by Ronica Black
Rory elbowed her. “You’re too little.”
“Am not.”
“Are so.”
Avery held up her hands. “Okay, okay. Let’s not argue. Let me go get changed and we’ll go.”
They jumped up and down. “Hurry!”
She stood, embraced them both, and headed for her bedroom. They ran after her, always on her heels, and flopped onto her bed as she dressed in the bathroom.
“Don’t jump on the bed,” she said as she stripped and pulled on her black bikini.
But it was too late; they were both giggling and jumping. At least they’d taken off their shoes first. And besides, who was she kidding? Rory and Kylie were her one and only soft spot and they could get away with anything. She adored them and often times they were the only thing that kept her going, to keep her fighting in the threatening darkness.
“Get off the bed,” she said with a smile as she reentered the room. “You know the rules.” She bent over and made her hands into opening and closing claws. “You know what happens when you break the rules.”
“No, no!” Kylie hopped from the bed and took off. “Not the tickle monster.”
Rory laughed and dropped to her bottom. “She’s so silly.”
Avery wrapped an arm around her. “Yeah. But so are you.” They walked slowly from the bedroom and Rory held her hand. Avery’s heart warmed as she looked down at the eight-year-old. Rory had Avery’s younger sister’s dark hair and gray eyes while Kylie looked more like her, long and slim with blond hair. But Rory had her demeanor while Kylie had her mother’s. Night and day. Just like Avery and Monica had been and still were. She was just grateful Monica, despite their constant disagreements, still let her see the girls.
Nadine stood just inside the living room, already spraying sunscreen on Kylie. Rory stepped up to be next.
“Auntie Avery, I’m gonna spray you,” Kylie said when she had finished.
“Okay.”
When Nadine finished with Rory, she handed the spray to Kylie who began spraying Avery while giggling. Rory came to help, doing her upper body. Nadine smiled and Avery winked at her.
“All right, let’s do it,” Avery said, gathering her small herd. The girls bolted out of the penthouse and to the elevator. They bounced with excitement all the way down. Avery was smiling and laughing with them until the elevators stopped and the doors opened. Guests milled about the lobby as usual, but near the front desk were a small group of people with cameras. Reporters. One caught a glimpse of her.
“There she is,” he said, and the group ran toward them as they stepped from the elevator. Avery threw up her arm to shield the girls, but it didn’t stop the crazy chaos as they bit into her with questions.
“Ms. Ashland, how does it feel to be named the number one suspect in the Hale Medley murder case?”
“Are you a killer, Ms. Ashland?”
“How has this affected business? Will it affect business?”
“Word has it, you’re still throwing your private parties despite the murder. Is this true?”
“Just what exactly is it that goes on here at Euphoria, Ms. Ashland?”
Cameras were shoved in her face, and Kylie began to cry. Avery did her best to hurry the children away and shield them, but the reporters followed them outside to the far pool. Avery yelled for her security and the guys struggled to hold them off. Avery cursed and told them to call the police as she escorted the girls inside the gate to the pool.
“Go on, it’s okay, honey.” Avery tried her best to calm the girls as the reporters were finally led away by her security. With anger still heating her cheeks, she threw the pool gear on an empty lounge chair and dialed her phone. She gave the head of security a good tongue lashing before hanging up and forcing a smile at the now timid girls.
“What were those people saying?” Rory asked. “Are you in trouble, Auntie Avery?”
“Did you hurt someone?”
Avery knelt and they fell into her arms. “Oh, no, baby. They were just trying to upset me is all. I haven’t done anything.”
“Then why are they here?” Kylie asked, rubbing her eyes.
“Because they think she did,” Rory said. She took off her robe and put on her flippers. “They think Auntie Avery did something bad.”
Avery straightened and Kylie clung to her. “That’s enough, Rory. I haven’t done anything wrong. And I promise you won’t see them again, okay?”
How could her security be so lax? And since when did everyone know she was the main suspect in the case? She glanced around the sparsely crowded pool, and a man nearby looked away from her quickly. She caught the headline on his newspaper before he folded it up and left.
Euphoria Resort Owner Main Suspect in Medley Murder
Avery cringed and then seethed. She helped the girls into the pool and then she sat and retrieved her phone. She dialed the number she’d been staring at since the day she’d found the cards on the coffee table. The number she’d wanted to call but for totally different reasons.
The phone number to Detective Maria Diaz.
Chapter Eight
Maria did her best not to limp into the office of the medical examiner. She shoved her shaky hands into her pockets and slid inside the automatic doors. She flicked the tiny dog bobble heads on Nan’s counter and watched them dance.
“How have you been, Maria?” Nan asked. She was a plump woman with bleached blond hair and too much lipstick. Her long nails always seemed to match whatever color painted her mouth. She had been at the medical examiner’s office for years, longer than Maria had been detective, and Maria knew she was one hell of an investigator.
“I’m hanging in there. How about you?”
“Can’t complain except for these blasted hot flashes. Feel like I’m in an oven one minute and the next I’m fine.” She flicked open a small Chinese folding fan and cooled herself.
“Thankfully, I can’t relate,” Maria said.
Nan laughed. “Just wait. Your turn will come.” She pressed the button below her desk and buzzed Maria in.
The stale smell of the industrial carpet turned to worn, bleached white flooring as Maria pushed through the door and entered the hallway. Her hip began to tinge with pain from favoring her leg, but she was determined not to react.
She hadn’t told Finley, but she’d gone to see her doctor that morning. And while he had ruled out physical injury, he’d scared her more with the concerning look in his eyes. He’d asked her a lot of questions and some of them had led to her other symptoms, which she’d been hesitant to admit. He seemed to read her face though, because he’d examined her walk, her reflexes, her sensation in her hands and feet, and even her eyes. He requested she have an MRI and see a neurologist.
The suggestion had sent her mind racing, and she’d taken the paperwork and left quickly. So much for just a pinched nerve. What could possibly be wrong with her head? Finley would’ve no doubt joked about that, but he’d also insist she take it easy, which she wasn’t about to do. She had a serious case to work and a suspect that stirred her in ways that terrified her. One moment, she was breathless with desire, and the next she was breathless with fear. It was a wonder she was thinking straight at all.
She pushed through the locker room door and found Finley suiting up in the protective gear they were required to wear when in the autopsy room. He tucked his paisley tie into the plastic suit and zipped it up. Then he tossed her a size small suit and snapped on a pair of blue gloves.
“Been trying to call you,” he said, trying on a surgical mask.
She removed her thick-heeled boots and stepped into the suit to zip it up. “I told you, I had something to do.”
“Like what?” He was used to knowing her every move. Just like a protective big brother. And that was her own fault really. She told him everything.
She ignored him, though it wasn’t easy. She could feel his steely blue eyes on her. “Toss me some gloves will ya?” She caught the gloves, slid them on, and then stepped in
to her shoes to cover them with disposable booties. When she tied on her mask, they pushed out of the locker room and walked to exam room four and back inside.
Dr. Judy Haddock was waiting for them with her hands behind her back. She lowered her mask and smiled. Next to her, a pathologist they’d rarely worked with before was near the back counter, talking into a recorder. He was bent in concentration, gloves off, scrubs a little messy. Maria eyed the body of Hale Medley and breathed a small sigh of relief. The autopsy appeared to be finished. An assistant in yellow garb breezed past them and peeled off her gloves and suit to dispose of in the biohazard bin by the door.
“Detective Diaz,” Haddock said. “Please, join me.”
Maria crossed to stand next to her. Finley followed but chose to stand across from them. He knelt and took a closer looked at the wounds on the body. Maria chose to focus on Haddock for the time being.
“You look pale,” Haddock said. “Are you feeling queasy?”
Maria shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”
Haddock glanced at Hale Medley. “Even so, this is brutal.”
Maria stared at the gaping gash in his torn throat. He’d been cut deeply, and from what she could see, all the way back to his spine. She grew a little dizzy and waned. She could still smell remnants of the liquid decay that had been drained from him.
“You sure you’re okay?” Haddock asked as she steadied her.
“Mm, fine. Just didn’t eat much this morning.”
Finley eyed her. He knew that excuse was bullshit.
Maria forced herself to focus on the body. It was pale with some discoloration and reflected the fluorescent light in a way that made the white in his skin almost look like marble. The body hair, as they’d noted before, had been removed everywhere, even on his fingers and toes. She’d never seen anything like it.
The other pathologist pushed away from the counter and came to stand next to them. Haddock spoke.
“Detectives Diaz and Finley, you remember Dr. Gregory.”
They mumbled hellos, and Dr. Gregory began, encouraging Haddock to jump in when she felt it necessary. He switched on the camera overhead, and a high-definition image of Hale lit the television screen hanging at the head of the table. Maria preferred to stare at the body itself as Dr. Gregory continued.
“This is Hale Jalbert Medley the Third. Thirty-nine-year-old Caucasian male, approximately five foot ten inches tall and one hundred and sixty-five pounds. He exhibited no former injuries prior to the wounds that caused his death. No broken bones, implants, or plates or screws. He appears to have been a well-nourished and an otherwise healthy male for his age. Exterior examination showed a deep incision to Mr. Medley’s throat, approximately four inches in length. Incision penetrated through the larynx and nearly serrated the spine. From the incision, we can estimate that the knife used was most likely a hunting knife at least five inches in length with a serrated tip.”
“And the killer or killers had to take more than one try to cut him so deeply and thoroughly,” Haddock said. “We noted several trial cuts as I mentioned at the crime scene.”
“Jesus,” Finley said.
“And he was…awake and alive?” Maria asked.
Dr. Gregory sighed. “We believe so. You can see here where the cuts are in a scattered pattern as if the victim was trying to move or was moving while the murderer attempted to cut.
Maria closed her eyes. What a death. Horrible. “This was cause of death?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“He bled out.”
She opened her eyes. “What about the marks on his forehead?”
Haddock spoke. “Those were also made while he was conscious. You can see the small scattered cuts where the killer tried to cut a moving target. There is also scabbing where the blood clotted.”
“The cuts on the forehead were made with a smaller, more precise instrument. More like a pen knife,” Dr. Gregory said.
“Could the killer just be really shitty at carving?” Finley asked. “I mean it’s not every day you cut on a live human being.”
“I would say they were no artist, no. But I believe Mr. Medley was aware when this was happening,” Haddock said. “I think eventually he was restrained so they could execute both tasks of cutting. But this killer or killers, it seems to me they wanted him alive and aware for the cutting.”
Maria locked eyes with Finley. Sadistic. Cunning.
Dr. Haddock cleared her throat and continued. “Stomach contents show his last meal was cocktail shrimp and champagne. We also found traces of the muscle relaxer Tizanidine. We have to wait for toxicology to be sure, but it would render him somewhat defenseless depending upon how much was in his system.”
“Explains how the killer got and maintained control of him,” Maria said.
“What else have you got?” Finley asked.
Maria studied the alabaster body, the thick sewing of the y incision, and the drawn look to his face. He almost looked alien like with his bald head and sunken cheeks.
Dr. Gregory continued. “Abrasions and ligature marks on the wrists and ankles. Also on the upper chest and along the chin. At one point the ligature used penetrated the skin of his wrists and he would’ve bled. Most likely caused from the struggle to free himself.”
Maria’s phone rang and she struggled with the suit to reach it. When she retrieved it, she didn’t recognize the number so she sent it to voice mail. She refocused on Dr. Gregory.
“Something else interesting,” he said and pointed to the eyes. “He was strangled before his throat was cut. See the petechial hemorrhaging? My guess is it was a form of torture.”
“Strangle him until he neared passing out and then releasing,” Haddock said. “We’ve seen it before.”
Maria nodded. Many killers loved the game and the torture. They enjoyed bringing their victims close to death and then stopping, only to do it again.
The ringing sounded again, and Maria grimaced as she saw the same number on the screen. “I better see who this is.” She stepped away, and instead of taking the call, she listened to her voice mail. Her skin crawled as she heard the deep, angry voice coming from the other end. The woman sounded so angry, so wounded, she almost didn’t recognize who it was. She ended the call and returned to the body where Dr. Gregory was going on about the toenail and fingernail removal.
Finley eyed her. “You won’t believe who that was,” Maria said, still a bit shocked at the language that had been used.
“Who?” Finley asked.
“Our main suspect.”
“Ashland?” He looked incredulous.
“And she’s beyond pissed. I guess the press showed up today.”
Finley led her away from the doctors. His eyes were bright and halo like under the light. “She called you?”
“Apparently, she wants me to take care of it.”
He laughed.
“The gall.”
“We did release her name to the press.” They’d done it purposely, to turn the heat up on her. But now, in hearing her, she wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea. She’d said her nieces had been traumatized by the slew of reporters.
“This can work to our advantage,” Finley said. “Call her back—”
“Finley. I know what to do.”
“What?”
“I’m going to Euphoria.”
He blinked. “Alone?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He sighed. “I don’t know. I should go with you.”
“She hates you. She’ll give you nothing.”
He eventually nodded. “All right.”
“Go see if forensics has anything on that wallet or anything else they may have found. I won’t be long.”
“How are you going to handle Ashland?”
Maria pulled off her gloves and tossed them in the biohazard bin. “Pretend like I care.”
Chapter Nine
Avery paced the length of her living room. With every step she took her anger grew. She glanced at
her watch. It had been hours since she’d called Detective Diaz. Where the hell was she? Did cops not have any sense of time?
She sank onto her sofa and stared into her empty glass tumbler. She was warm and her skin flushed with a heavy buzz, but instead of it making her feel better, it only seemed to light her fire even more. She blinked long and slow and began cursing aloud. Her nieces had left hours ago, so distraught by the reporters and what they’d said, that they’d cried off and on the rest of the time they’d had with her. She’d done her best to comfort and reassure them, but they were too upset, and the guests staring at them as they’d walked back through the resort after their swim hadn’t helped. It seemed she was famous now and not just for her private parties and great wealth. Now she was a murder suspect.
She startled when Nadine approached from behind with a fresh glass of bourbon. She gave her a tired smile and took a hearty sip.
“You should go to bed,” Nadine said, folding a throw blanket.
“I can’t. I’m waiting for the detective.”
“I think it’s obvious she’s not going to come.”
“She’ll come. She better. I need to give her a piece of my mind.”
Nadine placed the blanket on the end of the couch. The soft fleece reminded Avery of Rory, who used to cling to the blanket when she came to stay the night. She missed those early days.
“Do you really think that will help?”
“I don’t really care. I just know it will make me feel better.”
Nadine grew quiet. “Remember what I’ve always told you about things that make you feel better. They aren’t always good for you no matter how good they feel.”
Avery fought rolling her eyes. The alcohol had shortened her fuse, and she didn’t want to bite into Nadine. Especially since she knew she was right. Whether she would listen or not, that had always been debatable. “I need to yell at someone tonight.” She met her eyes. “After what the girls experienced…I can’t rest easy until I tear into someone.”
“I thought you liked Detective Diaz.”
Avery took another few large sips of her bourbon. She embraced the burn of it as it coated her throat on the way down. “I thought we were building a rapport. But now, after what they did and she didn’t even warn me…now I don’t know.”
