Chapter Twenty Five

Frustration mounted every hour, every day the cases stayed cold. Although Agent Deeprose stumbled onto a tie between Arthur Moreland and the Meese Corporation, the trail was stalled there. Michael’s refusal to talk spoke loud enough for Carter; he’d been scared into complete silence. The public outcry was creating a pressure cooker for all of them.

Carter hoped they’d have better luck with The Ginger Man double homicide. He lost track of how long he stood outside studying the foot prints leading from the sidewalk to the micro-brewery’s back door. He was certain they belonged to three different people, one having been dragged along the ground. He was glad winter hadn’t set in yet or the soil would have been too hard to show them.

Carter reflected on the foot prints for another moment before going inside to see the crime scene. Killings were committed for the most part, by men, but these prints were too shallow and small to belong to men. These belonged to women.

By the time he entered the building, Agent Seacrest had already examined most of the area surrounding the fermentation vat.

“What do we have?”

“A couple of drunks who didn’t survive the brewing process.”

“How do you know there are two victims?”

Seacrest jerked her head toward the vat. “Take a peek.”

Carter observed two skulls floating in the nearly drained tank. The same brewery foreman who’d discovered the bodies six hours earlier had emptied the vat for the forensic team. Seacrest took samples of the liquid for analysis.

“It’ll take a while to retrieve the remains, but I’ve got good news, Carter.” She showed him a photo of dusted fingerprints. “This was found around the perimeter of the tank.”

Carter wasn’t as amazed as she expected him to be. “Another messy scene. That makes three. The Florio murder in New Jersey was tidier, but there was still that partial print left behind.

“Could that be my smoking gun? The murders appear unrelated, but they’ve all been committed by amateurs, some of them women. We haven’t found any evidence of a payoff or even any attempts to escape the city.”

“It’s starting to sound more and like an initiation rite or a cult thing, Carter. The murders were too vicious in nature to have been thrill kills, and a serial killer would most likely have been more experienced in the art of killing and disposing of a body. He also would have learned from his mistakes and gotten better at it, not worse.”

Carter was on the same wavelength. “If the Collective is a common denominator between the previous murders and these two, we have to find and question its organizers before we question anyone related to these. If the suspects in all the murders can be traced back to the Collective meetings and we find the drug you tested at the site of the next raid combined with evidence of possession or ingestion of it prior to the murders, I want these organizers already in custody for more questioning.”

Seacrest held up the photo again. “In the meantime, I think this print is our best lead right now. If this hand print matches the partial in Florio’s bathroom, we’d have proof that the same person was at both crime scenes. That could break everything wide open, Carter!”

“If we match both sets of prints to one person, find the two women that belong to the footprints outside and get one of them to talk, Jill, I’m taking you to Fiji for a month.”

Seacrest laughed. “That’s a deal. Just remember who said it.”

He looked around the room again. “It appears the deputy director is correct in assuming these murders are tied together. If the Collective meetings are the motivating factor, these actually could be initiation kills. Believe it or not, I hope he’s right. That would be a quick end to the murders, the Collective and the circulation of that damn drug. But if the truth goes deeper than that…well, we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Carter, the foreman tells me he can’t account for the whereabouts of his night watchman, Doug Meir. He should have been on guard here all night, and oddly enough, someone turned the video surveillance camera off and then on again. Maybe the footage will give us a hint at what went on here last night.”

Carter’s phone signaled an incoming text from the E.R.T. (Evidence Response Team). “They found pint-sized glasses in the garbage can in this room.” He read on, made a fist and shouted, “Yes!”

“What is it?”

“There was blood on one of them, and it has the ‘The Ginger Man’ etched on it. It’s possible that Meir was in on whatever went down, but I think it’s more likely he became collateral damage, like the security guard at the Cloisters. There’s no sign of a forced entry, so my guess is he knew the girls. At any rate, he’d have been the only person who could have voluntarily let them in.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The cameras weren’t disconnected and no wires were cut. Nothing was damaged. He’d have known where the security camera was and how to turn it off and on. He may even have shown the girls how to use it before his death. There are no scuff marks outside the door, so he wasn’t shoved or forced into this room. Someone was pushed across this room, but it wasn’t him. He came in because he wanted to.”

“Did the E.R.T.s find anything of note outside?”

“The prints are relatively small and shallow which suggests they belong to women. They lead inside and come back out the same way. Two women came in together and two went out together, but not the same two.”

“So there were three women here last night.”

Seacrest nodded. “One set of prints heading inside shows that the woman was walking sideways. Two deeper parallel lines starting just behind her show that someone -perhaps one of the victims - was dragged along the dirt path and into the building. Two women went in together. However, the exit pattern shows that the two women who left together were both walking side by side. Neither set of prints are especially deep, so no one carried out the third woman. She didn’t walk out on her own, either, so we can assume that the woman who was dragged inside is still here. I think we’re going to find that one of the skeletons is hers. The other is probably the security guard.”

Carter was flabbergasted. “Two women; that’s a major change in pattern. Interesting.”

“Yes. The foreman told us that they offer free beer tastings after their daily tours, but don’t have a license to sell it. Carter, could the two women have taken a tour and then hidden themselves in here when everyone else left?”

“It’s possible, but not probable. Their footprints went in through the back entrance. Tourists don’t do that. But employees do. They’re being questioned now. If anyone here was involved or saw anything, we’ll know it soon enough. By the way, where’s Agent Deeprose? I’d like to see what she’s found so far.”

“She’s not here, yet.”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “Not here yet?”

“Carter, ever hear of a thing called a personal life? She texted me just before you came in. I think love is in the air, and it sounds a lot like a saxophone to me.” She looked jubilant.

Carter looked slightly miffed. “I don’t begrudge her a personal life, Jill, but I expected her to be here by now. Besides, she’s great with the locals. It’s amazing how she uses that charm to squeeze Intel out of people. She’s our secret weapon, Jill. Men love her and women aren’t threatened by her. It’s absolutely mystifying to watch her work.”

“For you, Carter. For women, it comes with the equipment. Hers is an age-old method that never fails, honey, and it’s sooooo much easier than confrontation.”

Carter had no answer for that one. She was right.

Deeprose breezed in with three coffees. “Watcha’ll talkin’ about? Agent Carter, you look flummoxed. And Jill, you look…smug. There’s just no other word for it.” Deeprose was rosy red from the cold morning air and in very high spirits. She put down the coffee cups and took off her coat. Carter and Seacrest exchanged a guilty glance before she turned back.

Carter cleared his throat. “Just discussing the new crime scene, Agent. Any particular reason for being late this morning?”

“A lady never tells. Isn’t that right, Jill?”

Seacrest winked at her and resumed her examination.

“So, what do we have here, Agent Carter?”

Her eyes grew wider and wider as he told her what they’d come across. When he was done, she tossed her red beret into the air. “Hallelujah, amen!” Then she peered into the tank and sniffed. “Yugh! It’s goin’ to be a while before Ah drink draft again.”

“Connecting the crimes to the Collective is still circumstantial so far, but the case gets much stronger every time we can make a connection between a murder and the hallucinogen. To fit the pattern, one or both killers should have been using the drug last night. Jill, can forensics determine if the drug was secreted from the killer’s hands into the handprint on the edge of the vat?”

“It’s much more likely we’ll find D.N.A. secreted into the handprint, if we find anything at all. I’ll call the Washington Bureau to see if they have anything we don’t. I don’t know if anyone could pull that one off.”

Carter frowned. “Well, if we can at least match the handprint with the partial from the Florio crime scene, we’ll have enough for a warrant for search and seizure at the Collective’s next meeting. I don’t want any more sneak attacks on high school victory parties. This time we go in through the front door of the correct place.”

Agent Deeprose was intrigued. “Could we really get a D.N.A. sample from the handprint, Jill?”

“There’s a technique I could use called ‘Touch D.N.A.’. It’s popular in the U.K., but not here. I think we already have enough of a print, though, to make a positive match with the one at the Florio crime scene.”

“Ah’m sure. But what if Ah wanted to see if the print you have here matches someone of interest? Having their D.N.A. on hand would make it a no-brainer.”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “Who do you have in mind, Agent?”

“There’s a loose end that’s been botherin’ me. Do y’all remember Eliza, the girl who was in the car with Michael the day we caught him? She claimed to have been an innocent victim, a hostage, and Michael never contradicted her. Even so, when I paid her a visit to the hospital, Ah managed to get a D.N.A. sample from a tissue she touched. I had given it to you Jill, for safe keepin’.”

Seacrest nodded. “Excellent idea. That’ll take a little more time, but if I can get enough cells from the handprint to compare with those on the tissue, it’s possible.”

Carter smiled. “If the cells are there, she’ll find them.”

***

Eliza walked into Clara’s apartment and immediately noticed a half empty bottle of liquor on the kitchen table. Alison was downing glass after glass of 151 proof rum. She also noticed that Clara did the pouring but not the drinking.

Great! Clara’s tossing Alison off the wagon with both hands.

“How did it go, last night, Alison?”

“What do you care?”

Eliza guffawed and dropped into an easy chair. “Good for you, Alison. One for the home team. I was just wondering why you’re three sheets to the wind this early in the day, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well you quit us, so you can just keep on wondering. I have a question for you; did you make sure no one followed you back here from your own job last night? I don’t want to hear anything about it, but if you left any evidence at the scene, we don’t want you dragging us into it.”

“There’s no evidence to find, and no one followed me here, Alison. Get a grip for God’s sake.” Eliza flashed back to the limo. One second she was in it and the next she was out the door. Her clutch bag had her prints all over it, and the Fentanyl was still in the car. By now, the Silver Man was sure to know what happened.

Did I scratch Boyd’s face? It happened so fast I can’t remember! Skin cells are easy to leave behind; anyone who watches those forensic crime shows knows that.

Alison slurred her words, but her intense anger toward Eliza came from the heart. “You traitor! You came to me! You were going to help me and Clara. All you did was help yourself to a bag of drugs that turn people into raving killers!”

Shit. I forgot about that. Between that and my assignment last night, the two of them could ruin me if they want to, and they know it.

Eliza began to sweat, and when she did, she always came out swinging. “Listen, your only concern is to watch your own ass and keep that big trap of yours shut.”

Clara chose this moment to shock them both. “Hey, hey, we still have to stick together, don’t we? After all, if we lose our nerve now, someone’s liable to get caught.

“Let’s look at this thing logically; Alison here’s a drunk, and no one ever believes a drunk. However, she did commit a double murder last evening without benefit of the drug and has no excuse or alibi, as far as the police will see. She didn’t even know the victims. She may have had an excuse the first time, but not this time. That makes her just another killer sent up for life and forgotten.”

The room became absolutely silent. Alison stood staring at Clara.

“You’ve been using me the whole time! You, you…you’re worse than Eliza!”

“Hey!”

“At least she doesn’t pretend to be anything but an animal. You double-dealing, selfish whore! You only pretended to like me!” She put down her glass and buried her head in her hands.

Clara went on as if there had been no interruption from Alison. “And you, Eliza, you committed a murder last night also – or tried to. We may not know the details, but that doesn’t really matter. Since it didn’t take place directly after a Collective meeting, you have no possible way to blame the crime on having been drugged without your knowledge. Since you didn’t do your murder the night you did get dosed, you can’t prove you were ever at a Collective meeting, unless Michael talks, and we all know he won’t. That leaves her holding the bag for possession of the drug and murder or attempted murder, with no way to blame it on the Silver Man.”

Eliza wanted to hear the rest of it. “Go on. What about yourself, Clara? We know a thing or two about you, too, you know.”

“As for myself, well, I never heard of the Collective, and I never met either one of you - or Michael, for that matter. As I said, no one will believe Alison. She’d blame anyone to save herself. You? Don’t make me laugh. You were in Michael’s car. You’re up to your ugly ears in trouble, and you’ve been in trouble your whole life. No one will have any trouble believing me over you.

“Then there’s Abby. Abby was part of the Collective and was supposed to assassinate me. If Alison gets caught, they’ll assume she and Abby got into a fight over the killing of the security guard and that Alison decided to get rid of both of them in one shot. If the cops find out Abby had a grudge against me, they’ll be glad that Alison got to her before she got to me. Besides, of the three of us, I’m the only one with the right address and education. My uncle is a well-known defense attorney who hasn’t lost a case in forty years. I’m a prima ballerina with a prestigious dance company. Let’s face it; if anyone has the believability factor and the upper hand here, girls, it’s myself.”

Eliza lost her cookies right then and there. “You rotten…miserable…entitled…lying…manipulative, BITCH! God knows there’s no love lost between me and Alison, but what you did to her is worse than murder. She’s the only one of us who gave a shit about saving your sorry ass. I may have had to be tough and mean to survive in the neighborhood I grew up in, but you’re something straight out of hell; we should have let Abby have you.”

Clara laughed and made a deep curtsy. “I am a good actress, aren’t I? Perhaps I should take on Hollywood after my dancing career is over. Then there’s the book to write once you’re all locked away for life. Well, what do you say? Shall we drink a toast to the Unholy Trinity? After all, you may not have come from hell, but that’s just where you’re both going.”

Eliza was worried. This one was no dummy.

I have to be careful. I can’t underestimate Clara again. I’ll play along with her for now. Later on, when they’re both off guard, I’ll get rid of them. Them I’m home free. No witnesses, no evidence, no worries.

If Boyd didn’t survive, the only witness is the chauffer. He only saw me for a second, at best, and the only evidence are my prints on the evening bag I left there. The only other thing in it is the Fentanyl. Unless I get arrested, no one has my prints or photo on file anywhere. If he did survive, he’ll never come after me; he can’t afford a scandal now. They can’t connect me to the escort agency, and no one except the Silver Man knows my real name, address, or phone number. I paid for everything in cash and burned the dossier. Unless my picture gets into the news, no one will ever know about me. Except for the Silver Man, that is…

Alison looked up. “I don’t like the look on your face, Eliza. There’s something you haven’t told us. What is it?”

“I might have left a loose end.”

“God damn it! Can’t you do one single thing without screwing it up?! If you get caught, this time you’re on your own.”

Clara looked stunned. She’d never given Alison a second thought, but now she had to.

What do you know! She finally found her balls. Well, all right, then. I’ll play along for now, but I have to find a way to make sure they get caught. Soon.

Eliza was also surprised at Alison’s show of strength. “I thought it all through, Alison. There’s no way to connect me to the job last night. But there is something we have to do together. That hillbilly agent is a liability. I was in Michael’s car and she’s seen me and spoken to me at the hospital. She’s the only one who’d bother pursuing me if she thought I was in on it with him. There’s no choice. She has to go.”

Clara jumped out of her chair like she was sitting on hot coals. “Now, wait just a minute! That’s your fault and your problem. I’m done with both of you.”

Eliza was practically begging, now. She needed help, and Alison was still her best bet. “Alison, you know we have to do this. You’re in too deep. If there was any way Clara could’ve set you up and framed you for those two murders last night, you can bet she did, but you have no record and you had no connection to any of the victims, so unless they can get your prints or any other evidence from either scene, there’s no way they can tie you to the them. You didn’t, did you?”

“Of course not, you idiot. I was very careful.”

I hope…

“All right, then, listen to me; Clara will turn us in to save herself, and you know it. It’s only a matter of time, Allie, unless you do this one last thing with me!”

“Who gives a flying fuck about you, Eliza?! I’m sick of the sight of you. Getting rid of that F.B.I. agent won’t keep Clara from talking, anyway. We’d still be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. All I want to do is end this whole nightmare. I’m no killer. I want to confess; there are extenuating circumstances for me, but not for you.”

Eliza turned a cold smile towards Clara. “Clara can’t tell on us if she helps, can you, Clara? The way I see it, there’s only one way out of this for you; all three of us have to have enough on each other so that none of us is able to turn on the other two. Doing a job together will make sure of it.”

Alison trembled uncontrollably. “Look, all I did was protect Clara and myself from two killers; it was self-defense! And the first one was because I was drugged! If I do this thing now, Eliza, then I really am a killer, and I’m not. I’m not!”

“O.K., then you’ll go to prison knowing you’re not a killer, but you’ll still go. Is that what you want, dummy? God, Alison, for once in your life, face reality! No one is going to come to your rescue. You’re going to have to save yourself. That’s what the Silver Man meant. Killing to protect yourself is a natural instinct. There is no good or evil about it, Alison. I’m not evil. You’re not evil. Your only responsibility is to yourself.”

Eliza stuck a hand into the pocket of her jeans and fished out a business card she’d been holding onto…just in case. She slammed it down on the table. It belonged to Agent Deeprose.