6 Killer Bodies

by Stephanie Bond

  “Military?” Carlotta repeated.

  “Does that mean something to you?”

  Her mind scrolled back over her interaction with Sergeant Mitchell Moody. He had exhibited stalking behavior toward Eva McCoy when she had been engaged to another man.

  “I have to think about it,” she murmured. “The murdered prostitute’s friends said she was having trouble with a client she called Doc. If the killer is a doctor of some kind, it would help explain why Coop fits some aspects of the profile. Doctors can be so arrogant.” Inexplicably, her mind went to Frederick Lowenstein. And when she recalled that she’d been with him on the nights when two of the murders had occurred, her heart thudded in her chest.

  The night that Tracey and her doctor husband had crashed her and Peter’s blanket at the Screen on the Green event in Piedmont Park, she’d left with Wesley for a pickup that had turned out to be Alicia Sills, victim number two. The Chief Medical Examiner later determined she had died not of a fall from a stepladder, but of blunt force trauma. Frederick Lowenstein had arrived late to the event with Tracey, not long before Carlotta had left to move the body…at an address within a mile of the park.

  And the night of the auction at the country club, Freddy had left early after receiving a page, not long before she and Hannah had left to join Wes on a body-moving job that had turned out be Marna Collins, victim number five, poisoned with cyanide.

  Not far from the country club.

  Doctors could get cyanide. And Freddy Lowenstein had always given her the willies…

  “Carlotta, are you there?”

  “Rainie, will you do me a favor?”

  “If I can.”

  She squinted to remember the words that Dr. Lowenstein had said before he left the auction that night. Looks like the Lindelhoff baby decided to come early. “Check to see if a baby with the last name of Lindelhoff was born at Piedmont Hospital the night of the auction at Bedford Manor.”

  “Do you want to tell me what this is about?”

  “Just a hunch…it might be nothing.”

  “Lindelhoff? Okay, I’ll check.”

  “Does the profile say anything about the meaning of the charms?”

  “Says here that since none of the victims were sexually assaulted, leaving a charm in the victim’s mouth could signify the sex act. Or the charm could demonstrate the killer’s remorse afterward. It’s undetermined whether the charms belonged to the victims. One charm, the gun, coincided with cause of death. The two victims found together had the same charm, indicating he may have planned ahead to kill two victims. The charms could be clues to the killer’s identity or motive. They could have belonged to another woman in UNSUB’s life. Or they could be completely random.”

  “Meaning, no one knows.”

  Rainie sighed. “Right. That’s why they were so eager to make an arrest, just to quiet things down. And since they couldn’t find Michael Lane—”

  “Coop was the next best suspect.”

  “Looks like it. So what do you think about running the fake piece saying you’re going to reveal all concerning Michael Lane?”

  Carlotta exhaled, nodding to herself. “I think it might work. Play up the fact that I know his deep, dark secrets, that I want everyone to know the real Michael.”

  “Okay. It’ll run as soon as I can wrangle good placement—probably this weekend, but I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, I’ll inform APD. If this works and Lane comes out of hiding, I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  Carlotta glanced at her watch. “Don’t worry about it—I’ll talk to Jack Terry. Thanks for calling, Rainie. I gotta run.”

  “Talk soon,” Rainie said, then hung up.

  Carlotta stowed the phone and took one more wistful drag on the half-spent cigarette. But at the sound of twigs snapping in the direction of the tree line, she froze. She couldn’t make out anything in the darkness. Conversely she felt like a sitting duck standing on the stoop with uplights shining on her knees. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting all around. She reached into the bottom of her bag and rummaged for the stun baton.

  Behind her a scraping noise startled her so badly, she almost swallowed her cigarette.

  But it was only the door to the restaurant opening. And to her dismay, Maria Marquez stepped out.

  Frankly, Carlotta mused, she would’ve rather faced a stalker.

  19

  “I had to have a smoke, too,” Maria said with a wry smile.

  Carlotta managed a nod in response, and moved over to share the stoop. Upon closer inspection, Maria’s brown dress was Diane von Furstenberg, her sandals, Sergio Rossi. The woman had exquisite taste.

  Maria pulled out her cigarettes and withdrew one to light. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled before speaking. “Nice place, huh?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “I suppose you’re wondering what Jack and I are doing here together.”

  Carlotta raised a hand. “It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  She considered the woman’s words, then caved to the curiosity gnawing at her. “So what is it?”

  “It’s…something else,” Maria offered. “Don’t make any knee-jerk decisions based on what you see.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I was with Jack watching your interview with the GBI agents. I heard you say you were going to Vegas with Peter.”

  “That’s right.”

  Maria took a deep drag off her cigarette. “I also heard Jack make a sound as if he’d been stabbed.”

  A little shiver of satisfaction ran over Carlotta’s shoulders, then she remembered Jack’s response afterward when she’d asked him to give her a reason not to go. He’d walked away. “Maria, Jack doesn’t want me.”

  “He doesn’t want anyone else to have you—isn’t that the same thing?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “So you’re with Peter now?”

  “I’m staying with Peter until The Charmed Killer is caught,” Carlotta said evasively.

  Maria exhaled a spiral of smoke. “We got him. You can go back home any time you want.”

  Carlotta pressed her lips together. “Coop isn’t a serial killer, Maria. The fact that he’s getting out on bail tomorrow means that the case against him isn’t as strong as you want everyone to believe.”

  “No, it means that the jails here are overcrowded and Dr. Craft was clever enough not to leave more evidence at the crime scenes.” She tapped her cigarette on the railing to rid it of ash. “Watch yourself, Carlotta. You’re putting your faith in the wrong guy, and I know what that’s like.”

  “And I know what Coop is like,” Carlotta countered. “Michael Lane is responsible for killing those women. Or someone else is.”

  From the tree line came the sound of crackling twigs, the brush of leaves. Carlotta’s head swung around. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Maria murmured, alert.

  “I thought I heard someone just before you came out.”

  The flash of a metal disc broke the blackness—a necklace? A watch? Carlotta sucked in a sharp breath as alarm seized her.

  Maria dropped her cigarette and stepped on it while reaching into her bag. She pulled out a pistol and held it down to her side while she scanned the tree line. “Carlotta, go back inside,” she ordered. “Now.”

  “I’ll get Jack.”

  “No…I can handle this. Get out of here.”

  Carlotta hurriedly snubbed out her cigarette, then pulled on the door and scurried inside. Handle, shmandle. If Michael Lane was out there, he’d already killed a morgue full of women, including an A.D.A. He’d have no compunction killing Maria. Carlotta practically ran back to the table where Jack sat frowning at the tiny plate of food sitting in front of him. He looked up and instantly his body tensed.

  “Jack, Maria’s outside. Someone was watching us from the trees.”

  He was on his feet before she finished her sentence. He hur
ried down the hallway, with Carlotta trotting behind. But just as he reached the door, it opened and Maria stepped inside.

  “It was just a dog,” Maria said with a reassuring smile.

  “But I saw a flash of something,” Carlotta said.

  “From the tag on the collar,” Maria supplied. “Nothing to worry about.”

  Carlotta exhaled in relief as they walked back toward their tables, but couldn’t help watching Maria and Jack, the way their bodies moved in tandem. Their stride was even the same. Maria’s denial that something was going on between them fell flat when one observed their natural chemistry. And while Maria’s body language seemed self-conscious, obviously no one had told Jack they weren’t on a date. He held out Maria’s chair and when she was seated, scooted her closer to the table. Then he leaned down and murmured something in Maria’s ear that made her smile.

  Carlotta forced her feet to keep moving toward the table where Peter sat fingering his napkin. His shoulders were slumped, his expression drawn. Remorse washed over her. Peter, the dear man, deserved her full attention. She slid into her chair and he looked up, having missed the commotion unfolding behind his back. “I was getting ready to send out a rescue team.”

  “Sorry…I got a phone call from Rainie Stephens.”

  His mouth twitched downward.

  She lifted her finger. “We have a deal.”

  He nodded. “I know.” He picked up a black olive from the petite plate that had been delivered in her absence. “I hear that Craft is getting out on bail tomorrow.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told, yes.”

  He chewed the olive, then swallowed. “Word around the office is that someone put up his bail.”

  Carlotta blinked. “Really? Who?”

  “I don’t know. A family member, maybe?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Coop has never talked to me about his family.”

  He took another sip of his wine. “I thought maybe the two of you got…close while you were in Florida.”

  “You thought wrong,” she said softly, then reached across the table to squeeze his fingers. “Let’s enjoy our dinner.”

  She could feel the presence of Jack and Maria only a glance away, but resisted looking, instead concentrating on Peter and his conversation…or trying to. And mostly succeeding.

  The food was exquisite, but in bite-size portions. It was fun tasting several gourmet dishes, from black forbidden rice to crab with coconut milk to white anchovies, but throughout, her mind wandered to Jack—she couldn’t see him filling up on this frou-frou food. And while Peter tried to entertain her by mentioning a funny incident from the office, she incubated the possibilities of either Mitchell Moody or Frederick Lowenstein being The Charmed Killer. Her money was still on Michael, but if not, since she’d been targeted to literally run over the body that had been dropped into the road in front of her, she had to assume it was someone she knew.

  Or at least someone who knew her.

  “Are you looking forward to Vegas?” Peter asked. Her hand was palm up and he was stroking it softly.

  Remembering his reference earlier to them someday having a family, she managed a shaky smile and nodded. “I’ve never been to Vegas. You’ve probably seen it lots of times, haven’t you?”

  “A few. But being there with you, it’ll be like experiencing it all again for the first time. We’ll have fun, I promise.”

  A big, broad-shouldered shadow fell across their table. Carlotta looked up to see Jack standing there, flanked by Maria.

  “Just wanted to say good-night,” Jack offered. “Peter, I understand you’re coming in to talk to the state guys tomorrow.”

  Peter tightened his grip on Carlotta’s hand. “That’s right.”

  “If you have any concerns, I’ll be around.”

  Peter nodded. “Thanks.”

  Jack flicked his gaze over their hands, then turned to Carlotta. “Keep that stun baton handy. You never know when you’re going to need it.”

  She gave him a private, withering look—just when she thought he was being mature. “Good night, Jack. Goodnight, Maria.”

  “Good night,” Maria murmured, although her mind seemed elsewhere.

  On how the night might end? Carlotta tamped down an irrational flash of envy. Her own sexual encounters with Jack had been accidental, spontaneous. At the time, she’d found it exciting…thrilling. But in hindsight, she realized she’d been a cheap date. Jack hadn’t gotten dressed up for her, hadn’t held out her chair.

  Carlotta watched them walk away, then turned her attention back to Peter and lifted her wineglass for another drink. They lingered over shared dessert, then left and drove back to Peter’s home. Talking companionably about their respective schedules for the following day, they walked up the stairs. At the landing, Peter gave her a nice, long kiss. But, as always, when things started to warm up between them, he pulled back.

  “I’m really looking forward to Vegas,” he said.

  “Me, too,” she murmured, hoping the trip would be a turning point for their relationship, one way or another.

  They parted and went into their separate bedrooms. Carlotta closed her door, then covered her face with her hands. Her mind raced with so many details, she was practically dizzy. After donning pj’s and washing her face, she turned on the TV and reached for her notebook. The national and local news were consumed with The Charmed Killer case, flashing Coop’s picture and announcing that he was being released on bail. Roving reporters talked to victims’ advocate groups and random Atlanta residents who expressed alarm and anger that “a cold-blooded murderer would be let back out on the street.”

  Carlotta bit her lip. Maybe Hannah had a point about Coop’s safety.

  She turned down the TV volume and recorded in the notebook the info Rainie had given her about the DNA found on the Alderman murder scene, and about the profile Maria had developed. And she noted her own suspicions about Dr. Lowenstein and, more reluctantly, Mitchell Moody. Detective Marquez hadn’t been in the frame of mind to hear about alternate suspects when they’d chatted earlier on the stoop, but Carlotta made a mental note to talk to Jack tomorrow.

  Her cell phone rang.

  Or tonight.

  She picked up her phone and confirmed it was him before she answered. She connected the call and laid her head back on the comfy upholstered chair where she sat. “Hi, Jack.”

  “Did I wake you?”

  From the background noise, she deduced he was in his car. “No, I was up.”

  “Good,” he said. “Listen…about tonight at the restaurant—Maria asked me out.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jack. I was there on a date, you were there on a date. It’s what adults do.”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

  “Your evening ended early,” she ventured, bemused that he wasn’t sleeping over at Maria’s.

  “Uh-huh,” he mumbled thickly.

  She frowned. “Are you eating?”

  “Yeah, sorry. The portions at that restaurant wouldn’t keep a damn cricket alive. I swung by The Varsity to get a sack of burgers.”

  She smiled. So the restaurant wasn’t his kind of place after all. “Jack, I need to throw something out there regarding the case. Mind you, I’m just thinking out loud.”

  He sighed. “What now?”

  “June Moody’s son, Mitchell, fits the profile Maria created.”

  He made an exasperated noise. “How do you know about Marquez’s profile?”

  “Never mind. Mitchell Moody is a career army man. He arrived in town on leave from Hawaii just before the murders began, and he’s still here.”

  “Is that all? He was in Atlanta when the killings began? Because so were six million other people.”

  “He doesn’t have a good relationship with his mother, which also matches the profile. And although he’s seeing the Olympian Eva McCoy now, before she was available, I saw footage of him on TV standing vigil in front of her house with the paparazzi. Plus he’s b
een hanging out at Moody’s, and two of the victims were found near there.” She decided not to add that the “aloha” charm on her bracelet inexplicably heightened her suspicion, as if a cosmic finger was pointing to the man.

  “But Michael Lane was at the cigar bar, too. And we know he’s killed before. Have you changed your mind about Lane being The Charmed Killer?”

  “No…I’ve just been thinking of other people…around me…who give me the creeps.”

  “There are others?”

  “Dr. Frederick Lowenstein, he’s an OB/GYN at Piedmont. I saw him at events on the same nights two of the victims were killed—Alicia Sills and Marna Collins. And both events were in close proximity to the crime scenes. He was late arriving at one event, and the other one he left early.”

  “He delivers babies, Carlotta. His schedule is probably pretty frantic.”

  “Humor me, Jack. Run a background check on him and Mitchell Moody. What would it hurt?”

  “Okay,” he mumbled between chewing. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

  Her pulse blipped. Had Rainie called Jack to tell him about the fabricated piece in the paper meant to incite Michael Lane? “Uh…not that I can think of. Thanks for offering to help Peter out with the GBI.”

  “Glad to help.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you know that Coop is getting out of jail tomorrow.”

  “Yes, that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t read too much into it. Just because the D.A. doesn’t have a truckload of evidence doesn’t mean Coop is innocent.”

  “Jack, how many times do I have to tell you? Coop didn’t do this.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds. “I’ll say one thing. If I were in trouble, I’d want you on my side.”

  Warmth infused her chest. “I can’t imagine you being in trouble, Jack.”

  He grunted. “Just don’t go getting any ideas about trying to see Coop, do you understand? It could make things worse for him, especially if the GBI is still trying to prove that he did these things because he’s hung up on you.”