CHAPTER FOUR

The elevator doors parted and spat Ella and Luca out into the top floor of the FBI building in Northwest D.C.

Ella had wanted to take the stairs – for that brief period of reflection en route to the dragon's lair – but there was a tour going on downstairs. Once a month, groups were invited to see the FBI headquarters in person, and it always made Ella feel like a museum exhibit.

‘I love those tours,' Luca said as he peered over the balcony. ‘It's nice that the public get to see inside here.'

‘Yeah. They're doing them at Quantico now too.'

At the end of the hall, a big-dick oak door stood guard. The plaque read WILLIAM EDIS – DIRECTOR. Edis had returned in the interim after the previous, short-lived director had been assassinated on his doorstep, but Edis's masochism knew no bounds, so he'd signed on for another year. This was his final year because FBI directors could only serve ten years at the top. Then they replaced them with someone younger and better looking, or at least Ella hoped.

‘You know why they do tours at Quantico?' Luca asked.

‘Same reason they do tours here. So people can see the inside of the building.'

‘No. It's to stop the conspiracies.'

‘What conspiracies?'

‘All the conspiracies,' Luca said. ‘Aliens in the basement. Hoover's corpse on ice. Weapons that control the weather.'

‘You ever been in the basement?'

‘No. You?'

They reached the door. Ella raised a fist to knock. 'No, but Ripley did once. She saw things.'

‘What kind of things?'

‘Let's just say...'

A voice boomed from the other side of the door before Ella could finish. ‘Enter.'

Luca cut a glance at her, then whispered, ‘We didn't even knock. Man's got sonic ears.'

‘Shh, he'll hear you.' Ella shouldered inside with Luca on her tail. Edis held court behind his aircraft carrier of a desk, built like a bulldog in his trademark power suit. Since returning to the job, he'd traded charcoal gray for blue. Appearances were everything, he always said, which made the ungroomed patches of hair on his head all the more confusing. His eyes fixed on them, managing to convey annoyance and exhaustion in a single glance.

‘Agents, sit.' Edis gestured to the leather thrones in front of his desk. ‘Thank you for coming.'

He always thanked Ella whenever she arrived, as if she had a choice in the matter. She and Luca took their seats. It was still a strange feeling, not seeing Ripley sprawled out in that chair like usual. Maybe she'd never get used to it.

‘You're welcome, sir. What can we do for you?'

‘First, Dark, I want to say well done for what you did down in NOLA. I've seen the clips.'

Luca turned to her. ‘Told you.'

‘Securing a death sentence for a high-profile guy like Creed puts us on good terms with all of the major players.' Edis gestured to a bottle of whiskey on his window sill. It had a Scottish name Ella couldn't pronounce. ‘Gift from the mayor this morning.'

‘They're real conservative down there in Louisiana,' Luca said. ‘They love their capital punishment.'

‘True, Hawkins. But politics aside, you made the Bureau look like we're doing our job. So kudos.'

Yup, appearances were everything, Ella thought. ‘I just told the truth. The courts did the rest.'

Edis grabbed two brown folders and threw them across his desk. Ella and Luca scooped up one each.

‘Speaking of death sentences, we've got a situation out in Oregon. A little town called Yamhill. Please, take a look,' Edis gestured.

Ella flipped open her folder. The contents were thick, stuffed with reports, photographs, and what looked like hastily scrawled notes. Typical small-town police work, more enthusiasm than expertise. Ella's eyes skimmed over the basics – Yamhill, Oregon, population just shy of two thousand. A blip on the map, a wide spot in the road. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone and secrets were as rare as vegetarians.

‘Two bodies within a five-mile radius in this little town,' Edis said. ‘Local PD are desperate for our help. This is new territory for them.'

Ella thumbed past the boilerplate BS and the CYA cop-speak that made her eyes glaze over. She went straight to the part that told the most detailed story – the crime scene photos.

The first image hit her right in the solar plexus. A young woman, bright red hair, spider web tattoo on her temple. Timeless good looks wrapped in an alternative package. The poor woman was lying face-up on a hardwood floor, and there was a distinct lack of blood. None at all. Which meant this killer had gone for a cleaner approach.

But it wasn't the décor or the woman's looks that caught Ella's attention.

It was her eyes.

Or more specifically, the lack of any pupils or irises.

They were sparkling. Glittering like disco balls. Like she was wearing a pair of opaque contact lenses. What in the sweet hell?

She flipped to the next shot and felt her gorge rise. There, behind the vic's head, was a floor-to-ceiling busted mirror. Shards everywhere.

Then it clicked.

‘He put mirror shards in her eyes?'

Luca looked over at her with a wince. ‘That could tell us a lot about him.'

‘Two victims over two nights. Second victim was twenty-year-old Natasha Langston,' Edis said. ‘Killed in the early hours of this morning, discovered around nine AM. Still awaiting autopsy reports so cause of death is unknown.'

Luca said, ‘I don't know, sir. I think jamming mirrors into someone's eyes might do it.'

Ella kicked Luca's foot. He hadn't learned that the big man didn't speak sarcasm. Thankfully, Edis seemed to ignore it.

‘And two nights ago, PD found their first victim. Gregory Van Allen, forty-two.'

Ella moved to the next set of crime scene photos and felt her eyebrows climb north. Gregory Van Allen, a silver fox type judging by the close-ups, was curled up on a linoleum floor. The man was clearly built like a linebacker, and this time, the crimson stain of blood was impossible to miss, even in grayscale.

But just like with the first victim, there was one detail of the scene that didn't compute.

Gregory Van Allen, this forty-something man, was clutching a teddy bear in death.

‘The hell?' Luca muttered. ‘Looks like this killer has a wicked sense of humor.'

Ella squinted at the photo, trying to make sense of the nonsensical. A male victim who was stabbed to death, judging by the pool of matted blood in his stomach, and a female victim with no visible blood loss anywhere. One left with a teddy bear, the other with mirrors for eyes.

Luca asked, ‘Sir, does anything connect these victims other than proximity? Different killing methods, different victimology. These could easily be two different unsubs.'

Edis snapped his folder shut and said, ‘I wish you two would read the details. Look at the locations.'

Ella flipped to the first written police report. At approximately eight-fifty-seven on the given date, Archie Goodman, owner of the establishment, discovered Miss Langston unresponsive in the ‘Chamber of Reflections' section of the attraction.

‘Chamber of Reflections?' she asked.

‘Says that Gregory was the owner of a place called the Screamatorium. Both victims were found in haunted houses?' asked Luca.

‘Yes. Scare attractions. I'm not familiar with them.'

‘Me either,' Luca said. They both shot a look at Ella.

‘Me and Ripley visited one for a case last year. Other than that, no idea.'

‘Well, go and get acquainted with them, ideally before this afternoon. It's a four-hour flight to Oregon.'

Ella's spine twitched just thinking about another minute in an airplane seat, let alone four hours. She did another quick skim of the police report and snagged on a few choice lines; ‘no signs of forced entry' and ‘victim was the owner of the establishment.'

A killer offing people in haunted houses. The pieces were there, but the puzzle was still a Picasso.

‘Says here Natasha was a special effects artist,' Luca said, tapping his own file. ‘Worked on a bunch of these spook shows. Including the one where she ended up on the wrong side of the mirror.'

Ella's brain buzzed. An effects whiz, killed in her own house of horrors? Certainly not a coincidence.

Edis said, ‘This is our first serial case in months, and we've got momentum on our side here. Close this case and there'll be plenty more whiskey bottles in our future.'

Ella stood and slid the casefile under arm. ‘We're on it, sir. Anything else we need to know?'

‘This Yamhill place. I don't know it, but the sheriff out there tells me it's not exactly Portland. Mountain folk. You know the type.'

'Yes, we do,' Ella said.

'Keep me updated, and I don't need to tell you to keep this under wraps. The last thing we need is a media circus.'

Luca scrambled to his feet and followed Ella to the door. They saluted their goodbyes and then escaped out into the corridor. The hallway air hit Ella like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. A new serial case, the first in months, and she had to admit that she'd been waiting for this call.

‘Oregon awaits,' Luca said.

‘Oh yes.' Ella was ready for it. Two bodies, one town, mirror shards and teddy bears. She suddenly felt lighter, all that courtroom drama and endless paperwork vanishing into the air. This was where she belonged, on the trail of a killer, with nothing but her wits and her partner to back her up.

‘Straight to the airport?'

‘Just need to check my desk. See if I've left my phone there.'

Luca pointed at one of the tangles on her scalp. ‘Hairbrush, too. I don't want to be seen next to you with hair like that.'

‘Fair. Come on. My desk's this way.'

***

Ella's desk was still tucked away in the Intelligence section of the Bureau. The suits had never bothered to relocate her after her move into the field, probably because they figured she'd spend more time on the road than warming a chair anyway. For the most part, they'd been right.

The place hadn't changed much since she'd traded in her desk jockey credentials for a field agent's badge. Same painfully-bright lights, same layout that was alarmingly reminiscent of a call center. Luca was oddly silent at her heels.

Ella spun back to him. ‘You okay there, chief?'

‘Just taking in the sights. Never been down here before.'

‘Never seen Intelligence, nor the basement. What have you seen?'

She navigated past a line of her old colleagues and gave them the nod. Now wasn't the time to get lost in water-cooler chatter, because three years in place had taught her that this team could gossip like their lives depended on it. That was the thing about the Bureau – for an organization dedicated to unearthing secrets, it was a hotbed of them.

Her little corner of the world came into view, and Ella bee-lined for her desk. It was just as she'd left it – organized chaos, with towers of files threatening to topple at any second.

‘Home sweet home,' she said. ‘How have you never seen my desk before?'

‘You always tell me to stay away. Now, find your phone so we can get going.'

Ella did a quick scan of the room. She'd tried to keep her romantic attachment to Luca on the down low, but two people could only keep a secret if one was dead. Somehow, word had gotten out within a week.

She rummaged through her desk drawers like a raccoon in a dumpster. Office supplies, half-finished reports. No phone. No hairbrush. Just the ghosts of cases past.

‘Dammit. Nothing here. The hell did I do with that thing?'

‘Did you try down the back of the sofa?'

‘I tried everywhere.'

‘Maybe you left it in New Orleans.'

Ella's lips twitched. ‘Can you ring it?'

‘Why? And see if some Southerner picks up?'

‘It's worth a shot.'

‘Fine.' Luca pulled out his cell and dialed Ella's number. He stuck the phone to his ear.

Ella watched on in hope, but the expression on Luca's face said it all. ‘Anything?'

‘Yeah,' Luca said as he closed his screen down. ‘Louis Armstrong answered.'

‘Hawkins. Come on.'

‘Dead. Your phone is switched off.'

‘Gah. Fine. It's gone.' Ella slammed shut a drawer that she'd left half-open.

‘Who cares? It's a phone. You don't even need to buy a new one. You've got a work phone.'

Ella shot him a look. ‘I had my contacts in there. Videos, photos. All that stuff.'

Luca raised an eyebrow. ‘What type of… photos?'

‘You know. Photos. '

‘You don't mean…?'

'No, I don't mean,' Ella snapped. 'All sorts of things.'

‘You never backed them up into the cloud?'

Ella shook her head. ‘Never.'

Just then, a mountain of a man plopped down at the empty desk next to hers. He placed his drink down and said, ‘Always back up into the cloud. You should know that, Ells.'

It was her old comrade. The man she'd spent her entire FBI career sitting beside. ‘Thanks, Roady. What's new?'

The man swiveled to face the agents. He propped his hands over his enormous stomach. ‘Dandy. Who's this fine gent?'

Luca extended his hand. ‘Luca Hawkins. Or Agent Hawkins. Either works.'

‘Pleased to meet you. I'm Roadrunner,' he said as he shook.

‘Roadrunner?'

‘Call me Runner, or Big R, or just… Road.' He broke the shake and turned back to Ella. ‘Saw you on the news this morning. You looked in your element in that courtroom. Very proper.'

'Well, thank you. Not sure anyone's described me as proper before.'

‘You clean up well. Beats the hell out of how you used to look pulling all-nighters down here.'

‘Those were the days.' It was a line, but looking back, Ella still had a fondness for this place. It was hard to hate your roots. ‘What's happening down here?'

‘Same old. Working on a terrorist cell over in Georgia.'

‘The same one from last year?'

‘The very same. I forgot you were here when that was going on.'

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. ‘Roady, you haven't seen my cell, have you?'

Roadrunner swung back around to his desktop. ‘Can't say I have, Ells. When'd you last have it?'

‘God knows. Last week. At this desk.'

‘I wasn't here. Had a big convention in Texas.'

‘It's gone… Ells,' Luca said.

Ella sighed. ‘Yup, guess so. Right, see you later, Roady.'

The large man looked between Ella and Luca and gave them a wave. 'Take care, lovebirds. Oh, and Hawkins, look after that girl, would you?'

Luca stayed silent for a minute. ‘Will do. Road.'

Ella grabbed Luca by the hand and led him out of the office. They had a plane to catch.