“I hate taking money out of your baby’s mouth,” she said. “But you’ve brought this on yourself.” She winked, turned, and resumed walking toward the morgue.
They found Richards suited up in a smock and a face shield. He lifted the shield and eyeballed the clock on the wall. Madison followed the direction of his gaze.
10:10 AM.
“I was just about to start the internal autopsy,” Richards began, “and in another couple minutes, it would have been without you present.”
Zoe Bell was on the slab, her once-vibrant silver eyes now vacant and clouded over and her flesh ashen white. Her hair was fanned out around her head in dank tendrils.
Her gaze remained on Zoe. Unforgiving stainless steel was the last stop on everyone’s journey. To be a witness to the process made reality sink in further each time. It never got easier. Only the faces changed—those of the murdered and those of the loved ones left behind.
A heavy cloak of mortality draped over her, compressing her chest and making breathing slightly difficult. But she was practiced at putting on a front. Those around her would think she had things under control. And maybe she was naive to think that she was alone in this experience. Death was a shared reality, an outcome beyond human intervention.
“An overview of the body indicates that time of death was, in fact, between midnight and two o’clock Saturday morning,” Richards said. “The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the cervical vertebrae. The instrument used was oval shaped, approximately four inches wide.”
“A golf putter?” Terry suggested.
“Maybe, but I can’t say definitively,” Richards said.
“What about signs of drug use?” Madison asked. “Witnesses saw a man arguing with Zoe about a month ago. It could have been a drug dealer.”
“No visual signs on her body to indicate drug use. Her weight was a little under for her height and bone structure, but otherwise she seemed in perfect health. That was until someone hit her, of course.” He paused. “Now there is something that you may find interesting. The victim had unprotected sex before she died.”
A flashback to Constantine threatened a repeat performance, but she successfully suppressed it. She’d have to tell Dr. Connor about this on her next visit.
“Was she raped?” Madison asked.
“No signs to indicate that.”
She let out a deep breath.
“Now, the sperm were dead, so all I can say for sure is she had sex within three days before her death. Sperm only lives for twenty-four to thirty-six hours in the body but can still be tested for up to five days. Today’s the fifth day, and I’ve rushed the testing to obtain the DNA profile or profiles,” Richards continued.
Elias had told them he’d last seen Zoe over a week ago. So either he was lying or Zoe was sleeping around.
“You think she had sex with more than one person?” Madison asked.
“Testing will confirm for sure.”
Flecks on Zoe’s skin picked up light, winking when Madison moved her head. “She’s wearing body glitter.”
“You’d be correct,” Richards said.
“She was a stripper,” Terry added.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I understand that, Terry. I was commenting on the fact. We know that she worked the night she was killed…” Madison’s external brainstorming stopped there but continued in her mind.
The strippers witnessed the argument between Zoe and the mystery man a month ago. She had latched onto him being the killer, but the murders might not have anything to do with him. If it had been him, why hadn’t he acted sooner? Why wait thirty days? To throw suspicion off himself?
“I will be requesting a full toxicology panel be run on her,” Richards said. “It will tell us the state she was in the night she died and whether she was under the influence of any drugs or alcohol. The internal autopsy will also tell me if she had any serious drug problems.”
Madison nodded. Again, her eyes drifted to Zoe. How tragic to have a life cut so short—and for what purpose? A possessive lover, a debt, or was it for some other motivation they had yet to uncover?
“I’m going to start now.” Richards grabbed a scalpel from a nearby table and put his face shield down. He then hit a button on his recorder. “This is the autopsy for Zoe Bell, age twenty-one, case number…”
Madison looked away, knowing that he was making the Y-shaped incision across Zoe’s chest. She had been present for the procedure on several occasions, but she had never actually watched the full process. The sight of blood combined with the nauseating stench of death was almost too much for her constitution to handle without watching the blade actually slice through…
She caught movement from the corner of her eye as Richards lifted the flaps of skin back. He was a veteran and conducting autopsies had become routine and fluid for him. He balanced a delicate hand with that of a skilled medical examiner, and he was thorough and methodical. He exchanged the scalpel for a saw and cut through her rib cage, then proceeded to weigh each organ and add commentary.
To signify he was finished, Richards nudged the face shield up with his forearm. Red stained his gloves and the front of his smock. “Her organs are the right color and size. As I had suspected, she was neither a smoker nor a drug abuser.”
On the positive side, that eliminated the likelihood of the man being at the club to collect a debt related to drugs. On the negative side, it opened up the field for possible motivations.
-
Chapter 41
IT WAS AROUND NOON BY the time they made it back to Club 69. The parking lot was empty except for one Range Rover. According to the sign by the main door, the place didn’t open for another hour. Madison and Terry headed toward the back of the building.
Six men loitered on a nearby street corner smoking weed or whatever concoction was this week’s special. Two guys had dispersed when they saw Madison and Terry, while the remaining four watched the detectives with rapt attention. Either they were smoking regular cigarettes or they didn’t fear the cops.
She let her gaze leave them to search for a street cam but remained cognizant of the men. She pointed up the poles as they walked along the rear of the building. “It looks like we’re out of luck when it comes to the cameras.”
“I had a feeling we would be.” He sighed.
Since when did Terry keep his pessimistic thoughts to himself?
“Are you doing all right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“That was a quick answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
She wasn’t the only one in this partnership who didn’t care for discussing feelings, and he clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk. But it was also apparent that something was bothering him.
“How’s Annabelle?”
He locked eyes with her. “Can we just focus on the investigation?”
“Sure,” she said, assessing his words. His mood probably had to do with the fact Daniel wasn’t here yet.
The back of Club 69 stank heavily of garbage, cigarettes, beer, and marijuana. Black garbage bags were piled against the wall of the building next to an overflowing Dumpster. With the amount of cash that surely moved through the place, money to get the bin emptied wouldn’t have been the issue. Sex was a lucrative business.
Speaking of sex… It had been five days since she had sex with Troy. Her breath stilted as she recalled the touch of his fingers on her skin, his breath on her neck… It was ridiculous that she was letting him get to her like this, especially right now.
She had told Cynthia she’d text him, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to follow through yet. She was still mad. His sister was appointed police chief back in March. It was July.
Terry pulled the handle on the back door and it opened with a screech. “It’s unlocked.”
She smirked at him. Alw
ays one for the obvious. She brushed by him and entered the club first.
“Hello?” a man’s voice called out. “Who’s there?”
“Stiles PD,” Madison answered.
“Hold up a minute.” The man’s breath was labored and definitely coming closer. He stepped out from around a corner, carrying a case of empty liquor bottles. He maneuvered the box under an arm. His raven hair had an iridescent quality and looked purplish from some angles. Unlike the mop on his head, his eyes were flat.
Madison recognized him but not from having met him in person. “Mario Cohen.” Not a question.
“That’s me.” He licked his lips and rubbed his jaw. “What do you want? I’m busy here.”
She lowered the badge she had held up for him. “I’m sure you heard about your employee Zoe Bell.”
“Yeah.” The implication in his tone was so what?
How could he be so blasé about the death of an employee? Then again, Madison remembered the type of business he ran.
“She was murdered, you know.” She stated it bluntly, hoping for a shred of humanity to make itself evident in the man. Nothing surfaced except for seemingly ratcheting irritation over having his day interrupted.
“In less than an hour, this place will be open, so if there’s—”
“Do you know who would have had reason to kill her?” Madison crossed her arms. She wasn’t going to back down because of some prick with an attitude.
“I really don’t have time to discuss this.”
“Yet you had time to take off two nights ago,” she said.
Mario put the box on the floor.
“That’s right, we were here, and you weren’t.”
“I’m allowed a night off.”
“Where were you and what were you doing?”
“Who I was doing would be the correct question. And the last time I checked, it’s not against the law to get some.” He tossed a smirk, one he must’ve thought was full of machismo, Terry’s way.
Terry remained stone-faced, though, and Mario’s expression faded.
“Some of your girls mentioned Zoe had a fight with a man on your premises last month,” Terry said.
“My girls talked to you?” Mario looked to the ceiling and let air hiss out between clenched teeth. “I don’t know what they think they saw—”
“Who are you trying to protect?” Madison asked.
“I’m not trying to protect anyone. I don’t know who they are talking about. I only saw customers around Zoe. And she was popular. She’ll be a tough act to replace.”
Madison narrowed her eyes on him. “My heart goes out to you.” Sarcasm. Every word.
“I’m sure it does.” Mario glowered back at her and then continued. “I don’t mean this with disrespect—not that I care if you take offense—but no one here would have done this to Zoe.”
“And you know all your customers? They are all regulars you can vouch for?”
Mario held up a hand. “Now, I never said that.”
“By all means, clarify it for us, then,” Madison said.
“I’m just saying the guys who come in here may look like shit, they may smell like shit, but they’re not killers.”
She wasn’t going to argue with two out of the three. The latter claim she contested. “Are you sure?”
His eyes glazed over like a reptile. “All right, some have done time, but they don’t want to go back.”
“So no one that you know of would have killed Zoe,” Terry said.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Which is it, Mario? You vouch for them or you’re not so sure?”
His facial features hardened. “I guess I’m not sure,” he ground out.
“Does anyone, in particular, stand out to you as being suspicious?” Madison asked.
“No. Now, I need to get back to business.”
“Do you have any cameras backstage?” She figured it a reach but had to ask.
“No.”
“What about out back to cover the girls’ door?” She hadn’t seen one, but surveillance devices could be tiny these days.
“No! I don’t want to get involved in anybody’s business just like I don’t want them involved in mine. If that will be all?” Mario picked up the case of bottles.
“No, that’s not all,” Terry said. “So you never saw a man with blond hair in an argument with Zoe?”
“Blond hair? That’s descriptive. Later.” Mario turned his back on them, but Madison grabbed his arm and spun him around. He kept the bottles balanced but glared at her.
She stared him down. “I think you’re lying. You told us that you know who is going in and out of your place, but this blond guy connected to Zoe, you have no idea who he is.”
He hoisted the box under one arm as he had earlier. “Lots of blond guys hung around Zoe. I even had a few escorted from the premises, but none of them would have killed her.”
“Again, you seem pretty certain,” Terry said.
“I’m sorry she’s dead. Please pass along my condolences, but I’ve got a business to run.”
When he walked away this time, Madison let him go. He didn’t care that one of his girls was murdered. He claimed to know everyone who stepped foot in his establishment, but he didn’t know the particular blond male, who was clearly associated with Zoe in some way, that they were after. Something wasn’t settling for Madison. He knew more than he was sharing.
-
Chapter 42
MADISON WASN’T READY TO LEAVE the club’s property just yet. She wanted to speak to the girls again and see if they could give her a better idea of the mystery man’s height. She and Terry waited in the department car for Club 69 to officially open. If Mario didn’t like talking to them when they entered from the rear of the building, he definitely wouldn’t appreciate their presence among his paying customers.
But she didn’t care. Right now she just wanted to get in that club and out of the humidity. It was stifling out here. Even with the vehicle’s air-conditioning cranked up, it did little to relieve the mugginess that clung to her like a second skin. They were essentially baking in a convection oven on four wheels, and she hated the feeling of sweat dripping down her torso.
The dash read 12:57 PM.
A few vehicles pulled into the lot, and the men who had occupied them ambled toward the club’s door. There was no self-consciousness or shame about their entertainment choice, no furtive glances over their shoulders.
The door opened, and the men started filtering in.
“Thank God.” Madison got out of the car.
She came up behind a man she pegged in his late fifties. He wore a biker jacket, and his silver mane was pulled into a sad-looking ponytail. His hair was thin and greasy. His cheeks were concaved, and his red-rimmed eyes testified to drug abuse. He held the door for her and flashed her a toothy grin.
Mark off dental hygiene as one of the man’s priorities.
“Wait…are you cops?” the man asked.
She glanced at the badge she wore around her neck.
“Ah, son of a bitch.” He pushed Terry aside and set off at a run.
Son of a bitch was right. She hated running!
She helped Terry gain his balance, but he shrugged free of her. She breezed right past Terry, caught up with the man, and slammed him against a vehicle. His hand had just touched the handle of a jalopy—a beige number dating back a couple of decades.
“Why’d you run?” She yanked on his clothing until he was spun around and facing her.
He leaned back against the car door, heaving for breath.
She was…not winded in the slightest. And Terry? She had beat him in a running pursuit? The smile started to grow when she met her partner’s eyes but died when she faced the gray-haired man again.
“I didn’t do it! You co
ps never want to believe me!” He turned and then wrenched on the door handle. With the amount of rust caked around it, Madison was surprised it didn’t just rip off.
Terry put his hand on the man’s shoulders and he stopped moving. “What’s your name?” Terry asked.
“Ah, man.” He straightened and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t do it. And I served my time. I ain’t never seen no cent in compensation for the wrong done me, either. My guess is you’re not here for that reason.”
Madison almost laughed. Out loud. She shook her head. “We’re here about Eden.” She almost said Zoe.
“What about her?”
“She was murdered. Do you know anything about that?”
“Ah, no! Please don’t send me back.”
“Name.” She made the request this time, in the way of a demand.
“Nick Stanley, and before you comment on the fact that I have two first names, forget it, I’m sick of hearing it.” He started to pull his hands out of his pockets.
“Stop right there,” Terry barked.
“I don’t have a weapon or anything, I swear.”
Madison nodded to Terry. “Bring them out nice and slow,” she said.
Nick’s hands emerged…empty.
“See, I told you.” Nick shot heated glares at Madison and then Terry.
“What did you do time for?” Madison asked.
“For robbery. A robbery I didn’t commit.” He leaned against his car again, crossed his arms and his ankles.
“You keep saying you’re innocent,” Madison said.
“That’s because I am!”
It was a detour, but the man was talking. “Was anyone hurt during this robbery?”
“Someone was stabbed.”
“And you weren’t involved?” Terry asked.
“No, man. I found out about it when the police came down on me. They only saw the way I looked and went from there. Thank God they found the guy who did the murder or I’d be rotting behind bars. He’s still there.”
“If they got the guy, why were you still doing time?” Madison asked.
“For the robbery. They figured it must have been the two of us working together.”
Deadly Impulse Page 17
