Page 97 of Trap ’N’ Trace

A woman’s face appeared, and she eyed them warily. Not that Dayne could blame her. It was eight o’clock on a Sunday night. He and Paulson held up their badges. Slowly, the door opened.

“Can I help you?” Carolyn Mauser looked like her DMV photo and description, about five-three, blond hair, and blue eyes. She wore a blue skirt and tan sweater. A gold cross hung from a chain around her neck.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dayne said, taking in the large wood crucifix on the wall behind her. “I’m Special Agent Andrews with the FBI, and this is Detective Paulson with the Orangetown Police Department. Is your husband at home?”

She shook her head. “No. Christian is working tonight.” On a Sunday? He and Paulson exchanged looks. “He’s an accountant,” Mrs. Mauser added quickly. “It’s tax season, and he’s been working almost every night for the last two weeks. Can I ask what this is about?”

“Is your husband’s office located at the Sylvus Corporate Center in Englewood?”

“Why, yes.” Carolyn’s blond brows furrowed.

Check. One more piece of the puzzle snapped into place. Now they could connect Christian Mauser to one of Becca’s last known locations, but it still didn’t connect the guy to her or Amy’s murder.

“Is this about the car accident?” Carolyn asked.

“Yes, it is,” Dayne lied, nodding emphatically and hoping Carolyn didn’t pick up on the fact that most law enforcement officers wouldn’t be investigating a simple motor vehicle accident on a Sunday night. He had to keep the conversation going. Anything to get inside the house. “May we come in? We’d like to get some more details.”

“Of course.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside. Two teens, a boy and a girl, sat at the kitchen table, staring at their laptops. They looked up questioningly as Dayne and Paulson came in. “Mary, Seth…please go upstairs while I speak to the officers.” Wordlessly, the teens closed their laptops and went upstairs. “We can sit in here.”

They followed her into the living room. Along the way, Dayne noted several framed family photos on the wall, including a wedding portrait of a younger Carolyn Mauser and a heavyset, clean-shaven man with brown hair and blue eyes. Not brown eyes.

Christian Mauser’s DMV description said the man had brown eyes. Kat said her attacker’s eyes were brown but murky, the way someone’s eyes might look if they wore colored contacts.

“I’m actually happy you’re here.” Carolyn sat on the sofa, indicating two armchairs. Dayne sat in one, Paulson the other. “The insurance company has been giving us so much trouble over our claim, and the accident wasn’t even our fault.”

“How so?” Paulson took out a notepad.

“We were sitting at a traffic light and were hit from behind. The other driver’s insurance company actually thinks we had something to do with the accident.” Carolyn fingered the cross around her neck.

“Why is that?” Dayne asked.

“I suffered a slight case of whiplash and went to the doctor. Our next-door neighbor is an injury lawyer and suggested we make a claim of pain and suffering against the other driver’s company. My husband didn’t want to make a fuss, but I pursued it anyway. As soon as I began making inquiries, the other insurance company started asking all kinds of questions. They didn’t believe my injury was real. They think we’re part of some insurance scam and working with the people who hit us in order to make a false claim.”

Check, check. Becca had been working for an insurance company investigating scams such as the one Carolyn had just described. Another connection between Becca and Christian Mauser. It still wasn’t enough.

“Did your husband receive any injuries from the accident?” Dayne asked, still trying to keep the conversation going until something else pinged, because he knew he was on the right track here.

“No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Aside from being extremely annoyed, that is. Ironically, he recently broke his nose, but not from the accident.”

He stiffened. Kat said she’d hit her attacker in the nose with a palm strike. Maybe even broken his nose.

“How did he break it?” He flicked Paulson a quick look, taking in the detective’s equally rigid posture.

“Someone opened a door on him at work.”

“When was this?” Paulson asked.

“Almost two weeks ago.”

Triple check. Dayne gave a mental fist pump. The timing was right. They had their man. He was sure of it.

Carolyn’s eyes narrowed. “What does this have to do with the accident?”

“Probably nothing,” Dayne reassured her in a calm voice. Inside he was anything but calm. “The insurance company may try to make it seem like too many injuries in one family and in such a short time period is suspicious in nature.”

She nodded. “Ah, I see.”

“In the interest of time,” Paulson added, “perhaps we could speak directly with your husband. Would you mind calling him?”