3:51 P.M. (LOCAL TIME)
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
BELLTOWN NEIGHBORHOOD
Back in Alexandria, Devlin had broken the news about her sister’s disappearance to her boss, Marissa Thorn, Deputy Director of the U.S. Marshals Service. Thorn then made a few calls and managed to get Devlin and Randall on an FBI Gulfstream V taking off from Ronald Reagan Airport.
Upon landing at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, Devlin and Randall had climbed into the car Detective Harker had sent for them, his own dark blue Dodge Charger. A mid-twenties officer in uniform had instructed them to ‘buckle up’ before she had sped out of the airport.
Twenty minutes later, riding in the backseat of the Charger, still in his dress clothes from the funeral, Devlin on his right, Randall spied her before glancing out his window. “So it appears your husband doesn’t really care all that much for me, does he?”
Now wearing blue jeans, a white blouse, a lightweight navy-blue blazer, and brown Merrell Moab 2 Mid hiking boots—she had retrieved the change of clothing from her duffle bag during the flight—Devlin faced the fellow passenger. “What makes you say that?”
“In contrast to women, guys aren’t as,” he paused, “worried...about hurting another guy’s feelings. And, back at the cemetery, I definitely caught the message your husband was sending my way.” Randall smiled. “Trust me. He doesn’t like me.”
“He doesn’t know you...the way I do.” She looked out her window at the hustle and bustle of the trendy neighborhood around her. “He’s a good man. He’s a smart man. I’m confident that once he gets to know you, he’ll come around.”
Randall eyed the back of her head and chuckled inwardly. Oh, if it were only that simple between alpha males.
Its wipers clearing away water from the windshield, the Dodge slowed before stopping at the curb outside a high-rise apartment building.
Recognizing the facade from previous visits, Devlin pulled on her door handle, “We’re here,” and stepped out into a light rain coming down under gloomy skies. The hint of humidity in the air made her skin feel clammy and forced her lungs to work harder. She hurried toward the structure’s front door.
The trio entered the lobby and headed for the elevator, Devlin in the lead. Once inside, the cop pressed the ‘3’ button, and everyone’s knees wobbled a bit as the car lifted its commuters.
Facing the control panel, her short blonde hair tucked neatly under her hat, the five-six law enforcement official cranked her head toward the marshal on her left. “I’m sorry to hear about your sister.”
Devlin nodded. “Thank you.”
“After I graduated from the academy, Faith—” the LEO shook her head, “Detective Mahoney really helped me out during that first year of service. I was having a tough time making the transition into police work. She was a patrol officer at the time, and she took me under her wing...showed me how to handle certain situations.”
Devlin let a simple smile come and go. That sounds like Faith...always taking in strays.
“My training officer was,” the female cop faltered, “well let’s just say I don’t think he liked the idea of women on the force.”
Randall huffed. After all these years, the prejudice still exists.
“He was old-school and near retirement, so I think he—” she waved a hand, “anyway, your sister and me spent many a night talking and crying. Well,” her cheeks flushing a bit, the officer looked away, “okay, I did the crying.”
Devlin glanced behind her and exchanged a silent look of amusement with Randall.
“We’ve remained good friends ever since. And I owe,” a moment passed while the woman stared at the steel doors, “I owe her a lot.” Another second ticked by. “I guess what I’m trying to say is if it weren’t for her,” the LEO came back to Devlin, “I doubt I’d be standing here today...wearing this uniform.”
Randall poked his chin at the reminiscing woman. “And the people of Seattle are better off because you are wearing that uniform.”
“Thank you, sir.” She flipped a wrist and spied her watch. “My shift ends in a little while, but,” she plucked a business card from a chest pocket and extended the offering to the other woman, “if I can help with anything while you’re in town...”
Devlin accepted the card.
“...please feel free to call me—day or night.”
Devlin read the name. “Thank you, Officer Duncan. I—”
“Patricia.”
Devlin smiled. “I appreciate the gesture, Patricia.”
“While I’m not sure how much help I can be—I understand Detective Harker has allocated quite a few resources to this case—know that I’ll...”
A bell chimed and the doors parted.
“...do whatever I can to assist you in finding your sister.”
Devlin stowed the business card in a blazer pocket. “Thank you again, Patricia. I’m glad Faith was there for you.”
Officer Duncan exited the elevator. “And now I want to be there for her.”
*******
The first thing Devlin noticed upon entering her sister’s apartment was the large patch of discolored carpeting at her feet. The shape of the dried blood could have passed for a gruesome welcome mat.
“Thank you for coming, Marshal Devlin.” Forty-five, five-ten, and weighing north of two hundred pounds—fifty of those added pounds keeping him from reclaiming his high school wrestling weight—Detective Tom Harker sidestepped the blood splotch and extended an arm. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been under better circumstances.”
Taking in the man’s features, full head of tousled dark brown hair, dark-colored eyes, trimmed eyebrows, and more than a day’s worth of facial hair, Devlin shook his weathered hand. “Me too, Detective.” She motioned behind her. “This is my partner, Noah Randall.”
The men clasped hands and exchanged professional greetings.
Harker cocked his head at her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you were a deputy marshal the last time we met. Promotion?”
“Last week.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She pointed at the blotch. “I take it this is where...” her unspoken query faded.
Harker nodded. “Young man in his twenties. He was fit, too. So he must’ve been surprised by whoever killed him.”
“Or,” Randall ambled away from the door, his head pivoting, his eyes scanning the small living room, “there were multiple attackers.”
Harker rubbed his chin. “That’s also an angle we’re investigating.”
Devlin saw a small table nearby. On it, a picture lay face down as if it had been knocked over. She squinted at the layer of dust covering the table’s surface before eyeballing a short lamp beside the photo frame. The lamp’s circular base rested next to a half circle of dust-free real estate. “It looks like,” she pointed at the out-of-place items, “there was a struggle here.”
“That’s what we thought, too, but we found a woman’s shirt, pair of pants, and shoes,” he pointed at the floor to the left of the table, “there...right next to a man’s shirt. The victim wore only jeans. Boxer shorts and socks were found in the bedroom.” Harker hesitated before delivering his next words while looking away. “The lab techs also discovered semen stains on the bed sheets.”
Devlin raised her eyebrows. “Do you think she was,” she wavered, “raped?”
Hearing the hitch in his partner’s voice, Randall glanced over his shoulder and noticed her skin losing some color.
“It’s possible, but,” Harker scratched his cheek, “I don’t think so. Judging from the display of discarded clothing leading to the bedroom, I think the deceased and your sister were...romantically involved. Semen was also found on the dead man’s...” the detective rolled a finger at where the man’s body had lain, “you know.”
Peeking into the bathroom, Randall saw a disheveled towel and washcloth draped over the shower rod and a bunched bathmat on the floor. Crumpled black panties lay a foot away from the mat. He backed out and saw Devlin rubbing her forehead. “Jessica.”
She spied him.
“I don’t think she was raped.” He threw a thumb toward the bathroom. “Based on what I’m seeing in here, I’m almost positive the sex was consensual.”
Devlin’s shoulders dipped a bit while she let out a quick breath.
Walking away from her, Harker made a short arc with an arm. “Let me show you the bedroom.”
Passing by the bathroom and seeing what Randall had seen, Devlin nodded at the familiar array of articles. He’s probably right. She most likely had sex and then took a shower afterward.
“As you can see,” the police official stepped to the side after entering the last room in the mini flat, “this is where a struggle definitely took place.”
Staying outside, Devlin surveyed the mess, her eyes zeroing in on a few spots on the carpeting, “More blood,” before she scrutinized the rest of her sister’s belongings.
Harker folded arms and cupped his chin. “We’re testing that to see if we get a hit, see if it belongs to the assailants...or Detective Mahoney.”
Randall moved to the opposite side of the room and stood at the base of an overturned floor lamp. “Have pictures been taken...items dusted for prints?”
“Yes.”
Randall pointed at the lamp. “May I?”
Harker fished out a pair of rubber gloves and underhanded them across the space.
Randall caught the gloves, slipped them on, picked up the lamp, and squinted at the broken bulb. “There’s blood here, too.”
“We know. A sample was taken.”
Pursing his lips at the splintered bedroom door, Randall bent at the knees and held the lamp up like a hockey stick. He looked left and right before swinging the stick back and forth. This must be where she fought back.
Devlin faced Harker. “What about her cell phone?”
He motioned behind him. “It was in the back pocket of her pants. Investigators are combing through it for clues as we speak.”
Randall glimpsed the shards of broken bulb on the floor on his two o’clock. He swung the weapon in that direction, his mind showing him the bulb breaking as it struck someone. His attention darted to his left.
On his ten o’clock, drops of dried blood on the carpet made a line toward the dresser.
He lifted his gaze.
On the dresser, another line of blood led to a large circle.
He whipped the ‘sword’ back to his left, envisioning the sharp edge of the light bulb’s base slicing skin as a second attacker spun away while holding his face. “There were at least two of them.” He laid the lighting device in the same place he had found it.
Harker crossed his forearms over his chest. “How are you so sure?”
Randall opened a dresser drawer and spotted several bloodied t-shirts. He glanced right and saw remnants of the lamp’s globe on the dresser. “I’m assuming your sister’s a tough cookie, Jessica?”
Devlin nodded. “That she is.”
He went to the doorway. “This is how I see it. After locking herself in her room,” he made a swift motion, “Faith yanked the lamp from the wall outlet.”
Randall backed away from the door. “She then,” he made another motion, “broke the globe on the dresser as she,” he backpedaled, “retreated further into the room. Shortly thereafter, the assailants kicked in the door and rushed her.”
Knifing the air to his right with the lamp, he acted out his movements from earlier. “She swung the lamp at a man over here, shattering the light bulb, before swinging it back this way and striking a second man, ultimately cutting that man’s flesh.”
“What leads you to believe there was a second man?” Harker glanced around. “Nothing here supports that assumption.”
Randall tapped the light bulb base. “One side of the base is dented in while the opposite side has blood on it. If the bulb had been broken and the metal had cut someone at the same time, both the indentation and the blood would be on the same side.”
“She could’ve hit the same person twice.”
“Not likely.”
“Why not?”
Randall set the lamp down. “The glass from the bulb is on the floor here while,” he pointed at the floor three feet to his left, “the blood spray starts here and,” before extending an arm further left, “goes that way...which is consistent with a second man quickly turning away after being struck.”
Pursing his lips, Harker slowly nodded his head at the evidence.
“The gash must’ve been a bleeder, too, because,” the former DEA man pointed at the dresser, “there are t-shirts in the top drawer with blood on them. The wounded man grabbed one to stem the flow, dripping blood onto the other ones in the process.”
Harker laid hands on his hips. “That’s quite a tale you tell, Mr. Randall. My crime scene investigators haven’t even come close to anything that specific yet.”
Devlin recalled Randall telling her he had been trained by the CIA’s best, trained to notice the tiniest of details. She also remembered how he had pieced together observations about her and deduced she had been married for six months and had a child. “Yeah, but I’ll bet none of your investigators have,” she bobbed her forehead toward her partner, “his kind of experience.”
Randall removed a handkerchief from a pants pocket, dabbed his brow, and replaced the cloth. “This gives me hope, Jessica.”
She tilted her head to one side.
He saw the quizzical expression. “The attackers killed a man. If they had wanted to kill Faith, they had plenty of time, and a place, to do just that. But they kidnapped her instead. That means they need her alive...for something.”
Harker tossed a look at the agents. “Money? I’m not aware of any ransom demand having been made.”
Randall shrugged. “I don’t know. But my instincts are telling me she’s alive. We just have to get to her before the kidnappers actually get whatever the something is they want.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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