Kiss Me, Kill Me

by Allison Brennan

  Lucy spoke harshly, as if she knew exactly what Whitney was thinking. Then her voice went back to the well-modulated, cool analyst. “I don’t think Whitney planned to kill Alanna. She saw her at the party, and fought with her. Verbally, because there were no serious bruises on the body. She had her portfolio with her—that’s why she had the bag with the charcoal residue in it. I don’t know why she was carrying her portfolio. Maybe she was coming from a show, or going to draw at the party.” Lucy frowned, thinking. She turned to the end of the sketchpad. The images were starkly darker.

  Sean said, “That looks like Wade underwater.” He reached over and turned to the page before it.

  It was clearly Wade and Whitney, naked on a platform bed. Two wineglasses were spilling from their hands and their eyes were open, but blank, without detail.

  “I think she was going to kill Wade that night,” Lucy said. “Murder-suicide, though she’d convince herself that it was a double suicide, that he would want to die with her.”

  Andie cleared her throat. “Why didn’t she kill Wade? Why her cousin?”

  “When she confronted Alanna, she saw hope. If she killed her, Wade wouldn’t have Alanna to love. In her warped mind, Whitney thought that if she took away the women Wade was screwing around with, he would come back to her.” She looked at Sean. “Did he tell you if he slept with Whitney after Alanna was murdered?”

  Sean shook his head. “I didn’t ask.”

  “I’ll need to analyze the journal more carefully because with psychotics like Whitney, we can’t trust everything they write,” Lucy said. “They are pathological liars. We need facts we can prove are true, and things we can prove are false, then send the journal to a handwriting expert to help weed through truth and fiction. But I think after Whitney killed Alanna, and no one suspected her, she went to Wade and they had sex. Maybe he was drunk, maybe she was convincing, I don’t know. But he realized he’d made a mistake, told her as much, and so she went on to kill Erica Ripley. That was premeditated. She probably followed her for weeks, found the right time, and suffocated her.”

  “But then Wade didn’t sleep with her again,” Andie said.

  “Right. I doubt he knew Erica was dead until days, weeks later. He’d have been sad, but not as upset as he was about Alanna. He ignored Whitney. They say there is a fine line between love and hate. She began to hate him and herself. The others, Heather and Jessica, she killed out of hate and blame. She blamed every woman who’d had sex with Wade—whether in person or online—and needed to destroy them. And because of his promiscuous lifestyle, she could go to the parties and see exactly who he was with.”

  Andie sighed, exasperated. “What a piece of work. How do these people function? She sounds like such a raving lunatic that she’d have been caught long ago.”

  “Psychopaths aren’t usually wide-eyed crazies you can point to on the street. It’s in their head, the way their brain is wired, or rewired,” Lucy said. “When we dig deep into Whitney’s background, I suspect we’ll find several instances of impulsive behavior, particularly in her preteen years. She was probably a serious kleptomaniac. Arrested for shoplifting, both little things like candy and expensive items like jewelry. She learned to channel her impulsive behavior into drawing, but never truly conquered it. She wants something, she takes it. She wanted Wade, she got him. But she couldn’t keep him like she can things, so she fell deeper into her psychosis.”

  Sean said, “Wade denies knowing the last victim, Sierra Hinkle, and I couldn’t find her on the Party Girl site either.”

  “She was a random choice. When Wade was arrested, Whitney couldn’t allow him to go to prison—she wouldn’t be able to see him anymore. She killed the first female she found outside alone. She waited by that bulldozer until someone came by.” Lucy turned to Andie. “Did you already send the journal down to your van?”

  “No, it’s right here.”

  Andie handed Lucy a leather-bound journal in a plastic bag. Lucy took it out and flipped through it, stopping in the middle. It wasn’t what was written so much as the quantity, line after line of small, perfectly slanted handwriting that seemed to blend together after a while.

  “Just read one page,” she said to Sean. “I think you’ll understand her.”

  “I’ll never understand people like that,” he said, but took the journal from Lucy.

  Tuesday, August 17 Wade left his apartment at 8:36 this morning. He was wearing a white shirt. For lunch he went to Hooligan’s. His tight-ass brother was there, thinks he’s so noble and rich he acts like a fucking king. Wade went to the Yankees game with his retard brother. Wednesday, August 18 Wade went to the airport with his retard brother. I’m going to miss him so much I cried all night. Two weeks! I don’t know where he’s going, but I’ll find out. How could he leave me for two weeks? Thursday, August 19 I called Wade’s office and the bitch wouldn’t tell me where he was. I still have a key to his apartment. I went inside, and it smelled like him. I took off my clothes and laid naked in his bed. I put my face in his pillow and remembered when we fucked like rabbits in this bed. He said I was the best. No one turns him on like me. How could he walk away from me? I went to his computer and found his schedule. He took his pet retard to Vancouver, Canada! I can’t go, I don’t have a passport, why did he do this to me? I can’t live without him. I’m going to kill myself. He’ll be sorry then. Friday, August 20 I found videos of other girls on Wade’s computer. Alanna doesn’t satisfy him like I do, otherwise he wouldn’t be watching girls get off on dildos. I’ll get him back.

  “She’s been writing in that book daily for over two years,” Lucy said.

  “She threatened to kill herself,” Sean said.

  “Turn to the last page.”

  He did. Whitney’s last entry was dated yesterday.

  It’s hopeless. He’ll never love me like I love him. I need to end this horror.

  “You think she killed herself?”

  “Not yet. She won’t kill herself until Wade is dead.”

  Suzanne stepped into the room. “What did you say?”

  They all turned to face Suzanne.

  “Wade’s in danger,” Lucy said. “It’s the subtext in the journal. She has several drawings in her sketchpad that show him dead or in pain. She’s murderous and suicidal.”

  “I wish she’d just kill herself and save us all the headache,” Suzanne mumbled.

  “You don’t mean that,” Lucy said.

  Sean wasn’t so sure, but didn’t say anything.

  Lucy added, “She killed Sierra Hinkle to get Wade out of prison so she can try to convince him to run away with her. If he refuses, she’ll kill him.”

  Suzanne said, “He’s still in Rikers, and he’s not leaving until his arraignment tomorrow.”

  “Rikers might be the safest place for him right now,” Lucy said.

  “I doubt I can convince Wade or his attorney to keep him in prison. But I can put him into protective custody. I’ll put someone on his apartment, and we’ll escort him from Rikers to his home tomorrow. Tell him to stay put until we find Whitney.” Suzanne looked around the room, a pained expression on her face, then said, “Are you almost done in here?”

  Andie said, “Thirty minutes.”

  “Did you find the missing shoes?”

  “No, but we found a raincoat with a missing button.”

  Lucy said, “She took the shoes with her.”

  “Why?”

  “To show Wade before she kills him.”

  Sean asked, “Why did she take the shoes to begin with?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucy said. “It was impulsive, it doesn’t make sense—they’re big, hard to conceal, and a direct connection to the victim. Forensics can easily pair up the shoes.”

  “Maybe she planned on framing someone,” Suzanne suggested.

  “Possibly.” Lucy frowned. “Except not consciously, because Alanna’s murder was impulsive and unplanned.”

  “When I get her in interview, I’ll ask her,�
� Suzanne said with complete confidence. “The faster we wrap this up in here, the faster we can find the crazy bitch before she kills someone else.”

  Suzanne stood outside even though she was freezing. She wanted to forget she’d ever seen the twisted drawings in Whitney Morrissey’s apartment. Foolish thought.

  There were some cases that stayed with you forever. Suzanne had a few. And this case really hadn’t upset her until tonight. It was the raw lunacy on display upstairs that had done it. The insanity and obsession of one woman who drew endlessly, over and over, the face of the same man. Who took her talent and skewed the drawings of women she’d killed. The journal of obsession that the shrinks like Lucy Kincaid would spend weeks analyzing and dissecting.

  How could Lucy have spent four hours up there? After four minutes, Suzanne had been ready to puke.

  She didn’t need to know why Whitney Morrissey was a psychopath. She didn’t care. She didn’t need to see the results of her sick mind. Didn’t want to. It was strange: if Suzanne had walked into Whitney’s apartment and found a butchered body, she would have dealt with it far better than this.

  Sean Rogan emerged from the building and headed her way. Dammit, why couldn’t she have just two minutes alone to shore herself up?

  “They’re coming down.”

  “Well, congrats on finding your missing girl. You going home now?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Unless you need Lucy.”

  She shook her head. “Unless she can look into her crystal ball and tell me where Whitney Morrissey is right this minute, she’s gone above and beyond. And didn’t even get paid for it.”

  “Is that why you do this? For the money?”

  Suzanne snorted. “Yeah. For the money.”

  They were several feet away from the entrance to Whitney’s building. Lucy was helping Andie load boxes into the van, checking the logs, making sure they had sealed everything to preserve the chain of evidence. This was going to be a complex legal case, but as soon as they found Whitney, Suzanne’s role would be over until trial.

  “How does she do it?” Suzanne asked Sean.

  “She has me.” Sean extended his hand and Suzanne shook it. He pulled her into a hug. “Take care of yourself, Mad Dog.”

  He stepped back, grinning.

  “Who told you? Hicks!”

  Sean winked and walked over to Lucy. He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead. Suzanne felt a rush of jealousy. Not because Lucy had Sean, but because Suzanne had no one.

  She turned, blinking back tears, and called her cop friend Mac.

  “Hey, you want to get a bite to eat?”

  “It’s midnight. I’m on duty at eight.”

  “Sorry, I just got off.”

  “Tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  She hung up and looked back at Sean and Lucy. He walked her across the street to his car and opened the passenger door for her. Then he got into the driver’s side and drove away.

  She was going to miss them both.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Wade Barnett’s arraignment Monday morning lasted ten minutes. He was released on his own recognizance. His attorney agreed to all terms: If Barnett cooperated with federal and local authorities in the capture and prosecution of Whitney Morrissey, all charges would be dropped.

  Suzanne drove Wade to his apartment. After the arraignment, she had told him what they’d discovered in Whitney’s apartment, but she wasn’t surprised that he had more questions.

  “How long has she been stalking me?” he asked.

  “We’re still processing evidence. Over two years.”

  “Years?” He frowned. “I started dating Whitney a little over a year ago, around Thanksgiving. I’d known her casually before that. Was she stalking me before then?”

  “It appears so.”

  He sat in the passenger seat of the sedan and stared straight ahead. “It’s my fault,” he said quietly.

  “No, it’s not. Give yourself a break.”

  Actually, Suzanne blamed herself. She hadn’t slept all night, thinking about what she could have done differently. She had been so focused on looking for a male killer, she hadn’t even considered the alternative.

  She’d have to live with it.

  Wade said, “I knew Whitney was a wacko, but I didn’t think she was dangerous. I ignored her behavior, excused it; I just didn’t think she’d hurt anyone. I’m such an asshole.”

  Suzanne didn’t argue. “Maybe you are, but you also have a brother who looks up to you and thinks you’re special.”

  Tears welled in Wade’s eyes. “I can’t believe he had to go through this.”

  “If I were you, I’d fire that attorney of yours. He wasn’t a good advocate for your brother.”

  “My mother hired him.”

  “Well, I’m just saying, he gave Dennis bad advice, and while it all worked out, I wouldn’t want that prick involved in my affairs.” She paused. “No pun intended.”

  “How’s Ashleigh—I mean, Kirsten?” Wade asked.

  “She’s going to be okay. She’s alive.” Suzanne glanced at Wade as they stopped at a light. “You told me you didn’t have sex with her. Was that a lie because she’s underage?”

  “I wasn’t lying, we never did it. But—we had this thing going online. You know.”

  He didn’t have to spell it out. It seemed that Whitney Morrissey considered any woman a threat to her fantasy world with Wade Barnett—women he physically had sex with and women he had cybersex with. The depth of her obsession was bordering on insane—but Suzanne wouldn’t call her crazy, no matter what she thought of the killer’s behavior. Whitney knew exactly what she was doing when she killed those five young women, and she would have to answer for those crimes.

  She turned onto Central Park West toward Wade’s apartment. “Off the record, Wade, what possessed you to start up the Party Girl website?”

  “I was just out of college, went to England for the summer and hung out with a friend of mine who’d graduated the year before. Charlie has control over the Barnett Family Trust. I’ve always resented that I’m on an allowance, and Charlie is a tightwad. It seemed like a legitimate opportunity to make money—sort of Facebook for horny college guys. We sold ads, made a small bundle.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think there was anything really wrong with it.”

  “I’m the last person to cast judgment on anyone, but let me suggest that you steer clear of the online sex trade. You can lose control real quick.”

  “I just didn’t think about it.”

  “Most people don’t. Just—think twice next time, okay? You’re not the same man you were two years ago.”

  “I’m not even the same man I was last week.”

  While Sean went to check out Monday morning, Lucy sat at the small hotel room desk and called Hans Vigo to fill him in on the details of the Whitney Morrissey investigation. She told him what they’d discovered in her apartment, and concluded with, “She takes obsession to a whole new level. Maybe you’ve seen such pathology, but this was a first for me.”

  “It’s quite extreme. The path she’s on—she’s going to go for Wade Barnett, you know that.”

  “Yes. Agent Madeaux put a guard on his apartment.”

  “Good. Keep him under close watch. You might want to suggest to Agent Madeaux that she hide her agents, so Whitney doesn’t think anyone is sitting on him.”

  “Bait?”

  “I didn’t say leave him unprotected, but if Whitney fails to see the agents, she’ll get reckless and it may be easier to catch her.”

  “Or it could put innocent people in danger,” Lucy said.

  “There’s always that risk, but with Wade out of prison her priority will be to make contact with him. She was careless with Sierra Hinkle, and she’s going to get more careless—and more dangerous—until she’s stopped.”

  “How was she careless with the last victim? Same M.O., no witnesses.”

  “From what you told me earlier, the vict
im was found shortly after the murder, while the previous victims were discovered hours to days later. In addition, there was physical evidence left at the scene that the crime scene investigators didn’t have before—a button and fabric from a trench coat, correct?”

  “That’s what it looked like,” Lucy said. “We found a matching coat at Whitney’s apartment.”

  “Whitney’s going to be extremely frustrated that her plans have been stymied,” Hans said.

  “Suzanne also had someone check on Dennis Barnett, the younger brother.”

  “Smart. I don’t know that she’d go after Wade’s younger brother, but if she thinks she can get to Wade through him, she might try.”

  “How could we have prevented this?” she asked Hans.

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “In the beginning, what could have been done differently after the first murder so the other four women wouldn’t have had to die?”

  “That’s a destructive game to play, Lucy,” Hans said. “I think the primary problem was the crime scene itself. Drugs, alcohol, unlawful trespassing, hidden areas. Easy for someone to slip in and out unnoticed. And because of the setting—outdoors for most of the victims—there is contamination of evidence. Difficult scenes to process. To be honest, I think the first murder was handled poorly from the beginning. I’m not casting blame on the local police, but it should have come out earlier that Barnett had dated the victim.”

  “Then the police would have looked at him earlier. He would have been a suspect.” Then Lucy realized what Hans meant. “And he would have been aware, so he might have taken Whitney more seriously.”

  “But again, neither of us were there, and if we were, we would only have had the witness statements to go on. If no one mentioned Alanna’s ex-boyfriend, then there was nothing for the police to follow up on.”