When he didn’t respond, Luc said, “She lost her mother a while back. Her grave’s in the same cemetery where the Robertson’s funeral was this morning. Now the daughter is a homicide detective. I’ll give you three guesses why she chose that career.”
“Her mother was murdered?”
“Got it in one.” He popped the cap on another beer bottle, took a long swig, and then tilted the neck toward the direction from which they’d come. “Your girl there found the body. Mother apparently surprised a burglar. Case went unsolved. Now, the daughter’s got a badge and has a reputation for being a tenacious cop. A real ice-queen with a record for following the book to the letter. Kissing someone she suspects of murder is probably the first time she’s ever broken a rule. But I wouldn’t count on her breaking any others if she catches one whiff of our vigilante activities.”
Mackenzie closed her office door, sat, and flipped open the cold case folder. The crime scene pictures lay on top, forever capturing the end of life in stark color.
She could close her eyes and still picture every harsh detail of her mother’s final moments. Envision the faceless man break the back bedroom’s windowpane. Watch her mother come in from the garage, set the grocery bag on the counter, start to pull out the eggs. A noise or movement startles her. She spins. Drops the carton. He’s on her before she can scream.
Mackenzie could feel her heart rip, thinking of the terror her mother must have felt as the man raped her, beat her, killed her. The violation, cruelty, senselessness depicted in the photos glared at her. Unsolved. Unpunished. Free to do it again, and again, to someone else’s mother, daughter, sister.
“I’ll find him, Mom. Somehow, someway, I’ll find him.”
She rubbed her temples and let the scenes of the latest murders flash through her mind. She thought of the widows who were counting on her, as she’d once depended on others to catch her mother’s killer.
Her fingers trembled as she touched her lips, remembering the kiss Rafe placed there the other night. Had she kissed a killer?
She hadn’t seen him in a few days, but that would change today. Shumaker’s funeral would begin at one o’clock. He’d be there. She couldn’t avoid him any more than she could scratch his name off the list of suspects. Hell, he was at the top of the list.
And she’d kissed him. He’d disarmed her with his touch as easily as he’d taken the gun from her hand.
She’d made a mistake. Let him get too close. But she’d had time to rebuild those walls he’d knocked down. She was prepared now. Knew what to expect. He wouldn’t catch her off guard—find a weakness to exploit—again.
She stared at the photos. Focus on the case. Concentrate on the victims. Stop thinking about that damn kiss.
A knock sounded. She closed the folder quickly and stuffed it in a drawer.
Cooper stuck his head around the door. “Hey.”
“Hi. Come on in.”
“You got your report ready for Fuller?”
“Almost. Does Taylor have time for us this morning?” She wanted the profiler’s input before speaking with the sergeant.
“Yeah, she said to stop by in about thirty.”
“Okay, I want to go over some things with you.” She sipped her coffee and almost choked when she realized it was cold.
He took a seat.
“Have you found any connections between the victims?” she asked.
“Other than our illustrious billionaire? So far, nothing. They ran in completely different circles.”
That’s what she’d suspected.
“Why the frown?”
“I just can’t picture Stone taking out Robertson and Shumaker. Have the results come back on the gun?”
“Not yet, but Tancock says no gun was used in the second murder. That’s a break from the previous MO.”
“Two killers, maybe?”
He shrugged. “Unlikely with the other similarities. But of course, if Stone is the killer, he wouldn’t want the gun to appear recently used if he was handing it in to the cops the same day.”
“That’s just it. Why hand it over at all? Why admit to having a gun similar to the murder weapon, unless you know it’s not the right gun?”
“Good point. Maybe he owns two and has another stashed somewhere. He can certainly afford it. He still knew both victims and had confrontations with both shortly before their deaths. The embezzlement gives him a good motive for the second murder. And he has wolves roaming his property.”
“We have no forensic evidence to connect him to either crime.”
“That doesn’t mean we won’t find something. The labs are still working on trace evidence found at the second scene. And he doesn’t have an alibi for either murder.”
She opened the folder of the second homicide and pointed at the pictures of the body. “Can you picture Stone killing those men and then leaving them in public places?”
“Honestly, do I think Stone’s capable of murder? Under the right circumstances? Yeah, he could kill. But making stupid mistakes that would get him caught? No. He wouldn’t do that.”
She nodded, his statement confirming her instincts that she was trailing the wrong man.
“But that’s the problem, Mac.”
“What?”
“The killer hasn’t made many mistakes. No witnesses. Very little, if any, forensic evidence to inspect. Unless we want to track DNA of every dog in the city—”
Her gaze snapped to him. “What did you say?”
“I said he hasn’t made any mistakes.”
“No, about the DNA.”
“Unless we want to crosscheck the DNA of every dog—”
“That’s it. We need the DNA of his wolves. If he’s using them, we could connect them to the bodies. Call Tancock. Find out if he’s got usable samples from the victims. I have a profile to discuss with Taylor. Then we push for a warrant.”
Bookshelves covered two walls of Taylor Phillips’ office, the titles testifying to an A-to-Z interest in the minds of murderers. Taylor moved from behind her desk when Mackenzie walked in. She was dressed in a crisp monochromatic suit, her near white-blonde hair pulled back in a controlled bun. She tucked a few loose strands behind an ear as she greeted Mackenzie with an outstretched hand.
“Thanks for seeing me,” Mackenzie said, returning her handshake.”
“No problem. I’ve been reviewing what Cooper told me about the case.”
“And?” Mackenzie pulled out a pad and pencil to jot down notes.
Taylor sat in a chair opposite Mackenzie, crossed her legs, and folded her hands in her lap. “I believe you’re looking for a white male, more mature, well educated. At least in his thirties, upper income, with an affinity for animals. He probably works with them or has access to them. The use of a gun in the first murder indicates the canine attack was an afterthought, a way to further insult the victim. The same goes for leaving the body nude in a public place.”
“Humiliation.”
Taylor smiled. “Yes, exactly. The mutilation of the face was another blow, removing what’s easily recognizable, well known.”
“A slam against a public personality?
“Possibly.”
“The second victim was no politician.”
“No, but the second attack is different, more violent, and the face was left untouched. No gun. The killer is more certain of himself and his canines as a weapon. Otherwise, the attack would not have happened where it did. He’s unconcerned about discovery. Wants the body found, I believe.”
“To taunt the police?”
“Possibly. Or maybe he’s making a point, not only for the victim, but also to others. A warning, if you will.”
“So you believe the same killer committed both murders?”
“Yes, I think it’s highly probable. And I’ll tell you something else. I believe that boldness means he’ll kill again.”
Mackenzie stopped scribbling notes and glanced up. “His motive?”
“Evidence doesn’t substanti
ate greed as a motive. No robbery.”
“The first victim’s jewelry is missing.”
“True, but not his expensive car, and I understand nothing was taken in the second crime.”
“Correct.”
“The brutality usually indicates a connection with the victim. Emotions are involved. I would expect the killer to know the victims. Have you found anything linking the two dead men to each other?”
“Nothing financial. They socialized in separate circles.” She hesitated. “The second victim worked for a company owned by an acquaintance of the first victim.”
Taylor nodded, reflective. She tapped a French-manicured nail on the armrest.
“I’d recommend checking that connection further. The killer is most likely interested in vengeance. Somehow these two men wronged him or someone close to him.”
Mackenzie stood, offered her hand again. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Detective. If something else turns up—anything you want me to consider further—let me know.”
“Will do.”
Mackenzie headed for Fuller’s office. She had a killer to catch, and Taylor had given her one more piece of the puzzle. In spite of her instincts telling her otherwise, Mackenzie would follow this new trail and deal with the fallout later.
In profiling the murderer, Taylor had described Rafael Stone in exact detail.
Chapter Seven
“I’m only saying a case like this needs a more-experienced handler.”
The words and voice stopped Mackenzie in her tracks, just shy of the sergeant’s office door. She may have given in to the urge to eavesdrop if another cop hadn’t chosen that moment to notice her.
“Hey, Detective Lyons. Where’s Coop?”
“Around. Is Fuller in?” She decided now wasn’t the time to reveal how long she’d been standing there.
“Yep.” The cop pointed his thumb over his shoulder as he walked past.
There was a sudden silence from the office, but that ended when she stepped within sight of the men inside. “Lyons, get in here.” Fuller’s voice boomed, not an unusual occurrence, but the irritation in the tone was.
She stepped through the doorway and stood stiffly, not glancing at the attorney seated across from her sergeant. “Sir. If this is not a good time, I can—”
“Have a seat.” Fuller pointed toward the chair next to Kenneth Hahn.
“Hello, Mackenzie.”
“Hi, Kenny.” She bit back a smile when she saw him scowl at the use of his boyhood name.
“Hahn here believes we need to put more resources on the case. As lead detective, what are your thoughts?” More resources, huh? A polite revision to the words she’d heard earlier.
“I’m sure all of our cases could be solved more quickly with an increase in forces.” She faced Hahn. “You leading the drive against department budget cuts, or volunteering some of your own office’s money to cover our overtime expenses?”
Something akin to pleasure settled inside her as Hahn’s face reddened and the sergeant’s lips curled.
“You’ve been on the case how long now? And you have no suspects, no arrests, nothing.” Hahn’s narrowed gaze landed on her. “The media is clamoring for an arrest. How do you think it looks for me to go out there each day and admit you’ve failed to catch a killer?”
“No one’s forcing you to meet with the media and say anything, Kenny.”
“The family deserves closure. You’ve got to—”
“Don’t talk to me about what the family deserves. Don’t you dare.” She stood, unable to stop the anger from boiling in her veins. “I told both wives they were widows. I was there while they sobbed and questioned why. Not you. I stood over both men’s bodies. You remember that while you prance around before the cameras demanding justice. I don’t answer to reporters or work the case according to their next deadline. And I don’t need some lawyer with an oversized ego telling me how to do my job.”
“Mackenzie.” Fuller’s softly uttered word was like a slap. Damn it. She knew better than to let Kenneth rile her.
“Sir.” She sat.
What had she ever seen in him? No, she knew. She’d thought he was after the same goals in fighting crime as she was, but she’d been wrong. Despite his flattery when they were a couple...despite his lip service about justice, Hahn was only after whatever helped put his name in the headlines. She’d be damned if she’d let anyone else deceive her.
Fuller said, “I believe you have your answer, Hahn. If you are unable to express to the media the department’s dedication toward solving these crimes, I suggest you inform the State’s Attorney and the superintendent immediately, so they can find another person to assist with public relations.”
Hahn’s jaw ticked and his lips quivered in obvious suppressed fury. “What do you have on the case?” The question slipped through gritted teeth.
“Nothing that can be given to the press,” she said.
“And the longer I have ‘nothing’ to say, the more they speculate on our inability to solve the crime.”
Our? Mackenzie bit the inside of her mouth to keep silent.
Fuller interlaced his fingers before speaking. “As you are aware, the high-profile nature of these crimes requires tight reins on the flow of information to ensure the integrity of the cases. I’m sure you can inform the media of that fact in a way that will address their speculations and reassure them of the professionalism expected from their law enforcement officers. That will be all.”
The dismissal was smooth. Mackenzie could see now why Fuller successfully climbed the ladder from beat cop to sergeant and would no doubt climb higher.
After Hahn left and Mackenzie closed the door, Fuller said, “He may be an ass, but he’s telling the truth about the pressure building to solve the case. What do you have?”
“I have no forensic evidence linking our prime suspect to the crime. However, he doesn’t have an alibi for either murder, he knew both victims, and the criminal profile I just got from Taylor fits him like a glove.”
“Stone?” When she nodded, he added, “Just so the glove doesn’t fit like the one in the Simpson trial.”
“I want a warrant to extract DNA from the wolves on Stone’s property to see if they’re connected to possible DNA found on the victims’ bodies.”
“Wolves?”
“Yes, sir. He has a large estate outside the city, so we’ll have to coordinate with other agencies to serve the warrant. Stone lets wolves roam the property and even has one that comes and goes in the house. I’m uncertain of the total number of animals, but the Lykos Institute he founded also has a large DNA database on canines they’ve treated, trained, and so forth. I’d like to get that information as well.”
She handed him her report and watched him flip through the pages.
“You do realize this will start the battle of attorneys. Stone is not a man to just step aside and let accusations fly. I doubt we can keep this under wraps.” He closed the folder, his dark-skinned features firm and serious.
“Understood.” She met his hard gaze with a resolve she was far from feeling. Was she letting insecurities over her own objectivity cloud her judgment about Stone?
“If you get close to him, stay on him, do you think you can break him? Make him slip up?”
If he didn’t break her first...maybe.
“He’s smart. It won’t be easy, but these warrants should shake things up.”
“I’m sure they will. Stay on him. Keep the pressure up. And keep me informed. Dismissed.”
Mackenzie headed for the door but paused when she heard Fuller call her name. “Sir?”
“Hahn is unaware of how often even our coldest cases are revisited with hopes of unearthing new leads.” He peered at her, his silent message coming through loud and clear. Unwavering reassurance. “He underestimates the abilities and long-term devotion of some of my detectives to solve murders, but I don’t.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mackenzie hated fu
nerals. No, she hated the necessity of funerals. The ceremonial closure and final farewell to a life always taken before loved ones are ready to let go. The misery increased as the weather contributed its tears to the somber service amid cold, hard headstones and fresh-cut flowers.
She leaned against a tree trunk beneath the shelter of its branches and scanned the faces in the crowd, quickly spotting Stone beneath the canopy of umbrellas. He stood at a respectful distance from where the family huddled beneath the tent. A solitary figure in a long black coat beside a sea of formally dressed mourners.
As the final words of solemnity drifted away, most of the gathering dispersed. Mackenzie took a step forward to watch with interest as Stone approached Emily, whispered something to her, and remained motionless as the widow clung to him. The tight embrace lasted a while before she finally pulled away with a nod and shaky smile. He touched her cheek and then knelt before her children, wiped away their tears, and hugged each one.
When he released the daughter, his gaze collided with Mackenzie’s. A temblor threatened to shake the foundations of her resolve. She mentally reinforced the invisible walls she’d spent the past few days rebuilding.
Rafe rose to his feet with an earthy grace, carnal in movement, feral in purpose. The pop of an opening umbrella preceded his first step into the downpour.
“You’re getting wet, Detective.” He moved close, too close, and held his umbrella over them both. Mackenzie blinked the rain from her eyes.
“I won’t melt.”
He leaned forward, his breath tickling her nape, the musky aroma of his cologne teasing her overly alert senses. “You would...under the right circumstances.”
She went rigid and raised a hand to his chest. A big mistake she realized when his hand covered hers, holding it against his heart. She stepped back and collided with the trunk of the tree she’d thought of as shelter moments earlier.
She jerked her hand from beneath his and tried for bravado she didn’t feel. “Trying to seduce a cop, Stone?”
“When I seduce you, Mackenzie, you’ll know it.” He tilted her face to his. “And you won’t be able to hide behind that badge.”
Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct Page 9
