Drop Dead Perfect

by Rick Murcer

  After checking the text and message folders, and seeing they were empty, like with the first phone, she clicked on the folder marked “photos” and watched panels of pictures fill her screen.

  She worked slower than last time, hoping this phone would be more helpful than Clara’s had been.

  Painstakingly, she went over each shot, noting the date and time as well as the details of each background and all the subtleties a photo can reveal, if one knows what to look for. The first group of images held no apparent value to the investigation. They were pictures of friends, family, a dog, even a few of Chicago’s skyline, but not much more.

  Ellen kept going. Each new photo gave her a hope of finding something useful.

  A new set of photos filled her monitor.

  Ellen squinted, then leaned over to get a better look at the lower left image.

  There was what looked like a man’s hand pressing against the lens—two fingers, one of them showing the vague outline of a wedding band, perhaps wider than most. It was odd, because the image seemed out of place, almost like the man was wrenching the phone from Holly’s hand. Was it the killer? Had he made a mistake by not deleting this one, or had he thought it wasn’t important?

  If they could pull this off, it might just be a mistake that would help them catch him.

  Her heart raced as she printed the photo on the color laser printer before dashing out the door toward the room where Sanchez was stationed.

  But she had one stop to make first.

  She prayed her idea would work.

  CHAPTER 30

  Kyle Black could only stare.

  He’d been on his way to the other room—the more secluded area that hid what he wanted no one else to see, not even his feeble-minded brother—when he’d taken one last look back.

  Rachel Dupree awaited him in that private of private places, and he was never one to keep a woman waiting, particularly someone as beautiful as she. This woman was even more special than the others.

  Clara and Holly had been beautiful, each in her own way. Yet, in the end, they hadn’t worked out for him or Damon. His brother had seen to that and had forced Kyle’s hand in so many ways. He hadn’t really wanted to kill them, but it had been necessary and he excelled at doing what needed to be done.

  After each incident, Kyle had warned his brother about how his behavior might affect the next woman, the next potential wife. He’d thought that he was getting through to him and that his brother had begun to understand that honesty was not always the best policy. This wasn’t an exact science, like his technical realm.

  Joannie Carmen was a most suitable candidate. She was stunning and bright, and physically, the others had been no match for her curves. All that he and his brother had to do was wait for that critical moment, the one that would tell them whether she was the one. He’d had high hopes, but all of those expectations tumbled into oblivion because of his brother’s impatience—again.

  Stepping back into the room, he rushed to Joannie Carmen’s side and clamped his hand over her mouth.

  Joannie stopped screaming, yet her eyes were still fixed on his brother’s face.

  She practically jumped out of her skin when Kyle touched her. She looked at him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. She turned her head and stared directly at his brother’s face. She seemed to be mesmerized at the sight. That, or paralyzed by a real sense of horror. He would have thought an ER nurse more able to check her emotions.

  His brother stood motionless, his head turned at a slight angle as if he were modeling for a magazine shoot. Except Kyle couldn’t think of a magazine on the planet that would feature Damon, unless it wanted to feature something freakish.

  He grabbed the gag from the back of the chair and quickly placed it back around Joannie’s mouth and moved toward his brother.

  “I told you to wait until the time was right. You said you would, that you trusted my judgment. What were you thinking, brother?” asked Kyle, trying to keep his anger in check. But even he had his limits.

  “I . . . I just thought she’d get it. That she’d understand,” he said.

  “I told you not to think. To only listen to me. I know what I’m doing. Now you’ve put us right back in the same situation, and I’ve got to clean up your damn mess again.”

  “I’m sorry, Kyle. I didn’t mean to displease you. I only wanted her to be the one. More than the others.”

  “I know you did, and maybe it would’ve worked that way, but we’ll never know now, will we?”

  It was becoming impossible to get a grip on his true thoughts. He was angry at his foolish brother, yes, but there was something else, wasn’t there? That desire, that indescribable need to wield the most powerful weapon known to humankind: the power over life and death. To hold someone’s greatest gift in his hand, touch it, tease it, and then take it away at his discretion.

  At first, he’d used his brother’s moronic actions as excuses to kill the others, but that line was now blurred, and in the end, what did it matter? He could do whatever he wanted. Who could stop him? Killing had always given him a rush, but it was far more than that now.

  Kyle reached up and ran his hand along his brother’s deformed, ravaged face. The fire had been thorough. Fourth-degree burns had destroyed Damon’s nose, his ears, and even parts of his mouth. Surgery had helped some, but his brother’s face still looked more like something from a terrible horror movie than anything real. Though he’d grown used to it over the last twenty years, everyone else who’d ever seen it had shared Joannie’s reaction.

  “Sorry, brother. We’ll try again,” he said apologetically, though he didn’t mean a word of it. He wanted to get to the next step and set Joannie Carmen free, his way. “I’ve already selected your next candidate. The best so far.”

  His brother hesitated. “If you say so, Kyle.”

  “I do, little brother. I do.”

  Kyle turned to face Joannie. “I’m going to take off the gag, if you’ll promise to keep it together. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  He thought he saw a flicker of fear, then it was gone. She’d regained her composure. Good. That only made it better when the time came.

  Removing the cloth, he held it in his hand, watching her.

  “I’m good. I’m so sorry. I reacted without thinking. I didn’t mean to scream. I was surprised, and this situation is not exactly stress-free,” she said.

  Kyle stepped behind the chair and put his hands on her shoulders. “We understand. We can clear this up if you’re willing to answer two questions for me. For us, okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll try,” she said.

  “No, Kyle. Let’s talk,” said his brother, taking a step in his direction.

  “I’m not going to hurt her, brother, if she’s honest. Trust me,” he said. He felt the excitement rise from deep within him as it filtered to his arms and then his hands.

  “Do you promise, Kyle?” asked Damon.

  “Yes, if she’s honest, we’ll all be fine.”

  His brother hesitated, then drew the black bag over his face and stood still.

  “Joannie, could you see yourself living with my brother for the rest of your life? Loving him, taking care of him, having his children?”

  He could almost smell the tension building in the musty underworld of the warehouse. The seconds ticked away.

  Finally, she raised her head. “I . . . I cannot. I’m sorry,” she said, exhaling.

  “I applaud you for your honesty. I have one more question for you.”

  He heard the sob as she nodded.

  “Who loves you more than my brother, Joannie Carmen?”

  CHAPTER 31

  “Are you sure about this?”

  The voice on the other end sounded tired, almost exhausted, but Brice chalked it up to all the hours Big Harv had been working. This case was only t
wo days old and it was already taking its toll.

  “I’m trusting Ellie . . . er, FT Harper . . . and her staff’s work. She caught something on the ligature marks of the two victims that might help us end this in a hurry,” he said, using his best professional cadence.

  “Then we have to give it a shot. We’ve got to stop this now. Also, Sergeant Foster just sent out an APB on a Rachel Dupree. Her picture and bio should be on your phone, and every other Chicago cop’s phone. I believe she’s a potential fourth victim. Find those women, Rogers. I don’t give a shit how many people it takes or how many laws you break. Not this time. I’ll also inform the FBI in case they want to send a few units out to help with the search.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I’ll have twenty teams of three, and we should be able to get through the area in a few hours.”

  “That’s not enough, Brice. I’m authorizing twice that many. I want an update every ten minutes. Now stop talking to me and get your ass out there.”

  The phone went dead, and Brice stared at it for a moment.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Ten minutes later, Brice was in his unmarked Ford, racing south on I-94, followed by three Chicago PD vans filled with cops, guns, and hope. Four others, including two K-9 units, were to meet them near West 32nd Avenue in fifteen minutes.

  He’d been a part of several mass searches and had helped organize a search for a missing four-year-old girl near the Chicago River. She’d wandered off, and they had found her alive—hungry and a little bruised, but no worse for wear. She’d jumped into his arms and clung to him like Velcro. He’d liked it, or at least the idea of protecting someone like her. Until then he’d never thought about kids. The ticking clock metaphor was typically used with reference to a woman whose maternal instincts had kicked in. He wasn’t sure if men had such a thing, but that little Velcro moment had made him think about fatherhood in a whole new way. And the reunion of the youngster with her parents had driven the idea home.

  That one had turned out well. Score one for the good guys. As he barreled off the exit, lights flashing, siren soaring, he wondered if this search-and-rescue would turn out the same feel-good way.

  Brice bit the inside of his lip.

  He didn’t think so.

  CHAPTER 32

  Walking into Steve Jansen’s lab area, Ellen spoke. “I need you to do something for me.”

  Jansen looked up from the large electronic microscope, glanced at her, then focused on her hand. A look of puzzlement flashed across his face.

  “I’d do anything for you—you know that—but it’s not really a good time, Ellie. Can’t this wait? In another hour, I’ll have this ballistics imprint processed and entered into the database to see if we can get a match on one of the guns that killed Oscar.”

  He was almost pleading with her. She understood that look. Some son of a bitch had taken out one of their own and that had to be dealt with. The scales had to be balanced.

  Without warning, the time that Oscar had taken her for a tofu burger entered her mind. After the first bite, her expression must have shown that she’d toss her cookies if she took another. He looked disappointed, then erupted in a full belly laugh. People never leave you.

  Her emotions bum-rushed her heart and tore at her insides. Finding Oscar’s killer was top priority, no question, but saving the next potential victim was more important.

  She’d sworn to serve the good people of Chicago and even though it hurt like hell, that meant she had to make the right call, the unselfish call, the one that benefited the most people.

  Ellen exhaled, handed the photo to Steve Jansen, and watched him hesitate and then slowly take it from her hand.

  “That’s wonderful, Steve, and important, and I hate to keep you on a yo-yo like this, but we’ve found a lead that might go somewhere into the Bridgeport District. Brice is taking his people out there as we speak. The problem is that they could be hours, maybe a day, searching through the buildings, even if our instincts are right. Meanwhile, I found this image of the possible perp’s fingers on one of the victim’s phones.”

  She moved to his side, pointing at a corner of the photo. “See how these ridges flow from one side and seem to come out the other?”

  He nodded.

  “This looks like an arch pattern, and you know how rare that is. Most people have looping patterns in their fingerprints. Only about five percent have this tented-arch configuration. I want you to clean up the image the best you can and then run it through. Pronto, okay?” It was his turn to exhale. His breath was stale, and his mouth was dry. She knew that feeling, too.

  “It’ll take a while for the digital imagery to tear this down and reconstruct it so that it recreates the most logical image and then reproduces it.”

  “I know. But you should be able to get it ready in an hour, right?” she asked.

  “Once I start the program, I’ll have some time on my hands. Maybe just enough to get this finished and to the ballistics specialists,” he said, nodding at what he’d been working on.

  “Sounds like a plan. Let me know when you get it completed. I’ve got a meeting in less than three hours, and I’d love to say we’ve identified a person of interest, unless, of course, Detective Rogers and his people have this bastard in custody by then.”

  “Yeah, I wish it worked that way. But we’ve been doing this too long to believe that’ll happen. These people aren’t caught so easily, are they?”

  She knew he was right, but still, one could hope. Should hope. The science doesn’t lie. They had leads, and there was no substitute for that.

  She turned to head out the door to where Bella was working with another tech and realized she’d forgotten something.

  “Steve . . .”

  “Yes. I will see what I can get from an enhanced image of the ring, too. That’s probably a total dead end, but I’ll try. You know, Ellie . . .”

  He stopped and clutched his own wedding ring, turning it in his long fingers.

  “What?”

  “If that’s an image of a wedding ring . . .”

  “Yup?”

  “That means the guy’s married, right?”

  She looked down at her finger where a faint, white circle revealed where her rings had been. It had taken her three months after the divorce had been finalized to take them off. A touch of the anger she’d wrestled with—and seemed to be putting behind her—surfaced.

  “It could mean that. Or that he still wanted to be, if that makes sense.”

  “It does, Ellie. It does.”

  Steve turned back to his electronic lair, and she pushed open the heavy glass door, her mind racing.

  Was that what they were dealing with? Someone who still wanted to be married, but his wife didn’t?

  She knew from experience that the mental anguish of being rejected was next to unbearable and could cause a person to do some crazy things. Maybe even push you over the edge and force you to come in contact with your true inner self. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her chest. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to meet this killer’s inner self.

  CHAPTER 33

  Kyle watched Damon step forward, remove his mask, and then hesitate before stopping completely. His face was as inscrutable as it had always been since the accident. His every attempt at any kind of expression was futile. Nothing made an impression on his scarred face. Muscles and nerves were only wishful phantoms for Damon. No smile had graced his face since he was seven—even if he’d had a reason to smile. But his eyes were alive. It was as if all of Damon’s feelings had been transferred to those special blue eyes . . . and no one on the planet knew them better than Kyle. His melancholy, his anxiety, his joy, his fear, his pain, and his anger. And just then, those eyes looked pissed—yes, pissed, but also afraid. Interesting. Could Kyle’s little brother be questioning the actions of his protector?

  H
e felt a spark of anger flare up at the thought of Damon’s disapproval. The sorry bastard had no right. Kyle had spent countless hours looking out for him, feeding him, and holding him when he was afraid. He’d sacrificed the better part of his life to make sure his brother had someone—and his mother’s constant, guilt-ridden spiel had clinched the commitment deal for both of them.

  He’d even trained Damon in the fine art of computerized investment day trading, not an easy task for a man who never went out in public to see how that training related to the real world.

  Never mind the revenge he’d carried out on Damon’s behalf. All of the looks of disdain and scorn, even fear, from those who’d laid eyes on his brother’s contorted features somehow reflected on Kyle. After all, what kind of warped human being tolerates another man, brother or not, who looks like that? He even heard a young couple say as much. They didn’t get an opportunity to repeat it. How could he have allowed that? The two of them became just another unfortunate set of unsolved murders collecting dust in the cold-case files.

  After all of that and more, he gets this questioning look of doubt and blatant disrespect? He hadn’t ever stood for it with others, even his ex, so why would Damon think he’d take it now?

  The burn that had been kindled deep within him rose ever closer to the surface. Damon needed to learn a lesson. And no one could teach it better. Watching Damon with curiosity, Kyle asserted a little more pressure on Joannie’s jaw and felt her neck give ever so slightly.

  “I believe Joannie has a question to answer . . . unless, of course, you have something to say, brother,” he said. “But it is always polite to allow the fairer sex to speak first. With that in mind, I must insist that you answer my question, Miss Carmen.”

  He exerted more pressure, and Joannie yelped in pain, and tears formed in her terror-stricken eyes. This was too good. He not only got an unexpected reaction from his brother, but the bitch’s fearful response was one for the ages. He’d never felt so alive, so in control.