Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8)

by Kaylie Hunter

  Grady scowled, but knew Jackson was right.

  “You people just can’t help yourselves, can you?” Tech asked, leaning back in his chair away from his computer. “Can we please work one case at a time? Terri Weston… What do we know about her?”

  I tried to hide my grin. “Sorry. Terri was a nurse at the county hospital. I have a meeting with one of her coworkers later today.”

  “Take bodyguards,” Kelsey ordered.

  Bones raised a hand. “Wild Card and I will go.”

  I ignored them and continued, “I’m still trying to figure out if Terri was chosen or if she was a random victim, but I do think the killer planned the location of the attack. The boyfriend said in his statement that when she didn’t come home, he went to the park and jogged her route. He didn’t see her.”

  “I’ll confirm his statement tomorrow,” Chambers said to me before turning toward the room, “but there was a park lamp not more than a half dozen feet from her body. If the light had been working, the fiancé should’ve seen her. I called the city recreational department. They’re pulling together the park’s maintenance records.”

  “Premeditated,” Tasha whispered to herself. She was sitting on the ground in front of the couch with the coffee table in front of her. She lifted her glass, gulping down a third of it.

  Chambers leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Tasha’s shoulder. “Gibson and I ran the mile route. The location of the attack was near the end of the trail. The victim would’ve been both the most tired and relaxed after her jog. The location also offered three escape routes, one of which was through the thick brush where he could easily hide in wait.”

  Kelsey sat forward. “This information paints a tidy picture, but it’s not helping us to find the killer.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. “I went to the hospital and asked about both morphine and any patients who might’ve had similar bruising on their necks. That led me to the documents Gibson has in one of the other boxes. One of the nurses remembers a DOA—”

  “That means dead on arrival,” Tasha explained to the group before slurping the rest of her drink through her straw.

  I smiled at Tasha as I continued, “A nurse remembered a DOA with a similar bruise. He died of a heart attack about a year ago.”

  Gibson stood. “I’ve got all the death certificates but haven’t started reviewing them yet.”

  I smirked at Gibson. “I also heard that a few years back, a kid tried to steal a morphine drip machine from the hospital. He made it as far as the parking lot. Probably just a stoned teenager, but…”

  Gibson’s face lit up before he grabbed the third box over, lifting it on top of the table. “You had me pull any crimes in the last five years mentioning the word morphine because you won’t know what’s related, until you read the cases.”

  I tapped my nose. “You’re learning. Yes. But it also means we need help sifting through the data.”

  “You’ll have plenty of volunteers,” Maggie said. “But let’s discuss the more recent murders.”

  “I will, but I want to circle back to Terri first.”

  “Something is bothering you,” Kelsey said.

  “Yes and no. I want to bounce my theory off you and Maggie. I need you both to tell me if I’m on track or not.” I started pacing within a six-foot pattern. “My theory is that the killer intended to stab Terri, but when she fought back then tried to run he fell on top of her, accidentally stabbing her. But in the process of trying to control her, he discovered he could choke someone using his forearm.”

  Kelsey started to say something but I held up my hand again to stop her.

  “If I factor in Tasha’s theory that our killer might have diminished use of one or both of his hands, what if the killer also realized he enjoyed the rush of lying on top of his victims while he choked them?”

  Everyone was quiet for a long moment.

  “Oh, I brought Bert!” Tasha exclaimed as she slammed her empty glass onto the coffee table, jumped up, and ran through the tall grass toward the front drive.

  “She left someone in her car?” Kelsey asked.

  Quille, Chambers, and Uncle Hank were laughing too hard to answer.

  I ignored Kelsey and continued with my theory. “So maybe the heart attack guy was the killer’s second victim. Whether he was hired to kill the man, or he just wanted to test his new method, I don’t know. But if I’m right, there may be more victims, before or after the heart attack guy. And Benny told me the murders in my building were hired hits. So maybe, just maybe, this guy turned professional, but somewhere in the process he turned into a thrill killer.”

  “Why morphine, though?” Chambers asked.

  I shrugged. “Not sure. He somehow has access to it.”

  Tasha came running back, dragging Bert. She tossed him face down on the tiled floor. “Ready?” she asked me.

  I held up a finger for her to wait. “Again, just a theory, but imagine Roseline was at home alone, and she opened her door to her attacker. The killer trips or tackles her, but before pouncing, he gives her space enough to attempt crawling away.”

  “To get her on her stomach,” Chambers said.

  “And after she’s on her stomach—” I pointed to Tasha and watched her jump on top of Bert, crawling up his body to throw her forearm against his neck, “—then he chokes her until she’s unconscious.”

  “But she was stabbed—” Bones started to say.

  “Pauly shows up,” I said, cutting him off and continuing, “before the killer has injected the morphine. Pauly and the killer fight, shifting the altercation into the dining room. The killer gets Pauly in the same position and chokes him unconscious.” I looked around the audience. “Now he’s got two bodies, but only one syringe of morphine.”

  “He gives it to Pauly,” Maggie said, her face brightening with understanding. “Pauly was the bigger physical threat. The killer had to deal with him first.”

  “Agreed. But after injecting Pauly, he still has to kill Roseline.”

  “Wait,” Tasha said, jumping up, staggering a bit to the side when she did. “I need a knife for this part of the demonstration.”

  “You’re not getting a knife, Tasha,” Chambers said, chuckling as he shook his head. “Here’s a straw.”

  “Fine.” Tasha held the straw over Bert’s body in a tight grip, ready to pounce. “Okay, Kid, I’m ready.”

  “You know her wounds better than any of us,” I told Tasha. “Go ahead with the demonstration.”

  “There were two short jabs to the back,” Tasha said while demonstrating. “One bounced off the shoulder blade. The other hit a rib.” She rolled Bert over. “She was then stabbed a half dozen times in the stomach—about three to four inches deep. But the deeper wounds were on her chest, neck, and face. I’m theorizing that’s when the killer doubled his hands on the knife and…” She sat next to the body and turned her hands several directions. “No, this isn’t right. I need the report.”

  I walked over to the table and pulled the file. I opened it to the page where she’d diagramed the body’s wounds.

  “Oh, no. I don’t want to demonstrate anymore.” She crawled back to the coffee table. Finding her drink empty, she grabbed my full glass which I’d left on the table.

  Kelsey stood and walked over, taking the file to study the diagram. After she reviewed it, she handed it to Maggie, before finishing for Tasha. “The killer then straddled the body, and likely stabbed the victim with full force another fourteen times. In some of the wounds, it appeared the handle of the knife was driven into the body.”

  “Why?” Anne asked, looking horrified.

  “It’s called overkill,” Maggie said. “Normally it’s a sign of intense rage, hatred even.”

  “But in this case,” I said, “I don’t think the overkill was hate based. Just like the choking, the killer realized he enjoyed sitting on top of his victim while stabbing them. It’s possible he was excited sexually.”

  “That’s sic
k,” Tech said.

  “Welcome to my world,” I told him.

  “What about the blood?” Tasha asked. “How did Pauly get Roseline’s blood on his hand and clothes if he died first?”

  “It was a small amount of blood compared to how she died. What if she had a nose bleed?”

  Maggie dropped the autopsy file on the table and looked over at me. “You’re thinking from the forced entry?”

  “Yes. Roseline opens the door, expecting to see Pauly, but when she sees the killer, she rushes to close it. The killer then either slams his weight into the door, knocking the door into her, or he punches her after he’s inside. By the time Pauly arrives, Roseline is unconscious on the floor. The killer had heard Pauly coming and hid. Pauly rushes to Roseline’s aid which would explain the blood trace. Then the killer attacks Pauly.”

  “If the killer really did enjoy the stabbing,” Maggie said as she grabbed her glass, “then we’ll have more bloody bodies soon.”

  Kelsey’s face scrunched in disgust. “You could be right. But we still need to figure out who hired him to kill Roseline in the first place. And finding out who wanted her dead could lead us to the killer’s identity.”

  “Maggie,” I said, looking her way, “can you con the Marshals into giving you the next of kin contacts for Roseline? I’d like to talk to someone close to her. Figure out what she was really like. What made her tick.”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll make the call and get the CliffsNotes back to you.”

  For a split second, I considered arguing with her, but then realized, who better to make the call than a profiler? Instead, I turned toward Gibson as I remembered the truck stop manager mentioning leaving phone messages for Roseline. “Was Roseline’s cellphone at the apartment? I don’t remember seeing it on the evidence log.”

  Gibson’s face paled as he visibly gulped. “I never saw it in the apartment.”

  “Damn it,” Quille complained, pulling his phone out. “I’ll get someone to pull the phone records and trace the phone.”

  Gibson shrank back into his chair.

  “Gibson?” Chambers said in a calm voice as he leaned forward to look at him. “You’re new. You’ll make mistakes. The question is, will you remember next time?”

  Gibson gestured a thumbs up. “Find the phone. Got it.”

  “Cellphone, wallet, shoes,” I explained to him, counting them out on my fingers. “Every murder scene, you need to identify the location of those three things. And if the victim is found inside their home, also find their laptop.”

  Gibson picked up a folder, opening it to review the details. “Her wallet was in her purse which was on top of her bedroom dresser. Her laptop was lying on the bed. There was a pair of shoes next to the dresser. The victim was barefoot when we found her.”

  “If we’re done with the new hire training,” Kelsey said, sounding snarky. “What about the last victim? The homeless woman? She was also choked, not stabbed, right?”

  “She died of an overdose,” Tasha said. “Morphine again. I did the autopsy earlier. There were no stab wounds, but I suspect he injected her before she lost consciousness.”

  “Which makes sense if you think about it,” I said. “Lydia was homeless. She slept beside a dumpster in an alley. I’m guessing the smell caused him to rush the process.”

  “Or, he wasn’t excited by the kill,” Maggie said. “Lydia was a witness who needed to disappear—fast. He didn’t have time to plan her death. It was neither a thrill kill, nor for money. He needed to protect himself. She knew something about him.”

  Spence had been studying the floor, listening quietly, but his head suddenly snapped my direction. “How did you know about Lydia?”

  I was impressed that he seemed to be absorbing every detail. “Pauly introduced us. They were friends. Lydia would sometimes talk to Pauly outside the building. I invited her upstairs for dinner once, but she refused. I saw her on the block often, though, collecting cans.”

  Quille snapped his fingers. “Lydia might’ve seen someone watching Pauly or watching the building.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But let’s not forget, Pauly got a gun from Benny The Barber. Someone had spooked Pauly. Lydia was his friend, so he likely shared with her whatever had him acting so jumpy.”

  “In summary,” Maggie said, “we have a serial killer who’s killed at least four people—probably more—who could be already preparing to start a slasher spree?”

  “That depends,” I said, walking over to take my drink from Tasha before she passed out.

  “On what?” Tyler asked, not bothering to look our way as he scanned the area.

  “Whether he’s killing people for money or for the thrill of it. If he’s killing for money, if that’s his ultimate motivation, he’ll wait for the next job. If he’s killing for the thrill, then…”

  “If money’s his motivation, we have time,” Chambers said.

  “Except for Charlie,” Quille said. “He seems determined to stop her from investigating.”

  Tasha cleared her throat. “I had the victims’ clothes rechecked. No sperm was found, but there was a small amount of seminal fluid on Roseline’s jeans. Not enough for a DNA match, nor to prove your theory in court, but enough to make me worry your theory is accurate. The killer could be experiencing a sexual thrill during the killing process.”

  My stomach rolled. “Damn. I was hoping I was wrong.” I walked over and opened my bag, taking out the list of erotic asphyxiators Garth had acquired from Baker. Opening the folded sheet for the first time, I saw it wasn’t a list of names, but a note instead: Marilyn Monroe will meet you in The Parlor at seven tonight.

  I turned to look at Kelsey. “It appears I’m meeting with an expert in sexual choking at the club tonight.”

  “What time?” Kelsey asked.

  “Seven.” I checked my watch. “I also need to leave soon to meet Terri’s friend.”

  “We need to sort the schedule,” Kelsey said. “I also planned an outing at the club tonight. Trigger lifted a wallet from a guy who is associated with the dentist office, a Mr. Owen Flint. Flint’s a Tuesday night regular at the club and Evie offered to bait him into a private area—” she looked over at the law enforcement side of the room “—for a little chat.”

  Several of the guys chuckled.

  Kelsey looked back at me. “I can speak with your choking expert, if you can babysit the kids.”

  “Doesn’t work,” Ryan told Kelsey. “If someone associated with the Remirez family shows up with Owen, your cover is blown. They’ll know you’re in Miami.”

  “Wait!” I said, rubbing my forehead. “How does the Remirez family tie into this?”

  “Who’s the Remirez family?” Spence asked, his head swiveling back and forth between Kelsey and me.

  “A Mexican cartel,” Wild Card answered. “They came after our family a few weeks back. Miguel and Santiago Remirez run the cartel. Sebrina Tanner, a dirty DEA agent, and an ex-military smuggler who goes by the name of Shipwreck were working for them.”

  Kelsey stood, finally caving to the urge to pace. “Miguel knows better than to cross me. And Santiago would be behind bars by now. As for Shipwreck, he’s just a pawn. That leaves Sebrina. She might be off her leash right now, but I’m not sure she’s crazy enough to declare war on our family. I think she’d target me directly instead.”

  Half the room glanced at me before looking away. I felt the silent pressure to speak up. “I’m not so sure, cuz.”

  Kelsey went to ask me why, but noticed everyone was looking anywhere except in her direction. “Why does everyone look so nervous?”

  Wild Card stood and started walking toward the bar. “Anyone want another drink?”

  “You too?” Kelsey asked him. “What’s going on?”

  Wild Card looked at me with that devilish grin of his.

  I flipped him the finger, the naughty one, before facing Kelsey. “Before I left Michigan a few weeks ago, I sort-of shared with the security team my do
ubts that the Remirez family situation was over.”

  Kelsey crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t comfortable with someone challenging her, family or not. “Miguel knows I have the power to destroy him. I proved that. And I gave him the evidence to control his brother.”

  “You did all that, yes.” I walked over and guided her to sit on the couch. I sat on the arm of the couch, trying to act more relaxed than I felt. “And whether Santiago was sent to prison or back to Mexico, Miguel likely has him on a tight leash, which made our family safer.” I stalled a moment, not sure how she’d react to the next part. “But I think you underestimated Miguel. I think—” I looked over at Grady “—I think you needed to feel like it was over. Before it really was.”

  Bones moved Bridget to the arm of the chair, before shifting forward and bracing his arms on his knees. “Donovan called his connections and can’t get any answers. Maggie asked Tebbs to dig around, but he came up empty handed, too. Wild Card scouted a few known hot spots for them, and nothing. Everyone vanished off the grid.”

  Kelsey pushed past me to stand again. Without uttering a word, she angrily pointed first at Bones, then Wild Card, and then me. “You all knew my family was still in danger—and didn’t tell me!”

  I moved in front of Kelsey, blocking her path so she couldn’t storm off. “When was the last time you were wrong?”

  Kelsey’s face was red, her eyes narrow, and I could practically feel the electrical charge of her anger. She stepped first one direction, then turned the other, seeming trapped by her rage.

  “Did you hear me?” I asked. “When was the last time you were wrong?”

  “What are you babbling about?” Kelsey snapped, throwing her arms out.

  “Think about it!” I said, grabbing her forearms. “When, Kelsey? When was the last time you underestimated your opponent?”

  Kelsey shook her head, thinking. “I don’t know. Probably—” Kelsey looked over at Maggie and her face fell from anger to guilt. She was thinking of when Jonathan took Maggie prisoner.

  “Nope,” Maggie said, walking over to her. “You weren’t wrong about Jonathan. You were spot on. That failure was on me. On our security team. That was not your mistake!”