Mariah Stewart - Last Words

Shit.

She picked up the phone and listened to the message her boss had left for her hours earlier.

“Mia, John. Call me whenever you get this message, doesn’t matter what time it is. It’s important. There’s a new case we need to talk about…”

Mia watched the boats out in the harbor from the conference room window in the St. Dennis police department. It was a perfect July day, with the clearest of blue skies, low humidity, and temperatures in the mid-eighties. What an incredible view, she thought as a large sailboat entered the harbor, its sails at half-mast. How does anyone get any work done around here?

She rested her elbows on the windowsill and tried to keep her impatience in check. The conversation she’d had with John last night had been short and sweet and to the point.

“Female vic found encased in plastic, left in the backseat of the police chief’s car, second such victim found in three days. Chief of police has requested assistance. You’re the closest agent to the scene. First thing in the morning, you’re there. Good luck-it’s your baby now.”

Or would be, if the chief of police would have the courtesy to show up.

She drained the cup of coffee the dispatcher had brought her when she first arrived over a half hour ago. It was cold and not so bad, as cop coffee went, but her stomach was leaning toward slightly upset and she could have used a Coke.

She’d been told that the chief was in a meeting off-site, but was expected to arrive any minute. She hoped it would be soon. She pushed aside the coffee and stepped into the hall.

“Excuse me,” she called to the dispatcher.

He turned to her, the phone in his hand.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was just wondering if there was a soda machine…”

“What’s your pleasure?” He hung up the phone.

“I’d kill for a Coke.”

“Can okay?”

“Whatever form it comes in is more than okay.”

“Right through that third door you’ll find the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever you want.”

“Thank you. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Not at all. I’m sorry you’re having to wait so long.”

Mia found the kitchen and the promised cold can of soda. She popped the lid and took a long drink. Better than coffee for an upset stomach, she told herself as she returned to one of the uncomfortable chairs in the conference room. Yesterday’s local newspaper was there on the table; she scanned the headlines.

ALL WRAPPED UP! shouted the front page of the tabloid paper. Body wrapped in plastic left for anguished parents! Ballard woman suffocated!

No wonder everyone’s panicking, reading crap like this. What moron gave out all that information to the press?

She folded the paper and tossed it to the opposite end of the table in disgust.

“…waiting for you in the conference room,” Mia heard the dispatcher say.

“Great. Give him some coffee and tell him I’ll be in in just a second.”

“Ahhh, Chief-”

“Be right there, Garland. Gotta take this call, I’ll make it fast…”

Why did they always expect a guy? She shook her head. Women had been in the FBI for years, and yet people were still surprised when the agent they were expecting wore a skirt. Or in her case, well-cut black linen pants and a crisp white shirt.

His entrance into the room caught her off guard.

If he was surprised to find that Agent Shields was a woman, he hid it well.

“Agent Shields, I’m Gabriel Beck.” He approached her with an open hand and a weary smile. “I apologize for making you wait. I see someone’s brought you a drink. Can I get you a refill?”

“No thank you.” She took his hand and gave it the firm shake she reserved for those times when she felt she needed to assert herself. She fished her credentials from her bag and handed them over. “I’m sure you’ll want to look these over.”

He did. When he was finished, he handed them back and took the chair directly opposite hers.

“You’ve been brought up to date?” He asked.

“Only by the local paper.” She pointed to the end of the table.

“That was a pretty bad piece.” He shook his head. “You wonder what people are thinking when they write crap like that.”

“They’re thinking about how many papers they’re going to sell.” She folded her arms on the table.

“I’m sure they had a banner day, then.” He leaned back in his chair. “I had a long talk with your Agent Mancini yesterday afternoon, I assumed he passed on everything we talked about.”

“He told me about the two bodies that were found, how they were found, and where. Both victims were from towns nearby, is that correct?”

He nodded. “Right. The first was found on the front porch of her family home, the second was found here, in the backseat of my car.” He added wryly, “My personal car.”

“Nice touch on his part. How’d he get the car open?”

“Apparently I’d left it unlocked.”

“So he just walked onto your property in the middle of the night and dumped the body in your car and no one heard or saw anything?” she asked.

“Not a thing. It had to have been between the hours of one and five in the morning. I was downstairs reading until a little before one, and I was up again at five. I try to run four mornings each week. I left the house at ten after five and got back around five forty-five.”

“And you didn’t notice anything at all?”

“The car was parked behind the house, in front of the garage. I left and returned through the front door. It wasn’t until I was leaving for a meeting around seven thirty that I found the body.”

“The car’s been impounded?”

“The lab people are still working on the bare amount of trace our people were able to recover. The killer had apparently hosed down the plastic to remove anything that might have clung to the wrappings before he put her into the car.”

“Fingerprints?” she asked.

“Not a one.”

“Careful, wasn’t he?” She tapped her fingers on the table. “And thorough. Not taking any chances at all. But that’s a brassy move, leaving her for you to find. She was from St. Dennis?”

He shook his head. “No. She was from a nearby town, Cameron. At least, we’re thinking she was. A young woman named Mindy Kenneher went missing there a few weeks before the woman who’d been found on Sunday night. I’m expecting to hear back from the ME any time now. I was meeting with the chief of police from Cameron when you arrived. He was on his way to the morgue to take a look at the body.”

“He hadn’t seen her yet?”

“The ME spent hours with the remains yesterday and last night. The condition of the body apparently made it very slow going. As hot as it’s been this past week, decomposition accelerated inside the plastic. She-the ME, Dr. Reilly-is very thorough. She’s taking her time with this.”

“It’s my understanding there was a tape found with the first body,” she said. “Was there one with the second as well?”

“Yes, but because of the breakdown of bodily fluids inside the plastic, the tape was saturated and has been compromised. Agent Mancini said the FBI labs could work on that, see if they could improve the quality. Unfortunately, right now it’s inaudible.”

“I’m sure we can help with that. Any chance I can listen to the tape that was found with the first victim?”

“The chief in Ballard has that; I’ll have him make a copy. And I’ve already requested a copy of his file, and the file from Cameron. We’ll get you whatever you need.”

“Chief, why do you suppose he left the body for you to find?”

“Beck,” he told her. “Everyone calls me Beck. And I don’t know why he picked me, except for the fact that I attended the press conference Chief Daley held over in Ballard the other day. There were four of us, police chiefs from four communities. Five all together, including Daley.”