Durango stood and grabbed a clean pair of jeans out of his duffle, dressing quickly.
“Where are you going?” Gracie demanded.
“I should go see if we can keep the room another night. This is going to take a while.”
* * *
The room looked like a bomb had gone off. Photographs and a couple of street maps hung from the walls, pieces of yarn connecting victims to locations. Notes were scattered over the floor, forensic reports in one pile, detective reports in others. There wasn’t a spot in the entire room where they didn’t have to pick their way through these piles, not a space where they could move freely without touching something related to one of the Harrison Strangler’s victims.
She had everything from autopsy reports to interviews with family and friends of each victim. She even had interviews with suspects convicted of other individual murders even though it was obvious each of these murders didn’t fit a pattern.
And he now had his list of times and locations that he could cross reference with his father’s movie productions. That was another wall, yarn marking each film with its location and a list of individuals they had both managed to verify had been there. The lists were sometimes more than a hundred names.
Too many suspects.
“There has to be a way to narrow it all down.”
Durango shook his head as he studied the list of people who’d accompanied his father to Colorado the summer he turned sixteen. “My father is very loyal. He often uses the same people over and over.”
“What about Dallas?”
“I wish we could, but he was on his way to Florida during this time period,” he said, touching a victim’s pic, “so he had his entire production team traveling with him. They bought out the top six floors of a local hotel. He didn’t understand why that embarrassed the shit out of me.” He touched another victim’s pic. “And he was filming a commercial this weekend, so he had about half the normal people with him, but they were all the same people that are on most of these other lists.”
Gracie grunted even as she moved up beside him, still dressed in nothing but his t-shirt, her hair wild from the many times she’d dragged her fingers through it. Her eyes had dark circles under them, a testament to the fact that they’d been at this for over eight hours.
“You need to eat something,” he said.
She didn’t respond except to press a finger to the picture of the third Dallas victim. “What about her? Was your father in town that week?”
While most of the victims were killed in the same way, their bodies found in similar conditions, some were slightly different enough to raise a few eyebrows. This third victim was killed two weeks before Durango packed up his apartment and moved to Chicago. He wasn’t even in town the day her body was found. He’d flown to the Bahamas to spend a few days with Billy before the move. Billy had given up on community college by that point and decided to become an actor, but the search for jobs wasn’t going well at the time. He wouldn’t land his first big job until a year later. It was a trip Jackson had suggested—and paid for—that Durango decided to accept because he knew Billy needed it.
“I don’t know. It really depends on when she was killed.”
Gracie bent low to search through the autopsy reports, her ass baring itself as the t-shirt pulled up over her hips. He reached over and ran a hand slowly over her soft skin, his fingers tips brushing her bare lips. She glanced back at him, a soft smile on her lips. But then it was back to business when she finally located the report she wanted.
“The coroner was unable to determine the exact time of death because of the weather that week—I guess it was extremely hot and her apartment had no air conditioning. That’s why her neighbor finally called the police, because of the smell.”
“The rate of decomp was accelerated.”
Gracie nodded. “The best he could estimate was five days before she was discovered.”
Durango searched his memory, trying to remember where he’d been that day. It was eleven years ago, so his memories were a little hazy. But he was pretty sure he’d been in Chicago.
“I went to Chicago to secure an apartment. When I got back, Billy and Jackson were there. Billy and I were going on vacation, so Jackson had flown in with him to see us off.”
“Then he was there? Your father?”
Durango nodded, his eyes still moving over the lists. “But so were half a dozen of his assistants and whatever. Jackson never went anywhere alone.”
“He came to Springfield alone.”
“That’s because he hasn’t been making as many films these last few years. He’s changed up his lifestyle a little.”
“But, back then—”
“He never traveled alone. Every free moment was a moment to work, and he needed his assistants to get anything done.”
Gracie sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, dislodging more piles that were stacked there. It was amazing how much paperwork she’d been able to shove into that one file.
“Food,” he said, leaning close to her. “We need to get out of here and let our brains rest a little.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He continued to study the lists and locations while she dressed, something niggling at the back of his mind. His eyes kept moving back to the first victim, a college coed named Natalie Spencer. She was blond haired, blue eyed, like so many of the other victims. And young. There was something about the curve of her jaw that reminded him of someone he knew, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He moved closer to the photograph, really studying it. He told himself that his mind was just overloaded from all the information Gracie had dragged out for him, but he couldn’t shake that there was something familiar about her.
And then he knew what it was.
Once he figured it out, he saw that it wasn’t just the curve of her jaw. It was her smile and something about her eyes, a sort of up swoop in the corners that his mind saw as a line of dark makeup drawn by an unsteady hand.
She resembled his stepmother. Bridgette.
“Durango, darlin’, why don’t you come give your step mommy a kiss?”
He shivered, the memory of her voice sending chills down his spine. Bridgette had been a piece of work. One of those women who had to be the center of any man’s attention, even a man-child who wouldn’t understand those flirtatious smiles for another five or six years.
“What?” Gracie asked, coming up behind him, her hand snaking under the back of his shirt to hook a finger in the waistband of his jeans.
“Nothing.”
She sighed against him, the heat of her breath warming him to his core. He turned and wrapped his arms around her, holding her for a long moment.
“Thank you for doing this.”
“I always intended to. I was just waiting for the right moment.”
“I don’t think there’s ever a good moment to introduce this level of homicidal obsession to a man.”
She smiled, pushing her head back to look up at him. “But we aren’t typical people, are we?”
He kissed the center of her forehead and turned her around, pushing her toward to door. “Let’s get out of here and pretend we are typical people for a little while.”
“Make sure you put up the do not disturb sign. Wouldn’t want the maid walking in on this.”
He did as he was told, though satisfied with the idea that it was a little late in the day for a maid. But they could never be too careful.
Chapter 10
Chicago, Illinois
Cherry’s Diner
Zola leaned forward and touched the man’s arm, a little smile on her lips. “You are adorable!”
He blushed. “Am I?”
“The most adorable. I can’t believe you knew who I was the moment I walked in here!”
“Of course I did! I never missed an episode of Stranger’s Retreat. And when they brought you on, right in the middle of the season, that was the most incredible plot twist I’ve ever seen on a reality show!”
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“It was pretty crazy. I thought Brian might lose it when he saw me.”
“You are so beautiful. He must have thought it was the luckiest day of his life!”
Zola dipped her head slightly, trying to appear humble. “I don’t know about that.”
“You are beautiful. And when you got with Gunner, I was screaming at the television!”
“Were you happy?”
“Of course! Everyone on the message boards knew you and Gunner would win!”
“But I didn’t.”
His expression grew sad. “Yeah. They didn’t really explain why you and Brian had to leave.”
“It was . . . complicated.”
“But I’m glad Gunner won.”
She smiled, thinking about Gunner. He was here in Chicago, waiting for her back at the hotel. She was looking forward to getting back to him. They were still learning all the ways a bed was much better than a cramped water closet, and she was ready for another lesson.
But first this.
“Are you and Gunner still together?”
She nodded, adopting something of a dreamy expression that wasn’t completely fake. “We are. I’m actually here to pick up a hamburger for him.”
“He lives in Chicago?”
“We’re visiting friends. We live in Springfield now.”
“Together?”
She nodded, though the details of that hadn’t quite been worked out yet. Gunner was in Springfield more than he was his place here—and the place here was in chaos because he’d begun packing, hence the hotel—but they hadn’t quite decided if he’d move in with her or if they’d rent a new place. It all seemed a little rushed to her, but he kept trying to convince her that when things are meant to be, there’s no reason to ignore that.
She hoped he was right.
“That’s really cool.”
She smiled, but then her smile faltered. “I’m being really rude, aren’t I? I haven’t even asked what you do for a living!”
He shook his head. “Nothing exciting. I’m a clerical assistant over at the coroner’s office.”
“Is that right? What does a clerical assistant do?”
“File paperwork, mostly. Nothing exciting.”
“But it’s all about dead people, right? Do you ever file paperwork on murders?”
“Sure. All the time.” His face lit up as she leaned in, hinting excitement. “In fact, that producer from your show, Felicity Meeks? She was in our office just the other day.”
“Really? Why? Is she planning a new reality show?”
Grief washed over his face. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“She died. Someone strangled her.”
Zola’s shock wasn’t completely fake. She’d heard about Felicity’s death, but it was still a little unreal to her. And the fact that Durango had been accused of doing it was even more shocking. She thought she knew Durango, that she’d gotten to know him well during the Stranger’s Retreat case. She didn’t think he was capable of such a thing.
But she could be wrong.
“Did you file her autopsy report?”
He nodded. “It was sad. The poor woman.”
Zola sat back, real tears filling her eyes. She was thinking about her lost CIA career and the man who’d screwed it all up for her. The memory of him was always a great motivation for tears.
“I’m sorry,” her new friend said, patting her hand lightly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shook her head. “I just . . . I liked Felicity.”
“Do you want to see the report?”
She tilted her head slightly, pretending to think about it. “Maybe it would be interesting.”
“Autopsy reports are fascinating. You learn things you never could have imagined if the person didn’t tell you.”
“You’re a good friend, George.”
She patted his arm again, and that blush came back. She knew then that she had him.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Zola not only had the full autopsy report in her hand but also had the preliminary tox screen, too. There was also a notation about DNA, suggesting she’d had sexual relations just before her death, but there wasn’t enough for them to test. That meant whoever she’d been with had either used a condom or hadn’t come to a happy ending.
Zola wondered what that meant for Durango.
She distracted George by asking about the possibility of seeing an actual corpse, using her phone to take pictures of each page of the reports while he was off seeking whoever he had to ask. She slipped out the back, not one to wait around and break a guy’s heart.
“I hope this helps,” she said to herself as she sent the pictures in a quick email to Axel Kinkaid back in Springfield. Then she happily pranced off to the hotel where Gunner waited.
* * *
“Got it,” Axel called to Calder. He was back in Springfield now that Zola was in Chicago gathering what information they could safely ask her to get. Calder came over and looked over his shoulder, trying to read the forms that were miniaturized on the phone.
“Let me print them out.”
“Do you think he’s innocent?” Calder asked as Axel searched his phone for the proper program to print the pictures.
“Who?”
“Durango. Who else?”
Axel shrugged. “I don’t know, man.”
“Gracie thinks he is.”
“Gracie is in love with him.”
Calder’s head came up. “Yeah?”
Axel chuckled. “You’ve never seen the way she looks at him?”
“Well, yeah, but I thought it was more admiration than affection.”
“No. Girl’s been in love with him since I started working here. When she thinks he’s not looking, she goes to town with that intense stare girls can get.”
Calder just shook his head. “Poor Gracie.”
“Why?”
“What if he’s guilty?”
A heavy silence fell between them. Axel turned to look at the photographs and notes that were pinned to the walls in this, Kyle’s former office. There was nothing more difficult to figure out than a crime committed by a stranger. The randomness of it made it nearly impossible. But if Durango was the killer . . . It all made sense. Kyle was his partner. Maybe he was getting tired of her telling him what to do. Hyde was investigating him. Maybe she got too close. Felicity Meeks was a client, someone who knew Durango personally through his brother. Maybe they’d become intimate, and she heard something or saw something she wasn’t supposed to.
It all made sense when he looked at Durango except for one. His assistant. He barely knew her, barely had time to get involved with her in any intimate way. Why would he kill her?
Maybe he’d just developed a taste for it.
But Axel had known Durango for three years. He’d worked side by side with him out in the field when he first came to work for Mastiff. He didn’t believe him capable.
Yet, even Ted Bundy had people in his life who didn’t think he was capable, either.
“If he’s guilty, we’ll do what we can to protect her.”
Calder snorted. “She broke him out of jail and is currently on the run with him. What are we going to do to help her?”
Axel stepped out the door to get the prints from the machine. When he returned, he handed them to Calder.
“I think there’s a lot more to Gracie than we know. I have a feeling she’ll be just fine.”
But Calder was already lost in the words on the autopsy report. “No DNA,” he said, somewhat triumphantly. “But there was a sedative in her blood. Has the killer ever used a sedative before?”
Axel shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”
“Why would he do that with her?”
Axel walked over and took the report from Calder’s hands. He scanned through it until he found what he was looking for.
“Fuck!” he said softly.
“What?”
Instead
of answering, Axel went to the wall and began tracing his finger over other reports that Durango had hung there, reports related to the killings that Durango investigated as a Chicago PD detective over five years ago. When he found what he was looking for, he ripped the page off the wall.
“Have you ever noticed that there’s like two separate patterns with these victims?”
“What do you mean?”
Axel waved the paper he held in the air like it was a flag. “Some of the Chicago victims were killed indoors, some were killed outdoors. Some were staged with their legs splayed, some were staged with their legs closed. Some were manually strangled, some strangled with a piece of clothing . . . are you following.”
“I guess.”
“Durango arrested a man in Chicago. Dirk Francis, right?”
“The hacker they found dead.”
“Yeah. With a note that said that Durango should try again.”
“Yeah. So?”
“I think Durango was right. I think Francis was killing these women, but not all of them. And I think our guy has a signature that we’ve fucking missed all this time.”
Calder was clearly confused. “The drug—”
“Not the drug. Look what it says underneath.”
Calder looked at the report again, his head came up as understanding brightened in his eyes. “Fuck me! How did we not see this?”
“I don’t know, but we need to tell Durango. Maybe it’ll help him and Gracie find the real killer.” Axel laughed, relieved for the first time since these murders had come to roost at Mastiff.
“He’s not guilty. There’s no way Durango could have committed these crimes.”
And Calder, the perpetual doubted, agreed.
Chapter 11
Somewhere Outside Los Angeles, California
Durango was lost in thought, thinking about another dream he’d had early this morning. Once again, Billy was there, these marks on his neck. But he wasn’t a child anymore. He was older. And Jackson was there, screaming at Durango, but his voice was silent. It was like watching a movie with the sound turned off. And an image of a girl in a purple dress kept floating through the dream, but he couldn’t see her face, and he couldn’t figure out who the hell she was or how she related to the rest of the dream.
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