The Next Victim

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “It’s rather convenient that your prime suspect wound up dead,” Kali noted. “That alone should raise questions.”

  Michelle ran her tongue over her lower lip. “The coroner ruled his death accidental.”

  “It’s not something you’ll follow up on, then?”

  “What’s there to follow up?” The detective sounded irritated. “Do you have someone in mind we should talk to? A potential suspect or witness? An inkling of a motive?”

  Kali shook her head. If John had been murdered, his killer could be the same person who’d killed Sloane Winslow and Olivia Perez. Or someone connected to that person. But she hadn’t a clue as to who or why.

  “I’ll look over the report again,” Michelle said finally. She glanced toward the door as a gray-haired clerk entered the room. “In the meantime, if you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Michelle said, with a trace of a smile. “I’m not promising results.”

  The clerk handed the detective a sheet of paper. “Here’s the final sketch and description we’re going to the public with.”

  “You’ll get it to the media right away?”

  The woman nodded. “They’ve already been notified it’s on its way.”

  Kali barely heard the exchange. Her eyes were riveted on the sketch the clerk had brought in. It showed a young woman with curly, shoulder-length hair; apple cheeks; and wide-set eyes.

  Kali’s heart skipped a beat. “Who’s that?” she asked, trying for offhand indifference and failing.

  Michelle Parker seemed not to notice. “That’s what we’d like to know. Her body was found a couple of weeks ago.”

  Body. “She’s dead? How did she die?”

  “Asphyxiation. She was dumped in a wash in East County. Looks like she’s been dead a couple of weeks, maybe longer.”

  Kali’s mouth was dry. She forced herself to swallow. “You must know something about her.”

  “Best guess is she was in her late teens or early twenties. She doesn’t fit the description of any missing persons report we’ve got. We’re hoping with the public’s help we’ll get an ID.”

  Breathe, Kali reminded herself. Keep calm and don’t give anything away until you’ve had time to think this through.

  “Sad, isn’t it?” Michelle continued. “I think it’s what has Detective Shafer so upset. Part of it anyway. He has a daughter about the same age.”

  “Terrible,” Kali concurred. The sour taste in her mouth was making her ill.

  Michelle picked up the sketch, her expression pained. “So you understand why we aren’t off chasing phantom killers who take mayonnaise on their sandwiches. We’ve got our hands full looking for real creeps like the one who did this.”

  Kali nodded numbly. “Sorry to have taken your time.”

  The deputy shook her head apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to be dismissive. I just wanted to put things in perspective.”

  When Kali got to the main lobby, she slipped into the women’s room, where she splashed cold water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. It couldn’t be, she told herself. But it was. The similarity was too striking to be a coincidence. The young woman in the sketch who’d been so brutally murdered had to be Olivia’s friend—the redhead on the right in John’s mysterious photo.

  Chapter 21

  Erling was in the break room pouring milk into his coffee when Michelle swept through the door, angling a sideward glance his way. She grabbed a Diet Coke from the communal fridge, then turned and leaned an elbow on the counter.

  “You’ve certainly blown your nomination for today’s Miss Manners congeniality award.”

  Erling grunted acquiescence. “I guess maybe I was kind of short with her.” He’d known at the time he was overreacting. He couldn’t help himself. Everything about Sloane Winslow’s murder made him tense. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Don’t apologize to me. It’s no skin off my nose.”

  “I know she just lost her brother and all,” Erling said. “But really . . .” He shook his head and chuckled. “Mayonnaise, of all things.”

  Instead of sharing in the humor, Michelle sucked on her cheek. “It’s an interesting theory, though. And the point about buying Xanax off the street when he’s got a prescription for Valium does make you wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” Erling about choked on his coffee. “You don’t seriously doubt that John O’Brien was our guy, do you?”

  “Hey, don’t bite my head off. We’re supposed to be on the same team here.”

  “Exactly.” Erling bristled. “And you’re changing horses midstream.”

  “I’m not changing horses and we’re not midstream.” Michelle set down her soda can and crossed her arms. “Besides, it’s a stupid analogy. Our oath of duty doesn’t say anything about naming a suspect and sticking to it no matter what. We’re supposed to get at the truth. Our job is to find the bad guys and protect the good ones.”

  Before they started working together, Erling had assumed that Michelle would be a pushover. She was a woman, she was younger than he was and junior in rank, and she was physically petite. It hadn’t taken him long to learn he’d misjudged her. Her tenacity exhausted him at times, but he respected her and he liked her. Nonetheless, her little tirade annoyed him.

  “You don’t have to be so literal. It was just an expression.”

  She regarded him silently as she picked up her soda can and rolled it between her palms.

  “You know damn well I understand what our job is. I might point out that I’ve been doing it a lot longer than you have.”

  Michelle managed to appear sheepish, though Erling suspected she put on the look intentionally. “I’m sorry. I know you’re a good cop. The best I’ve ever worked with.”

  He gave a resigned sigh. “But you were right.” And Erling knew he’d reacted badly precisely because she’d touched a sore spot.

  She took a sip of soda. “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s going on? Ever since we got the Winslow case, you’ve been on edge.”

  Take it easy, Erling told himself. He didn’t want Michelle thinking this case was anything but routine for him. “If I’ve seemed a bit grumpy, I apologize. I’ve got a tooth that’s bothering me.”

  “Have you been to the dentist?”

  “You sound like my wife.” He kept his tone light and jocular, hoping she’d drop the subject.

  Michelle traced a finger around the rim of her soda can. “I thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that we’re dealing with two young, female victims, both about the age of your daughter. I can imagine how that might get under your skin.”

  He nodded. “That too. At least the two cases aren’t related.”

  “A serial killer, you mean? Someone targeting young women?”

  “Right.” Erling would never forget the string of kidnappings and murders that had terrorized the Tucson area back when Mindy was eight. Five girls, all within a year or so of her in age, and all with her same fair coloring. He’d been frantic with fear that his daughter would be next. Along with every other parent for miles around, he’d breathed a tremendous sigh of relief when the guy had been caught and sentenced.

  Thank God they weren’t dealing with anything like that. “I’ll feel better,” Erling added, “once we know the victim’s identity. It’s almost impossible to work a case without it.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky now that the sketch is going out to the public. And something may still come of the dance angle.”

  “I hope so.” They had a couple of uniforms canvassing the nightspots, but the odds were still long. There were even more seedy bars in Tucson than tattoo studios.

  Michelle started to leave, then stopped and turned back. “I’m going to take another look at the report on John O’Brien’s death. If nothing else, it’ll appease his sisters. And there might just be something there.”

  Erling hoped not,
though he could hardly stop Michelle from looking. “Let me know what you find.”

  He poured what was left of his coffee down the drain and rinsed his cup. His stomach felt sour enough as it was. If John O’Brien had been murdered . . . Erling shook his head. He didn’t want to start down that path. But his mind marched on regardless.

  If O’Brien’s death was a homicide, it would call into question everything they’d put together on the Winslow/Perez case. The thought of that unraveling now made Erling ill. He’d managed to skate through the investigation without the affair coming to light. His career and marriage remained intact. He wanted to keep them that way.

  That they’d been able to name a suspect so quickly had worked in Erling’s favor. But a quick solution wasn’t unusual. Cases either went nowhere quickly, or the pieces fell into place right away. True, O’Brien’s death had been fortuitous. It meant no eager defense attorney would be poking around Sloane’s personal life in search of alternative suspects and uncovering, instead, an affair with the lead detective.

  But it wasn’t as if they didn’t have evidence connecting O’Brien to the crime. The guy had motive. He owned a gun similar to the murder weapon. A witness had placed him at Sloane’s house within the right time frame. He had no viable alibi. In fact, he’d told them an outright lie about where he was at the time of the murder. None of that had changed.

  But if John O’Brien had been murdered... Erling again shook the thought from his head. No, all this talk of mayonnaise and prescription drugs was nothing more than the grieving sisters’ inability to accept the truth.

  Chapter 22

  Sabrina was doing her nails at the kitchen table when Kali arrived. A vodka and tonic rested close at hand, and the inventory form Albert Geddes, the estate lawyer, had given them was spread out in front of her.

  “Hi,” she said, looking up from her candy-apple-red nails. “I’m making progress here. Do you think those abstract paintings in the living room are valuable?”

  Kali flopped in a chair across from her. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. They look like blobs of mismatched paint to me, but I guess we should have them appraised.”

  “I can’t say they do much for me, either.” With a laugh, Sabrina added, “At least we won’t have to fight over who gets them.”

  “Great.”

  “You look hot,” Sabrina said. “And tired. I’d make you a drink but my nails are still drying.”

  If only numbing myself with alcohol would make everything better, Kali thought.

  Sabrina blew on her nails to dry them. “I got in to talk to John’s doctor, by the way. An older guy, very sweet. He prescribed the Valium. He was puzzled by the Xanax. John had apparently tried that and found it gave him a headache.”

  Sabrina glanced up and waited, looking just a little bit smug. “Aren’t you pleased? I did good, didn’t I?”

  Kali nodded, but her sister’s words had barely sunk in.

  “Well, you might show a little gratitude,” Sabrina huffed.

  Kali reached for Sabrina’s vodka and tonic and took a sip.

  “No gratitude and now you’re poaching, as well.”

  She set the glass down and nudged it in Sabrina’s direction. “Good work with the doctor.”

  “I thought so myself,” Sabrina said, with a self-satisfied air. She uncapped the nail polish and began layering on a second coat.

  “Do you have to do your nails right now?” Kali was feeling irritable. “We need to talk about John.”

  “You think I can’t do two things at once?”

  “This is important.”

  Sabrina gave her a withering glance. “What’s eating you?”

  “Remember the photo I found in John’s office?”

  “Geesh, you and that photo. Just because he had a picture of Olivia doesn’t mean he killed her.”

  “Put the damn nail polish away and look at this.” Kali pulled the photo from her purse. “That girl on the right, the redhead—she was also murdered.”

  That got Sabrina’s attention. “What? How do you know?”

  “I saw a forensic artist’s rendering. She was strangled and dumped outside of town. The police don’t know who she is but they’re hoping someone will see the sketch and identify her.”

  “You’re sure it’s the same girl?”

  “It looked like her.”

  “It might not be, though.” Sabrina looked at Kali, then shuddered. “That’s so creepy.” She replaced the nail brush in the bottle, her left hand forgotten. “Did it just happen?”

  “No. But they didn’t find her body until last week. Sounds like she died before Olivia did.”

  Sabrina sucked in her breath. “Did you tell them you recognized her?”

  Kali shook her head.

  “They don’t know about the photo, then?”

  “Not from me.” This was part of what was making Kali ill. She was keeping information from the police that might help with the investigation. “If I tell them about the photo,” she told Sabrina, “they’ll try to pin her murder on John.”

  And they might be right, the rest of what was making Kali ill. Any way you looked at it, the photo connected John to the girls. It could well be an innocent connection, but Kali couldn’t at that moment imagine what it might be.

  Sabrina blinked. “You told them someone was here the night John died, right?”

  “They weren’t impressed.”

  “But if he was murdered”—she looked at Kali—”it all has to be tied together somehow, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s not the way the detectives see it.” Kali got up and opened the fridge. She wasn’t so much hungry as agitated, and eating was a way to take the edge off. “Anyway, they didn’t seem to put much stock in John’s being murdered.”

  “But there’s got to be a connection.”

  The refrigerator was depressingly empty. Kali shut the door and got herself a glass of water instead. “Yeah, probably. But it could be that John was part of something along with Sloane or Olivia.”

  Sabrina’s brow creased. “Part of what?”

  “I don’t know,” Kali snapped. “What if the third girl was murdered, too?”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Try to identify the girls and figure out what John was doing with that photo. Then we’ll go to the authorities.” She locked eyes with Sabrina. “No matter what John got himself involved in.”

  <><><>

  Kali didn’t really want to go out again. It had been a draining day and she was exhausted. But she was also agitated by the discovery that John had been hiding a photograph that included two young women who had been murdered. Tired as she was, there was no way Kali could twiddle her thumbs until morning.

  Olivia’s high school friend had given her two names: Joanna Sommers, who’d worked in the library with Olivia; and a guy named Randy, who had a great body. Joanna was the obvious place to start. At least Kali knew where to find her.

  The university was a good half hour from John’s house, and although it was rush hour, most of the heavy traffic was headed in the opposite direction. With classes done for the day, Kali had no trouble finding a parking spot near campus. Unfortunately, the heat was not done for the day, and by the time she had walked through the long, open quad to the library, Kali felt flushed and lightheaded. The moment she walked through the wide doors of the entrance, she headed for the drinking fountain. She was beginning to understand the appeal of air-conditioning.

  Kali approached the pimply-faced young man at the information desk and asked if Joanna Sommers was working that evening.

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “I need to talk to her. I don’t suppose you know her phone number?”

  “Why would I know that?” He sounded almost offended. “Try the student directory on the U of A Web site. There’s a whole bunch of computers downstairs.”

  Kali descended the stairs and found that the entire basement, the size of several football fields, was given over to m
odular workstations and glassed-in group-study areas. It was an impressive sea of well-designed technology at work. Kali looked on with envy, recalling her own college days in dark and cramped library carrels.

  She found an empty machine and logged onto the university’s main Web page. From there, she found the directory of faculty and students. Joanna Sommers was a sophomore with an undeclared major. No address was listed for her, but there was a phone number. Mindful of the signs warning students to turn off cell phones or set them to vibrate, Kali stepped outside to make her call. When Joanna answered, Kali introduced herself as an attorney who wanted to speak with her about Olivia Perez.

  “About her murder, you mean? I don’t, like, really know anything about that.” Joanna’s voice had a soft, almost breathless quality.

  “Mostly it’s just background information,” Kali said.

  “Well, okay, uh, sure. I guess.”

  “I’m on campus. Is now a good time?”

  “Yeah, now’s fine. I’m just heading back to the dorm. I can meet you in front in about ten minutes. I’m in La Paz. It’s near the stadium.”

  Kali went back to the information desk and asked the pimply-faced student to point her in the right direction.

  Only a handful of students milled about in front of the dorm, which wasn’t surprising given the heat. They were engrossed in conversation and didn’t even glance in Kali’s direction, so she assumed none of them was Joanna. She pressed herself into a spot of shade to wait.

  A few minutes later, a ponytailed blonde in a tank top and thigh-length skirt wandered up the walkway. She looked at Kali, hesitated, then approached.

  “Joanna?” Kali asked.

  “You must be the attorney.”

  Kali nodded. “I appreciate your meeting me on such short notice.”

  Joanna tucked a couple of stray hairs behind an ear. “I don’t mind. I’ve got, like, nothing to do tonight but homework. What is it you want to know?”

  “How well did you know Olivia?” Kali asked, inching back toward the shade. “I understand the two of you worked at the library together.”