5 Bodies to Die For

by Stephanie Bond

  The article ended by saying that the police had added Randolph Wren to their list of “persons of interest” in The Charmed Killer case. The article went on to describe her father as a longtime fugitive from the law who still had ties to Atlanta and indirect ties to at least one of the victims.

  Carlotta’s heart thudded against her breastbone. Would Randolph see the item in the paper? Was the district attorney trying to lure him out of hiding to defend himself against charges of murder?

  She looked up at Peter. “Did you read this? The insinuations about my father?”

  He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me last night that this murder happened only a couple of miles away from here?”

  “I didn’t want to spoil the evening and…you didn’t ask.”

  He looked contrite. “I know. I was angry. But I asked you to move in with me so you would be safe, Carly, and you’re still taking chances. Why?”

  She pressed her lips together. “I guess I feel involved in this case because I was there when Coop pulled the charm out of the mouth of the first victim, and because of Michael Lane.”

  “The man tried to kill you!” Peter said, flailing his arms. “Then he stalked you under your own roof and again, could’ve killed you. Did it ever occur to you that this could be a little cat-and-mouse game for him?”

  Carlotta frowned. “Are you saying that Michael might be killing these women to get back at me?”

  Peter pulled his hand down his face. “Carly, who knows what this lunatic is thinking? But until he’s caught, don’t you think it would be safer if you removed yourself from the investigation?”

  “You mean stop body moving?”

  “Yes. Like you promised.”

  She balked. “I didn’t promise…exactly.”

  Peter closed his eyes, then his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Maybe I should’ve given you a polygraph.”

  She raised up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth. “Have a great day. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “I’m right behind you.” But he stumbled over the cat that was underfoot.

  Carlotta bit back a smile. The feline had apparently fallen in love with Peter. “What do we do about her?”

  He sighed. “We can close her up in the mudroom for the day, she’ll be safe there. I’ll leave a box for her to go to the bathroom. Ready?”

  When Peter turned his back, Carlotta grabbed the newspaper and stuffed it into her bag. She thought she might have to corral the cat, but it padded after Peter as if he were a big branch of catnip. Carlotta frowned and brought up the rear, feeling strangely like a third wheel.

  The cat, however, was furious at not being allowed to follow them into the garage. Peter tried in vain to make her stay in the mudroom. Carlotta managed to push the cat back gently with her foot, but got her slacks picked and her leg scratched for her trouble. When Peter pulled the door closed, they could still hear the animal yowling.

  “Sounds like old times,” Peter said with a little smile. Then he sobered. “Was that crass?”

  “No,” Carlotta said sympathetically. “I know you and Angela had good times and bad times. It’s all right if you want to talk about them, Peter.”

  He nodded and from the look in his eyes, she knew he was thinking of the way things had ended last night.

  She put her purse in the storage compartment of the scooter that sat next to Peter’s SUV. When she put on the helmet, he stepped in front of her to tighten the strap.

  “How’s the scooter?”

  “I love it,” she said. “It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Peter’s expression went solemn and she braced herself for what was coming next.

  “Carly, you’ll never know how hard it was for me to walk away from you last night.”

  Her lips parted. “Then why did you?”

  “Because I want you to come to me of your own volition, not because you’ve had too much wine or because you feel like you owe me something for letting you stay here…or because I just want you so damn much. If it happens, I want it to be because you want me, too.”

  Her heart pounded. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” He kissed her and when he pulled back, his eyes were glazed with passion. “I’ll be thinking about you all day. Call me if you have problems at the police station. I can have a lawyer over there, pronto.”

  “Thanks, Peter. You always look out for me.”

  “When you let me.”

  Peter’s words reverberated in Carlotta’s head as she wound her way through traffic. He could sense she was holding back. It was noble of him to wait until she was ready, to wait until the time was right. That meant the ball was in her court.

  Too bad she’d never been good at sports…

  16

  Carlotta walked into the police precinct and checked in with Brooklyn, who was standing behind the Plexiglas window.

  “You’re here bright and early,” Brooklyn said.

  “I’m scheduled to take a polygraph exam.”

  “Yeah, I see it here,” the woman confirmed, scanning a computer screen. “But the examiner won’t be here for another thirty minutes. Do you want a magazine?”

  Carlotta pursed her mouth. “Is Jack in by chance?”

  “Man’s been sleeping here.”

  “Officers can sleep here?”

  “Yeah, but he’s here more than most. But something tells me he wouldn’t mind if you woke him up, baby doll.” She hit a button and a buzzing noise sounded. “Take a left at the soda machine and go to the black door at the end of the hallway.”

  Carlotta nodded and walked through the secure door from the lobby. The bull pen and offices on the other side were subdued compared to their normal levels of activity. She spotted Agents Wick and Green standing across the room, but they were angled away from her. She slipped out of sight and down the hallway. At a black door, she hesitated, then put her hand on the knob and turned.

  The interior of the room was dark and quiet…except for a familiar low snore. She smiled and stepped inside. Rows of bunks were situated on either side. All the beds within her immediate sight were empty. A night-light illuminated her way to a bunk in the far corner. As her eyes acclimated to the darkness, she could make out Jack’s large form. He lay on his back wearing slacks and an undershirt, his broad chest rising and falling. His rugged features were relaxed and handsome, but his eyes twitched, belying his otherwise peaceful posture. Still, she enjoyed the chance to study him unobserved—he was such a physical man that seeing him shut down was almost jarring.

  He looked so tired she decided not to wake him and turned to go. Then his hand darted out to grab her and he pulled her down on top of him. Carlotta gasped, squirming. “Jack, what are you doing?”

  “Right now I’m missing that magic skirt,” he murmured thickly. “It’s harder to get into your pants when you’re wearing pants, but I’m game.”

  She pushed at him and wound up straddling him, with him holding her wrists. “I thought you were asleep,” she said, exasperated.

  “I sleep with one eye open.”

  “And a hard-on?” she asked wryly.

  He grinned. “You noticed, huh? Well, since you’re here—”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I know.” He sighed. “If you’re not going to shag me, I guess I should get up.”

  “You have to let me go first.”

  He made a rueful noise. “And therein lies my dilemma.”

  Their gazes locked and she wished she knew what was going on behind those gold-tinted eyes of his. He released her wrists and she pushed to her feet. Jack swung his legs over the side of the bunk and stretched his arms overhead with a grunt.

  “Do you sleep here often?” she asked.

  “More, lately.”

  “Did anything develop on the case after we talked last night?”

  “There was a reported sighting of Michael Lane in Athens yesterday that finally made it to us around midnight.
I’m going to check it out today.”

  “I thought you were banned from working on the case.”

  “Until we can prove Lane is The Charmed Killer, it’s a separate case. I’m still trying to find whoever blew up your car, remember.”

  “Athens? That’s what—seventy-file miles north of Atlanta?”

  “Give or take. Did you ever hear him mention ties in Athens—friends or family?”

  “No. But if Michael was in Athens, he couldn’t have committed the murder in Buckhead.”

  “If he was in Athens. Sightings like this are unreliable. But assuming Lane bought a car with some of the cash he stole from your house, he could’ve easily made the drive.”

  “Has the town house been processed?”

  “Yeah. They’re still running prints, but you and Wesley can go back when you want to.” He made a rueful noise. “I assume you’ll be staying with Ashford a while longer, though?”

  She nodded, not hating his discomfort. “I think it’s best for now. Wesley is going to install a security system.”

  “Finally. Speaking of security systems, have you been minding your pussy?”

  She leaned in and whispered, “I blew it dry this morning.”

  He groaned and reached for her.

  She stepped out of his grasp, then pulled the section of newspaper from her purse and extended it to him. “Rainie Stephens has a slightly different description of what happened last night.”

  He frowned and took the paper. “The GBI guys could’ve planted erroneous details in the article for their own purposes.”

  “It mentions my father.”

  His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry.”

  She handed him her phone. “Your crime scene photos.”

  “How many did you get?”

  “Six—five of them are decent.”

  “Thanks. Are you ready for the polygraph?”

  “Peter asked if I needed a lawyer to sit in. What do you think?”

  “That’s your call. But a lawyer would probably advise against taking the exam altogether.”

  “Getting a lawyer would make me look as if I have something to hide, wouldn’t it?” Which she did.

  “It might,” he admitted, setting aside the phone and the newspaper and reaching for his dress shirt.

  “Will you be watching the polygraph exam?”

  “I asked, but Wick said no. Marquez will be watching, though, and it will be videotaped. And if the examiner asks a question you think is inappropriate, say so.”

  She nodded. Jack always made her feel better.

  He winked. “Just think about having sex with me the entire time, and your heart rate will be so high, it’ll throw them off completely.”

  Just when she thought he’d grown a sensitive muscle. “Thanks for the expert advice, Detective.”

  “Relax,” he said. “Go cross it off the list so the state dogs will stop chewing on your ankles. I’m going to take a shower, then get on the road. I’ll leave your phone with Brooklyn.”

  “Let me know what you find out about Michael?”

  He grunted, which she took as begrudged acquiescence. “Until we can get a bead on Lane, I’m going to keep that security detail at the store. Go knock ’em dead.”

  She left the room and backtracked to the area where she’d seen Agents Wick and Green.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  Green smiled and stammered good morning, but Wick appeared to be preoccupied with swallowing a bagel.

  “Do you still need me to take a polygraph?” she asked in an innocent voice.

  Wick arched an eyebrow. “Unless you want to come clean about something all on your own.”

  “Nothing to come clean about,” she replied easily. “Let’s do this.”

  She pretended to be much braver than she felt when a few minutes later she was led into a small room and introduced to the polygraph examiner, a small, nervous man with cartoonish tics. Wick handed him a file, then left the room, but she could feel the agent’s disapproving gaze on her from the other side of the two-way window. The examiner opened the file, which appeared to have a total of one sheet of paper inside.

  The GBI agents apparently had already drafted the questions to be asked.

  Irritation flashed over the examiner’s face, then he looked at her and clasped his jittery hands. “I’ll be asking you nine questions. Some of them will be baseline questions, like your name and age, some will be control questions to determine your general tendency toward honesty, and some will be questions relevant to The Charmed Killer case. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Okay. The questions relevant to the case are questions Agents Wick and Green already asked you during your interview. If you answer truthfully and your answer is the same as before, you don’t have anything to worry about.” He leveled his gaze on her. “It’s customary to remember details about an event after an interview. With that in mind, is there anything you’d like to amend regarding your previous interview with Agent Wick and Agent Green?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Then let’s get started.”

  He opened a case and removed the device and corresponding wires and electrodes. Like a prom date with a corsage, he couldn’t quite figure out where to put the sensor straps around her chest, but with much sweating and fumbling, he finally got her hooked up, then slid sensors on two fingers on her right hand.

  He removed a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, then flipped a few switches on the machine with floating needles that scrawled marks across a roll of paper. The lie detector hummed to life and the needles danced. She imagined them writing in script “You are a big fat liar.”

  “Okay, Ms. Wren—”

  “Call me Carlotta,” she said with a smile.

  His ears turned scarlet. “Uh…okay…Carlotta. I’ll ask a question and you should respond either yes or no. Ready?”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. And thought of Jack, damn him. The needles on the machine jumped. Jack, naked and holding himself over her…

  “Is your name Carlotta Wren?”

  “Yes.” Lowering his body onto hers…

  “Do you have brown eyes?”

  “Except when I wear my colored contacts.”

  “Just answer yes or no, please.”

  “Yes.” Thrusting into her like a piston, taking her breath away…

  “Are you right-handed?”

  “Yes.” Kissing and biting her nipples until they sang…

  “Have you ever taken something that wasn’t yours?”

  She yanked her attention back to the question. According to Angela Ashford, yes. And then there were all the parties that she’d crashed. And the clothes she’d borrowed from the store to wear to an event, although technically she’d returned them afterward. Most of them.

  “Ma’am? Have you ever taken something that wasn’t yours?”

  She exhaled. “Yes.” But memories of Jack pulled her away from the moment. He always made sure she got off first…

  “Did you place a charm in the mouth of murder victim Shawna Whitt?”

  “No.” And last…

  “Do you know the whereabouts of Randolph Wren?”

  Carlotta bit down on her tongue. “No.”

  “Have you had a romantic relationship with Detective Jack Terry?”

  She blinked, but then realized that romance had never entered into her relationship with Jack. “No.”

  “Have you ever told a lie?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Do you know the identity of The Charmed Killer?”

  Did it count if she suspected Michael? She shifted in her chair. “No, not for sure.”

  “Yes or no, please.”

  “No.”

  He made a mark on the paper, then flipped off the machine. “That’s all. You can remove the sensors.”

  Carlotta slipped the devices off her fingers and began to remove the straps around her chest. “Did I pass?”


  The man looked up, his eyes noncommittal. “I’m sorry, but I can’t divulge the results to you. You’ll have to talk to Agent Wick.”

  “So I can leave now?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re done.”

  She pushed to her feet and walked out of the examination room. At the sight of the closed door next to the room she’d been in, she rapped lightly, then opened it.

  Agents Wick and Green and Detective Marquez had their heads together, but turned toward her at the interruption.

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” Agent Wick said.

  “When will I know the results of my polygraph?”

  “When I want you to know,” he replied.

  Carlotta angled her head. “You’re kind of a dick, aren’t you?”

  “Carlotta,” Maria warned.

  “Instead of getting out there trying to figure out if these victims are connected and what the charms mean, you’re wasting time giving me a lie detector test.”

  Wick crossed his arms and smiled. “Who said it was a waste of time? We’ll be in touch, Ms. Wren.”

  Carlotta blanched. Had she failed? Was that why they’d been huddled together when she’d come into the room?

  She backed away and exited to the lobby, picked up her phone from Brooklyn and hurried outside to her scooter. Had she just corroborated some piece of evidence that she didn’t know they had?

  With her brain ticking away, replaying the questions and her responses, Carlotta rode to Coop’s home in Castleberry Hill, a refurbished two-story car-repair shop. She knocked and knocked, but he didn’t answer. She cupped her hands and looked through the glass into the living room-slash-garage and saw that his van was gone. She called his cell phone but he didn’t answer. At the beep she left him a message.

  “Coop, hey, it’s Carlotta. I came over to say hello, but you’re not home. Give me a call when you get a chance. I miss talking to you.”

  She disconnected the call, thinking he was probably at the morgue lab, that The Charmed Killer had managed to infiltrate all their lives in one way or another. She backtracked and rode the Vespa to Lenox Square Mall. She was careful to park near a light and in an open space, just as she’d promised Jack after her car had been blown to bits. While she was putting her purse in her locker, and getting ready to take her place on the floor, her mind reeled over all the loose ends that the GBI should be following up on.