“Whatever you’re doing, drop it. We caught a case—dead co-ed found in her apartment. Hillside Villas on the corner of Beale and Seventh. Apartment five twenty-three.”
_____
Sabrina parked a block away, pulling a digital camera out of her center console before making sure her windows were rolled up and her doors were locked. She took the rest on foot, hiking up the hill to the apartment building. The streets were lined with news vans and cars with stickers in their windows that identified their owners as members of the press.
Approaching the scene, Sabrina scanned the large crowd that’d gathered behind the crime scene tape that cordoned off the entire apartment complex. Dozens of faces stared back at her, whispered chatter buzzing like bees, so thick she had the urge to swat it away from her face with her hand. She’d gotten a good look at the crowd in front of The Sentinel but none of the bystanders here were familiar. That didn’t mean the man who called her wasn’t here, it just meant he was good at blending in.
She flashed her badge as she ducked under the tape and kept walking, ignoring the shouts from the small cluster of reporters and cameramen being kept at bay by a frustrated-looking uniform. Murder scenes always drew media but things always got interesting when she showed up.
“Sabrina—given the horrors you survived, does it affect you differently when it’s a young woman who’s been brutally murdered?”
She hated it when they called her by her first name. Some of the more aggressive ones actually called her Melissa, hoping to shock a reaction from her. She kept moving, eyes trained on the pair of uniforms standing sentry at the building’s entrance.
“Sabrina—how’s the leg?”
Still walking.
“Hey, Sabrina—can you confirm that you’ve been transferred out of homicide, effective immediately?”
That one stopped her in her tracks and had her turning to look at the tight knot of reporters, all jockeying for position. Her eyes zeroed in on its source and she felt the back of her neck go hot.
Jaxon Croft stood no more than ten feet away, his hands in his pockets, that asshole smirk of his aimed right at her. The work she’d done on his face had ripened—his left eye was almost completely swollen shut, his lower lip hanging over his chin, split open and bruised. He was challenging her. Throwing out a test question to see if she’d stick to their deal or if she’d give him the brush off.
“There was no transfer. I’ve been loaned back to my old SWAT unit until they can find and train suitable recruits within the department. As soon as that happens, I’ll return to my current position.” she said as pleasantly as she could. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She started to turn but Croft stopped her.
“One more question—it was reported by the med-evac chopper pilot that the man who assisted in your rescue was a man named Michael O’Shea and not Jessup’s Chief of Police, Jed Carson, as previously reported. Can you confirm that?” Croft said, his raised voice silencing the other reporters that surrounded him.
Sweet Jesus. She could practically hear the lid to Croft’s coffin being slammed shut. She looked at him again. “I can’t say for sure—I was unconscious. You’d have to ask the pilot.”
“I wish I could but he’s disappeared.”
Everyone was watching them. The reporters, the bystanders close enough to hear their exchange. Even the uniforms on duty were waiting to hear what she said next. His expression was neutral but Sabrina knew better. She had a feeling that Croft knew more about Michael than he was letting on. Whether it was enough to get him killed was the real question.
She opened her mouth, not really sure what would find its way out, but was saved by her ringing cell. Sabrina held it up and smiled. “Sorry.” She gave Croft an apologetic shrug. “Duty calls,” she said before walking away. The crowd behind her was quiet for a second before it burst, the loudly shouted questions and comments pushing her to move faster than she wanted to. She raised the phone and answered it.
“Thanks,” she said, finally making it to the building’s entrance. She could see Strickland through the thick glass door, holding his phone to his ear, looking at her. He must’ve seen her approach from the victim’s apartment and come out to walk her up.
“Reporters are like stray cats—they’ll stop showing up as soon as you stop feeding them,” he said into the phone.
“I know—Croft caught me off guard. I’ll be right there,” she said before hanging up and dropping her phone into her pocket. Holding up the camera, she smiled at the pair of uniforms, guarding the entrance to the building foyer. “Which one of you wants to take some pictures?”
She dropped the camera into the first hand that reached out and read his badge. “Okay, Trujillo—I want crowd shots. Lots of them. When you’re done, bring the camera to me. Don’t give it to anyone else, got it?” She’d bet money that the man who called her was in the crowd. He lured her here for a reason. If this was some sort of sick game, he’d be watching to make sure she played.
24
Strickland met her in the foyer and led her toward the elevator. “Victim’s name is Bethany Edwards.” They stepped into the waiting car and Strickland pushed the button for the fifth floor. “She’s a sophomore at Berkeley.”
Sabrina didn’t know what she expected, but that the victim was a college student wasn’t it. The doors slid open and they stepped out into a wide, well-lit hallway. Plush carpet and fresh paint stretched down the corridor, making Sabrina shoot her partner a doubtful look. “She’s a college student? This building offers car service, housekeeping and personal shoppers.I’d bet a studio the size of a broom closet runs a couple grand a month.”
“Her parents are Trent and Lauren Edwards,” Strickland said, as if it explained everything.
She stared at him, waiting for him to finish. He shook his head and widened his eyes at her. “Really? Trent and Lauren Edwards. He’s a city councilman. She’s a high-dollar criminal defense attorney. They pretty much own San Francisco.”
She shrugged. “Lawyers and politicians. Two things I make it my life’s mission to remain ignorant of.”
Strickland laughed. “Well, they have more money than God. Tuition, rent, car payment… they paid it all. Thought the gates and security would keep her safe,” he said as he led her down the hall.
Sabrina didn’t say anything. She understood how important maintaining the illusion of safety was. She also understood that if a monster wanted to take you, he was going to take you and there was nothing that would stop him.
“Find anything in the prelim?”
“Not much. No visible blood evidence. Place looks wiped clean—too clean, considering,” he said, handing her a pair of booties.
“Considering what?” she said, slipping them over her boots so as not to contaminate the crime scene.
“Considering it looks like someone cut her heart out.” Strickland said, dropping his voice as she pushed open the front door.
The small foyer immediately opened up onto a spacious living room with large windows, offering a gorgeous view of the Golden Gate Bridge. A well-dressed couple sat on the couch, the woman weeping into a handkerchief while the man held her, staring blankly into middle space. Evans sat with them, notebook and pen in hand, asking them questions they probably didn’t know the answers to. When they walked in, he stopped talking, giving her and Strickland his full attention.
Strickland nodded at Evans as he led her down the hall. “Housekeeping found her around noon. She was scheduled to attend a nine AM lecture on the civil rights movement—instead, the maid walked in on this…” He pushed the bedroom door open and she stepped through, the sweet flowery scent of roses hitting her like a truck.
They were everywhere. Vases and bowls crowded onto every available surface. Not red this time—a bright, vibrant pink. Sabrina knew without having to ask what Bethany Edward’s favorite color was.
Paper crunched beneath her feet. She looked down to see a runner had been placed around the perimeter of the bed. Under it, dark spots
shown through—rose petals mashed between the paper that protect them and the carpet they’d been scattered on.
Movement caught her eye and she turned to find Mandy Black standing over the bed, camera in hand. Sabrina approached, the smell of roses getting stronger and stronger with each step. Mandy clicked off a few more photos before letting the camera hang loose from the strap around her neck. “Hey.”
Sabrina gave the ME a brief smile. Taking pictures was CSU’s job but Mandy took her own. She said it was to save time but Sabrina knew it was because she wanted to make sure that nothing about the scene was overlooked. It was something she admired about her.
Sabrina looked passed her to the body on the bed, immediately feeling that familiar pull, trying to drag her under. Guilt.
“Her parents confirmed that the victim is their daughter, Bethany Edwards, age nineteen. No signs of forced entry. No roommate. No boyfriend that her parents know of,” Strickland said from beside her. She barely heard him.
She is your sister.
For just a moment, it wasn’t Bethany Edwards she saw—it was Riley. Riley’s bright red hair. Her delicate, heart-shaped face. She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision.
Sabrina—given the horrors you survived, does it affect you differently when it’s a young woman who’s been brutally murdered?
“Yes,” she said quietly. She wanted to look away, but refused to give in. Strickland was right. There was no blood. Not on the bed or the walls, or even her skin. Her chest was cracked open, ribs spread wide. No other visible wounds that might explain cause of death.
“Did you say something?” Mandy said beside her but she didn’t answer her. Inside the gaping black hole in the center of Bethany’s chest were pink rose petals. Hundreds of them, spilling out of the wound—scattered across the body and the blush-colored duvet like confetti.
“Sabrina.” It was Strickland this time. She could feel the two of them pass a look at each other over her head.
“Mandy, I need you to do me a favor,” Sabrina said, without looking up.
“Sure.”
“I need you to go downstairs, find Jaxon Croft and bring him up here. Now.”
25
No one moved.
Sabrina finally glanced up to find Mandy staring at her like she’d just asked her to jump out the window. “I’m serious.”
Mandy shifted toward the door but barely took half a step before Strickland stopped her. “Uhhh, no,” he said, throwing an arm up to stop her progress. “Have you lost your mind?” he said, glaring at her.
“I’ll explain, but you have to trust me. Please,” she said.
“Trusting you rarely works out for me,” he shot back but he dropped his arm to let Mandy pass. She stood between them, unmoving.
“How am I supposed to sneak a well-known reporter onto an active crime scene, past a room full of cops?” Mandy said, bouncing a look between her and Strickland.
“Use your imagination,” she said to Mandy, waiting for her to shut the door behind her before she turned back to Strickland.
He glared at her, cheeks and neck flushed and splotchy. “You’ve got about thirty seconds before I go after her. Talk fast.”
She told him everything that’d happened. The altercation with Croft in front of The Sentinel and the blackmail that followed. The red envelope in her car—his interpretation of what it said. The phone call she got at her desk telling her to come here. Every word she spoke drained a little more color out of Strickland’s face.
“He called you?” he said, taking the steps to the window in a few strides. “What did he say exactly?” He flicked the curtain away from the window just a touch, studying the crowd gathered in front of the building below.
“He said to come here. To hurry. He said she is your sister. Called her Clio,” she said. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m guessing Croft does.”
“He must not have counted on the maid finding her and calling the police so quickly. You were supposed to find her alone.” Strickland let go of the curtain and crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t like it, Vaughn. Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that Croft keeps turning up, offering explanations to riddles he’s the only qualified person around to answer?”
“He’s hardly popping up out of nowhere. He’s been following me for months.” Was she really defending Croft? Strickland seemed only slightly more surprised than she was.
“Exactly. That shit isn’t normal,” Strickland said. “Asshole quit his job, so why’s he still following you? What could he possibly gain?”
Sabrina shrugged. Until about thirty minutes ago she’d thought she knew but then Croft said O’Shea’s name and everything went sideways. Whatever he wanted from her, it had to do with him. “Maybe he wants to write a book about my harrowing fight for survival,” she said with a smirk, earning herself a scowl from her partner.
“Don’t do that.”
“What? If I don’t joke about it, I’ll fucking cry—and you know how much I hate crying,” she said.
Strickland jammed his hands into his pockets and decided to ignore her attempt to waylay him. “Croft’s up to something. I can smell it… I don’t trust him.”
She gave him a shrug. “That makes two of us—but we have an arrangement. He’s too smart to bite the hand that’s gonna feed him,” she said. If she told Strickland that O’Shea was involved in whatever Croft had cooking, he’d go into Defcon five. Not something she needed right now.
Strickland sighed and swiped a hand over his face, a clear sign that she’d won. “What about Evans? If he sees Croft, he’ll run his mouth to Mathews.”
Now was the time to tell him about her transfer. She tried to force the words out but couldn’t work them loose. “Well, then I guess we better not get caught,” she said, moving through the door to wait in the hallway for Mandy and Croft.
She watched while Evans wrapped up questioning the victim’s parents. He stood and shook the father’s hand and patted the mother’s shoulder before leading them out the door. He gave them the usual spiel about doing everything he could to bring their daughter’s murderer to justice, adding that he understood the delicate nature of the situation, given their prominence in the community. The pandering to their wealth and influence was enough to make her gag but she said nothing. She felt sorry for them. The Edwards didn’t look like a high-powered super couple. They looked broken.
Evans ushered them through the door and told a uniform loitering in the hall to escort them to their car before he shut the door and turned toward her. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
She settled her shoulders against the wall and gave him a half smile. “My partner’s here. Where else would I be?”
“Back at the station, cleaning out your desk and praying like hell you can make an eight-minute mile,” Evans said, telling her what she already suspected. He knew she’d been loaned to SWAT, which meant he was Mathews’ lackey—no surprise.
He stood there for a few seconds, like he was expecting her to say something. When she didn’t he shot her a smirk and turned toward the door, almost running into it when it swung open. “Excuse me,” he said to Mandy as he held the door open for her, eyes glued to her ass while she worked the wheels of the gurney she hauled across the threshold and into the foyer.
Mandy gave Evans an exasperated smile. “Thanks, Inspector,” she said, pulling the gurney into the living room to give her assistant room to swing the end of it into the hallway. Mandy shot her a panicked look and Sabrina felt her gut tighten. Less than two feet away from Evans, under a windbreaker with CORONER splashed across the back and a matching cap tugged low on his head was Jaxon Croft.
“Tell my partner I’m going to round up a few uniforms and get the canvass started, will ya?” Evans said, shooting her a smirk.
She pulled herself off the wall and clicked her heels. “Yes, sir,” she said, snapping off a salute that ended with her flipping him the bird.
“Cute,
Vaughn. Do him a favor and pretend you give a shit about someone besides yourself and just… fade away quietly.” She didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. Strickland was loyal. As soon as he found out about her transfer, he’d see it for what it really was. Her, slowly being squeezed out of the department. He wouldn’t let her go without a fight—not unless she pretended it was her idea.
“Better hurry. Those doors aren’t going to knock on themselves,” she said, ignoring his comment and the fact that he was right.
Evans just shook his head and walked out the door, leaving the three of them alone.
“What’s he talking about?” Mandy said.
“Mathew’s had me bounced out of homicide. Effective—” She glanced at her watch. “—three hours ago.” Sabrina settled her glare on Croft’s down-turned head, letting herself blame him for something he had nothing to do with.
“And Strickland doesn’t know?” Mandy said, her green eyes as sharp and bright as shards of glass.
“No.” Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the day. “And right now isn’t the time or place, so please—”
Mandy held up her hands, her sunny blonde ponytail pulled through the back of her CORONER ball cap, swinging as she shook her head. “I’m not grabbin’ that cat by the tail. That’s on you,” she said, commandeering the gurney and pushing it toward her, down the hall.
Mandy looked over her shoulder at Croft. “I’ll leave you to it.” She pushed the bedroom door open, leaving the two of them alone.
Croft was standing at the mouth of the hallway, hands in the pockets of the windbreaker Mandy’d put him in. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” she said, interested in what he thought he knew.
“They’re saying the murder victim is the kid of some politician,” he said.
The corner of her mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “Careful, Croft, you’re reporter is showing.”
“Okay, you want to tell me why Coroner Barbie smuggled me past the yellow tape?” he said, the brim of his cap making his face hard to read.
The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 1 Page 39
