The Seventh Victim

by Mary Burton

  She pulled up beside him and rolled down the passenger window. “Hey, isn’t the River Diner about a mile or two from here?”

  He slowed his pace. “Thereabouts.”

  “That’s a long walk.”

  “Good for me. Builds character.”

  She stopped. “Hop in. I’ll give you a lift.”

  He shook his head. “That’s nice, but you don’t have to.”

  Okay, he had to be a nice guy. He didn’t pounce on her offer like a crazed guy would. “No, really. I’m going that way, and it’ll save you a few steps.”

  He cocked his head. “Sure?”

  “Yes.” She unlocked the automatic door locks.

  He opened the door and slid into the seat. Inside the car he appeared much bigger. His smile didn’t fade, but this close he had an odd vibe. One mile or two, and he’d be out of her life for good. “The River Diner, next stop.”

  Bill grinned the devil’s grin, and before she could blink he pulled a long butcher knife from his pocket and poked it in her side hard enough to make her flinch. “I have a better idea.”

  “What the hell,” she said.

  He poked the knife tip harder into her side. “I’ve been watching you.” He inhaled the remains of her cigarette smoke. “Light me up one.”

  When she didn’t move, the knife tip cut through her blouse and into her side. Tears of fear burned her eyes as she frantically dug the cigarettes out of her bag, lit one, and handed it to him.

  He inhaled deeply. “Start driving.”

  “Where?”

  “A place where we won’t be disturbed or rushed.”

  Five hours later Blair huddled naked in the corner of the dank, dark room and stared at the man who’d held and brutalized her for hours. When he’d first brought her here, she’d feared he’d rape her. And then after she’d lain under him, she’d sensed deep in her bones that she’d never leave this room alive.

  He held up a simple white dress trimmed with a hint of lace at the cuffs and collar. “I want you to put this on.”

  She pushed back a lock of hair, wincing when she touched the bruise on her cheekbone. Though craving the protection of clothing, she understood his offer had nothing to do with kindness. Mustering strength and defiance, she lifted her chin a fraction. “Why?”

  A smile twitched the edge of his mouth. “I can make you hurt more.”

  Blair’s chin dipped and quivered. The things he’d done to her. She’d not known pain could be so intense.

  “You don’t want me to make you hurt more, do you?”

  “No.”

  He held out the dress.

  She accepted it. Without rising, she lifted the garment over her head and slid it on. Oddly, it felt soft and warm against her skin. Carefully, she tugged the hem over her naked legs, craving coverage. “I won’t tell. I won’t.”

  He nodded. “I know you won’t tell, Blair. I know.”

  Fresh tears filled her eyes. “Then you’ll let me go?”

  He held out his hand to her and waited for her to accept it. Wrapping gentle fingers around her hand, he pulled her into a standing position. She winced as she straightened, trying to ignore the pain and clung to the hope that he just might let her go.

  His hand trailed up her arm, over the cotton sleeve, and rested in the hollow of her throat. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “You’ve no reason to be scared, Blair. The worst is over.” His other hand joined the first at the base of her throat. “You remind me so much of her. A fighter. I like that.”

  “Her?”

  His warm, rough fingers closed around her windpipe and he started to squeeze. She clutched his fingers, trying to pry them free, but they were as fixed as iron. Her heart beat faster as her body demanded air. Her fingers dug into his hands as she stared into dark eyes filled with such hate and anger. Soon, spots formed in front of her eyes and her eyelids closed as her body’s systems shut down. Her knees crumpled, increasing the tension on her neck.

  As the last tethers to the world frayed and snapped, he said, “You remind me of Lara.”

  Blair’s body weighed heavily in his arms as he carried her across the grasslands. Little moonlight lit the way, but he didn’t need it. He knew every rock, crevice, and blade of grass in this area.

  In the distance behind him, the traffic on the interstate whooshed as he knelt and laid her body on the dry, cracked earth. Carefully, he arranged her hair and then fanned her skirt like a butterfly’s wings. He dug two pennies from his pocket and dared a glance at her half-open eyes. No matter how hard he’d squeezed her throat, her eyes had not closed. He laid the pennies on her lids, knowing the weight would end her death glare.

  Blair had been good. Better than the last.

  But she’d never be as good as Lara.

  And she would soon be his.

  Chapter 12

  Sunday, May 26, 7 AM

  Nearly a week of eighteen-hour days had dug into Beck’s reserves, and by rights he should have slept like the dead last night. After he’d left Henry’s for a quick dinner of takeout, he’d gone to his apartment and fallen into bed just after midnight. But instead of drifting off, he had tossed for hours until three in the morning when a light, fitful sleep had taken hold.

  During those brief moments of slumber, he’d dreamed of Lara, standing before him in her black dress. She’d been smiling as she’d cupped his face with her hands and kissed him. The kiss hadn’t been tentative or light, but fierce and demanding. He’d pressed his hand to the small of her back, urging her silk-covered body against his. He’d deepened the kiss. Run his hands over her shoulders and down to breasts barely contained by the sleek material.

  He’d awoken at five o’clock in the morning, hard and primed. He wanted a woman who likely would end up hating him before this investigation closed.

  A cold shower had done little to take the edge off, so he’d dressed. As the coffee gurgled in the machine, the apartment walls closed in, smacking of his paid-leave days.

  Coffee in hand, he’d headed out, picked up the Sunday paper, and by seven was sitting at his desk.

  He flipped to the Entertainment section and found a striking picture of Lara standing in front of one of her photographs. Her sleek black dress hugged her curves and accentuated her blond hair. Diamond stud earrings sparkled and a lariat necklace dipped down her neck into the V of her dress. Her smile was radiant. Her eyes looked bright.

  Absently, he traced her jaw line and wondered if her skin was as smooth as it looked. Shaking off the thought, he shifted his attention to the article and stopped dead.

  Art Imitates Life

  Local artist Lara Church opened her exhibition Friday night at 101 Gallery. The show, Mark of Death, featured landscapes that had all witnessed murders. The images were stark and striking and caught the attention of many who attended the opening Friday night.

  When I first met the radiant artist I could not help but wonder why such a bright young woman would tap into such a dark subject.

  And then Ms. Church disclosed that she had been nearly murdered herself seven years ago. She’d been a young fashion merchandising student in Seattle when she was viciously attacked and left for dead. Police believed her attacker was the Seattle Strangler, the mysterious serial killer who vanished after the failed attack on Church.

  Beck sat back in his chair, continuing to read. The article went on to praise Ms. Church’s work and draw parallels between her attack and her art.

  With nearly a day and a half to ease the euphoria of her opening, he wondered if she’d be so pleased with her decision to reveal her past for all to see.

  The muscles in his shoulders and neck stiffened as he thought about someone watching Lara. Until now, isolated by her secrets, she’d been the killer’s own personal toy. Now that everyone knew about Lara’s past, there’d be lots of eyes on her.

  His phone rang and he snapped it up. “Beck.”

  “Bill Fields here
with DPS. We got another body on the side of Interstate 35. Another woman strangled. White dress. Pennies.”

  Beck tensed and glanced down at the article and Lara’s shining face. “Do you have an ID on the woman?”

  “What I just gave you is all I’ve got now.”

  “Where are you?” Beck took note of the location. “Thanks.”

  “Got more information on the Fisk case.”

  The ominous tone of the officer’s voice tightened his muscles. “What?”

  “Officers found a penny at the Fisk murder site. 1943. Found it about fifteen feet from the body site and under an inch of silt. They reckon it washed away after the rains in April.”

  Beck sat back in his chair. “Thanks.”

  Shit.

  Three Austin murders were now linked. The killer that had hunted in Seattle seven years ago was in Austin. And Lara had put herself in the crosshairs. He dialed her home number and cursed when he got the answering machine.

  He was out the door in seconds, praying like hell Lara wasn’t the latest victim.

  Thirty minutes later, he arrived at the crime scene, roped off by hundreds of yards of tape. The traffic leading up to the crime scene had been slow on the interstate, and as he got closer he could see that DPS had closed two lanes of traffic.

  At the scene, a half dozen squad cars, lights flashing, were parked on the side of the highway. The forensics van had arrived, as had the medical examiner. In the distance he could see a tent had been erected over what must be the body. Two officers with canines were searching the area around the body.

  Beck parked his car, donned his hat, and moved down the shoulder of the road past the squad cars without stopping to speak to Santos or any of the DPS officers as he normally did. He followed the access path to the crime scene, his boots crunching on the uneven bone-dry terrain.

  Thoughts of Lara stabbed at Beck as he made his way to the body. Hands clenched at his side, he studied the swollen, bloated body, dressed in white and ravaged by the Texas heat. As bad as the body looked, he’d learned one critical fact. It wasn’t Lara.

  Relief washed over him, taking with it the gnawing worry that had hunted him since the DPS phone call less than an hour ago.

  As Santos approached, Beck sensed the other Ranger’s honed eye for detail had shifted to him. It wasn’t like Beck to rush into a crime scene as a loved one of a victim might.

  Santos tipped his hat back. “Pull you away from anything interesting?”

  “Paperwork.”

  If Santos had questions about Beck’s behavior he didn’t air them, and Beck was glad of it. At this point he didn’t understand it himself.

  “There’ll be a mountain of paperwork on this one,” Santos said.

  Beck turned from the body. “She’s like the others.”

  “Yeah.” He rested his hands on his hips. “No identification yet, but if she’s like the other two she’ll be a student. You heard about Fisk.”

  “Found the penny.”

  “Yeah.”

  They watched as Melinda snapped pictures of the entire scene and Eliza Rio, a medical examiner technician, examined the victim’s neck.

  Without glancing up, the olive-skinned Rio said, “She appears to have been strangled. Her body dumped at least twenty-four hours ago.” No good morning. No how’s it going. “Bruising around the neck suggests that he may have strangled her several times.”

  The killer had been playing with his victim. “Other injuries? Sexual assault?”

  “No visible bruising on her body, and I’ll need to get her back to the lab to determine sexual assault.”

  Beck stared at the blond woman dressed in the white dress made of soft cotton and lace. “What about the pennies?”

  “One in each hand,” Melinda said.

  Santos glanced at Beck. “That Raines fellow still in town?”

  “I think so.”

  Santos looked like a man about to swallow a bitter pill. “As much as I hate to say this, might be time to call him. Bring him into this.”

  Beck hesitated, his first instinct to handle this case internally. And then the image of Misty Gray’s decomposed body flashed in his mind. Yes, he’d caught Dial, but the kid had died. A hollow victory.

  He nodded. “I’ll call him.”

  Raines read the article on Lara Church three times. Seven years of silence had ended and now the world knew the secret he’d worked so hard to guard in Seattle. He never would have guessed Lara Church would tell the media.

  He sat back and sipped his coffee. Its bitter taste said that Danni wasn’t working today. He liked seeing Danni. She was a good kid, and he was a creature of habit. When he found a restaurant, a clothing item, even a style of car, he stuck with it. His wife joked often enough that they’d go on vacation to get away from it all and within twenty-four hours he’d create a brand-new rut.

  “Mix things up, for God’s sake,” his wife would say to him.

  This article on Lara was certainly going to change the dynamics. No more hiding. No more running. “Time to remember, Lara.”

  An unknown waitress brought him a stack of pancakes and a fresh pot of coffee.

  “Thanks.”

  She refilled his cup. “Hope you like the coffee. Danni says you like a fresh cup, not too bitter.”

  He smiled, gratified the kid had remembered him. He held up his cup. “Thanks. To both of you.”

  As he sipped the still-too-bitter coffee, his phone rang. He recognized the number instantly—Ranger James Beck. Wiping his hands, he wondered if Beck had seen the article as he picked up the phone. “Ranger Beck.”

  “Detective Raines. Do you have a minute this morning?”

  Liking the sound of Detective, he relaxed back in the booth. “For what?”

  “To visit a crime scene.”

  Raines pulled off his glasses. “Another woman?”

  “Why don’t you meet me?” He rattled off directions and exits. “Do you know where that is?”

  This nightmare scenario was playing out as he’d predicted, but he experienced no joy. “That’s close to the first two sites.”

  “Correct.”

  Raines checked his watch. “I’m leaving now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The River Diner. Austin.”

  “See you in twenty minutes.”

  “If not sooner.” Raines paid his tab and hurried out to his car. Excitement pumped through his veins. For seven years he’d waited for the Strangler to make a move. But the killer had remained dormant. And now, the son of a bitch had at least two and possibly three killings to his credit in this area.

  He didn’t care why the killer had awoken after seven years of slumber. Theories about the killer being hurt, jailed, or dead never had meant much to him. All that mattered was that he was active again. “Keep it up, you son of a bitch. Keep it up, and I will nail your ass.”

  Maneuvering out of town proved to be more frustrating than he’d expected, but he soon found access to the interstate and within minutes parked behind a parade of cop cars with flashing lights.

  He moved toward a uniform. “I’m Mike Raines. Sergeant James Beck called me.”

  “May I see your ID?”

  For twenty years he had been the insider. The Seattle cops had looked on him with respect. When he entered a crime scene, people got out of his way. Now, he was nobody, accountable to a uniform who looked twelve years old.

  Raines shoved aside irritation and pulled out his Seattle driver’s license, conscious of the fact that it didn’t carry the weight of a badge.

  The DPS officer inspected the license and then Raines a couple of times. He handed the ID back. “Thank you, sir. Sergeant Beck is just over the rise. I’ll show you the way.”

  Beck inhaled pride and a renewed sense of purpose. He’d convinced himself over the last six years that money and regular hours could take the place of the Job, but he’d been kidding himself. He’d fucking missed the Job.

  “Not necessary.
I see Sergeant Beck. Should I follow the path marked by the tape?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sir. He liked that.

  Dust and dirt kicked up on shoes that he’d had polished in Denver’s airport nearly a week ago while waiting for his connection. He almost laughed at his blunder. He had lost his touch. No smart cop wore his good shoes to a crime scene.

  As he moved closer to Beck, he gave the Ranger credit. He wasn’t sure if he’d have put his ego aside and relied on a cop from the outside.

  “Sergeant Beck.”

  Beck turned and extended his hand. “Mr. Raines, I appreciate you coming down here.”

  He wouldn’t have missed it for the world. “Glad to help.”

  “I’d like you to meet fellow Ranger Sergeant Rick Santos from the San Antonio office. These crimes have fallen right between our jurisdictions.”

  Santos’s ice-blue eyes projected distrust. “Mr. Raines.”

  Raines didn’t miss the tension ripping through Santos. “I would have been pissed if I had to deal with an outsider at my crime scene.”

  Santos offered no apology. “I’ll do what it takes to solve this crime, but understand that I do not trust you.”

  “I’d worry if you did.” Raines glanced at the white-hot sun. “I swear I’ll never bitch about the rain in Seattle again.”

  Santos’s expression remained neutral.

  So much for humor. “Can I see the body?”

  Beck held out his hand. “This way. We kept her here so you could see the positioning, but we’re going to have to move her soon. The heat’s not helping.”

  Raines stared out across the grassy field. “Let’s get to it.” He accepted rubber gloves from Beck, donning them as he had thousands of times in the past. Death’s sick, sweet scent trailed out toward him even before he reached the body. Automatically, he blocked out the stench.

  The woman lay on her back, her hands crossed over her chest. She wore a white dress and no shoes, and her blond hair was strewn out on the ground behind her. There were blue and purple fingerprint marks around her neck. “Take away this damn heat, and I could be back in Seattle at one of my old crime scenes.”