Allison Brennan - Stalked

That Weber had been murdered left Lucy feeling guilty, with relief that was short-lived. Rosemary Weber wasn’t the only true crime writer out there. What if she had a partner? What if her notes were passed on to another writer?

There was nothing Lucy could do to change what might happen, and that, coupled with the watchful eyes of Rich Laughlin, had combined to throw Lucy off her game today.

She couldn’t let it happen again.

Her 32 on the range was her own damn fault, not Laughlin’s or Kate’s or Rosemary Weber’s. Lucy had allowed Laughlin to get into her head. Ninety-three was her best, but she would work her ass off to get a perfect score. She’d match the soldiers in her class as if she’d been trained in the military herself. When the real test came up, she was going to ace it, because she knew she could do it. She had to.

If she allowed stress to affect her shooting or her ability to handle physical challenges like the pull-ups, she didn’t deserve to be an agent.

After twenty laps of regular strokes, she flipped and did ten laps of backstrokes. Her muscles burned and she realized she’d slacked off on her swimming regimen. She used to be able to do the backstroke with ease, but it used different muscles, muscles she hadn’t used in a long while. She finished her workout with two easy laps and climbed out of the pool. Her heart raced; she felt invigorated and alive.

That’s when Lucy felt Harden looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re good.”

“I know,” she said, then added modestly, “I was on the swim team in college.”

He nodded. “Could have gone to the Olympics, had you wanted.”

“If you knew, why’d you ask?”

“Why didn’t you?”

She shrugged. “Not sure I would have made it. I never tried to qualify.”

“You don’t seem like a quitter to me.”

She didn’t like that he was trying to analyze her or her motivations.

She grabbed her towel and dried off. “Can I speak freely, sir?”

He nodded.

“The pull-ups yesterday were unfair and unwarranted. Were they a test? To see how I handle stress?” Maybe that was Laughlin’s game as well-to see how she handled the pressure. But then what were he and Kate arguing about?

Harden shrugged, looked like he was going to walk out without saying anything, then changed his mind. “You’re smart enough to get through these nineteen weeks. You’re physically fit, and I have no doubt you’ll pass the PT test with one of the top scores. But the Academy is not just about written or physical tests. Neither is this chosen career. Don’t ever forget it.”

That was a long-winded yes.

“Thank you, sir.”

He smiled, the first genuine smile she’d seen from Harden since she’d been here. “If you need a partner to swim in the future, let me know. It’s obviously good for you.”

*

After her shower, she found a message on her cell phone from Tony Presidio.

“Lucy, call me. It’s important.”

He’d left the message nearly an hour ago, at three thirty. She quickly dressed and called him back.

“I just got your message.”

“Have you read the file I gave you?”

“Most of it. Is something wrong?”

“I need to see my notes. Something’s nagging me and I can’t remember what. I’m flying back tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I’ll be at Quantico about nine thirty. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Did you learn something about Rosemary Weber?”

“All her research and notes from the Rachel McMahon investigation are gone. She’d archived them at the Columbia University library, but the file box has disappeared. They believe it was just misplaced, but I’m certain it was stolen.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea, but there’s something at the edge of my memory that I’m hoping my notes will jar loose.”

“Do you think Weber’s murder has something to do with a fifteen-year-old crime, and not her research into the Cinderella Strangler?”

“I thought she was killed because of something she had already written, not what she was researching; and with the McMahon files gone, all fingers point to that case as being important. If you can finish reading her books tonight and put together the list of people who may have a reason to kill her, send it to both Madeaux and me, but the McMahon case is the priority.”

“I will.” She’d eat in her room and finish the material before he returned tonight.

“For the time being, keep this between you and me. I’ll clear it with your supervisor when I get back.”

New York City

Rob Banker was seventy and, aside from wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, looked surprisingly fit for being a smoker. He agreed to meet with Tony and Suzanne provided they talk outside where he could light up.

Suzanne hated cigarette smoke. She’d smoked through high school and college, quitting only when she entered the FBI Academy. Being around cigarettes, even after ten years, always made her crave just one. But one would quickly turn into a pack and she’d be back to her old habits.

“Rosie was a good egg,” Rob said. “If I was twenty years younger.” He took a long drag on his Marlboro.

“This conversation is off-the-record, Banker,” Suzanne said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re writing articles for the damn paper and I don’t want my questions getting in print.”

He grinned. “And I don’t want to be decked.”

Suzanne glared at the reporter. “I’ll bring you to the Bureau and you’ll miss your deadline.”

“Fine, off-the-record.” He exhaled, and let out the smoke in a long, angled puff.

“She had a meeting scheduled with you the night she died,” Suzanne said. She didn’t know for certain that it was Banker, but he’d either confirm or deny.

“She canceled on me. We were supposed to meet at nine thirty at Gilly’s, the bar where we usually meet.”

“Any specific reason for the meeting?”

He shrugged. “To talk. Rosemary doesn’t trust a lot of people, but she and I go way back, and she bounced ideas off me. She called Monday morning and said she wanted to talk about the book-”

“The book she’s writing about the Cinderella Strangler,” Tony said to confirm.

Rob grinned. “I coined the phrase.”

Suzanne glared at him. “The victims were suffocated.”

He shrugged, puffed on his cigarette a couple times, took his time to answer. “I said as much in every article. It’s what sticks. And it gave the story legs, helped get the word out to potential victims to watch out.”

Suzanne wanted to argue with him, but Tony asked, “Did she tell you why she was canceling?”

“Not really. I wish I’d asked her.” He seemed sincere.

“What did she say?”

“Only that she was checking out a lead on an informant.”

“Informant? Like a criminal informant?”

“No-she meant someone in law enforcement who was willing to talk off the record.”

“Don’t you call those people sources?”

“Usually, but Rosie had a sense of humor. She liked to call cops informants.”

“So she was meeting with a cop?”

“Not necessarily-could have been a secretary, a dispatcher, even a janitor, anyone who worked for NYPD, really. Or maybe, because the case was federal, someone in your own house.”

Suzanne doubted that, but Tony looked like he believed it. “Anything else?” Tony asked. “Did she have any sense that she was being followed, that she could be in danger?”

“Not that she told me. But I only talked to her a couple times a month. Her sister would probably know more.”

They’d already asked Bridget Weber the same question. Suzanne said, “What about threatening letters?”