Fireflies: A Katie Bell Mystery (book 1) (2 page)

"
T
his place is a disaster
,” said a woman in a yellow two-piece suit, carrying a small fan. Her son following a few feet behind her like he was her aide. He wobbled as he walked after her, his size suggesting he didn't need to look at the menu of any fast food restaurants because he’d be able to recite them by heart.

The woman in yellow pushed past Katie Bell as she
examined a patch of peonies. Katie decided whoever was head of the landscaping department had excellent taste.

Katie brushed a strand of burgundy hair out of her face. She agreed with the woman’s statement. First day of freshmen moving in and it was a “chaotic mess.” It seemed like a thousand little ants in groups of two or three carrying cardboard boxes to and from the campus buildings. Students barely older than Katie dressed in red polo shirts
and carrying clipboards tried to direct the flow of human traffic, but for the most part, it appeared that they were failing miserably.

Katie was not carrying any boxes. She had a navy blue messenger bag slung over one shoulder but otherwise was empty handed. She wore tight jeans with frayed knees, comfortable chucks, and a baby blue tank top. If the weather permitted she would be clad in her trademark green jacket, but it was bright and borderline hot out, unusual for late September. In the past, despite the almost unpleasant temperature, Katie would still have worn her jacket simply out of habit and principle, but this was a fresh start, and she wanted to try something new. Instead, Katie was taking a page out of her father’s book about function over form and so her jacket along with her boxes of stuff were packed in the back of her Camry.

Katie glanced at the purple face of her G-Shock. Just after eleven. Her mysterious roommate was probably already in the dorm room. Katie couldn’t help but feel a small sense of dread, and once again wished that whoever it was would be someone she could get along with.

As Katie walked along one of the many pathways, she passed an underwear model look-alike of maybe twenty wearing a red polo and carrying a clipboard. Unlike most of the others, he did not look confused and flustered as he scanned over his board
;
in fact he was actually laughing with the boy he was helping direct.

Katie was a dozen paces past him before she stopped and turned back. College was supposed to be about meeting new people and experiencing new things. She might as well start with a guy that made her feel a few butterflies flutter in her stomach.

It only took a few more moments for him to finish up and he turned his attention to her, smiling. Katie regretted coming up to him. She felt flustered, and no matter the outcome with Mr. Model, it was too soon for her.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for Everwood Hall?

"You were headed in the right direction. Keep along this trail path and it's the third building on your left. You know your room number?"

"Yep. 307 C.”

"On the third floor. My boyfriend’s room was one floor up last year. It's great. Has one of the nicest views of the entire campus."

“That’s great!” she said, hoping her fake enthusiasm didn’t come off as sarcastic.

Katie walked away, feeling slightly stupid. Of course Katie already knew where to go. She had studied a map of Southern Central University and had been on a tour of the campus, though her actual decision to attended SCU had been made at pretty much the last conceivable minute.

E
verwood was
one of the oldest dorms on campus, originally built in the seventies and remolded in 1998. The exterior looked dull like most of the buildings on campus, but it had a lovely commons area with real hardwood floors. The main double doors had a security pad with a keycard required to get inside, but two bricks had been placed on either side, propping the doors open.

Katie entered Everwood and had to go flat against the wall as a couple of frat boys carried a futon couch frame past her.

“Coming through!” said the bigger of the two.

He looked about twenty-one to Katie and had an unruly blonde beard and thick arms in a tight grey wife-beater. He and the other frat boy who looked closer to Katie's age aimed for the stairway door.

"I got it," Katie said, and slipped past them, opening the door ahead of the large frame.

"Thanks," they said in unison.

They moved through the doorframe and headed up the stairs with a sort of controlled stagger. Both of them seemed accustomed to lifting heavy objects, and if Katie were a betting woman (she wasn't) she would have bet they were both football players. They also looked related.

Behind them a man sprinted to catch up with the open door. He was too old to be a college student but looked too young to be a parent or faculty, and he was sharply dressed in a light grey linen suit and brown loafers. He even had on a white button up shirt and a maroon tie, which made him far more put together than anyone else Katie had seen so far on the campus. He looked out of place, but he moved so quickly he was out of sight almost as soon as he was in it.

Katie followed after her two peers, taking the stairs two-at-a-time and was on the second floor landing when her iPhone started to vibrate. Katie ignored it. Only two people would be calling her at that moment, and she had no desire to talk to either of them. If it was her father, he was just checking in on her, and that was really more for him than for her. She knew where he had gone this morning, even if he had lied about it to her. Katie didn’t mind Arthur lying to her, and she understood why he had. It was because he had visited Snow. If it was her father, she would call him back later.

If it was Luke, he could wait. Katie didn't want to think about him. College was about new experiences, not spending her time stuck in her emotional past.

K
atie reached
her floor and headed to the right. She moved with the self-assurance that would give anyone she passed the false impression that she had been there before. Katie arrived at dorm room 307 and noted the door was already open a crack. Still, she knocked on the door. It creaked open, and Katie found herself staring at the most attractive person she had ever met.

The girl was beyond gorgeous; she was borderline angelic. She practically glowed as she plugged in her desk lamp. Her hair was blonde, neatly ironed, and she was wearing a short sea green dress that would look quaint if Katie wore it. She pulled it off though, like she was some sort of modern Southern belle.

The angel turned when she had heard the knock but did not stop what she was doing, checking the lamp as she gave Katie a once-over and then smiled. Even her teeth were straight and shone like they had their own light source.

"You must be my roommate!"

Katie nodded and waved, as if she was embarrassed for distracting the other girl from her task. The girl ran forward and hugged Katie. Katie was so surprised that she took a second to react, hugging the angel back, though not quite so freely or fiercely.

“Aren't you just a spitting image of sultry," the girl said, pulling back from Katie to give her a once-over.

Katie could feel her cheeks burning.

"Sorry, was that too forward? I'm a bit of a hugger."

"No, no, that's fine. I'm Katie.”

"Tiffany. A pleasure to meet you, darling.”

She really was a belle, considering the slight Southern twang that slipped through on the word "pleasure," though until that word Tiffany had done a good job masking it.

"Texas?"

"Well, don’t you have a damned good ear! Born and raised.” Tiffany's face fell. "Is it that obvious?"

Katie felt herself smiling. This girl was her roommate? "No, not at all, I'm just good with accents. I love the dress by the way."

"Thank you! I felt like I might be overdoing it considering ever other girl I've seen seems to wearing jeans, but the weather just seemed much too nice for that. You know, enjoy it while it lasts and all that.”

“I couldn't agree more. I just wish I was wearing one too,” Katie added.

There was a knock on the half open door and Katie turned to see an almost identical version of Tiffany, only twenty years older, carrying in a box of books.

"Oh, Mama, let me get that," Tiffany said, taking the books from her mother.

"Thanks, dear,” the other woman said, and dusted her hands off on her white Levis before turning her full attention on Katie. “Hello, you must be Tiffany's roommate?"

"Yeah, I'm Katie.”

She shook the older woman's hand.

"Rachel. A pleasure to meet you." Her accent wasn't masked at all and twanged like a tuned banjo.

"Where's your stuff?"

"Oh, in the car, I just figured I'd wait for the hordes to get finished before I brought up my stuff."

"Seems like a sensible plan. If there was only more time I wish we had done the same. Do you have any plans?"

"Now that I've met Tiffany I've successfully crossed off my list of to-do's for the moment,” Katie said, taking a seat on the bed not occupied by Tiffany’s belongings.

Tiffany practically bounced to Katie when she heard this. "Are you hungry? We were about to go get sushi before I said bye to Mama, but you're welcome to join us."

"I wouldn't want to impose--”

Rachel waved her hand. "It would be a pleasure to get to know my daughter’s roommate a little better before I leave. I unfortunately have an early afternoon flight so I don't have a ton of time. And if you don't mind me saying so, you seem to … be more from this area."

Katie grinned. "You got me. I'm from the city, but I do know the area. I'd be honored to join you guys for lunch."

A
rthur Bell got
out of his Grey 2010 Lexus LS 460 Sport and ducked underneath the police tape, heading towards the abandoned car garage. The usual suspects were already there as well as half a dozen police and the forensic teams from both the PD and the Bureau. A fresh crime scene and already it was a clusterfuck.

A young officer approached Arthur with his hand resting on the butt of his service weapon. Arthur reached to show his badge, but before he could pull it from his jacket a familiar baby-faced man jogged over and waved the officer away.

“Jesus Christ, Isaac, its Agent Bell. He’s the agent in charge. Show him some goddamned respect, will you?”

Officer Isaac looked at Arthur again, clearly a little disgruntled before slinking away.

“Sorry about that, Agent Bell. These young bucks these days, I tell you. It’s like the academy is giving junior high jocks badges,” Detective Hutchinson said, shaking his head. “You’re early. We didn't expect you for another hour."

Arthur nodded towards Detective Hutchinson as they both moved towards the abandoned car garage.

Detective Hutchinson was a large man, who was a half a head taller than Arthur. Hutchinson had never been one for much “upkeep,” but today he looked particularly disheveled; his clothes had that wrinkled, worn “two days in a row” look, and his eyes had just a hint of redness to them. He had three days’ worth of stubble growth on his chin and cheeks. In all likelihood he was nursing a hangover.

Arthur was sure that despite his current disposition, Hutchinson would still be up for the task. Hutchinson had always struck the special agent as a relatively competent member of the police force. That was far too rare of a trait as far as Arthur was concerned.

The other bureau agents either looked annoyed that the police were still there, or were ignoring the cops completely. Nothing like having his so-called peers acting like snotty teenagers to make Arthur feel like he had chosen the right agency for his career.

"What's with the crowd?" Arthur asked.

"We received the call around nine thirty-five this morning and investigated. Due to the nature of the case and our two departments’ long history of collaboration, I called you guys,” he said.

As they walked into the first bay of the garage, one of Arthur Bell’s personal team members approached them, Special Agent Kenneth Tapscott.

He was the same height as Arthur, and still had the same crew cut he had when he had been in the Navy. Like many veterans who had been overseas, Tapscott had the look of a man who had seen far too much at far too young of an age. He was clad in the typical attire of an FBI agent, a dark, cheap suit and comfortable but similarly cheap dress shoes.

Agent Tapscott said, “Once we took a look at the case it was a no brainer who should be in charge, Agent Bell.”

Arthur didn’t say anything.

Agent Tapscott had joined his team thirteen months prior, but Arthur was still concerned that the younger man was having a hard time adjusting to civilian life. He had enough work experience to know that while the former Navy SEAL had proven to be a skilled investigator, turning off his “killer instinct” had been more difficult than Tapscott would care to admit. Arthur didn’t blame him. Sometimes their jobs would be a lot easier if they were allowed to dish out justice in a more … Old Testament fashion.

“Let me see her."

T
he car garage
had a sickly look about it, a greenish yellow tint from bad overhead lighting, and once inside, the temperature dropped about ten degrees. The few police inside the first bay of the garage moved aside for the three men and Arthur stepped through the doorway into the second main section of the building.

The FBI’s forensic team was already working the scene. Arthur wasn’t bothered by them working ahead of his arrival. They were his crew and had been at enough scenes with Arthur to know his process. They stayed out of his way and didn’t contaminate the scene. Later on Arthur would read their findings back at the office, but the most important step for him was to be there as close to the victim as possible. What made Arthur good at what he did was something outside of just poring over files. He had a knack for seeing what was right there that others did not.

Arthur stopped when he reached her.

The victim was a woman in her early twenties, staring back at Arthur with the dull indifference of the dead. She was naked, and had been placed on the hood of a white 2003 Ford Mustang.

Her upper body was stretched out. Each wrist was bound with barbed wire that was neatly attached to the side mirrors of the Mustang. Her feet and ankles were bound together in a similar fashion. The barbed wire was stained a red-black hue from her dried blood and wrapping underneath the front of the sedan, likely attached to the under carriage of the bumper.

She had been pretty, with blonde hair and striking features that would make someone remember her. The fading lines underneath her breasts indicated she’d had implants recently. The D cups were tastefully done by an experienced surgeon, considering the overall size of her frame. Her wrists were also bloody, but the majority of the blood came from where her throat had been slit neatly from the edge of one cheek to the other. The blood stained her chest and ran down her flat stomach and over her trimmed pubic hair onto the hood of the car. It continued from there down to the floor where there was a substantial pool of sticky thick red-black on the cement.

To the left of the Mustang, her clothes were folded meticulously and lay on a rusted metal stool.

Arthur inspected the whole scene for a few minutes in silence. The agents behind him were no longer talking but rather watching him work. The techs ignored him and continued to examine various other parts of the garage bay with UV lights and other equipment.

Arthur didn’t notice the others. Over the last twenty years, he had grown used to background chatter and to him it was similar to having the radio turned halfway up in the room. The work in front of him needed his full attention, so he gave it. This poor woman, this poor girl deserved it. She certainly hadn’t deserved her fate.

Something was bugging Arthur though, and it took him a second to look around the rest of the garage before he realized what it was.

Or more particularly,
whom
.

She was standing to one side and her attention had also been solely fixed on the victim. For the first few minutes he had thought she was one of the techs, until he realized she didn’t fit.

That was what had distracted Arthur; everyone in the room, but the techs paid attention to him, however she was clearly not a tech and hadn’t looked at him.

She had a guarded air about her. Her black hair was cut just below her ears in a professional cut that looked expensive. She wore makeup that wasn’t overdone and matched her coffee-colored skin, but it was obviously there to add to her professionalism, and not meant as a distraction to others. She was beautiful, and she obviously knew it and that detail was probably the most boring one, at least to her. She was not one of the forensic team members, and she wasn’t wearing the standard blue windbreaker. She was in a simple business suit, but it wasn’t cheap. Not custom, but definitely tailored and not something she had grabbed on clearance at JC Penny’s.

“Who are you?” Arthur asked.

She tilted her head to the side when he addressed her, and her brown eyes met his. He did not intimidate her, but she was curious.

“I’m Special Agent Sandra Fields, Agent Bell. I was assigned to your team last week, but we haven’t been introduced,” Fields said, extending her hand.

Arthur took three steps towards her and took her hand. “That’s right, the newbie. Welcome to your first day.”

“Thanks,” she said, letting go of his hand. Her eyes moved back to the victim.

Arthur moved away from her and crouched down to get a better angle.

“Your first body?” Agent Tapscott asked.

Arthur didn’t need to turn around to know that Fields’s body posture tightened. He could hear it in her voice when she said, “In the field, yes.”

Still low, Arthur circled around the car before going to the stack of clothes. He looked at them for a long time before turning to Hutchison.

“You can clear out the rest of your team, but if you want to keep the perimeter that would be appreciated. Thanks for the call,” he added.

Detective Hutchison opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and left. Arthur turned his attention back to his newest team member.

“What do you think?”

“You’re asking my opinion?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow.

"A copycat of you-know-who. Some sick bastard who wants a little bit of fame for himself."

Arthur held up his hand and pointed at Agent Tapscott.

"What do you see?"

“Is this a classroom now?"

Arthur just looked at the younger man.

Tapscott swallowed and spoke up. "Victim was strung up in a similar fashion to the Crucifix Killer's victims. Time of death was somewhere between three and four AM this morning. Victim's name was Tori Watson, age twenty-four. Graduated from the NCU two years ago and worked as a graphic designer in the city. She has two priors, a DUI in 2008 and an assault charge last year filed by her ex-boyfriend. The assault charge was dropped down to a misdemeanor due to the boyfriend being a douchebag and low level dealer that was busted later that month."

"Who ID'd her?"

"Her wallet. It was in the front seat of the Mustang. The car's registered in her name as well."

Tapscott crossed his arms and looked at Arthur.

“What did I miss?"

"Everything you said seems pretty much on the money."

"What did I miss?”

Arthur turned back to look at Tori Watson. “Miss Watson was left to suffer for some time. I suspect time of death was closer to four than three. She was awake and struggling against her binds while the killer watched her becoming more and more frantic and desperate. The killer enjoyed watching her, enjoyed it as the hope within her died, as she knew what was coming. Tori, here … she knew what her fate would be, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. They told her that over, and over again, told her how no one was coming. They only slit her throat after they broke her. They took their time too, probably sat for a while and watched the life drain out of her.”

Arthur looked at his team. “They really, really like the sight of blood. The whole event aroused them sexually, but they were the happiest right after they cut her. I haven’t done a proper inspection, but I suspect there will be no visible puncture marks on her body. Whatever pharmaceuticals were used to drug Miss Watson was slipped into her drink when she was partying last night. Unless I'm mistaken you haven't been able to locate her phone?"

"It wasn't located at the scene, no," Tapscott said.

“Interesting. She wasn't sexually assaulted; at least that's what I suspect the coroner’s report will indicate. As for the assertion that this was someone trying to copy Martin Snow’s work, you’re only half right.”

Agent Fields interrupted. “How so?”

“This isn't somebody trying to imitate Martin. It's a disciple of Martin. A student. If anything, this is a homage.”

"What makes you say that?" Tapscott asked.

"The wrists are bound in a less experienced manner than Martin would have done, but it’s still more complex than a basic layman's knot. There’s nothing rushed about any of this. The killer planned this out well in advance. Just like Snow. Clothes are laid out the same way, but unlike Snow they didn't hang her like a crucifix. That was a detail the press always stuck to, the victims
being hung on a wall. The fact that this one is clearly mounted but not vertical is important. They are telling us this is a dedication to his work, but it’s different. The old is new again.”

“A new what?” Fields asked.

“A new beginning. I want you two to do the usual door-to-door on local clubs in say, a ten-mile radius from here. There shouldn't be too many that were open on a Wednesday night. Also, I need the records of all visits to Martin Snow at GIRF since his arrival.”

Fields frowned. “You think that this … student visited him?”

“I’m also sure of it. He implied as much when I visited him earlier today.”

The two younger agents exchanged a brief look and Tapscott opened his mouth as he turned back toward the senior agent. Arthur held up his hand.

“Never mind that. I’m going back to the office to start on my end. We have a lot of work ahead of us. Our new friend has seen to that.”