Ripped in Red

by Cynthia Hickey

  “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Weston asked.

  “Did you see anyone else around when the dog went berserk?”

  “A doorman, I think.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “I couldn’t see his face. Not past Ball, anyway. I noted the fancy red jacket and got in the car.” She cut him a sideways glance. “Do I need to turn around?”

  “Did you see the doorman when we went into the building?”

  She shook her head and squealed tires turning the SUV back in the direction they’d come. “He’s probably gone, but maybe someone can give us a description.”

  She drove right up to the doors and parked. “Monroe, stay with your dog. We don’t need a repeat.”

  Colin sent Cassidy an apologetic look and jogged after Weston. They barged into the lobby of the complex. No doorman in sight.

  “Excuse me.” He approached a young man at a vending machine. “Does this place have a doorman or a security guard?”

  “We have a guard, why? No fancy doorman, though.”

  “Does the guard wear red?”

  The kid laughed. “Seriously? Have you ever seen one wear anything but blue or black?” The only one we have wearing red around here is crazy old lady Ethel. She wears a red cape with yellow fur every day, no matter what temperature it is. A real kook that one.”

  “Do you know where we can find her?”

  “Nah. She leaves every day and comes back at odd times.”

  Colin clinched his fists. Another waste of time. Still, they needed to follow every lead.

  “I’m sorry,” Weston said as they returned to the SUV. “I’m originally from New York. We have doormen.”

  He exhaled sharply. “Did you see anyone out here, Cassidy?”

  “Nope. Just me, Rosie, and the birds.” She kicked the back of his seat. “Don’t leave me again. I’m just as capable at investigating as either one of you and a whole lot safer with you than alone.”

  “Again, my apologies.” Weston headed them back to the highway and to the bar as dusk descended over the trees.

  A pink and green neon sign flashed Bar and Grill in twelve foot letters above the building. Colin hadn’t stepped foot in a bar in several years. Not after having frequented one far more than was healthy after the shooting. He took a deep breath and shoved open the door to the SUV.

  Flanked by Cassidy and Weston, he entered the bar and paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light inside. The place was packed and several conversations halted as heads turned to study the newcomers. While some of the men might take it upon themselves to approach the beautiful women at Colin’s side, anyone looking hard enough would be able to tell by their no-nonsense demeanor that they weren’t there for a good time.

  “I hate these meat markets.” Cassidy marched to the bar and pulled a picture of their latest victim from her pocket. “Have you seen this woman?”

  “Who’s asking?” The bartender kept wiping the bar, not even glancing at the picture. The flamingo-style pink neon light behind him highlighted his bald head.

  “FBI.” Weston flashed her badge.

  “In that case.” He glanced at the photo. “Yeah. A real looker. She was in here the other night.”

  “Alone?” Cassidy asked.

  “It started out that way, then some man approached her. I could tell she didn’t want anything to do with him, but she was polite. He bought her a glass of wine.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “I remember all the beautiful ladies.”

  “What did the man look like?” Colin leaned against the bar, directing half his attention to the bartender and the other half at those watching them.

  “A real ugly dude. Massive scar on his face. He came in with a plain Jane. She took a seat at the opposite end of the bar, and he approached our beauty. What did Miss Lovely do?”

  “She was murdered.”

  The bartender blanched. “Seriously? Wow. Let me think a minute.” He wiped his sweating scalp with the same rag he’d wiped the bar. “Yeah. She went to the restroom. I was helping another customer, but when I looked up, all three of them were gone.

  “Is there a backdoor to this place?”

  He pointed them to a sign that stated restrooms.

  Cassidy went into the women’s room, Weston studied the short hallway, and Colin shoved open the backdoor. No alarm sounded despite the warning sign on the wall. He glanced around, spotting a security camera. He’d bet the thing was disabled, too. Still, he called back to Weston to check on video footage before stepping onto the gravel paved alley behind the bar.

  Several different tire tracks marred the gravel. Still, if they could get one to match the tread from the one they’d picked up at the crime scenes, they’d have proof the killer had stalked Megan Goodall, and murdered Lacey Goodall before that.

  He pulled out his cellphone and placed a call to the office asking someone to tell him whether the two women were related. Turned out they’re sisters. Interesting.

  Now, all he needed to do was find out who would want to kill the sisters. He made a mental note to dig into their family history.

  16

  Back at Cassidy’s house, Colin headed straight for the living room and his laptop. While he worked, the aroma of brewing coffee filled the place. Good. He’d be up late trying to make sense of all the pieces.

  Cassidy set his mug on the coffee table next to his laptop. “Let’s talk about it.”

  His head snapped up. “Now?” She couldn’t be serious. Now was not the time to discuss what had almost happened between them.

  “Why not?” She sat in an easy chair across from him and propped her feet on the coffee table. “We need to connect the dots.”

  “Wait. You’re talking about the case?”

  She frowned. “What else would I be talking about?”

  “Nothing.” Relief washed over him like a warm summer rain. “Let me check one more…yes. The Goodall sisters have a half sister. A Mary Jones.” He pulled up her picture and turned the computer so Cassidy could see the woman’s photo. “Does she look like a Plain Jane to you?”

  “The Dragon’s accomplice?” She peered at the screen.

  “Maybe.” He jotted down her address. “You’re a woman. How would you feel if your father married a woman then had two beautiful daughters.”

  “Sort of like Cinderella.”

  “What?”

  “It’s like the fairy tale, only The Dragon might be Mary’s Prince Charming.” She sipped her coffee. “Still, I’m not the type to get jealous over looks. I’m not a good person to ask.”

  “Pretend.”

  She stared over his head. “If I thought myself ugly, and scarred, I suppose I’d be jealous. Especially if a father that once lavished attention on me no longer had me at the center of his universe. But to kill someone? That’s a stretch.”

  “If she’s a follower of The Dragon, she might have the same outlook on pretty people that he does.” Colin reached for his mug. “Maybe her half sisters were mean to her. Taunted her. Made fun of her.”

  Cassidy shrugged. “Let’s assume she’s deranged enough to go there. Other people have murdered after being bullied. We add her to our suspect list. Along with Russell Ball and our other scarred friends. Who else?”

  “That’s about it. We have tire tracks, fingerprints with no match in the system, and words drawn in the dirt.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I have a feeling the perp is right under our nose but we can’t see him.”

  “What else do we know about Jones?” She reached down and rubbed Rosie’s ears.

  “She works as customer service at a department store. Turns out she doesn’t have a medical background at all.” He glanced at his monitor. “Lives on the outskirts of town in a trailer park. She lives a pretty unassuming life. Easily overlooked.” Unlike the gorgeous woman wearing sweatpants and a loose tee shirt sitting across from him. Even in the most unsexy attire, he could
n’t help but notice the heads turn when she’d entered the bar.

  “You’re staring.” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Sorry.” He ducked his head. Careful man. You’re wearing your heart on your sleeve and she’s made it more than clear what she thinks of a relationship with you. His head agreed. Partners should never cross the line, but his heart had something else in mind. “First thing in the morning, we go visit Mary Jones.”

  She nodded, still absently scratching the dog’s head. “Why do you suppose Rosie went berserk today?”

  “Instinct? She saw someone we didn’t or sensed something we missed?” Her behavior had nagged at him all day. So had the fear on Ball’s face. “We need to take a closer look at Russell Ball. It bothers me that he isn’t listed on the college roster. We need to find out what his name was before he changed it.” He sent an email to Ingram. “I also want to talk to his neighbors. Someone might know something they don’t know they know.”

  “He’s your number one?”

  “Yep.” He settled back on the sofa. His cell phone vibrated the same time Cassidy’s beeped. He glanced at the text. “Help.”

  Cassidy jumped to her feet. “Mine says the same thing. It’s Weston’s number.”

  Their phones rang. Colin answered. “MacKenzie.”

  “Agent Ingram. I got a text from Weston. Isn’t she with you?”

  “She dropped us off an hour ago.”

  Ingram cursed. “Get to the motel. Now.”

  ~

  “Agent Weston?” Draco grinned when she opened the door to her motel room. “I have some information on the killer that is ravaging Clear Springs.”

  “How did you know where I was staying?” She peered past him into the parking lot.

  He pushed his way inside, holding a Tazor to her ribcage. She jerked and fell like a board. “Why, I followed you, pretty one. You really should be more careful.”

  Her blue eyes blinked up at him. Words gurgled in her throat.

  “You FBI agents think you’re so smart, so above the rest of us.” He grabbed her under the arms and dragged her to the bathroom.

  He rolled her into the tub and tazed her again. No sense in letting Miss Beauty have the upper hand. He turned and tied her hands to the shower head, stretching her arms to an uncomfortable position. He then dug in her pockets, pulled out her cell phone, and sent a group text to all important contacts on her list.

  “I really wish I had more time to play.” He sat on the closed toilet. “You really are quite lovely.”

  “Why?”

  “Why you?” He turned the damaged side of his face to her. “I saw the revulsion in your eyes earlier. You’re no better than the other women I killed. Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

  He dashed to his car, donned his leather jacket, then hurried back inside. He set up his video camera on the bathroom sink and pressed record. “We don’t have much time.” He pulled a knife from his pocket, careful to keep his face averted from the camera. “But, I can’t disappoint the others, can I? They’ll be expecting a video. I guess we have three or four minutes before I need to disappear.” He shoved a washcloth in her mouth.

  Using the knife, he popped the buttons from the white blouse she wore, revealing creamy skin. He softly drew the blade over her, counting her ribs as she screamed against her gag. Each scream sent his heart soaring! He closed his eyes and inhaled her fear.

  After he’d had his fun, he put a bullet between her beautiful eyes and left, crushing her cell phone under his boot.

  ~

  They made the fifteen minute drive in seven. Cassidy cut the jeep’s engine and sprinted for the lobby, mere steps behind Colin. With one hand wrapped in Rosie’s leash, she barged inside.

  Ingram and Smith, their faces grave, turned from the counter to face them. “I want her found before I watch her death on camera,” Ingram said. “I’ve tried her cell phone several times. Straight to voice mail. She doesn’t answer a knock on the door of her room. Follow me.” He grabbed a key from the shocked manager’s hand and led the way.

  “Find something,” he barked, unlocking Weston’s room door.

  “What’s her name, sir?” Cassidy withdrew her weapon. “We only know her as Weston.”

  “Maggie.” He choked on her name.

  They stepped into a ransacked room. The quilt from the bed lay half on the floor. A chair lay on its side. “Maggie Weston?” Cassidy moved toward the bathroom.

  She froze. Maggie lay in the tub, a bullet hole in the center of her forehead and thin cuts across her ribcage. Written on the mirror in what looked like blood were the words, ‘The pretty must die’.

  “In here.” Cassidy stepped over a shattered cell phone.

  Ingram joined her and groaned. “Maggie.” He knelt next to her body. “Why you?”

  “No offense, sir,” Cassidy said, sliding her gun into her holster, “but she fits the profile. She’s quite beautiful.” She turned to Colin. “For her to be targeted, she had to have met her killer and been repulsed by him, or at least he thought she had been.”

  “Russell Ball.”

  She nodded. “He’s the only one we know of that she questioned for any length of time.”

  Ingram glanced up with red-rimmed eyes. “I want that bastard hung by his testicles.”

  “We’re trying, sir. We don’t have any solid evidence against him.” Cassidy backed from the bathroom as emergency responders arrived.

  “Find some! Get him behind bars. And, Monroe…get out of those sweats. We want this guy coming to us.”

  He had come to them and look what happened. She glanced at Colin as fear slithered up her back and wrapped its tentacles around her throat. “He’s better than me, than us. We can’t catch him. He’s like a ghost.” She’d known all along she didn’t have what it took to be a good detective. This proved it.

  Colin placed a hand on each of her shoulders and shook her. “Stop it. You will catch this guy. You’re a great detective. One of the best I’ve ever worked with.”

  “How do you do that? How do you always seem to know what I’m thinking?” She locked gazes with him as if turning away would cause her to lose her grip on reality. “I don’t think I can draw him out. He knows where I am. He can come get me any time he wants. He doesn’t want to. He’s toying with me.” How could he? Especially if he was her biological father as they suspected? Who treated their child this way? If The Dragon wanted her, he could have her.

  “Let’s head to his apartment. If he’s gone, I want to call a press conference.” She pulled away from Colin. “We’ll give out his description and name. Somebody out there has seen him and knows where he is.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  They headed to Ball’s apartment. Cassidy wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find him gone. The manager let them into his apartment, a place Cassidy doubted he would return to.

  With Colin starting at one end, and her at the other, they made a slow sweep of the place and came up with nothing. No photos, no books, nothing personal in any way. It was if the man had never been there.

  “Who are you?”

  Cassidy turned to see an elderly woman in a bright red coat with a fur collar died a sunshine yellow. Weston’s doorman? “I’m Detective Monroe, this is Detective MacKenzie. Do you know the man who lived here?”

  “No one lived here, dear. Well, there was a poor soul who came in and out, but he never slept here.”

  “Did he have a scar?”

  “Oh, yes, the poor thing. I’ve often wondered how that came to be. That man has a story to tell, mark my words.” Without actually entering the apartment, she poked her head in and looked around. “Very clean.”

  “When was the last time you saw Mr. Ball?” Cassidy took her by the arm and drew her into the hall.

  “Why…” she plucked at a stray hair on her chin. “Less than an hour ago, I’d say. He told me goodbye as we passed in the hall. It sounded pretty final. What am I supposed to do with all his newspapers?”<
br />
  “Newspapers?” Cassidy peered into her face.

  “Why yes. He was always placing ads and said he kept them for prosperity’s sake. Since he came and went so often and hired a cleaning crew for the apartment, he asked me to hold on to them. Shall I give them to you?” She clapped a white-gloved hand over her mouth. “Is he dead? Did he have an accident? Oh, dear.”

  “No, ma’am. He’s fine. The newspapers?”

  “Oh, yes. Right this way.” She unlocked a door across the hall.

  Cassidy was immediately assaulted by the odor of several cats. Breathing as shallowly as possible, she followed the strange woman into the apartment. Next to a rickety kitchen table were several newspapers.

  “See? The man was always placing ads. I couldn’t find out which ones, though,” the woman said. “He didn’t sign his name.”

  Cassidy knew which ones would be his. “What was he wearing when you last saw him?”

  “A leather jacket with a dragon stitched on the back. Quite fetching. He carried more of the same jackets in his arms.”

  17

  Cassidy woke early the next morning, made a pot of coffee, poured herself a cup, and then headed to the basement. Something had been teasing at the corner of her mind. She’d missed something that would, without a doubt, point to Russell Ball as her mother’s attacker. Time would tell whether he was also the one who had murdered her, although her suspicions ran strong that he was. There couldn’t be two evil masterminds out there who left the message ‘the pretty must die’ next to his victims.

  She dug back through her mother’s things and pulled out a shoebox full of photos. She’d seen some from her mother’s college days and hadn’t thought much of them…until that morning.

  One after another the photos were set aside until she came across the one haunting her. She peered at the young man with his arm around her mother’s shoulders. Russell Ball, handsome, grinning, and scarless. Mom had known her attacker. No wonder she’d gone away from the party with him.