by Mia Sheridan
Her brow dipped when she noticed the look on his face and apparently Jimmy noticed his partner’s mood too because he stepped forward, asking, “Everything all right?”
Zach didn’t answer for a minute as he climbed the steps, turning toward Josie. Her breath stalled. Oh God, something was terribly wrong. “What is it?” she managed to breathe.
“Josie, come on in the house and—”
“No. Tell me now. What is it?”
His eyes shot to Jimmy quickly and then back to her. “It’s your mother. She was found dead in her home.”
Josie reached out, grabbing the railing next to her. “What? I don’t . . .” She shook her head. “How?”
His eyes were trained on her so intently, she swore she could feel his gaze. “She was murdered. Strangled.”
“What?”
Zach looked at Jimmy again and then back over his shoulder at the empty road, clearly visible in both directions. It was empty. “Let’s go inside.”
Josie allowed Zach to guide her into the kitchen where they all took a seat at the large farmhouse table. Josie found a divot in the surface and moved her finger over it, using the small texture in the wood to ground her. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Strangled?” She met Zach’s eyes. “So it’s not related to the copycat? It’s just . . . random?”
“No. It’s related. Casus belli was carved into her thigh. It was the only thing that appeared similar, but we’re operating on the theory that this is the same man who killed Aria Glazer and Miriam Bellanger.”
“But why?” she asked, her voice emerging on a choked whisper. “Why my mother? Why strangle her when he starved the other two women?”
“I don’t know.” He paused again, and she could tell he was going to say something else he was hesitant about. “We won’t know all the details of your mother’s death for at least a few days. But there was something clearly visible on the body.” He paused again. Giving her time to brace? “Your mother was burned repeatedly by a lit cigarette before death.” Josie’s throat tightened, her stomach quivering with sickness. “The burns were on her face and on her genitals. They were . . . extensive.”
Oh God. Josie brought her hand to her mouth. Burned? With a cigarette?
“I’m so sorry, Josie.” Zach’s voice penetrated the thick fog that seemed to have taken hold of her brain. Her thoughts felt muddy, unclear.
She shook her head. “We . . . we weren’t close, you know that.” She looked up at him and saw Jimmy give him a look in her peripheral vision too. “But to know she suffered that way . . .” She shook her head again as though if she did it enough, she could deny that this had really happened.
“I know,” Zach said. He reached across the table. Her gaze moved to his large hands covering her smaller ones. They were warm and strong, his fingers slender, nails short and blunt. She wanted to lay her cheek on those hands, get lost in the solidity of him. The warmth. He squeezed her hands and then pulled his own away. “I need to talk to Jimmy for a few minutes. Can I make you some tea?”
She shook her head, though a small smile tipped her lips up at the memory of him making her tea a few days before. He’d clearly never made tea in his life. It’d been weak, terrible, and she’d been grateful for every sip. “No, thank you. You two go talk. I’m okay. I need to keep my hands busy.”
They both stood and, as Jimmy walked toward the door, he put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Jimmy. And thank you again for your help today.”
They went out the front door and she heard their murmured voices on the porch. They were obviously trying to be quiet so she wouldn’t overhear what they were talking about. In a daze, Josie made herself a cup of tea, more for something warm to wrap her hands around than that she actually wanted to drink tea right then. She took it into the living room and sat staring out the window. He burnt her with cigarettes? Why? It’s your fault he left me, you worthless girl! This burn you feel? It’s nothing compared to what you did to my life. Should have thrown you out with the trash, because that’s what you are!
The memory of those words still scalded, far more than the burns ever had. The burns had scarred her flesh, the blame for simply living had scarred her heart.
A few minutes later, her front door opened and closed, she heard the lock turn, and Zach came into the room. “You okay?” he asked gently, coming to sit next to her.
“Yes. I will be. I’m just . . . I can’t believe this. I just saw her,” she said. “I mean, you know that. It’s just . . . surreal. And, Zach, I . . . I need to tell you something.” She felt cold, despite the warm mug held in her hands. Cold and sick and afraid.
“What is it?”
Josie set her mug down, turning slightly and lifting the back of her shirt so Zach could see her lower back. His silence rang loudly behind her, and she refused to look back. She felt his gaze on her ruined skin. “Who did that to you?” he asked after a moment, and his voice was strange, tight.
She lowered her shirt and turned back to him, still feeling exposed though her skin was covered as were the scars she’d only willingly shown one other person. His expression was shuttered. “My mother.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he reached up and ran his index finger over his bottom lip as though taking a moment to either think of what to say or temper his reaction. “You said she was a mean drunk. Are those”—he lowered his eyes and nodded to her torso—“part of what you meant?”
Josie bobbed her head. “Usually after my father left. She’d drink, blame me for him not coming back . . . burn me.” Her voice faded away and heat rose in her face. It wasn’t her fault, she knew that, and yet it still shamed her to her core. “Usually, she didn’t even remember the next day.”
He regarded her for several heartbeats. She detected anger in his expression but no pity, and she was grateful for that. “Do you think there’s a connection between what your mother did to you and what was done to her by whoever murdered her?”
“There has to be. I just don’t understand how.” She paused. “I showed these scars to Marshall Landish in an attempt to . . . I don’t know, humanize myself in his eyes maybe, show him that I’d suffered too. It was . . . complicated.” She frowned. “Or maybe it wasn’t. I was grasping at anything I could.” Josie took a breath. Zach had to have read her case file. He must have gone over the questions the detectives had asked her about her time spent in captivity, the things Marshall had said to her. Most of it if not all. “I got the idea that Marshall had suffered abuse of some kind at one point or another. I hoped that showing him my scars would help him see me as an ally instead of an enemy.” She looked off to the side, staring into space, his words coming back to her.
I s-see why all those men wanted you, Josie. You think I d-don’t? You think I don’t know that you’ve gotten to me too? There’s something about y-you. Something that makes men weak, even m-me.
A chill went down Josie’s spine. She met Zach’s eyes. “Other than you, he’s the only one who’s ever seen my scars.”
Confusion transformed his expression. “And yet the same thing was done to your mother.” He paused. “It could be a coincidence. That the killer simply used what was available to him to inflict pain.”
“It could, but I don’t know. It . . . it doesn’t feel like a coincidence. Not when this guy is using Marshall Landish as a model for his crimes. Not when he cut the same words into her thigh.”
Zach sat back on the couch, running a hand over his hair. “No, it doesn’t feel like a coincidence to me either,” he murmured. “But why kill your mother in a different manner than the other two victims? Why kill your mother at all?”
Why kill your mother? The words repeated in her head. Her mother was dead. God, Josie still couldn’t believe it. It didn’t feel real. “Is it possible there’s a second copycat?”
“Unlikely. We’ve kept the fact that the copycat is carving the words casus belli into the thighs of his victims under wraps. Even if a
second copycat guessed that, he’d seek to mimic the other details as well. There’s something different about your mother’s manner of death because your mother is different than the other victims somehow. It’s almost like . . .”
“What?”
He met her gaze. “It’s almost like the copycat is seeking your favor. He did this in retaliation for what your mother did to you.”
She’d had the same thought skating at the edges of her mind, but hadn’t voiced it because it was what didn’t make sense. “But how could he know that? Did Marshall tell someone? Is this guy someone who knew him?”
“Possibly, though it seemed Landish was something of a loner.” His eyes moved to her. “I’m sure you know that.” Yes, of course she knew that. She’d followed every lead she could in looking for her son. “The only person he spoke to regularly was his sister, and the police interrogated her thoroughly.”
They were both quiet for a moment. Zach looked as though he was struggling with whether to voice whatever was on his mind at that moment. Josie waited him out. “Are you sure no one else ever saw your scars in an . . . intimate situation?”
Intimate situation. That’s how he’d chosen to broach the topic of sex. It almost elicited a smile. He looked so uncomfortable, and something else too, but she wasn’t willing to try to put an emotion to it. She was already shaken up enough about Detective Zach Copeland.
“That is . . . if . . . I don’t want to assume anything.” He rubbed at his lip again.
She tilted her head as a small smile crept over her face. “Do you mean was I a virgin when Marshall abducted me? The answer is no.” Her smile vanished and she looked down, focusing on her hands. “The truth is, I’d made a lot of mistakes.” She shook her head. “And did things that could have hurt people. I made stupid choices that hurt myself. I . . . I wasn’t a great person. I was messed up . . . from my childhood. It isn’t an excuse, but . . . there you have it.”
She braved a glance up and Zach was regarding her intently, a small wrinkle between his eyes. “I think you’ve probably always been a great person, Josie. Making mistakes doesn’t negate that. Unless you don’t learn from them.”
He was so kind, he really was. And again, the sense that this strong, beautiful man was rooting for her filled her heart. Her soul. It made her feel like she had always been a good person, despite her vast regrets. It made her feel like she could be a great person now.
Zach sat up. He looked as though something might have just dawned on him. “A man’s name came up in relation to the two other victims. I was actually on my way to his home when I got the call about your mother. Jimmy’s going to talk to him tonight. It might turn out to be nothing, and I know it’s been a long time since you attended UC, but did you ever know a professor of English literature named Vaughn Merrick?”
Josie felt the blood drain from her face. “Vaughn? What do you mean his name came up in relation to the other two victims?”
“You know him?”
“Knew him.” She felt slightly lightheaded as blood returned to her face in a rush. “I . . . we had an affair.”
Zach drew his head back and stared at her for a moment. “Shit.”
“Zach, tell me what’s happening.”
His brow furrowed as he paused, obviously thinking, trying to connect some puzzle pieces. He stood suddenly, causing Josie to startle. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading toward the kitchen.
She heard him on the phone a second later talking to Jimmy. He disconnected and a moment after that, reappeared in the living room. “Jimmy’s almost to his house. I told him about your connection to him.” He sat back down. “It’s possible he was having an affair with the other two women as well.”
A rock dropped from Josie’s stomach to her feet.
Zach’s stare was intense. “Josie, do you think this guy, this professor, could be the copycat?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jimmy took a seat on the professor’s obviously brand-new couch, a tag still hanging off the left arm. The rest of the place was mostly unfurnished. It appeared the ex-wife had gotten the furniture.
The professor put one ankle over his knee. “What is this about? Detective Keene, you said?” He offered a smile and then gave what was supposed to appear to be a surreptitious glance at his watch. This guy was a piece of work.
Jimmy ignored the question about his name. That had been done to make him feel unimportant and remind him that the professor’s time was valuable. Self-Important Douche Tactics 101. Question was, could this pompous Brad Pitt lookalike be a cold-blooded killer?
Jimmy took his time picking an imaginary lint off his pants as the professor’s foot bounced impatiently on his opposite knee. “Are you aware of the two women found recently with links to the University of Cincinnati?”
The professor waved his hand around his empty apartment. “No TV yet, Detective. I’m sorry to say I’m out of the loop when it comes to current affairs.”
“No chatter about it on campus?”
“Probably. There always is. I haven’t had the time recently to engage in much chatter.”
Jimmy nodded slowly. “Right. Were you familiar with the girl who went missing from campus about six weeks ago? Miriam Bellanger?”
The professor’s face registered no reaction. “Are you telling me Miriam is one of the murder victims you just mentioned?”
“Sorry to say, but yes. Miriam Bellanger and another woman who went missing quite some time ago, Aria Glazer.”
The professor’s foot ceased its movement. He stared at Jimmy like a deer in the headlights. His throat moved as he swallowed. Jimmy watched the man closely. “I take it you knew them both?”
“Yes, I . . . Christ. Dead? They’re both dead? Murdered?” He ran a hand through his thick head of light brown hair, streaks of gray at his temples. Yeah, the college girls probably loved this guy. “Miriam was in my English Literature class on Wednesday nights and Aria . . . I just, knew her from campus.”
Jimmy gave him a small smile. “From campus?”
The professor blinked and then let out a breath, seeming to deflate slightly. “Listen, Detective, it would be frowned upon if the university found out, but in the interest of honesty, I had a brief affair with both of those women.” He held up his hands. “I’m not proud of it, but it’s part of the reason for my recent divorce, and something I’ve come to regret.”
“Where did these affairs occur?”
“Mostly in my office. Sometimes after class, sometimes because they met me there.” He lifted his hands. “I know what you’re probably thinking, but these women came to me.” He leaned forward slightly as if divulging a secret. “Women, especially college women, are often the aggressors these days. And sad to say, they don’t require much other than a clean surface upon which to . . .” He let that linger with a small lift of his brows.
Jimmy ran his tongue along his teeth. “I see.” Asshole. He assessed the professor. “If Aria Glazer wasn’t in your class, how did you meet her?”
“From what I recall, we were both getting coffee one night. We started chatting and . . . one thing led to another. You know how it goes, Detective.”
No, Jimmy certainly did not know how it went. His wife, God rest her soul, had passed ten years before, and there would never be another woman for him. He’d go to his grave still faithful to her.
Jimmy made a note to pull security from the college, see if anyone could be seen following the women as they left his office and made their way off campus.
“How did these affairs end?”
The professor let out a huff of breath, his eyes moving upward as though trying to recall. “Let’s see, Aria dropped out of whatever class she was taking Wednesday nights, so I simply didn’t see her after that.”
“She never called you once the affair was over?”
“If she did, I never returned her calls. But I don’t recall for sure. That was so long ago.”
They hadn’t received Aria Glazer’s
phone records from that time period yet, but Jimmy would bet his bottom dollar that they’d show she’d phoned the professor plenty. And it wouldn’t surprise him if the professor was telling the truth about never returning the calls. Again, asshole.
“There was some indication she might have been pregnant,” Jimmy said. “Did you know?”
Something flashed in his eyes, but he looked away quickly. He knew. “She never said anything to me. If she was pregnant, it wasn’t mine.”
“Right.” He was silent for a moment. “So, you didn’t know she’d gone missing?”
He shook his head. “No. I swear. I had no idea.”
“And Miriam?”
“Yes, I knew about Miriam. I was beside myself with worry, of course.”
“Of course.” Jimmy barely suppressed an eye-roll. “Did you ever reach out to the police? Let them know you’d had contact with her recently?”
The professor flushed and shook his head. “No. Class had been cancelled the week before, so I hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks. I didn’t imagine saying anything about my relationship with her would be helpful.”
Right. Not helpful to you. “Didn’t you think it odd that another student you were having an affair with went missing? Vanished out of thin air?”
The professor’s eyes narrowed and then understanding flashed. He seemed to sag further. “Josie,” he breathed. “Josie Stratton.” He looked down, shook his head, ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah . . . I thought about Josie. But”—he looked up at Jimmy, eyes wide—“the guy who took her killed himself. It wasn’t possible . . . I mean, yeah, I thought it was bizarre. But it’s not entirely unusual that college girls go missing, Detective. Surely you know that. It was a terrible coincidence, but nothing that involved me.”
Jimmy watched him. Vaughn Merrick’s eyes widened farther. “You think I’m involved in the abduction and murder of those two women? What possible motive would I have for that?”