Girl Eight

by Melinda Woodhall

  “I went over to Penelope’s place around nine or so,” Frankie said, his voice hoarse, his hands fidgeting without the usual cigarette to keep them busy. “I sat on a bench outside her place waiting for her to pass by. When she did, I followed her to a bar around the corner.”

  “So, you admit you followed her?” Jankowksi asked, and Leo thought he heard a hint of disappointment in the bulky detective’s voice.

  “Yeah, I’m working on an investigation for Leo. He wanted me to ask Penelope some questions about two cold cases. She was the one who had found one of the bodies.”

  “Which cases?” Jankowksi snapped. “And why would you think Penelope Yates would have information?”

  Leo watched as Nessa dropped her eyes and bit her lip. She’d told Barker about Penelope’s link to both cold cases. Apparently she hadn’t shared that detail with Jankowski yet.

  “I’m just the investigator, man,” Frankie said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands up in mock surrender. “You’d have to ask the big guy there about the details. All I know is Leo asked me to talk to Penelope, and I did.”

  “So, you talked to Penelope at the bar, and then what?” Nessa asked, not looking at Jankowski.

  “She got real upset thinking about the murders. Said she felt guilty she couldn’t save Natalie. So, I bought her a few drinks and she ended up getting sick.”

  “Yeah, we’ve already figured all this out,” Jankowski growled. “Witnesses have placed you at the bar, and the bartender said you kept encouraging Penelope to order more drinks. So, once you left with Penelope, what happened?”

  “I walked her home and left her at the door. Oh, and I gave her my number in case she wanted to talk more. I mean, about the cases. That was it. She closed the door, and I split.”

  “Where did you go after that?”

  “I went to my buddy’s house. He has a trailer off Old Shepard Highway. Lets me chill there while he’s at work. I guess I crashed. Didn’t wake up until my friend was shaking my ass this morning.”

  “We’ll need your friend’s name and address,” Nessa said. She glanced at Frankie’s rumpled shirt. “These the same clothes you were wearing last night?”

  “Yeah, sorry, do I stink? I didn’t have time to change.”

  “We’ll need to take the clothes for testing. In fact, if you’ll agree, we’d like to have our techs examine you and run some tests.”

  Jankowski was brooding next to Nessa, his head cocked as if he didn’t believe a word Frankie had said.

  “Yeah, and how about a lie detector test, Frankie?” Jankowksi asked with raised eyebrows. “You up for that?”

  Frankie looked over at Leo, who shrugged. Every fiber of his being was telling him to advise Frankie to refuse the lie detector test. He didn’t trust the department, and he didn’t trust their tests. But if he said no, they would continue to try to pin the murder on Frankie, instead of going after the real killer.

  “Okay, Frankie, if you feel comfortable, go ahead with the test.”

  Frankie stood and nodded.

  “Yeah. I’m good. I didn’t do anything, and Penelope seemed like a really cool chick. I wanna find the fucker that did this. So, I’ll take whatever tests you can throw at me.”

  Nessa stared over at Leo with a frown.

  “And you are okay with this, as his legal counsel? You agree that he should take a lie detector test?”

  “It’s his decision, but if it will help eliminate Frankie so that you can concentrate on finding the person who did this, then I agree.”

  Jankowski left the room, coming back in minutes with a man who Leo recognized as Marc Ingram, the detective that had partnered with Barker on the Lorenzo investigation.

  “Frankie, you can follow Detective Ingram. He’ll get you set up for the lie detector test.”

  Jankowski turned to Ingram, who sported a short blonde crewcut over a thin, pinched face.

  “Get him set up and I’ll join you all shortly.”

  Frankie trailed Ingram out of the room, his tall, lanky body a stark contrast to Ingram’s thin, wiry frame.

  When the door had closed behind them, Jankowski spun back to Leo and Nessa.

  “Okay, the video is off. Now can the two of you tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Nessa leaned back in her chair and huffed.

  “I told Barker yesterday that Penelope Yates was mentioned in the files for two old homicides. He shared that information with Leo. Leo shared that information with Frankie, and now here we are.”

  Jankowski glared at Leo, his fists waving by his side.

  “So, you pressure Nessa into getting you this information? Why? What the hell did Penelope Yates have to do with anything?”

  “She was a common link between two homicides that occurred two weeks apart in 2006. The only two homicides that year. She had contact with both victims through the old community health center. We wanted to ask her about those cases.”

  “And the cases are…?”

  “The Natalie Lorenzo homicide and the Helena Steele homicide.”

  Jankowski frowned, and Leo could see him trying to put together the pieces. Leo stood and put both hands on the table between him and Jankowski, his voice loud in the small room.

  “Penelope may have known the person who killed my mother. I think that same person killed Natalie Lorenzo. We asked her about the cases and now Penelope is dead. Seems like a pretty big coincidence to me.”

  “What are you saying, Leo?”

  Nessa’s eyes were wide in her pale face. Leo thought she looked like she hadn’t slept all night.

  “I’m saying that whoever killed Natalie and my mother may have also killed Penelope Yates.”

  “Well, for now Frankie Dawson is our prime suspect,” Jankowski said, moving toward the door. “And nothing you’ve told me changes my mind about that.”

  “You don’t have enough evidence to charge him,” Leo said, his quiet voice stopping Jankowski’s hand on the door knob. “When you test his clothes and give him a physical, you won’t find anything. And I believe Frankie when he says he never even went inside Penelope’s condo. So, there won’t be any evidence placing him at the scene. All you’ve got is circumstantial, and he can explain all that away.”

  “So, you’re going to try to get him off? Let a killer go free?”

  Leo fought back an angry response at Jankowski’s accusation.

  “No, I’m going to try to find the real killer. Something you and this department could never do for Natalie Lorenzo or my mother. I’m not going to let you pin the murder on the first poor guy that you can find, like you did to my father.”

  Nessa stood and put her hand on Leo’s arm.

  “Leo, we want to find the right perp, too. But we have to look at all possibilities. Frankie was at the scene. Or at least right outside. We need his cooperation to solve this, and it sounds like he has information that can help us.”

  “If you want to find the killer, you need to find out who would want to silence Penelope Yates. She was the only person who has admitted knowing both Natalie and Helena. The only one we know who might have been able to lead us to the person who killed them.”

  “Maybe Frankie killed them all,” Jankowski said, jerking the door open. “Maybe he killed both women and was in the perfect position to silence Penelope.”

  Leo watched the door close behind Jankowski, before turning to Nessa, his heart sinking at the look of doubt in her eyes. She was the only chance he had to get someone on the force to help him find his mother’s killer.

  “Nessa, please listen to me. Somehow the killer knew we were on to the connection with the community health center, and that we had identified Penelope Yates as someone who could possibly help us. He must have killed Penelope to stop her from giving us incriminating information.”

  Nessa shook her head and sighed.

  “I don’t know, Leo. I’m already going to be in hot water for giving Barker the information on Penelope Yates. If I go running
around on a wild goose chase and it doesn’t pan out, I just might be kicked off the force altogether.”

  “Well, if you don’t find out who killed Natalie and my mother, Penelope’s killer will still be out there, free to kill again.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kara stared up at the little window through bleary eyes, trying to determine if the light through the bars was getting stronger. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she figured she’d been in the room for at least twenty-four hours. That meant it was already Sunday morning, and Anna was probably wondering why she hadn’t called yet.

  The grumbling from her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning. The hospital had provided a tray with lumpy oatmeal, half a grapefruit and a carton of milk. Kara now regretted that she’d taken only a few unenthusiastic bites before pushing the tray away.

  She thought of the sandwich Ace had brought up to the room the night before. She’d been huddled on the bed, half asleep when he’d suddenly been standing at the door, holding a white paper sack from Bay Subs and Grub.

  “You gettin’ hungry?”

  Her throat had been too dry to answer at first, so she’d just nodded, keeping her eyes trained on the big man, afraid of what he might do.

  When Ace had stepped forward, she’d instinctively tensed her muscles, preparing to defend herself, looking for his soft spots; he’d paused and lifted his hand to his cheek, tracing his finger along the pink scratch mark still healing there. He’d narrowed his eyes at Kara.

  “You try anything stupid and I’ll leave you here to fend for yourself. Won’t come back until you’re just shriveled up bones.”

  Kara’s blood had run cold at his words, but before she could respond, Ace’s phone had buzzed. He’d read the text message with eager eyes, looking up with a smirk.

  “Looks like the shit’s really hitting the fan downtown.”

  “Are they looking for me? Does my sister know I’m gone?”

  Ace had laughed at that, the raspy chuckle sending chills down her spine.

  “I think after tonight they’ll have more important things to do than search for some runaway drug addict.”

  More buzzing on his phone had prompted Ace to curse and glare over at Kara, frustrated desire clear in his eyes.

  “Looks like I’m gonna have to go take care of some unfinished business. But don’t you worry, I’ll be back soon.”

  He’d stomped toward the bed and thrown a little baggie of pills onto the mattress beside her.

  “That’ll keep you for now.”

  Kara had watched him leave with relief, not realizing until after he’d gone that he hadn’t left the sandwich. She’d been too scared to feel hungry then anyway, but now her stomach ached at the thought of food. With the sun rising higher in the window, she figured Ace had been gone for close to twelve hours.

  Maybe he’s decided to leave me in here until I’m just bones like he said he would. Maybe I’ll die in here without anyone ever knowing.

  She looked at the pills on the bed and picked up the little baggie, wondering what they were.

  Probably the same stuff Dr. Bellows gave me at the hospital. He’s probably hoping I’ll pass out, so I won’t be able to fight back.

  The thought of swallowing the pills made Kara think of water, and she was suddenly overcome by thirst. She’d realized the previous evening that the chain on her shackle allowed her to step about ten feet away from the wall. Long enough to reach a tiny alcove that functioned as a crude bathroom, where a rusty water spicket on the wall emptied into a floor drain next to a toilet.

  Kara made her way to the alcove, moving slowly to prevent the metal from rubbing against her already sore ankle, and turned on the spicket. A stream of water trickled out, and she leaned over, letting the cool, fresh water flow into her parched mouth.

  With her thirst quenched, she shuffled into the middle of the room, as far as the shackle would permit, and stared at the photos on the far wall. Questions flooded her mind.

  What happened to you…and where are you now?

  She studied the girls in the pictures, wishing she knew their names, hating that Ace had given them only numbers, taking away their identities. Sadness seeped through her at the thought that now she too, could only know them as numbers on a wall. She would never know the lives they’d lived or the people they’d loved.

  Girl one stared out from her picture with scared eyes. Her straight, light brown hair had been parted in the middle, and fell to her shoulders. Her cheeks and lips were full, and the white dress hung on smooth round shoulders. Kara tried to see what it was that had made Ace notice the girl.

  “You look so normal,” she whispered to the picture, breaking the stillness of the room. “What was it about you that made him choose you first? What started it all?”

  Kara turned her attention to the second photo, taking in the girl’s short blonde hair and kind, blue eyes. A light spray of freckles covered her pale cheeks. But she looked nothing like the girl in the third photo, whose short brown hair curled around a long, thin face.

  Kara stared at the girl under the number four with growing dismay. The petite girl’s blonde braid was disheveled, and she had a dazed look in her light green eyes. By the time Kara studied girl five, an unsettling truth had emerged.

  There is no rhyme or reason to what he’s doing. He doesn’t have a type. Any girl will do. It’s all just random to him. It’s just some sort of sick potluck.

  Girl five was unusually pretty, with silky black hair and startlingly blue eyes. She was tall and graceful, and her eyes held both fear and anger. Kara imagine girl five hadn’t surrendered easily.

  She looks like a fighter…like me.

  Girl six had chestnut waves and big, brown eyes that stared blankly toward the camera, as if she were in shock. The final picture showed a delicate girl with long red hair in a small, pale face. She had her thin arms wrapped around her body as she sat on the bed, offering comfort to herself.

  Kara considered the long red hair in photo seven, then turned and walked back to the bed. She knelt next to the frame and gently reach out a finger. A thin red hair was entangled around one of the bolts. She’d noticed it earlier but hadn’t connected it to the girl who had been in the room before her until now.

  The presence of the now-gone girl seemed to fill the room as Kara rocked back and forth on the ground, trying not to cry, not to give in to despair.

  That’s what he wants. He wants me to give up. And then he’ll do to me what he’s done to all of them.

  Anger simmered at her realization that Ace would turn her into girl eight, and that the girl after her might someday look at her picture, wondering who she was and what had happened to her.

  I can’t let that happened. I can’t let him do this to anyone else.

  Kara pushed herself onto the mattress and looked down at her ankle in frustration. If only she could get the shackle off, maybe she could find a way to pry open the door or break the glass in the window. But with the shackle securely fastened, she was helpless to escape.

  Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, Kara pushed down on the cuff around her leg with both hands, and wrenched her leg up, trying to force it out of the shackle. Pain seared through her, making her cry out in agony. Fighting back the waves of dizziness that threatened, she twisted her foot back and forth, trying to wedge it through the circle of metal.

  The thin skin around her ankle split and began to bleed, fresh blood making the cuff slippery in her hands as she continued to pull and struggle against the restraint. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at the raw, ruined flesh that now hung in strips and tatters around her ankle.

  I’ve got to break the bone. It’s the only way I’m going to get free.

  But the stabbing pain radiating up her leg was getting worse, and waves of nausea rolled through her. She fought to stay upright on the bed. Her eyes fell on the little bag of pills. The pain would be too much for her to handle without some
help.

  Shaking two of the little pills out of the bag, Kara put them on her tongue, wincing at the bitter taste as she swallowed them dry. Her foot hurt too bad to walk to the water spicket for a drink. She’d wait until the pills kicked in, and then she’d try again to get free. If she took enough pills, maybe the pain would be bearable.

  But a little voice spoke in the back of her head.

  How will you open the door? How will you run with a broken foot?

  The words echoed in her head as she fell back on the bed, the room swirling into darkness around her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nessa braced herself as Iris Nguyen pulled down the crisp, white sheet, revealing Penelope Yates’ face, her skin now a sickly gray. The dead woman’s eyes were open in an accusatory stare that unnerved Nessa. She knew it was foolish to think Penelope would blame her, but deep-down Nessa suspected that the poor woman would still be alive if she hadn’t told Barker about her connection to the Lorenzo and Steele cases.

  “I think we’re ready, Nessa. Wesley will assist me, and he’ll be recording the autopsy notes.”

  The young forensic technician nodded a greeting to Nessa. His eyes smiled at her from behind his protective mask. He clicked on the handheld recorder and gave a thumbs up to Iris, who began to speak in a calm, deliberate voice.

  “The body is that of a well-developed, well-nourished white female measuring sixty-eight inches and weighing one hundred thirty-two pounds. General appearance is consistent with the victim’s age of forty years. Lividity is fixed in the distal portions of the limbs. The eyes are open. The irises are gray; corneas are cloudy with no evidence of petechial hemorrhages.”

  As Iris continued to describe Penelope’s physical features, Nessa resisted the urge to look at Penelope’s eyes again, wrestling with the irrational fear that the woman would be looking back at her. She forced herself to focus on Iris’ voice as the pathologist folded the sheet back to reveal the lacerated throat and bare shoulders.