Chapter Five

"I have to hand it to Seattle," Michael said. "They really do have the best coffee."

"I thought you liked San Francisco's coffee," Faith replied.

"They're good too. To be fair, anything's better than Philadelphia's coffee."

"I thought you liked Morning Glory too."

"It's all right. But let's be honest. Morning Glory's the best shop in Philly, and this little hole-in-the-wall diner is at least as good. If we were in Seattle proper at a boutique shop, it would be like drinking manna from the heavens."

Faith lifted an eyebrow. "Drinking manna?"

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure you know what you mean."

Teasing aside, the coffee was pretty good. Faith wasn't really a connoisseur the same way Michael was, but she appreciated the strength and richness of the brew. They both agreed that the coffee at the Field Office in Philadelphia was far too weak and the coffee available to them in many of the cities and locales they visited was even worse. It felt a little macabre to be grateful for a murder in the Seattle area because of the good coffee, but if they were going to be here anyway, they might as well be grateful for it.

"I got the address for Rebecca's old workplace at Bethel Records. Their sound studio is actually in Seattle. Parking's going to be a bitch, but I'm fine with taking advantage of the cruiser and parking in a red zone if you are."

"Don't be a pessimist," Faith chided. "It's Sunday morning. No one's going to be parked in the business lot. Which reminds me, are they even open?"

"They are, and Rebecca's old boss is in today. He's agreed to talk to us in an hour. That gives us enough time to finish our coffee and banana bread and make it to the city."

Faith's brow furrowed. "When did you make that call?"

"In the bathroom."

She made a face. "Sorry, I asked."

"Whatever. You poop too."

"Thank you, Michael," she said drily. "I don't need to know anymore."

He shrugged and wolfed the rest of his banana bread into his mouth. Faith rolled her eyes. "Ellie must have a very strong stomach." She looked at Turk. "What about you, boy? Are you ready to go?"

Turk looked up at her and dipped his head. She smiled down at her dog and felt a rush of gratitude for him. When they first met, he was closed off and almost indifferent to her, but by the time they came home from their first case, he was the closest companion she'd ever had. They'd been together for two and a half years, but it felt to Faith like she'd known him his whole life.

She really hoped West was lying about whatever plan he claimed to have. Turk was due to retire in a few months, and she really wanted him to be able to have a good and comfortable retirement. She would buy him from the Bureau and retire as a handler so she could focus on taking care of him at home and not replace him in the field. He could stay with David when she was away, and he could finally be a proper dog and chase squirrels instead of murderers.

"You two ready to go?" Michael asked.

She sighed. That day wasn't today. "Yeah. We're ready."

She handed Turk the rest of her banana bread. He snapped it up with one bite and got to his feet, stretching luxuriously before following the two human agents from the shop.

"You shouldn't feed him bread," Michael said. "It gives them gas."

"Ten bucks if you guess which of your farts smells worse," Faith said drily.

"Ouch," Michael said. "I was just offering friendly advice. You didn't need to attack me like that."

"Just stating facts."

The drive to Bethel Records took just over twenty minutes. Unlike Rebecca's modest studio, Bethel Records was a major concern, occupying the first six floors of a thirty-story office building in downtown. Faith had looked them up on the way and learned that several up-and-coming pop artists had recorded music here. EMI apparently liked to use Bethel to work with their big prospects to refine their sound and the recording techniques the label would use with them for the duration of their career. If Rebecca Wells had worked with some of the names on this list, then she had real connections. Or should have, anyway. What was she doing in that dinky little office?

The production manager was a surprisingly humble man of around forty who greeted the agents with a warm smile and introduced himself as Zeke. He offered them coffee, which Faith declined, and Michael—of course—accepted. He led them to an office that looked exactly like what a music producer's office should look like, with gold and platinum records framed on the walls and a brightly polished gramophone in a polycarbonate display case on one wall.

"I'm so sorry to hear about Rebecca," he said, "I really hoped she would make it. She was a good kid."

"Have you heard from her recently?" Faith asked.

"Not since she left, but then, she only left two months ago. I was going to reach out in another month to see if she'd had any luck or wanted some studio time. She really wanted to be a singer, but she was too hard on herself."

"That happens a lot, I imagine," Michael said.

Zeke sighed. "It does. Either you have big egos who don't listen to anything you say, or you have big ids who notice everything that goes wrong. It didn't help that Rebecca had the most perfect pitch of anyone I've ever met."

Faith's ears perked up. "Perfect pitch? That means she's sensitive to sound, right?"

Zeke nodded. "Specifically, she can understand each individual note in a song and identify if it's played in tune. Hers was on another level, though. She could tell you if it was played in tune, if the volume was correct, if the resonance was good, if the sound needed to be compressed more or if there was too much or too little reverb. Basically, she was a living recording software."

"So she could hear every little imperfection in someone's voice and fix it in production," Michael said.

"Yep. And she could hear every little imperfection in her own voice and beat herself to death over it." Zeke grimaced. "God, what a shitty way to say that. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize to us," Faith said. "Did she seem different to you before she left?"

"She seemed hopeful. Honestly, for the first time since I met her, she seemed happy. I think she really thought she could make it."

"Did you?"

He sighed. "She should have made it. She had a good voice. Maybe not a great one, but a good one. Good enough that with her talent at sound engineering, she could have made it sound great. I'm telling you… actually, I'm not telling you, and if you tell anyone I am, I'll deny it, but I can count on one hand the number of pop singers who have truly great voices. Half of them don't even have good voices. What they have that lets them make it is a unique voice and a charismatic presence. We make them sound good. And Rebecca made them sound fantastic." His face darkened. "Most of them won't even remember who she is. It's a damned shame."

"Was there anyone new in her life?" Faith asked. "Anyone who might have prompted her change in career?"

"No one she ever told me about. She wasn't really into dating. She went out with a couple of people while she worked here, but I don't think she really wanted companionship. Some people are like that. They're better off alone." He chuckled. "I think she actually did the mixing for that song."

"What song?"

"They're Better Off Alone. You know it?"

Faith didn't know it, but she didn't particularly care. "Was anyone jealous of her here? Anyone who she outperformed?"

He scoffed. "She outperformed everyone at her job. That's why she had her job. But no, no one was jealous. We're tightly knit here, and we all support each other. Everyone was very happy to have the girl with the magic ears handle the ear stuff while they handled their own stuff. We were all sorry to see her go. I would have fought harder for her if I didn't really want to see her name in lights one day." He sighed. "She was a good kid. She really deserved it. I can't say that about very many artists I work with."

Faith nodded. "What can you tell me about Maria Gonzalez?"

His brow furrowed. "Gonzalez. Why does that sound familiar?"

"Violinist?" Michael said.

Zeke snapped his fingers. "That's right. First violin for the Seattle Philharmonic. She was killed, too. A year ago, right?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "I'm afraid that's all I can tell you. We don't really work with classical artists at Bethel. You don't think her murder is related to Rebecca's, do you?"

"We do, actually," Faith said.

"How?"

"I'm not at liberty to share details yet," Faith said, "but if you think of any details that you think might help me figure out who killed these women, please give us a call."

Zeke took her card and nodded. "I will. Gladly." He shook his head. "You think it's someone targeting artists? Like out of jealousy?"

"Could be," Faith said. "We're following up on some leads."

"Well, I hope you catch the bastard," Zeke said. He shook his head. "Damn it, I really wanted her to make it. She was a good kid."

The three of them returned to the car and discussed their next steps. "We didn't really learn much there," Michael said. "You think we should reach out to Maria's family?"

"I do," Faith said, "but I think we did learn something."

He lifted an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Zeke talked at length about Rebecca's perfect pitch. She would have been very sensitive to sound in order to have her pitch so finely developed."

Michael frowned. "I'm not following."

"The dogs," Faith explained. "The reaction they had. I was thinking about it while Zeke was talking about Rebecca. They were acting like they were hearing a dog whistle."

Michael's eyes widened. "That's why they were rubbing their ears on the grass."

"Exactly. I think that both of our victims could hear the sound or at least feel the sound. I think they came out to investigate, and the killer waited for them."

"He lured them to their deaths with a dog whistle," Michael summarized. "Well, that's a new one."

"They keep getting more and more clever," Faith agreed. "But I don't know if it's a dog whistle. I don't know if even a person with sensitive hearing could hear that frequency. It's some sort of high-frequency sound device, though. At least, I think it is."

"Maria has a brother in town," Michael said. "Lives in Tacoma. You want to pay him a visit."

Faith nodded. "I want to see if I'm right that she had sensitive hearing too. If the killer is using a high-frequency sound device, then we could find our suspect quickly."

"I'm down for that," Michael said. "It's been a while since we had an open and shut case."

He pulled out of the parking lot of Bethel Records and began the drive to Tacoma. As they headed toward the home of Maria Gonzalez's brother, Faith thought of Zeke's sympathies for Rebecca. A good kid who really deserved to succeed. Instead, her voice was cut off from the world before she ever had a chance to use it.

Faith, like any law enforcement officer, tried hard to make sure that her work was never personal. But thinking of Rebecca finally trying to pursue a dream that her gift would have made almost impossible and getting cut down before she could stirred up her sympathies.

We'll find this guy Rebecca, she promised silently. We'll be your voice.