Free Sudden Death by Allison Brennan

counterintelligence—”
    “Say no more. I know someone at the DOD. Let me see what I can find out. What information do you have on the victim?”
    Megan shared everything she knew, and thanked J.T. She felt immensely better knowing that she was at least working the case.
    Her BlackBerry rang and it was an out-of-state number. She took the call.
    The caller had a Texas drawl, definitely southern with a slight accent that sounded Hispanic. “Miz Elliott? This is Detective José Vasquez with the Austin Police Department. To what honor do I owe speaking with the FBI?”
    Megan couldn’t tell if Vasquez was being sarcastic or not. Her office had a terrific relationship with local law enforcement; other regional divisions didn’t. She glanced at her watch. It was after eight in the evening, putting Vasquez in Texas two hours later.
    “Working late,” she said.
    “So are you.”
    Okay, no small talk. “I’m working with Sacramento Police Detective John Black. He told me he spoke with you briefly yesterday about a homicide two months ago in your jurisdiction.”
    “Yes. He had a similar M.O. And the FBI is involved?”
    “Three cases, similar M.O.s, and Black called me in early. We’ve worked together before.”
    “What do you need to know?”
    “My victim was in the military. Army. I’m trying to track down any connection among the three victims, but so far other than their gender, that they lived alone, and were roughly middle-age, we have nothing.”
    “I sent Detective Black a copy of our files.”
    She’d read them. “There was nothing about a military record. Did you run a check?”
    “No need to. I didn’t see anything in the house—well, he had a POW sticker on his truck. Lotta people have them.”
    “I need his Social Security number to look up his records through the online military personnel system.” She’d put in the name and current address, but that wasn’t enough. “I have a copy of the autopsy report, but it’s a fax of a copy and the numbers are unclear.” She’d been surprised they were handwritten. Most records were typed or computer-generated now.
    He rattled off the number. She wrote it down, then logged into the online military database and typed in the search parameters. She couldn’t access detailed records without a specific request that needed to be approved by the military, but she could pull up basic information like name, rank, last-known address, and status.
    “What do you think is happening here? As I told Detective Black, the trail went cold mighty quick. No witnesses, no other like crimes. Our lab has been going over trace fibers, but so far nothing we can use. I was thinking revenge.”
    “Revenge?”
    “Oh, yeah. Guy was hamstrung then had all these needle marks. Couldn’t see them until the autopsy. Reggie, the coroner, called me in to see them, he didn’t believe it. Hundreds under the skin, but a needle so thin it didn’t leave a visible mark unless you looked real close.”
    “Revenge?” It didn’t make sense on the surface, but it felt like that to her. Personal. She cringed. She was beginning to sound a lot like her ex-husband. She preferred dealing with facts. The fact was that there was no evidence of revenge, unless she could find a specific connection among the three victims, something more specific than the possibility that they were all military.
    She asked, “In your investigation, did you come up with a connection to Dennis Perry, the mechanic in Las Vegas?”
    “Name ain’t familiar ’cept from the hot sheet. When I saw it, I went through my notes. Name didn’t come up. Wish I could be more help.”
    Her records search online was complete. She couldn’t suppress the excitement in her voice as she said, “Detective, I think we have our connection. Johnson was in the U.S. Army from 1986 to 2006, honorably discharged. Price was in the U.S. Army from 1978 to 2004, when he went AWOL.”
    “That’s near a twenty-year overlap.”
    “But