Love Me Dead (Lilah Love 3)

“Did something happen?”

“I talked to Mia’s boyfriend. He’s a photographer. He was on a shoot out of town, and he said he couldn’t reach her. He was worried, but they kind of had an on again off again relationship, so he thought she decided off was permanent. He said she wasn’t really messy, but she never hung her clothes up. She’d try them on and throw them onto the floor.”

That doesn’t fit the OCD shape of her apartment at all. “What else?”

“Her boss said she called in sick the day before she disappeared.”

Because Umbrella Man had her already. He probably made her clean her own place. “What else?”

“Shelly’s parents are overseas, and no one can reach them. It’s causing some concern.”

“Oh shit. Get with the Texas officials and have them do a safety check at their home. Do it now.”

“On it. I’ll call you back, but oh crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.”

“Fuck me, Tic Tac. Crap what?”

“I’m looking at a report I pulled. I tracked Detective Williams’ cellphone pings for the past month. She was on Mia Moore’s street a week before she died.”

“Holy fuck. Call for that wellness check and call me back.”

Kane is sitting at my desk drinking my cold coffee. He arches a brow. I rush toward him and motion for him to let me sit. “Problem?”

“A big one,” I say, grabbing the NYPD investigation file from my briefcase because I don’t remember anything about Mia calling in sick to work in that data.

I flip through pages, and it’s not there. Nothing about Mia being out sick. That would be part of a basic interview done in the twenty-four hours following an incident, and Mia’s boss was contacted. If he told Tic Tac, he would have told us. It was that research girl, Lily, who talked to him. I go through my records, find her number, and call her. Kane walks out of the room and disappears into the apartment. I sit down. “Lily,” I say when she answers. “This is Agent Love. Did you talk to Mia Moore’s boss?”

“Yes, I did. I wrote a report on the call.”

“Who instructed you to do that if Detective Williams was missing in action?”

“It’s a standard process. I create the lists of contacts. I do preliminary phone interviews. Detective Williams follows up in person. We’ve done this for dozens of cases.”

“Were you told that Mia Moore was out sick the day before her murder?”

“No,” she says, a lift to her voice. “Her boss said no such thing to me.”

She’s lying, I think. “He told my office but not you?” I challenge.

“Maybe he was hiding it, and the FBI label scared him into talking? Do you want me to research him a bit more?”

“No. I want you to find Williams.”

“I don’t know where she is.”

Just like she doesn’t know where my missing evidence is. She or Williams took it. The question is why? I don’t believe her. I dial Houston. He answers on the first ring. “Agent Love.”

“Lily just lied to me, and Williams was on Mia Moore’s street the week she died.”

“Lily is afraid of her own shadow. Maybe she’s afraid of Williams?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. None of this makes sense. Maybe she’s working for our dear friends.”

“Dear friends. Check. Murphy made that association clear. As to Lily working for them: with what endgame?”

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. Watch her and watch your back.”

“Does that mean we’re on the same team now?” he challenges.

“It means watch your back.” I hang up.

Kane walks in and sets a steaming cup of coffee in front of me, holding another in his hand. “Breakthrough?”

“From my perspective, the evidence points to Detective Williams being the Umbrella Man.”

“But you don’t believe the evidence,” he assumes.

“No. I don’t even come close to believing the fucking evidence.”

“Tell me about it. Maybe I can pull some whispers from the wind.”

“You and your damn connections, Kane. You’re a criminal.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Yes. I want to tell you about it, asshole.”

He laughs and motions to the chairs. My cellphone rings with Tic Tac’s number again. “They’re dead. It looks like a double suicide.”

“Get me a number for whoever’s in charge. Text it to me.” I disconnect. “The second victim’s parents in Texas were found dead in an apparent double suicide. Detective Williams’ boyfriend killed himself in an apparent suicide today.”

“Are we going to Texas?”

“We?”

“I own the chopper. I’ll give you a ride with me inside the chopper.”

“That’s bribery.”

“And?”

“And we’re not going to Texas.”

He arches a brow. “Why not?”

“Because Detective Williams is going to show up dead here.” A thought hits me. “Or Lily. Umbrella Man is getting people to do work for him by threatening people close to them.” I walk around the desk and hand Kane my coffee. I squat and find the information sheet on Lily, key in her address into my phone, and then holster my gun that is still on the ground before I stand up.

“I have to go to Lily’s place now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Lily isn’t one of the bad guys. She’s one of the victims. I need to save her.

I start for the door, determined to get to her now, quickly, but I stop dead, turning to face Kane. “No. Going to Lily’s is a rash, wrong move. I need to think.”

“Think out loud,” Kane urges, stepping closer to me again. “Tell me what you know. Lily works with Detective Williams, correct?”

I scowl at him. “You know things you shouldn’t know, Kane Mendez.”

“Irrelevant at the moment. Think out loud.”

“Okay,” I say. “First, Umbrella Man. I believe he has OCD. I even believe he makes his victims clean up their own living and work spaces under the threat of some sort of pain, but that’s speculation.”

“Based on what?”

“The crime scenes. The living space of the victims is sparkling clean, completely outside of a average living condition. We now know that wasn’t normal for the victims.” I walk away from him, thinking as I talk, recapping what I already believe I know. “He’s white,” I turn to face him, “in his forties, fit, white-collar, smart. My profile. More speculation. I think he’s high level law enforcement, someone Murphy’s level.”

His lips quirk, and he motions to my board where the index cards are pinned. “And he has a small dick.”

“That is not a joke. Did you know that the Golden State Killer had an abnormally small dick? He dominated and raped women, and he especially liked ones with large men in their lives he could force to watch.”

“I did not, in fact, know that the Golden State Killer had an abnormally small dick. This is why I love you, Lilah. I’m always just a little more educated with you in my life.”

“Kane,” I warn. “I’m being serious.”

His brown eyes dance with mischief. “As am I. Keep going.”

“I believe that the women he killed aren’t his only victims. He plays with the people around them. Call them secondary victims to the primary ones. All speculation but I’m working the theory that he tells them that if they don’t do something for him, he’ll kill someone they love. And then, somehow, he gets them to kill themselves. Maybe to save their loved ones. Maybe to save themselves a worse fate. Ultimately, he still kills his primary target.”

“How were they killed?”

“We believe the primary victims to have been poison, but we’re struggling to find the toxin. Suicide for the secondary victims.” My brows dip, this conversation bringing a hot point to my mind. “Ralph Redman. He’s a secondary victim connected to one of the primaries. He kille

d himself in open court. His place wasn’t spotless. I’m guessing the Texas crime scene where we have the double suicide won’t be either. I think,” I pause in thought and continue as my ideas materialize, “the secondary victims aren’t worthy of his hyper-focus. They’re like the pig he killed for the blood.” At that point, I recap everything, including my theory that the blood in the fan was simulating rain.

I summarize it all with, “I now believe that Lily, who works as a staff member of the NYPD, might be one of the secondary victims.”

“And who’s the primary?”