Soundbyte (-byte series Book 5) Read online

I hoped it was that. “I’ll fill you in when I arrive.” I hung up. It was hard not to smile. Really, for Joey’s sake, he better hope he hasn’t laid a hand on her. Lee and Sam might be the sweetest guys in the world to Carla, but God help anyone who messes with her. I doubt they would see any such situation as being consensual. For a split second, I already felt sorry for Joey.

  I called Kurt. “You busy?”

  “Nope, just eaten. What’s up?”

  “I need a ride back to work. Looks like Lee and Sam might have found a lead and we need to get to the bottom of this couriered photograph.”

  “All okay at home?”

  “Two quiet and secretive teenagers …”

  “Probably having sex,” he said with an offhanded dismissal. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  I set my phone on the counter next to me. Maria Nay became Bon Jovi’s Lonely at the Top. If they were having sex, surely I’d be hearing a different song, like maybe Dirty Little Secret or Aerosmith’s Love in an Elevator. Dad was making coffee. I watched him spoon the coffee grinds into the filter.

  “You think the kids are covering up sex?”

  He finished what he was doing and pressed the button to start the machine. “I think it’s possible. You second guessing yourself?”

  “You men all jumped right to sex. I’m the only one thinking drugs.”

  “Go talk to the kids … you’ll have time for a coffee before Kurt arrives?”

  “Yeah, should do. Kurt and I will run Joey home on our way. Can you stay tonight?”

  “Of course.”

  I kissed his prickly cheek. “What would we do without you, Dad?”

  “You’re resourceful, you’d manage. Go on, go sneak up the stairs, and catch them being teenagers.”

  I grimaced. “Think I’ll make a lot of noise, the last thing I want to do is catch them doing anything!”

  Dad laughed. “Welcome to parenthood.”

  I walked down the hallway and up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I called out to Carla.

  “Having fun with your homework?” She didn’t reply. So I tried from closer to her door, “Hey kiddo, I’m going to run Joey home soon.”

  She didn’t reply.

  I knocked once on the doorframe, took a breath, and stuck my head into the room.

  Joey and Carla were sitting on the floor, side by side, leaning against the bed. Notebooks rested on their knees and there were pens in their hands.

  “Hey,” I said. Nothing seemed untoward. No clothes awry. Not a hair out of place. No condom wrappers peeking out from under the bed. A shiver ran up my spine.

  “Hey, Mom,” Carla replied, smiling up at me. “We’re almost done.”

  “Great, I’m going to drop Joey home soon.” I pointed to the hallway. “You didn’t hear me?”

  That was when I saw the wires coming out of their ears. They were sharing the iPod. Carla dropped her ear bud. I could hear the music.

  “Sorry, Mom, I thought I heard something.”

  “Sweetie, that is way too loud.”

  Carla rolled her eyes.

  God, I love teenagers. I tapped Joey’s foot with my boot. “Pack up, I’m dropping you home.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Ms. Conway.”

  Just as I turned to leave the room, I caught another weird look between them. I made a mental note to talk to Carla about protection. It did occur to me that I could just tell Delta that I thought they were right about the making out thing. Lee and Sam would make damn sure that Joey didn’t do anything, no matter how much Carla wanted to. That was a mean but viable option if the talk didn’t go well. Teenage boys have a bad rap when it comes to hormones and sex but the ugly truth is girls are often worse.

  Sixteen

  Long Cool Woman

  I stood on the dark doorstep of a townhouse in Fairfax. My finger pressed the doorbell for the third time. This time I heard footsteps.

  The porch light flickered then glowed, illuminating the porch and half the path from the road. The door opened a crack.

  “Hi, I’m Special Agent Conway.” I held up my badge. “Are you Kieran Smith?”

  Silence.

  I tried again. “Kieran Smith?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about an envelope you delivered to the Hoover Building today.”

  “It’s late. Can this wait until tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  And it’s not that late.

  The door opened wider. He was still wearing work clothes. A company shirt with his first name embroidered on it.

  “I deliver a lot of packages during my day,” he said. Yet I had the feeling he remembered the one I was talking about.

  “I’m sure you do. How many times did you go to the FBI building today?”

  “Once.”

  “Where did you pick up the package?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

  I slipped my badge back onto my belt. The movement afforded Mr. Smith a look at my gun holster. Sometimes that served as a memory trigger. From my pocket, I took a notebook and a pen. I ignored Mr. Smith while I flipped through pages and readied the notebook so I could write everything he said.

  “Where was that again?”

  “I … I … don’t …”

  “You’re sure? Because we can continue this conversation at my office.”

  “I think it was from a hotel?”

  “Are you asking or telling? Come on, let’s not make this any harder than it has to be. Where did you pick up the envelope?”

  “The Madison.”

  I wrote the hotel name down. “Room number?”

  “The package was waiting for me at reception.”

  “What time did you collect it?”

  He thought for a minute. “Before nine, but I had a lot of deliveries and pick-ups so I didn’t deliver it until after lunch.”

  “Did you see the person who wanted it delivered?”

  His head shook. “No. It was at the reception desk with a note to take it to the Hoover Building.”

  He looked at me. I could see the wheels turning.

  “And?”

  “It was addressed to a special agent, Ellie Conway. That’s you, right?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “I never saw the person. Try the hotel.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  I turned and hurried down the few porch steps and back to the car. Kurt started the engine before I opened the door. I jumped into the car and fastened my seatbelt.

  “The Madison,” I said. “Isn’t that on 15th?”

  “I think so.”

  I leaned my head back on the headrest and thought about the envelope. I needed to investigate the flash drive that came with it. It’d have to wait until we found the sender and got back to the office.

  I called Lee on my cell phone. “How are you two getting on?”

  “It’s slow.”

  “Tell me about it. Kurt and I are heading to The Madison. Courier said he picked up the envelope there.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. Any word from Misha regarding the live Bleich?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay, see you soon.”

  I hung up and pocketed my phone. Kurt turned on the radio. I hoped a song would throw magic thought seeds my way and grow some kind of an answer as to what the man and the envelope had to do with a dead family. The song that coursed through the airways and into the car took me by surprise. Kurt sang along. ‘Long Cool Woman (In a Black Dress).’ The Hollies. Really?

  The song flowed. I listened. I knew the lyrics by heart. The song spoke to me. It twisted the Hollies original words until I was hearing a new take on an old song. It was backwards. The woman was working for the FBI and a man did the shooting.

  “Kurt.”

  “Ellie?”

  He didn’t look over; he was watching the road and tapping one hand on the steering wheel in time to the music.

  “Do you think it’s p
ossible that the man in the photo was the one who shot me, or could he be the Unsub who killed Sigmund Bleich?”

  “It could just be a song that your mind warped.”

  “It could be.”

  And one day I’m sure it will be, but it felt a little too coincidental.

  “For safety reasons, let’s approach this as if he is your shooter and the Unsub,” Kurt said. “We’re about three minutes out.”

  “Okay.”

  My mind ran over general procedures as I rolled my shoulders and worked some of the tension out of my muscles.

  Kurt pulled over and parked. “We’ll walk from here.”

  “The photo …” I said, climbing out of the car, “… it had to be from a surveillance camera. Why would someone send a photo of themselves taken by a surveillance camera?”

  “Do you have the photo with you?”

  “Not the original, that’s still in the envelope in my drawer at work. I took a picture of it with my phone though.”

  I handed Kurt my phone and waited while he found the image and refreshed his memory. It pays to know what people look like when you’re looking for them. He handed the phone back.

  “Let’s go find out if this guy is here and how that photo came to be.”

  I fell into step with Kurt. As we walked, I shook my right arm out, and ten yards from the main entrance to the hotel I pulled my Glock, checked the magazine, and slid it back into my holster.

  Kurt placed his hand in the small of my back, escorting me through the door that opened for us. I smiled at the doorman.

  My eyes roamed the lobby area, looking for anyone out of place or anyone showing interest in us. Four people were in the lobby. They were all women and seemed to be together.

  I approached the desk and attracted the attention of the attendant.

  “Good evening, ma’am. How can I help?”

  “Were you on this morning before nine?”

  She smiled. “Yes. I’ve only just come back on.” Her nametag read Duty Manager Sophia Creswell.

  For once, our timing didn’t suck.

  I lifted my badge off my belt and showed it to her. “Can we have a quiet word, Ms. Creswell?”

  “Of course. If you will follow me.” She slipped out from behind the desk and motioned to the doorman. He appeared in front of us. “Watch the desk for a few minutes, please. I’ll be in the office.”

  We followed the woman into an office.

  “Have a seat,” she said, sitting down behind a desk. “What can I do for you, Agent?”

  “This morning an envelope was picked up from the front desk here, I’d like to know who left it.”

  She nodded and typed on a keyboard in front of her. “Two packages were left at the front desk for the courier this morning. Can you be more specific?”

  “It was a manila envelope and addressed to the Hoover Building.”

  She smiled. “Sorry, of course, that was left at the desk by a guest.”

  I took a steadying breath. “Do you have a name and room number for that guest?”

  “Yes, I do. Room 235, the guest’s name is Peter Parker. He’s booked here for two more nights.”

  I smiled and showed her the picture on my phone. “Is this Mr. Parker?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Thank you. Stairs and elevator?”

  A smile flickered across the woman’s face. “Just outside the door here.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Creswell.” I pocketed my phone and passed her my card. “If you see Mr. Parker in the lobby area in the next few minutes, call my cell please.”

  “You might need this.” She reached into a drawer and passed me a keycard. “It’s a master key.”

  “Thank you again.” I handed the key to Kurt. “We’ll drop it back on our way out.”

  We left the room. I pushed the elevator button and leaned close to Kurt. “Peter Parker? Spiderman?”

  “An alias. Unless, of course, Spiderman is real.”

  If that’s the case, he could be scaling the exterior walls of the hotel and making his escape. That would explain how our man disappeared so quickly.

  The elevator dinged.

  I grinned at Kurt. “See you up there.”

  I opened the stairwell door, looked around, there was no sign of life. I listened for a moment. No footsteps. With one last look behind me, I ran up the stairs, two at a time. I paused at the fire doors to the floor I wanted. My heart pounded from running. I could see through a narrow slit of glass in the door. Kurt was by the elevator.

  I stepped out of the stairwell, letting the door shut tight behind me before moving away.

  “Direction?” I asked.

  Kurt pointed down the hallway to the left. “Let’s do it,” he said. In his left hand was the keycard, he’d pushed his suit jacket back, revealing his holster.

  Be prepared.

  I wrapped my fingers around the grip but didn’t draw my gun.

  Standing on either side of the door to room 235, hard against the wall, Kurt leaned out and knocked. No answer.

  The elevator dinged. I heard female voices, laughter, and then a male voice. The voices grew louder. Kurt crossed the distance between us. He placed his hands on the wall either side of my head. The voices grew louder.

  Kurt whispered in my ear, “Takes me back to the hospital corridor in Lexington.”

  “We were excellent at playing the newlywed game,” I whispered back.

  Three people giggled as they passed us. I cast my eyes left. Three women. A door opened across the hall. I moved my head in time to see a male enter the room. Down the hall, another door opened.

  Silence fell.

  I pushed Kurt back.

  He grinned, resumed his position by the door and knocked, this time quieter. We didn’t want the guy across the hall to pop back out his door.

  No answer.

  Kurt shoved the key card into the lock. The light glowed green. He pressed the handle down and swung open the door.

  I followed him in. Kurt went right. I went left. We cleared the room. There was no one home. No luggage. No sign anyone was ever here.

  I sat on the perfectly made bed. “Damn.”

  “Yeah,” Kurt replied, leaning over and peering into the wastepaper basket by the small desk. He straightened up and rummaged in his pocket. He pulled on latex gloves and bent down. From the wastepaper basket, he lifted up a crumpled piece of paper. Kurt opened the paper with care, holding it by the very edges, and showed it to me.

  “My name and the address for the Hoover Building.”

  “Now we know he was here.” From another pocket, he removed a plastic evidence bag and slid the paper into it.

  “But who is he? Where’d he go? Why did he have a piece of paper with my name on it? And why send me the photo with no name?”

  “I see you want all the answers.”

  “Please.”

  “We might get lucky and be able to pull prints off the paper.”

  I didn’t feel that lucky.

  “Leaving prints behind would be a rookie mistake and I don’t think this guy is that stupid,” I said.

  “The lobby. Let’s go see if he had a car. There’s valet parking.”

  We hurried back to the lobby.

  Sophia Creswell was attending to a small group. We waited to one side, all the while watching for signs of a lone male. Five minutes later Sophia Creswell beckoned us over.

  “How can I help, Agents?”

  “Valet parking and surveillance cameras,” I said. “Did Mr. Parker have a car?”

  “I believe so,” she replied, tapping on the keyboard. Her long nails clicked as she typed. “Yes, he has a car. It’s a white Ford Taurus, a rental.”

  “Can we view your surveillance tapes for the last few days?”

  She frowned and considered my request. “I don’t see why not. I’ll take you through to the security office.”

  Seventeen

  Who Are You?

  My watch said it was four in the m
orning. Tuesday was upon us. The clocks on the wall of my office told me the time in various time zones – none of them made me feel less tired. For most of the night, I was with Kurt trying to find Spiderman. The later it got the less sense anything made.

  Lee, Sam, and Kurt were in their respective offices working on the Spiderman issue. I pulled favors and had the paper from the hotel examined for prints at the lab. Finding latent prints on paper involves chemicals. It’s not something we can do in the field ourselves, yet. The results came back. A big fat zero. No prints. Which was what I expected but it was still disappointing.

  While I’d been out of the office yesterday, the motel in West Virginia sent a DVD copy of the surveillance footage from the motel office and a photocopy of Chad’s driver’s license.

  I pulled the license up on the DMV screen and copied the picture into a facial recognition program. The only person who’d seen Chad was Noel. I gave him a call. He wasn’t asleep either.

  Twenty minutes later a quiet knock on my door snapped me out of the trance I was in. Noel entered my office without my bidding.

  “Don’t you sleep?” he said placing a coffee in front of me.

  “Not tonight.”

  “I’m sure you have a good reason.”

  “Check this out.” I beckoned him closer, without taking my eyes off the screen in front of me and the surveillance footage I watched.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Him,” I said bringing up the DMV photo of a man.

  “The bleeder.”

  “Yep, the bleeder, let’s call him Chad.”

  Anything was better than referring to him as the bleeder.

  “And?”

  I pulled up another photo from our internal files. “This is Mac.”

  Noel whistled through his teeth. “Okay.”

  “That’s it. Okay?”

  “Wow me.”

  I clicked my mouse pointer on an icon. A facial recognition program opened. I opened the last search I’d run and showed Noel the results.

  The red words under the picture of the bleeder announced an eighty-five per cent match with Mac.

  “Eighty-five per cent.”

  “That’s why the security camera photos? What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s not him, El.”

  “No, it’s not. But for some reason he’s an eighty-five per cent replica. That’s enough to fool almost anyone.”