6 Killer Bodies

by Stephanie Bond

  Carlotta moved through her shift on automatic pilot, waiting on customers with a smile and sales skills that had become second nature to her. But all the while she kept picturing Coop as he’d been yesterday, standing in front of her, inebriated and disheveled, just before the police had shown up and the GBI had slammed him down on her counter, placing him under arrest for murder. She’d flailed in protest, but Jack had shuffled her away.

  The scene played over and over in her head until she clocked out at the end of her shift with a stabbing pain behind her eyes. When she removed her purse from her locker in the employee break room, she tossed back Excedrin. Then, as promised, she called Peter to let him know she was finished for the day. His cheerful, calming voice was balm to her frayed nerves. He was just leaving the office. A few minutes later he picked her up and they grabbed a quick bite, then circled back to the mall theater.

  Peter, bless him, must have sensed that she’d had a lousy day because he kept the conversation light and bought tickets to a low-key English comedy film. She squeezed his hand and leaned into his shoulder, grateful for the quiet space he gave her.

  Still, she couldn’t concentrate on the movie. The fact that she was keeping her jailhouse visit with Coop from Peter made guilt simmer in her chest. Meanwhile, her conversation with Coop ran through her head in a continuous loop. She picked it apart, trying to read between the lines and dissect Coop’s frame of mind. One bit of dialogue came back to her.

  Still living with Peter?

  Staying with him, yes.

  I’m glad you’re safe.

  Carlotta lifted her head and her heart sped up. Was that Coop’s way of saying The Charmed Killer was still out there? Despite the grim prospect, the possibility cheered her immensely. She was suddenly eager to start looking into the background of the first victim, to hopefully find something that might piece together the identity of the madman stalking the city. And figure out why Coop would be willing to shoulder the blame for such heinous crimes.

  When they arrived at Peter’s home, a silver two-door Honda Civic rental car sat in the circular driveway.

  “It has GPS,” Peter said. “And it’s yours for as long as you need it. I told my insurance company to slip the key through the mail slot in the front door.”

  “Thank you,” she said, happy to have transportation again. She’d totaled Peter’s Porsche without even leaving the driveway. And the pink Vespa he’d bought her had been demolished when she’d been unable to avoid a burned body dumped in her path. A typical day in her life.

  When they entered Peter’s house, the silence seemed oppressive to Carlotta. She walked through the great room and glanced toward the wide staircase that led to their respective bedrooms. Peter had grown less chatty, as if he, too, felt the awkwardness descend. His expression was a mixture of anxiety and longing.

  “I think I’ll go ahead and turn in,” she said in a rush. “My back is still sore from the accident.”

  “Okay,” he said, sounding relieved. “I think I’ll stay up and work a little. Good night.”

  “Good night.” She fled before tension could overtake the moment. Upstairs, she closed the door to the guest room where she’d been staying. Peter had been kind enough to offer her refuge when she’d needed a safe place to stay. But it had come with the expectation that they would work on their relationship. It wasn’t too much to ask, Carlotta conceded, but she hadn’t anticipated that soon after, Wesley would test positive for drugs, and Coop would be arrested as a serial killer.

  And that she would still feel so uncertain about creating a life with Peter.

  After washing her face and putting on pajamas, Carlotta climbed under the covers of the bed. She longed for sleep to erase the problems plucking at her. But she was half-afraid to close her eyes, afraid that the morning would bring yet another crisis.

  From the nightstand, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID screen. Jack. His call was becoming a nightly ritual.

  She connected the call. “Hi, Jack.”

  “All tucked in by your lonesome again?”

  She sighed. “What do you want, Jack? It’s been a long day.”

  “I could come over and rub your—”

  “Jack!”

  “I was going to say ‘feet.’”

  “I’m sure Peter would love that,” she offered.

  “Maybe he’s into watching versus doing.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Wait. I called to tell you that the GBI agents want you to come in Monday morning to answer more questions.”

  “About Coop?”

  “I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

  “Are you back on The Charmed Killer case?”

  “Not officially, but I occasionally hear things.”

  Pillow talk with Maria? “So when I get the formal request, I’m supposed to act surprised.”

  “Yeah, you’ll have to really stretch yourself because you never lie,” he said dryly.

  “Acting comes in handy sometimes,” she cooed. “A woman never knows when she might have to fake it.”

  He laughed. “Not with me, sweetheart.”

  She frowned. He was right, the arrogant man. Unbidden desire whipped through her body, and on the heels of it, a shot of melancholy, because nothing in her life seemed to be in sync. She knew Jack was withholding information from her, and he knew she was withholding information from him.

  “Jack…I’m scared.”

  “Of the dark?”

  She smiled. “Yes. I’m scared of the dark.”

  “Set the phone on your pillow,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait until you fall asleep before I hang up.”

  The man was full of surprises. Carlotta set the phone next to her ear and curled onto her side, listening to Jack breathe. She made an effort to outlast him, but she lost that struggle with a smile on her face.

  8

  Wesley shifted on the uncomfortable chair in the coffee shop, waiting for Meg. He hadn’t wanted to crawl out of bed so early, but she’d asked him to meet her outside the office to go over the test data at this godawful hour. So here he was, sneaking a smoke under the table, trying to wake up. He was on his second foamy drink with sprinkles that was some pricey derivative of coffee.

  Conscious of his promise to Carlotta, he’d swallowed only half a tablet of Oxy this morning, cutting his normal dose. And he’d hoped the extra caffeine would help to ward off withdrawal. Instead, his head rumbled and his bladder was about to explode, but he wasn’t about to carry a damn bouquet of flowers into the john.

  He looked at the flowers and hoped Meg didn’t notice the brown edges. It was the best bunch the convenience store on the corner had to offer. He picked off a few dying petals, but it left the flowers looking a little bald. He tossed down the rubber-banded bouquet and wiped his hand over his mouth. Like it mattered.

  From his backpack, the theme of The Mickey Mouse Club sounded. He winced—if Mouse was calling this early in the morning, it couldn’t be good. They’d had a lousy collections day yesterday—he probably wanted to work today. Wes cursed under his breath and flipped open the pay-as-you-go phone. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, little man, did I wake you up?”

  “Nah. What’s going on?”

  “Bad news. You know that Logan kid you let slip through your fingers yesterday?”

  “The Georgia Tech student who owes The Carver ten large? I didn’t expect the guy to jump out the window.”

  “Yeah, well, I just found out the frat boy got kicked out of school. Which means he’s probably planning to hightail it back to Cincinnati and skip out on his debt, if he hasn’t already.”

  Wes sighed. “I wasn’t planning to work today.”

  “Change your plans,” Mouse said. “The stakes went up when The Carver bought your debt from Father Thom.”

  Another loan shark he owed…or used to. Now all his markers were with The Carver, the man he was working undercover for in exchange for leniency from the D.A. on a previous char
ge. To get his foot in the organization, he’d offered to partner with Mouse to collect on “non-traditional” accounts—students whose environments he could infiltrate.

  “If this schmuck is still in town, find him,” Mouse said.

  “And if I can’t?”

  “The Carver’s gonna hold you personally responsible.”

  The line went dead and Wesley snapped the phone closed. His arm tingled where The Carver had sliced the letters C-A-R into his flesh for a previous infraction, with the promise to finish the job if Wesley stepped out of line again.

  Wes lifted the cigarette for a drag.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” the guy at the next table said.

  Wesley started to give him the finger, then something in the newspaper the guy was reading caught his eye. APD Receives Anonymous Note Identifying Headless Man. “Can I see that?”

  “Are you going to put out the cigarette?”

  Wesley grabbed the paper out of the guy’s hand and took another drag.

  “Hey!”

  “Relax, dude. Your blood pressure will kill you before my cigarette does.”

  The guy got up and scurried away. Wes scanned the short article that described the scrap of paper he’d mailed to the APD with three variations of a name scribbled on it. He hoped that one of the names belonged to the headless corpse in the morgue. He was pretty sure Mouse had done the guy in, since the dead man’s finger had been in the trunk of Mouse’s Town Car. And because Mouse had forced Wes to remove the teeth from the severed head with a pair of pliers.

  The APD hopes the person who mailed in the tip will come forward.

  “Right,” Wesley murmured.

  “Hi.”

  He looked up just as Meg dropped into the seat opposite him. She wore jeans, a striped T-shirt, and rugged sneakers. Her hair was skimmed back into a bouncy ponytail. His heart jerked sideways. “Hi.”

  “Whatcha reading?” She craned for a look.

  “Nothing,” he said, setting the paper aside.

  “Are those for me?” she asked, nodding to the flowers.

  “Uh…yeah.” Heat climbed his neck as he snubbed out the half-smoked cigarette.

  She picked up the bouquet and brought it to her nose. “Nice. But why?”

  Under the table, Wes’s leg jumped from the lack of Oxy. “Because I was an ass at the reception. The woman you saw me talking to—she wasn’t someone I hooked up with afterward. She’s my probation officer. I was embarrassed to tell you.”

  Meg’s pink mouth rounded. “Oh.”

  “Your dad made me mad, but I shouldn’t have left without telling you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed. “Now we’ll have to have that first date all over again.”

  Pleasure coiled through his chest. At the reception, Meg had announced to him that she never put out on the first date. His mind and body had instantly zoomed ahead to the second date, a chance he’d presumed had been lost forever.

  She removed a daisy and stuck it in her ponytail. “I’m going to get tea. Do you need anything?”

  He stared at her. She made it seem so effortless, being pretty and sexy. She was like a wild animal—natural and carefree and a little scary.

  “Wes?”

  “Uh, I’m going to hit the head. I’ll be right back.”

  In the bathroom, he splashed his face with water, but nothing seemed to help the excessive sweating. From his pocket he pulled the other half of the Oxy pill he’d swallowed earlier. This half he popped into his mouth and chewed. He needed the quick rush and the relief of his headache if he was going to look at the printouts Meg had brought. He promised himself he’d cut back on the Oxy again after he left Meg. For now, he needed all his wits about him.

  When he returned to the table, Meg was sipping milky tea and already perusing the thick printout of info she’d pulled from the database. The data was arranged in dense columns that would make little sense to anyone just glancing at it. She handed him a yellow highlighter pen when he sat down, then she narrowed her eyes.

  “Did you take a hit of something in the bathroom?”

  “No,” he lied happily. He was starting to feel good.

  She looked dubious, then gestured to the page in front of them. “So here are your dad’s records. What do you make of them?”

  He eagerly scoured the pages, looking for descriptive text, notes from the court reporter, any kind of transcript. But the staccato bits of info he followed with his finger were familiar and useless—his father’s name, birthday, the county, the judge’s name.

  “What were the charges?” Meg asked, her voice tentative.

  “Right here. Investment fraud and embezzlement.” He scoffed. “What a crock.”

  She leaned in to look over his shoulder, infusing the air with the scent of strawberries. “What’s Mashburn, Tully & Wren?” she asked.

  “The name of the firm where he worked.”

  “He was a partner?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his chest puffing out a little. “We had a big house. Carlotta and I went to private schools and everything.”

  “What school did you graduate from? I went to St. Pius.”

  He squirmed. “I went to Paideia when I was small. After my folks left, I transferred to public school.”

  She sipped her tea and nodded, but he could tell a public school education made him seem inferior in her eyes.

  “Who is Liz Fischer?” she asked, tapping the report.

  “My dad’s attorney—and mine.” He glanced over the rest of the data, then pushed it away with a sigh. “There’s nothing here I didn’t already know.”

  “We can keep poking around,” Meg offered.

  He nodded warily.

  “So…did your parents leave in the middle of the night?”

  “No,” he mumbled, staring into his scummy coffee. “I remember they were dressed up, going out to eat, I think. My mom was wearing a red dress. She always looked and smelled great.”

  Meg smiled.

  “She gave me a kiss goodbye and I stood at the door waving at their car.” He took a drink from the cup. “And they never came home.”

  Meg’s smile disappeared. “Just like that?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much. Carlotta got me ready for school the next morning. I thought my parents were sick or something. But when we got home from school, I knew something was wrong. Carlotta started making all these phone calls, and I could tell she was scared.” He gave a little laugh. “But she kept telling me everything was okay, that Mom and Dad would be home soon.”

  “And?”

  “And…nothing. Carlotta took care of me, and eventually we just stopped talking about our parents.”

  “So you never heard from them—no phone calls, nothing?”

  “They sent a few postcards over the years, to say hi and that they were okay.”

  “From where?”

  “From all over. I guess they stayed on the move.”

  Her mouth opened and closed. “But you’ve never…talked to them? You’ve never seen them in all this time?”

  He shook his head.

  Meg looked horrified. “But how could they do that to you and your sister?”

  Wes could feel his defenses rising. “They knew we’d be okay.”

  “But to go all this time and not talk to your kids?”

  He pushed up his glasses, trying to tamp down his anger.

  “What kind of parent does that?”

  “Actually…my sister has seen my dad.”

  Her eyes went wide. “When?”

  “A couple of months ago, someone stole Carlotta’s identity and jumped off a bridge. For a while, we all thought it was her. The news even reported her death.”

  “How awful.”

  “The D.A. asked Carlotta to play dead for a while, hoping it would bring my parents out of hiding.”

  “And she agreed?”

  “Only because the D.A. offered to do something for me, which he later reneged on.”

/>   “But the ploy didn’t work?”

  “My father must have suspected it was a trick. He showed up in disguise, slipped a note into my sister’s pocket.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What did it say?”

  “That he was proud of us, and he would see us soon.”

  “And have you heard from him since?”

  Wes hesitated, but he hated her thinking the worst of his parents. “Dad came up to Carlotta a few weeks ago at a rest area in Florida.”

  “She’d planned to meet him there?”

  “No. He must have been following us. I was there, too, but I was in the car. He just walked up to her at a vending machine. Right under the nose of police.” He grinned. “He’s got balls.”

  Meg looked less than convinced. “And then he disappeared again?”

  “Yeah. But he said he’d been keeping tabs on us.”

  “Did he say what they’ve been doing all this time?”

  “He said my mom had been sick some, and that he’d been gathering evidence to prove his innocence.”

  “So he’s going to come back?”

  “I think so.”

  Meg stared at him. “Wow. I can’t believe all these things have happened to you.”

  He shrugged, feeling worldly. “Believe it.”

  He could almost see the wheels in her head turning, but then she started sucking on the plastic stir stick, and he was totally distracted. She glanced at her watch. “I have to get going.”

  “Big plans?” he asked casually.

  “I’m committed to help out Habitat for Humanity today.” She rolled the printout and stuffed it into her shoulder bag. “What about you, are you moving bodies today?”

  “I’m on call, so maybe. And I’m trying to locate a guy named Jett Logan. Do you know him?”

  She squinted. “Yeah—he’s an ATO. Alpha Tau Omega. Big party fraternity. How do you know Jett?”

  “Uh…I don’t. But I’m trying to get a message to him from a mutual friend.”

  Meg angled her head. “ATO is having a Hawaiian party tonight. Go with me.”

  “Do you think Logan will be there?”

  “Yes, but more importantly, I’ll be there.”

  “Okay,” Wes said, his heart beating faster.

  She picked up the wilting bouquet of flowers. “I’ll be in front of the ATO house, say, at eight?”