He simply walked away laughing, since he didn't care that his wife had warned him about calling her honey or kissing on the job. It was like marking his territory, and they both knew it.
Bentley spoke, drawing her focus back to the problem at hand. “Will you be joining us for autopsy, Detective?”
Emma stood, observing everything that was happening on the scene. “Yeah, I’ll be there, Doc. What time are you cutting into her?”
“I’m scheduling it for as early as possible. I’ll be transporting her in the next twenty minutes, and then lab techs need to do a trace, so I’m venturing it will happen before seven.”
“We’ll see you there,” she stated. “By any chance did our victim have any ID on her?”
The man pointed to the bag on the ground. “I didn't go through it yet. I figured you should do the honors. It’s my gift to you. Think of it as an early Christmas present.”
She grabbed the purse and began pulling items from it. “Curtis, log these for me,” she stated. “We have makeup, a brush, two packs of smokes, and a big box of condoms.”
Briggs looked up. “I don’t know many women who roll around with a jumbo pack of protection in their purse.”
“That’s every heterosexual man’s dream woman,” Doctor Bentley stated from the victim’s side.
Emma stared at him openmouthed and unsure what to say to that. With Steele Bentley, it was hard to tell when he was being serious or facetious.
Both men started to laugh at her lack of comment.
“I was being sarcastic again, Detective. You need to relax,” he stated. “If I’m sleeping with someone, and they’re packing that much protection, that’s a warning sign.”
“Good to know,” she replied, going back to the purse. “Here’s her ID.” Emma held it in her gloved fingers, reading the name. “The photo matches. We have Tiffany Frankel, age twenty four.” Searching through the contents, she also found a cell phone. “When we get back to the office, we’ll start running her. I want to get the scene cleared as soon as possible. The media is all over this alley.”
Detective Westmore finally arrived. Walking over, she dropped her badge around her neck and scanned the area. “Holy shit! I didn't expect to arrive to a full piranha feeding frenzy.”
“Yeah, we’re being sucked in on this one,” Emma stated, replacing all the woman’s items back into the purse.
“What can I do, Em?” asked her partner, not sure what was left to be finished. Everything in her wanted to go over to the FBI agent and ask why he left her place. She wanted to confront him and find out what she’d done. It wasn’t hard to see he was doing everything in his power to not look over at her.
“I’d say start the canvas. It shouldn’t take long. There aren’t that many buildings that have residence in them. The killer picked a pretty isolated location when it came to foot traffic. That’s probably why he called the media. Someone wanted this body located.”
“Maybe this is where she worked,” Brynn suggested. “If the last two were showgirls, this could be one of their places of employment.”
Emma glanced around. “Curtis, when we get back, I need you to run this place. I’ll need IRS employment records too on our victim to confirm.”
He pulled out his phone to get the process started. Of all his tasks, it would take the longest. “On it, Emma.”
Brynn motioned to a couple of uniform cops, pointing to the areas around the scene. They’d do their jobs quickly, getting witness statements, if there were any.
There was a raucous noise and flashes of lights, drawing everyone’s attention.
Briggs nodded towards her husband on the other side of the police tape. He was busily handling the television crews and reporters that had gathered. “Glad I’m not the boss.” He could tell from the ‘carved in stone’ look on Croft’s face, they were getting nowhere with the chaos.
“Shouldn’t the detective in charge be over there handling the mess too?” Bentley asked laughing.
Emma knew he was right, “Cover me, I’m going in,” she called to Briggs as she crossed the scene to her husband’s side.
Immediately, all the lights and cameras were focused on her. Back in Philadelphia, she’d almost always handled the media. Her boss thought she’d be perfect for it, because she was ‘harmless’ looking. Who expected hell from a woman with freckles and innocent looking eyes? By the time they figured it out, she had them in the palm of her hand.
Secretly, she loved dealing with the insanity. Watching them scramble and jump through hoops entertained her. As Emma raised her hand, they stopped spewing questions. “It’s been brought to my attention that some of you may have taken pictures of the deceased woman. If I see any of them circulating around the net, the web, the TV, or print media, I will call for a full and total media blackout on the entity that spreads it.”
Croft crossed his arms and grinned down at his wife.
“I’ll make sure that the station or paper that shows it never gets an interview with any detective in our house again. I’ll also call all my police compadres in the surrounding areas and make sure they do the same thing. I will have you blackballed until the end of your life and by you- I mean to include the company that employs you too.”
“You can’t keep the media from spreading the news,” some reporter shouted at her defiantly.
Again, she lifted her hand and stared at them, one at a time, making eye contact directly. “I’m not saying don’t report the story. I’m saying that the woman behind me had a family, and how would you all feel if you turned on your TV and over your coffee found the face of someone you loved?”
No one spoke.
“I am dead serious about you posting those pictures. Do you want a full media blackout for the rest of your time here in Vegas?” she asked.
Again, no one spoke.
“If you think I’m kidding, I’ll have a city wide memo spread through the entire state by lunch time, with all your names, contact info and station letters.”
Some looked a little nervous, unsure if she’d do it.
“Now, details will follow at our convenience. There will be a press conference to be announced, so get your questions ready and only then will we answer what we can.” Emma turned to walk away, finding her captain on one side of her and her husband on the other.
“That was pretty effective. I’ll have to remember that. Where did you pick up that technique?” Ford asked smiling. “I didn't even think to threaten them. That doesn’t work with you detectives. I’m shocked to see it had an impact on the reporters.”
“That’s how we big city death cops handle the media back east. We don’t try to rationalize. We blackmail them and go for what hurts most.”
Both men grinned.
Why mess with what works?
* * *
Back at the precinct, the two detectives and two agents sat in the room working on the threads that tied the cases together. Already, there was an uneasiness floating about them, as they all knew the bodies were starting to pile up. Four days and three victims didn't bode well at all.
Soon, they needed to get something to help them find a direction.
“I think we need a profile,” stated Emma out of the blue. “With this victim, I feel uneasy not getting the FBI to give us one.”
Croft thought about it. “I have a profiler in-house,” he offered, willing to bring her in to help. “From what I’ve been told, she’s pretty good at her job.”
Emma leaned back as she sipped the really crappy squad room coffee. Right then, she wished that she was at home in bed. “Can we put a file together and ship it over to her?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I can bring her here if you want.”
She didn't think that would be necessary. “We’re going to be out in the field most of the day. I don’t know if I’ll have time for a face to face with her.”
Croft grinned behind his coffee cup. A lot had changed in the month she’d been back in the role of detective. It was
almost like a metamorphosis of a caterpillar. His Emma was now out of her cocoon and a full blown, gorgeous butterfly.
Gone were all the worries and nerves as she was competently handling everything that was being thrown at her.
There to stay was the tough cop armor. It turned him on to watch her in action. As of yet, the FBI wasn’t in charge, just assisting, and he hoped it remained that way. Croft wanted to watch his woman run this one to completion.
“Get the file ready, and Curtis will transmit it over,” he replied.
Emma nodded, and then faced the other agent. There was definite tension in the room between her partner and the man. Before long, she was going to have to talk to Brynn, getting her side of the story. This is why dating cops was a big mistake, and then she almost laughed as she stared at her husband.
Emma was more than dating the top of the cop food chain. She was in bed with the Feds, literally and figuratively, and she was glad too.
“Did you find anything on the third victim?” she asked, sipping more coffee.
“I’m still waiting on the IRS records, but I believe I found the name of her show another way.”
Detective Westmore stared over at him. “How?”
“I Googled her.”
Emma started laughing. “Seriously?”
Briggs nodded. “Today, social media is king. You’d be surprised what people put out there online. Here’s one site she visited frequently and posted daily updates that were public for everyone to see.”
He turned the tablet around to show the three of them. On the screen was definitely a picture of their victim, smiling and dressed in full showgirl regalia. There was no doubt what she did for a living.
Clicking on her profile, they scanned the details. “Can you print it out for me?” Emma asked, wanting a copy for when they hit the streets.
“Can do,” he said, hitting a few keys and the printer popped to life beside him. Pulling it off, he handed them each a copy, so he could get back to searching.
Croft read the information. “She was in a show called ‘Touch of Lust’?”
Emma shook her head. You’d think living in Vegas, she’d have seen a show or two, but the opposite was true. On their down time, they’d opted for sports and movies in the comfort of their own home. Something about showgirls always seemed tacky to her and unappealing.
Maybe it was all the fake makeup and feathers.
“Curtis?” she said.
“I’m running it right now, and referencing any details to the other two shows. I should have something for you shortly. I do happen to have the owner of the theater. He might be someone to talk with. He could probably tell you who was renting his building.”
Croft patted the man on the back. “Way to think on your toes, my probee. Before you know it, you’ll be a full special agent.” Greyson was impressed. Again, more pride filled him.
Briggs grinned. “Then who’ll do all your grunt research?”
“That’s still all you. It’s your calling in life.”
Emma stared down at her watch. It was autopsy time. “Email me his name and information. I’ll contact the owner later and set up a meeting. Now, I want to get the morning started right with the ME and cutting into a dead woman. It always puts me in a fantastic mood.”
Westmore laughed. “I love it too. Hey, can we eat right after? I love that sick feeling the whole day.”
Ahhhh, the sarcasm was flowing in abundance that morning and for once, it was appreciated. When you dealt with death all day, sometimes you needed an outlet.
“If you don’t mind,” Briggs stated, “I’d rather stay and work here. It’s going to take at least an hour to get the file ready for the profiler.
Croft knew that was a big fat lie. His partner could whip that out in five minutes, but he covered for him, because that’s what a partner did. “Okay, I’ll bring you updates on this autopsy.”
He nodded, going back to work.
As they headed towards the morgue in the building attached to the precinct, there was the hustle of cops starting to trickle in for the change of shift. As Vegas was just settling down for the day, the police were starting back up.
The three stood in the elevator that led down, and no one really spoke. Emma could tell that her partner wasn’t on her game, and they were going to have to discuss it sooner rather than later. Working with this tension was uncomfortable, and it put her in a predicament between two people she liked a great deal.
“Hey babe, after autopsy, I need some time with my partner. I’m going to grab some coffee. We have other cases we need to discuss.”
Croft knew why she was opting to get the woman alone. “That’s great, because I want to head over to the FBI office. I don’t like to leave the place unguarded for too long. There could be a mutiny and the captain might have to walk the plank.”
She giggled, running her finger down the scar on his cheek. “Good one.”
He winked at her as the door slid open and they exited. They headed down the back of the building to the connecting corridor that accessed the ME building. Once inside the room being used, they found it alive with movement and activity. The lab assistants were finishing the trace and evidence as Doctor Bentley was getting his tools ready.
“Excellent timing,” he stated as he began slipping into his gloves. “I was just about ready to have a tech send you a text message. Have a seat, and we’ll begin.”
There weren’t really places to sit, so everyone leaned against something. Croft took the counter, where he could work off his phone in the ultraviolet light. It was obviously where the ME liked to work too, there were papers and his pen sitting unused.
Emma refused to touch the exam tables. The idea was disgusting, even if they were cleaned and sanitized. The only way she’d ever find herself on one was the day she was being autopsied herself.
This was her least favorite part of the job, even if on the outside she looked calm about it. It brought back memories she’d rather not revisit. It wasn’t that long ago, she’d had to visit a morgue and identify her parents after a car accident.
Oh, and then her brother.
The feelings welled back up and as if he knew, her husband stared at her from across the space. His peaceful silver eyes offered her calm, and the horror was shoved back down beneath the surface.
All she needed was to just get through this.
Standing as far from the body as possible, there was only one thought going through Detective Westmore’s brain. She was really grossed out. The smell of antiseptic cleaning fluid made her want to puke. Then toss in the way the body was hosed off before being prepped to be cut into, and it all made her uneasy. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t stand through autopsy, but hide at her desk like a chicken.
Why her partner did this, she’d never understand? Most cops were more than happy to just get the report and never visit the bowels of the building.
Beginning, Doctor Bentley made his first cuts. Already he’d checked the body for bruising and other signs of struggle. “It doesn’t look like she fought her attacker. There’s not a single sign of defensive wounds.”
Emma crossed her arms. “If someone came at me from the front with a hammer-like weapon, I’d put my arms up to block my face. I’d rather break a wrist than crack my skull wide open.”
“Agreed,” stated the doctor, pulling back the flaps of skin. He stared inside and then made notes on the clear plexi tablet he had at his side. Later, he’d transfer to electronic when his hands weren’t covered in bodily fluids.
“How’s she look inside,” Croft asked from his spot.
“I drew blood and sent it off to tox. We’ll see what comes back. Generally, a person can look healthy, but the blood work never lies.”
Pulling out her heart, he weighed it. Everyone in the room watched and waited as the morbid ritual unfolded. Doctor Bentley always worked in the same pattern. He started at the chest and worked his way down. Then, he’d handle the head. That was everyone’s
least favorite part. Generally, as the saw came out, the onlookers scattered. There was something so perverse about watching the top of the cranium being removed, that it was difficult to observe. The wet sound of brain sliding in the scale was enough to make even the strongest of cops falter.
As he finished with the body, he glanced up at Emma. “You’re awfully quiet today. Usually, you’re livelier than the corpse.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” she admitted.
“Want to spill it?” he asked, not minding at all if she talked about whatever was bothering her.
Croft stared from his spot, wondering if she’d do it. Wasn’t it supposed to be him acting as her sounding board? Why hadn’t he noticed that his own wife was distracted?
“I’m not really perplexed, I’m more curious how the killer is picking these women and why. I just can’t seem to put my finger on it.”
“What do you have so far?” he asked, cutting the sutures on her lips. He paused only to look up.
“We have a drug addict, a bulimic, and now this girl. What’s her addiction?” Emma couldn’t tell by looking at her.
“Well, she was a chain smoker. Her lungs are a mess,” he offered. “She was a candidate for early lung cancer.”
Could that be it?
Suddenly, Doctor Bentley paused. “This is new,” he said, having them all move closer. Emma and Greyson stood side by side and reluctantly, Brynn joined them.
They all watched as the man pulled something shiny from the orbital socket.
“A thimble?” Emma didn't know what to do with that. “I don’t see the connection between a showgirl and a thimble?”
“Did he leave anything else?” Croft asked, pointing at her mouth.
Doctor Bentley knew getting her mouth open was going to be hard. She was already in full rigor. Pulling out all the stitches, he used his fingers to pry her lips apart, giving them all a full look.
Detective Westmore jumped, backing up in complete revulsion as two cloudy eyeballs stared back at them from the woman’s mouth.
Vegas is Dying (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 2) Page 18
