“Yeah, and the cat could have been picked up or run over.”
The vibration of his phone made him look down and Rene immediately knew something was up by the look on his face. They had worked together, among other things, too long for her not to know that look. What he said only confirmed what she already knew. “We’ve got a body.”
Agent Turner tossed a generous tip on the table and they both made their way out to the car.
“Where is it?”
“Downtown Louisville. In an alley.”
“So, this is why we always eat downtown, huh? It seems like half our murders take place here. This way, we can just take our leftovers and go view a dead body.” She was joking but it was only funny because it was so close to the truth.
“One third of our murder cases take place in the downtown area to be exact.”
“You’re so precise, Turner.”
“I have to be to keep up with you.” He winked in her direction and immediately put his eyes back on the road, swerving through lunchtime traffic in order to beat the rest of the officials who would be swarming the scene in a matter of moments. He was always paranoid about evidence being compromised due to too much traffic in and out of the crime scene. No matter how much these fucks said that scenes didn’t get compromised, he knew they did.
He pulled around to the back of one of the downtown strip clubs. They both made their way out of the car and pulled their jackets back to reveal their badges to the rookie who had found the body. It was evident by his pale complexion that he had gotten sick after viewing the body, and they could clearly see why once they made their way over to the dumpster where the victim had been thrown out like trash.
They both looked down to view a woman who had been cut, for lack of better a word, to ribbons. The victim had lacerations, from the top of her head, to the soles of her feet. Many of the cuts were deep but some were not. It was evident that whoever had performed this atrocity, had taken their time doing it. It was almost as if they had a certain pattern they were following.
The coroner looked up to acknowledge them both. “I think you may have a copycat on your hands. These cuts and lacerations are reminiscent of a man who was put to death by lethal injection decades ago.”
“Who?”
“None other than… insert sinister music here,” he joked, though the look on his face clearly showed the anguish he felt at the thought of having to deal with a case that many had presumed closed. “The Louisville Lacerate Killer.”
“You can’t be serious,” Rene groaned.
“I won’t be able to tell until I get her on my table, but it is certainly redolent of what I have studied and read. I’m not old enough that I was working the case back then, but it was one of our case studies in college.” He shrugged, offering an explanation on how he knew about a case that had been prosecuted well over twenty years ago.
“Well, it’s good you took that course; we may have to pick your brain for details. You may find all those times you sat listening to some boring lecture and wondering when you would ever use what they were teaching you, coming back to prove you wrong.”
“Anyway I can help,” he muttered, without looking up. It was evident he was back to being engrossed with the details of the corpse.”
“Call us when you know something.”
The coroner just grunted, acknowledging that he would.
Agent Turner discreetly tossed his head towards his partner, signifying that he wanted her to follow him, and they made their way down the alley.
She waited until they were out of earshot and spoke as her partner took in the details of the alley. “Do you think we have a copycat on our hands?”
“Either that, or the wrong person was convicted.”
Rene shook her head in disbelief. “Do you know what that means?” She answered before he could, “That means every case during that time period will be questioned and scrutinized.”
“I don’t see it as a bad thing,” he answered, bending down and eyeing tracks on the concrete.
“Why?”
“Because it gives us a starting point. He continued speaking without elaborating further. “That girl wasn’t killed in this alley.”
“How do you know that?”
Rene watched as he took dirt, rubbing it between his fingers and inspecting it. “Because this is Crider soil. It’s what’s used to grow tobacco. That girl was killed in a tobacco field, not an alley.”
“I want casts made of these tire tracks, boys,” he yelled to the officers at the other end of the alley. He watched as one of them made their way towards him.
“Whatcha got, Agent?”
“I want this soil tested too, to make sure it’s Crider. Where the fuck is CSI?”
“They just pulled in.” The officer nodded in the direction of the alley entrance.
Turner got up, waving them down to the dead-end of the alley where they were situated.
“Ya gonna tell me what it is?” the young officer asked, his accent giving away his hillbilly upbringing.
By then, the CSI van had made its way down towards them and Agent Turner was able to avoid having to having to repeat himself.
“I want this soil tested to be certain it’s Crider soil. Also, test her clothing and her body to see if there is evidence of tobacco on it.”
“You thinking she was killed in a field and dropped off here, Agent?” the older man who was overseeing the CSI team asked.
“I most certainly am. That girl was not killed in this alley. Of that, I am certain. And one more thing, I want you overseeing the details of this. Either we have a copycat on our hands, or a man was wrongfully convicted of a crime and the real killer is still out there. Regardless, one way or another, we are dealing with the Louisville Lacerate Killer.”
Chapter Seventeen
Claire
Claire jumped from her seat, grabbed the items she would need, and made her way towards the door.
“Come on, I don’t have time to worry about vendettas. I need to sell some property. Your cat needs to be neutered or he’s going to be coming home beat up and bloody and it won’t be a concoction of fake blood.”
“I can assure you, he wouldn’t be the one getting the shit kicked out of him,” Striker drawled in a lazy ‘I don‘t believe what you’re saying’ fashion.
Claire continued talking as she walked in front of him, with her mind clearly on a mission. “I’m having a chip put in him too.”
“Bye…” the receptionist called out in a syrupy, sweet voice as she eyed Striker’s ass, licking her lips. Claire turned to wave goodbye and she couldn’t help but notice exactly where the receptionist’s eyes had locked on. She had known when she hired Striker that he would draw women like bees to honey and that was already proving to be true. It would be interesting to see how he would deal with the attention and she would definitely be monitoring the situation. Any woman would in her position would.
The drive to the property was quick and uneventful. Claire opened the back of the SUV to grab her purse and rushed up the stairs and into the large commercial property. Once they were in the lobby, they were met by a pristinely groomed man who could have just as easily come from a modeling agency as the law firm he was a partner at. He didn’t even try to hide his annoyance with the fact that Claire hadn’t come alone. He sauntered onto the elevator and pushed the button for the tenth floor.
He leaned against the railing at the back of the elevator and studied what he perceived to be his male competition. His eyes roamed up and down Striker in disgust, taking in every detail of the man who was dressed more like a MMA fighter than a businessman.
He looked at Claire, his eyes filled with accusation, and stated, “I was under the impression you were coming alone.” He drawled the words out slowly and they dripped with contempt.
“Well, sir, if you want me to do the best job I can for you, then I need my assistant with me to do that. Follow me please.” She gave him no time to answer before the click-cl
acking of her heels could be heard on the hard soled surface.
“As you can see, the view from here is amazing. Being on the tenth floor, you would have a panoramic view with all of these picture frame windows. It would be equivalent to everyone in your firm having a corner office.” She resisted the urge to say something cutting like we all know how important that is to you egotistical business types.
“Are you still dating Victor?” the man asked, eying her as if he was a human lie detector and would know if she was telling him the truth.
Immediately, Claire could feel her heart beginning to race and she knew instinctively that Striker’s eyes were boring through her backside from where was standing, far away enough away to not interfere, but close enough to hear their conversation.
Claire straightened her back, a little offended at where the conversation was headed. “Victor and I have never been an item, so no, I never have, nor will I ever, date Victor.”
She looked down to view a high quality, monogrammed business card in his hand that he was holding out in her direction. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of her face. “My personal number is on the back of the card. Call me when you’re serious about moving this property and we’ll have dinner.”
Claire took the card, looked him squarely in the face, and replied, “Call me when you’re serious about doing business. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
Only his chuckle, and the fading echo of his high dollar shoes as his steps got further away, could be heard as he made his way towards the elevator. The last thing she saw was the backside of just another arrogant businessman in an expensive suit, walking away with his hands in his pocket as if he owned the world.
Fucking arrogant asshole.
No matter how much she tried to convince herself it was all part of the game, it still pissed her off to no end that it always boiled down to her male clients trying to fuck her. It was their way of saying that they’d give her the account, but only she gave them what they wanted first. In Claire’s world, it simply wasn’t going to happen.
Striker
Striker’s hand moved with lightning speed, pinning her against the window with his hand wrapped around her throat.
“Set the purse down slowly and tear that business card up.” His eyes bore into her as if daring her to defy his commands. His lip curled in a sadistic grin as he witnessed her hands shake when she tore the business card into pieces. It floated down to the floor, a silent testimony to the fact that she was scared to do anything but obey him.
His hand moved from her neck and joined his other one to help wiggle her skirt up over her hips.
“Not here, Striker.”
One eyebrow raised, clearly questioning her audacity to deny him what he had every intention of taking. As if giving her an answer of no mercy to her plea, his thumbs hooked under the lace of her panties and pushed them down until they reached her ankles.
“Now, I can deal with that asshole’s pompous, demeaning appraisal of me, but trying to fuck my woman? Well, we both know that’s just rude.”
He buried his nose in her neck, breathing in her scent. “There is nothing like the smell of a woman’s fear. It’s intoxicating, to say the least.”
“Striker, please…”
“Shh, I don’t want to hear it, Claire. Be a good girl and pull my cock out of my pants. That’s not a request; it’s a mandate. That’s a good girl. Now, rub the head over that wet, little slit of yours and, by the way, shut your fucking mouth or I’m going to gag you with those high dollar, lace panties of yours.”
A feral growl emitted from somewhere deep in his chest cavity as he pushed up and into her. His hand fisted into her hair as he violently fucked her against the picture frame window, growling threats into her ear as she struggled to keep her footing with every impact.
“If I ever find out that you’re fucking one of these suits you deal with on a daily basis, I’ll take you both to a warehouse and make you watch as I cave his face in with my bare hands. Oh, you feel so fucking good—so, so, good.”
“You’re going to make me come. Please, Striker.”
His voice came out cold and sinister, threatening doom. “You don’t get to come because now everything you have belongs to me and that includes your orgasms.”
He didn’t have to inform her with words. This was his way of letting her know with actions that he wasn’t happy with the thought of another man hitting on her. It was also his way of informing her that she was now his property. He would take her whenever, however, and wherever he chose and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
He slammed into her violently, unloading his frustration towards her client into her. He took a moment to allow his breathing to regulate before he spoke.
“I’m watching you, Claire, and I can read you like a book. I’m as unpredictable as a natural disaster and equally as devastating. You would do very well not to cross me because I can assure you, it won’t be in your best interest. Now, go clean up.” He nodded towards the restroom over to the side of the empty office space that echoed his command.
He watched as she scurried away and he knew in his gut, she was unsure of what to think about the man who had so strategically inserted himself into her life. His plan for revenge was as much about the psychological aspect as it was the actual act. He couldn’t afford to allow empathy for her to get in the way of what he was planning.
Her father had to pay for what he had done and what better way to make him suffer than through the daughter he loved and adored. If Striker were to be honest with himself, his frustration went much deeper than the mere fact that Claire was appealing to other men.
He dug down into her purse for the baby wipes she carried and cleaned up. He stalked his way over to the bathroom where she was cleaning up and stood behind her, glaring at her reflection in the mirror.
A sinister laugh escaped his lips when she lifted her eyes from washing her hands and jumped when she saw him standing behind her. “Would you stop it?” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“Never gonna happen, baby. I’m feral. I’ll stalk you until your dying day. Let’s just say that it’s the nature of the beast.”
Chapter Eighteen
Agent Turner
Rene kept shaking her had at him, eyeing him as he drove down the road. “You know you can’t rush these guys.”
“I’m merely going to see the body after it has been cleaned up. I want to see if there is any rhyme or reason to those cuts. I also want to know the cause of death.”
“Judging by the way she was cut up from head to toe, I’d say she bled out.”
“Well, that’s the thing about our line of work. Things aren’t always what they seem.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Turner?”
“It isn’t a matter of me hiding anything from you. There are just issues I find about this case that intrigue me. For one thing, this guy isn’t cutting up the bodies to dispose of them. He has the same MO as the Lacerate in that perspective—his cuts weren’t all deep. They appeared to be done as if he took his time doing artwork rather than as a way of disposing of the body. I want a picture of the victim so I can compare her injuries to those on the victims from twenty years ago.”
“I can’t imagine it being the same guy. Serial killers don’t have twenty-year breaks. That would be a record in cooling off periods.”
“That depends, Rene.”
“On what,” she asked, clearly exasperated with him.
“On motive. What motivates him?”
Once again, she shook her head at him as he parked the car and made his way into the coroner’s office. They stood and waited for the elevator that would take them down to the basement. He knew Rene would let him run with this. She knew him well enough to know that he couldn’t be reasoned with when he got something in his head. His curiosity would run its course and would probably result in them solving the case.
“I told you that I would call when I was finished, Agent Turne
r,” the coroner stated as he looked over his shoulder at them entering the room. He went back to what he was doing as if the conversation was over.
Rene stood to the side and watched as he circled the table. It was evident he had no intentions of leaving until he got what he came for—information.
“Cause of death?” Agent Turner asked, undaunted by the coroner’s unwillingness to reveal anything.
“Off the record?” Turner tried again when he was met with silence, hoping for anything to work with.
The coroner breathed in deeply and laid down the implement he had been using on the body. He carefully pulled off the mask he had been wearing on his mouth and intently eyed the persistent agent.
“Off the record, and I stress off the record, your victim didn’t bleed out. She appears to have died from a heart attack and I don’t believe it was from natural causes. There is no history of heart problems and even though she’s a hooker, and I don’t have her medical records, her body is speaking loud and clear. This girl wasn’t a drug addict. She was young and the tiny syringe hole in her neck tells me, whether this guy used potassium chloride or caused an air embolism with a syringe, he knew what he was doing.”
“Do you think he’s a medical professional?”
“Nope, but you hit the nail on the head when you said to run that soil through the lab. It came back as exactly what you said. It’s Crider soil and you were right about her being in a tobacco field at some point. Her body is full of nicotine trace.”
“I can’t imagine him working her over like that in a tobacco field,” Rene interjected, revealing to both men that she was paying more attention to the conversation than she appeared to be.
The coroner looked up and directed his answer to her, “There are all kinds of warehouses and barns in tobacco growing country. All this guy would’ve needed was a metal gurney, privacy, electricity, patience, and time. Your serial killer is very likely a tobacco farmer or a businessman who has his hand in the tobacco growing industry.”
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