by Mary Burton
Out of the car, the two crossed the lot to the construction trailer, where they found two men. The one behind the desk was midthirties and wore a white shirt and dark pants that hung loose on his thin frame. The other was burly, midfifties, and sporting a gray crew cut and a dozen tattoos.
The men looked at the cops, and both stopped talking.
Novak pulled out his badge and introduced Julia and himself. “Looking for Brad Gallagher.”
The older man stiffened. “That’s me. What’s the problem?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions about your sister, Rita.”
“Rita? She took off a long time ago.”
“We found her body earlier this week,” Novak said.
The second man looked at Gallagher. “I’ll give you three privacy.”
“Thanks, boss.” When the trailer door closed behind him, Gallagher frowned. “What do you mean, earlier this week? Where was she?”
“Entombed in a basement. Appears she was murdered twenty-five years ago. When’s the last time you saw her?” Julia asked.
“Early ’92.”
“We’re trying to figure out who she might have been associated with,” Novak said.
“Rita wanted to be rich, loved, and famous. And she’d do anything for any man who promised her any of those.”
“Do you know who she was seeing?”
“She was running with a dangerous group. Russians. I told her to stay clear, but she just laughed.”
“Popov?” Novak asked.
“Maybe. I stayed as far away from those people as I could.” He rubbed his hand over his head. “One of the last times I saw her, she was excited. She’d been given an important job, she said.”
“What kind of job?” Novak asked.
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me. But said she’d be set after it was done.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she’s been dead all this time.”
“We also hear there was a guy named Jack.”
“I don’t remember him.” He drew in a breath, his frown deepening. “How did she die?”
“I can’t say right now,” Novak said. “Anybody you know who would want to hurt her?”
Gallagher shook his head. “It was a matter of time with Rita.”
“What do you mean?” Julia asked.
“She was hot-looking and fun. She wasn’t smart, but she was ambitious. Not a great combination. My guess is she finally crossed the wrong guy.”
The Hangman stood on the street corner watching Billy’s bar. The half-moon hung in the sky, and the stars were bright and sharp. The air had turned colder, and according to the weatherman it was supposed to drop into the low twenties in the next few days. He liked the cold, the promised stillness of the coming winter.
The first and second floors above Billy’s were dark, but a single light shone on the third floor. He knew that was Julia’s room. She was up late, working on her investigation. Tenacious. Dangerous. So much to admire. Even respect. But if he didn’t act soon, she’d ferret him out of the shadows and destroy him.
Something inside of him itched to go to her and drag her from her room. He’d dreamed for months of wrapping his ropes around her soft skin and tightening the knots until she thrashed in pain and despair.
The sooner he placed her on exhibit, the sooner he’d know his secrets were safe. But now was not the right time for her to die.
“Can’t rush this one,” he whispered.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Friday, November 3, 8:00 a.m.
Julia’s alarm ripped her from the grip of a nightmare. When she startled awake, her heart was racing and her hands trembled as she searched for the blood she expected to see dripping from her fingertips. When she found none, her mind cleared, and flexing her fingers, she took a deep breath to steady herself.
She grabbed her phone and shut off the alarm. She checked the time. Lana Ortega’s autopsy was scheduled for nine thirty. Good. She hadn’t overslept.
Julia looked to the other side of her bed. She was sorry Novak wasn’t there and also relieved he’d not witnessed the nightmare. It was one thing for him to suspect she might have issues; another to see it up close and personal.
Out of bed, she hurried into the bathroom and turned on the shower. When she stepped under the hot spray, she allowed the water to wash away the night sweats and the dream’s lingering hold. She’d had this dream too many times, but it still took its toll. She prayed that solving the Hangman case would end it. If not, she wasn’t sure what she’d do next.
Out of the shower, she dressed, fluffing her wet hair with her hands as she glanced in the mirror. Reflected back was a pale face with dark circles under her eyes. Extra concealer and blush covered both reasonably well, creating a refreshed look even if she didn’t feel it.
While bread and cheese toasted in the oven, she clipped on her badge and weapon. When the oven dinged, she dropped the toast onto a paper towel, grabbed her purse, and headed out the back door. She paused at the top of the staircase and stared out over the alley, searching for any trouble. The morning was quiet and cold. Only then did she climb down the stairs and into her SUV.
She’d worked too late again last night. When she’d finally turned off her light at 1:00 a.m., her mind refused to settle. Ripe ground for the dream.
As she hurried toward her day, thoughts of Lana and their first meeting chased her. Julia had been working her first shift as a bartender at Benny’s bar.
Lana was wearing tight silk pants, a black tank top, and high-heeled boots. Bangles jangling on her wrists and her perfume strong and spicy, she strutted into the bar. A few of the men tossed a look at her round backside, but no one did more than nod. She was Benny’s, and no man was fool enough to poach.
“You’re new here,” Lana said.
Julia wore extra eye makeup, a fitted muscle T-shirt, and snug jeans. “The name is Jules, and I fill in when they need me.”
Lana’s hard gaze traveled quickly as she assessed Julia. “How old are you, Jules?”
“Thirty-two.”
That softened her frown. “You’re old.”
Julia laughed. “One foot in the grave.” This close, she could see beyond the makeup to the face of a young woman who would get chewed up and spit out by this life like so many before her. “I keep my walker behind the bar.”
Lana laughed. “You’re funny.”
“It pays to have a sense of humor when you’re old.”
“Can you make a pink cosmo? The last bartender couldn’t.”
“I can.” Julia squeezed lime into a silver shaker along with cranberry juice, Cointreau, and vodka. She shook it up and poured it into a martini glass. She placed a napkin on the bar and set the glass on top of it.
Lana’s long fingers and red nails wrapped around the glass’s stem, and she slowly raised the drink to her lips. “Very good.”
“With age comes experience.”
“I have plenty of experience, and I’m young.”
“I can see you know what you’re doing.”
“By the time I’m your age, I’ll be rich and living on a beach.”
“A solid plan. How’re you going to do it?”
“Benny is going to see how smart I am, and he’s going to put me to work.”
“Sounds like he’s lucky to have you.”
“He is.”
Benny’s office door opened, and he searched the bar until he saw Lana. He snapped his fingers, and she immediately set down the drink. Her smile widened, and she hurried toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He squeezed her bottom as he closed the door. There were other men also in his office. Julia wondered if the kid would see twenty-one, let alone thirty-two.
Julia ate as she walked from her vehicle the couple of blocks to the medical examiner’s office. By the time she arrived, Novak was already gowned up and Dr. Kincaid and Tessa were standing at the head of the gurney in front of the sheet-clad body.
The trio looked over at her. “Age
nt Vargas,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Welcome.”
“Am I late?” she asked, glancing at the clock.
“No. We’re a little early.”
“Good.”
Dr. Kincaid smiled and made some small talk, but Novak remained silent. He studied Julia, making no attempt to hide his concern. He was picking up somehow that it had been a rough night for her.
She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t aware of him.
The sex between them had been surprisingly great. She didn’t flinch, push him, or scream in fear, all the reasons she’d avoided intimacy since what had happened in Virginia Beach. He could make her feel like her old self. And when he was in her bed, she always slept soundly with no nightmares, at least so far.
But a few great turns in the sack didn’t mean they were close. The detective thought she was a badass, and she wanted to keep it that way. Allowing him to see her vulnerable was unacceptable.
She shrugged off her jacket and suited up. By the time she reached Novak’s side of the table, Tessa was making the Y incision.
Novak’s gaze might have been focused on the autopsy table, but she knew he was thinking of her. Call it a cop’s instincts, but she knew when people were paying too close attention.
The technician pulled away the sheet, revealing Lana’s naked body. Julia flinched and steeled herself against the image.
Lana’s head rested in a white plastic headrest that tipped her chin up and exposed her neck. Bleached blond hair flowed over the back of the table. Scrubbed clean of makeup, Lana looked older. The last year had aged her a decade. The ropes had been removed, but their ugly imprints on her chest, arms, legs, and of course neck remained.
Dr. Kincaid pulled the microphone closer to her lips and began. “Lana Ortega is an eighteen-year-old Hispanic female.”
Eighteen. So the kid had lied about her age. That would have put her at sixteen when they met. Damn it.
Dr. Kincaid began her exterior exam. “The technician photographed the victim’s bindings, and they have been sent to the state forensic lab.” The doctor cleared her throat. “The subject has four tattoos: a heart on her right ankle, MR encircled by a heart on her right arm, a key on the inside of her left wrist, and a star on the back of her neck at her hairline. No needle marks on her arms or between her fingers or toes. She does have several scars. Several old ones on the underside of her left wrist.”
“She told me she tried to kill herself when she was fourteen,” Julia said. “She never said why, only that she took a straight razor to her wrist.”
“You knew this woman?” Tessa asked.
“I met her when I worked undercover. Lana’s boyfriend and his boss were my targets, and in an effort to learn more about them, I befriended her.”
The doctor nodded. “There’s a scar on the victim’s cheek that was expertly closed with stitches. And there are small circular burn scars on her arms.”
“Cigarette burns?” Novak asked.
“Most likely,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Her teeth have veneers.”
“She told me Benny gave her the new teeth as well as breast implants.”
Dr. Kincaid frowned. “I’d say she’s at least fifteen pounds underweight, and her dry skin suggests she was vitamin-deficient.”
“She lived on cosmos and luncheon meat,” Julia said.
“How long did you work undercover?” Tessa asked.
Aware of Novak’s sharp gaze, she kept her focus on the doctor. “About three years. I had built a pretty good network in the underground beach community. When a task force was looking for someone to work in Benny’s bar, I was a natural choice.”
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” Dr. Kincaid said.
“It taught me to always think twice before I spoke,” she said, forcing a smile. “Until a couple of weeks ago, I was still circling the block until I made the final trek home.”
“Circling the block?” Dr. Kincaid asked.
“Hard to maintain a tail on someone if they take three or four right turns. Following anyone that closely will get you spotted.”
“Good to know,” Dr. Kincaid said.
“There are visible signs of bruising all over her body that match the ropes that bound her,” Dr. Kincaid said. “The bruising around her neck is particularly pronounced, and that is due to the ropes that were bound there. There’s also bruising on her wrists and ankles. Again, from ropes. And there’s a deep slice to her left Achilles tendon. A cut like that would have incapacitated her immediately.”
“In the original cases, the victims didn’t suffer any cuts,” Julia said.
“Maybe twenty-five years has slowed him down,” Novak said.
“Unless I see something during the autopsy or in the tox screens, my first guess is that she suffocated,” Dr. Kincaid said. “With her neck wrapped so tightly and her hands suspended, breathing would have become increasingly difficult.”
“How long did it take?” Novak asked.
“Hard to say exactly, but at least a couple of hours.”
Julia tried not to imagine the young woman’s last hours.
Dr. Kincaid rolled the victim to her side. “Note her back is clear of any signs of bruising or lividity. However, her hands and feet are a dark purple, suggesting she was hanging when her heart stopped beating.” Using the sharp tip of a scalpel blade, she flayed the lifeless flesh. From the underside of the right breast, Dr. Kincaid removed and inspected the large breast implant before laying it in a silver basin.
Using bolt cutters, Dr. Kincaid clipped the rib-cage bones, lifted the heart away from the body, and set it on a small table by the body. She inspected the organ. Slightly enlarged. Next, the lungs showed signs of stress. Asthma. Dr. Kincaid noted in the microphone that Lana’s gut was inflamed. All the major organs were removed and weighed, and then tissue samples taken from each before they were repacked in the body.
“I’ve sent blood samples off for testing,” Dr. Kincaid said. “We’ll know in a few days what kind of cocktail of drugs she had in her system.”
“A year and a half ago, her drugs of choice were vodka and triple sec. Benny didn’t like her using the coke.”
Dr. Kincaid inspected the lungs. “It looks like she recently discovered meth, but the tox screen will confirm it. Not enough at this stage to affect her teeth, but that would have been a matter of time.”
The remainder of the autopsy was routine. The doctor confirmed Lana was not pregnant.
When Dr. Kincaid stepped back from the table so Tessa could close, Julia thanked everyone as she turned away, anxious to leave the room. Lana deserved a lot better.
Through the doors, she heard the doctor say to Novak, “All right. I’ll get back to you with a report in a day or two.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Novak replied.
As Novak pushed through the swinging doors, Julia stripped off her gown and reached for her jacket. Novak came up behind her and lifted the jacket’s edge so she could slide in her left arm.
“I want to walk the Ortega crime scene again,” he said.
She flipped up her collar and reached for her purse. “I’ll come.”
“Good. Mind if I grab a bite to eat on the way? I know a place near the scene.” He grinned. “I haven’t mastered the art of eating alone since Bella left for college.”
“I ate but I’ll get coffee.”
“It’s a date.”
He made it sound easy. A coffee. But he was clever and used his calm voice and relaxed manner to draw in suspects and extract information, as he’d drawn her into his life.
He dumped the gown in the bin and slid on his coat, tugging the front sides until the jacket fell into a crisp line. He held the door for her, waiting for her to pass.
She arched a brow. “Novak, you’re treating me like a lady.”
“Last I checked, you are a lady.”
“I’m a cop.”
“And a good one.” He grinned as he nodded toward the elevator. The doors closed, and they were
alone. His size, the faint scent of his aftershave, the way he rubbed his thumb and index finger together made her aware of him.
She drew in a breath, trying to ignore him and a tightening wave of desire. She had lowered her guard with him, and she’d gotten away with it. To sleep with him again risked exposing all her shortcomings and fears.
Outside, she slid into the front seat, and seconds later he was behind the wheel. He drove across the river into the Manchester district and parked in front of a small street vendor.
“Sure you aren’t hungry?” he asked.
“No. Go ahead.”
They got out of the car, and he purchased a couple of bagels and two coffees. He handed her a cup and kept the bagels with extra cream cheese. Tossing his tie over his shoulder, he bit into the first bagel. As she stood in the parking lot, she stared out over the James River at the cityscape on the other side. A small boat floated lazily on the water.
“It’s one of my favorite views of the city,” he said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.
“I’ve been through this area enough but never stopped.”
“I worked patrol in this district. Got to know the area well. Nice to see the new restaurants and new business.” He finished the first bagel and offered her the second. When she shook her head, he bit into it. She sipped her coffee and was pleasantly surprised to discover it tasted good.
He smiled at her reaction. “Do you think I’d bring you anywhere that made bad coffee?”
She raised the cup to him. “Is it always this good?”
“Always. And the hot dogs at lunch are the best.”
“Good to know.” She sipped and stared more at the city. “So what’s your next step in the Ortega murder?”
“We walk the crime scene. And then you know how it goes. Review credit card receipts, cell phone data, surveillance cameras. Any trail will help reconstruct her last weeks.”
“She didn’t have family in the area, but said she was from San Diego. Her whole world had become Benny.”
“Friends?”
“You mean other than me?”
He wiped his mouth, crumpled the napkin, and tossed it on the plate. “She considered you a friend?”
