Page 70 of Carnal Wagers

“And if you could just do your job and catch the damn woman—” Liam cut in from behind us with Brody.

Special Agent Joey Cranwell whirled around, finger up like a schoolteacher about to scold a kindergartener. He was old enough for it, having followed the case for close to thirty years. I remembered when he still had a full head of hair. Now he was bald, eyebrows scragglier than ever, and the skin on his hands was growing more translucent with each year.

“Listen to me, you lil’ punk. I don’t take shit from an asswipe the likes of you.”

I tsked. I doubted the sexagenarian could move my brother an inch even if the older gent put his full weight into it, but we needed to keep the peace.

“Simmer down, fellas. Cranwell, lead the way.”

Cranwell’s tactical boots clopped against the linoleum tile in the stairwell, up two flights of stairs to a corner apartment.

“You know the drill. Put these on before we go in.”

He handed us each a pair of disposable booties, gloves, and coveralls before entering the apartment. Cranwell stopped taking my family into the FBI field office for questioning over two decades ago when rumors arose that the killings were the O’Leary family’s doing, and we became the target of numerous attacks. Since then, we supplemented his income and now met him at bars to discuss the cases or at the victim’s place of death.

“The victim is Mitsy James. Twenty-four. She was found early this morning by her roommate when she came home from work. The coroner puts time of death between eleven and midnight last night. Normally, she works at a strip club until two, but she switched schedules with another dancer and took last night off.”

“One of ours?” I asked.

Liam scratched the back of his head. “Aye, the one on Lagrange Street.”

I rolled my eyes at my youngest brother, mouthing “Really?”, to which Liam shrugged.

Cranwell pointed between my brothers. “I guess that means I don’t have to ask which one of you two fuckers she was sleeping with.”

“Oh, come on.” Liam tossed his arms up. “I followed the rules. Only slept with her once. Once. That’s supposed to be allowed.”

“Tell me I’m wrong, but you boys aren’t too big on following the rules. Why are you expecting a killer to?”

“Wait. How many times did you fuck her?” I pressed my brother.

“Like I told you, once.”

“Ah, Jaysus.” I grabbed him by the arms and gave him a shake. “Tell me you’re not sure of that.”

“I am. Once. I’m dead certain. What’s the deal with you?”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” I dragged a hand down my face. If this change in MO wasn’t a one-off, I’d made an even worse mistake last night than I thought. I sent a quick message to Alice, checking if she’d left my apartment or not. I needed to get men on her.

“This is out of the norm for the Love Knot Killer,” Brody chimed in.

“Bingo. Now tell us something we don’t all know.” Cranwell held up a USB key, then set it on the kitchen counter. “Crime photos. Pretty much exactly what we’d expect.” He clapped his hands. “So I see two possibilities. Either this means our killer is escalating, or this one was personal.”

“You’re expecting to find a clue here?”

“Yes and no,” Cranwell said. “The roommate is too much in shock to give us much of anything right now, but you…you’ve been here before.”

Liam held up one finger. “Like I said, once. And I was half drunk, hyped on sex. I remember more of what was between her legs than her bedroom.”

“Too crass.” Brody smacked Liam upside the head.

“Oi, I can’t fucking remember. What’d you expect? It meant nothing. I left before daybreak.”

“Tell me everything you know.” Cranwell clicked a pen and opened a notepad. “Everything you remember from that night, and any other night you saw her at the strip club. Any particulars. Any people who hovered around her.”

While Cranwell took Liam’s statement, Brody and I toured the apartment. It was a tiny place with two bedrooms that barely had enough room for a mattress and a dresser in each. However, the furnishings were decent, nothing too old or falling apart. Kitchen was clean, with only a few dishes in the sink. There was nothing lying around to indicate a struggle—there rarely was with LK—except for the obvious bloodstain and vomit residue in the middle of the living room.

“Did the toxicologist find the same toxins?” I asked Cranwell.