The Hangman (The Forgotten Files 3)

“And Wendy?”

“Wendy is former Richmond police. She and Ken met on the job right about the time the Hangman case broke. She’s steadier, discreet.”

“When did you request the files?”

“Eight months ago. I had them for a couple of weeks. Made copies and returned all the originals. I was careful with the files. Kept them in a locked closet at my place when I wasn’t reading them.”

“You are positive.”

“Very.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Who saw Lana threaten you at the courthouse?” he asked.

“Dozens of people could have seen her in action. She didn’t care. Elizabeth Monroe, Santiago’s attorney, dragged her away.” She shook her head. “Could this Hangman be watching me?”

“It all traces back to you. Someone knows what you’re doing. Someone is watching you.”

The idea sent a cold chill trickling down her spine. But it wasn’t fear that made her nerve endings snap. It was anger. “I’m not a victim.”

Concern softened his gaze. “I didn’t say you were.”

“No one ever says it out loud. But they think it.”

“If I’d had any thoughts or opinions about you, you would have been the first to know.”

“You have been direct.”

“Because I care about you, Julia.”

She raised a finger. “Well, knock it off. I’m not the kind of person you should care about.”

He cocked his head, curious. “Why not?”

She slid her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans. “What we did was fun. Real fun. But don’t confuse that with caring.”

“Did.” He leaned closer to her. “Past tense?”

She arched a brow. “We can’t anymore.”

“Why not?”

“We’re working this case, for one.”

“We wouldn’t be the first couple who met on the job.”

“We’re now a couple? No. Not a couple. You’re nice and normal; I’m crazy with issues. Not gonna happen.”

A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “You’re not crazy.”

“Trust me. I’m nuts. You don’t want me long term.”

“You aren’t nuts. But maybe crazy in a good way.”

The tightness always coiling her gut eased. “Fine line between the two.”

“Miles apart.”

“I should get you to put that in writing.”

“Okay.” He nodded toward his car. “There’s not much we can do here now. Let’s drive back to the station and talk to the kids who found the body.”

A half hour later they were walking a plain gray hallway toward a muscular African American man with a detective’s shield clipped to his belt.

“Novak,” the detective said. “I was about to call you.”

“This is Agent Julia Vargas,” Novak said. “Julia, this is Detective Samuel Riggs.”

Riggs extended a hand. “Hear you’re working a similar case to the one we just grabbed.”

She made sure her grip was firm, her gaze steady. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“And as it turns out, Julia knew the victim found in the warehouse,” Novak said.

Riggs’s face lost all its jovial qualities as Novak filled him in on the case details as well as Julia’s connection to the victim. “That’s not by accident.”

“No,” she said.

“Can we talk to the kids that found the body?” Novak asked.

Riggs ran his hand along his silk tie. “I don’t think they’ll give you much. Dumb kids looking for a place to party. But have at it.”

“Thanks,” Novak said.

They walked into the interview room where two young women and a man sat at a table. Each was cradling a cup of coffee, and all of them looked shell-shocked.

Novak introduced himself and Julia. The tallest woman, a redhead, introduced herself as Emma. Her friends were Matthew and Sara.

Novak pulled out a metal chair for Julia and one for himself. His face had lost most of the cold hardness she’d seen at the crime scene, and when he smiled, he could have been any dad talking to his kid’s friends at a soccer game or school function.

“Hey, guys,” Novak said. “We won’t keep you much longer. I know it’s not been an easy night.”

Novak’s presence relaxed the kids. One stopped gripping her cup so tight, and the other two leaned back in their chairs a little.

“No one’s in trouble here. We’re trying to figure out what happened. Tell me why you chose this place,” Novak said. “It’s vacant and uninhabited.”

“We got a message,” Emma said. “Said if you wanted a cheap place to hold a party, then look at this warehouse.”

“Can I see it?” Novak asked.

“It’s already gone. It’s only up for an hour before it automatically deletes itself.”

“Who sent it?” Julia asked.

“I don’t know. The handle was Hangman,” Emma said.

Julia shook her head, enraged by the killer’s arrogance. She had the sense he was taunting her.

“Anyone heard from the Hangman before?” Novak asked.

“I never have,” Emma said as the other kids shook their heads no. She opened her phone and showed Julia the invitation.

It would have been a matter of time before someone stumbled onto the body, but for some reason the killer had wanted it found sooner than later.

“What kind of party was it?” Novak asked.

“We have regular parties on random days,” Sara said. “Offbeat places. We provide the music, and it’s BYOB. It’s never gotten out of hand. Just a way for the seniors to blow off steam.”

“You all in college?” Novak’s smile was self-deprecating. “I must be getting old. Everyone looks like high school to me.”

Emma frowned. “What was that hanging from the ceiling? Was it really a woman?”

“It was,” Julia said.

“Shit,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Novak absently tapped his fingers on the table. “You see anything unusual when you showed up at the warehouse? Anything out of place that caught your attention?”

“The place felt off,” Emma said.

“What do you mean?” Novak asked.

“We’ve partied in some odd places, but I’ve never been scared. This time I was scared. From the moment we got out of our car, I thought we were being watched.”

“And then a dog started barking,” Sara said. “That spooked me.”

“You see the dog?” Novak asked.

“No,” Sara said.

“Nothing real or solid,” Emma said. “Just weird feelings.”

“Okay,” Novak said. “Detective Riggs has your contact information, correct?”

They all nodded.

“Then there’s no reason to keep you any longer,” Novak said, rising. He walked to the door and opened it. “If we have any more questions, I’ll call.”

Julia rose. “Thanks, guys.”

As Novak escorted the students out of the building, Julia reached for her phone and called Andrews. He answered on the second ring. She briefed him on the new murder.

“So the Hangman uses social media that vanishes in an hour,” Andrews said.

“Looks like it.”

“You’ll want to talk to Vic Carson,” he said. “He runs a website called the Hangman. Big fan site.”

“You’re kidding. There’s a fan site? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It popped up about a month ago, and I am telling you now.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He was living in Richmond in 1992 and has always had a fascination with serial killers. He has a moderate following.”

“I won’t insult you and ask if he has a record,” she said.

“He does. Small petty crimes in the eighties, but since then, no arrests. He’s clean.”

“Or careful.”

“Agreed. He’s still in California at a conferenc