Allison Brennan - Silenced

“We have a heavy workload, too,” Noah said. “I don’t know what you think we can do that your more-than-capable department can’t accomplish.”

“Maybe,” Genie said. Lucy watched Genie’s eyes drift from Noah to the bloody bed. She could practically hear Genie’s thought process.

No one’s going to care about one more dead hooker.

Lucy couldn’t bear the thought of Nicole Bellows’s murder going to the bottom of anyone’s workload. A black hooker in a bad area wasn’t going to get much attention. Genie was a good cop, but if she didn’t get any leads in the next seventy-two hours, the case would be cold, replaced by three others.

“But we can handle this,” Lucy interjected.

Noah jerked his head toward her, eyes wide, surprised and angry in a way she had never seen him. She realized she’d contradicted him, and she wanted to apologize, but couldn’t bring herself to back down. If she didn’t fight to prioritize Nicole Bellows’s death, who would?

“Genie said the killer left a message, shouldn’t we look at it before we just cut loose?” Lucy said, almost tripping over her words to get them out. “This isn’t a simple robbery. What if it matches with a cold case? What if the killer is targeting other prostitutes? How many of these young women have to die before people pay attention? Wendy James has the media all over the place, but a black prostitute in the slums isn’t going to get an inch of column space, let alone featured on the five o’clock news.”

She’d overstepped big-time. Noah’s fists tightened just once, but for a man who rarely showed his temper, she noticed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. “I don’t know where that came from.”

But she did know exactly where her outrage came from: fear. Fear that victims like Nicole Bellows would be forgotten. Panic that more victims would follow and no one would care. That if they couldn’t solve this murder and put the killer in prison, Nicole Bellows would haunt her. Worse, that she couldn’t stop the violence.

Noah didn’t say anything to Lucy. He turned to Genie. “Where’s the message?”

Genie’s expression showed her curiosity over the exchange, but she simply replied, “The bathroom. You can’t miss it.”

Noah walked into the small bathroom first. There wasn’t room for both of them, so Lucy waited. When he came out, he said, “I’ll call my boss.”

He walked out of the motel room without looking at Lucy.

Lucy stepped inside. The stained and bloody pedestal sink had no counter. Inside the cracked basin lay a good-sized rat, dead and gutted. The poor creature’s internal organs had been pulled half out of its body, a bloody mess Lucy could barely identify.

The butchered rat was bad enough. But a message had been written in blood on the aged, cracked mirror.

Six blind mice

See how they run

Then Lucy noticed the rat’s tail had been cut off.

Lucy ignored the people hanging around outside the motel, though their numbers seemed to have increased during the fifteen minutes they’d inspected room 119.

Noah had stepped away to talk to Slater, and Lucy hoped he wasn’t irrevocably angry.

You shouldn’t have jumped down his throat.

Noah had always been supportive of her career, had stood up for her even when her ideas went against protocol. He cared about victims, but didn’t wear his compassion on his sleeve like she did.

Six blind mice.

Were there six victims? Was Nicole the first? The last? Would there be more to come?

See how they run.

Lucy had studied killers of all stripes in both criminal psychology coursework and on her own. Her life had brought her face-to-face with evil many times: her cousin’s murder when they were seven, her brothers and sister in law enforcement talking bluntly about their jobs, when she was raped at eighteen. Then years of schooling and internships studying crimes and criminals. She had a gift-or a curse-for getting into the heads of both killers and victims.

This killer was taunting someone, but the message didn’t seem to be directed at police. It was almost an internal thought on his part, a private joke.

Six blind mice.

The children’s rhyme only had three mice, so six seemed especially important, a signal to law enforcement or a threat. A rat could mean the victim had said something to police. Children’s rhymes were singsong, and in this context seemed taunting. Why cut off the tail?

Lucy played the song in her head.

Three blind mice, three blind mice

See how they run, see how they run

They all ran after the farmer’s wife

Who cut off their tails with a carving knife

Did you ever see such a sight in your life

As three blind mice.

Did the tail have any significance to the killer? Or did he cut off the tail just because of the song? Had he planned to kill the rat, did he bring it with him, or was the act an afterthought? Did he intend to mislead the cops, to cloud the motive?

The scene didn’t feel like a serial killer to Lucy, but she couldn’t articulate why. No rape. No rage. Clean kill, a message. Uncovering why Nicole Bellows was killed would lead them directly to the killer, Lucy was certain about that.

The killer didn’t rape his victim. They may have had consensual sex, and Lucy wanted to go to the morgue to get a jump on any potential evidence. Time was always a critical factor in a homicide investigation.

Noah approached Lucy. “Don’t contradict me in public.”

Lucy’s stomach flipped. He was still angry with her. She needed to make this right. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I know you care, I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t.”

“It stung,” he said simply, then moved on. “You told Detective Reid that we can handle the case. It’s not your call.” Noah was stern. “Just remember, I’m the FBI agent, you’re the analyst.”

His words were true, but he’d never been so harsh. He’d always treated her like a partner, not a novice.

“I understand,” she said, hoping she kept the hurt from her tone.

He continued. “You’re going to be liaison between Genie Reid and me. You want this, you got it. If there’s anything that points to a serial murderer, any verified leads, we’ll reassess whether we officially step in. But right now, this is a DC metro case and we’re observing.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Josh Stein wants you off Wendy James, and this is the only way you’re not going to be chained to your desk for the next three weeks. I’m going to talk to Detective Reid and make sure she’s satisfied with this arrangement.”

He strode away and spoke quietly to Genie.

She wished she could take it all back. She didn’t want to work with the DC police, she wanted to work with Noah. She’d already learned so much from him, every day she felt she was better prepared not only to start the Academy, but to be an agent. When they had downtime, he told her what to expect in classes, some of the tricks, how to maneuver through the bureaucracy. Though her sister-in-law was an instructor at Quantico and also helpful, Kate had been a recruit fifteen years ago. A different time, a different program. Noah graduated less than four years ago.

Their friendship had just taken a big hit, and it was her fault. She had to find some way to repair the damage.

Genie and Noah approached. “Welcome aboard,” Genie said. “Agent Armstrong says you’re with me, and I’m glad for the help, even temporary-you’re still deputized, right? He said you’d come from the Arlington Sheriff’s Department?”

She nodded, wishing she knew what Noah had said to Genie about her. “I worked there a year ago, yes.”