Cul de Sac

“I heard confidence in that statement,” Moulton said. “Please explain.”

“Lauren Hilyard was stabbed sixteen times. And every single wound was centered in the abdomen area, with only a single stray one slicing into her left breast. The coroner reports that the wounds were ragged and almost on top of one another, indicating someone made stabbing motions one right behind the other. The note here in the reports says: as if in a blind rage or frenzy. If this was the act of someone with political motivation, there would likely be some sort of message or other indicator.”

“Okay, then,” Moulton said. “I’m on board. It’s not politically motivated.”

“That was easy.”

He shrugged and said, “I’m coming to understand that people in DC think everything has political motivations. So what if the Hilyards maybe sort of kind of know someone higher up in a political office. Not everyone is going to care.”

“I like the way you think,” she said. “But I don’t know that we rule it out one hundred percent just yet.”

They were closing in on Barnes Point, and the fact that they had been entrusted to round up a case with potential political ties was not lost on her. It was an amazing opportunity for both of them and she had to make sure that was where her focus was for the time being. For now, nothing was more important than that—not suddenly reappearing estranged fathers, not the voice of her stubborn and joy-dead sister…not even a potentially perfect romance with the man sitting next to her.

For now, there was the case and only the case. And that was more than enough for her.

CHAPTER SIX

Barnes Point was a quiet yet cute city, with a population right at nine thousand. The Hilyard residence sat just outside the city limits, in a little subdivision called Farmington Acres. The victim’s husband, Jerry Hilyard, had not yet been able to bring himself to return to his home since discovering his wife’s body; with no immediate family living nearby, he had been invited to say elsewhere in the neighborhood, with close friends.

“I think I might have needed to get farther away than just a few houses down,” Moulton said. “I mean, can you imagine what this poor guy is going through?”

“But he might also need to be close to his home,” Chloe suggested. “To the place where he and his wife had shared a life together.”

Moulton seemed to consider this as he drove their rental car further into the subdivision, toward the address the State Police had forwarded them while they’d been en route. It was yet another example of how Chloe was beginning to both understand and respect the fluidity of the way the bureau worked. It was hard to imagine that just about any information she needed—addresses, phone numbers, work histories, criminal records—was readily available, just a call or email away. She assumed agents eventually got used to this, but for now, she still felt quite privileged to be part of such a system.

They arrived at the address and walked to the door. The mailbox read Lovingston and the house itself was a carbon copy of just about all of the other homes in the neighborhood. It was the sort of neighborhood where the houses were right on top of one another but the environment was quiet—a good place for kids to learn to ride their bikes and probably a lot of fun during Halloween and Christmas.

Chloe knocked on the door and it was answered right away by a woman with a baby in her arms.

“Are you Mrs. Lovingston?” Chloe asked.

“I am. And you must be the FBI agents. We got a call from the police a while ago saying you’d be on your way.”

“Is Jerry Hilyard still staying here?” Moulton asked.

A man appeared behind the woman, coming from the open room to the left. “Yeah, I’m still here,” he said. He joined Mrs. Lovingston at the door and leaned against the door frame. He looked absolutely exhausted, apparently not having slept well ever since he had lost his wife in such a brutal fashion.

Mrs. Lovingston turned to him and gave him a glare that made Chloe think the baby in her arms might be in for some nasty looks in the future. “You sure you’re up to this?” the woman asked him.

“I’m fine, Claire,” he said. “Thanks.”

She nodded, held her baby tighter to her chest, and headed back elsewhere in the house.

“Come on in, I guess,” Jerry said.

He led them into the same room he had come in from. It looked to be a small den of sorts, mostly decorated with books and two elegant-looking chairs. Jerry fell into one of the chairs as if his bones were starting to give out on him.

“I know Claire might seem a little hesitant about you being here,” Jerry said. “But…she and Lauren were good friends. She thinks I need to be grieving…which I am. It’s just…”

He stopped here and Chloe could see him wrestling with a flood of emotion, trying to make it through this conversation without crumbling in front of them.

“Mr. Hilyard, I’m Agent Fine and this is my partner, Agent Moulton. I was wondering if you might be able to tell us about any political ties your family might have.”

“Jesus,” he breathed. “It’s overblown. The local PD made a huge fuss about it and got all freaked out. I’m pretty sure that’s why you were called in, right?”

“Are there political ties?” Moulton asked, sidestepping the question.

“Lauren’s father used to be really good golf buddies with the Secretary of Defense. They grew up together, played football together, all that. They still hang out on occasion—duck hunting, fishing, things like that.”

“Did Lauren ever speak with the Secretary?” Chloe asked.

“Not since we’ve been married. He came to our wedding. We get a Christmas card from his family. But that’s about it.”

“So do you think what happened might be due to that relationship?” Moulton asked.

“If it is, I have no idea why. Lauren was not into politics at all. I think it’s just her father’s way of making himself seem important. Someone killed his little girl so it must be because he knows important people. He’s kind of an ass like that.”

“So what can you tell us about the last few days of Lauren’s life?” Chloe asked.

“I’ve already told the police everything I could.”

“We understand that,” Moulton said. “And we have copies of all of their reports. But for us to properly get a foothold here, we may be asking you some questions that have you repeating a few things.”

“Fine, that’s good,” Jerry said.

Chloe thought the man might not quite be aware of what was happening, exactly. He looked incredibly detached. If she didn’t already know the traumatic situation he was going through, she might have assumed he was on drugs.

“The first question may seem silly in light of what has happened,” Chloe said, “but can you think of anyone who might have had a reason to be upset with your wife?”

He sneered and shook his head. When he spoke, his voice trembled in a sort of eternal yawn. “No. Lauren stayed to herself these days. An introvert. It had gotten even worse as of late…drawing into herself, you know?”

“Any idea why?”

“She had a rough past. Messed up parents and all that. She was sort of a bully in high school. I guess that’s what she’d be classified as these days. Or maybe a mean girl. She’d been coming to terms with those mistakes as of late. I think it got worse when she got that damned high school reunion invitation in the mail.”

“She was anxious about going?” Chloe asked.

“I’m not sure. It made her sad, I think…to think about the people she had maybe been mean to.”

“Did the two of you graduate together?” Moulton asked.

“We did.”

“And did you go with her to the reunion?”

“God no. I hate that sort of stuff. Posturing and pretending to like people you mostly hated in high school. No. I sat it out.”

“You say she was an introvert,” Chloe said. “Did she not have many friends?”