The Hangman (The Forgotten Files 3)

Inside, lights illuminated the body of a woman whose face was hooded. She hung from ropes hooked to beams. Her arms were each tied with a rope, and her ankles fastened by two more bindings. A final rope wound tight around her neck.

Julia’s chest constricted as she struggled to keep her reaction in check. Absently she reached in her pocket for gloves, but found she didn’t have a set.

Without missing a beat, Novak handed her a pair as he worked his large hands into his own.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem,” he said.

She appreciated the gesture. “Who found her?” she asked a uniformed cop.

The cop was older, with gray hair and a sturdy build, but seeing Novak, he stood straighter. “A few college kids. They were looking to rent the space for a party. As soon as they opened the front door, they spotted the spectacle and obviously the odor.”

A sigh shuddered through Novak. “Where are the kids?”

“A squad car took them back to the station. Detective Latimer is talking to them. They’re pretty shaken up.”

“Who’s working the forensic end of this?” Novak asked.

“Natasha Warner.”

“Good.” Novak’s jaw tensed as he looked past the officer to the suspended body.

“The brass wants you to take point, Detective Novak,” the officer said. “This is going to be a media shitstorm.”

“Yes, it is,” Novak said.

Julia stared up at the woman, her hooded face tilted to the side, her limbs dangling from ropes like a marionette’s. A surge of fury rushed through her body, stinging her nerve endings as she imagined the woman’s last panicked moments of life. The blink of a camera’s flash drew her attention to Natasha Warner, who was snapping pictures. “How long do you think she’s been there?”

“No more than twenty-four to thirty-six hours,” Natasha said.

Julia moved away from Novak and Natasha, her full attention on the victim. The thick scent of death infiltrated stagnant, dusty air and filled all her senses. Experience reminded her the human nose would soon block out the odorous scents if she didn’t fight. Her stomach tumbled. A cold settled deep in her marrow. Easier said than done.

Jesus.

“Why’s her face covered?” Novak asked more to himself, his deep voice calm and controlled.

She’d not heard him approach and couldn’t stop herself from flinching. She cleared her throat. “That’s a change from before.”

He stood behind her, so close she imagined the heat of his body warming her chilled bones. “Copycat or original?”

“Did my investigation trigger this?” Julia folded her arms over her chest, fearful that Novak would confirm her worries. “Is she dead because of me?”

For several beats, he was silent. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “No, you didn’t make this sick bastard do anything.”

“I kicked a hornet’s nest.”

“The hornets were always there, and if you hadn’t gotten his attention, someone else would have. Killers like this don’t need an excuse.”

She stared at the victim’s hands and feet, darkened by the blood that had settled after her heart stopped beating.

With her gaze locked on the body, Julia took solace knowing Novak didn’t bend to bravado. No drama. And she needed that right now as she shouldered the weight of this woman’s death.

Natasha approached the two officers. “I’ve photographed the scene, sketched it, and had the uniforms search the area. Next step will be to cut her down.” The tech studied Julia’s badge. “Is the state taking over jurisdiction?”

“No,” Novak said. “Agent Vargas is consulting. Take the body down now.”

“Right,” Natasha said.

They watched as Natasha and a couple of uniforms moved under the form. The two officers held the rope and braced for the weight when it released.

As Natasha recorded with a video camera, another officer used a pocketknife to saw through the rope that stretched over the large rafter in the ceiling. As soon as the final strands gave way, the body was slowly lowered to the floor.

Rigor mortis had stiffened the victim’s limbs. Natasha shot more pictures over the course of the next fifteen minutes before an officer rolled the body on its back. The woman wasn’t naked like the original victims. Her feet and the undersides of her arms were blue. She wore a thin white T-shirt and jeans that tightly skimmed her body. No shoes, but her toenails and fingernails were painted a dark purple.

Her shirt rode up on her right side, revealing two red prong marks that left no doubt about the use of a stun gun. That’s how he had controlled her. Without that, it would have been hard to bind her limbs and hoist her up.

Novak moved to the edge of the tarp, knelt to get a better look at the body. He was a man of few words, which suited her fine. She hadn’t been looking for conversation when they first hooked up, and even now, she wasn’t warming up to it. His quiet strength communicated more than most people did with excessive words.

As he studied the victim, his frown deepened. Julia knew the feeling all too well. Any cop wanting to survive the job had to cope with the darkness. Otherwise, the work became too personal and the demons consumed you whole. Those damn demons had been circling close the night Novak had walked up to her at the awards banquet. She’d been drawn to his calm, his steadiness, and his indifference to the ceremony. When she’d seen the desire spark across his gaze, she’d found a way to push back her fears. What she’d not expected was to crave the same release with him again and again.

Natasha took more pictures of the body, close-ups of the woman’s hands, feet, and neck. When the body had been completely documented, the technician inspected the coil of rope around the neck. “My bet is she died of asphyxiation.”

“Like the original cases,” Julia said. “The victims strangled to death under their own weight.”

Natasha stepped back. “I’ll leave the cause of death to the medical examiner. I’m also going to leave the ropes in place and let the medical examiner’s representative inspect them. I don’t want to lose one bit of evidence.”

“Did you find anything else that belonged to the victim or that was out of place?” Novak asked.

“I found a crumpled white napkin over there beside a stack of boxes. In here, it wouldn’t take long for anything white to get dirty. But it was sitting there, wrinkled and fairly clean, with what looks like a mustard smudge on it.”

“So our killer had a snack?” Julia asked.

“Brazen enough to believe he had time for a sandwich,” Novak said.

“If there’s DNA on it, we’ll find it,” Natasha said.

The image of the dead woman still in her mind, Julia understood her father’s fixation and drive to solve the case.

Activity at the warehouse front door had her turning to see the medical examiner’s team. Julia recognized Dr. Tessa McGowan.

The doctor, a petite woman with short dark hair, crossed the room as another tech raised the expandable gurney and pushed it up to the yellow tape. She and an assistant unfolded a large black body bag and unzipped it.

Tessa crouched next to the body, laying a

gloved hand on the victim’s arm. Julia had seen the doctor do this before. She thought it odd that Tessa was giving comfort.

“I’d like to remove the hood from her face,” Tessa said.

“We were waiting for you,” Novak said.

Nodding, Tessa pulled the thick black hood away.

Julia simply stared at the too-familiar blond hair, full lips, and high sweep of cheekbones. She drew in a sharp breath and took a small step back.

“What’s wrong?” Novak was so close now she could feel the heat radiating from him.

“I know her.”

“Who is she?”

She steadied her voice. “Lana Ortega.”

“Benny Santiago’s girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

Novak nudged her shoulder. “Outside. Now.”

Without a word, she left the scene behind, needing to breathe in fresh air. Outside, she stripped off her gloves and tossed them in a waste bin. Her hands trembled slightly.

Novak appeared at the door. He jerked off his gloves, tossing them in the same bin, and came up beside her. He didn’t speak for a few moments.

“Are you sure that’s Lana Ortega?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Who did you tell about reopening this case?”

“The Shield people. Sharp. You. I also requested the files from the records department. Ken. His wife, Wendy. And stop looking at me like I’m a goddamned suspect.”

“You’re not a suspect, but you’re in the center of this, Julia. What would you have me do?”

She searched his dark eyes, seeing the steady directness she’d come to expect from him. She shook off her frustration. “Exactly what you’re doing.”

He looked from side to side before softening his tone. “You told enough people for the story to get out. You know as well as I do that secrets get around fast in police departments.”

“I thought I was careful.”

“How reliable is Ken?”

“There was a time I’d have said rock solid, but now I’m not so sure. He wouldn’t talk about the case intentionally, but he easily gets confused.”