The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  “Not big into boundaries, your friends.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Ruben answered. “I just wanted you all to myself as long as possible.”

  “I think we should go out on a double date with them,” Paggie suggested.

  “You what?” Ruben said, hardly believing his ears. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was sit down with Kent and Nicole in a social setting.

  Paggie shrugged, though. “Let them quiz me. Do it in person, like normal human beings. Maybe that will prevent the awkward shower encounter.”

  “A double date?” Ruben questioned again, just to make sure he’d heard her correctly.

  “Yep,” Paggie said, playfully grabbing his jacket lapels. “Tomorrow, for brunch. I’ll make the reservations,” she said as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. This time, it landed on his lips.

  He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her up against him. There was no hesitation in her kiss. No slight delay as she thought about Kent, like Nicole would have. Just a warm, lingering kiss.

  Ruben could get used to this. Even enough to go on a double date with his least favorite person in the world.

  “Text me the details,” he said as he took her hand and walked her to her basement apartment.

  * * *

  Kent had to admit, Natilda really wanted to help catch Trudy’s killer. She’d given him detailed information about the block, the girls, the johns—anything that might help him figure out who was with Trudy in those final minutes.

  Had Wallflower known all this, as well? Had he researched Trudy as well as Kent had?

  Hopefully, Jimmi would find something on the footage. Although it wasn’t Kent’s style to just sit around and wait—especially when the night was so young.

  Instead of going home to Nicole, Kent set off for the other side of town. The side of town with functional streetlights, parks, and actual police patrols. Although none of that had saved Annabelle.

  Annabelle was extremely environmentally conscious and wanted to keep her carbon footprint as small as possible. Therefore, she rode her bike to work. She’d even moved closer into the city to avoid the commute.

  Kent pulled up to her apartment building. The lit-up sign said there was a vacancy, along with washers and dryers in each unit and a community spa and sauna. There was something just wrong to Kent about sitting and sweating with strangers.

  And people thought he was weird.

  Getting out of the car, Kent immediately noticed the differences between this area and where Trudy and Natilda worked. The smell, for one. This street had just been cleaned, so it smelled a little of rain and sanitizer. Whereas the other side of town—well, let’s just say it didn’t smell sanitized. Here, there was no trash in the street. No tossed-aside peepshow pamphlets. He strolled down the road, following Annabelle’s route to her work. There was even a bike lane. On the other side of town, bicyclists were lucky not to get rolled for their tires.

  This felt more like Wallflower’s part of town. He’d only gone to the other side of the tracks to fulfill some need he couldn’t get filled here. Clearly, before his killing spree, the guy had not been lucky with the ladies. Had he even tried? Men like this usually weren’t all that up for rejection. There were paralyzed by it, as a matter of fact. Which is why they, many times, turned to prostitutes. The money made them invulnerable to rejection.

  He imagined Annabelle pedaling by Wallflower every day. Did the unsub live or work around here? Was she truly victim zero? Was she the one Wallflower had coveted all along, and Trudy was just a pale substitute? After watching Trudy die, could he finally take action against the woman he really wanted but couldn’t obtain?

  Kent flipped open the phone again.

  “What now?” was the response. Although, this time, Jimmi didn’t sound as tired as he did cranky.

  “Also check the route Annabelle took to work, and cross-reference with any license plates from Trudy’s hood.”

  “You do realize I have to do this by hand?” Jimmi asked. “Watch each and every frame and compare them by eyeballing it?”

  “You do realize I am out in thirty-degree weather retracing the killer’s steps, right?” Kent countered. “While you are sitting around your apartment in your Spiderman pajamas, drinking Fanta and eating pork rinds?”

  “Hey, how did you know about—” Jimmi said, then changed tactics. “Never mind. I’m on it,” the tech said as he hung up.

  Kent came to Annabelle’s office building. The ride probably only took her five minutes a day. How many times had the killer watched her cycle past? Had he ever “accidentally” run into her? How long did he stalk her before making his move? How had he sold the encounter? Did he act interested in her bike? Did he work in the same office building?

  Kent looked up to find the building over ten stories high. How many businesses were up there? How many workers?

  This guy was meticulous, though. That would stand out.

  Flipping open his phone, Kent knew someone who could figure that out for him. Jimmi, though, was not the lucky recipient this time.

  “Hey babe,” Ruben answered the phone.

  “Hey to you too,” Kent said.

  “Kent? What the hell are you doing calling on Paggie’s phone?”

  “Long story,” Kent stated. “Look, our guy is fluent in forensic and anal-retentive. My bet is that he has inserted himself into the case. I need you to run down everyone on the crime scene logs, especially if they have any connection to Annabelle’s office building.”

  “You really do like to push it, don’t you?” Ruben asked.

  “You have no idea,” Kent responded. Although Ruben probably had a fair idea.

  He flipped Ruben’s girlfriend’s phone off. So antiquated. Interesting, though, that Ruben was dating a woman without a smartphone. Exactly what did that say about her and, more importantly, Ruben?

  Kent turned on his heel to head to his car when he could have sworn he saw someone duck into the alley. Was he being followed? The thought thrilled him just a little. How glorious would it be if the killer was stalking him and Kent caught him before, you know, Kent got clocked in the head and kidnapped?

  Eyes forward, Kent made for his car. He could feel someone else’s presence. It was intoxicating. The predator becoming the prey becoming the predator again. He counted out the steps as he approached the alleyway. If he was going to make a move, it would have to be quick. Lightning quick. Now that the killer had shown he knew what to do with the business end of a knife, Kent couldn’t take any chances.

  Just as he was about to pass by the alley, Kent changed course abruptly, turning into the alley. Sure enough, a figure lurked. Kent grabbed the stalker around the neck and shoved them against the wall, eliciting a squeak of surprise. His other hand coursed down the stalker’s body, making sure no weapons lurked.

  Wait a minute, he recognized those curves.

  “Nicole?”

  * * *

  Nicole shoved Kent away. “Yes, and that was quite a thorough frisking.”

  That lopsided smirk made its way to Kent’s lips again. “You never can be too careful.” He became more serious. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “The same thing you are,” she said. “Retracing the killer’s steps, trying to figure out how the victims are connected.”

  “I thought you understood stalking is a solo sport?”

  “Which is why I didn’t come with you,” Nicole said. “I can stalk all by myself.”

  “Yes, well,” Kent responded, “If you are going to do that, you need to get a little better at it.”

  Nicole didn’t back down, though. “It took you nearly two hours to spot me.”

  Kent’s eyes squinted down to narrow slits. He clearly did not like the idea of being followed for that long without spotting her. “I don’t smell your perfume,” he said.

  Nicole shook her wet hair. “No. I took a shower at the squad and used men’s shampoo, conditioner, and even af
tershave.”

  Again, that squint. He might not say anything, but he seemed impressed. He clearly thought her actions had been smart. One of the human’s greatest peripheral senses was smell. She’d completely negated his olfactory memory of her. The profiler’s arm made its way around her waist as he pulled her close.

  “Who knew Old Spice would smell so sexy on you,” Kent said, nuzzling her neck. “I think you started something back at the office that we need to finish.”

  Nicole would have to agree, yet she pushed away. “So should we go in the same car, or do you want me to stalk you all the way home?”

  Kent’s lip tugged up. “I’d like to see you try.”

  However, before they got to establish the rules to the game, Kent’s phone beeped as a text came in, and Nicole’s phone rang.

  Joshua.

  She answered it. “Yes?”

  “Hey, Nicole, I mean Detective Usher, we’ve got another body and I thought you two would like to be the first to know about it.”

  That they would.

  CHAPTER 9

  Kent walked slowly up to the scene. The alley smelled just like the other alley. The graffiti looked to be of the same Latino origin. Ladies of the night haunted all four corners of the intersection.

  Their boy Wallflower was starting to get a type, at least when it came to dump sights. The way all the CSIs were crowded around a dumpster, Kent could guess where the body was.

  “Dumpster drop?” Nicole said next to him. “Interesting escalation.”

  Yes, it was. Not that Wallflower had been any too kind with his previous victims, but now he threw this one out like trash? Very interesting. Could the killer feel himself devolving?

  And this move helped prove Kent’s theory that Wallflower wanted to denigrate his victims. The entomologist’s utopian vision of the killer wanting to connect back to the earth seemed more and more ludicrous as the case unfolded.

  Their boy was on the move. Evolving, devolving, driving Kent crazy with his erratic behavior.

  Kent was sure there would be no slip-up forensic-wise at this crime scene. Their unsub was well trained in sterile techniques. That was baked into his DNA. No, he would never leave them any trace physical evidence, but psychological evidence, that seemed to be in abundance here.

  “Should we call Ruben?” Nicole asked as she opened her phone.

  “I wouldn’t,” Kent said “Paggie looked like she needed a bit of comforting after meeting us, and we both know that Ruben needs a long wind-up time, so…”

  Nicole shook her head, yet a grin still played at her lips as she closed her phone and then checked them into the crime scene. Kent tried to wash all of the hubbub away and imagine the scene an hour ago. There would have been booming rap from the local gang’s crib down the street. There would have been a dozens of slow-moving cars—johns getting up the nerve to pick out their date for the night. There would have been whispers on the wind. A few junkies shooting up down the alley.

  Their boy would know that they would check traffic cams and any building with CCTV coverage. So how did he slip in and out unnoticed?

  Had he done his homework as well on the dumpsite as he had on stalking the women? Could he have left any kind of digital trail while checking the dumpster?

  Kent flipped open “his” phone.

  “Yo!” Jimmi answered. Clearly, the guy had ingested some caffeine since the last time Kent had called.

  “Yeah, we’ve got a body down on Maple Ave.”

  “All over it,” Jimmi said. “I’ll have the surveillance footage to you as soon as I can load and burn it.”

  “No,” Kent said. “Well, yes, but I want you to do a different search, as well. Check to see if anyone checked into those cameras within the week before the killing.”

  “What?” Jimmi queried.

  “I think this guy might be scouting the areas ahead of time.”

  “Wow, genius,” Jimmi said, then hung up.

  Kent wasn’t sure if the tech was talking about him or Wallflower. He would take either.

  Joshua popped his head out of the dumpster. “Tosha Jamel,” he said, holding up the woman’s wallet. “Librarian at the Central Library.”

  Well, you couldn’t get much more Wallflower than a librarian, could you?

  “Cause of death?”

  The morgue assistant wasn’t nearly as tightlipped as his boss. He actually gave out important, vital information.

  “From the bruising around her neck, I’d say strangulation.”

  Nicole’s head spun toward Kent. “That’s quite a leap in MO.”

  Yes, it was. While stabbing someone was intimate, the cause of death was an inanimate object. Now, the killer wanted to be that instrument of death. He’d killed poor Tosha with his bare hands.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Joshua said. “I don’t think we’ll be able to lift prints from the bruises.”

  “He wore gloves?” Nicole asked.

  Joshua nodded. “There’s talc on her neck and hair,” he said as Nicole climbed into the dumpster with him. “But good news. She doesn’t look like she’s going to go all Alien on us.”

  Kent would just wait, thank you very much. He’d done enough dumpster diving during his career to last a lifetime.

  This escalation was significant. This killer was coming into his own. “And the trophy?”

  It was Nicole who answered. “Looks like he cut off the tip of her left pinkie finger. And there looks like there are four tiny puncture wounds at the edge of her abdomen.”

  So the guy had gone all-in on all four aspects of the murder. He’d killed with his own hands. He’d dumped the body like garbage, and he’d taken an actual part of the victim. Not just a patch of skin, but a tangible part of the body. Then, of course, the maggots.

  Oh, this guy was gearing up, all right. He was liking it too much. Forget cool-down period. The only break between killings would now be how quickly he could stalk and kill again. The only reason there wouldn’t be another body tonight was because of how meticulous the killer was. Otherwise, the guy would go on a spree just about now.

  “So, you likey?” Joshua asked.

  “Likey what?” Nicole responded.

  “How quickly I got you guys here. The body is still warm to the touch.”

  “Yes, thanks,” Nicole said awkwardly, but then again how else did you respond to Joshua’s odd enthusiasm.

  Although, he was correct. The crime scene tape was still being strung and the ambulance wasn’t even here yet.

  “How did you get us here so quickly?” Kent asked.

  “Oh, I’ve been listening to the police scanners,” Joshua said. “As soon as they rolled on a 10-54, possible dead body, I was on it.”

  The morgue assistant nodded toward a young couple, huddled together with a ring of police officers around them. “They found the body when they went to the dumpster to empty the bar’s trash. They even think they heard footsteps, that’s how close they came to seeing Wallflower.”

  Wouldn’t that have been a welcome break in the case? This would not have been the first time a major serial killer case had been broken open by blind luck. Serial killers were people, too, and were struck with random bad luck like everyone else. Only this time Wallflower skated. Did he know how close he came to being caught? Those two bartenders were lucky they hadn’t caught him—Kent was pretty sure that Wallflower had now graduated to killing witnesses. Not at first, but now? Now, he needed to protect his secret.

  With that first victim, Kent was pretty damned sure the guy would have peed himself if caught. Practice did make perfect, though, even in serial killing. The guy had gained and gained in confidence. Hopefully, too much.

  That was another major way that serial killers got caught. Cockiness. They lost their edge. They lost that fear of capture and thought that they operated with impunity.

  Kent doubted that would happen with this guy, though. He was too regimented. That usually happened with lay killers. Killers that had no la
w enforcement training. They thought they were better than the cops that chased them, forcing them to get bolder and bolder.

  This guy knew one of the great truths about law enforcement—that no matter how much Kent liked the flash and the bang of it all, the smoke and mirrors, it was actually a long game. It was an accumulation of evidence. A honing process. The longer the killer killed, the more likely he was to get caught.

  If anything, tonight’s near miss would make their boy more cautious. It had reminded the killer of the dangers.

  * * *

  Ugh. Nicole stepped on an old banana peel. The pulp squished over the side of her shoe and pressed against her ankle. Gross. Why that should gross her out as she stood over a dead body with maggots growing in the belly she wasn’t sure, but it still did. Perhaps it indicated that she still had some humanity left after all these years on the job.

  Something this poor girl didn’t have any longer. Joshua was right. This was an exceptionally fresh kill. Tosha’s eyes hadn’t even clouded over yet. They were as bright and clear as Nicole’s. Except for her neck lying at an odd angle, Nicole felt like she could reach out and just shake the girl awake.

  Why, out of all the women in the city, had he chosen this woman? That was Kent’s specialty. Sensing the killer’s need in a woman, and then finding her before the killer could. “Cutting them off at the pass” was Kent’s term for it. Most people thought it was magic.

  For several years now, Nicole had been trying to develop her own form of magic. Trying to see all the intricacies that Kent did. Trying to feel like the killer felt.

  It was hard, though, especially right now, when all she felt was a heavy heart. This woman might be alive if they had caught Wallflower in time. Now, though, her death needed to mean something. Her death needed to help save lives.

  So Nicole had to push down her sorrow and revulsion, even of the banana peel, and get down to work. What about this woman was so fascinating to the killer?

  “Anything of note?” Kent asked from the side of the dumpster.

  Nicole held her hair back as she leaned in and sniffed the woman’s head. “Her hair is wet,” Nicole noted.