by Kylie Dodson
"You said you had too much to drink," Blake continued.
"Yup."
"Are you feeling any better after sleep?"
"I'll feel even better if we can focus on this."
"Alright, I'll quit pushing."
"Thank you."
"So, we're working another murder, eh?" Blake ambled farther into the alley, looking up and down the walls. "One that happened in this very spot. One that is not tied to the serial-killer."
"On-site officers place the time of death somewhere after three am."
"And this place closes at two in the morning," Blake added. "So, the victim must have been hanging around well past closing. Not too surprising. Some patrons like to linger well after last call. For all we know, she was stuck throwing up in the bathroom. An employee went in, found her and sent her on her way."
"Possible."
"I feel a but, coming on."
"It just...It feels too obvious," Jennifer muttered, her eyes scanning the same walls Blake was looking at.
"I think I know what you mean," Blake said. "But, there's no riddle anywhere. And the last one at the construction site sure didn't have any references to an alley-way. So if you’re right, and this one's not tied to the serial killings..." Blake's eyes widened. "Wait, that means there are two killers out there."
"That's what I was afraid of," Jennifer said.
"So, why are we working this one?"
"Captain's orders."
Blake cocked one eyebrow.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Jennifer replied. "We're not done with the serial killer since that's what you're thinking. But that is higher profile than this one. Meaning, this one might be easier. We close this one then go back to the riddles. Besides, there might not be any riddles here, but we do have one possible lead to all the victims. Even if indirectly."
"What's that?"
"Nathan Driscoll."
***
"Excuse me," the front desk receptionist of Driscoll Construction said, protesting Jennifer and Blake as they hurried past her. "Mr. Driscoll had to reschedule--Excuse me, you can't just--"
Jennifer held up her badge, flashing it over her shoulder. It was a clear sign that whatever the receptionist thought they couldn't, they very much could.
Jennifer pushed open the door to the private office at the end of the hall.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Driscoll, they just--"
Nathan Driscoll held up one hand, halting the receptionist. "Came at the right time. That will be all, Ms. Ackerman."
Ms. Ackerman glared once more at Jennifer and Blake before retreating back out of the office.
Driscoll looked Jennifer up and down, his tongue pushing out on one side of his mouth then the other. His eyes assessed her in a way that made her skin crawl. Here she was, once again, in the same room with the very man who was all over her last night.
"I remember you," he said to Jennifer. "You're the one that got in the way of the little tet-a-tet-a-tet I was planning, last night."
"Sorry to have ruined your evening," Jennifer said with no remorse.
"No. No. Not at all. I'd say you made it better. At least until you left. Can I offer you a drink? Judging that shiner you've got, I'd say you could use it?"
Jennifer reached for her black eye, but quickly refrained from touching it.
Driscoll moved for one of the drawers at his desk. "It may not seem like it, but I keep the best stuff in the desk. Everyone knows not to rummage through my things, so, it's the most secure place."
"No thank you," Jennifer said.
Driscoll's gaze moved from Jennifer to Blake. There was a certain disdain in his stare.
"Yourself?"
"This isn't a social visit, Mr. Driscoll," Jennifer said, showing her badge. "I'm Detective Jennifer Case."
"Oh." It was all he managed. But now the look in his eyes was one of complete lasciviousness.
It suddenly made sense to Jennifer. It was a similar look that he had when she kept the other two women away. And here he was with the same glint in his eye. Nathan Driscoll liked women in positions of power. It gave him some kind of thrill. She'd seen the type before. Too many men watching too many naughty videos about police women taking advantage of criminals. She didn't mind the fear some men had of her. But to think that any of them would be turned on was revolting.
"Well, I am always eager to help our local heroes," he said, massaging his wrists as though some sense memory had been triggered.
Jennifer could tell Blake was feeling awkward at the whole thing.
Driscoll made his way to the front of his desk and sat on it. "What can I do ya for?"
The double entendre was not lost on Jennifer. But she ignored it. "I'm investigating a homicide."
Driscoll sank back, the gravity of their visit sinking in. "A homicide. That's serious. I'm hoping that your visit doesn't involve handcuffs. At least not in relation to this." He couldn't help himself.
"I definitely hope it doesn't lead to that," Jennifer replied, making him aware that she knew where his mind was going.
"Because, I can guarantee I had nothing to do with it," he continued.
"The victim was one of the girls you were dancing with at Riptide, last night, Mr. Driscoll," Blake chimed in.
"Well, I danced with many girls, last night, Mr..?"
"Rivers. Blake Rivers."
"Are you a cop as well, Mr. Rivers?"
"Not officially."
"Then I'm not too sure I should be answering to you."
"It was one of the girls you were dancing with, Mr. Driscoll," Jennifer said, knowing a battle of wills was about to take place between the two men. As far as she was concerned, there was only one alpha in the room. And it was her.
"Like I said. I danced with many girls. But if I can be honest, after you showed up, I'd forgotten what any of them looked like."
Jennifer knew that treating this like a casual questioning wasn't going to get her anywhere. She was going to have to be more direct.
"Mr. Driscoll, I understand if asking these questions in your place of business makes you uncomfortable. If you'd like, we can do this in a more formal setting. You're welcome to include your attorney."
"My attorney? Only those who have something to hide need their attorney. I'm on open book. And you, Detective--" he said with a hint of pleasure, "--are more than welcome to read every page." He rose from his desk and walked back behind it. "As for this unfortunate matter, I don't mind repeating that I had nothing to do with it. As a matter of fact, I left Riptide not long after you. I was hoping to find you outside. Waiting for a cab or something."
"And you have witnesses to corroborate that?"
"You saw the place. It was a packed house. I'm sure many people saw me leave."
Jennifer turned to Blake, knowing he would have been the only person to pay attention to Driscoll's exit and when it occurred.
Blake gave a subtle shake of his head, refuting Driscoll's claim.
Jennifer glanced around the room, looking for anything that might give her an edge. She didn't like the idea of walking out with nothing. But the office was fairly basic for housing a success like Nathan Driscoll. A plain wood desk topped with floor plans. An oversized photo of a construction site behind the desk. And a fake tree just beside the door. There was nothing. Just like she had.
She pulled out her card and extended it to him. "Well, should anything come to mind that might help with my investigation, please don't hesitate to call."
Driscoll took the card. "Does that include social reasons?"
"Sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Driscoll. Enjoy your afternoon," Jennifer said as she backed out of the room. She didn't want to give him any other part of her anatomy to fantasize about.
***
"The nerve of that guy," Blake said, making his way for the car.
Jennifer could tell that he was frustrated, though she was sure some of it was embellishment.
"Did you see the way he was looking at you?"
"I w
as there, Rivers. Yeah, I saw it."
"And you're OK with that?"
"It wouldn't be the first time a man looked at me with lust in his eyes. The real question is, why does it have your panties in a bunch?"
Blake fumbled for an answer. He wasn't ready to be asked such a thing. "It's just...It's just rude, is all. You don't say things like that to a lady."
"Oh really? And what kinds of things do you say to a lady?"
"Well, I mean...'What can I do ya for?' You know what he meant by that, right?"
"Listen, Rivers. I appreciate the gallantry. I'm not too sure why you're feeling that way, but it is appreciated. Right now, though, I'd rather not think about the double meanings of Driscoll's...inner-thoughts. He was my prime suspect in the serial killings and last night's homicide. I've dealt with enough suspects to know when they're lying. And I can tell you, Nathan Driscoll isn't lying."
"Even about leaving not long after you?"
"I'd chalk that up to alcohol and just not paying attention. He probably had no clue when he actually left.
Blake scratched his head. "This isn't a good place to be in, is it?"
"No, it isn't."
"You think Dubs knows any more?"
"We've got nothing else to go on."
***
The autopsy lab was pretty quiet for a change. Even Dubs's usual symphonic metal music was turned down to mere background ambience. Jennifer had grown very accustomed to it. So much so that she even downloaded a couple of albums that Dubs had recommended. She wasn't too big on the heavy guitar but the operatic vocals were relaxing.
Dubs stood at a lab table and typed away on her laptop. There was a happy glow about her. Despite her image, Dubs had a large and friendly personality. But this was something new. Something even Jennifer Case had not seen before.
"Dubs?" Jennifer asked curiously.
The coroner spun on the heels of her boots, a large smile plastered on her face. The expression quickly turned to shock. "Jen, what happened?" She pointed at Jennifer's eye.
"Oh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it. What was with that smile just then? Someone looked like they were in an amazing mood," Jennifer said.
"It's me. It's totally me. Oh, hi, Blake," Dubs said, practically blowing Blake Rivers off.
"I take it that last night with hot guy went well?" Jennifer asked.
"Hot guy?" Blake muttered.
"I didn't call him. But I did ask for Glen's number this morning. And he said yes." Dubs' arms reached for the sky in victory before coming back down slowly.
Her closed eyes reminded Jennifer of TV shows where the teen girl finds out her crush is interested in her. It was one of those cheesy moments she didn't think happened in real life. Yet here was Misty Dubbins proving otherwise.
"Did you call him?" Blake asked.
"I will during lunch. I'm going to ask him to go with me to a new cadaver exhibit at the science museum. I read about it online. It looks really cool. Did you know that human nails and hair only looks like it's still growing after death because the skin around them is actually shriveling? I mean, it's pretty basic knowledge for anyone in the field, but I've never seen it before. There's supposed to be one display that shows it. It's simulated but--"
"Dubs," Jennifer interrupted. "That sounds great."
"You're taking a first date to a cadaver exhibit?" Blake asked. "Let me offer you some male perspective on that idea."
"We're good, Rivers, thanks," Jennifer said before Blake could get any more in depth. "I'm proud of you, Dubs. You took charge and got the guy."
Dubs beamed. "Well, I don't got him, yet. But I'm one step closer."
"Well, he would be crazy to not let you have him."
Jennifer glanced at Blake and could tell he had something to say. Before he could speak, she said, "By the way, Dubs. Since you're not going to use it, do you mind if I got hot guy's number?"
Blake cocked his eyebrow. The expression gave Jennifer some satisfaction.
"If you ladies are done being girls, maybe we could get some police work done," Blake said, obviously determined that Jennifer not get hot guy's number.
"Right," Dubs said.
She walked to the gurney. A white sheet covered the body Jennifer and Blake both knew was under there.
"I had a certain hunch and it turned out I was right," Dubs said, moving the sheet back and revealing the same girl from the photo. The same one Blake had seen slap Nathan Driscoll.
Jennifer let out a sigh. It was never easy, seeing the deceased. Especially a deceased victim of murder. And this time it was even harder. Especially since this same girl was just out last night, full of life. And even though Blake was the one who saw her, Jennifer was sure the girl had even more life to live. Sadly, it didn't always work out that way.
"The first thing I noticed were the bruises on her arms," Dubs said, pointing to the black and blue ovals.
Blake shook his head. "How can anyone do such a thing to someone?"
"Those aren't from impacts. That's sheer pressure. Whoever did this to her had a very strong grip. And you see how the bruises fade up? The grip was strong but she still managed to move her arms within it. That's why there is lighter bruising. The person who did this had to struggle a little," Dubs continued.
"Good. At least she managed to put up a fight," Jennifer said, feeling some twinge of relief that the the girl didn't make it easy for her assailant. Despite how it ended.
"Is that how she died?" Blake asked, pointing to the girl's neck.
Dark brown fingerprints showed on the sides of her throat, with two right in the middle.
"They crushed her larynx, Jen," Dubs said. "Even if she wanted to scream for help, she couldn't. Stuff like this is one of the reasons I stopped going to places like that...at least alone. You just never know what can happen."
Jennifer absentmindedly reached for her eye. Dubs' words weren't lost on her.
"But, believe it or not, that is not how she died." Dubs respectfully grabbed one of the girl's arms and gently turned it over. "I had a hunch and ran a toxicology screening, just in case. And it turned out, I was right. Cause of death was not strangulation. It was poison."
Jennifer and Blake looked at the dark, purple veins. They ran from just below the palm of her hand to the crook of her elbow.
"There was no weapon used here. But the killer still had to know what they were doing. That or it was a lucky calculation. Some poisons are very fast acting," Dubs said.
"Like cyanide?" Blake asked.
"That's one of the faster kind, yes. But this wasn't cyanide. I'm still waiting on the full report, but considering the strangulation, I'd say someone gave her a slow acting toxin--probably put it in her drink. Blood thinning from the alcohol would have slowed the process even more. Maybe the killer thought that was too slow? Or maybe they used the choking to cover up the poison. Either way...This poor girl was going to die."
"So whoever did this, knew--to some degree--what they were doing," Jennifer said.
Dubs nodded. “Possibly.”
"Just like the serial killings," Jennifer muttered.
"So, we've got two killers running loose, and both have working knowledge on efficient and slow means of killing?" Blake asked.
"Maybe. Where are her personals?" Jennifer asked, already moving toward a stainless-steel bowl on the counter.
Dubs pointed to the same metal bowl on the counter next to the gurney. "Right there."
Jennifer went straight for girl's silver sequined clutch and took out her driver's license. "Kimberly Meredith Gamble. Age twenty-two."
She looked at the address on her license. Judging by her age, Jennifer was sure the girl hadn't changed licenses yet. She figured that the address was that of her parents.
Whether she still lived there or not was beside the point. Jennifer was going to have to pay her parents a visit.
That, amongst everything else, was the worst part of the job.
CHAPTER 13
Each brown
stone looked nearly identical to the last. Each had three stories with steps leading up to the front doors. And each had a spare room under the stairs--otherwise known as the In-law suite. The biggest visual differences of each domicile was in the color—although even that repeated itself every third home.
Jennifer looked up and down the wide sidewalk. The shade from the trees was nice. It made sense why people wanted to live in the area. People walking their pets, joggers—it was quiet. Much more so than the crazy life she led.
Blake stepped up on the curb and for a brief moment Jennifer Case saw him in a different light. Vastly different than her original disdain for him, but not too far a cry from her perspective at Riptide, albeit more innocent. He looked like he was no stranger to areas like that one. Almost as if he felt right at home.
“These aren’t cheap,” he said without prompting. “I looked at some, myself. The lowest one was at five million.”
“That what they’re paying journalists, these days?” Jennifer asked.
“Well, not just any journalist. I happen to be world renowned.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And don’t get me wrong, these are great places. If you’re married with kids.”
“Is that what stopped you from getting one?” Jennifer asked, trying to hide the genuine curiosity in her voice.
“It was the view actually,” Blake told her. “My condo has a much better view. And, I have on-site maintenance.”
“Well, aren’t you fancy?” Jennifer teased.
She turned to face the house they'd been looking at and let out a slow breath.
They both slid their hands up the charcoal colored granite bannister rail of the front door steps. The wide railing was smooth and polished. As brownstones went, this row of them contained some of the more expensive in the city. The late Kimberly Meredith Gamble definitely came from money.
Jennifer was the first to step up to the black cherry wood double-doors. She took a quick glance through the door windows. There was no movement in the house as far as she could tell.