Chapter 20

As soon as Frazer pulled up at the house on the outskirts of Lincoln, Massachusetts, he knew something was off. Sylvie Pomerol lived a few short miles from where the first shots had been fired in the Revolutionary War. She was a small, thoughtful woman in her early forties who took her job seriously and traveled all over the US to present expert testimony and perform assessments of various crimes and criminals.

Trees encircled the property and gave it that secluded forest feel that had never appealed to him. Too many boogey men hid in the woods. Too many shadows. He and Izzy had found a place overlooking the Potomac that fed his love of openness and her love of the water.

This place gave him the creeps.

Dead leaves rustled on the branches. The breeze, which held the serrated edge of the Arctic, made his eyes smart. He removed his Glock from the holster and circled around to the back of the property, shoes immediately soaked by two inches of snow that had fallen in the past few hours.

Maybe that was what bothered him. No footprints in the fresh snow. And no vehicle in sight. No lights on inside the house, and no smoke coming out of the chimney.

Didn't have to mean anything. Sylvie and her husband may have decided to go away after all. Frazer hoped so. But the hairs on his nape quivered, and he had long ago learned to listen to his instincts.

He shone his flashlight around the house but saw no sign of anyone being here.

He decided to try the back door. He knocked first and called out, "Sylvie? It's Lincoln Frazer. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He tried her cell again, and a stab of something bleak moved through him when he heard the ring tone coming from inside the house.

He called out again then dialed Aaron Nash who was currently closer than Novak or the HRT team who guarded the judge. Parker would have been useful right about now, but he was busy helping one of his best friends prepare for her wedding to SSA Quentin Savage.

"You find her?" Nash answered.

"I'm at her house, but the lights are off. No one appears to be home, but I can hear her cell ringing inside."

"Give me the address," Aaron instructed. "I'll call the local office."

Frazer sent him his location. "I'm going in."

"Leech could be there."

"That would be lovely." Frazer wasn't foolish enough to underestimate the guy, not when he'd murdered so many and had so little left to lose, but Frazer was a well-trained professional and catching serial killers was his job. "I'll keep the line open, but backup might prove useful."

"Already being requested."

Frazer smiled a little. He liked that about the Hostage Rescue Team. They didn't need point-by-point instruction or hand holding.

He slid the phone into his pocket and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves so as not to disturb evidence should a crime have been committed here. Assume the worst—that was his mantra. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. He used the butt of his weapon to break the glass in the small pane closest to the lock. Pretty crappy security, but this door only opened into a mudroom. He reached through, flicked the lock and walked inside.

His shoes crunched on the broken shards of glass. Was Leech here? Was Sylvie alive?

He hoped she wasn't standing behind the door ready to put a bullet in him because she heard someone break into her house.

He pulled his flashlight from his pocket and called out again. "Sylvie. It's me, Frazer."

No reaction. No sense of predatory anticipation either.

Frazer tried the door into the main house and was disappointed to find it unlocked. Sylvie was smarter than that.

He braced his Glock on the wrist that held the flashlight and entered the main house, moving quickly away from the danger zone as he swept his light across the kitchen.

Signs of someone about to eat dinner—bowls on the table, bread and butter on the counter. An empty packet of ham. Milk and cheese left out of the fridge on the side. He touched a finger to the saucepan of stew on the stove.

Stone cold.

Frazer flicked on the light switch, glad when it came on. The fewer shadows for danger to lurk in the better. The smell of overripe bananas soured his stomach, but he pushed the sensation away, along with the memories of another woman's kitchen.

"Sylvie? It's Assistant Special Agent in Charge Lincoln Frazer. We had a meeting?" If Leech was here, he already knew Frazer was in the house. But if the husband was here then hopefully, he'd be less inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.

Best to clear the house and pray his instincts were off.

He stepped into the dining room and then into the living room. Nothing.

An office was on the other side of the staircase and a glance inside showed it had been ransacked. A computer was on. The screensaver active.

Ice formed inside his veins. He knew exactly what he was going to find upstairs now. He turned on lights along the way, led with his gun. He saw the soles of their feet first through the banisters.

A man and a woman lay on the floor, side by side.

Frazer had to clear the whole house before he could check them for signs of life, but that initial glance told him they'd been dead for a while. He cleared the bathroom and the other bedrooms. Methodical. Thorough. He wasn't about to let Leech leap out on him with a gun or a knife and leave Izzy as grief-stricken as Hope.

He was mindful of the fact it was a crime scene and avoided getting too close to either Sylvie or her burly ex-Marine husband. He avoided the blood spatter on the carpet and only touched what he had to, no handles where possible, using his gun to turn on the lights.

Scrawled in bright red, presumably lipstick, across the bathroom mirror was "I have feelings, Dr. P."

Leech.

Cowardly bastard.

Frazer pushed the victims out of his mind and did the job, cleared everywhere except the tiny attic and crawlspace—he'd let junior agents deal with those. His instincts and senses, plus the lack of tracks in the snow told him Leech was long gone.

He lowered his weapon and put the flashlight back in his pocket. He pulled out his cell. The call was still connected.

"Two dead on scene. Sylvie and a man I have to assume is her husband judging from the tattoos. I cleared most of the house. No one else is here. I'll need a full team of agents from the local field office. I'll inform the marshals, but this will be our crime scene."

"You're sure it's Leech?"

"I'm sure." Frazer took a few photos from different angles, the last one focusing on the hands. He went into the bathroom and snapped the image of the lipstick on the mirror. He sent two images to Nash, knowing he'd understand the significance of the pose.

"So, Leech or a copycat," Aaron said quietly.

"Yes." The word tasted like acid on his tongue. "Someone shot the Marine though. That's new."

"What if the marshals decide they don't want us investigating the murders?"

"Then I'll use all my influence to persuade them otherwise. In the meantime, let's just say I'll wait ten minutes or so before I make that call to them. I'll check the garage and outbuildings first, like a pro."

"Watch your back…" There was a hesitation. "Should I call you Frazer or sir or something else?"

Frazer scoffed. "I think we can dispense with the formalities. I have a feeling we're going to be spending a lot more time together over the next few days."

"Well, shit."

"Yeah. Absolute total shit."

"Should I tell Hope?" asked Aaron.

Frazer considered for a moment. He wanted to say no, but then she would lose faith in them, and he needed her trust. Plus, if anyone could handle the truth it was Hope. She'd withstood worse.

"Tell her but delay it for as long as you can. And then sit on her if you have to, to stop her coming out here. Do me another favor and call Novak and the team guarding the judge. I seriously doubt Leech will risk going after anyone who has bodyguards, but let's get the word out."

"I'm surprised he went after a Marine."

"Me too." And Frazer didn't like surprises. "I'll come to the house as soon as I finish here."

"Roger that."

They hung up.

Frazer took a video of the scene and then walked back through the house, recording the whole time. In what was presumably Sylvie's home office, he nudged the computer mouse with his gun. A news website loaded on the screen, a photograph of Hope as she stood outside the DA's office, eyes blazing.

Headline read, "Heavily guarded ADA Hope Harper claims to be unafraid of escaped serial killer, Julius Leech."

Frazer sighed. Well, she'd certainly gotten the man's attention. Not that it had ever been in doubt.

He headed through the living room where everything appeared undisturbed. Had Leech caught one of them in the kitchen, Frazer wondered. Probably last night judging from the congealed state of the stew and stale hunk of torn-off loaf.

Probably pulled his gun on them…

Didn't feel quite right.

The Marine had been naked.

Frazer pictured it in his mind. Maybe the Marine gets home from work, Sylvie has dinner ready while he cleans up? Leech sneaks in the back door and catches Sylvie in the kitchen. Holds a gun to her head as he forces her upstairs. Shoots the Marine in the bedroom.

Yeah, that sounded more like a Leech scenario. Still cowardly.

Had they not taken the threat seriously? Maybe not. The house was in her husband's name. And she took great care with her online security, assuming that would prevent the people she helped convict from finding out where she lived. But Leech had billions of dollars and nothing better to spend it on. Frazer bet the guy and his personal assistant, or whatever the hell Blake Delaware was, had compiled a full history on everyone involved in Leech's conviction.

Frazer texted Izzy to reassure himself that she was okay and to warn her and her sister Kit to take extra care. He wasn't too worried, but it never hurt to be cautious. And while Leech might have money, Frazer had something better. Alex Parker. The cybersecurity expert had helped him disappear when it came to where he lived or might be at any given time. Any links to Izzy and Kit had also been carefully erased as had their online data where possible. Kit was a college freshman, so it wasn't perfect, but the young woman liked to avoid the spotlight where possible nowadays.

Frazer headed outside to check the shed and the garage, removing keys off the hook inside the kitchen. He tromped through the snow knowing more was forecast and that was going to complicate processing this crime scene—it already had—but he didn't find anything of note, just a couple of empty vehicles.

Had Leech taken one? If not, what was he driving? Was he alone? Where had he parked?

Frazer finally made the call to the marshals, knowing that despite the fact he'd gotten a lead on Leech—while they'd argue against that being a definite—the USMS wasn't going to be happy with him.

Not his problem.

But Leech was his problem. Leech was very much his problem.

One he intended to solve.