* * *
After Simone had left, Jess took his time showering and shaving. He fixed himself a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. After he had finished eating, he tidied the kitchen. Grace likes the place neat.
At 11:30, he drove east down Highway 50. Once past Folsom Boulevard, the remote areas seemed endless. He took the Prairie City Road exit and turned south. The road wound its way toward a sign directing him to “The Dump.” Before he reached his destination, he spotted an area off the road where many had abandoned their journey and offloaded whatever crap was weighing down their existence. Jess pulled over, ignoring the sign that read “No Dumping” and the bold print that proclaimed “Private Property. Warning: Area Under Camera Surveillance.”
The wind blew, whipping plastic bags into the leaden sky. Grit pummeled his clean-shaven skin. He pulled up his collar, popped the trunk and heaved Blondie out of her dark space. “Be free, my angel,” he said, dumping her body behind a tattered, brown sofa. He lifted his foot, ready to shove the body out of plain sight until a white pickup truck rounded the corner and slowed its speed. “Fuck!” Jess scrambled to the car, slammed the trunk, jumped behind the wheel, and drove away.
The white pickup pulled off the road. “Damn inconsiderate a-holes!” The old man slid off the seat of his pick-up, his boots hitting the ground with an angry thud. At his age, he had better things to do than sort through the pile of junk his brethren bestowed upon his thirsty land. He paid close attention to plastic bags, cursing the vermin that dumped God’s little creatures. He had already rescued five puppies and two litters of kittens this week. “A-holes,” he muttered to himself. He nudged the fresh plastic bundle behind the brown sofa. “A-hole.” He unhooked a Swiss army knife from his belt loop, and bent down to slice the plastic. Blond hair spilled from the opening. “Double A-hole.”
* * *
Paul was in Spiderelli’s office when the call came over the scanner. Tony barged in, his eyes bulging and his bottom lip trembling. “They found her, Sarge. They found Kimmy.”
Spider scrambled to his feet. Paul skirted around the desk in time to help Spider catch the man crumbling to the floor. His sobs caused attention from the other officers, and soon, the room was filled with concerned faces.
“Talk to me, Tony. What happened? What are you saying?”
“A farmer found her body dumped on the side of the road like garbage! Some fucker dumped my Kimmy’s body in a pile of shit! Like she was nothin’!”
“Slow down, Pisano. Tell me what you heard.” Spider helped the man into a chair.
“It just came over the scanner. Some farmer found a dead body of a girl matching Kimmy’s description outside of Folsom on Prairie City Road. You know that road that leads to the dump out there?” Tony covered his eyes with a flat hand. His shoulders shook. Grief wracked his body until he doubled over. “Kimmy, my poor Kimmy,” he moaned.
“C’mon, Tony, hey. Let’s not jump the gun here. It could be anybody. Lots of girls match Kimmy’s description in the database. Let’s check it out before we say it’s Kimmy.”
Tony clutched Spider’s sleeve. “Your lips to God’s ear, Sarge. I’d give anything to have her back. I shouldn’t have left her!”
“Go home, Tony. We’ll stop by when we’re done.”
“No! I’m going with you. Ain’t no way I’m gonna sit on my ass while my Kimmy could be lyin’ in the dirt!”
“Fine. You ride with Stevens. And keep a lid on. I don’t want you compromising the crime scene. Let Folsom PD do their job.”
Paul placed his hands on his hips. “Mind if I ride along?”
“Come with me. We can finish our conversation on the way.”
* * *
Paul filled Spider in on his latest update from Skip. “We’re looking for a guy who’s had a complete makeover. Even his hairline was changed. There was mention of dental work as well. It wouldn’t surprise me if he got fangs to match his new widow’s peak. Definitely a bloodsucker.”
“I’m assuming he’s wearing contacts and dyed his hair. Nose job?
“Yep! The works.”
“Photos?”
“Two. Post-op. Bruised, swollen, and unidentifiable.”
“Where the hell is this guy getting his money from? I can’t even afford to get my wife a decent pedicure!”
“I’m thinking he has an accomplice. My guys are checking surveillance footage from all outbound flights dating back to the murder. If he’s here, and I believe he is, we may get a break.”
“Is he still calling Grace?”
“Last time was before Christmas. If she’s heard from him since, she hasn’t shared.”
“Just so you know, I’ve been a busy boy as well.”
“And?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Jess murdered your parents?”
Paul’s head jerked toward Spider. “Who told you that?”
“I’d love to hear your version.”
“Nothing to tell.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Fortier. I may be small potatoes, but I’m not stupid. Weston was not only my boss, but he was also my best friend. That means, the love of his life is my responsibility. I swore to protect her at any cost. Your personal vendetta is a detriment to me. You get anxious and blow this for us, I get mean. Not to mention, you using my best friend’s girl to get inside—”
“Now that’s not true. I love Grace. Her welfare comes first. Would you believe me if I told you my meeting her was strictly a coincidence?”
“I got my eye on you, that’s all I’m sayin’. We play by my rules.”
“Understood.”
The two men drove the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived at the scene, a team of forensic experts was setting up shop. Paul followed Spider to the body. Spider lifted one corner of the plastic. Paul crouched down beside him. “Blond.”
Spider shook his head. “Our boy has a fixation.”
“Yeah, I’ll say, but he’s not consistent. He focused on dark haired women for a while. Lately, it’s been about Grace. If he can’t have her, then…”
Spider stood, stuffed his hands into latex gloves, and pulled the plastic away from the body. “Keep Tony away,” he said. Paul moved back. Spider’s lips moved in prayer.
* * *
Jess perused Grace’s backyard, reliving moments when he hid in her bushes to watch. His groin ached thinking of times when he couldn’t contain himself. He wanted her so badly. His mind stumbled back to her silhouette moving in the window. He wasn’t able to see details, but having made love to her, he knew her body, and he traced every curve, every dimple. He pondered every crevice over and over in his mind. He felt clean with her. Whole. Truly, she was the only woman to banish the demons that devoured his soul long ago.
He looked up to the sky. Only a few more days until his appointment with her. Glee-filled at the fact she hadn’t a clue who he was, he also felt disappointed that she didn’t know him. “I’ll make her love me, you’ll see,” he said to the puffy cloud overhead. “You’ll see.”
* * *
Grace raced from room to room, closing doors, drapes, and blinds. She used both remotes simultaneously to close the motorized shades in the family room. Twenty-foot ceilings made it difficult to close them by hand. “Shit!” she grumbled. “Who’s going to be looking in the windows up there?” Her frazzled mind mocked her. “I saw her. She had a gun!” Grace spoke to her defense. Sneaky followed her, attuned to her mission. Once surrounded by semi-darkness, she felt relieved. Call Paul. “No! For all I know, he’s—” She stopped herself from saying the words. Saying them out loud would mean there was no hope for them. Saying the words out loud would send a curse into the universe, and she would be doomed to live a life in despair. No. She wouldn’t say the words until she could see his eyes and his reaction to her accusations. Only then would she know his lies.
* * *
Simone arrived home to find Jess lounging outside on a cushionless chair. His hands clasped over his head and feet c
rossed at the ankles, he stared into space.
“Looking for UFOs?”
The sound of her voice didn’t startle him although he seemed annoyed at the interruption.
“Home so soon? She must’ve been a lousy fuck.”
“Hello to you, too.” Simone turned on her heel and went back into the house. Suddenly Jess realized the temperature had dropped twenty degrees, and a fog bank threatened to gobble any remainder of blue sky. “I hate Sacramento,” he said to no one. Tiny droplets of condensation closed in around him. He shivered. The thought of spending one more day with Simone seemed preposterous. What to do? He rose and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet to get his circulation moving. Maybe I should kill her and be done with it. His skin tingled. His erection pushed against his denim jeans. He went inside. Simone busied herself near the kitchen sink. She turned to acknowledge his entry.
“How was your day, dear?” Her snide tone didn’t bode well.
“Why are you still with me?” His question caused her to back away, the look in his eye menacing.
“Because you don’t like killing alone. Because whatever sick satisfaction you get from slicing and dicing is much better with an audience, with someone who appreciates your handy work, someone who gets off on degrading another human being.”
“Don’t hold back.”
“Are we cranky, Sheppard?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, thank you. You Americans have no sense of foreplay.”
“What are you wearing under that coat?”
“What would you like me to be wearing?”
“Nothing.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Don’t be long. I may change my mind and kill you instead.”
“Well, in that case,” she dropped her coat to the floor and began to undress, teasing and taunting, her eyes glued to his.
“Tell me about lunch,” he whispered in her ear.
“Which part? You want to know about her long legs? Her big brown eyes? Her blond hair? Do you want to know how pink her—” Jess slammed her against the refrigerator. The handle hit her spine. She sucked air back into her lungs and shoved him. “What the hell is your problem?” she spat. Heat radiated from her chest. Her face screwed and twisted into an angry maw. Large eyes narrowed to a slit. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again!” She snatched her clothes from the floor and left the room.
Jess sank onto a kitchen stool. His heart raced in time with his thoughts. Visions of Grace bled through sparks of anger blasting through his brain. His hands shook as he wiped his jaw. “You’re losing it, buddy,” he whispered. The room remained silent.
* * *
Simone locked the bathroom door. She turned to examine the blue mark inching up her spine. A lump the size of a plum swelled on the underside of her shoulder blade. She knew pain. She could deal with pain. This was different. He came unglued. Nothing playful about it. She struck a nerve. And although her jab was deliberate, his reaction bothered her. She knew when it came down to it, Grace had won. Killing her wouldn’t change a thing, only provide sweet revenge. The only thing left? How much will Sheppard suffer?
* * *
Paul returned to a dark house. He entered, panicked and every nerve on end. “Grace?” he called. “Honey? Chér? I’m home.” Faint clicks resonated throughout the room as tiny sentinels glowed in the dark. Waves crashed upon the shore, thump, whoosh, thump, whoosh. Sneaky’s nails clicked across the floor. “Hey, girl.” He reached for her silky fur. “Grace?” He walked slowly toward the kitchen, taking in every shadow as he moved. When he reached his destination, he flipped the light. “Grace? What’s wrong?”
Grace winced. Bright light forced her pupils to adjust. She shielded her eyes with her free hand. The other clutched a glass of Crown Royal, the bottle cap resting beside a pile of Kleenex, smudged with mascara.
Paul rushed to her. “Honey, what is it? Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“You lied to me,” she said, her raspy voice low and venomous. Her eyes red-rimmed stared at the liquid in her glass.
“What are you talking about, chér? Lie to you about what?” He reached once again for the dog, hoping she didn’t notice his angst. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he purred. He crouched to her level. His eyes adjusted to the light. They filled with concern and sincerity. “If you tell me what this is all about, we can clear things up.”
“Clear things up? Yes. Let’s do that? First question. What is your relationship to Jess Bartell?”
“What? My relationship with him is…I want the son-of-a-bitch locked up! You know that.”
“Let me rephrase,” she said calmly, sipping her drink. Her lips were loose, but her body was concrete. “Brother? Half-brother? What the fuck are Jess’s parents doing in your photos?”
Paul’s shoulders sagged, releasing pent-up adrenaline. He pulled up a chair, close to Grace. He searched her eyes, regretting any pain he had caused her—this woman, his love, his future wife. “They’re not Jess’s parents. They’re mine. Jess murdered my mother and father more than eight years ago.”
“What? What are you saying? Don’t lie to me please.” Her shoulders shook. Her chin trembled. “I can’t take any more lies.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I have no proof. I just know in my heart he killed them as casually as he has killed for years.”
“How? Why?”
“I told you my folks were actors. Jess hired them. I don’t know why. I just know he was the last person to see them alive. When I saw Jess at your house, I wanted to confront him. But then everything else happened, and he disappeared.”
“Does he know you know?”
“No. He doesn’t know I have connections. I, too, can deceive to get what I want.” He sighed, “What you don’t know about me, Grace, is that the only difference between us—him and me—is that Uncle Sam paid me to kill people.”
Grace pushed back in her chair, tossing her head from side to side. “This can’t be real. This can’t be.” Paul reached for her. She cringed. “Don’t!”
“Grace, please hear me out. I can’t talk about this stuff, but my past has nothing to do with us. I love you. I will die protecting you. But please believe me when I say, loving you is the most real part of my life. I am a better man with you. I want us to have a normal, happy life together without looking over our shoulders. I will stop him.” His features softened. “For both of us.”
* * *
Spider leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the pedestal, and began to rock, a habit his boss indulged every day when he was alive—before the bullet from the pearl-handled pistol penetrated his skull and ended Garret’s life. Spider threw a pen across the room. “Damn.” It was his twentieth anniversary, and he was stuck in his office playing “Where’s Bartell.” His wife Kathy, a saint, gave him her blessing. “Catch the bastard,” she said. Where are you, Jess Bartell? The chair’s springs no longer sang a sweet melody. Metal grated on metal. Sobs came in waves from the room across the way. Tony. Poor bastard. Some guys didn’t know how to treat a woman.
Sergeant Spiderelli unlocked the file drawer to his right and extracted a thumb drive. It contained software so advanced it took nearly a year to decipher it once he cracked Garret Weston’s passcode. IT turned out to be simple, clear and profound: “ILoveGraceSimms.”
Spider plugged the thumb drive into his computer and waited for the monitor to blink into life. He typed “Paul Fortier” and waited for a response.
* * *
Jess scrubbed creases from his brow as he paced the kitchen floor. Stop. His child-voice crowded his thoughts: The boy voice whimpering. Wet. Cold. His PJs reeking of rot-gut whiskey and marijuana. Traces of cocaine smudged across the glass table in the filthy apartment. Tangled bodies, heaving up and down and keeping beat with his breath.
“Get over here ya little wimp,” the man breaks free from the pile, grabs his tiny wrist and yanks him into the writhing hell. Cackling fills his ears. Pain fi
lls his body. Mother.
Upstairs, Simone stepped into a bath. Soon, her body floated weightlessly in scented bubbles, a luxury she had grown to love. The little girl inside scooped a handful of suds in her hand and blew white clouds into the air. She leaned back, closed her eyes and remembered bathing in the small sink next to her mother’s room. “Simone,” her mother called, “Help me.” Simone submerged herself in the tub, drowning the voice. She came up for air. Her mother’s voice was gone. Instead, her father stood at the foot of the tub. “You didn’t have to kill me,” he said. His ghostly words cracked with emotion. “I would’ve stopped killing those boys, eventually.” His sincerity was mocked by an evil grin. Simone pointed her finger, cocked her thumb, pulled the imaginary trigger, and blew him to bits. “Tanto tempo papai. Bye, bye.”
* * *
Grace didn’t fall easily into Paul’s arms.
“Please believe me when I say, I love you.” He tried to pull her close, but her rigid body resisted his attempt. She pushed him away.
“How can I believe anything you say? You have been lying to me from day one. You had an agenda: get to Jess through me. Mission accomplished. Can I go now? I have work to do, a practice to run.”
“What don’t you get about this guy? About Jess?”
She rose abruptly spilling her drink. The glass split in two. She wrapped her arms tight around her chest, dashing any hope of entry. “He’s a psychopath. What’s your excuse?”
“And telling you about my parents would’ve provided what?”
“Truth! A word I hold near and dear to my heart. Truth establishes trust.” Her eyes, now laden with tears, flashed his way. “You fucked up, Fortier. Big time.” Grace brushed past him. Her feet picked up momentum as her tears began to fall. She ran into the guest room and slammed the door.
The Black Dress Page 27