by Ronica Black
“Do you have any leads?” someone shouted.
A man scooted in close to Ruiz, and Erin recognized the chief of Valle Luna PD though it had been a while since she’d seen him. Chief Lawrence Gentry regarded the crowd sternly, as if he disapproved of the press conference. He towered over Ruiz but when he spoke, his tone wasn’t near as fierce.
“We cannot discuss that at this time.”
“Chief, is it true that truck drivers are being questioned?”
“Are people safe to travel the highway?”
“Is there a motive?”
The press was hungry for information, and Erin leaned forward, hungry herself.
“We encourage everyone to continue on with their daily lives, including travel on the highways,” the chief said.
“Chief! Chief! Are the victims all male?”
Ruiz leaned in toward the microphone. “Yes.”
This fed the fury. Like chum to circling sharks. A barrage of questions followed. Ruiz began to darken and Erin knew his blood was boiling.
“Sergeant, are the two recent murders of the young gay men in any way connected?”
“No.”
When the crowd continued to shout over one another, Chief Gentry said, “We are here to discuss the Highway Murders.”
His remark seemed to fall on deaf ears. The mass of reporters went on with the thread.
“Are men safe to walk at night?”
“Does that then bring the death toll to eight?”
“Is the killer killing at random? How are these deaths related?”
“Chief, is it true that lesbian night club owner Elizabeth Adams is once again a suspect?”
The questioning stopped. All that could be heard were the clicking of cameras.
Chief Gentry answered, “No more questions at this time.”
Erin felt her body heat with anger and fear. Angry for Liz and fear for what she herself didn’t know, what she might never know. She raised the remote to extinguish the picture but stopped when an attractive deputy sheriff maneuvered in front of the microphone. Ruiz moved aside, but his look of contempt was not well hidden.
“Good afternoon,” she said with calm confidence. “I’m Detective Audrey Sinclair. I’ll be speaking on behalf of the Corona County Sheriff’s office.”
Immediately the questions started once more. Ruiz and Chief Gentry whispered madly at one another, obviously upset at being upstaged. Sinclair took a moment to let the room quiet down. She looked professional in a bone-colored button-down blouse and medium-sized platinum hoop earrings. Her badge shone from her front breast pocket. Her short light brown hair was tousled just right. She appeared at ease with the press and Erin was at once impressed with her command.
“Autopsy and lab results confirm that all six of these bodies are linked to the same killer,” she said. “We cannot disclose evidence, but we believe this is the work of a serial killer.”
“Is there any apparent motive?”
Erin expected her to say no, but Sinclair had other plans. “We believe the killer may be sexually motivated.”
Erin felt the blood in her body rush to her face. What was she doing? The press went insane, arguing among themselves about what “sexually motivated” could mean.
“Are you suggesting Adams is killing out of her hate for men?” someone asked.
Ruiz and Gentry stood ramrod straight, completely taken aback.
“We also have a description.” Sinclair took a piece of paper from a colleague and held up the composite drawing for all to see. “Our suspect is five foot ten to six feet tall. Short dark hair, Caucasian, may be driving an SUV. If you think you know who this is or have any information whatsoever, please call the number provided. Thank you.”
Erin was dumbfounded. The sketch could’ve been anyone, really. Right away she realized it wasn’t Liz. But it was the eyes that gripped her, sending a small jolt along spine. They were familiar. But she couldn’t place them. The sketch could’ve been male or female. Sinclair had intentionally left the suspect’s sex out of the equation.
Erin thought of Jay, knowing her former colleagues would be doing the same. She’d seen Liz’s sister only once before but she remembered that her hair was similar to the hair in the sketch. The chill continued to crawl up her spine.
She switched off the television and grabbed her car keys.
*
“What the hell does she think she’s doing!” Ruiz slammed his fists down onto the table.
Patricia jerked even though she’d known the reaction was coming. Stewart closed his mouth midchew and swallowed the juice from his gum. Heavy silence stifled the room. Chief Gentry began mumbling into his cell phone. They all sat and waited. She, Gary Jacobs, Stewart, and Hernandez.
The press conference had been a disaster. A complete disaster. And at the helm of the shipwreck was former fed and now Deputy Detective Audrey Sinclair. Patricia couldn’t believe what she’d done. But maybe now that she’d blown it on Corona County’s behalf, they’d get their case back.
Gentry snapped his phone shut. “Sheriff Paxton stands by his detective.”
“What?” Ruiz snapped, way louder than the snap of the phone.
“He also refuses to meet us today. His secretary suggested sometime next week.”
Ruiz nearly foamed at the mouth. “What do they think they’re doing?” Again the fists came down, rattling the table. “She compromised the entire investigation.”
They all sat in silence, too afraid of Ruiz to speak. Gentry’s phone rang and he mumbled something about the mayor and stepped from the room to talk.
Ruiz began to pace. “Did any of you meet with her? If you did, you’d better speak up now.”
They all shook their heads.
“Henderson?”
“No, sir. She requested a meeting but it never happened.”
“Where the hell did she get her info? How, people, does she have a composite when we have nothing?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Patricia said.
“You don’t know?” Ruiz pushed back on the bridge of his eyeglasses as he stared her down. “Well, that’s pretty fucking obvious, isn’t it. And what about the motive? Where the hell did she get that when we haven’t yet been able to come up with one?”
No one said a word. Patricia felt the vein along her neck throbbing with her anger. When Ruiz turned and stormed out of the office, she rose to her feet, a new mission in mind.
Chapter Fifteen
La Femme throbbed. Its heart was alive and beating, the dancing women its blood flow. Erin shouldered her way in, pulling the ball cap down to avoid being recognized. She moved as she felt, like a creature of the night, in and out of the shadows. That was who she’d become, a mere shadow of her former self. Dim and empty. She spoke to no one, looked to no one. Just moved. Quickly and silently.
Skin slick with sweet-smelling sweat rubbed against her as she wove her way through the mass of women. Bodies waved in unison, pulsing and thrusting. Eyes were focused on eyes, limbs tangled with limbs. Sex was heavy in the air. Lesbians lusting after lesbians.
Erin could easily have gotten caught up in it, or simply just stared as she often did, amazed by the erotic energy. But she wasn’t there for lust or wonder. She was there for love, for what little she had left inside. She looked up toward the platform dancers as Alice in Chains surged “Grind” from the speakers. The dancers moved like animated sex in ripped jeans, Dr. Martens, and plaid flannel shirts. Beyond them hung huge murals, one of Kurt Cobain in a black and white striped shirt, one of the Smashing Pumpkins, and one of Pearl Jam.
She’d had all those albums once, some on cassette, most on CD. It seemed like only yesterday, yet so far away. Her gut felt empty at the thought. So much had changed and continued to change. Her mother had called earlier, demanding to know what was going on. Her shrill voice seemed to play right along with the riffs of “Grind.”
“What’s going on, Erin? Where are you?”
“I’m fine, Mot
her. I’m at a friend’s.”
“I called that woman’s house about a million times.”
“Her name is Liz.”
“Why aren’t you there?”
“We split up.”
“What? I thought you said you were in love? You said you were a…lesbian!”
Erin had gripped the phone tightly. “I am. On both counts.”
“You left Mark for that woman and now you’re not even…together?”
“It’s a long story.”
“And now, this morning, your father gets the newspaper and she’s wanted for murder. Again! What is going on, Erin Lynn?”
She could hear her father in the background. “Tell her she should just come home.”
“We’re very upset,” her mother continued. “We’re worried.”
“Everything’s fine. Really. I’m staying with a friend.”
“Who? We want to know where you are.”
“I’m at Patricia Henderson’s.”
She heard her mother gasp. “Isn’t that where you were attacked?”
Her mother and father begin to argue.
“Mother. Mom?”
“Come home, Erin. Just come home.”
“Listen, I’ve got to go, okay? I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“You know, Mark may have moved on but there are lots of other eligible men. And the whole lesbian thing, so many people are doing it, I’m beginning to think it’s a fad. I’m sure there are plenty of men who would overlook that as just a little experimentation.”
“It’s not a fad, Mother. I’m gay.”
“Nonsense. You shouldn’t label yourself. I’ll make up your bed in your old room.”
“I’ve got to go, Mom. I’ll call soon.” She paused, and heard her mother start in on another breath. Before she could speak, Erin said, “Give Dad my love,” and hung up.
The memory of her mother’s voice faded out with Alice in Chains. The mass of plaid cheered, throwing up fists of approval for Stone Temple Pilots and “Wicked Garden.” Erin focused in on a few dancers, saw the winks of their white tanks beneath the plaid. It was almost primal. The skin on each woman’s neck slick with sweat.
The deejay chimed in, drawing Erin’s attention, her voice as raspy as the music. “Grunge night is on full fledge. Get your requests in now.”
Erin made her way to the VIP staircase, thoughts of Liz flashing in her mind. She remembered how her body glistened in the moonlight, the hard, etched muscles pebbled in sweat. The way she came so hard she sometimes pulled the muscles in her neck. Erin missed her. Missed them.
The large woman standing guard at the staircase unfolded her arms. “You got a pass?”
Erin acted surprised but promptly pulled the laminated pass out from her shirt, where she wore it around her neck. It was a year-round VIP pass. The bouncer was new. Erin had never seen her before and counted her blessings. The woman gripped the pass and shone a small black light on it to verify its authenticity. She didn’t seem to notice the name Erin McKenzie. Only the two intertwined female symbols seemed to be of importance.
She removed the velvet rope and nodded Erin through. Erin kept her head low and climbed the stairs, exhaling a sigh of relief. When she reached the top, she stood still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the low light. She crossed to the bar, but didn’t let the bartender see her face. Instead she kept moving, making her way along the rail. She had no plan, had no idea what she was going to say. In fact, she felt a little crazy at being there. Liz had made it very clear that she no longer wanted anything to do with her, but the deep ache in her chest kept her moving. And the memory of their lovemaking, Liz calling out to her, drenched in sweat, her body blanched with moonlight. How would Liz look tonight? Would she take her back? Could they fall into each other’s arms and…
Erin’s hand slid to a stop along the rail. She focused in on the lone sofa at the very back of the VIP area. Liz sat with her arms outstretched along the back of it, staring straight ahead, as if a ghost stood before her, sharing in a heavy conversation. Erin moved closer, her heart nearly beating over itself. Liz’s face was pale and drawn. She looked fragile, almost like porcelain, dark crescents below her eyes and her mouth set and tight. If not for the slight movement of her breasts, Erin would’ve wondered whether she was breathing.
The song changed. Stone Temple Pilots stirred up the crowd with “Sex Type Thing” and a woman exited Liz’s private lair. Erin recognized her at once. Angie Hartman, the famous Hollywood actress who had often frequented the club when she wasn’t filming. Erin hadn’t seen her in over a year. She wondered if it was because of her absence that Angie was back.
Erin watched her saunter toward Liz. Red high heels and thigh-highs matched the red bra and panties seductively covering her lithe body. She moved like a supermodel on the catwalk, slinking to the beat, a walking, aching red rose, desperate to open and spread her velvet petals upon Liz. When she reached her she did just that, straddling Liz with her impossibly long legs.
Erin’s breath hitched in her throat. Blood pounded in her ears and she worried that she wouldn’t be able to hear any words spoken. But Liz remained still, arms along the back of the couch. Neither said a word. Angie began to gyrate against Liz’s leg, dancing with her crotch rather than her feet. She moved as if she were one with the music. As if it played just for her.
She reached out for Liz’s face, ensuring Liz’s eyes were on her. Then she leaned in, her long tongue extended, exposing a small offering on the tip. She pushed the pill into Liz’s mouth and licked Liz’s lips, then tugged on them with her teeth. Her body kept moving, fucking Liz as she sat unmoving.
The song kept on, encouraging her, killing Erin. Angie unhooked her red bra and flung it to the ground. Hips gyrating to the beat, she reached for Liz’s hands and pulled them to her exposed breasts. Liz blinked and her head moved a little, as if she wasn’t sure exactly where she was. Angie rubbed their hands together over her own breasts, squeezing and lifting, her head thrown back in pleasure.
Liz’s gaze was fixed on Angie’s face, but her eyes seemed to stare right through her. Angie came as the song neared its end. Short cries escaped her as she rocked hard into Liz. Finally, her back stiffened and she stilled completely. She gave a laugh and leaned in to plant a kiss on Liz’s mouth. Then she rose and stood before her. With Liz’s hand still in her own, she placed it palm up under her crotch.
“That’s how wet you get me,” she said with another low laugh.
Erin stifled a cry. Her throat felt torn, like a cat had used it as a scratching post. She took a step closer, watching. Liz said nothing to Angie and the actress turned and strode confidently to the bar. Erin focused on herself. She didn’t think she could move. She stood as still as the night, breathing like there wasn’t enough air in the world for her lungs. Her legs moved before her mind reacted. Suddenly she was crossing the room. Suddenly she was standing before Liz.
Blue eyes liquid with the deep abyss of pain raised to scan her face. A glint of recognition preceded her voice. “What…what are you doing here?” Liz’s voice seemed strained and tattered, like a rope that had been pulled too hard for too long. Unraveling.
“I need to talk to you.”
Liz made a move like she was going to stand but her body went slack, as if she couldn’t. “Who let you in?”
Erin took advantage of her lack of dominance. “I’m worried about you. Worried about Jay.”
Liz stared at her. Her tongue licked at parched lips. “You need to go. I’ll call Tyson.”
Erin stood her ground. “Tyson isn’t here. He must have the night off.”
Liz blinked.
“What are you on?” Erin knelt to look closer into her eyes. “E?”
Liz didn’t respond. Erin couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen her use drugs. Seeing her in that state only increased her heart rate.
“Liz listen to me. I need to know about Jay.”
“My sister is no one’s business but
my own.”
“The police are looking for her.” Erin was near panicked with worry. If Jay was involved in any way, she needed to know. She had to protect Liz. “They released a composite sketch today. The hair and build was similar. Where is she? Do you even know?”
This time Liz forced herself to stand. Her hazy eyes bored into Erin’s. “It’s none of your business.”
Erin touched her cheek and Liz flinched, but not before she warmed. Erin tried again, but Liz caught her hand. “Don’t,” she whispered.
“Why not?” Erin was dying to touch her, to hold her, to melt into her just like she’d done so many times before.
“You should go.”
“I don’t want to go. I want to be with you.”
Liz swayed a little in her stance but then straightened with what seemed to be a sudden but rare jolt of strength. “No.”
“Why not?”
Liz started to speak but then stopped. “I’m not going to do this.”
Erin persisted, placing a hand on her upper arm. She felt Liz shudder. “Then please tell me where Jay is. For your safety, for hers.”
Liz leaned into her. Slowly. Her cheek skimmed Erin’s and then her mouth was at her ear. “Go, Erin. Go far and fast from me.”
Erin’s body continued reacting differently from her mind. She squeezed Liz’s arm and said, “Then I’ll find her on my own.”
Liz pulled back to stare at her.
“Don’t think I can? Well, I will. Because what you don’t understand is that I’ll do anything to protect you.”
Liz didn’t respond.
Erin released her grip. “Anything.” She turned then and walked away, tears burning her eyes and her throat.
Liz watched her walk away. She squeezed her fists so hard she thought she’d break her hands. Shuddering from Erin’s lingering scent, she whispered, “So would I.”
*
Patricia didn’t bother with the doorbell, she went straight to knocking instead, rapping on the door so hard her knuckles felt like shattering beneath her skin. When there was no answer, she turned her fist and began pounding.
