Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,16
out in the traffic.
“And the ghost of Philip Key saw a black sedan,” she said after a moment.
“Of course. Couldn’t have been a pink hatchback or anything like that,” he said.
She didn’t reply. He glanced her way and then hit a button on the dash and said, “Call Angela.”
“Calling Angela,” a robotic voice replied.
In a few moments, Special Agent Angela Hawkins came on the line. Married to Jackson, Angela was among the first six agents to join the Krewe. Her expertise was in determining where members’ special talents might be most useful, and managing their tech teams for searches, logistics and more. “Special Agent Wallace—along with Special Agent Hanson, I presume,” Angela said.
“Yes, I’m here,” Stacey said.
“Angie, we’re going to head to Fairfax. Stacey found an address there for Cindy Hardy. You know today’s victim was identified as Billie Bingham.”
“Yes. Of course. Do you want me to tell her you’re coming—or just make sure she’s really at that address?”
“I’m afraid she’ll refuse to speak with us. Can you find out if she’s home, if she’s working and leaves during the day, the situation with the children...”
“Got it. I’ll get right back to you.” Angela ended the call.
Keenan drove for a while. At a red light, he looked over at Stacey with curiosity. “I knew I wanted law enforcement from the time I was a kid. My family tree is filled with various types of law enforcement, back to the Pinkerton who haunts Lafayette Square. You’re barely out of college—”
“I’m twenty-four,” she told him with dignity. “My dad was a private investigator.”
“But you’ve got a major in criminology, I’d bet. And then—straight to the academy?”
“Yes. And no experience in the field.”
“But you feel you have a good sense of what’s going on?”
“Are you mocking me again?” she asked, turning to stare at him.
“I’m not. I’m trying to determine what makes you tick.” He navigated to the I-66.
“Why?”
“Because I’m working with you. And I’m on this case because you had a dream about a corpse.”
She inhaled a long breath, then spoke evenly. “I’m an agent because I found out early in life that I wanted very badly to stop people from doing horrible things to other people. I studied hard—I don’t just dream. And there are lots of bad things out there that I won’t have the luck of dreaming in advance. I’m good at what I do, and I add everything in my arsenal to try to save lives and bring about justice—and stop future, horrible events from happening. All right?”
He lowered his head, and she thought that he might be smiling.
“All right?” she repeated.
“Yes. Fine. You’ve definitely got lots of passion, and, as you said, you’ve worked to get here. And you dream. Let’s hope that putting it all together really helps us.”
She glared at him. “Okay. So can we get back to business? No organs. Taken. There’s a huge market in illegal trafficking of human organs.”
“Or this guy is a cannibal. Or keeps the innards as trophies.”
She shrugged. “I think the murders are planned. I don’t believe the victims were random. Jess Marlborough was young and healthy.”
“Billie Bingham was in her forties,” Keenan countered.
“Still, that’s not old. And to manage her empire, she probably kept her wits about her. Kept herself healthy and fit. No addictions. Which would certainly make her organs viable.”
“True. And if what you’re saying is right, then we are looking for someone with medical expertise. And the victims are being killed where the organs can be safely harvested.”
“But right now we’re still driving out to see the angry ex-wife of a congressman?” Stacey asked.
He glanced her way. “Cindy Hardy is one lead. You may be on to something with this new organ-harvesting theory. You may not. We cover all our bases.”
“And that’s something I would have known—if I was an experienced field agent.”
He let out a long sigh of exasperation.
“Once the press gets word of Billie Bingham’s death, everyone and their brother will be looking at Cindy Hardy. We need the jump on it. We need to know if she was clearly not involved, if we can rule her out. Or if there is concern for further inquiry.”
“You think that Cindy might have murdered two street workers in a Ripperesque manner in order to get away with killing Billie Bingham?”
“Bizarre, but possible.”
She winced slightly. “Yes. Possible.”
The car phone rang, and he spoke aloud to answer it.
“Angela,” he said.
“Cindy Hardy is indeed living in a gated community in Fairfax. Her children are attending one of the