Already Gone (A Laura Frost FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1) by Blake Pierce (e book reader TXT) 📕

It seemed he had nothing more to add, taking along sip of the coffee and then placing it down on the table.

“Well, thank you both for your time,” Natesaid, making to stand. Laura did the same What a shame it was to waste thecoffee. But that was law enforcement. They had things to do, and this killerwas probably not going to wait around for them to refuel. “We’ll be in touch ifwe have any more questions.”

“If anything comes to mind, please dogive us a call,” Laura added, dropping her card onto the table.

They left the grieving couple behind,and Nate stayed silent until the door of the house was closed behind them outof respect. “Back to the precinct?” he said then, raising an eyebrow to boththe sheriff and Laura.

“Back to the precinct,” Laura agreed,with a weary note to her voice.

This had all the hallmarks of one ofthose cases that could really put them through the wringer—especially if thekiller struck again tonight. Because that would mean they were dealing with aserial killer, and then all the normal rules would be off the table.

Unpredictable attacks, constantpressure, and opportunistic crimes added together to make serial killers someof the hardest criminals to catch. And this one hadn’t made any mistakes yet. Lauraprayed they would find him before they needed him to mess up—because if it gotto that stage, there was no telling how many lives might be lost.

***

Laura had a bad feeling as shecautiously sank down into the chair they had pulled into the room for her,hearing it squeak as old springs protested. At least it had cushioning. Thiscase, though, was starting to feel anything but comfortable. “All right, whatdo we have?” she asked, spreading the pages of the file indiscriminately acrossthe desk.

Next to her, Nate scratched his chinthrough his beard. “Well, I think the sheriff might be right about there beingno link between the women. This is looking more and more like crimes ofopportunity.”

Laura groaned. “I was hoping you weren’tgoing to say that,” she said. She didn’t need to worry about insulting the sheriffby not agreeing with him—he’d left them to it. They’d requisitioned an emptymeeting room and turned it into their makeshift headquarters, setting up aboard ready to stick up images and start making notes.

“Well, I don’t see anything betweenthem,” Nate said, pointing at the files as he grabbed two printed images. Thewomen as they were when they were alive, newly provided for them by the sheriff’steam. He stuck them up on the board as he talked. “Let’s make a list of what weknow about them. That might help.”

Laura rubbed her eyes to clear them andlifted up the first page of information with a heavy sigh. “All right. CarolineBirchtree. Lived alone, no boyfriend, divorced but the husband has an alibi.Thirty-one years old, working as a waitress at a restaurant downtown. No car,so she took the bus to work every day. Lived here her whole life, didn’t go tocollege.”

Nate’s marker pen squeaked against theboard as he jotted down everything she was saying in fast, sharp-angled capitalletters. “Okay. And Laura Carlisle?”

“Lived with a roommate, but she wasalone at the time of the murder. Dating a guy around her age, but he also hasan alibi. She was twenty-two, worked as a nurse, and had her own car. She movedhere right after graduating college in the area, but she’s originally fromMichigan.”

Nate tapped the board. “So, all I’mseeing is that we have two women who were alone in their homes at the time oftheir death, and they were killed right there.”

Laura groaned out loud again. “You’reright,” she said. “Unless something comes up that links them down the line, we’relooking at unrelated victims. Damn it.”

“I second that,” Nate said. “What aboutthe killer? We’ve got two strangulations, two women alone at home in theevening. All in the Albany area, so we’ve got that going for us. We just haveto figure out if there is a motive, or if it’s a crime of opportunity fromsomeone with the urge to kill.”

That was an unwelcome thought. Laurahated these random cases. They were always so hard to work on. If the killerwas making sudden decisions or acting out of passion, then he hadn’t made anyplans. That meant there was no determined future in place, nothing for her tosee. She might not be able to get any clear visions about him at all, if itwent that way.

But then there had been the déjà vu.Whatever that meant. There was something going on here that she couldn’t puther finger on. She had to hope that meant visions would come.

“We’re at a dead end already,” Laurasaid, frowning. “There’s hardly anything to go on.”

“Well, we can hope for something in themore conclusive forensics report, once they’ve had a few days,” Nate said. “Althoughthat won’t be much help if he strikes again tonight.”

“Yeah.” Laura paused, thinking. Therewas only one thing they hadn’t done yet—aside from going over the same groundthe police had already trodden on with the other crime scene and the otherLaura’s family. Which didn’t seem like a good use of their time, given thatLaura had seen with her own eyes that nothing was missed in Caroline’s case. “Weneed to listen to that nine-one-one call.”

“I’ll get the sheriff’s tapes,” Natesaid, getting up and heading for the door.

Laura nodded as he went, trying to steelherself. Listening to 911 calls was never easy, especially not when the killinghappened during the call. It was always a traumatic experience. But she had todo it, because if she got close enough to the killer, she might be able to seehim.

And there wasn’t much closer you couldget than hearing him breathe right into your ear.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Miss? Can you hear me? Can you respond?I need you to stay on the line. Miss, are you there?”

Laura closed her eyes for a long moment,trying to keep down the lunch they’d eaten on the plane. The computer speakersin front of them continued mercilessly, playing the sounds of a woman losingher battle to breathe.

Caroline Birchtree gasped and choked onthe recording captured by the 911 dispatcher. There were occasional loud bangsand