The way things were looking, the case could go from “missing girl” to “unsolved murder.”
It made him sick to think Kenzie was getting away with murder.
He wished Kate had shot her.
An eye for an eye.
But he knew Kate would never have gotten over it.
“Lamond, what did you find out about Frances Sloane’s death?” Ferguson asked, chewing thoughtfully on a honey cruller.
Lamond flipped open his notepad. “Her caregiver told me that she thought she saw Kenzie leaving through the back door that night.”
Ethan straightened. “You mean, she killed her mother?”
“Hard to say. But the caregiver did see her. And I checked the list of phone numbers on the call screen, and she had made a phone call to Kenzie about an hour before she died.”
“What did the autopsy results show?” Ferguson asked.
Lamond grimaced. “Basically, Mrs. Sloane stopped breathing. With her condition, that was entirely to be expected. Whether it happened as a result of the disease or from a pillow pressed over her airway, it’s hard to say. It would not have taken much pressure to kill her.” So there would be little or no evidence of trauma on her body.
The team digested that.
“So…Kenzie kills her mother to ensure the confession stands. But McNally keeps harassing them. And she decides to take both Kate and McNally down. But Kate takes McNally down.” Ethan rubbed his jaw. “What do you think?”
“Makes sense to me,” Ferguson said. “She wanted to get rid of all the loose ends. But why would she want to kill Kate?”
“I don’t know if she did,” Ethan said. “I think her hand was forced by McNally. He sent her a text that night. He was clearly escalating his behavior. Kate says that Frances had asked her over a week ago to give Kenzie a key to a storage room after she died. If Kenzie knew that the gun was hidden in the storage room, she would have to get it before she left town. Otherwise her brother would have found it and turned it in.”
“So, why did she have to drag Kate into it?”
“Because she told Kate that her sister was originally supposed to be McNally’s first victim… . She even got the same tattoo as Heather Rigby. She thought that Kate would recognize it and make the connection.”
Ethan exhaled. “McNally was a sick stalker. He had this thing about ‘marking’ his victims with tattoos.”
“I had read once that tattooing used to be a stigma and criminals were marked with it,” Lamond said.
“Could be that’s where he got the idea. Anyway, the raven was symbolic for McNally. It mated for life.”
“But why would he mark girls he was killing?”
“He wanted to be in control. They were ‘his’ and he had the power to kill them. Kenzie Sloane had one, too, according to Kate, but I think she was the queen bee. I think he wanted her to be the Bonnie to his Clyde. But she dumped him and became a celebrity tattoo artist, instead.”
“Good career move,” Lamond said.
“So, right now all we have is an assault charge on Kenzie. The gun she pointed at Kate was broken. They both knew it,” Ferguson said. “Damn.”
“Just what every celebrity tattoo artist needs to add a little street cred to their rep,” Ethan said, his eyes grim.
Unless they had a major break somewhere, Kenzie Sloane had gotten away with murder.
At least once.
55
The doorbell rang.
It reverberated through Kate’s head. She hoped to God it wasn’t the media again. She shuffled to the window and peered through the drawn curtain of the Richardsons’ home. She longed to be in her own bed, but her window still needed repairing and her house needed cleaning from the fingerprint powder. Although people had been hired, the work was still not completed.
Fortunately, Corazon came every day to help, which was a huge boon because the hospital had decided to discharge Enid a few hours ago. Finn had brought her home, settled her upstairs and then left.
Kate had watched him go, her heart heavy.
Easygoing, laid-back Finn had new lines in his face, new hardness in his eyes.
Kenzie had done a job on him.
The doorbell rang again. Corazon must be upstairs with the Richardson sisters.
Kate hurried to the door, as much as her bruised body and aching head would allow her, and opened it, squinting at the bright light.
Ethan held out a bouquet of orange tulips and some kind of purply-blue flower.
“Hi.” She put a hand to her hair. She hadn’t been able to wash it because of the staples in her scalp, and it fell in lank waves around her face. “Come in.”
An awkward silence fell between them.
“Let me make you tea,” Ethan said.
“No, I’m fine. I’m all tea-ed out.” She tightened her robe. “Do you mind if I lie down? It’s easier to talk.”
He hovered behind her as she wobbled to the living room, and he sat down on the chair facing her.
“Ethan, I know you are busy wrapping stuff up,” Kate said. “Everyone is taking good care of me.”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be here.” He hesitated, then sprang to his feet and moved to the edge of the sofa, his eyes gazing down into hers. He took her hand. “Kate, do you remember when we met for coffee a few nights ago?”
“Yes.”
Her intuition told her where this conversation was going—and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.
“I told you that I wanted to try again. Because life was too short. And we didn’t know when something could happen—”
She managed a wry smile. “Famous last words.”
He stroked her cheek. “I almost lost you. Before we even had a chance to start over.”
Start over.
Was that what she wanted?
Ethan had been here for her. The whole time.
But did she love him?
She didn’t know.
She thought she had loved Randall.
But she didn’t know that anymore, either.
Her head felt woozy. “Ethan, I can’t make that commitment right now.” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I can ever make it.”
Hurt darkened his eyes. “I can wait.”
That’s what she had told herself when Randall left.
But it was harder than it sounded.
“I don’t want to do that to you,” she whispered. “Life is too short.”
Ethan’s eyes searched hers. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he said, his voice fierce. “You know that.”
“I’m not saying this because of Randall. I’m saying it because I don’t want anyone to wait for me. That’s not fair.” There was too much hurt in his eyes already. What would happen three months from now? “Timing is everything, Ethan. And our timing has never been good.”
He stood. “I really believe we had a chance. Everything was just like before.”
“That was the problem. We were living in our past. We’re not the same people anymore.”
“I still believe in you, Kate. I still believe in us.”
You are breaking my heart. “I know. But I don’t want you to wait for me anymore.”
He stiffened, shoving his hands into his pockets. God. She couldn’t bear the hurt in his eyes. Was he right?
He bent and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Au revoir.”
She gave a small smile, acknowledging his choice of words.
“Au revoir.”
A small spark of hope lit his eyes. Au revoir was not goodbye. And they both knew it.
“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Before you go, I just want to say thank you.”
His eyes searched hers. “Anytime.”
She heard him close the door just as she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
“Kate…” Enid’s voice was hesitant. “Would you like some tea?”
Enid came into the room slowly, her
step uncertain. They both had come so close to death. “You should be resting, Enid.”
“My doctor told me I needed to get some exercise.” She patted Kate’s hand. “So I walked from the kitchen to the living room. Muriel and Corazon have made us tea and cookies.” Corazon lowered a tray of tea onto the table, adding milk to the china mugs. “And now I shall sit here and you can tell me everything that has happened.”
Muriel strode into the room, flourishing a plate of homemade shortbread, which she put on the tray. She sat down next to her sister on the love seat, her large frame leaning gently into her sister’s diminished one. Brulée leapt onto her lap. Rather than feeling overhwhelmed by the trio facing her, Kate felt comforted.
“Eddie Bent told me most of what happened,” Enid said. “But how did you end up with the stitches?”
Kate gave a brief—and heavily edited—rundown of her encounter in the storage locker. But when she told Enid how Kenzie had tried to kill her, her throat tightened.
“I’ve never shot a gun before.” Tears pricked the back of her eyelids. “I wanted to kill her, Enid.”
Gazing at these elderly ladies, with their china mugs of tea, Kate wondered if they could possibly understand. Would they think less of her?
But Enid’s gaze was compassionate. Nonjudgmental. “I’m sorry, Kate.”
“I almost killed her, Enid. It was so close.”
“Kate,” Enid said, her voice firm, “you were provoked.”
“I wanted her to pay.” A tear ran down her cheek. Her head pounded. Vengeance is mine. “She told me I suffocated Imogen.” The tears came in earnest. Her gaze moved between the two sisters. “What if I had been less controlling? Maybe Imogen would never have hung out with her.”
“Kate.” Enid’s eyes were fierce. Fierce with love. Fierce with the desire to protect her. “Kenzie was trying to manipulate you. She wanted to make you responsible. But don’t you see? If you hadn’t taken your sister from that party, if you hadn’t crashed that car, if your sister hadn’t died in that car wreck—then she would have been McNally and Kenzie’s first victim. You saved her, Kate. You saved your sister from a terrible death.”
The room was silent.
Kate hadn’t seen it that way.
Until now.
“I wanted to kill Kenzie. I had the gun. It felt so good in my hand, Enid.”
“Don’t punish yourself over this, Kate. You are not a machine.”
Muriel added a sugar cube to Kate’s mug of tea. Then another.
Kate’s eyes searched Enid’s. “What am I, then?”
A killer?
Enid gave a small smile. “You are a survivor.” She glanced at Muriel. “We are all survivors.”
Muriel handed Kate the mug of tea. By now it held at least three sugar cubes.
Kate took it, her hands clasped around its warmth.
A survivor.
I can live with that.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
This book has been a personal and professional odyssey. Life, as it has a tendency to do from time to time, imploded on me while I was in the midst of writing this book. I am deeply grateful to the support of my friends, family and colleagues who helped me on so many levels.
I am indebted to the experts who generously shared their time and expertise—and gave me a glimpse of their fascinating work. In particular, I would like to thank:
Detective Sergeant Mark MacDonald, of the Halifax Regional Police Department. Simply the best!
Dr. Marnie Wood, M.D., FRCPC, Medical Examiner, who helped me theorize about Canada’s first bog body. So much fun!
Michelle Patriquin, M.Sc., who gave me great insight into forensic anthropology methodology and techniques. I will never look at a person’s face the same way.
Susan MacKay, LLB, who helped with some of my legal scenarios and made me so grateful that I have such enduring friends.
Amber Thorpe, tattoo artist and owner of Adept Tattoos Studio, who showed me how the professionals do it.
Any and all mistakes are mine alone, and I apologize in advance to those who shared their expertise with me.
I would like to thank my team at MIRA Books for their support, and for pulling out all the stops to get Tattooed on the shelves. You are the best!
In particular, I would like to thank my editor, Valerie Gray, for her tireless support, for helping me make my books the best they can be, and for her compassion during a difficult time.
I also would like to thank my agent Al Zuckerman. His insight, experience and kindness guided me through a challenging year. He helped me see the forest through the trees, time and time again.
And thank you to my friends and family who were always there for me:
My husband, Dan, whose support has been unfailing and truly selfless.
My daughters, who are my biggest cheerleaders and my proudest achievements.
My brother, my sister and my dad.
My best friend and fellow traveler, Linda Brooks.
My critique partner, Kelly Boyce, who guided me with deep breathing during several points of this book’s creation.
My writing peeps, Cathryn Verge and Julianne MacLean.
My writing chapter, RWAC, which has the most inspiring authors I know.
And last, but never least, my pug, Peaches. She makes me laugh every day.
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ISBN: 9781459229983
Copyright © 2012 by Pamela Callow
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
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