Cul de Sac
Most girls that date semi-wealthy guys get jewelry and cars, she thought as she walked to the soon-to-be lounge area. Me…I got a bar. Not a bad deal, I guess.
She did feel a little out of her depth most of the time when she thought about the road ahead. She’d actually be in charge of a place. She’d be running things and making decisions. There was also a degree of guilt to it as well. She felt the opportunity had been handed to her for no real reason other than she had happened to end up in a relationship with a guy that knew how to get businesses started. As a result, she was aware that there were many things she had to sacrifice and things she simply allowed Sam to get away with. She never questioned his late nights out, always buying the stories that he was in meetings or with contractors, wining and dining them. She’d been a part of some of those meetings, so she knew it was true—most of the time.
She also felt that she had to show her appreciation as often as she could. That meant not nagging when she didn’t see him for several days. It meant not getting too up in arms when he expected certain things in the bedroom. It meant not getting pissy because despite buying her a bar and trusting her to run it, the whole idea of marriage had not been mentioned a single time. Danielle was pretty sure Sam had no intentions of getting married. And for now, she was fine with that, so she saw no reason to argue about it.
Besides…what did she have to complain about? She’d finally met a guy who treated her like royalty—when he was around—and she seemed to be on a path to easily earned success.
It’s because most things that seem too good to be true usually are, she thought.
When she reached the room that was going to be the lounge area, she pulled the digital blueprints up on her phone. She made indications where the speakers could go and also made a note about potentially adding some sort of tinted window along the back wall. It was in doing things like this that she felt the dream of it all becoming a reality. Somehow, this was all really happening to her.
“Hey…”
She turned and saw Sam standing in the framed doorway. He was smiling at her and looking at her with the hungry expression he often shot her way when he was feeling frisky.
“Hey yourself,” she said.
“I know it seems like I just brushed you off,” he said. “But really…these next few weeks, all I’m really going to need from you are a few signatures.”
“You’re working me too hard,” she joked.
“I fully intended for your training with the newbie at the bar to take longer. It’s not my fault we ended up hiring a bartending genius.” He approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She had to look up into his eyes but it always made her feel safe for some odd reason; it made her feel like this man would always literally watch over her.
“Let’s grab lunch later today,” Sam said. “Something simple. Pizza and beer.”
“Sounds good.”
“And tomorrow…what do you say we go somewhere. A beach…South Carolina or somewhere like that.”
“Really? That seems spontaneous and very much like a burden to all of this work around us. In other words…it sounds nothing like you.”
“I know. But I’ve been getting so wrapped up in this project and…I realize I’ve been neglecting you. So I want to make it up to you.”
“Sam, you’re giving me my own business. That’s more than enough.”
“Fine. I’ll be selfish about it then. I want to get away from all of this and be naked and alone with you near the ocean. That sound better?”
“It does, actually.”
“Good. So go to the bar, check in on the newbie. I’ll pick you up for lunch around noon.”
She kissed him and although he was clearly rushing it, the sentiment of everything he had just said did not escape her. She knew it was hard for him to be emotional and sincere. She rarely saw that side of him so when she did, she dared not question it.
Danielle walked back through the mostly open spaces of the old brick building that would soon be her bar-slash-lounge. It was hard to think of it as hers, but that was very much the case.
When she stepped outside, the sun seemed brighter than it had when she had gone in. She smiled, still trying to make sense of everything her life had become. She thought of Chloe again and made the decision to call her in the next few days. Everything else in her life was going so well, she may as well try repairing the tense relationship between her and Chloe, too.
She got into her car and headed back to Sam’s other bar—the bar he had hired her to work in six months ago. She was so distracted by the thought of going away with him for the weekend that she didn’t notice the car parked on the side of the street as it inched out into traffic behind her.
If she had noticed it, she might have recognized the driver, though she hadn’t seen him in a very long time.
Still, did a daughter ever truly forget what the face of her father looked like?
CHAPTER FIVE
When Chloe and Moulton arrived at Garcia’s office, Director Johnson was already there, waiting for them. It appeared that he and Garcia had been looking through case files; Garcia had a few pulled up on his desktop screen while Johnson had a small pile of printouts in front of him.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Johnson said. “We’ve got a case out in Virginia—a small town on the other side of Fredericksburg, in an upscale neighborhood. And I should probably start with saying that the victim’s family has some very powerful political friends. That’s why we’ve been called in. Well, that and the gruesome nature of the death.”
As Chloe took a seat at the small table in the back of Garcia’s office, she did her best not to seem too obvious that she was trying to create some distance between herself and Moulton. She knew that she was probably glowing, beaming from the way the night and the morning had gone. She wasn’t sure how Johnson might react to any kind of relationship between them and she honestly didn’t want to test it.
“What are we looking at?” Chloe asked.
“Four days ago, a husband came home from work to find his wife dead,” Garcia said. “But it was more than that. She had not only been murdered, but brutally so. There were multiple stab wounds—sixteen by the coroner’s count. The crime scene was a mess…blood everywhere. It’s unlike anything the local PD has ever seen.”
He slid a folder over to Chloe with a look of warning on his face. Chloe took it and opened it slowly. She peered inside, saw just a flash of the crime scene photo, and then closed it just as quickly. Based on her one glimpse alone, it looked more like a slaughterhouse than a murder scene.
“Who is the victim’s family friends with?” Moulton asked. “You said someone in politics, right?”
“I’d really rather not give out that information,” Johnson said. “We don’t want it to seem as if the bureau plays favorites when it comes to bipartisan matters.”
“What’s the level of local police involvement?” Chloe asked.
“They’ve kicked off a county-wide manhunt and have the State PD involved,” Garcia said. “But they’re being asked to keep it quiet. The local PD is understandably upset because they feel like we’re hindering a case that is already a bit outside of their comfort zone. So I need you to get down there as soon as you possibly can. Also…and please listen closely: I thought of you two for this case because of how well you’ve worked together in the past. And Agent Fine, you seem to have a knack for this small-town, isolated community sort of crime. However, if the case itself and those crime scene photos make you feel uneasy—like it might be a little too much for you to handle at this stage of your career—let me know now. I won’t judge and it won’t count as any sort of mark against you.”
Chloe and Moulton exchanged a look and she could see that he was just as eager as she was to take the case. Still, unable to help himself, Moulton took a look at what was inside the folder. He grimaced a bit as he flipped past the few crime scene photos and scanned the very brief report in the back. He then looked back over to Chloe and gave a nod.
“We’re good as far as I’m concerned,” Chloe said.
“Same here,” Moulton said. “And I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Glad to hear it,” Johnson said, getting to his feet. “I’m excited to see what you two can do. Now…get moving. You’ve got some driving to do.”
***Moulton was behind the wheel of the bureau car, heading off of the beltway and heading toward Virginia. Barnes Point was only an hour and twenty minutes away, but the Beltway made just about anywhere feel like it was on the other side of the planet.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
“About which part?”
“Working together on a case like this. I mean…we were making out like two horny teenagers about ten hours ago. Will you be able to keep your hands off of me while we’re working?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Chloe said, “but after what I saw in that folder, doing that with you again is the farthest thing from my mind.”
Moulton nodded his understanding. He veered off onto the next ramp, hit a straight stretch, and stepped on the gas. “All jokes aside, though…I enjoyed last night. Even before the part back at your place. And I’d like to do it again. But with work…”
“We should remain strictly professional,” she finished for him.
“Exactly. And, to that end,” he said, sliding his iPad out of the hollowed center of the console, “I downloaded the case files while you were packing.”
“Did you not pack?”
“You saw my bag. Yes, I packed. But I’m quick about it.” He shot her a cute little sly grin as he said this, indicating that she had perhaps taken a bit longer than he had expected. “I didn’t get a chance to look it over, though.”
“Ah, some light reading material,” Chloe said.
They both chuckled and when Moulton rested his hand on her knee while she started to read the file, Chloe wasn’t sure they would be able to keep it professional.
She perused the case files, reading the important parts out loud for Moulton. They found that Garcia and Johnson had done a fine job of summing it up. The police report was quite detailed, as well as the pictures. They were still no easier to look at and Chloe didn’t blame the local PD. She figured any small-town police force might be out of their element on something this violent and bloody.
They shared thoughts and theories and by the time they passed a sign telling them that Barnes Point was fifteen miles away, Chloe had changed her mind. She thought they would be capable of working professionally together. She had spent the last few weeks so wrapped up in her physical attraction to him that she had nearly forgotten how sharp and intuitive he could be when it came to casework.
The idea then occurred to her that if they could truly make this work, she might have what just about every woman on the planet desired: a man who respected her as an equal in career and intellect but also in the bedroom.
You’re not even a day into this, a voice said in her head. Danielle’s voice again. Are you really getting all dreamy and ga-ga about it already? Jesus, you made out with him for a few hours and didn’t even sleep together. You barely know him and—
But Chloe chose to shut those thoughts away.
She then turned her attention to the coroner’s report. It told the same story Johnson had told them, but in more detail. And it was these details that she focused on. The blood, the violence, the potential political motive. She read them over, studying with intense focus.
“I’m thinking this isn’t politically motivated,” she said. “I don’t think the killer was too concerned with the powerful political friends that the Hilyards might have had.”
“I heard confidence in that statement,” Moulton said. “Please explain.”
“Lauren Hilyard was stabbed sixteen times. And every single wound was centered in the abdomen area, with only a single stray one slicing into her left breast. The coroner reports that the wounds were ragged and almost on top of one another, indicating someone made stabbing motions one right behind the other. The note here in the reports says: as if in a blind rage or frenzy. If this was the act of someone with political motivation, there would likely be some sort of message or other indicator.”
“Okay, then,” Moulton said. “I’m on board. It’s not politically motivated.”
“That was easy.”
He shrugged and said, “I’m coming to understand that people in DC think everything has political motivations. So what if the Hilyards maybe sort of kind of know someone higher up in a political office. Not everyone is going to care.”
“I like the way you think,” she said. “But I don’t know that we rule it out one hundred percent just yet.”
They were closing in on Barnes Point, and the fact that they had been entrusted to round up a case with potential political ties was not lost on her. It was an amazing opportunity for both of them and she had to make sure that was where her focus was for the time being. For now, nothing was more important than that—not suddenly reappearing estranged fathers, not the voice of her stubborn and joy-dead sister…not even a potentially perfect romance with the man sitting next to her.
For now, there was the case and only the case. And that was more than enough for her.
CHAPTER SIX
Barnes Point was a quiet yet cute city, with a population right at nine thousand. The Hilyard residence sat just outside the city limits, in a little subdivision called Farmington Acres. The victim’s husband, Jerry Hilyard, had not yet been able to bring himself to return to his home since discovering his wife’s body; with no immediate family living nearby, he had been invited to say elsewhere in the neighborhood, with close friends.
“I think I might have needed to get farther away than just a few houses down,” Moulton said. “I mean, can you imagine what this poor guy is going through?”
“But he might also need to be close to his home,” Chloe suggested. “To the place where he and his wife had shared a life together.”
Moulton seemed to consider this as he drove their rental car further into the subdivision, toward the address the State Police had forwarded them while they’d been en route. It was yet another example of how Chloe was beginning to both understand and respect the fluidity of the way the bureau worked. It was hard to imagine that just about any information she needed—addresses, phone numbers, work histories, criminal records—was readily available, just a call or email away. She assumed agents eventually got used to this, but for now, she still felt quite privileged to be part of such a system.
They arrived at the address and walked to the door. The mailbox read Lovingston and the house itself was a carbon copy of just about all of the other homes in the neighborhood. It was the sort of neighborhood where the houses were right on top of one another but the environment was quiet—a good place for kids to learn to ride their bikes and probably a lot of fun during Halloween and Christmas.
Chloe knocked on the door and it was answered right away by a woman with a baby in her arms.
“Are you Mrs. Lovingston?” Chloe asked.
“I am. And you must be the FBI agents. We got a call from the police a while ago saying you’d be on your way.”
“Is Jerry Hilyard still staying here?” Moulton asked.
A man appeared behind the woman, coming from the open room to the left. “Yeah, I’m still here,” he said. He joined Mrs. Lovingston at the door and leaned against the door frame. He looked absolutely exhausted, apparently not having slept well ever since he had lost his wife in such a brutal fashion.
Mrs. Lovingston turned to him and gave him a glare that made Chloe think the baby in her arms might be in for some nasty looks in the future. “You sure you’re up to this?” the woman asked him.
“I’m fine, Claire,” he said. “Thanks.”
She nodded, held her baby tighter to her chest, and headed back elsewhere in the house.
“Come on in, I guess,” Jerry said.
He led them into the same room he had come in from. It looked to be a small den of sorts, mostly decorated with books and two elegant-looking chairs. Jerry fell into one of the chairs as if his bones were starting to give out on him.
“I know Claire might seem a little hesitant about you being here,” Jerry said. “But…she and Lauren were good friends. She thinks I need to be grieving…which I am. It’s just…”
He stopped here and Chloe could see him wrestling with a flood of emotion, trying to make it through this conversation without crumbling in front of them.
“Mr. Hilyard, I’m Agent Fine and this is my partner, Agent Moulton. I was wondering if you might be able to tell us about any political ties your family might have.”
“Jesus,” he breathed. “It’s overblown. The local PD made a huge fuss about it and got all freaked out. I’m pretty sure that’s why you were called in, right?”
“Are there political ties?” Moulton asked, sidestepping the question.
“Lauren’s father used to be really good golf buddies with the Secretary of Defense. They grew up together, played football together, all that. They still hang out on occasion—duck hunting, fishing, things like that.”
“Did Lauren ever speak with the Secretary?” Chloe asked.
“Not since we’ve been married. He came to our wedding. We get a Christmas card from his family. But that’s about it.”
“So do you think what happened might be due to that relationship?” Moulton asked.
“If it is, I have no idea why. Lauren was not into politics at all. I think it’s just her father’s way of making himself seem important. Someone killed his little girl so it must be because he knows important people. He’s kind of an ass like that.”
“So what can you tell us about the last few days of Lauren’s life?” Chloe asked.
“I’ve already told the police everything I could.”
“We understand that,” Moulton said. “And we have copies of all of their reports. But for us to properly get a foothold here, we may be asking you some questions that have you repeating a few things.”
“Fine, that’s good,” Jerry said.
Chloe thought the man might not quite be aware of what was happening, exactly. He looked incredibly detached. If she didn’t already know the traumatic situation he was going through, she might have assumed he was on drugs.
“The first question may seem silly in light of what has happened,” Chloe said, “but can you think of anyone who might have had a reason to be upset with your wife?”
He sneered and shook his head. When he spoke, his voice trembled in a sort of eternal yawn. “No. Lauren stayed to herself these days. An introvert. It had gotten even worse as of late…drawing into herself, you know?”
“Any idea why?”
“She had a rough past. Messed up parents and all that. She was sort of a bully in high school. I guess that’s what she’d be classified as these days. Or maybe a mean girl. She’d been coming to terms with those mistakes as of late. I think it got worse when she got that damned high school reunion invitation in the mail.”
“She was anxious about going?” Chloe asked.
“I’m not sure. It made her sad, I think…to think about the people she had maybe been mean to.”
“Did the two of you graduate together?” Moulton asked.
“We did.”
“And did you go with her to the reunion?”
“God no. I hate that sort of stuff. Posturing and pretending to like people you mostly hated in high school. No. I sat it out.”
“You say she was an introvert,” Chloe said. “Did she not have many friends?”
“Oh, she had a few. Claire was one of them. And the friends she did have were like family to her. They were extremely close.”
“Have you spoken with them since this happened?” Moulton asked.
“Just one. She called shortly after she found out to see if I needed anything.”
“Are these friends that perhaps went to the reunion with her?”
“Yeah. Claire went, too. But she’s also sort of an introvert. I think she went just out of curiosity.”
“Do you and Lauren have any children?” Chloe asked. “A neighborhood like this, I figured there would be at least one kid in every house.”
“We have two. Our oldest, Victoria, is eighteen; she just started college this year. She…well, she chose to spend this very difficult time with her grandparents. And because she went with them, our youngest—Carter—wanted to go, too. I’ve never had the best relationship with my in-laws but my kids being with them right now is a godsend. I feel like a terrible father, but if my kids were here, I’d crumple up and just break, I think.”
“Is there any animosity about your children being with their grandparents right now?” Moulton asked.
“I want them here with me…just to see them. But I’m a mess. And until the house is in better shape…that’s where they need to be.”
“You said your oldest chose to be with them during this time,” Moulton said. “Why is that?”
“She couldn’t wait to get out of our house. She had a strained relationship with Lauren for the last few years. Some toxic mother-daughter stuff. Our daughter…she was having boys over, sneaking in the house at night. She was doing this as young as thirteen. Had her first pregnancy scare at fifteen. And if you do the math in your head…Lauren was thirty-seven. We had our daughter when Lauren and I were both nineteen.”
Chloe thought the tumultuous family situation could not be making this any easier on Jerry Hilyard. She didn’t think there was anything there worth digging into, though it might do some good to eventually speak with the daughter.
“Mr. Hilyard, would you have any objection to us taking a look around your house?” she asked.
“That’s fine. The sheriff and a few of his men have been in and out a few times. The code to get in is two-two-two-eight.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hilyard,” Moulton said. “Please contact us if you think of anything else. For now, I think we’ll speak with Mrs. Lovingston to see if she has any details to share.”
“She’s told the police everything she knows. She’s starting to get irritated, I think.”
“What about her husband? Did he know your wife well? Did the four of you frequently hang out together?”
“No. Claire’s husband works out of town quite a bit. I did FaceTime him to make sure he was okay with me staying here. And anyway, it was mainly just Claire and Lauren. They had a weekly thing where they’d drink wine on the front porch, switching houses every week.”
Claire stepped into the room slowly, apparently having put the baby she had been carrying down for a nap.
“And we’d do the predictable things that women do. Talk about our husbands, reminisce about the past. I’d tell her about the highs and lows of having a baby. And, more recently, we’d talk about what she was going through with her daughter.”
“What can you tell us about Lauren and what might have led someone to do such a thing to her?” Chloe asked.
“Lauren made some decisions during high school that her parents did not particularly agree about,” Claire replied. “Once Lauren graduated high school and had her daughter…well, college was out of the picture.”
“They were embarrassed,” Jerry added. “They got pissed and moved to New Hampshire. They feed our daughter these brutal lies about Lauren whenever they can.”
“Trying to make up for the mistakes and neglect from raising Lauren,” Claire said. “A couple of real assholes.”
Sensing the conversation headed to a bashing session, Chloe spoke up. “Mrs. Lovingston, would you happen to be able to think of any enemies or even strained relationships Lauren might have had?” Chloe asked.
“Not outside of her family. And while they are a couple of jerks, they certainly wouldn’t do this. This is…this is deplorable.”
Moulton reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a business card. He placed it on the coffee table and stepped back. “Please…if either of you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”
Both Claire and Jerry gave only curt nods. The conversation had been brief but it had taken its toll on them. Chloe and Moulton made their exit in an awkward silence.
When they were outside, heading for the car, Chloe paused for a moment on the sidewalk. She looked down the street, in the direction of the Hilyard house, and saw that it was just out of sight. Still, she was starting to agree with Moulton. Maybe it was a little too close. And if the bedroom still looked anything like what she had seen in the photographs Johnson had showed them, it seemed almost morbid that Jerry was staying so close.