by Karen Rose
“Which makes Miss Jones’s statement so important,” Molina said.
“She may be the only one who’s seen his real face,” Gideon said.
“Exactly,” Molina said. “Miss Dawson, I’d like you to help Agent Hunter get as full a description as you can. And a description of everything she remembers about the incident itself. Including how she came to be free.”
“I figured the body on the bed let her out,” Tom said.
“If she’s the Sydney he was carving into his victims’ skin,” Gideon added, “which is likely considering a car matching hers was in the driveway, then he was obsessed with her at the very least. That Sydney was strangled indicates a lot of rage. If he found Zandra gone and this woman in her place? That may have driven him to kill her.”
“That makes sense,” Molina said. “But why? That’s what I want to know.”
“What I’d like to know is the extent of Zandra’s injuries,” Daisy said quietly.
“Bruises on her face and lacerations at wrists and ankles,” Molina answered. “He carved letters into her torso. He actually bandaged and stitched her so that she could heal.”
“He wanted to keep her longer?” Tom supposed.
“Maybe. I’m hoping she can tell us.”
Molina slowed as they approached Zandra’s room. She was about to enter when Daisy grabbed her arm.
“Wait.” Daisy bit at her lip.
Molina tilted her head, pointedly glancing at Daisy’s hand, still on her arm. “Yes, Miss Dawson?”
Daisy closed her eyes, not letting Molina go, almost as if she needed to hold on or fall down. “Was she sexually assaulted?”
Molina hesitated. “It appeared so.”
Daisy nodded, her eyes still closed. “And Trish?”
Oh, honey, Gideon thought sadly. Of course she’d been worried about that. But she hadn’t said a word, except for the one time she’d asked. She’d just been worrying all alone.
“No,” Molina said kindly. “The preliminary autopsy report made no mention of it.”
Daisy let out a huge breath. “Thank you. I mean, I called the coroner, but they hadn’t finished the report yet. And then all this other stuff happened. So just . . . thank you.”
Molina patted Daisy’s arm. “You’re welcome. This is her room. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Daisy muttered. “No pressure here.”
Zandra’s room was being guarded by an armed agent. Gideon knew the guy well enough to say hello, so he nodded as he passed through the door.
He got a sympathetic look in return. God, I must look like shit.
He sure felt like shit. Nevertheless, when Daisy took the chair next to Zandra’s bed, he took up the position behind her. Anyone getting to Daisy was coming through him first.
Daisy leaned in, her smile gentle. “Hey, Zandra, do you remember me?”
Zandra latched her gaze to Daisy’s face. “Daisy.”
“That’s right. I heard you wanted to talk to me.”
“Only you.” She glowered at Molina, Hunter, and Gideon. “Not them.”
“Well, this is the thing. Agent Hunter has to take your statement, so that we dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s so this asshole gets locked up and the key thrown away.”
“I want you to do it.”
“I would,” Daisy assured her, “but I’m not a cop.”
Zandra blinked her surprise. “You’re not?”
“No. I’m too contrary to be a cop. I just talk on the radio.”
“You have the voice for it.”
Daisy smiled. “Thank you. You sound so much better. Amazing what a little water can do, huh?”
Zandra tried to smile back but flinched when her lip started to bleed. “Can you get me a tissue?”
Daisy passed her the box. “Here you go. Now the guy behind me is my guy, okay? I get bouts of anxiety sometimes and he helps me stay calm. I’m thinking what you went through won’t be easy for you to say or for me to hear. I don’t want to flake out on you. Is it okay if he stays?”
Zandra dabbed at her bloody lip. “I hope he’s not a cheating rat.”
Daisy brushed a lock of Zandra’s hair from her forehead and continued lightly stroking her hair away from her face. “I heard your guy was a cheating rat.”
Tears welled in Zandra’s eyes. “I’d never been drunk once before that bar. Not once in my life.”
“And that one time, you meet the bastard who hurt you.”
Zandra nodded. “Does my family know I’m here?”
Daisy looked over her shoulder at Molina. “Do they?”
“They do,” Molina said. “Your parents and sister will be on the first flight tomorrow.”
“Good.” It came out as a small sob and more tears leaked from her eyes.
Daisy got a tissue and dabbed at Zandra’s eyes, then held her hand. “So, Special Agent Hunter has some questions for you. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Tom sat in a chair on the other side of Zandra’s bed. “Thank you for talking to me.”
Zandra appeared to narrow her eyes, but it was hard to tell because they were so swollen. Carson Garvey had done a real number on this woman’s face.
But at least she’s still alive.
“You look too young to be a special agent,” Zandra said.
Tom smiled. “I’m twenty-six and a half.” He emphasized the half as if he were a small child. “You got me because the other agent on this case is on her way back from Portland.”
Zandra had been smiling at the “and a half” comment, but her smile disappeared. “Danton, Eileen. Oregon,” she murmured.
“Yes,” Tom said quietly.
“She’s dead.”
“We know,” Tom said in that same quiet tone. It was making Gideon sleepy, dammit. “Can you tell us what he looked like?”
“He was six feet tall. Had an ordinary face. Not handsome, but not ugly. Not the kind to get women at a bar. He had no confidence. His eyes were dark brown. His nose was thin. Sharp. He was bald. All over. No body hair. He gloated about it. Said he’d never left any physical evidence behind him. Oh, and he had scratches on his upper chest.” She closed her eyes. “Did you find his house?”
“Yes,” Tom told her. “The dog took us there.”
She looked genuinely amused at that. “He’s a nice dog. What happened to him?”
“We took him to a vet,” Gideon said. “The one who takes care of the police dogs. He’s going to check him out and then we’ll find him a good home. He’ll be a hero.”
Zandra met his eyes. “Thank you. He is a hero. He saved me.” She closed her eyes. “So if you found the house, did you find the cabinet?”
“Yes,” Tom whispered. “You memorized some of the names. How did you do that?”
“I could see a few of their licenses. I just kept repeating their names over and over.”
“Why?” Tom asked.
“Because I wanted their families to know what happened to them when I got away. He kept saying that nobody cared what happened to them. That nobody was looking for them. That nobody cared that I was gone. But I didn’t believe him.”
“Good,” Tom praised warmly. “How did you get away?”
She huffed a bitter laugh. “Sydney. God, what a psycho bitch. She busted in the room calling me a whore. Said I couldn’t have him. Said she’d put the best years of her life into him, that I wasn’t going to just waltz in and take him. I mean, I thought at first she was going to help me, but she gave me the split lip. Did you find her?”
“Not yet,” Tom said, which was the right response because they hadn’t made a positive ID of the body yet. “So she yelled at you and hit you. What then?”
“She untied me. Said that if I wanted one of my own, I needed to make one myself. To start ear
ly.” Zandra shuddered. “Said it was best to start them before they were ten years old. Twelve at the latest.”
Gideon had a hard time not cringing. Tom blinked once, but his composure didn’t crack. Not bad for a probie. Agent Hunter would do just fine.
Daisy, on the other hand, held on to Zandra’s hand but stuck a trembling hand in her bag. It was an awkward position and no doubt poor Brutus was getting mauled. Gideon gently pulled her hand from the bag, scooped Brutus out, and put the dog on her lap. Her look of gratitude was unmistakable.
Zandra blinked. “Is that a . . . dog?”
“Yes,” Daisy said, a trifle defensive. “She’s Brutus and she’s my service dog.”
A slow smile curved Zandra’s lips. “Can I pet her, too?”
Daisy knew that she really shouldn’t allow it because Brutus was working, but Zandra had been through so much. “Of course.” Releasing Zandra’s hand, she removed Brutus’s vest. “Shazam, Brutus,” she said, and put the dog on the bed so that they could both pet her. Brutus, in heaven, rolled to her back for a belly rub.
“She’s cute,” Zandra said. “She helps you?”
“Yes. I’m eight years sober. Brutus helps me control my anxiety, which helps me maintain my sobriety. You might consider one for PTSD. You know, once you’re home.”
“Maybe I will.” She drew a breath, then resolutely turned to Tom. “Sydney had a wild look in her eyes. I’m a prosecutor. I see criminals every day of the week. I’ve seen them high and mentally ill. I honestly couldn’t tell you which she was—hell, maybe both—but definitely it was one of them.”
Molina took a few steps forward, holding to the rail at the foot of the bed. “Did she tell you her name was Sydney?”
“Well, I figured it out. He . . .” She trailed off, her fingers busy in Brutus’s coat. “He kept demanding that I say I was sorry. Over and over but I wouldn’t. I had the feeling that that was what he was waiting for. That he needed me to say I was sorry. And once I did, he’d kill me. I kept hoping if I could hold out a little longer that someone would find me.”
“He said the same thing to me,” Daisy murmured. “To apologize.”
Zandra’s swollen eyes grew a little wider. “You? He got you?”
“He tried. Thursday night. I fought him off and got away. But I’d surprised him, I think. He really wanted my friend. Trish Hart.”
Zandra sighed. “Hart, Trisha. California.”
Daisy nodded. “Yeah. Did you see her necklace?”
“Turquoise cross? Yes. He was wearing it the last time I saw him. He did this bizarre kind of ritual where he took off a crystal horseshoe and hung it on a hook under Kaley Martell’s driver’s license. Then he put Trisha’s license on the shelf and put the turquoise cross necklace around his neck.” She glanced from Tom to Gideon. “Kaley Martell. She’s in the freezer. Her body, I mean.”
“We found her,” Tom said. “But thank you.” He drew a breath. “I have a question that’s probably going to be hard for you to answer, but we need to understand.”
Zandra braced herself. “Yes, he sexually assaulted me. But not with his . . .” She grimaced. “. . . penis. He had . . . implements. Some sex toys. Some were other things. They’re in one of the drawers. You’ll find them when you search. I got the impression that he couldn’t get it up for me. He tried. He really tried.” Her eyes narrowed. “He even called me Daisy while he tried, but he kept losing his erection, so he had to use the stuff in the drawer.” She glanced at Daisy. “Sorry.”
Daisy had visibly cringed. “No, no. Don’t apologize. I didn’t realize . . .”
Gideon fought to contain his fury, conscious of Molina’s steady regard. The man had fantasized about raping Daisy. But he didn’t. Because she fought him off.
So do not blow this. Do not lose your temper. Just focus on catching the bastard. He forced himself to relax, watching Molina do the same. He’d passed the test.
He returned his attention to Zandra, who was still talking.
“I considered using his impotency,” she said, “to throw him off balance, but he had sharp knives and I didn’t want him plunging one into me any more than he did when he was . . . you know. Carving.” She swallowed. “He carved all the letters of Sydney’s name into my stomach, except for the final ‘Y.’ He was going to come back and do that, but Sydney threw me out first.” Her composure trembled, then cracked. “I’m going to have scars.”
“I’m sorry,” Daisy whispered, her voice breaking.
Zandra pulled a tissue from the box and handed it to Daisy, who wiped her cheeks. “I’m alive,” she said grimly. “I’ll get through this.”
Tom hesitated, then shook his head.
“What?” Zandra snapped. “Don’t worry about my feelings now. I think I’m numb.”
Tom gave her an apologetic look. “I have a friend with similar scars from an attack when we were kids. She got tattoos to cover them. Vines with flowers. When you’re ready, if you’re interested, contact me and I’ll introduce you to her.”
Zandra gave him a long, sober look. “I might do that. I’m running on adrenaline now and channeling my badass lawyer self, but later . . . I’ll need something. Support. Something.”
“A friend?” Daisy suggested. “Call me, anytime.”
“I might do that, too. Thank you.”
“You said you figured out she was Sydney,” Gideon said when it seemed Zandra was ready to return to the interview. “What happened then?”
“I said, ‘Sydney,’ and she seemed pleased as punch that he’d mentioned her.”
“Can you describe her?” Tom asked.
“Five-eight, forty-ish, had some work done. Blond hair.” She aimed that laser look at Tom, then Gideon once again. “You found her, didn’t you? He came home and found her there.” She sank back on the pillows. “God. She created that monster. I’m not sure whether to feel pity or satisfaction that she died at his hand.” She waved a hand wearily. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. No interviews with the inside scoop. This is going to be damaging enough to my career.”
Gideon got that. Now that he was a victim of a shooting, it would likely be a point of question anytime he had to give testimony in court. His credibility and impartiality would be called into question. He’d seen it before. How much worse would it be for a prosecutor?
“Can you think of anything else, Miss Jones?” Molina asked.
Zandra petted Brutus for a full minute, thinking, then said, “Oh, yeah. He got shot. Left hand and he’s a leftie.”
Daisy nodded. “I know. I shot him.”
Zandra’s lips curved again. “You go, girl.” Her smile faded. “She kicked the dog. Sydney did. She was dragging me out of that little room and she kicked the dog for getting in her way. She threw us both out, me and the dog. But he was still friendly. Licked me and danced around until I followed him. To you guys.” She lifted a brow. “Also, I asked two different people for help while I was walking and they threatened to call the cops on me because they thought I was drunk and homeless. I wish they had called the cops. I’d like them to know that they turned me away. Just because I want them to feel bad about it.”
Daisy nodded. “You write down what you can remember of those two people and I’ll take care of it myself. That’s my neighborhood, too.” She shivered. “We had a serial killer in our neighborhood.”
“That’ll do wonders for your property values,” Zandra said dryly. “One more thing. He wears disguises. I saw a few. He can make himself look like someone totally different.”
“I’ve seen a few, too,” Daisy said. “What did he look like Friday at the bar?”
Zandra briefly closed her eyes. “He looked . . . smarmy. He had a shaggy look. Kind of a medium brown with blond highlights. Like a rock star trying to look young. His nose was longer. A little sharper.”
“You sound cer
tain,” Molina observed.
Zandra opened her swollen eyes, only to narrow them. “You’re intimating that I was too drunk to remember. Yes, I was drunk, but I remember thinking that he looked like a boy I dated in high school who’d cheated with a cheerleader. I know what I saw.”
Molina sighed softly. “I’m sorry, Miss Jones. I didn’t mean it to sound accusatory. You’ve been through a trauma and we need to be certain.”
“Yeah, well, I managed to memorize the names of ten of his victims, too.”
Molina inclined her head. “Point taken.”
“Thank you,” Zandra snapped then slumped, clearly drained.
“You’re tired,” Daisy murmured. “Are you finished, Agent Hunter?”
“I am.” Tom stood up. “Thank you, Miss Jones. I’m going to leave my card at the nurses’ station. Please contact me if you think of anything else.”
“I will.” Zandra drew a deep breath. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me. Thank the woman who got out of her car to help me.”
“I will,” Gideon said. “That’s my sister.”
“I can see the resemblance.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you for making this easier for me. I’ll fall apart later, but . . .”
“The credit goes to Brutus.” Daisy put the dog back in her bag and adjusted it across her body. “I’ll leave my number with the nurses’ station, too. Please, feel free to call.”
And with that, they left Zandra to rest. And hopefully, eventually, to heal.
TWENTY-NINE
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1:45 A.M.
He slowed his step as he neared Zandra’s room. The door was closed, a man in a black suit standing guard outside.
Don’t freak. Stay calm. He’d already passed muster with two other groups of nurses and the cop at the elevator. Luckily, the disguise in his duffel was one of his favorites. No one would recognize him. He’d removed the bandage from his hand and the gloves he wore were perfect with the whole nurse look. So do this. Now.
“I need to see the patient,” he told the guard. “It’s time for her pain medication.” Which would come in the form of the gun tucked into his waistband. He’d get in, shoot her in the head, then get out. Quick and simple, then no more Zandra. No more witness.
