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  Martinez strode forward.

  “Based on the age and sex of the victims, historical statistics indicate that we are looking for a male between the ages of twenty-five and forty. Officer Mills already spoke to the victims’ friends at the university, none of whom reported Yolanda nor Francine as missing—two days wasn’t out of the question for the girls, especially given that they had gone out partying the day we think they went missing. Several of them saw the victims intoxicated at a local university pub, and the ME has confirmed that both had high, but tolerable levels of alcohol in their systems. Francine had low levels of cocaine in her system, but the ME has ruled out that they were drugged,” he paused. It seemed too early to Chase to formulate a profile; there was just too much they didn’t know, but Martinez had no reservations, it appeared. “Look, I know what you’re thinking: these girls might have gone with anyone, given how rare violence of this nature is in Anchorage. But this isn’t nineteen eighty-five—ignorance is a thing of the past. These girls, no matter how drunk, would have their radar going if they were approached by anyone suspicious, isn’t that right, Chase?”

  Chase didn’t immediately hear her name, and continued to stare.

  “Chase?” Martinez asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you think that these girls would be on alert if approached by someone… a man… who seemed off?”

  Chase blinked and shook her head lightly.

  Her face threatened to blush again, but she forced it away. A quick glance confirmed that she was the only woman in the room, and the words of the greasy TSA agent sounded in her head.

  Bitches… you told the women of New York to act like bitches to avoid being targeted.

  “Maybe,” she said at last. “Given that there were two of them, they were likely using the buddy system at the bar, something that is common among young females who are planning a night of drinking.”

  Martinez stared at her for a moment before turning back to Girdwood PD. Several of the men were smirking, Chase noted.

  A big part of her wanted to ask what the fuck was so humorous, to demand it, and she would have—she would have told them all off—except this was all new to her, and having wanted to be an FBI Agent for as long as she could remember stayed her tongue.

  All of it felt somewhat surreal and not that much unlike what had happened in the morgue yesterday.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, which means that the person who approached them was likely of average or of better than average looks, someone who would fit in the university bar scene. I think we should focus on—”

  “—or our killer could have been a person of authority, a doctor, maybe, but probably not based on the forensic report, or a police officer, teacher, that sort of thing,” Chase offered.

  She was thinking about her last case, about how FBI Agent Stitts had developed a profile of a man similar to the one that Martinez was describing now, and it had blinded them.

  The real killer had been a woman.

  Chase was thinking of this, and not about the words that were coming out of her mouth.

  Martinez’s lips twisted into a scowl, and Chase immediately regretted speaking up. She was, after all, assisting him in the investigation, not leading it. And yet the selfish part of her was glad that he was now the one who felt uncomfortable.

  A strained silence fell over the group as Martinez glared at her, but she refused to look away.

  Her thoughts turned to Yolanda and Francine, of them in the van, desperate, crying, knowing that these moments would likely be their last on Earth.

  “Any questions? Comments?” Chief Downs eventually asked.

  A man with a thin mustache raised his hand.

  “What about the truck driver? Is he a suspect?”

  Chief Downs shook his head.

  “Not at this time. Agents Martinez and Adams will further vet him later today, but for now it looks like he just came across the bodies.”

  “The killer probably drove a van,” Chase interjected, “a cargo van, maybe, something large enough to house the girls, and bound them with rope. His motives are unknown, but the fact that he cut their feet off and watched them suffer, watched them try to crawl out of the cold, indicates that the killer might be hung up on the idea of a woman running away from him. A mother abandoning him at birth, or something even less substantial; a wife who left him, a girlfriend who scorned him. I will stress, however, that none of what either myself or Agent Martinez are saying is fact. We are trying to guide you, give you something to look out for, but not something that you should focus on specifically.”

  Chief Downs nodded and then turned to his men.

  “I want you guys to make your presence known in the university. Set up shop, ask questions. There might be something there that links these girls to the killer. As always, eyes and ears open, people.”

  He paused, and when no one moved, he gestured dramatically with his hands.

  “Dismissed! Go!”

  The men leapt to their feet, their chairs scraping noisily across the floor. The sound was unexpectedly grating to Chase and she winced. Whenever she suffered from a lack of sleep, which was often these days and even more so since Brad and Felix left, loud sounds seemed like a pickaxe in her brain.

  She was so focused on blocking out the sound, that she didn’t even hear Agent Martinez approach.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” he hissed.

  Chase turned and was about to say something, but Martinez was already heading toward the door.

  “What about the trucker? Aren’t we going to—”

  “Get Floyd to take you,” Martinez spat over his shoulder. “Stitts said you were a team player, now it’s time to get with the program, Adams.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The trucker’s name was Henry T. Buckly; he was forty-six, overweight, and had a dark beard that was thicker on his throat than on his chin. And yet, despite his gruff appearance, all indications were that he was a soft-spoken man who was genuinely shocked and affected by finding the two girls in the empty field by the side of the road.

  “Mr. Buckly, can you please go over what you were doing in the time leading up to your discovery of the bodies?” Agent Martinez asked.

  The man’s dark eyes darted across the table to Agent Martinez, then to Chase who sat beside her partner. His eyes softened when their gaze met, and she knew that he was ashamed by what he had seen.

  By their naked bodies.

  “Why?” he said quietly. “I already told you everything I saw.”

  Agent Martinez cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Buckly—”

  “Why do you keep calling me that? My name’s Henry—call me Henry for Christ’s sake.”

  The man’s eyes darted over to Chase again, and she opened her mouth to say something—she knew that all she had to do is be polite with Henry, to gently ask him to tell the story once more, just one more time for her benefit, and he would come right out with it—but she saw a muscle in Agent Martinez’s dark hairline tense and knew that he was grinding his teeth.

  After the scolding the man had given her at the station for speaking up about the preliminary profile, Chase was hesitant to cross him again.

  Her mind flicked to the Download Killer, the fact that it was a woman all along, and the profile had called for a man.

  But if it means…

  “Fine, Henry—tell me once more what happened,” Martinez snapped.

  Henry took a deep breath, and his large gut, hidden behind a Def Leopard t-shirt, rose and fell.

  He lowered his gaze and began to speak.

  “I was doing my regular route—Anchorage to Valdez-Cordova—and I knew a shortcut that I could—”

  “Have you taken this shortcut before?” Martinez demanded.

  Chase looked over at him. While Martinez may have heard the story before, several times it seemed, Chase hadn’t and she wanted to hear it without interruptions.

  “Yeah, like I told you, I always take the smaller roads as I exit th
e city, then reconnect with the main artery about fifty miles out. Takes an hour off my trip and saves gas.”

  “Does your supervisor know about this? Dispatch? Is it common?”

  Henry squirmed in his seat.

  “No, I mean, I guess they do now. It’s not something that they recommend, because if something goes wrong with the rig, insurance might have a problem with it. But everyone does it. I’ve done for my last seven trips without any issues. I mean, I have two young daughters, and if it means I can have two extra hours with them after a round trip? Then, yeah, I bent the rules a little. But so what? I’m just—”

  Martinez leaned back in his chair.

  “Go on. Tell me what happened after you took your shortcut.”

  Me… not us, tell me.

  Chase was getting frustrated with Agent Martinez’s machismo, or ego, or whatever it was. Sure, this was her first case, but how was she supposed to help if he treated her like she wasn’t even there?

  “Okay, well, I was taking the route I told you already, and then I saw the bodies at the side of the road—”

  “Well here’s the thing, Henry, this is the part of the story I’m having a hard time understanding. I get the shortcut, fine, we’ve already spoken to several of your colleagues, and after some pressing they’ve also admitted to taking that route.” Martinez leaned forward. “You know how many other drivers took that same road the day you found the girls?”

  Henry shook his head. His eyes were darting now, only they weren’t landing on anything in particular. Chase knew this face. This was the face of a rabbit caught in the snare, of a man who was about to lawyer up.

  “No idea,” he said at last. Quiet before, Henry was nearly inaudible now.

  “Three. Three drivers drove right by the women, and didn’t stop. I mean, it must have been hard to see them, right? Half-covered in snow, at least fifty feet from the road. Not only that, but there were flurries at the time, weren’t there?”

  Henry looked to Chase for support, but before she could say or do anything, Martinez snapped his fingers, drawing the trucker’s gaze back.

  “Not a rhetorical question, Henry. It was snowing out, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t—I mean, I think it was.”

  “Yeah, it was. It was snowing like hell. And yet you, driving a goddamn eighteen wheeler loaded with… what exactly were you carrying, Henry?”

  Henry’s eyes suddenly darkened.

  “I think I want a lawyer.” He said softly, and Chase felt her chest drop. Ever since entering the room, she knew that they weren’t going to get anything from this guy, not with the Armstrong approach, anyway.

  Martinez cupped his ear.

  “What? I can’t hear you… did you say something, Henry?”

  Henry stood and slammed his hands down on the table. The movement was so sudden, the noise so loud, that Chase jumped.

  “I said, I want my lawyer!” he bellowed.

  Martinez, who hadn’t moved with the outburst, chuckled.

  “That’s what I thought you said. But you don’t need one, Henry.”

  “I what?”

  “I said, you don’t need one. You’re free to go.”

  Henry blinked, but didn’t move.

  Martinez waved a hand, dismissing the big man.

  “Go on, get back to your life. Get out of my face.”

  When Henry still didn’t so much as lean toward the door, Martinez added, “Go now, Henry. Go before I change my mind and do an inventory of exactly what you were carrying that day.”

  Henry’s eyes widened, but he left the room without another word.

  Chase, heart still pounding away in her chest, breathed deeply when he was finally gone.

  What the hell was that all about?

  CHAPTER 13

  The door slammed closed and Chase turned to face Agent Martinez. She had been in interrogations with strong men before, including the inimitable Damien Drake, but this was… what?

  Chase wasn’t sure what it was, so she went ahead and asked.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Martinez shrugged.

  “I had to know.”

  Chase gaped.

  “Know what?”

  “That he wasn’t the one.”

  Chase felt on thin ice here, but couldn’t help herself. Martinez’s candor was alarming.

  “I have no idea what the—”

  Martinez turned to face her.

  “Agent Stitts warned me about you,” he suddenly said. The comment made Chase to recoil.

  “What?”

  “Stitts said that you liked to see the good in everyone, that you’re naive, still a little green even after everything you’ve been through.”

  Chase bit her tongue. She wasn’t sure if Martinez was trying to goad her, but these didn’t sound like Jeremy Stitts’s words. Granted, she hadn’t known the man for long, but Chase always pegged herself a good read of character.

  And it didn’t seem like something Agent Stitts would say.

  When she didn’t respond, partly because of shock and partly because she refused to be provoked, Martinez interlaced his fingers and leaned toward her.

  “Look, I get it. My methods may seem unorthodox to you, but trust me, there’s a rhyme to this reason.”

  This time Chase couldn’t restrain herself.

  “What? What reason did you have to abuse that man the way you did?”

  Martinez chuckled.

  “Abused? You’ve got to be kidding me, Adams. Look, I’ve been around a lot of cold-blooded murderers in my time, and Henry Buckly? I had to press him. I had to see him break. And he did.”

  “Yeah, but why that way? Why did—”

  “Here’s the thing, Chase; I know what cargo he was carrying. Sure, he was bringing produce to Valdez, but he was also shuttling heroin up north. That’s why he was so damn cautious out there, why he saw the bodies when none of the other truckers didn’t.”

  This tidbit of information took Chase by surprise. Not necessarily the information itself, but the fact that Agent Martinez was aware of this. Clearly, it hadn’t been offered up by Henry himself.

  “You knew this, and you let him go?”

  Martinez shrugged.

  “I’m here to solve these murders, Chase, not shut down a low-level drug smuggler. Besides, he’ll get what’s coming, scumbags like him always do,” Martinez paused and for a brief moment a far-off look fell over his face. Then he shook his head and refocused. “We done here, Chase? Are you done with the grilling? Because if you are, we should probably move on. Henry T. Buckly is clearly not our killer, but one thing’s for certain: our guy, whoever the hell he is, isn’t not done yet. This is only the beginning.”

  Chase wanted to say more, wanted to question Martinez further, and maybe even prod herself for some answers, but bit her tongue.

  She nodded.

  “Good,” Martinez said as he stood. “CSU called earlier, we should pay them a visit.”

  ~

  Chase sat in the backseat of Floyd’s Town Car, scratching absently at her arms through the thick jacket.

  “You o-o-okay Agent Adams?” Floyd asked from the front seat.

  Chase raised her eyes.

  “Hmm?”

  “I asked if you were o-okay,” he repeated.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  But she didn’t sound fine. Even to herself, her voice sounded strained, tired.

  Her husband’s words echoed in her head.

  You’re pushing yourself too hard again… remember what happened in Seattle, Chase. Please, take a break. Felix misses you… I miss you.

  Chase saw Floyd nodding in the rearview.

  “Well if you need anything, you j-j-just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Floyd.”

  The drive from the police station to CSU was only about fifteen minutes, and most of that time was passed in silence. But as they approached the building, which was a small, squat structure, emblazoned with a nameplate desc
ribing it as Municipality of Anchorage Crime Scene Investigations, a thought occurred to her.

  “Hey, Floyd?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Does your uncle know Agent Martinez?”

  “What do you m-m-mean?”

  “Before this… have you and Chief Downs met Agent Martinez?” Chase thought she knew the answer already, but just wanted to be sure.

  Floyd nodded in the mirror.

  “I’ve met him once before, when I w-w-was younger. B-b-but it was a long time ago. His s-s-sister used to live in Anchorage.”

  “Hmm.”

  Before she could press further, Floyd pulled the car up to the front doors, and Chase spotted Agent Martinez standing under a rust-colored awning.

  “You want me to w-w-wait?”

  Chase looked to Martinez, who was gesturing for her to follow him into CSU.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.

  “I’ll w-w-wait then.”

  Chase nodded.

  “Thanks Floyd,” she said as she stepped out of the car. Tucking her chin into the collar of Martinez’s red jacket, she hurried toward the man, worried about what might happen next.

  CHAPTER 14

  Chase followed Chief Downs and Agent Martinez down a long hallway. The men walked with a brisk, determined clip, and her fatigued limbs struggled to keep up.

  “They made some additional casts from the area,” she overheard the chief tell Martinez. “And there’s something that you’re going to want to hear for yourself.”