The Beast Within: Mended Souls #2

by Jacquie Biggar

  She glared at Ron. “Who told you to move my purse? Give it back. What if the kids need me?”

  He gave her a what-the-fuck look that made her feel like she’d taken Freddy’s last stick of bubblegum for no good reason.

  “Relax, jeez. It’s on the floor. I’m sure we’ll hear if your phone rings.” He shook his head and went back to reading maps, but she noticed he didn’t set her bag back on the seat either.

  Men. They’d do something that made no sense and when you called them on it, they’d invariably get defensive. She turned down the radio to a dull roar, grimacing at his taste in music. Punk rock, really? No wonder he had a headache. And Connor thought she was bad.

  “So spill the beans, Henderson. Where are you from? Ever been married? Kids?” Julie was surprised by how little she knew about him considering they’d been working together for the past six months, ever since Ron joined the station.

  He looked up from his phone, one eyebrow giving her the high five. “Wow, Crenshaw, that’s some mean reporting skills you got going there.”

  He rolled his window halfway down, giving them a cool blast of spring. “Ontario, no, and no. Does that answer your questions?” Then, before she could come up with a snooty answer he threw them back at her. “What about you? I know your husband died.” She flinched. “And you have two boys, but where did you come from? What made you decide to become a reporter? Why here?”

  Served her right for being nosy.

  She shot him a sideways glance, saw his genuine interest, and dialed back her retort. “We both came from Chicago. I loved it there, the city is beautiful, vibrant, but Mike’s dream had always been to move here, to the island.”

  She rubbed her wedding ring as though it were a lucky talisman. “We spent our honeymoon here and decided this was the perfect place to raise children.” She gave him a wry twist of the lips. “You know what they say about best laid plans…” She shrugged. “Anyway, Chicago wasn’t the same without Mike.”

  He reached over and patted her leg. “Sorry, kid.”

  She blinked away the annoying tears and shifted her knees closer together, uncomfortable until he removed his hand. There was an awkward silence, broken only by the howling of his off-road tires chewing up the pavement.

  “Hey, I hope you don’t think I was hitting on you, or anything.” He laughed. “You’re not exactly my type, if you know what I mean.”

  She relaxed, smiling. “Not young enough, right?”

  He stared at her, all indignant-like. “What are you trying to say, Crenshaw? My dates are all legal-aged.”

  “Yeah?” she quipped. “By how much?”

  He snorted. “Jealous?”

  “Ha. First I’d have to like you, Ron.” She blinked at him innocently.

  “Touché.” He acknowledged her jab. “I’ll have to work on that, then.”

  A few fat splats on the windshield heralded the arrival of the rain. Julie searched the levers until she figured out how to switch the wipers on. Why couldn’t they make every vehicle the same?

  “Hope this is just a shower,” she said, peering up at the fast-moving mass of gray above their heads.

  Ron rolled up his window and flicked on the defrost. “Spring storms are unpredictable. I wouldn’t worry though, ol’ Betsy here will see us through.” He lovingly patted the dash.

  Hmm, for reporters they had a distressing lack of originality when it came to naming their cars.

  “How long have you had her?” Julie asked, noticing the carefully polished chrome and spotless carpet.

  Ron shrugged and fiddled with the radio. “I dunno, eight or ten years, I guess.”

  She glanced at the odometer, almost two hundred thousand clicks. He must keep it serviced regularly, it still ran whisper-quiet for a big vehicle.

  “Don’t let the boys in here.” She nodded toward the worn, but clean seats. “They’re little monsters with sticky hands.”

  He looked suitably worried. “Good to know.”

  He pointed toward a turn coming up on their right. “Here it is.”

  Julie slowed, clicked the turn signal on, and moved to the side of the road to allow the traffic behind room to go around. The road was gravel, as expected, and snaked upward into a tall stand of cedar and hemlock, so tall they seemed to shake hands with the clouds.

  She drove for a couple of miles, both hands mangling the wheel, before glancing at Ron. “How far?”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “Don’t know. We should see some police tape or something when we get closer.”

  Sure enough, another couple of switchbacks later the reflective yellow of the tape fluttered on branches with the force of the wind. Julie shivered. The whole place carried a spooky, malevolent atmosphere. This high up, with the moisture coating the air, mist wove in and out of the trees like ghostly wraiths from some horror movie.

  The body was gone, take to the Medical Examiner’s office for analysis, but it still felt as though remnants of the murder remained.

  The terror.

  Desperation.

  The rage.

  It was impossible to understand what drove a person to commit such a heinous crime. Even taking into consideration the possibility of child abuse and all the ugly connotations that went with it, most people sought counseling and managed to live a somewhat normal life—even if it was never forgotten.

  Not this guy.

  He’d taken on the role of vigilante justice, at least in his own mind. It all made a twisted sort of sense to Julie. He saw these women as symbols of whoever hurt him in the past—and his focus was to make them pay. Which made her think he’d been helpless against the person who had injured him—wife? Parent? Whoever it was, they’d managed to create a monster and were just as guilty as he was, in her opinion.

  “Ready?”

  Ron’s voice made her jump. She’d been so busy recreating events she’d forgotten he was there.

  “Yes. Let’s get our shots and get out of here. This place creeps me out.” She shut off the truck’s diesel engine, rubbed clammy hands on her trousers, and opened the door to jump down. She glanced over her shoulder as she slid off the seat to the ground and caught a look on Ron’s face that almost froze her in mid-air.

  Satisfaction.

  What the hell was that about?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Connor sat up and stared at his computer screen.

  You gotta be kidding me. He’d been right under their noses the entire frigging time. How had they missed this?

  He shoved his chair away and paced to the door, flinging it back on its hinges, and striding down the hall, his heart pounding out a furious hurry, hurry before-it’s-too-late. He dialed Julie as he walked. C’mon, honey, be there, be there.

  No answer. Fuck.

  Officers stared at him like startled deer, then stood and reached for their vests, no questions asked.

  Not so Maddie. She turned from the file cabinet and hurried over. “What’s wrong? Is it Matt?”

  Connor hesitated, aware of her feelings for his partner. “Were you aware Matt transferred here from Ontario?”

  She frowned. “No, why?”

  “C’mon, I need to check on Julie. We can talk in the car.” He waved the other officers back to their seats. “I’ll call if I need you. Be ready to roll.” He knew he came off sounding harsh, but worry had knotted his stomach until he could barely breathe. Visions of the woman at the morgue kept cycling through his mind, reminding him their unknown suspect was an unconscionable killer.

  Maddie was already buckled in and waiting in the passenger seat of his car, and he silently thanked her for knowing he needed to do something, even if it was only to drive—for now. He couldn’t even consider anything else. If that bastard had Julie… Connor would move Heaven and earth to find her.

  “What’s going on, sir? Why did you ask me about Matt?” Maddie hung on, her face grim.

  He shot her a quick sideways glance, then focused on the road, the cruiser’s red and bl
ues bouncing their colors off the panes of glass as they flew down the business district.

  “I ran an intensified search using the information we’ve gathered so far and came up with a hit.” He laughed, but it wasn’t with humor. “More than one, actually. There’s been at least eight cases with direct links to our guy. Same MO, and we missed it.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe we missed it.”

  Maddie’s gaze was stricken, “Matt? It can’t be Matt. I went out with him. We were… close.” She clenched her hands. “You’re wrong about this, sir. Dead wrong.”

  He squeezed the life out of the steering wheel. “Yeah, well, let’s hope you’re right, or it might be Julie that’s next.” A cocktail mix of fury, betrayal, and dread swirled in his gut. The more he thought about it, the more the anger churned. The son-of-a-bitch had used the police force, his friends, everyone. The why of it didn’t even matter anymore. All Connor gave a shit about was bringing the bastard in before anyone else got hurt.

  Especially Jules.

  God, why wasn’t she answering her phone?

  He rounded the final corner on squealing tires and raced for the end of the block, only slowing at the last minute in case Matt was holding Julie hostage in her house. The last thing he wanted was to back the guy into a corner. He was police-trained; he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  And there his car was, parked under a giant willow, halfway hidden from the street. Maddie pointed and swiped moisture from her eyes. He knew how she felt. Right up until this moment, he’d hoped against hope that he was wrong.

  He turned off his lights, grateful he’d chosen to come in on a silent approach instead of with bells ringing. They would have next to no advantages against the suspect—he couldn’t think of him as Matt—so they had to do whatever they could to gain the upper hand.

  He opened his door, and was stopped by the hand on his arm.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Her pretty green-gold eyes swam with sorrow, and with determination. She was something, Madeline Tate.

  “Me too, corporal. The best we can do now is bring him in and give him a fair trial. You with me?”

  She nodded. “Where do you want me?”

  Good girl.

  He nodded toward the back of the house. “You go that way. Make sure he doesn’t make a run for it. And Maddie,” he murmured. “Don’t take any chances.”

  Her eyes widened as she took in his meaning to use force if necessary. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, sir.”

  Oh, he was.

  As Connor edged his way down the street, he kept hoping. Maybe Julie had fallen asleep after he left and didn’t hear her phone. Even though she kept it nearby in case her children called. Maybe she’d decided on another shower, this time alone. Or maybe she’d stepped outside to take out the trash and was invited to a neighbor’s house for coffee.

  Anything other than what he feared.

  He drew his weapon when he neared Matt’s car. A quick glance in the windows proved the vehicle to be empty. A take-out container from a popular fast food chain lay untouched on the passenger seat just waiting to be opened. Why would he buy food right before going after his prey? A closer inspection showed a full cup of Matt’s favorite coffee sitting in the holder, also untouched. Something wasn’t adding up here.

  Every muscle tensed for action, he crept to the back end of the car and crouched, searching for whatever had his sixth sense going crazy. There was absolutely no movement anywhere. It was like a scene from the Twilight Zone. Abandoned toys, scudding clouds, whirling dust. If he were superstitious he’d be seriously weirded out.

  The house was across the street. Unless he was going to creep all the way down the block to come up the other side, there was nothing for it, but to make a dash for the bushes lining Julie’s driveway and pray like hell he wasn’t seen.

  A faint moan near his ear startled his concentration so much he lost his balance and would have fallen if not for a quick hand against the bumper to steady himself.

  What the hell?

  He took one last glance at the house, then hurried to the driver’s door. Locked. There wasn’t time for finesse, so he used the butt of his gun and tapped the window once, twice, third time lucky. It popped and a hole appeared large enough to get his hand in and release the door handle. He reached down beside the seat and pushed the lever to open the trunk, then rushed to the back before whoever was in there could get away.

  He grabbed the trunk, kept his gun trained on the opening, and lifted the lid.

  It took a moment for his adrenaline to slow enough so he could comprehend what he was seeing. Matt lay bound in a fetal position, a blood-stained red and white kerchief shoved in his mouth and tied at the back. His hands were likewise secured behind him with a plastic zip tie pulled so tight his fingers looked like swollen sausages.

  His bruised eyes opened and he made that inhuman wailing sound again, and Connor jumped into action. He undid the cloth and yanked it down, relief that his friend was alive—and that he’d been horribly wrong about him—blurring his vision.

  “Fuck, man, there’s easier ways to become a hero.”

  Matt’s laugh was hoarse, betraying his emotion. “I thought I was going to be meeting my maker this time for sure.” Then, as Connor helped him out of the trunk, “Have I mentioned that I’m claustrophobic? It felt like a fricken coffin in there, man. Did you get him?”

  Connor paused from sawing through the cord holding Matt’s wrists. He swung his friend around, and had to brace him against the car so he wouldn’t fall.

  “Get who?” he demanded. “Who did this to you, Matt? And what the hell are you doing sitting in front of the Crenshaw house, anyway?”

  Matt lunged away from the car and would have fallen to his knees if Connor hadn’t lodged a shoulder in his chest to hold him back.

  “Slow down and tell me what’s going on.” Connor panted. “Why were you parked in front of Julie’s house? I was told you were off sick.”

  Matt gave one last push, then stood and turned his back. “Untie me, we don’t have much time.”

  Connor frowned, frustrated with the non-answers he’d received thus far. “Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on. Who knocked you out and dumped you in the trunk? What does Julie have to do with this? And why the hell didn’t you call me, I’m your fricken partner.” The last was said in a growl made deadlier for its quiet tone.

  Matt’s shoulders slumped, but he waited until Connor cursed and began sawing at the ties to answer.

  “After I got out of the hospital, I went back to that tattoo place. I was pissed that guy got the drop on me, and convinced Marko knew more than he was telling us.” The ties let go and Matt groaned his relief. He turned and met Connor’s gaze, rubbing his wrists. “Turned out I was right. After a little… persuasion, Marko admitted he’d been paid for those sketches by a reporter. Three guesses who?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Julie shrugged off the combination of eerie skies and Ron’s less than circumspect attitude. She slid out of the truck and slogged through the damp undergrowth toward the crime scene. She tried not to dwell on what had occurred to bring them to this forest hideaway, but the oppressive silence and deepening shadows screamed of the recent violence. It was about as far from the friendly fern and moss trails she and the kids had traveled since coming to the island as it was possible to be.

  A door slammed and she glanced back to see Ron following with that enigmatic smile tipping the lips many of his fans regularly swoon-tweeted about. She shook her head. He could have the notoriety, she was happy in the background, doing the investigative reporting that made her station one of the leaders in journalism. Their success was her success.

  “Should get some great shots for the feature,” Ron called out.

  She whirled on him, angry he could be so callous. “Have a little respect, Henderson. A woman died here. It’s not always about making you look good, you jerk.”

  He glared at her, his eyes glin
ting a weird fluorescent green in the shadows of the giant cedars. “What’s your problem? Why do you think we’re here, if not to get a story?” He loomed closer and she suddenly realized she was deep in the forest—alone—with a guy who out-weighed her by at least a hundred pounds and looked as though he could take on Sasquatch and win.

  She took a couple steps backward and surreptitiously searched for something she could use as a weapon. Not that she would need a weapon. Ron was just making a point; she’d overreacted. It was this place; evil seemed to lurk behind the trunk of every tree. It didn’t help that the branches were dripping with waving fronds of moss that hung from the maples and covered the hemlocks before eating its way over the forest floor. For someone used to the urban jungle of Chicago, it could be a little intimidating.

  She forced a light laugh and waved a hand to encompass the terrain. “Sorry. This place just has me on edge.” She moved reluctantly closer to the yellow tape. “Let’s get this done, so we can get out of here, okay? I’ll buy lunch.”

  She ducked under the tape, careful to stay away from the trampled area where the forensics team had taken their samples. It saddened her to think of who this woman might have been; a mother, someone’s wife, a daughter. It wasn’t fair her life had been treated like gum on the bottom of that monster’s shoe. She decided when Connor found out who her family was, Julie would get the boys to make a nice drawing, maybe do some baking, and take it over to them. It wouldn’t bring her back, but at least they’d know someone cared.

  Her gaze skittered over the crushed ground near the base of a freshly gouged tree, the bark shredded and raw from rope burns, suggesting the woman’s torture. She wiped away the ready tears and hoped their investigation would help the police catch this animal and put him behind bars for a very long time.

  “If you stand where I am, we can pan the scene and show women how important it is not to travel alone.” She held her hands up as though viewing through the lens of a camera.

  “Yes, it’s really rather foolish of them.”