Slenderman Page 14

  “I prefer Serioulias. And how can you say that? He termed those who leave the Cave, which is Rian and Evan’s group name, as betrayers. The same as the serial killer.”

  Redden poured maple syrup over his stack of pancakes. “He’s right, Jo. The guy hasn’t left England. Ian even had someone stop by his place. He was there, and no tickets or passport scans came up with his name.”

  Jo growled. She knew it was the guy. Kyle had helped her get an account to read the channel, and Serioulias became rigid when it was him and two other admins but kept quiet whenever Rian, Evan, or the friendlier admins were on. “What about the other two . . . PsyMom and Auroraus?”

  “Nope. Auroraus is in Seattle, and I’ve had the agents there run by and check-in—”

  “Dammit. You know it will tip these admins off.” Jo stabbed at the pancakes on her plate.

  Rhys rubbed her back as he set another plate of food on the table and joined them.

  “That Serious guy could be using a fake passport,” Rhys said filling his plate.

  “It’s Serioulias, Rhy. My gut says it’s Serioulias.” Ian tipped his head from side to side. “And you might be right about the fake passport, but with the fingerprint security in England, he’d be caught in a heartbeat. We’ve tried to be circumspect in questioning him so our killer isn’t warned, but we’re out of time.”

  Rhys shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about the passport. I meant on the game. Was it him? Or someone playing at being him?”

  “Based on the IP address linked to the bank account, which is direct pay for the game, it was him.” Ian’s cell pinged, he lifted it, and cursed. “Looks like our killer hit in Brazil.”

  “Dammit,” Redden growled.

  “My boss is asking me to go liaise if it’s our guy.” Ian wiped his mouth and stood. “My flight leaves in a few hours, and I need to go pack.”

  Redden stood too. “I’ll drive so you can fill me in because none of our potential victims were in Brazil.”

  “What I meant is, Serioulias might be sharing accounts,” Rhys said.

  Jo froze, a forkful of pancake hovering over the plate. “Holy crap.”

  All eyes turned to Rhys. It was Redden who broke the silence. “What?”

  Rhys shrugged. “Evan and Rian sometimes swap accounts. Like if a quest or a boss is too hard, they’ll do the task for each other. Maybe this Serioulias guy is the same.”

  It made a lot more sense when she factored the account being shared.

  “Holy shit.” Ian ran a palm over his face. “That would explain why sometimes he doesn’t have as hard a stance on people guesting while other times, he’s overly aggressive.”

  “Great. How do we get the guy whose bank account is affiliated with the game character to tell us about his secret buddy?” Redden asked.

  “Sic Scotland Yard on his ass. If our killer hit in Brazil, all bets are off.”

  “If we go all out, he’ll run.” Redden rubbed his neck.

  “Then only grab the Serioulias guy and tell Scotland Yard we can’t let him talk to anyone and why. They’ll want to keep other people safe as much as we do. But our going slow and careful isn’t working.” Jo slammed her fist on the table. “Especially if he’s killed again. We need that name. We need to know why he said nothing when Scotland Yard came to ask about his account.” She scooped up the last of her raspberries and shoved them in her mouth. Just as she stood to follow Ian while he called his boss, her cell belted out Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog. “Sullivan, did you know I was going to call you? Are we sharing a brain now?”

  “Nope, but we’ve got a case, it’s a double murder. Forensics is saying it’s two shooters while our people are saying it’s one. So I’m pulling off at your exit now and will be picking you up in ten minutes. Why what do you have for me?”

  “I’ll fill you in on the way.” She turned to Ian and Redden. “Have a safe trip Ian, and call as soon as you confirm it’s Slenderman.”

  Redden cleared his throat. “Since there’s not much I can do with this case I can’t do in California, my bosses have assigned me to their field office for the next few weeks. There’s a killer torturing people in the sewer system.”

  “But if we get a lead you’ll be back?” Jo asked.

  “Yes. Or if the sewer case gets solved, I’ll come back here.”

  “Okay.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about both of the guys leaving. However, they’d not had a breakthrough except for Rhys’s account sharing idea, and the two agents didn’t need to be here for that. It was a good time to get a fresh set of eyes on the case. She’d ask Karma and Maker to bring Abe and go through everything again to see if she, Redden, Ian, or Sullivan had missed anything.

  She needed to talk to Allen again. He could tell her if Serioulias had always acted like this or if it began at the time of Mark’s murder.

  ~ ~ ~

  She met Sullivan in the driveway. “We need to take your car. Mine is making that weird pinging sound again.”

  Shaking her head, she headed back inside. “We’ll drop it off at Hanover’s tomorrow so he can look at it.”

  “Fine.”

  They climbed into her Mustang. She pulled out of the garage and onto the road. As they drove to the crime scene, Jo filled him in on Ian and Redden’s movements and then told him about Rhys’s idea.

  Sullivan tapped his fingers on the console between them. It was a clear sign to he had something on his mind, but didn’t know how to broach it.

  “Just say it, Sullivan.” Jo flipped her turn signal on and changed lanes. The tapping was stomping on her last nerve.

  “Don’t be pissed.”

  “Don’t be an ass, we’ve been partners for ages, just say it.”

  “Fine,” Sullivan’s growl rivaled Jo’s Mustang in volume. “Are you sure you want to marry Rhys?”

  Confused, she twisted to meet her partner’s gaze before jerking her attention back to the road. “What the hell?”

  “Well, you don’t want to choose anything for the wedding. It’s been like pulling teeth.”

  “I want this wedding. I love him, but all this pomp and crap . . . it’s not me. My mom’s all gung-ho for bright colors.” She wove in and out of traffic, drawing ever closer to Avondale. When he didn’t break the silence with his opinion, she caved and gestured to her black long-sleeved shirt and black bootcut pants. “I’m not a bright color kind of person. If we were playing a drinking game ‘Never have I ever . . . worn bright colors,’ I’d win the round. Unless we’re talking lingeri—”

  “No. We are never discussing underwear, Josephine. Swear to God I will jump from the car first.”

  She snorted, glad she’d finally gotten him to break. “Anyway, if my stepfather didn’t have all these relatives and my mom had an older child, then I’d be able to elope. I want Rhys locked in.”

  “What? You think he’s looking—”

  “No. I mean when his ex-fiancé was here last year, yeah I think he was wondering what if, you know? But now? No, I wanted something quiet. Something simple because as much as I hate all the attention a wedding draws. I’d rather hurry that part up and get to the honeymoon. I told Rhys we should elope in Gatlinburg. Just me, him, and a hot tub.”

  “Wait. You were planning to get married in a hot tub? Isn’t that more Vegas style than Gatlinburg?”

  Jo snarled. “No. I wanted a quiet ceremony in my jeans and a black shirt with Rhys in jeans and the burgundy sweater that makes him look like a hot librarian. Then after the wedding, it would be him and me in a hot tube.”

  “You have a hot tub in your backyard.”

  Jo shrugged it was true, but with life, it was hard to have sexy hot tub time. “I wish Mom would listen, you know?”

  “Get Terry to help you.”

  “Ya think?
”

  Sullivan nodded. “She seems to be able to talk your mom off the ledge on most of the over the top things like your mom booking that country club.”

  “God, I know. I was so glad Terry was there to intervene.”

  “That’s what a maid of honor is supposed to do. Oh yeah, Terry mentioned the Botanical Garden. Which one?”

  “I wanted it at Birmingham, but they couldn’t accommodate three hundred people who have RSVP’d. So we went with Huntsville.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “Right? With his mother’s love of gardening and Rian and Rhys—”

  “You wanted them to feel as if they have a piece of her.”

  “Exactly. I would have pushed to have it in our backyard to be even closer to her, but again three hundred people.” Jo smiled at her partner’s disgruntled hmph. Only a few people got her on that level.

  Jo slid off the exit and merged with street traffic. “Are you and Elle still together?”

  “Yes, why are you asking?”

  “Curious. I saw Kayla from Records eyeing you up last week.” Jo loved messing with Sullivan, and nothing pushed his buttons than when she tried to set him up.

  “First, I am very happy with Elle.”

  She slapped his shoulder. “Way to go, partner.”

  He rubbed his shoulder as if she’d wounded him. “Second, and most importantly the last time you had any say in my love life, I ended up handcuffed to a bed.”

  “Oh, I remember that.” Jo winced and chuckled. “Wasn’t she called out—”

  “No. One of her friends texted her to meet them at a club, and she thought it’d be hot to have a naked man handcuffed to her bed waiting on her.”

  “I don’t remember that part.” It irritated her that someone had done that to her partner, but since she’d been the one to rescue him, she could laugh at his predicament. “I think I still have the pictures on my computer.”

  “You swore you deleted them.”

  “No, I’d never swear that. I might have promised not to use them against you, but seriously, Sullivan. I would never delete something like that. It always comes in handy to have blackmail.”

  Sullivan’s mouth flattened into a narrow line. “I’ll remember that. Probably a good thing I still have those pics of when Arabelle projectile vomited the green peas on you.”

  Jo gasped. “You did not keep those?”

  “You mean the green bits all over your hair and face? Of course I kept those. Tit for tat, partner.”

  She laughed. “And that’s why we make such a good team.”

  “You know most people would say we’re too much alike and we make a horrible team.”

  “Meh, screw them. Our success rate blows that statement out of the water.”

  Jo knew some had wanted her and Sullivan separated after the Skinned debacle from last year. But she had too many contacts to ever allow that to happen. It didn’t hurt that they’d solved the damned thing and many other cases. Even though they thought a lot alike, they worked like a well-oiled machine.

  Sullivan cleared his throat. “Anyway, Elle and I are still going strong, so I don’t need you to set me up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Because I heard from your mother that Elle threw a dictionary at you after a Boggle game.”

  “That doesn’t count. It was a valid word—”

  “Not in the English language.”

  Sullivan snorted. “Then they should’ve stated we weren’t allowed to use Spanish slang.”

  “Your mom said Elle threw a lot of colorful Spanish slang as she left.” Jo grinned. “And that she’s not called you in a week.”

  “So I screw up sometimes? She’ll come around.” Sullivan shifted in his seat. “Besides, I think Elle and I could be next with the wedding bells. We’ve been together for over a year now, and just because she thinks I cheated at a board game, it won’t break us. She’s got a fiery temper that is quick to burn out, but she loves me like Rhys loves you.”

  “I’m happy for you.” Jo slapped Sullivan’s shoulder again. “As for her forgiving you. We’ll see, but as you told me last year: don’t let the argument fester. You need to get on those knobby knees of yours and beg her to take you back with flowers or something. Otherwise, Arabelle and your mom will put you in the doghouse.”

  It would be great if Elle and Sullivan became permanent. Jo had been worried after Sullivan’s wife died, Arabelle wasn’t even a month old when she lost her mother. The second she’d set eyes on him, he seemed to be lower than a storm-darkened sky.

  Pulling into the crime scene, they were met with the Crime Scene tech.

  “We didn’t need you two. Your guys are wrong.”

  Jo had seen the tech before on the Gravedigger case, but she couldn’t remember his name. Her eyes narrowed on Detectives Jones and Brown.

  “It’s a robbery?” She asked Sullivan as they walked up the broken sidewalk to the drab gray concrete porch.

  “Yeah.” Sullivan shook Jones and Brown’s hands.

  “Rayburn, you need to tell this guy there are two shooters,” Jones said. He was the more relaxed of the two with a rumpled brown suit, button-down blue shirt, and generic blue tie. If anyone mentioned cops and donuts, it brought to mind Jones since the man loved donuts and fast food.

  His partner, Brown, on the other hand, looked like a cross between a disapproving librarian and a high school principal. The charcoal gray suit was starched to within an inch of its life. She’d always wondered how the man walked around without breaking his clothes.

  “Let me look at the scene then we’ll talk.” She moved past everyone and stepped into the small house.

  “She’s going to side with the Tech,” Brown whispered to Jones, but Jo heard them.

  “Not if the tech’s wrong,” she replied, not allowing them to get away with talking behind her back. “I’ll back my team up if they’re right, Brown. You know this about me no matter our small rivalry before.”

  “She’s right,” Jones added. “She might piss us off, but she’s always fair.”

  She tuned them out when she heard Sullivan talking to them. His distraction allowed her to take in the scene.

  The room was a dingy green. She could tell at one time it’d been bright and full of life but time had worn away. Smoke hung heavy in the stale air, trapped in the faded brown carpet and clinging to the drapes and walls like a specter.

  A squat plaid brown, black, and white sofa and love seat faced what had to be the space the television had been. It had been a big screen based on the smoke stain around the wall it had hung from a perfect rectangular outline. She skirted around the lounge chair the man was sprawled in, his sightless gaze seeming to follow her. The woman’s body was half on and half off the couch, twisted as if she’d stood to run.

  The stench of death and blood battled the stale cigarette smoke for dominance as Jo drew closer to the victims. No rings or watches adorned either victim. When she faced the man’s body, his killer would have been closer to the corner of the room based on the angle of his wound. Panicked, the woman would have stood to escape, fleeing away from the corner, but she was shot straight from where she’d been sitting.

  It wasn’t possible. The killer would have had to shoot the man, jump the coffee table in front of the television while the woman was moving. No way could the killer have hit her at that angle.

  Satisfied Brown and Jones were right, Jo headed for the porch. “The killer threw the gun, and another guy shot her while they were trying to get the television off the wall. My guess is the guys broke in. Told the homeowners as long as they didn’t make any noise they could live. The man must’ve done something.”

  “We found a gun tucked into the side of his chair,” Jones sa
id.

  “Makes sense. So he was going for a gun, the killer caught him and shot him. The woman panicked and turned to run. The killer tossed his gun to the other guy.”

  The tech narrowed his gaze on them. “How do you figure that?”

  “Because our killer was in the corner, based on the angle of the bullet in the man. He couldn’t have raced from the corner to the front of the couch without knocking into the coffee table. And based on the angle of her wounds, she was hit from directly in front of where she’d been sitting.” Jo led the tech through it. “So he tossed the gun to his accomplice. Two shooters. One gun. It’s what was throwing you, since the wounds were the same.”

  “Yes.” His eyes were round as they met hers.

  “No problem. Detectives Jones and Brown are smart, you’ll learn a lot from them,” she said slapping the tech on the shoulder. She turned to the detectives. “You need to look for brothers.”

  Jones’ brow lifted in surprise. “Brothers? Why?”

  “Because they killed two people. One person can keep a secret. Two working together are brothers. To top that off, the first gunman trusted the second to shoot the woman. Not to wound, but to kill. It means he knew the person well. Best friends know each other. Brothers know each other on a deeper level and have trusted each other for years.”

  “Damn. I didn’t think of that.” Jones rubbed the back of his neck, a dawning respect sparked in his gaze. “I’ll get with the neighbors and see if they’ve seen anyone watching the house. Then I’ll go through our database and see if we have brothers that work together on home invasions.”

  “Thanks, Rayburn.” Brown tipped his chin a quirk of his lips showed Jo had impressed him. “We’ll get these reports typed up and on your desk tomorrow,” Brown said, heading back into the house.

  Jones headed to the closest neighbors who had just pulled into their drive dressed in their Sunday best. Jo left him to canvas the area while two uniforms followed him for the door to door.