When No One Is Watching

“Fine,” she echoed, stunned. He’d actually agreed. “Fine. Good. I’ll see you later, then.”

He looked as if he was on the verge of saying something. Instead he closed his door, backed the car away and left Mia standing alone in the middle of the parking lot.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_a23d6959-deb7-5a1a-80ad-6ede91874a72)

Mia took the T to Kenmore Square and walked the rest of the way to the address Gray had texted. Peterborough Street was only a ten-minute walk from the train stop, but she regretted not calling a cab as soon as she neared the footbridge to cross the Fens. Down below her, in that night-blackened, marshy valley, was the perfect hiding place for criminals. Or corpses.

Mia clutched a small can of pepper spray under white knuckles. She’d lived in Boston for twelve years now. She knew how to maneuver a city, and until her attack, she’d felt safe in this one. It’s still safe. She passed the Fens and the rows of gardens planted by city residents, crossed the road and breathed easier. Here the walk was better lit, and she’d have more warning if someone approached her.

She was in the Fenway Park area now, but the Sox were in Baltimore, so the streets were less rowdy, and she missed the smells of hot-dog carts and roasting chestnuts. When she’d first arrived in Boston, this had been a neighborhood for young professionals and college students, but apartment buildings had since been leveled and luxury condos had been constructed in their place. A resident of the Back Bay for years, Mia had observed the gentrification with sadness. She’d always been charmed by the area, and part of that charm had come from the well-worn buildings. But tonight she didn’t lament the fact that so many neighborhood restaurants had given way to noisy bars. Bars meant people, and it was almost eleven o’clock at night.

She didn’t need to check the address again once she turned onto Peterborough. Three squad cars and a CSU van were parked outside a brick building with white marble steps flanked by matching lions. The missing woman’s name was Katherine Haley, but when Mia checked the list of names beside the buzzers, the name next to 3A, her apartment, was blank. She pressed it and waited. After a few moments, she heard a buzz and the click of the front door unlocking. Mia stepped inside to a modest lobby where white marble steps with gray veins were littered with discarded flyers for groceries, postcards for nightclubs and free weekly papers. To the right was a large wooden staircase in good repair, and to the left were a series of small brass combination mailboxes. “You’re five minutes early,” boomed a voice from a few floors above.

She tried to suppress a smile as she mounted the stairs and looked up to see Gray looking down the stairwell. The walk from Kenmore had left her more jittery than she’d anticipated, and it was nice to see a familiar face, even if that face was currently glowering at her. “Is that a problem?”

It was more like a challenge than a question, and predictably, Gray chose to ignore it. “You left your ball gown at home, I see.”

She’d changed into jeans and a plain black T-shirt that emphasized her coppery hair, which fell in tousled waves around her shoulders. She’d even washed off her makeup, leaving her olive skin looking softer, her features muted. Smoky eyes and blush seemed out of place at a crime scene. “Just following orders, Lieutenant,” she replied as she reached the third-story landing.

Was it her imagination, or had he looked her over? In either case, Gray was back to business quickly enough, pointing his index finger at her and observing, “You didn’t bring anything to write on.”

“I don’t take notes. Never have.” Mia was reluctant to reveal to most people that she had a photographic memory. It was an ability that had served her well in school, landing her at Harvard at the ripe age of sixteen, but a photographic memory served only to make her look freakish in social circles.

Like right now. Gray was arching his eyebrow suspiciously. “You don’t take notes? Then how the hell do you keep all the facts of these cases straight?”

The question he was really asking was, how did he know whether he could trust her memory? Mia released a small sigh. “You can quiz me if you want to. Or you could take my word for it. It’s not something I can explain.”

He was about to reply when a dark figure came ambling out of apartment 3A. He saw Mia and broke into a wide, bright smile. “Mia Perez. It’s good to see you.”

Mia smiled, too. Sergeant Joe D’Augostino’s smile was contagious. “Joe.” She stepped forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I haven’t seen you in months.”

“You look well, Mia.”

His kind dark brown eyes were warmly familiar, and Mia felt a clutch in her chest. She hadn’t seen Joe since Lena disappeared, when he’d so kindly offered to assist her with anything she needed to get through that time. The few times he’d checked on her, Mia had allowed his calls to go to voice mail and had never responded. She shifted a little at the memory, embarrassed at her own manners.

Gray watched the two of them, clearly impatient at the reunion. “What’s the lovefest about? You two work a case together?”

“I live a few buildings down from her sister,” D’Augostino replied. “Lived.” He shot Mia a glance.

She gave Gray a quick smile. “They were friendly. Joe joined me and Lena a few times for drinks in her apartment.”

“I met Lena in a local place. We used to grab our coffee at the same time every morning.”

“Fascinating.” Gray turned back to the apartment. “Maybe we should work.” He tossed a pair of latex gloves and paper booties to Mia. “Don’t move another inch before you put those on.”

She did as she was instructed, but not before shooting him a look. “All right. I’m suited up.”

“Her name is Katherine Haley,” D’Augostino said. “Twenty-three-year-old grad student at Boston University.”

Mia’s stomach tightened as the familiar scenario unfolded. “Do we know her course of study?”

“English. She’s a doctoral candidate.”

They entered the threshold of a small apartment with wood floors and bare white walls. A few members of CSU were still gathering evidence. Mia walked with the two detectives toward a small living area with a sagging love seat with a white slipcover, a wide brown wooden coffee table and a scarred leather chair. Gray picked up one of the thick volumes stacked on the coffee table. “Looks like some medieval crap.”

Mia lifted the book from his hands. “No, that’s Renaissance crap,” she deadpanned. “These playwrights are from the Jacobean era.” She returned the book to the table. “You disappoint me, Lieutenant. Every good detective should read Shakespeare.”

“Oh, really? And what should every good psychologist read?”

“Shakespeare. He was a tremendous study of human nature.” She pointed to the table. “That’s a pretty high stack of books. Were they like that when you arrived?”

“Nothing’s been touched,” Gray said. “We received the call earlier tonight. The vic was supposed to meet a friend at a bar on Boylston and she never showed. Then her friend tried calling, and when she didn’t get an answer, she came to the apartment. She said the door was open, but just barely, and the vic was gone. Then she saw... Well, I’ll show you.” Gray began the trek around the apartment. “Nothing was off in the sitting area, as you noticed. This is obviously a student apartment. Books everywhere, cheap furniture, posters in plastic frames hanging on the walls. Lots of things that could be easily knocked down or damaged in a struggle.”

“Lots of boxes,” Mia mused, pointing to a stack against the far wall. “And her name wasn’t beside the buzzer downstairs. Did she just move here?”

“Less than a month ago,” said D’Augostino. “She’s lived in the city for about a year, but this is a new apartment.”

“So there was no struggle,” Mia continued, talking to herself.

“You haven’t seen the kitchen. Watch your step,” Gray warned, pointing to an area on the floor. “CSU found some broken glass and water there. I think they got all the glass, but just be careful.”

He led her farther into the apartment, where she could see a white galley kitchen. And, Mia observed with a sinking stomach, blood. Smears on the white cabinets, a well-defined handprint on the floor. Slick, shiny puddles. Members of CSU were photographing and swabbing the scene. “That looks like arterial spatter,” Mia said, nodding at the thick spots and smears across the white refrigerator, microwave and toaster oven. “Are we sure she’s alive?”

“No,” Gray replied. “But we haven’t found her body yet.” At least he was honest.

This explained all of the cops and crime scene investigators for a missing-persons case. Mia reached up to massage her right temple, where a tension headache had started to gather. “Valentine usually drugs his victims,” she said. “He’s never left so much blood at a scene.”

To her left D’Augostino cleared his throat. “Well. There was your sister’s case.”

He looked almost ashamed that he’d said it, glancing down when she looked at him. Mia turned back to Gray and was troubled to see concern in his eyes. Pull yourself together, or he’s going to send you home.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said, working to keep her voice calm. “There was blood in my sister’s apartment, too. But nothing like this.”

Gray planted himself right at her side. “You think this is the work of the copycat?”

He was close. Close enough that she could look away and still know he was there, just from the heat rising from his body. “I couldn’t say. Not yet.”

Gray was dressed in plain clothes, jeans and a dark blue polo that suggested the chiseled body below, but the suggestion was enough. He might consider himself the “all work, no play” type, but he’d clearly been logging hours in the weight room. Mia’s heart scampered at the memory of their dance earlier that night. Now all she could think about was how strong his hand had felt in hers, and her mind wandered to thoughts of what it might feel like to touch other parts of him. His biceps. His shoulders.

She’d lived alone ever since she’d started graduate school, and she’d never considered herself in need of a man to protect her. She didn’t need a man now, either, but the thought of sleeping beside someone strong was a seductive one. Maybe she’d rest easy for a change and not wake at every creak and thud in the building.

“That reporter called him Valentine for a reason,” she said, partly to fill the silence in the room and partly to clear her mind of ridiculous thoughts. “It seems his victims invite him into their homes. There’s never an open window or a sign of forced entry, and when there’s blood, it’s usually minimal. Valentine doesn’t like a challenge.”

D’Augostino folded his arms across his chest. “How do you think he gets in? What would make a young woman invite a serial killer into her home?”

“That’s the question.” She continued to walk around the apartment, looking for subtle clues as to what had transpired hours before: dents in the wall, chips in the woodwork or maybe an overturned cup of pens. “We don’t have much to go on. All of the victims were young women, and all of them were graduate students at an area college or university.”

“Smart women,” Gray said. Mia felt his gaze following her around the unit. “But they still let him in. Must be a good-looking guy.”