Elise felt like she was being watched. She could feel her skin crawling under the contact of a stranger’s eyes.
She scanned the street in front of the Haven police station but saw nothing out of place.
Maybe it was just her imagination running wild. All of Trent’s worry had gotten to her, and now she was seeing things that weren’t there. She hoped.
At least she was at the police station for her appointment with Bob Tindle. If she was safe anywhere, it was here, surrounded by cops.
As she headed inside, she realized that even though there were armed officers everywhere, she still didn’t feel as safe as she had with Trent. She was pretty sure it was some kind of sick joke the universe was playing on her, but she wasn’t laughing.
Lawrence saw the proof of the hired help’s failure walk inside the police station. Not only had the men he’d hired failed to kill Elise McBride, they’d also failed to kill her desire to find her sister.
He wasn’t a picky man. He didn’t ask that they shed her blood simply because they could. All he asked was that they scare her away, make her crawl back into whatever hole she’d crawled out of. If she’d done that, he would have left her alone.
But no. She had to keep digging into her sister’s disappearance.
Pretty soon, she, or someone like her, was going to uncover the truth. Gary wasn’t going to stop. Lawrence accepted that fact. His brother was a sick man, and he would continue to dismember and kill women for as long as he could hold a bone saw.
It was Wendy’s fault. If she’d lived, Gary would have continued on as he’d been doing, entertaining himself with their games.
But Wendy was gone now, and Lawrence had to step up and take care of his brother. His only options were to stop his brother by killing him or to take care of the nosy woman.
As tedious as it was to find good hired help, Lawrence had no choice. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt his own brother, nor did he want to dirty his own hands with Elise McBride. That’s why he hired professionals.
He dialed one of his contacts in Chicago—a man who owed him a favor for the drugs he’d transported inside the lining of a casket. If anyone would know where to find dependable help to deal with Elise, this man would. He probably had a little black book full of reliable hit men.
* * *
Trent wasn’t going to go to Elise empty-handed. If she thought he was trying to butt in, she’d never let him help, and although what she was doing was dangerous, it was a lot more dangerous without him there to cover her back.
The more he did to help her, the faster this would all be over, and she’d be safe again.
A lot of people at the Chicago PD owed Trent favors after his years on the force. He called in every one of them before noon, and what he got in return was a phone call from Detective Ed Woodward.
Trent told him everything he knew, everything Elise had found, and what she suspected about the connection to Susan Maloney.
“Ashley lives farther away than all the other girls, but she fits the profile,” said the detective.
“What profile?”
“She’s young, single, attractive, and artistically gifted. I hadn’t seen that part of the pattern until last night when I was looking through the old case files. That seems to be the unique thing that links the women together.”
“How far back did you go?”
“Likely not far enough, now that I’m sure it’s a serial killer we’ve got on our hands. He’s probably been doing this for years, but it’s taken until now to see the pattern.”
“Making the bodies hard to ID helped cover his tracks,” said Trent. “I’m impressed you saw something that obscure.”
Detective Woodward gave a rough grunt, as if he was uncomfortable with Trent’s praise. “I’m still going through files, but I’m sure I haven’t found all the victims yet. I’ve put in some calls to other jurisdictions farther out from Chicago to see if there are any other unsolved cases that match these. The FBI may have some victims to add to the pile.”
“How many so far?” Trent didn’t need to be more specific. The detective would know he was asking about corpses.
“Twelve bodies in three years in Chicago. Six more possible cases with only body parts, all heads and hands.”
Body parts. The thought of what those women must have gone through made Trent’s lungs tighten. “What are the odds that Ashley isn’t one of this guy’s victims?”
“I wish I knew. All I can say is the fact that she’s an artist makes her a prime target.”
“What can you tell me about Susan Maloney?”
“She’s a musician. We found her left hand a few days ago. Honestly, I think we’ll find the rest of her any day now, washed up on a riverbank. That’s another thing these cases have in common—the victims were all dumped into water instead of being buried.”
“Do you have leads to go on? Any suspects?”
“Not yet, but like I said, things are just now coming together enough that we can see the connection between these women. Maybe in a few days, I’ll know more.”
“Ashley may not have a few days.”
There was a brief silence, followed by a weary sigh. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I want to help.”
“I wish you could. I’ve heard about you for years. John Laree says you’ve got some of the best instincts he’s ever seen.”
Trent’s hand locked around the phone, making his knuckles ache. “You talked to John?”
“Sure. All the time. He misses you.”
Blood rushed through Trent’s body, but he started to shake with cold all the same. How could John miss him? How could John even stand to think about him?
Trent couldn’t speak. The silence stretched on for long, uncomfortable seconds.
Finally, Detective Woodward spoke, but Trent didn’t hear much of what he said. He only caught the end. “So, what do you think?”
“What?” Trent’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard.
“I said, why don’t you make the drive up here, take a look at the evidence, and see if those instincts of yours have gotten rusty.”
It was an offer too good to refuse. Not only could he be a part of something bigger than himself again, he could also ask Elise to go with him. Surely she wouldn’t turn down a chance like this. And when she agreed, she’d be right at his side where he could make sure she was safe.
“Sure,” he heard himself tell the detective. “I’d love to.”
“Good. Get here as soon as you can. Tonight would be good.”
“It will be late.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be here.”
The knock on Ashley’s front door made Elise nearly jump out of her skin. She froze in place, like a bunny hiding in plain sight. Only her pounding heart and shaking hands moved.
“Elise,” said Trent from the other side of the door. “It’s me.”
A wave of relief swept through her, unlocking her muscles.
“I know you’re in there,” he said.
Her car was parked in the driveway. Ashley’s garage was too full of junk for her to hide the car inside. She knew it displayed her presence, but it was a risk she had to take.
Elise got up and unlocked the door. He stood there with an overnight bag on his shoulder, bathed in sunshine, glowing with health and strength. She’d never seen anyone look better than he did right now. It took her several stuttering heartbeats to remember that he was the enemy. He stood in her way.
“I’m busy.”
“I know. I came to help.”
“I don’t have time for your kind of help. You’ve already told me how dangerous this is. No need to waste your breath any longer.”
“No. I mean really help. I’m not going to try to stop you anymore. In fact, I’ve been on the phone with the Chicago PD for the past several hours.”
A giddy sense of relief swelled up inside her, making her sway.
Trent caught her by the arms and held her steady. “Whoa. Wh
en’s the last time you ate?”
She ignored his nosey question. “Really? You really talked to them?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I haven’t been able to get them to return my calls. I think I’ve contacted the wrong person, but they haven’t called me back yet so I could find out who I should talk to.”
“Ed Woodward is our contact. He seems sharp.”
Our contact. That sounded really good. Not being alone in this—having someone who knew his way around the system—was more than she could ask for. The fact that it was Trent was an added bonus.
Elise stepped up close enough to hug him. She buried her face against his shoulder, pulling in the scent of his skin. It filled her up and loosened knots of fear that made every one of her muscles ache.
His arms closed around her, holding her tight.
He was warm and solid and so steady she wanted to cry. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she’d come to depend on him these last few days. Sure, she was getting along without him today, but she was more afraid. More tense. Too much of her attention was spent on her surroundings, and whether or not those two men who’d chased her were going to jump out at her when she least expected it.
When Trent was with her, she could shed some of her fear and worry, and relax enough to think straight.
She pulled away a mere inch, so he could understand her words. She wasn’t willing to let him go yet. “What did you find out?”
“Plenty. I’ll tell you on the drive up. If you’re willing to go with me, that is.”
At this point, she was desperate for some direction. Bob Tindle had no new news for her, and no one from the Chicago PD had returned her calls. She’d been going through Ashley’s e-mail, hoping that someone might have responded to her plea for help, but all she’d found were letters of condolence.
Everyone acted like her sister was already dead. After the tenth one, she’d stopped reading them. She didn’t need any reminders of how much the odds were stacked against them.
“Of course I’ll go. When do we leave?”
“Now, if you can.”
“My bag is still in my car. I hadn’t checked into a hotel yet.” She hadn’t wanted to give anyone time to break into her room while she was out today. If she picked a hotel right before she was forced to sleep, she figured it would be safer that way.
“Good. Do you want to take your car or my truck?”
“Did you learn how to drive when you trained to be a cop? I mean, like evasive maneuvers, and what to do in a chase, and stuff.”
“Sure did.”
Elise reached into her pocket and pulled out the keys. “We’ll take my car, but you drive. Just in case those guys show up again.”
Trent’s expression darkened at the reminder of the danger she’d been in, but he said nothing. He simply took the keys and nodded.
Trent kept a careful eye on the road behind them and had seen no signs of anyone following them. Either no one was there, or they were so good he had no hope of spotting them.
“You’re getting more tense with every mile,” said Elise as they neared the station where Detective Woodward was going to meet them. “Are you worried about this meeting?”
“No.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
That his old partner might ambush him. That he might be lurking around the station and force Trent to face demons he wasn’t anywhere near ready to face. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
She was right, and it was time to change the subject before she started poking around in uncomfortable places. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked her.
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“There will likely be photos of victims. You should avoid looking at them.”
“I’ll be strong, Trent. You don’t have to baby me.”
He parked the car and they stepped out onto the hot pavement. “I’m not babying you. I just don’t think that looking at that stuff is going to do you or Ashley any good. We don’t even know if her disappearance is related to any of these others.”
“You said this guy goes after creative women— dancers, musicians, artists. That’s a connection.”
“Or, it could be a coincidence. Your best bet is to go through the mug shots and see if any of them match the photo from Ashley’s backyard.”
“I thought you said that picture was no good—that anyone could be the guy if he had at least one eye and one ear.”
“You might get lucky.” He opened the front door of the station for her. Cool air washed over them, and it was scented with old coffee and dogged determination. Trent remembered that smell. This wasn’t his precinct, but it still smelled the same, still felt the same.
His abdomen tightened as if he expected a punch in the gut, but his pulse sped up with excitement. Part of him was scared shitless being here again, but the rest of him was howling in joy, champing at the bit to get back to work. This was where he belonged, and he hated himself for fucking it up. He’d hate himself even more if he let himself take the chance and fucked up again.
Elise’s voice swept over him, helping to quiet his jangling nerves. “You’re trying to protect me, which is sweet, but stop it. I’m here to make progress, no matter what it takes.”
He respected the hell out of her for that, even though he knew it was bound to get her into more trouble.
Trent signed them in, and within minutes, Detective Woodward came to meet them. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with premature gray hair and skin darkened by too much coffee and not enough sleep. He thrust his hand out toward Elise. “Ms. McBride. Good to meet you.”
“You, too, Detective.”
He turned his attention on Trent and gave his hand a firm shake. “Officer, uh, I mean, Mr. Brady.”
The slip had been intentional. Trent could see it shining in the detective’s eyes—a look he’d seen John wear too many times not to recognize it.
“I see you’ve been talking to my old partner again,” said Trent, letting the other man know he’d been caught.
“We spoke.”
Trent had to ask. “Is he here?”
“No. But I could call him,” offered Detective Woodward.
“No, thanks. I got it covered.”
Woodward smiled. “He said you always did.”
Elise stared from one man to the other as if trying to figure out what was going on. “Ticktock, gentlemen.”
“Of course,” said Woodward. “If you’ll both follow me, I have a room cleared out for us to use.”
He led them back to a dingy interrogation room. The table was already stacked with file folders. A half-empty cup of coffee sat on one corner and a ragged notebook lay open, topped with a chewed-on pencil.
Woodward waved toward the pair of chairs set out for them. “Have a seat, and let’s see what we can do for each other, shall we?”
Elise wasted no time getting to the point. She explained everything in brief, factual statements, covering everything from her last conversation with Ashley up to the e-mail she’d read this morning from Ashley’s friends. “My sister has been missing for nearly a week now. Here’s the photo of the guy I think abducted her—the one she took the day she disappeared.” She pulled it out of a notebook and handed it to him.
Woodward glanced at the photo and nodded. “I’ve seen this. Haven police sent the electronic file over yesterday. I’ve asked one of our computer guys to put the file through a filter, or whatever it is they do, and see if they can clean it up.”
“Can you use face recognition software?” asked Elise.
Woodward shrugged. “If we get a clearer shot, maybe, but we only have part of his face. That’s going to make it hard to match. Plus, there’s no guarantee he’s in any of our databases. We’ll go through the motions, but don’t hold your breath.”
“So what do we do?”
“First, I’m going to ask you a bunch of questions about your sister to help determine h
er habits and see if the man in this photo is really the same guy who took Susan Maloney. I’ve been working on his MO, picking up bits from all the cases I think are connected. And I’m not alone. There are five other cops lending a hand, too. Plus, I have a friend at the Bureau who does profiles, and she’s already agreed to help.”
“What good will a profile do?”
“It will give us a general idea of who we’re looking for, how far away from his home he’ll tend to go to find his victims, things like that. Then we can use that to figure out where to start looking for your sister.”
Elise swallowed and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Ashley may not have that much time.”
“I know, but we’re going to work as hard and fast and long as it takes to find this guy.”
Trent covered her hands with his in an effort to comfort her. “It’s a good start. I suggest we let him take the lead and do whatever we can to help, okay?”
Elise nodded. “Okay. I hate sitting here. I feel like I should be out looking for her or something, but if this is what will work, then I’ll sit here.”
“Great,” said Woodward as he picked up his chewed pencil. “Let’s get started.”
Four hours later, Elise was still answering questions about her sister, even though she was melting with fatigue. An hour after that, Trent called a halt. “That’s enough for tonight. It’s late.”
Woodward looked at his watch, and his brows twitched in surprise as if he hadn’t realized the time. “He’s right. We’ll call it a night, and tomorrow we’ll pick up where we left off. In the meantime, I’ll send all this over to my buddy at the Bureau and see what she can make of it.”
“I can keep going,” said Elise.
“But I can’t,” lied the detective. Trent guessed the man could keep going for hours yet, but he appreciated his trying to protect Elise.
“We’ll go check in at the hotel down the street.” Trent scribbled his cell phone number on the top sheet of the battered notebook. “Call if you need us.”
“Will do.”
Trent put his arm around Elise as they walked back out to the car. He wasn’t sure if she let him do it because she liked it, or if it was because she needed the support. He could feel her fatigue trembling through her limbs. Or maybe it was fear.
Love you to Death Page 19
