by Vella Day
“Did you do a thorough background check on them?” Phil asked.
“On those three, yes, and they come up clean.”
“Do any of them have a serpent tattoo?”
Carla blew out a breath. “I haven’t gotten that far.”
Phil turned to Sam. “Let me get with TPD and see what they want to do. The killer could be in our midst, or he could be someone who knows someone here. Jenna, I think we should outfit you with a gun at the very least. Ever handle one?”
“Yes.” The less said the better. While she’d never confronted Phil about being a cop, she was quite certain he knew.
Sam stood next to Jenna. “This is a bad idea. There’s no way I want her to have a gun. It’s too dangerous.” Not only did his voice shake, so did the hand on her shoulder.
What could she say? She wasn’t about to announce how she’d won last year’s annual precision shot award. Going to the range with her dad as a kid had its benefits.
Phil slapped the arms of his wheelchair. “I have another idea.”
Sam shoved his hands in his pocket. “What’s that?” His tone came out almost hostile.
Jenna glanced up and didn’t like the pain that raced across his face.
“Come with me. Both of you. Carla, you know what you have to do.” Phil said.
Jenna grabbed her purse and followed right behind Phil. Sam was right behind her.
She, Sam, and Phil took the elevator to the first floor and headed out the back entrance where Phil kept his wheelchair-equipped van.
“Hop in. I’ll drive,” Phil said.
Sam said nothing as he piled in front. Jenna sat in the back, which was just as well. Jenna needed time to work through her own plan.
“Jenna,” Phil said, as he pulled out of the lot. “I figure the safest place for you right now would be the police station. I called a friend of mine, Officer Larry Bernard, of TPD. He said he could fix you up with a loaner car until you get one of your own. He’ll brief you on my plan to draw out the killer.”
So he knew. God bless Phil. Excitement bubbled up. She’d have a car, and she could work at the station. That was about as win-win as she could get.
“What about Sam? Just because I seem to be the new target doesn’t mean he’s out of danger. The first curse had been aimed at him.”
She looked in the driver’s rear view mirror and caught the small lift of Phil’s lips. “That’s where I come in. I’m going to teach Sam here to shoot a gun.”
“I don’t need lessons.” Sam’s sharp retort startled her. “I had enough of that in the Navy.”
Phil glanced over. “That wasn’t in your employment record.”
“I wanted to forget that whole time of my life.”
“Hell’s bells. Maybe you should be giving me some lessons. I’ve become rusty since the accident. Mind?”
Sam shrugged. “Guess not, but I hate guns and hate the thought of guns.”
The image of the dead friend in the restaurant and the young girl’s life cut short flashed in her mind. She understood.
When Phil pulled in front of the station in downtown Tampa, she was never happier to see work. TPD screamed safety—and transportation.
“The Chief promised you security, so we’ll meet you back at your house in a few hours,” Phil said.
Jenna attempted to keep the joy from her voice. “Okay.”
She leaned over the front passenger seat and kissed Sam on the cheek, but his hard jaw didn’t soften. Oh, well. In her heart, she believed this was the best way to handle the killer.
“Be safe,” she called as she slipped out of the van.
She took the escalator upstairs and almost enjoyed the familiar musty smell and the dingy row of chairs for visitors. Jenna dragged her badge out of her purse and planted it proudly on her chest. The young officer at the desk merely nodded to her as she slipped into the back looking for Larry.
Bernard sat at his desk, two empty cups in front of him along with a half eaten sandwich. He looked up and winced.
“You don’t look so sweet yourself, you know,” she said.
Larry dragged a hand down his face. “I heard about your dad. I’m sorry. How’s he holding up?”
“He was alive the last time I looked.” Marlon slid next to her. She didn’t need him today. “Hi, Marlon.”
“Jenna, can we talk?”
Larry waved them on. “The car’s ready when you are, but the Captain wants to speak with you first.”
Marlon dragged a hand around her waist, and she let him lead her over to his desk. “Please sit, Jenna.”
The light in Lucas’ office was on, but the blinds and the door were closed. She had to wait for him to be free anyway. “What’s up?”
“I can’t sleep. I keep going over the scene with your father in my head. How could I have missed the shooter?”
She didn’t want to get into another round with him. “What did Internal Affairs say?”
“They spoke with your dad by phone. He backed up what happened, so I’m exonerated, but I know I’ll be haunted by my mistake the rest of my life.”
He’d have to see a shrink before being allowed out in the field. Poor Marlon. She glanced over at the captain’s office as the door opened. “Speaking of which I need to go see Dad.” She stood, not wanting to listen to Marlon moan and groan anymore. “But first, I need see what the Cap wants.” Jenna knocked and stepped in. “Hi.”
“Shut the door.”
She didn’t need this.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, his gaze on a folder in front of him.
Her shoulders relaxed. She thought he’d tell her he planned to keep her locked in the holding cell until the killer was caught. “As best as can be expected given the circumstances.”
He leaned forward. “Here’s how it’s going to go down. Since we have no idea if our killer will attack by gun, knife, bomb, or whatever, we’re trying to be thorough. I want you to wear a flak jacket at all times.” He lifted up something that looked like a dog collar. “And this too. Assuming he’s responsible for all the deaths around her, he likes to cut throats. This will deter him.” He bent it. “Good old Italian leather.”
“I already have one like that.” With spikes.
“Not like this you don’t. It’s lined with a malleable metal. If he tries to strangle you, he’ll have a hard time crushing the band. Wear the collar under a turtleneck. He won’t see the protection.”
“Are you going to ask me to wear a bullet proof helmet?”
“I wish, but as you can imagine, you’d be a little conspicuous. “He picked up a microphone attached to a wire. “Whenever you go out, put this on. We realize that the best chance of this guy has is getting to you at HOPEFAL, so if we don’t see you for a few days, we’ll understand. The guy’s escalating. Be careful.”
Jenna scooped up the two guns, two knives, and the not-so-beautiful handcrafted neck gear. “Wish me luck.”
“Larry will show you to the car. You’ll like it. It’s rigged up special. Not only does it have redundant GPS trackers, it has bulletproof windows too. There are microphones that will pick up every sound, so no singing.” A hint of a smile cracked his lips. “We had to disable the radio so as not to interfere with the transmission. If this guy managed to worm his way into the car and holds a gun to your head, do as he says. We’ll be nearby at all times.”
And here she thought working at Botanica was dangerous.
24
Phil popped into Sam’s lab just as he was scanning in the skull of a young African American male. A bulldozer had come across the remains of the skeleton two days ago. “What’s up?”
“I received a call from TPD.”
Sam nearly crushed the skull. “Did something happen to Jenna?” He hadn’t been able to keep focused thinking someone wanted to kill her.
“No, thank God. Marlon Giombetti, one of my contacts in the force, told me about a family who’s been calling him every week to ask about their missing son—t
heir missing twenty-year old African American son.” Phil nodded to the bones on the gurney.
Sam tensed. “You think it’s this guy?”
Phil handed Sam a photo. “Marlon faxed this over to me. Does it look familiar?”
The man’s broad smile revealed two gold teeth studded with diamonds. “Holy shit. It sure looks like our man. The teeth will be able to confirm it.”
“The DNA’s already in our Lab.”
Sam chuckled. “I knew you were good, but that good?”
“Aw, shucks. Seriously, the victim’s name is James Coverson. But here’s the spooky part. He worked as a part time gardener for...are you ready for this? Creighton Jackson.”
“Shit. Maybe Coverson saw the killer and needed to be shut up.”
Phil swiped a hand over his head. “I can’t wait for this nightmare to end.”
A soft knock sounded, followed by the familiar tones. Carla entered. “I am good,” she announced with a smile.
“What did you find?” Phil spun toward her.
“Get this. Deidra’s sister’s husband was a med student here at Braham University, but he dropped out fifteen years ago after finishing his second year. The registrar is a good friend of mine and told me that according to the records, the guy still owes his last semester’s bill.”
“I don’t suppose she gave a reason for his financial trouble?”
“She didn’t, but I hunted down one of his fellow classmates who remembers the husband quite well, claiming he gambled—a lot.”
“Carla,” Phil said. “You’ve earned every measly dime I pay you.”
A broad smile lit her face. “Such a generous man. I gotta go.” She saluted and left.
Something tickled Sam’s brain. “You know the fact Shelby’s husband was a med student fits well with the surgeon angle. Not just anyone could cut off a head and hands and not do any injury to the bones. That takes skill.”
“You’re right. I’ll have TPD put an APB out on the guy and have them bring him in for questioning. I’d like to see him explain away all the coincidences.”
After Phil disappeared, Sam’s concentration went to shit. He couldn’t get his mind off Jenna. They’d spent last night hashing out her plan as the Tampa Police patrolled their street all night long. Having Jenna in his arms gave him a contentment he never knew existed. The woman had definitely burrowed her way under his skin.
His brain sent out a warning. Every person he’d grown close to had either died, gone to jail, or run away. He prayed he wouldn’t lose Jenna too.
The bigger question was whether he was willing to give her the last piece of his heart and chance having his dreams crushed.
After Jenna visited her dad in the hospital, she decided she needed to play matador and flash the red cape at Deidra. The woman was connected somehow to this mess and only by confronting her would she find out how she was involved.
The occult shop was actually crowded for a Wednesday afternoon. A new guy was at the counter, and she approached him. “Is Deidra in the back? I need to see about a check she owes me.”
He scrunched up his lips. “Yeah. Haven’t seen her in a few hours, so knock first.”
Whatever. The incense seemed more cloying than the last time she’d been in and a tickle caught in her throat. Jenna stopped at the door, hand ready. She didn’t relish confronting Deidra. It was hard to ask someone if she’d hired some kids to rob a bunch of graves so she could do a stupid spell for an outrageous price, but unless Jenna brought up the topic, she’d never learn the truth.
Her rap was louder than she’d planned, but there was no answer. Jenna knocked again, and was one more met with silence. Surprised the knob turned, she pushed open the door and stopped dead in her tracks. A scream lodged in her throat at the bloody sight. Deidra was slumped in her chair, a bullet hole in her head. “Dear Lord in heaven.”
Jenna might have been on the force for five years, but she’d never been first on the scene at a homicide. Shit, shit, shit. Now she’d never learn the truth. And here she thought Deidra might have been the one to off Creighton Jackson’s head and possibly his gardener’s. Deidra still could be guilty, but someone else was definitely at large—someone under six-foot with a tattoo on his arm. The jerk who’d confronted her in the backroom didn’t have red hair like the pizza deliveryman, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t blown up her car, thrown the rock in Sam’s window, killed Carla sister, or committed a host of other transgressions. When he’d approached her, he’d always worn a jacket or had on long sleeves—hence no visible tattoo.
A quick call to the precinct about the murder gave her some solace that help was on the way and that she didn’t have to deal with the body herself.
A slapping of wood sounded behind the office, and adrenaline rushed through her. Crap. Was the killer in the back? She tugged on the door that led to the backroom, and it creaked open. She debated waiting until backup came, but if the sound was from the perp, and she didn’t go after him now, he would get away. She refused to think this was a stupid move. With her vest, collar, and gun, she was prepared—or so she hoped.
She withdrew her Glock from her backpack purse and, as silently as she could, raced down the hallway praying the last door would be unlocked too. Her breaths rapid, she placed an ear to the door. Nothing. Damn. Go for it.
When she tugged on the handle, the door swung open. The dim light was on, and the air was a combination of rotten remains and something else she couldn’t pinpoint. A quick glance told her no one was here. She turned, and the light glinted off something in the floor. Hand on the trigger, she stepped to the far left side of the room and past the wall with the crazy symbols.
A dull, one-inch ring sat in the dust on the floor. She stepped over to the area and bent to pick up the metal, only to find it was attached to the floor. Wait a minute. Jenna moved behind the ring and tugged. A trapdoor eased open. So that was how he’d been able to escape.
Sirens sounded in the background as understanding flooded her. Rickety steps led to a dark, dirt-lined room. No way was she going down there. Uh, huh. Nope. The killer could be waiting for her.
After releasing the handle, she raced back to where Deidra lay. The stench of death filled the air. Two cops burst through the door—David Hanson and Mike Blansky, both with Homicide. They nodded to her.
David stopped and scanned the room. “Mike, get the CSU team here ASAP.” He faced Jenna. “Mind waiting outside. We don’t need you messing with the evidence.”
Like she would? Instead of flipping him the bird, she scooted out without making eye contact. Neither seemed to think she had anything to do with the murder, thank goodness.
The Hispanic behind the counter had shooed everyone out, so she could shake and worry by herself.
“Is it bad?” The man who had more craters on his face than the moon nodded toward the office.
“Yeah, real bad. You didn’t see anyone go in there?”
“Besides you?”
“Funny. Yeah, besides me.”
“Nope. Deidra disappeared about three hours ago. I learned my lesson about interrupting her.”
Smart man. The front door dinged and the CSU team piled in, including the medical examiner who wore his fatigue both in his face and his bent back. Both techs waved, and Jenna directed them to the back. Given someone murdered Deidra, her ex-boss might not have been the one to do in Creighton Jackson. Whether Jenna’s boss had ordered the two teens to break into the mausoleum was anyone’s guess.
Mike Blansky strode out wearing his footies like a good detective. “Jenna, I need to get your statement.”
“Sure thing.”
She led him out of earshot of the cashier and told him what she suspected.
Mike took notes. “Larry and Marlon brought me up-to-speed on Ms. Willows and her connection to Jackson. We’ll have to see what the M.E. says about time of death, but I’d say she was killed two to three hours ago.”
“Hey, Mike.” His partner rushed out with a piece of
paper encased in plastic. “I think you’ll want to see this.” David dangled the plastic enclosed note in front of both of them, his gaze shooting between Mike and her.
“It’s a note covered in blood,” Jenna said.
Mike lifted the baggie toward the light and read the message out loud. “Jenna’s next.”
“Oh, shit. Why me?”
Both shrugged. “You worked here. Maybe he thinks you know who’s responsible for all the bad shit that’s been happening.”
“I wish.” She and Sam had been over all the suspects and had come up empty-handed.
“Some guy is staying at your place, right?” Mike asked.
“Yeah.” Some guy.
On her way from downtown to the lab, Jenna stopped by the deli and picked up Sam’s favorite sandwich of rare roast beef on rye with lettuce and tomato. She bought nothing for herself, because Jenna couldn’t rid her brain of the vision of poor Deidra. And here Jenna thought she wanted to be a homicide detective. Maybe giving out parking tickets wasn’t such a bad profession after all.
A different guard was manning the HOPEFAL’s desk. This one appeared alert and friendly. She thought about asking what happened to the last guard but decided to keep quiet. She flashed her temporary HOPEFAL badge Phil had given for her and signed in. Once on Sam’s floor, she punched in the code to Sam’s door and stepped inside. He and Lara were huddled over a gurney studying a skullcap.
“I’d say between forty and fifty,” Lara said.
“I agree.” Sam looked up, but Lara seemed oblivious someone had come in or else was too focused on her work to notice.
His heavy perusal and small lift of his lips gave Jenna oohlala goose bumps that implied lots of kissing and touching were in her future. “I brought lunch.” Jenna waved the bag.
Sam strutted over to her, planted a tongue tingling kiss on her, and removed the food from her hands. “Thanks. You staying?” He nuzzled her neck. “I miss you,” he said soft enough for only her to hear.
For some reason making out with Sam in front of his intern embarrassed her. What was wrong with her today? Was she nervous about confronting the killer? God knows she had enough protection to keep a SWAT team at bay. Or had seeing her former employer shot ruined things for her?
