by JB Lynn
Instead he glanced over to watch Chase shift uncomfortably, transferring his weight to his good leg. His movement didn’t go unnoticed by his partner who slid his gaze to him and then back to Jackie. The dead girl was laid out under the too-bright lights on the examination table like a chicken on a supermarket rotisserie.
Both agents made a show of focusing on the medical examiner, Doctor Gershwin, a grizzled, middle-aged woman who’d probably burnt out as an ER doc and now drank too much. From their brief contact when she’d arrived, Bailey knew she reeked of stale cigarette smoke. A scent that, when mixed with whatever antiseptic cleanser the hospital used, was enough to make his stomach turn.
“There’s petechial hemorrhaging,” the woman muttered. “First glance I’d say she asphyxiated.”
“Manual strangulation?” Sebastian asked. The Baby Doll Strangler didn’t kill any other way.
“Could be. There’s round bruising near her trachea which would be consistent with that, but I can’t say conclusively at this point.”
Choking the life out of someone was a slow way to kill a person. Wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing until a girl’s pulse stilled would seem to indicate a perp with an uncontrollable rage. Usually a killer with that kind of emotion got sloppy, made mistakes, but not this guy. This guy never gave them anything besides his M.O. to go on.
“I’ll do the rape kit.” Like a magician pulling a tablecloth free from a loaded dinner table, the M.E. yanked the sheet covering the dead girl off with a flourish.
Cringing, Bailey turned away, averting his gaze. He hated the way autopsies violated victims all over again. Jackie Willet didn’t deserve that. Even dead, her dignity was being stripped from her with careless disregard.
Jackie Willet wasn’t just a body to him. She was a girl. A real person. He’d spoken to her shell-shocked parents the day before. Hearing them extol the virtues of their only child was heartbreaking. The depth of their loss sank in just a little more as they realized they had to change every “Jackie is…a funny girl…boy crazy…a good student” to “Jackie was funny…crazy…good.”
Bailey noticed that Chase was focused on the pink pajamas bagged as evidence, lying on the counter near the door. He limped over, wincing against the pain.
He picked up the sealed package, examining it. The costume Jackie had been dressed in was bubble-gum pink, ruffled and frilly. Innocent.
“Oh my God.”
The horror in the M.E.’s voice had the hairs on the back of Bailey’s neck standing up. He shivered, whether from cold or dread, he couldn’t say. He just knew that she’d found something very, very bad. He was pretty sure he could guess what it was.
Sebastian was already moving to get a closer look at the body. “What is it?”
“There’s something stuck inside, something jammed in the vaginal cavity.” Her voice was high and reedy, as though she were going to pass out.
He felt a pang of sympathy for her. This was no big-city doctor. No doubt she was more accustomed to the blood and guts of hunting fatalities than the handiwork of a sick serial killer. If it was The Baby Doll Strangler, she was about to remove his twisted calling card. Glancing over at Gershwin, he could see sweat beading on her forehead. The poor woman was shaking.
“I don’t…” she said, raising her hands in surrender and backing away from the girl on the table. “I can’t do this.”
“It’s your job,” Sebastian snapped. “A girl’s dead. We need answers.”
The woman’s rheumy eyes filled with tears above her mask.
“Black,” Chase barked. “In the hallway. Now.”
Sebastian opened his mouth to respond.
“That’s an order.”
Sebastian stalked out of the room, avoiding making eye contact with Bailey.
Chase limped over to the M.E. and patted her shoulder reassuringly. “I apologize for my partner’s behavior, Doctor Gershwin. I understand that this is very upsetting. Why don’t you take a few minutes to collect yourself, and then we’ll discuss how we’re going to proceed.”
“I’m going to have a smoke.”
“Sounds like an excellent idea.” He waited while she tore off her gloves and gown, rummaged in her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes with trembling hands. “We should have warned you.”
“You knew?”
“We suspected it was a possibility. If you’d like we can call in our own people to complete the autopsy.”
“But you need answers.” Scowling as she echoed Sebastian’s words, she stuck a cigarette in her mouth.
Chase nodded.
“Give me a couple of minutes.”
“Of course.”
Marching out of the room, she breezed past Bailey who stayed rooted to the spot holding up the back wall. As the ranking local law-enforcement officer he knew he should probably say something to calm her, but he couldn’t think of a single platitude to pass her way.
Chase clapped him on the shoulder as he limped past him out into the corridor.
He could hear the two FBI agents arguing in the hallway, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. A few moments later, the partners returned.
Arms crossed, Sebastian strode in. Clenching his jaw, he glared at his superior. It was the kind of stare that had been known to scare witnesses into spilling secrets they’d rather keep secret, but Chase wasn’t impressed. In fact, he laughed at him, the sound echoing off the cold tiled walls.
Chase was still chuckling when Doctor Gershwin marched back in, all business. Wordlessly she pulled on a fresh gown. Snapping on a new pair of gloves, she grabbed a pair of tweezers. “Make yourself useful and hold this.” She thrust a silver specimen tray into Sebastian’s hands.
As she bent between the dead girl’s legs, Sebastian tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if he should apologize to her. Chase shook his head. Nothing was going to make this job any easier.
She plopped the first piece of evidence she’d pulled out of the dead girl into the tray. It was an unwrapped lollipop.
The Baby Doll Strangler was definitely at work in Lakeside Acres.
Chapter 14
Funeral homes were supposed to be cold, or at least on the cool side. At least that’s what Emily had always believed, but at the moment she was so warm, she was seriously considering taking off the black cardigan she’d borrowed from Ginny to wear to the funeral. Of course that task might prove impossible since it seemed like the room was packed with more people than the subway at rush hour.
She’d been standing on this line for over thirty minutes, and still hadn’t paid her respects. It looked like half the town, and most of the county’s law enforcement, stood between her and Bailey. He probably wouldn’t even have noticed if she hadn’t shown up, and after their foolish kiss, he might not be pleased that she was here at all. She’d seriously considered packing Laurie into the car, and leaving Lakeside Acres in the dead of night. Who could blame her? The FBI had all but said she might have a serial killer stalking her. It only made sense to get the hell out, but she’d stayed. After all, she’d promised Bay she’d be here.
At least she was now close enough to see glimpses of him. Standing in the front of the room, flanked by oversized flower arrangements that contrasted with his charcoal suit, he was dutifully shaking hands and accepting kisses on the cheek. Even though she was too far away to see his face clearly, she could tell from his hunched shoulders that he was tired.
Sniffling, she desperately wished she’d thought to bring tissues. Not that she expected to shed a tear for Freddy O’Neil, but the damn flowers were killing her. Lilies. She hated lilies. Cloyingly sweet, their musky aroma always reminded her of death. Not to mention they always gave her a wicked sinus headache.
She would have gone to sit beside Mark Castle but he had claimed chairs near the blooms, no doubt so that he could admire Ginny’s handiwork. She owned the only florist shop for three towns, and the arrangements, as much as they stunk, were hers. Besides th
e odor, Emily wasn’t too keen to sit alongside Sam Castle. She knew he was here somewhere; she’d caught him staring at her earlier.
She glanced around the crowded room wondering whether anyone besides the family was mourning the passing of Freddy O’Neil. The O’Neil family temper was practically legend in Lakeside Acres. Freddy had been known to be an explosive bully, using his position of power to serve his own sense of right and wrong, rather than the laws of justice. More than once when he was just a boy, Bailey had slept in the Wright family’s hammock rather than risk his father’s wrath at home.
“He’s not really dead you know,” a woman beside her said conversationally. “He’s faking it.”
Emily slid a sidelong glance in her direction. A sixty-something peroxide blonde with an old-fashion beehive hairdo smiled at her. Zany Zelda. The waitress hadn’t changed much over the years. Some said she’d always been a bit bonkers. Some said she’d inhaled way too much aerosol hairspray. Everyone took everything she said with a grain—or in most cases, a pound—of salt. Apparently she was still fond of spinning wild tales.
“I just saw him hiding in the bushes at the back of the parking lot, talking to one of his deputies. So I know he’s not dead.”
Emily edged away from the crazy woman. The last thing she needed today was to get stuck in a conversation with someone who regularly spotted Elvis burnt into a piece of toast.
Once she successfully slipped through the crowd, putting enough distance between herself and Zelda, she looked back in Bailey’s direction.
He glanced over the crowd, searching. The romantic part of her hoped it was she he was looking for, while the more pragmatic half automatically dismissed the thought. Still, she stood a little taller, trying to catch his eye.
Just then the funeral director, a short, sweaty man whom she’d taken an instant dislike to at her mother’s funeral, got everyone’s attention. “Can you all please find a seat? If everyone could sit down, we’d like to get started.”
Instead of sitting on one of the hard folding chairs, she got as far away from the flowers as possible, by leaning against the wall at the back of the room. She hoped that by standing so close to the door, she might get some fresh air. This was stupid. She should just leave. Bailey didn’t want her here. No one would care if she left.
“Hell of a turnout.”
The words whispered in her ear sent her heart leaping into her throat. She jerked away from the source of the sound, crashing into the woman standing beside her.
“S-sorry.” She turned to see who had been talking to her.
Evan Swann regarded her with grave interest. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
The mourners in the immediate vicinity shot him a dirty look. Now wasn’t the time to be talking.
Bailey O’Neil stood at the front of the room and cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming out to pay their respects.” He scanned the gathered crowd, and Emily wondered who in particular he was looking for. “My father wasn’t a religious man, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want a church service, so this is going to be it.”
“But not before I say my piece,” the nasty crone who was Bailey’s paternal grandmother interrupted. When Emily had been a child, she’d always thought that the old woman sounded just like Margaret Hamilton, the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz. Hearing Mrs. O again after all these years convinced her she’d been right.
The old, frail woman threw herself at the closed navy-blue coffin that housed her son’s remains. “You idiot!”
A collective taken-aback gasp from the crowd couldn’t drown out her next words.
“I wish you’d died long ago. That terrible temper of yours kept my baby boy from me all these years and I hope you burn in hell!”
The mourners gasped and murmured their shock and disapproval.
Emily tried to remember the name of Bailey’s uncle, but couldn’t. She wondered if he was here, at the funeral of his brother. If memory served, the two men had been bitter enemies, living in the same town but going to ridiculous lengths to avoid one another.
Bending over and murmuring quietly, Bailey moved to take his grandmother’s arm to lead her away, but she was having none of it.
“Don’t you dare try to tell me what to do. You’re just as bad as he was. All righteous, making a show of doing the right thing by that sister of yours. You chickened out. Gave up the chance to make something of yourself, just so that you could tend to a vegetable. Tell me, boy, how does your garden grow?”
“Enough!” Bailey’s shout was so loud that Emily flinched.
But Bailey’s grandmother wasn’t done. She met Bailey’s shout with a screech that scratched at the eardrums of everyone present. “Damn girl was a whore. Deserved what she got.”
Having had enough, her grandson faced the room, calling out, “Thank you all so much for coming.”
“Hypocrites!” Mrs. O shrieked. “None of you could stand him!”
Hands fisted at his sides, Bailey headed for the doorway that Emily stood beside. He was moving so fast that she barely registered what he was doing. Coming toward her, his strides long and fast, his jaw clenched into a mask of granite, he looked as though he would run over anyone who got in his way. Barreling straight ahead, Bailey was making a beeline for the exit.
Suddenly his eyes swiveled in Emily’s direction. His gaze, a heartbreaking mixture of pain and rage, hit her like a sucker punch. Wordlessly, he grabbed her hand as he passed her, dragging her along behind him. She had to practically run to keep up with him.
Straight-arming the door, he sent it crashing back against its hinges, not even slowing. Once they were outside, he released her, but he didn’t stop walking.
“Bay?”
Ignoring her, he patted down his pockets, searching. He pulled out his car keys.
“Bay, let me drive you.” The idea of him getting behind the wheel in the state he was in terrified her. She couldn’t stand it if, on top of everything else, he ended up in an accident. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
Running ahead of him, she jumped in front of the driver’s door of the pickup truck he was reaching for. “Please, Bay. Please.”
“Hospital?” His voice wavered, signaling his faltering resolve.
“Sure, whatever you want.” She held out her hand, palm up.
He hesitated for only a second before dropping the keys into it. Emily jumped into the driver’s seat before he could change his mind. Sliding the seat all the way forward as Bailey climbed into the seat beside her. Slumping down, he covered his eyes with his right hand. For a moment she considered reminding him to wear his seat belt, but then decided it was probably best not to. Instead, she resolved to just drive with extreme caution.
Warily she slid the pickup into gear and eased out of the parking spot. They spent most of the ride to the hospital in silence. Emily wasn’t even sure why they were headed there, but if that’s what Bailey wanted, that’s where she would take him. Hell she’d drive him to the North Pole if it would erase the agony she’d glimpsed in his eyes.
Unable to take the silence any longer, she finally spoke. “What was she talking about?”
“My dad and his brother Oliver always hated one another. You probably don’t remember, but they had a big blow-up back while we were still in high school. I didn’t see or hear any of it, but my mom told me that they actually came to blows. They scared her. All I know was that right after, Uncle Oliver packed up his stuff and Billy, and took off. My grandmother ragged on my dad mercilessly after that for driving away her favorite son, which was rich considering she was constantly harping on him when he was around.”
“Who’s Billy?”
“My cousin. Oliver’s son. Younger than us. I think he was eight or nine the last time I saw him.”
“I’m sorry. That had to have been rough on you.”
“Not really. It wasn’t as though I ever knew them. Hell, we lived in the same town, and I’d have been hard-pressed to recogni
ze my own uncle.”
“Oh.” Emily didn’t know what else to say. What had made her think she had the market cornered when it came to family dysfunction?
As she pulled into the hospital grounds Bailey said, “Long-Term Care’s around the back.” His voice was raspy, the toll of the last couple of days stretching it thin.
That’s why they were here, to visit Shauna. Poor Bailey. What Mrs. O had done was unforgivable. Why had she said such horrible things about his father and sister? How could she have been so horrible to her own grandson? As she replayed the old crone’s wicked words, Emily became incensed all over again. Filled with a rage she was powerless to do anything about, she squeezed the steering wheel of the truck.
Emily eased into a parking spot, but didn’t release the wheel.
She offered him a weak smile, not knowing what to say to comfort him.
“Come visit Shauna with me, Em?”
“Of course.” As she slipped out of the driver’s seat, she wondered where the hell that of course had come from. She had no business visiting Bay’s comatose sister. She could barely remember her. Shauna was three and a half years older than her brother, which might as well have been three and a half decades when they were kids. She’d never been part of their circle. Too old to play with them, she’d had her own group of friends. Pretty much all Emily remembered about Shauna was that she’d been jealous of the sister Bailey had adored. Shuffling her feet as she walked around the truck, she cast about for an excuse to get out of going into that room with him, but the second Bailey grabbed her hand, she was a goner.
He squeezed her fingers. She didn’t know if it was because he was trying to connect with her, or if he needed an anchor to hold on to. Either way, she couldn’t desert him. Hand in hand, they walked into the Long-Term Care wing of the hospital. This area had a different hush lurking in the halls than the other section. The nurses at their station all looked as though they were on a perpetual coffee break as they watched a bank of medical monitors.
