Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

River fought not to react. His mind sprinted, creating connections between the guy who’d approached him at The Yellow Rose bar in Texas and the murders in Savannah. Matthew had promised River’s life would change in ways he couldn’t imagine. At the time, he’d written the guy off as a nutjob obsessed with the Valentine Killer. But now? Oh, shit! Did Matthew follow me from Texas, murder those two girls? Shit. He even spoke about Kent as though he’d known him. Is Matthew the Valentine Killer copycat?

  “Tall, clean-cut, in his thirties?” The question shot from his mouth. He needed to be certain they were talking about the same guy.

  “Yes. Wears a dark suit.”

  It’s him. Gotta be. River grabbed her by the shoulders, ensuring her full attention focused on him and only him. The coffees Vicki held sloshed in their cups. She tilted her face up but didn’t struggle to free herself.

  “What did he say?” He spoke each word with crisp, staccato precision.

  “He said I was supposed to help you.” She stared into his eyes, her gaze never wavering. “But I told him you didn’t believe me.”

  River relaxed his grip and set her away from him. Was she an accomplice? Everything about her confirmed she spoke the truth, but the cop side of him wanted corroboration. “Anybody else see him?”

  The corners of her mouth dipped down. “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  She indicated the line of gawkers. “Him,” she growled.

  Leaving one hand on her, River turned to see where she pointed. He scanned the faces. When he passed over a heavyset man with glasses, the guy jerked and backed up two steps. Bingo.

  “Stay here,” he told her and tore off over the uneven stones.

  The guy saw him coming and bolted. River sprinted after him, hurtling the yellow police tape. When he hit the ground, he took less than half a dozen steps and grabbed the runner by the shirt collar.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” River demanded.

  “Nowhere.” The guy coughed and rubbed his throat. With his other hand he tucked the camera against his body, protecting it. “I’m a reporter. I’m doing a story.”

  Well, hell. Maybe my luck just changed, and the reporter got a shot of the mysterious Matthew. Taking firm hold of the pudgy guy’s arm, he dragged him beneath the police tape.

  “What’s your name?” River led him away from the crowd.

  “Lenny Johnston. I work for UFOP magazine.” He tripped on a stone, but River bolstered him before he fell. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “I have some questions, and according to this woman, you’re the man to answer them.” On nearing Vicki, he tugged Lenny around so they walked side by side.

  Lenny bucked. “Jeez Louise! No way.”

  “What the hell?” He stopped, tightened his grip on the reporter. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Don’t let her near me.” He jabbed a finger in Vicki’s direction. He jerked and kicked, trying to get free. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Here, take the camera. I don’t care. Just keep her away from me.”

  She stalked the dozen paces separating them, her knuckles white against the cardboard carrier. “How dare you point a finger at me, you hack!”

  The pudgy runner backpedaled, tried to wrench free, but River held him in place. What the hell is up with these two?

  “Stay back,” Lenny howled. Fear oozed from him, thick like congealed grease. Sweat ran down his face as he twisted around until he’d maneuvered behind River.

  Great. Now I’m a human shield. Vicki better not throw that tray of coffee at this guy.

  Closing the distance, she stabbed her finger at the reporter, almost catching River’s shoulder. “You ruined my life, you bastard.”

  “Well, at least I don’t murder people,” Lenny shot back. “I just write about it.”

  “Whoa!” River barked. “Settle down.”

  The guy danced about, working to keep River in the middle. “I don’t—”

  River spun around. “Shut up. You say another word, and I’ll cuff your ass. Got it?”

  With an eye on the blonde psychic, the reporter gave a hesitant nod.

  River rounded on Vicki. “Will you please back up a little? Give the man some breathing room.”

  “But he—”

  He shot her a meaningful stare and credited her for closing her mouth. “Okay, then.” He rolled his shoulders. “I take it you know Lenny.”

  “Yes.” She gave the reporter a fierce look. Her fingers curled around the carrier, bending the edges. Was the tray a substitute for Lenny’s neck? “He stalked me, wrote an article stating I was a killer.” She turned her attention to River, her eyes wide and sincere. “I’m not a killer. I’ve already told you. I have visions. I know when someone’s life is about to change. But I never killed anyone.”

  The skirmish made sense now. River rounded on the reporter. “That true?”

  “I wouldn’t call it stalking.” His hangdog expression indicated otherwise. “I did write an article. But everything in it was true. I was at the Three Bean Café when three women walked in. The girl dropped three pennies, and the shooting happened at three o’clock. It was all threes. I heard the gunfire when the girl shot a gang member who tried to steal her purse. She shot him three times.”

  “So, Ms. Spiere didn’t actually pull the trigger?”

  “No.” He glanced down at the camera in his hands.

  “Was she anywhere near the incident when it occurred?”

  “No.” He glared at Vicki, jabbed a finger in her direction. “But you’ve got to admit all the threes was way beyond coincidence. And when the shots rang out, everyone else dove for the floor. She didn’t even flinch. She knew it was going to happen.”

  “Okay.” River sighed. The situation was reminiscent of a domestic. He hoped this one wouldn’t end with shots fired. “You’re both going to set this disagreement aside and focus on the situation at hand. A woman’s been murdered, and I need to find a guy for questioning.”

  “Hey, man, you keep her from putting the whammy on me, and I’ll bring the guy to you myself.”

  River frowned. “Whammy?”

  “Yeah.” The guy backed up a step. “You know, the evil eye, a curse, a psychic death warrant.”

  “Okay.” He faced Vicki. “No whammies on the reporter. Understood?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  When he faced Lenny, the tension had drained from his body, leaving him limp as a well-cooked noodle. River shook his head. The guy believed she possessed the power to kill him with a glance.

  “Vicki says you saw the tall man who let her under the police tape.” He studied Lenny’s face.

  “Yeah. That’s true.” His shoulders sagged. “I’d just realized I was standing next to her, well within her whammy range, and I freaked out. The guy just appeared, knew her name. She followed him over here.”

  Truth rang in the reporter’s words. It was strange, though, how not just Vicki believed she was psychic, but Lenny had bought in as well. The guy had even written a story about it, purported he had proof. He must have something concrete to risk slander in a magazine. What had he seen?

  “You took pictures?” He pointed to the camera in the guy’s hands. “Get a shot of the two of them together?”

  “I started to.” Lenny shook his head. “But two joggers got into a tiff. When I looked back, the guy was gone. Saw you walking over.”

  Damn it. The only option left was to work a composite. Maybe between River’s intoxicated memory and Vicki’s recent encounter they could produce a picture and get Matthew picked up for questioning.

  River eyed Lenny. “You got a cell phone or something, some way to contact you if we have more questions?”

  He produced a card from his wallet and handed it over.

  “Thanks. We’re done here.”

  “That’s it? I don’t get to see the murder scene or anything?”

  River grasped Vicki’s elbow. “You come with me.”

  “What?”
Lenny squawked. “You’ll take a psychic murderer to the scene but not me? I can help you guys. I’ve seen the guy you’re searching—” His phone rang. As he scrambled to retrieve it from his pocket, he held up a finger.

  “We’ll set you up with a sketch artist,” River offered.

  Lenny nodded and punched a button on his phone. “Hey, Jolene. I’m in the middle of something. I’ll have to call you back.” He paused, listening.

  With a shake of his head, River turned away just as Dauscher ambled their way.

  “Hey, man,” the big guy called then jerked a thumb toward the reporter. “Something going on I need to know about?”

  “Might have a lead. There’s a guy, Matthew, no last name, who’s been following Ms. Spiere and me. He might be our copycat.” He headed to the crime scene, Vicki at his side, balancing the tray of coffees. On a whim, he reached over and removed one.

  “Hey,” she protested.

  “Thanks.” He grinned and took a large drink. “Just how I like it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Wait here.” He told Vicki.

  “But I—”

  He held up his hand. “I can’t have you contaminating the crime scene.” He urged her farther back until her heels tapped the retaining wall. He didn’t expect to find any evidence relating her to the murder, but he’d been duped before. Best to go by the book. “I’ll go check this out and let you know if it’s the woman from the pub.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes and nodded.

  “Okay.” Releasing her, he turned and strode across the uneven stone street toward the body. Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a pair of gloves and booties and tugged them on. His heart thundered while a knot twisted in his gut. His ex-partner, Kent, was dead, and a sick, psycho copycat had taken up the mantle, committing another heinous murder.

  “Chastain,” the coroner called on his approach.

  “Curt.”

  “Thought you’d want to know the torso incisions are remarkably similar to the last vic’s. I’ll have to complete the autopsy first, but the heart’s missing like the other vic, so my guess is everything’ll match up.” He swiped a hand across his forehead. “The singular apparent difference is the COD.”

  “The cause of death?”

  “Yes.” Pushing his glasses up his hawkish nose, Curt referred to his clipboard “Those lines on the first vic’s neck?”

  “Yeah,” River said. “Dauscher and I thought the guy might’ve used a belt.”

  “Leather. And you were close. Crime Division determined she’d been strangled with the reins from her carriage. Found skin cells on the reins and particles of leather embedded in her skin and beneath her nails.” The coroner gestured toward the body on the ground. “This woman wasn’t strangled. Her throat was slashed. She bled out.”

  River thought he’d steeled himself for the information, but an image of Mindy Carter, lying on the table with her throat ripped out, floated up from the depths of his memory. His stomach lurched. “Any other differences?”

  The coroner shook his head. “Nothing obvious. We won’t know more until we get her to the morgue, do a full workup.”

  “Finish up then I’ll need a moment.”

  “Of course.” Curt pushed his glasses up his nose. “I got a stiff over in the residential area. It should take me forty-five minutes, an hour tops. That work for you?”

  “Perfect.” He waited while the guy strode off, ducking beneath the police tape. Turning, he knelt next to the body. In his mind, he pictured the woman he’d seen at the pub. She’d been smiling, talking to her friends, the breeze ruffling her dark hair. Steeling himself, he grasped the edge of the sheet and lifted.

  Blood. Dark red dots speckled her chin and cheeks. Her eyes had glazed with death, staring up at nothing. It was the woman from the pub all right. But how had Vicki known, unless…? His focus moved lower. Her neck had been savaged. Torn flesh and muscles revealed a deep gash in her throat. Damn, the bastard almost sliced straight through. He ground his molars. Her shirt had been removed, and the torso sliced open—the same X pattern with a dot above it. Same guy. Fucking copycat.

  He reached for her hand, but stopped to peer at Vicki. She stood next to the wall, her focus honed on him, nerves radiating off her in waves. Lowering the sheet, he stood. Touching the vic could wait.

  River walked to Vicki. She’d ditched the coffee carrier but clutched the remaining cup in her hand. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I need to see her.” She stared at the sheet-covered corpse and grimaced.

  River understood. If she truly had seen the woman’s fate, good chance she needed some kind of closure. “If you’re sure. It’s not pretty.”

  She swallowed. “I’m sure.”

  He dug into his pocket, pulling out another set of gloves and booties. “Put these on.”

  She took them, slid the gloves over her slim hands. “I’m not going to touch….”

  “I know.” When she’d put the shoe coverings on, he led her to the body, kneeling beside it again. “Ready?”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded.

  Easing the sheet back, he stopped just below the woman’s chin so Vicki wouldn’t have to endure the butchery below.

  With a gasp, she turned away. Dropping the cloth, River rose. Reaching toward her shoulder to offer comfort.

  “I know it’s—”

  A stream of searing electricity ripped through his hand and up his arm. The side of his neck and head burned as though on fire. What the—? An image invaded his mind, bright and clear—stacked river stones.

  “Oh, sh—” He jerked back, shaking his hand to ward off the fiery tingle. What the hell just happened?

  “River?” Dauscher’s voice came from behind. “You okay?”

  He spun around and conjured a quick lie. “Yeah. Coffee burned my hand.”

  Vicki stared at him, concern clear on her face.

  “Get rid of this for me, will you?” He shoved his cup toward Vicki and tucked his hand beneath his armpit. The burning had minimized to an uncomfortable sting, but the incident jangled him. Did he just experience a piece of Vicki’s vision?

  He rounded toward the stone wall behind him, and the hairs on his neck prickled. Damn if it didn’t match the image in his mind. How the hell can that be? He shook his head. Has to be some subconscious thing. She said stones, and since they’re everywhere, I’m making a match. He turned away. But how did she know there would be stones at the crime scene? And what the hell was that shock I got?

  “Sorry about the call.” Lenny approached them. “So, what do we have, another psychic murder?”

  “What is he doing here?” River asked Dauscher, and then he glanced at the reporter’s feet. “And without shoe overs. He’s going to contaminate the whole damn scene.”

  “He claimed he was a friend of yours.” The detective’s brow drew down, and he swung around on Lenny. “Did you lie to me? And think carefully, because I’ll slap a pair of cuffs on you, charge you with impeding an investigation.”

  “Easy.” Holding up his hands, the reporter gave River a furtive, apologetic glance. Seemed he wanted help fending off the bulldog detective. “I said he knows me. And he does know me. He has my card.”

  Dauscher glared at him, reaching for his cuffs, just as Vicki returned from disposing of River’s coffee.

  “Oh, Jeez Louise!” Lenny stumbled back. “She’s still here?”

  Stiffening, she glared at the reporter.

  The guy jerked his arms up, forming a cross with his two index fingers.

  “I’m not a vampire, you idiot.” Shifting her weight, Vicki moved closer to River. She narrowed her eyes and let out an irritated huff. “You took my picture. If I were a real vampire, I wouldn’t have shown up on film.”

  Dauscher snorted.

  Lenny lowered his hands. “Can’t be too careful.”

  Vicki leaned toward River. “Bet you ten bucks he’s got a bottle of holy water in his pocket,”
she said in an exaggerated whisper.

  Dauscher chuckled.

  “So what is she still doing here?” Lenny demanded, puffing up.

  River knelt next to the body, covered the girl’s face. He didn’t need this shit. It was one thing having a professed psychic present. But having a reporter on the scene was just begging for trouble.

  He peered up at Vicki. She nodded, answering his silent question as to whether the corpse was the girl from her vision or not. River knew it was. He’d watched her walk out of the pub two days ago. And because she hadn’t used a credit card so I could track her down, the woman’s fate had been sealed. He shook his head. Hell, I’m starting to sound like I believe in all this psychic crap. There must be a rational explanation.

  And yet….

  River glanced over his shoulder at the wall. After touching Vicki, he’d seen it in his own mind. Those stones. Exactly.

  “You two will have to wait,” Dauscher grumbled. “Ms. Spiere, please go up to the line near the cars. Lenny, walk down there and stand by the wall.”

  The two complied without hesitation. When Dauscher growled, people moved.

  “What’s going on?” The big guy glowered at him, but River wasn’t intimidated.

  “I’ll admit it’s a bit unconventional.” He looked down at the body. He still needed to touch her hand. Would his hands tingle like they had with Penny Newhouse?

  “Unconventional? River, you’ve got people tromping all over the scene.” He moved closer. “Hey, I know this whole case has thrown you for a loop. It’s way too similar to the Valentine case. You thought you were done, that you’d buried it. But the whole damned thing is rising from the dead. Got you off your game. I get it. I’m with you. But that reporter told me you’d brought him across the line already. Is that true?”

  “Yes.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I thought maybe he’d gotten a picture of the guy I’m liking as a suspect.”

  “If I’d known the truth, been in the loop, I wouldn’t have brought him back over again.” Dauscher put his hands on his hips. “I need to tell you something, and you need to listen. Get something straight between us.”

  A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard. “Okay.”