His phone beeps. “I have to take this,” he says. “Hold tight.”
And just like that the line is silent, and I’m flashing back to the night I arrived and my call to him.
“What do you have to report, Agent Love?”
“Same MO, different state.” I don’t give him time to ask for details. “How did you know I needed to be here tonight? How did you predict a murder?”
“That was a surprise.”
“But you wanted me here tonight, earlier rather than later.”
“Coincidental politics. Nothing more. Nothing I’m going to involve you in.”
“But I am involved. I’m the one who’s here.”
“And well equipped to do a quick, thorough investigation.”
“I have a history with Kane Mendez.”
“Which makes you the perfect candidate to get into his head.”
“Why do I need to be in Kane’s head?”
“He’s connected to this. Tonight makes that clear.”
“I didn’t tell you that. How do you know he’s connected?”
“I looked up the crime scene address. I know he owns the property.”
“But that doesn’t make him responsible for the murder.”
“That’s true, but anyone else working this case would assume he is because of who he is, and I don’t like the obvious as an answer to anything.”
“Are you protecting Kane Mendez? Is he a part of the politics you keep mentioning?”
“There’s always pressure to close cases and calm the public, and that doesn’t always mean solving the case.”
“You mean creating a fall guy.”
“That’s right. And I don’t do fall guys.”
“But Kane Mendez isn’t anyone’s easy fall guy.”
“You’re right,” he says. “He’s not, but when you appear invincible, you become a challenge.”
My brow furrows. “I really don’t understand what’s going on here.”
“Just go catch me a killer, Agent Love.”
I return to the present, acutely aware of the fact that I wouldn’t be in the Hamptons right now if he hadn’t pushed me to come here. And he did so despite my many potential conflicts of interest. And that reference to politics and Kane leads me to one question: Is Murphy dirty?
CHAPTER THREE
I can’t say that Murphy is dirty. Maybe he’s just secretive, but I have to consider the possibility that he’s a problem. And since I like dirty, two-faced people about as much as I like flip-flops, which is not at all, that’s a problem for me. I don’t like things between my toes or up my ass. It’s just who I am. And two-faced assholes in law enforcement are no better than Bible bangers who praise God, sneer at my liberal use of the word fuck, and then turn around and fuck someone else’s spouse.
And I’m really tired of finding out that everyone in my life wants to be a damn gangsta. Up until now, I’ve respected and trusted Murphy the way I should—after all, he’s my boss at the fucking FBI. The idea that those things might be misplaced pisses me off. Which is probably why, when he returns to the line and says, “Back to Woods and his acting skills,” I’m not exactly feeling as warm and fuzzy as usual.
“You can’t seriously,” I say, “with all your years of experience, believe that Woods planned the way things went down. That would mean that he had to orchestrate being caught with another man’s wife and holding a gun to the furious husband’s head. And he had to do so to hide the fact that he was a skilled assassin to complete a hit list. A list with no obvious connection to him, outside of the woman he slept with.”
“It made you doubt him.”
“Because it’s absolutely stupid to put yourself on law enforcement’s radar before completing a hit list,” I argue.
“Serial killers taunt law enforcement all the damn time.”
“Woods wasn’t a serial killer.”
“You know what I think?” he asks, but he doesn’t give me time to reply. “His emotional outburst convinced you that he’s not capable of calculated killing. Return to Profiling 101, Agent Love. Serial killers start small, often with animals, and then graduate to humans as they improve their technique.”
I clamp down on about ten smart-ass remarks, of which at least one would likely get me fired, before I settle on, “Hit list. Skilled assassin.”
“You’re the only one who believes this.”
I hold out the phone and silently yell at it before I calmly place it back at my ear and reply. “Why am I here if everyone is a better profiler than I am?” This time, I don’t wait for his reply. “I know you asked Jeff Landers for our investigation material. Woods has no direct link to anyone but the woman he slept with. And if we’re going to start convicting dead people just to close cases, I do hope there is going to be an agency announcement. I’m pretty sure we can clear at least some of the cold cases, since they can’t defend themselves. Heck, why don’t we look for homeless dead people? Then they probably won’t even have family to defend them, which by the way makes Woods a perfect fall guy. He might as well be homeless. He had no one in his life.”
“Cautious there now, Special Agent Love,” he says, and I’m fairly certain the use of my formal title indicates his agitation. “I have to put my neck on the line when we end this call,” he continues, “and I have to do so based on your investigative conclusions. I’m simply testing you to be sure you’re certain you won’t change your mind.”
Whatever, I think, but I say, “If we call this done and another body lands on our doorstep, or even here in the Hamptons, or anywhere for that matter, you look incompetent.”
He’s silent for several beats. “You’re right,” he ultimately concludes. “We will indeed look incompetent, and yet I return to my original point: both the East Hampton and New York City officials are in agreement that all cases should be closed.”
“And I’m back on repeat: Woods can’t protect himself, and aside from that, we know the typical law enforcement motivation in these situations. A killer on the loose scares people. They want this to go away.”
“But as you’ve voiced, another murder would come with public backlash and expose incompetence,” he says. “Law enforcement is also smart enough to know that.”
“The odds of another murder in the Hamptons is low, and thus closing out the case is an educated gamble. As for another murder in New York City, I’ve worked there. It’s easier to bury another case there, especially when it’s singular because the prior cases are closed and supposedly solved.”
“And the murmurs of a serial killer are shut down,” he says.
“Exactly.”
“You’re hanging your family out to dry here.”
“I’m protecting them from their own stupidity. They need to slow down. Woods isn’t going anywhere but into the ground.”
“You have a bad attitude, Agent Love.”
“That’s what every criminal I ever took down said to me.”
He laughs. “Indeed. You also make valid points.”
“That you’ve made me repeat about ten times.”
“And you stayed the course, which wins me over, but before I jump onto your ship and sail away, let’s be clear. There is no middle ground any longer if you can’t convince the locals to keep the cases open and allow us to assist. And if that’s how this plays out, we have two options: We follow suit, close the cases. We claim jurisdiction. Which is it? And before you answer, be very sure about this decision. There will be heat from a hell of a lot of directions.”
“No one is more aware of that heat than me.”
“They have reason to fear a press leak and murmurs of a nationwide serial killer, and so do we.”
“And if that happens, we have a rebuttal with a hit list, which calms the masses.”
He pauses again, and this time it’s so damn long I’m about to climb through the line and shake him. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he finally says. “I’m going to take some of that heat off you, at least momentarily
.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“I’ll contact the officials in both cities and request proof that connects all the dots to Woods. If they can’t give me more than the confession, we’ll reconvene one last time before we claim jurisdiction. In the meantime, continue your investigation.”