The Hangman (The Forgotten Files 3)

?Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I know, easier said than done.”

“I’ve gone through all the files as well as my father’s case notes. But I’m concerned the Hangman did too good a job covering his tracks and whatever mistakes he did make are now lost in time.”

“What about your father’s police partner?”

“Ken Thompson? I’ve talked to him twice, but there’s a wrinkle there. He has Alzheimer’s. He still appears okay to most folks, but I can see he’s missed a step or two.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. He’s a good man. Hell of a way to end. He’s also my last tangible link to the Hangman case.” She patted her coat pockets for cigarettes, half hoping she’d find one, when she caught herself. Jesus, why was it so hard to stop? “Not that many people know what’s going on with Ken, so keep it under your hat.”

“Sure.”

“Ken kept in touch after Jim died. He never missed a birthday or Christmas. Mom wasn’t ever thrilled to see him, but he kept coming. Always had a gift for me. And when she died, he was a rock. I think he blames himself for Jim’s suicide.”

“Cops are good at second-guessing. It’s what enables us to do the job. The problem is those questions are hard to turn off.”

She understood self-blame, second-guessing, and replaying an event over and over. It didn’t take a shrink to link what had happened in Virginia Beach with the dreams of her father’s suicide that had been plaguing her for the last eight months.

The ripple effect of her father’s death had changed life for Julia and her mother. When Jim shot himself, Amy Vargas embodied every nightmare of a cop’s wife. The cops didn’t distance themselves from Amy and Julia intentionally, but they did it nonetheless. She’d learned at a young age that victims were ultimately rejected because no one wanted a living reminder of how bad it could get.

Catching the Hangman would win her a couple of get-out-of-victim-jail cards. Her father would be vindicated and maybe what Benny did to her, forgotten.

“You’re tough,” Sharp said.

That’s what everyone said about Jim Vargas. Ballbuster. Pit bull. Hell of a man. And he’d cracked under the pressure of the Hangman case. “Yeah, I’m tough.”

Sharp was silent for a moment before saying, “You’re right to pull in Shield.” He clicked his key fob, and the lights of a dark SUV flashed. “And if they refuse the case, talk to me. I might be able to lend a hand.”

The rush of gratitude was quick and sharp, sending her scrambling toward sarcasm. “That’s pretty damn touching, Sharp.”

He smiled. “What can I say? I’m one hell of a guy.”

Grinning, she slid behind the wheel of her SUV as Sharp got in his vehicle and drove off. She sat in the car, letting the heat from the sun warm the chill in her bones. Finally, she pulled on her sunglasses.

As she checked her phone for messages, she spotted a flash of red silk in her peripheral vision. Her fingers slid to her weapon as she set the phone down. She turned to find Lana, sans her watchdog, closing in on her vehicle.

“Give me patience,” she mumbled. Tightening her hand on the grip of her weapon, she wrestled with going toe-to-toe with the woman. Not long ago, she’d have thrown open the door and not thought twice about consequences. But working undercover had leashed that impulsive streak.

Lana knocked on her window and motioned for Julia to roll it down. “It’s only you and me now, bitch.”

Julia counted to ten and started her car as she muttered to herself, “You’ve bigger fish to fry, Vargas.”

Lana knocked on the window again, her long bony fingers clutched into a tight fist. Rap. Rap. Rap. “Open this fucking window, bitch. Don’t pussy out on me.”

Julia drummed short nails against the door handle as common sense told her to remain calm. A confrontation wouldn’t accomplish anything. Refusing to be baited, she clicked on her seat belt.

“I’d love to chat, Lana, but not today.”

“Chickenshit! Coward.” Lana slammed both palms against the driver’s side window so hard one of her red gel-tip fingernails snapped.

Julia put the car in reverse, backing out as the girl continued to follow and beat fists on her window. Julia moved carefully, inch by inch. By the book.

“How do you sleep at night, you fucking whore? You betrayed Benny and me.” Tears glistened in the woman’s eyes. “We treated you like family!”

When Julia had been undercover, she’d made a point to befriend Lana. It didn’t take long for the woman, starved for attention, to bond with Julia. She’d played on Lana’s insecurities and weaknesses to learn all she could about Benny’s operation. The more she’d learned about Lana’s wretched past, the more she’d come to pity the insecure girl who saw Benny Santiago as a step up from the shit hole where she’d been raised.

The night it all went wrong, when Benny had shifted his anger away from Lana to her, she had made eye contact with Lana as the girl swiped blood from her split lip. Julia had seen the hurt and then anger flash in Lana’s gaze as the girl realized the person she’d trusted, confided in, shared her dreams along with Benny’s secrets with, had betrayed her.

Outside, Lana beat on the trunk of Julia’s car.

Julia’s heart raced as she pulled away, watching in the rearview mirror as Lana threw a high-heeled shoe at the car. It hit the trunk and bounced off.

A flash of light caught Julia’s attention, and she spotted a man recording the entire scene.

CHAPTER SIX

Monday, October 30, noon

Julia drove across town, willing her shoulders to release their tension. She used the time to crank a rock tune and let her body absorb the beat that always elevated her mood. Wrapped in the rhythm of the bass, there were no doubts of her upcoming presentation or worries over what she’d do if Shield refused her.

When she parked in the gravel driveway of a suburban brick rancher, she paused as the song wound down. Drawing in a breath, she was out of the car, ready to face what came next.

The front garden beds were filled with neatly trimmed hedges, and the grass was freshly cut and raked. A tall oak in the yard had begun to shed its autumn leaves, and the long crooked branches stretched up to the blue sky like fingers. Ken was a yard guy, and since his retirement last year, he was making the most of his passion for landscaping.

She noted a standard cop four-door parked in front of the house. Ken’s cronies didn’t visit often anymore, but when they did, they rarely stayed long. She was sorry she’d have to break up whatever visit was happening because she knew he enjoyed them. But they had to get to Shield. Initially she’d wanted to go alone, but he’d insisted on coming, assuring her there was still enough of him left to help. Pride and fear had coated his words, and she’d reluctantly agreed.

She walked to the front door and rang the bell. Seconds later, the clip of determined footsteps approached the door before it snapped open to Wendy Thompson, a trim woman in her early fifties. She and Ken had been married for twenty-five years. Ken had intended to work a few more years, but then his memory began to slip. Small things at first. Keys. Reading glasses. A cup of coffee. All small enough to chalk up to senior moments. But then the lapses grew. Keys became a lost car parked in a lot. Reading glasses became the checkbook.

Eighteen months ago, Wendy took Ken to the doctor when he’d started having trouble remembering. After a series of tests over the course of last year, the doctor diagnosed Alzheimer’s. Ken retired, and Wendy left the city’s forensic department.

“Julia, you’re right on time,” Wendy said.

“I see Ken has a visitor,” Julia said.

“Yes. It’s a nice surprise.”

Julia checked her watch. “I hate to be a killjoy, but we’re going to have to get on the road soon. Is Ken ready to go?”

Wendy motioned her inside. “I’ll get him going.”

Male laughter rumbled along the hallway. “Who came by to visit?” asked Julia.

The house smelled of pine cleaner. “Detective Novak from Richmond homicide.”

“Novak?” Tension banded around the base of her skull. “What does he want?”

“Said he wanted to catch up when he called an hour ago. I thought it would be nice. Ken misses the job.”

“Really?”

Wendy arched a brow. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve known you too long, Julia.”

“Novak called me into a homicide last night. Body’s been entombed for twenty-five years. Found a picture of my dad and me in the victim’s purse.”

“Who?”

“Rita Gallagher. I don’t have any idea who she is.” It bothered her she didn’t know anything about a woman who appeared to have been close to her and her father.

Wendy stared at Julia. “And her body was just found?”

She ignored her unease. “Yes.”

More male laughter drifted down the hallway from the sunporch.

Julia checked her watch again. She didn’t have time to visit even if she hustled when she drove up I-95 to Quantico. “We’re going to have to leave in the next few minutes.”

“Right. I’ll get Ken’s coat.”

Julia moved to the bright sunporch and saw Ken sitting in his chair, laughing like she hadn’t seen him do in years. Novak had his back to her. However, as soon as her foot touched the threshold, he rose and turned.

“Julia,” Ken said, looking up. “You know Tobias Novak?”

“I do,” she said. “We met at a crime scene last night.” She didn’t expect her thing with Novak to last, so she saw no point in mentioning when they really met.

At sixty-two, Ken remained lean and fit. He had a thick shock of white hair that he brushed off from a round face. He looked healthy. The model of perfection, which perversely made it all the more sad. “That’s what he was telling me. He said he found a picture of you and Jim in a victim’s pocket.”

Made sense the call was business. Ken was an obvious choice to question about Jim Vargas. “That’s right.”

“Good to see you again, Julia,” Novak said.

No one on the force other than Ken used her first name. She was Vargas to everyone, except for Novak, who’d always called her Julia. The familiarity was unsettling.