by Kate Aeon
Jess nodded, cocking her head to one side. “Okay...”
“You seem like someone who would be good to have as a friend, and I could really use a friend right now. I have no one to talk to. No one.”
Jess said, “Me?”
“You’re... smart. Thoughtful. A genuine grown-up. I’m looking at losing a fortune right now, and realizing I’m connected through this place to something horrible. I’m realizing that at least one person I liked and thought I knew has done things so brutal that I can’t even imagine them.” She rubbed her temples, an expression of pain on her face. “My life is suddenly not going the way I’d planned. And I don’t know how to fix anything. And I just thought, well, maybe it would be nice if you and I went out for coffee sometimes. Maybe... shopping, if you like to shop. I need someone to talk to. And I imagine you do, too, with everything you have going on.”
“Coffee sounds good,” Jess said.
“You want to, then?”
If you’re going to talk to me? Tell me the secrets of this place and the people in it? Damn straight, Jess thought. All she said was, “Yes. I think that would be very nice.”
“Want to go now?”
Jess had not held a conversation with a woman who was not a cop, a criminal, a victim, or a potential witness in about ten years. She wasn’t sure if she remembered how casual conversation between women worked. Teri seemed nice enough, and Jess liked her for watching out for her dancers and for working so hard to keep at least one part of Goldcastle straight. It was hard to equate Teri the businesswoman with Teri the porn star.
Right at that moment, Jess wanted to get out of the club, find Hank, fall into his arms and let him work the magic that took her away from all the world’s awfulness. She was exhausted, her bizarre night had segued into an equally bizarre day, and if she let her eyelids slide closed, she could feel Hank holding her, could hear him whispering to her, could almost let her legs wrap around him and... yes. Well.
But Hank was working with Jim and Charlie. Another dancer was dead. Teri might be able to tell Jess something about this situation that she needed to know. And even if Teri couldn’t, she might know something that would send the HSCU detectives in the right direction. Besides, right at that moment, Jess sure as hell didn’t feel like approaching Lenny about having a public-place dinner together.
“Sure,” she said. “I’d love to. Let me get changed and I’m out of here.”
Hank stopped off at the dojo and dug into the back of his closet for his duffel bag, which contained a graft compression mask and shirt that he’d worn in his last round of surgeries. He’d tossed the bag in there when he first bought the dojo and hadn’t moved it since. He probably shouldn’t have even kept the compression mask — but he thought it was important to remember where he came from. Sometimes it was easy to forget how well he had things compared to how they had been even a handful of years earlier, and the presence of those bandages warded off any temptation to indulge in self-pity.
But since he was undercover in Goldcastle and couldn’t allow himself to be identified with Jim and Charlie when the killer might be watching — and since serial killers had a tendency to flit around the background of the scenes of their crimes, looking for a little extra bang for their buck — Hank figured he might as well put the old gear to use. People could think he was a burn victim. That would work. So long as they wouldn’t be able to connect him with the guy sitting right up against the stage at the strip club, he was happy.
He was tempted to call Jess to make sure she was all right. But she might be doing something as Gracie that a call from him could compromise. He decided to wait and see her when he was done with this business for Jim and Charlie.
The heat shimmering off the pavement made the scene of the latest body dump gruesome. The coroner had removed the girl’s body right before Hank got there — traffic had slowed him down and the cops had to get her on ice fast to preserve evidence. The heavy, sickly sweet stink of death still clogged the still, humid air, though. It and the awful heat slammed Hank as soon as he stepped out of his car. The heavy elastic of the old-style fitted compression bandages didn’t help matters any. The bandages had always been hot even in cold weather. Jim spotted him and waved him over. “Haven’t seen that face in quite some time.”
“Didn’t want the wrong person to recognize me,” Hank said. “Don’t tell me any more about what you’ve got here than you already have.” He could see chalk marks inside the yellow-taped crime scene. “Tell me where you want me to read, and I’ll give you what I can.”
“I marked off three squares for you on the pavement,” Jim said. “Those were areas that had good contact with... well, things.”
Hank nodded, walked along the line Jim pointed out to him, and crouched beside the first white chalk-drawn square. “Here?”
Jim was right behind him. “Yeah.”
“Everybody else out of earshot? I can’t see a damned thing down here.”
Charlie looked sick. Hank, shaking his hand, had gotten flashes of exhaustion, depression, a desperate desire to be done with all of this and gone to some shining lake with his wife and kids. This thing was haunting him, chewing him up a day at a time, a piece at a time. Charlie had a daughter the age of most of these girls, Hank realized. Early twenties. He was looking at these dead girls and seeing his oldest kid.
Charlie set a tape recorder on the ground next to Hank. “You’re clear all the way around. Go ahead.”
Hank rested the fingertips of his right hand lightly on the ground inside the square.
And he got dozens of women’s touches, worries about price, quality, one that doubted the beadwork would stay on. But none that belonged to a killer and none that belonged to a woman who had just been killed.
“This feels unrelated to the crime,” Hank said. He passed on the comments and concerns he felt, and said, “I don’t know how this relates.”
“It was a handbag,” Jim said. “Matched what the victim was wearing. But it was empty. Might have just been a prop — something that the killer bought but was careful not to touch.” He frowned and wrote something in a notebook. “Move to the next one.”
Hank duckwalked two steps forward, touched down in the center of the second square.
“Girl talking. Laughing. Very excited about being in a movie. The killer’s touch is stronger here than the presence of the victim, but this isn’t a lust killing. This is... strange. There’s no hint of violence in this scene. The girl is laughing. Happy. And then she isn’t there anymore.”
“What about torture? Rape? Fear? This girl was murdered. Almost identical to the MO we have on the other four.” Charlie wasn’t looking at Hank when he asked. He was staring down at the little chalked squares, seeing what had been there before the police bagged the evidence and hauled it off.
“Inside her own head, the victim wasn’t murdered,” Hank said. “She was there, and then she just went away. The last thing I have from her is excitement about her career.”
“But you feel the killer here.”
“Strongly. Same killer. Completely different motive. This is just...” Hank closed his eyes. “Just... shit. Confusing as hell. Let me try the third spot.”
All three of them moved again.
Hank put down his hand, said, “Impressions on square three — nothing whatsoever on the girl. The killer is clear here. Putting down something that is supposed to send the police in the wrong direction. He thinks it’s funny as hell. The girl is dead for the same reason. Because she doesn’t fit. Because he thinks someone may be getting close to the truth, and this is a game he’s not quite ready to end yet.”
He opened himself to more of that touch, and at the back of it, he found Jess again. Jess, who was the real target. The one the killer was waiting for, working toward. In the back of the monster’s mind, Jess already lay in a grid of six by six, brutally murdered. “Omega... and alpha,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
“He thinks of Jess as Om
ega. And... alpha. But not.” And then it hit him. “Oh, hell.” He stood and wiped sweat out of his eyes. “Alpha isn’t Jess. Alpha is her twin sister, Ginny. That’s why the killer wants Jess. Jess has been working her way toward this bastard since she became a cop, only he spotted her first. And he wants to make her the closing act of his current collection.”
“It’s got to be Lenny,” Jim said. “Got to be. He was the sister’s boyfriend way back then. And here he still is, same business but a different name, hitting on Jess, following her home. Closing out a chapter."
Hank said, “I’ve read Lenny. The person I’m feeling isn’t him.”
Jim said, “No. No. I would have agreed with you before, but no. Not now. Things are clicking with Lenny. We have two fingerprints on one of the victim’s shiny blue patent leather shoes this time, and I’m betting that Lenny rings our bell.”
“Not going to be Lenny,” Hank said.
“Tech was supposed to run the prints first,” Charlie said. “If it’s Lenny, we have several complete sets of prints on file for him since he stepped up from juvie crime. We should have a hit by now.”
Jim made sure Hank was looking at him, and cut his eyes sidelong at Charlie, and Hank saw a flash of worry cross Jim’s face. Jim plastered on a cocky grin and said, “Going to be Lenny. I’m in for ten,” and he stared at Hank. Willing him to get this fake jocularity.
And Hank did get it, because he could see Charlie sinking fast. This bet, this black humor, was about getting Charlie’s mind off what they were doing, this hell they were in the middle of, where Charlie was dealing with girls the age of his oldest kid — pretty girls like her, only badly dead and dumped like garbage.
Hank said, “All right. Ten. I’ll go more if you want. It isn’t going to be Lenny.”
Charlie looked at them both. Gnawed the inside of the corner of his mouth. “I’m not betting on this one. But I like Lenny for this whole thing. He fits. Hank seems too sure, though, and I’m saving every penny I get for retirement, which cannot get here fast enough.”
“Bullshit. You’re a cheap bastard is all,” Jim said. “But since you’re the guy with nothing to lose, you make the call.”
Hank watched Charlie call in to HSCU, heard him say, “Charlie here. We got a positive ID on those prints?” He grinned a little, looked at Jim, then Hank, then back to Jim. “Got it. Thanks.” He cut the call. “We have a winner.”
“It was Lenny,” Jim said. “Ha!”
Hank waited.
Jim glanced from Hank to Charlie.
Charlie said, “We also have a positive ID on the prints.”
Jim said, “Charlie, you prick, get it out or I will not be responsible for my actions.”
Charlie managed a small grin in Hank’s direction. “You heard what he did to me the last time he wasn’t responsible for his actions.”
“Habanero sauce in your sandwich.” Hank turned to Jim. “It’s that sense of humor, incidentally, that has earned you three divorces.”
“I guess news travels fast.” Jim had managed to kick Charlie out of that dark place where too much death and too much horror would send a man. He’d provided a distraction, thin though it was. Hank had to admire Jim for pushing Charlie away from the edge of the pit. Charlie actually smiled as he said to Jim, “It’s not Lenny. You owe Hank ten bucks, you arrogant know-it-all. But... you remember the computer millionaire whose hot little housekeeper charged him with sexual harassment and a couple of bigger goodies last year?”
“The case settled out of court,” Jim said. “Gag orders on both parties, records sealed. She was after his money, but she had to have had something on him, to walk away with the stack of green I heard she got.”
“Maybe she had a lot more on him than anyone thought. The prints on the shoe were his.”
Hank said, “You two talking about Wayne Alton? The game guy?”
“Yes,” Charlie said.
Hank said, “He’s in Goldcastle a lot.”
“He is indeed,” Jim said. “Has dated a whole string of the girls. He’s very popular. Everybody loves Wayne.”
Hank said, “I did a couple of reads on him, Jim. Wayne loves S-and-M and girls in cages. He likes to date fresh new dancers and see how far into kink he can drag them. So I’d guess not everybody loves him.”
“We know about his hobbies. Thanks to Wayne hitting on Jess hard yesterday, we did a file on him. Neither one of us has slept since this thing broke, and Charlie’s wife is sure now that Charlie’s a figment of her imagination, but we have met the real Wayne, and he is a freaky, creepy, sick son of a bitch.”
“He’s not the killer, though,” Hank said.
And both Charlie and Jim turned to stare at Hank with expressions of pure exasperation. “Is your killer sniffer broke?” Jim asked.
“I read Wayne. When I did, I got all the creepy and freaky you could ever want. But... the monster who’s killing the dancers has a shape. A presence. I touch something he’s touched and it’s like this black plastic bag slides down over my head. I can’t see, I can’t breathe, I feel the panic of more scared, dying women than I can count and this cold inside of me that defies description. I get queasy; my gut wrenches.” He stood there thinking about it for a moment. “It’s as clear to me as a fingerprint is to you.”
“But we can admit fingerprints in court,” Charlie said.
“I know. All I can tell you is, I’m as sure that Wayne Alton isn’t the killer as I was sure that Northwhite’s fingerprint wouldn’t be on that shoe.” Hank said, “I’m heading over to Jess’s place. I’ll update her on what I got, and see what she came up with after I left. I’ll take a message if you want.”
Jim said, “I’ll call her tonight to give her the brief. We’ll set up another meeting after we get more info on this latest girl, but we don’t need to bring her in again just yet. We still don’t even have a name on this one.”
“I’ll tell Jess.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Try the Costa Rican Chocolate Blend. All their stuff is wonderful, but their Costa Rican Chocolate Blend is the best coffee on the planet.”
Jess, standing at the counter in the little coffee bar beside Teri, said, “I should never drink the best coffee on the planet. Most of the time, I’m in places that only offer the absolute worst coffee on the planet. My taste buds don’t need to get their hopes up.” She scanned the menu and shook her head. “I should get something decaffeinated anyway. I haven’t been sleeping worth shit since I started this job. My plans when I get home today are a long shower, a long nap, and then straight to bed.”
Teri laughed. “God, I understand that. Between coming in early and leaving late, I manage on five hours of sleep most days. Sometimes less.” She was studying Jess’s face. “You know what? You look good even without makeup. Not exotic or glamorous or anything. But... good.”
Jess was a bit startled by the observation. “Well... thanks. I generally don’t wear makeup,” she admitted. “It makes my skin itch. Besides, I’m comfortable with my own face.”
Teri smiled. “It’s nice seeing women with their real faces. We don’t often, you know? We don’t often show our own faces, either. We’re always in disguise — because when you think about it, that’s all makeup is. Us pretending to be something we aren’t.”
“I suppose.” Jess got decaffeinated black something-or-other with a stupid name, plus a giant cookie, Teri got a cup of her favorite, and they took a seat at one of the little tables. “I never thought about it much. I’ll use lip gloss because it keeps my lips from getting dry. Dancing aside, I don’t bother with anything else.”
They drank their coffee for a moment, neither saying anything. And the coffee was, unfortunately, very good. The mere memory of it was going to make the swill at the police station taste even more gruesome, something she would not have thought possible. She took small sips, closed her eyes, and smiled.
“I was right about all their coffee being good, wasn’t I?”
“Beyond
a doubt. You come here often?”
“It’s one of my favorite places.”
They looked out the window, and out of the corner of her eye, Jess saw the surveillance van slide into a parking space not too far away. It had circled the block twice before finding an opening, and Jess was worried that Teri was going to say something important while they were out of range.
Jess leaned back in her chair, put her cup on the table, and said, “You sounded down earlier.”
Teri gave a bitter laugh. “I am down. Goldcastle has the customers coming in, so the money is still there, but a lot of our recent traffic has been gawkers. Sightseers. I’ve noticed a lot of our regulars missing, and who can blame them, considering the news? If they come in, they take a chance of looking like suspects. Plus, we’re losing dancers left and right. Things are going on upstairs that I have no control over, and Lenny is... God, I cannot even begin to describe my problems with Lenny.”
Jess sipped her coffee and waited.
“Well, some of Lenny I clearly don’t have to describe.”
Jess took a bite of the cookie, and raised her eyebrows in silent agreement.
And Teri sighed. “I’m afraid of him. I’m afraid he has something to do with the girls who have died. He’s... well, in private, he’s very, very scary.”
Jess said, “In what way?”
Teri looked down at her hands and shook her head. Jess realized the other woman’s hands were shaking. Teri seemed to realize it at the same time and hid them on her lap. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s mere speculation, and speculation is nothing I want to be a party to. Innocent people get hurt that way, and I don’t want to contribute to gossip.” And then she flushed, and said, “Not that I was suggesting that you would gossip if I said anything.”
Jess put a reassuring smile on her face and said, “I wouldn’t,” in her best sincere voice. “And I understand you not wanting to speculate about someone when you don’t know anything is definitely wrong. I think that’s admirable.” She created a carefully timed pause with a sip of coffee, and said, “The world would be a better place if all the people who suspected things took the time to find out the truth, and all the people who knew the truth told it.” She caught a flash of guilt and fear in Teri’s eyes, quickly hidden. Yeah. Teri knew something about Lenny. She was afraid of Lenny, vulnerable to him somehow. Maybe he was blackmailing her, though Jess had a hard time imagining anything a man could use to blackmail an ex-porn star.
