Carolyn’s thoughts returned to the times they’d made love and how good it had felt to be with him. “The other night was great.”
“Tonight will be even better. Do you think your brother would mind if we used his couch?”
“What? Right here? Have sex?” Carolyn backed away from him and locked her arms across her chest.
“Is there a problem with me wanting you?” Marcus said, walking over and plopping down on the fluffy cushions.
“Yes, there is. I don’t make it a habit to have sex in my brother’s house. What happens if they come home early and walk in on us? I won’t expose my children to that. Would you want to find your mother thrashing around with a man?”
“I didn’t have a mother,” Marcus said, a dark look clouding his eyes. “It’s not like Rebecca doesn’t know about sex. When did you tell her about the birds and the bees—yesterday? Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine. Let’s have some fun. It’ll make you feel better.” He went over and pulled her toward the sofa.
“I’m sorry,” she said, breaking loose and moving to the other side of the room. “I’m not going to have sex here. We could go to your house.”
Ignoring her, he picked up a white cotton sheet Neil used to drape over his subject’s chair and spread it out on the sofa. His arrogance filled the room. “What’s wrong with this? We should be fairly comfortable.”
“You’re taking an awful lot for granted,” Carolyn exploded. “If you want a slut who will sleep with you whenever you get the urge, then maybe you should leave. It’s early, so you have time to pick up some broad at a bar and have your way with her before the night is over.”
Marcus sat down, leaning his head back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “You’re overreacting, Carolyn. You just look so fabulous tonight I can’t contain myself. Is that so bad?” He patted the cushion next to him. “Come over here and relax. We’ll just talk, I promise.”
She hesitated, then took a seat beside him. “I’m not a prude, you know. But my family is very important to me. I’ve already made enough mistakes. I can’t afford to make any more.”
“I hear you loud and clear. Why are you so tense? Did you have a bad day at the office?”
Carolyn looked down, not wanting to make eye contact. How could she desire this man when there was even a remote possibility that he was a murderer? Time to go to work, she decided. But she would have to be subtle. “It’s scary to think that Holden is still outstanding. He’s probably trying to figure out how to get the key back.” She reached over and stroked his hand. “What you did was wonderful, Marcus. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did. John could have bled to death.” She looked away. “I can only imagine what Holden might have done to Rebecca. You were very brave.”
“It was nothing,” Marcus said, shifting so their legs were touching. “I did what any person would do under the circumstances. As far as Holden, I wouldn’t worry about him. I’m sure they’ll either catch him or he’ll catch himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s an ignorant, common criminal.”
She didn’t agree that Holden was ignorant, but maybe Marcus was right. She’d been naive eight years ago. Just because someone read a few books on philosophy didn’t mean they were intelligent. “Maybe someone will put a bullet in his head.”
“That’d do the trick,” Marcus said, draping his arm over her shoulder.
She contemplated her next statement before speaking. “We should get away for a weekend now that John’s recovered. You know, spend time together, just you and me.”
“Sounds great. I’d have to check my schedule. So, we’d be kid free?”
“No, they’ll be sleeping in the bed next to us,” Carolyn told him, smiling. “Of course we’ll be alone. What do you think about going to San Diego?” She watched closely as he rubbed his forehead. “We could stay in a place on the ocean.” Silence was powerful. Carolyn had full control of it. If she spoke, she’d be giving him a way out.
“San Diego’s fine, but I know a better place. It’s much more romantic.”
“Oh? Where?”
“Santa Barbara. The Bacara Resort overlooks the ocean and the Sand Piper golf course. The spa is sensational.”
“I didn’t know you liked to play golf,” Carolyn said, feeling a sinking sensation.
“I used to. I don’t anymore. It takes up too much time if you want to consistently shoot under par.”
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The seemingly obvious connections to the murders of Lisa Sheppard and Tracy Anderson could be strictly coincidental. Nonetheless, they were frightening. He played golf and shied away from vacationing in San Diego. Made sense, if he was the murderer. The last place he would want to go would be San Diego, for fear someone might recognize him. “Santa Barbara sounds great,” she told him, forcing a smile. “I’ll be back in a minute. I need to freshen up.
“Don’t leave me here too long,” Marcus said, chuckling. “Patience isn’t one of my finer virtues.”
When she stepped into the bathroom, she pulled out the picture Mary had given her. Closing her eyes, she brought forth Marcus’s face. Then she stared at the image in her hands. She sucked in a quick breath, startled at what she saw. Placing the picture back in her purse, she flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and returned to the studio. She would get the DNA sample another time. She knew she was stalling, but she didn’t care.
Carolyn placed her hand on her head and grimaced. “I have a headache. The last few days have been hell. I don’t want to be rude, but it’s probably better if you go so I can get some rest. Tomorrow we can have dinner together. I promise we’ll make it a full evening.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to see you tomorrow,” Marcus said, pinching his lips together. “Fine. I need to go to Europe on business, anyway. If you don’t want to see me anymore, I’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Go then,” Carolyn said, pointing to the white door on the other side of the room. “I just told you I didn’t feel well, and you’re trying to manipulate me.”
He closed the distance between them, grabbing her arm with the pointing finger and pushing it down. “Don’t be like this, Carolyn. I’ve been looking forward to being with you all day. I understand about your kids. Why are we arguing? I know it’s too late to go to my house in Santa Rosa. I have a solution that will make both of us happy. We could go to a hotel. There’s a Ramada Inn not far from here. I’m sorry I acted like a jerk.”
The stark reality of her situation struck home. If she ended it with Marcus tonight, she’d never know the truth. More important, she might be letting a murderer slip through her fingers. She’d fought too hard over the years to put violent offenders behind bars. Hank had been right. The only way to know the truth was to get the sample. She couldn’t simply walk over and pluck a hair out of his head or draw blood with her fingernail. She’d have to be in close contact with him. Also, she didn’t know how he’d react. As she’d told him, Neil and the kids could come back to the house for some reason. “I’ll take a couple of Advil. By the time we get to the hotel, my headache should be gone.”
Marcus pulled her against his chest. “Great,” he said, smiling. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
In her job Carolyn had repeatedly placed herself at risk. In order to extract information, she would wear a short skirt and flirt with a vicious criminal. She did it for one reason—for the victims. And now, if she had to sleep with a killer, so be it.
Lisa Sheppard deserved justice.
Marcus’s good looks and charisma may have seduced her, but his guilt or innocence could never be proven without scientific fact. Just collect the sample, she told herself. Just do it, and get back to the people you love.
She insisted they take separate cars. At first Marcus resisted, but later he gave in. She argued that if an emergency occurred, she didn’t want to wait for someone else to drive her.
The hotel room wa
s cold and dark. It had a lingering smell of cigarette smoke, mixed with a sickening room deodorizer that reminded her of a public restroom. Marcus went to the bathroom and deposited his gym bag on the counter next to the one-cup coffeemaker. Did he have a gun in there, Carolyn wondered, swallowing hard. Probably not, as there was no evidence the person who’d killed Tracy Anderson and Eleanor Beckworth had used a firearm. He could have a rope or cord to strangle her, though. Her eyes panned the room, looking for something she could use to defend herself with. Brad had written her a requisition for a new gun, but she’d just submitted it Monday.
Carolyn resisted the urge to leave. Without the sample, the police would have nothing more than they’d had that morning.
Marcus walked over and pushed her down on the bed. “I’ve got you all to myself finally,” he said, climbing on top of her. His lower body pressed into hers, and she could feel his erection.
“Stop,” Carolyn said, wiggling out from under him. His face registered surprise, then disappointment.
“I’m sticky and disgusting,” she explained. “I need to take a shower.”
When she sat up, Marcus wrestled her back down on the bed, saying, “You’re fine.” He unbuttoned her pants and shoved his hand inside. This was the perfect moment, she decided, his actions reminding her of what Carl Holden had done the night he’d tried to rape her. She dug the jagged nail into the soft flesh at the back of his arm.
“What the hell!” Marcus exclaimed, rolling off her. “I think a damn bug bit me.” He pulled his left arm forward but wasn’t able to see the spot where Carolyn had cut him.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” Carolyn said, scooping up her purse with her other hand as she raced into the bathroom before he could stop her.
She closed the door and locked it, then removed the nail clipper Mary had given her, seeing a small quantity of blood under what was left of her fingernail. She opened one of the plastic evidence bags first, then clipped the nail and let it fall into it. Once it was sealed and safely in her purse, she turned on the shower and began searching Marcus’s gym bag. Inside she found a small hairbrush. Pulling a pair of tweezers out of a sealed paper package, she carefully fished out several strands of hair and placed it into the first bag, then did the same with the other. If the hairs didn’t have roots, they would have to resort to mtDNA typing, but she wanted to have a backup in case something was wrong with the blood sample.
“Carolyn,” Marcus said, pounding on the door, “you have a phone call.”
She must have left her cell on the dresser with her car keys. “Is it one of the kids?” she said, surprised that he would answer her phone.
“No,” he yelled, “it’s Hank. He says it’s important.”
“Tell him to hold on.” She couldn’t walk out in her clothes, Carolyn thought, pulling her sweater over her head and yanking down her slacks. Removing her bra and panties, she tossed them on the floor and wrapped a towel around her naked body. Splashing some water on herself, she darted out of the room, snatching the phone from his hands.
“We found Holden,” Hank said, his voice more strained than usual. “Are you with Marcus?”
“Right,” Carolyn said, her eyes tracking him as he entered the bathroom and turned off the shower. “Thank God you caught him. Was there a problem? Did anyone get hurt?
“You could say that,” Hank answered. “Holden’s dead. Looks like someone killed him and propped his body up against the fence at the Alessandro Lagoon. He had a piece of paper attached to his chest. I don’t want to tell you what it said over the phone. Just get your butt down here.”
Once Hank had disconnected, she rushed into the bathroom to get dressed. “Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Marcus asked, following her.
“Someone killed Holden.”
“What’s the rush, then?” he said, tugging on the edge of her towel. “The guy’s dead. Let the cops handle it. I already paid for the room.”
Carolyn looked at him. “Holden tried to rape me and almost killed my kids. I want to dance on his grave, understand?”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” she said, shoving him in the chest and turning quickly toward the bathroom. She slammed the door in his face. Hurrying into her clothes, she grabbed her purse containing the samples. When she opened the door, she said, “This is official police business, Marcus. It’s confidential, kind of like your work. Rather than drive to Santa Rosa, why don’t you spend the night here?”
“I’m going home,” he said, frowning. “This night was a disaster. You weren’t in the mood, anyway. See you around.”
Carolyn ignored his theatrics and left. “Not in the mood” was an understatement. Marcus could pat himself on the back for being astute. What a good turn of events, she thought, wondering whom she had to thank for Holden’s death. The first person that came to mind was Troy Anderson.
CHAPTER 36
Thursday, October 19—9:45 P.M.
Floodlights lit up the Alessandro Lagoon. Police cars and unmarked detective units lined the narrow roadway. The sound of traffic hummed on the 101 freeway less than twenty feet away from where Holden’s body had been found.
The crime appeared to have occurred somewhere else, as there was no blood or physical evidence outside the parameters of the body. The killer had evidently transported the body and placed it in an upright, seated position near the opening in the fence, only a short distance from where Lisa Sheppard and Tracy Anderson had been buried.
Holden’s face was bloated and bloody. A large abrasion was visible on his forehead. His head was tilted backward at an unnatural angle, and a pattern of distinctive marks was visible on his neck. His left leg was partially severed above the knee, and the only clothing on his body was a ripped shirt and a pair of white undershorts, both stained with dried blood.
Mary was dressed in one of her red murder shirts. “The cases have to be connected now,” she told Hank. “This makes four homicides, if we don’t buy the suicide ruling on Eleanor Beckworth. We can’t afford to make any mistakes. Don’t you think it’s time to call in the FBI?”
“Hell no,” Hank barked. “You know how I feel about those tight-assed pricks.”
“If we have an interstate serial killer, the FBI could really help. They’re experts in these kinds of crimes, and they have fifty times more manpower. The Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico could profile him for us. Not only that, they could knock some sense into those goofballs I’ve been dealing with in St. Louis and San Diego.”
“Don’t go throwing around the words ‘serial killer,’ Hank told her. “The press will descend on us like a swarm of locusts. They just stopped printing articles about the “Sweeper.’ Frankly, I’m not sure that’s what we’ve got right now.”
Mary stared at the piece of paper safety-pinned to Holden’s shirt. “This guy wants attention, don’t you see? We could have been wrong about Holden all along. I’m not saying he didn’t rape those women, just that he might not be our man in the Sheppard and Anderson homicides.”
“He must have rolled him up in a plastic tarp or something,” Hank said, preoccupied with trying to figure out how the crime went down. “If he dragged him from the car without some type of protective covering, there’d be blood in the street. What do you think, Charley?”
“I agree.” Charley Young was kneeling near the corpse. He removed the note and safety pin, handing them to a CSI tech, who placed them in an evidence bag. “See the striae on the neck?” the pathologist said. “These stretch marks are caused by violent bending with subsequent massive fracture to the cervical vertebrae. This man was struck by a car traveling at a high rate of speed.”
“His neck was broken, right?” Mary said. “I saw this once in a hit-and-run accident. Holden must have been facing the vehicle. Those abrasions on his forehead look like road rash from when he flew over the top of the car and hit the pavement. That’s why his pants are gone. They must have connected with the front of the car and were pul
led off.”
“That about sums it up,” Charley said, pushing himself to his feet. “From the state of decomposition, I estimate time of death between two to three weeks, maybe as long as a month. As Hank was saying, the killer had to move him in something fairly sturdy and waterproof. The leg injury would have caused massive bleeding. I doubt if there’s much blood left in this body.”
Hank saw Carolyn talking to one of the men guarding the scene. He waved, and the officer let her pass. “This should be a pleasant sight to behold,” he said, “at least for some of us. Holden certainly didn’t enjoy it, but I know you will.”
Carolyn gazed intently at Holden’s broken and rotting body. “I might be damned for saying this,” she said, “but I hope he burns in hell. Who do you think killed him?”
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Hank said, chomping on a toothpick.
“Don’t tell me it was Matthew Sheppard,” she said, glancing over at Mary. “Let’s say Marcus is Sheppard, what possible reason would Sheppard have to kill Holden?”
“If Sheppard and Marcus are the same person,” the detective said, “then this isn’t the first time he tried to kill Holden. Not only that, the circumstances are similar. He tried to run over him with his Bentley, didn’t he? Maybe Holden was his patsy. Ever think of that?”
Carolyn shot out, “What about Troy Anderson? He had every reason to want Holden dead. And the key. Maybe whoever the safety deposit key belonged to thought Holden ran off with his goods and decided to kill him.”
“I have some good news,” Mary interjected. “After you gave us Marcus’s address, I was able to obtain basic information on him through the tax rolls. Then I ran him through all the databases. He’s got a high-level security clearance with the government, no prior criminal history, and he owns the property in Santa Rosa. His corporation, MRW Software Solutions, also looks completely legit.”
Carolyn breathed a sigh of relief. “I told you—”
Sullivan’s Evidence Page 36
