Before She Dies (Alexandria Novels 3)

Just after 3 p.m., the homicide team assembled in the windowless conference room on the third floor of police headquarters. The room was decorated in pale beiges that looked closer to brown than white and furniture that was at least a decade old. A large white board hung behind the head of the table, and on the credenza under it, a coffeemaker spat out its third pot for the afternoon.

Rokov had been on the homicide team two years now and he had worked his share of murders not only with Sinclair but with each of the three other detectives.

“So what do we have?” Garrison said, settling. He shrugged broad shoulders as if working out the stiffness.

“Sinclair and I have spent the better part of the night trying to piece together Diane Young’s last days. Audrey dug through her computer. No suspicious e-mails or calls so far, but she gave us Beyond’s client list, and we are going to dig through that.”

Malcolm Kier pulled a pen from his breast pocket and laid it beside his notebook on the table. “How many on the client list?”

“One hundred and six. We have identified the top ten users of Beyond. These folks have the highest billing rates of last month. And six of those made the top ten for the last three months. One woman paid out four thousand dollars to Beyond in September.”

Kier shook his head. “You telling me there was a woman who paid four grand to have her stars and cards read?”

Rokov nodded. “Her name is Sandy Tennyson, age fifty-seven. We spoke to her first thing late this morning.” He flipped through the pages of his notebook. “She has bone cancer, and according to her, the doctors had not given her more than six months. She did a random purchase with Beyond four months ago. Diane said that all her troubles would be vanquished by the end of this year.”

“Did Young know Tennyson had cancer?” Kier said.

“Tennyson swears no,” Sinclair interjected. “But to hear her speak, it wouldn’t take a psychic to figure out she is sick.”

Garrison tapped his thumb on his yellow notepad.

“Is that what Young did? Did she string this woman along and make her believe there was hope?”

Rokov shook his head. “I don’t know. Only Young could answer that. But she collected a lot of money from Tennyson.”

“Would piss me off if someone gave me hope and then snatched it away,” Kier said.

“Even if Tennyson figured out this was a scam, she doesn’t have the strength to drown a woman, even one as small as Young, and then drag her up to that abandoned warehouse,” Rokov said.

“And she does have an alibi,” Sinclair interjected.

“As do her two sons, both in their early twenties. She and her husband are divorced, and there seems to be no other relatives.” Rokov scanned his notes. “The other top five clients have similar stories. Illness, job loss, one even has a missing child.”

Garrison’s expression turned grim. “Who has the missing child?”

“Her name is Abby Powers. She was the other client we saw today. Her daughter Bia went missing in the early eighties. The kid vanished from their apartment in the middle of the night.”

“I remember that case,” Garrison said. “My dad worked it.” Garrison’s father had been a thirty-year veteran of the department and still remained a resource on old or cold cases. “Tell me she did not give this woman hope.”

“According to Ms. Powers, Diane believed Bia was alive. Ms. Powers agrees with Young and was working with Young to find out who took the child.”

“Any leads?” Kier said.

“Ms. Powers said that Ms. Young never was able to give her anything, but that didn’t stop her from asking.”

“Or stop Young from billing her.” Kier’s words dripped with disgust.

Rokov nodded. “Young made a good living mostly on the worries and fears of others.”

“Makes for a lot of enemies,” Kier said.

“Powers has no relatives. She lives a hermit’s life in Arlington. We are still checking alibis from the other top clients. It’s going to take a while.” He checked his notes. “There is another guy in Leesburg. Paul Stanford. He plays the horses and consulted Diane for guidance. He’s next on our to-be-visited list.”

“What did Audrey tell us about Young’s last few days?” Garrison said.

Rokov rose and went to the white board. “We know that the last day she logged on to her computer was Friday, October fifteenth, at six in the morning, and she remained on her computer until four in the afternoon. We have records of the e-mails she sent to clients as well as the website copy she was writing for her November forecasts, which she planned to post in a couple of weeks. She appears to have shut down her computer for good that same afternoon.”

“Her body was found on Tuesday. When does the medical examiner estimate the time of death?” Garrison said.

“Liver temperature suggests that she died on Monday just after midnight,” Sinclair added.

“So what happened to her between Friday afternoon and Monday?” Kier said.

“Surveillance cameras at her apartment building show her leaving the building just after six on Friday evening. She gets in her car and credit card receipts show that she gassed up fifteen minutes later on Route 7.”

“We have footage of her filling up her car and then safely driving off. She was headed west toward Bailey’s Crossroads.”

“And?” Deacon said.

“And then she stopped by her branch bank and withdrew five hundred dollars from her bank account, which she seems to do regularly each month.” Rokov moved to the television and turned on the DVD disk. “The bank’s ATM camera does show a man walking up to her.” They all watched as a man wearing a hoodie approached her. The man’s face and race were obscured, but it was clear he had a medium build and was about six feet. Diane grinned up at him when he knocked on her window. She unlocked her door and he climbed into the front seat of her car. Then they drove off. “And that is the last she’s seen,” Rokov said.

“Until she shows up dead in the abandoned building,” Kier said.

“Exactly.”

“We showed the tape to her sister, Suzanne Young. She does not recognize the man, but did mention that her sister had been in great spirits lately.”

“Any mention of a man?” Kier said.

“Sister thought Diane might have a guy but they’d had no real discussion,” Rokov said.

“Are there any other cameras that pick this guy up near the bank?”

“There is a pizza place next door, and we see him arrive on foot. He crosses the lot directly in front of the camera, but again he’s careful to hide his face. It was as if he had planned this moment down to the last detail.”

Garrison rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “What else did the medical examiner say?”

Rokov opened his file and read Dr. Henson’s clinical words that detailed the trauma. “The victim was sexually assaulted several times, both vaginally and anally. She has ligature marks on her wrists and ankles and there is bruising on her arms. The real kicker is the water in her lungs.”

“He drowned her?” Kier said.

“Her ribs were cracked and her heart was damaged as if it had stopped and been restarted several times. We think he drowned her and then revived her.”

The words washed over everyone and settled a heavy weight on their shoulders.

Rokov posted pictures taken at the crime scene of the salt circle as well as the pentagram. “Read your witch trial history, and you’ll find that it wasn’t uncommon to elicit confessions by trying to drown the victims.”

Kier leaned forward. “You mean to tell me that the killer is some kind of witch hunter?”

“Right now, all I know is that there are signs of the occult at the murder scene, my victim told fortunes, and my victim was drowned repeatedly.”

Garrison hooked his thumbs in his belt. “How much does the media have?”

“Only that police are investigating the murder of a young woman. We were going to release her picture

today and identify her. My hope is that someone might have seen her and her killer in that bank parking lot.”

Garrison nodded. “Do you realize this kind of story is going to pull the crazies out of the woodwork? I don’t even want to consider the tips that will come in on the tip line.”

“October and witches,” Kier said. “Doesn’t get any more entertaining than that for the press.”

Garrison rubbed his neck. “Identify her and let the media know what she did for a living. But let’s still hold off any crime scene details.”

“Will do,” Rokov said. “Sinclair and I could use you both. The sooner we track down clients and neighbors, the better.”

“Whatever you need, Rokov,” Garrison said.

Charlotte pulled up in front of the New Age shop located on Washington Street in Old Town. The brick town house wasn’t old like the buildings near the river, but had been designed to mimic the old world colonial style. This was a busy street, and the shop looked like it would see a good bit of traffic. Points to Sooner for choosing the spot.

She set the parking break on her BMW as her mind drifted back to the call she’d just ended. Levi had not been thrilled about Samantha turning down his plea bargain.

“If she thinks I’ll make a better deal, she can forget it.” Levi’s voice had been ripe with tension.

“She doesn’t want a better deal.”

“She’s a fool. The jury is going to come back with a guilty verdict.”

“I don’t agree.”

“When she is taken away from her kids for the next twenty years, this will be on you, Charlotte.”

Charlotte carefully slid on her sunglasses and scanned the busy street for Sooner’s tall frame and dark hair in the sea of passersby. Seconds and then minutes passed, and there was no sign of Sooner. Charlotte checked her watch. The girl was twenty minutes late.

Tamping down irritation, she considered bagging this entire venture and leaving. Time was money, literally for Charlotte, and she could not waste either now.

Who are you kidding? You’ll wait as long as it takes.

Her BlackBerry buzzed, and she checked the number. Angie. Charlotte hit send. “Angie. What can I do for you?”