clarity the position of each mass of tissue, bone or sinew.
“Why did you come here, Leanne?” she whispered as she ducked under the tape. “You’d been working on this event for months, it was your baby. So why were you here , rather than outside enjoying the fruits of all your labor?”
During their interview with Jack Williams this afternoon, Leanne’s boss had said he had no idea why she would have come to the White House, and that the last words he’d exchanged with her had been that morning, when he’d told her he’d see her at the ceremony. He’d left the Phoenix Group’s office shortly after 11 a.m., fully expecting to see his assistant at the Washington Monument later in the afternoon.
The witnesses and logs said she’d arrived on the site at 1:45 p.m. yesterday, able to move through a special pre-authorized-staff-only security checkpoint fairly quickly since there was not supposed to be any work going on. She’d noted her destination as the White House, and the soldier who’d checked her in said she’d appeared preoccupied and perhaps a little annoyed.
“Of course you were,” she murmured. “Because you didn’t want to have to come over here, yesterday of all days.”
So why had she?
Per the guard, Leanne had commented on the day’s activities, quipped that there was no rest for the weary, and waved as she’d driven past the checkpoint toward State Street. From that point on, nobody else had seen her. Her electronic key-card had been used to gain entry to the building at 1:57. Not another soul was supposed to be inside at the time…so had her killer entered with her, meaning it would have to be someone she knew very well, and trusted? Or had he somehow gotten around the security and managed to keep his presence hidden from everyone? Was he some kind of damn super-spy who could have evaded detection during intense security sweeps? If she hadn’t already confirmed that the old tunnel system that had been a key part of the 10/20 attacks had been demolished and closed over, she’d wonder if the killer had been utilizing them.
Leanne’s internal chip said she’d been zapped with a stun-gun at about 2:10. What had happened in those intervening thirteen minutes? Had her destination been the sub-basement all along—was that why her heart had spend up? Was she afraid?
Or had someone attacked her upstairs—chased her down into the sub-basement?
Or had he incapacitated her and then dragged her down into this dark hole so he could take his time with her?
Damn, she wished the building had been wired for its internal security system. Someday there would be cameras covering every square inch of floor space, but for now, they had nothing other than those high-security locks, agents and guards who’d been assigned to other tasks yesterday.
One thing Ronnie felt certain of: Leanne Carr hadn’t randomly come here and stumbled across a psychopath. The crime had felt too deliberate and personal, the set-up was too methodical and well-timed. Someone had lured her here, like a spider catching a juicy fly, and he’d covered his tracks.
“But who?” she asked, as if some of Leanne’s memories might be lingering in this stale, dank air that still smelled of blood and chemicals.
Ronnie spent the next twenty minutes circling the crime scene, moving from spot to spot, relying on her excellent memory to recall the forensic report. She considered what must have happened, minute by minute. She made a few mental notes, including pausing to wonder why the killer had stayed here, fairly close to the stairwell, rather than taking Leanne to the far end of the corridor, where it was less likely anyone would hear her screams.
“Were you that sure of yourself, that positive nobody would be around to hear?” she whispered, trying to imagine the killer’s motivations.
Eventually, realizing she’d been gone nearly the half-hour she’d said she would be, and not wanting a worried Daniels to come down
“Why did you come here, Leanne?” she whispered as she ducked under the tape. “You’d been working on this event for months, it was your baby. So why were you here , rather than outside enjoying the fruits of all your labor?”
During their interview with Jack Williams this afternoon, Leanne’s boss had said he had no idea why she would have come to the White House, and that the last words he’d exchanged with her had been that morning, when he’d told her he’d see her at the ceremony. He’d left the Phoenix Group’s office shortly after 11 a.m., fully expecting to see his assistant at the Washington Monument later in the afternoon.
The witnesses and logs said she’d arrived on the site at 1:45 p.m. yesterday, able to move through a special pre-authorized-staff-only security checkpoint fairly quickly since there was not supposed to be any work going on. She’d noted her destination as the White House, and the soldier who’d checked her in said she’d appeared preoccupied and perhaps a little annoyed.
“Of course you were,” she murmured. “Because you didn’t want to have to come over here, yesterday of all days.”
So why had she?
Per the guard, Leanne had commented on the day’s activities, quipped that there was no rest for the weary, and waved as she’d driven past the checkpoint toward State Street. From that point on, nobody else had seen her. Her electronic key-card had been used to gain entry to the building at 1:57. Not another soul was supposed to be inside at the time…so had her killer entered with her, meaning it would have to be someone she knew very well, and trusted? Or had he somehow gotten around the security and managed to keep his presence hidden from everyone? Was he some kind of damn super-spy who could have evaded detection during intense security sweeps? If she hadn’t already confirmed that the old tunnel system that had been a key part of the 10/20 attacks had been demolished and closed over, she’d wonder if the killer had been utilizing them.
Leanne’s internal chip said she’d been zapped with a stun-gun at about 2:10. What had happened in those intervening thirteen minutes? Had her destination been the sub-basement all along—was that why her heart had spend up? Was she afraid?
Or had someone attacked her upstairs—chased her down into the sub-basement?
Or had he incapacitated her and then dragged her down into this dark hole so he could take his time with her?
Damn, she wished the building had been wired for its internal security system. Someday there would be cameras covering every square inch of floor space, but for now, they had nothing other than those high-security locks, agents and guards who’d been assigned to other tasks yesterday.
One thing Ronnie felt certain of: Leanne Carr hadn’t randomly come here and stumbled across a psychopath. The crime had felt too deliberate and personal, the set-up was too methodical and well-timed. Someone had lured her here, like a spider catching a juicy fly, and he’d covered his tracks.
“But who?” she asked, as if some of Leanne’s memories might be lingering in this stale, dank air that still smelled of blood and chemicals.
Ronnie spent the next twenty minutes circling the crime scene, moving from spot to spot, relying on her excellent memory to recall the forensic report. She considered what must have happened, minute by minute. She made a few mental notes, including pausing to wonder why the killer had stayed here, fairly close to the stairwell, rather than taking Leanne to the far end of the corridor, where it was less likely anyone would hear her screams.
“Were you that sure of yourself, that positive nobody would be around to hear?” she whispered, trying to imagine the killer’s motivations.
Eventually, realizing she’d been gone nearly the half-hour she’d said she would be, and not wanting a worried Daniels to come down
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