Chapter Five
Nolan was the first one to work that morning. He liked to be punctual and running late made him feel rushed. On the days he wasn't on time, he felt like nothing could go right. Even after stopping for coffee, he clocked in five minutes before he was due.
He sat down at his desk and began to read his emails. The FBI was big on digital correspondence, and there was no excuse for not keeping up with communication. Today, there was nothing noteworthy. Admittedly, he was disappointed. He wanted something to break open the case and they had jack squat.
"Hey, Foster," Dre called out. "Wassup?"
"Not much," Nolan replied.
"Did you and KC figure anything out yesterday?" asked Dre.
Nolan shook his head. "No. We eventually had to call it quits. Until new evidence comes in, we're screwed."
He wasn't looking at Dre, so he didn't notice when the other man lifted his eyebrows suggestively. "At least you got some time with just the two of you."
"What?"
"Come on, new guy. I see the way you look at her."
Nolan couldn't help the blush that started to flood his cheeks. "We're f-friends," he stammered out.
Dre chuckled. "Sure you are. Let me know when you finally get the guts to ask her out."
"Ask who out?" Kaytee cut in. She had just entered the room and was walking over to meet them, her high-heeled shoes tapping against the tile floor.
"My neighbor," Nolan blurted. "Yeah, she lives next door."
Dre smirked but said nothing.
"Got it," Kaytee said slowly. "Well, I hate to break up the bro to bro advice thing, but Price called me. He and Darren are en route to the Dallas PD as we speak."
All traces of amusement disappeared from Dre's face. "The PD? Do we have a lead?"
"We do," she answered. "A woman came in today with a bloody dress. They're running DNA tests now, but there's a reason to believe it belongs to George Naples."
"Christ," Nolan hissed, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"I also got the coroner's report," Kaytee went on.
She set a copy of the file on Nolan's desk first. He read it over before passing it to Dre.
"These wounds look consistent with someone who's barely over five feet tall," Nolan pointed out.
Dre scratched his head. "Maybe we're looking at a short man."
"Or a woman," Kaytee chimed in. "I think it's safe to say this investigation isn't quite what we thought at all."
"This level of overkill isn't consistent with that of a woman, though," Nolan argued. "It looks like the work of a sexual sadist. The brutality is usually part of a fantasy."
"Maybe it's some type of revenge," Dre suggested. "Let's run with the female killer theory for a second. Something happened to make her hate men and hate 'em something fierce by the looks of it. This seems personal, and I think it's time we open up to the idea of suspects across the board. No one can be left out at this point."
"God, I've never seen anything like this before," Kaytee said. "I've been around for a while and this is definitely a unique MO. Most killers are men. I was so sure it had to be a man."
"Just because it's rare doesn't mean it's impossible," Nolan said quietly.
Nolan was well-read. He'd done his research before he even joined the FBI, and while he trained to be a part of this unit, he studied hard to make sure he wasn't going in blind. He knew about serial killers of all kinds, but each one of them was so distinct, so intricate that they couldn't be pinned down to one stereotype.
This murderer, whoever he or she was, could easily be one of the most dangerous people in Texas right now. They needed to narrow the search as soon as possible before the perpetrator killed again.
"Even if this girl they're bringing in didn't do it, she's our best lead," Dre said. "We need to get to the bottom of this. Pronto."
Price and Harte were still twenty minutes out, so the three agents sat in the conference room, left with nothing to do but wait. Dre was playing a game on his phone, shifting from app to app. Nolan was reading, studying, and analyzing. Kaytee was struggling to stay awake, so she paced instead of getting comfortable in a chair.
The sound of Kaytee's heels, the flipping of pages—every little noise made a chorus, a soundtrack for a normal day at the FBI.
Nolan had finished his drink already, so he got up to get more coffee. He didn't really need it, but he wanted to find something to do to kill time before the others returned. He was growing antsy with anticipation, wondering if anything good would come or if they would still be left with nothing.
As he was pouring some cream into his mug, Kaytee came into the small kitchenette, stifling a yawn. Despite her makeup, the bags under her eyes were well-defined in contrast to her pale skin. Her dark hair fell in loose waves to her shoulders, some strands tucked in the collar of her navy button-up. He glanced away before she noticed him staring at her.
He wondered if there really was anything to how he looked at her. Dre was probably only pulling his leg. Probably.
"Did you get any sleep?" he questioned, trying to stave off the awkward silence.
"Not really," she said guiltily. "I grabbed a couple of hours before the morgue observations came in."
"You should probably get more rest," he said. It was a bit hypocritical for him to say since he hadn't gotten much of that himself. Sleep was elusive in the FBI, especially when they were busy.
"I'll rest when we catch this bitch," Kaytee replied, reaching for her favorite mug. All of the agents kept a variety in the cabinet for easy access, but Kaytee always used the same rotation for her drinks. Despite her tall shoes, she was still standing on the tips of her toes, struggling to reach it.
Before he could overthink it, Nolan reached into the cupboard and got it down for her, passing it from his hands to hers.
"Thanks," she said. "I don't know who decided to put any cups on the top shelf. It's just mean."
"I'll remember to keep them lower," he responded, half-teasing.
She raised her pointer finger at him, pretending to be threatening. "Watch it, Foster. If you make fun of me, I'll kick you."
"I wasn't," he told her. "Honest."
"Mmhmm," she hummed, unconvinced.
When the two of them got back to the boardroom table, Darren and Price were there. A single mugshot was pinned to the corkboard, presumably the woman they'd transported to their facility. Nolan saw nothing but terror in her wide brown eyes. She wasn't outwardly menacing, but appearances could be deceiving. The picture was taken today, according to the timestamp. It was still early, but she was obviously having a very, very bad day.
"This is Lexington Robinson, age twenty-four. She's lived in the Dallas area her whole life. This morning, she walked into the police station because she believed she'd severely injured someone. Problem is, she can't tell us who it is or even what happened," Darren explained.
"How is that possible?" Kaytee asked, taking a seat.
"Miss Robinson has a... unique medical history," Price said. "When she was a child, she was in a coma for two weeks. She'd been pushed down the stairs by her aunt's boyfriend and suffered a traumatic brain injury. Her records state she has temporary lapses in memory."
"The girl blacks out?" Dre clarified.
"Yes," Price confirmed. "We don't know what kind of repercussions those symptoms carry."
"Jesus," Nolan said.
"Poor thing," Kaytee added sympathetically.
"So what's our play?" Dre asked Price.
"I'll be asking her a few questions," the boss said. "If she knows anything, we'll be digging it out. She turned herself in, and I think that means she must be guilty. She knows it."
Nolan sensed the disconnect right away. No case was ever this easy to solve. He wondered how a killer this organized would ever willingly hand themselves over. It didn't fit.
He stole another look at Lexington. "Where is she?"
"Holding Room C," Darren said.
"Harte, you and Foster will be watching while I conduct the interrogation," Price ordered. "You'll read her nonverbals, every cue. I need you to be paying close attention. Carlisle, you'll be digging up everything you can on this girl. Keaton, I want you to notify the family. Maybe you can talk to them, if they'll allow it. Let's get to it."
Price's word was final. His booming voice carried authority with it, and there was no room to say something back. Nolan wanted to say what he was thinking and voice his concerns, but he didn't have the grounds to do so. He was still new, without any jurisdiction or justification for his doubts.
Still, there they were.
Through the single-sided glass, Darren and Nolan inspected Lexington. She was shivering from the cold AC, her lower lip planted firmly between her teeth. She was biting down hard on the chapped flesh, clearly anxious. Nolan followed the steady tapping of her foot against the floor.
They were both wearing headphones to pick up the audio inside. Price sat across from her, carrying nothing but a manila folder full of crime scene photos with him.
"I'm Agent Price," he said, formally introducing himself. "You must be Lexington."
He was starting out gentle in his approach to lure her into a sense of trust. If she trusted him, she'd be more likely to talk. Price was able to read her like a book within seconds, and Nolan wondered if he'd ever be that good.
"That's me," she whispered.
"We need to talk about this morning. It seems like you've been through a lot."
Her chin lifted in acknowledgment.
"Want to tell me about it?" he prodded.
"Not particularly, no," she said.
He continued pushing. "Why are you here?"
"I want answers."
"Answers?"
"Yes."
"That must mean you have questions, then," Price said. "What do you want to know?"
She swallowed hard. "I want to know how my dress got ruined."
"So do I," he replied. "It seems we have a common interest. I'll need you to cooperate if we want to figure that out. Can you do that?"
"I think so."
There was a pause. Price cracked the file open and began to flick through photographs. He laid a glossy print before her and she flinched.
"Is that...?" she started.
"This is the place where the detectives found a piece of a dress that looks a lot like yours," Price said. "That man is George Naples. I assume you've heard a lot about him by now."
A tear slid down her cheek. "I didn't hurt him," she squeaked. "I don't know him. I've never seen him before in my life."
"That seems a bit unlikely, considering the evidence," he countered. "I'd be willing to bet the DNA test is gonna tell us Mr. Naples is the owner of the blood on your dress."
Lexington said nothing.
"Tell me, Lexington. Do you think you're capable of murder?"
"No," she said. "I don't."
"Prove it," he told her. "See that date? Where were you the night George Naples died?"
Lexington let out a deep breath. Her expression fell.
Nolan's stomach twisted.
She didn't know. She couldn't give an alibi. Lexington didn't have a poker face, so everything was out in the open for her.
"I can't remember," she confessed, chin quivering. "Home, I think."
"You think?" he repeated. "How come you don't know?"
"I don't remember," she said. "I don't. I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?"
"When I was little I got hurt real bad. My head is broken. Sometimes I wake up in weird places. Sometimes I lose pieces of my memory. I forget stuff and everything goes blank. I want to tell you where I was but I don't know. I woke up at home, and it was a normal day. That's all I have," she said. "That's all I know."
Price tapped the picture of George Naples's body. "Look at him."
Nolan wanted to intervene. Price was changing tactics, adapting in an attempt to bring her down. This was too far. It was escalating fast.
Some killers might have been fascinated by the gore. Not Lexington. She wasn't looking because she simply didn't have the stomach for it.
If she can't even glance at his corpse, how could she have been with George Naples long enough to do this? Nolan wondered.
She refused. "I can't. It's awful."
"Look at him," he said again. "You see that? He died in horrible agony. His genitals were cut up. You brutally killed him and mutilated the remains."
"I didn't," she said, choking up. "I never did that. I wouldn't do that to anyone."
"I don't believe that for one minute," he snapped. "Is it a coincidence that you can't tell me anything about your whereabouts on that specific evening? Or are you lying to cover your ass?"
"I'm not lying," she insisted. "Please stop."
"And why should I do that?" Price taunted. "You really think I'm gonna go easy on a homicidal maniac?"
Lexington stopped responding, withdrawing.
Nolan spoke up. "She's starting to panic. He doesn't have much longer before she completely shuts down."
Darren crossed his arms. "She's convincing, I'll give her that."
"You really think she did it?" Nolan asked. "How?"
"It's a real possibility. We don't know what she's like when she blacks out. We can't rule her out just because she puts on a show."
"It's not a show," Nolan defended. "She's scared."
Darren put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Foster, you're new to this. I get it, but you have to trust Price on this one. He knows what he's doing. You can't let your emotions cloud your judgment."
Nolan wanted to press the issue but thought better of it. No one wanted to hear what he had to say, and there was no use trying to get Darren on his side. Darren was already convicting her in his mind, set on his opinion.
Nolan closed his mouth and returned his attention to Price and Lexington. Everything about her demeanor said she was definitely submissive in her fear.
Does Price see what he's doing to her? Nolan thought. Does he care?
"Lexington?" Price said. "Can you tell me where you were that night?"
She stared down at her hands.
"I-I," she stuttered.
"Yes?"
She struggled to form a coherent sentence. Nolan's theory was right; she was about to close up.
"You killed that man," Price accused.
"I didn't," she insisted. "You're making a mistake—"
"Am I? Then tell me where you were."
She looked up with a tear-stained face, so weak and vulnerable. "That's just it. I don't know. I don't know a damned thing."
That was the last thing she said. She fell into silence, and Price recognized that.
"I'll be back when you're ready to confess," Price said. "They say it's good for the soul."
Lexington was alone once more. The interrogation was over, and she'd survived it.
Price emerged from the holding room looking flustered. His jaw was clenched, a muscle ticking underneath the skin. He was pissed, angered by the fact he didn't succeed at the first try.
Lexington was still chained to the table as if she was actually a danger to anyone. Nolan didn't think she'd merited such treatment. The cuffs rattled when she moved, and she seemed startled by it. She certainly wasn't a threat, by any stretch.
"Why do you keep gawking at her?" Price quipped at Nolan, lashing out. "You can go now. I don't need you here anymore. The girl is guilty. Case closed. It'll probably be easy to get a jury on our side."
Nolan hated the sound of that. She didn't deserve to be prosecuted, not if they didn't have any real proof yet.
"She has a name," Nolan said.
"What? Lexington?" Price was clearly disgusted and made no effort to hide it. "Seriously, what the hell kind of a name is that?"
"It's her name," Nolan defended. "What did she ever do to you?"
"She murdered three men and castrated all of them," Price answered, exasperated. "What don't you get about that?"
"We don't know that she did it."
"Her confession says otherwise!"
"I wouldn't call that a confession," Nolan said stubbornly. "She hasn't said she did anything."
"Then what was she doing by going to the police?" Price asked. "Go on, Foster."
Nolan peeked at Lexington and murmured, "She was crying for help."
"The last thing I need is a bleeding heart on this team. I need your goddamn head in the game." Price glared at him and barked at Darren next. "Harte, I want your observations. I'm relying on you since Foster is useless."
He took Darren to his office without saying anything else to Nolan.
Nolan scowled and cursed under his breath. "Fuck."
He felt as though he was constantly doubting his qualifications. Every time Price belittled him or someone reminded him of his inexperience, he was left questioning if he knew anything at all. Maybe the team was right. Maybe he was lacking the right mindset. Maybe Lexington was a criminal and he was a stupid kid who was too optimistic for his own good.
He trusted his gut. His gut said she was in the wrong place. His gut told him he was onto something, even if he was the only person who seemed to see it.
He walked back to his desk, nearly fuming. He had half a mind to push his fist through the wall, but that was a sure way to get fired. Price was always cold and callous. He couldn't allow him to get under his skin if he wanted to do his job right.
Kaytee was a few feet from where he was, still working on getting Lexington's background information. Somehow, she noticed right away that something was off and peered over at him.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine," he said. "Price was on my ass after the questioning."
"What about?"
He hesitated for a moment, unsure if she would dismiss him like Darren and Price did. He knew her better than he knew them. Kaytee was more patient, and she would hear him out at the very least. That alone empowered him.
"Go on," she said. "I'm listening."
"I don't think Lexington killed anyone," he finally told her. It felt good to say it to her, as if confiding in Kaytee carried a sort of magic with it.
"I could see why you would think that," Kaytee responded.
"You do?"
"I do." She gestured to her computer. "She doesn't have a history of violence. I have a few doubts if I'm being honest. The thing is, I don't want to rule out either possibility. Not until we know more."
"That sounds about right," said Nolan.
"My first week, Price screamed at me for an hour because I screwed up pretty bad out in the field," she went on. "He's tough on us, but he only wants us to be the best agents we can be. Sometimes, he's a bit misguided about it."
The corners of Nolan's mouth lifted. "Well, at least I'm not a total screw-up."
"None of us are," she said. "If we were, he never would have signed us on in the first place."
He felt a bit better with her reassurance. Kaytee always knew what to say to brighten the day of everyone in the unit. She was invaluable and, judging by all the progress she'd made in an hour's worth of work, she was an asset they couldn't survive without.
Nolan would never tell anyone, but of all the people he knew at the FBI, she was his favorite.