by Jamie Hill
"Mel's high school mascot was a cardinal," Stone commented as he added a push pin for the location they'd found the body last night.
"We'll need to follow up on that." Willis said.
Mel folded her arms across her chest. "Already done. There are currently two cardinal mascots in the city, one at a public elementary school and the other at a Catholic middle school."
"Okay," Willis nodded. "But we aren't so interested in 'current' as we are past history. What schools had cardinal mascots when these uniforms were in vogue? Seventies era?"
Mel shrugged. "That information is a little harder to come by."
He snapped his fingers. "And that's exactly where I can help. We have one of the most sophisticated computer systems available, with a database that would blow your socks off."
"I knew it!" Stone exclaimed. "Complete with super-geeky, way smart technical analysts?"
Willis chuckled. "Not exactly like you see on TV. And it doesn't happen as fast, either. But our analysts are cracker-jack. I'll start feeding them information today. They'll have information for us by tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is Saturday," Stone commented.
Willis looked from him to Mel. "I suppose you two don't work weekends?"
"Of course we do," she piped up before Stone could say anything, and made a mental note to talk to Reeder about allowing some overtime.
"Sure." Stone shrugged, then added, "So are you here alone? I thought you people usually worked in teams."
"I supervise a team of agents," Willis acknowledged. "I sent them to Tacoma after a missing child. This particular case was right up my alley, so I volunteered to come here."
"Hence the title 'Supervisory Special Agent'," Mel teased. She thought she saw a slight flush to Willis' cheeks.
"Yeah." He shrugged. "Sorry about that. As I said before, I tend to get a little overexcited. These cases make my blood boil."
"But not enough to enlist a whole team to help." Stone mused. "I guess a missing kid in Tacoma outranks a bunch of dead hookers in Wichita."
"Not so." Willis said firmly. "If you saw the sheer volume of cases that cross my desk you'd be amazed. Dozens of people get killed or go missing each week, and the FBI has to choose where we feel we can do the most good. As I was telling Detective Curtis here, I seem to have developed the specialty for serial killers who prey on working girls. I don't particularly like it, but the cases generally share some similarities, and often times I'm able to help."
Stone seemed to mull over the information for a few moments until the geek in him resurfaced. "So, are you from Quantico?"
"No, San Antonio."
"San Antonio?" Mel and Stone repeated at the same time. "I don't hear a Texas accent," she added.
"I didn't say I was born and raised there. I grew up running through the cornfields of Iowa. Did a stint in the service which took me to Kosovo and Bosnia. Joined the FBI and did my training at Quantico," he nodded at Stone, "and now I go where they send me—wherever I'm needed."
Stone stared at the white board with all the information Willis had compiled. "I think we need you here, SSA Willis. I know these women do."
Mel followed his gaze. "Yeah. We appreciate any help you can give us on this case."
Willis looked at each of them for a moment. "We'll find this guy. I can feel it in my gut. He might think he's smart, but he's making mistakes. And we're smarter. We'll get him." To Mel he said, "What was your plan of action for today?"
"Go over the report when it comes in, obviously, then take the vic's photos to Oldtown. The girls don't start working there until afternoon. If we don't get a hit, more girls show up in the evening. We can check back. I'd like to identify this woman, see if anyone out there is missing her."
Willis nodded. "What about Rhonda and Donna? Was anybody missing them?"
Stone spoke up. "Rhonda Jensen was homeless, living off and on in a shelter run by the Lutherans. She had an expensive meth habit. One daughter, married with two sons, didn't much want to hear about what happened. Said she tried to help her mother over and over again, but finally gave up when mom started stealing money from her grandsons for drugs. Seemed sad when we told her, but not overly so. I suspect she walled off those emotions years ago."
Willis screwed up his face.
Mel added, "Donna Leonard is pretty much the same story, except no drug habit—she was bipolar and wouldn't stay on her meds. Daughter said they made her mom 'feel funny'. She was in and out of shelters, never in one place for long. The daughter is a lawyer, with a very nice lifestyle. She had mom committed several times and tried every service money could buy, but as soon as Donna got out of treatment she'd slipped back into her old ways."
Stone shook his head. "You'd think with all that money they could have hired someone to stay with her."
Willis shrugged. "Can't watch someone 24/7. If Donna didn't want to be helped, she'd find a way to escape. Just too damned bad how things ended up for her."
Mel said softly, "Maybe now that you're here, we can keep this from happening to anyone else's mother, SSA Willis."
He nodded. "Please, you can drop the formalities. It's just Willis. Or Nate."
She smiled. "I'm Mel, though most of the people around here call me Curtis."
"Or Black Widow." Nate grinned.
She rolled her eyes.
Stone cleared his throat. "You can call me 'Detective Stone'. Everyone here does."
Mel whispered, "Or little dude. He especially likes that."
Nate's laugh was deep and genuine. "Oh, I'll bet."
She was still grinning at the way his face lit up, so it didn't even bother her when Stone passed by, punched her arm and muttered, "Beotch."
Mel just smiled.
Chapter Two
Nate held on for dear life as Mel navigated the streets of Wichita at the upper end of the speed limit. He usually preferred to drive and had a shiny black bureau-issued SUV, but Mel insisted she knew the town, and he couldn't argue with that. Didn't want to argue with the gorgeous cop who matched him in stature as well as attitude. He'd seen lots of pretty women, dated a few dozen of them, but there was something different about this one—a spark of some kind, a spirit too irresistible to ignore.
He sighed. Five days. The chief had given him five days in Kansas to solve what the press was now calling the Cheerleader Slasher case. And at the same time, unravel the mystery that was Melanie Curtis.
She screeched to a stop at the curb alongside what appeared to be a shack with a sign that read 'Fanny's'.
"Hungry?" Mel glanced at him.
Surprised, he shrugged. They were supposed to be headed to a place called Oldtown to interview working girls, but it was after one p.m. "I could eat."
"Wait here." She exited the vehicle and approached a walk-up window at the shack.
He saw her talk to someone inside, hand over some cash, and in just a few minutes she returned with two brown paper sacks.
She climbed back in the Murano and handed the bags over. "Sliders. Best in town." She buckled up and proceeded to drive.
"Okay." Nate opened one of the bags and blinked. There were roughly a dozen small hamburgers, not individually wrapped, just stacked on top of one another. "Hmmm."
"Try one," she encouraged, and held out her hand.
He passed her one and took one for himself. The first bite made him think of a cheesy, oniony little taste of heaven. "Wow," he murmured, licking oozing mustard from his thumb.
She chuckled. "Napkins in the glove box."
He nodded and grabbed a couple for each of them. They were silent for the next few minutes as they each happily polished off three sliders. Nate offered the bag to her once more.
Mel waved him off, wiping her hands for the last time.
He rolled the half-full bag closed and cleaned up with his last napkin. "Not as hungry as you thought?"
Mel grinned again. "They weren't all for us. Stone didn't mind staying behind to work the evidence, but he would have minded mi
ssing Fanny's burgers. They're amazing fresh out of the microwave, too."
Nate settled the bags in the console between them and looked at her. "I was going to ask you about that. I hoped he wouldn't feel left out, but since we just got the report on the third vic, we really needed someone to go over it in depth and he seemed like the right choice."
She nodded. "When you get to know Henry, you'll find out he doesn't sweat the small stuff. He's not one of those players, always ambling for the best assignment, working his way up the food chain. He goes where he's needed, does what he's asked and more. He's a good partner."
Will I be here long enough to 'get to know Henry'? Nate exhaled, and the onions that had tasted so good on the burgers came back to haunt him. "Ugh, onions."
Mel laughed. "Sorry, but that's what makes Fanny's burgers so special. Can't get them without onions. Gum in the glove box, somewhere underneath all those napkins."
Nate chuckled and rummaged around until he found some Double Mint gum. "The folks we're going to talk to will thank you for this." He handed Mel a stick and chewed one himself.
She glanced sideways at him as she drove. "Most people would say 'they're just hookers'. Who cares about onion breath?"
He started to reply then stopped.
"What?" She pulled to the side of the road and parked.
They'd apparently arrived at their destination, brick-lined streets, traditional lamp posts, and most of the buildings looked to be converted warehouses. "This is…?" he asked.
"This area is called Oldtown. The city tried real hard to fix this neighborhood up. Redid the building fronts, gave low interest loans to businesses, all that jazz." She pointed up the block. "The farther you go in that direction, the nicer it gets. Really fancy shops, nightclubs, the works. But this little stretch just never took off. This is where you come for a cheap beer, some knockoff jewelry, or an escort for the evening—or an hour."
Nate nodded. Every city had a similar spot.
She gazed at him. "What were you going to say just now?"
"Hmm?" He pretended he didn't remember.
She replied patiently, "I told you that most people would say these women are just hookers, so who cares about onion breath? You started to say something then stopped."
He rubbed his chin, and realized he needed a shave. He liked the look of a two day beard growth, but after that it got itchy. Gazing up at Mel, he smiled. "I was going to say, 'I'm not like most people.' Then I realized that was the kitschiest pick-up line on the planet. So how about this. They're not just hookers to me. Every one of them is somebody's daughter, maybe somebody's mother, or even sister. I'm always telling people to remember that."
He watched with surprise as Mel raised a hand to her heart. Her eyes grew misty and for a moment, she couldn't meet his gaze. When she did, he saw real emotion in her eyes.
"You couldn't know this," she leaned in closer to him, "but that's the perfect pick-up line to use on me." She offered a small smile, and batted her lashes.
Nate froze, uncertain what to do. Go for it. He moved forward, his face mere inches from hers. They stared at each other.
"I was going to kiss you, but…." Mel trailed off, their faces inches apart.
"I know." He picked up on her thought. "We work together, we have a case to solve, we should be focusing on—"
She pressed two fingers to his lips. "I was going to say, 'but I have onion breath'." One more bat of her lashes, a quick smile, and she backed away. She grabbed one sack of burgers and opened her door. "Come on."
Too startled to do anything but comply, Nate followed her lead. They approached three women standing on the corner, obviously working girls. Two appeared young, pretty, with long hair and nice figures. Both had good complexions and white teeth. Newbies. No visible battle scars. Not time-worn. Yet.
They eyed Nate and one made lewd gestures about getting together with him. He smiled and focused his attention on the third woman. She had darker skin and short, bleached blonde curly hair. Definitely older, mid-forties perhaps, she looked more the type their killer went for. The woman flashed a grin at Mel and he could see a gold capped tooth in front.
"Hey Goldilocks! Seein' you here never be good news." Her accent rang out a combination of Jamaican and street slang.
Nate glanced at Mel. Goldilocks? She had some 'splaining to do.
"Hia Shelia," Mel acknowledged. "You're right about that, and today's no exception. Need you to eyeball a photo for me."
"Cops," Shelia shook her head.
The mere utterance of the word sent the two younger girls slinking into the shadows, evidently wanting nothing to do with police.
"It's okay," Shelia called to them. "These be homicide cops. The ones you gots to watch out for be vice cops." She looked at Mel and grinned. "Except that Brady Marshall. He one fine man. That cutie patatootie can shake me down any day of 'da week."
"Ah, Brady." Mel agreed. "Know what you mean. But he's a married man now, Sheila. Has twin baby daughters even. A real family man these days."
"Uh huh." Shelia nodded knowingly. "You tell my Brady if'n he ever needs some time away from that family to be lookin' me up. I give him a special rate."
Mel laughed. "Living dangerously, Shelia. His wife has mob connections you know."
"I'm just sayin'." Shelia shrugged.
Mel handed over a cropped photo of the last victim's face.
As Sheila studied it, Nate murmured, "A cop's wife with mob connections? How does that work?"
Mel chuckled again. "That's a whole 'nother story. I'll tell you about it sometime. You might even meet Brady. He's a good guy."
Shelia handed the photo back. "Never seen her." She sniffed toward the sack in Mel's hand. "What you got?"
"Just came from Fanny's." Mel handed over the bag.
The woman peered inside and for a moment, seemed to savor the fragrant aroma. She pulled out a burger and inhaled it in three bites. The second went down just as quickly. She made a show of licking her fingers then held out her hand for the photo again, and gave it another look.
Nate smiled at Mel's acumen. She knew how to get through to street people. Food was often a good place to start.
"I might'a seen her around. Might'a been with Juicy. You know Juicy, sweetie?"
Mel shook her head.
Sheila pulled out a small flip phone and speed dialed a number. She turned her back to talk.
Mel raised her brows at Nate. "Always surprises me when they have cell phones. I mean, if they can afford that…."
He shrugged. "Sometimes the pimp pays for it. Maybe they're throwaway phones and the user buys minutes. It's actually a pretty good safety feature. Do we know if Rhonda or Donna had phones?"
"We don't." She screwed up her face. "Never even thought to check."
"That's okay. We'll get on it when we get back. See, this is why bouncing ideas off each other is good."
"Bouncing, yeah." She allowed her gaze to travel down the length of his body and back up again. "Good."
Nate had never considered himself a blusher, but he felt his face heat up and knew it was gaining color at that moment. From Mel's satisfied expression, he could surmise that she noticed, and rather enjoyed his discomfort. He turned from her and adjusted his belt. Gonna be a long five days.
Sheila ended her call and faced them. "She be here in a minute. Right 'round 'da corner."
"Thanks." Mel smiled at her. The most beautiful smile Nate had ever seen on anyone. Sweet, sincere, even in these less than perfect circumstances. Beautiful.
He shook his head to clear it, and spotted a red-headed woman rounding the nearest corner. She approached with a wary expression on her face. He studied her. Forty-something with skin that looked years older; this one either smoked or drank heavily. He could tell by the dull color of her complexion, even through the thick layer of pancake.
"Juicy! Get oba here." Sheila shoved the last of the cheeseburgers in her mouth and tossed the sack into the waste bin near the old-fashioned
lamp post next to her.
"What's up?" Juicy eyed Mel and Nate suspiciously.
"These be homicide in-vest-a-ga-tors," Sheila pronounced the word haughtily. "Have a pitcher to show you. Another dead girl."
Juicy scowled. "No, not another one."
"I'm sorry." Mel said softly. "I'm Detective Curtis and this is Agent Willis. If you wouldn't mind just having a look at the photo. This woman has family and friends somewhere. I'd really like to find out her name."
The woman seemed to screw up her courage before nodding.
Mel handed over the photo.
Juicy looked quickly then handed it back. Her face belied no expression when she asked, "Got any gum? I like Juicy Fruit."
Mel nodded and shot Nate a look. "No Juicy Fruit, but we have Double Mint. We have some cheeseburgers from Fanny's too, if you're hungry."
Juicy gazed at her with dull eyes.
Nate understood the look. Duh. Street people were always hungry. "I'll get them," he offered, and hurried to the Murano. He grabbed the food and gum, and took them back to Juicy.
She grabbed with both hands and began eating, at the same time offering a small, "Thanks."
"Sure." Mel smiled again and waited for Juicy's timeframe.
The second burger went down more frantically, and it was then that Nate could tell Juicy knew their victim. Her eyes welled up but she tried hard to fight the emotion. After she'd polished off three burgers, she wrapped the others up and popped a stick of gum in her mouth. "Her name is Linda. Was Linda."
"Do you know her last name?" Mel prodded gently.
Juicy shook her head. "She stayed at Sister Catherine's shelter a couple blocks over." She nodded behind her. "The sister should know her name. Her and Linda were friendly. Anything she owned, you'll prolly find it there."
"Sister Catherine's," Mel repeated. "Did you see Linda yesterday? Notice anyone she was with?"
"We was together until about three. Then I went to have my hair done. Never saw her again after that."
Nate wondered what she had 'done' to the straggly mop of hair, but didn't voice his thoughts out loud. Instead, he asked, "Has anyone new been hanging around lately? A vehicle you might remember? A different man that caught your attention?"
