In the Flesh

by Rita Herron

  “I promise I won’t give up until we do,” Raul assured her.

  Mr. Stevens gave him a wary look, but had calmed and thanked Raul, then the couple left, huddled together in their grief.

  Captain Black called a debriefing, so Raul, Keegan and the other local officers gathered, Jenny included.

  “This is what we have so far,” Raul said. “Four victims, all women. We found a wood sliver beneath one girl’s nail. Trace said it was oak, paint a builder’s grade. Not much to go on, but it might help.”

  “No fingerprints,” Keegan added. “And that partial boot-print might help if we had someone to match it to. Forensics estimated it to be from a male, size thirteen, meaning our guy is probably tall, a big man.” He hesitated. “Still nothing on the panties.”

  Black cleared his throat. “About the sex, forensics found traces of Rohypnol in Eleanor Stevens’s body just like Judy Benson’s.”

  “How about that credit card? Anything more?” Raul asked.

  “Card is in the name of Bobby Machete, address originated in Atlanta. Still haven’t located the man.”

  Jenny clutched the chair edge. “Bobby Machete?”

  Keegan nodded.

  “Why? Do you recognize the name, Jenny?” Raul asked.

  Perspiration trickled down her neck. “Yes,” she said.

  “He was a patient of mine in Atlanta, but he died a month before I left.”

  The room grew silent, tension thrumming as minds swirled.

  “What caused his death?” Raul asked.

  “A car accident, I think,” Jenny replied.

  “Could be another Bobby Machete?” Keegan interjected.

  Captain Black rapped his knuckles on the table. “Find out. Could be a case of stolen identity and this is our perp.”

  Keegan piped up. “His mail has been forwarded to a PO box here in Savannah. Maybe they have security cameras, and we can get a picture.”

  Hushed murmurs filled the room, a tinge of excited hope brightening the bleak mood.

  “Let’s get to it, people,” Black said. “And keep me in the loop.”

  They scattered, although Black asked Raul to handle the press conference and Jenny followed him outside, her head pinging with thoughts of her Atlanta patients and Bobby Machete.

  Several reporters along with locals had gathered on the steps to the precinct, the tension high between the cops and the press who wanted someone to blame for the fact that the killer hadn’t been caught.

  “We want to caution women to be alert, to travel in pairs, to watch your drinks in a bar or social situation, to alert the police if you see anything suspicious, if a stranger approaches you that seems odd,” Raul said. “If you know anything about these women that might help us or about the killer, please notify the police.”

  “We need more details,” a reporter yelled. “Is he raping the women before he kills them?”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge any details,” Raul said. “We don’t want to tip our hand in case we get a viable suspect.”

  “Do you have any suspects?” another reporter shouted.

  “No one that we can name at this time.” Raul cut them off and strode back inside, fending off more reporters and questions.

  Jenny wove through the throng to her car and drove to work. She had to talk to the staff at CIRP, offer grief counseling to those who knew Eleanor and put her own feelings aside. Nothing mattered except catching this guy.

  On the way to the hospital, though, she called Bailey. His comment about her mother disturbed her, and she wanted an explanation for why he’d debase her mother.

  “What in the hell do you want this early?” His voice sounded groggy with sleep. Either that or he was hung over.

  “Why did you call Mom a tramp?”

  “Because she was,” Bailey snapped. “She cheated on Dad, that’s why he left.”

  “What?” Jenny’s heart stopped. “What makes you say that, Bailey?”

  “You’re so naive, Jenny. I saw her myself,” he growled.

  “Humping and grinding right there in our own house with another man.” He hesitated. “And more than once.”

  No…“Bailey, are you sure?”

  “Hell, yeah, I’m sure. I’ll never forget it.”

  His voice broke, and she realized that Bailey had been shattered by that sight. That it had affected him ever since.

  “It was sickening, Jen,” he cried. “The first time I saw them, I threw up all night.”

  Emotions swirled in Jenny’s chest. “Good heavens, Bailey, you should have told me. Who was the man?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his voice shrill. “It was dark and I was just a kid. I didn’t go in, didn’t want to see his face.” He paused, gulping a breath. “Maybe you should ask Mom. But that’s why Dad walked out.”

  He should have stayed for us.

  Jenny gripped the steering wheel. “Please come and see me, and let’s talk.”

  “Talking won’t do any good,” Bailey said.

  He hung up, and worry nagged at Jenny. But she’d arrived at the hospital and work awaited. First she had to break the news of Eleanor’s death to the staff.

  Then she’d talk to Dr. Solaris and relay what Bailey had revealed. Maybe in his session, he could uncover what had really happened with her mother. If her affair had led to her divorce, if guilt had led to her psychotic break or if there was more to the story.

  RAUL AND KEEGAN DROVE to Eleanor Stevens’s apartment and met the superintendent of the building, but he claimed he knew nothing about Eleanor except that she seemed like a nice girl.

  Inside they searched her desk and found a calendar with a note for a doctor’s appointment, but no mention of personal dates or relationships. Raul’s preliminary check of her computer showed e-mail to a couple of female friends, and another to a guy inquiring about the nursing program but he lived in Alabama.

  He checked further and found a MySpace account.

  “Keegan, did any of the other girls have MySpace accounts?”

  “Tech was looking into it.”

  If so, it might be a connection. He checked Eleanor’s list of friends but none of the girls were on it, unless they had used fake names. “Take Eleanor’s computer to tech and have them cross-check all her mail and MySpace friends with names from the other girls’ computers.”

  “That’ll take time.”

  “If it leads us to the killer, it’s worth it. Oh, and tell them to look for anything from Bobby Machete.”

  Keegan nodded.

  “Also, find out where Jamal Rakely was last night. I’m going to stop by Clyde Anson’s and question him, then talk to the hospital staff. Maybe someone there knows who Eleanor might have been seeing.”

  Keegan confiscated the computer and carried it to the squad car. Raul headed to Anson’s house to meet him face-to-face. He wanted to see his reaction to the girls’ deaths, let him know that, if he was guilty, Raul was onto him.

  Heat blazed through the car as he drove to Anson’s, parked and knocked on Anson’s door. At first, no response, so he pounded again and rang the doorbell. Finally the door squeaked open, and a muscular body builder type with bleary eyes frowned at him.

  “Detective Cortez, SPD.” Raul flashed his badge.

  “Clyde Anson?”

  “Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his stubble-covered chin. “What do you want?”

  Raul glanced at the street, at cars passing by, at a kid on a bike watching them. “Can I come in?”

  Anson mumbled a profanity, but opened the door and gave him access. Raul immediately zeroed in on the newspapers spread on the table. Anson had cut out the articles on the Savannah Strangler and taped them on his refrigerator.

  “I see you’re interested in the serial killer stalking women in Savannah.”

  Anson gave a lopsided smile, then walked to the counter and put on a pot of coffee. “Just curious like everyone else in town, I guess.”

  The coffee began to drip through the fil
ter in a steady rhythm, the only sound in the dingy place except for the tension thrumming through the air.

  “Are you sure it’s just curiosity?” Raul’s voice hardened.

  “I know about your history of violence.”

  Anson’s laser-sharp look held a touch of evil and confirmed what Raul already knew—this man was dangerous.

  But he was going to play the game.

  “I paid my dues,” Anson said, removing a mug from the cabinet. “Rehabilitating myself, you know. Got me a pretty little doc to hold my hand and a bunch of pills to control my urges.”

  Fury raced through Raul’s veins. “Maybe you’re putting on an act?”

  Anson feigned an innocent look. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Me, I get to lie on Doc’s couch and look up at her big eyes. And those legs and body. Don’t get much better than that.”

  Raul knotted his hands into fists. “Where were you last night?”

  “Working at the Universal Joint,” Anson said smoothly.

  “You can check it out with the manager.”

  He removed the photos of the victims and spread them on the table. “You know any of these girls?”

  Anson gave them a brief glance. “No. Not my type.”

  As if Jenny was. “I’m watching you, Anson. Remember that.” He snatched up the photos. “And make sure you keep your hands off that doc, or you’ll end up back in the can.”

  Anson’s gaze narrowed, and Raul realized he’d tipped his hand. From the articles, Anson obviously knew Raul was working with her. But now he knew that Raul had a personal interest, too.

  He’d warn Jenny to watch out for the man.

  And if Anson laid a finger on her, Raul would throw him back in jail and make sure he never got out.

  JENNY SPENT most of the morning counseling staff members who were distraught over the news of Eleanor’s death. She also provided a buffer when Raul arrived and questioned them.

  Theresa, an RN who had befriended Eleanor, dabbed at her tears. “She was so sweet. I talked to her yesterday before she finished her shift. She had a date for coffee.”

  “Was her date someone she knew already?”

  “No, it was a first date.”

  “How did they meet?”

  She twisted her mouth sideways. “On the Internet. She was so shy that it was easier for her to talk online. She joined one of those matchmaking services. She really wanted to find Mr. Right, settle down and have a family.”

  “Didn’t she realize that’s not safe, that there’re all kinds of perverts and scam artists on the Internet?” Raul asked.

  “That’s the reason she was only meeting him for coffee.” Theresa’s tone turned defensive. “A public place, no alcohol. She didn’t give him her home number or address, either.”

  Jenny sighed. Eleanor was trying to be smart, thought she was taking precautions. But someone could have slipped a drug in her coffee just as they could have in a mixed drink or glass of wine.

  “Our tech team is checking out her computer. Maybe that will lead to something concrete,” he told the young woman.

  She nodded, but grief had set in along with shock. “I should have gone with her, sat at another table, made sure she was safe.”

  Jenny urged Theresa to sit down. “It’s not your fault, Theresa, and we’re not here to cast blame. We just want to find the man who did this and get him off the streets.”

  Theresa sniffled and nodded, although she still looked tormented by guilt.

  Dr. Solaris appeared, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Dr. Madden, I’d like to speak with you when you have a moment. It’s important.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She patted Theresa on the back.

  “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes, thank you for being here, Jenny.”

  “Just call me if you need to talk. Anytime day or night.”

  She excused herself and headed toward Dr. Solaris’s office, but Raul cornered her. “Jenny, this guy might be one of your patients. I spoke with Clyde Anson this morning. He has cutouts of all the articles on the case, and he’s dangerous. If you won’t talk to me about him, I’m going to request a warrant for your files.”

  Resignation set in. “Do what you have to do, Raul. And so will I.”

  A silent understanding passed between them. She’d made the same comment before. They both wanted this guy bad. But they had to follow protocol. Jenny’s patients had to be assured that she hadn’t offered them up or they might come after her.

  “I have to see Dr. Solaris now,” Jenny said.

  He stared at her for a heartbeat, then nodded.

  Wariness registered in his eyes as she claimed a chair in Dr. Solaris’s office facing his desk. “What’s wrong, Doctor? Is my mother worse? Did she have another episode?”

  “Not exactly.” He tapped a pen on the desk as if toying with how much to reveal. “I don’t like to discuss my patients with anyone, you know that.”

  “Yes. But—”

  “But I need to know if your mother had any relationships with men other than your father.”

  Jenny’s heart raced. “As a matter of fact, earlier today Bailey had an outburst, and told me that when he was small, he saw Mom in bed with another man.”

  Dr. Solaris’s lips thinned. “I see.”

  “What?” She gripped the chair edge with clammy palms. “Why are you asking me this?”

  He released a pent-up breath and she sensed bad news.

  “I don’t have definitive proof, but I think I may have discovered the root of your mother’s breakdown.”

  Jenny’s breath stalled in her chest. Getting to the crux of the problem meant hope. “Go on.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Actually there are two problems. I told you I thought your mother was overmedicated.”

  “Yes.”

  “I firmly believe that now. But I also have reason to believe that she suffered a trauma that triggered her spiral into depression and psychosis.”

  “What kind of trauma?” Jenny asked.

  “You aren’t going to like this, Jenny.” He stood, circled the desk then claimed the chair beside her.

  “I’ve lived without a mother all these years, Dr. Solaris. I can handle whatever news you have. I just want her to get better.”

  “Very well.” His stern brows pulled together into a frown. “According to preliminary tests and interviews with your mother, I believe she was raped.”

  Jenny gasped. “What? When?”

  “It started years ago. Before your brother was born.”

  “What do you mean it started?”

  He crossed one leg over the other, the tension building until she could hardly stand it.

  “Please just tell me.”

  He cleared his throat, folded his hands. “There are signs indicating that your mother has been sexually abused for years.”

  Waves of shock rolled through Jenny. She twisted her hands, her breathing labored. “Physical signs?”

  “Yes. And from your mother’s comments, as well.”

  Jenny gulped. “My God, who did it?” Realization slowly dawned, and she stared at him, her heart pounding. “You think someone in the treatment center raped her? That they kept her medicated so she couldn’t reveal the abuse?”

  “Not just someone,” he said with conviction. “Her former doctor. Dr. Zovall.”

  Jenny’s mind reeled, a devastating sense of betrayal knifing through her. It couldn’t be. Dr. Zovall had been a family friend to her and Bailey. A mentor to her. He’d encouraged her to attend medical school, to become a therapist. And Bailey.

  God. Poor Bailey.

  He thought he had seen their mother having an affair. What if he’d really witnessed their mother’s rape?

  RUPERT ZOVALL KNEW his time was almost up. By now, the doctors at CIRP might have discovered that he’d overmedicated Marilyn.

  But hopefully they didn’t know the rest.

  Damn Jenny for moving her mother. Damn her to
hell and back.

  He’d worked all his life to earn his reputation. And he’d covered his tracks for years now. He wouldn’t let that little bitch destroy his life.

  He should have taken care of her like he had her mother years ago. Should have had her as his own.

  Funny how she’d never turned him on, though. Too haughty and cold. An ice queen with a smart mouth. He’d only tolerated her so he could stay close to her mother.

  And to Bailey.

  He’d take care of Jenny now. He had to or his future was ruined.

  Then he’d finish off Marilyn, too. Tonight he’d slip into her room. One dose and she’d be back to her vegetative state. Then he’d give her another cocktail, a specialty of his own. Then she wouldn’t talk.

  She’d carry his secrets with her to her grave.

  Chapter Eleven

  Questions bombarded Jenny. Was it true? Had Dr. Zovall abused her mother all these years? Was that the reason he’d protested her decision to move her mother to CIRP? The reason he’d stalled in sending records to Dr. Solaris?

  The reason he’d monitored her and Bailey’s visits over the years?

  She had to talk to Bailey, find out exactly what he’d seen. If he had witnessed his mother’s rape, no wonder he was confused, had had problems all these years. He had suffered a trauma, too, and at a young age.

  “If this is true, why didn’t I see what was going on?” Jenny asked. “All those years and I had no clue…”

  “You were a kid yourself when it started,” Dr. Solaris said. “As you grew older, your mother wasn’t coherent enough to discuss what happened. Either she repressed the memories or she was too delusional to distinguish reality from fantasy.”

  “Because she was so drugged,” Jenny cried. “Dr. Zovall kept her that way so he could continue abusing her.” Tears trickled down her cheeks as bitterness mushroomed inside her. “Mom must have suffered so much, felt so alone.”

  “Have you spoken with Dr. Zovall lately?” Dr. Solaris asked.

  Jenny shook her head. “No.” Which was odd in itself. He should have called to check on her mother. “Have you been in contact with him?”

  “No, I’ve tried to contact him several times, but he hasn’t responded to my calls or e-mails. And his secretary said he had to go away for a few days. That he left suddenly. But she left him a message saying that he needed to contact me immediately.”