Chapter Forty-One
Mr. Esperanza was awake and talking.
When Nolan and Kaytee walked into his small hospital room, the grumpy man was poised upright in bed, squinting with one eye at the nurse who was analyzing his chart. Despite the fact that he was hooked up to numerous machines and had a cannula in his nose, he seemed hellbent on leaving.
"Sir," his nurse protested. "You can't light a cigarette near an oxygen tank."
"And why the hell not?" he demanded.
"Because it could combust—"
"Fuck that shit. I want a cigarette. I don't need a pansy telling me what to do," Mr. Esperanza spat. He waved his hand as if shooing the nurse away from him. "Go away, boy. I don't want to see you for the rest of the day."
The young man sucked in his cheeks, trying to maintain his composure as he tried to explain, again, why he was in Mr. Esperanza's room in the first place. He fidgeted with his stethoscope. "Sir—"
"Get out!" Mr. Esperanza thundered.
With that, the nurse left, clearly giving up on his task.
"I don't know what his problem is," Mr. Esperanza said, tugging at his cannula impatiently. "He thinks he knows everything. Now, who are you?"
Nolan stepped further into the room with trepidation, fumbling for his badge. He flicked it open and tried not to stutter. It was hard to face the intimidation head-on without breaking.
"My name is Nolan Foster, I'm with the FBI—"
"Feds," Mr. Esperanza scoffed. "Damn feds. What do you want with me?"
"We're here to ask you a few questions about the woman who stabbed you," Kaytee answered straightforwardly.
"Are you the new nurse?" the older man interjected.
"No, I'm a federal agent," she said, trying not to lose her temper.
"You're too pretty to be a cop," Mr. Esperanza remarked.
"You're too kind," Kaytee said humorlessly.
Nolan could see how Mr. Esperanza was consistent with the killer's MO almost immediately upon meeting him. He was sexist, to put it lightly, and his brash, insensitive comments were making it hard for Nolan to be patient. Mr. Esperanza was lucky he and Kaytee were interviewing him. If it were Price, he would be getting eaten alive right now.
"I'll talk to the toothpick," Mr. Esperanza snapped.
Kaytee's face reddened. "You—"
Nolan reached for her wrist. "Kaytee."
Her name was just a word, but he breathed it, trying to get her to ease up a little. There was something calming in his voice that got her to relax, even though she was staring daggers at the man before them in the hospital bed. He was a Grade-A asshat, but he was a victim above all else, and Nolan reminded himself of that as he sat down beside Mr. Esperanza.
The man was pale, his bronze skin losing some of its color from his injuries. The bandage over his face was huge and gauzy, covering what was undoubtedly a horrible sight below. Under his gown, there were multiple stab wounds. Nolan knew what kind of damage this killer could do, and this poor man had probably faced some of the worst of it.
"She broke into my house through the back door," Mr. Esperanza said before Nolan could ask. "I left it open to let some of the cool air in. I fell asleep in my chair, and when I woke up she was there with a knife."
"Had you ever seen her before?" Nolan prompted.
Mr. Esperanza thought for a second, his greying eyebrows caught in a permanent scowl. "Yeah. She was at the bar a few times. I never talked to her."
"You must have," Kaytee butted in. "I mean, she wouldn't have attacked you without a reason, right?"
"I'm not talking to you," he barked at her, facing Nolan again. "I never spoke to the bitch. She wasn't my type."
Nolan resisted the urge to scoff. "Could you describe her to a sketch artist if we brought one in?"
"I don't know," Mr. Esperanza grunted. "It was dark. She was stabbing me before I could get a good look at her. It's all blurry."
"But if you recognized her, wouldn't you know her face?" Nolan pressed.
"You're the one with all the answers, you tell me."
"We can't help you if you won't allow us to," Nolan told him.
"Who said I wanted your help?" Mr. Esperanza demanded. "She took my eye. She butchered me. You were the bastards who said you locked her up, and you know what? You didn't. You didn't do your damn job and it landed me here. Frankly, I don't want to help you. Clearly, you don't know what you're doing."
When he finished, he was winded, undoubtedly due to years of substance abuse and the injuries to his lungs. He was clutching his side as if to ease the tearing pain. Nolan was finding it hard to be sympathetic when Mr. Esperanza was being so hostile. Frankly, the man was pathetic.
"I'm done answering questions. Get out," Mr. Esperanza snapped.
Ordinarily, they would have offered him handshakes before they left, but neither agent was feeling particularly friendly toward him. He was difficult, completely resistant to cooperation. It was exhausting trying to get through to him.
Outside of his room, Kaytee crossed her arms and shot a glare at the door dividing them. "It's no wonder she went after that dickhead."
Nolan nodded, rubbing his temple. "Tell me about it."
"I don't understand why he wouldn't tell us anything about her. You would think he would want to help us fix our mistake, not let more people die," said Kaytee.
"He's scared and bitter," Nolan pointed out. "I guess that's just how he responds."
"Price needs us to come back with information," she told him, her shoulders slouching. "God, what am I supposed to do? What are we supposed to do? There's a body count rising, and the Bureau is gonna be after us if we don't get it together."
"Tee, it's not the end of the world. We've had difficult witnesses before."
"We shouldn't have to deal with that. Why can't people be decent?" She started to pace, chewing on her lip.
"Don't let it get to you," Nolan said. "We'll catch her. You know we will."
"Do I? We made it to this unit because we're supposed to be equipped to handle it. I'm on this team because I'm the kind of agent who can take on monsters like this killer and yet she's still out there somewhere. We're not even close!" she exploded.
"That's where you're wrong," he corrected her.
"What?" Kaytee whispered hoarsely.
"We're close," he elaborated. "We know Delaney Robinson was being set up, and that means whoever this woman is knows her personally. We're onto her, Tee."
Kaytee paused. "You know, Foster, you have serious confidence."
"I have to," he replied. "If I don't believe in us, who else will?"
Her phone began to ring, and she answered it quickly. "This is Kaytee Carlisle. Yeah, we talked to him, Dre. He's not offering us much. He might have encountered her at a bar, but we didn't get a description."
Nolan wanted to go in there again, but he was sure he might upset Mr. Esperanza to the point of hurting him if he did that. So, he resisted the urge to step into his room and planted his feet firmly. He could read the situation well enough to deduce a bad idea when it crossed his mind.
"We're coming back now," she continued. "Yeah, I'll see you then. Bye."
Nolan gestured to the exit, marked clearly by a glowing neon sign. "Is that our cue?"
"I think so."
Kaytee was picking her cuticles again. They were peeling, revealing old scabs from where she'd made herself bleed. Each person in the unit had a nervous habit and Kaytee seemed to be alternating between several. Their celebration had been premature, and it was too easy to be stressed again.
Nolan hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. They'd been at the office non-stop since the night before. He was running on fumes and the coffee gradually leaving his system. It was giving him a foggy head.
Price was gone when they arrived. According to Darren, he'd been called to a meeting with the higher-ups. It was just as Kaytee feared since she mentioned the bosses wouldn't be happy about the investigation reopening.
"He told us we could go home," Darren added. "I couldn't bring myself to. I'm exhausted, but I can't go. Not like this. Not when so much is happening around here."
"I want a nap," said Kaytee. "God, I can barely think like this."
"You and me both, KC," Dre said, emerging from the kitchen area with another mug of black coffee. "The media caught wind of the 'home invasion' but it seems like the PD is doing a good job of hiding who's responsible."
"Good. The last thing we need is mass hysteria," Kaytee responded. "My inbox is probably flooded. I swear I'm gonna go crazy if this keeps up."
In the conference room, there was a couch nestled in the corner. Kaytee wound up lying down on it five minutes after their return. Her blazer was under her head, and her high heels were slipping off the balls of her feet, barely hanging on as she crashed. The couch was tiny, but her small body fit when curled up. She was out like a light, trying to grab whatever rest she could.
Nolan went in to study the case. They'd laid out all of the crime scene photos, autopsy reports, and every single note anyone had jotted down. He was surveying them, looking for any loose ends they might have missed. He'd obsessively done this hundreds of times since they first started looking into the murders. It had taken over his life, but his job was like that for a reason. He had to be all in to be effective.
Kaytee muttered in her sleep. He learned this when she started speaking quietly. None of it was intelligible, but he still found it amusing. She wasn't cognizant of what was happening, but if she was, she would probably be embarrassed. He thought it was cute, but she probably wouldn't like hearing that.
Before he could get distracted, he looked away, making a point to avoid staring. Sometimes, he couldn't help himself when it came to her.
Stop.
It had become his mantra since he realized his feelings for Kaytee. He was constantly trying to make it stop. Somehow despite every gruesome thing they faced, his juvenile crush on her didn't seem to dissipate. If anything, it was the bright contrast to the darkness.
Nolan had this feeling. He couldn't place precisely what it was, but his gut was twisting. They knew a few things, like the gender of the killer, her motives, her approximate height. They had some things to go off of, but it was hardly much to pinpoint anyone exactly.
Or was it?
It couldn't be a coincidence that two women in the Robinson household were caught in the middle of their investigation. It seemed unlikely, like the sort of odds that would be astronomically slim.
That's when it hit him.
It was obvious. So plainly obvious.
There were three women in the Robinson house. They'd overlooked one by default, assuming that she could be excluded without another thought.
The thing was—Michelle Robinson fit the profile.