by Mary Burton
The blow struck with blinding speed and struck her on the side of the face. Like a light switch clicking off, her world went black.
The force of the strike rattled up Baby’s arm. Over and over Baby smashed the tire iron against bone until the woman’s body stilled.
One heartbeat stopped and another ratcheted up. This was thrilling. Exciting beyond words. A drug that could easily become addictive.
Baby raised the tire iron again. More strikes sent bolts of energy radiating up through the metal. Hot blood splashed against flushed skin and splattered the white coverlet as blow after blow obliterated Rebecca’s once lovely face.
Finally, the fever of the kill eased. Breathless, Baby stepped back and stripped off bloodied hoodie and coveralls and shoved them in a plastic bag. In the bathroom, blood rinsed away easily under the tap. Baby grabbed a white towel and dried hands and face.
A heavy, satisfied smile curled thin lips. This was a good day. A very good day.
February 9
Sugar,
I love you, Sugar, but I won’t beg.
A.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday, October 18, 12 NOON
With KC officially retired Deke, for the moment, was without a partner. The other members of the squad were consumed by their own cases so he arrived alone at the West Hotel to a flash of lights and uniformed cops surrounding the main entrance. Nodding to the uniforms, he made his way inside and up the elevator to the fifth floor. On the right, yellow tape and a half-dozen uniforms marked the entrance to the crime scene.
Pulling on rubber gloves he watched as Brad snapped pictures of the victim who lay on the other side of the bed. From the door he could see the spray of blood on the white comforter and on the walls. Pale white feet peeked out from behind the bed. “Brad, can I enter?”
His camera dangling from his neck, Brad reached for a logbook in his pocket and made a note. He was careful about documenting who entered and who left his crime scenes, a trait that had come in handy during trial.
When Deke received the thumbs-up, he slipped on paper booties and ducked under the tape. He moved into the room slowly, absorbing details. To his left he saw the drawn bath, rose petals floating on the surface. On the bath mat by the tub he spotted the impression of one set of small feet. The victim. Across from the tub, the blood splashed the sink, mirror, and the white countertop. A bloodied white towel lay discarded on the floor. Also by the sink the faint impression of a larger set of footprints. The killer.
In the room, he directed his attention to the bed where expensive lingerie draped over a black designer dress. Judging by the way the garments had been casually discarded, she had not been worried when she’d arrived and undressed. The attacker had come after she’d stepped out of the tub.
Brad’s camera flashed as he took more pictures of the body.
Another step and Deke saw the crumpled body of the woman, now curled on her side. The side of her head was an unrecognizable mess. The white hotel robe was soaked with blood.
Whereas Lexis’s blows had landed on her extremities, this victim, like Dixie, had been beaten primarily around the face.
“How long has she been dead?” Deke asked.
“I’m guessing twelve to eighteen hours. She was supposed to have checked out by eleven today. The maid found her when she came into the room. Blunt force trauma killed her.” He nodded toward the bed and an expensive handbag. “Her driver’s license identifies her as Rebecca Saunders, age thirty-one. She also came armed today with a box of condoms in her purse.”
“Expecting someone.”
An open wine bottle tilted in an ice bucket now filled with room temperature water. One glass sat untouched by the bucket and the other, stained with red lipstick, lay on the floor.
“No doubt.” Brad shoved out a breath and looked away from the body. Horrific scenes like this stayed with the responding team for a long, long time. “If the first blow didn’t kill her then surely the second did. The other blows were overkill.”
Deke studied the position of the body. “The first blow on the side of her head brought her to her knees.”
“That’s exactly what I think. The killing blow landed on top of her head. She’d never have felt the remaining blows.”
“Dixie and this victim had died almost instantly whereas Lexis Hanover suffered before she died.”
“This murder definitely matches the first. Lexis is the anomaly.”
“Maybe the killer wanted something from Lexis. That explains why her first blow didn’t kill her outright.” Rebecca and Dixie looked like Annie. Rachel and Lexis had been working on Annie’s murder case. All roads led back to Annie. “Have you had a chance to look at the Dawson letters?”
He craned his neck working tension from the tense muscles. “It’ll have to be tomorrow or the next day. I’m tied up here all day.”
“Sure. Are they real?”
He stretched the tightness from his lower back. “I think so.”
“Think?”
He lifted the camera back to his eyes. “I’ll explain later. I’m not sure it’s black-and-white.”
Deke brushed aside the urge to press for more questions knowing Brad needed to process the scene. “Sure. I’ll let you work, Brad. We’ll talk later.”
“I’ll be here the better part of the day. Make it later.”
“Done.”
He headed into the hallway and to the registration desk. He found the manager, a short pale man with thinning black hair sitting in his office. In shaking hands he held a cup of coffee.
Deke shoved on the door. “Are you the hotel manager?”
The man started, making coffee slosh on his hand and his burgundy shirt. He set the cup down and rose. “Yes. I’m Jimmy Winters.”
Deke held up his badge. “Detective Morgan. I’ve questions about the woman on the fifth floor.”
The reference was enough to send him back into his seat. His face paled another shade. “Worst I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ll never be right.”
The scene had been awful, but not the worst he’d seen. Fifteen years on the force had hardened him to the worst life had to offer.
“What can you tell me about the woman?” Deke asked. He settled in the seat across from the manager. “Has she ever been here before?”
The man pursed his lips and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. “The officer told me you’d be asking questions like that so I searched our records.” He turned toward a computer screen and punched a few keys. “She’s been coming here every Sunday for the last eight weeks. She always pays cash and she doesn’t stay the night.”
“She’s a hooker?”
The manager frowned. “We don’t have hookers at our hotel. This is a good place.”
“So what do you think she was doing here once a week?”
He sat a little straighter and adjusted his tie. “She was dressed well, polite to the staff and we never had an issue with noise or payment. I didn’t ask too many questions.”
“She must have had clients?”
“If she did, I never saw them.”
“I assume you have security cameras on the entrances?”
“Yes.”
“Which require a key to get in.”
“Yes.” He frowned. “She always requested two keys.”
“So she was expecting someone?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head as if willing the carnage away. “I don’t know.”
Deke pressed. “And you do have cameras on the side doors?”
“Yes. But the one on the back entrance is not working.”
“Where does that entrance lead?”
“Parking lot.”
A good entrance for someone who didn’t want to be seen. It would be a simple matter for Rebecca to slip out the back door and leave a key for her intended. “What name did she use when she registered?”
“Rebecca Saunders.”
That matched the name in her wallet. “Did she ever
say anything to you or your front desk person to make you think twice?”
“No. She was always polite and always nice.” He frowned. “She was pretty and the men liked it when she came. Looked forward to her weekly visits.”
“She always came on Sundays?”
“Yesterday was Monday.”
“She’s never stayed here on a Monday.”
Her pattern had changed. And she’d been murdered. Dixie’s routine had changed the night she died. She had been a last-minute show at Rudy’s. She’d received a text telling her she had a spot if she wanted it. Rudy had not been expecting her but he’d let her sing.
“Can you print out a list of all the days she was here?”
The manager picked up a printout. “I thought you might ask that question. I already did it.”
Deke took the page and scanned the dates. “Pull all of the security footage from the side doors the nights she was here. Might get lucky and see who was visiting her.”
“Sure. Sure.”
Three dead women and one who narrowly escaped an attack. Time to talk to Rachel Wainwright again.
Rachel had been on the phone with the medical examiner’s office again trying to get the release date of Lexis Hanover’s body. The medical examiner had spoken to her directly and explained patiently that she still needed to keep the body longer as the investigation was still open, but promised to call as soon as it was released. Rachel had wanted to argue, pester, generally be herself, but held her tongue.
Rachel rose, and stretched out her shoulder, still stiff and discolored. Days after the attack the bruise had deepened to a dark purple and stretched over the back of her shoulder across her arm.
The front bell rang. She rose and crossed to the front door, taking time to look through the peephole. The man on the other side of the door faced away but she recognized him instantly. The dark hair and the broad shoulders gave him away. Deke Morgan.
Tension melted. She opened the door. “Detective.”
He turned and when his gaze landed on her he studied her as if peeling back the layers. He frowned when he saw the dark purple bruise. “Counselor.”
“Don’t tell me the DNA has come in?” The question travelled as easily as her.
“You only know how to play one note, don’t you?”
“I never said that I was far thinking or original.” She cocked her head. “I take it that the answer is no.”
“It’s a not yet. May I come in?”
“Sure.” She stepped aside and allowed him to cross the threshold. As he passed, an unyielding, focused, and forceful energy radiated around him. When his sights zeroed in on a target he couldn’t be stopped. She closed the door. “What can I do for you?”
He glanced around her office, studying the disarray of papers and files on and around her desk. “You had any trouble in the last couple of days? Any other strange people?” His tone might be conversational but he wasn’t a man who stopped to chat.
“All is quiet.”
“And McMillian?”
“He’s keeping his distance.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Did you come all this way to check up on me?” And then unable to resist a sarcastic twist, she added, “Because if you did, I’m really touched.”
Lips curled into a little used smile. “Don’t be.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “No DNA. Could it be about the letters?”
“I’ll know more on those tomorrow.”
All hints of teasing evaporated. “You’ve had them analyzed.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“As I said, I will know more tomorrow.”
“No information on DNA or the letters.” She raised her hands in surrender. “I give up. Give me a clue. Why are you here?”
For a beat a heavy silence stood between them. “We have another body.”
Darkness rose up from the earth and wrapped around her like a shroud. “Who?”
“A woman named Rebecca Saunders. She was beaten to death at the West Hotel.”
“Beaten like Lexis?”
“Not like Lexis. Like Dixie Simmons.”
“That singer.”
“Yes.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“You survived an attack.”
“We aren’t certain it’s the same person. It could have been a mugger.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. The first and third victims were beaten strictly on the head and the face. Lexis, well she wasn’t killed right away.”
The shroud tightened. She was grateful to have received the tape and CDs this morning. “This all ties into the letters. I had them. Lexis had them. And now they are gone.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Why would anyone care about the letters? If they are real they are over thirty years old and from what I could tell they were written by a talented, if not volatile, woman who didn’t identify her lover.”
“You’ve pried open a can of worms and someone is not happy.”
“Dixie Simmons was killed before my press conference.”
“But whoever attacked her, came after you and killed Lexis. You all are connected to Annie, either in appearance or association.”
“Annie’s cause of death was never determined.”
“The skull was never found. The bones found did have unhealed fractures, but none of those injuries were deemed fatal. And a tire iron similar to the one found in Jeb’s truck was used in the recent killings.”
Frowning, she saw his logic. “So what do you want me to do?”
“It’s time we compared notes.”
She thought about the Annie tapes. Don’t open your mouth, Rachel. He’s a cop. The enemy! “Really?”
“You held back the letters. Anything else you’ve held back?”
“If you haven’t noticed, we are on the opposite side of the Jeb Jones case.”
“There is a killer out there now.” A steady tone did not dull the meaning’s razor sharpness. “I’d like to think we are on the same side in that case.”
“And if the two cases are connected?” She shook her head. “I owe it to Jeb not to play all my cards.” Lexis understands.
A vein in his neck pulsed with frustration under the tight hold of his collar and tie. “If you get in my way or I find out you held back again, I’ll file obstruction charges against you.” The words rumbled in his chest like a growl.
She’d been in enough legal brawls over the years to know she could hold her own. “Take your best shot.”
“I will.”
Deke arrived at the public relations firm before five. The glass and chrome front doors opened into a lobby tiled with marble. The interior decorating incorporated sleek chrome and leather and told clients they’d found their ticket to success. A guard sat behind a shiny console.
Pulling out his badge, he approached. “I’m here to see the president of TNK Public Relations.”
“Suite 301.”
“Great.” Seconds later he rode the elevator to the third floor where doors opened to the TNK Public Relations agency. More sleek glass, cool metals, and soft grays wrapped around the reception area. He moved directly to the receptionist, a cool redhead, and explained himself again. Within minutes a tall, well-dressed woman in a burgundy suit stood in the doorway.
She extended a neatly manicured hand. “Detective Morgan. I’m Taylor Knight. I own the company.”
“I’d like to talk to you about Rebecca Saunders.”
A slight frown wrinkled her face. “Come into my office.” He followed her into the corner office. As she closed the door behind her, she indicated a sitting area. He took a seat in one of the plush chairs while she took the couch opposite him. “Rebecca is one of our best client servicers. She’s been with us three years and is on track for a big promotion.” She checked her watch. “She did not come in today, which has raised some concern. Wha
t’s happened?”
“She was murdered.”
Taylor sat back against the couch, the energy deflating from her like a popping balloon. “What?”
“She was found this morning by the maid at the West Hotel.”
“The West Hotel? That certainly would have been her style. She had expensive tastes.”
“She was a regular visitor there. Every Sunday for the last eight weeks. Have any idea who she might have been meeting?”
She hooked a finger in a slim chain encircling her neck and moved it back and forth. “No. She broke up with her boyfriend a couple of months ago but it was all friendly. They remain friends.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jake Wheeler. He works for the association of churches.”
“Churches?”
“That’s how Rebecca and Jake met. They went to the same church.”
“What is the church?”
“New Community. She was active in her church. Had a real love for it all. I always thought that’s why she did so well with our nonprofit clients.”
Annie had been involved in her church. Dixie had sung in church. Was it New Community? “Do you have names of anyone she might have dated after Jake Wheeler?”
“No. From what I gathered she was single. She seemed happy and her work was top form. I could supply you with a list of the clients she serviced. She might have met someone through work I wasn’t aware of.”
“That would be helpful. What about friends in the office?”
“No female friends. Liked the company of men more.” Taylor typed a message into her phone. “I’ve asked my secretary to print a list for you.”
Ms. Taylor’s image of Rebecca did not line up with what he’d found in the hotel room. “No exes? No threats? No trouble?”
“None.” She leaned forward.
The door opened and a neatly dressed woman handed a list to Taylor. She glanced at it before giving it to Deke.
When the secretary closed the door behind her, he said, “Looks like you work for a lot of nonprofits.”
