Violet’s head was reeling from all the information but she nodded when Jake asked if she understood how it worked. Once they'd finished with the alarm, she guided him to the kitchen. While she gathered plates and napkins for the pizza, she glanced over her shoulder. "I apologize again for my behavior last night. I know I ruined your evening." She held up her hand to stop his imminent denial. "I just wanted to thank you again for dinner."
She jumped when warm palms settled on her shoulders, almost dropping the glasses she just pulled from the rack.
"You didn’t ruin my evening."
Jake’s voice was low and husky and she couldn’t stop a shiver. Lifting the glasses from her hands, he deposited them on the counter. Then he gently turned her and with a finger under her chin, tilted her face until their eyes met. That same hum of awareness sparked her nerve endings when she gazed into his sea green eyes. She could stare into them forever. Up close, she could see little flecks of gold and blue. His lashes were short but thick. He had a tiny scar that bisected the end of his left eyebrow. He was more beautiful than any Greek god.
And more dangerous.
She moved away before he could lower his head the rest of the way and kiss her. She wasn’t prepared for the feelings he awakened in her. They were too intense, too powerful. She had no idea how to deal with them. Grabbing the goblets, she carried them to the table. If he were disappointed, he showed no signs. He followed with the bottle of wine she had opened earlier to breathe and filled their glasses. They talked about current events as they ate and found that they had similar views and opinions on several issues. Once they finished, they cleaned up together and then carried their glasses into the living room.
Violet flicked a switch, igniting the gas fireplace. Zeus curled up in his favorite spot on the rug and they settled on either end of the couch, facing each other.
"Do you ever get tired of all the snow?" Jake asked.
She smiled. "Sometimes, but I haven’t lived here long enough to hate it yet."
"I’ve only been here a few days and I’m sick of it already," he said with a rueful grin.
She smiled. "So are you from the South?"
"Born and raised in Montgomery, Ohio. My parents still live in the house I grew up in. In fact, I was thinking earlier how similar your neighborhood was to mine."
She smiled at the wistful tone in his voice. The neighborhood was the first thing that attracted her to this house. It was the kind of place she'd always wanted to live.
"It snows in Ohio," she pointed out.
"But not as much and not as long," he responded.
"Do you still live there?"
He shook his head. "After I graduated from Xavier, I joined the Academy. I’ve lived all over but for the last few years, I was based out of New York. Then six months ago, after I retired from the Bureau, I relocated to Indiana to work for my old partner's brother's security firm."
"So now you are closer to your parents."
He chuckled. "The only thing that would make my mom happier would be if I actually moved home. As it is, I've seen them several times the last few months as they pass through on their RV trips around the country."
"That sounds wonderful," she mused.
"Seeing my parents or the RV trips?" he asked.
"Both." She smiled.
"What about you? Where did you grow up?"
The only thing Violet hated talking about more than her family was her childhood. "I’m not from anywhere," she hedged. "My mom moved around a lot." Not a lie. She moved from one husband to the next.
"What about your father?"
It was an innocent question. He knew she had one…she'd told him about the missing picture. The peal of a cell phone saved her from having to answer that painful question. A quick glance at the clock told her it was later than she thought. Somehow the evening had flown by.
"Hold that thought," he said as he answered. "Kincaid."
She studied him while he spoke. Oh my, he was handsome. Without warning he bolted upright, his demeanor changing in a heartbeat. Gone was the charming, friendly date. In his place was the tough, rugged cop with a reputation for success.
"I’m on my way." He snapped the phone shut. "I have to leave." He strode purposefully to the door. Zeus scrambled to his feet and scampered after him, Violet close behind.
"Jake?" She stood back as he shoved his feet into his boots. "What is it? What’s wrong?"
She thought he was going to ignore her. Instead he pointed to the newly-installed alarm. "Make sure you set this thing as soon as the door closes and open it for no one. There's been another murder."
#
GPS was a great invention, Jake decided ten minutes later as he pulled up to the apartment complex the same time as both Turner and Maya Demaree. Down the street, a news van screeched to a halt and the blonde reporter jumped out.
He and Turner took the stairs side by side, with Maya nipping at their heels. He'd noticed the weird vibes those two threw off whenever they were in the same room. It was none of his business, but it wouldn’t take a crystal ball to figure out these two had been involved. And judging from the glares Maya sent Turner’s way, he’d bet the guy cut bait and ran.
A uniformed officer stood guard outside the open door, a small crowd of eager onlookers huddling close. Maya pushed past and approached the cop.
"What do we have in here, Curtis?"
An annoyed grunt caught his attention and Jake turned to see Turner’s eyes narrowed, his mouth a grim line.
"I’ll handle this, Officer Demaree," he said in a low, menacing voice.
Maya flushed. "Yes, of course." She stepped aside.
"Why don’t you take over crowd control? Make sure that Larrson woman doesn’t get within filming distance of the scene."
Maya’s mouth dropped open and angry red splotches mottled her smooth cheeks. She glared at Turner before spinning on her heel and stomping away. Turner didn’t seem to notice. He scribbled his name and dated the sign-in sheet and handed it to Jake. "What do we have in there, Curtis?" he asked, repeating Maya's earlier question. The other cop filled them in on the crime, called in by a neighbor. The woman had borrowed a sweater from the victim and was trying to return it. When there was no answer, she became worried and eventually called the police.
"Where is she now?"
Curtis pointed to an open doorway. "Officer Mulligan is with her."
Turner nodded. "We’ll want to talk to her later."
Jake entered the apartment and stopped in the bedroom doorway, his eyes cataloguing the entire room while Turner took out a notepad and sketched the surroundings. The crime scene photographer snapped away. The space was decidedly feminine, dominated by a pine sleigh bed, white down comforter hanging halfway off, sheets tangled at the foot. Lacy curtains were pulled closed over the small window. One drawer of a dresser positioned along the far wall was slightly ajar. A closet door stood open, clothes hanging neatly on plastic hangers, an overflowing basket on the floor waiting for laundry day. Finally he settled his gaze on the beautiful young woman. A brutal slash across her neck was responsible for the large crimson stain covering the silky white sheets. Clad only in ill-fitting red lingerie, her stomach bore the brutal burn mark left like a calling card by the killer.
Too late. They were too damn late. Another life snuffed out before they could stop the mad man terrorizing the city.
"How much you want to bet that bra is a 36D?" Turner asked.
"I wouldn’t take that bet," Jake drawled.
Once the photographer had what he needed, they stepped closer to examine the victim. With a sense of dread, Jake read the latest clue from the killer.
Roses are red
Violets smell sweet
Sonia’s not so lucky
But you are in for a treat
Four girls are now dead
I’m turning up the heat
How many more will die
Before my mission’s complete?
#
&
nbsp; The dream came back to Violet that night. She bolted upright with a gasp, knocking the sheets to her lap. A sheen of cold sweat coated her body. The mattress dipped as Zeus leapt up to comfort her. She cuddled him close, burying her head in his soft fur. It had been months since she experienced the familiar nightmare, the same gruesome images that haunted her sleep. She tried to wipe the vision from her mind but just as it always did, the dream brought back all the sadness of her childhood. She remembered the night that changed her life like it was yesterday.
Pushing the covers aside, she slid out of bed, Zeus plastered to her side. They padded downstairs to the kitchen and she turned the burner on under the kettle. She rummaged around her cabinets until she located the chamomile tea and stuck the bag into a mug. While she waited for the water to boil, she pulled a treat for Zeus out of a canister on the counter and tossed it to him. He caught it mid-air and gobbled it greedily.
Hugging herself to ward off a chill, she pulled out a chair and lowered herself to the seat. Her eyes landed on the blue china cup on the counter and she smiled. One good thing had come of that horrible evening: Mrs. Stansfield. The woman who once lived next door to Violet and her family had been a lifesaver, serving as a surrogate grandmother, a dear friend and a confidante.
Her mother never found out about Violet’s relationship with Grandma June, the name she insisted Violet call her. They both knew that if Loretta discovered their connection, she would take the cash Grandma June wired each month into an account she established for Violet. Violet had tried to refuse the gift but Grandma June wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted that Violet not only accept the money, but spend it on herself. Violet even spent summers at her house without Loretta knowing. Her own mother hadn’t cared enough to ask where she went for two months each year.
With a mess of a home life, Violet devoted herself to her studies, earning straight-A’s and graduating first in her class, despite the fact that she worked two jobs. She didn’t really need the money, Grandma June was more than generous with her monthly stipends. She kept herself busy so she didn’t have to go home.
Midway through her senior year, she was accepted into Princeton. The confirmation letter was bittersweet: happy because she had earned entry into such a prestigious school; sad because she knew even with two jobs and numerous student loans, she could never afford an Ivy League school.
As she was drafting a letter declining her entry, a courier delivered a certified envelope addressed to her. Having never received a piece of mail she had to sign for before, Violet was nervous as she tore open the seal. Inside was a second letter from Princeton, confirming her admission and notifying her that her full tuition had been paid, along with a trust fund in her name to pay for books and supplies. Violet crumpled to the floor in disbelief. Grandma June.
Violet hadn’t had anyone truly care about her since her father died until Grandma June came along. Now she'd paid for her tuition to college. Slowly Violet rose from the floor and dialed her number, thanking her for her truly generous offer but declining the gesture. There was no way she could accept anything so elaborate.
"Nonsense, dear," Grandma June had replied. "It is the least I can do for you. I don’t have any grandchildren of my own and when my beloved Harry died, the light went out of my life until a beautiful girl with long dark hair moved in next door. Even as a little girl, you always took time to talk to an old lady, helped me weed my garden, water my flowers, and walk my dogs. Why, you are the granddaughter I never had."
Unable to deter the determined woman, Violet reluctantly accepted her gift and studied hard throughout school, more to repay Grandma June’s kindness than anything else. She quickly fell in love with mythology. At her graduation, it was Grandma June who sat in the bleachers, cheering proudly for Violet. Her mother hadn’t even shown up.
And it was Grandma June who held Violet in those cold, dark days after Daisy passed away.
Violet moved to live with Grandma June after grad school. She was nearing ninety and her health had been deteriorating for years. Violet didn’t want the last years of the most wonderful woman she had ever known to be spent in a nursing home. She taught at a local community college in order to care for her. They had a few wonderful years together but eventually, Grandma June succumbed to cancer. She left everything to a staggered Violet. A teaching position opened up at the University of Vermont and Violet reluctantly sold Grandma June’s house and moved to Vermont to begin a new life. Alone.
She hadn’t seen her mother for years.
CHAPTER 11
January 12
Jake stared at the timeline tacked to the wall in the conference room. It started with the murder of Denise Tennison. The red line continued to Ella Rodriguez and then Rayann Wilson, ending at the latest murder of Sonia Croft. Jake added notations in the line to include Violet’s missing sweater and photo, and the date Carlos first lost his keys and the items snatched from the storage room. That date was first.
He hated not being able to solve the crime. "If only the bastard would leave a damn clue."
"He’ll mess up somewhere, and when he does, we’ll nail his ass," Turner stated from his perch atop the table.
"Let’s go over the similarities again." He walked to the blackboard and picked up a flaky stick of chalk. "Number one, all four are female college students."
Milt Baker piped up, "Three of the four had long, dark hair."
Vic Hammond said, "Cerebral hypoxia is the cause of death."
"Throats slit and poem written in the vic’s blood left at each site," Maya added.
"Each woman is brutally raped and branded," Arch Keller said.
"Not a damn fiber or hair found," Turner mumbled. "And the only sign of forced entry is on the victim’s body."
Jake finished jotting down all the points. He turned and addressed the group. "We’ve already got campus police visiting all the dorms, sororities and apartments in the area to warn women to take extra precautions, never go anywhere alone at night, not to let strangers into their homes."
"However, the killer manages to either talk his way in or he knows the victims," Turner added. "No unlawful entry, no signs of struggle. We're advising them to be cautious and trust no one."
"So far, besides physical characteristics and a few classes, there is no link between the girls," Jake said. "We've seen signs of brutality, not only in the form of death, but in the marks around the neck, chest and vaginal areas."
"Apparently the sicko likes it rough," Arch grumbled.
Jake nodded solemnly. "There has been no foreign matter found under the fingernails to indicate the victim put up a struggle, so we think the perp may be knocking them out with an inhalant of some type that allows him to subdue them until they are bound.
Turner spoke up. "Per Kincaid’s instruction, we’ve had the lab check the body for trace amounts of chloroform. We should have the toxicology reports back soon." They all shared a smirk, knowing how backlogged the labs were and how long it would take for the report to come back.
"We’ve had flyers printed and distributed all over the city." Jake held up a sample brochure. "These are to alert women to take extra precautions and to notify the authorities with anything suspicious. We’ve also set up an eight hundred number for tips."
"I’ve been studying the profile," Turner said scratching his chin. "And I gotta say, it doesn’t sound like the janitor."
Jake ran his hands through his hair, causing it to stand up in places. "That’s the problem with profiles. Ultimately, it is virtually impossible to identify a serial killer. They are usually normal in their everyday lives, quiet even."
"But this one has a fixation on young co-eds with long dark hair," Milt said.
Again that prickle of unease stabbed at Jake. Was it Violet the killer was obsessed with? She matched the description of the victims. She taught at the college. And most startling of all, the killer recognized her. His phone rang and he excused himself to answer. The conversation was brief and when he hung up, h
e flipped open his laptop and tapped a few keys.
"I put in a request for background checks on several people involved with the University." He opened the one labeled Carlos Perez first. Skimming it, he said, "Nothing in Perez’s background since he came to this country. He's applied for citizenship through the proper channels. Never had a run-in with the law."
Next he opened the one for Dean Neil Glasgo. His brows drew together. He looked to be clean as a whistle. He didn’t have so much as an outstanding parking ticket. Why was he acting so strange the other day and why did he take off before Jake could talk to him? He lost his parents in a car crash when he was in college. He had one sibling, a brother, who served time in prison. Interesting. It didn’t say for what and Jake made a mental note to check it out. He skimmed lower. The brother was killed a few days after being paroled. Was that why he acted so weird? Was he embarrassed by his outlaw sibling? Maybe he’d find out more when he met with the Dean later.
The next file he opened was for Todd Timms. He scanned the page and smiled. "Bingo."
"What have you got?" Turner asked.
"Professor Todd Timms has attempted suicide twice, once landing him in an institution for two months."
"One of the characteristics of a serial killer was possible attempted suicide, wasn’t it?"
Jake nodded at Maya’s question. "Plus, he’s a frustrated poet. He’s had work rejected from every major publisher."
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