Faces of Evil [4] Rage

by Debra Webb

  “I get the picture,” Lori acknowledged. “Forest Park’s a swanky, old money neighborhood. Should be a nice place.”

  “If it is”—Jess prayed it was—“I’ll move in immediately.” She unearthed her wallet from the bottomless pit that was her bag and signed a blank check. “Give him this for the rent and deposit. Since he knows my sister surely the rate’s reasonable and he’ll take a check.”

  “But you don’t have any furniture. No dishes or linens,” Lori pointed out. “No bed.”

  “True.” Jess’s hopes deflated. “You know, I’m never home. All I need is a bed. Maybe the place comes with a bed.”

  Lori checked the time. “If not, some of the super stores will still be open. I could grab Harper and we could get you one. He’s a guy. Surely he has a friend with a truck.” She looked hopeful. “It could be kind of a housewarming gift.”

  Jess raised her eyebrows. “There are two things you should never offer to give me as a gift, Detective. Shoes and a mattress. When it comes to furniture, a good bed is all that matters to me. King-size. Air-cooled memory foam. Money is no object as long as my credit limit holds out.” She picked through her credit cards. “This one should handle it.” She passed it to Lori. “Just pretend you’re me. And don’t be embarrassed if they tell you it’s declined. Beg for mercy.”

  Lori grinned. “Do I get to boss Harper around while I’m pretending to be you?”

  “Absolutely.” Jess checked the time again and groaned. “We are so far beyond late.” She managed a pitiful laugh; there was nothing else to do. “Does this Mustang of yours have wings?”

  “Nope.” Lori jingled the keys in her hand. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t fly.”

  Birmingham Police Department, 6:28 p.m.

  Where the devil was she?

  Chief of Police Daniel Burnett sat at the end of the conference table with the deputy chiefs of every division in his department as well as Mayor Joseph Pratt seated around him. All waited for one woman, Jess Harris.

  Just as he had held off the members of the press whom he had promised a briefing at five thirty, he had dragged out this meeting for twenty-eight minutes by rehashing what everyone seated at the table already knew.

  Jess had given him nothing new and she wasn’t answering her phone. According to Sergeant Harper, Jess and Detective Wells had been five minutes away for the past fifteen.

  Mayor Pratt cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had descended. “Are we still waiting for Harris?”

  Dan appreciated the fact that he hadn’t asked the questions that were likely actually on his mind. Doesn’t your new deputy chief keep you informed? Didn’t she meet with Dr. Leeds at the coroner’s office this very afternoon? She promised you an update at five thirty, didn’t she?

  “We are waiting for Deputy Chief Harris.” Dan resisted the urge to stretch his neck. Then everyone in the room would know he felt choked by the tie cinched around his throat as well as the tension and frustration thickening in the room. “She’s been delayed by—”

  The conference door opened and Jess walked in looking for all the world like she was right on time and that everyone in the room should be glad she’d showed up at all. “I apologize for keeping you waiting, gentlemen, but we can’t control the unexpected, can we?”

  Dan was torn between sagging in gratitude and exploding in frustration. “Chief Harris.” He stood as she approached the conference table in those sassy shoes she’d been wearing last night. The brown suit fit her body like a glove and made her brown eyes look darker and those full, soft lips richer.

  That was perfect. Just perfect. For the past hour he’d been ready to claw the finish off the conference table and when she finally shows up all he can do is fixate on how much he’d like to rip off that conservative suit and…

  The others at the table belatedly got to their feet, as Jess dropped her bag next to a vacant chair and sat. “Let me just get settled here and we’ll get started.”

  “Actually,” Pratt announced, “we started half an hour ago, Harris. What was your delay?”

  Jess tucked her glasses in place and smiled for the mayor, not intimidated in the least. “I was interviewing two potential witnesses that we were unaware of until just over an hour ago. I assume everyone here”—she glanced around the table—“wants the most up-to-date and accurate information available.”

  “Get on with it then,” Pratt growled, annoyed that his highhanded tactics didn’t work on Jess.

  Dan loved it. But it would have been nice to get a call or even a text about this new development before she announced it to everyone else at the table. He was the chief of police after all.

  She retrieved a file folder from her bag and spread it on the table in front of her. “You’ll all forgive me for not having any handouts available. There’s been no time to get that organized.”

  Dan ordered himself to relax in hopes of lowering his blood pressure. In another three years he would reach the prime age range for greater heart attack risk. The way it was going, Jess would likely shove him past that boundary a few years early.

  “Gabrielle Grayson was murdered between nine and midnight last night,” she began. “Dr. Leeds and his associate will perform a full autopsy tomorrow morning. Both feel confident that their preliminary assessment of manual asphyxiation as the cause of death will be confirmed. The beheading and the stab wounds were postmortem. Since, at this time, we have absolutely no evidence of a gang-related connection beyond the staging of the scene, we are pursuing other avenues. We believe that the person or persons who committed this atrocity wanted us to focus our investigation into Gabrielle’s murder on the gang troubles the city has been experiencing. But our killer isn’t nearly as smart as he thinks.”

  Jess looked up from her notes, cleared her throat, and waited for questions.

  “These new potential witnesses,” Dan inquired, getting his focus back on task, “have they provided additional insight?” She’d left him hanging here, damn it. The idea of just how little concern she had for the chain of command exasperated him all over again.

  Jess Harris didn’t like answering to him or anyone else until she was good and ready.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she told him, “but I believe this turn of events may develop into a viable lead.”

  “How are we presenting this to the press?” Pratt wanted to know.

  Jess braced her elbows on the table, laced her fingers, and rested her chin atop them as she considered the mayor’s question. Or pretended to. “I believe we should release a statement to the press advising that we have ruled out any gang involvement and that we are closing in on a suspect.”

  Deputy Chief Black, Crimes Against Persons, spoke up. “Chief Harris, do you think it’s wise to mislead the public that way? We don’t want the department to end up looking inept when we can’t close this case in a timely manner.”

  “That’s an excellent point, Harold,” Pratt said sagely. “Birmingham has some very savvy reporters. Look at Gina Coleman. If she or any of the others of her caliber got the impression that we were bluffing, the entire business would be a media fiasco. Already today there have been two more incidents between the MS-13 and the Black Brotherhood. Our luck neutralizing these situations without bloodshed is going to run out and then Birmingham will be back in the national news for all the wrong reasons.”

  As annoyed as Dan was at Jess for showing up late and failing to keep him briefed, this reaction sent his frustration level to a whole new zone. At some point, the deputy chiefs seated around this table were going to have to accept Jess as one of their own rather than finding fault with her every step. Dan had already encouraged Harold Black to be the one to set the example, particularly after what Jess had gone through last week to solve not one murder case but two. Her numerous accomplishments in such a short time should have earned their respect already, yet they were quick to stand against her even now. The staff meeting he’d planned to address that very issue had had to be postpon
ed.

  Dan ignored Pratt’s and Black’s comments about savvy reporters and gave Jess his full attention. “How do you see that route playing out, Chief Harris?” She was way too good at her job to suggest a wrong move. Her colleagues should recognize this already. At the very least they should give her the benefit of the doubt just because she was one of them.

  “First,” she explained, “if any gang or brotherhood or whatever is responsible for this murder, they aren’t going to want their work to be denied or credited elsewhere. As soon as we put it out there, if we’re wrong, they’re going to speak up. That’s a given. If a gang hit goes down, brag tags show up. No one’s bragging yet. If that’s still the case by this time tomorrow, then we can likely check off any potential gang involvement.”

  She surveyed the table and seemed to hesitate before saying the rest. “We’ve all been at this business for long enough to know that when a killer goes beyond simply murdering his victim, there’s more to the motive than ending a life. We can assume the beheading was to throw us off track but the stab wounds were totally unnecessary and irrelevant to any other high profile cases we’re working. Those wounds, I believe, were an act of emotion. Whoever killed Gabrielle hated her or envied her in some way that defied rational behavior. The need to ravage her body was uncontrollable. The killer was clearly enraged.”

  She paused, letting the others stew a moment. “Yet our perp left numerous signs of attempting a cover-up. The words written on the walls. The beheading. The use of gloves, since we found no prints in any of that work. As careful as our killer was, he couldn’t control the need to ravage the victim over and over with a knife and that, gentlemen, will be his downfall.”

  “The killer did all this,” Chief Waters, head of the South Precinct, Lieutenant Grayson’s boss, spoke up, “with a six-month-old baby asleep only a few feet away. It’s a miracle the baby didn’t wake up and end up a victim as well.”

  “The baby wasn’t the killer’s target,” Jess countered. “We suspect the killer showered after mutilating Gabrielle’s body. The baby was literally right across the hall. If he had wanted to murder the baby, the baby would be dead. But this wasn’t about the baby. This was about Gabrielle. This murder was intensely personal.”

  “That the killer felt no rush to leave the scene,” Black put in, “and even went so far as to shower tells us that he knew Lieutenant Grayson would not be coming home any time soon, wouldn’t you say, Chief Harris?”

  Now that was what Dan was talking about. Despite getting off on the wrong foot, Black was showing his support now.

  “No question. And,” Jess added, “since working the night shift was out of the ordinary for Grayson, it’s probable that he knows the killer more than just in passing. Perhaps the victim did as well. With that fact staring us in the face, we cannot rule out the possibility that this murder was not only committed by someone Lieutenant Grayson knew but maybe even by someone with whom he works currently or has worked with in the past.”

  “Are you suggesting a cop murdered Gabrielle Grayson?” Waters demanded.

  Jess held up her hands to quiet the defiant remarks flying around the table. “I’m saying that we cannot dismiss the possibility. This sort of intense emotion in an act of violence doesn’t typically come from a stranger. No one at this table can deny that sad fact, as hard as the idea is to swallow. And, so far, most of Lieutenant Grayson’s friends appear to be cops.”

  The briefing lost ground from there. No one wanted to leave the possibility that a cop killed Gabrielle on the table.

  Dan stood and the fiery conversation settled down. “This is SPU’s case,” he reminded all in attendance. “We will proceed as Chief Harris deems appropriate until evidence guides us in a different direction. Anyone who has a problem with that can see me in my office when we’re finished here.”

  The boys played nice after that. Chief Waters agreed that Lieutenant Grayson would be on paid leave for a couple of weeks despite his determination to return to work as quickly as possible. His partner, Sergeant Riley, would remain on duty. Satisfied that there was nothing else he could complain about, Mayor Pratt took his leave.

  A few minutes later the conference room had cleared except for Dan and Jess.

  There was a lot he wanted to say to her as the chief of police… and plenty he wanted to ask as Dan Burnett, the man who had made love with her less than twenty-four hours ago.

  “I rescheduled the press briefing for ten tomorrow morning.” She wasn’t getting off the hook with the press so easily. When she sent him a questioning look, he explained, “I gave them what I could but they all want to hear from you. Directly from you. You’ve become quite the celebrity.”

  She stuffed the file folder back into her bag. He’d gotten used to the huge black leather bag she dragged around. The thing held everything she deemed important, and pretty much everything she had left since her motel room was totaled.

  “How am I supposed to get any work done if I’m always preparing for one briefing or another? Good Lord. Can’t the department’s public relations liaison handle this?”

  “Our PR man is on parental leave. He and his wife just welcomed their first child. A beautiful baby girl. He’ll be back next week.”

  Jess rolled her eyes. “Congratulations to him. But his personal life is making my professional one more complicated.”

  Dan laughed. “Welcome to my world.” He spent more time appeasing the press and the mayor than he did overseeing his department. Even when his PR liaison was on duty.

  “I don’t like that part of your world,” she said bluntly. That was Jess. Never sugarcoated anything.

  “You look exhausted.” She’d returned to the motel with Detective Wells in the wee hours of the morning to dig through her things at the motel to see if anything was salvageable. He’d wanted so badly to hold her and promise her nothing like that would ever happen to her again. But her motel room had been an official crime scene and he’d had a duty to act as chief of police.

  Then her ex-husband had appeared out of nowhere.

  What man flies across the country in the middle of the night to check on his ex-wife?

  Dan didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

  Jess shot him a sour look. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I just meant it’s been a long day and you’ve been through a lot the past seventy or so hours. You’re exhausted, I’m certain.”

  “I can’t argue with that but you said I look exhausted.” She cocked her head and waited for a better explanation. “Is there something wrong with the way I look?”

  “Absolutely not. You look amazing.” He needed a subject change. Fast. “Did you ever manage lunch?” Talk about an awkward hour and a half. Taking Jess’s ex to lunch had bordered on masochism. Sure gave him a better grasp on how she felt having his former wife and former sort of girlfriend popping in and out of their lives. Not that he would admit any of that to Jess. Not in a million years. She would find far too many ways to use it against him.

  “Didn’t have time for lunch.” Mischief glinted in her eyes. “What about you? Did you and Wesley have a nice lunch?” She draped that enormous bag over her shoulder. “He’s a really interesting man once you get to know him. He graduated from Princeton with honors. He interned on President Clinton’s staff during his last term. He has a law degree and a—”

  Dan held up his hands. He could do without hearing all that again. He’d done his homework on the guy. He knew all about Supervisory Special Agent Wesley Duvall and how smart he was. “Oh yeah. We got to know all about each other.” Actually, they had discussed just one subject. Jess. The guy had done nothing but ask question after question about her. Made Dan want to climb the walls of that ritzy restaurant he’d taken him to.

  “That’s nice.” She heaved a sigh. “I have to go. I have a lot of notes to review and I’m starving. Plus I may have found a new place and I need a whole new wardrobe. Unless you want me wearing the same thing every day.”
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br />   Like he cared what she wore. He’d take her without clothes any day of the week—or night for that matter. The thought had a completely unprofessional tension spiraling inside him.

  He cleared his head of the images of her naked body nestled against him amid tangled sheets. “What new place?”

  “Some older gentleman Lil goes to church with has offered his garage apartment until I can find something else. Apparently he saw the news last night and called her.”

  “Lily can vouch for this guy?” Sounded a little dubious to Dan.

  “He goes to her church. How bad can he be?” Jess frowned. “By the way, the Taurus died on me. It’s at the coroner’s office.”

  “What do you mean it died?” The carpool sergeant had assured him that car was in tiptop condition.

  Jess shrugged. “How do I know? It does nothing when I turn the key. No clicking, no nothing. Lori had to pick me up. I need my car back, Dan.” She gave him an I-mean-it look. “A… S… A… P.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of it.” So much for that plan. All carpool vehicles were equipped with GPS, making pinpointing their locations a simple matter. He couldn’t exactly have a device added to Jess’s personal vehicle just because he worried about her. In any event, she wanted her car back and he had no choice but to have it released to her.

  Trying to keep tabs on her was a full-time job.

  His first order of business was getting the details on this new landlord and checking him out. “It’s too late to pick up your car now,” he countered. “I’ll call in the morning, I swear. So what’s the address of this new place of yours?”

  She rolled her eyes and rattled off the location of this Good Samaritan.

  Dan made a mental note of the info, then took her by the elbow. “Why don’t I take you to dinner? I’ll call a friend of mine who has a great little boutique in Homewood. I bet she’d open up after dinner just for you.”