6 Killer Bodies

by Stephanie Bond

  “Next was Wanda Alderman. Suffocated, again in her home. They didn’t realize she was a victim at first because she’d swallowed the charm, a barrel or a keg. It was found during the autopsy. Again, I didn’t see it, but this was the only barrel charm I could find.”

  Carlotta stopped and massaged her temples. “The seventh victim was the burned body that was dumped in front of my scooter on the street.”

  “They still haven’t made an identification?” Hannah asked.

  “No. And Jack said it could take a while.”

  “What kind of charm was in the mouth?” Wesley asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll keep trying to find out. Wes, can you keep your ears open at the morgue?”

  He nodded.

  “So the killer meant for you to run over the body,” Chance said to Carlotta.

  She nodded. “I’m assuming.”

  “What kind of car was the body tossed out of?” Chance pressed.

  “I can’t say for sure.” She’d played the last seconds before the accident over and over in her mind so many times. Her memory was starting to return flashes of vehicles, but she couldn’t be sure if they were simply vehicles at the scene in the aftermath, cars she’d seen in commercials, or even figments of her imagination. “It might—” Carlotta swallowed, having never uttered the words before. “It might have been a white van.”

  In the silence that followed, Chance looked around the table. “What does Coop drive?”

  “A white van,” Wes mumbled.

  “And a Corvette,” Hannah added quickly.

  Carlotta fought a growing tide of alarm. “Wesley, since you picked up the last two victims that were found together, what can you tell us?”

  “The eighth and ninth bodies were Georgia State students, two girls.” He squinted, as if he were trying to recall details. “Amy Hampell…and DeeAnn or Diane Easton, I think. They were parked, smoking a joint from the looks of it. Died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Our UNSUB stuffed a rag in their tailpipe, then stuffed charms down their throats.”

  “UNSUB?” Chance asked.

  “Unknown subject,” Wes supplied. “Police speak.”

  “And the charms in their mouths were books,” Carlotta said.

  “Both of them?” Hannah asked.

  Wes nodded. “Maybe because they were students?”

  “Is Coop into co-eds?” Chance asked.

  “I think he’s just into Carlotta,” Wes said with a laugh.

  Hannah flinched.

  Carlotta bit her lip, recalling the slinky blonde who’d been all over Coop the night she’d seen him drinking at Moody’s cigar bar.

  “Was the car found near his house or where he works?” Chance asked.

  Carlotta exchanged a glance with Wes, then said, “No, but it was found close to a cigar bar where Coop sometimes hangs out.”

  Chance threw up his hands. “I don’t even know the guy and I’d convict right now.”

  “Don’t say that,” Hannah said. “Coop isn’t a killer.”

  “Okay. But assuming that’s true, how the heck are we supposed to help him? Unless someone else walks into the police station and confesses, the guy is sunk.”

  They all looked at Carlotta. Her face felt hot. “Well…the way I see it, we have two choices. We can either try to prove that Coop didn’t do these things, or we can find the person who did.”

  “Michael Lane?” Wes asked.

  She nodded.

  “How are we supposed to do that?” Hannah asked.

  “I don’t have all the answers yet. Meanwhile, let’s divvy up some of these leads and unanswered questions. I’m going to keep trying to track down where the charms might have been purchased, and I’m going back to the beginning to look into the background of the first victim. Hannah, can you and Chance find out where someone would get cyanide?”

  They nodded. Carlotta figured with Chance’s drug connections, he’d have the answer in a couple of phone calls. “Also, Chance, can you ask around and find out if Pepper’s friends know anything about a man who might have been stalking her?”

  He struck a serious pose. “Will do.”

  “Wes, I need for you to stay on top of the identification of the burned body, and find out what you can about Coop’s case through Liz.” She gave him a pointed look.

  “No problem.”

  Carlotta tried not to think about his methods for gleaning info out of Liz. “I’m also going to try to figure out where Michael might be hiding.” She closed her notebook. “Call me if you find out anything.”

  Hannah and Chance got up to go. “Do you need a ride?” Hannah asked.

  “That would be great, thanks.” She looked over to find Wesley chewing on a fingernail, still seemingly fixated on the kitchen window. His eyes looked dilated. Carlotta sighed. She couldn’t put off the drug talk any longer. “I need a minute to talk to Wes.”

  7

  Carlotta studied Wesley with growing concern. The fact that he was so distracted by the kitchen window to the point of not noticing when his buddy Chance said goodbye told her how much the drugs were messing with his concentration. Was he hallucinating?

  “Wesley,” she said sharply.

  His head came around. “Huh?”

  “How did the reception go the other night?”

  “Uh, not so well.”

  “What happened?”

  “Meg’s dad doesn’t like me.”

  She smiled. “No father likes a guy his daughter likes. What matters is whether Meg likes you.”

  “I don’t think Meg likes me anymore, either.”

  “Why not?”

  He sighed. “Because I was stupid. I let her dad make me mad and I left the reception without telling her.”

  Carlotta’s eyes widened. “You just left her there? I can’t believe she’s still speaking to you.”

  “Only to say mean things,” he said morosely.

  “Have you apologized?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Not as complicated as you men want to make it,” she countered. “If you like this girl, buy her flowers and tell her you were an idiot.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he hedged.

  Carlotta crossed her arms. “We need to talk about something else.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What?”

  “Um…we have fire ants.”

  “Huh?”

  “In the front yard, apparently. Mrs. Winningham is about to have a fit. Can you take care of it?”

  He pushed his hand into his hair. “I’ll figure something out.” His glance slid back to the window. “I really need to get going, Sis.”

  She caught his arm. “Wait, there’s something else.”

  He sighed. “What already?”

  “The fact that you’re taking Oxy.”

  He looked surprised, then recovered with nonchalance. “I’m not, I told you.”

  She reached for her purse and pulled out the piece of paper that Coop had given her, then extended it to him. “This says different.”

  “What is it?”

  “The results of a drug test. On you.”

  He glanced over the sheet. “A drug test? But how? What did you test?”

  “Your hair.”

  “But how—” He stopped, his face going stony. “The haircut you gave me the other day.”

  “Right.”

  His face went red, then he flailed his arms. “I can’t believe you’d do something like that behind my back!”

  “I had a feeling you were lying to me.”

  The veins in his neck bulged. “You had no right! It’s none of your business.”

  She blinked at his belligerent response, but held her ground. “You’re my brother. I’m not going to stand by and let you do something that could kill you, or at the very least, send you back to jail.”

  He pursed his mouth. “I only took a few pills
for the pain.”

  “I understand why you started taking them, Wes, but you need to stop.”

  “Where did you have this test done? This could be bogus for all I know.”

  “Coop did the analysis himself.”

  “Coop?” Emotions played over his face—anger, frustration, shame. He turned his back to her and jammed his hands on his hips.

  She waited, wanting to reach out to touch him, but sensing he wouldn’t welcome it.

  “Wes, I need for you to get straight,” she said quietly. “With Coop in jail, I’m barely hanging on here. I need your help to deal with this.”

  Finally his shoulders fell. “Okay, I’ll quit.” He turned around, his expression bleak.

  “Can you do it on your own?”

  He scoffed. “Hell, yeah, I can do it on my own. I can quit any time I want to. This stuff isn’t cocaine. I’m not some hard-core addict shooting up in an alley.”

  “Good,” she said, relieved. “So you’ll just…quit.”

  “I said I would,” he snapped.

  “Okay,” she soothed, grateful he at least acknowledged he had a problem. That was enough for now. “I’m here if you need me.”

  She noticed that his gaze had slid back to the window over the sink.

  “Wes, is something wrong? You keep looking—”

  He cut her off by clamping a hand over her mouth.

  Her eyes widened. He lifted a finger to his mouth, then pointed to the top of the window.

  Carlotta squinted at what looked like a dark hole the size of a golf ball, then realized it wasn’t a hole, it was…something. “What—”

  Wesley covered her mouth again and shepherded her into the living room. “Keep your voice down.”

  When he released her, she whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “That thing over the window is a bug.”

  “A what?”

  “A listening device. We—I mean, I found it when I installed the security system.”

  “What’s it doing there?”

  “I don’t know. But from a date stamped on the base, it looks like it was installed about ten years ago.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Do you think Dad did it?”

  “That’s what I thought, so he could listen in to make sure we were okay.”

  Wonder flowered through her chest at the prospect. “When he spoke to me at the rest area, he did say he was keeping tabs on us. Maybe this is how.”

  “I figure he has a handheld receiver and parks near the house to listen in. The transmission range couldn’t be more than a mile or so.”

  So Randolph had planned to be nearby, at least on occasion. Her mind scrolled back over all the conversations between her and Wesley that had taken place over the past ten years. The times her little brother had cried into his dinner plate. Knowing that Randolph and Valerie might have overheard how much their children were suffering, yet still hadn’t come back, was almost worse than being ignored. Then another thought occurred to her.

  “What if someone put it there to listen in on Dad?”

  Wesley pulled his hand down his face and nodded. “That’s a possibility.”

  “Wes, there’s something else I should tell you. The Charmed Killer’s second victim, Alicia Sills, worked in Dad’s office building.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So…Peter remembers that Dad and the woman were…friendly. Very friendly. And since Randolph’s name has already come up as a possible suspect, it doesn’t look good.”

  “Did Peter tell the police?”

  “No. He left it up to me to decide, and I haven’t said anything.”

  “Do you still have Dad’s client file? The one I took from Liz?”

  “It’s at Peter’s, but I haven’t gone through it yet. I guess part of me doesn’t want to dredge it up again, and another part of me wants to get past this situation with Coop before dealing with it.”

  Wes nodded, looking as concerned and confused as she felt. “I’m getting closer to pulling Dad’s records from the city databases.”

  “Are you sure you won’t get caught?”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about something?”

  She smiled. “Deal.” From her purse her cell phone rang. She pulled it out and checked the caller ID. It was June Moody, the owner of Moody’s Cigar Bar who had befriended Carlotta, and who had developed a soft spot for Coop. “I need to take this.”

  “I’m gonna take off,” Wes said, moving toward the door.

  “I’ll lock up. Tell Hannah I’ll be right out. Oh, and Wes?”

  He turned back.

  “Apologize to Meg.”

  He looked pained, but nodded.

  Watching him go, her heart gave a squeeze. She connected the ringing phone. “Hi, June. How are you?”

  “At the moment, I’m worried half to death about Coop and the things they’re saying on the news. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “I went to see Coop this morning. He’s in good spirits,” Carlotta lied, massaging her temple. “This is all a mistake. I think the GBI was pressured to make an arrest, and because Coop was so close to the crime scenes, he was a good candidate.”

  “And because he’s drinking again?”

  “That doesn’t help,” Carlotta agreed. “But Coop wouldn’t want you to worry about him, June. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Okay.” The woman sounded somewhat relieved.

  “Is Mitchell still in town?” June’s son, a sergeant in the army, was in Atlanta on leave from his post in Hawaii.

  “For another week or so.” But from the sound of June’s voice, their relationship was still strained—or maybe she was just concerned about her surrogate son, Coop.

  “Try to enjoy the time you have left with him,” Carlotta said, trying to sound upbeat. “I’ll drop by the bar soon.”

  “Okay, dear. Bye.”

  Carlotta ended the call, but lying to June had taken its toll on her. The idea that she had to manufacture optimism sickened her. She leaned over to grasp her knees. A terrible storm of frustration and anger at the state of her life swirled in her stomach, spreading to her chest. Coop…Wesley…her father. A wall of tears pressed behind her eyes and cheeks. A sob rose in her throat, choking her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something.

  Possessed with a fierce need to vent, she ran into the kitchen and raised her voice in the direction of the listening device imbedded in the wall. “Randolph, you’re a coward!” she yelled. “Do you hear me? You’re a coward, and I will never forgive you for what you’ve done to me and Wesley!”

  She stopped and stared at the device, as if she half expected her father to answer. He didn’t, of course. Even if he were listening, why would he respond after all this time?

  She gripped the edge of the breakfast bar for support. A dark cloud threatened to engulf her. Was this what a nervous breakdown felt like?

  She shook her head to clear it. She couldn’t do that to Wesley, she had to get a grip. She had her job, and other people needed her.

  The front door opened and Hannah’s voice rang out. “Carlotta? You okay?”

  She swallowed hard to rally herself before she turned and walked into the living room. At the concern on her friend’s face, she smiled. “I’m fine, just checking on a couple of things. Let’s go.”

  But she felt Hannah’s gaze on her as they backed out of the driveway and drove toward the mall. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I talked to Wes about the drugs.”

  “Oh. And?”

  “He promised he’d quit.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “Yeah. He was sincere.”

  Hannah looked back to the road. “I hope you’re right about Wes…and about Coop.”

  “I’m right about both of them,” Carlotta said. “You’ll see.”

  Hannah nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  To change the subject, Carlotta said, “So…you and Chance looked cozy.”

  “Oh, stop.”


  “What? It’s kind of cute in a frat-boy-meets-Elvira kind of way.”

  “He’s good to me, and it’s a place to stay for now.”

  Carlotta frowned. “Why can’t you stay at home?”

  “Had a falling out with the folks.”

  Carlotta was stunned. Hannah never talked about her parents, and when Carlotta had probed before about her family, her friend had clammed up tight. “What over?”

  Hannah gave a dismissive wave. “It’s not important. It’s time to get my own place anyway. I should’ve escaped that zoo a long time ago.”

  “Zoo?”

  “They’re not in touch with reality. They don’t get me.”

  She surveyed Hannah’s black lipstick, kohl-rimmed eyes, multiple piercings, and visible tattoos. “Well, Hannah, you have to admit…”

  Hannah frowned. “What?”

  “Uh, nothing.” She cleared her throat. “So, you’re living with Chance?”

  “A toothbrush and a clean pair of thongs at his place does not constitute living together. How long are you planning to stay at Peter’s?”

  Carlotta bit her lip. “For a little while, until we get the townhouse repaired…or until Peter tosses me out.”

  “Right. Fat chance. I’m surprised Richie Rich hasn’t shackled you in the wine cellar to keep you there. Have you two tried to have sex again?”

  “No,” she murmured. The first two times she and Peter had tried to consummate their reunion, things had ended…prematurely. “We’re taking a step back and…enjoying each other.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Well, tonight we’re going to a movie.”

  Hannah pulled the van into the Lenox Square parking lot and headed toward Neiman Marcus. “Sounds like a barrel of fun.”

  “Maybe it’s a little humdrum,” Carlotta admitted. “But with everything else going on in my life, humdrum isn’t so bad.”

  Hannah slowed for a speed bump, then pulled up to the entrance of Neiman’s. “Keep saying that. Maybe one of us will believe it.”

  Carlotta frowned, then climbed out of the van with a wave. She walked into Neiman’s, her mind swirling with all the unresolved relationships in her life.

  Herb, the security guard hired to keep an eye on her in case Michael Lane showed up, stood next to a rack of flowered capris, resigned to another boring day of watching her dress women who moved in expensive circles.