Midnight Fear Read online

  “The man’s dead. Forget it,” Reid answered tightly.

  “Good for you, Novak. Always the Boy Scout. Tell Ms. Cahill I’ll be seeing her on the bookshelves.”

  Reid walked out of the bar with Feingold’s phlegmy chortle in his ears.

  Inside the graceful Georgetown home, images of Caitlyn’s childhood flitted through her mind. She saw herself with Joshua, playing on the curved mahogany staircase, as well as the Christmas tree that graced the two-story foyer each year, decorated with crystal ornaments and plaid bows in honor of the family’s Scottish ancestry. Under the wide, arched doorway leading into the study, she had posed for a college graduation photo with her father, his arm wrapped around her as he beamed with pride. Caitlyn stood alone in the same location now, feeling a bittersweet sadness wash over her.

  The visit with her mother, Caroline, at the nursing home earlier that day had not gone well. Once again, her mother hadn’t recognized her. The nursing staff had warned that her mother was having one of her off days, and that it was possible she wouldn’t be responsive. Still, Caitlyn had sat with her, holding her hand and talking to her in hopes she might somehow be able to reach her. But Caroline had stared at her daughter with vague curiosity before pulling her fingers away and gazing off toward the hallway, as if she expected some other visitor who was yet to arrive.

  She had looked frail and small in the lilac sateen pajamas Caitlyn had bought her, and far too young to be struggling with Alzheimer’s, if that was indeed her affliction. Caitlyn couldn’t be sure since the doctors had never fully confirmed the diagnosis. All she really knew was that her mother’s mental state had begun to deteriorate when the FBI arrested her son. She had gone from vibrant D.C. socialite to a recluse who refused to leave the haven of her home, fearing the questioning reporters camped along their fashionable street.

  Two days after Braden Cahill’s stroke, Caroline had disappeared on her way home from the hospital. The District police had found her wandering the National Mall and unable to tell them her name or address. It was as if her mind had shattered right along with her family and social standing. Without those facets of her life, Caroline Cahill ceased to exist.

  Caitlyn blamed herself.

  She looked around the house that was cloaked in unbearable silence. White sheets now covered much of the remaining furnishings that would soon be auctioned off in an estate sale.

  It had to be done. Caroline would never be coming home again, and the adult care facility where she now resided was costly. Caitlyn had found the nicest and most highly recommended center in the District, taking some comfort in the knowledge that at least her mother would still be in close proximity to her beloved Georgetown.

  With a sigh of resignation, she climbed the stairs, stopping at the large window that overlooked the tree-lined, cobblestone street comprised of quaint shops and well-kept Federal, Georgian and Victorian townhomes. If the house sold soon, Caitlyn realized, she might never see this picturesque view again. But she couldn’t live here, either—the memories would consume her. She gazed down onto the sidewalk, expecting to see the bobbing heads of passersby. Instead, what she saw was a man’s face lifted up toward the window. He frowned in hard concentration, the deep lines bracketing his mouth, belying his relative youth. Recollection sent a slow shiver curling up her spine.

  It wasn’t just any man—it was the same one who had been watching her yesterday. Caitlyn took a step back, placing herself out of view. Curiosity and annoyance raced through her. Bolstering her courage, she hurried down to the main floor, her rapid footsteps echoing off the stairs. It was broad daylight—she would be safe enough. Throwing open the front door, she nearly let out a scream, not expecting the veranda to be occupied.

  “Caitlyn?” Bliss Harper stood with her hand poised in midair, preparing to use the door’s brass knocker.

  “Bliss.” Caitlyn sounded breathless.

  “Am I…early?” Pushing her flaxen hair off her shoulder, she checked her Cartier wristwatch. “You looked surprised.”

  Caitlyn scanned the street behind Bliss, but no longer saw the man. “No—no. You’re right on time.”

  The two women gave each other a meaningful hug. Bliss had gone to school with Caitlyn and was one of the few friends with whom she had kept in touch after Joshua’s arrest and trial. Recently divorced, Bliss was now a Realtor specializing in estate homes, a lucrative profession for her since she traveled in the same circles with the people who could afford them. Caitlyn had contacted her last week about putting her family home on the market.

  “You seem preoccupied,” Bliss noted. “Should we reschedule?”

  Caitlyn looked past Bliss and once again searched the street, but her mystery follower was definitely gone. She shook her head. “No. Let’s do this now.”

  “It is a down market,” Bliss reminded. She wrote notes in a leather-bound journal as they stood in one of the upstairs bedrooms. In a gentle voice she added, “And this house has a bad history, honey.”

  The listing price she’d recommended was well below what Caitlyn knew the home was worth. But she was also aware Joshua’s infamy had cast a pall over it. Even though it wasn’t his residence at the time of the murders, it was where he’d grown up. And the FBI had served a warrant to search the residence after Caitlyn had turned over the journals, giving them cause.

  “This is one of the best-preserved Victorians on the street, not to mention the largest,” she said quietly.

  “We can up the asking price, Caitlyn. But be prepared to come down. Bad karma doesn’t sell well.” Bliss looked around the bedroom that had once belonged to Joshua, biting her lip. “Why don’t we go back down to the dining room? We can spread the paperwork out on the table.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Once she was alone, Caitlyn took in the large room with its wood floors and wide bay window that offered a view of Montrose Park. An image of Joshua, around ten, sitting cross-legged on the upholstered window seat and reading a book, sprang into her head. She pictured his dark, intelligent eyes nearly obscured by his shaggy hair as he concentrated, a rainy afternoon visible through the window behind him. His child’s voice became part of her memory as he read favored passages aloud. But that had been years before the schizophrenia diagnosis. Before the psychiatric evaluations and antipsychotic medications.

  The room was unheated, and Caitlyn ran her hands over her arms as she studied the bookshelf still lined with Joshua’s boyhood favorites. The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table. She removed one of the books to get a closer look at its front cover, then returned it to its resting place. Her eyes traveled over the antique writing desk where Joshua had done his homework. He had carved his name into its top, the childlike etching making her heart ache. Absently, Caitlyn opened one of the desk drawers. What she saw caused her breath to freeze inside her chest.

  She removed the blond-haired Barbie doll, her heart beating rapidly. The doll was nude, its hands and ankles bound with pipe cleaners. Another pipe cleaner had been wrapped around its throat. Straight pins were buried deep into the rubberized pink flesh, inserted into the breasts and groin area. A red felt-tip marker had been used to simulate blood.

  Her hands shook. Caitlyn placed the doll back inside the drawer and closed it with a hard shove.

  Had Joshua done that when he was a child? Had it been here, waiting all this time for someone to find it? If that were the case, Caitlyn was certain the police would have taken the doll during their search. Besides, the doll looked brand-new.

  Someone else had been here and left it behind. Somehow, they had gotten inside. Feeling a flutter of anxiety, she thought of the man who had been watching her for the past two days.

  14

  After examining the doll, Reid placed it carefully in an evidence bag. He could see the distress in Caitlyn’s eyes.

  “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have touched it.”

  “It’s okay,” he said
. “We’ll take it to the lab and see if we can get any prints.”

  He had arrived at the Cahill home in Georgetown a short time after receiving Caitlyn’s call. Reid remembered the house from the warranted search he’d led during the Capital Killer investigation, although its once elegant interior now appeared stark and barren. Caitlyn had been waiting for him downstairs with a real estate agent who was listing the house. They’d left her in the dining room, finishing up paperwork.

  Reid watched as Caitlyn paced the bedroom before taking a seat on the bed’s edge.

  “Tell me about this man who’s been following you.”

  “I saw him yesterday outside the Habersham Building, before I went into the board meeting. Then again this afternoon outside the house.” Caitlyn ran a hand through her hair. “When I saw him from the window, I went downstairs. I was going outside after him, but Bliss was at the door. He slipped away.”

  Reid rubbed his jaw. “Confronting him wouldn’t be smart, Caitlyn. Even on a busy street.”

  “I don’t like being followed. And he didn’t look dangerous—”

  “A person’s looks can be deceiving.”

  “You mean like Joshua?” She gazed at him.

  Reid didn’t look away. He thought of Cahill’s slight build. “Exactly like Joshua.”

  He sat next to her. “Did this man try to approach you yesterday? When you were downtown?”

  She shook her head. “Once he knew I’d seen him, he disappeared.”

  “Why didn’t you mention him last night?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure…I thought yesterday he was maybe somebody I knew, or that he had me confused with someone. I didn’t think too much of it until I saw him again today here.”

  “Could you describe him to a sketch artist?”

  “I think so.”

  Caitlyn had already given him a basic physical description—tall and somewhat thin, with a receding blond hairline, approximately mid-to late-thirties.

  “Are you okay?” Reid asked.

  “The doll freaked me out.”

  “That’s understandable.” He looked around the room. “But I’m also talking about being here. And about the house being sold.”

  She placed her hands in her lap and released a soft sigh. “Selling it makes sense. My mother isn’t going to be able to come back here, and my life is elsewhere now. It’s painful, but I think letting go of this place could help me let go of…other things.”

  Reid knew she was thinking of the life she’d once had and the family she could never get back. It felt odd sitting beside her in Joshua Cahill’s childhood bedroom. He reached for her hand in a gesture of support, his fingers briefly clasping hers until footsteps sounded farther down the hallway. Reid could tell by the heavy gait it was Mitch, whom he had called on his way over to alert him to what Caitlyn had found. He’d heard his voice earlier in the downstairs foyer, and Reid stood just before Mitch knocked on the door frame.

  “It looks like someone gained entrance through a basement window,” he said, looking at Caitlyn. “The lock’s been jimmied—don’t you have a security system for this palace?”

  “I’ve had estate appraisers in and out over the past several weeks,” she explained. “It’s been easier to leave the alarm off.”

  “I’ll need the names of anyone who’s had access. We’ll also need to schedule a tech to come in and dust.” Walking farther into the room, Mitch picked up the evidence bag containing the doll. He raised an eyebrow. “Christ. Should we bring Ken in for questioning?”

  “Where’s Morehouse?” Reid asked.

  “Still at the Roosevelt. You coming?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll call you later.”

  Once Mitch had left the bedroom, Caitlyn turned to Reid. Her eyes were questioning. “Why would someone break in here, just to leave a doll?”

  He’d already considered this. “Breaking into the house probably helped with the unsub’s fantasy of being Joshua—it made him feel closer. As far as the doll goes, he left it for shock effect. He knew the chances were good a family member would find it.”

  “By family member, you mean me,” she clarified softly. “I’m really the only one left. I guess I should feel lucky it was a doll instead of a person.”

  Reid didn’t respond, although he’d been thinking the same thing. Her hand pressed against her stomach, Caitlyn stood and went to stare blankly out the window. He didn’t like seeing her scared but maybe the doll had opened her eyes to reality. She had to start taking precautions. If Reid were on active duty right now, he’d be pushing for a watch on her. But at the same time, he also realized the chances of getting it at this point would be small. The FBI had been hit with its own share of budget cuts, and VCU resources were scarce. Until a more direct threat was made, getting any protection assigned to her would be next to impossible.

  Reid had something else to tell her. Something she needed to hear from him. “They got an ID on the second victim, Caitlyn. The woman at Hains Point.”

  She looked at him. “Who was she?”

  “A tourist. Her name was Hannah Reece. She was in town with her fiancé. He was at a business meeting, so she went sightseeing alone. She never came back to the Roosevelt Hotel where they were staying. Agents Tierney and Morehouse spent most of the day talking to the fiancé, as well as the hotel staff—”

  “But they don’t have any leads.”

  Reid shook his head. Like the first victim, the body was clean, no physical DNA evidence left behind to run through the database in hopes of finding a match. He walked to the window to stand beside Caitlyn. Below, he could see Mitch climbing into his government-issue Crown Victoria. It pulled from the curb and disappeared down the street.

  “We should probably go, too,” Caitlyn said. As she picked up her purse from the bed, the cell phone inside it rang. Locating it, she flipped open its cover.

  As soon as she answered, Reid saw the color drain from her face. She gripped the phone tightly.

  “Joshua.” Her voice trembled. “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk to you, Caity. You are still my sister, right?”

  Caitlyn’s stomach twisted at her brother’s voice. In all this time, she hadn’t heard from him. Not once had he attempted to contact her. Her words were choked. “You haven’t wanted to since your arrest. What’s changed?”

  “I miss you.” He sounded sincere. “I understand now you did what you had to…to help me.”

  Caitlyn closed her eyes. She felt Reid’s presence beside her.

  “I’m doing a lot better. The doctors and the meds are helping this time. I want you to come see me.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  “I know I can’t make up for what I did to those women. But God, I’m so sorry. I think about it every day. And I think about you.”

  Her legs felt wobbly. Joshua was still talking, trying to convince her, when she relinquished the phone to Reid. His expression was stern.

  “This is Agent Novak. If you try to make contact with Caitlyn again, I’ll see to it your phone privileges are revoked.” He closed the phone with a hard snap.

  “He wants me to come see him,” she said, upset. “After all this time.”

  “I don’t think you should.”

  “He’s still my brother. He says he’s sorry for what he did—”

  His hands gently grasping her upper arms, Reid forced her to look up into his face. His eyes were a steely gray. “Listen to me. No matter what he tells you, Joshua hasn’t changed. He has no remorse. I’ve talked to him. I don’t know what he wants with you, but it can’t be good. I don’t want you going to see him.”

  Caitlyn nodded, but she couldn’t let go of the earnestness in Joshua’s voice. He called me. My serial killer brother contacted me from prison, asking to make amends.

  She wondered if there would ever be a day she would feel normal again.

  15

  Despite Reid’s attempts to convince her otherwise, Caitlyn had return
ed to the Rambling Rose. He’d made it clear he didn’t like her being so isolated, but the absence of Manny Ruiz meant there were additional responsibilities she had to attend to at the stables and farm. Not to mention, she had to find someone to fill the now-vacant manager position.

  She had been back a full day—a long one spent in session with a therapist who was helping plan a new element of the equine program, and then later leading a group of inner-city children along the winding horse trail. Beyond that, Rob Treadwell had stopped by the stables without Sophie. Asking for Caitlyn’s help in choosing a birthday present for his wife, he’d hung out in her office until she had run out of suggestions and been forced to mention how much work she had to do. By the time she had finished ordering supplies from the feed store, the late afternoon sun was fading. As Caitlyn reached the top of the long driveway to her house, she slowed the car. Manny waited for her on the front porch. He appeared hesitant, his big hands nervously twisting the John Deere baseball cap he normally wore.

  Reid had instructed her to call him if Manny returned, and yet Caitlyn’s gut told her to hear him out. Regardless of the prison record he’d kept hidden, Manny had been a model employee and an excellent manager. Didn’t she at least owe him an opportunity to say whatever was on his mind?

  “Please don’t call the police, Caitlyn,” he urged, coming closer as she opened the BMW’s door. “I just want a chance to explain.”

  “About why you lied on your job application?”

  His sun-worn features creased as he twisted the cap again. “I’m sorry about that. I know I should’ve been up front, but I didn’t think you would hire me if you knew the truth.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “I know. And I’m not makin’ excuses—I did lie to you about my…background.” He dug the toe of his dust-covered boot into the grass at the edge of the lawn. His brown eyes were sad. “But I wasn’t lying about horses. I’ve been around ’em all my life. I grew up on a farm and I know how to make one work. We were getting things rolling out here, Caitlyn.”