Page 14 of The Murder Between Us
Cole followed Jacob in, watching as he badged for access to the third floor in the elevator and memorizing the code Jacob rattled off. Jacob made small talk about the 49ers, who were, if possible, having a worse season than the Broncos. The elevator ride was short, and the doors opened to a small lobby and a set of double doors that read “Federal Bureau of Investigation—Des Moines.”
An older man held the door open for them both, smiling at Jacob before holding out his hand to Cole. “Special Agent in Charge John Hayes. You must be Dr. Kennedy. Thank you for coming out here so quickly.”
He shook Hayes’s hand. “Happy to do whatever I can to help, sir. I read the brief, but I wanted to wait and hear the details from the case agent and the local officers who have handled the bulk of the investigation.”
“You’re in luck. Downing is leading a briefing right now. Everyone’s gathered.”
“Did something come in?” Jacob led the way down the corridor toward a conference room along the back wall. Cole spotted a gaggle of men and women sitting around a large table surrounded by whiteboards to the left and right. A tall man with his back to the hallway spoke to the group, gesturing to something projected on the wall.
“Autopsy reports,” Hayes said.
Jacob cringed. “Garrett in there?”
Hayes nodded. Jacob shook his head, sadness turning his face gloomy.
Everyone turned when Hayes pushed open the door and led Cole into the conference room. Cole’s gaze swept the room, across the table of FBI agents, sheriff’s deputies from four counties, and the local Des Moines police. “Everyone,” Hayes said, “This is Dr. Kennedy from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. I asked them to send the best profiler they have, and—” Hayes clapped Cole on the shoulder. It was a paternal move, and kind. He smiled.
Cole’s gaze shifted, flicked to the man leading the meeting, the commander of the task force—
Shock rocketed through him.
Equally shocked—and absolutely terrified—eyes bore back into his own. Honey-hazel eyes, eyes he remembered gazing up at him with a dazed, glorious, burning look. Eyes that had seemed to sayI want you. I want this.
“Dr. Kennedy, this is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Downing. He’s running the task force and taking the lead on the hunt for the Coed Killer.”
Assistant special agent in charge. Cole blinked. Tried to swallow. He held out his hand. “Cole,” he almost stuttered. “Pleasure to meet you, Agent Downing.”
“N-Noah.” Noah did stutter, and he dropped Cole’s hand like touching him was physically painful. His gaze skittered down to Cole’s rainbow lanyard. If possible, he blanched even further. “Thanks for coming, Dr. Kennedy.” He looked away, his jaw clenching hard. Cole saw his pulse leap beneath his jaw.
“Please don’t let me interrupt.” Cole tried to shift backward, blend into the dull paint, hide himself against the doorjamb. Or, better yet, turn around and walk away. Go right back to the airport and then fly back to D.C. and tell his boss that someone else had to take this one. Someone who hadn’t slept with the lead agent. Someone who hadn’t been ghosted by the lead agent. Fuck, was there a policy on this? What to do if your new boss ghosted you after mind-blowing sex?
He wanted to disappear.
Not as much as Noah wanted to disappear, it seemed. He was as white as a sheet, and his hands trembled as he gripped a pen. He stared at his laptop, fiddling with the keys as he cleared his throat.
“Dr. Kennedy?”
He started, turning. Jacob had pulled out a chair at the end of the table. He nodded to the open seat, then stepped back, leaning against the wall. If Jacob raised his hand, he could palm the ceiling.
Everyone murmured their hellos as Cole made his way to his seat, nodding and smiling to the agents and officers and deputies. It was a somber meeting, and he noticed one of the deputies glaring out the window, not meeting his gaze. Anger pulsed off him, hot and furious. Cole settled into his seat and slid his laptop bag between his legs.
Noah cleared his throat and gestured to the screen on the far wall. He tapped at his laptop again, and the screen saver vanished. Autopsy photos appeared side by side: a young woman, strangled to death, and an older man, beaten beyond recognition. Cole blinked, taking in the savagery of the act, the rage. The hatred.
“Sheriff Bart Olson,” Noah said. “And his daughter, Jessie.”
Leather creaked as the furious deputy squeezed down on the arms of his chair. His wide shoulders trembled.
“Dr. Chen has completed her autopsy of both victims.” The medical examiner’s report replaced the graphic photos, complete with wire diagrams documenting the injuries to the dad and daughter. “Just like before, we’ve got nothing. No DNA under Bart’s fingernails or from his defensive wounds. No trace fibers or hairs left at the scene. No DNA from the killer on Jessie. No fingerprints anywhere in the house that aren’t accounted for. No fingerprints on either of the victims. This killer covers his tracks very, very well.”
A binder appeared in front of Cole, sliding down the table from Noah’s direction. Cole looked from the binder to Noah, who wouldn’t meet his gaze, and then back to the binder. It was thick, at least four inches, and stuffed with papers divided into sections labeled Victims 1–6.“The original case file,” Noah choked out. “Files from each of the first six murders.”
He pulled the binder to him and flipped it open. Crime scene photos and autopsy photos assaulted him, followed by reams of reports. He flipped quickly from one autopsy report to the next. “Same MO?”
Noah nodded. He still wouldn’t look at Cole. “Same MO. Every time. With the young women, at least. This is the first time he’s been interrupted. And—” Noah’s lips pressed together.
“And he was angry about being interrupted.” The rage was clear. The absolute brutality of the beating Bart Olson had endured said it all. “Was there anything about the Jessie Olson kill he wasn’t able to complete? There’s no evidence of sexual assault—”
The scowling deputy shoved back from the table and stormed across the conference room. He ripped open the door and marched down the hall, sliding his hands through his hair as his face went purple.
