Dead Ringer
Page 1
PENGUIN BOOKS
Dead Ringer
Mary Burton is the critically acclaimed author of I’m Watching You, Dead Ringer and Dying Scream, all set in Virginia, USA, where Mary lives with her family.
For more information about Mary, please visit her website: www.maryburton.com.
Dead Ringer
MARY BURTON
PENGUIN BOOKS
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
www.penguin.com
First published in the USA by Kensington Publishing Corp. 2008
First published in Great Britain in Penguin Books 2010
Copyright © Mary Burton, 2008
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN: 978-0-14-196041-8
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Prologue
Prologue
Sunday, January 6, sunset
‘It’s time, Ruth.’
A cheerless finality hardened the man’s softly spoken words. His heart truly felt heavy as he stared out the frost-streaked window. Outside, pine trees bowed under the ice’s extra weight as arctic gusts rushed over the fields, swirling around, creating minitwisters in the snow.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said, turning toward Ruth.
The woman sat in a wooden chair, her head bent forward. Dark hair cascaded over her tear-streaked face. ‘Please,’ she said.
The room was decorated with rose wallpaper, white iolite curtains, and a large braided rug with interwoven strands of yellow, pink, and blue. A white four-poster canopy bed covered with a cherry comforter and dozens of stuffed animals dominated the space. He’d built this room for her and the others.
‘Shh. I have to let you go. We both knew this time would come.’ Sadness tightened his throat.
Ruth raised her head a fraction. She glanced down at her wrists, lashed tightly to chair arms. ‘No. No. I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.’
The hoarse whisper was a lie. Instinctively, she understood what leaving truly meant. Dying.
He crossed the room, hoping to reassure her. ‘You don’t need to be afraid.’ He knelt beside her and laid his hand on the ropes lashed to her pale wrists, now raw and bleeding after days of struggling. ‘It’s okay, Ruth. It’s all for the best. You’ll see,’ he said tenderly.
Tears rolled down her face. ‘No. Let me stay.’ Desperation sparked in her eyes. ‘We can still be a family.’
‘You have to trust me, Ruth. I know what’s best.’ He touched her cheek.
She flinched and then offered a faltering smile as she raised her pale green eyes to meet his. ‘Allen, please.’
He liked it when she said his name. ‘I can’t. You know that.’
Lovingly he touched her chin and tipped her face back so he could look into her eyes. Fresh tears fell and dampened his calloused hand. For a moment, his resolve wavered. He really didn’t want to send her away. He wanted to keep her here forever.
But he couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
He rose and moved behind her. Gently he stroked her hair, which no longer smelled of coconuts and summer, but of fear and sweat. ‘I’ve really enjoyed our time as well. I’ve been alone for so long. But you must join the Family now.’
She shook her head but was unable to lift it. She whimpered, ‘Please. Don’t.’
Allen pushed her hair away from her slender neck. ‘You will be grateful in the end.’
He’d been searching for her for years, knowing that one day he’d find her and they’d be together again. And then he’d found her and he’d nearly cried out in joy. For weeks, he watched her attend church, drive to her secretarial job at the engineering firm, and go to the grocery store. He stood in the shadows as she’d wept at her parents’ graveside. He’d scrutinized. Admired. Waited for the perfect opportunity to bring her to this special place that he’d created.
He slipped his hands under Ruth’s thick mane of hair and brushed the soft skin of her neck. It felt cold. Her faint heartbeat drummed under his fingers. The drugs that had made her sleepy, almost nonresponsive, were wearing off. Soon she’d be struggling again, screaming until her voice grew hoarse.
He’d not wanted to use the drugs, but she’d been so defiant and unwilling to talk to him. She’d fought, called him names, and rejected him. The drugs had calmed her, made her see the good in him.
‘I wish we had more time,’ he said.
She craned her head to the side and looked up at him. Desperation made her eyes spark. ‘We can still be a family.’
A smile twitched at the edge of his lips. ‘Not in the way that it matters. There is too much that can come between us.’
‘It could be different this time. You’ll see. I promise I will love you.’
Love. For a moment he closed his eyes and let the word roll through his mind. No one had loved him in so long. ‘You can’t really love me until you join the Family.’
‘I can.’
He didn’t blame her for the lie. He knew she was afraid of the transition. Crossing over always triggered fear in his girls. She’d say anything at this point. He understood and wasn’t mad.
‘Shh. It’s going to be okay, Ruth.’
A sob rose in her throat. ‘I’m not Ruth. I’m not Ruth.’
He drew circles on her neck with his thumbs and then slid long fingers around her neck. Her pulse throbbed faster now. ‘Don’t fight it. It’s so much easier when you don’t fight what is best for you.’
‘No.’ She jerked against her bindings and started to thrash her head. ‘I don’t want to go!’
He tightened his hold and began to squeez
e.
Initially, she thrashed harder. A muffled cry escaped her lips. But the pressure on her neck quickly robbed her of air, sound, and energy. Soon, she choked and gasped for air. She pulled against the bindings and balled her slender fingers into fists.
‘Ruth, you were always the strong, brave one.’
He tightened his hold, savoring the rush of power and excitement rushing through his body. His body warmed, despite the chill in the room. In this moment he felt connected, alive.
For so long he’d been alone, lost and wondering. Now, Ruth was about to join his Family. She would be with him forever.
‘Family. It is everything. Without family life isn’t worth much. People today don’t get that. They are so busy rushing around they don’t take the time to spend with each other.’
She strained her neck and twisted her head, gagging, trying to break free.
His arms and hands ached but his grip remained tight. Her pulse drummed frantically, proof her lungs struggled for air. And then the thump, thump, thump skipped several beats. His heart raced faster. A few more erratic pulses followed and then stillness.
Life ebbed from Ruth’s body, like water down a drain. She slumped forward. A tranquility only death could create washed over her.
Lovingly, he rested his palm on the top of her head. ‘It’s better now, isn’t it? You are finally at peace. You are free of all your worries and pain.’
She didn’t move. There were no more uneven protests. No pleas for freedom.
‘Praise be,’ he whispered.
From his pocket he pulled a gold chain with an oval charm. Inscribed on the charm was the name Ruth. He slipped the chain around her neck. The clasp was small, delicate, and his large hands fumbled with the fastener until finally he hooked it.
He moved around the chair and knelt in front of her. The charm lay in the hollow of her neck just above her breasts. The pendant was a fine piece of jewelry that had taken him weeks to make. But it was worth it. He touched the shiny gold.
Ruth deserved the best.
He untied her wrists and took her hands in his. He kissed her cold fingers and then pressed them to his cheek. ‘I love you so much.’
He put his hand under her chin and tipped her face back. Under partially open lids, green eyes stared sightlessly at him. He imagined he saw laughter in their glassy depths.
‘You won’t be alone much longer, Ruth.’ He laid her hands in her lap, crossing them demurely over each other. ‘Soon, I will find the Others and I will send them to you.’
Allen smiled at the thought of the Others. Joy burned inside him. ‘Soon, we all will be together as the Family was meant to be.’
Chapter One
Tuesday, January 8, 8:10 A.M.
Homicide detective Jacob Warwick flexed his right hand, working the stiffness from his joints as he strode over the frozen land toward the flashing police car lights. The five patrol cars were parked on the rural patch of land near the James River’s banks. Friday’s snowstorm had whitewashed the landscape, robbing it of color and life. A morning haze obscured the southern bank of the river and most of the river’s smooth waters.
The temperature hovered around thirty degrees, but the breeze made it feel like twenty below zero and cut through his jacket as if it were thin cotton.
The cold irritated his bruised knuckles and he regretted leaving his gloves at his apartment. He turned up the collar of his worn leather jacket and shoved his fists into the pockets. A skullcap covered his military short hair and a black scarf warmed his neck.
An hour ago, Jacob had been at the gym, enjoying his day off by giving what he had to a punching bag. Breaking a sweat sent endorphins rushing through his brain and for a little while eased the tension that stalked him.
His cell had rung midswing. He’d steadied the swaying punching bag, muttered a foul oath before wiping the sweat from his eyes, and dug his cell out of his gym bag.
His partner, Detective Zack Kier, had recited the bare facts. Female murdered. Midthirties. Caucasian. The body had been dumped on the banks of the James River at the Alderson construction site, located in the east end of the county a dozen miles past the airport. Jacob had showered, burying his face under the hot spray and regretting that he couldn’t linger.
Another gusty breeze off the river sent Jacob deeper into his coat. This parcel of land was all raw fields and spindly cedar trees, but if the sales sign he’d passed on the way in was correct, Alderson Development Company would transform all this into a lush golf course surrounded by brick houses with perfectly placed trees and flower beds. The proposed clubhouse would offer tennis courts and a heated swimming pool.
Starting in the $900,000s. The slick marketing signs implied that the riverfront houses, with their top-of-the-line amenities, also supplied the right brand of status and a Father Knows Best kind of happiness. Life had taught him there were no guarantees. And thirteen years on the force had shown him misery could be found in high-dollar homes as well as low-income ones.
Jacob spotted a group of ragged-looking men standing by a muddy black Suburban. They wore jumpsuits and camouflage jackets. They were the Alderson Development’s survey crew. This was their job site. They’d arrived just after sunrise to survey the north bank of the James River. They’d been the ones who’d found the body.
‘Hey, when are you gonna let us get back to work or let us go home?’ The shouted complaint came from one of the surveyors. Steam rose from the coffee cup in his hand.
‘Can’t say,’ Jacob said. ‘But stay put.’
Jacob moved toward an older officer with a buzz cut and a perpetual frown. The other officer stamped his feet and rubbed his gloved hands together. ‘Cold enough for you? My bones can’t take too much more of this frosty shit.’
Jacob’s body still ached from a boxing match last week. ‘I hear ya.’
‘What are you complaining about? I’ve been here for an hour already.’
Jacob smiled. ‘You’re tougher than I am.’
‘My ass.’ Watson’s gaze narrowed as he glanced at Jacob’s face. ‘That the remnants of a shiner?’
‘Yeah. The other guy had a mean right hook.’ But that hadn’t stopped Jacob from winning the charity boxing match.
Watson’s gaze narrowed. ‘How old are you now? Thirty-four, thirty-five?’
‘Give or take.’
Watson shook his head. ‘You’re getting too old for those kind of antics. You’re not eighteen. You should stop now while you still have all your parts.’
Thirty-six wasn’t old in the big scheme but for a boxer it was ancient. In the army he’d been Golden Gloves. Since he’d left, he’d remained a strictly amateur boxer. Boxing gave him a thrill, reminded him he still had it. Whatever the hell it was.
But the sport was taking a toll. He didn’t rebound like he used to. He’d taken on so many bouts these last few months there was rarely a day when his body didn’t ache. Watson was right. He didn’t recover as he had in his twenties. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
Watson eyed him. ‘Bullshit. You ain’t gonna stop.’
That coaxed a guilty grin.
Most outsiders – noncops – didn’t understand how they could chat about everyday things or be so casual in the face of death. But this kind of banter, even humor, was a way of blowing off steam and cutting the tension so they didn’t go insane.
Jacob pulled rubber gloves from his jacket pocket. ‘Forensics isn’t here yet?’
‘Tied up at another scene. Will be here any minute.’
‘Good.’ He ducked under the yellow tape and strode toward his partner, Detective Zack Kier.
Zack Kier faced the icy river. Tall, broad shouldered, he possessed a lean build suited so well for the triathlons he enjoyed. His unseasonably tanned skin was a souvenir from a Caribbean second honeymoon with his wife, Lindsay. A black overcoat brushed his knees and plastic gloves covered his dark winter gloves.
‘So what do we have?’ Jacob asked. He yanked on his gloves.
Jacob followed Zack down the embankment toward the frozen riverbank. Where water met land, lay a woman on her stomach. She wore a camel overcoat, gloves, scarf, navy pants, and flat shoes, all soaked with water. Her gloved hands were outstretched in a T fashion. One hand lay in the water and the other on land. Her face was turned toward the river and her long dark brown hair streamed over her cheek in a gloomy curtain. Small waves lapped against her body.
Jacob moved toward the body but stopped ten feet short. He didn’t want to contaminate the scene any more than he had to before forensics got there. His heavy sigh froze on contact with the air. ‘Do we know who she is?’
Zack shook his head. ‘Not yet. There was no ID in any of her pockets. And no purse to be found.’
Jacob squatted. He stared at her face, mostly hidden by her thick brown hair. How did a neatly dressed middle-income woman end up here? ‘There are a few bridges downstream and dozens of docks. Suicide?’
Zack’s expression was grim. ‘That’s what the responding uniform thought at first.’
Jacob frowned. ‘And?’
‘He felt for a pulse on her neck when he arrived. He had to push back her hair to make contact with her skin.’ Zack tightened and released his jaw. ‘He found black-and-blue finger marks around her neck.’
‘Strangled.’
‘He also spotted marks on her wrists. Looked like rope burns.’
Jacob shifted his gaze to the edge of her coat sleeve. He wanted to push up the wet fabric and see the marks for himself but he would wait for forensics. ‘Did the responding officer touch the body anywhere else?’
‘No. Only on the neck and wrist to check for a pulse.’
Forensics needed a complete record of everyone who touched the body. ‘Good.’
Jacob’s gaze settled on the victim’s wrist. ‘Whoever did this held her captive before he killed her.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking.’
The victim was fully dressed, down to scarf and gloves. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t been stripped and sexually assaulted. Some killers, especially novices, often suffered remorse for their victims. In the killer’s mind, redressing her would have been a way of safeguarding her dignity. ‘We need to make sure the coroner checks for signs of rape.’