Killing Jane: An Erin Prince Thriller Read online

  Nick Fowler, one of the senior homicide investigators on the squad who still enjoyed working the night shift, grinned. “Hey, Princess. I was just talkin’ to your new partner. Sounds like you caught a crazy case.”

  Erin rolled her eyes at the nickname. Fowler didn’t mean anything by it, and he remained one of the few old-school cops who were cool with women as equals. So she tolerated his teasing. “That’s putting it lightly. The girl’s ripped to shreds.”

  Fowler opened a bag of chocolates and popped a handful into his mouth. “Just cut up to brutalize her or more specific?” He chewed loudly, his chapped lips smacking together.

  Erin had almost ripped Fowler’s smacking lips right off him the nights they’d partnered during her training.

  “He jammed the murder weapon up her crotch as a final send-off,” Erin said. “What’s that tell you?

  Seasoned Fowler turned the shade of pond scum. “Jesus H. Christ.”

  “Dan Mitchell thinks he tried to take out some of her organs and wasn’t able to get the job done.”

  “Call me if you need any help.” Fowler offered Beckett the bag and then held it out to Erin.

  They both shook their heads.

  “I’ll do what I can to catch this bastard.”

  “How’s the Ted Moore case coming?” She had been jealous to miss out on working the high-profile case, but Fowler deserved it. He was a good cop: no-nonsense and dogged.

  “It’s looking like gang retribution for the documentary,” Fowler said. “Moore had six months of death threats starting the night the thing aired.”

  Beckett looked between them, mild interest in his eyes. “Fill me in?”

  “Big time cable producer,” Fowler said. “Endeavor Network. Moore spent a year investigating the gangs of D.C. and then aired a tell-all documentary. Secretary found him the other day with his throat cut and his severed dick in his mouth.” Fowler grinned with all the glee of the Cheshire cat. “Our gangs are moving up the brutality scale.”

  “People do terrible things to one another,” Beckett said. “It’s an awful world to live in.”

  “Welcome to Washington, D.C. Metropolitan, Beckett. At least you won’t be bored. But after working a high-profile serial killer case, you’d probably welcome a little boredom.” Fowler made a show of chewing and smiling, but the savvy cop wanted to twist up the new guy.

  Erin enjoyed a brief whiff of satisfaction at someone doing the appropriate hazing.

  Beckett’s grim smile didn’t extend to his eyes. His blazer hung from the chair in the corner, and his yellow dress shirt made his pale skin look slightly sallow. “Nope, I definitely won’t be bored.”

  A chill tore through Erin as images of Bonnie played in the carousel of her mind, and a secret part of her envied Todd Beckett for the experience. The knowledge he must have gained from being anywhere near the high-profile case gave him a unique perspective. Not to mention her superiors’ giddy excitement when Beckett requested a transfer.

  Fowler grunted and took another handful of candy. “God’s honest truth. This city’s got enough depravity.” Concern overrode his usual cocky grin. “You sure you’re ready for this one? It’s going to be different than a drug dealer. Every time you think you’ve hit on the answer, you’re just going to peel back another layer of crazy. That kind of shit wears on a person.”

  She pursed her lips and tried to look unaffected. Fowler never treaded lightly when they rode together, and she respected him for it. “I can handle it.”

  “I have faith in you,” he said. “Cases like these can worm into your head and mess you up. Don’t let that happen. Not until you’re at least five years on the job.” He laughed at his own joke and then glanced up at Beckett, his tone sobering. “You know what I mean though, right?”

  Beckett nodded. “I think she’ll be fine. Ready to talk to Will Merritt?”

  She snatched a chocolate out of Fowler’s bag. “Absolutely.”

  Erin’s stupid heels clicked against the tile, reminding her of the way her sister always sounded when she arrived at their parents’. The clacking of Lisa’s expensive, miserable-looking shoes always set Erin’s teeth on edge—signaling Lisa would soon be insulting her. She should have worn flats tonight, but Lisa came to dinner too. And as usual, Erin fell victim to the urge to live up to her half-sister’s expectations.

  “Who’s your girlfriend?”

  Beckett laughed. “That’s a bold question.”

  Erin turned to face him. “You mentioned she works at NCMEC. I used to be in sex crimes, and I’ve had several cases with them. I might know her.”

  “Lucy Kendall.”

  Erin managed to keep her mouth closed. Lucy Kendall was a knockout with auburn hair, green eyes, and the kind of curvy figure men loved. Beckett wasn’t bad looking but still average. The randomness of attraction amazed her. “I worked a case with her. She’s very good. Is that what brought you from Philadelphia?”

  “I didn’t want to work for Metro initially.” Beckett said. “After the past couple of years, I wanted something less intense. I kept waiting for something else to open up. But it looked like my only shot at moving out here. So I took it.”

  “What a ringing endorsement for us.” They approached the interview room at the end of the hall.

  “Sorry,” Beckett said. “I didn’t mean it like it sounded. Last year ... the Weston case—”

  “Lucy Kendall was involved.” Erin cut him off. “I remember reading about it.”

  Beckett’s head jerked up and down. “The media reported mostly bunk, but we didn’t want Lucy’s name in the press. She planned to take the job at NCMEC and didn’t want her ties to the Weston case to affect her new position. So I got stuck with credit for things she did. But keep that between us, all right? I don’t care about myself, but I don’t want Lucy to have to go through another media storm.”

  “No problem. I appreciate you trusting me.” Erin stopped at the door of Interview Room A, the standard room used for witnesses and families and the only one not resembling the inside of a tomb.

  Beckett skimmed his right hand over his mousey hair. “So the boyfriend—or whatever he is—is inside with the victim’s advocate. Responding officers saw no sign of blood on him, including his shoes. But we’re going to have to ask him to swab his hands for blood residue. After what he saw, he’s going to love that.”

  “Assuming he isn’t our killer.” During her first weeks in homicide, Fowler pressed upon her that Occam’s razor applied to most violent crimes: the most obvious answer was usually the right one, and more often than not, the assailant was someone the victim trusted.

  Casual friend Will Merritt certainly fit the list. “He could have killed Bonnie, left to get rid of his clothes, and then came back to call in the scene. Although putting himself anywhere near her is pretty stupid.”

  “Thankfully, most criminals are stupid,” Beckett said. “Let’s hope our killer fits that bill instead of the alternative. We go in as his friends, let him think we’re just crossing him off the list so we can get to the real killer.”

  “Do you want to question him first?” Watching Beckett question the witness might give Erin the chance to learn from his mistakes.

  “Why don’t you take the lead? Sometimes men will open up to a female cop more quickly.”

  At least Beckett wasn’t coming in like the star player trying to save the season. Erin knocked and fresh butterflies attacked. She shouldn’t be excited, but selfishness won out. This would be the first time she took lead in a homicide interview.

  The victim’s advocate answered the door. Heavy wrinkles around her eyes and a pug-like nose matched the air of authority that immediately sparked Erin’s memories of every politician’s wife who vied for her mother’s attention. Big or small, women like this usually ran the show. But working as a victim’s advocate had to be akin to picking up dog shit for a living, so Erin put her childhood chip aside.

  The advocate glanced behind her. “He’s ready to
get out of here, as you can imagine.” The woman raised her eyebrow and ducked her head, as if to warn Erin her witness was being a pain in the ass.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  The advocate stepped aside to allow Erin and Beckett to enter.

  Unlike the other interrogation rooms, an attempt had been made to make this one slightly more comforting: padded chairs with only a few bits of oozing stuffing, blinds covering the windows, and a plant crying for moisture in the corner. A water cooler along with a table of cups and extra tissue boxes hid in the opposite corner.

  The man sitting at the interview table jumped to his feet.

  Erin quickly assessed him. He had trendy, over styled blond hair and wore perfectly distressed jeans, a shiny pair of Hermès shoes, and a designer casual jacket. Not exactly the standard apparel worn in Columbia Heights. His cologne—a cloying scent that sent Erin’s olfactory glands running for cover—dominated the room. His fading summer tan barely gave his stricken face any color.

  “Bonnie.” His eyes flashed from Erin to Beckett. “Who did that to her?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Erin kept her tone neutral. “What’s your name?”

  “Will Merritt.” He took Erin’s offered hand in a clammy grip and shook it once, decisively. “I knew Bonnie.”

  Erin motioned for Merritt to sit down. She took her time sitting down across from him, acutely aware of Merritt’s nerves and Beckett’s imposing figure leaning against the door. “You were her boyfriend?”

  “Ah, no.” Merritt’s face flushed. “We hung out.”

  “Casual,” Erin said. “No strings, right?”

  Merritt nodded with the exuberance of a happy puppy. “Right.”

  “And that’s why you came over tonight?”

  “Bonnie called earlier today, asked me to come over.” Merritt’s hands rested on the table. He kept his nails clean and manicured. His fingers still shook. “This morning. Then she called back after lunch. Said to come as early as possible because she needed to talk to someone. I got there late. Traffic.” The chair whined as Merritt rocked back and forth. “Maybe if I’d been there earlier ...”

  “That wouldn’t have made a difference,” Erin said. “She died a few hours before you arrived. Do you have any idea what she wanted to talk about?”

  “No,” Merritt said. “It surprised me because Bonnie didn’t like to talk about feelings and things.”

  “She was upset?” Beckett asked.

  “I don’t remember. I was at the Capitol, so I let it go to voicemail.” His chest puffed at the mention of the Capitol, his chin lifting a little higher. “I didn’t pay attention to how she sounded, and I deleted it. I shouldn’t have deleted it.”

  “Why were you at the Capitol?” Erin hoped this guy didn’t turn out to be a protester. Last thing she needed was a bleeding heart with an agenda.

  “My job,” Merritt said. “I work for Baker-Allen as a lobbyist.”

  Her teeth clacked together. Her muscles turned to stone, and she willed herself to relax. “The defense contractor.”

  “We do more than that,” Merritt said. “We provide several different consulting services to numerous clients. We also offer cutting-edge aerospace engineering.” The standard company line.

  “Your major client being the United States government. You specialize in military technology and equipment. Missile defense, biometrics, cybersecurity. And the list goes on.” Erin needed to tread carefully, pick her battles. But she grew up surrounded by people like Will Merritt. People who approached life by way of socioeconomic class, who preached the value of their hard, white-collar work while usually riding the tailored coattails of family privilege.

  But Merritt deserved the chance to prove her wrong.

  “So you work for Baker-Allen. You’re probably a frequent flyer on Capitol Hill. Right?”

  Merritt nodded, chest puffing again. His eyes flickered to Beckett as if he wasn’t sure why both cops weren’t asking questions.

  Erin regained his attention. “And Bonnie lived in Columbia Heights, getting her GED and back on her feet, as you said. Back on her feet from what?”

  “Drugs.” Merritt lost some of his swollen pride. “I told the officer that earlier.” Sadness swept over him. “She had a rough life and worked her ass off to get clean.”

  A fresh pang of empathy hit Erin—for Bonnie, not for this pretty boy. “So is that the reason for the casual relationship? Bonnie wasn’t up to your standards?”

  Splotches broke out on Merritt’s cheekbones, making him look like a teenaged girl with too much rouge. “No! We were at different places in our lives, and Bonnie—man, she had emotional issues.” He tapped his chest. “I wasn’t looking for someone who needed me to support them in any way. I just wanted to have some fun.”

  “And Bonnie knew this?” Beckett spoke for the first time, voice soft. A casual observer.

  “Absolutely,” Will said. “She told me she felt the same way. She didn’t have time for a real relationship.”

  Erin watched his body language for some sign of deceit. He kept his arms open on the table, his large frame still slouched, and no trouble keeping eye contact. But some people came out of the womb as skilled liars. “How did the two of you meet? I can’t see her in the Baker-Allen lobby, hanging out around the fountain.” She caught her mistake too late, and any hope Merritt would miss it rapidly evaporated.

  He cocked his head, narrowing his dark brown eyes. “I thought you looked familiar. You’re Calvin Prince’s youngest daughter. The cop. You look like your dad.”

  She refused to give him the upper hand. “Obviously.”

  Merritt looked at Beckett. “Is this a conflict of interest or something? Since I work for her family?”

  To his credit, Beckett didn’t hesitate. “Not unless you killed someone at Baker-Allen.”

  Merritt’s eyes popped. “Uh. No.”

  “Then we’re good,” Beckett said.

  Dead air filled the room. The sticky kind that coats people’s skin and makes them crave a shower.

  “So, Bonnie.” Erin tried to get back on track. “Where did you two meet?”

  Merritt shifted in the chair, hands going to his lap. “She waited tables at a restaurant near Capitol Hill. Daniel’s.”

  Erin’s father had taken her to lunch at the American steakhouse a few times during college, when he still hoped she’d join the family business, and he loved to wine and dine Republican senators there.

  “You’re sure she worked at Daniel’s?” Erin pressed. “Washington’s big boys make a lot of deals at those tables. The owners are careful about who they hire. Bonnie’s got a couple of priors. Misdemeanors,” she clarified. “But I find it hard to believe the owner would risk his business for wait staff.”

  “That’s where we met.” Merritt folded his arms on the table, his gaze listing to the right of Erin’s.

  Why had Merritt lied about where he met Bonnie? She raised an eyebrow. The light sheen of sweat on his forehead suggested he knew one phone call would confirm his lie, but he’d backed himself into a corner and wasn’t ready to give up.

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Erin asked. “Prior to today?”

  “A couple of weeks ago.”

  “Had you spoken in the interim?”

  “No,” Merritt said. “Work kept me busy. She had school and her own job.”

  Erin wanted to be nice to this guy. She had no reason to think he was anything other than the poor soul who found Bonnie. But everything about him pissed her off. His nice clothes, the smug pride over Baker-Allen, his running his mouth about her family. She’d hoped for at least a few days before Beckett found out the real reason behind her nickname. Not to mention Merritt hadn’t met Bonnie at Daniel’s. One lie usually meant more lies, and Erin didn’t have time for lies.

  “Do you know Bonnie’s neighborhood very well?” Beckett pushed off the wall and wandered to the opposite side of the room. He touched one of the dying
plant leaves, still watching Merritt.

  Merritt nodded. “I’ve been there a few times.”

  Erin wanted to ask whether it bothered him the girl he slept with lived alone in a questionable area, but she already knew the answer. Will never considered it. Men—and women—like him spent their days putting their own needs first.

  “I assume you’ve been in every part of the house. We need your prints to compare and rule out, including the attic.” She couldn’t stop the harshness in her voice.

  Will’s eyes popped. “Am I a suspect?”

  “Of course not.” The victim’s advocate stepped in. She’d melded into the background, only there in case Merritt asked for her or had some kind of breakdown. “They’re just going through the standard routine.”

  Erin played nice. “We need to rule out as many known prints as possible if we’re going to identify the killer’s. What exactly did you touch in the attic?”

  “I didn’t go any farther than the top step. I didn’t need to.” He shuddered against the memory and then banded his arms across his chest. “Don’t you need a warrant?”

  “Not if you volunteer,” Erin said. “Which an innocent person would do in order to not impede the investigation.” She let the implication hang.

  The advocate’s eyes burned into Erin’s skin, but she didn’t acknowledge the woman’s stare. One of the first rules of police work was to consider everyone a suspect until proven otherwise. Especially the casual sex partner who found the body.

  “Right, right,” Will said. “Whatever you need.”

  “Good. Because we need to swab your hands for any blood residue.”

  “Are you kidding me?” His voice pitched high. “I didn’t do this.”

  “We know.” Beckett again. Good guy, soft voice. Empathetic.

  Apparently her role in their partnership was to be the bitch. Wonderful. “It’s routine. Can you tell us about Bonnie’s friends?”

  Merritt glanced at Erin, his ears the color of ripe tomatoes. “We usually hung out at her place. We weren’t serious at all,” he insisted. “I met her parents. But Bonnie kind of sprung them on me.”