Body of Evidence

by Stella Cameron

  She stumbled.

  Emma got off a shot and heard a man say, “Bitch, bitch,” before a blow to her wrist took the feeling—and the gun—from her hand.

  39

  “Evening.” Rusty Barnes walked into Billy’s office with his wrists together and his hands extended in front of him. “You can cuff me now.”

  “Nobody stopped you on the way in?” Finn said. He pocketed the keys he’d left on Billy’s desk and looked around to make sure he hadn’t dropped anything else while his mind had been frozen. “That probably means they aren’t lookin’ for you.”

  “You think?” Rusty said. “Where’s Billy?”

  “All hell’s breakin’ loose,” Finn said. “You’re off the hook, John Sims is on it. Billy can confirm that. I can’t stop to explain.”

  “John?”

  Exasperated, Finn looked at him. “I have to round up a lady,” he said. “She won’t like it, and Billy will be pissed, because he’ll say I interfered with police business, but I’ll handle it.”

  “Where’s Billy?” Rusty repeated.

  “Gettin’ a search warrant,” Finn told him. “For John’s house. There’s a full-scale hunt on for him. Rusty, I can’t talk, I gotta do. I came back for my keys. Go out to the desk and ask someone to let Billy know you came in. Then wait.”

  Rusty actually grinned.

  “What?” Finn said.

  “I don’t know how I’d get through life without you telling me what to do.”

  Finn gave him a mock punch to the belly. “I need to get Emma.” Given a chance, he planned to hide her until Sims was found and locked up.

  Over and over again.

  Over and over again he stroked her neck where the bag met her skin. Back and forth, thumbs anchored in the dip between her collar bones, two shaky fingertips skimming to her spine, to the slender cervical vertebrae.

  Shaky fingers.

  Not as shaky as Emma’s legs. Her body trembled in waves that forced her teeth tightly together.

  He hummed.

  Emma would not speak, would not react…and she would not cry out. Anything she said, any sign of fear she showed, could incite him.

  He hadn’t spoken to her, but she felt how his mass displaced air.

  Where was John? Had this man killed him?

  She heard stifled moans. He had done something to Angela, and Emma couldn’t help her. What felt like sharp plastic bag closures bound her wrists together. She had tried to kick him and lost a sandal. And for her efforts he had stood on her bare foot while he pressed his wet mouth into the cleavage between her breasts.

  “I love you,” he said.

  A buzz grew to a roar in Emma’s ears. She shook so violently her knees jerked, and she locked them to stay on her feet.

  “I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. Why have you made it so hard?”

  Emma willed herself to be quiet inside.

  “I wanted to help you get rid of him. I brought you money, but you took it to the police. You told the police about me when I only wanted to love you.”

  The cowboy mime. That had been John, not Carl.

  Angela coughed, and Emma felt her blood stand still. The other woman’s mouth was obviously covered; if she choked she could die. “Let her go,” Emma said, as firmly as she could.

  The man laughed. “That’s one of the things that make you so special. You care about other people. I never met anyone like you before. Everyone wants something for themselves, and they want it so much there’s no space in them for anything else.”

  A deep cold struck at Emma. She knew the voice.

  “There’s still time for us,” he said. “They don’t know about me. We can get away, far away. I got your passport from your house, your parents’ house. You didn’t miss it, but I’ve had it for days. And your marriage certificate. I burned that. See? You aren’t married to him anymore.”

  Should she call him by name? Would he be angered that she knew him now? “John,” she said. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She had no option but to hope she did the right things.

  “Yes,” he said. “I wanted a way to get you out of Pointe Judah without having to do something like this to you, but Finn Duhon showed up, and you were infatuated with him. You ignored me and welcomed him.”

  “I’ve never ignored you, John. You’re my friend.” In her mind, hopelessness sounded in every phony word, and she was sure he heard it.

  “Just one of your friends?” he said. “I wanted to be your only friend, and I will be—when we leave this place forever.”

  As long as he thought they were going away together, she had a chance to free herself and Angela. And if this went on long enough, someone would look for them. Would the other members of Secrets try John’s house when they didn’t find Angela at home?

  She cast back, looking for the signs she must have missed. There had never been a time when she gave John the impression she was interested in him.

  Angela coughed again.

  “She could choke,” Emma said.

  “Forget her. I already have.”

  His hands passed from her neck to her shoulders. He stroked her arms and pulled her close, licked and bit her shoulder, and the soft rise of her breast.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  “John,” she said, shaken. “Where will we go?”

  “It’s a surprise,” he said. He rubbed her back and shoulders, spread his hand over her bare midriff.

  If only she’d changed before going to Angela’s, but the day had remained humid, and clothes only added to the stickiness.

  Inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to put her hand in Finn’s. They wouldn’t have to speak, only stand quietly, the skin of their hands warm.

  She detested being in the arms of this man for whom she felt nothing but pity and disgust. He touched her hip with his palm and curled his fingers down to knead her bottom.

  Beyond the storeroom, a door slammed. Rapid footsteps ran through the kitchen.

  “Keep quiet,” John said. “Not a sound.”

  They heard the footsteps run this way and that in the house, then pound on the stairs.

  John gripped her tightly, and she felt suddenly sick to her stomach and light-headed. A shirt wasn’t the only thing he’d decided not to wear. John was naked. She felt his private parts, aroused, digging into her. Hot, smooth, probing flesh brushing her forearm.

  “John?”

  The voice came from a distance, but Emma knew it was a woman’s. One of his friends? Why didn’t someone else come, someone who could help them?

  The steps came back downstairs. “John, are you here?” Sandy.

  With a hand over Emma’s mouth, he pushed her backward. She grasped for him with her bound hands, trying not to fall. Still he walked her backward, quickly, brought her to rest where she felt a wall at each shoulder. He’d put her in a corner somewhere.

  “You will stay where you are,” he said, and as if to underscore what he said, he hooked a heel behind her knees and caught her when she fell, guided her to sit on the floor. His hand remained pressed to her face until he yanked the bag up as far as her nose and shoved cloth in her mouth. Rapidly he snapped a handcuff on one ankle, caught the punishing plastic between her wrists in the second cuff and closed it on the other ankle. “I don’t want to do this. I have to. I’ll be quick.”

  She thought she would vomit. The cloth in her mouth pushed her tongue back and her throat tightened. He slapped a piece of tape over her lips.

  Fighting against panic, Emma quieted her mind. Fighting wouldn’t release her. She let her body go limp, as limp as she could with her knees trapped against her chest, driving the air from her lungs.

  “On your side,” John whispered, rolling her sideways. “Keep still. You’ll be okay.”

  He sounded…reasonable.

  Angela had stopped making any sounds.

  Emma’s heart bumped. She hurt all over.

  “John?” This time Sandy was in the kitchen.r />
  “Sandy?” he called back. “Coming.”

  Emma felt a current of air and knew the storeroom door was open.

  “What are you doing in there?” Sandy said. “I can’t see a thing. Put on the light.”

  He didn’t answer her.

  “Thank God I found you,” Sandy said. “If the outside door had been locked, I don’t know what I’d have done. I need to get away quickly. Come on, John. Come out of there. Emma’s Lexus is parked at Angela’s. If she sees me, I’m dead.”

  He didn’t answer her.

  “John, don’t play games. I came to help you. The police are suspicious about the drugs. They asked if I got the samples from you.”

  Emma closed her eyes tightly to listen and heard John’s heavy breathing.

  “Get in here, fool,” he said.

  Sandy yelped. “What’s the matter with you? Let me go—you’re hurting me. John, you’re naked! What are you doing?”

  “I’m hot,” he said, as if speaking through his teeth. “What did you tell them about me? They called. I heard them on the answering machine. They called again and again, and came to the door. This is your fault. I made my plans. They were perfect. You’re ruining them.”

  “I didn’t tell them anything. Let me go.”

  “You like it when I hurt you. You’ve always liked it.”

  “No,” Sandy said, openly crying. “I never have. Please don’t hurt me again. We can do it here. You can do whatever you want, just like always, but don’t hurt me.”

  With each breath, the bag sucked against Emma’s nostrils.

  “What’s the matter?” John said, and he sounded hateful. “Do you need more goodies, bitch? Did you finish everything I gave you already?”

  “They took them away,” Sandy whined. “I had to say I didn’t know where they came from and insist they weren’t mine. So they took them away. They said they knew you lost your job because you stole drugs. All kinds of drugs, they said. They came back today and talked about you being dangerous. I didn’t tell them a thing. Honestly, I didn’t. John, I need something. Thank goodness you stockpiled so much.”

  The conversation stopped.

  A pulse in Emma’s throat twitched. Sweat ran into the corner of her eye. She counted in her mind. Seconds, many seconds. Five minutes passed at least, then more. And more.

  Not a sound—until the storeroom door closed very softly.

  John and Sandy had left. All she had to do, Emma told herself, was wait. Eventually she would be found. Wouldn’t she?

  At both ends of the alley, but out of sight of John’s property, police cars were parked at angles. Unmarked cars had arrived, and men in plainclothes conferred with the local police. Billy pointed from time to time. The set faces on the men, the purpose with which they moved, closed out anyone who wasn’t one of their own.

  Finn tried Emma’s cell again. He’d tried it every few minutes. She wasn’t answering. But she wasn’t answering at the Balou house, either. He’d even tried Orville’s and gotten no reply.

  Calls to the other members of the group had found some of them at home. They hadn’t planned on a meeting this evening.

  He would try one more time to get Billy to let him check Angela’s.

  His approach and request earned him a wall of those serious, impatient faces.

  “I told you not to concern yourself with Angela’s at this point,” Billy said. “Leave it, will you, Finn? We know what we’re doin’ here.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He was certain they did know what they were doing, but so did he, and he’d spent too long responding to threats to stand back and hope they would pull off a safe resolution if necessary. John’s car was missing, and Finn knew the authorities believed John was also missing. Mostly, they were going through the motions, and their main concern was securing the area and searching his house. But if Emma was somewhere around—and he had no proof she was, but if she was—he wanted her out.

  A young cop ran up and said, “We came at the second house from the other side. We couldn’t get any closer to Sims’s without riskin’ bein’ seen if he’s there.”

  “No sign of anyone at Angela’s?” Billy said with one eye on Finn.

  “Cars,” the patrolman said. “They’re parked beside the house. You can’t see ’em if you don’t go close, because of the hedges.”

  “How many cars?” Billy said, while Finn wiped any reaction from his features.

  “Three. A van, a Mercedes and a Lexus SUV.”

  Finn took the last announcement in the gut. Where was his famous control?

  “Angela has a van,” he told Billy. “I don’t know about the Mercedes, but we both know who drives a Lexus SUV. What color?” he asked the patrolman.

  “Beige.”

  “Relax,” Billy said to Finn. “We’ve got everythin’ under control. From what I’ve heard about the antics they get up to at those women’s meetings, they’re probably maintainin’ phone silence while they wax their backsides.”

  Finn forced his already balled fists into his pockets. “Yeah. I’ll be in my truck if you need me.” Liar.

  His cell phone rang, and he answered before the end of the first ring. “Duhon. Yes.” He breathed a little shallower, but part of him grew calmer while he listened. “Thanks. I know, but this is… I can’t thank you enough.”

  He pocketed the phone. Billy watched him, and he looked back at him. “I sent off my father’s uniform after you gave it to me,” Finn said. “I’ve got one or two very useful contacts. That was a preliminary report, but it’s pretty certain. There’s a match between samples from Belinda Page, Denise Steen and what you found on that car seat that got on the uniform. They’ve already looked at swabs from me and from Eileen, and there’s no way my father was involved, other than being one more victim of a serial killer. Billy, I think Dad confronted him and somethin’ went wrong. He died, but I’ll always believe he cracked the case.”

  John took the cuffs off Emma’s ankles. “I’m sorry, darling,” he said. “Be patient. I have to hurry now.”

  He withdrew from her, and she could hear him dressing.

  He intended to take her away with him.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pulling her to her feet. He took the hood from her head, and she blinked in bright white light. Halogen bulbs lined the top of mirrored walls. A single high stool beside a counter littered with tubes and brushes, and a small refrigerator, were the only furniture in the uncarpeted, windowless room. A row of drawers ran the width of the wall beneath the counter. John’s hair lay flat to his head, slicked with some sort of oil. His clothes consisted of loose, white cotton pants and a shirt.

  On the floor beneath one end of the counter something shadowy moved, rolled out. Duct tape wound around a blanket-covered bundle made it mummy-shaped.

  John laughed. “She moves,” he said, sneering.

  Angela had to be in there. Emma inclined her head and made noises in her throat.

  John looked at the writhing body. “I know,” he said. “Your soft heart hurts for her. But she betrayed me. She went over to the other side. She wanted to make me look bad to you. Did she give you Tom Duhon’s records? She says she didn’t, but I don’t believe her.”

  Emma shook her head from side to side.

  “She took them while Mrs. Valenti wasn’t looking, like I told her to. But then she got angry with me and gave them to someone else. You’re sure it wasn’t you?”

  Once more Emma shook her head.

  “Too bad. I need them back.”

  From one of the drawers under the counter, he carefully removed a black leather box. To Emma, it looked as if it could contain drafting tools. John opened two latches and lifted the lid. With reverence, he showed Emma the contents. A hypodermic rested on white satin. The satin showed several small blood stains.

  She stared at the needle. More drugs? Did he use, and would he become even more crazed when he shot up again?

  “It took them a long time to suspect I was ste
aling from them,” John said, stroking a finger along the barrel of the hypodermic. “My employers, that is. But they never found out about this. Not at all. And it was never missed—none of it except the pills. I only took those to exchange for other things I needed. Don’t you think they were unreasonable to complain?”

  She nodded. Her eyes stung as if she hadn’t blinked in too long.

  He gave her a brilliant smile, set the box aside and lifted her to sit on the counter. “I want to take the gag away, but you mustn’t make a sound. You won’t, will you?”

  Emma shook her head no.

  He ripped the tape from her mouth, and she winced at the pain. Next he took the cloth from inside her mouth. “We’ll take the van,” he said. “It’s already packed. We’re going to be so happy. But the police are out there. We must be careful. They won’t know about the path through the bamboo.” His face contorted. “I hate the sound when they bang on my door. My door.”

  She would wait until they got outside, then risk shouting for help.

  John stared at her. He brought his face closer, and she felt his breath on her face. “A kiss for the road,” he said. “Please, my love.” His mouth touched hers; he parted her lips. She must not vomit, but if he put his tongue in her mouth, she would bite it.

  He caught sight of Angela rolling over again and stepped back. He kicked her, and she made a gurgling sound.

  “Stay where you are,” he told Emma.

  For several moments he disappeared into the passageway leading from the room to the kitchen. When he returned, he wore a tunic made of heavy pink silk, and pink crocheted gloves without fingers. Beside her, he dropped a wig, a blond wig.

  He caught her expression and smiled widely. “Enjoy watching a true artist, Emma. I am the best in the world.”

  From beneath the wig he took some pale, thin rubbery stuff. A mask…

  In only seconds, he pulled on the burn-webbed skin of Angela, set eye sockets, nostrils, mouth, ears, neck, applied lipstick and mascara, and placed the wig. Next came his hands. With amazing expertise, he applied long pink nails that adhered over his own.

  He turned his head from her a little and tugged a lock of white-blond hair forward. Then he laughed and stood back, spreading his arms. “Well?”