by Karen Rose
‘You said you worked a desk job for the state,’ Jasmine said, clearly hurt. She was Thorne’s latest girlfriend and had probably thought herself privy to all their secrets.
‘I do,’ Lucy said. ‘The state medical examiner’s office. Where I have a desk.’
‘So,’ Mowry said, ‘to be crystal here, you cut up dead people all day.’
Lucy sighed. Mowry had been with the band since day one and last year Thorne had hired him as their operations manager. He looked the most surprised of them all. ‘Yes,’ she said.
He gave her a single nod. ‘Cool.’ The others agreed, with nods and murmurs.
‘No. Not cool. Not dark. Just . . . necessary. Especially for victims like Kevin.’
Mowry rose and cupped her face between his hands, resting his forehead against hers in a gesture of friendship that made her eyes sting. ‘That’s why it’s cool. For victims like Kevin, who didn’t deserve what happened to him. You’ll help your cop here catch the sonofabitch that took him from us. So it’s cool.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I needed to hear that.’
He kissed her forehead, something he’d never done before. ‘I never would have dared to do that to the lady in the leather dress. But like this, you’re approachable.’
Fitzpatrick cleared his throat behind her. ‘We need to be getting outside. Excuse us.’
Gwyn met them at the door, her eyes swollen from crying. ‘Everybody in this place was texting the news. Kevin’s parents need to know.’
‘We sent two detectives over to tell them, as soon as his body was discovered,’ Fitzpatrick said. ‘We expected the texting.’
Lucy looked to the bar where Hyatt and Thorne were arguing. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Hyatt demanded a client list,’ Gwyn said. ‘Thorne told him to get a warrant.’
‘Considering one of your own was murdered outside your back door, I’d think Thorne would cooperate,’ Fitzpatrick said, annoyed.
‘Then you’d be wrong,’ Lucy said simply.
‘Fitzpatrick and Dr Trask,’ Stevie called from the door. ‘We’re ready outside.’
Gwyn put a key in Lucy’s hand. ‘My apartment. You’ve got the place to yourself tonight. I’m staying with Royce. He’s coming to pick me up because the cops impounded my car as evidence.’ She glared up at Fitzpatrick. ‘Why’d they do that?’
‘Because your car was next to the Mercedes. We’re hoping the bastard touched it. We’ll take prints, then return it. Lucy, we need to go.’
Lucy impulsively leaned down and kissed Gwyn’s cheek. ‘Be careful. Please.’
‘You too. Call if you need me. And when you know who that is in Thorne’s car.’ Gwyn bit at her lip. ‘I know this sounds awful, but I just hope she’s no one we know.’
Lucy hoped the same, but had a bad feeling they’d be disappointed.
Tuesday, May 4, 12.00 A.M.
He hadn’t planned to kill the valet. Dammit.
He’d planned to knock the guy out from behind and drag him around to the back where he’d eventually be found and revived. But no . . . The idiot had to fight back. Had to see my face. Note to self: Ski masks only work in the movies. In real life the victims could tear them off, rendering them less than useless.
Before he’d known it the knife was in his hand and the guy’s carotid was history. I’m getting good at the move. Maybe in my next life I’ll be an assassin. He started to laugh at the thought, then sobered. Why not? He was good at it. He could make money at it. And there were definitely people in the world that needed killing.
He’d already started wondering how to advertise such a business when his attention was jerked back to the scene. They were moving the Mercedes.
The better to get the body out, my dear.
Lucy might not recognize Janet Gordon, even though he’d left most of her face intact. She might not recognize Janet’s name when they identified the body. Janet had remarried a few times. But when they identified the next of kin . . . Then she would know. Then she’d start to fear for her own life.
Be afraid, Lucy. Because I’m coming. Soon you’ll be sorry you took what wasn’t yours. Soon you’ll know what it’s like to lose everything and everyone that matters. Soon you’ll belong to me.
‘Are you sure, Dr Trask?’ Hyatt pressed. ‘Are you sure you don’t know her?’
To her credit, Lucy remained calm. At least on the outside. JD imagined she was boiling on the inside. Hyatt had asked her the same question three times.
‘No, Lieutenant Hyatt,’ she replied, not taking her eyes off the techs who were trying to pull the body from the seat as gently as possible. ‘I do not. But if you’ll give me some time and space, I’ll do my best to determine the victim’s identity.’
‘See if she’s got a “II” on her back,’ Hyatt said, again for the third time. At least.
‘As soon as we get her back to the morgue. I don’t think it’s wise to examine the body here,’ she said quickly, interrupting Hyatt before he could demand exactly that. ‘We could lose trace evidence here in the parking lot or, perhaps worse, provide one of the TV cameras with newsworthy footage.’
‘I don’t want to give those TV vultures a thing,’ Hyatt muttered. ‘I’ll follow you to the morgue, Dr Trask. You’ll examine the body the second you arrive.’
‘The very second,’ Lucy agreed with enviable equanimity.
‘She’s good,’ Stevie whispered. ‘You’d almost think she doesn’t hate him.’
‘Almost,’ JD murmured. Except that Lucy leaned away from Hyatt, a cringe in her posture. JD felt relieved that when he’d helped her from Kevin’s body back into the building, she’d leaned into him for support. It gave him hope. She hadn’t entirely pushed him away. He hadn’t entirely ruined things by letting his other head think for him.
Shit, that had been one of the stupidest things he’d ever done. Sex in an alley, for God’s sake. And if given the opportunity, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.
‘There’s a hat in here,’ Ruby said. ‘Must’ve rolled under her foot. It’s godawful ugly, but would have hidden her face if she was wearing it when he put her in the car.’
‘That fits,’ JD told Hyatt. ‘One of the officers talked to a couple coming out of the bar across the street. They saw a man rolling a woman to this car in a wheelchair. She was wearing a big floppy hat that hid her whole head.’
‘And the man pushing her?’ Hyatt demanded.
‘The husband said he was six feet with dark blond hair. The wife said he was shorter than that, with dark brown hair. Neither could describe his face. All they could agree on was the big floppy hat.’
‘Wonderful,’ Hyatt said grimly. ‘The other victim?’
‘The valet attendant,’ JD said. ‘There’s evidence of a struggle where the body was found. No physical evidence at this point. Had he not been killed, he may have been a suspect. He had access to Dr Trask’s car key. As it stands, it doesn’t appear he was involved, but we’ll check him out.’
Hyatt’s eyes narrowed. ‘You were here when it all went down, Fitzpatrick. Why?’
JD had prepared himself for the question. ‘I was following Dr Trask, sir. She’d already been targeted twice today. I felt she was in danger.’
‘We both did,’ Stevie inserted. ‘And we agreed that this killer has made a study of Dr Trask’s routine. If we stay close to her, we’ll intersect paths with the killer sooner versus later. JD offered to take the first watch. I was planning to relieve him at four a.m.’
It was a total fabrication, of course. JD fought the urge to meet Stevie’s eyes to thank her. Hyatt would see the exchange and know Stevie was covering for him.
Fortunately they were spared any more of Hyatt’s questioning by Ruby and Alan’s removal of the body from the front seat of Thorne’s Mercedes. Together they laid the body on its side on the unzipped body bag spread over the gurney. The victim wore a long-sleeved dark dress that covered her from knee to neck. She wore no shoes.
�
�She’s in rigor,’ Lucy said, crouching next to the gurney. ‘The victim is female, Caucasian, between fifty and sixty. She’s had a facelift. Her fingers have been broken, but not severed. Her eyes are gone.’ With gloved fingers, she probed the dark fabric covering the victim’s chest, then looked up again. ‘So is her heart.’
‘Shit,’ Hyatt muttered.
‘Indeed,’ Lucy said quietly. ‘Lividity visible in the lower legs indicates she was lying on her side at the time of death or shortly thereafter. She was struck repeatedly in the head by a blunt object. Her face has been sliced by a thin, non-serrated blade.’
‘The same blade used to kill the valet?’ Hyatt asked.
‘If not the same, then similar. There is an object wrapped in a handkerchief in her mouth. Time of death between two and five this afternoon. She does not appear to have been frozen, but I’ll take core temps at the lab.’ She stood up, stepped back. ‘Zip her up, please, and transport.’
Drew joined them. ‘The key to the Mercedes is missing from the valet station. Thorne had an extra that we used to unlock the car just now. We’ll take the cars on all sides into the lab and dust for prints. We might get lucky.’
Somehow JD doubted it.
Tuesday, May 4, 12.45 A.M.
It had taken Clay a little while to lose Sherman’s tail. He’d found the Pussycat Lounge and had barely been seated when he saw a cobra tattoo up on the stage.
Hello. He imagined Mrs Klein would be extremely displeased with her granddaughter, working in a place like this. In his misspent youth, Clay might have found the women on stage hot. Now, not. He wasn’t dead, so he was affected. But the thought of touching them . . . No way.
Cobra Girl had noticed him watching her and gave him a practiced leer. Nicki’s notes had said that ‘Margo’ had called the woman ‘Linda’. He was about to find out if they’d both used fake names.
He ordered the mandatory overpriced drink, set it aside and waited for Cobra Girl to finish her set. When she had, she slithered by. ‘You like?’ she asked.
He fought the urge to cringe, keeping his smile bland. ‘What’s your name, honey?’
‘Cleo. Short for Cleopatra, you know, on account of the snake.’ She flexed her bicep, making the coiled cobra appear to strike.
Lovely. ‘Makes sense,’ Clay said. ‘How much for a private?’
‘A hundred. Fifteen minutes. No hands, big guy.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He followed her to a private room and let her close the door. She pointed at an old chair. ‘Sit. Relax.’
Clay didn’t want to think about what was soaked into the chair’s upholstery. Neither sitting nor relaxing was going to happen. ‘Let’s cut to the chase, Linda. I’m not a cop. I’m a PI, and interested in the woman you let use your grandma’s condo two months ago. She went by the name of Margo Winchester.’
Linda took a step back. ‘I don’t know where she is.’
‘I know where she is,’ Clay said. ‘I want to know who she is.’
Linda frowned. ‘Then where is she? She hasn’t shown up to work in a week.’
‘She’s in the morgue. She’s been dead for a week.’
Linda’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. ‘How?’
‘She was murdered. What was her real name?’
‘Mary Stubbs,’ she whispered. ‘Oh my God.’
‘I need to know why she lied to my partner two months ago. Why she said her name was Margo Winchester.’
Tears began rolling down Linda’s face. ‘She got hired by this guy to act out a role, to be this crazy woman, Margo. I told her not to, but she needed the money. She can’t be dead.’
‘How did this guy pick her?’
‘He knew her boyfriend. They went to school together.’
Clay’s heart sank. ‘And the boyfriend’s name?’
‘Ken Pullman. He’s a cop. Are you sure Mary’s dead?’
‘Very sure. Who knew they were together, Ken and Mary?’
‘Hardly anyone. It was a secret. Ken’s married. Does he know?’
Clay ignored her question. ‘Did she have any recent contact with the guy who hired her?’
Linda nodded miserably. ‘She called him, said she wanted more money, that she’d tell everyone that he was a liar. I told her not to, but she said Ken would protect her.’
And that ended well. ‘When was this?’
‘Last week.’
It fit. It all fit. Goddammit. ‘Did the guy who hired her know about you?’
Terror filled her eyes. ‘I don’t think so. I never met him. Did he kill her?’
‘I don’t know. You let her use your grandma’s condo. What did you get out of it?’
‘Ten per cent of her fee. And she put in a good word for me here. I needed a job.’
Clay thought of the body at the morgue, slashed ear to ear. It didn’t seem likely that Mary had snitched on her friend, because Linda was still breathing. ‘I’m going to have to give the cops information on your friend. They’ll probably come to the lounge, ask questions.’
Her expression hardened. ‘I don’t like cops.’
Which in this case was a good thing. ‘They’ll be insistent,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Because Mary’s cop boyfriend, Ken, is also dead.’
Linda swayed. ‘Oh God. She thought Ken would protect her.’
‘He didn’t.’
Panic flared in her eyes. ‘I have to get out of here. I can’t let him kill me too.’
‘Can you go to your grandmother’s condo?’
Her lips twisted. ‘No. She still hasn’t forgiven me for the last time I got in trouble. I got some money put away. I’ll go tonight. As soon as my shift’s done and I get paid.’
He might have felt sorrier for the woman, but she’d knowingly participated in a scheme to defraud and deceive, not that he was in any hurry to report the crime. Escape was probably her best option. You just don’t want her talking to the cops.
Well, yeah, that too. But as far as Clay was concerned, it all worked out, leaving him free to catch Reardon. And find Nicki. When he did, he’d give Sherman all the details he could.
‘Good luck,’ Clay said. ‘And be careful.’ He left the club feeling the need for a shower. He’d hit his hotel, grab a few hours’ sleep, then drive to Ocean City to find Nic.
He’d driven a few miles when his phone rang. Alyssa’s cell. Dread lay heavy on his chest.
‘Did you find her?’ he asked tautly.
‘No.’ She sounded stilted. Upset. ‘I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.’
‘I was in a noisy place. What’s wrong?’
‘I got a hit on the Ted Gamble card. It was used tonight at the Orion Hotel.’
‘There?’ he demanded. ‘In Baltimore?’
‘Yes. And . . . and I was tired, so I started for my place. I pass Nicki’s apartment on my way. I drove through her parking lot. Clay, her car is there.’
Clay’s heart stopped. ‘What? Are you sure?’
‘Yes. It’s her car. It’s not in Ocean City.’
But the tracking device was in Ocean City, which meant someone had taken it off her car. Probably Nicki, since her car was there. A thief would have stolen it. Clay’s hands were shaking. ‘I’m going to get my files from the hotel safe, then I’m coming home. Where are you?’
‘In my apartment.’
Clay thought of Mary Stubbs and Ken Pullman, their throats slit. ‘Stay there until I contact you,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Lock your door. Do you have a gun?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I know how to use it. My dad taught me.’
‘Good. Load it, and if you see Evan come through your door, shoot him.’
Tuesday, May 4, 1.00 A.M.
Lucy had an entourage as she entered the morgue. In front of her, Alan pushed the gurney bearing the unidentified woman. Behind were Hyatt, Fitzpatrick and Stevie. Ruby brought up the rear, pushing the gurney that held Kevin’s body, while staring at Lucy as if she were an ali
en.
Craig Mulhauser was waiting. ‘Let’s see what’s what,’ he said.
Lucy unzipped the bag and took a moment to study the body again.
‘Well?’ Hyatt snapped, stepping next to her at the table. ‘Take off her dress so we can see if she’s got a “II”.’
Lucy ground her teeth, but kept her voice cordial. ‘Lieutenant Hyatt, we need to examine this body properly. I’ll see things in this light that I couldn’t see under the street lamps in the parking lot. Please take a step back. It’s procedure, sir.’ She looked up at him, her brows lifted in mild challenge. ‘I’m sure you understand about procedure.’
His eyes flashed but he took a step back. ‘Just hurry.’
She and Craig examined the body, cataloguing the cuts and bruises on the victim’s face and legs. Then Lucy focused on the dark dress that buttoned all the way to the victim’s neck.
‘This doesn’t appear to be her dress,’ Lucy said as she unfastened buttons. ‘It’s too big in the bodice—’ She stopped, then grimaced. Not only was there a hole in the victim’s torso, her breasts had been mutilated. Most of the tissue was gone. ‘Oh, hell.’
Fitzpatrick leaned over her shoulder. ‘Please tell me that was post-mortem.’
‘It wasn’t,’ Lucy said grimly. ‘She’d had a breast augmentation. He left behind part of the implant.’
Stevie took a place next to Craig on the other side of the table. ‘I bet we’ll find the serial number on the piece he left in her,’ she said. ‘Like he left the ring on Bennett.’
‘But does she have a “II” on her back?’ Hyatt demanded.
Lucy pulled the sleeves from the victim’s arms and, with Craig’s help, peeled the dress away from her torso. And even though she’d been expecting it, the sight of the evenly spaced burns on the victim’s back made her stomach churn.
Hyatt bent sideways to get a closer look. And frowned. ‘The bottom part looks like a “2”,’ he said. ‘What the hell’s that on top?’
It was a curlicued figure, grotesque in its precision.
‘Looks like two “2”s connected in the middle,’ Mulhauser said.