Allison Brennan - Silenced

It was the same girl who had taken Jocelyn’s car from the hotel the night the Taylors had been murdered. The same girl who’d returned, presumably found the bodies, but ran instead of calling the police.

“This is Ivy?”

“Jocelyn gave me that a few months back, wanting to know if she’d been reported missing. I ran her picture through our database; she didn’t come up.”

What secrets are you hiding, Ivy?

Cathy continued, “Trust me when I tell you this: Ivy is bad news. Why else would Jocelyn keep things from me?”

“It looks like these murders are connected to Jocelyn’s work,” Genie said as she drove across town to Hawthorne Street. “I want to talk to the neighbors, check the house.” She got on the phone with her team to get the details about the fire.

Lucy sent Noah an e-mail through her phone about what they had learned, growing increasingly frustrated with the small keyboard. She wanted to talk to him about Wendy James and the message left on her body, along with the idea to show both Wendy and Maddie’s pictures to Cora Fox, but she didn’t want to do it over messaging.

And she especially wanted to talk to him about Senator Paxton. She wanted to talk to Jonathon one-on-one, but she wouldn’t do it behind Noah’s back. He wasn’t involved in killing Chris and Jocelyn Taylor, but she had no doubt that if he knew who had killed them, he would seek his own vengeance.

He’d done it before.

But she could put none of that in e-mail. And she couldn’t tell Noah that, because he would ask her why she hadn’t come forward with the information she had on the senator. And she would have to say she didn’t have proof, she had no evidence, she just had her intuition and a theory and her masters degree in criminal psychology.

Plus the fact that she understood Jonathon Paxton better than anyone else.

She closed her note with a request to talk to him as soon as possible about a theory. She hoped he’d call her immediately, and waited for her phone to vibrate the entire drive over to Hawthorne. It didn’t.

Genie pulled up in front of the burned remains of what appeared to have been a large, Craftsman-style home-though it was hard to tell as every wall was black from soot and smoke.

Caution tape surrounded the crumbling structure.

What was left of the house was on a quiet, tree-lined street with well-maintained, stately, older homes. It was only blocks from a main thoroughfare, but the blocks surrounding it were equally attractive. It wasn’t what most people think of when they think “Washington, DC,” but Lucy had lived here long enough to know there were many pockets like this in the city.

“I talked to the lead fire investigator,” Genie said. “They believe it started in the basement. The house was on an old furnace system, but the owners”-she looked at her notes-“George and Karen Schwartz, currently of Satellite Beach, Florida, said they have maintenance records that the furnace had a clean bill of health as of March.”

“Any fatalities?”

“No, though two firefighters were injured fighting the blaze. The renters haven’t come forward.”

“And the house was rented to Ivy? Do we have a last name yet?”

“The owners don’t know-they use a property management company.”

“And?”

“And no one has talked to them yet. The fire started before dawn Tuesday morning, the owners were contacted later that day. By this morning, it got buried under eight more investigations. They’re sending me a copy of the file.”

They walked around the property, but found nothing of interest. Everything inside the house had been destroyed by fire or water from the fire suppression. There seemed to be little left. Lucy wasn’t an expert on fires, but this one must have burned hot and fast.

“Was there any accelerant?” she asked.

“That’s inconclusive as well-they’re awaiting lab results.”

“It’s highly suspicious that the house where two of our victims lived was burned down this week,” Lucy said.

“You’re thinking that the killer tried to take care of all of them at once.”

“But they got out-or maybe they weren’t here.”

“Then why burn it down?” Genie asked. “As a warning?”

“We should talk to the neighbors.”

“I’ll take left and right, you go across the street,” Genie said.

The first house Lucy approached was a white, two-story, clapboard-style home with an inviting covered porch. She knocked and an elderly woman answered the door. After identifying herself, she learned that Mrs. Patricia Neel was a retired federal employee. She was shriveled with age, but had all her faculties.

Lucy said, “I’m looking for the young women who lived in the house.” She gestured toward the remains across the street.

“A tragedy,” Mrs. Neel said. “What happened?”

“The arson investigator is looking into it, but we think they may be in danger. They haven’t come forward since the fire.”

“Of course they’re in danger, their house burned down. That was no accident.”

“You know for a fact it wasn’t an accident?”

“I didn’t see anyone toss a match on the place, if that’s what you mean. But houses just don’t burn down like that. There was an explosion, everyone on the street heard it, and my hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

“What time was that?”

“Just after four in the morning, it woke me up and I looked at my clock. It wasn’t a big explosion, and I think there were two, and I heard the second. You know how that is, where you think you hear something, but aren’t quite sure. I thought they all died in the house.”

“The fire department said there were no fatalities.”

“I know, but it burned so fast, and when I went out on the street I didn’t see any of the girls. I told the fire chief the same thing, and they inspected the building, didn’t find anyone inside.”

The girls had to have been at the fire-the CSU had found clothing that reeked of smoke. Maybe they had some kind of a warning and got out quickly. Or they had been involved. But why would Ivy or any of the other girls burn down a rental house?

Unless they wanted someone to think they were dead.

“Do you know the girls?”

“Some of them. They’re very quiet, keep to themselves. But I went over there a couple of times-kept my eye on the place, you know. Karen Schwartz-she and her husband moved to Florida when they retired-asked me to let her know if there were any problems. They were good girls. All in college. Except for Mina.”

College? “Who’s Mina?”

“Sweetest girl. Very sad, though. Her sister was upset she kept coming over here to talk to me, but Mina was lonely, and with her sister and the other girls taking night classes, she was scared being alone in the house. She’d come over for tea after dinner and we’d chat or watch television. Nothing important-she was very quiet, just liked company.”

“Do you know her sister?”

“Ivy.”

“Does Ivy have a last name?”

“Hmm, Harris, I think.” Lucy made a note, and Mrs. Neel continued. “After the second or third time Ivy found Mina here, she told me that their parents were killed in an accident, and she was taking care of Mina, but that she worried that social services would separate them because Ivy was only eighteen. At least she was eighteen then. It’s been nearly two years. I told her as long as Ivy was as responsible as she seemed, there didn’t seem to be any reason to notify anyone. Mina loved her sister. I think they had a very rough childhood.”

“Do you know how old she was?”

“Oh, I don’t know-she’s been here for nearly two years, I think she was thirteen when they moved in. Beautiful young woman. Ivy agreed to let Mina visit me when she wanted, but I haven’t seen them much the last few weeks.”