by Kylie Brant
Cam spoke for the first time. “You might want to get a psych consult on this one.”
“Think I’m lying? Think I’m crazy?” The man’s hand went to his heart in a gesture of innocence. “I’ve got proof. How’s that for ya? I mean, I shoulda known this gig was too good to be true, but this Channing is so hot for it…she put an ad on Craigslist.” He slapped the table again, leaned back. “Believe that shit? So I answer it, right? I mean, what guy would pass up a chance like that? I meet with her…”
“You met previously with Dr. Channing?” Udall put in.
“No. Not her. The other one. Her friend.”
A cold snake of dread was coiling in Cam’s stomach. “Did the friend have a name?”
Leslie shrugged. “Didn’t say. Didn’t ask. First I call the number in the ad, then she calls back. We talk. Then we meet. She gave me all the details. It’s a club, like. Bunch of women who want to get their rocks off and each of them finds a guy to do one of the others. This broad was setting things up for Channing.” He chuckled. “Lots of pain. That’s what she said Channing wanted. She’s one of them…maso…masa…”
“Masochists?”
The man snapped his fingers at the detective’s word. “Yeah, she said Channing was into that whole scene. Getting tied up and hurt and fucked hard. Gets turned on by pain, and the fantasy part was making it seem like rape. That’s what the ad said. Like I told you.” He spread his hands. “There was no victim. Channing was in on the whole thing.”
“How long ago did you see the ad?”
With a quick jerk of his shoulders, Leslie said, “Two and a half weeks ago, maybe. I didn’t answer it right away. Not for a couple days.”
“Did you run a copy of it?” Cam asked.
The man looked confused. “Why would I? Don’t need one anyway, ’cuz it’s still there. Least it was yesterday.”
Everything inside him stilled. The implications of the man’s words were chilling. “Do you remember what the ad was called?”
“Rape…something about…rape fantasies. Something like that.”
He took the cell from his pocket and brought up Craigslist. It took less than a minute for him to find the ad. “Was it this one?” He turned the cell to show the other man.
Leslie read slowly, his lips moving. Finally, he nodded. “That’s it. Only one I’ve seen posted like that, so I’d remember.”
“When did you meet with her?”
Pursing his lips, he said, “I called when I first saw the ad. I figure couple of weeks ago.”
“And it never occurred to you that the victim might not know a damn thing about it.” Udall’s tone wasn’t jovial now. It was whiplash sharp. “You never thought, hey wait a minute, maybe this total stranger is setting someone up and I’m the dupe dumb enough to commit a sexual crime for her.”
Leslie gave a violent headshake. “Nope. And you know how I know it was for real? She gave me a copy of Channing’s medical records. You know, saying she’s clean and all. I’m not gonna lie, I wasn’t happy about having to get tests run. I told the broad, I said, I keep my junk clean. A guy’s not careful, shit down there could fall off. Those STDs are nasty. But she said it was a deal breaker, plus she gave me the cash, so…” His shrug said the rest. “I still got it. The whole envelope of stuff. It’s at my apartment.”
Cam went to the photo gallery on his phone, found the picture he was looking for. He held it up for the other man. “Have you seen this woman before?”
Leslie leaned forward again. “Maybe. Sorta looks like the friend. She had on this big hat and shades, but could be her.”
“Did she say anything else? Anything you haven’t told us?”
He jerked a shoulder. “That’s it, mostly. She did say she wanted this to be perfect, ’cuz of Channing being a friend of this woman’s son. Said her kid was where he was today ’cuz of her, so follow the directions exact.”
The dread in his gut was roiling now. A hot frothing tide.
She may even target members of this team.
The fact that Sophie had predicted the possibility made the whole thing even worse. He caught the detective’s eye. Nodded imperceptibly toward the door. When he got up, Udall followed him, leaving Leslie to wail plaintively behind them, “Hey, where you going? I told you everything, guys, just like it happened. You gotta…”
The door closed on the last of his words.
“One of our agents is a forensic sketch artist,” Cam told the detective. Jenna Turner served in that capacity for the agency and her talents had been used frequently on this case. “She’s heading into town to do work with a witness in conjunction with a murder in Boone County. She can stop by here, work with Leslie on a sketch of the woman he met with.” If nothing else, it would give them another drawing of a persona Baxter had used recently in case Gonzalez wanted to make it public.
“You think she’s the woman in the picture you showed him from your cell?” The older man’s eyes were alight with interest. “One of the Cornbelt Killers?”
For once Cam didn’t wince at the nickname. He had far more sobering things to think about. “Vickie Baxter, yeah. I never thought…never occurred to me last night how she could be involved in this except that she’s very very good at manipulating men.” His gaze went to the closed door behind them. “How long do you think you can keep him off the street?”
“We’ve got probable cause to have charges brought. Can’t figure the scumbag in there can make bail, but you never know.” The detective rubbed his neck. “Could have a kind-hearted granny who thinks he’s next in line for canonization. It will get ugly for Channing if this thing goes to trial,” he warned. “Defense attorney is going to argue lack of intent on his client’s part and jump all over Leslie’s ‘evidence’ that she knew about it. Want my jaded opinion? If his story checks out like he claims? Best case scenario, the DA’s going to cut a deal, and he goes away for a few months. Worst case…”
“…a judge lets him walk.” Broodingly, Cam contemplated the closed door behind them.
Udall cleared his throat. “Almost don’t want to bring this up, but you realize that dirtball in there may not be the biggest threat to Channing right now.”
Cam had already recognized the ramifications of that ad. “Yeah. No telling how many men answered that ad.”
Rape. Pain. The fury in his veins mingled with a wash of stark arctic fear. Damn Baxter’s black heart. Sophie might have escaped the fate Vance had in store for her. But the other woman had come up with a highly effective way to guarantee a constant threat from men willing to fulfill it.
* * * *
The doorbell rang, startling Sophia. She glanced at the clock, as she hurriedly picked up her purse and briefcase. The cab service was fifteen minutes early. The fates must have decided she was due for some pleasant surprises for a change.
Before disengaging the alarm she looked out the Judas hole and saw nothing. No one. Not a yellow taxi at the curb or, she changed positions slightly, in her drive way. Nothing but…her gaze lowered.
Disengaging the security, she opened the door. “Hi.”
The boy couldn’t be more than six or so, with sandy blond hair and solemn hazel eyes. She’d never seen him before, but she wasn’t nearly as familiar with Cam’s neighborhood as she was her own.
“Can you help me?” Because he looked like he was on the verge of tears, she crouched to his level and smiled encouragingly. “I’m looking for my cat.”
“A cat, huh. What’s its name?”
“Whiskers. He’s a girl.”
She nodded solemnly. “Good to know. What color is Whiskers?”
“Black and white. With a white front paw and white right here.” He patted himself on the chest.
“I wish I could help you, buddy. But I haven’t seen a cat. If I do, though, I’ll let you know. What’s your name?”
He hesitated. Then said, “Adam. I live over there.” He pointed down the street.
Something in the boy’s wistful express
ion had her softening even further. If she caught a glimpse of the animal, Cam would undoubtedly be able to track down the boy’s parents.
“I hope you find your cat.”
The boy nodded, shifting from one leg to another. Then he clutched himself in an unmistakable sign of distress. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Amused, she said, “You better head home then.”
He squirmed. Hesitated. “I’m not gonna make it.”
Sophia hesitated, a sliver of caution threading through her. She scanned the street in front of the house again and finally nodded. “Okay. You can use ours.” Unlocking the screen, she held the door wide to allow him to enter and led him through the room and down the hall to the guest bath. Then she returned to her stance at the door, as much to watch for the cab as make sure she could hail any concerned parent who might be in search of the child.
She was no expert on child rearing, but couldn’t imagine letting a six-year-old have the run of the neighborhood without supervision.
“Can I have a glass of water?”
The cab was heading down the street, slowing in front of the condo. “I can get you a bottle of water to take with you, okay?” She dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a small bottle from the refrigerator and returned to the room. Adam hadn’t moved. The room shrank him somehow, making him seem small and forlorn. “You can take this with you. But I really have to go.” She smiled to soften her dismissal. “Maybe Whiskers will come home on her own.”
She loosened the cap on the bottle and handed it to him before leading him to the door. Opening it, she allowed him out, reset the alarm, and then followed him onto the front porch, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Maybe I’ll see you again.”
His eyes were wide and too solemn for his age. “I hope so. You’re nice.”
They parted then, and as Sophia walked to the waiting cab, she watched the boy trudge down the street in the direction he’d indicated his house was.
The driver got out and walked around the car to open the back door for her. Although the weatherman had promised a respite from the brutally hot temperatures, she couldn’t detect a noticeable improvement. The air conditioning in the cab would be welcome.
Catching sight of a vehicle parked down the street, she paused. The nondescript tan Crown Vic was familiar. She’d seen it in the neighborhood before. Once she’d caught sight of a man in the front seat, but it appeared to be empty this time.
Despite the temperatures, a chill crawled over her skin. Given that this was a residential neighborhood, there was any number of reasonable explanations for the vehicle to be parked between two driveways in the middle of the morning. And none of had to do with Vickie Baxter or Dennis Leslie.
But that didn’t stop her from looking at the license plate and memorizing the number before she got in the cab. The driver closed the door and rounded the vehicle to get in the front as she buckled her seatbelt. Sophia gave him the address of the rental place she’d made arrangements with and they waited for a minute as he punched the information into his GPS.
As the cab backed out her drive, she gave one more look at the tan car before checking on Adam’s progress. The boy had already passed the house where she thought he’d indicated he lived. She could detect a dejected slump to his little shoulders. Poor little guy.
She really hoped he found his cat.
* * * *
He walked a couple blocks, turning down one street. Up another. He wanted to run, but he knew she was around somewhere. Watching. Then she’d catch him. And then it would get really really bad. He shivered despite the heat. ’Cuz she was really bad. A monster. Only not the kind in ghost stories or in movies. She was real. And that was so much worse.
The black car pulled up by him and slowed, the window going down. “Get in.”
The boy stopped. Unsure. “Do I have to ride in the trunk again?”
“Not here, dummy. Jesus, there could be people around. Get in the back seat.”
He climbed in and buckled the seatbelt. “Can I go home now?”
“Shut the fuck up about that. I’m tired of hearing it. Did you do everything I told you?”
She stared at him through the rear view mirror. He shrank back against the seat. He knew her eyes behind the big sunglasses would be hard and mean. “Yes.”
“Where’d you put it?”
Thinking about what he’d done had tears stinging his eyes. He blinked them away. Crying made her mad. And even meaner. “I stuck it under the table. The one in front of the couch.”
“Good boy.”
For a minute he wondered if she’d lied to him. She’d said the little square thing she’d given him would let her listen to what the people in the home were saying. But that didn’t make sense. Who cared what they talked about?
Maybe it was a bomb. The thought made his chest hurt. Maybe it would explode and kill the lady he’d talked to. “Don’t hurt her,” he blurted out. “She was nice.”
Her mouth twisted. “People aren’t always what they seem, kid. It’s her fault my son is dead. Hers and her cop boyfriend. She’s a murderous bitch.”
He looked out the window so she wouldn’t see his face. Because he didn’t believe her. Not a bit. The lady had been nice, but this woman…she was bad and hurt people. And that made her a monster.
They whizzed by cars and bikers on trails along the street. Past businesses and malls, full of people. None of them could help him. None of them could know what the monster had done, because if they did then things would be worse. People would die. That’s what she’d said, when she’d squeezed his arms so hard that they were sore and bruised afterwards. And he believed her. No one could help him.
And he couldn’t help the nice lady, either.
Chapter 6
Sophia stuck her head inside the morgue suite, surprised to see only one person inside standing at the counter, gazing fixedly into a microscope. The blond ponytail made him instantly recognizable.
“How long is Berkley going to let you milk this whole getting shot thing?” she wondered aloud. Gavin Connerly looked over his shoulder, then straightened and turned, a broad smile splitting his face. “Sophia. Good to see you. In answer to your question, not much longer. For some reason they’re insisting I need to be back on the job in a couple weeks to get ready for fall semester. That gives you ample time to pack, though. At least I’m assuming you’ve come to take me up on my offer to run off together.”
As she laughed Lucy Benally, one of the state medical examiners walked in through another door. “Bad form to make the offer to multiple women at once, Connerly,” she advised. “We tend to compare notes.”
Sophia’s mental brows soared at the implication. If Gavin had suggested to Lucy that she move back to California with him it wouldn’t have been done jokingly. Somehow the forensic anthropologist who’d come to consult on this task force had gotten through the medical examiner’s prickly exterior. Even the woman’s normally caustic tongue was mellowed with him. Relatively.
She supposed that was a natural enough reaction to having a crazed gunman shoot the only man Lucy had allowed close enough to care for, and then kidnap her, leaving Gavin to bleed out on Lucy’s kitchen floor. Sonny Baxter was dead now and would never answer for what he’d put Lucy or Gavin through.
