Baby Jane Doe

by Julie Miller

  Yours Truly might have her life under a microscope, but he couldn’t see inside her head. She wouldn’t let him wear her down, wouldn’t let him outthink her. She’d uncover his identity before she let him uncover her fears.

  Baby Jane Doe’s murder wasn’t a make-or-break career case. Shauna wanted the right answer to every crime. The slaughtered little girl with no mother to love and miss her was just another victim who deserved justice. Like every other victim.

  And Eli Masterson’s kiss was just a kiss. A mixture of amped-up tension, an available man and transitioning hormones run amok.

  She could control what she felt.

  She pounded off the mantra beneath her Nikes. “Shauna’s in control today.”

  Exhaustion should have carried her right to sleep last night after Eli left. Instead, she’d shivered beneath the covers, missing the heat he generated inside her each time they matched wits. She’d hugged one pillow, then two, missing the surrender of strength, and then the re-birth of it, she’d felt when Eli had held her. And then she’d kicked the bedspread aside, feeling scratchy and hot, her half-dozing mind anxious to recapture the sensation of being possessed. Powerful and vulnerable, all at the same time. From just a simple kiss.

  Yeah, right. She had everything under control.

  Well, at least no one else had to see how crazy things were inside her. Maybe that would be the one thing she could control.

  She pulled her shoulders back and turned the corner toward home. The cell phone in her fanny pack chirped. “What now?”

  Shauna slowed her stride, but didn’t stop. She and the dog both needed a gradual cooldown before they ended their run. After the second chirp, she unzipped the bag and dug through the dog treats and water bottle inside to pull out her phone. A glance at the number had her looking over her shoulder and glaring at the driver of the black SUV that had followed them all the way to the park and back.

  Damn, the man was persistent.

  She pressed the Talk button and kept jogging. “Eli?”

  “Good. You checked who it was before you answered.” His deep voice was gravelly from a deficit of sleep, but the attitude was still there. “Unidentified callers go to your voice mail or the machine. You don’t pick up.”

  “I’m running, Detective. Unless you found a hole in Donnell Gibbs’s confession while you sat in your car last night, I don’t have time for more security tips. I still have to clean up and get to work within the hour.”

  “Me, too. I thought we’d better lay some ground rules before we went our separate ways.”

  Separate? He was really going to leave her? Uncomfortably distracted by that reaction, she nearly tripped over Sadie’s leash. Time to slow this run down to a walk.

  The shade from the tall oaks lining the sidewalk cooled the sweat at the small of her back and around the strap of the visor she wore. “Ground rules for what? You do your job. I do mine.” She swallowed hard, buying time to ease the breathiness from her voice. “If the entire city hasn’t found out yet that you’re working a special investigation for me, then we keep our connection secret until we have something tangible to report to the media. As far as I’m concerned, those are the only rules that matter.”

  The black vehicle rolled up beside her and matched her speed. Though she refused to acknowledge him when the neighbors—or someone else—might be watching, she knew he was looking out the passenger window at her. “Make a list of three people you trust. I want you to be with one of them at all times.”

  “I can’t work that way.”

  “I don’t want you to be alone. Don’t give this guy an opportunity to take his threats to the next level.”

  Shauna laughed at the irony of his request. “I’m in meetings with cops all day. Isn’t that safe enough for you?”

  “What about lunch?”

  “I’m meeting with Austin.”

  “No.”

  Shauna crossed in front of him when he stopped at the last intersection. She paused long enough to make eye contact. “You can’t tell me no.”

  “Where are you meeting him?”

  Even a windshield couldn’t diffuse the intensity of those dark gold eyes. Ridiculous as it was to be having this conversation by phone when he sat only a few short feet away from her, Shauna was glad to have the technology to keep them apart.

  Because his gaze washed over her like a tangible caress, reawakening every pore of her body to the memory of being held in his arms. The tips of her breasts tightened, her toes curled. Goose bumps pricked her skin despite the heat generated by her workout. Her lips tingled with the memory of his tender demands, and some unseen gravitational trick seemed to pull her toward him.

  But Shauna was stronger than any fanciful need or clinical reaction. She forced herself to turn away from those eyes and move on. “I’ve been a cop a lot of years,” she spoke into the phone. “I’ve been dealing with Austin longer than that. I know how to handle him. I need to hear him out and make sure he doesn’t involve Seth or Sarah in his latest scheme. My answer will still be no, but it will be on my terms and not when he blind-sides me in the middle of the night.”

  “Where’s the meeting?”

  She reached her driveway and unhooked Sadie’s leash. “You have your own schedule to keep.”

  “Where, Shauna?”

  “The Union Café. At the train station downtown. It’s a very public place.”

  “I’ll be there, too.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I’ll be part of the public. You won’t know I’m there.”

  How could she not sense his presence after exchanging such a heated look? Without turning around, she knew where he pulled up to the curb a few houses farther down the street. “I guess if anyone spots you, we could excuse it as a work-related encounter.”

  “If anyone spots me. I’ll be more interested in watching the crowd than anyone else will be interested in me.” He paused long enough for Shauna to type in the security code at the front door and insert her key in the lock. But the conversation wasn’t over. “When’s your last meeting of the day?”

  “Oh, no. You are not coming over to my house again. I don’t want you sleeping in your car every night.”

  “Where would you like me to sleep?”

  His wink-wink delivery gave her a shiver of anticipation which she quickly squelched by shooing the dog inside and shutting the door behind her. “At your home, Eli. In your bed.”

  “Really?”

  “Alone,” she clarified.

  “Party pooper. Actually, I was thinking we need to set up some kind of code so I can alert you when I have something to report. Put me on your calendar for five o’clock. We’ll make the arrangements, and then I’ll follow you home.”

  “Do you even understand the word no?”

  She knew she’d set herself up when she heard the grin coloring his voice. “You picked me for this job because I don’t do what I’m told.”

  “IF SHAUNA thinks KCPD can get me something, I’d love to hear it. Personally, I’ve argued stronger cases. And this one seems to be getting weaker by the moment.”

  Assistant District Attorney Dwight Powers reminded Eli of a commando in disguise. The suit and tie and hint of gray in his hair fitted the trappings of a lawyer, but there was a graceful ferocity to the way he took the stairs down to the interview rooms at the city jail. A calculating alertness in the way he signed his name and allowed the guard to scan him. A plain-speaking expectation in his tone that Eli could respect.

  Despite the district attorney’s office’s official approval of the case handed to them by the task force, Eli was beginning to see that he and Shauna weren’t the only two people in Kansas City not completely satisfied with the job that had been done. “How many times has Gibbs’s trial been delayed?”

  Dwight shrugged his big shoulders. “I’d have to check the file to tell you how many motions have been argued already—and how many defense attorneys Gibbs has gone through. But I can tell you, if t
his was a rock-solid case, Gibbs would be in prison already. I’ve got a confession that’s shaky at best, his criminal record and some circumstantial evidence. I imagine we could convict him on sentiment alone, but that’s not how I like to work.”

  Eli signed over his weapon and the guard scanned him. “You think a jury will ignore the facts and convict this guy just because the crime is so heinous?”

  “If they do, they’ll be setting the grounds for an appeal. If the judge doesn’t rule a mistrial first.” They waited for the gate to close behind them before the second one was opened. “Is there something Shauna’s not telling me about KCPD’s investigation? Some reason why Internal Affairs is involved?”

  Eli followed Dwight through the sliding steel bars before answering. “It’s not unusual on such a high-profile case for I.A. to follow up on any inconsistencies in the task force’s investigation.”

  “Inconsistencies?”

  “More like tying up loose ends,” Eli amended. “KCPD is just as interested in making sure this case sticks as you are.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dwight nodded to the guard, who opened a steel door and waved them both inside. When the door closed behind them, Dwight turned and leveled his stony gaze at Eli. “Is this guy gonna get off?”

  “I’m conducting a routine investigation,” Eli insisted.

  “Don’t give me that crap.” Dwight moved half a step closer. “I prosecuted your partner, Joe Niederhaus, a few years back, Masterson. He had a bad habit of blackmailing cops into tampering with evidence and intimidating witnesses to get the bad guys off. Including the man who killed my first wife. I’m not going to have any surprises like that come back to bite me in the butt at trial, am I?”

  Eli stood straight, not even batting an eye at the veiled accusation. He’d had a lot of practice deflecting the guilt-by-association charges over the years. Though the shot at his character rubbed salt in the old wound, Eli had learned to play it cool. “Look at it from my perspective. If your partner was doing time for messing up police investigations, wouldn’t you be extra careful about dotting your Is and crossing your Ts?” Eli could lean in and intimidate, too. “So that no one confuses your work with his?”

  Dwight released a slow breath. He gave a curt nod, as though that answer satisfied him. For now. But the tension in the insulated room eased and Dwight took a seat at the table. “So tell me about these inconsistencies.”

  The A.D.A. was sharp. He picked up on word choices and intonations the same way Shauna did. Might as well share what part of the truth he could. “The main thing I’d like an answer to is, who is Baby Jane Doe? We can put this man away for her murder, but I’d find a little more justice if he knew exactly whose life he was paying for. I’d like to give that girl’s family some closure as well.”

  “You’re looking for names?” A snicker shook Dwight’s barrel chest. “Wait ’til you meet Gibbs. I’m surprised he can come up with his own, much less that little girl’s.”

  Eli thought Dwight was referring to a suspect’s reluctance to reveal anything that might incriminate himself. But after five minutes of watching the skinny little black man pace from wall to wall to wall around the interview room, while his latest court-appointed attorney kept urging him to sit still, Eli began to recognize the symptoms of a recovering addict.

  It was more than the nicotine patch sticking out from under the sleeve of Gibbs’s orange jumpsuit. It was more than the wild, spongy hair, twisted into haphazard peaks by nervous hands. It was the almost manic desperation of a man looking for a comfort zone that reality couldn’t yet give him.

  Donnell Gibbs might be clean, but it was recent, and it wasn’t by choice. His attention was focused on himself and any trick he could use to cope. Whatever was left of his fried brain was hard-wired to get him from one minute to the next and nothing else. Forcing him to focus on events that had occurred two years in the past was like asking him to fly to the moon.

  “Don’t ask.” Dwight leaned over toward Eli’s chair. “We did a psych eval on him. Below normal intelligence, but not handicapped. He’s fully aware of events surrounding Baby Jane’s murder and disposal of the body, he hasn’t recanted his statement to the police and he understands the difference between right and wrong and how he’d be punished.”

  “What did he use? Crack? Meth?”

  Gibbs’s young attorney tapped the table to get Eli’s attention. “My client’s past drug use isn’t at issue. No current charges have been filed against him in that area. He’s agreed to speak to you voluntarily today. I won’t allow any new charges to be trumped up against him.”

  Dwight raised his hands to placate her. “Relax, Ms. Kline. We’re not interested in any new charges. Detective Masterson’s questions all pertain to your client’s alleged involvement with the Jane Doe murder. Right?”

  Eli nodded.

  Appeased for the moment, Audrey Kline gave the go-ahead. “Donnell?” He angled his head toward her, but didn’t face her. “We need you to have a seat.”

  “That’s okay.” Eli pushed to his feet and buttoned his jacket before approaching the tiny man counting dots on the acoustic paneling in the corner. “Donnell? I’m Eli. I’m a police officer.”

  “Donnell Gibbs.” He stuck out his hand, but kept his focus on the wall. “Pleased to meet you, Eli, Mister Police Officer.” Shaking hands was little more than a timid squeeze, revealing the faded bruises and scrapes of an old fight—not uncommon to find on an inmate accused of harming a child.

  “You get hurt in the exercise yard?” Eli nodded toward Gibbs’s neck and the strangulation marks still evident there.

  “I live alone.” Donnell quickly drew his hand back and started touching each dot with the tip of his finger. “Four hundred ninety-six, four hundred ninety-eight…”

  Audrey Kline explained when Gibbs wouldn’t. “He was attacked by another prisoner. My client is in solitary confinement now, for his own protection.”

  Eli hadn’t expected this. He’d expected to find a hard, don’t-give-a-damn lech who could hurt an innocent toddler. Someone with the calm foresight to cover up his crime in a thorough, unspeakable way. He’d expected to look into the eyes of a man who could kill if it suited his purpose—not the vacuous, darting orbs of a man who was lost inside his head.

  Eli had seen that same absent look on a younger, prettier face. To think that Jillian could wind up like this—living in a cell, used up, battered, alone—attacked Eli’s soul and left him feeling as if he was sweating from the outside in.

  He’d anticipated the kind of flak Dwight Powers had already thrown at him. He could slough off suspicions and resentment and still do his job. But he hadn’t anticipated this personal punch in the gut.

  He had to remind himself that he’d gotten Jillian the help she needed, even if he’d been forced to play the bullying big brother to get her away from trouble and into rehab. Besides, he’d promised Shauna that he would do this. And since he wasn’t about to let her deal with the animosity and danger of stirring up this mess on her own, he would get the job done right.

  “You missed a number.” Donnell’s head tilted to the side at Eli’s observation, though he never looked away from the wall. “Four ninety-seven,” Eli pointed out. “You skipped it.”

  Donnell made some calculation in his head and moved his finger back to a precise dot. “Four hundred ninety-seven…”

  “Did you kill a little black girl and leave her in the city dump?”

  “Detective—”

  Dwight shushed the defense attorney. “His confession is already public record.”

  Donnell answered questions between dots. “I used hedge-clippers so the police couldn’t find out who she was. Too little for fingerprints or dental records. No one would see her face. Five hundred…”

  “Where did you pick up the girl?”

  “In the park.”

  Eli trailed him around the room as he counted. “What park?”

  “Swope Park. In the sandbox.”

&nb
sp; “Did you see the girl there more than once? Did you watch for when she’d come to play again? How many days did you watch her?”

  “Six hundred twenty-two…”

  Not the answer to his question. “What was the girl’s name?”

  Donnell shook his head. “…six hundred thirty. Just a little girl. Pretty brown eyes. Pretty dress. Not as pretty as Daisy’s.”

  Eli glanced over his shoulder and mouthed the question. “Daisy?”

  Dwight pulled the information from the file in front of him and read it. “Daisy Watts. Six years old. Gibbs was convicted of molesting her in 2002.”

  “He served his time,” Audrey insisted on adding. “He was released on probation into a halfway-house program.”

  Eli returned his focus to Gibbs, who’d moved on to the next tile and was still counting. “Did you assault Daisy?”

  “It was wrong. I shouldn’t hurt little girls.” Gibbs touched the next dot. “Six hundred thirty-one.”

  “Did you assault the little girl with the pretty brown eyes?”

  “I killed her.”

  “How?”

  “Six hundred thirty-five…”

  “Did the little girl’s mother bring her to the park?” No answer. “Her father?” Nothing. “Did they walk or drive to the park?”

  “Six hundred…” Donnell paused, thinking. “She was in the sandbox. Six…”

  “What did the mother call her little girl?”

  “Six hundred thirty-eight…”

  “Did anyone say the mother’s name? What did she look like?”

  “Masterson.” Dwight was getting impatient. “This is getting us nowhere.”

  Donnell’s lawyer agreed. “The police and D.A.’s office have already asked these questions.”

  Eli put up a hand behind him to silence their protests. He was beginning to see why Shauna believed there was more to this case than the story Gibbs had told the police. Her doubts were based on feminine intuition and a gut-deep instinct honed by all her years on the force.

  But Eli had made a much more tangible observation. “Where’s six hundred and two, Donnell?”