- 5 -
Jane flopped down on the couch in Maura's office and closed her eyes. Using the wedding dates, it hadn't been witchcraft to figure out the identities of the two dead persons. As a result, Connolly and Korsak had made their way to Hyde Park, where they had encountered Andrea Callahan. An attractive woman in her late thirties, she had just gotten off her exercise bike. Minutes later, the gray towel she had placed around her neck was wet with tears. First a sharp cry, then horror. From the numerous photos hanging in the apartment, the identification of the murdered man was clear. Canada, Australia, South America, Mexico. The two had been around a lot.
Just not to the moon, Jane thought, immediately ashamed of the thought.
But wasn't it unbearable? There they were, living together for years, traveling, obviously not having to worry about finances, and yet risking everything. The marriage vows. Faith. Fortunately, there were no children who were now half-orphans.
Children were always the ones who suffered the most, the victims of human egoism, which was inherent in all adults - across the board. Whether the marriage had been happy. The answer was yes. What could she say to that? According to the woman, the two had known each other since childhood, at school, in the same class. The first big love. Where her husband had gone. She didn't know. When Korsak suggested to the widow that Mr. Callahan might have had the affair, she nearly snapped. Left a nervous wreck, the sergeant was glad, that there was a doctor in the immediate vicinity, a friend of the couple, who could give her a sedative.
"I can't take it anymore," she groaned, resting her head on the back of her neck and running her hands over her face. "It feels like someone is trying to send us a message."
Maura sat down next to her newlywed and handed Jane a cup of coffee. She pressed her lips together and avoided eye contact. "Do you have any regrets that we got married?"
Jane raised the cup to her lips and paused abruptly when she heard the question, frowning deeply. "What? No, of course not! What makes you think that?"
Maura lifted her shoulders and pressed her lips together. "It just sounded like it."
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me in my life, Maura," Jane said firmly, setting her cup down on the table and turning in her seat to face the ME. "You've never judged me for who I am." She rolled her eyes when she saw Maura's skeptical look. "You know how I mean it. You're my much better half, and I'd die before I'd imagine life without you in it, or think of cheating on you."
Maura smiled broadly and took a sip of tea. "I know."
Jane smiled and picked up her cup again, but then paused and looked slowly at her wife with a raised brow. "It would be very nice to hear that you won't cheat on me either, Maura."
"Maura smiled mischievously and sipped her tea.
Jane frowned deeply. „Maura?"
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The burgundy Ford was parked in the driveway. Jane noticed that the license plate was crooked and one of the taillights had a crack. Rust formed a wreath around the brand logo.
The front and the small front yard didn't look particularly well kept, but neither did they look neglected. The mailbox was fastened with cable ties, and the doorbell appeared to be out of order or turned off.
"Hello!" Korsak's voice boomed in parallel with his knock.
Nothing moved. He waited a few seconds, then dropped his knuckles on the wood again. Inside, something jingled - probably decor dangling from the door. Then detectives made out a shadow moving at a snail's pace.
"Jesus Christ! Don't you have a -" The door flew inward. The man wore nothing but boxer shorts and a black shirt that stretched over his belly like a balloon. Around his mouth was a dark beard, his few hairs in a simple flattop cut.
"Who are you guys?" he asked, puzzled.
"You were expecting someone else?" said Jane, unimpressed.
"My wife ... Who are you?"
"BPD," Korsak replied, flashing his badge. "May we come in? The neighbors will get googly eyes if we don't."
"Motherfucker," the man muttered, barely intelligible, and stepped aside. "What do you want from me? Did Rose -"
"Rose's your wife, right?" inquired Jane, and began scanning the wallpaper for photographs. But except for a few calendar motifs, there was no sign. Hesitantly, she reached for her cell phone.
"Uh-huh. And she's not here. Is that why you're here?"
Instead of offering the two of them a seat, André Brennan flopped down on the leather sofa, the indentation there suggesting that he stayed here often.
Nor did the living room show any shared pictures. So Jane strode up to the tiled coffee table, leaned over to Brennan, and held the photo out to him. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this," she said, "but is this your wife?"
The man's eyes widened. "Fuck yeah! What kind of picture is that? Where is it?"
"We're sorry," Korsak took the floor, "but your wife was found dead today."
"De ... dead?" Brennan straightened up. "What do you mean dead? Did she have an accident? Talk to - fucking shit!"
"Two people were found," Korsak explained, holding the gold ring tense in his fist. "One of them was your wife. We found this." He laid the metal on the table. "Both of them fell victim to a violent crime."
"Who is this guy?"
"Mr. Brennen, please," Korsak evaded.
"So it's a guy, isn't it?" shouted Brennan. "I said guy and you didn't correct it!"
"It was a man," Jane confirmed calmly. "Do you have any suspicions who he was?"
"Fucking whore!" With an angry gesture, Brennan knocked the ring off the table. Clanging loudly, it bounced across the laminate and then rolled behind a wooden shelf, where it staggered for what felt like an eternity until it finally lay still, tears welling in the man's eyes, and Jane didn't know if it was from anger or sadness.
"So you won't tell me?"
"We can't yet," Korsak said, which wasn't quite true. They had to ask about Dylan Callahan, after all; about the connection between him and Rose. But he wanted to wait until Brennan calmed down.
"Did you ... I mean, what about the killer? Was it him?"
"No. Both of them were murdered. We're still at the very beginning of our investigation."
"Hmm." Brennan scratched his belly. Then he placed himself back in his crouch. "Then I guess it's true after all. Everybody gets what they deserve."
"Excuse me?" it escaped Jane.
"You heard me right," Brennan countered with a frozen expression. "If my wife had been where she belonged last night, which is here, she would still be alive right now."
A little later, at the car, Jane turned back to the Brennans' house. She thought she recognized the man's figure at the window. Was he looking at her? What exactly was going on inside him? No one could seriously wish for his wife to be murdered along with her lover. Either one was so hard-boiled and did it oneself. Or you simply got divorced. Or else the news tore the ground out from under your feet. An affair? How long had it been going on? And with whom?
But Brennan hadn't asked. He'd been glued to his couch, clearly telling the two detectives to go to hell.
"Do you think he had something to do with it?" Jane finished her thought aloud.
Korsak pursed his lips. "I don't know. Certainly an irascible person, a bit petty. Someone you don't want to be at loggerheads with as a neighbor. But murder? I can't quite picture it."
"True enough," Jane grumbled, getting into her car. She waited until Korsak was seated in the passenger seat. Then she said: „We need to confront him with the names, and Mrs. Callahan, too."
"I've been holding up," Korsak said. "Maybe we'll invite them both to BPD? At the same time. Then we can see if they know each other."
"Tomorrow, okay?" suggested Jane, and Korsak didn't object.
When they left, André Brennan was still standing behind the curtain.
Everyone gets what they deserve.
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The figure stood by the window, watching a young cat chase after a leaf propelled by the wind.
Innocent and so young. All cats are like that until life shows them that chasing is not a game. That it's not about catching leaves or wool of old ladies. That it's the killing, more than that, the mortal combat, that ultimately matters. Without the hunt, without the kill, hunger is not satisfied. What is an innocent game today can be something else tomorrow.
Gone is the lightheartedness.
When the victim realizes that they can no longer escape the clutches. When it's hurt and debilitated when it only waits for the inevitable. Longing for the inevitable so as not to be tormented anymore.
Gone is childhood.
It let all become beasts, whether sluggish parlor cat or cold-blooded feline predator.
Satisfied, the predator took a sip of vodka from a glass in which the remains of two ice cubes were floating. The predator had made prey. Killed, as learned. Hunted, played and killed. Two unfaithful souls who deserved to die.
And now the predator stood there. Almost peacefully. It was waiting.
The cat had lost interest in the leaf and was basking in the sun on the warm exposed aggregate concrete slabs.
That was the difference between adult and child.
Once I picked up a scent, I never let go. Merciless. A person who knows no mercy.
Just like him.
That was what made man a predator.
Animals know no mercy.
Something tingled in the groin area, and it wasn't from the alcohol. Arousal burned in the veins, and the tongue ran lecherously along the upper lip.
The animal had awakened, and it was burning to act out.
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Jane entered the house and tossed her key on the end table next to the couch, smiling when she saw her mother standing behind the kitchen island with her wife. "Hey, Ma."
Angela whirled around and smiled delightedly. "Hey, Jane. Dinner will be ready soon."
The detective walked over to the ME with a smile, gave her a welcoming kiss, and gestured upstairs. "I'm just going to take a quick shower and change. Then I'm all yours."
"Okay," Maura whispered with a smile and exhaled loudly when her wife disappeared up the stairs.
Angela turned to her daughter-in-law and eyed her long and skeptically. "Don't tell me Jane regrets getting married."
"What," Maura asked in surprise, pouring herself more wine. "No. It's the case we're currently working on. He's -" She paused and furrowed her brow a little. "The case is asking a lot of all of us," she said.
"The case with the two couples?" asked Angela, and Maura sat down at the kitchen island, nodding. "It's all over the news. No wonder Jane's so grumpy."
The other woman hid her grin behind her wine glass. "It's not just to do with the case."
Angela eyed Maura again and grunted in amusement. She guessed it had to do with the fact that her daughter had overdone it intemperately with alcohol after the wedding ceremony. She not only guessed it but knew it with very great certainty; after all, she had attended the wedding as well.
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Jane sat at one end of the table, Connolly at the other. Between them were Frankie and Korsak. A strange picture. No casual small talk. Cavanaugh stood at the front of the table and eyed the two glass boards that were in the conference room. All the people were listed; both the victims and their immediate entourage, if already known.
"We don't have a cell phone or anything like that from any of the four," the lieutenant summarized. "No car keys, no wallets, no personal items."
"What about wedding rings?" wanted Korsak to know.
"Missing from the June murders," Jane said. "Mrs. Satori was missing three fingers, so we don't know where the wedding ring went."
"And Alperstein is a widower," Connolly added.
Korsak cleared his throat. "Still. Why does the perp take everything, but not the wedding rings?"
The scene at the scene of the discovery came to Jane's mind. Maura's spray bottle. "Maybe he didn't get them off."
"Maybe. But if we have someone to punish unfaithful couples -"
"We don't," Connolly spoke up again. "The two dead from Brighton were officially involved. No spurned ex-boyfriends, no rivals."
"Do we know that for sure?" asked Korsak, looking at the man over the rim of his reading glasses.
"Let's put it more simple," Jane chimed in as Connolly owed Korsak an answer. "Targets are couples, those who appeared to be couples in love at the time of their murders. That includes all three cases, whether they were involved with each other or with someone else."
"I'll pass that along." Cavanaugh looked at his watch. "It's at least possible that the three cases are not the only ones. Any other parallels?"
The detectives looked at the six photographs staring back at them from the two glass boards. Three women, three men. All different in age, stature, and hair color.
"I'll get back with Dr. Isles later," Jane said after no one spoke up.
"For a perp profile?" asked Connolly incredulously. "What clues do we have?"
"Not much," Jane returned pointedly. "But that's doesn't mean I'm sitting idly by waiting for him to throw another couple at our feet. Ever thought of the press?"
"Yeah, all right," Connolly muttered.
"I'll take care of the press," Cavanaugh pointed out. "Nobody lets anything slip, nobody goes into speculation, is that clear?"
Everyone nodded. And they all knew that reporters would descend on the wooded area like vultures as soon as word got out that two murdered lovers had been found there at once.
"We should check the cell phones," Frankie suggested. "A shot in the dark, but how many cell towers are in the immediate vicinity of where they were found?"
"Good approach," Cavanaugh flipped open his laptop. He launched a quick search and cleared his throat. "None directly in the woods, but there are a few all around. Twelve, to be exact. Plus a few more if you go further south. Have fun looking."
"Do that with Nina," Jane suggested, and Frankie pointed approvingly at his sister.
"Still," Frankie insisted. "We have four devices if each of our dead people owned one. And who goes out the door without a cell phone these days. The cell phones are gone, just like everything else. Maybe the perpetrator didn't switch off? Or made them unusable only later? Then this could be a lead. We do know the time, at least for the last two victims. Is there no way to determine where they were logged in?"
"Okay." Cavanaugh nodded. "You and Detective Holiday take it from there. Do your best."
"Korsak and I are expecting Andrea Callahan and André Brennan in a minute," Jane said quickly.
The lieutenant eyed Connolly skeptically, then nodded again. "Okay. Connolly and I will take Brennan. Korsak and you Callahan." He named two interrogation rooms that were available. "We should also evaluate the emails et cetera. Somehow these two must have been dating, although I'm afraid it's all done via Snapchat and WhatsApp these days."
Jane and Frankie exchanged amused glances, surprised that their lieutenant knew what Snapchat and WhatsApp were. She cleared her throat and became serious again. "We have asked the two spouses to provide us with the devices. We'll see how cooperative they are."
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Twenty minutes later, André Brennan appeared. He handed over a tablet in a protective sleeve. He had already said the day before that his wife didn't use the computer. He didn't know where her phone was.
Brennan was wearing washed-out blue jeans and Adidas sneakers. Over that, a dark wool sweater, though it was already warm outside. After Cavanaugh greeted him, he sent him into the briefing room, where Andrea Callahan was already sitting with Jane and Korsak.
"Good morning. Wrong room." Jane extended her hand to him with a smile. As she did so, she watched to see if Brennan responded to the woman. And Korsak didn't take his eyes off Callahan.
Cavanaugh appeared in the doorway. "Sorry, my mistake. We need to go next door."
He caught a brief but meaningful glance from his two detectives. Negative. If Callahan and Brennan knew each other, they had the best poker faces ever. Both of them. And that, after all, was highly unlikely.
When the door was closed, the interrogations began in the two rooms.
It was about how they had met, what their marriage was like, whether children had ever been an issue. Apparent mundanities that served to piece together as complete a puzzle as possible.
"I never had his cell phone in my hand," Callahan regretted tearfully. "I just booted up the computer last night, but I don't usually work with it."
"You have your own?"
"Just a notebook. I check my e-mail with my iPhone; I'm not much into tech stuff."
"So you didn't have access to your husband's email?"
"No. But I was able to run his mail program on the computer. I was curious. Shouldn't I have done that?"
Jane furrowed her brows and pressed her lips together briefly. "It's okay. Can we take a look, too?"
"Yes," Andrea Callahan said long-drawn-out, as if unsure. "Do I get the computer back? Dylan had all the photos there -" She broke off and excused herself to blow her nose.
"We won't delete anything and we won't break anything," Jane promised, secretly thinking that they wouldn't put a finger on the device lest she jeopardizes that promise. Computers were a necessary evil to her. Necessary, no question. But also an evil.
"And you've never heard of Rose Brennan?", Korsak verified, as if out of the blue.
"No."
"Not the name either? Brennan?"
"No, I really haven't."
"How do you think the two of them could know each other?" he continued.
"I haven't the faintest idea. We do almost everything together," Callahan faltered. "I really don't know."
Connolly came into the room briefly, leaned over to Jane, and whispered something to her.
In response, the latter nodded briefly at him and then asked, "Mrs. Callahan, what can you tell me about a class reunion?"
"Class reunion, why?"
"Could it be that your husband came in contact with Rose Brennan there?"
"Uh -"
"And didn't you say that you had been in the same class?"
"Yes, I did. But -"
"Earlier, that was Andre Brennan," Jane said. "Rose's husband."
But even now nothing stirred in Andrea Callahan's face. "Yeah, so?"
"If Rose and your husband were at a reunion," Jane began, and her expression became unreadable, hard. "And you and your husband were in the same class ... Wouldn't you all have to know each other then?"
Callahan laughed out. "Oh, no." She waved it off. "I just joined in tenth grade."
"And a Rose?" drilled Jane impatiently on. "With a different last name, of course."
"Sorry." Andrea Callahan folded her arms defiantly. "Almost seems to me you're more interested in that adulteress than in me."
"We're primarily interested in the murdered," Korsak replied. "For the motive for the crime."
"Jealousy, for example," Jane added, arching a brow, and the other woman winced slightly.
"But ... I didn't know anything," Andrea Callahan affirmed.
Korsak scribbled something in his notepad and looked at her over the rims of his reading glasses. "Could someone testify to where you were at the time of the crime? So roughly between midnight and one in the morning?"
"We'll have to ask that, I'm afraid," Jane explained. "Just like all the other things."
"I was at home. In bed. Alone," came the chilly reply. "Nothing has changed about that."
"Did that happen often?" wanted to know Korsak.
"Sometimes. Lately ... hell, I haven't even thought about that! It used to be less. Does that mean something?"
"When was the class reunion?"
"Um. The end of April, I think."
"And since then, your husband has been out on his own more often?" asked Jane with a slight frown. "Think carefully, please. I've seen that you've done a lot of things as a couple. The photos, the trips."
"But we were just -". Andrea Callahan sobbed and groped unsuccessfully for a tissue. Korsak helped her out. "Thank you. We were just in Yosemite in May. And in August we were going to Iceland."
Jane sensed they were heading for a dead end. This woman was not capable of stalking her husband and committing a double murder. And even if she was. What about the other dead people? This all felt wrong, and yet she had to go through with it. "All right, Mrs. Callahan, thank you so far. We may have to contact you again about details. I'll send someone over for the computer, all right?"
"Whatever."
Andrea Callahan stood up, then something seemed to occur to her, and she raised her index finger. "Can't you use my cell phone to establish that I was home and the Wi-Fi was running? I'm afraid there's no better witness."
With that, the conversation ended.
When Andrea Callahan had left the room, Jane turned slowly to Korsak and frowned deeply. "Good thinking for a person who pretends to have nothing to do with technology," she said.
"Mhm," the older detective hummed, closing his notepad.
With Cavanaugh and Connolly still in conversation with Brennan, Jane and Korsak got a coffee and let it all sink in a bit.
"Do you think we're dealing with a serial killer?" asked Korsak quietly.
"If so, we're wasting our time here," Jane replied while waiting for her order in the Café. She ran her hand through her hair and took a deep breath. "What do you think? You've seen the crime scenes. Jealousy or bloodlust?"
"According to my gut, the second." Korsak sighed heavily and scratched his chin.