Page 4 of The Killer She Knew

While humor had always been a tool for investigators to keep the demons they slayed on a daily basis at bay, Ford’s attempt at lightening the mood struck Leigh oddly. Perhaps he really didn’t have much experience with murder investigations? His request to keep the body on site, while beneficial, would have the medical examiner’s office seething by now. Any change in temperature, weather conditions, and police activity could affect time of death estimation and the condition of the remains. He’d made the wrong call.

She had to work fast. Leigh crouched to get a better view of the body. Snapping a pair of gloves over both hands, she pried Alice’s right eye open, then the left. Blonde hair and brown eyes weren’t common genetic traits. Less than 1 percent of the country fell into both categories naturally, and the chances of two victims turning up dead with both were even smaller. Sharp cheekbones and a thin frame would’ve garnered plenty of attention. A thin layer of makeup accentuated full lips and drewattention where Alice had presumably wanted it. She’d clearly been fastidious in her appearance, in her choice of clothing if the tailored white dress was anything to go by. Almost… dressed to impress. And Leigh couldn’t help but compare this victim with one found in this exact location eighteen years ago. Her stomach soured. “You believe this is the work of a killer you’ve been hunting?”

“Wouldn’t you? It’s not common victims are killed with two different poisons in their systems,” Ford said. “Once I realized my suspect had deviated from his preferred victim, I reached out to the BAU, though I can’t imagine what he would’ve wanted with Alice. Up until now, everything this guy has done has almost been… functional.”

“What do you mean?” Leigh sat back on her heels. As much death as she’d seen should’ve hampered her ability to feel anything but pure focus on this case, but a heaviness she couldn’t breathe through sat on her chest. Alice Dietz had barely scratched the surface of her potential at twenty-one. Had she been excited to graduate and step into the real world? Had she already fallen in love or made a bucket list of countries to visit? Were there people who cared she wouldn’t be coming home for Thanksgiving in a few weeks?

“The men my guy has killed in all those towns—Santa Ana, Garland—he didn’t just kill them. He took their identities. He lived their lives for weeks before moving on and leaving their bodies to be found.” Ford pushed his glasses back into place with his index finger before going for a small notebook. “Sometimes it’s for a couple of days. The last one was nearly a month.”

Leigh had to think about that for a moment. What did any of this have to do with a college co-ed killed in the same manner and location as an eighteen-year-old cold case? “Quite the feat. Your victims most likely had friends, families, coworkers whowould spot the differences. Why would he want to become them?”

The answer to her own question clawed to the front of her mind, but she pushed it away. Didn’t want to consider how much death and violence and lies she’d intentionally ignored all these years.

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling this victim wasn’t chosen at random.” Ford’s gaze rose to meet hers, and she knew what he saw. How similar she must’ve looked to the woman at their feet. “I’ve read through the original investigation files, Agent Brody. Durham PD had a suspect in the death of a female student, Teshia Elborne, but he was never arrested. A witness alibied him for the night of the murder. His girlfriend at the time. Without any new leads, police had nothing, and the case went cold. The victim’s family and friends never got the closure they needed to move on, and I have reason to believe that suspect is killing again.”

“I’m already familiar with the case and the suspect you’re talking about, Marshal Ford.” Leigh straightened while studying the body in front of her. The same confusion pulsed now as it did then. She peeled her gloves off with too much force. “I’m the one who alibied him.”

THREE

Durham, New Hampshire

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

10:14 a.m.

The box slipped off the stack she’d carried to the second floor.

Leigh braced for the impact.

A body plunged into her peripheral vision from the single door in the claustrophobic stairwell.

“I got it!” He did not, in fact, have it. The box hit the cement, one corner denting inward. A grumble of a laugh vibrated through her as her would-be rescuer set his gaze on her. Intensely dark. The color of a clear summer night in the middle of nowhere. Except there was a hint of warmth in his features. Near black hair and a clean-shaven face somehow brightened his smile, but she’d learned from experience that looks—even as handsome as his—were almost always deceiving. He was older, maybe twenty or twenty-one to her eighteen, but could still rely on a few boyish charms. She couldn’t help but smile as he collected the box but didn’t move to restack it. “Well, damn.Guess speed isn’t one of my superpowers. I’m Dean. One of the resident assistants for Christensen Hall.”

He stretched out a hand, expecting her to somehow manage to keep hold of her possessions and meet him in the middle. Then laughed as he withdrew. “Sorry. Habit.”

“I’m Leigh.” She shifted the remaining boxes to one hip, arms already tired from the multiple trips she’d made up the stairs. Christensen Hall was one of the most competitive residence halls on campus with its proximity to Dimond Library and the campus bookstore, and the most crowded due to its first-year-student status. Didn’t make it any easier to move into. The halls were too narrow, the dorms too small for more than a twin-sized bed and a desk, and the idea of a communal bathroom she had to share with the rest of the floor really made her want to start a “no shampoo” campaign.

Still, she’d made it all the way to college despite a depressing GPA her last year of high school. That was what happened when your father was convicted of murder, your mother barely spoke or left her bed, and you had to become a parent to your thirteen-year-old traumatized brother. Leigh tried to keep the thoughts of that last one from bleeding into her face. While she’d applied and been accepted to Granite State for the next four years, her brother couldn’t go back home as long as his abductor was still on the hunt. So he was coming to Durham, too. Homeschooling from her dorm. Staying out of sight until she knew he’d be safe on his own. “If a single one of my pillows comes away damaged, I’ll know who to blame.”

“On your left!” a voice yelled a few steps back.

Leigh tried to maneuver out of the way of the guy coming up the stairs behind her. Managing to shove the corner of her box into Dean’s gut. Heat flared up her neck and into her face. She managed to balance the last box in one hand, reaching for him with the other. “I’m so sorry!”

Dean lifted a hand in surrender, doubled over to catch his breath. A too-wide nose with a slight bend in the middle dominated his face but somehow managed to fit him perfectly and accentuated the laugh lines leading down to his mouth. He was handsome in a rough way. Obviously confident with his muscular frame, and her eighteen-year-old brain automatically jumped to wondering how many more muscles his T-shirt and low-cut jeans tried to hide from inexperienced and clumsy girls like her. “It’s all good. Move-in day isn’t for the faint of heart. I needed the reminder.”

“You should probably run while you still can.” Leigh couldn’t get rid of the embarrassment working into her voice. Her fingers ached as she clutched on to the box in her arms. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d stood up to her entire hometown in defense of her dad, but she couldn’t manage a simple conversation with a cute guy? “I’m new to all of this, and every second you’re with me is another chance you might break something important. Or worse. I could accidentally knock you over the railing and send you plummeting to your death.”

“I’m not the one who looks like they want to rabbit out of here.” He straightened, his smile back in place, and the stairwell didn’t seem so crowded anymore. As though there wasn’t anyone else in the building. “But who said I don’t like a challenge?”

Durham, New Hampshire

Wednesday, October 9

9:45 a.m.

“Durham PD narrowed down their suspect pool during their investigation eighteen years ago to one man. Dean Groves.”Leigh faced the stuffy office crowded with campus police, Marshal Ford, a handful of Durham police, and the president of the university himself. Most notably the should-be-retired professor who’d wedged himself into the corner of the room against an overstuffed shelf of books no one had ever read. Age had been kind to him, merely adding a few patches of white against his polished hair and beard. A few more lines had carved around his mouth and across his forehead, but ultimately, he hadn’t changed a bit. Time hadn’t altered his preference for open button-down shirts and blazers with hand-sewn patches in the elbows. He remained quiet, out of the way. Waiting for her to notice him. Her heart rate picked up at his lopsided smile. Meant for support. Alliance. Comfort. It was the first stage of his trap. “At the time, Groves had ties to the victim, Teshia Elborne, and access to the arsenic and cyanide used to kill the victim through his research internship in the biomedical lab.”

The medical examiner had taken possession of the body twenty minutes ago. If she looked out the massive window behind the oak desk overrunning the bookshelf-lined walls, she could see straight down to the crime scene outside. Whoever had dumped this victim wanted to be noticed. To send a message.

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