Death Notice

recognize it.
“Whoa, girl,” Jamie whispered. “I think the hunk has the hots for you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Jen shot back, a little too sharply.
“Who’s being silly? Anybody watching could see it on his face. Yours, too, for that matter.”
Jen looked around the room, feeling her cheeks grow warm. Police officers could be vicious with their teasing. She had been the brunt of it herself on more than one occasion and had occasionally returned it in kind. Considering the way most cops felt about the feds, she didn’t relish the thought of being teased about flirting with an FBI guy.
She relaxed when she saw that most of the officers were talking amongst themselves. Then her eyes connected with her sergeant’s, and she saw him smile knowingly. Of all people to have noticed, he was the worst. She knew she’d have to listen to a lot of crap over the next several days. Of course, they did have a couple of murders to solve. Maybe that would distract Lonnie from teasing her.
Buchan motioned the two agents to seats but remained standing himself. He was a big man, solidly built, and he commanded attention due both to his size and his practiced air of authority. The murmuring among the officers ceased as Buchan looked around the room.
“We all know why we’re here.” His voice boomed in the close confines of the room. “We’ve had two murders of young women over the past month and a half that we believe to be the work of the same man.”
He picked up a sheaf of papers from the table.
“Most of you are probably already familiar with the killings, but I’ll go over the basic details just to be sure we’re all up to speed. If any of you feel you don’t know the cases backwards and forwards, I suggest you get copies of the initial reports and the follow-ups.
“The first killing took place in the county’s jurisdiction at 29316 County Line Road. The victim’s name was Judy Sams, a twenty-three year old white female. She was recently divorced, no children, lived alone, and worked as an administrative assistant at Huntington Steel. The killer apparently broke into her house while she was sleeping, hogtied her to the bed with utility rope, tied a pillowcase over her head—securing it with a black satin ribbon—and cut her throat. There were indications he beat her before killing her.”
Indications. Talk about a euphemism, Jen thought, remembering the pictures and descriptions of the torture Judy Sams had suffered before she died. Carla Edwards had suffered the same kind of torture four weeks later, only Jen had been unable to just look at the pictures of it. She’d had to witness it firsthand, and it would haunt her nightmares for as long as she lived.
“The second killing,” Buchan continued, “occurred in the city in Colony Manor Apartments on Drexell Boulevard. The victim was Carla Jean Edwards, a twenty-nine-year-old divorced white female. Taught third grade at Lincoln Elementary downtown. She also lived alone, and again, it looks as if the killer broke in while she was sleeping.”
Buchan stopped to take a sip from the bottled water in front of him. Jen had been avoiding looking at the hunk federal agent, but now she risked a glance. He was looking at some papers in a folder on the table before him, his brow wrinkled in a frown as he concentrated on what he was reading. Beneath the folder and the papers was another folder. Jen guessed they were copies of the murder files.
As she watched, he tugged at his collar as Al had done. Apparently he was no more comfortable in a suit and tie than her partner. Funny, when you thought about it, since most FBI agents she had met looked as if they had been birthed in a suit and tie and never got either one dirty.
“The same M.O. was used,” Buchan said, “right down to the utility rope, pillowcase and black satin ribbon, all of which you can buy at Amazon or Walmart or twenty other places. Again, the cause of death was her throat being cut, and again there were signs of a severe beating prior to death. There was no evidence of sexual assault in either case.”
The chief looked at Lonnie and the handsome dark-skinned man seated next to him.
“This is Detective Sergeant Lonnie Stephens from our department.”
He gestured to Jen’s balding middle-aged boss. Lonnie stood briefly and nodded to the gathering.
“Lonnie’s been in charge of the investigation of the Edwards murder. Lieutenant Mike Hardesty has been running the county’s investigation of the Sams killing. Mike will be directing the day-to-day operation of the Task Force, reporting, of course, to the sheriff and myself.”
Hardesty stood as Lonnie had done, nodded at the gathered officers, and resumed his seat. Jen knew that many considered Hardesty likely to be the first black sheriff of the county in the not-too-distant future. He was a political animal, focused on his ambitions and good at the games necessary to bring them to fruition. Fortunately, he was also a good cop.
Buchan introduced the county detectives who had worked the Sams killing under Hardesty’s direction, then turned to Al and her.
“Lonnie’s had two of our best detectives working the Edwards case. Al Williams is standing in the back there, and Jen Dillon is seated right in front of him.”
Jen half-stood and nodded to the group. As she resumed her seat, her eyes strayed back to the blue-eyed fed. He had stopped reading the files and was staring at her again, his sexual interest as obvious this time as it had been before. She averted her gaze quickly. Her face felt warm, and she knew she must be flushing. She could only hope the cops gathered in the room would assume it was embarrassment at being singled out for an introduction.
“Unfortunately,” Buchan continued, “neither department has had any success so far. That’s why we’ve formed this Task Force, to pool the resources of not only the county and the