Don't Say a Word

by Beverly Barton

  Rising to his feet, he walked across the cave to where he had placed his small video camera. He chose a DVD and meticulously wiped it clean of fingerprints. Maybe they needed to see for themselves, maybe everybody did, maybe they all needed to see why his victims had to die, why he was righteous in what he was doing. He picked up a second DVD, wiped it clean, too, and inserted them both into mailing envelopes. Soon the world would know what he knew about the godless evil of his victims and the ones to come.

  Opening the Murder Book, he looked approvingly at the two tongues glued under the photographs of Lockhart and VanVeter. Neither tongue would ever spew hateful lies about people. Never again. The third page showed the picture of a woman: blond hair, brown eyes, no soul, no compassion, no conscience. She was next to die, and she was as despicable as the others; even more so in some ways. She worked for the evil, condoned their misdeeds and lies and evildoings. She would not live much longer. He had already been watching her. Now that the investigation was on, the detectives on his trail, time was of the essence if he was to be successful in finishing his job. Two down. Ten to go.

  Gloria Varranzo tried not to smile as she left the shocked uproar inside the courtroom where she’d just won her latest trial. She stopped outside the door and let relief and pure pleasure flood her. Sometimes it was almost too easy to get her guilty clients off; sometimes she amazed even herself. Yes, it was scary how good she was. She especially enjoyed her job on days like today, when she could prove without a doubt to everyone in the courtroom that the police were inept and had mishandled the evidence. Yes, O. J. Simpson’s dream team had opened up a whole new era of challenging every single step of police procedure. Her client was a bastard, that was for certain; a loathsome excuse for a human being, a rapist, drug addict, and distributor. God, she couldn’t stand to be around him for longer than fifteen minutes. He actually made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. But today he was a free man, and what was more important, she had a hefty seven-figure paycheck to deposit in her already bulging bank account.

  The corridors were busy. Lots of trials were going on. Criminals didn’t take vacations, lucky for her. She stopped at a mirrored pillar near the elevator and fluffed up her newly highlighted dark blond hair. Her nails were done, immaculate with a perfect French manicure, one that cost her fifty bucks. She looked great for her age. Yes, she was a month away from her fifty-sixth birthday and she looked no older than her late thirties. Thanks in part to the expertise of her New York cosmetic surgeon and the monthly Botox injections. She still dated younger men, men who were half her age, but that was fine by her. She could handle them, enjoy their hard, young bodies until she grew bored with their lack of wisdom and experience. They were a dime a dozen, especially the young lawyers interested in sleeping their way into her prestigious firm.

  “Here, allow me,” said a voice behind her as the elevator doors opened.

  The man prevented the door from closing, and she entered. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He was too old for her taste, but any man over thirty was. He looked vaguely familiar, and she tried to recall where she’d seen him. They stood silently together, side by side, as the elevator began its descent.

  “Have we met before?” she suddenly asked him, curious where their paths had crossed. It irked her when she couldn’t remember things. She prided herself on her sharp memory.

  “I think I would’ve remembered you,” he said, presenting her with a very pleasant smile. His remark was suggestive. She liked that.

  The guy had something attractive about him. “You just look so familiar.”

  “Lots of people say that. I guess I look like a regular Joe.”

  Yes, he did. Rather nice-looking but nondescript. She nodded at him as the doors slid open on the ground floor. She hurried out, eager to meet young Trent at her place and get him into her bed. He was sexy in every single department, and he knew how to please her. Of course, she had taught him what to do, when and where and why, and he had taken to it like the proverbial duck to water. As she left the criminal court building, she paused a moment as the August heat assailed her. She raised her face to the warm sunshine. Then she turned to her left and walked quickly toward the parking garage and her brand-new silver-gray Mercedes.

  Intent on thoughts of Trent Casey and his newly acquired bedroom expertise, she didn’t look behind her, didn’t notice that the man from the elevator had turned in the same direction and followed her at a discreet distance.

  Studio Zero was quite a place—quite a disgusting place, true, but still quite a place. Zero was a pretty good appraisal, too, if one were to judge the classiness of the joint on a scale of one to ten. It fronted on an alley in a particularly questionable part of town, and Will and Julia both flashed their badges at the muscular, bald, heavily tattooed gatekeeper who was outside the entrance, picking and choosing who could and could not gain entry to this seedy Shangri-la. He let them pass without comment, but when Will glanced back, he was on the phone warning somebody inside that law enforcement officers were entering the premises.

  “Gee, what a neat place to hang out,” Julia said to him. “The mingled aromas of weed and beer make it seem so homey.”

  “Yeah, the rap sheets on these guys would probably stretch to Seattle and back.”

  “I think I’ll keep my weapon out with my finger on the trigger.”

  “Don’t shoot anybody. Not unless you have to, of course.”

  “I’ll try to control myself. It’ll be hard, but I’ll try.”

  Will grinned a little, but his eyes were searching the dark, smoky interior for Juan DeSoto, aka Hap DeSoto, the owner of the grand establishment. His rap sheet was fifteen pages long, full of everything short of murder, starting when the guy was nine. There was an untalented band playing on the stage, lots of scantily clad women gyrating and strutting their stuff and twirling themselves around stripper poles for the rowdy, drunken patrons. Gigi had mentioned a specific booth Juan used for his personal guests, and it didn’t take Will long to find it.

  “There he is. See him? The guy in the zebra shirt and black leather fedora.”

  “I see him. Well now, he’s a regular Michael Kors, is he not? Think he’s got enough women in the booth with him? Maybe you’ll luck out and six or seven of them will be Delta flight attendants.”

  “You aren’t ever going to let me live that down, are you?”

  “It was just so impressive. That fond farewell lip-lock is forever imprinted on my mind.”

  Will frowned as they pushed their way through the crowd. He wasn’t the unscrupulous playboy Julia obviously thought he was, and it annoyed the hell out of him that she continued to think so. He hadn’t been with a woman since he met her, but maybe that’s what needed to change. Maybe he needed to hook up with somebody, make love to Pamela Ford for about a day and a half, and forget Detective Julia Cass. And this bloody, frustrating case.

  “Juan DeSoto?” he said when they reached the owner’s booth. “We’d like to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

  DeSoto was small and wiry and swarthy. He wore a sleeveless white T-shirt under a zebra-striped silk shirt, a large gold crucifix around his neck, and lots of leather bracelets on both wrists. He wore a little black goatee that made him look like a pirate; that and the black scarf he had tied backward around his shaven head under the fedora. He had a tattoo of a teardrop under his left eye. He looked up at them as they flashed their badges. “Woo hoo, we got both the TBI and the Chattanooga cops in here. I feel so special. Call me Hap—everybody does.”

  “I’m Special Agent Brannock and this is Detective Cass,” Will said, pulling back his jacket to show he was armed.

  “Maybe you should feel special enough to send all your girlfriends back to their dancing poles and answer some of our questions.”

  That was Julia. Not exactly the patient sort, he’d found. Often straight to the point, no wasting her time on polite chitchat, not while on a case. And, yeah, he liked that about her, too. And she di
d have her right hand resting on the butt of her weapon. There you go, more to like. She had his back, and yes, that was endearing, as well. Especially in a place like Studio Zero.

  “No need to get ugly wit’ me, sweet cakes,” their new friend, Hap, said to Julia. “Hey, maybe you might wanna moonlight down here with my girls sometime? You sure got the nice tight little bod for the pole. You be crazy hot for a cop. Whooee.” He feigned wiping sweat off his brow and gave a low and appreciative whistle, just to get his point across.

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not into taking off my clothes and prancing around. It makes me feel like a Clydesdale.”

  “Too bad. I’d like to teach you some moves myself.” Hap DeSoto’s appraisal of Julia was utterly lascivious and rubbed Will the wrong way, big-time. But then DeSoto laughed and shooed his six bikini- and high heel–clad women out of the booth with an insulting, dismissive wave of his hand. Will and Julia slid in on each side of him, just as a new dancer entered the stage in a leopard outfit that would fit comfortably in a teacup and slithered her way to the pole on her belly, in far slinkier fashion than any poisonous snake Will had ever seen.

  DeSoto concentrated his attention on Julia. “Okay, what can I do for you, sweet cheeks?”

  Julia ignored the remark. Will breathed easier. He didn’t want to have to pull her off the punk. He jumped into their titillating conversation. “We want to ask you some questions about Roc VanVeter.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that guy.” Hap placed his hand over his heart. “He was a good friend, man. God, he was here just the other night, drinking and partying, and now he’s dead on the slab.”

  Julia said, “You wouldn’t happen to know who killed him, would you? Sure would make our job a breeze.”

  DeSoto threw back his head and laughed heartily for two seconds, cut it off on a dime, and frowned at Julia. “Nope. I keep my nose clean. I got a legitimate business here to run. I don’t get mixed up with criminal types.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Will decided he’d better join in, keep things more on the civil side. “Was Roc here alone that night?”

  “No, he always brings that cute little assistant of his. I do love all her body piercings. What’s her name? Gigi?”

  “How often did he come here?”

  “A lot.”

  “We hear that you and he got into an argument a couple of weeks ago. What was that all about?”

  “Nothin’, really. He got a little rough with one of my girls. Slapped her around. I don’t allow that kinda thing. My girls are my meal ticket. I take good care of them.”

  Julia said, “Wow, you’re a class gentleman, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Detective Cass. That turn you on?”

  “What do you think?”

  Will said, “We heard Roc bad-mouthed you on the air. Called you a two-bit pimp. Maybe you got angry, decided to teach him a lesson.”

  “Nope. I’m an honest businessman. That ain’t the worst thing I ever heard said about myself. I ain’t sweatin’ it.”

  “How about Judge Lucien Lockhart? You know him?” asked Julia.

  “Yeah, but not as well as Roc. He got whacked, too, didn’t he? It’s getting downright dangerous around this town. Maybe you two oughta start doing your jobs a little better.” He grinned and showed a lot of sparkling Crest Whitestrips teeth.

  “Did he frequent this place?” she asked.

  “Sometimes. Brought that cute little maid with him. One of his better-lookin’ lovers.”

  “Maria Bota?” Will asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “They were lovers?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Have you seen her here lately?”

  “Nope.”

  Across from them, a table of gangbangers got into a shoving match with some drunken college guys in the next booth. DeSoto raised his arm and signaled to a couple of beefy bouncers who immediately moved in to break it up and make some memorable bruises for the guys to take home.

  “You cater to the Battle Street Ten guys?” Will asked him.

  For the first time, the sarcastic grin faded off DeSoto’s face. He shook his head. “I don’t know nothing about them, either. We card customers, but we don’t make ’em tell us their life stories. Hey, you about finished here? I’ve got business to attend to.”

  “If you see Maria Bota, tell her we’d like to talk to her.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll make a point of it.”

  “He’s a real jerk,” Julia said as they made their way outside. “I don’t believe a word he said.”

  “Me either.”

  “Let’s go. I want to go home and take a long, hot shower. That place was nasty.”

  Will nodded, thinking a long, hot shower sounded pretty good to him, too, especially if it was with her.

  Chapter 15

  The savory aroma of chicken pot pies floated through the kitchen of Audrey Sherrod’s Walnut Hill town house as she pulled a baking sheet out of the oven loaded with perfectly browned homemade yeast rolls. Zoe was busy around the kitchen, eagerly helping her prepare the meal, and Audrey was pleased that J.D.’s daughter was well on her way to becoming a very good cook. What was more, the child seemed to truly enjoy it.

  At the moment, Zoe was making a raspberry vinaigrette for Audrey’s luncheon guests. There were just the four of them at her house, and Tam and Julia were already seated at the dining room table discussing the Tongue Slasher case in hushed tones. Shuddering at the moniker with which the news media had dubbed this newest killer soon after Lucien Lockhart’s murder, Audrey stopped what she was doing and stared out the kitchen window. She still had bad dreams about the Rocking Chair and Baby Blue Murders, and now there was another killer on the prowl, terrifying all of Chattanooga. She sighed, then decided she wasn’t going to let that ruin her party.

  “Okay, everything’s ready, ladies,” she said brightly.

  Carrying a silver tray with four white ramekins of flaky-crusted pot pies, Zoe headed for the dining room. Audrey followed her with the yeast rolls and fresh salad. An icy pitcher of sweet tea was already on the table, and a red velvet cake sat on a white cake pedestal on the buffet. Zoe had decorated the white icing with Red Hots and red sprinkles, so dessert was ready and waiting.

  When they were all seated and beginning to pass around the salad, Audrey told them the reason for her get-together. “I wanted all of you to be here today so I could ask you an important question.”

  The other women halted what they were doing and looked questioningly at her. “I want to announce that J.D. and I have set a date for our wedding.”

  Smiles and congratulations erupted all around the table. “And,” Audrey continued happily, “I want to ask each of you to be in the wedding party. Tam, you’ve been my best friend forever. I’d love it if you’d be my matron of honor.”

  Tam laughed. “As if I’d ever say no. Of course, I will.”

  “And Zoe and Julia, you’ll be my bridesmaids, won’t you?”

  Zoe clapped her hands. “Can we get strapless dresses, Audrey? Red ones. I’ve been dying to wear a red strapless gown, fire truck red, but J.D. wouldn’t ever let me.”

  “We’ll pick out the dresses together. I promise.” She looked at J.D.’s sister. “What about you, Julia? Can we count on you?”

  “Of course. You know you can. I’m just so glad that you’ve made J.D. so happy. He’s turned into a different man since he met you.”

  Audrey was touched and very pleased. She liked Julia very much and wanted them to become as close as real sisters. J.D. absolutely adored Julia and played quite the big brother now that she was in town. “Thank you so much. J.D. will be pleased.”

  “So when’s the big day?” Julia asked, spooning a liberal portion of the raspberry vinaigrette over her salad greens.

  “December fifteenth. That’s a Saturday. Eight o’clock in the evening. Unless there’s some kind of major conflict with any of your schedules.”

  Everyone agreed they�
�d be available, and they chatted and asked her questions about her colors, which were going to be red and black and white. Audrey looked around her dining table and felt a new kind of joy welling up inside her. She was so pleased, so gratified that everything had turned out all right between J.D. and her, that the horrors of her past had been laid to rest. Her father was even coming around; their dinner together had been good, with both of them more comfortable in each other’s company, more so than anytime she could remember. She hadn’t asked him to walk her down the aisle; not yet. But she felt good about asking him, and she felt fairly certain that he just might say yes.

  Life was close to being perfect right now. Zoe was happy again, acting like a typical teenager, with her bright and lively eyes, so eager to begin her young life. Most of the rebellious, defiant attitude she’d exhibited when she’d first come to live with J.D. had now gone by the wayside. J.D. doted on her, just like he obviously had always done with his little sister. She watched Julia laugh at one of Zoe’s girlish remarks, then take a sip of her iced tea. Julia did seem a bit distracted today, but Audrey knew the murder case she was investigating had to be troubling to her. J.D. was the same way when he was on a difficult case. In fact, the two siblings were a lot alike, and she was observing it more and more as she got to know Julia. And Julia wasn’t so much a tomboy as J.D. had intimated. She was a police officer, but she managed to be feminine and graceful at the same time. She was going to look absolutely beautiful in the red strapless bridesmaid dress that Audrey had decided on a few minutes ago. After hearing Zoe’s plea, how could she choose anything else?