Allison Brennan - Silenced

He didn’t remember sleeping beauty’s last name, and it didn’t really matter because she’d be dead and buried soon enough. He didn’t go for black chicks, but if he did it would be someone like Nicole. She had those tight braids and beads that made her look exotic, big tits, and a wide mouth. She wasn’t girl-next-door pretty-those were the girls Brian preferred-but she was hot.

Nicole moved in her sleep. Did she sense him watching?

He grabbed her long braids. Half-asleep, she jumped up and lurched toward him. Her hands came at him in fists, her face twisted in terror.

Before Nicole was fully awake, he slit her throat.

He immediately dropped her back on the bed. In the sickly yellow light coming through the thin curtains, he saw the blood pour out of her wide, open neck. Wow, it almost looked like it did in the movies, but it smelled awful. Not just blood, but she’d also peed down her leg. The stink made him gag.

“That’s disgusting,” he said.

He didn’t want to see or smell it. He grabbed the corner of the sheet and pulled it over her. He jerked it too hard, and her body fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

He paused, listened. Had the rabbits fucking in the room above him heard anything? He couldn’t hear the bed bouncing anymore. Then he heard the guy groan in a weird, animal-like voice, then the bouncing started again, louder and faster than before.

Brian took the time to rinse his knife in the bathroom sink. Even the water in this place was putrid, a pale yellow stream. And warm, like piss. He needed a long, hot shower after being in this hellhole.

He wiped the blade on a towel and picked up Nicole’s backpack. Maybe she had a map where all the girls were hiding. He grinned. If she did, he’d be going on a treasure hunt! She probably wasn’t that dumb, but she had come back here, so she wasn’t too smart, either.

He searched the pockets quickly. A slip of paper had been hastily folded and stuffed in the front of the bulging bag. He unfolded it.

Hotel Potomac

He knew the place well. Could it really be this easy? Did he have time to get over there now?

That wouldn’t be smart, and he was the smart brother. He needed to confirm the others were there, and if so, what room. How long would they stay? What kind of security did the hotel have?

Those were the smart questions that needed to be addressed. He’d head over there at dawn and check it out. Maybe get himself a room for the night.

Something ran across his foot. He jumped, almost yelped. A rat. It scurried to the dead body. Was it going to eat her? Kinda cool, in a gross way.

Then he got an idea.

He was so much smarter than Ned.

He grabbed the rat with surprising agility and slammed it against the dresser to stun it.

He was going to have some fun.

Wednesday

To call the Red Light motel seedy may have been cliched, but Lucy Kincaid couldn’t think of a better adjective. The motel boasted hourly rates, weekly specials, and was at least a decade overdue for a paint job. Under the sweltering July sun, the exterior appeared a molted shade of green, but up close Lucy realized it was sun-bleached wood.

“What a dump.” Noah flashed his badge to the DC cop standing in front of the crime scene tape that blocked off room 119. Six people crowded the room that couldn’t be more than three hundred square feet, four wearing bright Windbreakers identifying them as CSU.

“Wait here,” the cop said, his husky voice matching his hefty frame. Into his radio he said, “Detective Reid? The feds are here.”

A female responded. “Dammit, Taback, keep them outside, too many people. I’ll be there when I get there. Shit, Greg, didn’t you-” The radio cut off.

Though the body had been removed, flies buzzed in and out of the doorway, attracted to the smell of dried blood and the lingering scent of decomposing flesh. At noon, the temperature topped ninety-nine degrees with humidity to match, just like yesterday’s crime scene. It was on days like this that Lucy missed her hometown of San Diego.

Lucy and Noah stepped away from the door to let two CSU technicians exit with large evidence bags already sealed and labeled, though Lucy couldn’t make out the wording.

“We shouldn’t even be here.” Noah stood straight, hands behind his back, legs slightly apart, looking more like former military than she’d seen him. He watched everything through narrowed eyes, his irritation increasing with the temperature.

When the call came in from DC asking for an assist, Slater assigned Noah. They’d been behind closed doors for ten minutes before Noah walked out, the apparent loser in the argument. He’d hardly spoken on the drive over.

“I thought Josh was fine about you taking the Wendy James murder.”

“We’re still on it. We’re here, ” he jerked his head toward room 119, “because of budget cuts and lack of manpower, both for DC and us. There was no one else Slater could send this morning, unless he called in one of the resident agencies.”

All they’d been told was the homicide had special circumstances. A serial murderer, maybe, or perhaps the victim was a federal official, or there was another federal crime component to the case.

Noah continued, “I wanted to be at Stein’s meeting with the U.S. attorney this morning. He wouldn’t postpone it.”

“It’s his way of reminding you he’s in charge.”

A dozen cops filled the parking lot, keeping nosy bystanders behind the crime scene tape. Human curiosity to stop and observe death, pain, and suffering had always saddened and angered Lucy. Did any of them care enough to help someone in trouble? Or was their compassion limited to being horrified only after tragedy?

The creepy sensation of being watched made Lucy shiver, even in this heat. Second-floor guests peered over the railing above her, many shirtless, some smoking, all watching the investigation with unveiled animosity. Watching her. One young punk made a crude gesture when she accidentally caught his eye. She averted her eyes, cheeks flaming, embarrassed and disgusted.

“This crime scene is a mess,” Noah muttered.

A sharp, feminine voice snapped, “Sorry to be such an incompetent local.”

They turned to face the lead detective who’d been on the other end of Taback’s radio. Detective Reid had dark skin with equally dark hair cut close to the scalp. Only the wrinkles around her eyes suggested she was closer to fifty than forty.

She jerked off blue latex gloves and dumped them in a plastic bag, which she handed to another cop. Lucy noticed a long, jagged scar that started midway up her left tricep and disappeared under her sweat-dampened short-sleeved white blouse. Lucy wondered at the circumstances of the nasty injury. Had she gotten it on the job?

“Detective Genie Reid, senior detective. And you’re the feds.”

“Special Agent Noah Armstrong, analyst Lucy Kincaid. And the crime scene is a mess.”

“Don’t I know fucking know it. Shit!” She pulled out a coin purse from her pocket. “Whenever I get a case like this, I owe my grandson big.”

She took two quarters from one side of the coin purse and put them on the other, bulkier, side.

“Your grandson?” Lucy asked, curious.

“I promised Isaiah-he’s nine-that I’d stop swearing. On the honor system, I give him a quarter every time I say anything worse than ‘damn.’” She looked down at her coin purse. “I started with five dollars in quarters today. He’s already earned three-seventy-five and it’s not even noon.”

Lucy grinned. “You’ll be paying his way through college.”

“I already have, honey,” Genie said. “I told the CSU to clear out.” She hollered into the room. “I meant clear out now, people!”