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If She Fled
CHAPTER TWO
Both Kate and DeMarco had managed to grab a bit of sleep on the red-eye flight from DC to Chicago. But in Kate’s case, it had been a very broken nap at best. When she stirred awake during descent into Chicago at 6:15, she didn’t feel very rested. Her thoughts instantly turned to Melissa, Michelle, and Alan. The guilt slammed into her like a brick as she had watched Chicago appear in the soft light of dawn through the plane window.
She spent that first moment in Chicago hating herself. It got better as she and DeMarco made their way through the airport and to the rental car desk.
Now, as they drove into the small town of Frankfield, Illinois, the guilt was still there but little more than a ghost in her head, rattling chains and creaking floorboards.
DeMarco was behind the wheel, sipping on Starbucks she had picked up in O’Hare. She glanced over at Kate, who was looking out the window, and nudged her.
“Okay, Wise,” DeMarco said. “There’s a big fat elephant in the room and it stinks. What’s going on? You look miserable.”
“We at the let’s-go-deep level yet?”
“Weren’t we always?”
Kate sat up and sighed. “I was babysitting Michelle when I realized I missed a call from Duran. I had to bail. Worse than that, I left her with Alan because Melissa and her husband are going through some stuff. It’s kind of eating me up.”
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” DeMarco said. “But you could have just told him no. You’re not under a strict contract or anything, right?”
“Right. But saying no isn’t as easy as you’d think. I fear I’m putting too much into this. I think it’s how I’m finding my purpose.”
“Being a grandmother isn’t enough purpose?” DeMarco asked.
“Oh, it is. I just…I don’t know.”
She trailed off here and DeMarco let her have her silence…for a moment. “So, this case,” DeMarco said. “Looks pretty plain, right? You read the files?”
“I did. And it does seem pretty cut and dry. But with no leads or clues or even the slightest suggestion from local law enforcement, it’s going to be a challenge.”
“So…the latest victim was a fifty-four-year-old woman. At home alone two afternoons ago. No signs of forced entry. Discovered by the husband when he arrived home from work. Looks like it was brutal strangulation that cut deep into her neck.”
“And that might be the smoking gun right there,” Kate said. “What the hell do you strangle someone with that has the ability to also saw into your neck?”
“Barbed wire?”
“There would have been more blood,” Kate commented. “The scene would have been beyond gruesome.”
“And the reports say this place was pretty clean.”
“So that explains why the local PD is having such problems. But there has to be some starting place, right?”
“Well, let’s find out,” DeMarco said, slowing the car to a crawl and nodding ahead and to the right. “We’re here.”
***
There was a single policeman waiting for them when they pulled into the U-shaped driveway. He was sitting in his patrol car, sipping on a cup of coffee. He gave Kate and DeMarco a polite nod when they approached his car. He was dressed in uniform, and the star-shaped badge indicated he was the sheriff. If Kate had to guess, he would not be holding that position for much longer. He was easily pushing sixty; it showed the most in his brow and the almost completely gray sheen on his hair.
“Agents Wise and DeMarco,” Kate said, showing him her badge.
“Sheriff Bannerman,” the aging policeman said. “Glad you could make it up here. This case has us baffled as hell.”
“Care to walk us inside and give us the details?” Kate asked.
“Of course.”
Bannerman led them up the wide stairs onto the minimally decorated porch. Inside, the house was equally minimalist, making the already huge house look even larger. The front door opened onto a tiled foyer that gave way to a wide hall and a set of curved stairs leading to the second floor. Bannerman led them down the hallway and to the right. They entered a spacious den, the far wall occupied by a single enormous built-in bookcase. The den itself held a single elegant couch and a piano.
“The victim’s office is right through here,” Bannerman said, leading them through the den and into an area tiled in the same fashion as the foyer. A simple desk sat against the far wall. To the right, a window looked out onto a keyhole garden. A large vase of cotton plant fragments sat in the corner. It looked simple and was clearly fake, yet it fit the room nicely.
“The body was discovered at her desk, in this very chair,” Bannerman said. He was nodding toward a very plain-looking desk chair. But it was the sort of plain that would usually boast a steep price tag. Just looking at it made Kate’s back and backside feel comfortable.
“The victim was Karen Hopkins, a local for most of her life, I believe. She was working when she was killed. The email she never finished was still on the screen when her husband discovered the body.”
“The reports say there were no signs of forced entry, is that right?” DeMarco asked.
“That’s right. In fact, the husband told us all the doors were locked when he got home.”
“So the killer locked up before he left,” Kate said. “Not unusual. It would be a surefire way to try to throw off any investigation. Still, though…he had to get in somehow.”
“Mrs. Hopkins is the second victim. Five days ago, there was another. A woman of about the same age, killed in her home while her husband was at work. Marjorie Hix.”
“You said Karen Hopkins was working when she was killed,” Kate said. “Do you know what she did?”
“According to the husband, it wasn’t really a job. Just a side hustle to make some extra cash to speed up retirement. Online marketing or something like that.”
Kate and DeMarco took a moment to look around the office. DeMarco checked the waste bin by the desk and the few pieces of paper in the small tray at the edge of the desk. Kate scanned the floor for any possible fragments, finding herself once again standing by the vase of fake cotton. Almost instinctively, she reached out and touched the soft head of one of the stalks. Just as she imagined, it was fake but its softness was almost calming. She noted a few broken stalks before returning her attention to the desk.
Bannerman kept a respectful distance, meandering back and forth between the edge of the den and the window, looking out to the garden outside of the office.
Karen noted right away that the office desk was facing the wall. This wasn’t too uncommon; as she understood it, it was a great way for people with short attention spans to improve their focus. She also knew it meant she likely never even knew what was coming until it had happened.
Her suspicions automatically turned to the husband. Whoever had killed her had entered the house quietly and made very little noise.
That, or they were already in here and she wasn’t suspecting a thing.
Again, all signs pointed to the husband. But that was a dead end because based on everything they knew, the husband had a solid alibi. Sure, she could check up on it but history told her that when someone had alibis pertaining to work, there were seldom any cracks in those alibis.
Before stating such a thing to DeMarco or Bannerman, she stepped into the den. In order to get into the office, one had to pass through the den. The floor was covered in a very nice Oriental rug. The sofa looked like it was rarely used and the piano looked as if it were an antique—the sort that was never played but was nice to look at.
The books on the walls were an assortment of titles, most of which she assumed had never even been opened…just coffee table books to look nice on shelves. Only near the end of the furthest shelf did she see any books that showed signs of wear and tear: some classics, a few thriller paperbacks, and some cookbooks.
She looked for anything odd or out of place but saw nothing. DeMarco stepped into the den as well and gave her a frown and a shrug.
“Thoughts?” Kate asked.
“I think we need to speak with the husband. Even with the rock solid alibi, maybe he can uncover some small nugget of information.”
Bannerman stood by the entryway of the den, his arms crossed as he looked at them. “We’ve questioned him, of course. His alibi is pretty much bulletproof. At least nine people at his work saw him and spoke to him while his wife was being killed. But he’s also stated that he’s willing to answer as many questions as we have.”
“Where is he staying?” Kate asked.
“At his sister’s place, about three miles from here.”
“Sheriff, do you have a file on the first victim?”
“I do. I can have someone email you a copy of it if you like.”
“That would be great.”
Bannerman’s age brought with it experience. He knew the agents were done in the Hopkins home. Without being told, he turned and headed for the front door with Kate and DeMarco behind him.
As they walked back to their cars, thanking Bannerman for meeting with them, the sun had finally reached its place of permanence in the sky. It was just past eight o’clock and Kate felt as if the case were already on the move.
She hoped that was a good omen.
Of course, when they got into the car and she noticed a few gray storm clouds meandering in, she tried to ignore them.
CHAPTER THREE
Bannerman had called ahead to give the husband a heads-up that the FBI was coming by to speak with him. When Kate and DeMarco arrived at his sister’s house ten minutes later, Gerald Hopkins was sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee. As they climbed the stairs to meet him, Kate saw that the man was exhausted. She knew what grief looked like, and no one wore it well. But when exhaustion was part of the equation, it made it so much worse.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Mr. Hopkins,” Kate said.
“Of course. Anything I can do to find who did this.”
His voice was haggard and wispy. Kate imagined he had spent a great deal of the last two days crying, sobbing, and perhaps even screaming. And getting very little sleep in between. He gazed into his cup of coffee, his brown eyes looking like they might droop closed at any minute. Kate thought that if he had not been overcome with such horrendous grief, Gerald Hopkins was likely a rather handsome man.
“Is your sister here?” DeMarco asked.
“She is. She’s inside, handling the…arrangements.” He stopped here, took a deep breath to fight off what Kate assumed was a bout of weeping, and then shuddered a bit. He sipped some coffee and went on. “She’s been amazing. Handling it all, fighting for me. Keeping the nosy assholes in this city away.”
“We know the police have already questioned you, so we’ll keep it brief,” Kate said. “If you can, I’d like for you to describe the last week or so you spent with Karen. Could you do that?”
He shrugged. “I guess it was like just about any other week. I went to work, she stayed at home. I came home, we did our basic married couple stuff. We had gotten into a routine…sort of boring. Some couples might call it a rut.”
“Anything bad?” Kate asked.
“No. We just…I don’t know. The last few years, ever since the kids were all moved out, we sort of stopped trying. We still loved each other but it was just very plain. Boring, you know?” He sighed here and then shuddered once more. “Ah, shit. The kids. They’re all on their way here. Henry, our oldest, should be here in the next hour or so. And then I have to…have to go through it…”
He lowered his head and let out a desperate mewling sound that tapered into a hiccup-style weeping. Kate and DeMarco stepped away, giving him his space. It took about two minutes for him to regroup. When he did, he wiped his eyes and looked up apologetically.
“Take your time,” Kate said.
“No, it’s okay. I just wish I’d been a better husband at the end, you know? I was always around, but never really there. I think she was feeling lonely. I actually, I know she was. I just didn’t want to put forth any extra effort. Isn’t that just miserable of me?”
“Do you know of anyone she might have met with the last few days?” Kate asked. “Any meetings or appointments, anything like that?”
“No clue. Karen sort of ran the house. I don’t even know what was going on in my own house…my own fucking life half the time. She did it all. Balanced the checkbooks, made appointments, set the calendars up, planned dinners, planted that damned keyhole garden of hers, kept up with family birthdays and get-togethers. I was pretty much useless.”
“Would you allow us to have access to her calendars?” DeMarco asked.
“Anything you need. Anything. Bannerman and his men already have access to our synced calendar. We did everything on our phones. He can get you on there.”
“Thank you. Mr. Hopkins, we’ll leave you for now but please…if you think of anything of interest, could you please contact us or Sheriff Bannerman?”
He nodded, but it was clear that he was only a few moments away from weeping again.
Kate and DeMarco took their leave, heading back to their car. It hadn’t been a very productive meeting but it did help to convince Kate that there was no way Gerald DeMarco had killed his wife. You just can’t fake grief like that. She’d seen plenty of men try it during the course of her career and it had never come off as authentic. Gerald Hopkins was beside himself with grief and she felt incredibly sorry for him.
“Next stop?” DeMarco asked as she got behind the wheel.
“I’d like to go back to the Hopkins house…maybe talk to the neighbors. He mentioned that keyhole garden, right outside the office window. There was a neighbor just within sight of that window. It’s a long shot, but maybe one worth taking.”
DeMarco nodded and pulled the car out of the driveway. They drove back toward the Hopkins residence as the first of those storm clouds started to creep in front of the sun.
***
They started with the neighbor directly to the right of the Hopkins residence. They tried the front door but got no answer. After waiting thirty seconds, Kate knocked again but to the same result.
“You know,” Kate said, “after working neighborhoods like this one long enough, you almost expect at least one member of the couple to be home.”
She knocked one more time and when no one answered the door, they gave up. They left, crossing across the Hopkinses’ yard to venture over to the other neighbor. As they did, Kate peered across the lawn between the two houses. She could just barely see the edge of the house that was visible through Karen Hopkins’s office window. She was looking at the back of that neighboring house, the front of it situated along a street that apparently intersected the one the Hopkinses lived on.
As they made their way to the house on the left, Kate noticed the first few droplets of rain coming from the scattered storm clouds overhead. They started for the stairs just as she felt her cell phone buzzing in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the display. It was Melissa. A small knot of guilt gripped her heart. She was sure her daughter was calling to bemoan the fact that she had left Michelle with Alan last night. And now, a bit farther removed from the decision, Kate felt that Melissa had every right to be pissed.
But it was certainly not a conversation she was ready to have right now, as they climbed the stairs to the neighbor’s house. DeMarco knocked this time. The door was answered almost right away by a young-looking woman carrying a child who might have been sixteen or eighteen months old.
“Hello?” the young woman said.
“Hi. We’re Agents Wise and DeMarco with the FBI. We’re investigating the murder of Karen Hopkins and were hoping to get some information from the neighbors.”
“Well, I’m not exactly a neighbor,” the young woman said. “But I might as well be. I’m Lily Harbor, a nanny for Barry and Jan Devos.”
“Did you know the Hopkins couple well?” DeMarco asked.
“Not really. We were on a first-name basis, but I maybe spoke to them like once or twice a week. And even then, it was just a quick hello as we passed one another.”
“Did you get any sense of the kind of people they are?”
“Decent enough from what I could gather.” She stopped here as the child in her arms started to tug at her hair. He was starting to get a little fussy. “But again, I didn’t know them on a deep level.”
“Do the Devos know them well?”
“I suppose. Barry and Gerald would borrow things from one another every now and then. Gas for the lawnmowers, charcoal for the grills, things like that. But I don’t think they ever really hung out. They were polite to one another, but not really friends, you know?”
“Do you know of anyone in the area that did know them well?” Kate asked.
“Not really. People around here are pretty private. This isn’t really the block party kind of neighborhood, you know? But…and I feel bad even saying this…if you want to know anything about practically anyone in the neighborhood, you might want to check with Mrs. Patterson.”
“And who might that be?”
“She lives on the next street over. We can see her house from the Devos’s patio. I’m pretty sure it would be visible from the Hopkinses’ back porch.”
“What’s the address?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s easy enough to find. She’s got these scary-looking cat statues everywhere on her porch.”
“You think she’d be much help?” DeMarco asked.
“I’d think she’d be your best bet, yeah. I’m not exactly sure how truthful any of her information will be, but you never know…”
“Thanks for your time,” Kate said. She gave the little boy a smile, making her miss Michelle. It also reminded her that she very likely had an angry voicemail from her daughter waiting on her phone.
Kate and DeMarco went back to their car. By the time they were in and backing out onto the road, the rain had started to come down a bit harder.
“It sounds like this Mrs. Patterson who lives in a house that is visible from the Devos’s patio could very well be the one I saw through Karen Hopkins’s office window,” Kate said. “All those connected back yards with only fences to break them up…that could be a paradise for a snooping older lady.”
“Well,” DeMarco said, “let’s see what Mrs. Patterson has been up to.”
***
Kate could not help but notice how wide Mrs. Patterson’s eyes got when she realized two FBI agents were standing on her porch. It wasn’t a look of fear that touched her face, though; it was one of excitement. Kate imagined the older lady was already planning how she’d tell the story to all of her friends.
“I heard all about what happened to Karen, yes I did,” Mrs. Patterson said as if it were a badge of honor. “Poor dear…she was such a charming and kind woman.”
“You knew her then?” Kate asked.
“A bit, yes,” Mrs. Patterson said. “But please…come in, come in.”
She ushered Kate and DeMarco into her house. As they went in, Kate looked back at the several items that had clued them in to the fact that this was indeed the right house. There were eight different statues of cats, ornaments that looked like they had been plucked directly from some weird swap meet or yard sale. A few of them did look unnerving, just as Lily Harbor had suggested.
Mrs. Patterson led them into her living room. The TV was on, tuned to Good Morning America with the volume quite low. This made Kate assume that Mrs. Patterson was a widow who could not get used to being alone. She’d read somewhere that older people tend to always have a television or stereo on in the house after they lose a spouse, just so the house seems alive and active at all times.
As Kate settled down into a recliner, she looked out of the living room window that sat on the east side of the house. She saw the street and did her best to estimate the layout of the yard and the street. She was pretty sure they were indeed in the house she had spied from Karen Hopkins’s office window.
“Mrs. Patterson, clear something up for me, please,” Kate said. “When we were in the Hopkins home, I looked out Karen’s window and saw a house right across the right edge of their back yard. It was yours, right?”
“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Patterson said with a smile.
“You said you know the Hopkinses a bit. Could you elaborate?”
“Sure! Karen would ask me questions about her little garden from time to time. She has one right there outside her office window, you know. She didn’t grow much in it, just herbs used for cooking: basil, rosemary, some cilantro. I’ve always had something of a green thumb. Everyone in the neighborhood knows it and they usually come to me for advice. I have my own garden in the back, if you’d like to see it.”
“No, thank you,” DeMarco said politely. “We’re sort of against the clock here. We just need you to tell us what you know about the Hopkinses. Did they seem happy when you saw them together?”
“I suppose. I don’t know Gerald all that well. But from time to time, I’d catch them sitting out on their back porch. Fairly recently, I’ve seen them holding hands out there. It was quite nice to see. Their kids are all grown and moved out, I suppose you know. I liked to imagine they were talking about their retirement plans, making travel plans and whatnot.”
“Did you ever suspect they were having issues of any kind?” Kate asked.
“No. I never heard anything or saw anything that would suggest such a thing. As far as I know, they were just a standard couple. But I guess any couple could have potential issues after the kids are out of the house. It’s not uncommon, you know.”
“Did you see either of them within the past week or so?”
“Yes. I saw Karen out in her little garden, snipping at something. This would have been about four or five days ago. I can’t be sure. I turned seventy-four this year and my mind is sort of like soup sometimes.”
“Did you speak with her at all?”
“No. But there is something I thought about yesterday…something I didn’t necessarily forget about but never really bothered to think twice about. And honestly…I don’t even know what day this happened, so…”
“When what happened?” DeMarco asked.
“Well, I’m quite sure it was Tuesday…the day Karen was murdered from what I understand. I’m quite certain I saw someone walking around in their back yard. A man. A man that was not Gerald Hopkins.”
“Did it appear as if this man was trying to break in?” Kate asked.
“No. He looked like he belonged there, if that makes sense. He was walking around like he had been invited, you know? He was wearing some sort of suit or uniform. There was a little badge or patch right here.” She tapped the area above her left breast to indicate where she was talking about.
“Did you get a good look at the patch?”
“No. All I can tell you is that it was mostly white and looked sort of like a star shape. But that could be wrong…my sight is about as good as my memory these days.”
“But in terms of communicating with either of the Hopkinses, you say there was nothing over the past week?”
“No. The last time I spoke with Karen was when she came over to ask for my recipe for a pineapple upside down cake. And that’s been nearly three weeks ago, I believe.”
Kate racked her brain, trying to think of any other avenues Mrs. Patterson may be able to help them open up, but came up with nothing. Besides, they had this man in a uniform to check out, so it was not like they would be leaving empty-handed.
“Mrs. Patterson, thank you so much for your time. If you do happen to think of anything else, feel free to call the local police. They can get a message to us.”
“I feel like I do need to ask…but with the FBI involved, can I assume the murder from earlier is connected? It’s been what…about a week or so ago? I think her name was Marjorie Hix.”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Kate said. “Did you happen to know Marjorie Hix?”
“No. I’d never even heard the name, honestly, until one of my friends told me about what had happened.”
Kate nodded and headed out of the room. “Again, thank you for your time.”
DeMarco joined her and they headed back outside, where the rain was coming down steadily, despite the sun still shining through.
Kate nearly took her phone out to see if Melissa had left a voice message, but decided against it. All it would do would be to give her one more thing to stress out over. And if she didn’t learn to separate her personal life from her bureau life, she may as well hand her gun and badge back in now.
She hated herself for it a bit, but she pushed Melissa out of her mind for the moment as they headed back for the car.
In the back of her head, a little ghost voice spoke up, haunting the halls of her mind. Remember what happened when you pushed her aside earlier in your career? It took a long time to repair that damage. You really want to go through all that again?
No, she didn’t. And perhaps that was why she found herself fighting off tears as DeMarco pulled out of Mrs. Patterson’s driveway.
