The Hangman (The Forgotten Files 3)

“The party line. The last case your old man worked deserved to be solved.”

“It’s not a party line. It’s the truth.”

His gaze narrowed, like he smelled something was off. “Don’t bullshit me, Julia. You think solving that case will somehow explain Jim’s suicide, and maybe send a message to the friends who distanced themselves from you and your mother after his death.”

“We did fine.”

“It’s okay to say you’re suffering.”

“But I’m not.”

“Novak thinks you are.”

“Really?”

His gaze cut toward her. “What’s going on between you two?”

She adjusted her sunglasses. “We had a case last night.”

He shook his head. “I’m not so far gone that I don’t see the way he looks at you. What’s the deal with you two?”

“Nothing.”

He chuckled. “Maybe nothing for you, kiddo, but I don’t think Novak received the memo.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Monday, October 30, 1:45 p.m.

Julia took the Quantico exit and let the GPS guide her along side streets to the security station where a guard stood. Ken, who had been silent most of the trip, sat straighter.

“Agent Julia Vargas,” she said to the guard, showing her badge. “And this is retired detective Ken Thompson. We’re meeting with Garrett Andrews.”

The guard studied her identification before handing it back. “I need to see his identification.”

Julia smiled. “Ken, where’s your driver’s license?”

The hint of uncertainty in her voice clearly irritated him. Frowning, Ken reached in his breast pocket and produced his ID. He handed it to the guard.

“You’re on the list,” the guard said. “Follow the road to the back.”

“Got it,” Julia said.

She followed the road and parked in a visitor spot by the front door. Out of the car, they made their way to the sleek five-story office building. The smoked-glass front was opaque, but she sensed every move they made was monitored by someone on the inside.

“Ready to wow the committee?” she asked Ken.

He tugged at the edges of his sports jacket as he stared at the building. “You’re doing most of the talking, right?”

“That’s the plan, but they may ask you questions. Is that okay?”

He jutted out his chin. “Of course it’s okay. I miss details from time to time, Julia, but I’m not an invalid.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really worried that they’ll turn us down.”

The lines around his eyes softened. “No one says no to you.”

“Sure they do.”

A smile crunched the edge of his lips. “And the poor bastard lived to regret it, didn’t he?”

“Maybe a little.” She straightened his tie.

When they stepped into the lobby, a formidable man stood by the security desk. In his late thirties, he wore a well-tailored suit that hugged a trim waist. The shoes were polished. The red tie was straight, and the thick blond hair was cropped close. Scars on the back of his left hand suggested he’d been badly burned.

“Agent Vargas,” the man said. The voice was deep with hints of rust on the edges.

“Yes, sir. I’m Julia Vargas.” She moved toward him, her hand outstretched.

He wrapped long fingers around her hand and squeezed. “I’m Garrett Andrews.”

Matching his grip, she met his gaze. She’d read up on the company and its principal partners. Andrews was the firm’s computer expert, though some considered him a genius. He’d served with Special Forces in Iraq until an IED explosion had blown up his vehicle. He was the only survivor of the explosion. “Good to meet you, Mr. Andrews. This is Ken Thompson, my father’s former partner.”

Andrews extended his hand to Ken. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve read the case files. You did some impressive work on the case, Detective Thompson.”

Ken accepted his hand, no hint of worry in his lined face. “But I didn’t solve it. The killer is still free.”

“You’re here to fix that.”

“Damn right,” Ken said.

She’d briefed Andrews on Ken’s medical condition and had worried he would patronize Ken. But Andrews’s demeanor didn’t suggest even a whiff of pity.

“Excellent,” Andrews said.

Ken nodded toward her. “Julia is the driving force behind this case now. I’ll help wherever I can.”

“I bet you still have some moves,” Andrews said.

Ken gave a slight nod.

“Let me show you both to the conference room.” He crossed to the elevator with long confident strides and pressed the button. The door opened, and when they stepped inside, he swiped a key card and pressed “5” before the doors closed.

The elevator doors opened to a reception area, and a pretty redhead sitting behind a polished desk smiled.

“We’ll be in the conference room, Naomi,” Andrews said.

“I’ve notified the rest of the committee,” Naomi said. “They’re on their way.”

“Thank you.” He extended his hand toward the long hallway. “It’s right this way.”

As Julia and Ken followed Andrews, her mind ticked through the key points she wanted to make to the committee.

The west wall of the conference room consisted of a bank of windows offering a clear view of the woods and a lake. A dozen office chairs surrounded a long polished conference table. Under a flat-screen television, a matching credenza was filled with drinks, fruits, and doughnuts. Doughnuts. Cops and their doughnuts.

“Can I offer you a drink or snack?” Andrews asked.

“A coffee would be great,” Ken said. “Black, one sugar.”

Andrews poured a cup and handed it to Ken. “Julia, what about you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She all but lived on caffeine, but right now she was too hyped to risk another cup. “Where would you like us to sit?” She heard the clip in her voice and tried to soften it with a smile.

“At this end of the table,” Andrews said.

She slid her purse from her shoulder and into the chair to the left of the head spot, which she’d give to Ken.

“Sure I can’t get you a beverage?” he asked.

A pack of cigarettes. A shot of tequila. Maybe bourbon. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

Two men entered the room. Her homework had also told her the striking man with short black hair was Clay Bowman, the company’s new CEO. Bowman was dating a Virginia State Police trooper and had worked with Agent Sharp on a cold case last month. To his left was a fit man in his midsixties. That would be Joshua Shie

ld, founder of the company.

Andrews made introductions. Hands were shaken.

“Dakota Sharp speaks highly of you,” Bowman said.

Julia held his direct gaze. “He’s one hell of a cop.”

“Agreed.”

Bowman and Shield sat opposite Julia and Ken.

“Agent Vargas kindly sent me her presentation, and it’s now uploaded into our system,” Andrews said.

“We’re ready whenever you are, Agent Vargas,” Bowman said.

Andrews handed Julia the remote. The lights in the room dimmed, and the first image, a warehouse located in Richmond’s Shockoe Bottom, came up. “This area of Richmond is the old tobacco warehouse district of the city. Today, it’s been revitalized and is home to many young professionals.” She clicked through more images of the area. “In the midseventies and eighties the area was in decline, but by 1992 was beginning to see a significant uptick in traffic. The promise of the city’s new flood wall encouraged more businesses to relocate to the area. However, drugs and prostitution weren’t uncommon, and there were many old tobacco warehouses yet to be renovated.”

Unable to sit, Julia rose when the slide changed to the twenty-five-year-old image of the now-defunct Shockoe Bottom bar Stella’s, owned by the first victim. “The Hangman was a serial killer who stalked Shockoe Bottom in the fall of 1992. As I said in my application, my father, Detective Jim Vargas, worked with Detective Ken Thompson to solve the murder of three women. All three victims were found within a three-block radius of Stella’s, located on the eastern fringe of Shockoe Bottom.”

Julia stole a glance toward her audience and found them all paying close attention.

A click and the screen image changed to the mug shot of a young woman with long brown hair and blue eyes. Mascara smudged under defiant eyes that stared at the camera. “This is the first victim. Her name was Rene Tanner. She worked at and co-owned Stella’s with her husband, Gene Tanner. According to her husband, she took the evening off to go out with friends. She never came home. Her body was found hanging in a nearby warehouse six days later. The investigators focused on Gene Tanner, who until the death of the second victim was their primary suspect. Tanner didn’t report his wife missing for three days, and when asked about the delay said his wife often took off.”