by Joanna Wayne
“Then it’s not my aura.”
“Not in this picture.”
“So how do you explain it this time?”
“I can’t.”
She studied Jeff. His expression, stance and demeanor suggested he was telling the truth. She had to get out of here, had to breathe fresh air and think clearly. “I need the pictures of me, Jeff.”
“Sure. Take them. I have the negatives.”
She grabbed them and all but ran from the room. Even as she did, she had the strange feeling that someone was watching her.
This was crazy. Or maybe she was going crazy, losing her touch with reality the way Tom and Selma had. I’m not your patient yet, Dr. Lipscomb, but if this keeps up I will be soon.
She fell against the wall by the elevator. Oh, Bart, why in the devil aren’t you here now?
He wasn’t, so she had to do this herself, and she couldn’t do it by running away. That’s why she’d become a cop in the first place, so she wouldn’t run from life and responsibility, so she’d take charge of her life and use her new strength for good.
Empowerment came from within. She’d learned that from one of Dr. Lipscomb’s books.
She’d start taking more control tonight. Rich probably wouldn’t approve, but that was his problem. She would do what she had to, and just maybe it would help her get closer to finding the killer before he struck again.
HARLAN SHRANK back into the woods when he saw the pretty young deputy on the secluded path that meandered through the thick forest of evergreens. He couldn’t see much of her all bundled up in that green parka the way she was, but he could imagine how she looked beneath that and the uniform.
All business on the outside, but he bet she wasn’t underneath the deputy camouflage. Satin panties. Yeah. That’s what she’d wear. Red satin, with a border of red lace. And women like her always wore thong panties.
She’d look great in them. Tempting to a hungry man. And he was hungry now. And there was no one around but the two of them.
Even if she screamed, no one would hear her. She might not scream. She might like it as much as he did. And he would like it. He needed it. A man could stay in hiding only so long without a little something to keep him going.
And it was her fault. If she hadn’t come after him that night and taken him by surprise, he could have thought things through better. They didn’t have anything on him. But he’d panicked and now he was holed up in the woods, living in that pickup truck like a freakin’ mountain man.
She was only a few yards from him now, so close he could smell her perfume. Things started happening in his head. Just like before. Happening fast. Red satin panties. He could see them. Young, hot flesh.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife. She was only a step away.
Chapter Eleven
Carrie heard movement and spun around. Impulsively, her hand flew to the butt of the gun. “Who’s there?”
There was no response.
Probably a squirrel, maybe even a bird. Her nerves were shot, and that was not the preferred operating mode for a cop on a murder case. She turned and looked back down the path she’d just walked.
One of the utility carts the workers used for shuffling supplies and guests about the resort was bumping its way toward her. Rich. She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together before she faced him.
He pulled to a stop right next to her. “I thought you were staying inside and warm.”
“I got bored,” she lied. “And I have news.”
“Good. Me, too,” he said. “Hop in.”
“You go first,” she said, when she’d settled onto the padded seat.
He pressed the pedal and they started back toward the hotel. “I got a call from Maizie. Tom’s doing great. If it continues, they’ll release him in the morning.”
“That’s terrific.”
“Now let’s hear your news.”
“I’m not going home tonight.”
He shot her a dubious look. “Tell me this doesn’t mean you’re hooking up with the grinning camera boy.”
“Men don’t make passes at girls who wear weapons.”
“Not unless they get half a chance.”
“I’m not staying with Jeff, but I do have accommodations here at the Fernhaven.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
“You don’t have to work twenty-four hour shifts, you know. There is a night crew, not to mention that the current Fernhaven security rivals the National Guard for manpower.”
“And now they’ll have their own deputy on the premises.”
They came to a Y and he took the path that cut back to the hotel. “Then I hope you’re willing to give up a week’s salary for every night you stay because there’s no way Powell is going to okay that kind of expenditure. He’s got budget woes as it is.”
“That’s the really swell part of all of this,” she said, trying to sound positive. “The hotel is so appreciative of my efforts and so thankful for my offer that they’re comping a few nights.”
“Nice work, Fransen.” He high-fived her. “How about negotiating my next contract?”
“Wouldn’t help. Powell’s much tougher than the hotel.”
“So, when do you move in?”
“Oh…” She made a show of checking her watch. “Somewhere about now.”
“Not even going home for a change of clothes?”
“I don’t have to. The hotel laundry provides overnight service, and the hotel has gift packs for those of us who forgot to pack the basics, such as toothbrush and razor.”
“Sounds like a much better deal than you got last night.”
“No homemade chili.”
“Well, there’s that.” He drove around to the back and parked near the employee entrance. “Then I guess you’re all set.”
“I am.”
“Let’s go have a look at the room. I’ve been dying to bounce on one of those beds.”
“It’s not actually a room.”
“Ah, a broom closet,” he said. “Never mind about negotiating my contract.”
“Not a broom closet, either, though it looked as if that might be among my choices. The hotel is to tally booked, and since the roads into Seattle and the airport weren’t fully plowed, no one left. The only opening is in one of the cabins. Apparently the guests there had a helicopter fly in and pick them up after the blizzard.”
“Which cabin?”
“Number twelve.”
“Number twelve as in the very remote and isolated cabin nearest the murder site.”
“Yeah. Lucky me.”
“And me,” he said, jumping out of the cart and heading for the door.
She followed him. “How do you figure?”
“A good cop never runs out on his partner. And I am a hell of a cop.”
DINNER IN the hotel restaurant had been great, but now that they were back in the cabin, things were awkward. Two nights together was probably pushing things, especially with both of them on the edge with the investigation.
One step forward; two steps back. And now the backward steps were taking them into uncertain territory. Rich couldn’t rule out that the abduction and murder had been some kind of ritualistic killing, and that more than one person might be involved. The note saying the killer wanted to be stopped might just be an effort to throw them off.
He didn’t have a good handle on the crime, and he wasn’t even sure he had a good handle on Carrie. She was more complex than he’d imagined. Smarter, too. She had a good mind for seeing clues. But she was also vulnerable. She missed Bart, and she was spooked by the talk of the undead and especially by the marking the killer had used as his signature.
He could understand it. He’d grown up with the superstitions. When you were around people who believed in the supernatural, they could make the impossible seem so real. When he was a kid, they’d only talked about it in quiet voices when they thought he wasn’t around.
But he
’d picked up the fear and heard enough that it had scared him to death, especially when those college women had been slaughtered. Fortunately, his parents had been level-headed nonbelievers, and he’d finally realized the haunted business was a crock.
But it was all new to Carrie, and she was being hit with it full force. The ridiculous complaints about the hotel definitely hadn’t helped. Most of them had been about totally insignificant things, the spoiled rich suffering the indignities of a bed that wasn’t made to suit them or a distaste for the brand of chocolates left on their beds at turndown.
Still, a few had come right out of a horror novel, especially Marjorie Lipscomb’s. But it was classic for the situation. If you came to the hotel focusing on the fact that it was a near replica of a hotel that had burned down in the same spot, you’d have nightmares. He took most shrinks for being a little on the weird side anyway. Why else would they want to dig around in other people’s sick minds?
Then again, some people might question why people went into law enforcement when it meant getting shot at by sickos and punks. Some days he questioned it himself. This wasn’t one of them. This was one of those cases that got under his skin like a fungus, driving him crazy. A man who’d carve a marking like that into a woman might do anything—anything at all.
He pulled his black notebook from his pocket and flipped to the list he’d started this afternoon. Possible motivation. This was the list that worried him most. The motivating factors for raping, killing and carving a woman with a mark of the fabled undead never came up as sane.
Carrie shuffled through the newspaper for the second time, not reading a word. She was as restless as he was, too tangled up in the case to think of anything else. She was a good cop. She’d make a great one someday.
He hadn’t seen it before. He’d thought Bart was coddling her along, making all the decisions. But Bart had no doubt seen her potential. And if he saw more and had gotten entangled with an attraction for her, who could blame him? Intelligence, curiosity, drive and looks. It was a hard combination to beat even before you threw in her sense of humor and femininity.
Carrie tossed the newspaper she’d been reading to the table.
“I think I’ll go outside and get some fresh air.”
“Be easier if we just open a window,” he said.
“No use to let the cabin get cold.” She took her parka from the coat rack by the door and slipped it on.
“Do you want company?”
“I’ll be fine alone. I won’t be long.”
He watched her go, tempted to join her but not sure he should. If it had been a guy partner, he wouldn’t even have thought about walking outside with him, so it probably shouldn’t be different with a woman.
Rich started a new list. Where Harlan could have disappeared to since he hadn’t been spotted.
Number one was the obvious. He could still be in the immediate area. There were acres and acres of woods where a man could hide, but not without food. Sooner or later, he’d have to come out of the mountains for food.
He started another new list. Most likely places for Harlan to show up. Number one was to break in a house when he knew no one was around. Rich continued the list, but by the time he reached five, he was thinking a lot more about Carrie than he was Harlan Grant.
He yanked his parka off the hook. He was going out to check on her. If she didn’t want his company, she’d tell him.
He found her standing at the edge of the clearing and staring into the woods in the direction where Elora Nicholas had been murdered.
She sniffed, and he wondered if it was the cold or if she’d been crying.
“You okay?”
She nodded, but didn’t turn around. “I’m just thinking.”
“About Elora?”
“No, I was thinking about how quiet it is out here. Bart said that when they had a quiet night back in L.A., they’d figure the criminals were resting up for a crime spree, but that quiet in northern Washington was a good thing.”
“You and Bart made quite a team.”
“We did.”
“You must miss him.”
“A lot. I worked my first investigation with him. I thought I knew it all. He let me know quick that I didn’t, but he did it without making me feel like a fool. After that, he became my full-time mentor. Worked out great since neither of us had anyone else to go home to at night.”
“Being alone can be tough at times.”
She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her nose, then finally she turned and faced him. “Were you ever married?”
“Twice.”
“What happened?”
“My first wife left me after a year, said she wasn’t ready to settle down. Actually she was, just not with me. She married her dentist.”
“Ouch. What happened the second time?”
“The second one left because she said I was not over wife number one.”
“Were you?”
“Who knows? Anyway I figure with two strikes on me, I better be damned sure of the results before I swing again.”
“So you’re waiting for Mrs. Right?”
“Naw. I’m looking for a good-looking slut who likes sex, beer and the Seahawks.”
“You know what, Deputy McFarland? I don’t think you’re nearly as tough and as hard as people think you are.”
“Well, don’t spread that word at headquarters. You’ll ruin my bad reputation. Now, I think we should go in. I don’t want you getting sicker and trying to shirk your responsibilities. We still have a killer to catch and a trip into Seattle first thing tomorrow morning.”
AS IT TURNED OUT, Carrie got to make the call on Dr. Marjorie Lipscomb all by herself. Rich had driven into the city with her, but he was meeting with one of his old buddies from the Seattle Police Department to discuss an investigation the man had headed up two years ago involving some kids who’d formed a gang that practiced devil worship.
The only time the detective could meet with him today was the exact same time as their appointment with Dr. Lipscomb. All for the best, Carrie figured. The doctor might open up more in a one-on-one interview with someone who wasn’t as diametrically opposed to belief in the supernatural as Rich was.
Carrie arrived early, but she was kept waiting until nearly eleven. The doctor’s private office was impressive and a little daunting. There were no couches, just her desk, a couple of tan easy chairs and a large brass lamp with a cream-colored shade.
Awards, certificates and diplomas plastered the back wall. The side walls held floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed full of books.
Dr. Lipscomb was even more impressive than her office and looked younger than she had several years ago when Carrie had attended her lecture. She was middle-aged, probably fifty or near it, blond, chic and wearing a white leather skirt and pale pink blouse that capitalized on her great figure.
They shook hands, exchanged introductions and Carrie told her once again how much she’d learned from her books.
“That’s always nice to hear.” She took a seat behind her desk and motioned Carrie to one of the tan chairs. “Now exactly what is this case that you think I may be able to assist you with?”
Now came the fun part, but Carrie had rehearsed this well on the drive in. “I’m investigating the case involving the woman who was abducted from the Fernhaven Hotel.”
“Yes, I heard about that. Very sad. So exactly how do you think I can help?”
Carrie leaned forward in her chair and waited until the doctor’s gaze locked with hers. “I know that you spent a long weekend at the Fernhaven about a month ago.”
The doctor’s expression didn’t change, but there was a noticeable surge in tension in the room. Carrie would have to go easy if she wanted the doctor to be honest about what she’d really seen and heard that night at the hotel.
“I stayed there, but I didn’t realize my vacations warranted notice by the sheriff’s department.”
“We’ve examined some of the hotel records a
s part of the investigation. It’s routine in this kind of case, and we honor the hotel’s policy of keeping guest information confidential.”
“When you requested this appointment, you indicated it was to ask my professional opinion not to question me about my stay at the hotel.”
“Yes, I know. And I do want your professional opinion.”
“I’d like to help you, Deputy Fransen, but I’m very busy. So what is your specific question?”
“I’d like to know more about the complaint that someone broke into your room during the night.”
“If you read my file, as you obviously did, you know that I recanted. I was taking medication for a sprained muscle and that combined with the wine I had for dinner brought on a very vivid and lifelike nightmare. There’s not a lot else I can do with that for you, either professionally or as a layman.”
Carrie had definitely struck a nerve. Dr. Lipscomb was clearly agitated, and Carrie doubted that happened too often in a professional setting.
Now Carrie felt like the psychologist searching for the right manner to diffuse the situation and get the doctor to open up. “I’ve had that same problem before. One drink with a pill, and my system goes whacko. But the weird thing is, other people have made very similar reports to yours.”
“The hotel didn’t admit that to me. They seemed shocked at my complaint.”
They would. “I realize it could have been a nightmare,” Carrie continued. “It’s just unusual that other people have claimed similar experiences. That’s why it would help if you could tell me more about your original complaint.”
The doctor’s perfect composure started to fade. She exhaled and spread her hands flat on her desk. “What is it you want to know?”
“You said that a woman came running into your room. Do you remember what she looked like?”
Dr. Lipscomb dropped the pen and clasped her hands. Her lips were drawn tight now, and the creases around her eyes had deepened.
“She was dressed in a nightgown, the old-fashioned kind that had lace at the neck and sleeves and hung loose all the way to her ankles. Her hair was gray, but long, almost to her waist.”
“What did she do when she came in?”
