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  Aaron arched one brow at him. “And it hasn’t failed me, or you, yet.”

  “True that.” Jaylon lost the smirk, probably remembering one or two times when Aaron’s gut instinct had saved both their lives.

  “I know I’m going to regret asking this,” Stedaman said, drawing their attention back to him and the case, “but who did you call?”

  “A friend who is a retired FBI agent that now runs a private investigation and security company. Got the name of a profiler to run the case by.”

  “Okay, so no one official, yet?”

  Aaron shook his head. “Not ’til I talk with the profiler. Jake says he’s on leave between cases. The guy is one of those that completely focuses on one a case until it’s finished.”

  “Sorta like someone else we know,” Jaylon said, eyeing him.

  “Some of us are better at concentration and perseverance,” Aaron said. “He’s on my list of people to contact this morning.”

  “Any witnesses? Anyone see this guy being carted into the building? See any cars of vans on the street? That’s not a spot you usually see vehicles parked on the roads nearby,” Stedaman asked, focusing on the case and facts.

  Jaylon exchanged eye contact with Aaron.

  “You gonna tell him or am I?” his partner said.

  “Tell me what?” their boss asked, and not very patiently.

  “I have a witness who we think saw our victim being abducted,” Aaron said, trying to sound confident. Problem was, he wasn’t sure if Stanley had been with Art when he was taken, and he wasn’t sure if the dog would be any help identifying the killer. Right now, though, he was the only real lead they had.

  “Good. Bring him in and get him to look at some photos. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll ID someone,” Stedaman said.

  Jaylon half-snickered, half-snorted from his side of their joined desks. Aaron shot him a deadly look.

  “And what’s so funny about that?” Stedaman asked, his head swiveling between them.

  “Our witness is the victim’s dog. He’s how we found the body,” Aaron said, bracing for his boss’s reaction.

  Stedaman face lit up like the Hungarian flag. Red. Then white. And finally, green.

  Aaron reached in the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a fresh roll of antacids he kept in there just for these moments and offered it to the captain. He opened it and popped two tablets into his mouth and chewed, his color slowly returning to normal.

  “So,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “let me get this straight. You have an unidentified victim, who may or may not be the first victim of someone who might or might not be a serial killer, and your only witness is a dog who may or may not be able to lead you to the killer, who may or may not be targeting homeless people for unknown reasons. And you have no other clues at this time? But your gut is telling you this is just the start of a media clusterfuck?”

  Aaron just gave a shrug. What could he say? When you put it like that, the whole case seemed far fetched and on the impossible side of solving. But his gut had helped him solve many cases over the years, and right now it was sending up warning flares surrounding Art’s death.

  “Okay,” Stedaman said after a moment of thought, “here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to let you,” he pointed at Aaron, “keep following this case down the rabbit hole and see where it takes you. Talk to your profiler, see what he says. Quietly talk to the homeless community and see if you can dig us up anything like a clue or a witness that doesn’t have four feet. Until another victim appears, you,” he turned his attention on Jaylon, “get to pick up the slack on those three open cases you two have listed up there,” he said pointing at the whiteboard with cases listed under each detective’s name—blue marker for solved, red for unsolved, total three in red.

  “Got it, boss,” Jaylon said, for once no smart-ass comment coming from him.

  “Jeffers, you keep him and me apprised about anything you find out, and I mean anything. Also, where you are, both with the case and physically on the ground. Last thing I need is you going missing with no backup. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” Aaron said.

  “And let’s just pray you or your dog friend don’t stumble onto another body.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing?”

  Brianna looked up from her laptop to see Paula watching her from the bed.

  After Aaron left for the police station, their day had taken on a decided medical bent. Paula napped for a bit, then a phlebotomist came in to draw lab work. That was followed by the nurse insisting that Paula needed to get cleaned up, which required monkeying around with the IV and covering the site with a plastic wrap, not to mention dragging the big metal pole into the bathroom so she could shower. While that happened, the bed was stripped, and the linens replaced with crisp clean ones by two other staff members.

  While all this was going on, amazingly Stanley stayed quietly in the recliner chair and didn’t make a sound. The dog seemed to sense that the nursing and medical staff weren’t a threat to Paula and his presence in the hospital was on thin ice.

  Just when they’d gotten Paula back into her bed, lunch came. And again, Brianna was surprised, when not only was there an extra tray of food for her, but a little plate of chopped up hamburger and some doggy biscuits for Stanley. Finally, another breathing treatment after lunch did Paula in and she’d fallen asleep, exhausted by the hospital routine. Though her breathing seemed less labored to Brianna’s untrained eye.

  All the activity and helping in her friend’s care eased any anxiety Brianna might’ve had at being in a hospital room for so long. That’s when she’d decided to pull her laptop out of her bag to make notes. She wasn’t really sure what she was looking for, but she needed to do something. So, she did what she did best, looked for patterns. If Aaron was right and Art’s murderer was a serial killer with practice, a pattern of some sort had to show up somewhere.

  “I’m making a spread sheet,” she said to Paula. “How are you feeling after your nap?”

  “Better,” she said, wiggling up higher in the bed, then pushing the button to move from a forty-five-degree angle to almost ninety. Stanley took that opportunity to change spots from beside Brianna to Paula’s lap with a leap from chair to bed.

  “Better not let nurse Teri catch you doing that,” Brianna said to him, but he just burrowed into Paula’s lap and closed his eyes, completely unconcerned.

  “What kind of spreadsheet?” Paula asked with no wheezing between words.

  That had to be a good sign.

  “I’m listing all the places we know Art frequented, based on your knowledge and our trip out last night.” She sighed before continuing. “Including where we found him.”

  She paused, wishing she wasn’t reminding Paula of losing her friend.

  Paula wiped away fresh tears as she nodded. “Most people think the homeless live a life wandering and sitting in spots with nothing to do. A lot of them actually keep a schedule. Not one like us with appointments, but places they go to regularly.”

  “Like the shelters and soup kitchens and churches?”

  “Right. I see the same people week after week when I’m volunteering at the church’s soup kitchen. That’s how I got to know Art and Stanley,” Paula said, her hand stroking the terrier’s back.

  “Did Art ever tell you where else he went for meals or for shelter?”

  “Sometimes he said he didn’t like the vibes of someone sheltering in the factory and he’d go to his second place. It’s another abandoned building he’d stay in when the weather was bad. It’s down on Cedar a few blocks south and east of The City Mission, across from the nursing home there.” Paula got a little grin on her face. “Sometimes he said he’d go into the nursing home and say he was there to see someone just around mealtime. The old folks were a little forgetful and they’d think he was an old friend or war buddy and he’d get a hot meal.”

  Brianna smiled. “That was pretty clever of him.”


  “He said he didn’t really feel like he was taking away from anyone. He’d sit with the older men and they’d trade war stories. Said they’d laugh sometimes and sometimes they’d cry over lost comrades.” Paula face softened. “He felt he was giving them something back in exchange for the food.”

  Art sounded like a man she’d have liked to know. Brianna wrote both places on her list of Art’s regular haunts. “Anywhere else?”

  “He liked to go down to the food pantry on Friday’s and get food for a few days. Nothing much, some rolls and bologna. Cheese if they had it…Just enough to tide him over the weekend. He said…he said, he didn’t like taking food…meant for families and kids.”

  She was getting wheezy. Time to stop the questions, again.

  Despite her frustration at the limited information she could get out of Paula, Brianna set the laptop on the windowsill by the chair and stood up. “Your water pitcher is empty. Why don’t I go fill it up with fresh cold water while you rest a moment?”

  “I can keep…going,” Paula said, but her breathlessness belied her words.

  Brianna picked up the big water pitcher and headed to the door with a wink. “I know you can, but I don’t want nurse Teri mad at me if she comes back and finds you worse than before lunch.”

  Just as she was headed back into the room with not only a fresh pitcher of water from the unit’s patient refreshment center, where she’d also scored a couple packages of cookies and some jello from the fridge, she nearly ran smack dab into the dreaded nurse, coming out of Paula’s room, once more rubbing her hands with sanitizer.

  “How’s she doing?” Brianna asked.

  “Better than this morning,” the nurse said, glancing back into the room. “But the doctor wants her to spend another night in the hospital on IV antibiotics and getting breathing treatments. Even after she goes home, she’ll be weak for a while. Does she have any family to stay with? Someone to look after her? The last thing she needs is a relapse.”

  “As far as I know there’s no family, but she won’t be going home alone,” Brianna assured her. If she was right, Aaron planned to house Paula in a clean and safe environment, probably with round the clock security.

  “Good,” the nurse said with smile as she moved from the doorway. “Plan on her being discharged in the morning. Will you be staying the night?”

  Brianna shook her head. “I believe there’s someone else coming to stay with her.”

  “The older lady who made cookies for the night shift? I heard they were delicious.”

  “That would be her.” Brianna smiled. “And knowing Nana she may arrive with more tonight.”

  “I hope I get to see her before I leave then,” Nurse Teri said with a laugh and moved on to the next patient room.

  Brianna smiled as she went in the room but it died on her lips as soon as she saw Paula’s sad face with tears rolling down her cheeks. She hurried over to the bed, set the pitcher of water and her snacks on the bedside table, then wrapped Paula in her arms, hugging her tightly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I hate having…to stay another…night in this place,” Paula said with a hiccup on the end.

  Brianna leaned back and cupped her friend’s face between her hands. “Oh, sweetie, I understand that. Believe me, I do. I spent a week in the hospital every time I had to have another surgery.” Paula knew her history. They’d talked about it over the months since Paula began working for the shelter and they’d become friends. “I was terrified of the needles, the pain, the treatments, being alone and vulnerable, even though the staff did nothing but help me get better. So, no matter what, you won’t be alone. I promise. In fact, I believe Kirk F’s Nana is already planning to spend another night.”

  “She’s something else,” Paula said, with a little smile through her tears. “She asked every person, even the housekeeper…what their name was, what their job was…and if they even acted like leaving the room without washing their hands…she’d order them to do so.”

  “See? You’re going to be in good hands and can get through one more night.”

  Paula’s face fell a little. “I hate putting you all out like this. Taking you away from your homes. I’m not really worth it.”

  “Stop that,” Brianna ordered softly, but firmly, gripping her hands and looking straight into her eyes. “You are too worth it. You are a kind, smart woman. Someone who volunteers and gives back to others. And most importantly, you’re my friend. I don’t ever want you to say or think you’re not worth anything. You are. You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Paula said, with that ghost of a smile again.

  “Good.” Paula squeezed her hands again, then moved to the chair and her laptop. “Now, you get some rest while I plot the places you said Art visited on a map. Maybe after your next breathing treatment you can tell me about the other volunteers at the soup kitchen.”

  Paula wiped her eyes and blew her nose, lowering the bed a little and closing her eyes. “Why are you doing this? Tracing Art’s movements?”

  “Because he’s your friend, and Stanley’s,” Brianna said, opening a map of the city.

  “Yes, but it’s…your detective friend’s job…to find out who did it. Not yours.”

  “Because someone once tried to hurt me and do evil things to other women, and someone cared enough to find the answers,” she said, her heart once again remembering Abby, her family, and Aaron coming for her. She just prayed that she’d be able to help Aaron figure out who had murdered Art before some other vulnerable person was killed.

  13

  Thanks for talking with me, Special Agent Smith,” Aaron said. He’d moved his laptop into the squad’s empty conference room to have this conversation in private, without noise or distraction. He’d emailed the man Jake Carlisle had suggested he talk to and they’d set up a time to talk.

  “Since this isn’t a formal request why don’t we dispense with the formalities,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “Just call me Carson, Aaron. Our mutual friend said you had a case you’re worried might be more than it appears?”

  “There’s only one body that we know of so far…” Aaron started.

  “One body?” Carson asked, sounding skeptical.

  “That we know of,” Aaron repeated, not taking offense at the other man’s skepticism. Who could blame him? Serial killer by definition meant there was more than one victim. “It’s the situation and condition we found him in that suggests to me that the killer’s done this before.”

  “And you think now that he’s showing off his work, he’s evolving into something more gruesome?”

  “Yes.” Aaron quietly exhaled a sigh of relief that Carson understood his fear. And it was fear. This was his city, his people. He feared a predator was using it for his own personal hunting grounds and no one was safe. Given that Art was homeless, the most vulnerable people were at risk. “We found our victim—”

  “Don’t tell me anymore,” Carson interrupted him. “I don’t want my mind cluttered with your thoughts or observations. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t think you know what you’re doing. I just want to take a very objective observation of everything. Fresh unadulterated eyes, so to speak.”

  Aaron swallowed down his own ire at being cutoff and shelved his pride. This wasn’t about him, his experience or how brilliant he might think his gut was. This was about finding a sick murderer. “I understand.”

  “Do you have pictures?”

  “We do. A beginning forensics file and by this evening the Medical Examiner has promised me a preliminary autopsy report. Toxicology will take another day.”

  “Send me what you have,” Carson said, then rattled off his email address. “I’ll take a look at it and we’ll talk later. This a good number for me to reach you?”

  “Yes, this is my cell.” Aaron opened up his email and started loading up files to send the FBI special agent. “This might take a few emails with the number of pictures we took.”

&
nbsp; “We have a secure data sharing program. I’ll send you the link. The more you can send me, the better. And I forgot to ask Jake what city you’re in.”

  “Cleveland,” Aaron said as he typed away.

  “How long have you lived there?”

  Aaron wondered what that had to do with anything. “Grew up not far from here in one of the suburbs. Graduated from Kent State and then the police academy here. Been on the force for about sixteen years, the past twelve as a detective.”

  “So you know the demographics and the geography well, then. Where are you stationed?”

  “The homicide unit on Ontario Street.”

  “Good. I’ll be seeing you later, then,” Carson said.

  Before Aaron could ask him what he meant, the line went dead. He sat and stared at his phone a moment, wondering if this was Smith’s usual way to end a conversation or if they’d been cutoff for some reason. Shaking his head, he dismissed the later idea. Paranoid much? The need for secrecy wasn’t because there was a conspiracy, but because they didn’t want a media frenzy to glorify whoever was behind this killing.

  A moment later his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and relaxed.

  Brianna.

  “Everything okay there?” he asked, leaning back in the swivel office chair, wanting to hear the huskiness in her voice. He wondered if she’d ever sung in a choir. She’d probably be the alto harmony. He heard the noise of an ambulance passing by. “Where are you?”

  She chuckled and the sound went straight through him. “Outside. Stanley needed some sunshine and a place to pee. He’s been a very good dog.”

  “He better be or Nurse Teri might put him in doggy quarantine,” he said only half-teasing. “That woman would make a drill sergeant nervous.”

  “She might, but I think under that hard by-the-book outer shell, she’s all mush inside. You saw how tender she is with Paula. And she even sent a special tray of food for Stanley at lunch.”

  “Did Paula remember anything more?” he asked, switching to business mode.