CHAPTER SIX
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Brody rubbed his bloodshot eyes to ease the burning, but it was of no use. He’d stared at his screens for far too long last night, working double duty in his quest to locate Moss while also keeping tabs on the far less devious David Varan. It didn’t help that he’d had to confront Remy last night upon discovering she’d taken matters into her own hands and most likely stirred the renewed interest of a psychopath.
What had she been thinking?
Both men were evil all the way down into their black souls, serving no purpose in life other than sucking up good people’s air. However, Moss was far more difficult to track due to his level of intellect.
Moss was tested while incarcerated, scoring well above the standard accepted mark required by Mensa to be considered a genius. Varan, on the other hand, while intelligent and quite eager to pursue his own private predilections toward certain heinous perversions, lacked experience and took far less time planning his attacks. Varan took considerable effort to track and quantify, but he was there to find. Moss, on the other hand, was effectively invisible and at this point had left virtually no trace of his passing.
The bottom line was that Remy was still dealing with a psychopath. Did she not realize the dangerous position she’d put herself into?
“Trouble,” Brody muttered, reaching for his coffee as he stared down at the griddle. “Nothing but trouble.”
Remy had stated emphatically that she didn’t truly understand why she’d felt compelled to monitor Varan’s movements upon his release, other than the fact that it was hard for her to accept that he was now considered a free man. Brody could absolutely get behind that reasoning. He couldn’t imagine losing his sister in such a brutal fashion. Had he been in Remy’s position, he might just do society a favor and off the fucker.
Most people who sexually assault and kill other people were caught due to their mistakes. They spent the rest of their lives behind bars or being shipped off to prison once the hospitals were done with them.
Varan’s case had been different. He had been determined to be not guilty by reason of insanity.
He’d been revealed to be a sexual sadist, while also suffering from a condition known as paranoid schizophrenia. The court ruled that he was not responsible for his actions due to the lack of treatment from a previously undiagnosed condition. He had been remanded to the care of a Florida state psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane in Chattahoochee, until he was determined to no longer pose a threat to the community at large.
Regardless, it didn’t negate that Remy most likely had Varan’s paranoid tendencies on high alert, especially considering her admission that the former mental ward patient had spotted her while she’d been tracking him with a deadly weapon in her possession. She also admitted to seeing him outside of her workplace where he’d been spying on her in return. It was more than apparent she hadn’t succeeded in scaring the scumbag off in the least, though. The question at this moment in time was this—could Varan’s presence be attributed to her surveillance, or were his intentions to follow through with his previous threat to kill her that he’d issued during his initial appearance at trial?
There was only one way to find out for sure, and that was to monitor Varan’s movements and subsequent actions to ascertain his motives.
The thing of it was, that particular requirement was already a given with the primary mission. Brody’s assigned task was to ensure Remy’s safety while confirming Varan’s stated objectives he’d conveyed to the review board at the hospital—to leave his past behind and start a new life.
Brody took a drink of his coffee as he stood in front of the stove, staring down at the two circles of batter he’d just poured onto the griddle. It didn’t take long for the pancakes to turn a golden brown riding on the thin layer of sweet cream butter coating the hot surface. His stomach growled at the length of time it was taking to make breakfast, especially considering he would have just grabbed a bowl of cereal. But he couldn’t have his guest go hungry on her first full day of being cooped up with him while she struggled to work via remote access.
That thought gave him pause. Varan would have to work somewhere to survive. The question was who would take a chance on hiring a convicted killer? Sure, he didn’t serve time due to mental illness, but that still didn’t negate the fact that he was a ruthless fucking murderer.
The only success Brody had in verifying Varan’s new life was confirmation by a video feed in the lobby of his apartment building that he’d had returned to his apartment around nineteen hundred hours last night. He’d remained home until Brody retired at around zero three hundred after combing through hours of CCTV footage to confirm that Varan had attended his interview earlier that day.
Of course, Varan didn’t get the job. Brody should receive confirmation from his case officer later this morning by email. Brody hadn’t waited to hear through official channels and had hacked the firm’s HR server to read the interviewer’s comments while monitoring Varan’s building coverage.
The comments Brody had reviewed were concise and politically correct down to each word. Varan was not considered a viable candidate due to his long absence from the financial field. Strangely enough, the interview had not been conducted by the regular female HR personnel who up to that point had routinely handled the hiring of the entire accounting staff. It had been handled by the HR director himself.
Brody couldn’t hold back a yawn as he glanced at his watch. It was now four hours later from the time he’d called it quits and breakfast was about to be served. Brody’s houseguest had risen about forty-five minutes ago, using the guest bathroom closest to her room, and should be making an appearance soon.
“Good morning,” Remy said softly, confirming his guess. She sounded somewhat startled upon finding him in the kitchen cooking breakfast, but he didn’t turn around from his place at the stove. Brody smirked, wondering where she thought he would sleep. A mental picture of him hanging upside down from the rafters popped into his head. He lifted his coffee cup in greeting without turning around as he picked up the spatula to flip one of the pancakes. He needed a hell of a lot more than one sip of coffee to be in a chatty mood. “Whatever you’re making smells delicious. Can I help?”
“Nope. I’ve got it,” Brody replied, overturning another flapjack as he held back a yawn. His success meant the caffeine was finally doing its job. “Feel free to pour yourself some coffee, though. It’s Calvert’s special Blue Mountain brand that he has imported from Jamaica. You’d think the guy was a connoisseur when it comes to this shit, but he just has good taste.”
“I noticed that trait from the vast collection of leather-bound classics that Mr. Calvert has on the shelves of his library.” The smallest of clicks on the kitchen’s hardwood floor alerted Brody to the fact that Remy was once again dressed for the corporate world. He turned to find her wearing a beautiful keyhole black jumpsuit, complete with a white belt and matching heels. His mother and sister had him rather well acquainted with women’s styles, and this particular woman dressed for success. She was absolutely stunning, yet he couldn’t fathom why she would want to wear something so uncomfortable when there was no requirement of a dress code here at the house. “Your boss has good taste in literature, as well as many other things.”
That’s right. They had been talking about Calvert and his penchant for top-shelf quality. Brody would do well to stay on topic, and he chalked up his inability to focus on being overworked and undercaffeinated. He better get his shit together, or today would be hell to get through.
Remy went about making herself a cup of coffee, and her graceful movements had him quietly observing her task at hand. She’d taken the white porcelain mug he’d set out for her, turning it so that the handle was easily accessible with her right hand. The carafe was ignored until she’d secured a spoon from the drawer, the half and half from the refrigerator, and the sugar bowl filled with cubes positioned to the left of her mug. Only then did she very purposefully pour the steaming liquid to three-quarters of a cup before replacing the carafe back onto the burner.
Brody’s gaze followed the flowing sheer fabric up to her shoulder and then to where her the curve of her neck gracefully led to her lovely blonde hair. The silken strands were swept up in an elegant manner, with a few tendrils that were free and resting against her cheek.
“You realize that you’re burning those poor pancakes, right?” Remy asked with a bit of humor, shooting him a sideways glance to see what had captured his attention. Her face flushed slightly when she realized it was her. “What? You’ve never seen a woman put sugar into her coffee before?”
“Damn it!”
Brody quickly set down his coffee and tried to save the two flapjacks he had on the griddle, but they were both goners. He flipped one on top of the other before sliding the spatula underneath the burnt side and tossing them into the sink. More fodder for the garbage disposal, adding to his irritation.
What the hell was his problem?
“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Remy asked, pulling open the dishwasher and setting the spoon she’d used to stir her coffee into the silverware holder. She closed it until it clicked before turning back to him with her blue eyes filled with curiosity. “I’m not the best cook, but I can manage a pancake or two without setting fire to the estate.”
Brody would just eat less, because what he really should be doing was looking over the last four hours of footage from Varan’s apartment complex and combing through the data that he’d acquired last night on Moss. He turned off the griddle and then grabbed the plate of pancakes he’d already made.
“These will have to do until lunch.” Brody sidestepped her and then set the plate on the counter that also served as a breakfast bar. “Have a seat and dig in.”
Once again, he observed Remy as she collected two napkins from the holder next to the fruit salad bowl he’d prepared. Her movements were fascinating in a voyeuristic sort of way.
“Are you always that precise?” Brody asked, not bothering to walk around the counter to take a seat. He could easily eat standing up. He watched on in amazement as she placed her coffee, napkin, and newly obtained silverware next to one of the plates he’d set out. She was going to drive him crazy. “Seriously, that kind of crap could freak a person out.”
Remy appeared like she wasn’t sure she should laugh or take offense. Technically, he wasn’t sure how he meant it either, but she was strung tighter than Keane and his khakis…and that was saying something.
“Do I freak you out because I’m neat and orderly, or is it because I’m a woman?” Remy asked amusingly, pulling one of the stools out and having a seat. She went ahead and unfolded the napkin, only to then spread it across her lap. He would have sworn she’d done it on purpose had he not just seen every meticulous movement she’d made for the last five minutes. “I’m relatively sure that it’s not me who has a problem here, Magnum. By the way, where is your rubber chicken?”
Berke looked down at his light blue Hawaiian shirt, seriously not seeing where she was taking this conversation. This was one of his official Magnum PI shirts from his collection. His attire couldn’t have been more perfect for this Florida weather, as well as the fact they didn’t have to leave the house today for anything special.
He gestured to the outbuilding.
“You realize we’re going to be working inside for the rest of the day, right?” Brody impaled three of the hotcakes in one stab and set them on his plate. He picked up the bottle of syrup and added a healthy amount, glancing up to find her watching him as if she’d never seen a man eat before. “I swear I won’t say a word to your boss that you chose to wear shorts and a T-shirt today, if you’re able to manage that feat.”
“I wouldn’t get any work done then,” Remy reasoned, still leaving him questioning her better judgment.
“How does what you’re wearing affect your job performance in the slightest?”
“I’d feel lazy and unorganized.”
“It’s called adjusting to and being comfortable in your surroundings,” Brody countered, already having taken three large bites of his food before Remy had filled her plate with two pancakes and a moderate amount of syrup applied over a tiny dab of butter in the exact center of each pancake. He itched to take the knife out of her hands when she delicately cut into one of the fluffy hotcakes. “You should try it sometime.”
“I want to hire SSI on my own.” Remy’s fork and knife now hovered over her plate, as if she were waiting for his answer. Brody stopped chewing his food and studied her to gauge her sincerity on such a request. He was slightly confused as to what she meant, but was beginning to comprehend that this was what she’d been hedging about since last night. “I need you to talk to your Mr. Calvert.”
“You mean you want to take over payment for our services from our original client, Forsythe Advertising?” Brody asked after swallowing his food, finally having an understanding as to where she was leading this conversation. It was the tight compression of her pink lips that gave her away. Shit. He needed more caffeine if he was correct about the direction this conversation was about to take. “You’re not talking about that exactly, are you, trouble?”
“No.” Remy set down her silverware and instead carefully picked up her coffee. She took a fortifying sip before resting her elbows on the counter, reminding him he needed to do the same. She leaned in slightly in her eagerness for him to hear her out. “I know what I did over this past weekend wasn’t the wisest decision I’ve ever made, but I truly believe that David will kill again and soon. He killed my sister and received four years in a state mental facility as his consolation prize. That’s not nearly enough time and it was definitely in the wrong place. Justice was not served, and I don’t believe for a second that he’s repentant for his actions. I want to hire SSI to monitor him twenty-four hours, seven days a week, until he kills again. And he will, of that I’m certain. I just want someone to be there to stop him and send him back where he belongs forever.”
Brody sighed in resignation that his day wasn’t starting out the way he’d hoped. This was Calvert’s forte—assuaging the righteous anger of the afflicted. Explaining to someone as passionate as Remy that her request of constant monitoring was almost impossible given that the circumstances wouldn’t be easy or cheap. There was a lot of material cost associated to her appeal, as well as time and manpower.
“Have you thought about what the price tag for such a request would be?” Brody asked, figuring he’d start at the first and foremost roadblock. He had mulled over the fact that she was wearing designer clothes and carrying around designer purses, but he was aware that she’d purchased most of her closet attire at thrift stores and managed a frugal budget. She was very good at searching out bargains. “What if Varan has learned a few things in that gladiator academy he attended and waits a year before finding his next victim?”
“I have the resources to pay SSI for your constant surveillance.” Remy pushed her plate aside without ever having taken a bite of her food. “What I don’t have is the time, equipment, nor the required know-how to do the job myself.”
“Which we’ve already discussed at length last night and decided that it was a completely bad idea out of the box,” Brody pointed out, having already returned to his breakfast. She couldn’t be serious about such a demand. “You’d be financially broke by the time all was said and done. Varan has a court-appointed case officer. He is required to keep tabs on him and report anything out of the ordinary to the court.”
“You know as well as I do that David is one of many on that case officer’s list. He is used to dealing with everyday obsessive derelicts and slightly unhinged criminals, but not the truly disturbed psychopathic killers mistakenly released from a state hospital for the criminally insane,” Remy said rather forcefully, her grip tightening on the white porcelain of her coffee cup. “I have the money in…savings. That is not the issue at the moment.”
Brody was aware of just how much Remy had saved over the years, but she wasn’t talking about discretionary money. She was referring to her retirement and there was no way in hell he’d allow her to deplete every dime she’d put toward her future. She made a damn good salary, saved enough to gain the best advantage of her employer’s generous eight percent matching benefit, and was very careful on what she spent her money on. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t have a penny left to her name when all was said and done. He wasn’t questioning her means, but he was pointing out the obvious.
“I’m not questioning your worth, Remy.” Brody paused long enough to finish his breakfast before rinsing off his plate. She was watching him carefully, and he would need to tread lightly seeing as they would be spending the next two weeks together in close quarters. He wiped his mouth with a napkin before addressing her appeal. “I agree with you that David Varan will kill again. Recidivism of criminal behavior in these types of cases is nearly one hundred percent. Animals like him don’t change their stripes. They can’t. It’s in their genetic code. But he’s also smart enough to avoid easy detection, because the prosecutor linked six different murders to Varan’s modus operandi. However, he was unable to tie Varan to the physical evidence in the other crimes. Unfortunately, those cases were also never brought up in court because there was no such evidence definitively tying the cases together. That means Varan was perfecting his craft, cautious in his planning, and careful with his conduct. It’s rare that he makes stupid mistakes. His advantage back then was that he was an unknown offender. His anonymity afforded him ease of movement and time to observe his intended victims without attracting attention to himself. He would have gotten away with killing your sister had you not shown up unexpectedly. You need to accept that your idea of constant twenty-four-seven surveillance is only going to lead you down an expensive path that will result in you losing your livelihood.”
“No,” Remy argued, shaking her head in disagreement. “I don’t believe that. You said yourself you agree with me that he will strike again. He won’t wait a year. He can’t. He’s already gone four years without—”
“He hasn’t gone four years without killing,” Brody corrected her, setting his plate in the sink alongside his coffee mug. He’d clean up later, because right now there was work to be done and he couldn’t stand around talking in hypotheticals when reality was occurring as they spoke. “You might not want to hear this, but Varan most likely spent nearly every day during his incarceration reliving your sister’s murder. Aided by the cocktail of mind-altering drugs they administered to him, he most likely dreamt of what he’d done and what he would do once again upon his release. That’s not what I find disturbing though, considering anyone would expect a murderer to relish every waking moment of his past kills to get him through the lonely nights. Given his initial history, I suspect he has devised a very detailed and introspective list of checks and balances to perfect his plans to develop a completely new modus operandi. His signature will change.”
Remy carefully set down her mug and leaned back against her chair, lifting a hand to her chest where she rested her manicured fingers against a silver heart necklace. She was bracing herself for what he had to say, and he wished like hell he didn’t have to point out the obvious, but how else would she know she’d become obsessed with the man who killed her sister?
“We both know you’re far too close to this, Remy.” Brody wished he’d been able to remain detached from this case, but he couldn’t allow her to throw away her life on a useless piece of shit. He had to remind himself that this case was nothing more than a babysitting job. “You’re too close to him. You’re starting to refer to Varan as David, as if he’s an everyday acquaintance of yours. You may have lost a sister, but you cannot replace her physical presence with the one person who took her from you in the first place—her killer.”