Gillespie wasn’t giving such answers yet anyway—she was frowning. “How can you tell the head was severed? Maybe the vertebrae just fell away.”
He shook his head. Stepping forward with his surgically gloved hands, he showed her a vertebra—and the marks that still, indisputably, showed signs of a sharp instrument.
Gillespie nodded. “How long dead?”
“When and where was she found?”
“Muck, Everglades, near Shark Valley.”
“Sometimes such entombment helps preserve a body, but she must have decomposed before becoming buried in the mud. That makes it tough.” He shook his head. “I’d say she’s been dead three to ten years. I don’t think I could give you a closer estimate.”
Gillespie nodded, sighing. “She becomes another Jane Doe.”
“Another?” he said, frowning.
Gillespie nodded. “You know the statistics, so you can’t be too surprised. Hell, work at the Orange County morgue for a few weeks, and you become immune to the corpses that pile up around you in the damned hallways… half of them victims of crimes we’ll never solve. This is the third pile of bones we’ve uncovered in the past few years.”
He watched her, well aware that although Gillespie was talking statistics, she thought that she was onto something.
“You’ve got a theory?” he asked, peeling off his gloves and standing back.
She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got a theory. I’ve studied some in the behavioral sciences, criminal psychology—profiling. Most guys who get into the heavy-duty sick sex crimes don’t just go out and kill and mutilate. Maybe they start by pulling the tales off lizards. Throwing rocks at dogs. Sometimes they become rapists, going a little further with every crime. Then, the ultimate thrill. Murder. A simple kill at first. Then torture before the kill. Maybe necrophilia. And killers can be smart, good-looking, and damned clever. I think we’ve had someone—God knows, maybe more than one—killing women down here for some time now. I mean, like years. Heaven knows, we’ve got our share of unsolved homicides! Getting a little bolder as time goes by, bolder, and bolder still.” She shrugged and looked at him. “That’s why serial offenders tend to be a certain age, isn’t it? Too young, and they haven’t gotten into doling out the heinous deaths that really cause media attention. Too old, and they’ve tripped themselves up somehow. You’re the writer. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”
“I deal in fiction,” he hedged.
“Fiction—based on fact. You know your facts. I’ve read your books.”
He shook his head. “Well, I can’t have killed all these women over the years, Doc. I stayed out of Miami. I can prove it.”
“Oh, don’t go getting defensive on me, Mr. Black. Or is it Dr. Black.”
He felt as if he were talking through a locked jaw. “I’ve got the degree, I just don’t use the title.”
She smiled. “I’m just giving you a story, you know. You are the author.”
“Yes, but this story doesn’t have an ending, does it?” he asked her.
“Hey, I’m just a hardworking civil servant,” Gillespie said, lifting her hands innocently. “It’s a big city. Not New York, not L.A.—worse, maybe. They say the heat’s a killer. People come to South Florida from all over to commit their murders. What are a few dead girls over the years? No, there’s not an ending. Not yet. But you are the author. Use your imagination.”
He arched a brow at her.
She tapped her head. “Your imagination.”
“You want to know what’s going on,” he said quietly. “Doc,” he went on, shaking his head. “You’re right. It’s hot down here. People come from all over. Thousands of people disappear every year in the United States. Different criminals commit different crimes, and it’s a damned crime in itself, but half of them never will be caught. The cops need to find out what’s going on with these bones.”
“Yeah, they do. But they’re busy as hell, and they’ve got just about nothing to go on but the hunch of an old M.E.”
He didn’t really understand what she was getting at. What the hell could he do? Especially him. Some of the people he met set him on a pedestal—he made big bucks writing books. Half of them still condemned him as a killer who’d walked away from his crime.
He lifted his hands. “Hey, you’re right, I’m an author, an out-of-towner. This isn’t my story.”
“Make it yours,” she told him.
“Doc, I don’t think that I can.”
“And I thought you had balls.”
He smiled, unoffended. “I damned well know you’ve got a pair,” he told her. It was a compliment. She took it as such.
“Well, thanks for your time. I’ve got another patient waiting. Of course, he won’t go anywhere… but neither will I if I don’t get my work done. You can find your way out, right? See you around, Black.”
She turned and left him.
7
“Hey! Lori!”
Lori saw Andrew rising from a table inside the air-conditioned cafe.
Snowbirds might find it fun to eat outside. Natives usually opted for the coolness inside a restaurant.
She had agreed to meet her brother on South Beach. Since he’d been working on wrapping up one of his projects, he hadn’t been able to join the initial family breakfast at her house.
Brendan had gone over to Jan’s, and Lori was alone as she came to greet her one and only sibling. Despite the fact that he had continued to date enthusiastically—and occasionally kept a girlfriend for a stretch as long as six months—Andrew had never married. And he was damned good-looking, she thought. Charming when he chose to be. But he seemed to shy away from commitment, and at some point the women he dated usually wanted more than a casual sleeping arrangement. His bachelorhood was not a state of being that pleased either of their parents, but though he hadn’t gone into any of the work fields that would have really passed muster with their white-collar tastes, her parents were still proud of his filmmaking. Andrew directed documentaries. He’d done shows on the endangered crocodiles of South Florida, and shows on the alligators—which had made an incredibly healthy comeback in the last few years. He’d done programs on the Everglades, on the state of Florida schools, and he’d traveled as well, doing some footage with sharks, dolphins, whales, and more. He was happy, loved his work, and since Lori understood what that meant, she also understood that he didn’t need to make a fortune to be happy— though it seemed he did just fine. He drove a late-model Mercedes, his clothing was designer, and he never seemed to want for anything, though he could be very evasive about his affairs.
Lori had spent her adult life being fairly evasive herself, so she also understood her brother’s desire for privacy.
“You’re beautiful!” he told her, sweeping her into a hug as she reached his table.
“You’re pretty handsome yourself,” she told him, drawing away to study him. Not a gray hair in sight. The years had been good to Andrew. He’d gained character, not wrinkles. He had a healthy tan and was tall, muscled, and yet still lanky. He was their father all over again. Like her, he was light-haired, with eyes slightly more amber in color.
With the fights of childhood long gone by, she and her brother were friends. She liked Andrew, even though they hadn’t been able to see each other more than once or twice a year since she’d left home.
“Wow!” he said, pulling out her chair, then sitting across from her, his eyes not leaving her face. “So the prodigal child has come home.”
She smiled, sipping the ice tea he’d already ordered for her. “I’m the prodigal child?”
“Sure, running off to England, marrying without a by-your-leave, procreating without parental blessing. Don’t you remember how horrified the folks were when you not only married a foreigner right off the bat, but then did the unthinkable and reproduced immediately as well? How are the old dears, by the way?”
“Haven’t you seen them recently?”
“Not in a couple of weeks. I’ve been working r
eally hard.”
“Oh, the folks are good, Gramps looks like hell. And actually, Mom and Dad were wonderfully well behaved. You wouldn’t have believed it,” she told him. She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, we’re being awful, aren’t we? Here we are talking about them. Judging them, while we condemn them for judging us.”
He shrugged, then smiled ruefully. “Lori, siblings are supposed to talk about their parents and discuss why everyone is so dysfunctional.”
“We’re old enough to be understanding, aren’t we?”
“Yeah. Okay, so they’re all right. Maybe. They’re improving with age, at any rate. Still… isn’t it terrible? I’m in my thirties, still worried about what my parents will think if they…”
“If they what?”
“Oh, nothing, really. You know, just what the folks will think—is this effort good enough, would they be proud, disappointed, all that, you know.”
“Well, you shouldn’t worry. Dad was telling me about your latest—the one he calls the croc doc—and he seemed awfully proud. So what are you up to now?”
“What?”
“What are you up to? What kind of a film are you making now?”
“Oh… now… well, I’m working on something for the PBS stations.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Umm… oh, there’s the waitress. Let’s grab her. I’m starving.”
Lori spun around and waved to their waitress. The pretty brunette responded quickly. Her smile at Lori was sweet. Her smile at Andrew was dazzling.
“Lori?” Andrew prodded.
“Uh… the spinach and pine nut salad.” Lori said.
“It’s great,” the waitress assured her.
“I’m a meat boy myself. A carnivore all the way. The steak sandwich, with fries.” Andrew said.
“How would you like that cooked?”
“Rare. The bloodier the better,” Andrew said.
“If that’s the way you like it…”
“That’s the way I like it,” Andrew said. She offered him another smile, and left them. “Teaching and sewing. How domestic. I never saw you that way,” Andrew told her.
She shrugged. “I love kids. I guess I never knew it, growing up, because you were older, and we were just busy being teenagers. And I’m designing, not just sewing, but I’m really happy with my work, and it’s going well. So?”
“So… what?” he said.
“You never told me what you were working on now.”
“Oh!”
“Well?”
“Yeah, I’m doing a documentary on South Florida wildlife. More emphasis on the soft and cuddly, this time. You know, deer, otter, squirrels, rabbits, and little foxes.”
“Great. I’d love to see you filming one day.”
“Sure. It’s more tedious than glamorous, you know that.”
“That’s all right. I’d like to see you work.”
“Great.”
“When?”
“Um… I’m not sure yet. We’ll set up a date. I’ll have to find a time when I think I can impress you, okay?”
She wondered why he seemed so evasive, then realized that she was pressuring him. “Whenever you’re ready. Just remember that after Mom, I’m probably your most ardent fan.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, then sobered suddenly. “You heard about Ellie?”
“How could I not?”
“It’s all over the news, huh? Isn’t that awful? And isn’t it strange as hell, too? With Sean just back in town.”
“Andrew, you can’t possibly think—”
“I don’t.”
“Then—”
“It’s just strange as hell, that’s all. We’re all here. Or kind of here.”
“All?”
He grinned somewhat awkwardly. “All of us, the in crowd, the cool kids—the beautiful people. That’s kind of what we thought of ourselves back then, wasn’t it? But we’re all together again. In spirit, anyway. I live here, you’re back. Jan never left, Brad never left. Ted Neeson is a cop in Coral Gables. Ricky is a Metro homicide cop. Your old friend Susan Nichols owns a couple of coffee shops: one in the Gables, one in the Grove. Sean’s brother, Michael, lives in the Keys, just a little more than an hour south of here. Our cousin Josh is practicing law—a nice divorce practice, I might add. Ellie was in Miami Lakes. Jeff Olin, Mandy’s brother, is also down here— a corporate attorney. He’s had some hot cases, fighting like a tiger and winning when others have stepped on the toes of his clients, I can tell you. He still lives in the Kendall area. I wonder what he thinks of all this.”
“He was devastated when his sister was killed. Broken. I’m sure that Ellie’s death will hurt him terribly.”
“I imagine. But I guess we’ll find out.”
“Will we? When, why?”
“We’ll all go to the funeral, won’t we?”
“I… yeah, I guess. When is Ellie being buried?”
“Tomorrow. Ten o’clock service at St. Theresa’s. You know what, I’ll pick you up, okay?”
“Yeah, sure—” Lori began. Then she broke off, startled to hear her brother’s name called. Loudly.
“Andrew! Andrew Kelly, why, hon, what a living pleasure!”
Startled by the saccharine drawl. Lori turned to see a bleached blonde come waddling toward them. The woman was anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five years old and very voluptuous. Her hips were round, and her breasts were melons. They spilled over the edge of her low-cut tank top. Her face was pretty, but overly made up. Her smile was genuine.
Andrew looked at her totally aghast. His bronze face had gone pale. He looked like he would have hidden beneath the table if he could have done so.
Since he couldn’t, he stood.
“Muffy,” he said sickly.
Muffy? Lori thought. But she waited for an introduction. This busty blonde wasn’t her brother’s usual woman. Andrew dated them tall, sleek, and fashionable. He usually liked brunettes. But then again, in truth, Muffy was actually a brunette.
“Hi!” she said to Andrew. “What a surprise to see you here, hon. Oh!” she said, glancing at Lori. “I don’t mean to interrupt—”
“It’s all right,” Lori said quickly. “Andrew, introduce us,” she prodded softly.
“Oh, uh, Muffy, my sister, Lori. Uh… Lori, Muffy occasionally… uh… works for me.”
“Occasionally! Why, I work for this handsome young charmer every single chance I get!” Muffy said, totally enthused. She pumped Lori’s hand. “And to meet his sister… why, it’s an honor. Just an honor!”
Lori smiled. She was dying of curiosity, and she couldn’t help but like the woman who was so enthusiastic about her. “Thank you, Muffy. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” Lori told her.
“But we were just having lunch.” Andrew said pointedly.
“Oh, well, oh, I am sorry—” Muffy began.
“You could joi—” Lori began.
“No! Uh, I haven’t seen my sister in ages— we’re catching up,” Andrew said quickly. Rudely, Lori thought.
But Muffy didn’t seem to mind. Lori was sorry to think that maybe people were so frequently rude to Muffy that she didn’t realize it, and didn’t take offense.
“You two just catch up on old times. Truly, Lori, it’s a pleasure to meet you! Don’t get up now. Later, Andrew!” Beaming, Muffy moved on. She disappeared toward the rear door and the tables out back.
“Andrew, you were mean to that woman—”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t! Look, I’m not working right now, I’m seeing my sister, and I don’t want to be bothered by employees!”
“Employees?”
“A coworker, whatever.”
“Just what does Muffy do for you?” Lori asked.
“What is this, twenty questions?” he demanded, annoyed.
“No, of course not, I just—”
“Damn it, Lori, I’m sorry, I just want to have lunch with you, and not be bothered by
work, okay? Damn, you’re making me feel as if I’m out with my mother. Can we please just drop it?”
“Andrew, what does Muffy do?”
“She prepares—things.”
“The set?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“She works with props, cameras?”
“Yeah. Can we talk about something else?”
“I guess.” Lori realized that she was annoyed, and hurt. Andrew didn’t know everything about her life, but he knew more than anyone else. She couldn’t begin to understand why this woman had upset him so much.
The waitress chose that timely moment to bring their food. She was good at her craft, politely making sure that they had everything without being overbearing.
By the time she left them, Andrew had calmed down and completely dismissed the episode.
“You know, old Sean got really famous. Top of the heap. Movies out of his stuff and all that.”
“Yep.”
“I’m glad for him. Sean was cool. He sure got a bum wrap.”
“Yeah, he took a lot of grief for an innocent guy.”
Andrew debated that carefully for a minute. “I guess. Though…”
“What?”
Andrew shrugged. “Well, if he did freak out and kill Mandy, she kind of had it coming, the way she all but waved a red flag beneath his nose.”
Lori felt her temper soar. “Andrew, there’s a big difference between being angry with someone and murdering someone! You’re being horrible!”
“Well, I don’t mean to be. I’m just being logical.”
“Logical! You think a man has a right to kill a woman just because she—”
“She was acting like a total whore that day.”
“It isn’t legal to kill whores, Andrew. What’s the matter with you?”
He sighed, staring at her ruefully. “I don’t mean that. No, it isn’t right for a guy to hurt a girl for acting like a cunt. I know that! That’s the obvious. I just mean that guys have feelings, too. Maybe she humiliated him so badly that he freaked out—temporary insanity, that kind of thing. That’s all I meant.”
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