by Debra Webb
A dream must have awakened her.
She was safe with Braddock.
Nothing could touch her in his arms.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
801 Governor’s Bend, 9:15 AM
Carter Cost had lived in a mansion on a hill. He’d driven a BMW, the high-end model that cost more than most folks made in three years.
He’d died the way he lived . . . in excess.
The ME hadn’t arrived yet. Evidence techs were doing their thing. Cooper was interviewing neighbors. Braddock studied the staging of the victim.
Seated in a recliner in front of the massive flat-panel television in his living room, Cost’s body was nude. One of hundreds of homemade porn videos showcased his lack of skill with a video camera on the widescreen hanging on the wall. One would think he’d simply sat down to relax and watch his cinematography were it not for the empty Vicodin prescription bottle glued into his left hand and the way his right hand was similarly glued to his penis.
His throat had been slit, and blood had leaked down his torso to pool in his lap. The lack of arterial spray indicated that final travesty had taken place during the last moments of his life, after his heart rate had slowed to a near stop.
E. Noon was written in blood across his forehead.
The cops sitting in the cruiser out front hadn’t heard or seen a thing. The house, and Cost, had been quiet all night.
Braddock moved his head side to side. They were turning Huntsville upside down in an attempt to find Nash. Not surprisingly, he’d disappeared. Four victims, not counting Celeste Martin, whose body hadn’t been staged like the others, and not a single fucking piece of evidence to go on.
This one would be just like the rest. There would be no fingerprints other than those of the victim and his guests and family. No trace evidence. No witness accounts of seeing anyone arrive or depart from the residence. Braddock didn’t have to hear the confirmation from Cooper’s interviews with the neighbors.
He knew.
This killer was not just good, he was brilliant.
Tyrone Nash wasn’t that fucking smart.
At that moment the reality of the situation crystallized for Braddock.
This was not about Nash . . . not about the village or Shelley Patterson.
This was about CJ. Somehow those murders were about her.
Cooper burst into the room. “The chief’s here. And he doesn’t look happy.” She jerked her head toward the body. “The father’s here, too.”
Carter Cost’s family was one of the most prominent in Huntsville.
This was going to get ugly.
CHAPTER FIFTY
3021 Appleton Street, 11:15 AM
CJ stared at what used to be her childhood home. Mostly it was a pile of charred remains now. The smells of smoke and damp charred wood filled her nostrils. Yellow tape surrounded the house as a warning that it was an official crime scene.
The fire marshal’s investigation had discovered an accelerant. The fire had been started in the kitchen.
How was that possible?
She’d been in the frigging shower, for Christ’s sake.
Edward had been in the living room tidying up. He’d stated that someone had come into the house. He’d heard a sound and was attacked before he could turn around.
The house was a total loss.
Everything inside was gone.
All the photos of her and Shelley as children. The boxes in the attic that contained relics from their past. That tattered old sofa.
Everything representing CJ’s life . . . gone.
Her sister was gone.
Ricky was dead. Juanita and Carter were dead. It was hard as hell for CJ to feel sorry for Ricky and Carter. But she did somewhat understand Juanita’s motives, her bitterness.
They were all dead—murdered.
There was no one left to blame except Tyrone.
He was the only person who had motives for every single murder committed. Including Celeste’s.
How could it not be him?
CJ had tried to call him a dozen times since yesterday. He wasn’t taking or returning her calls.
Did that mean he was scared? Or just didn’t trust her to go through with the exchange now?
What did he have to offer?
Whom could he possibly name as Shelley’s killer? Anyone who could have wanted her dead was dead.
“I’ve contacted a service,” Edward said as he moved to her side, “to go through the rubble. Perhaps they will find some mementos salvageable.”
Did it really matter? “Thank you.” Was there really anything about her childhood worth salvaging?
Just the few photos of her and Shelley that hadn’t been stolen. And none of those likely survived. But she appreciated the thought. As always, Edward came through for her.
Misery settled heavily onto her shoulders.
Where would she hold Shelley’s memorial service now? There was a church on Triana that most of the older village residents attended. She supposed that would be okay.
“CJ.”
She blinked, looked up at Edward. He nodded toward the south end of the street. “Do you know those people?”
CJ turned to see whom he meant. Eight . . . no, nine young women, miniskirts or short shorts showcasing their long thin legs, marched in their direction. As they neared, CJ recognized a couple from the clinic.
Tyrone’s foot soldiers.
“Yes,” she said to Edward. “They live around here.”
The leader of the pack was one of the women she’d treated at the clinic. For the life of her, CJ couldn’t remember her name. She only remembered the miniskirt she’d been wearing. Today she wore pink short shorts.
Pink Shorts Girl walked up to CJ. “We heard about your house.” She jerked her head toward the remnants left by the fire. “We wanted you to know that we sorry as hell about everything. Shelley . . . the house.”
CJ swallowed back the emotion that crowded into her throat. Hearing those words from these women meant more than anyone else could possibly understand. “Thank you.”
“You being a fancy doctor and all,” the woman said, “we figure you prob’ly don’t need no help from us. Don’t think you’d want to wear none of our clothes.”
CJ smiled. “It’s the thought that counts.” Keeping the tears from brimming past her lashes wasn’t easy. “I appreciate it so much.”
“Yeah. Well,” the woman went on, “we wanted to tell you that we’re holding a little something for Shelley and Celeste tonight. You white folks prob’ly call it a wake or something, we call it a party. Anyways, you come on by twenty-eight-oh-five Dubose Street about nine, Doc.” She glanced at Edward. “Bring your friends. We got plenty a room in the yard. We’ll throw back a few beers and talk about the good times with them two.”
CJ smiled, feeling a kinship she hadn’t felt for anyone in this village for a long time. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Pink Shorts Girl shrugged. “Shelley’d like it. She liked music and dancing. Like the rest of us.”
CJ nodded. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
Each of the women made eye contact with CJ before turning and marching away.
There were a lot of things CJ had been wrong about in her life, but at that moment she realized for the first time that she truly had been wrong to some degree about life in this village.
Yes, it was hard. Yes, it was not always nice. The people here stuck their heads in the ground too often . . . but they were a family of sorts. They were there for each other to the best of their ability.
“Are you sure coming here at night is a good idea?”
CJ turned to Edward. Of course he would be terrified and more than a little mortified on her behalf. Her safety and happiness were always paramount to him. She was very lucky to have someone who cared so much. The way Braddock had made love to her last night filtered through her senses. He cared about her, too. What they’d shared had been far more than a physical coupling. There was som
ething there . . . something more than just good sex.
“It’s more than a good idea, Edward.” She turned and watched the women disappear from sight. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Shelley’s life needed to be celebrated. What better place to do it than here, with the people who’d shared that life with her?
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
815 Wheeler Avenue, HPD, 2:00 PM
Huntsville’s almighty were all present: the chief, the mayor, the district attorney himself, and select members of the city council.
All wanted the same thing.
“I don’t care what it takes,” Mayor Newman reiterated, “you find Tyrone Nash and you arrest him. No one sleeps until he’s in custody. I want him charged with five counts of murder.”
The chief said nothing, nor did the DA.
Great. “Sir,” Braddock broached, “with all due respect, we have no evidence connecting Nash with a single one of these murders.”
Beside him, Cooper shifted. Braddock didn’t look at her. He knew she would have kicked him had they not been standing at attention before the conference table lined with the city’s gods.
The chief cleared his throat, which meant he would be talking to Braddock later. “I feel confident Detectives Braddock and Cooper can find the necessary evidence to obtain a warrant for his arrest.”
“It won’t take that much,” District Attorney James Ayers suggested. “All we need is enough to charge him; the jury will take care of the rest. Folks are sick to death of men like Tyrone Nash. Dr. Cost’s father and grandfather have learned of the fiasco involving the questioning of Carter Cost. They’re out for blood.”
Translation: they’d heard about Braddock’s coercion. If Cost wanted to avoid charges, he would help reel Nash in. Braddock had badgered him into going for the deal.
“So, finding the real killer isn’t the goal here.”
Cooper inched her sneakered foot onto the toes of Braddock’s loafers and pushed hard.
The fury that blazed across the faces lining that conference table would have melted steel.
“Do your job, Braddock,” the chief warned, “or find another one. This case will be closed with the arrest and prosecution of Tyrone Nash. The Huntsville Times raked this department over the coals this morning. Tomorrow’s headlines will read entirely differently. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” That certainly didn’t give them a lot of time.
“Detectives,” the chief said, looking from Braddock to Cooper and back, “you are dismissed. I don’t want to see your faces again until Nash is in a holding cell.”
Braddock executed an about-face and walked out of the room. Cooper followed. Neither spoke until they were outside headed across the parking lot.
He stopped at his car, glared at Cooper across the top. “Thanks for the support, partner.”
She scoffed. “Like there was any point arguing with those assholes.”
Braddock shook his head. This investigation could not turn into a political circus. And yet that was exactly where it was headed. The mayor would not allow the city’s reputation to be tarnished with these murders. It might affect tourism or the government’s consideration of Huntsville as a prime location for military and space research facilities.
“You heard the order the same as I did,” Cooper reminded. “So, what do you say?”
“I say fuck ’em. Nash needs to be found and questioned.” He sent a look at Cooper that warned there would be no negotiations. “But he isn’t our killer.”
“When did you decide that?”
“When I got a long, hard look at Cost’s puny penis,” he tossed back. “Nash doesn’t think that way. All this staging is far too sophisticated and time-consuming for his methods. Look at the vics we know belong to him. Like Celeste Martin. Simple, straightforward. Make the mark, do the kill. No games, no fucking this-is-your-life venue.”
She shrugged. “I guess we look for a different killer. God knows we have loads of suspects and evidence.”
Braddock slid behind the wheel of his G6. “That’s why we need Nash.”
Cooper fastened her seatbelt and sent him a sidelong look. “You just said Nash isn’t our guy.”
“Nash makes it his business to know what’s going on in his village. He knows something. That’s most likely why he’s gone into hiding. We have nothing on him. He’s not afraid of us. But he is afraid of whoever is behind these murders.”
“You got a point, partner.”
“All we have to do is find him and that video.”
“Easier said than done.”
No shit.
But first Braddock needed to talk to CJ. She needed to stay off the streets.
This, whatever this was, was about her. She was either the next victim or the trophy the winner expected to take home.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
904 Williams Street, 3:05 PM
“Detective Braddock is here.”
CJ looked up from her work. Edward waited near the French doors. Her heart thumped at hearing Braddock’s name. “Okay. Thanks.” She set her notes aside and stood. She’d escaped to the sun porch to think. To try to make sense of all this tragedy. She’d made a list of all the victims and how they were tied to Nash as well as what he might have hoped to gain by eliminating each of those victims.
As she entered the long hall leading to the front of the house with Edward, he hesitated. “Will you be all right?”
She couldn’t help smiling at the worry etched across his face. He was still fretting about her going to the party on Dubose Street tonight. He insisted he would have gone with her had he not already been obligated to attend the library’s board meeting. He didn’t want her out of his sight. He was as bad as Braddock.
“I’ll be fine. Detective Braddock may have news about the investigation. Hopefully this will all be over soon.”
“Very well. I’ll be in my library.”
CJ hurried through the den and entry hall. Braddock waited in the parlor. The urge to run into his arms was nearly overwhelming. “You have news?” Maybe the killer had finally screwed up and left evidence at the scene of his latest murder.
“Unfortunately not.” Braddock shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I just came by to check on you.”
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows she noticed that Cooper waited in Braddock’s car. “You’re on your way somewhere?”
“We’re working on rounding up Nash for questioning.”
CJ moved a few steps closer to the man whose mere presence took her breath. “You still believe Tyrone is the killer?” She knew he’d killed Celeste. But the others . . . she wasn’t so sure. She kept trying to connect the dots, but the puzzle wasn’t coming together.
“I don’t think he is.” Braddock shook his head. “But the chief and the mayor are determined to nail someone for these murders, particularly since the Cost family is . . .” He shrugged. “Well, the Cost family. He wants this wrapped up. If Cooper and I don’t find Nash first, he may end up dead no matter who finds him.”
“Oh.” CJ knew all too well how the politics of any organized situation worked. She dealt with that in the hospital. The first cop to spot Nash the suspect was either going in or going down. She understood that as well. Without Nash to question, they might never know the truth. “You’ll keep me up to speed on what’s going on?”
“I will. That’s part of the reason I stopped by.”
Her heart sank a little. She’d hoped he had stopped by just because he wanted to see her. Foolish, CJ. Truly foolish.
“I need you to promise me that you’ll stay right here. No going out for anything. You’re safe here. Abbott has a state-of-the-art security system and I doubt that he’ll take his eyes off you for more than an instant at any given time.”
A frown furrowed its way across her forehead. “You think I have reason to be afraid? I mean, if it’s not Nash, why would I be in danger?”
He closed the final steps between the
m, took her by the arms, and peered down at her with such earnestness that her chest constricted. “I don’t believe these murders are about the victims or anything they did or didn’t do. I think this whole thing is about you . . . somehow. I need you to promise me you won’t do anything foolhardy.”
“I’ll stay here.” She braced for his reaction. “Except the women on Dubose Street are having a celebration for Shelley and Celeste tonight. I promised I would stop by.” Before he could argue, she offered, “I thought maybe Jenkins could go with me. He can come inside and stay right next to me if that will make you more comfortable.”
Braddock shook his head. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to be outside this house at all.”
CJ rested her hands on his arms. “If this is about me, as you suggest, the killer will try to get to me no matter where I am. Look at Carter. He was locked away inside his home and the killer still got to him. I have to do this, Braddock. It’s important to me.”
He exhaled a heavy breath. “All right. But Jenkins will be armed and you aren’t to leave his sight. We’ve got two uniforms watching Nash’s house, so they’ll be close by as well.”
CJ nodded. “Thank you.”
Braddock hugged her, held her close to his chest. She felt his heart beating. Wished she could stay in his arms like this forever. But he couldn’t do his job with her in the way.
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll check in with you every couple of hours. There will be a cruiser out front. And Jenkins is on the porch.”
She nodded.
Then he kissed her lips. One of those slow, sweet kisses he was so good at.
She wanted this investigation over.
For the first time in her life, she wanted something more than her career.
She wanted a real life. And she wanted this man to be a part of it. On what level she didn’t know just yet. But she wasn’t letting go of what felt like a good thing.
One her sister had recognized way before CJ had.
