A Killer's Daughter

by Jenna Kernan

  Suddenly she wanted a puppy.

  “Aren’t you away a lot?” She recalled the thirty-some hours he’d spent processing the scene of one of the body dumps.

  “I have a neighbor, a retired preschool teacher, who can take her out when I can’t get home. Plus, Molly is in doggy daycare. I go there at lunch whenever possible to spend time with her.”

  His lunch date was a boxer. That made her smile.

  “Doggy daycare?”

  “Yeah. It’s a thing. Obedience school, too, on Saturdays. Missed it last week, but she was there this weekend.”

  While Nadine was in a federal correctional facility.

  “Well, Molly is adorable.”

  “She’s three months old already.”

  Trying to put puppies and blue eyes out of her mind for the next hour, she studied Demko’s work. He had teased out specific details on both recent homicides and put them in a spreadsheet. From here, she could see victimology, including age, gender and occupation of both victims.

  “We have a general time of death within a five-hour window. The storm tells us the blanket was on that beach on Lido at ten p.m. We have a tide expert who said the bodies couldn’t have gone into the Intracoastal at Lido or they would have ended up in the Sarasota Bay, north of the bridge. I say, the blood matches and nobody moved that blanket. We’ve canvassed the parks on Lido. No witnesses so far.”

  “Physical evidence or DNA?” she asked.

  “Seltzer can, blanket and clothing are all with the techs. Hopefully, they find something the perp left behind. The ME has taken samples. Also, no evidence either victim was raped before or after death. Any idea why the unsub didn’t kill Lowe immediately?” he asked.

  “Perhaps the killer wants an audience.”

  He gave her a look of horror and quickly reined that in. “Have him watch as he killed her? That could be it.”

  “The lacerations to the male were dealt to subdue, but the initial cuts to the female were different. The woman was the real target,” said Nadine. “I think this perp likes the mess and the water provides easy cleanup. Also, use of a knife can be symbolic of sexual penetration.”

  “Hmm. And this killer shows proficiency in its use. What do you make of that?” he asked.

  “Experience. Military training is a possibility. Research suggests that a third of serial killers had some. Perhaps an outdoorsman, hunter comes to mind. His male victim was a butcher. That’s also a profession that knows knives.”

  Demko jotted something down on a pad.

  Here would be a good time to mention that she saw a similarity between these murders and the ones committed by her mother over a decade ago. Or even to ask him about his departure from Miami.

  But that little voice of caution piped up. Was there a way to find out more about Miami without asking him? She thought about bringing her concerns to Crean and rejected the idea.

  Had he planted evidence? If he did that in this case, their killer could walk.

  She decided to keep both her mother’s crimes and her doubts to herself for now. After all, she had time, because if it truly was a copycat of her mother, they would disappear for years.

  “No attempt to hide the crime scene. The perp could have tossed all this in the water and the Intracoastal would have washed it clean.”

  “But the unsub wanted us to find it. Part of the thrill,” she said.

  “Maybe. I’m also struggling to decide if the killer saved any clothing, like her bathing suit bottoms, for instance. And her rings are missing.”

  “And is that to prevent detection by removing evidence or part of some stylistic ritual?”

  “Trophy hunting,” he added.

  “Some such killers keep trophies. If he left physical evidence on those bottoms, he’d be wise to pocket them. Taking them is a way to destroy evidence. And use of the water and possible removal of garments make me suspect this is more about evading capture than trophy hunting.”

  According to her mother’s prosecutors, her mother cut away the clothing to remove any traces of her left on their garments and then collected them, kept them and disposed of them in her household trash.

  Why her own trash?

  Nadine motioned to his database. “This is good work. I’d add that this person has moved in and out of the murder site without detection, so they likely blend in with their surroundings.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Exactly.”

  Now that’s a topic she knew something about. Just like her mom, who displayed perfectly normal behaviors when it was advantageous to her, Nadine had mastered the art of blending in. “Faking good” made spotting psychopaths exceedingly difficult.

  Overlooked and underestimated, she thought and grimaced.

  “Any luck on finding similar murders in other areas?” She twisted her index finger as she waited for the answer.

  “Yes. I went back ten years. A few registered on both knife wounds and recovered in bodies of water. Some cases were partially recovered remains in which the cause of death was undetermined due to animal activity.” He glanced up from the laptop. “Gators.”

  Nadine made a sound of disapproval in her throat.

  “None with this sort of slicing wound. But here they are.”

  He opened his laptop and they studied the cold cases. She found nothing similar enough to make an obvious match.

  “Hmm. Discouraging.” Nadine had hoped he’d find Arleen’s crimes on his own, removing her dilemma, but his search stretched back only ten years. “Any thoughts of bringing in the FBI?”

  “Both the chief and the mayor agree, for once. They want our department to handle our own cases.”

  “But the Feds have more experience.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. “Do you know how many killers they have studied who disposed of a body without transport and by concealing it in water?”

  Nadine shook her head.

  “None. Zero. There aren’t any or there aren’t any in custody.”

  They had one such offender in custody, but no one from the Bureau had ever spoken to Arleen. And like this couple, Arleen had stripped away all clothing from her victims who were found naked and roped together at the wrist.

  “According to the mayor, the city is already experiencing a ten percent decline in hotel bookings.” Demko rolled his eyes at this. “The mayor does not want us splashed across the national news up in the northeast. Bad enough that we are the lead up in Tampa.”

  “They will pick up the story, eventually. I’m frankly shocked they haven’t already.”

  “School shooting and the twisters in Texas have kept us off the national news.”

  It was hard to be grateful for children who murdered their classmates or for natural disasters that took everything from the poorest of their citizens.

  “We haven’t released the identities of the victims. But when we do, reporters will learn the two were involved, and this will blow up. Salacious stories sell papers.”

  “And ruin families,” she added.

  “We need a suspect in custody before then.”

  Odd that he didn’t say the perp. Was he willing to pin this on someone to make his case? Had he done so before?

  “Hard to do with so little evidence.”

  “We are doubling patrols of all public parks with access to the bay and have eyes on potential body dumps. Maybe we get lucky.”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  Demko stored his laptop, then settled the strap across his chest. She again noticed the flopping, frayed handle and smiled.

  “I’m heading over to see Molly. Want to come?”

  She paused. Had he just asked her out?

  “I didn’t bring a lunch today,” she said.

  “We’ll grab something on the way back. My treat.”

  Yes. He’d just asked her out. She grinned like a fool, then remembered the tampering issue and looked away.

  “Detective, are you married?”

  “Oh
, no. Not anymore. Divorced.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t. Now her face was hot.

  “So, how about it? Would you like to meet her?”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Great.”

  “One more question… I am very attached to my footwear. Will these be in any imminent danger during this visit?”

  She showed off one designer suede loafer with the bit-style embellishment. When she glanced up, Demko was staring at her legs.

  “I’ll protect you and your shoes,” he said, but his gaze was hungry.

  Nadine had three long beats to say no. Instead, she nodded her acceptance, hoping she wouldn’t regret this.

  * * *

  He drove them to the daycare building on 17th.

  Molly and the other puppies were completely adorable. Who knew getting slathered with dog saliva could be so precious? Nadine was tempted to go there every day for lunch because the visit left her so happy. The emotion was so unfamiliar that she thought she might be coming down with something.

  They grabbed some takeout on the return trip, and he had her back in the lobby only a few minutes late.

  He stood grinning at her and she got that zing again. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she knew it was coming. Could have stopped it.

  Didn’t.

  He aimed for her cheek, his mouth warm as his lips brushed her skin, touching off a shiver of awareness. He lingered, his breath fanning her ear and sending desire spiraling through her body. He leaned away, meeting her gaze, and cast her a seductive smile that offered her more.

  She lifted her hands and pressed them to his chest, to return the kiss on the cheek, and contacted the Kevlar vest. Reality returned.

  Nadine stepped back.

  “Should I apologize?” he asked.

  She frowned. “I’m not sorry.”

  “Me neither.”

  She didn’t regret it but realized she might. All that Mitch had said flooded back. It was one thing to work with a guy you didn’t wholly trust. Quite another to let him kiss her, even just on the cheek. She wasn’t going any further until she got some answers.

  “Clint?” She tried on his first name. It felt strange. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt. But she wasn’t turning back.

  He lost his smile first, sensing something, perhaps correctly reading the misgivings in her expression.

  “What is it?”

  “Why did you leave Miami?”

  Eight

  Birds of a feather

  Nadine witnessed a complete shifting of his expression from open to closed as he shut down. His features hardened. He looked intimidating as hell. It took all she had to hold his gaze and not shift under his scrutiny.

  The silence stretched as he assessed her, likely deciding what tack to take.

  “How did you hear?”

  She wasn’t supplying him with anything that would help him formulate a reply by gauging how much she knew.

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “Not so simple.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, then let it fall to his side. “Okay. I discovered one of my men planting a knife in a suspect’s vehicle. We had a strong suspect but just couldn’t bring a case. He made a mistake, an irredeemable one. I confronted him and he denied it. I brought the incident to my lieutenant. The other detective blamed me, said I planted it. Internal Affairs took over. I told them what I had seen. He was suspended and later dismissed.”

  “They believed you.”

  “I was telling the truth.”

  Was he? Or was he just a very convincing liar?

  “I don’t know how much you know about cops, but I broke the code.”

  “‘Snitches get stitches,’” she said, quoting her mother.

  “Something like that. It seemed best to move on.”

  “You turned in a friend.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because he violated the law?”

  “Why else?”

  “Well, there are two reasons I can think of. Either you’re a man with a strong moral compass, or you’re a man willing to turn over a colleague to save his own neck.”

  He didn’t even twitch, just met the accusation in her eyes.

  “You’re the psychologist. I’ll leave that judgment up to you.”

  “Sorry,” Nadine said in that high-singing way women reserved for apologies. Juliette waited alone at a table in the bar for their standing date for Thursday happy hour. A glance showed that Juliette’s designer-drink glass was empty. One piece of bruschetta lay on the oily plate before the vacant chair because Nadine was late.

  “I only ordered this.” Juliette waved a hand over the nearly empty dish. “Feel like more appetizers or a meal? I need something to soak up the alcohol.”

  “Either. I’m starving.”

  She pushed the remaining toast toward her and Nadine accepted it gratefully.

  “Thanks.”

  “Ten minutes left in the happy hour menu. Want some pork sliders? They’re half price.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Their server returned to check in and they ordered the sliders and a second round before the cutoff.

  Nadine’s waiting wine was tepid and the glass sweating. She took a sip.

  A bartender delivered their second round for Nadine and something colorful for Juliette. Nadine stared at the martini glass swirling with ice chips and garnished with a bamboo spear holding three melon balls.

  “What’s that?”

  “Cantaloupe Cooler. It’s a martini with fresh melon, cantaloupe vodka and cucumber.”

  “Yikes. How is it?”

  She leaned forward, conspiratorial. “So good!”

  They laughed. Juliette made her feel almost normal. Was the ME better at working with the dead than the rest of them? Perhaps seeing the unpredictability of life daily on the autopsy table gave her the capacity to enjoy each moment. But Nadine preferred puppies.

  They clinked glasses. The Cuban pork sliders arrived, and the aroma of spicy barbecue sauce made Nadine’s mouth water.

  Juliette adjusted her three sliders on the narrow plate, peeking beneath the buns at the coleslaw topping the pulled pork. “I found a new fishing spot.”

  Juliette had thus far been unsuccessful in tempting Nadine out to join her fishing in a kayak, or on her morning jogs.

  “It’s up in Bradenton. Robinson Preserve.” Juliette raised her voice to be heard over the thumping music. “Great spot with views of the sunset over a little island.”

  “Sounds peaceful.” Nadine lifted one of the sliders, crunching through the cold coleslaw and the soft tangy pork.

  Juliette finished her first slider. “Oh, and I almost forgot. I heard something about that new detective.”

  Her attention shifted from the sliders to Juliette. “Me too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. You first,” said Nadine.

  “He moved here to take care of his brother.”

  That was both admirable and troubling.

  “Going blind.”

  Nadine lowered her sweating glass of Pinot Grigio. “Demko?”

  “His older brother. Danny Demko. He’s only in his early forties. He and his younger sister have had to move him from his house into an assisted-living place.”

  “That should take a weekend. It doesn’t require quitting your job.”

  “Well, that’s what I heard.”

  The detail about his brother was sad. But as a story, it stunk of excuses.

  Juliette lifted her next slider, took a bite and paused for a second before continuing. “Anyway, he’s definitely recently divorced. I’m still trying to find out why. Ten years on the force, started in Property Theft, worked Narcotics, promoted, and six with his gold shield, so I figure he’s between thirty and thirty-five. Lives in a house off Bee Ridge Road. Sometimes he bikes to work.”

  “Dangerous,” Nadine said. Bike riding in a city was always dangerous, but when you took into consideration the age of many of th
e snowbird drivers, it bordered on suicide.

  “I’ll bet he got on the wrong side of a superior,” Juliette said, and picked up her last slider.

  “Maybe.”

  “What did you hear?” asked Juliette.

  Nadine resisted the urge to spill all the dirt she had on Demko, unwilling to spoil his reputation. She, more than most people, understood the importance of reinventing yourself.

  “I heard he wanted a fresh start.”

  Didn’t they all deserve one of those?

  Juliette lifted her glass. “Here’s to that! Anyway, he’s cute as hell.” She clinked Nadine’s wine goblet.

  Nadine forced herself not to shift under Juliette’s steady stare.

  “Do you like him, Juliette?”

  “Me?” She sounded incredulous. “No! I thought you did.”

  “I haven’t thought about him that way.” That was a lie. Should she tell Juliette that he’d kissed her cheek? About the energy between them?

  Telling Juliette something personal changed their relationship, might lead to deeper revelations. Nadine’s skin prickled a warning.

  Beyond being easy on the eye, Demko had a great body, killer blue eyes and the voice of a radio DJ. Plus, he made her shiver all over with just a touch. Add to that, he was a man who caught murderers and locked them up. She wasn’t sure if that part was arousing or if the fascination was the sort that a moth holds for an electric light.

  “Well, he’s thinking of you that way. He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

  “Stop it.”

  “No. He’s smitten.”

  “That’s a great word, ‘smitten.’”

  The ME finished her appetizer, then turned to her second martini. Nadine hoped she wasn’t driving.

  Juliette glanced around for their server. “Where is she?”

  Was she going for three drinks?

  “You want to get a table?” Nadine asked, deciding to ease them out of the bar.

  “Another round.”

  The remaining melon ball floated in Juliette’s drink like a dead body.

  “I let him take me to lunch,” Nadine admitted.

  “Really?” Juliette was agog. “How’d that go?”