The 13th Victim: Andi Carter Mysteries Book 1

by Linda S. Prather

  “I spent some time in Afghanistan two years ago. I’ve seen her work.”

  “This whole mess is ruining my business. A lot of our regulars are canceling appointments. This woman, what did she look like?”

  “She’s blond, tall, and lithe. I’ll try to get a picture of her tomorrow, but in the meantime, you need to be careful and watch your back.”

  “Maybe I need to take a vacation.”

  “That would be an excellent idea, unless she follows you. Evidently, your competition wants you out of the way. Just be careful for a couple of days. I’ve made some calls, and if all goes well, she’ll be arrested soon.”

  “Did you talk to Andi about the girl?”

  “No, but nobody wants to find this girl more than I do. She may be the only link I have to my stepdaughter, if she’s here.”

  He rose and headed for the door. “Have you considered just telling Andi the truth? She might let you talk to the girl.” He stopped at the door and turned. “What are you going to do if your stepdaughter is one of these twelve bodies buried under concrete?”

  “I’ll take her home and bury her. Then, I’ll find whoever killed her and kill them.”

  His eyes roamed up and down her body, and he shook his head. “Shame you’re not a real escort. We could have done great things together.”

  “Don’t forget what I told you. This woman is watching you for a reason, and eventually she’ll strike.”

  “Stop worrying about me, and find the girl. She’s killed a cop now, and if you don’t find her quick, the odds of finding her alive just decreased a hundredfold.”

  Jasmine crossed to the door and opened it. “I told you. She didn’t kill the cop. The Cobra did.”

  He followed her to the door and laughed softly. “They call this woman the Cobra?”

  “Don’t laugh. If she decides to strike, you’ll know why she’s called that.”

  “You going out tonight?”

  “No. I have some things to take care of here.” She pointed to her swollen lip. “And I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea that I’m an easy target for those who like to get rough.”

  He chuckled. “I’d be willing to bet you could hold your own. I’ll call you tomorrow. Got a client that I thought you might find interesting. He mentioned seeing a young girl that fit your description.”

  Jasmine’s heart fluttered, and her hand went to her chest. “Who is it?”

  “Mayor Morgan.”

  She closed the door behind him and leaned against it as hope spread through her like fine wine, igniting a sense of excitement followed by a pleasant calmness. When she’d read Andi’s article, she’d been terrified that Mollie was one of the twelve bodies buried out there somewhere. She couldn’t lose hope, or she’d have nothing left. Even if Mollie was one of the twelve bodies, Jasmine had to know for sure. Morgan was a fat slob, and the thoughts of his hands on her body dissipated her calmness and filled her with loathing. But for a chance to find Mollie, she’d even screw the bastard if she had to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Andi ignored the knock on her door and turned her face into the pillow, grabbing both ends by the pillowcase and covering her ears. The knock came again, louder. “Go away.”

  Shamus opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Time to rise, sunshine. You told me to wake you at noon, remember?”

  “Come back at five.”

  “Can’t do that, lass. Palano is downstairs, and he looks fit to be tied. Says to tell you he has your Monday post, but he wants a palaver.”

  Andi rolled her head to one side and opened an eye. “He wants a what?”

  “Talk. And you should hurry. We got a call from Father Brennan. Our girl left another note.”

  Andi groaned and tossed off the covers. “Why didn’t you say that to start with?”

  “A good reporter does a lead-in to his main story.”

  “Screw you, Irish.”

  “You keep offering, lass, but you never follow through.”

  Andi threw a pillow at his smiling face just as he closed the door. She stumbled to the bathroom then gasped at the image in the mirror. The purple circles beneath her eyes had turned black. Maybe I could audition for a part on The Walking Dead. They wouldn’t even need to apply makeup today. And Jerry’s waiting for me downstairs. Why do I always have to look like shit when he shows up?

  She brushed her teeth, going over in her mind what Shamus had said. The fact that Jerry had stated he had her Monday post intrigued her, but not as much as the note waiting from TK. The problem would be getting rid of Jerry so she could go retrieve it. Divide and conquer. She rinsed her mouth then smiled. She’d send Shamus to pick up the note while she placated Jerry.

  To shower or not to shower? Andi sniffed her underarm. Definitely to shower.

  Thirty minutes later, she entered the bar. She still felt like a zombie, but at least she looked and smelled better. She searched the dim interior, spotting Jerry at the end of the bar. I can’t say the same for him. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

  “Sleep well, lass?”

  Andi took a cup of coffee from Patrick and smiled. “Very well, Patty. There just wasn’t enough of it. Where’s Irish?”

  “Said he had something to do and to tell you he’d be back shortly. I’ll keep the coffee coming.”

  Nodding her appreciation, she watched Jerry walk toward her. Shamus is a smart kid, and he probably figured it would be easier for him to go get the note on his own. She sighed. Jerry might look like crap, but he still had the power to send a tiny shiver of desire through her body. He nodded toward the back, and she followed him through the double doors.

  “We’re going to have to stop meeting like this,” she teased, pulling a notepad and pen from her purse. She took a seat at what she was beginning to think of as their regular table. “People are going to talk.”

  Jerry pulled out a chair and flopped into it. “I want you to hear me out before you go crazy, okay?”

  The lines across his forehead, as well as the ones around his mouth, had deepened in the past several days. Returning to West Hollywood wasn’t the best move he could have made. “All right.”

  “You were right. The girl didn’t kill Grange, and we don’t think she killed Marconi.”

  Andi smiled but lowered her head and stared at the notepad. She really wanted to prance like Shamus and punch the air. The Tribune had jumped the gun on announcing that the killer had struck again. “That would be an excellent feature. Want to share the details?”

  “The ME says the girl who killed Barnsworth was left-handed. Whoever killed Marconi and Grange was right-handed. And they used a Taser to take Grange down.”

  Andi rapped her pen against the pad. Interesting, but not proof positive. She could tell that Jerry was holding something back. “So why would someone else kill Grange?”

  “Probably for the half a million dollars he had hidden in his bedroom. He was packed and ready to head out to town. We found a similar stash at Sammons’s apartment.”

  “Did Sammons really kill himself?”

  Jerry nodded. “Looks that way. Of course, whoever killed Grange might have killed him too. We’ve got people going over the warehouse, but it appears to have been cleaned from top to bottom. So far all we’ve found are Sammons’s and Grange’s fingerprints in the front office. Maybe once we get the phone records, we’ll get a lead on what they were up to.”

  All good innuendo, but I still want more facts, and most of those are at the morgue. “Do you think Frank Devers would let me interview him?”

  Jerry’s lips twitched. “Don’t want to do your normal ‘sources close’ routine?”

  “I prefer facts, when they’re available.”

  He pulled the special edition from his jacket and placed it on the table. His dark eyes were cool and penetrating. “Like these?”

  Dammit, I used to know what he was thinking. At least he hasn’t pulled out the handcuffs yet. “You saw the emails. I only wrote wha
t she told me, and of course what was found at Sycamore and Summit. I’ll do a follow-up when the autopsies are done.”

  Patrick walked in with two fresh cups of coffee, glanced from Andi to Jerry, placed the cups on the table, and left.

  Jerry picked up the cup and sniffed it. “A little overprotective, isn’t he?”

  “Are you forgetting he’s the one who called you in?”

  He eyed her over the edge of the cup. “Even that was for your protection. I guess he figured I was better than nobody.”

  Andi ignored the dig. “You haven’t answered my question. Do you think Frank will allow me to interview him?”

  “If I ask him to.”

  “Do we really have to play these games every time, Jerry? They’re getting old, and in case you haven’t noticed, so are we.”

  “I’ll call him, but I need a favor from you.”

  I’ll bet you do. Andi picked up her coffee and took a sip. “I’m listening.”

  “There’s something going on here that’s a lot bigger than cops on the take and a young girl on the run.” He ran a hand over the stubble on his face. “I don’t have a clue what it is, but I feel it in my gut. I need you to bring the girl in.”

  Andi wasn’t surprised by the request. Jerry’s instincts had always been dead-on, and she’d been thinking the same thing herself. TK couldn’t hide out forever, and if she did kill again, the consequences would be a lot worse. She could try for self-defense on the Barnsworth charge, but if she committed another homicide, it would fall under premeditated murder. “I can suggest it, but I don’t think she’ll do it. We don’t know if anyone else on the force is part of this.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. “Thank you.”

  The tension in the room was palpable, and Andi sent up a small prayer of thanks when Shamus stuck his head through the double doors. She was going to have to limit her time alone with Jerry. I still have feelings for him.

  “I need to see you, Andi,” Shamus said.

  Jerry stood. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  “I think you’d better stay. Go ahead and bring it in, Irish.”

  Shamus entered the room and passed her the envelope before taking a seat beside her. “We have another note from TK. Since we’re evidently working together I thought you should see it.”

  Jerry nodded but remained quiet as she ripped open the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. She glanced at it quickly then passed it across the table. “Looks like Sammons and Grange were into more than payoffs. They were a part of killing the girls.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I’ll call the captain and get the warrants started.” He passed the note to her. “Wait about an hour then call Frank. I’ll be in touch.” With a weary expression, he pushed through the doors.

  “Who’s Frank?” Shamus asked as soon as the doors closed behind Palano.

  “The ME.” She turned and gave him a sad smile. Her comment to Jerry about other members of the force being untrustworthy had really just been her being snippy. Now that they knew Grange and Sammons were involved in the murders, she couldn’t bring TK in, and Jerry knew that. “We were right to hold off on commenting about Grange’s murder. The ME says it wasn’t our girl.”

  Shamus punched the air. “The Tribune is so screwed. So what did Palano want?”

  “He wants me to bring her in.”

  “Jiminy, are you going to do that?”

  She shook her head and pushed back her chair. “I told him I’d ask, but until we know who else on the force might be connected to this, I’m not going to recommend it. Let’s go talk to the ME.”

  “It’s Saturday. Will he be in?”

  Andi had worked with Frank Devers before during her brief stint at the Tribune, and she knew him well enough to know he’d never let anyone else take over the collection of evidence from the bodies discovered on Sycamore and Summit, and he’d be present for the autopsies. “Ever been to the morgue, Irish?”

  “Cripes, no!” Shamus took a step backward. “We Irish don’ like dead bodies until they’re under the ground.”

  Andi shook her head and laughed. “Come on, lad, it’s time to pop another cherry.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cherese followed Gambini from a distance, taking pleasure in the way he often looked over his shoulder. She was tired of waiting and ready to up her game. All she’d done since her arrival was play nursemaid to a deranged alcoholic with delusions of grandeur. It was supposed to be a clean-up detail, and if given leeway to do her job, everything would have been done already. Instead, she’d been forced to simply watch and listen until she got the green light. She was tired of waiting. It was time she finished what she was there to do. She slowed her steps as Gambini stopped to stare into a jewelry-store window. He appeared anxious, watching the people around him as if looking for someone in particular. The prostitute had probably told him about the blonde. She smiled at her reflection in the storefront window. Good thing I decided to wear the wig. Still from what she knew about him he wasn’t stupid, and it might be time to pick up speed and walk around him in case he’d noticed her.

  She’d almost made it past the window when he spoke to her. “Excuse me, miss?”

  Cherese turned and smiled. “I’m sorry?”

  “Could you help me for a minute?”

  “I’m not in the habit of helping strange men, sir. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He smiled at her and motioned toward the window. “I’m trying to decide between the necklace or the bracelet. Which would you prefer?”

  I’d prefer to slice out your eyes and then burn off your tongue. She turned her attention to the window. “It would depend on where I was wearing it. A nice dinner out, I’d want the necklace. A long, leisurely walk on the beach, the bracelet.” Cherese let her gaze roam up and down his physique, stopping for a moment to look into his eyes. “You look fairly well-off, so why not buy both?”

  Gambini laughed and stuck out his hand. “I’m Stuart Gambini. You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

  “Just in town for a little business then moving on.” She controlled the automatic gag she felt at his touch. “Cherese Tomasa.”

  “Well, Miss Tomasa, let me be one of the first to welcome you to our fair city. I hope you’ll let me buy you a drink?”

  “What about the jewelry?”

  Gambini smiled and took her arm. “It depends on whether you’d like to go out to dinner, or take that long walk on a nice beach.”

  The bastard is so sure of himself he’s actually licking his lips.

  Gambini continued. “I was thinking about taking a short vacation somewhere on the beach. Perhaps you’d like both?”

  She was too close to everything she’d worked for to let him leave town. Staying in one place too long was an occupational hazard, and one she’d managed to avoid during her career. Screw the job and the boss. Gambini is what she really came for. Cherese laughed softly. “Actually, Mr. Gambini, I prefer handcuffs.”

  Gambini roared and moved to place his arm around her. “Call me Stuart.”

  Cherese sidestepped and shook her head. “All right, Stuart, but you promised me a drink. There’ll be plenty of time for foreplay later.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The trip to the morgue had been silent, and Shamus was paler than usual as Andi parked the car. “Listen, you don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. But if you stay with this job, eventually you’ll have to visit a morgue.”

  “What if I throw up?”

  “You’ll get a mop and clean it up.” Andi opened her door and climbed out. “You won’t be the first person to throw up in there. Besides, interviews are conducted in an office, Irish. We won’t see any dead bodies.” She winked at him. “Unless he offers or I ask.”

  Shamus exited the car. “Do me a favor, and don’ ask.”

  Andi laughed and waited for him to join her on the curb. “Did you ever see Independence Day with Will Smith?”

  “Aye.”

/>   “Frank looks a lot like the basement scientist, with the long, slightly unruly grey hair and spectacles low on his nose.”

  “The one the alien killed?” He followed her toward the building.

  “That’s the one.” Andi knocked on the door, then turned the knob, surprised to find it unlocked. “His looks can be shocking if you’re not prepared for them.”

  “How about his personality?”

  “He’s a sweetheart. When I die, I hope he’s the one who cuts me open.”

  “Jiminy, Andi, do you know how perverted that sounds?”

  Inside, the dim lights gave the area a creepy feeling. For all her bravado, it sent a shiver down Andi’s spine. She turned quickly as the door to their right opened and Frank Devers walked out, his hair in more disarray than usual.

  “Thought that was you I saw on the monitor. Jerry said you were coming over. How the hell are you, Andi?” He stuck out a hand.

  Andi took a step backwards, shaking her head and glancing at the fluids still stuck to the glove. “I think I’ll pass on the handshake.” She nodded toward Shamus. “Meet Irish.”

  Frank stripped off the gloves. “Nice to meet you, Irish. You should watch the company you keep, though.”

  “Shamus O’Conner.” Shamus gave him a hearty handshake. “And I’ll bear that in mind, sir.”

  “Did Jerry tell you what I wanted?” Andi asked, following him through another door to his office, anxious to get on with the interview and out of the dreary place.

  “He did.” He chortled. “Going to put a little egg on the Tribune’s face for jumping the gun?” He waved them both to seats and took his place behind a small metal desk. “What do you want to know?”

  Andi pulled out a notepad and handed it to Shamus. “Can I quote you?”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Jerry said you determined that Marconi and Grange’s killer wasn’t the same person as the one who killed Barnsworth. I need the supporting facts on that.”

  Frank rummaged through the files on his desk and opened one. “The back stabs on Marconi and Grange were methodical and deliberately placed to cause pain. It was torture, if you want to use that word. The force used to cut their throats was almost enough to sever their heads from the bodies. Whoever killed them was a professional who was used to using a knife.”