Pretty Dead

by Anne Frasier

  The scene had played out in David’s mind a million times. It would play out a million times more. Nightingale was right. The ritual of the bath. And the toys. He was right about that too.

  Nightingale wanted to die. He was goading David because he wanted David to kill him.

  But David wanted him to live. He’d be sentenced to death, but they could learn a lot from the killer before he took his final breath. The longer he was kept alive, the better.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you,” Nightingale said. “She put him in the water, and he began to play with the toys. And then she grabbed him by the arms, told him good night, and held him under. He struggled, but he was just a child, no match for her strength. She might have even sung him a lullaby as the life left his eyes. What do you think?”

  “David, he’s baiting you!” Elise shouted from below.

  “And you—” Nightingale glanced in Elise’s direction, his voice louder now, carrying and echoing in the cavernous space. “I know all about you, about the things you won’t discuss, not even with David. About what happened with Tremain. About what he did to you.”

  “You don’t know anything,” Elise said.

  “Oh, but I do. Because I read between the lines, and I understand him. He tied you down and raped you in every way possible. He tore you up and banged into you until you passed out. Am I right?”

  “Shut up,” David said.

  “Don’t shoot him, David. That’s what he wants.”

  Nightingale smiled a cold smile. “I’ll bet you have nightmares about it,” he shouted to Elise. “Remember how you attacked me that first day at the police station? Post-traumatic stress. You’re both really messed-up people. David, married to a baby killer, and you, sodomized by an old acquaintance.”

  David’s gun hand was shaking.

  “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?” Nightingale asked. “If you’d worked the crossword puzzles from the beginning, you’d know. We go way back, you and I, and our long friendship was documented in clues and answers. I’m sorry you missed out on those.”

  The echoes of the familiar that had haunted David from the beginning of the Savannah Killer case were overwhelming now.

  “I have to admit you did a little better on this investigation than Puget Sound,” Nightingale said.

  Maybe David had, in some unconscious way, known the answer all along. The night at Elise’s where he’d felt the air shift. The days when deep in his gut he knew something was off about everything, but on a practical level he recognized that what he was feeling didn’t match the facts in front of him. And now David finally understood that the man at his feet was the very man who, in a twisted and indirect way, was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in David’s life.

  “That’s right,” Nightingale said once he saw the pieces drop firmly into place. His next words were measured and proud. “I’m the Puget Sound Killer. And not just the Sound Killer. There were other killings. A lot more.”

  From below, Elise attempted another warning. “He’s lying.”

  Without taking his eyes off Nightingale, David said, “No, he’s not.” And yet the man’s damning revelation wasn’t enough to make David snap.

  “And what about Audrey? Sweet, sweet Audrey?” Nightingale asked, realizing he hadn’t yet pushed the right button. “Did she tell you what I did to her? No? I’ll bet she didn’t have time because she was whisked away so quickly. I will tell you that if she was a virgin this morning, which I doubt, she isn’t one any longer.”

  David wanted nothing more than to put a bullet through Nightingale’s skull. Instead, he holstered his gun and charged.

  “David!” Elise shouted as she raced up the metal stairs.

  Fists pummeled and the men rolled. Nightingale, straddling David, slamming his head repeatedly into the metal floor. Dazed, David gripped Nightingale by the throat and squeezed.

  “Don’t kill him!”

  David wasn’t listening.

  Nightingale’s arms flailed in an involuntary effort to survive. His hands pounded at David in desperation. Elise saw a flash of metal, saw David’s gun in Nightingale’s hand, saw that hand rise, saw the weapon turn toward David’s head.

  On the second landing, Elise paused, aimed, and fired.

  CHAPTER 57

  Elise felt Nightingale’s neck for a pulse, straightened, pulled out her phone, placed the call, and hit “Speaker.” When Avery answered, she said, “Nightingale is dead.”

  “How dead?”

  The question might have seemed odd, but after what had happened with Atticus Tremain . . .

  Elise contemplated the body at her feet. “Pretty dead.”

  “Anybody in need of medical assistance on-site?” Avery asked.

  She looked at David, who was lying on his back, his face spattered with Nightingale’s blood. No, he mouthed.

  “We can wait until we get to town,” Elise said. “How’s Audrey?”

  “She’s with Strata Luna. Audrey called her when she arrived at the police station, and the two of them went to the hospital. I’ll tell her you’re fine.”

  “Jackson Sweet?”

  “Last I heard, he was going into surgery.” Avery’s voice dropped. “Glad you guys are okay.”

  “Thanks. Me too.” Elise disconnected, pocketed her phone, then held out her hand to David. He grabbed it, and she pulled him to his feet, both of them grimacing in pain.

  “Chest?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” It was the first time she’d taken a hit wearing a bulletproof vest. It was every bit as unpleasant as people said.

  “Have that looked at when we get back.”

  Together, they moved down the steps, slowly this time. From a distance came the sound of sirens.

  “Well, this is anticlimactic,” David said.

  “Sure you’re okay?” Elise asked.

  “I will be. Once I’m back in my apartment with a beer in my hand and a cat on my lap.”

  “Here.” She draped his arm over her shoulder, and he leaned heavily into her—a testament to just how not okay he was.

  “You’re always saving me,” he said in amazement and gratitude, and maybe a little jealousy since he was the one who most likely preferred to do the saving.

  Elise watched as police cars filled the lot, lights flashing, tires squealing, clouds of dust drifting toward them. “It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it.”

  CHAPTER 58

  A surgeon dressed in yellow scrubs, a blue mask around his neck, stepped through the double doors. “Are you Jackson Sweet’s family?”

  “Yes.” A unanimous lie and truth, spoken by Elise, David, Audrey, and Strata Luna.

  “He’s in recovery right now.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Audrey asked.

  “It’s too early to tell, but he’s tough. The bullet missed his vital organs, but with the cancer and chemo . . . His immune system is compromised right now, and we’re concerned about infection. He’ll be in intensive care for at least twenty-four hours, but you can visit him for a few minutes.”

  Strata Luna surprised them all by bursting into tears.

  Elise and Audrey patted her on the back in an awkward attempt at comfort, even though Strata Luna didn’t seem like a woman who would welcome such a thing. She pulled a damp handkerchief from her black sleeve and looked up at the ceiling. “The man just comes back to me, and now this. Does everybody I love have to die?”

  Elise wondered if Strata Luna realized she’d spoken the L-word. “He’s not dead,” came her gentle reminder.

  Strata Luna pulled herself together, tucked the handkerchief back in her sleeve, and stood up straight. “You’re right.” She looked at Elise. “We’ll put some rootwork together, the likes of which this place has never seen.”

  Far be it from Elise to dash her hope. And if Sweet did recover, Strata Luna could always claim that she, and not the doctor standing patiently nearby, had saved him.

  In intensive care, the four of them
gathered around Sweet’s bed.

  Heavily sedated, an IV in his arm and tubes in his chest, oxygen in his nose, he still managed to exude something. That Jackson Sweet presence.

  He immediately spotted Audrey. “You okay?” he croaked.

  “Fine,” Audrey said. It was true. Just minutes ago Elise had pulled Audrey aside to ask if the awful things Nightingale had revealed were true.

  “He never touched me,” Audrey said. “Not like that.” More of Nightingale’s lies. Thank God.

  “You probably saved Audrey’s life,” David told Sweet.

  “At least that’s something.” Sweet drew a shallow breath before continuing. “Jay Thomas?”

  “Dead,” Elise told him.

  “Who?” One word was enough. Who killed him?

  “I did,” she said, thinking about the conversation they’d had the day he collapsed in her alley.

  “Good.” Important questions answered, his focus shifted to Strata Luna. Even though she’d pulled herself together, he read her. “Don’t cry, woman,” he said. “Don’t ever cry for me. I don’t deserve anyone’s tears.”

  “If I wanna cry, I’ll damn well cry.”

  Sweet smiled, and his eyes drifted closed. In alarm, they all looked at the vitals screen, then relaxed.

  “Time’s up,” the nurse announced.

  Before leaving, Elise touched the back of Sweet’s hand, lightly, so as not to disturb him.

  CHAPTER 59

  What do you think this is all about?” Elise asked as she pulled the car into an empty parking spot in front of city hall.

  David unlatched his seat belt. “Some kind of award? A plaque we can hang on the wall?”

  Three days had passed since Nightingale’s death, and it was looking like David had been right from the very beginning. The FBI was involved in processing the information, and matches were rolling in. Nightingale was on track to being one of the biggest serial killers the country had ever seen. Odd thing was, he really had been writing a story on Elise and David. The article, along with hundreds of photos, had been found on his laptop. The guy knew how to play a role.

  The salesman, Charles Almena, had been released. Tyrell King, Elise’s old high school buddy, was in jail for falsely identifying the killer. Seemed he’d succumbed to coercion and bribery. Nightingale had been in the surveillance car with David the evening Elise met with Tyrell. The killer had simply gathered the information he needed, along with a license plate number.

  And the public . . . rather than applaud the capture of a notorious serial killer, the entire nation was mourning the loss of its daily puzzle. The syndication company had announced plans to find a replacement, but Elise was pretty sure it would never be the same.

  She and David exited the car and strode up the wide walk into city hall. After leaving their weapons at the checkpoint, they took the elevator to the third floor and the mayor’s office.

  “Take a seat.” Mayor Chesterfield indicated two empty chairs. Directly behind him, in Elise’s line of vision, were photos of his daughter that hadn’t been there before.

  Once Elise and David were settled, the mayor adjusted his tie, cleared his throat, and folded his hands on his desk. All signs pointed to nervous.

  Elise and David shot each other a look of puzzlement.

  “I want to thank you for risking your lives,” Mayor Chesterfield said. “And the city of Savannah appreciates the sacrifices you’ve made.” He stopped, blinked too slowly, then looked at them one at a time. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come right out with it. We’re letting you both go.”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Not what Elise had expected.

  “We caught Nightingale,” David pointed out.

  “I know,” the mayor said with an accompanying nod. “City council and I debated long and hard about this. It’s not a decision we take lightly, but in the end it was unanimous. We’re letting you go. At this moment your police department computers are being collected, along with all files. You’ll no longer have access to your office. When you leave here, you’re to go directly to Savannah PD and turn in your gun and badge. While there, you’ll find your belongings in boxes waiting for you.”

  Elise leaned back in her chair, trying to appear unfazed. “What you mean to say is we’re fired.”

  “Not fired. Let go. We prefer let go. We’re not just turning you out with nothing. We put together a compensation package. Six months’ full pay with health benefits that will last another month.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Elise asked. He wasn’t thinking straight. He’d lost a child. “I’m deeply sorry for the loss of your daughter,” she told him, “and I’m sorry we couldn’t have caught the killer earlier.”

  “It’s not just that. All of this has gone on too long,” Mayor Chesterfield said. “Friendship with a woman who owns a house of ill repute. The constant press about you and your father, along with the never-ending hoodoo talk. The final straw for us was this case and the way you handled it. It was unprofessional. You brought in Gould when he’d been sidelined. The killer himself was with you from day one. Not to mention the affair between Gould and Major Hoffman. I think the city of Savannah has a pretty high tolerance level, but we’ve simply reached our tipping point.”

  “Who’s replacing us?” David asked.

  “We found somebody, don’t worry.”

  “Who?” David repeated.

  “Agent Vic Lamont has agreed to leave the FBI and take over homicide.”

  David let out a loud snort. “That’s some messed-up shit.”

  “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about. That attitude. In discussing this dismissal, we looked up your record. You’ve been here less than three years, and you’ve been on probation numerous times. Any other police department would have kicked you out after the second infraction.”

  Elise had to get out of there. And get David out of there. “Anything else?” she asked.

  “That covers it. You’ll be receiving paperwork from us, and if we have any follow-up on the Nightingale case, we’ll be expecting your full cooperation. Beyond that, you’re done.”

  They left.

  She’d be able to do normal things, Elise thought as she and David walked down the sidewalk to the car. “Just think. Mornings sitting on the back patio drinking coffee.”

  “And movies. We can go to movies.”

  “A concert.”

  “What about that trip to an island somewhere?” David asked. “What about that beach we’re always talking about? You know, this could very well be one of the best days of my life.”

  They paused, looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

  CHAPTER 60

  Standing in Savannah’s Chatham Square, Elise watched in horror as the bridal bouquet flew toward her. She ducked, and the girl behind her caught it.

  David strolled across the grass and handed Elise a glass of champagne. He was dressed in a black tuxedo while she wore a strapless blue gown. She’d been hesitant to wear such a revealing outfit, because the low back revealed her tattoo, but as Mara said, she’d earned it.

  “I saw that,” David said, sipping his drink.

  “No need to waste a good flower tossing.”

  John Casper joined them. “What are you two going to do once you get back from this vacation you’re taking?”

  “We should open our own private detective business,” David said. “Gould and Sandburg Investigations. Or Sandburg and Gould. I could go either way.”

  Their own agency was something David had joked about in the past, but doing it for real? Elise wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  “We already have a great team,” David added. “John here can consult, along with your dad. We have the contacts we need, and think of it—no rules.”

  “I wouldn’t get in too big of a hurry to go off on your own,” John told them. “I predict Savannah PD will soon be begging you to come back.”

  Elise’s phone rang. Anybody who would
possibly call her was here at the wedding. Audrey, her father, Strata Luna, Mara, and the two men standing next to her. She checked the screen: Mayor Samantha T. Becker.

  She knew that name.

  “Excuse me.” She walked away and answered the phone. The mayor introduced herself, then got straight to the point. “Like the rest of the country, I’ve been riveted by the news. I also heard about your recent loss of employment, and I wonder if you and Detective Gould would consider flying to Chicago to consult on a case.”

  Chicago. Elise had never been to Chicago.

  “We’ll pay you by the day,” the mayor said. “Lodging and travel expenses included, plus we’ll provide a stipend.” She mentioned figures that were more than generous.

  “I’ll have to discuss it with my partner,” Elise said.

  “Understandable, but we’d like to have your answer by this evening.”

  Elise must have had an odd expression on her face, because as she disconnected, David crossed the grass to see if everything was okay.

  “That was the mayor of Chicago,” she told him. “She heard about us on the news and also heard we lost our jobs. She wants to fly us up to consult on a murder investigation.”

  “When?”

  She looked across the square and spotted her father and Strata Luna sitting on a bench in the shade, while Audrey and Avery stood on the brick path talking to them. A few days earlier, Elise, Audrey, and Strata Luna had concocted some nasty-smelling mojo that Jackson Sweet carried with him today—a pouch tied around his neck, hidden in his jacket. Elise swore she’d caught a few whiffs of it during the ceremony.

  He was recovering from the gunshot wound, but it was too early to know about the cancer treatment. “Soon,” she said to David in answer to his question. “She wants us to come soon.”