“He didn’t hear Ms. Ames screaming?”
“I asked him that, too. He said no, he’s a heavy sleeper.”
Val frowned. “Rick heard her from two doors down and Tim didn’t hear her from the parsonage? Interesting.”
“That’s what he said.”
“What about Ms. Ames?”
“She couldn’t sleep, went for a run. Said she heard a sound coming from the garden and went to investigate.”
“Went for a run at what? At three a.m.?”
“No kidding. That one’s a little off.”
Val’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”
“Said the church called her.” He cocked an eyebrow, and Carla nodded. “Her words. Said she ran past the church, then stopped up at the corner of Fleming Street. Said it was as if someone had called her name. Said she’d felt like the church had called her.”
“She actually heard a voice calling?”
“Not an actual voice. A voice in her head. A compulsion.” At her boss’s expression she lifted a shoulder. “I’m only telling you what she told me. Anyway, she was pretty rattled. Kept saying she could have saved the kid if she had only come sooner.”
“Had she been drinking? Using?”
“She looked straight. Pupils responded to light. Her balance and speech seemed fine.”
He let out a frustrated-sounding breath. “Great. Our first to the scene hears voices. The press’ll love that.”
“My feeling is she’ll recant that bit about the church in the morning.”
“Don’t be too certain of that,” Val muttered. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Ms. Ames knew the victim.”
“Excuse me?”
“ Tara was a client of hers. Recommended by Pastor Collins. Is this one small town, or what?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Or what is right.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Pastor Collins and Elizabeth Ames, two of the people at the scene tonight, had a relationship with the victim. Elizabeth Ames was first to the scene.”
“You think it might be something?”
“Don’t know. At this point, I’m not eliminating anything.” Val glanced toward the garden entrance, then back at her. “Isn’t that door locked at night?”
She nodded. “Ever since those kids vandalized the statuary.”
“So, how did the victim…and her killer get in?”
“I didn’t think to ask that question.”
“Well, ask it.” He glanced toward the parking lot. “The evidence guys are here. Charlie’s been called?”
“I think so,” she responded, rubbing her arms. “I’ll double-check to be sure.”
“Good. And make sure Dr. Dan up in Marathon got word. I want the autopsy results ASAP.”
She nodded and glanced sideways at the evidence guy heading their way. “Anything else?”
“I want to know everything about this girl-who her friends were, who she was dating. I want you to talk to her teachers, neighbors, everybody.” He shifted his attention to the other officers. “Hello, boys. Body’s in the garden.”
He watched them a moment, then turned back to her, expression grim. “I want to know how she spent her last twenty-four hours, who she talked with, where she went, what she ate. Everything. Got all that?”
She nodded and closed her notebook. “What about the press?”
“We’ll hold them off as long as possible. I’d love to have a suspect before the story breaks. I talked to Chief Reid on my way over here, he agrees.”
“What about her next of kin?”
“I’ll do it.” He glanced at his watch and she sensed him trying to gauge how long he could avoid making that visit. “I’m going to hang around, make sure everything’s done to the letter. Then I’ll…take care of it.”
CHAPTER 17
Saturday, November 10
8:00 a.m.
Rick tapped on Val’s open door. His friend glanced up. From the other man’s haggard appearance, he had gotten about as much sleep as Rick had: zero.
Instead of grabbing a couple hours shut-eye the night before, Rick had paced, unable to rest. He had recognized the killer’s style. The markings on Tara ’s torso and limbs. The positioning of her body. But he hadn’t been able to place where he recognized them from.
Not at first, anyway.
“We’ve got a problem,” Rick said, striding into his friend’s office.
Val passed a hand across his face, weary. “I’m not going to argue with you about that. I just got off back-to-back phone calls from the mayor, the head of the tourist commission and three reporters, one with the Miami Herald.”
“Count on them continuing.” Rick dropped a sheaf of computer printouts on his friend’s desk. “Take a look at this.”
“What is it?”
“Some stuff I got off the Internet last night.” He rubbed his aching eyes, scratchy from no sleep and hours staring at his computer screen. “Remember a string of serial killings in Miami a dozen or more years back? The New Testament Murders?” Val shook his head. “How about the name Gavin Taft?”
“Refresh my memory.”
“Just before I started with the Miami-Dade force, young women began turning up murdered. Their throats had been slit, their limbs and torsos carved up. The media dubbed them the New Testament Murders because of the crucifixion-style positioning of the victims and because a religious scholar claimed the ‘writings’ on the bodies represented Scripture passages from the New Testament.
“For years, the investigation yielded nothing. Until Taft, a twenty-four-year-old construction worker was stopped for a routine traffic violation and the officer recognized blood on Taft’s arms and hands.”
Val nodded. “Okay, it’s all coming back now. But wasn’t Taft convicted?”
“Yup. At this very moment, he’s sitting on death row, awaiting an appeal.”
“An appeal, of course.” Val scowled. “Same as the rest of the sick bastards on death row.”
“No, here’s the sick part. On the Internet I discovered a Gavin Taft fan club and several chat rooms devoted to a discussion of this monster’s kills.” He motioned the printout. “It’s all there.”
While his friend skimmed the documents, Rick paced, thoughts racing. Several of the chat-room police buffs believed that Taft hadn’t worked alone, that he’d had an accomplice. Still others speculated that Taft was innocent and that the real New Testament Killer roamed free.
“Dear Jesus,” Val murmured, lifting his gaze to Rick’s. “What do you think we’ve got here? A copycat?”
“Don’t know, could be. The similarities between Tara ’s murder and Taft’s killings are too great to ignore.”
“If not a copycat-”
“Could be Taft had an accomplice, just like some of those folks in the chat room speculate.”
Val looked skeptical. “So, what’s this accomplice been doing the past four years?”
“Maybe operating in a different part of the country. Maybe serving time for unrelated crimes.”
“Next you’re going to suggest that Taft’s not even the guy. That the wrong man was charged, tried and convicted.”
“It happens.”
“Not this time. They had physical evidence, Rick. DNA matches directly linking him to several of the murders.”
“But not all. And no murder weapon, no trophies.”
Val returned his gaze to the printouts. He thumbed through them, stopped on one and read. A moment later he looked back up. “I hear what you’re saying, but no way Taft’s not the guy.”
Rick met his friend’s gaze evenly. “Maybe an accomplice-”
Carla appeared at the door. She looked at Rick, then away. “You have a minute, Val?”
He waved her into the room. “Rick’s made a rather startling find, come take a look.”
She crossed to the desk, movements hesitant. Val handed her the papers. He shifted his attention back to Rick. “I appreciate you bringing me this. I’ll be in
touch.”
Rick ignored his friend’s obvious attempt to get rid of him and sat back in his chair. “What’s next?”
“For you, going home and getting some sleep.”
“I can live with that.” Rick smiled. “What’s next for you?”
“Butt out, my friend.”
“The ME’s report in yet?”
“Goodbye, Rick.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m involved. I was there last night.”
“You want to wear a badge, Rick? I can arrange it. Until then, however, I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you. And you know it.”
“Dammit, Val, I was there during the investigation. Just before they got him, I was assigned to the team.” He lowered his voice. “Then Jill got sick and everything fell apart.”
Val’s expression softened. “I know, and I’m sorry. I wish I could work with you on this, Rick. You were a hell of a cop. But I can’t. I need you to get uninvolved, ASAP.”
“Just for once, can’t you do something that isn’t by the book?” Rick coaxed, sending him what he hoped was his most convincing smile. “Always following the rules, even when we were kids. Always taking the high road.”
“And it cost me on more than one occasion,” Val murmured. “Because I played fair, I lost Jill.”
At the mention of his wife, Rick’s amusement evaporated. He glanced at Carla, who had stopped reading to follow their exchange, then back to his old friend. “We both lost her, now, didn’t we?”
Val paled, as if realizing just how far over the line he had crossed. “Shit, Rick, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Rick stood. “Forget about it. We’re both tired.”
Val followed Rick to his feet. “I appreciate you bringing us this. But I have to ask you to stand back and let us do our jobs. Can you do that for me?”
Rick studied his friend. If Val thought he was going to sit back and wait for him and Carla to muddle their way through this, he was out of his mind. He had missed the opportunity to work on the tail end of the Taft investigation because of Jill’s illness, and he wasn’t going to miss it again.
Besides, he had a feeling about this case, one deep in his gut.
Rick gave Val a small salute. “Whatever you say, old friend. Whatever you say.”
CHAPTER 18
Saturday, November 10
3:00 p.m.
Liz awakened with a start. She sat up in bed, disoriented. She glanced at the bedside clock and then blinked in disbelief.
Three o’clock? In the afternoon?
The events of the night before came crashing back: going for a run, finding Tara, the police questioning her, returning to her apartment and being unable to close her eyes without the horror engulfing her.
In desperation, she had taken a sleeping pill. One of the ones her therapist had prescribed back when she had been in the throes of a breakdown.
Back when? Right, she was on such an even keel now. Steady as a rock.
More like delusional. Had she really told that police officer that the church had called her? Had she really believed it?
Did she still?
Liz moaned and dragged the comforter to her chin. She felt as if she had spent the night wrestling the devil himself. Her body ached, as if she was bruised all over. She shifted her gaze to her window, her vision blurring with tears.
Poor Tara. She had been so young. She’d had so much to look forward to-love, marriage, children. Grandchildren.
The tears welled and spilled over. Liz found herself saying a silent prayer, something she hadn’t done in a long time. A prayer that Tara hadn’t suffered too much. That she was safe now, in the Lord’s loving and protective custody. At peace.
A lump formed in her throat. The monsters who had done this to Tara were the same ones who had made Rachel “disappear.” She believed that, even without more proof than what the police would see as circumstantial. Her gut instincts told her she was right.
They weren’t going to get away with it, she promised. She wasn’t going to allow them to.
Liz threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, fired with steely determination. The room started to spin and she grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.
She breathed deeply through her nose, focusing on what she needed to do. She didn’t have time for a nervous breakdown. She didn’t have time to be weak-kneed or light-headed. She needed to pay her respects to Tara ’s parents today. She wanted to speak with Pastor Collins. Perhaps he could help her. She felt he knew more than he was saying-about Tara ’s problem and her sister’s disappearance.
She released the bedpost and made her way cautiously to the closet. First, she would visit the police department. After the tragedy of the night before, Lieutenant Lopez would have to admit she was onto something. He couldn’t deny the link between her sister’s disappearance and Tara ’s murder.
Lieutenant Lopez didn’t see it that way. He looked at her, expression both incredulous and annoyed. “Let me summarize,” he murmured. “You believe that whoever murdered Tara also did away with your sister. You believe this to be true because…”
“Because Tara was in my sister’s counsel when Rachel disappeared. Tara was somehow involved in the illegal activities my sister spoke of. They killed my sister, then when Tara began seeing me, they killed her.”
The man tossed his pen on the desk. “I’m in the middle of a murder investigation, Ms. Ames. I don’t have time for your imaginings.”
“Imaginings!” she repeated. “A girl is dead! My sister is-”
“Missing,” he supplied. “If your sister was murdered, where’s the body? If she had discovered some huge, illegal operation on the island, why didn’t she come to me with it? Or Detective Chapman?” he added, motioning toward the other detective, the woman who had questioned Liz the night before. He shook his head. “Or anyone else on the force, for that matter?”
Liz had to admit, their argument made sense. But she hadn’t given them all of hers. She had to make them see it her way. “ Tara knew who killed Rachel. She was frightened they were going to kill her, too.”
Both detectives straightened. “She told you that?”
Liz hesitated. “Not just like that.”
The lieutenant leaned back in his chair. He sent a glance to his detective. Liz interpreted its meaning: nutcase.
“Then how?” he asked. “Did the church tell you?”
“Of course not!”
His eyebrows shot up. “But didn’t you tell Detective Chapman that Paradise Christian called to you last night? That the building urged you to come to it.”
Heat flew to her cheeks. “I was overwrought. When I said the church called to me, I meant I felt a strong…pull to go there.”
“That’s not what you said,” the woman detective murmured. “You said the building-”
“I know. I was upset. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“But you are now?”
“Yes.”
Lieutenant Lopez stared directly at Liz. “Let me ask you something, Ms. Ames. Do you find it…odd that even though you’ve only been in town what, two weeks, you were first to the scene of the only murder this year and that you knew the victim?”
Liz glanced from the lieutenant to the detective, confused. “I don’t follow.”
“It makes you an automatic suspect. Standard operating procedure, Ms. Ames.”
“That’s…crazy. I was out for a run and-”
“At three in the morning,” the other woman murmured. “Alone. No witnesses. With no better explanation for being there than ‘the church called to you.’ What do you think we should deduce from that?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but everything I told you is true. That’s just the way it happened.” She looked from one to the other again. “Surely you believe me?”
For a long moment, neither officer spoke. Then Lieutenant Lopez cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to Tara and your claim that she feared for her life. She didn’t co
me right out and say that, correct?”
He had wanted to shake her confidence, she realized. He had wanted her rattled, a little frightened. Well, it wasn’t going to work.
Liz stiffened and met his gaze. “Correct,” she said clearly. “I deduced it through her body language and expressions. The things she didn’t say.”
The lieutenant looked at his detective again. “Quick, Carla, we just learned a new interrogation technique, write down everything suspects don’t say.”
The woman smirked and Liz stood. “I’m a trained professional. It’s my job to interpret-”
“My job,” he interrupted, following her to her feet, “is to unearth the truth. Not to guess, infer or deduce. I deal in facts. Not feelings. Period.”
“But-”
He cut her off. “You are overwrought, Ms. Ames. Understandably so. Go home, let us do our job.”
Liz took another stab. “Take a look at this. Someone slipped it under my door while I was in my last session with Tara.” She retrieved the note from her purse and held it out.
He took it from her, read it and handed it back. “So?”
“It’s a threat.”
“Or a joke.”
“It’s not a joke!” She took a deep, steadying breath. “I received this while in session with Tara. Less than twelve hours later the girl was murdered. Why don’t you get it?”
The man’s expression softened with compassion. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Ames. You’ve been through…something awful. First your sister’s disappearance, now this.” He glanced at the other detective. “I tell you what, I’ll keep an open mind about this. I’ll have Carla check out your story, see if we can discover who left you that note. Will that help?”
“Yes,” she murmured, relief flowing over her. “Yes, that will help.”
CHAPTER 19
Saturday, November 10
4:30 p.m.
The medical examiner for the keys was an old friend of Rick’s. They had played ball together for the Key West High School Fighting Conchs. Rick had been the second-string quarterback, Daniel Carson a second-string receiver. Their sophomore year, the Conchs had won the state championship. Consequently, they had spent a lot of time on the bench together while the first string strutted their stuff. Later, when their paths had crossed professionally, they’d discovered they got along as well as men as they had as boys.
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