edged closer, sniffed her hand, and allowed her to pet him. Leo, the lab mix, lay on his side holding his head up and watching every move in the front seats. “I know.” Victoria said, still focusing on the dogs. “It’s very hard to lose someone you love. It sucks. It really does.”

  Rivera sneezed.

  Victoria rubbed the dog’s head. “Shh. He doesn’t mean it, Leo.” She faced forward and attached her seat belt. “Let’s go straight to the Sonesta Hotel.”

  Rivera nodded as Victoria’s phone rang.

  “It’s Sam.” Victoria put the call on speaker phone. “Hey, Sam. I was just about to call you.”

  “Beat ya to it.” The noise of shuffling papers came to them over the speakerphone. “I combed Todd Meiser’s phone records. I’m pretty sure I found the prostitute’s number, called on Friday at three in the afternoon, a ten-second call, probably asking him to call her, and then a return call from that number later in the evening. I left a message. It’s a woman’s voice, very sexy, suggestive, asks callers to leave a message if they are trying to make an appointment for—well, she doesn’t say what for. I’m waiting to hear back from her. It’s not a registered phone. No way to trace it.”

  “Thanks, Sam. Call as soon as you hear from her. Get us an address and we’ll go talk to her.”

  “Will do. Anything else?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. We were just at the scene of a double murder. Also shot at close range with numbers written on their foreheads. The husband had the word cheater written on his.”

  “Same killer as Todd Meiser, then?”

  “Certainly seems likely.”

  Sam whistled.

  “Their names are Robert and Anne Cossman from Baltimore. First, can you find us a close relative? Children, maybe?”

  “Sure. What’s the connection between the Cossmans and Meiser? I mean, besides the MO, the numbers, and the words?”

  “Don’t know yet. I’d like to know who they’ve seen and called since they arrived in Virginia. Check their credit card statements, too. Look for anything that he could have cheated on—taxes, a business deal, his spouse…”

  “I’ll try to help you find something. Talk to you later.”

  “Thanks, Sam.” Victoria pressed end and stared out the window. “We have a series of victims, all killed during the day, with close-range gunshots . . . all with the writing on their foreheads. Does a stone-cold killer for hire do that? Or a wacked-out nut case?” She toyed with the end of her ponytail, eyeing the passing scenery. “What connects them? Could they just be random murders?”

  Rivera answered only with a nod. She hadn’t asked what the deal was with the note bearing her name, the question now at the forefront of his thoughts. Someone was toying with them, or at least with Victoria, trying to send her a message. But why?

  “Meiser’s connection to the Butlers is still the most likely motive. We just have to figure out how the Cossmans fit into the whole Butler scenario,” he said.

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same.”

  An itchy feeling spread over Rivera’s face. He twitched his nose. It was just getting started. His sneeze cut through the sound of his phone ringing. “Rivera.” He sniffed.

  “Hey. This is Sheriff Montgomery. We located the three women—the ones our hiker saw. Looks like they were unaware of the couple who were killed. The women took a different entrance to the trail.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” Sniff. “Keep us posted. We’ll do the same. A
nd I’m sure our SAC will arrange for all of us to meet soon.”

  “Okay. Oh. About your request. I spoke with the men. It won't happen again.”

  “I appreciate that.” Rivera ended the call and dropped his phone in the center console.

  “What do you appreciate?” Victoria asked.

  “Just him getting back to us.”

  Victoria picked up her phone from where it rested next to Rivera’s and checked her messages. “Sam already sent me information on the Cossmans’ son, Frank. He lives nearby and apparently works from home.” She rubbed her chin. “Wonder why the parents weren’t staying with him.”

  “Maybe he couldn’t have the dogs there.”

  “Maybe,” Victoria said.

  “Get the directions. Let’s see what he has to say.” Rivera sneezed again and swallowed back the fluids swiftly accumulating in his throat.

  # # #

  Victoria studied the row of modern condominiums while walking up to Frank Cossman’s unit. Everything about the shiny new homes said upscale, pricey. She glanced back at the SUV. “We can leave the dogs in there with the windows open for now. It’s nice and cool.”

  “You’re the expert.”

  She rang the doorbell and waited. A man opened the door partway and stuck his head through, like he was just popping out to tell them to go away, they had the wrong address. He had thick hair and looked neat and sharp in a light gray suit. His eyes moved from Rivera to Heslin and their solemn expressions.

  “Frank Cossman?” Rivera met his gaze.

  The man nodded.

  “I’m Agent Rivera and this is Agent Heslin. We’re with the FBI.”

  Continuing his wary glances between them, Cossman opened the door fully.

  “Can we come in and sit down for a moment?” Her question left no doubt that this was serious business, but there was a warmth to her words.

  Frank led them into a sparsely decorated, modern living room. He and Victoria sat down. Much the same way she had with the dogs, Victoria kept her voice kind and compassionate when she broke the news of his parents’ death.

  “What? I just . . .” The color drained from his face. “Are you sure it’s my parents?”

  Rivera leaned his weight against the doorframe. “They had their wallets with them, their license photos match up. But we will need you, or someone else in your family to make a positive ID.”

  His voice cracked. “They were here to see me, but also to go hiking. They were always hiking. It was their favorite past time. Always brought the dogs.”

  “We have their dogs with us now,” Rivera said.

  “Huh? Oh.” He gazed past the agents toward the front door, then down at his shoes. “Are they going to a pound?”

  “No.” Victoria took a quick look around the condo and out through the back window. No sign of a yard. “Is there someone in your family who could take them?”

  Frank sighed. “I’ll um—I’ll see if my aunt will.”

  “All right.” Victoria shifted her weight and crossed her legs. “They’ll be at my house until she can get them. I have a separate enclosure for them with access to the outside. They’ll be properly cared for.”

  “To say the least,” Rivera murmured.

  Frank fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “So, you’ll hold on to them for a few days?”

  “Sure.” Victoria’s shoulders shifted forward as she studied the victims’ son. It upset her that Frank Cossman hadn’t seemed to know the dogs’ names, at least not right away, and wasn’t rushing to get them.

  Frank asked a few more questions. They couldn’t tell him much about an active case, which worked out well because aside from the circumstances of the Cossmans’ death, the agents had little to share.

  Rivera leaned forward. “Do you have any ideas on who might want to hurt your parents?”

  “No one. They were the least likely people . . .”

  Rivera clasped his hands. “Somebody thought otherwise and made their point with a few bullets. You sure? Any recent arguments they mentioned? Any neighborly disputes?”

  Frank shook his head. “No. Nothing like that I’m aware of.”

  “Did he play tennis, bridge, golf? Any activity where someone might have gotten bent out of shape about him cheating?”

  “No. And if he did, he wouldn’t cheat, and he wouldn’t even be playing with people who would take it that seriously. He’s not like that.”

  Victoria didn’t correct Frank’s use of the present tense when talking about his father. “Did they have debts?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure their house has been paid off for years. They buy their cars with cash. They live a simple life. Gardening and hiking, doing yoga. What kind of debts do you mean?”

  She thought of all the illegal activities the Butlers oversaw—trafficking of drugs, people, money laundering . . . she wasn’t about to mention them all. “Gambling?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Would you know if they are in any way familiar with Raymond Butler or his family?”

  “Who?”

  “He’s about to be on trial for—"

  “Oh. That Butler. No.” Frank crossed his arms and rocked forward. “My parents might know who he was from the news. They’re news junkies, but that’s it. My father is a retired dentist, he wouldn’t—they wouldn’t—why are you asking?”

  “We’re exploring the possibility that your parents’ deaths were related to the upcoming trial.”

  “Not possible.”

  “Your father had the word ‘cheater’ written on his forehead,” Rivera said. “Sounds personal.”

  “Do you know what that might be about?” Victoria clasped her necklace.

  “I have no idea what it could be about or who could have written it.”

  “Were you aware of any infidelities in their marriage?” Rivera asked.

  “Absolutely not. Absolutely no way.” Frank lifted his eyes toward the ceiling and his face contorted with a wave of anguish.

  “Do they visit here often?”

  “I don’t know.” Frank’s gaze moved back to the agents. “I just moved here not too long ago from DC, but I’m pretty sure they’ve come to the area to hike before. They wanted to see my new place, my mother brought a few things, like house warming gifts. It’s not big enough for them, I mean, they insisted on staying in a hotel.”

  “Can you give us a list of their closest friends, people they did business with, so we can start talking to them?”

  “You mean, right now?”

  “Yes, whatever you can come up with right now. If you could also list their habits and routines, that would help. I’ll give you my email and as you come up with more, you can send them to me.” Victoria slid a card from her bag.

  “Why? They weren’t involved with anything, they don’t even live here, this must be some random mistake, like mistaken identity, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. . . I don’t know.” His voice grew quieter and cracked as he spoke. “No one would have a good reason to murder my parents.” His voice quivered. “I’m sure of that.”

  “It’s our job to find out what happened.” Victoria handed Frank her card.

  “Was—was anything stolen?”

  “Not that we’re aware of. You can let us know if anything is missing when you confirm their identities.” Rivera stood up.

  “Yeah. Sure. Okay.” Frank stood and wiped his palms on his pant legs. “I’ll get you the names. I’ve got an address book. This is . . . I can’t believe this.”

  “We’re very sorry,” Victoria said, as Frank left the room.

  The agents exchanged glances. Rivera shrugged and folded his arms. Victoria sensed they had accomplished all they could with Frank Cossman.

  Frank came back with names and numbers on a piece of paper. Rivera took the paper. “Last thing—where were you this afternoon?”

  “Me? You can’t possibly—” Frank lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “I was here, I’ve been on the phone with clients
all day. I can give you a list of names and times.”

  “Please do. We’re heading to the hotel where your parents were staying. You’ll think of other things. Send them to us. Agent Heslin’s email is on the card.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Please call your aunt. She can contact me about Leo and Bella,” Victoria said. “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

  Frank led them to the door. “Thank you, I mean, thanks for coming out here.”

  The agents stepped outside. At the car, Victoria whispered, “I know you believed him. But we’re still going to find out if he or any of their children had a reason to want them dead.”

  “Yep.” Rivera typed the address for the Sonesta Suites into his phone, took out a few pieces of his spearmint gum, and started the car.

  # # #

  At the hotel, Victoria took the Cossmans’ dogs for a quick walk then put them back in the SUV. They hung their heads out the window, watching her as she walked away. She spotted Rivera standing in front of the cash register at the Sonesta Suites Hotel kiosk. He stuck his wallet into his back pocket and peeled the plastic off the top of a Benadryl bottle.

  Victoria couldn’t imagine anything much worse than being allergic to dogs. But Rivera wouldn’t complain. He never did. The only time she caught a glimpse past his emotional armor was at a sports bar. Near the end of the Xavier game, Rivera let loose with some uncharacteristic outbursts of encouragement for his alma mater.

  She went over to him, placing her hand on his upper arm. “Sorry about the allergies.”

  Rivera shrugged, holding up a plastic card. “Got a room key.”

  “Let’s check it out then.”

  They walked down the corridor over worn turquoise carpeting. The agents put on gloves and Rivera slid the plastic card into the slot at room 383. A green dot lit up and he opened the door.

  Inside, Victoria took in the room—two closed suitcases, pairs of shoes lined up side by side, dog bowls and dog beds. Nothing on the surface indicated the people staying in the room had just been brutally murdered. Inside one of the small suitcases, under a neatly folded sweatshirt, Rivera found a laptop. He slid it into an evidence bag for the IT department.