So Cruel, page 8
“The security cameras are fakes,” he told Faith. “The landlord installed them to keep tenants from complaining, but she claims the complex doesn’t have enough money for a real security system.”
Faith couldn’t honestly claim to be surprised. “Let’s go talk to the neighbor who called this in. He might have noticed someone suspicious. Turk.”
Turk came out from the bedroom, frustration evident on his face. He didn’t like when he couldn’t dig up any clues.
Faith reached down and ruffled his fur. “It’s all right, boy. Let’s go talk to the neighbor.”
They headed downstairs and knocked on unit thirty-four. A disheveled and groggy man in his fifties shuffled to the door and opened it, staring blearily at the two agents.
“Isaac Caine?” Faith asked.
The man nodded. “FBI? You’re here about the gunshots?”
“Yes,” Faith said, “We’re here about the murder of Bethany Cole.”
“Murder?” Isaac blinked and appeared slightly less groggy than a moment ago. “Oh shit.”
“You weren’t aware that your upstairs neighbor had been killed?”
“I heard gunshots, but when I talked to the police, they hadn’t looked around yet. That came from upstairs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh God.” Isaac shook his head. “I guess I should have known this would happen living in downtown, but still… You said she was killed?”
“Yes, sir. Did you know Bethany Cole?”
“I didn’t even know that was her name. Hell, I didn’t know who lived above me. This isn’t quite a place where everyone knows their neighbors. They call Philly the city of brotherly love, but it ain’t.”
“It sure doesn’t seem to be,” Faith agreed. “So after the police talked to you, what did you do?”
“I went to bed. I figured they would handle everything else.”
“Did you happen to see anything suspicious here tonight?”
“Here in the apartments? No, I don’t really go outside. I go to work, and I go to the grocery store when I need to, but I keep to myself. I ain’t really the outgoing type.”
“So you heard the gunshots, but you didn’t check to see where they were coming from?”
“Do you usually head toward the sound of gunfire?”
Faith sighed. “Good point. Did any of your other neighbors mention anything to you?”
“No. We don’t talk. I guess some of them might have called the police, but I don’t know. If the gunfire came from above me, then the other might not have heard it. It was quiet enough I wasn’t even sure it was in the complex. They might’ve just assumed some kid was setting off fireworks.”
Faith sighed again and shared a look with Michael. He registered similar disappointment. Turk watched Isaac calmly but showed no sign of suspicion.
“Do you know about what time Miss Cole came home?”
“I’m in bed by ten o’clock,” Isaac shared, “and I don’t hear anything after that.”
Another dead end. Faith fished in her pocket for a card and handed it to Mr. Caine. “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
“I’ll do that,” Isaac agreed, taking the card, “but I don’t think I’m going to remember anything that’ll help you.”
The three agents left the apartment no closer to answering any of their questions than they were when they started. Faith was beginning to feel a familiar anxiety creep through her veins.
Another peculiarity of the post-Donkey Killer America was how quickly killers moved now. In the past, serial killers left weeks or months, even years between victims. Lately, it seemed like they were lucky to make it three days between murders. Some of the serial killers Faith had chased were very nearly spree killers rather than serial killers.
That meant that they didn’t have the luxury of going through typical investigative channels the way they did in the past. They didn’t have time to wait for coroner’s reports or background checks or conduct exhaustive research into their victims’ past. They would do these things, but they couldn’t wait for the results before they were forced to move on and try some faster route to determining the identity of their killer. As often as not, it meant they spent the first portion of an investigation chasing red herrings and grasping at straws.
It also meant that despite the fact that they were both exhausted from nearly thirty-six hours without sleep, neither agent wanted to waste any time in bed.
“We should go to the office,” Michael suggested. “I’m not going to be able to get any sleep tonight, and if our killer is once more of the speed demon variety, we could be looking at another victim any day now.”
“I second that motion,” Faith said. “But I think we should detour by the animal hospital first. Bethany might not have had friends or family in town, but she was likely closer with her coworkers than Jenna Marwick was. They might know something that can help us.”
“I’m willing to give it a shot,” Michael said.
They headed to the animal hospital. Turk whined when they drove up, and Faith reassured him they weren’t here to drop him off again. “Relax, boy. We’re not sending you back. We just need to follow up on one of your buddies.”
“Did she work with Turk?” Michael asked.
“I don’t think so,” Faith replied. “I never saw her name on any of the paperwork they gave me, and I never interacted with her.”
“Ah. So not one of Turk’s buddies.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, not actually one of Turk’s buddies.”
“Just wondering.”
The three of them walked into the hospital. Turk grew more and more anxious as they approached and stuck close by Faith’s side.
The charge nurse who greeted them was a sturdy, middle-aged woman named Georgia. She guessed at the reason for their arrival almost immediately.
“You’re here to talk about Bethany.”
“Yes,” Michael said. “We spoke on the phone earlier.”
Georgia nodded and called one of the other nurses to take over for her. She led the three federal agents to the charge nurse’s office and directed the two human agents to seats in front of the desk. She collapsed heavily behind the desk and sighed, rubbing her temples with her hand. “I know what you’re going to ask, but the answer is no, I have no idea who might have killed her. Bethany was well-liked here. She showed up, did her job well, and made no trouble for herself or anyone else.”
“What were her responsibilities here at the hospital?”
“Usually running equipment for the doctors on staff. Occasionally she would take blood or tissue samples to the lab for analysis when we were understaffed, but not often.”
“Did she ever do any work aside from assisting patients?” Faith asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Did she ever do any commercial work? Health inspections for breeders or distributors?”
Georgia’s brow furrowed. “The hospital does occasionally provide health inspections for breeders. If Bethany was on shift at the time, she might have been involved. Why do you ask?”
Faith weighed how much to tell Georgia. She decided that honesty was probably the best way to get the information she needed. “We believe that the person who killed Bethany might hold some animosity to puppy mills specializing in designer breeds. We need to know what, if any, involvement Bethany might have had with those businesses.”
“Well, vet techs wouldn’t have been able to perform health inspections. At least, they wouldn’t have been able to sign any release forms. Those have to be signed by nurses or veterinary doctors. A vet tech would only be involved in performing tests and sending the results to doctors to review.”
“Is it possible that Bethany could have falsified results that the doctors or nurses wouldn’t have caught?”
“Of course not,” Georgia replied immediately. “The Philadelphia Animal Hospital stands behind every one of its employees and contracted veterinarians. Our staff here would not falsify health certificates.”
Faith and Michael shared a look.
“I’m sure that the hospitals policies are clear,” Michael said, “and I’m sure that the vets you hire would never intentionally defraud the state or one of your customers. But this is a serial murder investigation.”
Georgia paled. “Serial murder?”
“Yes. Bethany is the third victim of a killer we believe to be targeting individuals who work with designer dog breeders.”
Georgia brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
“As you can see,” Michael continued, “this is very serious. We’re not here to challenge the hospital’s integrity, but we must have accurate information if we’re to find this person before more people are murdered. So, once again, is it possible at all that Bethany may have been able to falsify information on health certificates and that the nurses and doctors here might have missed that?”
“Well…” Georgia hesitated. “Do you think this killer would be punishing people for that? I just don’t understand.”
“We’re following up on several leads,” Faith demurred. “Right now, we just need to know if Bethany may have falsified health certificates on behalf of an individual or organization.”
Georgia hesitated a moment longer before reluctantly admitting. “It’s possible. It’s highly unlikely. The nurses and vets here place their careers and reputations on the line when they sign off on those health certificates. But… if it was a busy night and the vet tech in question was trusted as Bethany was, it’s possible that a reviewing vet or nurse might not have performed as thorough of a check as they should have. If that’s the case, I would be shocked and mortified, but it’s at least theoretically possible.”
“Is there a way to determine which files Bethany would have signed off on?”
“I could do a search for you,” the nurse said reluctantly. “It would tell me which of the health certificates filed in the past three years were filed at least in part based on test results obtained from procedures performed by Bethany. It won’t offer any insight as to the accuracy or inaccuracy of those tests, though.”
“That’s all right,” Faith said, “it’s a place to start.”
The three agents stepped outside to the hospital waiting room while Georgia gathered that information. “Are you thinking this is a coverup?” Michael asked. “Someone from one of the breeders is covering tracks?”
“It’s possible,” Faith agreed. “Cassidy could have inadvertently drawn attention to poor business practices, Jenna could have signed off on the purchase of mistreated animals and Bethany could have greased the wheels of the health certification process. It could also be an owner of a pet who turned out to be sickly taking revenge on people.”
“That’s a lot of could haves,” Michael pointed out.
“I agree,” Faith said, “but we don’t have time to wait for a sure thing.”
“We never do, do we?”
Georgia returned with a thumb drive containing the information the agents requested. They went to the field office and began searching through the information.
As Georgia had warned, there really was no way to tell if the information Bethany provided on the tests was falsified or not, but they did find a lead when they followed up on Pennsylvania Poodles, a dog breeder whose name showed up over a dozen times on Bethany’s reports within the past five months.
Bethany's name wasn't mentioned, but Vivian Chase, the owner of a nearby non-profit animal shelter, had taken to social media decrying Pennsylvania Poodles and all puppy mills along with anyone who worked with them in any way, including animal hospitals and pet shops. She was quite vocal about her opinion that all such people should be "killed as brutally as the practices they endorse."
It was a thin lead, but they had found killers through thinner leads before. And not all of what people spouted on social media was rhetoric and exaggeration.
Vivian’s animal shelter didn’t open for five hours, so the agents agreed to go home and rest, then meet at the office again at six-thirty in the morning.
As Faith headed home, she thought about Bethany, a well-liked and popular vet tech who nonetheless lived a lonely existence. She had never had the chance to find love and companionship. Faith knew what it was like to feel alone.
I’ll find the person who did this to you, Bethany, she thought. I’ll make sure they don’t rest easy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Hands of Charity Animal Shelter presented a rather stark contrast to the previous businesses the three agents had visited. While Paws of Love looked like a posh salon, Heartland Pets looked like a wealthy commercial farm and the Philadelphia Animal Hospital was renowned for its well-equipped, state-of-the-art facility, Hands of Charity was very clearly a non-profit that relied entirely on the goodwill of others to exist. The best Faith could say about the shelter was that it looked clean and that it looked to have made a genuine effort to give the animals as much space and care as possible. Other than that, the wire cages, concrete floors and plywood furniture emphasized the David vs. Goliath struggle of the small nonprofit against the corporate machine.
The shelter’s founder seemed to feel that struggle. Her eyes flashed with defiance, and her sharp features and wiry frame gave the impression of someone who struggled but knew that their struggle was likely in vain.
She regarded Faith and Michael with thinly veiled contempt and wasted no time expressing her disapproval when told of the reason for their visit. “Makes sense you’d come talking to me. Did you even call any of the evil businesses that specialize in animal abuse and trafficking, or did you just run straight to the one woman in Philadelphia who’s trying to do something to stop it?”
“We came straight to the individual who expressed her desire that our victims should be brutally murdered,” Faith explained.
Vivian frowned and said, “Well, what am I supposed to say? People treat animals like property, and it’s hard for me to see it all the time and see no one doing anything to stop it. I mean, come on, is it so hard to just treat animals like living beings who think and feel just like we do? Look at your dog here. He’s forced to put his life on the line to fight human battles. He carries scars no doubt gained doing the job you’re supposed to do, and—”
“Before you continue spouting your opinion about subjects you know absolutely nothing about,” Faith interrupted, “let me remind you that we’re here to solve a serial murder investigation. We’re not here to debate philosophy, and we’re not here to hold ourselves accountable to you. At the moment, I don’t have an interest in digging through your charity with a fine-toothed comb to make sure you’ve dotted every i and crossed every t with your reporting and licensing. I’m not even interested in your tax history and how accurately you’ve reported your revenue and distributions. Assuming you are forthcoming and honest with me, I feel no need to investigate you at all beyond what I need to clear you as a suspect in the murders of Cassidy Trent, Jenna Marwick and Bethany Cole.”
Vivian blinked, and for a brief moment, fear flashed across her face. She looked between the two agents and took a deep breath. “All right,” she said, struggling for calm. “I’ll help you. After all, the deaths of three humans are clearly more important than the dozens of dogs murdered by these puppy mill butchers every day.”
“You clearly hate puppy mills,” Michael said. “Does that hate extend to everyone who works with them?”
“How do you feel about the accomplices of murderers?” Vivian fired back. “Or should only the people who pull the trigger face justice?”
“The person who pulled this trigger will certainly face justice,” Michael replied, “and right now, we like you a lot for that.”
Vivian flinched. “What? You think I’m the killer?”
“You seemed pretty insistent that people who work with puppy mills deserve to die,” Faith reminded her. “You even advocated a brutal death.”
“That wasn’t meant to be taken literally.”
“So you don’t stand by what you claim to believe?”
“Don’t twist my words, asshole!”
Turk growled low in his throat. His reaction affected Vivian far more than anything the two human agents had said. She gasped and took a reflexive step backward, looking at Turk with a hurt that bordered on heartbreak.
“I’m just trying to protect dogs,” she whispered. “They have no one. Don’t you understand? They have no one!”
Tears came to her eyes, and Faith wasn’t sure if she pitied the woman or if she was disgusted by her.
That will probably depend on whether she turns out to be our killer.
“Why don’t we start with you telling us how you knew the victims?”
“I don’t think I did. What were their names again?”
“Cassidy Trent, Jenna Marwick and Bethany Cole. Cassidy Trent was a—”
“Yeah, I know her.” Vivian’s face screwed up in vicious contempt. “Ugly little whore. Pretty on the outside, vile on the inside. She used dogs to make herself look good but did absolutely nothing to help them. She advocated for people to purchase their pets from corrupt, abusive mills instead of adopting dogs who need homes. She got what she deserved, and if you want to take me to prison for saying that, I’ll go with my head held high.”
“Have you ever interacted with Miss Trent?”
“I tried to leave a comment on her video blog channel denouncing her for the evil woman she was, but I was blocked from commenting on her videos. I guess she was afraid I might tell her followers the truth about her.”
“And that was?”
Vivian looked at Faith in shock. “That she supported puppy mills. God, why…” she pressed her hands to her temples and got herself under control. Mostly. “I just don’t understand. Why isn’t this obvious to people? Puppy mills are evil. Don’t support them. It’s so simple.”
“Again,” Michael said, “we’re not here to discuss philosophy.”
“It’s not philosophy, it’s a fact.”
“So you never met Cassidy Trent in person?”
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