“What about the architectural salvage yard? I know they have cameras.”
“Four, as it turns out. They sent over tapes yesterday, and Riggs is going through them. Their system holds three days of video.”
“Those would cover the murder window.”
They approached the yellow crime-scene tape that blocked off the front entrance to the warehouse. Across the street a marked city car was parked, and the officer inside nodded to Novak.
He pushed open the door and flipped on the lights to the right, which slowly began to warm up, reluctantly spitting out more light. Their footsteps echoed in the large room as they walked toward the spot directly under where the victim had been hanging.
Julia stared up at the ceiling and suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She stepped back a few feet and collected herself.
Novak looked up at the beams with their new hooks. “It took work and planning to get those up there. He was here before the killing.”
Julia nodded. “Scoped it out.”
“Why Ortega?”
“She was killed because she knew me.” She sensed Novak’s full and undivided attention. “Did you notice the knots around her chest? The cops never released the knot configurations. The ones binding Lana were tied exactly like the first three cases. Only the Hangman would know that.”
“Or someone who had access to the files.”
She shook her head as she looked around the room. “It all feels so convenient.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know.” She mentally checked off all the obvious facts. “It feels off.” She’d had the same feeling when she’d gone to Benny’s bar that last day. She had no reason to believe any of it would go sideways, but it did.
“What do you suggest?”
“We talk to Benny’s lawyer, Elizabeth Monroe. She’s smart, slick, and will break any rule to get what she wants.”
“You think she killed Lana?”
She shrugged. “She knows more than she’s saying.”
He was silent, and then, “Okay. I’ll look into her.”
She studied him. “Just like that?”
“You have good instincts, so yeah, just like that.” He stepped toward her, his hands in his pockets. “Let’s have a look upstairs.”
“Sure.”
They climbed a set of stairs that took them to a second floor packed with hundreds of boxes. “A redevelopment company bought the building two years ago, but the company went bankrupt. This place has sat unused for two years. The former owner must have been using the space as storage,” Novak said.
“Why walk away from inventory?”
“Might have been more expensive to move. Nowhere else to store it.”
She walked to a window that overlooked the James River. Outside, the waters slowly swept by.
As she turned, Novak squatted and pointed a light on the dusty wood floor. If anyone had been up here in the last couple of months, they’d have left impressions in the dust.
The floor by the boxes on the south wall looked well traveled. They both approached, and Novak put the light on the boards and then the boxes. The box on top wasn’t as dusty, a sign it might have been opened recently.
“Have a look at this,” Novak said. He handed his flashlight to Julia for a look.
She opened the top flap with the tip of the flashlight. The box was empty except for a couple of extra hooks that matched the ones in the downstairs ceiling. “Looks like our guy used this as his hiding place. Getting a little too lazy to cart his craft off-site.”
“I’ll call forensics and have them dust the box and the brackets for prints.”
She stepped back, asking herself how much planning this killing had taken. “Yeah.”
“How many more days do you have left to work the Hangman case?” Novak asked.
“It’s back to the job on Monday, and after that, whenever I can find time. I still have this weekend to catch up with the third victim’s family.”
“Vicky Wayne.”
“Yes. And I owe a visit to Shield to see if Andrews has been able to find anything else.”
“Keep your head on a swivel.”
“If I’m anything, Novak, it’s careful.”
“Define careful.”
She shrugged.
They stood staring at each other. It was awkward. As if one should say more, but neither could find the words.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Friday, November 3, 1:00 p.m.
Images of the crime scene plagued Novak long after he dropped Julia off. When he made his way into the squad room, he spotted Riggs pouring a fresh cup of coffee.
“I checked out that Hangman website,” Riggs said. “Since this case aired on the news, the hits have rocketed up.” He shook his head. “It’s all a fucking game to people. No one stops to think about the women who were strung up.”
“Any luck on the surveillance video from the Ortega crime scene?”
“I’ve been through them all. Saw drunks stagger past and a gang of kids, but no one hauling an unconscious woman.”
“He had to get her in there somehow.”
“He must have known about the cameras and found a way around them.” Riggs flipped through a small notebook. “I did get the name of a guy who used to work undercover with Jim Vargas. His name is Nate Unger, and he might be able to shed some light on Detective Vargas.”
“Nice work.”
Riggs dumped a couple of tablespoons of sugar in the cup. “He lives about forty miles west. Off the grid or some shit like that.”
“I’d like to talk to him,” Novak said. “Julia also wants me to focus on Santiago’s attorney, Elizabeth Monroe.”
“Think the lawyer is cunning enough to off Lana and make it look like an old serial killer?”
“Hell if I know,” Novak said. “But it’s worth a shot.”
“Did Vargas leave a suicide note?” Riggs asked.
“What brought that up?”
“Don’t know. Just curious.”
“He did not leave a note.” He filled a cup for himself. “I’ve requested the files from the investigation of his death. I want to see for myself. Records should be on my desk sometime later this afternoon.”
“Good.”
“So what do you think about Julia Vargas?” Riggs asked. “She seems cool.”
“Plays her cards close. But don’t let that facade fool you; there’s a lot brewing there. Reminds me of a coiled spring.”
“A nice package, though.”
Novak scowled.
Riggs laughed. “She’s growing on you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to. You never call her Vargas. Always call her Julia. Nice touch, Tobias.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Riggs chuckled. “Hey man, I’m happy for you.” When Novak didn’t answer, Riggs said, “It’s okay if you do like her. About time, don’t you think?”
Novak rubbed the back of his neck. “If Julia heard this conversation, we’d both end up with a couple of slugs buried in our chests.”
“She’d probably like that.”
“She’s independent.”
“Still trying to figure out if you two kids have a love connection?”
“It’s not love.”