It was temporary.
Ferris was in trouble and he’d allowed his monster a little extra freedom to feed. He’d lock it back down soon. Chain it up and beat it into submission so he didn’t end up in a cell like Ferris’s.
He leaned down and ripped the duct tape off her mouth.
He didn’t care if she made noise. There was no one around for miles.
She screamed and he hit her, his excitement growing as she fought him. Maybe the coke had given her strength but she had more spirit than he’d imagined. The sight of those heels kicking in the dirt pushed him over the edge, making his brain bleed with want.
She fought and fought, but in the end, it didn’t take long.
“Do you see it?” he asked her.
But the moment the light began to fade in her eyes was the moment he exploded and he kept going, remembering how good it had felt to die. Remembering the blinding whiteness and the call of angels and wishing he could have stayed there with them.
He finished, breath hoarse in his chest, wishing it didn’t have to end, knowing it did. He pushed her hair away from her forehead. She was better off now. He’d done her a favor. He knew there was an afterlife, he’d glimpsed it—a world of such beauty, a white tunnel of light, and the feeling of peace and tranquility and welcome unequaled on this earth.
It was a trade of sorts. By taking what he wanted using brute force, sex became a million times more satisfying. In return he sent them to a better place.
Ferris needed to torture his victims to eke out as much pain as possible; he just wanted to watch them die.
He cleaned up the site. Removed her clothes and the ropes. The duct tape. He posed her, more out of deference to Ferris than his own inclinations. Although there was no denying he liked to look at the things he owned. Usually he had to hide or disguise the fruits of his labor, never being acknowledged and, more importantly, never being caught, unlike poor old Ferris. It was worth it, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy this short explicit playtime in an effort to help out an old buddy.
He bent down and inserted something inside her body, leaving it visible to anyone who looked. He got a kick out of the act even though it wasn’t his craziness he was recreating. Ferris said he couldn’t leave them covered in his DNA. He couldn’t leave them alive with their memories, so he marked them with something else. Something tangible.
He leaned down and picked up the black patent heels with shaking hands and cradled them gently against his chest. He didn’t know why he took them. The gym teacher had always made them remove their shoes at the door—apparently even pedophiles liked a clean floor. For whatever reason, the shoes reminded him of each act of complete domination. All he had to do was touch their shoes, and he could relive each one of them floating away as pleasure filled his body.
It made it real for him, over and over again.
He’d have to get rid of them soon. He knew that, too. And the photographs. They were evidence linking him to murder and he wasn’t dumb.
He scanned every inch of ground, checking his pocket for keys and wallet. He’d left his phone in the truck, disabling the battery and SIM card as soon as he left the islands. Taking every precaution.
Satisfied that he had everything, he stood back and admired his handiwork. She hadn’t been pretty in life, but now she was beautiful.
“Sleep tight, angel.” He smiled.
Chapter Eleven
GRAINS OF SAND scoured the pale dome of the half-buried skull. A seagull cried out overhead, waiting to see whether or not it was going to scavenge an easy meal in what little remained of the corpse.
Not on his watch.
Frazer stood with his arms crossed, overlooking the dig site.
As soon as they’d uncovered the first bone, the ME had been called. Simon Pearl had sent one of his assistants because he was busy finishing the autopsy on Helena Cromwell. Noting the state of deterioration of the body, the assistant had also arranged for a forensic anthropologist to meet them back in the lab. The skeleton had long since been picked clean of flesh by critters that lived in the sand. Little else remained except some tattered pieces of gray material, probably duct tape. The crime scene technicians had worked their way meticulously through layers of loose sand. Sieving every scoop for potential evidence.
Randall approached from the direction of the beach and the two of them moved away from the others.
Frazer was careful to keep his voice down. “I want a lockdown on any information about a possible ID on the victim until we are one hundred percent certain who this is. Let’s compare dental records and rush DNA before we inform the family.”
The one good thing about finding someone you cared about dead, it beat the hell out of never knowing what happened to them. Just ask Mallory Rooney.
Randall nodded. This was what they’d both feared when they’d recognized the name on the medical alert bracelet. The Denker case was already making headlines as his execution neared. The anti-death penalty lobby was in full battle cry, whining about how unfair it all was to the condemned prisoner. They’d think differently if it was their loved ones murdered, and there had never been any doubt Denker was one hundred percent guilty. But that wasn’t Frazer’s issue.
Good or bad, the death penalty was on the statute books of some states in the US and he’d do everything he could to make sure the justice system was served. It might be a little hypocritical considering he’d taken the law into his own hands in the past, but when weighing the balance of good and evil, right and wrong, his conscience was clear.
“You talk to Damien Ridgeway yet?” asked Frazer.
Randall shook his head. “I’ve set up a meeting with him this afternoon along with his mother. Kid was thrown out of his last school for dealing drugs. He does own a dirt bike.”
He had opportunity, but there was no clear motive unless he’d latched onto Denker in some way. “He’s eighteen?”
Randall nodded.
“Check out his parents and dig deeper into his background before you interview him. Keep it light. Don’t tip our hand.” He was a definite suspect, but Frazer wasn’t ready to cross anyone off that list unless they had an unbreakable alibi.
Isadora Campbell had been with a group of doctors and nurses who’d brought in the New Year with coffee and brownies, then she’d dealt with a range of cases including a baby with a high fever, a thirty-year-old female with an inflamed appendix, and a reveler who’d celebrated a little too hard and managed to break his ankle going from one bar to another. And that was before two. No way could she have disappeared for forty minutes during that mayhem—not without her absence being noticed.
He watched one of the CSU technicians carefully lift the skull out of the sand and place it in a box lined with sterile plastic bags. This beach wasn’t the worst resting place a person could hope for. There was a peacefulness to the ocean that seemed appropriate for someone who’d probably endured horror before they’d died.
Was it Beverley Sandal? No point raising the parents’ hopes, only to dash them again with forensic results. She’d been missing for seventeen long years. A few more days wouldn’t make any difference. Some killers played sadistic games with the victims’ families and he wasn’t about to let the man in prison hurt those people any more than he already had.
CSU were gently lifting the rest of the bones and placing them in the lined box.
The ME stood up and stretched out her back, revealing a small baby bump that reminded him of Rooney—who was going to be fine, damn it. He’d spoken to Parker and they’d ruled out pre-eclampsia and a few other serious conditions. The ME was eyeing him like he’d ruined Christmas. He got that a lot.
She slowly walked over to where he stood. She twisted around and stretched out her back. “You’re not one of those men who think pregnant women can’t do their jobs properly, are you, ASAC Frazer?”
“No, I’m dubious of anyone’s skills until they prove me wrong—pregnant or not.” He sure as hell didn’t like the fe
eling of responsibility that came with having an unborn child at a crime scene. He was suddenly aware how vulnerable they were—a little person totally dependent on the wellbeing of the woman who carried them. “Anything you can tell me about our vic?” He changed the subject.
One side of her mouth twitched into a smile. “If I had a dollar for every time law enforcement asked me that question I’d be a wealthy woman.”
He waited silently.
“I heard you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
He frowned. “I have a sense of humor.”
Randall looked away.
“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t.”
Frazer’s eyes narrowed. Maybe she was right. He didn’t care.
“We have a female, judging from the general size of the bones and the shape of the pelvis, but my colleague can give us a better assessment back in the lab.”
“Any idea how long the body has been buried?”
Her eyebrow rose as if to say “Are you kidding me?” but she remained silent.
“Years rather than months?”
She grunted. “It’s hard to say.”
Of course it was.
“Certainly months rather than days.”
Great. So far she’d given him nothing he couldn’t have figured out for himself. “Yet, I’m the one without a sense of humor,” he muttered quietly.
There was a shout from the dig site.
“What’ve you found?” the ME asked as she walked back down the path they’d worn in the sand. Duncan Cromwell was going to have a fit at the destruction they’d wrought, assuming he didn’t go mad with grief first.
Frazer and Randall followed the ME. They all stared into the shallow pit, more than a little shocked to see another skull staring up at them.
“Shit.” Randall voiced what Frazer was thinking.
Was this a mass grave? A wave of sorrow hit him. Hopefully the second vic’s DNA was in the missing person database. If it was another one of Denker’s victims, it might provide closure when the family needed it most—before the killer took his secrets to the grave. But if the victim was an unknown…
A new investigation might call for the postponement of Denker’s execution and a reopening of the old case. Regardless of the fact Denker was a sadistic killer, and not an innocent man. The judicial system seemed designed to keep those killers alive for as long as possible, regardless of evidence, or the hurt it caused the victims’ families—
He cut himself off. It was exactly that sort of flawed thinking that had gotten The Gateway Project started. He’d shut the organization down, and for the most part believed in the justice system, including the death penalty, as flawed as it was. The thoughts reminded him that his friend CIA Intelligence Officer Patrick Killion had called him to say he was following a lead on the assassin who’d killed the Vice President. After seeing Helena Cromwell’s delicate corpse it didn’t seem so important anymore, especially when they couldn’t arrest the assassin anyway. All they could do was make sure she knew The Gateway Project was done and that she was being monitored. They just had to find her first.
But these people, serial killers who tore apart humans for the fun of it? These were the people he wanted to hunt to extinction. These were the people he’d go to his own grave to destroy.
The ME squatted down to peer closer at the second skull. Frazer had an appointment at the hospital, but he was reluctant to leave.
“Looks like it’s going to be a long day.” She smiled, but there was a tiredness to her eyes. He wanted to tell her to take a break, but knew she’d have his hide if he did.
“You know this was Blackbeard’s territory, right?” she said.
Another sadistic serial killer.
Frazer kept his expression stern. “Let me know if you find an eye patch.”
She pulled a face and he hid a smile.
His cell rang and he checked the screen. His mouth dried up. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” He turned and walked away. He’d been dreading this conversation since Rooney had first called him. “Hanrahan? Thanks for getting back to me. Look, I need your help.”
* * *
“I DON’T KNOW how I can help, Chief. Hypnosis isn’t something I have any experience with.” Izzy rubbed her arms. Kit had taken Barney home and offered to walk him. Her sister had actually promised to be more safety conscious and keep the doors locked when she was home in the future. The danger might finally be sinking in, except Kit seemed blind to the idea that Damien Ridgeway could have been involved in Helena’s death.
They were in the hospital corridor down from Jesse’s ICU room. Chief Tyson leaned closer so he could speak without being overheard. “Dr. Bengali couldn’t spare the time from his rounds and he suggested I call you.” His eyes were sympathetic, but they held that edge of authority that she reacted to automatically. After years in the military, she found her back straightening, her chin coming up.
“Okay, but you better check it’s okay with the Feds first.”
“Already did.” Tyson nodded over her shoulder.
She turned. ASAC Frazer was striding down the hallway, wearing the fine-wool navy suit with his FBI windbreaker thrown over the top just like yesterday when he’d been out at the beach. She was hit once again by the stone-cold beauty of the man. All lean lines and sharp cheekbones. Blue eyes raked her up and down, and then moved on. Dismissed.
Thank God.
The sexual awareness that had shimmered between them last night was hidden beneath a wall of icy indifference, but she knew it was there now, cruising beneath the surface like a lazy Great White. Izzy reminded herself that just because there were sharks in the ocean didn’t mean she had to get bitten.
“How’s your son this morning?” Frazer asked the police chief.
“He wants to know what’s going on. He wants to see Helena,” Tyson told him grimly, keeping his voice low.
“It’s time to see if we can bring back his memory. I’m not going to lie—this is going to be a shit time for the kid. It’ll seem like it’s just happened and that’s why having him under medical supervision seems appropriate.” The look he threw at Izzy suggested she was the best choice out of a bad lot.
“Usually this is a one-on-one process. Under the circumstances you can both sit in, but I need you to keep silent no matter what you hear. And don’t occupy his line of sight, in case he opens his eyes.”
The chief nodded and headed into his son’s hospital room. Izzy started to follow, but Frazer caught her arm. His fingers accidentally brushed the edge of her breast. She jumped. He moved his grip but kept hold of her arm. A wave of heat spread from the point of contact.
“Whatever Jesse reveals cannot be discussed with anyone.”
The fact he disconcerted her so easily, then insulted her so thoroughly, pissed her off. Had it been calculated? The light in his eyes gave nothing away. She jerked away from his grip.
It was obvious he didn’t trust her to do her job and that was the one area where she had absolute faith in her abilities. “I understand doctor-patient privilege.”
“But this involves your sister. No matter what Jesse says, you cannot reveal what you know, not even to Kit.” His blue eyes thawed a degree. “I know this is hard on her and on you, but this is a criminal investigation, and it’s Jesse’s personal business… His testimony may be needed in court.”
She took a step back. “Believe it or not, I’m not an idiot.”
“I never thought you were.” A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “The other thing is the statements we release might seem at odds to what actually happens here today. I need you not to contradict anything that’s said through official channels.”
She frowned. “You want to manipulate the killer?”
He nodded. She shouldn’t be so attracted to him, but apparently intelligence and good looks were a turn-on regardless of overbearing personality or potential danger to her freedom.
She bit her lip. “Damien Ridgeway has a dirt bike,
” she blurted suddenly.
“I know.”
“Oh. Okay.” She blinked, deflated. “Good.” He went to move away, but this time she caught his arm and tried to pretend touching him didn’t affect her. “Also, I overheard him arguing with Kit. He said if the cops found out, they’d crucify him.”
“Found out what?”
She let go of his arm. “I don’t know. He didn’t say and Kit wouldn’t tell me.”
“When did you see him?” Frazer’s voice dropped to a low murmur and he moved close enough she could feel his body heat warming the space between them.
“Earlier. I went looking for Kit and she was at his house—well, in the cemetery next door.”
One eyebrow quirked.
“Our mother is buried there. Kit spends a lot of time tending her grave. Anyway, I thought I should let you know what I overheard.”
“Good.” With that monosyllabic reply, he turned and walked into Jesse’s room. Izzy rolled her eyes to the ceiling, blew out a breath. She followed slowly, closing the door behind her. She sent Jesse a reassuring smile and checked his monitors to make sure his vitals were stable. Even though he had no dizziness, good pain and nausea control, they’d given him another CT scan—probably because it was a miracle he was unscathed. She read his chart—blood pressure and oxygen levels were good. Heart rate steady. She raised her hand to get ASAC Frazer’s attention and pointed to an adjoining door. She wanted to make sure an anesthetist was on-call to assist with a sedative in case things went sideways. Frazer nodded without pausing in his conversation with Jesse. She slipped out, spoke to a friend of hers who gave her a small dose of sedative should Jesse become agitated, and promised to be nearby unless there was an emergency. Izzy used another thirty-seconds to stuff her jacket in her locker and grab her white coat and stethoscope. Professionally armed, she slipped back into the room.
Cold Fear Page 14
