Don't Say a Word

by Beverly Barton

  There were a few people who had questions about their assignments, and then the meeting was over. Tam stood up and said, “Call me later and fill me in on what you turn up at the Varranzo scene.”

  Julia nodded and then sat and waited for Will to finish giving orders to a couple of special agents at the front of the room. He then had a quick conversation on his cell phone, after which he hung up quickly and headed in her direction.

  “Your car or mine?” she said, trying to act normal and keep her eyes off his mouth when he answered. She ought to be ashamed of herself, at her age. Really.

  “Mine. C’mon, we need to get over there.”

  Will hardly looked at her. He was Brother Brusque this morning, no panting, no lusting, and all business, like nothing earth-shattering had ever happened between them. She wished she could do that kind of abrupt, brush-it-off thing, but she felt her face heating up, just being so close to him.

  “When did the murder happen?” she asked him once they were inside his Hummer and fighting early morning traffic.

  “Don’t know yet. Tipton can tell us more after we get there. I suspect it’s going to be identical to the first two, and that means no trace evidence.” He slapped his palm on the steering wheel. “Damn it, we should have nailed this guy already. We’re missing something. It’s out there, we just can’t see it.”

  “I agree. It’s pertinent, of course, that it’s another court-affiliated official. We got a judge, a jerk radio jock who covered trials, and now a defense attorney. I’ve never heard of her. What kind of reputation does she have around here?”

  “Well, I know her. In fact, I’ve had the misfortune of being a victim of her relentless and underhanded grilling. She’s a real barracuda.” Will didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on the dark green Toyota Camry in front of them. “Want me to give you a couple of adjectives that describe Varranzo to a T? Well, here you go. Deadly, cutthroat, ruthless, unscrupulous. She attacked me with all guns blazing, but I’ve testified often enough to hold my own. It’s the untrained people, witnesses to the crime, neighbors of the victim, young, inexperienced criminalists; they’re the ones she really cuts to ribbons on the stand. I’ve heard that woman verbally eviscerate people in a way that should be a crime in itself. Trust me, she’ll do anything to win her case and get herself a big, fat check.”

  “Well, that provides plenty of motives for plenty of people. Does she get her defendants off?”

  “Most of the time. Her clients are usually celebrities or mobsters, anybody who’s got the big bucks and no scruples. And they’re usually guilty, and everybody knows it. I don’t see how she was ever able to live with herself.”

  Will seemed uncharacteristically angry. She stole a sidelong glance at him. His face was in profile, his eyes focused on the road, but there was a tic in his cheek as his jaw clenched and unclenched under his tanned skin. His fingers were squeezing the steering wheel.

  “You okay, Will?”

  He glanced at her then, his dark eyes flashing fury. “I’m sick of seeing severed tongues on a weekly basis. I want to find this guy and put a bullet between his eyes.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “My, my, we are a bit cranky today, Special Agent Brannock.”

  “Then again, maybe it’s just extreme sexual frustration. Seems like I’ve got myself a partner with ice water in her veins.”

  Lord have mercy. He was wound up tight, and was he ever. Maybe he didn’t get enough sleep, either. And the ice water in the veins crack: if he only knew how laughable that one was. Calmly, she said, “I thought we agreed to wait until after this case was over.”

  “You did. It sure as hell wasn’t my idea.”

  “We have to stay focused, Will. This killer’s taking out people’s tongues for souvenirs, for God’s sake.”

  After that sobering remark, they drove along in an unhappy silence. Will was just venting. She glanced over to see if steam was coming out of his ears, but she knew exactly how he felt. Last night didn’t help; it only complicated things, just as she knew it would. Sexual frustration was inside the truck, all right, slapping both of them around.

  A few minutes later, Will said, his tone much more conciliatory, “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t, either.”

  Will frowned across the cab at her. “Good. I hope you paced the floor all night. Doesn’t sound like you’ve changed your mind about anything, though.”

  Julia thought it better not to answer that. Truth be told, she wanted to change her mind and was fighting herself. They rode without speaking the rest of the way. Julia was already dreading walking into yet another gruesome crime scene. Will spent the rest of the ride on the phone with Phil Hayes.

  As it turned out, Gloria Varranzo lived in a classic Victorian mansion on Lookout Mountain—on East Brow Road, to be exact, which was a very high-end residential street overlooking the city. Julia wasn’t familiar with the area, but Will managed to tell her that lots of attorneys and politicians lived in the vicinity. He wasn’t gnashing his teeth anymore, either, so he was feeling better. The neighborhood was not gated, but it should have been. Julia had never seen so many Mercedes, Cadillacs, BMWs, and even one sleek, black Lamborghini.

  A significant portion of East Brow Road was taped off. She bet that raised the hackles on all the uppity, well-to-do home owners. They were probably choking on their caviar at the inconvenience. Will pulled up to the driveway and stopped the car near the front door. The house was huge, probably six or seven thousand square feet. They got out and walked along low hedges lining the front sidewalk. There was one gigantic oak tree on the front lawn; the rest of the yard was well-maintained grass and shrubbery. The house itself looked like something out of a benevolent Grimms’ fairy tale. The south side had a three-story round turret that rose above the wide porch. They could see Gloria Varranzo’s body hanging outside from a white curlicue banister on one of the second-floor porches. She wore a belted white silk robe that was stained dark with blood. A lot of blood. She had on one white, high-heeled slipper. An identical shoe was lying on the grass far below her body. A tech was dusting it for fingerprints while another man was photographing it and the brass scales sitting beside it. The dimes were stacked on the right-hand side, as at the other crime scenes. Part of Gloria Varranzo’s tongue bloodied the other side.

  “He’s silenced another one of his enemies,” Will said, shaking his head. “This could be the break we need.”

  “How so?”

  “If we can come up with a case where Varranzo was the defense lawyer and Lockhart was the judge, we might isolate some leads on who’s out for revenge.”

  Julia nodded. “That could be dozens of cases. They’ve both been in the Hamilton County court system for ages.”

  “We could get lucky.”

  “We’d better. Let’s see what he left for us this time.”

  Inside, they found out. The Tongue Slasher left them a truckload of blood all over the place. More than at any of the other crime scenes. It seemed as if Varranzo had put up more of a struggle than the two male victims. There was blood in the main foyer, spattered all over the oversized black-and-white tiles. A giant crystal chandelier hung directly above a round marble-topped table, which was the only furniture in the room. A tall, expensive Lalique crystal vase sat atop it, full of fresh white orchids and white English roses. A painting that looked like a genuine Monet hung on the curving, cream-colored wall along the glossy and intricately carved wood staircase.

  “Is that real?” Julia asked Will, pointing to the painting.

  “I would say yes. When I talked to her law offices this morning, they said her fees went six figures, and usually higher than that.”

  They spoke to the forensic techs on the stairway, where they stopped and slipped on their protective gear. Upstairs, a long hallway with white wainscoting stretched out in both directions. Will turned right. Julia
followed, slightly spooked by the huge house that seemed to crouch down over them, totally, completely, creepily silent. Not even the forensic guys were saying anything.

  “Did she have a family?” she asked.

  “She’s divorced. And she’s got a couple of college-age kids. We’ll have to interview them and her ex-husband. Probably by phone. None of them live in Chattanooga.”

  “There’s blood all along here. He dragged her down this hall.”

  “Yeah. My guess is he clubbed her at the door with something. Looks like she put up a fight. She was the type who would. Once she was subdued, he dragged her up the steps and down the hall; thus the blood trail.”

  The bedroom they sought was at the end of the hall. Double white doors stood open. They stopped at the threshold and observed the scene. Gloria Varranzo apparently had liked shades of blue. Her entire bedroom was done in pale blue and white: the soft plush carpet was cream, the bedspread and flowing canopy panels were blue damask, and the floor-to-ceiling drapes, now wafting in the breeze, were sheer and white. The techs in their white jumpsuits looked up, acknowledged them, and then went back to work.

  Peter Tipton stood out on the balcony. He shook his head when he saw them. “Man, this’s sickening. I hope this is the last time anybody has to die like this.”

  “Is it Mrs. Varranzo?” Julia asked.

  “Yes. Actually, I knew her a little bit. She and my wife were on the Arts and Education Council together.”

  “Did your wife like her?”

  “No, not at all. But nobody deserves to end up like this, not even detestable people.”

  Will was walking around on the small porch and looking at all the crimson stains. The word THREE was written in Gloria’s blood on the white-tiled floor. More blood spattered the iron banister and the white fabric of the drapes. “She must’ve come to and fought for her life,” he said, turning to look at Julia.

  Pete Tipton said, “She was clubbed over the head with something. I’d guess some kind of weighted sap. Maybe a hammer.”

  “Or a heavy pair of pliers.” Julia moved over beside the photographer and looked down. Gloria Varranzo dangled there for all to see, her beautifully highlighted blond hair ruffling in precise layers in the gentle wind. Her arms dangled at her sides, her beautiful robe blood-soaked. One sleeve, the right one, was ripped at the shoulder, showing her tanning-bed bronzed skin.

  “There’s got to be forensic evidence somewhere in this house,” she said to the tech from TBI. She had gotten to know Tim Neely during the case. He was a tall, blond-haired man, thin almost to gauntness, with a reddish-blond mustache and neat appearance. Will had told her that he was one of the best in the state and trained at Quantico. She was glad he was on the job. If there was anything to find, he’d find it.

  Tim stood up, towering over her, almost as tall as Will. He had a pricey camera hanging around his neck. The TBI supplied their guys with the best.

  “I think so, too,” Tim agreed. “This lady must’ve fought him tooth and nail. But one thing’s different: the other scenes weren’t nearly as contaminated as this one. We’ll find something, you can count on that. My bet’s on DNA. If she fought him hard enough, we might even get a drop of his sweat.”

  “Great, Tim. Call us as soon as you get anything. You know, I’d call this a copycat, but the scales and dimes haven’t hit the broadcasts yet. It’s the same exact scale. I’ve done a million Internet searches. Next, I’m going to start checking the pawn shops and flea markets in Hamilton County. The scale’s just too unusual for people not to remember. I keep thinking I’ve seen one similar to it somewhere, but can’t place where it was.”

  “Ever tried hypnotism?”

  Julia smiled at Tim’s suggestion. “Not lately.”

  “There is another difference. He left the scales outside on the grass.”

  “It was still under the body.”

  “He hung the body up here. Why put the scales down there on the lawn?”

  “Maybe it’s another message to us,” Will said, entering their conversation.

  “But what? It’s the same scale, just in a different place,” Julia said.

  Will said, “Unless he left something else, too, and somebody took it. Or a dog dragged it off?”

  Julia thought about that a moment. “That’s a good question for the guys you assigned to canvass the neighborhood.”

  “If there was anything left behind, our guys will find it,” Tim told them.

  “Who discovered the body?”

  “Actually, it was a security guard on a drive-through,” Will answered. “There have been some break-ins on this street during the last few months.”

  “Anything violent?” Julia asked.

  “Burglaries for the most part. No one hurt. No one caught. Security says it’s probably some teenagers out for the thrill.”

  “We’ll have to check all of that out.”

  “I’ve already assigned it. Tim, if you’re finished here, let’s get this body down and laid out so Pete can release it to the morgue.”

  Will Brannock was dead tired. He hadn’t slept much, and he’d gotten the Varranzo call just before dawn. He and Julia had been working the scene for going on six hours, helping forensics and questioning Varranzo’s staff and neighbors. Will had been the one who had notified the ex-husband, a prime suspect until they learned that Austin Varranzo, a world-renowned architect, lived in London and had been at a play where he sat in a theater box with eleven other people. Any one of them could verify his presence there around the time of Gloria’s death. Austin wanted to notify their two children himself, a son in college at Harvard; a daughter at USC. Will was only too glad to let him break that bad news.

  Stooping to look again at the pattern of blood soaked into the thick, white bedroom carpet, he watched Julia Cass for a moment. She was tireless when working a crime scene. All the forensic technicians liked her already, admired her, and hell, so did he. In lots of ways. He had pushed it too far last night, had done it again this morning in the truck. She just wasn’t ready, and she was right. He wasn’t going to force the issue again. But she had enjoyed that intimacy on the riverbank as much as he had. She had opened her lips under his and welcomed him inside her mouth, and into her life. Across the room, Julia suddenly looked up at him, as if she sensed he was watching. She raised a quizzical dark brow when she found his eyes riveted on her.

  His phone rang, and he was glad for a distraction. He pulled it out, touching the screen. It was the TBI Chattanooga office.

  “Yeah, Special Agent Brannock.”

  “Will, you’ve got a call from the Las Vegas Police Department. Wanna take it now?”

  Will’s heart stood still for a second. “Yeah, patch it through.”

  “Special Agent Will Brannock?” said a deep voice on the other end.

  “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “We just picked up a woman by the name of Maria Bota. You put a BOLO out on her, right?”

  For the first time that day, Will smiled, a sense of relief running through him. “Great news. Is she still in custody?”

  “Yes. We’ve got her at central booking.”

  “We’ve got to interview her for a multiple-murder investigation. One victim’s a federal judge. Hold her until we get there.”

  “Then get here quick. We can’t hold her forever without cause.”

  “We’ll leave here ASAP. Can we get access to her later today or tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’ll pave the way at booking. They’ll probably keep her down there overnight.”

  He pocketed his phone and headed straight for Julia.

  “Pack a bag. They’ve picked up Maria Bota in Vegas. We’re flying out there as soon as you can get ready.”

  “Why? If she’s out of state, she can’t be the perp.”

  “No, but she ran from us. That makes me think she knows more than she’s telling us. My gut tells me she’s hiding something.”

  “Okay. Take me to my car, and I’ll mee
t you at the airport in an hour.”

  Will handed her his keys. “Take my truck, and pick me up back here. Make that thirty minutes.”

  “What about your clothes?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not exactly worried about it, Brannock.”

  “I keep a change of clothes in my truck.”

  Will felt like squirming under the accusatory look in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking, but she was dead wrong. This wasn’t the time to talk about it. He wanted to interrogate Maria Bota and bring her back to Tennessee, if need be. Julia walked off without another word. Will moved a few steps away and punched in another number on his phone. He smiled when he heard the voice at the other end, very pleased to hear it. It had been way too long.

  “How do you feel about me using the jet to come out there?”

  He listened a moment. “Great. Can you get me the suite? I sure would appreciate it.”

  After a brief conversation, he hung up and went back to work. He wasn’t in the mood for a crowded passenger jet or for waiting around for two available seats. He needed a quiet atmosphere where he could think things through and plan for the interrogation. Maria Bota was hiding something, perhaps even a key that would help them crack this case. His inner voice kept telling him that, and one thing he’d learned throughout his years in law enforcement was to listen to his instincts.