by Karen Rose
‘No.’ Lucy had seen the figure before. She’d drawn it before. In fact, she drew it every time she signed her name. ‘Not “2”s. It’s a cursive “L”.’
‘She’s right,’ Stevie said grimly. ‘ “L” for “Lucy”?’
Hyatt was looking at Lucy even more suspiciously. ‘Or “Lucinda”?’
Lucy closed her eyes for a brief moment, wishing Hyatt to perdition even as her cheeks burned fire. She opened them to find Craig glaring at Hyatt balefully.
‘Does it matter?’ Craig asked tightly. ‘You cannot blame her for this. Dr Trask has done nothing wrong.’
‘Except that she has kept secrets from us since this began,’ Hyatt said snidely.
Craig’s jaw tightened. ‘She has kept her private life private. It’s not your business or my business what she does after she leaves here, as long as it’s legal. Not. Your. Business.’
Lucy touched his gloved hand with hers. ‘It’s okay, Craig. Really.’
‘It matters,’ Fitzpatrick said, his voice even and soothing without being patronizing. ‘But only because whoever killed this woman knew about the club. He may have had access to the keys at the valet station, which explains how he gained access to her car. It matters because of how it connects. But that’s all, Dr Mulhauser.’
‘Then find the goddamn connection,’ Craig snapped.
‘Finding this victim’s identity would be a good start,’ Stevie said quietly.
‘We’ll suit up and remove the remaining fragment of breast implant,’ Lucy said. ‘You’re right, Stevie, he left it there for a reason. Let’s find out why.’
Tuesday, May 4, 2.30 A.M.
‘Her name is Janet Gordon,’ JD said, putting the woman’s driver’s license photo on his desk. He and Stevie were at their desks and had Hyatt on the speaker phone. The lieutenant had gone home for the night. Thank God. ‘She’s sixty, currently unmarried, divorced three times, and lived downtown about five blocks from Russ Bennett’s condo on the Harbor. So far the proximity is the only similarity we’ve found.’
‘Other than that she and Bennett are both dead,’ Hyatt said dryly. ‘Is Gordon one of Bennett’s women?’
‘She’s not on the list we got from the courier,’ JD said. ‘Doesn’t mean she’s not one of his women, but she’s a bit out of the age bracket.’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time a guy slept with a woman old enough to be his mother,’ Hyatt said. ‘Is she from Anderson Ferry?’
‘That we don’t know,’ Stevie said. ‘Yet.’
‘She doesn’t have a Facebook account?’ Hyatt asked sarcastically.
Across the desk, Stevie rolled her eyes. ‘No sir, she does not. We’ve got warrants in progress for her home, her phone records and her financials. If the pattern holds, her bank account will either be wiped already or will become wiped. If her account hasn’t yet been wiped, we may be able to track where the funds go if there’s an attempt.’
JD’s cell phone buzzed. It was Lucy. Excusing himself, he walked away from their desks so that Hyatt couldn’t hear him. ‘Hi,’ he said quietly.
‘Hi,’ she said briskly. Professionally. ‘I got confirmation from the silicon manufacturer on the surgeon who did Janet Gordon’s plastic surgery.’
‘Let me guess. Dr Russell Bennett.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well I can’t say that I’m surprised. Are you two done with her cut?’
‘We just finished. I’m typing the prelim now. Cause of death appears to be the blunt force trauma to her skull. As with the first victim, removal of tongue and eyes was pre-mortem, removal of the heart was post. The burn marks on her back are of smaller diameter.’
‘Made with a different cigarette.’
‘Yes. I sent Ruby out to buy a variety of brands. The first victim could have been burned with any one of several brands. Janet Gordon was burned with Virginia Slims.’
‘I wonder why.’
‘He may have chosen a small diameter so he wouldn’t run out of room for the “L”.’
‘That’s very premeditated.’
‘So is cutting out her heart. There was another difference. This victim didn’t have nearly as much blood in the thoracic cavity as the first victim.’
‘Meaning?’ he asked. ‘In layman’s terms, please.’
‘He sucked out her blood. With the first victim, there was more blood in the chest. He’d sopped up some of it with the towel he put in the cavity. This victim was relatively clean.’
‘What could he have used to suck her blood?’
‘Considering the use of a Sawzall to do the actual cut, I’m thinking Shop-Vac.’
JD grimaced. ‘So the same device was used to remove the heart of this victim?’
‘Maybe not the exact same one, but one of similar make and model. We did find some bruising that you’re going to want to see later. I’ve sent digital photos to your email, so you can take a look now. When we turned her over, there were two very crisply defined semicircular bruises. Both appear to be part of a wheel tire, one much larger than the other.’
‘Like on a wheelchair?’ he asked.
‘Exactly. It’s post-mortem, so Craig and I thought she’d been laid against it at close quarters. Maybe in the trunk of a car. We pulled fibers from her hair and sent them and her dress to Drew. The fibers are short and stiff, like carpet fibers, but he can tell you more. Her fingernails have been severely clipped, back past the quick. This looks like a woman who would have had an expensive manicure, so it follows that her killer clipped her nails.’
‘She fought back, then. How do you know she’d have a manicure?’
‘Because she has well-tended feet with a fresh pedicure. I told you yesterday morning, in my business I see a lot of feet.’
There was a brief pause and JD could picture her studying her notes with that intensity that he now knew was so much more.
‘Her stomach was empty, her blood alcohol zero. That’s all I’ll put in the preliminary report. We’ll be looking at tissue and tox reports as they become available.’ She hesitated. ‘Craig said he’d assist Dr Bellamy with Kevin Drummond’s procedure tomorrow. I’ll be here, but in another room. I can listen and ask questions.’
It would be hard for her to do, he knew. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s all right. His parents, are they all right?’
‘As all right as they can possibly be. Morton and Skinner went to tell them earlier.’
‘They were in the conference room with Hyatt yesterday,’ she said, her tone grown cool.
‘They didn’t know what Hyatt had planned. They knew the facts, knew you weren’t found guilty.’ She said nothing, quiet for so long he finally said, ‘Lucy?’
‘I really need to go,’ she said, sounding defeated.
‘Wait.’ He wanted to snarl it, but kept his voice merely urgent. ‘What did I say?’
‘Good night, Detective. Don’t worry about me. I’m going home with Craig. He and his wife have a spare room. He’ll bring me in tomorrow and I’ll rent my own car. I won’t take any unnecessary chances. You’ll let me know when I can return to my apartment?’
‘Don’t do this.’ Now he did snarl.
‘What? Don’t go back to my apartment? You mean ever?’ Her tone was now artificially pleasant, which grated even more.
‘You know what I mean. Don’t push me away, Lucy.’
‘Good night, Detective,’ she said again and hung up, leaving him to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.
He turned to find Stevie watching him. She pointed meaningfully to the speaker phone, her brows lifted. ‘Fitzpatrick just got off the phone, sir. JD?’
JD returned to his desk. ‘Bennett did Janet Gordon’s plastic surgery.’
Stevie frowned. ‘Her facelift, too?’
‘That I don’t know. This came from the breast implant manufacturer. They wouldn’t know about her facelift. Why?’
‘Because Brandi said Russ Bennett did breasts and his partner did faces.’
; ‘Regardless,’ Hyatt said, ‘this should give Miss Montgomery ammo to get a warrant for the practice’s medical records. What else, Detective?’
JD gave them the autopsy information. ‘We need to get more info on Janet Gordon’s background. Find out how she connects to the others. Besides being dead.’
‘When can you get into her apartment?’ Hyatt asked.
‘Daphne said we’d need to wait until morning.’ Stevie checked her watch. ‘Which is only five hours away.’
‘Then go home,’ Hyatt said. ‘Get some rest and be in my office at oh-nine. I’ll have Morton and Skinner there too.’
‘Oh,’ Stevie said. ‘I almost forgot. I contacted Dr Berman this afternoon, after we left the first Mrs Bennett’s house. I asked him to consult with us on this case. He’s a psychologist,’ she said to JD. ‘Excellent profiler.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ JD said, ‘but never met him.’
‘Then you’re in for a treat. He’s a little off the beaten path.’
‘Speaking of off the beaten path,’ Hyatt said, ‘we’ll talk about the employees of that club of Dr Trask’s tomorrow. That defense attorney, Thorne, would not cooperate.’
‘No, he wouldn’t. He refused to give us the client list,’ Stevie said to JD. ‘Told us to get a warrant. Daphne’s working on that, too.’
‘I heard,’ JD said, his tone guarded.
‘So while you are sleeping,’ Hyatt said, innuendo dripping from every word, ‘get Dr Trask to give you that list.’
JD’s face heated, both in embarrassment and anger. ‘I won’t see her until the next time we go to the morgue, which will be tomorrow. I’ll ask her then.’
‘Don’t ask her, Fitzpatrick. Tell her. And if she refuses, tell her that I’ll put a squad car out in front of her place every night with its lights flashing until she or Thorne cooperates.’
‘She won’t agree, even if you put ten squad cars in front of her club.’
‘Make her agree. Sweet-talk her.’ Hyatt paused. ‘Or whatever.’
JD opened his mouth to respond but Stevie cut in quickly, probably saving his career. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow morning, sir,’ she said. ‘Now we’re all going to get some sleep.’ She hit the speaker button and the line went dead. ‘JD, don’t let him draw you into an argument. He likes to do that.’
‘Why?’ JD asked, annoyed.
‘I don’t know. It’s always worse when he’s between wives. Once he gets married again, he’ll argue with his wife and leave us alone.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s like he has to argue a certain amount every day or he goes into withdrawal.’
JD smiled, as she’d intended. ‘Okay. Tomorrow then.’ He stood up, suddenly so weary that his vision frayed around the edges. ‘I think I’ll hit the crib upstairs versus driving home. If I’m not at my desk when you get here tomorrow, wake me up, okay?’
‘Will do.’ Stevie rose, a frown on her face. ‘You know we’re going to have to check out every person that works at Lucy’s club, right?’
JD nodded. ‘Yes. The only person I know isn’t involved is Lucy herself. She was either on stage or with me, the entire time.’
‘But her friends weren’t.’
‘No,’ JD said, not relishing the prospect of questioning Lucy’s friends.
‘We’ll worry about it tomorrow,’ Stevie said. ‘I’m going home.’ She stopped at the elevator as he headed to the crib. ‘By the way, you do know what you said, right?’
JD looked back with a puzzled frown. ‘What?’
‘When you were on the phone with her. You said something and she got mad, right? Then you said, “What did I say?” You do know what you said, don’t you?’
JD shook his head. ‘I have no idea. Do you?’
‘Oh yeah. You said that Morton and Skinner knew she’d been “found not guilty”.’
JD closed his eyes. ‘Instead of saying she was innocent.’
‘I imagine if you’ve sat through an entire trial, having been unjustly accused, that would be an important distinction,’ Stevie said quietly. ‘Think about it.’
The stupidity of his words hit him full force. ‘As if I’ll be able to do anything but.’
Tuesday, May 4, 6.30 A.M.
Clay crept into Nicki’s apartment building unseen, his step heavy with dread. It was still early and the neighbors had not yet ventured outside. Not that they’d be coming out any time soon anyway. Most were creatures of the night, loners, like Nic.
It was a hovel of a building that probably should have been condemned. But Nicki liked it, or said she did. Clay thought it gave her an excuse to be solitary.
He forced himself up the stairs, his heart heavier than his feet. Please. Please. With every mile he’d driven, he’d worried, his fear growing. Now that he was here, he could barely put one foot in front of the other. Move it, Maynard, he barked in his mind.
He stood outside her door and closed his eyes. No. But he knew the smell. Please. Please, let it be anything but this. Maybe she hadn’t taken out the trash. Maybe . . . But he knew.
His hands shaking, he pulled on gloves, then let himself in with the key he’d taken from the emergency ring at the office. Please, please. He flinched as he entered and closed the door behind him. She’s dead. Years of being a soldier and a cop had taught him to view death stoically. She’s dead. But Nic was his friend. His partner.
Move. He tied a handkerchief over his mouth and, gritting his teeth, forced his feet to walk the fifty feet to her bedroom. Her door was open. She was on the bed. She . . . Her insides . . . on the sheets. Can’t breathe. He stared, horror making his limbs inoperable. God. No.
Nicki. Tears rolled down his face and he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Oh God, Nic. What did he do to you? Gutted. The SOB had gutted her.
Goddamn it. It was a whimper in his mind.
Move. Again he forced his feet to move until he stood next to her bed, his breath now coming in labored pants. Her bed had once been white. No more. It was red. Red.
His teeth clenched, he looked down, blocking out all the red. Ignoring the flies, Clay focused on her right ear, where the sonofabitch’s blade had curved up and around. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at her ear, his own heartbeat the only thing he could hear.
Then something within him snapped and he backed out of her room, on autopilot now. Nic kept no client files out in the open ̵̵̵̵̵̶ __̵̵̵̵̵̵̶̶̶ her neighborhood was too bad. Mechanically Clay went to her ̶̶ kitchen and moved aside all the cans of soup in the pantry, revealing the safe he’d installed for her himself. His hand steady, he dialed the ̵ combination and popped it open.
Her laptop was inside, along with six file folders. He took them and closed the safe, replacing the soup cans. He locked her front door behind him and placed her things in his trunk. He rapidly cleaned out Nicki’s car of all receipts and loose papers.
Then he got in his own car, drove a mile, then stopped.
He got out, walked to the grass shoulder, sank to his knees and threw up.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday, May 4, 6.45 A.M.
He stood at the mirror, frowning at his reflection. He tilted his head to better see his neck where two red scratches stood out like beacons. The valet had got him but good. Luckily they were low enough that his collar covered them. He buttoned his shirt, knotted his tie, and nodded at the result. Nobody would see. Nobody would know. Soon it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Soon he’d be sailing the seas in the Satisfaction because soon all the names on his list would be in Lucy Trask’s morgue.
He had to hand it to the woman. She’d maintained her double life like a CIA pro. That she’d cut up dead people all day had been a revelation to all those freaks at the club. Nobody knew the other secrets she held, but they would soon.
Soon everyone would know what kind of person Lucy Trask really was. Soon everyone would know what she was willing to do to get her way. What lies she was willing to tell. In due time he’d expose every part of he
r life for everyone to see. And then she’ll be mine. Soon.
But today he had a different fish to fillet. He put on his jacket, tugged his shirt cuffs into place. Janet Gordon’s son should be here soon. His flight was due in an hour.
From his pocket he withdrew one of the business cards he’d made on the printer in James Cannon’s condo. Biddle and Light, Attorneys at Law. After seeing his mother’s remains, there would be few people Ryan would trust. His mother’s attorney would be one of them.
Because Ryan didn’t really have a choice. If he wanted Mommy’s money, he’d have to talk to Mommy’s lawyer. We’ll have a nice little chat. And then he’ll die.
Killing Ryan wouldn’t take quite as long as the others, he didn’t think. Ryan hadn’t profited from his sin like the others. Not like Edwards or Bennett or Janet Gordon.
Certainly not like Lucy Trask.
If he played his cards right, he could be finished with Ryan by dinnertime and onto the next name. I might just make it to Anderson Ferry by nightfall. Lucy had taken the detective there last night, which displeased him. They’d gone straight to the Bennetts’ house, presumably to notify the parents of their son’s unfortunate demise.
His device was accurate to fifteen feet, so he was sure they’d gone nowhere else, which was good. He wanted to control the Trask family reunion. She was getting very chummy with that cop, though. He wondered what trouble she was stirring up. Or trying to silence.
Tuesday, May 4, 7.50 A.M.
JD pulled up behind Stevie’s car, already parked on the curb in front of Janet Gordon’s apartment building. Stevie waited on the front stoop.
He’d slept poorly, tossing and turning and wondering if Lucy would speak to him again. And, of course, reliving the alley. The little sleep he had gotten had been filled with dreams of dark rooms and swirling music and a naked Lucy in his bed.
The last might never become a reality if he couldn’t convince her to talk to him again. Which would never happen if he didn’t catch whoever was taunting her with mutilated bodies.
