by Mary Burton
‘He’s meticulous,’ Zack said. ‘The crime scene this morning suggested he’s an organized killer.’
Warwick stared at the hand’s bloated fingers with blackening nail beds. ‘Why the left hand?’
Zack didn’t like the scenario forming in his head. ‘Turner’s wedding band is still on his ring finger. Mrs Turner was abused. The left hand is supposedly the one that leads to your heart. I’d bet it’s symbolic in some way.’
‘The killer doesn’t like abusive husbands,’ Warwick said.
‘Maybe. Or maybe Ronnie T. killed his attorney and set all this up to throw us off the trail. Ronnie T. also knows Lindsay is my wife.’
Warwick nodded. ‘Why go after you?’
‘Payback. When I worked narcotics, I put one hell of a dent in his operation.’
‘Ronnie T. is smart and dangerous, but I don’t see him going to this kind of trouble. Like I said, a drive-by is more his style.’
‘Maybe. But for now it’s a theory we’ve got to consider.’
Zack left Warwick and returned to Lindsay, who stood in the family room by the French doors that faced out back. Yellow crime scene tape, pelted by the rain, drooped in mud puddles.
‘Who is the Guardian?’ Zack said. He watched closely for any reaction.
She looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Why would he write you a note?’
She hugged her arms around her. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Have you received any unusual phone calls lately, notes, contributions, anything out of the ordinary?’
‘Nothing that jumps to mind. That May article generated several donations.’
Zack could have pressed Lindsay about sharing her case files, but he didn’t. He was going to wait for the warrant. The delivery of Harold’s hand had officially bumped this case to high priority. From here on out, each step of the investigation could have huge ramifications, so he’d do everything by the book.
Lindsay flexed her fingers as if trying to release the tension knotting her muscles. ‘I have a grant application due in three days. Can I at least grab that file so I can work at home?’
Stress always did send her running in to work. ‘Nothing leaves the office for now.’
She stabbed long fingers through her hair. ‘The grant has nothing to do with this. But it means everything to the shelter.’
Despite it all, she was still trying to hold on to this place. ‘It’s in the office so it stays.’
A helpless sigh shuddered from her. ‘What about my purse?’
‘Nothing leaves the office.’
‘I need my car keys.’
‘I’ll drive you,’ Zack said.
‘I’m supposed to speak to a local church group tonight.’
‘Cancel it.’
She took a step back. ‘No, thanks.’
‘Lindsay, there’s a guy running around town who’s left a dead body in your backyard and sent you a severed hand. It’s not safe for you.’
She stiffened. ‘Bullies don’t scare me.’
But he saw fear in her eyes. ‘This one should.’
‘Is it my safety that you’re so worried about or are you afraid I’ll skip town because I’m the killer?’
She was going for the jugular, trying to throw him off balance. Two could play that game. ‘Honestly, I can’t rule you out yet.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘I’m not. You have motive and no alibi.’
‘I didn’t do it.’
‘Prove it.’
She paled and turned away.
Satisfied he had the last word for now, Zack left and found Warwick talking to Ruby in the kitchen. The older woman was smiling and stared up at Warwick with a twinkle in her eye. Damn, what had he said to soften her up? When Zack entered the room, Ruby’s smile vanished.
Ruby’s simmering resentment suggested she knew about his and Lindsay’s separation.
‘I’m going to run Ms O’Neil home.’ Zack had made a statement, not a request.
Warwick’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll ride along.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘She doesn’t need you,’ Ruby said. ‘She can drive herself just fine.’
Zack dug his keys out of his pocket. ‘Not with her car keys sealed in a crime scene.’
‘I’ll take her,’ Ruby said. ‘She’s got enough stress right now without you adding to it.’
The older woman had painted him as the bad guy in the marriage. And truthfully, she wasn’t off base. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got it covered.’
Ruby frowned but wasn’t in a position to argue.
Zack found Lindsay by the front door. ‘Do you have spare keys to your house?’
‘Yes. Hidden under a pot by the front door.’
He’d lectured her enough about safety when they’d been married. He’d always feared his undercover work would spill into his personal life and put her in danger. ‘That’s not too safe.’
Her face colored as if she remembered what he’d said. ‘It’s handy.’
As soon as they emerged from the house, the reporters who’d been on the front lawn lunged toward them. Zack shielded her from the cameras and hustled her to his car while Warwick ran interference with the press. Zack opened the backseat side door. She was half inside the car when Kendall darted around Warwick and caught up to them.
The reporter shoved a microphone toward Lindsay’s face. ‘Lindsay, can you tell me why you were so upset earlier? Why did the police return? Has someone else been killed?’
Zack waited until Lindsay was fully inside before he closed the car door. ‘No statements now, Ms Shaw.’
Kendall looked annoyed. ‘I’m just trying to do my job, detective. Lindsay, tell me what happened.’
Warwick moved beside Kendall, using height and size to intimidate her. ‘Talk to the department’s public relations guy.’
Kendall didn’t look threatened, but annoyed. ‘When I’m interested in the party line, I will. Right now I’m looking for real answers.’
Warwick frowned. Clearly he didn’t like the woman. ‘No comment.’ He slid in the front passenger seat.
Cameras rolled as Zack got behind the wheel and started the car. In silence, they drove through the neighborhood to the main road.
Lindsay stared out the window. From the rearview mirror, Zack could see her jaw was tight and her body tense. She needed a friend right now.
But Zack couldn’t be that for her. Not if he was going to figure out who killed Turner and who now harbored an obsession for her. He merged onto the interstate.
‘Tell me about that charity function and the Turners again,’ Zack said.
She fidgeted with the bracelets on her wrist. ‘Like I said, I didn’t kill Harold. And neither did Jordan.’
Warwick stared out the side window as if he were a million miles away, but he wasn’t missing a syllable.
Zack couldn’t let her off the hook. ‘There’s no need to protect Jordan. She’s got an attorney and an alibi for the time her husband was killed.’
Her lips flattened. ‘Like I said, I met them at a charity function two weeks ago. Jordan was on Harold’s arm, smiling radiantly. They looked like the perfect couple.’ She hesitated. ‘I should have known then that something was up.’
‘Why?’
‘No such thing as a perfect couple.’ She sighed and recapped the encounter with Jordan. ‘A half hour later, Harold approached me at the party. He told me to stay away from Jordan. I told him to stop hitting his wife. We got into a big fight. Then I left the party.’
‘Witnesses?’
‘No doubt. I noticed several people were staring, but I couldn’t tell you who.’
Zack tightened his hands on the wheel. ‘That’s it? You never saw Harold again? You never communicated with him?’
Disgust darkened her face. ‘Not Harold. But I did call Jordan several times. I hoped I could help her. And I did call her this morning after I saw you.’
‘To tell her about Harold?’
She hesitated. ‘To try to figure out if she’d crossed the line.’ She dug fingers through her hair. ‘The last time I talked to Jordan, she told me not to worry about Harold. She said she could take care of him.’
‘And you figured that meant murder.’
‘Not at the time. A lot of women believe they can handle their abusive husbands. They think that if they always smile, that if the house is immaculate and sex is always available, everything will be fine. But no matter what they do, it’s never enough. Sooner or later the guy snaps again and hits her.’
They’d only talked about her mother’s death once. As a husband he’d let his unanswered questions lie. As a cop he couldn’t. ‘Did your mother think she could handle your father?’
Lindsay flinched, glancing to Warwick. He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. It was one thing for Zack to know about her past; quite another for Warwick. Humiliation washed over her.
‘My mother has nothing to do with Harold Turner’s murder.’
Zack didn’t enjoy opening a painful wound. He’d always avoided discussing the subject with her because he knew it bothered her. ‘Your family life was beyond rough, Lindsay. That changes a person.’
Warwick glanced in the rearview mirror at her, as if trying to peer into her mind.
Lindsay lifted her chin. ‘I went into social work and opened Sanctuary because of Mom. I didn’t become a murderer because of her.’
Zack shot her a glance in the rearview mirror. ‘The Commonwealth’s attorney could argue that because you couldn’t have it out with your old man, you picked the next best target – Harold.’
‘That’s crap. Remember the killer sent me Harold’s hand.’
‘You could have sent it to yourself,’ Warwick said.
She leaned forward, fingers gripping the seat. ‘And written myself a creepy note?’
Warwick turned toward her. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to try something like that.’
‘I can’t believe we are having this conversation.’ Her voice sounded loud, angry.
Warwick kept his tone even, calm, but the menace was unmistakable. ‘Whoever killed Harold did it in anger. He cut off Harold’s left hand. If that isn’t a statement about shattered vows, I don’t know what is.’
‘I didn’t kill him.’
‘You don’t have an alibi,’ Zack said.
‘I can’t help that. It’s not my fault the damn power went out.’ Arms folded, she dropped back in the seat and turned toward the window. She swiped away a tear.
The only time Zack had seen her cry had been that day in the attorney’s office. Tension twisted his gut.
Five minutes later, they reached her town house development. Well-manicured lawns jutted out from near identical row houses that looked as if they’d been stamped from cookie cutters. This kind of development was very un-Lindsay. She’d always leaned more toward the older, quirky homes that needed more attention than a full-time job. Why had she chosen such a place? Zack kept his question to himself as he parked in the numbered spot she directed him to. A sprinkler system whooshed in the background and a dog barked.
‘Thanks,’ she said ironically, opening her car door. She walked to the planter, tipped it back, and retrieved the front door key.
Following, Zack didn’t bother to hide the frustration in his voice. ‘From now on, don’t hide the key there.’
Lindsay shoved the key in the lock. ‘I can take care of myself.’
He flashed a smile that looked more like a snarl. ‘Humor me.’
A flicker of movement caught his eye. A man dressed in a green maintenance uniform moved toward them. Blond, pudgy, and short, he was smiling as he held hedge clippers in his hand.
Zack moved his right hand to his belt closer to the .22 holstered on his hip.
Warwick got out of the car and leaned against it. His demeanor stated he was ready to intervene if necessary.
‘Lindsay,’ the maintenance man said. ‘What are you doing home in the middle of the day?’
Zack and Warwick watched the man very closely.
Lindsay seemed to relax around him. ‘Hey, Steve. How’s it going?’
Steve glanced at Zack and Warwick. His eyes narrowed. ‘You friends of Lindsay’s?’
Ole Steve seemed a little territorial when it came to Lindsay. ‘Detective Zack Kier,’ Zack said as he flipped open his wallet and showed his police badge. ‘This is my partner, Detective Warwick.’
‘Steve Hess. I manage this property. Everything all right?’
Zack watched Lindsay smile at Steve. She had resented his interference about the key but seemed to appreciate Steve’s protective tone.
‘It’s fine, thanks,’ she said. ‘Did you want to tell me something?’
Steve was distracted by Zack and Warwick’s presence. ‘Oh, I was just headed into your place to check the AC unit. You said it wasn’t working well.’
‘Did I?’
‘You put in a maintenance request about three weeks ago.’
She smiled. ‘Right. Thanks. Do you mind if we do this another time?’
‘No problem. Oh, and the cable guy came by to check on your television. Your reception is all cleared up.’
‘Thanks,’ she said.
Steve’s gaze flickered between the cops. ‘Why the police escort home?’
Lindsay unlocked her front door. ‘There was a little trouble at work today. It’s nothing to be worried about. Detective Kier is just being extra careful.’
Steve’s smile turned brittle. He didn’t seem to like cops. ‘Tax dollars at work.’
‘Something like that,’ Zack said. ‘Can you tell me anything about the power outage this morning?’
Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. ‘It was a real mess. The whole east side of the development was out from about midnight last night to eight this morning.’
At least Lindsay hadn’t been lying about that. ‘What happened?’
‘Transformer blew late. It took Virginia Power until this morning to get it up and running.’
‘Does that happen often?’
‘Been fifteen years since the last transformer blew and that was in an electrical storm,’ Steve said. ‘Must have been some freak power surge.’
An outage caused Lindsay to be late to work. Across town Harold was murdered. The two incidents weren’t necessarily related, but that didn’t mean they weren’t.
Zack glanced back at Warwick, still positioned by the car. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Warwick pushed away from the car. ‘No rush. I have a few more questions for Steve.’
Zack left the nervous maintenance man with Warwick and followed Lindsay inside her town house. She flipped the lights on. The ticktock of clocks jived with the hum of the AC unit.
He saw far enough into the town house to see a floral couch. The pillows on the couch were straight and neatly fluffed. If the outside was cookie cutter the inside was vintage Lindsay. The clocks, the restored secondhand furniture, and the stacks of books were all her. The place smelled of linseed oil, which, he remembered, she used to dust her furniture.
Standing this close, he caught the soft scent of her soap. He’d forgotten how good she smelled.
Lindsay lifted her gaze and for a moment a connection sparked between them. She sensed it as much as he did. He leaned forward, testing. She drew back.
‘Mind if I have a look around?’ he said.
She blocked his path. ‘As a matter of fact I do.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want you here.’
His gaze narrowed. ‘What are you hiding?’
‘Nothing.’
He took a step back. ‘You’re hiding something. And I’ll figure out what it is.’
Chapter Ten
Monday, July 7, 5:45 P.M.
Lindsay was fighting a headache when she arrived at the church just before six. Without car keys, she’d had to borrow a car from her neighbor. The gal had been a l
ittle reluctant at first, but Lindsay had promised to drive carefully and have the car back by nine.
She’d considered canceling this speaking engagement to the church’s group. Despite the extra sleep last night, she felt wrung out and exhausted after the day she’d had. But Nicole was at work and the idea of staying home alone didn’t sit well.
Besides, this church’s pastor was one of the shelter’s best supporters. He had called her after the Inside Richmond article and offered his congregation’s support. For several months since then, there’d been a stream of clothes, some money, and food donations.
She didn’t want to let him down tonight. So, she made a double espresso and pushed through the fatigue.
The Methodist church was located on Shady Grove Road in an affluent tree-lined section of the city. The church had been constructed less than five years ago. It had a tall A-line roof and tall windows that let the sun shine in. The church also had an education building that was joined to the church by an arched breezeway. This building had a more streamlined look and was suited strictly for function, not worship.
The day’s heat hadn’t cooled much and the sun was still bright. The large gravel parking lot was nearly deserted. There were only a half dozen cars, including the one that filled the pastor’s slot. It looked as if it was going to be a low turnout tonight. Not surprising. Low turn-outs weren’t uncommon. Few wanted to give up their evening to hear about grim domestic violence stats.
Lindsay grabbed her laptop with her PowerPoint presentation and made her way to the education building. She opened the side door and started down the long red-carpeted hallway to the minister’s office.
Halfway down the hall, a man came out of a side parlor. He was tall and thin with dark thinning hair. He looked to be about fifty and was dressed in a golf shirt and khaki pants. He had a ‘father knows best’ way about him that made you glad he was in charge.
He noticed her immediately and smiled warmly. ‘Ms O’Neil?’
Lindsay nodded. ‘Pastor Richards.’
‘How are you doing?’
The evening news hadn’t hit yet so he didn’t know about the murder. ‘Great,’ she said. She didn’t want to discuss the murders. After the evening news, she’d be answering a lot of uncomfortable questions.
