The Killer in Me

by Winter Austin

  A thin brunette in equally rumpled clothing with her hair pulled back in a ponytail emerged from a side room and came to stand next to him. Pulse thrumming in her ears, Lila swallowed hard.

  “Yes,” he said. “Is there something we can help you with, officers?”

  “It’s deputies, actually. I’m Deputy Fontaine, and this is Deputy Dayne. May we ask you a few questions?” Fontaine had to see it too.

  “About what?” Mary asked, gripping her husband’s arm.

  Lila swept the perimeter, catching movement in a window in the building next door. “This might be best done inside.”

  The Wagners’ attention darted around the complex. Paling, they backed from the doorway and gestured for Lila and Fontaine to enter. Peter closed the door with a parting look outside, but the couple remained in the foyer.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wagner, I can’t help but notice you seem on edge. Is something wrong?” Lila asked.

  “It’s never a good sign when the law shows up at our door,” Peter said. “It usually means that Maya has done something again.”

  “Maya?”

  “Our daughter,” Mary supplied.

  Tremors took control of Lila’s hands. Clenching her fists, she covertly tucked them behind her back. Fontaine glanced at her; she avoided direct eye contact with him. Frowning, he focused on the Wagners.

  “Maya has a history of legal troubles?” Fontaine continued.

  “It’s why we took jobs here and moved from Illinois,” Peter said. “She needed a fresh start away from all the bad influences.”

  Forcing her brain to function, Lila cleared her throat. “The bad influences being?”

  “Her cousin. My worthless sister’s daughter,” Mary said, adjusting her hold on her husband’s arm. “We haven’t seen Maya in a while, but that’s normal.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?” The words tore from Lila. She couldn’t do this. Not my job. Lila coughed and turned her back on the couple.

  “Deputy Dayne, are you okay?” Fontaine asked.

  “I’m done,” she whispered and reached for the door.

  He caught her hand. “What?”

  She jerked free, glaring at him. “Don’t touch me.” She grabbed the handle and managed to get the door open.

  “Excuse us a moment,” she heard Fontaine say as she stumbled out of the house.

  Drawing in deep breaths, she stood on the sidewalk, exhaling out of her mouth. Fontaine stomped up beside her.

  “What the hell is this all about?” he growled.

  “Back off.”

  “No. We’re in the middle of this; you don’t get to bail on me.”

  “You be in the middle of this. I’m not.”

  He shook his head. “I knew it. I warned her this would happen. It got real and you’re freezing.”

  Lila scowled. “Warned her? What are you talking about?”

  “Deputies?”

  Fontaine stared at the Wagners for a few seconds, then turned back to Lila. “Go back to the department. GPS will show you the way. I’ll handle this.”

  “It’s not your job.”

  “Apparently, you’re making it mine.”

  The fragile hold on her emotions was slipping. He was giving her an out. And all she wanted to do was argue. Slapping her thigh, she rotated on the balls of her feet and marched to her car. Cradled in the leather seat, she happened to look up as she reached to start the engine, and hesitated.

  Fontaine was speaking with the couple, but Mary was staring past him, watching Lila. The fear permeating from the other woman breached the distance and hit Lila. Mary knew. She didn’t have to be told. She knew her daughter was gone.

  A sob choked Lila. Death notices were not part of her job description. She should have made that clear to Benoit.

  Starting the car, she strapped in and threw the car in reverse. There would be no need for GPS. As she turned the car to leave, she chanced one last look at the trio. Fontaine’s gaze tracked with the car’s movements.

  Lila had hoped for a few days’ reprieve before explaining her past.

  There was no hiding anymore.

  *

  Elizabeth let Bentley into her office and stalked over to Georgia’s desk.

  “I don’t like that look.” Georgia handed her a stack of papers.

  A desk drawer clapped shut. “Sheriff, I’m sorry.”

  Cupping the back of her neck, Elizabeth squeezed. As she drove back to the department, she’d called the judge, asking for a warrant, and was soundly rejected. Probably Pratt maneuvering his rook in some dirty backroom deal to ensure his demands stood firm. A power play all too common in this county overburdened with sexist, corrupt, dickless twits. Meanwhile, Meyer had made it a point to grovel for his misstep.

  Releasing her ire in a steady exhale, Elizabeth turned to her youngest deputy. He was not the object of her anger. He had reacted as a son would when faced with abject rejection. “Deputy Meyer, please stop apologizing.”

  “I just can’t believe I let him get to me like that.”

  Elizabeth met Georgia’s uh-oh look and shook her head, heading for her office. “For the last time, don’t beat yourself up. We all have moments we’d like to take back and have a do-over.”

  The sharp smack of the door echoing in the hallway made Elizabeth hesitate. Who had returned? Voices murmured followed by heavy footfalls. Rafe rounded the corner, features pinched. He came to an abrupt halt when he found their little group lingering.

  “Sheriff,” he growled the title. “We need to talk.”

  “Okay,” Elizabeth said gently. “Meyer, please return to patrol.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her younger deputy left the bullpen, giving Rafe a wide berth.

  “Georgia, hold my calls. And when the food arrives, knock three times.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Rafe followed Elizabeth into her office, closing the door with a clap. She threw a frown over her shoulder.

  “Where is Deputy Dayne?”

  “I have no damn idea.”

  This brought her to a halt. Rotating, she scowled. “Run that past me again.”

  Rafe pointed at her nose. “I warned you she was a loose cannon. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but she proved you wrong and me right.”

  Catching his finger, she pushed his hand down. “How so?”

  “Down the hall in the waiting room are a husband and wife whose daughter is lying on the slab in the ME’s morgue.”

  A tightness spread through Elizabeth’s chest. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head.

  “They don’t know yet. I knew it from the moment I saw the wife, and apparently so did Dayne. But instead of doing her job, she bolted like a scared colt.”

  Elizabeth met Rafe’s furious gaze. “You brought the couple here?”

  “What else would you have me do? They need to be told, and I’m not the best person to do it.”

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth sat on the edge of her desk. “It was too soon for her.”

  “Dayne shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

  “That’s not for you to decide.”

  Rafe reached across their professional boundaries, cupped her cheek, and rubbed a callused thumb along her jaw. “There are just some things you can’t fix, Ellie.”

  They stayed that way. She was loath to break the connection, wishing they were not boss and underling. Let them be anywhere else but here, where their every movement was not under scrutiny and she was allowed the chance to blur the lines. Give in to her desire to be closer to him, kiss him, strip away all the what-ifs and just be Rafe’s woman. Not Joel’s ex-wife. Just Rafe’s.

  He pulled back, hooking his hand on the butt of his weapon. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer.”

  Pushing off the desk, she snapped her fingers. “Do you think they suspect?” Bentley hopped down from her throne and ambled over to Elizabeth’s side.

  “I think the wife has a clue. When Dayne left, Mary, the wife, got real quie
t. Like she sensed what we were there for.”

  “Which young woman you think is their daughter?”

  Rafe grasped her hand. “It’s the girl we found this morning. You don’t need a picture to figure it out. She’s the spitting image of her mother. The girl’s name was Maya.”

  “Take Bentley into the room. I need to call Olivia and see where she’s at with the autopsy. I’ll be in after I’m done.”

  Giving her a squeeze, Rafe gestured for Bentley to follow him, and together they exited her office. Through the open door Elizabeth caught Georgia’s upraised chin, and the single finger she held up. Once the door clicked shut, Elizabeth rounded her desk. Line one blinked red on her phone.

  “Sheriff Benoit.”

  “Ellie, it’s Olivia. I’ve completed the autopsy on the second Jane Doe.”

  “Good. Do you have her closed up and presentable?”

  “Being done now as we speak. Why?”

  This would be the hardest part for Elizabeth with this job. Death notices always had been. For a few years, she had been the den mother of sorts for the wives in The Unit, and when the chaplain showed up at her doorstep, she knew what she had to do. Too many widows had screamed their grief and rage out on her chest.

  “Rafe is certain we have the parents of that young girl here in the department. I’ll be bringing them over. How long do you need to prepare her for an identification?”

  “Give me a half hour.”

  “Done.”

  Setting the handset on its cradle, Elizabeth pursed her mouth. God help her.

  She exited the office.

  Georgia pointed at the bags contained in a narrow cardboard flat on the dorm room fridge beside the coffee station table. “I’ll put it in the fridge,” she said.

  Elizabeth nodded her thanks as she left the bullpen.

  In the waiting room, she found Rafe standing sentry, Bentley lying in the middle of the room, watching the couple, who sat next to each other on chairs facing the doorway. The noonday sunlight pouring in the four windows backlit the man and woman. As Rafe had warned, the woman’s features struck Elizabeth.

  She was indeed the mother of Jane Doe number two.

  “Sheriff Benoit, this is Peter and Mary Wagner.”

  The Wagners stood, Mary clinging to her husband with a resigned expression. Mary suspected her daughter was dead; what she waited for was how she’d died.

  Sighing, Elizabeth sat in a chair across from them, gesturing for the two to resume their seats. Bentley remained in her position, her gaze riveted to the two.

  “Sheriff, we know this has something to do with our daughter, Maya,” Peter said. “Do you know where she is?”

  The thread of hope in his voice shattered Elizabeth.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wagner, I need to ask you a few questions. When was the last time you saw Maya?”

  Mary met Elizabeth’s gaze. “I was the last one to see her. It was Monday. She was leaving for school, told me I didn’t need to drop her off. She had a ride. She didn’t come home that day or any of the days after.”

  “Did the school alert you of her absence?”

  Mary sighed. “According to their records, she attended all her morning classes Monday but didn’t show up after her lunch period. We gave her a few days to return because this was her usual pattern when she decided she’d had enough of us. I didn’t think anything of it until yesterday. She’s never gone longer than a day or two.”

  “Who was this ride with?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say. But I have my suspicions. Last week I caught her chatting with her cousin, Regan. Maya has been banned from hanging out with her cousin.”

  “But,” Peter interjected, “Regan is supposed to be in a rehab center in Naperville.”

  “Naperville, Illinois?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes. Regan is my sister’s daughter,” Mary said. “Mother and daughter are kith and kin, one drug addict spawning another.”

  Elizabeth held her hand out for Rafe’s phone. He took it out and located the picture, then handed her the phone. Elizabeth stared at the image of the young woman with her eyes closed.

  “Mrs. Wagner, how old is Regan?”

  “She’s twenty-one.”

  “And Maya?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Rafe shifted his stance and then excused himself. Elizabeth did not fault his decision.

  Rotating the phone, Elizabeth held it up. “Is this Regan?”

  Peter grabbed the phone from her hand and gaped. Mary closed her eyes, turning her head away.

  “Why does she look like that?” Peter whispered.

  Elizabeth stood and gently pried the phone from his death grip.

  He looked up at her. “Why, Sheriff?”

  “This is going to be very difficult for you, but I need you to understand that it is for all our benefits if you do this. Mrs. Wagner, what was Maya wearing the day you last saw her?”

  Peter clamped his mouth shut, looking at his wife. Carefully, as if pulling at loose threads of memory, Mary described in detail the exact clothing they had found Maya wearing. Once she finished, Mary buried her face in her hands. “She’s dead,” she sobbed.

  Peter’s features crumpled and he wrapped his arms around his wife’s shoulders, pressing his forehead against her bowed one.

  Bentley came to her feet and padded over to the grieving couple. She sat, waiting for a sign that they would accept her comfort. The Wagners leaned into each other, filling the silence with their strangled crying.

  Elizabeth sat down, letting them have their moment. There would be plenty of time to bleed their hearts dry with the news that Maya had been murdered. Right now, they needed to draw on what little fortitude they had for the coming storm.

  The scuff of boots against the floor drew her attention to the doorway. Rafe, his back to the room, reached around the doorframe and gripped Elizabeth’s shoulder. She resisted the urge to press her cheek against his hand, instead letting his liquid strength seep into her bones. She needed it, because what she had to do next would cut her legs out from under her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hunger got the better of her two hours after she’d ditched Fontaine. Lila located a fast food joint and took her burger and fries order to a local park. Sitting in her car, watching kids on the playground equipment, she let her ravenous side wipe out the panic.

  They all looked so happy out there, running, swinging, and squealing as they chased each other. One girl seemed to be the ringleader and a bit of a daredevil as she jumped from the end of one playset, grabbed on to the monkey bars, and catapulted her body onto another playset, landing with the ease of an acrobat. That had been Lila in her youth.

  She’d always wanted a girl. Wanted to teach her all the things she knew. Show her daughter how to be a woman in a man’s world. Lila’s hand cupped her abdomen. That was all gone.

  The straw rattled against the bottom of the cup. Jerking out of her stupor, Lila set the cup aside. Her food was gone, and she didn’t recall eating a bite of it, only that the hunger pangs had subsided. But the haze of her panic attack lingered. Dumping her trash on the passenger side floorboard, she drove away.

  She was cruising Broadway Street when she spotted it. Swinging the nose of the car into a parking spot in front of the building, she peered through the windshield at the neon sign: The Watering Hole. Aptly named. Killing the engine, she palmed her keys and stepped out.

  Three thirty in the afternoon and the place was open. It should be empty of customers. Lila pushed inside and was greeted with the heavy strains of country rock, a song she was familiar with. Owner had good taste.

  A guy wearing a lumberjack shirt with rolled sleeves exposing a mishmash of tats worked behind the bar. Two men nursing their drinks of choice occupied tables on opposite ends of the room. An antique jukebox belted out the next song, another honky-tonk-style hit.

  From above her head, a yowl startled Lila. She looked up. Gazing at her from the edge of an exposed
support beam, a black cat flicked its tail with the speed of a metronome.

  “She’s saying hello.”

  The tattooed bartender had been joined by an equally tattooed woman with nearly black hair and a bold white streak through the middle. Dark red lips smiled at Lila. The woman looked more at home in one of Chicago’s trendy goth bars than here in small town, USA.

  “You must be Ellie’s new deputy.”

  Lila glanced down. Oh, yeah, she was in uniform. Wandering over to the bar, she sensed a pair of eyes tracking her. Ignoring the ripples of awareness, she stepped up to the polished redwood.

  “Ellie being the sheriff?” she asked.

  Chuckling, the woman held out a hand adorned in black and silver wrap rings, one a coiled snake with red stones for eyes, fangs bared. “Marnie Benoit, I own this establishment. Ellie is my sister.”

  Lila shook her hand. “Lila Dayne.”

  “Chicago.” Marnie winked a cat eye. “I’ve always loved that nasally accent.” She reached for a glass. “What can I get ya? Since you’re on duty, it won’t be alcohol.”

  “Uh, water would be fine.”

  Sticking her tongue out, a ball stud flashing in the light, Marnie shook her head. “Naw, we don’t give away that plain crap. Deke, grab me the Italian stuff.”

  Deke passed his boss a green glass bottle. Marnie broke the seal and poured the fizzy water over a mountain of ice. She handed over the tall glass.

  “Alla tua salute!”

  Lila blinked. “Thanks?”

  Marnie laughed. “You cross me as Italian. True?”

  “I have absolutely no idea.” Did she just admit that?

  The goth eyed Lila, then shrugged. “Familial ancestry fascinates me. So, what brings you wandering in here in the middle of the afternoon?”

  “Needed a break, I guess.”

  “Good enough reason.”

  “Marnie, where are you!?”

  “Douse those hot pants, Fred. I’m comin’,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Take a load off. My beer guy is here.” Off she went.

  Turning with the bubbling glass, Lila ogled the room. Cloves, orange, and something woodsy hung heavy in the air. She spotted the culprit on a slim shelf pressed against the staircase where a trio of incense sticks smoked from a glass tube. Wrinkling her nose, she focused her attention toward the front of the bar and moved to a table near the jukebox that put her back to the wall. Settled on a hardback chair, she sipped the fizzy water. Not bad. It beat the alternative. Not that she’d been much of a drinker. Growing up with a wino for a mother, who on occasion would hook up with a man who liked his liquor, Lila never took to it.