Bobbing his head in Skye’s direction, Harry wanted to know, “You touch anything?”
She sent him a roll of her eyes. “You know me better than that. I used those tongs there to pick up the note and the newsprint”
Harry shook his head. “You attract some crazies, Skye. You know that?”
“Seems there’s nothing I can do about that. Take a look. It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff. I want to know who these bones belong to. Was she someone’s daughter? Was she a mother who left children behind? Was she a sister? Are they still actively looking for her? What were the circumstances where she ended up in a cardboard box? And how did her remains get here, specifically to me, to my office?”
“All reasonable questions,” Harry remarked.
“There’s a trail and we need to follow it,” Skye asserted.
“Read the note,” Josh prompted. “The person who sent the package obviously kept up with current events, knew Skye’s tie-in with the Artemis Foundation.”
“Why make his sins public now? Why write about them now? Why contact me like this at all?”
Harry scratched his head. “I’m no profiler but… I’d say he has some terminal disease and he thinks the clock is ticking or he wants attention or could be both. If it’s for the attention he probably thinks the spotlight has somehow escaped him.”
“He wants his fifteen minutes of fame,” Josh concluded. “On that we all seem to agree.”
“I know one thing. He knew Skye was out of town,” Harry proposed after skimming the message. “Knew the box would likely sit here until she came back to deal with it herself. Who gathered your mail while you were gone?”
“Travis. He came by every other day. But I only talked to him once in two weeks.” Her cheeks got a little pink at that, remembering she’d been absorbed in other things, too busy to do much else, other than enjoy the island and Josh.
“At the time Travis mentioned that quite a bit of mail had piled up. I thought he was exaggerating.” She threw her arms out wide. “Obviously he wasn’t.”
Josh frowned. “If this guy knew we were away, then he’s probably staked out this place at one time or another, maybe even staked it out today to watch you guys show up here.”
Harry thought about that then leveled Josh with a stare. “Is it too early to ask if you’re getting anything from the note, the bones? Point me in a direction, Josh.”
Josh ignored the astonished looks from the police officer and the crime scene tech. “Not a thing, other than the fact they’re human bones. Female.” He waited a beat before adding, “She died violently. That’s implied, of course. But I think she was strangled. Sorry, I can’t do any better than that.”
“Isn’t that unusual in light of recent events?” Skye prompted, meeting Josh’s eyes. “I mean, I thought you’d pick up on…a lot more than that.”
Josh lifted a shoulder in a shrug as his lips spread into a wide grin. “Maybe I’ve lost it. Maybe spending two weeks in the tropics drummed it out of me.”
“Or maybe the bones are just too old or more like we’re witnessing a shield of some kind that combats your special powers. Ever think of that?” Skye returned in a teasing tone.
“Maybe. But I want to go on record as saying I didn’t handle these bones up close so I’ll reserve the right to add any additional info I obtain from said special powers in the immediate future.”
“That’s convenient,” Skye quipped. “Admit it. You’ve lost your touch.”
Harry shook his head at their back-and-forth banter. “I’ve got a dead woman’s bones in a box and you two are squabbling about what I find very weird in the first place.”
“Weird is the new vogue,” Josh tossed back.
“Good thing, too. Because weird is the staple around here and right now, that’s all we’ve got,” Skye retorted as she watched the tech take possession of the box destined for the medical examiner’s office—and what she hoped most—answers.
Chapter Three
Weird lapped over into dinner that night at their stylish loft, located in Seattle’s upscale Pike Tri area where Skye played hostess to their family. Along with Travis Nakota, Doug and Phyllis Ander gathered around the dining room table waiting for a nervous Skye to take the roast out of the oven—a tasty pork and pineapple recipe she’d found in one of the new cookbooks she’d gotten.
When she did finally make her way through the swinging door from kitchen to dining room, she glanced around the open layout. The polished wood floors might gleam but right this minute she regretted having not taken the time to put her own touches on the place. She should have. The condo still felt like it belonged solely to Josh. Her fault, she knew. Even though she’d hoped to make it feel more like her home by bringing over her clothes and a few knickknacks, she still felt Annabelle’s presence. After all, the woman had died here. That fact alone had to be weighing on Josh, too. Maybe it was time to get serious about a new address instead of buying new pillows or a bucket of paint.
But it was too late now to worry about things like color schemes. She had hungry guests to feed.
Josh nudged her into a chair and whispered, “Stop worrying. The table’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. And I love you.”
She took a deep breath, let it out one layer at a time and dropped into the chair.
Over slow-cooked pork tenderloin, rice and asparagus tips, Skye looked around the table and picked up her glass of wine. “So how many serial killers do you suppose work an area at any given time? I mean, we’ve had our share in Seattle over the years but how many do you think are active here?”
“I’ve read the numbers, the studies,” Josh said, taking a sip of the cabernet. “Some have estimated there are between thirty-five and three hundred active serials around the world. I’d say locally there could be as many as ten and as few as four at any one time working the area along the I-5 from Canada down to the California border.”
“Those numbers sound awfully high to me,” Doug interjected.
But about that time Skye caught the appalled look on Phyllis’s face. She quickly apologized. “Oh, sorry. I guess this isn’t the usual conversation you’re used to having over supper. We’ve gotten into several bad habits lately, talking about murders are par for the course.”
Phyllis bristled at getting caught and cleared her throat. “I’m not without a sense that such subject matter takes place in this house of late, but I’d rather not discuss morbid things like that at the dinner table.”
“You’re right,” Skye said.
“No, she isn’t,” Josh imparted. “Sorry, Mom, that you’re uncomfortable. But I’d like to point out predators count on people like you to avoid conversations like this one. Let me ask you something. What if you knew someone who was a victim? What if it was one of your loved ones? What if you knew your daughter or son was out there somewhere, missing, taken by an unknown assailant? What if the police decided they’d left on their own though? What if you didn’t buy that theory? So now, you’re stuck, in a black hole because you’re never quite sure what happened to them. You have no answers, no clues. The reality is there are families out there exactly like that. They’re left wondering what happened to a son or a daughter. If we can’t have a dialogue about predators like this who grab strangers off the streets, then what’s the point? Part of working to find the bastards who do this type of thing is to make people aware—even if it is over pineapple pork and rice.”
Doug put his hand on his wife’s wrist. “You know, Phyllis, Josh is right. It’s one thing to avoid the topic entirely but if a conversation helps figure out who’s responsible for sending Skye that box of bones, and ultimately finding out the identity of the victim, then so be it.”
Chastised, Phyllis glanced at her husband, her son, at Travis and finally her eyes settled on Skye. “I can’t imagine what you went through as a child.” Her voice faltered, flattened. “I don’t know how you ever get over something like that. But to thi
nk you’ve gone on to do incredibly brave things for victims… I admire what it is you do. You know I support your efforts.”
Skye smiled and reached across the table, squeezed Phyllis’s hand. “I know that. I also know that just because you feel that way doesn’t give me the right to discuss such things at dinner. I forget sometimes that most people aren’t geared to hearing about society’s dregs or the horrors they bring to people. Not everyone needs to have it shoved in their face over a meal.”
Determined to change the subject and put her guests more at ease, Skye turned to Travis. “How’s that roast?”
Travis’s eyes met those of his daughter’s. Understanding his role in getting the subject turned to a more favorable topic, he replied, “It’s delicious. I never would have thought putting pineapple on top of a pork roast could be so flavorful.”
“Stop that,” Phyllis finally said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to make small talk on my account. My son and I often don’t see eye to eye on things and tonight is no exception. Although I do think he could’ve set me straight in a less overt way.”
“I suppose I should have. Those bones got to me, got to Skye,” Josh admitted. “I apologize.”
Phyllis tilted her head, stared into the eyes of her son. “You’ve changed these past months. At first I attributed that to finding new love. Now, I’m not so certain.”
Josh sipped his wine again, picked up his wife’s hand. “I’m learning there’s magic in finding the right woman.”
“I can attest to that,” Doug agreed. “But I wouldn’t mind getting back to this serial killer thing.” He ignored the look of disgust from his wife. “What kind of guy boxes up bones from his victim and sends them through the mail?”
“One who wants attention. Badly,” Skye offered. “He’s tired of being ignored. He wants an adversary so that he can show off his kills.”
“Exactly,” Josh stated.
“But why Skye? Why not just contact the cops? Why get you involved at all?” Travis wondered. “There’s no excuse for that. I know you made headlines taking down Frank De Palo but that doesn’t explain why this man has picked you to reach out to. I don’t like it.”
Skye looked sideways at her father. “For one thing, I’m female. He probably sees me as an inferior opponent. Add to that, I’m getting more press than he is. Someone with his ego doesn’t like that.”
“I’m impressed with that assessment,” Doug added as he speared another tasty bite of meat. “She’s good.”
“Thank you. But don’t be so impressed. I’ve spent years studying this type of human behavior. This package is only the tip of the iceberg. There’ll be others.”
“Other packages?” Travis asked, clearly upset. “You’re saying this monster will continue to contact you? I don’t like it,” Travis said again. “I want this guy caught.”
This time Skye smiled at him. They were just getting used to feeling more at ease with each other. She liked this overprotective side to him—most times. “We’ll see what we can do about making your wish come true.”
About that time the buzzer sounded from downstairs. Josh got up, went to the control panel to press the button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Ander, this is Selma Tolliver in five-forty-four. I was headed out for the evening and noticed someone had left a package by the front door addressed to Skye Cree. I’m sure they meant to put her married name on the address.”
But Josh thought otherwise. “Thanks, Mrs. Tolliver, I’ll be down to pick it up.” He turned to look at his wife. “Call Harry.”
“But it might be nothing more than a wedding gift, Josh,” Skye reasoned. “Calling Harry if someone boxed up a blender hardly seems reasonable to me.”
“I don’t think it’s a blender, Skye. Call Harry,” Josh repeated, hitting the button on the loft’s private elevator to head down.
“Okay, but I’m coming with you.”
“Then let’s go,” Josh said, sending a quick wave to his parents, to Travis, before hopping on the elevator. “We’ll be back. Don’t move. Keep eating. Give us twenty minutes.”
When they got to the lobby, Selma greeted them with a big smile. Without warning the attractive dark-haired tenant shoved the parcel into Skye’s hands.
“My date’s waiting in the car outside. I could’ve just left the gift on the hall table there where you’d likely see it, but I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you both congratulations. I’m so glad Josh found someone special. I’ve heard all about you, Skye. You’re our local crime fighter, but still such a regular-type person. And now you live in my building!” Selma declared, leaning in so she could give Skye a quick hug, again without much notice. “You keep up the good work.”
Before Skye could do any more than hug the woman back, Selma dashed out the door.
Josh gave Skye a twisted smile, cocked a brow. “Selma’s obviously a big fan.”
“Oh, shut up. Where do we do this? I’m not sure your mother could handle seeing a set of bones crammed into another box.” She eyed the package she held—much smaller than the one that had arrived at the office earlier, and added, “Let’s hope this is an omelet pan. We could use one.”
“We can hope.” He took the carton out of Skye’s hands, flipped it to read their address. It had been handwritten in blue ink. He looked around the lobby, decided on the mahogany sofa table. “What about here?”
“Fine. I opened the first, how about you open this one?”
“Sure. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He took out a pocket knife, ripped open the tape, pulled back the flaps. This time the note rested on top. It was a couple of lines, much shorter than the first.
I thought you were the best. That’s what they said on the news. They were wrong. You missed my message. It was so obvious. How could you have missed it? And they said you were the best. I’m so disappointed.
“What’s he talking about? We got his message, loud and clear, read it over several times,” Josh pointed out.
“Maybe the note isn’t it. Maybe there’s a clue in that newspaper. I didn’t even think to read it all the way through. You know, peruse the personals.”
“The personals? Could that be it?”
Skye started to pace, nibbling on her thumbnail. “I don’t know, Josh. If it isn’t that then there’s something else, something I missed entirely.”
“Skye, the only things in that box were the bones, the note, and the newspaper. Harry has the evidence. The coroner has the bones. If the medical examiner had come up with anything else, Harry would’ve told you by now.”
She shook her head. “Maybe, maybe not. What if Bayliss didn’t get to it yet? What if the bones are still just sitting there waiting for tomorrow’s time in the queue? Besides, how did this guy know I didn’t find his message? How did he know to send me a follow up package already?”
Skye surveyed the outside of the box. “And there’s no postage on this, Josh. Someone delivered this within the hour. Personally. Otherwise, Travis or your parents would’ve noticed it when they got here. I’m afraid to ask, but, what’s underneath the note this time?” She looked in, sucked in a breath. A mummified hand stared back at her. Each nail still bore a faint trace of pink polish. “This guy’s sick.”
At that moment, her cell phone dinged, signaling Harry had returned her call. “I got another package. This time at home.” Without bothering with a greeting, Skye gave Harry the lowdown. She went on to explain the note and the hand. “Is there any way you can get us inside the coroner’s office?”
“Right this minute? Not a chance. And you know that’s highly irregular. The box of bones is scheduled for Bayliss tomorrow. And you know he’s difficult enough to deal with as it is without asking for favors.”
“Yeah? Well so is a crazy bastard who claims to be a serial killer and gets his jollies by cutting off body parts.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll find a way. I’m coming for that box, Skye. Give me thirty minutes.”
“Fine. But whatever you have to do,
get us inside the coroner’s office. We need to reexamine that box, those bones, for ourselves in case we missed anything. And Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“You need to get a court order so you can go through surveillance tapes for the building just in case he delivered this package personally.”
“Hey, who’s the cop here? I’m on it,” Harry griped. “But surely you don’t think he’d be that stupid, do you?”
“You never know. After all, he’s the one who started this thing. Stupid? I don’t think he’s that, but he does want attention.”
After she ended the call, Josh took her chin. “You didn’t miss anything, Skye.”
“We’ll see,” Skye muttered as she stared down at the mummified hand, studied it closer in greater detail. “Harry’ll be here soon to collect the box. By any chance are you picking up anything from this?”
“I don’t think this hand belongs to the bones that showed up this morning.”
Skye rocked back on her heels, nodded in agreement. “I was afraid of that. But right now, we’re in a holding pattern until the medical examiner makes his determination, which if we’re lucky we’ll get to be a part of. But right this minute, we need to get back to our guests. I’m not letting this asshole ruin what’s left of our evening, especially the dinner I slaved over any more than he already has.”
“Then we’ll wait for Harry and get back to them soon.”
But it took longer than they’d planned for Harry to drive across town and take possession of the box. By the time they got back upstairs the food was cold and it didn’t take long for the obvious questions to start. Was it from the killer? What was in the package? How did the person know where you lived?
Travis pressed her for more details which Skye managed to sidestep during the rest of the meal. But with dinner over, Travis followed her into the kitchen where the talk turned to warnings and cautionary tactics.
“This is tantamount to invading your personal space. You said this asshole would send another package which means his ramping up is just getting started. Now that he’s made contact, he’ll keep up the full court press until he shows up. Do you plan to live here or look for another house? I thought you guys wanted a nice place out of Seattle. Now might be the perfect time to move. This guy obviously knows where you live now.”
Skye Cree 03: The Bones Will Tell Page 3
