by Lisa Jackson
“Today—yes. The blacker, the better.” She remembered drinking more wine than she should have, kissing him on her little couch, then nearly making love to him only a few hours earlier. It seemed foolish now in the light of day. She put a wiggling Mikado down on the floor and he immediately walked into the kitchen, inspecting Jennings’s empty food dish.
“Don’t let him fool you. I already fed him and took him outside for his morning constitutional.”
“And brewed the coffee.”
“Efficiency’s my middle name.” He handed the steaming mug to her and she took it gratefully.
“I guess, but you’re in trouble, Reed, because now I know your secret,” she said, blowing across her cup.
He arched an eyebrow, silently encouraging her as he leaned his hips against the counter and drank from a chipped cup she’d bought years ago at a garage sale.
“Hard-boiled ace detective at night, domestic goddess in the morning.”
He nearly choked on a swallow. “Yeah, that’s me, all right.”
“You could hire out.”
“I might have to,” he admitted. “After this case, I’ll probably lose my badge.”
“The police department’s loss is Merry Maid’s gain,” she quipped, referring to a local housekeeping service. She took an experimental sip. The coffee was hot and strong.
“Just as long as you don’t print it.”
“Moi?” she mocked, splaying the fingers of one hand over her heart. “Never!”
“Yeah, right.” He drained his cup, tossed the dregs into her sink, then slid into his socks and shoes. “It’s been fun, but duty calls.” He tucked in his shirt, slid one arm through his holster and grabbed his jacket.
“Keep me posted,” she said. “If you hear anything about Simone.”
“I will.” He started for the door, then turned quickly and cleared his throat. “About last night…”
“Don’t.” Holding up a hand, she said, “Let’s just forget it.”
He felt a slow smile spread from one side of his mouth to the other. “Just for the record, let’s get something straight.”
“What?”
Though he knew he was probably making a mistake he’d regret for the rest of his life, he crossed the short distance between them, removed the cup from her fingers, wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her body tight against his.
“What’re you—?”
He kissed her. Soundly. So there would be no question about what he felt. She squeaked a bit of a protest before her lips molded to his and she melted against him, locking her arms around his neck before he finally lifted his head. “Now, do we have an understanding?”
She raised slumberous green eyes to his. “And how, Detective. And how.”
Sylvie Morrisette punched the accelerator of her little car and tore around a corner on her way to work. She’d just dropped her kids off at school and preschool. For once, both her daughter and son were healthy and in school, seemingly not suffering from the lack of “quality time” with their mother. Fortunately Bart, their unemployed, broke father was pinch-hitting in the care department and for that, Sylvie was grateful. At least he seemed to understand that until the Grave Robber was nabbed, Morrisette would be logging in hours and hours of overtime.
But she missed working with Reed.
Cliff Siebert was a pansy-ass and a hothead. Smart enough, but flawed. Morrisette’s friend Celia had once made the comment that all men were seriously flawed, it was just in their nature, but Sylvie thought it went further than that. They were fatally flawed. Period.
As proved by Reed.
What the hell was he thinking?
She slid in her favorite Alabama CD and cranked up the bass as the country music filled her car. What the hell was Reed thinking, getting involved with Nikki Gillette? He could protest it to the heavens, but Morrisette recognized what she’d witnessed last night when they were together. The guy was getting crotch-deep in trouble. Hadn’t he learned anything with Bobbi Jean Marx?
Morrisette poked in the cigarette lighter as she braked for an amber light that was about to turn red. She’d never thought Pierce Reed was a fool, but she’d been wrong, she decided, picking up her pack of Marlboro Lights and shaking out a cig. When it came to women, Reed thought with his dick. The lighter clicked and she lit up just as the traffic light turned to green. Rolling down the window, she made a final turn toward the station.
Her cell phone beeped. “Great. Just give me two minutes, will ya?” she growled as she pushed the mute button on her CD player and flipped her phone open. “Detective Morrisette.”
“Where are you?” Cliff Siebert.
“In the lot. I’ll be up in half a minute.”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I just got a call from the caretaker at Peltier Cemetery.”
“Don’t tell me. Our boy’s been busy.”
“You got it. A unit’s already been dispatched and Diane Moses has been called.”
“Okay, hotshot. Let’s go check it out.”
“I’m on my way down,” Cliff said and hung up.
Morrisette took a long drag on her cigarette and wished to hell that she was waiting for Reed instead of Siebert.
Just as Reed’s El Dorado wheeled into the lot.
Nikki dashed around the puddles in the parking lot and held her purse over her head as a cloudburst drenched the city. She fumbled with the lock on her car door before she realized the Subaru was open. “Stupid,” she muttered, feeling raindrops slide beneath the collar of her coat. In her haste yesterday, she must’ve left the damned car unlocked, inviting anyone in. She was lucky she still had her stereo.
She dropped her purse and laptop onto the passenger seat and finger-combed her hair as she slid behind the wheel. She looked the wreck she was. She’d slept fitfully and only a few hours. But she had to go into work and try to sort through all the clues she had on the Grave Robber. That bastard had her friend and Nikki intended to ferret him out. She’d search the Internet, the archives at the paper, talk to anyone who knew anything about LeRoy Chevalier and the damned trial. Especially the jurors who were still living. Maybe one of them had seen Chevalier recently…and she’d talk to the kid in Dahlonega. And Ken Stern, Carol Legittel’s brother, along with Stephen and Joey Legittel and anyone else connected with the original trial. She’d leave no stone unturned.
Deciding her hair and makeup were a lost cause, she plunged her key into the ignition when she noticed her cell phone in the cup holder.
Her hands froze over the wheel. The phone wasn’t there last night. It wasn’t. She and Reed had looked…Her stomach twisted at the thought that someone had been watching. Waiting. She swallowed hard, glanced through the foggy windows and saw no one. Double checked the backseat and hatch area, but the car was empty. Telling herself not to panic, she picked up the phone and checked for messages…none. But when she looked at the menu for missed calls she saw Simone’s number. “Oh, God.” She bit her lip and pressed the menu button for recent outgoing calls. The last one was Simone’s number.
“Shit.” She blinked hard and was about to call Reed when she noticed the corner of a padded envelope sticking out from under the passenger seat. Some old notes that had slid from her briefcase. But she didn’t remember losing anything.
It was unfamiliar.
Probably left when the phone had been returned. By someone who had been watching her place. Someone who had probably seen her return. With Reed.
Her heart pounded with dread.
Tugging the packet out of its hiding spot, she felt a cold, deadly premonition, a sliver of fear slide down her spine. The packet wasn’t sealed, nor addressed, nor did it have any hint of postage. Inside was a single cassette tape.
From the Grave Robber.
He’d been in her car, not once, but twice. Once to steal her cell phone, the other to return it with this package. All the spit dried in her mouth. Again, she peered frantically through the fogging windows, but she caught no gl
immer of anything out of the ordinary on this gray December morning….
She thought about taking the envelope back to her apartment, locking the door and calling Reed. Instead, she locked the car doors. As if that’ll do any good. He’s got the key, remember? Unless you left it unlocked.
She turned on the ignition and backed out of her space. There was a chance he might be watching, might be hidden in the mist of early morning. With shaking fingers she eased the hatchback out of the lot and headed toward the police station.
At the first red light, she popped the cassette into the tape deck. For a second there was only silence, the hum of the tape running and then a few muffled scratches and scrapes. A sharp bang, the tape hissing, and a woman’s voice.
“Oooh.” A long, lonely, soul-wrenching moan.
The hairs on the back of Nikki’s neck stood on end.
There was a second of silence…then another painful groan.
The spit in Nikki’s mouth dried.
A scrape and more intense moaning.
“Jesus,” Nikki whispered, her heart hammering. “No.” Her mind was racing, her fingers clenching the wheel in a death grip. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t!
More moaning and scraping, frantic clawing and then…oh, God…she heard Simone’s voice as clearly as if her friend were seated in the seat next to her.
“No! Let me out…please…” Simone pleaded.
Nikki’s hand flew to her mouth. She let out a horrified cry. No, no, no! Her eyes and throat burned. Not Simone! NOT SIMONE!
“Help me! Help me! Oh, God, please help me!” Simone screamed above a frantic pounding and scraping.
“Please, no,” Nikki whispered, imagining her friend’s terror, the horror of being locked in a coffin underground.
A loud bang. Then a snap and a yelp.
Nikki jumped. Her foot slid off the brake.
The car jerked forward before she tromped on the brake again. But she didn’t see the traffic nor hear the horns blasting at her. All she heard, all she imagined was her friend. Naked. Cold. Scared out of her wits.
There was more pounding and frantic breathing on the tape. Mewling. Crying.
Nikki’s skin crawled and she began to cry, tears running from her eyes.
A horn blared. Startled, Nikki saw that the light had changed. She punched the accelerator, tires squealing through the intersection, barely noticing the trucker who held out his hands as if asking her what she was thinking. Her concentration was on the horrific noises, the scraping and mewling and sheer panic emanating from the speakers. She could barely maneuver her hatchback into the next alley.
Trembling, she threw her little car into park.
Tears rained from her eyes as the Subaru idled. The hideous clawing, banging and crying poured from the speakers.
“Help me…please…Andrew? Nikki? Someone…I’ll do anything…where am I?” Nikki began to shake uncontrollably. Simone was crying, whispering incoherently, but still Nikki heard her despair. Her fear. Her abject horror.
“Oh, no…” Nikki whispered to the empty car. “No! No!” Angrily, she pounded an impotent fist on the steering wheel.
There was a gap in the tape, silence for a while, then Simone’s voice again. Frailer now, fading. Gasping. “I can’t see…please, let me out,” she pled and Nikki squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the ghastly image of Simone lying in a coffin somewhere, no doubt wedged onto the top of a decomposing dead person while the air slowly seeped out of the tomb. “…Oh, God, help me…”
“I wish I could,” Nikki said, knowing in her heart it was too late.
A tortured scream ripped through the car’s interior, a shriek of fear so horrifying Nikki knew it would be with her for the rest of her life. She threw open the door and retched at the side of the alley, all the while hearing the last pitiful sounds coming from the stereo.
As she straightened in the seat and wiped her sleeve over her mouth, she closed her eyes. Imagined the horror her friend had experienced.
“Please God…don’t let me die alone…”
A scream of pure agony ripped through the speakers and Nikki sobbed out loud.
“No…no, please, Simone…”
She strained to listen, but heard nothing more.
Just the cold hiss of the empty tape.
CHAPTER 27
“Trouble at Peltier Cemetery,” Morrisette said as Reed climbed out of his Caddy. She was standing in the department parking lot, the driver’s door to a cruiser open and waiting, taking a final drag on her cigarette, Cliff Siebert ready to ride shotgun. At the news, Reed tensed. Imagined the victim was Simone Everly. Knew Nikki would be destroyed. “A grave disturbed last night.”
“Damn.” Reed’s jaw ached.
“Hey! He’s not on the case,” Siebert reminded her sullenly. “Let’s go.”
“Hold on a minute, bucko.” Morrisette looked pissed and tired as hell as she flicked the remains of her filter tip into a puddle where it sizzled and died. This case was getting to her, to them all. “We’ve got a little time,” she flung over her shoulder. “Dispatch has already sent a car and Diane Moses’s people are on their way, right?”
“Yeah, but this is our case.”
“We’re going. Just give me a minute.” Morrisette slammed the cruiser’s driver’s-side door shut as the younger cop slid into the passenger seat. “Overanxious idiot,” she muttered under her breath as she and Reed met. “Look, we don’t know yet, but our best guess is that Simone Everly is in that coffin. You might want to come along and then, if so, contact Nikki Gillette yourself. I know they were close and oh, hell, I gotta go, but I laid into her pretty bad last night.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“What are the odds that it’s someone else?” Morrisette asked.
Reed didn’t want to think. “I’ll meet you there,” he said as his cell phone beeped. Caller ID indicated Nikki was on the line.
Or someone who’d taken her phone.
His gut clenched. “Reed,” he answered as Morrisette climbed into the cruiser and wheeled out of the lot.
“Thank God. Pierce…oh…he contacted me,” she said, her words barely gasps.
“Who?” But he knew. He was already on his way to the El Dorado.
“I got a package. A recording…oh…God, it’s Simone. He killed her. That damned bastard buried her alive and sent me the recording.” She was crying. Hiccuping and sniffing.
“Where are you?” Holding the phone to his ear, he found his keys and started the engine.
“In an alley. Not far from home.” She gave him the cross street and address.
“Are you safe?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did anyone follow you?” He nosed the Caddy into traffic.
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered and there was a pause. “I don’t know.”
“Lock the doors and stay on the line with me. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Good.”
He made it in seven and Nikki was never so glad to see anyone in her life. She threw open the car door and flung herself into his arms. “That son of a bitch. That goddamned son of a bitch killed her.” She wanted to sink into the strength of him, to close off the world, to find some kind of solace in someone stronger.
“Shh,” he whispered into her hair as raindrops fell from a gray Savannah sky. He held her close. So close and it felt so right. “I’m here.”
She shuddered, trying to erase Simone’s screams from her mind, knowing, rationally, that she couldn’t help her friend by falling apart and yet emotionally splintering into a million painful pieces. “He left it in my car,” she said, sniffing and finally pulling her head back to look up at him and see the concern etched upon his features.
“Was the car locked?”
“No, but maybe I forgot…I don’t know…he’s been in the car before. Got my cell phone.”
“Do you have an extra key?”
“No…well, yes. I left one with my
dad years ago, with the house keys. You know, in case there was a problem. Kind of a backup?”
“No one else?”
“No, I don’t think so…”
“Simone?”
Nikki snorted as she thought of her friend’s sleek BMW. “She never borrowed it, no.”
“What about that old boyfriend?”
“Sean?”
“Yeah.”
“Not recently. But maybe. Oh, I let lots of people use it over the years. It’s old enough to have a cassette player rather than a CD player.”
“Can I see the tape?”
She nodded.
“Listen to it?”
“Oh, God.”
“It can wait.”
“No…it’s all right.” Reluctantly she pulled out of his embrace and they both got into her car. Nikki started the engine and rewound the tape, then played it for Reed. Again, Simone’s voice filled the small interior, again, horrid images cut through Nikki’s mind. Finally, there was only silence.
“Jesus,” Reed whispered and it almost sounded like a prayer.
“She’s dead…” Nikki felt the tears again, tears borne of sorrow, pain and guilt. Overwhelming guilt. If only she’d met her friend last night. If only she’d called…
He grabbed her hand. Laced his fingers through hers. “There’s been another disturbance at a cemetery.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “You found her?”
“Don’t know yet. A team’s been sent to Peltier Cemetery just outside the city.”
“We have to go there. Now.”
“I won’t be able to let you inside the scene,” he said, his eyes dark, the fingers holding hers tightening. “You can stay in the car or join the rest of the press, but that’s as far as it’ll go.”
“But you’ll let me know if the body is Simone.”
“Absolutely.”
She leaned back against the headrest, closed her eyes and drew in a big, calming breath, the kind Jake Vaughn insisted they take before and after kickboxing class. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
