On Borrowed Crime

by Kate Young

  Good!!! came the instant reply.

  I studied the antique piece once more, checking around for any special hiding places. A crack around the edge of the basin caught my eye. I searched through my carryall for something I could use and settled on a nail file. Carefully I pried up the edge, and the corner of a bubble mailer stuck out. The pounding in my chest became so loud, I could hardly focus. I pulled the mailer through the opening and allowed the basin to settle flush. Inside were pictures and a flash drive. I slipped the drive into my purse. There were five prints, ones from a home printer. My breath came in pants as I studied the images of remains. Carol’s Jane Doe remains. The scarf was wrapped around the victim’s neck, and not in a fashionable way. She’d been strangled and shoved inside a suitcase. The room spun, and anxiety began to build.

  What was she doing with these pictures? Had she been involved, as I feared? She had sounded obsessed with serial killers in the recordings.

  When I turned to the next picture, I recoiled. I took a couple of deep breaths. Steeling myself, I glanced back. The remains appeared to be progressively deteriorating. I had no idea who this woman was. With shaky hands, I looked at the final image, one that showed significant decomposition. Maggots covered the flesh on the skull.

  My stomach revolted, and I stumbled forward, just making it to the sink in time. The soap dish hit the floor with a loud crack as I continued to lose the contents of my stomach.

  The doorknob jiggled. “Lyla, are you all right in there? You sound ill.”

  Thinking quickly, I stuffed the pictures into my carryall and hefted it over my shoulder. I flushed the toilet and furiously rinsed out the sink, stopping to retrieve the fallen dish and soap. “Yes. Bad fish, I guess. Sorry.”

  “No, don’t apologize.”

  I washed my hands and rinsed out my mouth before opening the door. Judge Timms studied me intently for a moment. Luckily, I could blame my sweaty brow and flushed face on the bad fish. I wiped my brow. “Forgive me, Judge—”

  “It’s David. Don’t apologize. I’ll call the manager at the Trail Head Grill first thing in the morning. We can’t have the chef serving subpar cuisine. It’s inexcusable.” He put his hand on my back, oddly more sober than I’d seen him in days. “If you’re too ill to drive, you can stay the night in one of my guest rooms.”

  I stumbled, and the judge wrapped a meaty arm around my waist. The close contact made my skin crawl. If Carol felt the need to hide this from her husband, there had to be a good reason.

  “That’s so kind of you, but really, I should be getting home.”

  He kept a sweaty hand on my side. “You might be better off here. I’d hate for you to be ill on the drive home. I could even have my doctor come by and take a look at you in the morning. Make sure you don’t need fluids.”

  He was way too worried about my health for my taste. “That’s so kind, but I should be getting home.”

  His phone rang, and I could see he was struggling whether to allow the close contact to end or answer the phone. Relief flooded me when he stepped aside to glance at his cell. He looked up. “Perhaps you’d consider having dinner with me some night. Since you and Quinn aren’t exclusive.”

  How could he even ask that? Carol’s body was barely cold, and she was my friend. Appalled, I forced my lips to turn up as I edged toward the front door. With my hand over my abdomen. “Perhaps ask me when the idea of food is more appealing.”

  His eyes lit up. “Of course.” His phone buzzed again, and he placed it to his ear, “Judge Timms.”

  Using his distraction to my advantage, I lifted my hand and swung open the front door.

  “What evidence?” Judge Timms bellowed, and I paused on the steps and turned to face him. Before I could inquire, the judge stepped over to me. “They’re amending the indictment to include manslaughter. They think the killer has an accomplice, and that’s who was threatening you tonight, Lyla. Looks like we we’re finally getting somewhere. Manslaughter is better. We’re on the right track. I’ll see that bastard fry if it’s the last thing I do.”

  My fingers went to my parted lips.

  “You should really consider staying over tonight.”

  I took a step back and forced my lips into a small smile. “Thank you kindly for the offer, but my mother would have a fit.”

  He ran his hand over his head. “Yeah, I guess she would. At least call and let me know you got home okay.”

  “Yeah, sure. You try and get some rest.”

  The second the door closed, I hustled down the driveway and all but leaped into Melanie’s car.

  “I was so worried. You can’t ever do that to me again. You got it?” Melanie’s face was white as a ghost, and her eyes were glassy as she pointed her shaking finger in my face.

  I slammed the door. “I didn’t find anything.” I lied. “Now go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  My phone was ringing off the hook when I got home and barricaded myself inside. It was close to ten but felt a whole lot later. After finding the pictures, I feared to involve Melanie further. She was right: we’d started this together, but my God, after seeing the detailed decomposition in stages, it cast a whole new light on the type of killer we were dealing with.

  Quinn was fuming when I finally answered his call. He’d been leaving me voicemails all evening. “Where did you go? I turned around for one second, and you vanished. You understand how dangerous that is with some lunatic on the outside working with Kevin. We have no idea who we’re dealing with here.”

  I had a good idea. “You thought I was crazy, Quinn. That I brought this whole thing on myself for obsessing.”

  “I’m sorry I doubted you regarding the threats. And you’ll be happy to know I’m working alongside the special agent as we now believe there is a potential connection between the two cases.”

  No shit, Sherlock. And I have the pictures to prove it. But hearing the edge in his voice, I decided I’d pass them on to Brad instead.

  “I just had to get out of there. Besides, you were attacking me.” I took my loop earrings out and put them in my jewelry box.

  “I wasn’t attacking you. I care about you. You’re a bullheaded woman.” He sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.

  “Gee, you’re really winning me over now, you sweet talker.”

  “Please. Please.”

  “I don’t want to argue with you. I’m home, and I’m safe. Don’t worry.” I was worried enough for both of us.

  “Who else knew about your book club’s pick?”

  His question caused me to falter.

  “Lyla, first the note Carol left you referenced the book the club was reading, now whoever is threatening you—”

  “And Amelia,” I added.

  “And Amelia—also began to follow suit.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! And your ‘bullheaded comment’? Pot meet kettle,” I said, flabbergasted.

  “Okay. You’re right. Just please, who else knew?”

  I puffed out my cheeks. “Well the library posts each month’s book club pick on the message forum online and in the library.”

  “How long has that been going on?”

  “Since the beginning. We use it to draw new members. Oh, and Sweet Reads on the square also puts the Jane Doe Book Club pick of the month in a small display at the front of the bookstore.”

  “So anyone and everyone who is interested in what your club is reading can easily find out?” Quinn blew out a breath.

  “Yeah.”

  “And a club full of women isn’t exactly known for their secrecy. Patsy spread the news of the note to half the mothers in Sweet Mountain. My office has been receiving calls of concern from her Mommy and Me class.”

  I rubbed my forehead. Oh Patsy.

  A number flashed up on the screen.

  “Listen, I’ve got another call. Let’s take tonight as a warning sign that we should never be involved on a personal level. If you need me to come down to the
police station to make another statement or to answer more questions, call me. And thanks for dinner.”

  I answered the call from Sweet Mountain Correctional. “Hello.”

  “This is a collect call from Kevin, an inmate at Sweet Mountain Correctional Facility. Press one to accept the charges.”

  I did.

  “Lyla, have you heard?”

  “Yes. Just now, actually.” I unzipped my boots and sat on my bed, pulling them off. “I’ve had sort of a rough night myself. Someone left me a warning on the bathroom mirror at the Trail Head Grill.”

  “What? What kind of warning?” Kevin sounded so exhausted.

  “A ‘stop meddling or you’ll end up dead’ message. In the form of a rhyme.” I pulled the scarf off my neck and shivered before gingerly placing it on my carryall beside me.

  “My God. A nursery rhyme like the Agatha Chrissy book?”

  Goose bumps traveled across my flesh. “Christie.”

  “Huh? Hey, wait! If you got a warning, that proves it isn’t me! It’s good news.”

  I glanced heavenward and closed my eyes. “Yes, I’m so glad I have a stalker who might prove you’re innocent.” I didn’t want him to think I suspected him. No wonder we never worked out. The first thing that entered his mind was his own safety.

  “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. You have no idea how horrible this place is. I won’t make it in here long.”

  A loud ruckus sounded in the background. I couldn’t imagine being inside. Just the visitation had me on edge.

  “It’s okay. What do you know about Agatha Christie?”

  “Not much.” He sounded hesitant. “Just that someone is leaving threats like some book she wrote. Don’t jump to conclusions! Ellen told me.”

  Ellen isn’t a reader!

  “Kevin, did Carol file charges against you?”

  “I told you we were at odds. She was going to drop the charges. She didn’t want her stupid husband to suspect she told me anything, so she filed the complaint one night when Judge Timms came home and caught me there. I was worried about her and ran out. It was stupid. I should have gotten her out. Instead, I angered the beast. That’s what she called him, you know, ‘the beast.’ I’m innocent, Lyla! I swear on my life.”

  “Well, not to pull you down further, but they think you have an accomplice out here. Someone angry enough to come after me.” I walked into the bathroom and dropped my dress into the hamper. “Or maybe whoever threatened me is trying to, as you say, make you appear innocent. You did know about the rhyme.” Opening the glass shower door, I turned on the shower to let the water warm up.

  “Appear innocent? I didn’t do it! I did not do it! My God. Did you find anything? Evidence or pictures or whatever?”

  I froze. First, he’d known about the book club pick. Now he was claiming the evidence Carol left was in the form of pictures. Was Quinn right after all?

  “You say she left pictures? Did she say where she left them?”

  “I don’t know. I think she might have said … um … pictures.”

  “Of what?”

  He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. But if you find them, you’ll turn them over to my attorney and no one else. Right? That asshole Quinn won’t do right by me, and you know it.” Bitterness traveled through the line.

  The phone started making a clicking noise, and the automated voice came over right before the line went dead.

  Feeling filthy after the night’s events, I took a long, hot shower, scrubbing my skin multiple times and shampooing twice. I dried my hair and threw on some PJs, dead tired when I finally crawled into my king-sized bed and opened my laptop. I plugged in the flash drive.

  I should call Brad right now and have him come over and get these. But I didn’t. I stared at my cell for a few long moments. Dozens and dozens of pictures flashed over the screen. I recoiled from the images and had to steel myself to go back to them every time. If I had to detach to examine these images, then that was what I was going to do.

  The pictures were taken of the same corpse over several years’ time. The first pictures were in the fall, with the Jane Doe crammed into the paisley suitcase. The image was reminiscent of how I’d found Carol. To take these pictures, the person would have to unzip the suitcase every time for a new shot. I swallowed the bile that made its way up my throat.

  There were some shots in the spring and some in the summer. None in the winter. She’d indeed been a Caucasian woman, just as the article had suggested. Her clothing had been blue but was now threads and rags.

  “Who are you?” I asked the deceased woman, who might’ve been in her early twenties before her murder—the ligature marks and bruising of the eyes proof of a crime. Though there wasn’t much blood pictured. There hadn’t been with Carol either. She must’ve been killed somewhere else, crammed into the suitcase, and then dumped there.

  I was about to close the computer when I had a thought. The article asked if anyone recognized the jewelry the woman had on her person. So caught up with the scarf, I’d completely forgotten to see if I could find other images of the necklace. I clicked through the pictures, hunting for a closer shot. There! I zoomed in on the woman’s V-neck shirt. A silver or perhaps white gold necklace was around her neck. I needed to get a better look and zoomed just as close as I could without making the image too grainy.

  I gasped. Hopping off my bed, I dug through my jewelry box, tearing everything out until finally I found what I was looking for. Hurrying back to the bed, I held my necklace next to the screen. Oh. My. God. The Jane Doe had on the exact necklace with an angel pendant with a single blue topaz stone in the middle. What were the chances it belonged to the dead Jane Doe? Mother had said Grandmother had them custom-made for Ellen and me. My necklace dropped from my fingers. What was the Jane Doe doing with Ellen’s necklace?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Val called at midnight. It was late for her to call, but I wasn’t sleeping.

  “Hey.” I yawned and sat up higher in the bed, pausing the episode of Friends I been watching. My go-to when I needed to zone out and remain lighthearted.

  “Hey. How are you doing? When I called to check in on David, he said you were sick from the fish you had for dinner.”

  “It wasn’t the fish. My nerves were wrecked.”

  “I can imagine. You poor thing. I’ve been stewing ever since I left. I wish I’d been waiting in the restroom. I’d have given that person a ‘come-to-Jesus’ meeting, and I mean in the real sense of the word: Bitch, meet your maker!”

  “Wow, Val, take a breath, my friend. While I appreciate you caring and all, I don’t want you to end up behind bars because of some psycho, or worse, dead. I can’t bear to lose another friend.”

  “I’m just sick and tired of people rocking our nice, calm little boat. And I miss Carol.”

  “I know, hon, and I’m sorry. I miss her too.”

  We settled into silence, and I heard Friends in the background. “Watching Netflix reruns too?” I smiled and clicked the “Play” button to unfreeze the frame.

  “Yeah. It’s my choice for sleepless nights.”

  I snuggled into the down pillow. “Mine too. How was the judge when you talked to him?”

  “Drunk. I called Marigold to go over and look after him. They fight all the time. Like kids. Carol used to be the peacemaker in the family.” She sighed. “I guess they’ll have to fend for themselves now.”

  “Guess so.” I fast-forwarded to where she was. I didn’t like to hear conflicting scenes.

  “I spoke with Ellen,” Val casually said, but I caught an edge to her tone.

  I didn’t respond, just waited.

  “Ellen said you two have sort of made amends. I think it’s good.”

  “We called a truce for now. Real-life problems supersede family drama.”

  A cat howling outside caused me to jump.

  “Makes sense. I forgot to mention I went to see Kevin with Ellen the other day.”

  “Oh?” How c
ould she forget that?

  “Yeah, he claims innocence, and, on the one hand, I almost believed him until he started speaking in a kind of code to Ellen. And he wasn’t happy she brought me along. I just went for moral support, but hey, if he doesn’t want me there, then fine. Once he’s convicted, he’ll have to put people on a list for visitors anyway.” Was that true? Huh.

  “He called me tonight from jail.” I pulled the down comforter up higher on my chest. “He keeps asking for my help. But Quinn told me Carol filed a complaint against him. He claims it was for show. I don’t know anymore.”

  “Some nerve!”

  I swallowed. “Did you happen to mention to Ellen about the note Carol left? The reference to the book, in particular.”

  “She already knew. She heard it from a friend of a friend that got the information from Patsy.”

  My head ached as Quinn’s words rang in my ears. No wonder he believed we were all gossiping females.

  “Don’t let Kevin play on your sympathetic nature or your past relationship. The man’s a murderer. Plain and simple. I don’t care if he meant to hurt Carol or not. The result is she’s dead. Now someone is trying to cast doubt by using our club and that stupid rhyme!” Val was getting worked up.

  “I know you loved Carol. I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

  “I am hurting. People think I’m stone. That I don’t have feelings. I do. They’re just different from the rest of y’all’s.” She sighed. “I know about the pictures, Lyla.”

  “How? Did Carol tell you about them? Where she’d hid them?” I felt relieved to be able to share my discovery with someone. I’d planned on keeping the evidence quiet until I turned them over to Brad. I’d call him in the morning.

  She went quiet for a second, “No.” She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “David told me he gave them to you. And his investigator took documented images of Kevin abusing Carol.”