“What is it, Simpson?” he asked. “Did you find anything else?”
“Not really. I ran credit reports and got bank statements going back over ten years. This girl was kind of boring. The deed to the townhouse she bought several years back was in her name alone, so it doesn’t appear there’s a boyfriend or anyone else in the picture. With nothing else to go on, I went ahead and did some preliminary background checks on her brother to see if anything stood out. It might take me a little longer to get everything together on that end because of his time as a SEAL and all—”
“That’s not necessary, Simpson,” Alexander interrupted, grabbing the file he held out to him. “He was an employee, so we probably have all his information on record somewhere.”
He shook his head. “That was my first thought, too, but it was apparently never done. There’s no record of it anywhere.”
Alexander narrowed his eyes. “That’s a bit odd.” He shrugged. “It’s possible I never requested it since he was a good friend. It probably just slipped my mind.”
“Yes, sir. Nonetheless, I’ll start looking into his background to see if anything there may shed some light on what happened to his sister.”
“Thank you.”
Simpson nodded and retreated from the office.
“Simpson,” Alexander called out as he was about to disappear down the hallway.
He popped his head back in. “Yes, sir?”
Alexander sighed. “What do you think?”
“Sir?” he responded, straightening his posture.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the news reports on her death, how the police think she’s another victim of the Castle Island Killer.”
He nodded.
“What do you think?”
Simpson shifted nervously on his feet. He had worked for Alexander for over ten years. He was the friend of a friend of one of his agents, who had used Simpson in the course of an investigation the company had been hired to conduct. Simpson possessed a rather specific set of computer skills that had proved useful in solving the case, and were still useful to this day. He could hack into even the most rigid computer systems without leaving a trace. Because his background was vastly different than the typical person he employed, Alexander valued his opinion.
“I don’t know, sir. The police have a good point. She was dumped in the same area of Boston in a barrel similar to the ones used in the other murders.” He shrugged. “The police never released any information regarding the victims’ fingernails being ripped off, yet Mischa’s were, too. So if it is a copycat, as you want to believe, it had to be someone within the police department who had access to all the intricate little details on their investigation and was able to replicate it perfectly.”
“Or someone with the skills necessary to access their records.” Alexander raised his eyebrows.
Simpson shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s true.”
There was a brief silence as Alexander considered his opinion. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing…everyone except him. It was too much of a coincidence that her body turned up on the one-year anniversary of her brother’s death. There had to be something more to it.
“With all due respect, sir,” Simpson said, breaking the silence. “Maybe you’re too close to the investigation. You could dig for days, even weeks, and not find what you’re looking for. Maybe instead of operating under the theory this is a copycat who targeted Ms. Tate, you could use your resources to help find the Castle Island Killer.”
Closing his eyes, Alexander nodded. “I made a promise to Landon I would always watch out for her.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help you, sir, no matter which path you choose.”
“Thank you, Simpson.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned and disappeared into the hallway once more.
Left alone with a nagging doubt about whether or not he was on the right path, Alexander began flipping through Simpson’s latest investigative efforts. He wasn’t prepared to be confronted with a photo of himself standing with Olivia, Mischa, Landon, and Landon’s fiancée. They were at a fundraising event for Mischa’s agency. Her blonde waves were styled in a way that made her look like a 1930s movie star, her red lips glistening against her smooth, pale skin.
Turning away from the photo to avoid being faced with the memories, he glanced out the large windows of his office. Dusk had fallen over the city, bringing a subtle glow to the room. His eyes drooped from the lack of sleep last night. He threw the file on the coffee table, turning on the large television screen mounted on the wall directly in front of him.
The voice of a local news anchor with a non-regional dialect blared as she spoke about a gruesome murder in Southie. His eyes glued to the screen, Alexander lay back on the couch and kicked off his shoes just as Mischa’s smiling face flashed on the screen. At least they hadn’t shown any of her autopsy photos.
He closed his eyes, an odd feeling of déjà vu washing over him. He had sat in this same office, his eyes glued to the exact same television, as he watched Landon’s brutal murder with the rest of the world.
Chapter Seven
One Year Ago
“ANY WORD YET?” MARTIN asked, snapping Alexander out of his unease regarding the past week.
“Not yet.” He let out a slow breath, focusing his attention on the handful of television screens mounted on the wall across from the desk. Each was tuned to a different news station as he waited for any new information about the story that broke over a week ago…an explosion at a building outside Kabul where an American private security company had reportedly been operating a clinic. So far, no further details had been leaked, but Alexander knew it was only a matter of time. Reporters were a vicious breed, pit bulls to the end. Once they sunk their teeth into a story, they never let go. Soon, they’d find a weak link who would disclose what his company was really doing over in Afghanistan…interfering with centuries of tradition, at least in some people’s opinions.
“I should be there,” Alexander muttered, scanning the screens.
Ever since learning about the explosion, his stomach churned with uncertainty. It took everything inside him to fight his gut response to hop on the first military transport flying over there to figure out what happened and where Landon was, but he knew it would be futile. There was protocol in place for how to proceed in the event something like this should happen. Perhaps Landon was waiting to call until he knew it was safe to do so. But as the hours turned into days, he couldn’t help but think the worst…that the threats Landon had received on an almost daily basis had been realized.