Nursery Rhyme Murders Collection_3-4-2017 Page 6

  The LeSabre was locked up as best as he could. The rear passenger's-side door was broken, which was almost as effective as an actual lock. It worried him every night to leave his semi-mobile home, but what were his other options? Either it would be here when he came back or it wouldn’t. Either it would have been broken into or it wouldn’t.

  Though it felt like he couldn’t sink any lower, Joshua knew that wasn’t true. Much as he hoped for a bottom, he understood that there was always a level that was farther down. At least that had been his experience to date.

  He straightened his rumpled clothes, hoping the stares on the subway wouldn’t be too bad tonight. If he waited another hour, he’d bypass a lot of the rush hour crowd, but the thought of missing out on even one opportunity started him shaking again. He’d just have to deal with it.

  Hey, it was what he did best.

  * * *

  Agent Sariah Cooper loved taking the train. Travel between DC and New York was one of those weird things. You could drive, but traffic was brutal. Flying seemed extravagant, and Sariah hated airports with a burning passion that bordered on psychosis.

  But trains? Trains were perfection.

  She sat in a section that was close to empty. It had started out much fuller, but over the course of the last hour it had gradually thinned out, leaving Sariah on her own. A little strange, sure, but it suited her just fine.

  Cooled and filtered air washed over her as she gazed out at the brown and shimmering landscape of one of the hottest summers on record on the East Coast. The soothing clackety-clack of the iron wheels on the rails was a constant background presence that spoke of a gentler time past. She’d spent a year abroad in Europe right after high school with the only real friend she’d had, Rachel, whose wealthy parents were trying to make up for past neglect with present extravagances. It hadn’t worked, but Sariah had been the happy beneficiary of the guilt of Rachel’s parents.

  Swiping her hand across the screen of her tablet, Sariah stared at another crime scene photo, one of a severed hand. This one was from the last case up in Ann Arbor, Michigan. The case that had finally convinced her boss, Special-Agent-in-Charge Nicholas Tanner, that the Humpty Dumpty Killer was active again.

  Sariah worked in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU, a part of the FBI’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime. The BAU used behavioral sciences to assist in criminal investigations throughout the US.

  And just days ago, she’d been given the case of her life. The one that could make or break her career at the BAU. Humpty Dumpty.

  A serial killer who had killed more than twenty men and women and then seemed to have disappeared into thin air, leaving nothing but pieces of the victims he’d killed, spread across the US. It was the stuff from which legends were born.

  Problem was, when you went to resurrect a legend, people got cranky.

  Working as a junior agent at the BAU, Sariah had been assigned to the most menial of tasks, one of which was to deal with all of the random body parts that turned up anywhere in the US. There were a surprising number, and each one ostensibly needed to be accounted for. In actual practice, there were as many cold cases when it came to body parts as there were with actual full-blown bodies, but there it was. That had been Sariah’s task for the last year and a half after coming out of Quantico.

  That was also where she’d come across what she had started to think was Humpty Dumpty’s work. After 13 years of nothing from the prolific killer, several body parts matching Humpty’s MO began appearing. One could be dismissed. Two wouldn’t keep the scoffers from scoffing. But when she’d come across that hand up in Ann Arbor while working an unrelated case, Sariah not only became sure that Humpty Dumpty was active again, she was beginning to believe that he was taunting her.

  And wonder of wonders, her boss had believed her.

  Which made her much less popular with her fellow agents, most of whom thought she was bat-guano crazy, or worse, an ambitious climber. The fact that she hadn’t been popular to begin with was her own fault. She was smart, capable and not all that social. A lethal combination when it came to making friends.

  A little boy, looking to be about five or six, groped his way up the aisle and happened to glance at the picture of the hand. He cocked his head as if he were trying to figure out what he was looking at, and then backed away, looking up into Sariah’s eyes. Turning around, without warning, he dashed away from her as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him, screaming bloody murder the entire length of the car.

  Kids were annoying.

  She swiped back to a previous file that was still open. An outdated picture of the man she was on her way to meet. The last address she had for former Agent Joshua Wright was one in Queens, but when she’d contacted the super, he’d told her that Joshua had moved out seven years ago. The only lead she had on the guy was his last place of employment. It seemed he worked at a dive bar in Chelsea. As a janitor.

  How in the hell did that happen?

  She’d read his file. Superb agent—worked on the Humpty Dumpty case thirteen years ago until the killer targeted his entire family. Took out his wife and three daughters before throwing them all in a wood chipper.

  It was a horrific story, but it didn’t explain Wright’s fall from grace to Sariah’s complete satisfaction. A year or two, or even five or six, of going through the wringer and flat lining, she could understand. But the fact that it had been thirteen years and the guy was working cleaning up toilets in a crappy bar in Manhattan? It just didn’t track.

  Her stream of thought was interrupted by an official presence at her elbow. A uniformed conductor cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me.”

  Sariah looked up. “Yes?”

  The conductor looked to be in his mid-to-late 50s, with silver hair that had receded back from a high forehead. It was clear he was uncomfortable.

  “I… ah, that is… we’ve had some complaints from some of the other passengers.” He gestured to Sariah’s tablet. “Something about you viewing material that was… er… inappropriate?”

  And just like that, the empty car took on a new meaning. They had all vacated due to her, or at least due to her choice of study materials.

  “I’m sorry. I’m going over case files for an investigation I’m heading. I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”

  “You’re heading an investigation?” the man asked. He seemed to be trying to keep disbelief out of his voice. He was not succeeding.

  So many different reasons why he could be having a problem believing she was in charge. So many reasons Sariah could find to be offended. She was young, she was black, she was a woman. Or maybe there was just something about her that didn’t inspire confidence. Wasn’t like this was the first time she’d gotten this reaction. But with so many possibilities, it was hard to latch onto only one. So instead, she smiled.

  “Yes. Crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, no… I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sariah reassured the man. “And I’ll make sure I keep the more disturbing pictures off my screen for now. I apologize for any trouble.”

  “Thank you, Miss,” the conductor murmured as he moved off, down the aisle.

  Sariah waited until he had left the car, and then opened the file back up. She’d be more careful from here on out, but right now there was no need. There was no one here, so there was no one to offend.

  And she had work to do.

  * * *

  The suitcase was full to overflowing, and Officer Kyle Hadderly was trying to decide if it made more sense to jump up and down on it until he could close it, or to just grab two smaller bags. He was enough of a guy’s guy that taking two suitcases went against his grain, but it was his first trip to a big city. Cramming his clothes into the one bag was going to make everything come out wrinkled.

  Who was he kidding? This was a no-brainer. Had trotted over to his closet and pulled out a duffel bag and a small rolling carry-on. This was his first time
to Washington DC. Hell, it was pretty much his first time out of Ann Arbor, unless you counted that time he went to Detroit as a kid, or the aborted trip up to Niagara Falls with that one girl. What was her name? Marion? No, Madeline. Man she had been hot. Crazy as all nine hells, but hot. Too bad she had been allergic to cats.

  Well, now that he had two bags instead of just the one, he could afford to pack a couple more shirts. Oh, and that pair of raw denim jeans he had just shrunk to fit. First time doing that, and the results had been awesome. Had had felt like such a hipster when he wore them out for the first time. You know, until he realized he was in Ann Arbor, and there were no hipsters anywhere to be found.

  Five more minutes of last-second additions, and Had realized he was going to have to transfer everything in the carry-on back into the bigger suitcase. The big case and the duffel bag weren’t too much, were they? He just had no frame of reference here.

  His cell phone rang. It was the theme to Psycho. His mama.

  “Kyle, sweetie. Just checking to see if you wanted brisket or my pulled pork for dinner tomorrow night. I haven’t used my smoker in almost a week, and it’s getting a little lonely.”

  Had sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “Mama, you know I’m not going to be here for dinner tomorrow.”

  “What? Oh, that thing with the FBI? You still tryin’ to pretend it’s happenin’?” Lynda Hadderly had grown up in the South, and even after living in Michigan most of Had’s life, a pleasant Mississippi drawl dominated her speech.

  “Come on, Mama. I told you, the BAU called me out to help. They arranged it with my boss and everything.”

  His mother chuckled in her throat. “Baby, I know you’ve wanted to be an agent since you were tiny, but don’t you think this is takin’ the whole thing a bit far?”

  Had placed two folded shirts next to each other on the bed. Which one would go with him? Gotta be the embroidered one. Never knew when you were going to have to hit a dance club. In the line of duty, of course. He placed it in his duffel bag, trying not to rise to his mother’s bait.

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to just wait and see when I don’t show up to your house tomorrow.”

  “Whatever you say, marshmallow,” his mama said, not paying any attention to him whatsoever. “I think I’m gonna get the brisket. That always was your favorite.” Her hanging up the phone acted as punctuation on the end of the statement of her doubt. He couldn’t blame her. It’s not like he’d been the most honest of kids, growing up.

  It had only been two weeks ago that Had had gotten the most exciting news of his life. He’d been in the middle of what he’d thought was the coolest experience of his life, the Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary serial killer case.

  It had been a bad enough case that they’d asked for the BAU to come out and get involved, and that was where Had had run into Agent Sariah Cooper. Coop. The Amazonian FBI agent of his dreams. Well, she would have been, if she were at all interested in him. Which she was not. At all.

  Dammit.

  At least now he wouldn’t have to ask for her stance on Latin dancing.

  Regardless, the connection had been immediate, and when Coop had realized that one of the body parts they’d found belonged to the Humpty Dumpty case, she’d asked for his help on it. Had was still reeling from that conversation, four days after it had happened. He was going to DC. Well, to Quantico, Virginia, to be precise. The FBI Academy, where the Behavioral Analysis Unit was housed, to be even more specific. He was going to be working with the FBI.

  Okay, so it was due to the fact that no one else would touch the case with a ten-foot pole, but that didn’t matter to Had. He didn’t have to worry about his “career” with the BAU. He was just thrilled he was getting to work with them.

  He was glad there hadn’t been anyone around to witness his subsequent happy dance. He’d been floating on a cloud since that conversation had happened.

  The real shock had been when his boss had given the okay. Had wasn’t being arrogant by saying that he was the best officer that Ann Arbor had on the force. The competition wasn’t all that fierce, to be honest about it. Had was pretty sure that one of the guys could be a poster child for the dangers of inbreeding.

  But the chance to get out and see a little bit of the country and work on one of the coolest serial killer cases in the last twenty years? It was too much. The Humpty Dumpty murders had gone into the realm of urban legend. When Coop had mentioned the famous killer the first time, Had’s initial thought had been that she was just playing a prank on the local rube cop. Just talking about it with her had been a thrill.

  And now he was going to be working the case. He stopped folding another shirt long enough to break into his happy dance again. Hey, he was at home. He was alone. There was no one here to keep him from busting out “The Sprinkler.”

  Psycho rang out again. His mama.

  “Wanted to let you know. I invited that girl from the pharmacy over.” Had’s mother had to pick up her prescription every other week, and she couldn’t help but get chatty with everyone there.

  “Hold on. Are you talking about the one with the walleye?” he asked, horrified.

  “No, no, turtle. It’s the new girl I was telling you about. The one with the red hair and the freckles. And she made perfect change without even checking.”

  Under normal circumstances, that would have been more than intriguing. Had loved redheads, and the math angle was a definite plus. Enough to almost make a difference. But this was anything but a normal circumstance.

  “It’s going to be really awkward for you when she shows up and I don’t.”

  “Honey, please. There’s no way the FBI have you working on a case. You’ve got a record.”

  She wasn’t lying. Had had always been a bit of a hellion. At 16 years old, he and a buddy had stolen old Mr. Johnston’s truck and taken it out to Ford Lake with two girls from their chemistry class, hoping to make some chemistry of their own. It hadn’t ended so well.

  “Yeah, but that was years ago, and…” He stopped himself. There was no way she was going to believe him. Hell, he didn’t believe it himself. “Mama, I love you but I have to finish packing.” He hit the END button on his cell, tossed the phone on the bed and glanced down at his flight itinerary, which was sitting next to his bags.

  The flight left out of Detroit at 6 am, which meant that Had would have to leave Ann Arbor by 3:30 or 4 if he wanted to have enough time to get through security. It was going to be an early morning. No problem. Early summer mornings in Michigan were glorious. Almost enough to make him start jogging. Almost.

  Psycho.

  Picking up the phone and answering in one motion, he held the cell up to his ear. “Hope you have enough Tupperware to hold all the leftovers. I’ll call you when my flight gets in.” Flipping the switch to vibrate, Had stuck the phone in his pocket. No more distractions for the night. If his mother got desperate, she’d text him, much as she pretended she didn’t know how.

  He’d now spent three hours packing and unpacking and packing again, and it was getting on toward midnight. Maybe he should just stay up all night. He could always catch up on some of his sleep on the plane tomorrow. In fact, he was looking forward to it. For now? Catch up on Dr. Who. That would be perfect.

  No. Nope. He was going to go back over some of the information on the case that Agent Cooper had sent him. Coop had placed a lot of trust in him, and he wasn’t about to let her down. Yes, he had been through the material fifteen times since she’d emailed it to him. But two or three more times through the file wouldn’t kill him.

  Well, after he finished packing, of course. Okay, maybe three bags wasn’t such a bad idea. That way he could take his leather jacket, too. Sure, it was summer, but you never knew when you might have to pull out the leather.

  Had grinned and went to find another suitcase.

  CHAPTER 2

  Manhattan stank.

  This wasn’t Agent Sariah Cooper’s judgment call on the most densely populated isl
and in the United States. It was a statement of pure fact.

  During late summer, Manhattan’s heady bouquet was a lethal combination of putrid garbage, urine and ethnic food. The only variances from area to area were the types of spices that laced their way in and amongst the other, more prevalent scents. Here, it was mostly from the Chinese restaurant next door.

  Doing what she could to keep from inhaling, Sariah weaved her way through the narrow courtyard space that snaked behind the Billymark’s West, a rundown bar that spoke to older women looking to pick up younger men in order to cling to a vestige of lost youth. It also was the place of employment for the man Sariah was seeking.

  Sariah caught sight of herself in an oil-coated puddle positioned underneath one of the lights placed behind the businesses that faced out onto 9th Avenue. A mocha face with sharp angles and full lips, framed by short, almost buzzed hair looked back at her. If only her lack of friends at the BAU could be attributed to race. But she’d gone down that rabbit hole before and didn’t have any desire to return.

  According to the taciturn bartender, former agent Joshua Wright was out back, waiting for the bar to close. It closed at 4 am. That meant that Joshua would be waiting for a good six hours yet. His job as a janitor was mostly an after-hours kind of deal, although it seemed he hung out most of the night, waiting for any major spills or issues to come up in the bar.

  Once the bartender had realized that Sariah wasn’t there for him, he had become a little more willing to talk. Enough to explain to her that Joshua’s arrangement was that he only got paid cash for the official work he did after the bar closed. For every time he was needed before that, the former BAU wunderkind got a shot of the bottom-shelf stuff. He was only here in the hope that accidents would happen. And in a sketchy bar like this one, that could be several times every hour.